#Steel Pan Movement

[so-very-small]

imagine being a giant who finds a tiny and you have a tumultuous beginning but they do stay with you and gradually begin to trust you, and that trust blossoms into friendship, and soon you are spending more time together and they decide one night to sleep on your pillow instead of the makeshift matchbox bed on your nightstand, and it’s intimate and lovely and beautiful, and when you awake in the morning you see their tiny figure curled on your pillow bathed in the morning light, and you carefully slip out of bed and into the kitchen to make a breakfast to surprise them when they wake, and you try painfully hard to be quiet because you know your giant movements are already so massive and booming to them, but while getting a frying pan for the eggs you drop it and the stainless steel clatters to the ground in the fucking loudest noise ever. you woke them up dipshit. way to go.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Omg, we need a emma d'arcy x fem reader! Pleaseee!!!

Let me help you here

Emma D'arcy x fem!reader

warning : fluff, flirting, comfort, nicknames, no use of Y/n, i really hope emma is not too ooc, i hope all pronouns are right

Summary : The latest season of House of the Dragon is about to start and final filming is underway. Emma as the Queen Rhaenyra finds themself in a quiet scene with a fellow actor and the two need some help from each other getting dressed…professionally of course.

info : normally i don't write for actors but i feel comfortable with it so i hope you like it anon and emma looks like the queen herself too. have fun reading ;)

ps : I love the gif not only a queen but Ewan in the background so sweet

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The acting group needed for the scene had already gathered at the slightly unfinished set. The lights over there were sometimes bright, sometimes dark, with a wide variety of flares and lanterns, some lit with real flames, of course, and some with no real light.

The sets, as you all knew, served mainly as backgrounds for the actors and for the special effects specialists as the big screen which, in addition to the scenery and the actors and props, brought them all to life, giving them that fantasy look.

The large set the hall of Dragonstone went almost to the ceiling thick walls some with steel thickness some finely crafted with foam served as a set. It was really impressive to see how they did it all thought the young actress and let her gaze wander only briefly knowing that the camera was still on her co-worker Matt who was discussing the war plans as Daemon as he had learned.

Especially in the final edit when they had all watched the greasy series together, it was really nice to be back. The camera on the table moved around it again from Matt to her as Daemon looked at the Nachirhct's delivery. ,,Be assured the sea route is supported by Lord Manderly. This also goes out to your ships Lord Corlys your safety is our concern" she said her sentence as scripted letting her eyes wander over the sea route and nodded to Matt and Steve in their roles as Daemond and Corlys who also gave her a nod and thanks before the camera panned back.

It was a few lines she had played a newsbringer a high lady from the lake house as she had done a little research on the internet and even read a little blood and fire. A really good book.

But then she knew her cue when it became quiet at the table and the guards could be heard announcing in loud voices on the set that a queen was arriving. Instead of the short hair, Emma's head was adorned with a long, light-colored wig, which made their face slightly pale, but the expression Simply incredible she thought and looked at the older one who Matt then placed next to her around the table.

There was silence as everyone looked at the Queen, who looked at the card with a broken look of hatred and after another shaky breath gave a determined ,,I will…Aemond Targaryen" everyone lingered like that for a moment before there was a loud ,,Cut!" and a clap was heard and everyone fell out of their roles. Immediately there was talk and laughter, and everyone was curious to see what the scene would look like, ,,What a cute curtsy my lady," she heard Emma say as they came over to her and mimicked the movement, making them both smile.

,,So much training," the younger one mumbled, pretending to strain before D'arcy took the younger one's arm and pulled her along, ,,Nice to see you having fun and everyone going so well," the taller one began, giving her an assuring look.

It was only a small role and she had been in a few smaller TV series here and there, but it was still something completely different, it was really exciting to be around movie legends and such good actors.

A possibility she really appreciated…and maybe she appreciated Emma even more. The English actor was really impressive, even though they only played a few roles, but the expression, the voice and just everything about D'arcy was engaging and so captivating.

,,Everyone take a break, later we might do a post-production but until then you can get out of your costumes!" they heard the head of the costume department say and most of the actors went straight to the dressing rooms and Emma to the caravans.

This time, however, the younger one, who was only a supporting role, was about to say goodbye when the older one took her hand again and pulled her along. ,,I promised you I'd have a Negroni Sbagliato with you, come on, sweetie," they said and before she knew it they were actually in the actor's cozy caravan. Yes, they had made that promise after they realized on the first day they had met that they had not only gone back to the same acting school but had also run into each other more often than they wanted to.

From auditions, to plays and in real life it was almost romance ripe. ,,So with Orange without?" they asked, still standing at the small bar in their full outfits, which made the younger ones smile, ,,As the Queen takes him, so do I," she demanded with a look that went over the actor's body. The dress and the coat and the hair it was so impressive to see how versatile Emma could be.

But she had noticed the younger girl's stare, not just the little smirk on her lips, but when she turned to her and put the drink in her hand, their fingers deliberately touched and Emma let them touch. There seemed to be something between the two of them.

She had often invited Emma to her small but pleasant apartment and they had spent the evenings doing all sorts of things. In return, Emma sometimes invited her to extraordinary restaurants or something, it was like a friendship, even if some of the looks went deeper.

The two of them talked for a while about the costumes and the stunts with the "dragons", how exhausting and yet beautiful it was. She had watched D'acry do some of the flying toes and it looked incredible. ,,I'm glad to see you're enjoying it so much…you see I knew it would do you good not to give up now that we're here together," Emma winked and stood up after taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage before turning around and standing with their back to the younger one.

,,I can get the wig off by myself, but would you mind taking off the dress?" the actor asked and the younger girl jumped at the sight of a slightly rapid heartbeat, slightly sweaty palms and suddenly the alcohol was pounding much harder than usual. ,,Gladly for you-I mean, of course I'll help," she mumbled, stammering, and slowly began to help the taller girl out of her jacket, the smell of Chinoto Dark's citrusy, smoky scent enveloping her now that it had settled on her skin.

She liked the scent strong and yet slightly sweet because of the hint of lemon it was really something nice. ,,All good sweetie?" came the voice of the older one who turned slightly and looked at the younger one who was still holding the jacket in her hand ,,Yes-yes all good" she shrugged and felt the warmth on her cheeks.

Pull yourself together, you're not a schoolgirl anymore, she admonished herself and put the coat away before tying the dress, but she heard the slight smirk and Emma's words, ,,Don't be nervous, you're just undressing the queen," Emma joked, giving her a wink. A wink that only made the younger girl's heart beat faster.

Maybe it was Emma's intention, maybe it was the actor's style, or maybe it was just for fun. Who knew, but as her fingers tightened on the laces, the taller actress held still and let her friend do her thing, stepping out of the dress before reaching for a robe.

The back was nicely defined by the light muscles, not just for acting, the underwear a quick glance and her cheeks almost got hotter. ,,You were a grateful help, sweetie," Emma said, standing in front of the younger girl, they towered over her with their height in addition to the boots.

Her wispy dark blonde hair was slightly tousled and she had to resist tousling it and greenish eyes were looking at her. But then suddenly D'acry reached for her hand and brought it to her lips, placed a grateful kiss on it and seemed about to continue. The moment deepened and the younger girl clung to the fabric of the robe, fearful of falling over in devotion, when a ringing from her cell phone threw her off balance.

,,Fuck," she muttered with a determined look and Emma just smiled again. She picked it up, ,,I'm um what-yes of course-yes I'm on my way," she mumbled as the voice of the debriefing leader at the other end called for her to go over the script again when a few changes were made.

Sighing, she gathered her things and had forgotten all about the actor when Emma held her lightly again, ,,I'll wait here honey," Emma winked and gave one last kiss on the hand before she let the younger actor out of the caravan with an embarrassed look, knowing that something was finally going to happen, just a dance of the actors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

On The Hunt: You Broke and I Shattered

Summary- 3.9k Alpha Steve x Little One. You and Steve find where Ulysses is storing his stolen goods; vibranium from Wakanda. Scouting the building, you and Steve separate and Steve struggles with this lone wolf mentality.

Warnings- Steve being upset and lashing out about your relationship with Pan. Reader goes into her heat finally and confronts Steve during it.

A/N- Okay I know it's been a while, LONG WHILE since I have posted these two. Part of me is still apprehensive about your Steve feelings. Be mad and hate him if that is the vibe! I get it, honestly, I do. I can't help but love him as strongly as I always have because I love a broken character that I created. Thank you so much @yenzys-lucky-charm for walking through this and holding my hand with them. For always giving me reassurance to continue this story. You, my dear friend, are a saint for all you do behind the scenes. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics Enjoy, and if you did, please share and reblog. I also love hearing your thoughts and rants about them.

Chapter Seven / Masterlist

It smelled bad. 

The Little Wolf’s nose wrinkled as she scouted the side of the large warehouse. You lost track of Steve after he shifted, the Alpha whisking his muzzle against the Little Wolf’s and then leapt away along the edge of the warehouse. As large as the Alpha was, he was easily able to meld into nothing when he didn’t want to be seen. A skill from many years of hunting. 

The Little Wolf weaved through the large piles of garbage and pallets, using them to keep her hidden from the multitude of cameras outside of the building. The installers had attempted to keep them hidden, but your time working with T’Challa had taught you where to look. 

The Little Wolf was also good at getting by unnoticed, the smaller stature and slinking nature could make her easily pass for a street dog that ran wild. 

The scents assaulting her were so foul and strong. The heavy acidic scent of fear permeates the stone and steel walls, making the Little Wolf’s ears lay flat against her skull, her nose wrinkling in discomfort. 

A scuffle of footsteps caught her attention, sending her into hiding with her radar-sharp ears swiveling towards the footsteps scuttling down the alleyway towards where you were hiding. 

“The shipment’s ready, just need the boss's sign-off.” You heard the man say into a phone and the Little Wolf pricked her ears to catch the last of the conversation. “Yeah, Klaue is expected in a couple days.”

He is not here yet. You mentally sighed, frustrated that there would be a period of waiting around for you and Steve.

<But he will be here soon for us. The Alpha should be coming around any moment, maybe we can get inside.> She was quiet in her movements, easing away from the rambling man whose conversation turned elsewhere, giving them no more vital information. Catching sight of the unlatched door, the Little Wolf paused, glancing around to see that no one was nearby. <Should we wait?> 

We could lose our chance. You urged her, unwilling to wait now that the opportunity of getting inside was just so available to you. 

<The Alpha…> The Little Wolf hesitated, glancing back at the direction Steve should be coming around. 

Will catch up. He can follow our trail and we might lose this entrance if that man comes back to lock this door. This is our chance to see the inside and be prepared for Ulysses. 

She finally relented, using her muzzle to ease the door open further and sneak into the dark interior of the warehouse, a sliver of light the only source into the belly of the beast. 

It was easy remaining out of sight on the main floor, various containers of weapons that all smelled tinged with vibranium littered haphazardly around and in the center of the building were cages, all emptied but you could see that they had been recently used. All providing cover even as a silent snarl flirted across Little One’s muzzle, anger simmering in your chest as well as sadness that you had been too late to save those souls from whomever they were sold too. 

Flashes of your old life, the sales floor clouding your memories while you wandered between them. The fear and pain at being dragged in front of buyers, their hands running all over your naked body and the false promises of giving you a better life if you just bonded with them. 

The vileness of it made the Little Wolf shiver and a soft barely there whine escape. <Never again.> She assured you, the fur along her back bristling in agitation. 

Never again. You agreed with her, calming once more. You escaped, you had known love and safety with your pack and with Steve. Even now with you two separated, you knew Steve still wouldn’t ever allow anyone to use you like that again. 

The Little Wolf eased closer, edging along the last line of containers holding vibranium and weapons, trying to map the building. 

There was a huff nearby and you caught sight of silver fur rows back. Steve found us. The Little Wolf stopped, the tip of her tail wagging in a greeting but the Alpha stalked nearby, his eyes blazing furiously at the Little Wolf. 

She lowered further, feeling the anger roll from him while he slid up next to her, pressing in against her for a moment just to feel her before he silently let his nose wander along the edge of the containers. 

Loud shouts just out of sight called out directions to load pallets onto the truck, making you and the Alpha both freeze for a second. The Alpha turned away and returned to the Little Wolf’s side, rumbling enough so you felt the vibrations rising off him. Not an order from the Alpha but a suggestion that it was time to go. 

You pulled back, leading the way out, and once back outside, no one the wiser, you both bolted away from the warehouse. 

It had been a while since you had returned to the apartment, Steve had been silent most of the time, both of you sketching out the warehouse's interior and tensley comparing notes with one another. But you could feel the tension crackling between you and Steve. All his responses clipped in a tone that you were just not used to from him. 

It was making your Little Wolf uneasy in your mind, pacing back and forth in a skittish way, making you feel like you were about to snap. 

You finally pushed away the notes and sketches of the warehouse, making Steve’s gaze snap to you curiously. “What’s wrong Steve?” 

His brows furrowed together and his mouth thinned with whatever he wanted to say being held back. “Nothing is wrong Y/N. We should contact T’Challa to let him know what we found.” He pulled away, going to grab his phone when you grabbed his forearm to keep him from avoiding the question. Steve stiffened, a shiver going through him and you saw his nostrils flare a bit, dragging in a breath of you. 

“Stop the bullshit Steve, you’re pissed and I don’t know why.” Your Little Wolf yipped anxiously, making you tense up all that much more. 

Clear blue eyes snapped, flaring slightly in a glowing color as the Alpha in him rose to challenge him before he turned to you with a slight bare of his teeth. “You didn’t wait for me Y/N. You charged into that warehouse alone.” 

Your hand dropped from his arm and you immediately snapped back, if you had hackles, they would be raised at the tension finally breaking. “This is what you are pissed about Steve? I was doing the mission. I don’t need your permission to do that.” A snarl emitted from you, daring Steve to bite back. “Not anymore.” 

He rose to the challenge, rounding onto you, his size a sheer force but you held tight, refusing to step back from him. “That’s right Little One, I gave you up and set you free from me.” 

A warning growl escaped you as a bit of tears threatening to well up hearing him. “That you did.”

“You have no regard for your safety, we are supposed to be hunting together and you just go into that building without me and that wasn’t the plan, I don’t care that you went in, but I didn’t know where you were, I just happened to catch your scent in the open door. What if they found you and caught you, what if I couldn’t follow you in?” He pulled away with a yank of his hand through his hair. 

You squared your shoulders, anger making your tone bite in your words. “It’s not your fucking job Steven to keep me safe. Why are you always trying to shield me?” 

“Cause Little One! It still feels like you’re fucking mine, even now while we are unbonded all I feel…” His hand slapped against his chest, where you knew his heart pounded its rhythm. 

“Well that sounds like your problem that you need to figure out. I’m not your Little One.” You tossed out, the pain searing into anger at the Alpha in front of you. “You ‘set me free’ which is utter bullshit, you don’t get to dictate how I work now.” 

It was like whiplash, his brow wrinkling as his sadness seeped through before anger masked his features once again. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. You remind me, you had moved on right… to him?” 

You knew exactly who he was talking about and that made those tears finally fall, your hand lifting and slapping sharply across Steve’s face hard, enough that his head turned with the impact. 

“How dare you, Steve, Pan was my friend when I was broken. My friend Steve, he was exactly who I needed when I was alone. You did this to us. You and that fucking drive to keep me safe. Newsflash Steve, my whole life I fought and I’m never going to stop. Now I’m doing it alone without you. You just thought of how you hurt me while being collared, it was NOTHING compared to what you did in that hospital room. I lost you that day and had to learn how to live without my mate because he didn’t want me anymore.” 

“Fuck Y/N, I never said I didn’t want you.” Steve’s jaw clenched tightly, but the anger from his features was gone, disbelief crowning his features now. His hand reached out to draw you in, but you stepped away, unable to handle the contact.

“You broke me that day Steve and now you don’t like this version I turned into? You have no right to be mad about that.” Your voice cracked, a shiver wracking up your body while the Little Wolf started singing in the back of your mind, her own pain breaking in the song. “I survived being used, I survived beatings in attempts to make me submissive, I survived other Alpha’s scarring me with their bites, I survived all the times they tried purposely to break me into bowing for them and being this meek little pup. But you, Steve I barely survived you.”  

You let out a breath, feeling your chest lighten as Steve stood before you like he was at a loss for words for a moment. Before you would let him say anything, you turned away to your room and let the door shut him out. Exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks and as you crawled into your bed to sink into that dark place you yet again were hovering in, your Little Wolf crooning to you, you curled into a ball in your bed and let yourself go. 

Steve sat on the edge of the uncomfortable bed in the apartment. It had been hours since you just dropped it all on him, which he knew but hearing it come from you, how your voice became so vulnerable like you were laid open and left to pick up the pieces. To top it off, he knew he was an utter asshole for what he said to you, wishing he could take it back. But it was out there now and he knew he couldn’t take back what he said in a moment of frustration. 

There was no way to take any of the last year back, he knew he acted on instinct back then and he was wrong. All of it was wrong, but he had to live with his actions. Actions had consequences and all he could do now was live with those choices, and give you that freedom. You were right, he couldn’t be mad at what you turned into because he was a part of it all. Something in him shattered that day, hard broken shards that fed all his fears and he was still struggling to not give in to them.

It still didn’t make it easier for him, or the Alpha. The Alpha was furious with him once more. A snarling beast who lashed out to make Steve wince at the rage. But he felt he deserved it, he took each one without a snap back. 

To top the whole fuck up of a day there was a soft wail through the wall of disbelief and it hit every one of Steve’s senses.

Your heat finally arrived and right now you two were stuck together, with no way to give one another space during this vulnerable intimate time. 

And it was almost torture to Steve as his muscles cramped with restraint, resisting the urge to go to you. 

The Wolf simmered somewhere, Steve sensed him close, but he was still staying away from the conscious side. Your scent was heavy with need and that made a ping of guilt well up in him that your heat was going to be worse for you because he was there. 

If you were back in Wakanda he would slip away, leave you in peace to choose the partner you would want to help you through this. But not in the middle of a mission like this.  

<Coward> The Wolf snarled at him, his ears laid flat against his skull and showing his fangs with a snap of his jaw, jolting Steve back to his awareness of his beast. <You would run away instead of staying to take care of her.> 

His head hung from his shoulders, gritting his eyes and clenching his jaw as his own beast tried to take over, howling your song to call for you. His rut was going to be rough, more of his wolfish side coming through, the overbearing need to fuck and take care of his mate would be a whole other torture. 

“Fuck off.” He snarled loudly, aiming at the Alpha but your soft voice cut through his snarl, making his head snap up, his hair disheveled and eyes flashing a brighter color as his nose tilted up to catch your warm honeysuckle scent. 

“Steve.” Your voice was soft in tone and loud in every other way as it broke his inner battle, your hands clutching at a blanket around you, miserable looking. “She won’t stop…” 

Steve guessed, as much as his wolf was trying to take over, the Little Wolf would be too. You were so distressed-looking, shaking in the blanket even though it wasn’t cold. He straightened up, holding out a hand to you. “Come here Y/N.” He growled, unable to contain more of the Wolf coming through. 

It was all it took, the blanket fell from around you, your body to sensitive for anything on you, as you streaked to Steve, his arms circling around your waist and made you straddle his lap. Getting as close as you could be without pinning you underneath him in the bed. His clothes felt so constricting as you settled in close, tears starting to race down your cheeks while your hands slid up his chest, pulling his shirt over his head so you could get skin to skin, which he was thankful for. “I tried Alpha, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You leaned into him, your breasts pressing against his chest as your face tucked into his neck, hiding away. 

“For what Y/N?” he let his nose press against the back of your neck, inhaling deeply. That alone made the wolf ease back, and let him regain control. Heavy calloused hands went up and down your back as you started sobbing in his neck, your thighs squeezing against him as you rocked your hips slightly to rub against him. 

“For being here with you.” You pushed against him and stared at him with sorrow and pain that Steve couldn’t stop the kisses he flushed over your eyes as more of your tears escaped, tears that he caused. Salty on his lips as they escaped into his beard. His gentleness at the moment, although both of your bodies were screaming to mate with one another, seemed to break you. 

“I’m so mad at you for doing this to me.” You dug your nails into his shoulders, rocking again as he matched your movement, pushing up to give you some relief in your grinding. “I did what you said, I left you alone and you followed me here. I couldn’t escape you with the pack and I still can’t Steve. Why do you make this impossible for me?” You hissed as your mouth sought his, while his kiss stayed gentle, you bit at him, gasping against him as your nails clawed into the muscles of his back. “You left me Steve and it broke me more than anything else that has happened.” If this was your punishment, Steve would take it. Every sharp claw and hissing bite you lashed at him. 

Steve clenched his jaw, unwilling to defend himself and his choices. He did this to you and it was the least he could do was listen. Instead, he pressed you in closer to him, touching you in all the ways he knew made you feel safe and cared for, his lips pressing against yours while you broke because of him. Your pain you lashed onto his back with your nails sharply dragging up to grasp his shoulder and rock yourself in against him once again, he welcomed the pain as he would any of your touches. 

You shook in his hold, pushing away from him enough to look at him, your anger melding into sheer pain. “Was I too weak to be an Alpha’s mate, your mate? Do you regret taking a broken and used Omega? I need to know Steve.”

This he couldn’t stand, not from you of all people. With a sweep of his hold, he twisted you to the bed, on your back while he hovered over you with a bare of his teeth at you, all the long hair falling forward around his face, making Steve look wild above you. Your hands went to cup his face, studying the man you and your little wolf still fiercely loved, your fingers pushing up to weave into his hair. “Is that what you actually believe Little One?” Steve’s tone was graveled, a mix of his voice and the Alpha growling at the same time. “Do you?” He said sharper, making you roll your body up into his solid one, giving a nod when you couldn't say anything. 

His hands caught your wrists and let his nose trace the inside on each one, you went pliant against him finally and he let his whirlwind of emotions settle. He had you and wasn’t planning on letting you go till you knew in your soul that he never would have left you because of those reasons. 

Your hands were pinned swiftly, slamming them into the pillows scattered around his bed. “Little One.” He growled when his lips descended to the soft warmth of your neck column. Kissing behind your ear with much more gentleness than how his hand caged yours over your head. “You really don’t know do you, how much power you have.” His growls were edging on violent, wracking through your body while his touch remained loving, each glide of his hand tracing your side passionate while the other encircled your wrists above your head with controlled strength, the flick of his tongue gliding on your skin and light pressure of sharpened fangs all affection in worshipping you. “How I would do anything for you. You think me walking away didn’t destroy my sanity, made the beast try to claw from his cage?” 

You whined under Steve, your heat simmering on unbearable but his words were making you want to scream. All this time he felt this way and he still managed to walk away, leaving you shattered, your fingers curled, digging into his palm keeping you pinned down. He hissed at the pain but never loosened or pulled away from you. “You still did it, you claim to protect me from you.” 

Steve rose above you, his touch on your waist going to your face, turning your head till you couldn't look away from him. So much filled his gaze locking with yours and your unshed tears of anger, frustration, and pain were mirrored in his. “Because I am weak, scared, and broken. All I could see in that moment was you dead at my feet, that I had destroyed my mate, half of my soul. Alpha’s might seem powerful, but actually, we are empty without our other halves, made to serve our packs but never finding anything beyond that. That day I almost killed mine and I was powerless to stop it." His throat bobbed, swallowing past the emotion that almost seemed to overtake him. "I made a mistake and I see that now Little One, I let fear control me, and look what it did to us. I can’t take it back and will always live with what I did. You are right, I can’t be mad about who you are now because of it, you became stronger. You don’t need me, not really. You, my mate, you have all the power. Fuck, that day I was breaking down thinking I was powerless to control myself...”  His shoulders sagged like admitting this out loud to you took everything out of him. “I should have talked to you about what I was going through instead of running.” 

You eased up the grasp of your fingers digging into his palm, allowing yourself to soften slightly under him. Pulling a hand from his hold, your touch drifted up, sliding around the curve of his neck while you silently counted every little ragged scar circling his throat. Every little barb that dug into him and controlled him. This shattered your Alpha and he was struggling to be better. "I see you Steve." You whispered up at him while letting your thumb wipe under his eyes, clearing away the moisture welling up in those sharp blue eyes.

He reached up to take your palm, curling it against his jaw while he tilted into it, pressing his lips to the center. "I see you too Y/N, I'm so sorry I pushed you away."

Your Little Wolf called out his song again while his eyes scanned over your face, feeling the change in you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him closer. “I could throttle you.” You chirped with a crack in your voice and Steve gave a soft sad chuckle as his head dropped to lean his forehead against yours, giving a little sniffle.

“I know I deserve it.” 

“And what do you want now Steve?” You asked softly, almost a whisper between you two. 

The Alpha was silent, his inhales drawing you in to smother all his other senses, if he could drown in you, he would so happily. “A chance for us, to be the Alpha and your mate you deserve from me.” He pulled away to catch your eyes, such a sharp blue with tinges of yellow melding to give hints of green, the Alpha bleeding through, showing while Steve gave you the answers you sought. “To give you all of me, even the broken parts that need fixing Little One.” 

“If I said I need you to talk to me Steve, you need to let me in instead of just trying to keep me safe from the world.” Your hand twisted in his hold, sliding your fingers through his above your head. “That you won’t shut me out because you are trying to keep me safe.” 

“I will spend my life showing you I can be your partner.” This next kiss was gentle, a brush of his lips to yours as you pulled him back into your hold, his heavy weight on you making you finally feel like you were where you belonged. “And I will wait, as long as you need to be ready for us again, if that is what you want.” 

Ready to be us again… You repeated to yourself, letting his words really take hold. The Little Wolf was a calming presence now, the heat sated enough in just this rebonding moment for you two. You pushed up your hips enough to push against Steve and he instinctively released his hold on you to fall back and take you with him, letting you straddle him while he laid underneath you now, his hands caressing down till they settled on your waist, content to let you decide what you wanted from him next. “I missed you, Steve, we missed you.” 

Your touch slipped up his chest while you moved to settle in against him, ease relaxing through you as his arms slipped around you, hugging you to lay against him and nothing more in the moment. You let your cheek lay against his chest, your head tucked under his bristled chin. You could feel his words as he spoke them out loud. “We were wanderers without our home Little One, we missed you too.” 

[soulofapatrick]

Freeze Time - Alex Claremont-Diaz x Male Reader 

Summary: Late night noodles leads to blowjobs

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: blowjobs; gay; semi-smut; fluff

Notes: I have no idea how noodles led to a blowjob but enjoy

Y/N’s POV

The White House is a far cry from the familiarity and grandeur of Kensington Palace. As I walk in, I’m immediately struck by its simplicity and functionality. The walls are painted a clean, crisp white, and the countertops gleam under the bright overhead lights. The stainless steel appliances stand in stark contrast to the ornate furnishings I’m accustom to at home. The kitchen is spacious, with enough room for a team of chefs to prepare meals for the First Family and their guests. It’s well-organised space, with pots and pans neatly hung on the walls, and a long island in the centre where ingredients are laid out for easy access. It feels more like a professional culinary workspace than a royal palace kitchen. 

I pull out a stool and take a seat at the island, the cool surface beneath my hands a stark reminder that I’m far from the comforts of Kensington. The White House kitchen is an oasis of tranquility compared to the perpetual hustle and bustle of Kensington Palace. Here, in the heart of American power, the quietude is striking. The silence is almost reverent, as if the walls themselves are whispering tales of history and diplomacy. 

Gone are the echoes of footfalls and the distant hum of activity that I’ve grown so accustomed to the corridors of Kensington. In this austere American kitchen, the only sounds that break the silence are the gentle clinking of utensils and the soft sizzle of something cooking on the stove. One lonely cook stays behind, making me some noodles with a soft smile on her face as if she loves her job more than anything else. It’s a stark contrast to the constant movement and chatter that fills the air at home. 

One lonely cook stays behind, her presence a reassuring island in the sea of quietude. She moves with a graceful efficiency, her every action precise and deliberate. Her eyes meet mine, and there's a warmth in her gaze, as if she finds solace in her solitary late-night task. It's as though she loves her job more than anything else, and in that moment, I can't help but admire her dedication. 

With a soft smile, she places a steaming bowl of chicken ramen in front of me. The aroma is intoxicating, the rich scent of broth mingling with the savoury notes of chicken and herbs. The steam curls upwards, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace, dispelling the chill that had settled in my bones. 

I thank her, and she nods before retreating, her footsteps fading into the background as she leaves me alone with the bowl of ramen. As I take the first bite, the flavours explode in my mouth, each ingredient perfectly balanced. The noodles are tender but still have a satisfying bite, and the brother is a symphony of umami, with hints of soy sauce and ginger. It’s a taste of comfort, a reminder of being home and having late night meals with Henry and Bea, and I savour it with every spoonful. 

Just as I’m lost in the delicious embrace of the ramen, I hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching. I turn to see Alex, my heart quickening at the sight of him. His disheveled hair and causal attire are a stark contrast to the polished image he presents to the world. In this quiet, intimate moment, he’s just Alex. 

He smiles as he approaches, his eyes lighting up when he sees the ramen in front of me, ‘Late night noodles, huh?” 

As Alex takes a seat beside me, our shoulders brushing against each other, a warm and tingling sensation spreads through me. It’s as if the simple act of siting next to each other has the poser to chase away any lingering shadows of loneliness or uncertainty. In this moment, the world outside the White House kitchen fades into insignificance, and it’s just the two of us. I watch him with a fondness that never seems to wane, even after all this time. His disheveled hair, slightly tousled from the busy day, only adds to his charm. Gone is the meticulously styles appearance he wears for public events, replaced by a more relaxed and authentic version of Alex. 

He shoots me a mischievous grin as he reaches for a fork and playfully swipes a mouthful of my ramen. His russet eyes meet mine, and there’s a spark of playful flirtation in them, a reminder of the chemistry that has always crackles between us, “Late night noodles are elite.” 

His presence is magnetic, drawing me closer despite the narrow divide between us. I catch a whiff of his familiar scent, a combination of his cologne and the subtle traces of the day’s activities. It’s a scent that’s uniquely his, comforting and inviting. 

As our knees touch under the table, he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to my ear, “You know, Y/N.” He murmurs, his voice a velvety whisper that sends shivers down my spine, hand large hand falling to my thigh and sending a jolt through me, “I’ve always thought you look especially irresistible when you're enjoying a good bowl of ramen.”

As my cheeks burn with the heat of Alex’s bold statement, his large, warm hand finds its way to my thigh, sending an electrifying jolt through my body. The intimacy of the touch sends my heart racing, and I can’t help but respond to the magnetic pull between us. I turn to him, my breath hitching as I lock eyes with him again. The velvety timbre of his voice still lingers in my ears, and the unspoken desire smoulders in the air. There’s a raw and undeniable chemistry that has always existed between us, and in this moment, it’s impossible to resist. 

With shared intent, we finish the last bites of the ramen, the flavours a backdrop to the escalating tension between us. As the empty bowl is set aside, Alex’s lips find their way to my neck, leaving soft, tentative kisses in their wake. My skin tingles with each gentle press of his lips, and I can feel his warm breath against my sensitive flesh. 

My fingers find their way into his hair, entwining in the soft strands. With a desperate urgently, I yank him closer, my lips seeking his in a kiss that’s fierce and unrelenting. Our mouths crash together, a tumultuous storm of longing and desire. The taste of ramen lingers on our lips as we devour each other, the tension that had simmered between us now ignited into a passionate blaze. His tongue brushes against my bottom lip, seeking entrance, and I part my lips eagerly, granting him access. The sensation of his tongue mingling with mine sends a shiver down my spine, and I respond in kind, our mouths locked in a passionate dance that knows no restraint. 

But the, as if overcome by a sudden burst of desire and urgency, Alex pulls away, his eyes  dark and smouldering. He murmurs huskily, his voice laced with longing, “We should take this to the bedroom.” 

His words send a jolt of anticipation through me, and before I can even respond, he grabs my hand with an eagerness that matches my own. Without hesitation, we sprint down the quiet halls of the White House, our footsteps echoing almost too loud in the stillness of the night. Up the stairs we go, each step bringing us closer and closer to his room. The thrill of our urgency intensifies with each step up the grand staircase, my heart racing in tandem with our hurried ascent. The quiet elegance of the White House feels worlds away as we sprint through its hallowed halls, driven by an irresistible need for each other. 

As we reach his bedroom door, Alex doesn’t waste a moment. With a fiery passion that mirrors my own, he shoves me gently against the wall, his lips crashing onto mine in a searing kiss that leaves me breathless and dizzy. It’s a kiss that tastes of desire, need, and the years of longing we’ve shared. Our lips move fervently against each other's, a symphony of heat and hunger, and in this stolen moment, I can't help but marvel at the intensity of our connection

With a deft hand, Alex fumbles for the doorknob, his urgency clear as he pushes it open and ushers me inside the bedroom. The soft lamplight casts a warm glow, revealing a room that is very much Alex. Before I can really take in the room Alex’s lips claim mine and he’s guiding me backwards until my thighs hit his bed, and we tumble down together in a tangle of limbs. 

Giggle and gasps escape our lips as we fall onto the soft mattress, the weight of Alex landing on top of me. The bed dips beneath us, and we’re a mess of arms and legs, tangled together in our fervour. The laughter that bubbles up between kisses is infectious, a testament to the joy the fills our hearts in these stolen moments of intimacy. Alex’s hands start their slow descent. With a deliberate slowness that heightens the anticipation, his fingers deftly unbutton my shirt, one button at a time, each revealing a bit more of my skin beneath. 

His lips, still flushed with desire and tasting of the sweet promise of our connection, following the path his hands take. They leave a trail of delicate kisses along my chest, the warmth of his mouth igniting a fire within me. It’s as if each kiss is a silent declaration of his love and longing, a testament to the tenderness we share. 

With a final, lingering kiss at my navel, Alex’s attention shifts lower. His fingers dance skilfully over the button of my jeans, and he slowly, tantalisingly, eases them open. The fabric gives way, revealing the growing desire that has been building beneath. It draws a gasp from me when he traces a line of hot, moist kisses along the exposed skin of my hips, his breath coming in soft pants against my flesh. I raise my hips slightly to aid n their removal, allowing him to slide them down my legs and cast them aside, leaving me in just my boxers before him. 

With a gaze that’s both intense and loving, Alex takes in the sight before him. His russet eyes are almost black as they slide over my body as if I was carved by gods, settling on the bulge in my boxers that is nowhere near going away, especially when he looks at me like that, his hunger palpable. But he doesn’t rush. Instead, he savours the moment, the intimacy. 

His lips, warm and moist, continue their journey upward, tracing a path of kisses up my inner thighs. Each touch is a delicate caress, a testament to the desire that courses through our veins. The sensation of his breath against my flesh sends a thrill of excitement through me, and I arch my back, offering myself to him without reservation. That’s all it takes for him to practically rip my boxers down my legs and throwing them aside. I raise myself to my elbows to watch him, watching the way his face as he stares my throbbing erection, pressed against my stomach. Lust glimmers in his eyes, the intensity of his desire reflected in their depth. His love for me is evident in the tenderness of his touch, and there’s an unspoken promise that goes beyond physical. 

But I also see something else in his eyes, a hint of fear and nervousness that tugs at my heart. It’s as if he’s baring not just his body but his soul, and the vulnerability of the moment weighs heavily on him. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his anticipation, eyes flickering up to meet mine. 

“You don’t have-“ I can’t even finish the sentence, my breath gets stuck in my throat as he licks a bold stripe up the underside of my dick. His large hands are gripping my hips, rubbing soothing circles into the skin before he kisses the head and I think I die a little. My hands find comfort in his hair, tangling in those dark locks as he goes at his own pace, lips feeling heavenly. He closes his lips around the head, dragging his tongue excessively over the tip, where pre-cum has been dribbling across my lower stomach, drawing an embarrassing sound from my throat. He doesn’t move, just keeps his lips there and I want to push him down but this is… I don’t want to rush Alex. 

“A-Alex please,” I’m whining and the fucker pulls his lips away, looking up at me through those pretty eyelashes, lips parted in a teasing grin, “Stop teasing me.” I’m growling out, gripping his hair almost painfully tight and his eyes flutter for a moment as a sound rumbles in his chest. He meets my gaze and lets his mouth drop open, eyes daring me to do my worst and I think I may have just come then and there. I pull him down the same time I raise my hips, head flying back against the pillows when his throat constricts around me and he lets out a choked sound. 

That’s all he needs to take control, hands finding my hips and gripping hard enough to promise bruises in the morning as he finds a steady rhythm and I loosen my grip on his hair, letting him set the pace. That pit in my stomach starting to tighten and my hips jerk as much as his hands allow, his tongue doing dirty dirty things, making my thighs tighten around his shoulders. 

“A-Alex-“ I tug on his hair in warning and instead of pulling off he loosens his throat and fuck, that’s all it takes. I’m spurting white hot ropes down his throat, his name dying in my throat as my hips jerk and my thighs shake. He stays there, mouth open, lips flush and looking up at me with the most innocent eyes as if he isn’t currently blowing one of the Princes of England. 

I finally let his hair go, letting him pull away and expecting him to go spit in the toilet but instead he’s swallowing and licking his lips, a knowing grin on his face. 

“We should have done that much sooner.” He’s murmuring, chest heaving a little and all I can do is stare at him, brain fogged with everything Alex. The way he’s leaning over me, fingers brushing over my cheek gently and a look in his eyes that I always want to see. It's not quite love in its full bloom, but it's on its way there, and I want nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. 

“Can we just freeze time?” I whispers he words escaping before I can even think, fingers playing with the soft tufts of hair at the base of his scalp. 

Alex’s smile in response is like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. It’s a smile that makes my heart swell with warmth and happiness, a smile that reassures me that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be. And then, without a word, his lips find mine in a kiss that speaks of everything we are and everything we’re becoming, a kiss that leaves me breathless and yearning for more. 

Tears spring to my eyes as our lips part, the intensity of the kiss leaving me emotionally overwhelmed. Alex, ever attuned to my feelings, brushes one the tears away with his thumb, his touch gentle and reassuring. His voice is a soft murmur against my ear as he whispers, “Sure, we can freeze time for a while.” 

It’s a promise and it soothes the storm of emotions raging within me. With a tenderness that speaks of his devotion to me, he shifts to lays beside me, our bodies pressed close. His forehead meets my cheek, a gesture of affection that feels like a warm embrace and he’s pulling the duvet over us, “We’ll freeze time for as long as you like.”

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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TAGS: @clarks-letterman

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem reader (pt 5)

Your fingers hovered in the air, inches from the tarnished brass of the door knocker. Your pulse hammered in your ears. The hallway felt too narrow, the air thick with the scent of stale cooking and old wood. You'd expected to be greeted by chaos—the aftermath of Rian's heartache—yet when you finally mustered the courage to tap against the cool metal, the scene unfolding before you was far from what you had envisioned.

The door swung open, revealing not a disheveled den of inebriated sorrow, but a stranger, standing amidst a stillness that seemed to part around him like mist. His pale skin caught the dim light, lending him an ethereal glow, while his dark hair framed his face in stark contrast, softening the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Your breath hitched, and you felt as if you'd stepped into a quiet corner of the world you hadn't known existed.

“Uh, hey,” you stuttered. The bag of takeout dangled from your grasp, its colors vibrant against the monochrome backdrop of the apartment. “I brought food.”

His lips quirked, a glimmer of amusement in his cat-like eyes. “For me?”

"Sort of, but I don’t usually bring food for strangers,”  you managed to say, awkwardness tangling your words. You offered up the takeout like a shield, something tangible to fill the space between you.

“Well, I’m Blaise, and because I was told to anticipate your arrival, you must be Y/N. Now that we’ve had introductions, come in," he said, stepping aside.

As you passed the threshold, the door clicked shut, a quiet seal to the cocoon of warmth that enveloped  you as you stood inside Rian’s apartment. Alone now in the small living room, you rocked on your heels.

“Pardon if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven’t. I’m only babysitting Rian for the evening ‘cause he’d drink himself to death otherwise,” Blaise blandly said. “Connor had to step out. Family stuff.”

“Right, I hope everything is okay,” you replied, aware of their proximity in the narrow hall.

“Rian’s coping, have no idea what’s going on with Connor.. I’m not too close with him, but you know how it is. Anyway, I made a portion for him, but since he left, would you like to stay for dinner? I’m making Tuscan chicken.”

The scent of herbs and spices already wafted from the kitchen. It smelled promising.

“I—”  you faltered, eagerness warring with the knot of anxiety that coiled in your stomach. You clutched the bag of takeout, now rendered superfluous. Yet, something about the offer tugged at you.

“Sure,” you found yourself reluctantly agreeing, the word escaping your mouth before doubt could reclaim it. A flash of triumph lit his features, quickly masked by the flicker of a passing car outside the window.

“Great,” he murmured, leading the way to the kitchen. His silhouette etched against the stainless steel appliances and sleek countertops.

Expensive, you noted. How were these students affording decent flats in the city center?

As Blaise moved to resume his cooking, the subtle scent of rosemary and garlic wrapped around  you, a comforting shroud that made you forget, for a moment, the pressures that lay just beyond the door.

Your fingers brushed against the cool metal handle of the refrigerator, easing the takeout inside as if tucking away your unease alongside it. You straightened up and turned to find Blaise back by the stove, his movements a quiet ballet as he stirred the contents of a pan. The sizzle of chicken meeting hot oil was a soothing symphony in the modest kitchen.

“Mind if I sit down?” you ventured, gesturing toward the table set for three.

“Please, do.”

You slid into a chair, the wood cool beneath your palms, and watched him work. There was a grace in his gestures that belied the tired shadows under his eyes.

“I’m surprised we haven’t met before. You know Rian and Connor well?”

“Ah, we go way back,” Blaise replied without looking up, his attention on a jar of herbs. “Same primary schools, but we split for secondary, though. Connor and I are in the same year, meaning we’re one behind you.”

“Right, that makes sense.” You fiddled with a napkin, folding and unfolding it as your mind ticked over their age difference, an insignificant detail.

A door down the hall creaked open, and Rian shambled in, his figure slumped and eyes rimmed red like the last whispers of sunset. He looked as though he had wrestled with heartache and came out the other side bruised and on life support.

“Hey,” you said, standing so quickly your chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Rian, are you starting to feel okay now?”

Blaise turned off the stove and joined you, his impassive expression softening as he took in Rian’s sorry state. “Sit down. Let us get you something to eat.”

He managed a weak smile, grateful yet overwhelmed, and sank into the remaining chair. “I’m sorry for being such a mess.”

You patted his shoulder. “S’alright. For better or worse, you’re our mess.”

As Blaise plated the food, a fragrant offering of comfort, you stood by Rian’s side, your hand hovering above his shoulder, hesitant yet yearning to reassure. The tension in the room was palpable, a static charge waiting for release.

“Here,” Blaise said, setting down a plate.

“Smells incredible,” you chimed in, hoping to lift Rian’s spirits.

“Good. That means you won’t be able to detect the poison.”

You settled into a silence punctuated only by the clink of cutlery on plates and the distant hum of city life beyond the apartment walls. You twirled your fork through the creamy pasta, the rich aroma of herbs and garlic coaxing a sigh from your lips.

You had never tasted anything as decadent. And under the tutlage of a college student?

“Blaise, this is just… it’s absolutely wonderful.” The flavors exploded across your palate, a symphony of home-cooked perfection that made your store-bought takeout seem like a distant, bland memory. Frantic, you shoveled another forkful into your mouth. “If I were being executed, this would be my last meal request.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a modest chuckle, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair—a touch so faint it might have been accidental, but it sent a ripple of awareness down your spine.

Adjusting your sleeves, you tried not to dwell on the warmth radiating from where his fingers brushed against the fabric, or how your heart seemed to pulse in time with his proximity.

“Connor has got to see what he’s missing out,” Rian suddenly exclaimed, wiping his mouth with a napkin before reaching for his phone. His voice was tinged with mischief, a spark of his usual playfulness returning as he dialed his roommate’s number.

“Watch him be eating instant noodles again,” you joked.

Connor accepted the video call request. Soon, the group was face-to-face with him. His surroundings were dark, with only the light from the computer illuminating the place. You heard faint, crackly conversation and deduced that he wasn’t in his room. He was out, but where? Blaise had mentioned a family emergency… You hoped everything was alright.

“Hey, Connor! You have to see what Blaise cooked up over here.” Rian beamed into the phone screen, panning the camera over the spread of Tuscan chicken and sides that adorned the table.

The screen flickered, and Connor’s face appeared, squinting through the darkness. He gasped.

“Bastard! How could you make that without me? It looks amazing.”

As everyone had fortold, he held up a sad cup of noodles, eliciting laughter from the trio.

As they bantered, the screen shifted, and a pale face came into view beside Connor’s, his dark eyes locking onto the scene. Heart pounding, you were suddenly confronted with the image of Cillian. Or rather, his bag still slung over his shoulder. But you knew that jawline anywhere.

Leaning away, Connor eagerly gestured for him to step into frame. Quirking a brow, Cillian ventured closer to the desktop. His lips moved, mouthing something, but without him even approaching the mic, you could not hear him. As his eyes roamed around the screen, the surprise expression on his face morphed into something you were unable to decipher.

When he finally realized it was you, he went entirely still as if the screen had frozen. While you shook, he remained deathly still. His lips pressed together like he didn’t want to say anything at all. He was staring. Just… staring. Directly at you, into your soul. With the screen’s blue light shining against his face, he looked like a ghost.

“Cillian!” Rian called out, seemingly oblivious to the sudden change in atmosphere. “Look at what you’re missing out on. Connor’s friend made a delicious meal for us.”

“Hi, Lee,” you added weakly.

“Looks good,” he said at last.

Blaise’s brows furrowed. Leaning in, he squinted at the screen. “What’s with Samara from The Ring in the background? Bro is ghastly.”

“Uh, I think it’s just bad lighting. But you still look good!” Rian mumbled, but before anyone could press further, Cillian lunged forward, seizing the device.

“Hey!” said Connor, voice warbled.

He looked directly into the camera, and your heart experienced a start. You felt as if he was there in the room, confronting you face-to-face. You had to lean back from the intensity of his gaze.

Without another word, he ended the call. His visage flickered and vanished like a specter dispelled by the light of day. A hush descended upon yhe group, broken only by the distant hum of city traffic filtering through the window.

You felt a chill snake down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You glanced at the blank phone screen, then at Blaise, whose casual demeanor seemed to have returned as quickly as it had left. He shrugged and tossed the phone aside, but you remained motionless.

“What was that about?” He asked, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

“Cillian has major FOMO,” you simply said. Your eyes darted to the spot where Blaise’s hand had once rested on your chair, now conspicuously absent. With a start, you realized you missed the warmth.

As you resumed eating, you found yourself stealing glances at Blaise. He hummed between bites, mindlessly twirling pasta with his fork. You were startled by your momentary lapse; for the first time in eons, your mind was not consumed by thoughts of Cillian.

a/n: idk how i feel about the direction and pacing of this story. :/ do y'all feel like it's too slow burn??? i have at least 20 chapters planned

[dilf-din]

Love me Tender — a Rebelcaptain drabble

WC: 765

Warnings: none

A/N: I’ve been consumed with soft fluffy thoughts of these two. I got inspired by a post about your otp cooking together and this happened.

Steam ballooned out like a mushroom cloud when Cassian pulled back the pot lid, the liquid inside now at a rolling boil. The brown paper wrapped tightly around the pasta with a piece of twine crinkled as he peeled it back to dump the pieces into the pot. He picked up the cutting board and scraped the pile of meticulously diced vegetables into the adjacent pan of hot oil. They sizzled and popped, adding another layer of sound to the movement he was composing, Jyn’s voice ringing above it all, light and melodious.

She was seated on the counter chatting away about her reconnaissance earlier, if you could even call it that. They had been stationed in a small planet in the Jalor system. Their cover was that they were a newlywed couple who had moved there for work. The native people were lovely. The village they had moved into was full of older couples who willingly told Jyn all the local gossip when she had been making her rounds to introduce herself earlier.

Jyn ducked wordlessly out of the way as Cassian reached beyond her and into the spice cabinet to pull out a jar of something red and fragrant. With a gentle motion, he sprinkled some on the sautéing vegetables and stirred them around. A small towel draped over his shoulder and a look of concentration showing itself in the age lines on his forehead, and Jyn couldn’t help but admire him for a second, indulge in the fantasy that they really were new here in this quiet town. She reached out a callused palm and cradled the edge of his jaw for a second before brushing his hair out of his eyes. He flashed a look at her, a hint of a smile curling under his grown out facial hair.

“What are you thinking about?” he queried.

Jyn breathed out a deep sigh through her lips and tapped her fingers where they curled under the edge of the counter, hesitating a beat before responding, “What if this was real?”

Cassian drew his eyebrows inward, a bemused smile on his lips.

“You know, this. Us,” she almost laughed, gesturing weakly at the scene around them. “Being newlyweds, running away somewhere no one knows us at all,” she trailed off, her eyes settling on a crack in the tiled floor, suddenly unsure if that was something he would ever want.

In her mind’s eye, the crack started growing until it split the house completely in two, a chasm of longing separating them, loneliness creeping its tendrils around her throat. Though she had spent years at his side, a lifetime of abandonment and running allowed those thoughts to creep in from time to time.

His hand on her shoulder calmed her in an instant.

“In another world, we’re sneaking off after our vows to make love before the ceremony,” he whispered against her jaw and pressed a kiss there, drawing a small laugh from the pit of her belly. His hands rubbed over the smooth fabric of her thighs and settled at her hips.

“In another world,” the smooth cadence of his voice hummed thoughtfully, “We’re getting ready for our first dance.”

He scooted her off the counter and pulled her into a sway, her clumsy movements trying to match his fluid ones. Jyn buried her face in the crook of his neck and pinched her eyes closed, trying to imagine a room full of their favorite faces, people they had lost along the way.

Strong arms and shoulders took the lead, snd she quickly became his mirror. Her softness against him always felt too good to be true. She smoothed his war hardened edges like steel against stone. Cassian would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking the same things as Jyn, too hesitant to wish that, maybe one day, this would be their reality, that they would both make it out alive.

But for now, they had each other. They were safe, tucked lightyears away from the heart of the battle. Maybe they would both be brave enough to ask the other to run and never look back.

The sound of hissing pulled Cassian from his thoughts as some of the foamy water from the pasta had crept over the edge of the pot, sizzling against the element of the stove.

“Shoot,” he pulled himself away from her and quickly lifted the pot. Jyn plucked the towel from his shoulder and patted dry the remaining water. Always two halves of a whole, always in sync, in this lifetime and the next.

[sovonight]

waiting (candle event, radri ver, 3k words) ↴

—✧✧✧—

As the light from the window recedes, casting her journal into shadow, Radri sets a candle upon the candle holder on the nightstand, then reaches over the side of the bed, rummaging around in her pack for flint and steel. As she fumbles around for it, Xan glances over from his place beside her, and extends a hand.

"Allow me," he says. With a small gesture and a whisper of a command, the wick catches flame.

"Oh," Radri says, looking up the lit candle, "Thank you."

She abandons her now unnecessary search, and opens her journal once more. Xan glances over again.

"I never found the chance to ask what you write about," he says.

"Mm?" Radri narrowly avoids leaving a blot of ink on the page, and gives her pen a dissatisfied frown, resolving to be more careful. "Normal things, I suppose. What happened today, what quests are in progress, what supplies we expended…."

"A summary of events, then, rather than a collection of personal reflections?" Xan says. "Did you keep such a journal in Candlekeep, as well?"

In Candlekeep? She had never considered it. Imagining it now, her entries would have blended together in their sameness; her days were a mixture of lessons and chores, with the only real variables being the subjects she was taught, and the people around her.

"I didn't keep a journal at all," Radri says. "I was always so tired of writing by the end of each day—the last thing I wanted to do was light a candle and write into the night." She gives her current setup a wry smile.

"But now that I'm gone… there's something comforting about the routine," Radri says. "The scent of paper, the ink… even the flame. Though Candlekeep isn't so full of candles as its name would suggest."

Then she blinks, and lifts her gaze from her journal, glancing over to him.

"I remember seeing that you have a journal, as well. Don't you keep track of similar things?"

"Of our every encounter, foe, and death?" Xan says. "If I dwell too long on what has happened to us, I soon grow astonished at the fact that we are even still alive—and against my will, the mind wanders. I prefer to keep my entries to more pleasant reflections."

"Pleasant reflections?" Radri echoes, curious, "Like what?"

"What else?" Xan says, gazing at her softly. "Thoughts of you, and our love."

—

Radri swirls the liquid wax around in the flat pan of the candle holder, drawing circles around the dying flame. Just as the wick is about to run out, she catches the flame on a fresh one, and sets the new candle beside her closed journal. Her journal entry for the day is complete; she is tired, and she is long due for reverie; and yet, something keeps her awake.

Xan. She sighs, staring into the dull, abandoned pool, watching the wax slowly begin to solidify again. She doesn't know why she's still waiting for him. He prefers to study his spells alone—and she has often fallen into reverie waiting for him to finish—but never so consistently or so often as in these past several days. A shadow has fallen across his dark, gray eyes, and though she lingers in bed, pretending to still be in reverie to ensure he gets all the hours he needs, he hardly looks rested.

When she asks, Xan says nothing. But—she hasn't really asked, has she? Are you alright, is no true substitute for, I'm worried about you. Is something wrong? Is it something I did? Are you avoiding m—

Radri gives her head a sharp shake. No—it does no use to jump to conclusions, and she's been through this dance before. All she has to do is wait for Xan to come tell her everything.

…No, that's not it. The last time she had waited, in just a tenday he had formed a conviction to leave her forever.

Radri stands, sending the candle's flame flickering in the residual breeze of her movement, worry suddenly taking hold in her chest. Her heart is set—she's going to go find him. Xan is probably still at that worn table on the floor below; at this hour, there are none but the stillness and darkness of night to keep him company. Her mind made up, Radri crosses the room in three quick strides, and opens the door—

—And comes face to face with Xan, who stumbles back a step in surprise.

"Radri," Xan gasps. With the glimpse he'd caught of her expression, he sends a cautious glance behind him, before facing her again. "You—you looked as if you were about to storm a dungeon. Are we leaving already?"

Then he looks past her, into the room, where the wax carnage by the candle holder she's been using to stave off the darkness serves as clear evidence of her sleeplessness.

"…Or have you not even rested yet, at all?" Xan looks worriedly down at her. Radri feels, for an instant, abashed to have raised his concern—but no, she has to collect herself. She is worried about him. And she must say it!

"I… I couldn't," Radri says. Yes, a good start—

"I…" she continues, and now, she should ask him now—

"I hadn't yet received your kiss goodnight." NO!

But her excuse has already left her in a nervous rush of words, too late to be swallowed now. Xan, understandably, stares at her—and mentally, she buries her face in her hands. How could her resolve have fled her so quickly?

"I… did not know it was that significant to you," Xan says, slightly puzzled, and it takes her a second to remember what she'd said that he's responding to, "Forgive me for the oversight."

Leaning carefully in, as though partly convinced that she might prove to be an illusion once he touches her, Xan leaves a simple, light kiss on her cheek. When he pulls back away, he seems silently astonished at having confirmed that she is, in fact, real. But Radri's mind holds no room to process this observation; her fingertips rise to touch the kiss he'd placed on her cheek, and her face reddens in embarrassment. He'd… he'd humored her… but perhaps this is the best approach. After all, it's not in her nature to tackle an encounter head-on.

"Are you going to come in and join me?" Radri asks. Though she tries for casual, her voice seems, to her ears, to betray her hours of waiting and doubt. But if Xan thinks the same, it does not show, and he does not refuse her.

Xan moves through his nightly ritual, putting his spellbook upon the nightstand and leaning his moonblade against it, so that he might always have it on hand. Meanwhile, Radri feels as nervous inside as she did the first time they'd shared a room, and finds herself standing still at the foot of the bed, uncertain what to do with her arms.

Xan lays down on the bed, then looks up at her. Perhaps it's just her, or the distance, or the flicker of the candle—but she thinks she sees amusement in his eyes.

"Come here," Xan says fondly, and in that moment, the spell of her nervousness is broken. She hastens over and falls into his arms; Xan's soft, breathy chuckle floats across the top of her head.

"If you were in such a hurry, you need not have waited for me."

She curls up closer, nestling her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. He misunderstands; what she'd waited for is his closeness.

"Will you take my hand?" Radri asks; she misses his company in reverie. Xan sighs.

"I am in no state to show you my memories of Evereska tonight, if that is what you were hoping for."

"I don't want to see, so much as I just want to be with you."

"Well, then, I am already with you." Xan kisses her hair. Her heart clenches, and she tries again.

"Xan… has something been troubling you, lately?"

"I am surprised that you would ask me this," he says. "Many things trouble me, Estel'amin, and at many times." Though his answer is neutral, something beneath it is just slightly tense.

"Does it have to do with me?"

"You are on my mind too often for these troubling thoughts to never lead back to you." But he had hesitated… just barely.

Radri finds her breath caught in her throat. This is the moment; she cannot bear to blurt out any more excuses.

"Is it why you wait for me to fall into reverie, first, before you join me?" Her heart beats so loudly that it nearly drowns out the sound of her own voice in her ears. "I—Is it… why you've been been avoiding me?"

In the aftermath of releasing those words from her mind, she barely registers the fact that Xan's body has stilled, his breath frozen in his chest; her thoughts, many and jumbled, tumble forth, fighting for the chance to form on her tongue.

"I—I'm sorry," Radri finds herself stammering. "After all… it's an uneven arrangement, isn't it? You have such a beautiful city to show me, and I only have books and repetition—the same story, day in and day out. And then I finally left, only to start having these visions… these nightmares. Why would you want to live through them with me? I understand, really. I should never have—"

"Radri."

With one swift movement, she's no longer curled up against his chest, but laying on her back on the bed itself. Xan is leant over her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, his face cast into uneven shadow by the curtain of his hair. She can't help but notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, which are still apparent even in this dim light—but more than that, what strikes her is how pained he looks by her words.

"Is that what you think?"

Radri feels, suddenly, that she's gotten the answer very wrong. She's transported back to Candlekeep: one of her tutors stares at her from the board, tutting at her, as Imoen, sprawled casually at the desk next to hers, signals secretly to her what she should have said instead.

But the Imoen of her mind's eye has no choice but to fade away without helping her; there is nowhere in the world that contains knowledge of what Xan is thinking right now, except for Xan himself.

"What," she says, quietly, "Should I think instead?"

Xan, surprisingly, does not answer immediately. He seems, for the first time in a while, lost for words—though not for a lack of emotion for them to express. She watches his expression shift, from reflection, to frustration, to helplessness, to—

"I have been trying to shield you from my struggles," Xan manages at last, "But I see that I have failed."

Pulling away from her, he continues, "I… I keep having visions."

"I am alone with you on a beautiful glade—and we are ambushed by monsters. I join you in your reverie—and wake up next to your lifeless corpse. I let down my guard, and you are taken from me—" He pauses, taking in a shaky breath, eyes glazed over by the memory, "And there are many more. You cannot imagine the perils my eyes see."

"Fear has always plagued me, Radri. Fears of dying, of losing you, of hurting you, of dragging you into the void of my lonely, desolate existence… But now they are not simply that: they are live nightmares I cannot escape, and I dread my reverie every night. How can I share it with you, when I know what my mind will show you?" Xan says, and pulls his gaze away from her, bowing his head. "I am lost, Estel'amin. Lost in darkness… and even the candles of your room are not able to drive it away."

Radri begins to reach out to him, but pauses, his words still running through her head. She feels like she's forced this from him; she's sorry to have pushed him. Perhaps, if she'd just observed in silence longer, she could have guessed that this was what troubled him… but she can't help but think back to that first night, when their shared reverie went awry. Even with her tears, her confession, his words, and his comfort, what she remembers above all is relief, to no longer be holding all of her fears inside.

So she brings herself to him, and she holds him close.

"You can show me," Radri says. "I wish I knew what to say to drive this darkness away… I wish I could do for you what you do for me. But I will always be here to listen."

"I want to know everything about you, Tahlimil," she confesses; despite having spoken it in her mind many times, his name is still new on her tongue, and she feels his breath catch to hear it. "Not just your hopes, but your fears. Not just your shining moments of happiness, but your present sorrows. I want to be here with you, through all of it. There is not a moment in which I would wish that you had spared me… I don't think it's possible for us to spare each other, anymore."

Her heart is beating loud and fast in her chest; she wonders if he can feel it, if he can tell that she feels more nervous and vulnerable now than she does when she whispers to him that she loves him, before all the eyes of the world. Xan, held close, now pulls away to look her in the eyes.

"Estel'amin," Xan says, "I…"

He looks taken by disbelief and awe; he looks as if he wishes to kiss her. But then, another thought comes to him—and she can spy this exact moment, by the sudden look of resolve in his eyes.

"There is a question that has been on my mind for far too long," Xan says. "I have agonized over when to ask it, but I think it can only be now. I feel as you do. I would share everything with you: my memories, my emotions, my life… and I would know you, in turn, as dearly and intimately as I have only ever known myself."

He takes her hand; his fingers, and the rings upon them, are normally cool upon her skin, but tonight they exude pure warmth.

"I wish to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan says. "I wish to have you in my arms, Estel'amin… will you have me?"

The building elation that she'd felt throughout his first sentences falters, stuttering to a halt. Suddenly, their closeness comes to the forefront of her awareness. His touch, his gaze, and even the mundane way the fabric of their clothes has tangled together around their bodies; to notice these things now leaves a weight in her chest.

"Are you afraid?" Xan asks, softly.

She can't respond; he does not push her.

"I know," Xan says, and if Radri were less preoccupied by her thoughts, she would note that his tone betrays a hint of nervousness, "This commitment is far too great to fathom in a single moment. An elven bond is the closest intimacy I could have asked of you; I have had many days to reflect on it, and yet I have not granted you the same. I am not so fragile that I will turn away from you if you refuse me tonight."

Hearing that, her head jerks up, startling him slightly. He thinks that this is what she would refuse? How could he imagine that she would, when even in the earliest of their days together—after she, by a miracle, had managed to convince him to stay—she had thought secretly, wistfully back to the kind of bond she had only ever been able to read about in books?

No, the cause of this pressure in her chest is from the other half of his request, tied so smoothly to the first: I wish to have you in my arms. She imagines that if she were anyone else, she would have already flung herself into Xan's waiting embrace, but though she tries to picture this, to rehearse for the actions she will surely take in the next moment, she cannot do it.

"I... I have dreamed of our bond. For an embarrassingly long time," Radri confesses, and says a silent farewell to such dreams as she admits, "But I am not ready to give you the rest of what you have asked. I'm sorry."

Ducking her head, she closes her eyes tight, ready to hear him sigh and turn away... but the sound never comes.

“Then our bond is all I ask,” Xan says.

Shocked, she looks up at him. Xan no longer looks nervous; he does not even appear disappointed, as she’d feared. Instead, he looks as if he’d received the very answer he had hoped for.

"What do you mean?" Radri asks, "You… you're still willing, to...?"

"Radri," Xan says, a fond, relieved smile pulling at his lips, "Our bond is the one part of my question that I had always feared you would refuse. The rest can wait until the day you wish for it."

For a moment, she can do nothing but stare in disbelief. That feeling of elation returns, building little by little, replacing the heaviness in her chest.

"Can you ask me again?" Radri says, feeling somewhat breathless, "S—so… so that I might accept properly?"

"I have longed to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan begins again for her, and adds, with a look of unbearable tenderness, "I love you, Estel'amin. Will you have me?"

And at last she answers in a whispered, "Yes."

—

When Radri wakes, Xan is sitting up beside her, already awake himself. She stretches her arms out to hug him around the waist, and closes her eyes again.

"You've spent less time in reverie than I," she grumbles, "How is it that you're already awake?"

"Is it your wish that I return to bed, then?" Xan asks, brushing through her hair with an idle hand. "I will… But first, I noticed that you were running short of candles, so I brought you one."

Xan presents her with a lit candle. Radri, sitting up, beholds it with bewilderment.

"I… Thank you, but… if you're already burning it now, won't it go to waste?" Radri asks, looking at him. Still new to her heart, his presence and his feelings there are not yet easy to sort through, but she manages to single one out: anticipation.

"There is more to it, Estel'amin," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek, "Just trust me."

Holding the candle between them, he faces her seriously.

"I wish to give you a promise, together with this candle," Xan says. "I… I feel you, now, as clearly as I feel myself. I know your fears as sharply as I know mine. And I promise: while you are here, with me, in reverie or in the waking world, you will not run out of candles, and whenever you have need of me, you will not find me wanting. —If you do have need of me, that is."

He extinguishes the candle, and looks at her with a slight smile.

"I almost do not believe it, but I feel… hopeful," Xan says. "And there, the candle is out. Do you forgive me for squandering it, now?"

"Yes," Radri says, barely managing to voice the word with how touched she is, and clearly past the need for any apology of his. "I'm… I…"

Xan just gazes contentedly at her, looking more at peace this morning than he has in days, and rather than trying to put into words what she feels after hearing what he said, she just wants to hold him. So she does.

"I suppose you will want us to return to reverie now," Xan says, his voice slightly muffled by the arms she's thrown around his neck. "I appreciate your offer to serve as my blanket, but it will be difficult to kiss you goodnight in this position… and I know how you cannot bear to forgo it."

"What even are you talking about," Radri mumbles, having reached her limit for deciphering spoken words the moment Xan's candle went out. There's simply too much information: from her heart, her head, this bond, and even the sun, whose rays are now peeking irritatingly in from the gap in the curtains at the window.

"Nothing," Xan answers, feeling all of this from her, and deciding to postpone his teasing for later. They have time. This hour, this day... and yes, perhaps even tomorrow.

—

full xan/radri compilation

[howyouloveyourdragon]

alpha visenya targaryen decides to have a child with an omega lady of lower house since she and aegon the conqueror struggle so much to have children together. Headcanons or another format if that is what you prefer.

thank you anon! i found this concept really interesting :) when my requests are open again, feel free to send a follow up request, i'd love to answer it <3

pronouns: she/her warnings: possessive behaviour, mentions of misogyny, nsfw section divider: firefly-graphics

Visenya and Aegon had been trying for what felt like centuries and neither party particularly enjoyed their performance in duty

when Aenys is born she and her brother-husband make an agreement

they will affirm her position and she will take a wife of her own–she favours women anyway and so they will perform their duties to their house separately

they married out of duty, not of desire, they both knew this

so her search begins, inviting all houses with omega children across the seven kingdoms to celebrations over six moons time

however it is when the last moon passes that she finally find you, but she's certain you are worth the wait

her eyes dart across the room until a scent both familiar and foreign infiltrates her nose and she has to flutter her eyes for a second to take in the exquisite smell

her eyes flash back open on you as your modest frame curtsies before a lord and she growls, rising from her seat and gliding gracefully toward you

she flickers her eyes across your face, you have pulled your expression that is both firm but timid–you must be from House Humble

that almost deters her but the longing in her moves her feet faster than her mind can act.

she clears her throat to garner your attention and bites back her grin when your own eyes sparkle with surprise

"My Queen," You greet with a stumbling curtsy–she holds back her excitement, not wanting to scare you off too quickly

"My lady," She returns with stiff shoulders and a graceful bow of her head, you flush at the attention. "might you walk with me? I hear you are from the Ironlands, perhaps you would like to see our prosperous soils." she's uncomfortable and you can tell but your mouth hangs agape before your guardian's warm hand prods at the middle of your back and you jolt back to attention. You nod. "Yes, my Queen." She returns the gesture and this time lets the sharp tilt to her mouth wink at you

Visenya extends her arm much like her brother had done before and watched as your tentative one linked into it

she marvels at the strength of your brow and the small scars dotting along your skin–a lady fit for a Queen indeed

"do you know why my brother and I have asked you and your family here?" she asks and you tilt your head. "I am looking for a wife." your eyes widen and a cough resounds in your throat

you quickly make attempt to excuse your behaviour but she only tuts and slides her hand under your chin, circling the space between your chin and jaw gently

"My good lady, do not leave me so soon," she purrs "Your Queen demands your presence." Her gaze follows the movement of your lips and she takes great pleasure in the way your breath hitches. She pans her head coyly. "Would you like to be my pretty darling wife, my lady? For me to lavish you in riches and fruits you have never seen?" when you soften for her, a rumbling gears in her heart

she squeezes your flesh gently and when your gaze remains as steel as iron staring into hers, she knows you're just the one she wants

she grins when you agree and leads you back into a large hall to announce the news

everyone is shocked and especially as no one was told the reason for this ball being held

and then your guardian/s bow low, one knee down, and the rest of your family follow after them

she takes you as her wife and smothers you with affection once you are safely being the doors of your new marital chambers

when you finally get pregnant she's so proud that she shows you off at every opportunity, balls, meetings and anything else she likes to parade you around

NSFW

Visenya is definitely more of a dominant partner

i think she would enjoy a power play where you both battle a bit for the dominant role but she will win even if it means playing with bondage as well

she does reward you however for being her perfect wife, eating you out until you're screaming of overstimulation

her favourite thing about you in bed is how vocal you are, if you try to stay quiet, she'll punish you for it

kinky as hell, game for anything, probably founded half of the kinks in westeros

i think she'd be into light bondage but prefers when she can have your body squirming and thrusting against her

she likes power and brat play so expect a little degredation but she'd never say anything to intentionally hurt your feeling and she's always very calculated in her words

if you say you're not into something she won't push for it

her favourite thing is to finger you and talk about you with her child

after so long trying for a baby and being unsuccessful she's ecstatic to start afresh and with this new life, she has a bit of a breeding kink

she loves fingering you because of the cute way your face scrunches up as you whine

her thrusts always follow a pattern of long long long short short long etc but sometimes she likes to surprise you

she herself isn't especially vocal because she doesn't like being seen as vulnerable but she will slowly open up throughout the development of your marriage

surprisingly not into spanking however, she'd much rather find her punishments in edging you right before an important meeting or event

her favourite thing for you to call her in bed is your conqueror, she likes to think that she has consumed you body and soul

when you eventually get pregnant her sexual prowess only gets stronger and you can barely leave the bed, she takes you in every physical way possible

[mariacallous]

As a teenager, I was embarrassed about liking chopped liver. To be fair, I was embarrassed about most things — my parents, my lack of the coolest sneakers, and my freckles among many other things. But liking chopped liver was high up on the list. It was just one of those gross foods: aesthetically unappealing, greyish and mushy, and just plain weird. None of my non-Jewish schoolmates had ever heard of anything like it.

But it tasted so damn good. All of it did — my grandmother’s, made from beef livers and shimmering with schmaltz served weekly at Shabbat lunch; the mass-produced packaged stuff that was kind of gristly, in a not-all-bad way; the scoops of it sandwiched between two slightly stale slices of white bread at the kosher deli (which may well have been the packaged stuff); and best of all, the creamier pate-like offerings, topped with a sweet fruit chutney, served at Friday night buffets in Israeli hotels. Chopped liver was rich and didn’t require a lot of effort — you barely needed to chew it. It also sparked an iron-fueled rush of energy. It was my guilty pleasure.

I didn’t realize I had been so spoiled in the chopped liver department until I left home from England, to Israel, where it was actually quite hard to find. Israeli chefs were deep into a returning-to-culinary-roots movement but hadn’t really delved into the Ashkenazi kitchen yet, preferring the spicier, sexier Mizrahi dishes like kubbeh and upscale stuffed pita sandwiches. I could find chopped liver in haredi areas like Bnei Brak, but it was a real schlep.

So I did what any committed liver enthusiast would do: I started making my own. I had my grandmother’s recipe, but beef livers were hard to come by, so I set my sights on a chicken liver version I’d found in Geila Hocherman’s Kosher Modern cookbook. This was more a pate; it departed from tradition in some quite ballsy ways, like adding capers! And thyme! And chili flakes! I was intrigued.

Finding chicken livers wasn’t a problem — there were trays of them, slippery and pink, in the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv. And, like those my Ashkenazi ancestors cooked within Eastern Europe, they were cheap and sold raw. Back at home, I gave my grandmother a call and she, delighted by my culinary undertaking, gave me step-by-step instructions. First I had to rinse the livers, salt them, and broil them — this was going to take some time.

I tend to be an impatient cook — technique-heavy, complicated recipes bring out the worst in me. But the process of making chopped liver was unexpectedly enjoyable. Growing up in an Orthodox community, my role as a woman often felt passive, mostly consisting of watching the men participate in Judaism. So it felt new, and welcome, to take on the active task of preparing the livers, with instructions passed down through my matriarchs for generations.

Once they’d been sufficiently broiled on both sides, I added the livers to a pan with caramelized onions, capers, thyme chili flakes, and a splash of white wine. Then I blitzed the mixture and a few slices of soaked bread with a hand mixer and steeled myself for a taste.

While the unorthodox ingredients added a saline spurt and chili zing, the chopped liver tasted wonderfully familiar. It was my take on all the other versions I’d gorged myself on before — not competing with them, but adding something a little new. I was content and even proud. I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of red wine, a box of crackers, and a jar of mango chutney and ate half my homemade liver in one sitting. Not the healthiest snack, I grant you, but it was an important reminder to me that sometimes it is worth investing time in the kitchen to please only yourself. Making chopped liver began as an exercise in nostalgia but turned out to be much more — an act of culinary self-care.

[redroomroaving]

They asked for no pickles (T, Geraldus x He Who Was modern AU one shot)

Geraldus is having a bad night of service working as a waiter under the terrifying glare of the former 'Raven of Camden Lock', now 'He Who Was', disgraced rising star of the London culinary scene; and he's got an order wrong.

Geraldus x He Who Was, modern restaurant AU one shot fic

(from the Harper Prince Hamlet discord sprint event, thank you to @tickitytockityrattityrottity. for the prompt. If you want to join us on discord to talk about Geraldus, come say hi.)

Geraldus placed the plate down on the pass with a gentle clink, and took a breath, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear.

This is ridiculous, it’s just your job. Come on. Everyone makes mistakes.

He cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he spoke up, immediately coming out less confident than he had hoped.

Almost immediately, he was met with a pair of dark, almost black eyes, sharp and withering, clouded like a tempest, and felt all of his confidence melt right out through his shoes.

“Yes?” The chef’s hand poised, mid-plating of some delicate micro-greenery, his cold expression speaking the volumes and volumes of irritation contained within that one word reply.

“It’s… uh-”

Geraldus was stumbling, immediately; feeling suddenly very hot in his cheeks in this already unbearably hot kitchen. All around him, the clattering of knives, of sizzling and frying, oil hissing and calls across the crowded space.

“Behind!” A voice called from beyond in the kitchen, and Geraldus’ eyes flitted up quickly, spotting as the sous-chef, Donnick, hurried past him, carrying a pan that was very much on fire.

The chef let out a hiss under his breath, watching him go.

“That is a very expensive Hestan,” he called after him, not quite raising his voice, but not really needing to.

Their Head Chef, who the rest of the kitchen had taken to calling ‘He Who Was’ for reasons that Geraldus thought were rather mean spirited - carried a certain level of menace with even a lowered tone that he rarely needed to.

His work now doubly disrupted, the chef straightened up a bit; letting his tweezers drop now to one side of the plate, and looked at Geraldus once more, fixing him with that disdainful stare that would have made anyone feel like shrinking into the floor.

“‘It’s’ what?” He asked, words sharp and clipped.

It didn’t help that the Chef had almost no interest in fitting into this place; making him stand out impossibly against the surroundings, with his bleached white hair, ridiculous smeared charcoal eyeliner and his numerous tattoos, looking every bit the cool ‘I used to be a real, Michelin star Big Deal, did you know I trained under Michel Roux Jr before I got stuck here with all of you’ hipster he was.

Geraldus steeled himself, standing a little taller now.

“They asked for no pickles,” he said.

The chef looked up at him, and raised a slow, bleached brow.

“They did not,” he said firmly.

Geraldus glanced back towards the restaurant floor, thinking about the irate couple back there, and their specific, scathing fury. He was used to picky customers, and to being treated like he was little more than a floating tray to be shouted at, but this evening had been particularly full of them.

This, of course, being partly why he’d had to psych himself up every step of his path back here to the pass, to face up to Chef Evas and his reckoning with ‘The Raven of Camden Lock’.

“I … they did,” Geraldus said equally as firmly, trying to hold his ground.

The chef held his gaze, his eyes on him the entire time, burning holes right through him as he reached across, ripping the pinned order from its clip in one swift movement and holding it up.

“Harper,” he said bluntly, “read this order.”

Geraldus winced; ‘Harper’ was no kind term, a reference to the old restaurant he had worked at before he’d ended up here, which he knew fully well Evas meant as every bit the unsavoury insult his tone had suggested.

Geraldus took a breath, and looked over it.

“Evas,” he said, gently, and pointed to the scribbled addition in the corner, in bright, sparkling red and circled, ‘NP’, “see?”

Evas’ eyes narrowed further, now looking almost black, and he turned the note over.

“Klaus,” he called out.

As if summoned by magic, Geraldus heard the little, familiar click of metal and jewellery as the maître de appeared beside him, shooting Evas a big, warm grin.

“Fearless leader,” Klaus greeted brightly, and, leaning against the pass, gave Geraldus a quick wink, “tall, dark and handsome.”

Geraldus shifted a little, feeling himself blush a bit, and quickly trying to compose himself.

“Klaus,” Evas said, with a low sigh, “your last minute scribbles do not count as instructions. In future, you will come here, and you will speak to me. Understood?”

Klaus grinned, shooting him a finger gun.

“You got it, sir.”

Evas took the plate from the pass, a deep, world weary sigh as he grabbed the order and returned back to the kitchen in a furious, determined whirl.

Geraldus sighed, feeling all of the tight wired anxiety in him releasing, and slumping against the pass a moment, relieved.

“There there,” Klaus rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little smile, “you survived.”

Geraldus looked up at him, despondent.

“He hates me,” he said.

Klaus shrugged.

“He hates everyone,” he said with a little shrug, “wouldn’t you? One bad review and you go from being ‘The Raven of Camden Lock’ to ‘He Who Was’.”

Geraldus looked up now, watching Evas’ quick form as he cleared through, grabbing another fillet from the prep trays and casting it into the pan artfully, a quick flourish with his fingers as swirled the pan in his particular, unique way, his specific form of artistry the sort of secret Geraldus couldn’t hope to understand.

Ruined reputation or not, he was still the best Chef in London, Geraldus thought.

Klaus and the others didn’t realise how lucky they were to be able to work with someone like that, the kind of person they might never get the chance to otherwise if he hadn’t been kicked out of The Raven Queen.

Klaus was watching him a moment longer, a needling sort of smile growing.

“Is that why all the orders have been wrong tonight, Geraldus?” He asked, wryly, “well well well.”

Geraldus felt himself flushing again.

“I don’t - it’s not…”

A moment later there was a sharp clack, the plate replaced in front of him.

“Without pickles,” Evas said, and waved his fingers across it with a little, sarcastic flourish.

“Thanks,” Geraldus smiled, giving him a quick nod.

He turned, hurrying back to the table as quickly as possible.

–

She looked up at him, expression of disgust growing, eyes widening.

“No,” she said, pushing the plate back towards him, “no we didn’t ask for this.”

Geraldus hesitated, feeling his stomach turning miserably. Not again, he thought; not the third course, now, not to their liking.

“You asked for the panna cotta with-”

“No,” she said, “this is dairy. I said I can’t eat dairy.”

What do you think a panna cotta is? Geraldus thought, frustrated.

“This is the third time you’ve gotten our order wrong,” her husband said, beside her, voice terse and frustrated, face reddening, “I thought this place was supposed to have a reputation - we’d like to speak with him.”

Ah, Geraldus thought miserably. This is what this was really about.

“I can’t - I…”

“He’s here, isn’t he? ‘The Raven of Camden Lock?’”

Geraldus looked between them, hesitant. They’d been hideous all night; the last thing he wanted to do was inflict these two on Evas, too, not after a night like this one.

“Yes, but-”

“Then get him,” the husband demanded, sitting back in his chair with arms folded, “or can’t you even understand an instruction that simple?”

Geraldus sighed. He wasn’t going to have much choice at this rate; these two were that particular kind of trouble that couldn’t be just bargained away. Maybe if he was like Klaus, who seemed to have a way with these things.

He nodded, feeling himself flush with shame, and turned, ready to head back to the kitchen, but, to his surprise, found himself walking straight into the solid wall of another.

He met dark, sharp eyes, looking up at him, expression of subtle exasperation on Evas’ impassive features.

His hand, very briefly, catching Geraldus’ arm. Geraldus felt the sudden shock of his unexpected contact; his fingers surprisingly cool, and his grip surprisingly gentle, but firm.

He swallowed; he’d never actually been this close to him, and now that he was, he was uncomfortably aware of his own speeding pulse. Oh, no, he thought, realising exactly what it was Klaus had been teasing him about earlier.

“He understood you perfectly well,” he turned to look at them, “and has understood you perfectly all fucking evening.”

He turned now, releasing Geraldus as he folded his arms, looking at the couple and tilting his head, just a little, to one side.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He said, “are you satisfied, now you’ve seen me?”

The couple exchanged a look, the husband, in particular, looking a particularly boiling shade of red.

“I can quite see why they got sick of you at The Raven Queen,” the husband started, “with that sort of attitude…”

Evas gave them a small, creeping sort of grin, a little invited menace to it.

“If you are not a fan of our service,” he said, “you’re quite welcome to find better elsewhere. We will not miss you.”

–

Geraldus sucked in a deep breath of cool air, pressing himself back against the wall, looking up at the night. He quickly reached up, finally able to loosen his stifling collar, and pulled his hair free of its tight ponytail, letting it fall across his shoulders - immediately releasing the tension in his scalp.

Gods but that had been the longest night since he’d started at this place.

In the dark, across the alley, he heard a shift, and nearly startled right out of his skin.

Emerging from the shadow, leaning against the wall, Evas held out a lit cigarette to him across the space with a small, inscrutable smile.

Geraldus caught the familiar whiff of it; not a cigarette, he realised, a joint.

“Oh, uh…”

Evas raised a light brow.

“You need it,” he said, “almost as much as I do.”

Geraldus took another breath in. Probably, he thought. He nodded, taking it from him, a quick brush against his fingers.

Shit, he thought, realising he really did have a stupid crush on him.

“I’m sorry about…” Geraldus hesitated, sighing, “everything, tonight.”

Evas’ small smile grew. He took in a step closer as Geraldus took in a deep inhale, feeling the smoke filling up his lungs, a welcome wave of lightness hitting his mind almost immediately.

He tried to hold it in, but found it catching his throat immediately, and couldn’t help but cough, spluttering smoke into the air.

Evas let out a small, sharp, delighted sort of laugh. He’d never heard him laugh; not once, in the entire time he’d worked with him.

“You’ve not done this before, have you?” He asked.

Geraldus shot him a sheepish look, smiling and handing it back to him.

“No,” he admitted, “it’s that obvious, huh?”

“Hmm,” he let out a small, low murmur, “here.”

He took in a breath himself, a deep inhalation, and then stepped forward; reaching for him. His hand circling suddenly around Geraldus’ neck, pulling him towards him.

Geraldus gasped in surprise as Evas brought his lips to his own, parting them with his tongue and exhaling, gently, into his mouth; smoke spilling into his throat, wisping around and between them both in the cold air in tendrils.

Geraldus froze solid, his heart racing into a sudden flurry as he felt Evas’ tongue graze against his own, a sudden spark running through him.

The heady hit of the smoke, the sudden taste of his tongue, salt and peppermint; a kiss, now, gently exploring, as Evas’ fingers about his neck circled just a little tighter.

Evas broke back; a little smoke still curling from his lips, holding his gaze for just a moment there in the dark, before stepping back.

“Good work tonight,” he said, that small smile growing just a little, and flicked the end of the joint to the floor, crushing it under his shoe.

Geraldus held his breath. The smoke in his lungs burning, his heart pounding furiously now as he watched the chef turn and head for the back door, throwing up a hand as he went.

“See you tomorrow, Geraldus,” he said.

Geraldus finally exhaled as the door clicked closed behind him.

Oh, no, he thought, again, standing there helplessly in the dark, listening to the distant sounds of the city and his own furiously beating heart, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do now.

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 2

A/n: I've made chapter 2, enjoy :).

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

I was having the same dream again; I was light in thin air. My movements were fluid as if there were no gravity to keep my legs grounded. My right leg stayed in place whilst my left leg was raised, turning inward toward my supporting leg. I spun over and over without the slightest feeling of light-headedness or dizziness. No matter where I moved, the gold plate within the birdcage did not shatter. My arms raised in mid-position as I extended my left leg, hoping to free myself from this prison eventually. My chest felt light; my mind had no fear, even within this cage. I felt the quick flashes of wind touch my face with every motion. I wanted to spread my wings. I wanted to be free. I wanted to be released from my cage. I wanted to reach the world outside. I. wanted. to. Fly. The same spinning visage of the golden bars occurred repeatedly, experiencing the same routine. The golden plate never shattered beneath me, holding my weight. A sense of comfort washed over me, as though seeing the same scenery brought ease to my mind. As I spun, I felt a surge of adrenaline to try something different, to spin in the other direction, to break the dance routine. I tried to push my arms down and lower my left leg. To no avail did my body react; I still spun. The second time, I pushed my arms down slightly harder, yet again to no avail did my body react. The third time, I pushed even harder, the pressure becoming uncomfortable; despite myself spinning, I pushed more not giving up. I pushed—spinning more—I pushed—spinning further—I pushed harder—I can feel the pain rising—I. just. need. to. push. harder. I could feel my face flinching from the pain rising in my limbs going against the force keeping me dancing. Eventually, with one final push, I yelled out, falling to my front as my arms moved to prevent my face from hitting the ground. I breathed heavily, in and out, as my body lay on the ground. Hair strands poked out from the once neatened bun as sweat slid down my face. The final scene panned out to witness me lying there, still, static, trapped within the golden bird cage.

My eyes opened as my vision tried to adjust to make sense of my reality. Once again, it was a nightmare or inspiration. I placed my hands on my face, rubbing my eyes awake; it’s not the first time my sleep schedule has gone off. Once my eyes had adjusted, I noticed I was at my desk with my computer opened from this morning. As my hand ran along my head, I felt something attached to my forehead—paper. I ripped it off, holding it in front of me, realising it was a character sheet for the fae queen, Aelwynn. How late did I stay up last night? I must’ve been writing the first chapter; I recall updating something—huh? On the sheet containing Aelwynn, I noticed her hair was white. I didn’t recall colouring her, but I couldn’t exactly remember what happened last night. As I examined her hair, my finger ran down the traced lines. I quickly grabbed my pencil, drawing extra features of her appearance and outfit. As the pencil traced the outline, it turned into a white gown flowing in motion with the wind as she held a staff made of the oldest oak and decorated in diamonds and quarts. To top it off, I added a crown placed at the back, with pointed edges facing up made from silvery steel. As my hand holding the pencil came off the page, I stopped to glance at her new design. My eyes lit up with amazement as my lips became agape; I was in utter awe of my new creation. Yes! This! This is Aelwynn, the way I wanted to interpret her, an otherworldly beauty that’s kind and graceful, how a true fae queen should look!

However, my eyes glance over to another piece of paper to the side, one depicting a rough sketch of Sarek, my expression nearly dropped. I had figured out Aelwynn, but I’ve yet to figure out how to design the Pirate King. I placed the rough sketch into the pile of papers and neatly folded them on my computer desk. Glancing at the computer, I saw the first few pages written within the document, and the pages went into detail regarding the first drafts. The first couple of chapters read of the pair's first encounter crossing paths: The fae queen danced around the forest alone on an island untouched by man, guarded by heavy forces of magic. She protected the will of fairies and the sources of time. One day, the shield guarding the forest broke. A band of corsairs slashed their way through the dense greenery in search of a plethora of magic jewels. Instead, what they stumbled upon was worth much more than any coffer full of gold or silver. Standing in front of Sarek’s gaze was a woman draped in white, her hair of silver and skin of ice. She danced with the younger fairies of the forest. In his greed, he was smitten; he ordered his men to take her and everything she had. She fell prey. Tears shed down her smooth cheek; she pleaded ‘to take her instead, leave her domain in peace, and they shall be granted with what they desired most’. They complied with her request, binding her in rope, leading her into a world not of her own. She gazed into the eyes of a man whose greed was far more than his ambition; his appearance was—

I jolted from my seat upon hearing my phone’s ringtone; looking at the number, I recognised it was my mum. I picked up the phone, holding it to my ear. I was expecting a ‘Hello, aren’t you going to tell me about your day?’  or ‘You didn’t ring me yesterday; how did you go?’.

I picked up the phone with a “Hi—mo—uh mom”, I said with a slight stutter.

“Y/n, oh, it’s good to hear your voice; I was nearly worried you weren’t going to pick up yesterday,” she said in a high-engaging tone.

“Yeah, sorry I was bus—”.

“So? How was it?” She sounded excited, yet I forgot what happened.

“Was what?” I replied, confused.

“The ballet lessons, the one you attended yesterday.” Once I remembered, the thought sank in; I hadn’t told her these were private lessons.

“O-oh, the lessons, yeah, it’s excellent; I’ve made many connections already.” My lips curved into a smile, trying to make my voice sound sincere.

“Excellent! See what I told you? You're already shining brightly”. I smiled to myself; hearing her words made me feel heartened.

“So, tell me, what’s the instructor like? Is he supportive of you? I know you have trouble speaking to people, and I want to make sure—”

“He’s fine, Mom. He’s—” I pause for a moment, thinking back to the time I met him in that room alone. When our eyes met, I didn’t flinch nor look away. His eyes were like ice, and his hair was like snow; it ignited something I hadn’t remembered in a long time.

“Different.” That was all I could respond with.

“Is he cute?” She asked. I nearly flushed with embarrassment, feeling my cheeks red like a beet.

“What?! N-No! N-not in that way” Where did that come from? Did she really expect me to say yes?

“Oh, I suppose he might be too old for you; what about the guys in your class? Are they any good-looking?” she responded.

“I don’t know; I hadn’t noticed.” I wanted to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“Oh, hm, well, what about the girls? Surely there are some good-looking girls there too”.

“W-What!” I was flabbergasted.

“I’d be accepting either way—”.

I replied, “Currently, I’m—fine with just me, myself and I”.

 That answer had seemed to satisfy her for now.

“Oh, well—of course, if that’s what you're happy with, I’m just happy you're getting out there and speaking to someone. That’s a massive achievement, and I’m so proud of you for that!” she sounded happy, at least.

I sighed deeply. “Thank you”.

“Baby steps, that’s all it takes”, was her final response before I hung up the phone. Sometimes, despite them being my parents, I stumble over my words, even speaking over the phone.

I sighed, gazing at the time. I had no idea that my first lesson was only for an hour. I wouldn’t mind being there early; it was better than falling asleep. What am I saying? I’d much rather sleep! I recall Mr. Oropherion saying he wished me to be there precisely during the seventh hour. Man, the way he phrased it was weird. I quickly rose from my desk, grabbed what I needed, grabbed my car keys, and changed into yesterday's outfit. I should probably stop by to find a leotard, a tutu, or even a pair of pointe shoes. Once I was prepared, I dashed to the car. Making my way through the door leading outside, the cold air hit me; the temperature must’ve dropped vastly since it was dark out. It was nearly seven, after all. To my stupidity, I forgot to park the car inside. Shit, shit, shit, the cars frosted. I panicked, quickly running back inside to grab my parker, zipping it up and then wrapping a scarf around me in the not-so-neatest way possible. I rushed into the kitchen and opened the lower drawer beneath my stove to grab the pan with a deep bottom. I turned on the water quickly, adjusting the temperature to lukewarm. I filled the pan, aiming to get it as full as possible. I tried to walk slowly yet hastily without spilling the water; once outside, I made my way to the car windows, pouring the water slowly. Each one dissolved; I was careful, at least, to make sure it wasn’t hot. I used the sleeve of my parker to rub away what remained of the frost. The frost hadn’t wholly dissolved, but it was enough to see. Quickly, I ran back inside to place the pan back on my kitchen bench. Shit, oh shit, oh shit, I’m going to be late! Coming out of my house, I made it to the car, yet I forgot to lock the front door—I pressed my hands against my forehead, feeling the stupidity rise within me. I sloshed through the snow, heading to the front door to lock it and then back to the car door.

I finally entered and opened the white car door, thank God. I backed out of the parking lot and drove toward where I needed to go. As I drove down, the snow fell heavily, and buildings passed by, turning to blurry visions as I drove further into the distance. It took half an hour to get there, but at least I would make it, I hope. I went to the same car park I had parked in yesterday and turned off the engine. As I got out, I saw many buildings covered in snow. I took a second to look into the sky, feeling the tiny snowflakes touch my face. “Beautiful”, I muttered. I held out my hand; I wanted to feel it; to touch the fragile beauty. As one dropped from the sky, it landed perfectly in my hand. I curled my fingers, feeling the flake melt within my grasp. Such beauty yet fragility. I opened my hand to see it dissolved; my eyes softened at the sight. I can understand; if I were to fall freely, speak my mind, and show my true self, even if someone touched me, I’d melt within their grasp.

Suddenly, I heard someone’s footsteps behind me emitted with a laugh. I turned my head to see the on-coming sight of two ballerinas draped in blue and pink leotards topped with jackets. I recognised them from the class I accidentally stumbled into yesterday. I quickly turned my head, shut the car door, and began to walk briskly. I didn’t want to speak with them, not after how I made a fool of myself. My head lowered into the scarf as I looked down, trying to avoid eye contact. Hopefully, they’ll ignore me. I got to the entrance just in time, or so I thought; I could hear them trailing behind. In a panic, I opened the entrance glass door to the dance studio, walking swiftly up the stairs to where I needed to be. Whilst I walked up the stairs, I could hear them speaking; I didn’t tune in, keeping to myself and focusing on getting to the floor I needed to be. My legs picked up the pace as I heard them walking up. As I got to the fifth floor, I peeked over the side of the staircase railing. I could only see the top of their heads, one brunette and the other raven. I sighed deeply to myself; I realized I lied to Mom. I hated doing that, but—it made her happy in ignorance. Out of curiosity, I attempted to speak out to them, to say hello; perhaps then, I could feel proud of myself. “H-h-hi”, I uttered in a whisper. But before I knew it, they were gone; I was too late.

I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t speak. Why was it so damn hard? Why am I so afraid to show them—me? I could feel the tears prickling the corners of my eyes.

I rubbed the corner of my eyes, letting out a sniff. I needed to be strong, at least for the time being. As Mom said, ‘It’s just baby steps; that’s all it takes.’ I took a deep breath in and exhaled; I made my way toward the empty dance studio I was before. It was nice and quiet, peaceful even, I couldn’t hear anyone. I unzipped my parker and took off my shoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the windows with blue curtains pulled over them. I wandered over toward the curtains hiding the tall glass windows. My hand reached out, feeling the cotton edge, I slowly pulled the blue curtains to the side. Looking outside, I was in awe; it showed the snowfall. As the tiny flakes gently fell against the window’s glass, I listened, hearing the gentle tapping against the glass. I backed up to the middle of the room, my train of thought departing as I watched the wonderous sight before me.

Suddenly, I heard a stern voice from behind my shoulder. “You're late”.

I quickly turned, only to notice Mr. Oropherion appear out of nowhere. Seriously, was he lurking around the corner watching me this whole time? Are there secret entrances so that he can purposefully remind me?

“I-I, apologies, Mr. Oropherion, I—” Damn it, I can’t even gather my words!

“You’re precisely five minutes past the hour; I presume you have a gift for tardiness”, he spoke coldly.

Is he serious? Why is he treating me as if I’m an hour late? Don’t tell me I’m in trouble for only being five minutes late.

My eyes narrowed, and I could feel my breath slowing down. I didn’t make eye contact with him, but I could hear his footsteps walking from behind me.

“We begin with the simple plie, a simple move you can surely manage,” he said in a clear, deep voice.

My head stooped low; I could only see his feet moving toward the barre attached to the mirrors. I followed suit, raising my left arm and gripping the wooden barre. “Start bending your knees; move your right foot over here” He placed his leg next to the side of my foot, pushing it gently into the correct position. I didn’t pull my leg away, even though I wanted to. As he corrected it, I gazed down, still avoiding eye contact. As I was in position, I closed my eyes, trying to bend my knees and drown out the idea of someone behind me. “No, you’re bending too far”, he softly muttered. As he approached, my breathing grew heavier. He didn't seem to notice, but I felt my chest rise and fall deeply. I froze in place, not knowing what to do. I didn’t want to look at him; I didn’t want to look up. I didn’t want to show him me! I muttered in a whisper, “P-please d-don—”. I felt his hands touch my waist lightly to guide me.

However, I yelled, stumbling back.

I felt like a deer in headlights; my eyes widened as I gasped for air. Mr. Oropherion stared in confusion, more-so, bewilderment; his hands were left hovering. “You do realise my intent was not of ill purpose; do not mistake me for one with a sickening mind”, he spoke cautiously, not wanting to increase the situation.

I covered my face with my hands, feeling foolish. My head stooped low, wanting to hide my tearful gaze. “I’m so sorry. Oh god, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I’m so afraid, I’m so afraid.”

He approached slowly, maintaining his icy gaze. “Afraid of what?” he questioned in an austere manner.

“Speaking—talking—Showing myself to the world”, my voice cracked.

“I—'m afraid of what they’ll think, of what they’ll see”, I admitted.

He stayed silent, just as I suspected; he wasn’t fazed. I mean, why should he be? After all, I’m just a random person he met a day ago, someone spewing out all this inner turmoil.

I didn’t expect him to respond, and his answer wasn’t what I expected.

“We are not all born with perfection; there are those of us who have been bruised by imperfection. If you dwell too much in fear, it will overtake you, sending afoul things within your mind to come forth and surface. Whether you wish to remain trapped within it or face it to make a difference, is your decision,” he advised.

Even though his words weren’t the most comforting, he held a point. The first time I saw him yesterday, I gazed into the eyes of a man who rekindled a moment I thought was lost. A time I didn’t live in fear, a time I could look into the eyes of another being and speak freely. If I could do it then, I can do it now.

I lifted my hands away from my face, revealing my sorrowful eyes—the eyes of a fearful bird. I turned to his gaze, trying not to look down, showing my irises. His narrowed eyes slightly raised. I stood upright as my breaths slowed. My almond eyes relaxed at the sight of him. Perhaps, if I aim to speak to him again like before, I can train myself to speak to others. I took the time to gather the words I wanted to say. Inhaling slowly, I spoke the words I wanted to say. “M-Mr Oropherion, I d-don’t want to be a-afraid anymore, I w-want to be free”.

His icy eyes lowered. “Well, well, it seems the little bird has learnt to spread her wings once more; however, little bird, you shan’t take flight just yet, for it will take time to heal your wounds, but I shall teach you”.

I inhaled deeply, allowing myself to grab hold of the barre and stand straight. I tried to bend my knees again, yet he wasn’t satisfied. He moved closer to guide me; this time, my head turned to meet his gaze. His hands hovered just where my waist was. I maintained eye contact for a moment before turning to the front as if permitting him. His slender hands touched my waist lightly; I could feel him pushing me up only slightly and then down. “Hold that position; ensure that your knees are bent until they are over your thumbs.” He muttered. I could feel the pressure of trying to keep my balance.

“This next move is a Grande plie. Lower yourself and lift your heels off the ground.” His hands gently pushed me lower on the ground, my heels lifted slightly as I was told. As he lowered me, I glanced into the mirror, falling silent.

I saw my eyes with eyebags beneath them, the same hair falling to my shoulders, and my lips; however, this time, something was different. Something changed. Something made a difference. In the mirror, there were two, two people.

A small smile faintly formed on my lips.

For once, I wasn’t alone.

[b-dubs-valdubs]

ethubs, cooking for a sick friend even though they're bad at it!

hi!!! whipped this up for you, i had way too much fun with this so thank you for requesting !!

(ps. one of the flipping things that happens to bdubs has also happened to me: have fun guessing which one jdjdkf)

enjoy!!!

——

Etho sniffed, squeezing his eyes shut; trying to calm the pounding headache behind his eyes. Great. He was sick. Bdubs was so going to make fun of him for this.

As if on cue, the man himself came waltzing into Etho’s room in the monoloth. He was, Efho noticed, still wearing his morning bunny slippers, and carrying a wobbling tray of tea.

“Here, take this,” Bdubs handed Etho the mug, smiling gently. “Made it fresh just now. Don’t say i never do nothin’ for ya…”

Etho sipped it gently, movements small. He swallowed, stifling a cough. “Mmmh, it’s… good. Thank you ‘dubs”

Etho winced. His voice had come out a lot more croaky than he would have liked.

Bdubs had also seemed to notice. His eyes widened — all but slamming his own mug onto the table.

“You’re sick?” he asked, incredulous — yet a hint of triumph sneaking into his tone.

Etho was too groggy to put up a veneer of pride. He nodded vaguely.

Bdubs cackled slightly. “Etho — the Etho — sick?!” He chortled; way too proud of himself.

Etho scowled at him. Sheepishly, Bdubs ceased his laughter. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be glad about that. You just rub it in my face all the time.”

Etho rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Can you make me breakfast…?” he requested, almost pitifully, “It’s an awful long staircase to climb for-“ (cough for emphasis) “- such a sick person…”

“Oh, you little fragile flowe-“

“Hey, you’re the fragile flower, you jerk!”

Bdubs raised his brows. “Oh, so you don’t need my help then?”

Etho sighed. “Ok fine… I’ll have some pancakes.”

“I didn’t hear a please?”

Oh he looked too pleased with himself.

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

Bdubs cackled. “Okayokayokay… the finest pancakes coming right up!”

——

They did not, in fact, come right up.

Everything was going downhill.

It was stupid anyway, Bdubs thought to himself, accidentally smearing more flour onto his forehead as he wiped his brow.

He was almost out of pancake ingredients, having used most of the things in the monolith kitchen just for this.

Why couldn’t Etho have wanted something easy to cook — like — a bowl of cereal?

Huffing, Bdubs turned his attention to the hob and stared down the pancake sizzling there. He would not be defeated by some half-fried dessert!

Seizing the handle, he flipped the pancake into the air. It flipped gloriously, acrobatically even—

Before getting stuck on the ceiling.

Bdubs muffled a frustrated scream; glancing despairingly at the gradually depleting batter. He would have enough for two… at most.

He had to make these count.

Flipping the second pancake, he made sure not to propel it as high as the first. Although, it was more of a slide than a flip, as it tumbled off the edge of the pan and scewered itself on the dial of the oven; ripping in half and splatting onto the floor, pathetically.

“How does that even HAPPEN????”

Deep breaths Bdubs… in and out…

The final one had to be perfect. If he could bring one really great pancake to Etho… today would be a success.

He prepared it dillegently; making sure the batter formed the pancake in a perfect circle. When it came time to flip, he steeled himself, practicing the motions to himself before grabbing onto the handle.

“Not too much, so it lands up on the ceiling; not too little so it dies on the floor.” he repeated to himself constantly.

He flipped.

With the perfect force to take the pan clean off the handle.

Bdubs screamed a “No!” to give Darth Vader a run for his money, collapsing onto the kitchen countertop and sinking onto the floor in a fit of despair. He wanted to get the pancakes right for Etho! He aanted Etho to taste them and be wowed by his cooking prowess! He wanted Etho to tell him he loves the pancakes he had lovingly prepared for him!

Many wasted eggs later, here he was.

But — was it always so hot in here?

SHIT-

He lept to his feet and fanned the small fire with a discarded tea towel, as if he needed any more stress. He had knocked over some tissues near the flame!

He wasn’t panicking for a while before, luckily, the sprinklers came to his rescue.

Drenching him in the process.

He sighed heavily, having turned off the hob, and all was blissfully quiet around him. It was too early for this — he would have no compunctions with crawling back into his bed and starting the day over.

But, he still had to make breakfast for Etho. As the ceiling pancake falling onto his head so graciously reminded him.

——

“Breakfast is served,” Bdubs muttered grumpily.

Etho peered up at him, snickering a little to himself at Bdubs’s wet cat-esque complexion. “What happened to you?”

Bdubs glared at him, handing over the tray without a word. Etho inspected it, humming.

“Bdubs, this is cereal.”

[olivyh]

@cyra-steele Birthday request part 2!!!! Sorry it took so long ;;; I was struggling to get though the second half bc the end of the semesters coming up! On the bright side, I don't have any tests. On the downside, all my tests were replaced with essays :(

Jamil: 

It was a quiet Sunday night in the Scarabia dorm, and Jamil was doing as he always did- clean up after the most recent party, plan and prep meals for the next week. He had just returned from Sam's shop, sighing as he rests the bags of groceries against the ground, groaning softly and rubbing the indents left on his arms from the handles. The dorm was silent for once, with many of the residents either studying in the common room or asleep in one of their rooms. He could make out the faint sound of quiet chatter if he really tried. 

He stands and stretches, looking out the kitchen window at the vast desert that surrounded the dorm. In the light of the moonlight, the sand seemed to glimmer- cast in shadows that stretched and pulled across the terrain. The usual chill of the night had just begun to creep into the dorm, cooling the counters that the boy rested his hands on. He shakes his head, tying his hair up into a bun and pinning his hangs out of the way as he pulled out his phone, scrolling through the vast list of his favorite songs. He connects his headphones and allows the steady rhythm to calm his still buzzing nerves after the long and stressful day he just had, mentally preparing himself for the next week. 

Slowly, he begins to sway his hips and jump to the music as he slices vegetables, smiling softly to himself as he places the knife down and uses his fingertips as drumsticks, bouncing on his heels and sliding across the floor to prepare the spices. 

He bobs his head and moves his shoulders, feeling all previous tension leave his body as he hums along to the song, occasionally mumbling out the rap portion that he'd memorized quietly. He can barely make out the sounds of the bells in his hair jingling, but he doesn't care as he hops over to the other side of the counter, preparing more of the vegetables and throwing them in the pan and adding the sauce. 

He continues to dance energetically as he flicks the spoon dramatically, chuckling to himself as he concludes the song and his impromptu dance with a spin and-

He makes eye contact with the prefect, who was leaning against the doorway with an amused grin. He takes a deep breath, halting his movements completely and shakily bringing his headphones to hang loosely around his neck. 

"What are you doing here?" Jamil deadpans, face more serious than you had ever seen it despite the music still blaring through his headphones. He hopes you don't notice how his hands quiver in embarrassment or how much his breathing has picked up. 

You laugh. "Why are you so serious all of a sudden?" He huffs at that, flicking his spoon- and some sauce- in your direction. 

"I asked you first."

"I wanted to help you."

He swears his heart skips a beat when his head jolts back to you, eyes wide as he bites his lip, trying to put on his nonchalant facade once more as hr shrugs. 

"As you wish," Jamil looks over again, dark eyes narrowed. "But I do take my work seriously, I'll have you know."

"I know."

"So you better not mess up."

"I know!" You groan and shuffle beside him. "Besides, how can I mess up with the best teacher around?"

Jamil swears you're going to be the death of him someday. 

Kalim:

He couldn't help it! He swears!

How could he possibly look away when the cafeteria is so busy but he can only seem to focus his attention on you. Jamil's voice goes over his head as he lays his chin on his folded arms as they rest on the wooden table, snowy white eyelashes fluttering closed as he watches you laugh with the first years, lightly punching Ace's arm at something he'd said.

He sighs happily as his eyes scan over your features. Everything about you was perfect- the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled or the way your shoulders shook when you laughed, not to mention the way your hands would idly play with your sleeves or Grim's collar when they weren't holding a fork or a piece of bread. Even the way you ate the messy school lunch seemed elegant to the boy, who smiles softly. 

"Kalim!" 

"Yeah?" Jamil sighs, following his gaze. "You have a quiz next period. I took it this morning and it's no easy feat! Stop oogling at the prefect!" 

"Mhm..." He smiles again, daydreaming about how it would feel for your fingers to play with his hair while he laid in your lap and gazed up at you, how soft your hands would be in his. 

He would trade every treasure in the world just to give you a kiss. 

"You're not even listening..." Jamil sighs. "If they helped, would you listen?"

"Absolutely!"

"You're hopeless!" The boy retorts in annoyance, rolling his eyes before standing and leaving the cafeteria. Many of the other students have started to clear out as well, with many of the tables around him being vacant as he watched your friends leave. His heart fluttered as his mind continued to make out fantasies of what it would be like to hold you, if you were to fall asleep on his shoulder, holding his face in your hands and peppering it with kisses...

"Kalim?"

"Yes!" He shoots up, looking up at you and trying to hide the way his suddenly sweaty hands shook under the table, slightly embarrassed at being caught. His mind flashes to the thought that he could just ask you out here. None of your friends were around, and at this point it was just you two in the cafeteria. 

"Are you okay?" You ask. "You barely ate..."

This was it. He was going to ask you on a date. He wondered what it was going to be... a party? A parade? Maybe fireworks? Or...

"Would you like to go on a carpet ride with me tonight?" He blurts suddenly, voice ouder than he'd hoped with a slight quiver that he hopes you don't notice. He feels his face heat up as he realizes that, in his excitement, he'd stood and leaned closer to you. You grin and nod, which makes his heart beat faster than he could have ever imagined. 

"Of course! What's the occasion?" 

He shrugs, cleaning up his notes and walking alongside you with a pep to his step. "You'll see! It'll be great, I promise!"

sebek 

"Damn it!" The half fae mutters in annoyance. He was currently in Ramshackle in the early hours of the morning, made apparent by the fog that surrounded the dorm and the dew that still clung to the eaves outside. He stands in the bathroom, bottle of hair gel resting on the counter and hands slick with the substance as he repeatedly pushes his bangs out of his eyes, annoyance rising in his chest as, once more, a single strand of hair falls into his eyes.

For a moment, he seriously considers using one of the prefect's pairs of rusty scissors to cut it loose, hastily deciding against it when he realizes that it would end up looking even worse. 

Even so, he continues to run his gel-coated hands through his lime-green hair, biting back an annoyed groan when the pattern continues. 

"Are you kidding me?!" 

"What's wrong?" He jumps upon hearing your sleepy voice, and turns to see you leaning against the doorway, baggy clothes still crumbled and face still painted in drowsiness. "Awake already?"

"I'm a knight," He frowns, going back to the mirror and trying to hide the flustered blush that crawls up his neck. "I have to be up early every day."

"Sounds tiring," You move and sit on the edge of the bathtub. 

"Do you wish to use the bathroom?" He sees your reflection shake it's head and he sighs. 

"What's wrong with it?" You hum. "Your hair looks fine to me..."

"It's not all staying." He turns and sees you make a grabby motion, pouring some gel on your hands as you stand and motion for him to lean his head down. He tries to bite back an embarrassed retort as he feels your fingers gently glide through the strands, slow as though you were painting a portrait and not helping him slick back his hair. His stomach twists as he shoots up, nodding in your direction. He knows his face is bright red, and he knows that you can see the way his whole body trembles as his gloved hands stick to his side as though he were a wooden doll. 

"Thank you," He shouts suddenly, making you jolt at the change in volume. "I'll be off. Good day."

He couldn't run away from Ramshackle fast enough, hoping that it was the adrenaline making his heart spasm and not the sudden wave of emotion he was subjected to. 

Silver:

Silver hisses as he continues to wrap up his bandaged arm with gauze. It had been some times since he'd last sparred with his father, and he seemed to somehow forget that the fae never held back, even against his own son. As a result, Silver was left with a long scrape along his bicep, one that his father profusely apologized for before lecturing him on the things he could have changed about his form or his concentration. 

His hand slips and he spills the antiseptic all over the tile of the bathroom floor. He curses to himself and picks it up. 

"Is everything alright?" Silver stares up at you, nodding. 

"Y-yes, of course." 

"What happened?" You crouch beside him, gently guiding him to stand as you clean the antiseptic. 

"It spilled," You frown at his vague and basic answers and roll your eyes playfully. 

"Duh," You chuckle under your breath and the melody is enough to make Silver's brain pause in it's tracks, his wound suddenly hurting less and his head feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton candy. "I mean... with your training."

"Oh," He mumbles under his breath. "Lilia likes to push me to my limits." You hum and reach for the gauze, wrapping the rest of his arm gently and hushing him when he hisses in pain. 

"Is it that bad?" He shakes his head, staring down at you. He stares at you often, but he rarely gets this close, and a foreign feeling blooms in his chest. It's warm, and spreads throughout his entire body like vines climbing throughout his entire body, constricting his heart and lungs. He feels his face heat up as your hand starts to pull away. In his excitement, he grabs your wrist and pulls. 

"Let's stay like this..." He practically whispers, ears burning as his hands shake. "Please."

"Of course."

[summerlycoris]

I've got an idea for what happened to Bonnie, but I'll admit it's just speculation at this point.

From the damage seen to his body in his Bonnie Bowl room, he has claw marks along his chest. He has also been almost entirely dismantled. His left arm and leg are cut in two places- at the torso, and at the elbow/ knee joints. His right leg is cut at the knee. And his waist is cut clean through, making him into a segmented display. His head is also crushed and damaged- there's a broken bowling bowl nearby, to imply that's what caused it.

Notarealname Notatall has already said this in her video, which I believe- Monty did it by swiping at Bonnie's chest, and accidentally pushing him off the catwalks. The damage to his head and waist is consistent with getting knocked off the catwalks, because this is similar damage Monty takes when he falls from there. The broken limbs are also realistic- in a dufflebag message, it's said that Monty got knocked off the catwalks by the hurricane bucket, and broke both his legs. If he fell from the catwalks, and hit other parts of the catwalks/ Monty golf scenery on the way down, this damage is possible.

That's not speculatory- that's fairly set in stone unless Steel Wool wants to chuck a curvebowlingball at us- but this next bit is.

Why did Monty go for Bonnie's chest? I think because Bonnie had been helping a missing kid to try and get away from the pizzaplex, and Monty saw the kid climb into Bonnie's stomach hatch. We know Gregory isn't the only person to go missing at the Pizzaplex.

And Bonnie's movements through the night he goes missing, as seen in the Dufflebags, is quite peculiar. It's actually similar to the route Gregory takes through the Pizzaplex, if you chose the prize counter and disassemble Monty routes. Bonnie and Missing Kid just get to skip Daycare, White Woman Jumpscare, and Showtime.

"MISSING

SECURITY REPORT - 12:24AM - Bonnie is seen leaving his green room in Rockstar Row heading East towards the atrium. 2:40AM - Bonnie enters the East Arcade. 4:12AM - Bonnie enters Monty Golf."

It's a little confusing because The Prize Counter isn't referred to as being part of the East Arcade- the East Arcade itself is signposted as Superstar-Cade- but you have to go through the East Arcade to get to the Prize Counter. The West Arcade is the one where DJ Music Man is. So we know he went somewhere where, in theory at least, you could leave the Pizzaplex. But it doesn't pan out.

Bonnie may have taken the kid to Monty Golf next to pick up a camera- like we do with Gregory. But something went wrong. They went up to the catwalks instead of leaving Monty Golf. While we don't see it in game, there's surely got to be a way up there regularly that doesn't involve going through a vent. And there's a level 10 security door near Monty Golf that could lead to stairs up to the Gondola ride. Maybe the security alert going off spooked them, and they hurried up to the Catwalks, because staff bots cant go there? Because most animatronics don't go there?

Though, this idea has holes that I can't answer. Like does Bonnie even have a stomach hatch? He kinda looks like he could- pretty empty in there past the scratch marks. It looks like him and Monty are made using similar casing for their bodies, if so both him and Monty could have had stomach hatches.

Why would Bonnie not be infected by the glitchtrap virus here? I dunno man. Safemode like Freddy? Maybe it's just not in every animatronic just yet.

If this happened, what happened to the kid? We don't know. There's a dufflebag about Vanessa complaining about a prank call from the Pizzaplex to the police, that she then turned away. This "Prank call" could be from the missing kid. It could also be from a victim of the All Staff Meeting, or even one of the therapists taken to the Pizzaplex for disposal by GGY. so that's not proof- more speculation.

But this does explain why Monty did it- he went up to the catwalks after an alarm sounded in Monty Golf. He saw the kid panic and climb back in to Bonnie. And he got angry. He swiped at Bonnie for working against him and the others, causing Bonnie's fall and destruction. The kid may have survived the fall. Maybe. But probably didn't get very far before Monty or Vanny finished them off.

Because I still don't believe Monty was jealous of the band and wanted in any way how. Otherwise, why would he skip performances to hang out at the catwalks? Why would he trash his room, where he would presumably get photos with the kids, instead of basking in the glory of being a star?

Anyway, afterwards Vanny and Monty work together to get the destructed remains of Bonnie to Bonnie Bowl, hiding him in his room there. Vanessa scrubs the cameras of taking Bonnie back to his room, and logs that he disappeared in Monty Golf. Because no one is looking for him in there, his remains go undiscovered. But they set up a rudimentary mock up to explain what happened just in case- the shattered bowling bowl nearby, to try and make it look like Bonnie had an accident.

More speculation- But I think the Missing Kid could be Tony Becker. Dude gets asked by GGY to go to the Pizzaplex with him, to "Meet his friends". The same "friends" who probably bumped off the therapists. (The animatronics, under Glitchtraps control.)

tl;dr- I think Bonnie got dismantled like Freddy did in the Vanny ending- he was seen working with a kid, and was attacked for it. But while Freddy got pulled apart by staff bots, Bonnie got swiped by Monty, knocked over the sides of the catwalks, and sustained irreparable damage from that.

[sculptorofcrimson]

[Banging pots and pans together] Where's valdor you goddamn furry?

[/affectionate, For legal reasons, that was a joke, I am on very good terms with the furry community.]

(〃￣ω￣〃)ゞ ✰✰ Squigaggle Squigurg, you have now a blurb ✰✰

~~~~~

Ten Thousand Flowers

"Sequel" of Pavilion of Golden Flowers

Recap: Pavilion of Golden Flowers - A Warhammer retelling of the Drunken Concubine opera.

Relations: Valdor/Emperor(one-sided), Emperor/Ra ~~~~

Of course. Of course His eye had strayed from him to Ra.

The Captain-General watches, muscled arms crossed over his chest, with only a glimmer of desire in his eye. The Emperor’s hand on Ra’s back slips lower, circling his tailbone, and the smaller Custodian’s laugh does not pass unnoticed by his first brother. A muscle clenches in his jawline, the serfs attending him quickly back off in anticipation of some kind of wrath before warily returning to his side. One cautiously sets aside his pauldrons, unarmoring him in silence now, even as the Custodian’s gaze never strays from his lord and Ra.

The Emperor's hand was boldly caressing Ra now. He says something, and Ra stares back at him, wide-eyed, a surprised jolt passing over his frame. Of course, Valdor notes, of course. He was not so surprised as to find the Emperor’s hand beneath the hemline of Ra’s robes now, gently pulling against the silk to trace over his thighs. The Custodian’s response was lost to him, although Valdor could have certainly eavesdropped had he deigned to. 

Ra’s laughter echoes through the armory, tremors rumbling through his half-unarmored form. 

The Emperor was smiling indulgently as He withdrew His grasp from His now-favorite concubine. They speak something rapid, the Emperor extends one hand in some kind of offering. Ra nods as he responds, Valdor not even consciously tracking their movements yet still memorizing each of them with the same, perfect recall that had been beaten into them. A serf yanks off one of his gauntlets with more disrespect than Valdor would have normally tolerated, the impudent servant tapping lightly at the exposed bodysuit beneath as if trying to garner his attention. Valdor hardly even noticed, in fact, the serf wondered if he cared at all. When your master’s favor had strayed so utterly to another, there was little room for doubt.

Surely there was no reason to fear impropriety, was there? Surely, when He reigned over all beneath His regard, all of the Ten Thousand belonged to Him, in mind, body and soul. It would have been impolite to challenge Him in His own lair. 

Valdor turned his gaze away as Ra joins Him, now completely unarmored, his silken robes contrasting harshly against the Emperor’s tanned skin as He wrapped one massive hand around Ra’s upper arm and lead him away, their movements synchronized in the way only lovers - and masters - could.

Of course.

Of course His eye had strayed from him to Ra.

The Custodian shakes his head once, and turns to gesture at the serfs. Now completely unarmored, he rises with his usual grace, somehow tempered with some kind of frosty steel, as cold as the peaks of the Himalayas. Wine. Bring him wine. His master won’t accompany him to drink. Of course, his master won't be accompanying him tonight, but that is of no matter. The will to be envious, to even be pained by such callous rejection, had been beaten away. So much like a toy that no longer amused Him and thus had been discarded for prettier, shinier conquests, yet without even the will to spurn Him for such betrayal. 

Wordlessly, Valdor commands. The serfs gaze upon his unarmored form, observing the tense bitterly cold demeanor in the lines of his muscles, and that frosty, yet somehow wounded glare he brings upon each of them when they hesitate. They nod once and bow before scattering for their tasks.

The Unification Wars used to frown upon indulgence. There was no time, no respite, only the bitter cold gnawing at the marrow of their bones, only the triumphant wind howling a bitter end in the stones. Things are a little different now. Things are a little different, when the Emperor has a little time to spare for His playthings. It is harder to ignore the weight of His eye when it was sometimes - quite literally - burning upon your skin. He is still the Emperor’s best servant, His spear and Captain-General, but he is no longer the favorite, the precious one. As the serf sneaks a quick glance at those cold eyes, he realizes this as firmly - and as surely - as the Captain-General himself.

The eye of the Emperor had strayed from him to Ra. 

Of course. 

Of course he had. 

Hastily, the serf bows his head before that cold, resigned glare. Then, he turns, moving with haste as to not disturb the Custodian still staring so intensely at the pair, and goes to fetch the Captain-General some wine.

[gracehosborn]

Heads Up Seven Up Tag

Thank you to the amazing @kaylinalexanderbooks for the tag!

Rules: Share the last seven lines you wrote in any WIP.

Here are the last seven lines I wrote for The American Icarus: Volume I. TW: mentioning of blood.

Exhaling with newfound annoyance, I pressed my arm into the folds of the bed so that I might move, feeling a sharp yet quick sting upon the deformed, slightly risen, vein upon my upper left arm whereupon a large scar had formed which had never seen proper healing. Although not nearly as powerful as the causality by the might of the pronged, cold steel lancet stabbed into my flesh, and the fountain of blood which poured with a throb into a small pan all in want to balance my humors many years last, the irritation tempted my memory—burning with such power that I flinched. Taking a slow, shaken breath, I stared upward once more, repeating the action in pushing away the reminder as I was left to take note of the little differentiations between the dark spaces of the moon’s distorted light. Despite my efforts, the pressing silence and slithering discomfort kept fast, tempting faint strokes of other events I had likened to forget; their design to be that of barring me from sleep. Why this was so, I could not discern in the daze of tiredness which forced my eyelids to close and open with slow, heavy movements. The confusion of the matter ignited further the annoyance which had originally clung to me, causing the thin sheet of linen covering my loose nightshirt to gain an almost overpowering awareness. Irony striking my chest with a warm touch, I turned upon my right side—letting a moan of desperation escape me as my face found my pillow.

Tagging with no pressure: @sunset-a-story @blind-the-winds @queerfox-tales @therevwriter