#and maybe soap was born in captivity

[captainmaxatx]

Late Mermay idea!

Orca mer Ghost in an aquarium but he is almost always hiding and quite depressed so the aquarium decide to give him a little more enrichment.

With humans lack of mer knowledge they come to the conclusion that because orcas eat seals then surely an orca mer would eat a seal mer. They decide that during closing hours (to avoid guests seeing the blood bath that will surely follow) they will drop a live seal mer into ghosts tank so he has the natural experience of hunting instead of just being fed slabs of meet.

But mer’s don’t eat other mers, regardless of secondary species.

So when seal mer soap is dropped into his tank, ghost just thinks he’s being given a very energetic handsome roommate.

And the humans are confused as to why ghost hasn’t eaten the seal mer yet

[iamalasagnagirl]

PART 2 OF WLW BOOKS PLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, let's see, I'll start with two of my new fav books ever, both written by Debra Flores:

1. One Day You'll Leave Me

Karen is an ordinary woman living an ordinary life in the year 2010. Until the day she hears an unfamiliar song that moves her in a way she cannot understand or explain.

Judy Paige was also an ordinary young woman, who lived an ordinary life, up until the day she sang one of her songs at a show in the year 1964.

When Karen's curiosity about the song turns into an obsession about the woman who sang it, she's drawn to the town in which Judy Paige was born and raised.

It's there that Karen is approached by a man who asks Karen a simple question. "Would you like to meet her?" The question is simple, but the answer is not.

2. The Library by the River

It was an ordinary day in March of 1985, the day Beth walked in to a library and met Sarah, the woman that would change her life forever.

At a time when the AIDS epidemic was well underway, when society still labeled homosexuality as an illness, something to be hidden away, whispered about, but not talked about aloud, there were certainly obstacles in their way.

Even so, obstacles or not, Beth is twenty and Sarah is twenty-eight, they're young, and in love, they can handle whatever comes their way. Or so they think. The one thing they may not be able to overcome is Kim. Beth's jealous best friend. She doesn't see Sarah the way Beth does, far from it, she sees her as nothing more than a problem that needs to be taken care of. An impediment to the relationship she knows she and Beth are meant to have. Volatile and hot-headed, yes, but is Kim actually capable of tearing them apart? And at what cost?

Kiss of Seduction by Rawnie Sabor

Evie is trapped. Held captive by the vampiric Court of Night, she has experienced nothing but pain and terror for over a year.

Natalya is the second-in-command of the Chicago-based Court of Chains. She is among a succubus. A being of pure Sin, whose touch is agony and whose kiss is a death sentence.

This book is an emotionally charged, sapphic love story of healing through trauma, reclaiming yourself after tragedy, and trusting another to catch you when you fall.

Meet me in Berlin by Samantha L. Valentine

"If we lose each other, then we’ll come back to this spot, on this day, at this time, every year until we find each other."

But how do you find someone from the other side of the world when you only know their first name, and the only plan you made to reunite was to meet in a Berlin park in late August at 6 pm, eleven years ago?

The Ride of Her Life by Jennifer Dugan

Molly dreams of starting her own wedding planning company when she inherits a run-down, struggling horse barn, courtesy of her late aunt.

But maybe — if she can sell the land, the profits could be the small-business seed money miracle she’s been waiting for.

The real snag in her plan is Shani. Judgmental, grouchy Shani, who thinks she’s so morally superior because she hasn’t given up on the crumbling barn while Molly wants to “destroy” everything her aunt built; who’s really good with the horses, and always comes whenever Molly calls her in a panic; and is actually kind of thoughtful, and obnoxiously hot, and has Shani become an entirely different kind of problem? One Molly can’t possibly solve, no matter how much her heart wants to?

For Love or Scandal by J.J. Arias

Laney Menendez, a once-celebrated Hollywood director, has a chance at a comeback. The catch? She must first marry her brother’s soap-star boyfriend to stop him from being outed by a tabloid.

For Laney, the lavish fake wedding is meant to be all business, until she meets the wedding planner, Jennifer Acosta.

Their attraction is instant and undeniable. As Laney and Jennifer work closely planning the wedding, stolen moments stoke the flames of a passion too powerful to resist.

Immerse yourself in this steamy tale where fantasy and reality entwine. Love makes its own rules, and for Laney and Jennifer, the fake wedding of the year may just be the start of something real.

Before You Were Mine by Heidi Lowe

After the intercity bus she's traveling on crashes into a bridge, Abigail wakes up in a hospital in Utah with no memory of who she is.

Unsure of when, or even if, her memory will return, she settles into her new life in Oakwood, where she meets Tiffany, a nurse she befriends while hospitalized. Abby knows it would be unwise to get involved with someone while her past is still a blur, so she tries to ignore her growing feelings for the beautiful woman. But as the two grow closer, and things get serious between them, Abby is finally ready to put her unknown past to bed... Which might be a problem for James, her husband of two years.

Graceless by Ruby Landers (book Two of the Grace Notes Trilogy)

Savannah Grace is on top of the world when her younger sister Cassidy shows up on her doorstep with one plan and one plan only: for her sister to turn her into a star.

Savannah’s nanny Lane has grown all the way up, from a cute punk kid to a classic handsome heartbreaker, a long trail of short flings in their wake. They don’t have a second to waste on Cassidy, after all she’s rude, ignorant, hot-tempered and kind of a brat. It’s just… does their boss’s little sister have to be so hot? Of course things could always get worse.

Of course, Sarah Waters' books:

1. Fingersmith

Sue Trinder is an orphan, left as an infant in the care of Mrs. Sucksby, a "baby farmer," who raised her with unusual tenderness, as if Sue were her own.

Mrs. Sucksby’s household, with its fussy babies calmed with doses of gin, also hosts a transient family of petty thieves—fingersmiths—for whom this house in the heart of a mean London slum is home.

One day, the most beloved thief of all arrives—Gentleman carries with him an enticing proposition for Sue: If she wins a position as the maid to Maud Lilly, a naïve gentlewoman, and aids Gentleman in her seduction, then they will all share in Maud’s vast inheritance. Once the inheritance is secured, Maud will be disposed of—passed off as mad, and made to live out the rest of her days in a lunatic asylum.

With dreams of paying back the kindness of her adopted family, Sue agrees to the plan. Once in, however, Sue begins to pity her helpless mark and care for Maud Lilly in unexpected ways...But no one and nothing is as it seems in this Dickensian novel of thrills and reversals.

2. The paying guests

It is 1922 and in South London, in a genteel Camberwell villa—a large, silent house now bereft of brothers, husband, and even servants—life is about to be transformed, as impoverished widow Mrs. Wray and her spinster daughter, Frances, are obliged to take in lodgers.

With the arrival of Lilian and Leonard Barber, a modern young couple of the “clerk class,” the routines of the house will be shaken up in unexpected ways. Little do the Wrays know just how profoundly their new tenants will alter the course of Frances’s life—or, as passions mount and frustration gathers, how far-reaching, and how devastating, the disturbances will be

3. Affinity

An upper-class woman recovering from a suicide attempt, Margaret Prior has begun visiting the women’s ward of Millbank prison as part of her rehabilitative charity work. Amongst Millbank’s murderers and common thieves, Margaret finds herself increasingly fascinated by an apparently innocent inmate, the enigmatic spiritualist Selina Dawes. Selina was imprisoned after a séance she was conducting went horribly awry, leaving an elderly matron dead and a young woman deeply disturbed.

Margaret is soon drawn into a twilight world of ghosts and shadows, unruly spirits and unseemly passions, until she is at last driven to concoct a desperate plot to secure Selina’s freedom, and her own.

4. Tipping the velvet

Nan King is captivated by the music hall phenomenon Kitty Butler, a male impersonator extraordinaire treading the boards in Canterbury. Through a friend at the box office, Nan manages to visit all her shows and finally meet her heroine. Soon after, she becomes Kitty's dresser and the two head for the bright lights of Leicester Square where they begin a glittering career as music-hall stars in an all-singing and dancing double act.

At the same time, behind closed doors, they admit their attraction to each other and their affair begins.

Turbulence by E. J. Noyes

Stockbroker Isabelle Rhodes has a lot of money, a lot of trust issues, and a whole lot of reasons to believe her ex-girlfriend was right when she said that Isabelle sucked at relationships. With that accusation stuck in her head, Isabelle throws caution to the wind and dives into her first one-night stand. Checking that off her bucket list should be something to celebrate—except it turns out that the woman she just spent an earth-shattering night with is actually her newly hired company pilot, Audrey Graham.

Concerned about the stigma of workplace dalliances, Isabelle vows it can’t go further than the one night. Good plan—if not for an insistent libido and an even more persistent Audrey who conspires to break Isabelle’s resolve. Soon their no strings arrangement starts to feel a lot like dating, and Isabelle finds herself wanting more than just casual nights together

Fear Of Falling by Georgia Beers

Since she was fourteen, singer Sophie James has been an international superstar. With her career (and life) directed by her manager, Ray, she hasn’t had to worry about a thing for more than a decade. But when Ray has a heart attack, Sophie is left without the only real father figure she’s ever known and questioning everything she believes about what’s important to her.

Enter Dana Landon, the new manager sent by Sophie’s record company. Dana is gorgeous, sophisticated, and ready to do her job keeping Sophie’s career on track and making the record company money. Dana captures Sophie’s attention in ways Sophie never expected--and isn't ready for, but after so many years of being told what to do, Sophie’s ready to shake things up with some ideas of her own.

[neuroses]

sending out yet another 1x1 discord rp call (21+) — as someone who has literally only read one sarah j. maas book i don’t have the right to be so obsessed with period/fantasy/royal plots and yet here we are … !

if you’re into soap opera level twists and storylines and doing a ridiculous amount of world building and me sending dms at odd hours of the day, please check out these three semi-fleshed out plots under the cut that i’d love to explore :’)

a romance between a leader of an underground rebellion and the prince/princess: muse a is a high ranking guard at the palace and has been assigned to watch over muse b, but muse a is actually working as a mole for an underground rebellion against muse b’s corrupt parents ! think slow burning and yearning and muse a having complicated feelings about how different muse b’s life is from theirs, muse b coming to grips with how sheltered they’ve been their entire life, maybe muse b gets thrown into an arranged marriage and that’s a whole other plot line we have them navigate … so much potential i would lose mind if you gave me this plot quite frankly !

a second-born prince/princess hiding from their family in a sleepy little village: muse a is a slightly spoiled royal who’s upset with how controlling their family has become as they’ve gotten older—so one night they run away to a small village in a neighbouring town to stay with their old governess and get away from how suffocating the court is and stay somewhere where nobody really knows who they are and they meet the governess’ child, muse b (who might be a baker, a librarian, any profession that could plausibly be one of the villagers in beauty and the beast) who’s initially put off by muse … but they end up falling in love but there’s sm drama because muse b still doesn’t know muse a is royalty, the king and queen are looking for muse a omg do you see the vision …

the classic pirate kidnaps the prince/princess: muse a is a notorious pirate who accidentally targets a royal ship that muse b happens to be on ! muse a is honestly very annoyed that they’ve taken on a captive because they think they’re much more work than they’re worth and it’s not really their crew’s mo to have captives at all, muse b is meanwhile delighted because they’ve grown up so sheltered and have been a goody two-shoes all their life and this is the first time they’re ever seeing the world ! muse a is a notorious rake and class a-asshole but they become so protective over muse b, muse b cleaning muse a’s wounds … i’m frankly screaming

ps. we could have it so the second and third plots are mixed together so the royal sneaks onto the pirate ship to travel the world !

like, dm, send a carrier pigeon, etc. if you’re interested in any of these ! i typically write m/f and f/f, bonus points if you let me write aaron taylor-johnson, tommy martinez, michael evans-belling, sam claflin and/or you write sofia boutella, adeline rudolph, alisha boe, sydney park <3

[halfmoth-halfman]

Congratulations on 3k🥳 🍾that’s so exciting to hear!

⚰️#2?

–ghostaholics

i think i'm still kinda surprised, like i def didn't think i'd keep up with writing for this long, but i'm having a blast with you guys!! 💜

⚰️ the retirement home

#2 - so this was like peak Ride the Cyclone era for me and i was talking about tropes with a few of my friends and one of them mentioned the "you come back, but you come back wrong" trope and thus this was born:

they found my body (but not my head)

reader works with the 141 and soap and reader are in an established flirtationship, together in like every sense except without the title because they both know how dangerous their job is and because they don't really need to label anything. they know what they mean to each other. reader is super upbeat, very optimistic, likes to joke around (when appropriate) and has very much younger sibling energy with the rest of the 141 with a fun little habit of leaving little notes for soap to find in his journal. eventually he gets them their own.

a mission goes wrong, and reader chooses to stay behind to get the rest of the 141 to safety, telling soap in a very joking but obviously scared manner that they know he'll rescue them.

and he does!! it takes longer than he'd like but they get reader back and aside from a few new scars, they seem perfectly fine like nothing's happened. reader is given a psych eval (and passes) and is cleared to return to work but that's when the cracks start to show. they take up smoking (or st similarly self-destructive), are caught staring off into space during tasks (like filling their coffee and overfilling the cup), have a hard time responding to their callsign and even their name, so on and so on. soap tries to be there for him, but they won't let him in, instead pretending like everything's fine when it clearly isn't.

they're allowed on one mission, supervised by soap who's trying his best but st happens (maybe they run into one of the people who held reader captive or they come across an old base that reader was kept at, i hadn't figured that out yet) and reader fully shuts down, goes almost catatonic and they have to pull out of the mission. they go back to base and isolate and soap finds them in their room talking to themselves and scribbling nonsense in their journal. he sits with them, talking and trying to comfort them until they go to sleep and he goes through their journal which is filled with scribbles and codes and he spends the whole night deciphering everything where it's revealed exactly what kind of mental and emotional torture reader when through when they got captured.

i wasn't sure how to end it, i knew i'd have reader go through another psych eval and obv be made to get the proper help but i didn't know whether or not they would break up with soap to heal on their own, if soap would step away from the 141 to help them, if he'd let them stay at his place while they got help, or st else, but if they had broken up they still would've stayed friends because they love and care about each other even if they aren't involved romantically.

[ryanreynoldsfangirl]

Ryan Reynolds' Career

Today's hot topic is.... guess who? Ryan Reynolds! (his career but who cares.)

The charming, affable, and boyishly handsome Reynolds has made his way through everyone's hearts. His captivating personality and his witty humor never fails to amaze the crowd, be it teenagers or people old enough to be his grandmother.

HIS DEBUT ROLE IN THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY

At the young age of 15, Ryan made his debut as Billy Simpson in the Canadian teen soap opera, Hillside, in 1991. The show lasted till 1993. Along with that, his journey in Hollywood began from the movie Ordinary Magic in 1993. He played the 15-year-old Ganesh who was born and brought up in India. Hinduism and Mahatma Gandhi's teachings highly influenced his character in this movie.

(WE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. EVEN WE'RE LOSING OUR SANITY OVER THIS!!!!!)

(Look at our lil' floatie-floatie boy <3333)

Anywaaaaay.

Reynolds had a few supporting parts in films and TV shows. Because he no longer wanted to play an adolescent, he declined the role of Xander in Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). (Terrible fate, we know.) Instead, he was cast in the ABC comedy Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place as medical student Berg (1998–2001).

His role in the comedy The In-Laws marked his entry into the world of high-budget entertainment. He had an appearance in The X-Files episode titled Syzygy. He also made an appearance as the letter 'A' in the A-Team, in the 4225th episode of the popular kids show Sesame Street.

(THIS IS OUR LITTLE ANGRY A-BOY.)

Now the more exciting part,

HIS MOVIES!

When it comes to effortless charisma and wry wit, it's hard to top Canadian charmer Reynolds. But even though the Vancouver-born actor is mostly unchallenged in those categories, it took a while for him to take off as a bonafide movie star. After a decade of hit-or-miss comedies, Reynolds eventually hit the bullseye with 2016's Deadpool, marking the perfect use of his naughty humor and comic delivery.

(Our top G Ryan as Deadpool *rock 'n' roll*)

Deadpool is regarded as one of the best superhero movies of all time and quickly became the highest earning R-Rated film ever, only beaten by Joker in 2019.

A few of his most adorable films include 'Definitely, Maybe' (2008), The Proposal (2009), The Change-Up (2011), and Just Friends (2005).

He's got many spectacular action movies under his belt. A few of them include, The Hitman's Bodyguard (2017) with top-rated co-star Samuel L. Jackson, 6 Underground (2019), Free Guy (2021), Red Notice (2021), and The Adam Project (2022).

Let's not forget his role as Harvey Kinkle (with the bad hair, ew, but he's cute so we'll take it.) in the movie Sabrina The Teenage Witch (1996).

And then there are a few movies which weren't very well received by his audience. These include R.I.P.D. (2013), Amityville Horror (2005), Green Lantern (2011), and Turbo (2013).

Moving on....

AWARDS HE'S RECEIVED OVER THE YEARS.

Our gorgeous superstar Ryan has received many notable awards as his career progressed. The first ever award he received was in 2003, it was the 'Young Hollywood Award for Next Generation - Male'. Then came an award for his role in Green Lantern - 'People's Choice Award for Favorite Superhero' in 2012, even though this movie was met with conflicting reviews, Reynolds managed to win different hearts by doing what he always does. Turn his charm on. (We AREN'T complaining at all.) A huge number of awards followed his movie Deadpool, which was a major box office hit. One for Best Entertainer in a Comedy Movie, and another for Entertainer of The Year.

Here's Ryan accepting the People's Icon Award at the People's Choice Awards 2022. (Look at his adorable smile, we all love him here at Ganesh Lovers' Community.)

Reynolds' has had a total of 60 nominations and 21 wins in his Hollywood career, which is actually quite a lot.

HIS PERSONAL LIFE

Childhood

Reynolds was raised in a Vancouver Irish Catholic home as the youngest of four boys. His parents were police officers and his mother worked in retail. Two of his brothers work in law enforcement, while a third is a member of the RCMP. From 1940 until 1944, his grandfather Chester Reynolds served as a legislator for Stettler, Alberta, as a member of the Social Credit Party.

Love Life

He was engaged to singer-songwriter Alanis Morissette from June 2004 to February 2007, when they called off their engagement.

Ryan with Alanis.

Shortly after, Reynolds started dating actress Scarlett Johansson, with whom he married on September 27, 2008, at a resort in Clayoquot Sound, close to Ucluelet, British Columbia. In December 2010, they divorced and filed for separation.

Ryan with Scarlett.

He started dating Blake Lively, his Green Lantern co-star, in 2011, and the two got married on September 9, 2012.

Ryan with Blake.

Children

Ryan and Blake have three daughters together: James (born in 2014), Inez (born in 2016), and Betty (born in 2020). Betty’s name was publicly revealed by a close friend, Taylor Swift in her song of the same name from the album Folklore.

Them with their three kids. (Our mini Ryan's and Blake's <3)

Personal Achievements

In 2008 and 2009, People magazine ranked Reynolds as one of the sexiest men alive. He was named the magazine's sexiest man alive in 2010.

He was inducted into Canada's Walk of Fame in 2011, but the event was postponed since he couldn't make it. (Kinda depressing, TBH.) The day of his official induction was October 18, 2014.

But in December of 2016, Reynolds was honored with a star of his on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

(They're the cutest, seriously.)

Let's move on to....

HIS CHARITY AND ADVOCACY WORK

(This is kind of lengthy, bear with us.)

He's a humble and down-to-earth man, at least from what we've heard, and with the help of his super incredible wifey Blake, they make the power duo and set foot on Earth to save a few souls here and there. Here are a few of their contributions:

A half-million dollars were given to the Canadian nonprofit Water First Education & Training Inc. in March 2022 by Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively. 

In Vancouver, Canada, Reynolds also appeared in campaign videos sporting his recognizable "ugly" red-and-green sweater. By January 2021, according to the charity, $640,000 had been raised as a result of his fundraising efforts.

In March 2021, Reynolds and Lively gave $250,000 to a Canadian organization that mentored Indigenous youngsters, Influence Mentoring. 

Reynolds and his wife had also matched donations made to Covenant House Vancouver and Toronto up to a total of $250,000 in a remarkable gesture of generosity to help youngsters who are homeless, victims of trafficking, or in danger, back when COVID-19 had first struck.

Reynolds joined The Michael J. Fox Foundation in 2008 when he participated in Team Fox's New York City Marathon run. Reynolds ran the marathon in his father's memory, finishing in under four hours and raising more than $100,000 for Parkinson research.

And lastly,

HIS ALCOHOL COMPANY AVIATION GIN

As we see his posts on social media promoting his gin company:

Let's give you a brief history on the company and his role in it.

The goal of Aviation Gin was to develop a democratic gin blend with juniper in the background. It was formed in 2006 out of Portland, Oregon. a gin that is suitable for every cocktail. For the next ten years, it would remain mostly unknown.

Fast forward to 2018, when gin use was growing more rapidly than that of any other type of alcohol. This led to substantial changes in the sector, such as Reynolds buying a stake in the Aviation American Gin.  Reynolds is the creative director for the marketing campaign, and it is spectacularly successful (Aviation Gin is now the fastest-growing gin brand in America). How could it not? Reynold is a comic genius who conveys important messages about the quality of gin in the funniest, most approachable ways conceivable. Here's one of his advertisements for the company:

Hilarious! Are we right?!

Ah, sadly we have to end this splendid deep dive into our favorite floatie-boy Ryan Reynold's life here, but! We're not signing off without blessing your eyes with a few photos of his ;)

Your welcome.

Anyway, signing off, it's the dream team, Ganesh Lovers (get it?).

Adios till our next blog!

[this-is-quite-homoerotic]

Janto AU idea

so @iant0jones reblogged the following post and her tags (pictured below) coupled with this other post, gave me an idea for an AU:

Ianto worked in a museum before Torchwood, right? so i’m thinking maybe he’s tasked with sorting through boxes and boxes of WWII materials, and they include one entire box of correspondance between Jack and one of his lovers from the 1940s, and so Ianto is carefully archiving all these love letters and enclosed photographs and souvernirs and he develops a weird history-crush on this American volunteer RAF Captain who was having an illicit affair with a Welshman soldier who was stationed somewhere else during the war, and he’s following the story obsessively like it’s one of those soap operas his mother likes so much, reading about these two star crossed lovers reminiscing about the last time they met and handling the little presents they’d send each other with the utmost care, and he’s dreading reaching the end of the box because he doesn’t want their love story to end, even as he knows this happened 70+ years ago and it probably didn’t have a happy ending because… well, WWII. and queerness in the 1940s. as a queer man himself he’s captivated. this is why he loves history. 

eventually, he reaches the last letter, and he learns how it ended: he was right, it ended tragically. the letter is written by Jack to his dead lover who fell in battle and he never sent it, he wrote it and put it in the box where he put all the other things he had to remind him of his lover, he wrote it to tell him goodbye, because he didn’t get to say it in person, and if Ianto cries when he reads it then well, there was no one else in the archives with him, so no one could prove it.

fast forward a few months and he’s caught in the crossfire between Torchwood and some aliens, and it’s not the blue-skinned funny-looking aliens with the tentacles and the weird weapons that almost give him a heart attack, it’s Jack motherfucking Harkness, not looking a day older than in the WWII-era photographs he would send his lover in the 1940s, who comes out of fucking nowhere and tackles him to the ground behind a black SUV to get him out of the line of fire. he’s even wearing the fucking coat, the one his lover always praised in his letters, and Jack is surprised when the civilian he tackled knows his name, but he’s even more surprised when he ends up being vital in neutralising the aliens without any casualties. quick on his feet, resourceful and terribly handsome, Jack can’t help but notice…. maybe they have a vacancy at the Hub this young man could fill-

his thought process is interrupted by Ianto grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and demanding an explanation. not about the aliens, he was born and raised in Cardiff, after all, this is hardly his first alien encounter (Torchwood 3 is not as good at keeping secrets as they think), but about the box of WWII-era letters he spent weeks on, and damn is that where his trunk ended up? Jack hadn’t thought of James in years. 

the problem with being immortal, Jack thinks, is that mortals tend to think your personal possessions are historic objects they have a right to take and display for everyone to see. 

long story short: Ianto gets a new job, Jack is eventually convinced by Ianto to leave the letters to the museum for the new the lgbt+ history collection they’re putting together (Ianto steals any incriminating photographs since Jack is still strutting around the UK and he needs to keep his longevity a secret), they promptly fall in love and in bed together (roughly around the same time), they fight aliens and build a family (a.k.a. the team), the end. 

also because Ianto is a historian and an archivist he keeps asking Jack the most weirdly niche questions about how life was in the past, and sometimes Jack has answers and sometimes he has no idea what Ianto’s talking about even though he lived through that time, but that’s okay because Ianto never minds if Jack doesn’t know, and he’s always so happy that Jack indulges him. plus, it’s so nice to have someone to talk to about the changes that come with time and about the decades he’s lived through; even if Ianto hasn’t lived through them himself, sometimes Jack thinks he knows more about them that Jack himself does. and Jack hasn’t had someone to talk to who understood how history works, how varied and contradictory and real it all is, since back when he was still with the Time Agency. but Ianto gets it. Jack wishes his vortex manipulator still worked, then he could take Ianto back to see the past for himself. Jack’s never met anyone who’d enjoy time-travel more. (maybe at some point Jack finds a way to take him on a few trips…)

anyway, if anyone wants to write this, the idea’s up for grabs, i’d sure love to read it 👀

[stupidsexyfandom]

To Follow the Sun

@helsa-summer-event

Rated T // Angst with a hopeful ending

Elsa awakens as Hans carries her back to Arendelle from the ice palace. 

Written for Prompt #3 of Helsa Summer: Relaxing in the intense sun. 

The first thing Elsa noticed as she drifted into consciousness was warmth. She could not remember the last time she had felt this warm. The second was a pleasant scent. Lemongrass and leather, saddle soap and wool. It reminded her of her father. The third was a gentle rocking motion, regular and calming. Could it all have been a dream?

But as the fog of sleep dissipated and her senses returned, Elsa knew that it was not so. Her father had been dead these three years, and he had not held her or rocked her for more than a decade before that. She became aware of a pounding in her head and a persistent ache throughout her body. Memories flashed through her mind, of the coronation and Anna and the ice palace. She struggled to open her eyes, even the muted sunlight making her head hurt.

She found herself looking up at a man. Prince Hans, she reminded herself, Anna’s fiancé. He was looking straight ahead and had not noticed her waking. She was surprised at how gently he held her, despite seeming to pay her no mind. They were on horseback, and she struggled to gauge their location. Mounted soldiers surrounded them.

We must be headed back to Arendelle. The thought filled her with panic, and she tensed. The prince looked down, and she immediately pretended to be unconscious. She had no desire to explain herself to him or to anyone else. She thought she could still feel him watching her, but if he had seen her wake, he kept it to himself. Perhaps he dreaded their inevitable confrontation as much as she did.

Although she could no longer look around, Elsa tried to plan her escape. She posed too much of a risk to the city if she returned. She could feel that her wrists were bound, but her palms were free. If she could only conjure a sharp shard of ice, she could cut the bindings and flee. An attempt to do so only produced a sharp pain in her head, and she barely managed to keep from wincing.

Elsa felt hopeless. She had struggled for so long to restrain her magic, and now, when she needed it most, it had deserted her. She could see no way out. The prince’s grip was firm, and her bindings were tight. She still felt slow and bleary from her injuries. Part of her wished she could just lie there forever. Still, she knew she had to try to get away. Staying away from her people was the only way she could keep them safe. She owed them that much, at least.

She summoned all the strength she had left, concentrating on forming an ice shard. Her fingers burned and her head ached mightily, but there was no result. A spasm passed through her at the intense pain. She felt certain that Prince Hans had noticed and would alert the guards, but still he said nothing. He merely adjusted his arm so that she lay closer to his chest, enveloping her further in his warmth.

When they reached the outskirts of the city, Elsa could no longer feign unconsciousness. The men were calling to each other, and she felt the prince’s touch on her bare shoulder.

“The cobblestones are slick with ice. It’s dangerous to ride through here,” he murmured, his face nearly buried in her hair. In an instant, he had dismounted and was leading the horse through the frozen streets. Their entourage of guards thinned somewhat as they passed through the city. But as their number dipped, they were replaced by the townspeople. Some merely watched from doorsteps and balconies, while others formed a motley parade as they followed their queen and her captor toward the castle.

Watching Prince Hans move through the streets was like being in the presence of the sun. Wherever he went, warmth and light seemed to follow. He spread them through the city with every step. Elsa thought that he and Anna were alike in that way. As he walked, every head turned to follow him. He was Apollo, and each member of the crowd was Clytie.

No, that wasn’t right. Whereas Apollo had spurned Clytie’s affections, the prince seemed to soak up the crowd’s. It fueled him to burn stronger and brighter, casting his light further with every awestruck face. Some of the people approached him, and he greeted every one with kindness. Elsa could hear mutterings rolling through the crowd. No, she was wrong two times over. Clytie had starved as she watched her love, wasting away until the gods took pity on her and transformed her into a sunflower. But Prince Hans had fed and clothed the people, protecting them from famine. The famine she had created, thought Elsa darkly.

She could bear to listen to the crowd no longer. She knew what they must think of her. A monster who had brought a curse upon the land. They were right, of course, but she didn’t want to hear them say it. As she looked upon the faces of her citizens, her royal office weighed on her more heavily than it ever had before. These were her subjects, and she moved through them as a stranger. Locked away for all those years, she had done nothing to earn their trust, and in their time of crisis, she had deserted them.

Prince Hans walked among the crowd naturally, as if he were born to do so. Elsa felt a spark of envy, but she pushed it down. She did not deserve the love of her people. Probably she never had. Perhaps it was better this way. If Arendelle’s citizens did not care for her, they would not stop her from leaving. The country would be left in more capable hands.

She regretted telling Anna she could not marry the prince. Well, really she regretted every abortive interaction she had had with Anna since she was eight years old. But that pronouncement in particular had proved to be her undoing. And to top it off, she had judged wrongly. She had suspected Prince Hans of some hidden motive, thinking he could not be as naïve as her sister. The perfect prince and whirlwind marriage proposal seemed too good to be true. In real life, things were never as easy as they were in fairy stories. And maybe that was the way for people like Elsa. She would never be the heroine. She could see no handsome prince or fairytale ending in store for herself. But for people like Anna and Prince Hans, who brought the sun with them wherever they went, maybe things could work that way. Maybe fairytales really could come true.

She found herself imagining their wedding day. Prince Hans in his white suit and Anna radiant in a white gown, her head wreathed with sunflowers. Envy stabbed again in Elsa’s chest, but she could not tell which of them she envied more. They were both so full of love to give and so eager to receive it. The summer sun would dust the city with gold, restored to its rightful place in the sky. The two of them combined could put it there themselves. In their sunny, happy kingdom, they would dance and laugh well into the night.

She could not imagine herself amid their revels. There was no place for snow and cold and darkness. Perhaps she would be somewhere far away, where she could no longer hurt anybody. Her people would at last be safe and her sister with them. She found it hard to imagine Anna as queen. It was a job of early mornings and stuffy meetings. But Anna could at least show her citizens the love that they deserved. Really, thought Elsa, she can’t botch the job any worse than I already have. And from what she had seen so far, she suspected that Anna would have a very able king to assist her.

Elsa’s train of thought was broken by their arrival at the castle. The guards at the gates saluted as they approached, and she found the gesture verging on parody due to her status as captive. Soon they had entered the courtyard. The prince halted the horse and reached toward her. Elsa recoiled. Even with her magic dulled, she worried what could happen. But he put both hands on her waist and lifted her down without incident. He gestured for her to follow, and she complied. Until the full strength of her magic returned to her, docility seemed like the easiest alternative.

As they passed through the foyer, Prince Hans asked the steward, “Has the princess returned?”

“No, your Highness. She hasn’t been seen since the night of the coronation. We’ve sent out a search party.” Elsa felt panic constricting her throat. Where was she? Why had she not come home? The temperature in the hall dropped, although it seemed a disproportionately small reaction to the terrifying news.

“A search party? I want every member of the guards out looking for her, and every member of the reserves. Use the hounds if you have to.” It calmed Elsa to know that someone else took this as seriously as she did. With any luck, her sister would be found and safely returned.

But her respite from fear was all too brief, as she soon realized where they were headed. Beneath the grand staircase lay the door to the dungeon. Despite living in the castle all her life, Elsa had never been down there. She knew it had not been used for generations.

The cell they had chosen for her was small and bleak. Prince Hans dismissed the guard at the door, muttering something that Elsa could not catch. When they were alone, he knelt to pick something up from the stone floor. When she saw what he held, she recoiled in horror. Snow flurries whipped through the air and frost crawled up her arms, but she could not generate enough force to break free.

“You… had these made for me?” she nearly whispered. In his hands were iron cuffs clearly made to restrain someone with her powers. To restrain her. The prince looked at her with such sadness in his eyes that he seemed like a different person.

“They were…” he stopped to clear his throat, “They were already here.”

Oh. The snow hung suspended in the air. The idea of her parents ordering this prison was nearly enough to break her. She had known that they feared her as much as they loved her, but she had never imagined this. She meekly held up her hands for encasement.

While the prince began unlocking the cuffs, she asked, “Why did you bring me back here?” Why not leave me to die in the ice palace?

“I couldn’t just let them kill you.”

“But I’m a danger to Arendelle!” He placed the first cuff on her hand and began securing it.

“I thought… if you could just stop the winter. Bring back summer. Please.” The first cuff was locked, and she dropped her arm as though it held the weight of the world. In a way, perhaps it did.

“Don’t you see? I can’t!” Understanding dawned on his face, and she continued, “You have to let me go! It’s not safe! I have to get as far away from here as possible. Only then can my people be free!” Even as the request left her lips, she could see its futility. It was almost ludicrous. She was begging him to release her while he was in the process of locking her up. His choice had clearly already been made.

“You know I can’t do that.” He finished locking the second cuff and gave a deep sigh, his breath visible in the chilly air. Then he produced a pocketknife, and Elsa wondered if this imprisonment was a farce designed to dispose of her quietly. But instead he cut the ropes binding her wrists. She stretched her arms, luxuriating in the feeling despite the heavy cuffs. This was the most she had moved them in hours, and she wondered if the restricted blood flow had been impacting her magic.

“You should try to sleep, your Majesty,” said the prince, indicating the cot in the corner, “You’ve had a long journey, and you’re injured. I’m sure you’ll have quite the bruise on your—” His face turned pink, and Elsa felt his gaze on her right thigh, bare nearly to the hip through the slit in her dress.

He pulled his eyes up to her face and continued, “Well, what I mean is you should get some rest.” Elsa stared at him numbly. How could he expect her to sleep after all that had happened? He turned and slipped out of the cell.

Left alone, Elsa sat on the edge of the cot. As she contemplated her iron cuffs, she realized she had been wrong about fairytales. One possible fairytale ending awaited her, but it was the fate of a villain. In the best case, she would disappear into a life of frigid solitude. If that were not enough to end the winter, she knew what lay in store for her. She knew what happened to monsters in the ends of fairy stories. Perhaps, if she were very lucky, she would return as a sunflower.

The door squeaked, and she looked up in surprised. Prince Hans had returned. He was holding a woolen blanket. She had not expected him to come back for her.

“Am I a monster?” she blurted out. He looked surprised to hear her speak, and for a moment she thought he would leave again. But instead he moved to sit next to her on the cot.

“No, I don’t think so. I think you’re scared, and I think you’ve lost your way. But that doesn’t make you a monster. It can’t have been easy growing up the way you did. I understand how crushing the loneliness can get.”

“I thought Anna said you had brothers?”

“Brothers like mine are not what I would call a cure for loneliness. In fact, I might go so far as to say they were the cause.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Elsa thought of all the times Anna had knocked on her door. No matter how many times Elsa ignored her, she had always knocked again.

“Don’t be. Growing up like that has made me a veritable expert on monsters. That’s how I can tell you aren’t one.”

“Really?”

“Would a monster care so deeply for her people that she would leave everything she had ever known to save them?”

“And what about my people? Do they think I’m a monster?” Elsa watched as the prince swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the pale flesh of his throat. His silence was enough of an answer for her.

“Then what’s the use? What good is it to not be a monster if everybody treats you like one?” Prince Hans sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

“I suppose it’s better than the alternative,” he finally said.

“The alternative?”

“To truly be a monster, but to have no one know it.” Elsa thought that the best solution would be to neither be a monster nor be thought one, but she knew that ship had sailed for her long ago.

They sat in silence for a while. Elsa studied the prince surreptitiously. She thought he looked tired. She wondered how much he really knew of monsters. A man as good as he was surely could not have much experience with them, whatever he may have said about his brothers. Finally, he stood up to go.

He had nearly reached the door when she called after him, “Wait!” He turned to face her.

“Don’t go!” He gave her a significant look. She nearly bubbled over with answers to his unasked question. Because Anna is isn’t here, and I’m scared about what will happen to her. Because I just can’t stand to be alone anymore. Because you make me feel like there’s hope for me. Because I think that maybe if I watch you long enough, I could learn how to melt. But none of those were things she could say to him.

All she said was, “Please.” And to her surprise, he gave a gentle nod.

“All right,” he said, “but only if you promise to try and get some sleep.”

It was a tight squeeze for him to sit on the cot with her stretched out, and her head only narrowly avoided his lap. But, despite the contortions, she felt more at ease than she had before. She tensed when he reached out his arm, but it was only to draw the blanket up over her. And although the cold did not bother her, she found herself appreciating the warmth.

The prince was humming softly to himself. As she listened to his sweet melody, she allowed herself to think of a happier future. Perhaps when Anna returned, they would be able to find a way to fix this. Perhaps she and Prince Hans would let Elsa inhabit some corner of their sunny, happy lives. Perhaps by being around them she could learn to be good. She would be the moon to their sun. Although she cast no light herself, she would reflect theirs back and illuminate the darkness for her people. She dared not hope for more than that.

These thoughts calmed Elsa greatly, and she drifted at the edges of sleep. As she slipped into unconsciousness, she thought she felt a light touch on her forehead. But it could merely have been the beginnings of a dream.

 ***

Author’s Note: There’s a lot of musical inspiration today. The title was adapted from and Beatles song, and I was also heavily influenced by “Love Like You” by Rebecca Sugar. The melody Hans hums is an old Irish tune best known as “Believe me if all those endearing young charms” with lyrics by Thomas Moore. It was where I first learned of the myth of Apollo and Clytie. (Also it was my parent’s wedding song and the tune of my alma mater, not that that’s relevant.) 

I had thought that this would be a short and light piece, but neither of those turned out to be true. Thank you so much for reading and for all the support you’ve given me! And buckle up, the next one gets intense. >:)

[ilguna]

Tacenda - Chapter Fourteen (f.o)

Summary: you’ll never truly be free from the Capitol.

Word Count; 3.5k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You sit on the edge of Finnick’s bed, watching as he plays around with a rope. He’ll untie it and retie it into knots to keep himself entertained. Here, in District Thirteen, it feels like almost nothing happens. Especially when you’ve been sitting in a bed for a while.

You had thrown a whole bitching fit when they tried to take Finnick away from you. Put you in a different room away from where he was. You told them that they couldn’t do that, and made sure that the message was very thorough. You respect, and you’re very thankful for them saving you from the arena, but Finnick is all you have right now.

You don’t have your two brothers, you don’t have your sister. Finnick is your only lifeline right now, as you think about the endless possibilities that could be going on with your family. Because Snow had taken one nice stop in District Four and with one foul scoop, took your siblings and Annie right the fuck out of there.

You have no clue what’s happening to them right now.

You told the doctors that you wouldn’t be difficult if they at least accepted your plans. That you want to be put in the same room as Finnick, and you don’t want to be hooked up to any machines if it’s possible. It’s not like you’re dying, and there’s nothing inside of you right now that would hinder your abilities to do anything.

You have a few cuts here and there on your body from running through the jungle, and from tripping and accidentally cutting yourself and so on. But those aren’t important. You understand that they want to double check on your body because of the poisonous white fog you had encountered.

As far as you’re concerned, though. If it isn’t broken, don’t try and fix it. You’re running just fine. You can breathe, your heart still pumps, and you’re taking down food like a champ. So far, you body hasn’t even shown a hint of trying to end itself, and that’s why you think the doctors shouldn’t try and experiment, unless they know that they’re doing.

Because all it would take is one damn screw up. A little experiment of seeing if they can draw it out of your bodies and all they do is end up making it worse. Your liver can handle it, if it’s handled all the other shit that you’ve put in your body, then you’ll be fine. And it’s not like you guys hadn’t gone ahead and washed it off when you could.

Regardless, you promised to try your best and be cooperative as long as you got what you wanted, in a sense. So you took the cream that they wanted you to spread on the areas that had been affected by the fog, and moved right along. They had decided to bring you to him, since he wasn’t resisting treatment.

You twist your wedding ring, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

“Finnick.”

You look over to where the voice had come, and there stands Katniss. She had to have just woken up, because you haven’t heard a word come from her room, which is literally next door. She looks angry, and she alternates between glaring at you, and Finnick.

It’s quiet between you three for a moment, before Finnick answers, “I wanted to go back for Peeta, and Johanna. But I–I couldn’t move.”

You keep quiet, staring at the floor slightly. There wasn’t much you could do in that situation either. You were just barely able to drag yourself onto Finnick. Then again, she could always be mad about what came after. When she had woken up inside of the hovercraft and tried to stab Haymitch with a needle.

She has all the right to be angry. You guys more or less directly defied what she had wanted, knowingly. She wanted Peeta to be saved, she wanted him to be the one that came out of the arena alive. Not her. Haymitch had told you all of this, which is also a  good reason why you couldn’t let her in on the plan. Because it involved getting her out first.

“They have (Y/n)’s family too,” Finnick says, as if that helps. As if it’s supposed to make her feel better about her situation. So the both of you can suffer together, “They took them, along with Annie. They’re uh–they’re in the Capitol.”

You look up to Katniss now, to see how much her face has changed. There’s tears in her eyes, and you laugh, turning to look away from her. You’ve cried your tears already, you just want it to all be fake by now. One big dream and at any moment, someone is going to rock you awake.

Just like at the beach. Just like how Finnick had shook you awake. You want it to be exactly like that.

You wonder if you are stuck in a dream right now. Or maybe you’re dead, and this is your own personal hell. Knowing that your family is stuck in the captivity of the Capitol, with the full knowledge of the fact that Snow will go great lengths to make sure that you’re in pain. He’s going to do what he wants to your family, and he’ll do it because he has no repercussions.

Snow got Finnick’s family ten years ago. You suppose it’s your turn to suffer in the same way. After speaking out against Snow like that during your interview. After actively participating in the rebellion. This is going to be his way of getting you back.

You reach up, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. A laugh bubbles out of you, as you look at the ceiling.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick asks.

You laugh a little harder, shaking your head as you look to Katniss, and then Finnick.

“I thought I was untouchable.” you press your lips together, and then look down at your wedding ring, “I thought I couldn’t be affected, because it wasn’t me who was going to be the leader of the rebellion. I should have known.” you look at Katniss, “I’m really sorry, Katniss.”

A nurse comes down the hall, catching Katniss standing there. They move her back to her room, and it’s just you and Finnick in the room, back in silence.

“They’re not going to hurt them, (Y/n).” Finnick says quietly, “And you don’t need to be thinking like that.”

“Finnick, Snow went out of his way to go to District Four and get Annie and my family,” you shake your head, looking at him, “You’re being absolutely ridiculous if you think for one single second that he’s not going to do something.”

“Come here.” he says, his tone means it’s not up for debate. He sets down his rope, and holds out his hands for yours. You sit down, facing him and placing your hands in his, “Look at me.”

You’ve seen Finnick serious before, it’s not an outrageous thing. You’ve seen him determined, and angry, and fearless, and war-driven. You’ve seen him worried, and caring, and loving, and free. Throughout these years, you’ve seen everything you can come from him.

You look at Finnick, and you’re already getting emotional, because it hurts. And he sees this.

“Remember during the first games, and you kept telling yourself that you need to look up and not down?” he asks, “Because if you look down for too long, you’re going to think down? You’re going to think that none of it matters if you end up dying, anyway?”

You nod.

“This is the same thing.” Finnick says, “You thinking that they’re not going to make it out, is going to make something bad happen. You’re going to force those bad things to happen, instead of thinking up.”

Finnick’s right, as he normally is.

You laugh, looking down at the bed for a moment, “Thank you, Finnick.”

He yanks you towards him, letting go of your hands just in time so you face plant straight into his chest. He laughs at his antics, and wraps his arms around you for a hug. You do your best to hug him back.

“Tell me one of your favorite stories about them.” he demands.

You readjust yourself so you’re a little more comfortable. Even then, it doesn’t help, “Finn, you know all our stories.”

“Not all of them!” he says, “I didn’t know the one about the tree!”

“It was a useless story.” you giggle.

Finnick shrugs, “Then tell me the useless ones.”

You think for a moment, because all the stories to you, are just memories. None of them seem to stick out like a sore thumb. They all blend together, and you can’t even seem to find a funny one at first.

“Oh!” you say, “Let me sit up.”

“Got a good one?” he asks, letting you go.

You laugh, “Kinda. Did I ever tell you the first time I went to the square?”

Finnick begins giggling too, “No, but I have a feeling it’s a good one.”

You move Finnick’s left arm up, as you lay right next to him on the bed. He scoots over a little bit, and readjusts the pillow so you can be comfortable. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, and he looks down at you, since you’re laying and he’s sitting up.

“It was before my mom had died.” you begin, “I was roughly twelve when Alyssum had been born, so I must have been ten or so. Reed was fifteen, Mox was fourteen, and I was the runt at the time. Obviously, that meant I would have to endure a ton of torment, no matter what.

“Don’t get me wrong, okay? I love my brothers as much as the next person, but what they did one day was cruel. The day I had first gone to the square, we had run out of the essentials. Like shampoo and soap and all of that. Of course, we could go to one of the local stores and try to buy what they have but–you know how the old lady was.”

Finnick laughs, “Cranky, and everything in there was overpriced.”

“Exactly!” You laugh, “And the soaps were specially scented, and that’s why she made them overpriced in the first place. The only times we would buy from her, was either for weddings or funerals. Which are the two most important times for a person. Not birth!

“Anyway, Reed and Mox knew full well that I had never been to the square before, and since I hit double-digits they thought that sending me by myself to get soaps was the perfect way to do it. Even if I had no idea on how to navigate, or bargain, or know what I was after specifically.

“Mom and dad didn’t even think to stop them, because they didn’t know!” you laugh, “Reed and Mox left the house with me to make it look like they were going to do it, because it was their job to do. But they handed me the money, told me the basics of what I was looking for, and left me on my own.

“And when I mean left–” you giggle, and Finnick is laughing too, “I mean, they fucking left. They somehow knew that the wrath of our mom was going to bite them in the ass so fucking hard, that they fled halfway across the district to be out of reach. And they didn’t come home until it was late at night. But that’s for later.

“My brothers were so fucking cruel, they had sent me there at one of the busiest times of the day, because there’s three. One, really early in the morning for the people that want to get the good stuff. The afternoon to two o’clock for those who have nothing better to do during those times of the day. And right after work for everyone has ended. Can you guess which one they chose?”

“After work?” Finnick is still laughing.

“The place was a shit show, Finnick!” you motion with your hands, “Mostly fishermen that stunk of rotting fish that had sat in the sun all day. My dad had plenty of friends back then, his buddies that he would go on the water with during the day, so a few of the guys had obviously recognized me. They didn’t say a word, though. Because they thought I was on a mission.

“I was clutching twenty dollars like it was the last thing I had to my name, wandering around the stalls. I nearly got stepped on almost a hundred times. Do you know how many times I heard ‘oops, didn’t see you there, sweetheart!’? Too many! And yet none of them had thought to ask me what I was looking for.

“I ended up finding the stall that I was looking for, and I waited in line patiently. There was constantly people weaving in and out and occasionally stepping in front of me because I was too timid to tell them otherwise. I’m sure had I told them that I had been standing there, waiting, for almost an hour, they would have moved, but I didn’t have the guts.

“We both know how big and burly the fishermen in District Four get.” you settle down again, “Somehow, by some fucking miracle, I had gotten to the front of the line with the twenty dollars. And with the little knowledge that I had, I told the lady that I needed shampoo and body soap enough for five people with the twenty dollars that I had.

“At first, she tried to treat me like a regular person, because she’s seen the faces. They come in and out, and it’s hard to keep track of people in four, because we replicate like bunnies.” Finnick is in stitches at that comment, “But then, after I had answered one of her questions, she ever so slowly looked at me.”

You do the same, looking at Finnick as slowly as you can, “She looked me up and down, and then said, ‘honey, you don’t belong here’. As if I didn’t fucking know!”

Finnick shushes you, but he’s laughing too hard.

“I told her my brothers sent me in, and she asked me where they were. I told her that they left, and if she wanted to find them for me, that she could be my fucking guest because I knew that they would be ‘out of sight, out of mind’ far. We went back and forth for a while.

“She asked me if I had gone to any other stalls, and I told her that I was only allowed to get shower stuff. She told me I was smart for not falling for any of the candy displays, but to be honest I was so fucking scared of getting stepped on for the thousandth time, that I hadn’t even realized that there were any.

“She gives almost double the amount that I should have been given, and leaves enough money for me to go and get candy from one of the stalls. She gave me a bag, and right on top, wrote a nice note for my mom and dad and she told me not to read it. I got to the candy table, told them that the lady had sent me and she said that she would pay for it.

“The guy gave it to me on the house, of course, and then I was on my way home. I enjoyed my chocolate, but still semi-oblivious to what had just happened, I tucked some of the sweets away for my brothers when I would see them at home.” you grab onto Finnick’s arm, shaking him, “Because it had been almost three fucking hours since I left the house, and I figured that they would be there already. But guess what?”

“They weren’t there.” Finnick answers.

“They weren’t there.” you repeat, “I gave my mom the note that the lady wrote, and I’ve never seen my mom so caring before. She made me, her and our dad, my favorite dinner, and made basically bones for my brothers for when they would come home. My mom told me she was proud of me, and that I did a very good job inside of the square, but not to do it for a very long time.

“She found the chocolate that I had been saving for my brothers, and cut up some even pieces that were absolutely way too small to enjoy and placed that with their dinners. I allowed them to have the rest, and then after that, it was a waiting game.

“I stayed up hours past my bedtime with them, as they waited in the living room with me. Dad was reading a book, I was coloring, and mom was coloring right alongside me. The thing is, about our old house, is that it was two stories. My bedroom, and their bedroom was upstairs, but my brothers slept downstairs. Making it more than easy to come in through the window for them.

“They must have waited a while, because when they did come out of the room–” You’re laughing now, shaking your head, “–they were dressed in pajamas, and clearly ready with a flashlight to come and raid the fridge. Did I mention that we were sitting in the dark, though?”

Finnick is chuckling again, “No you didn’t, I have a feeling where this is going, though.”

“They shone the flashlight right on us.” you tell him, “Forget deer caught in headlights, they were light a couple of truckers that had caught the fucking deer! Mom jumped up and off the floor in two seconds and she tackled the both of them to the floor before they could escape to their room.

“Dad lit a few candles, and just like that, they were in giant ass trouble. They got yelled at for nearly an hour for doing that to me. And to make all the matters worse, they had shoved the chocolate in their face. Not in a way of ‘she got it and you didn’t’ but more of ‘even after you did this to her, she wanted to give you something nice’.”

You snort, “I think that’s when Mox became so sensitive, it’s because of me. Because I was the runt of the group, and they teased me relentlessly, and treated me like ass and even though they did, I still would do stuff like that. Get them their favorite treats, buy expensive toys with my own allowance and all that.”

You sigh, placing your hands on your stomach as you stare at the ceiling, “Unfortunately, two years later I would be taking trips to the square more often. Dad had gotten busy, trying to take care of Alyssum and providing for us. The days that Reed and Mox didn’t have school, they would be on the boat trying to help.

“And then it would get so much worse when dad had died, and I was suddenly put in charge of the square and Alyssum at the same time, since they would be busy with the boat and all that. It’s how the people of the square learned me more, and learned to respect who I was and all of that.

“I was twelve or thirteen, still getting used to it all. And then two years later would come the games,” you look over to Finnick, “I think you remember how that goes.” he nods, “I didn’t really have a reason to go back to the square after that. Too much money to know what to do with, I could have bought everyone out every single day, but it just wasn’t fun, y’know?

“I could have bought anything I wanted. The expensive bread, and meat, and the fancy perfumed soaps and shampoos. There was no need for the cheap stuff in the square, but I ended up going there anyway. I would basically shower people with money and tell them to keep the change.”

It’s quiet in the room, “You’ve always been adaptive.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” you tell him, “It’s luck that I hadn’t been taken in the square that day. Or have had my money gouged off me.”

“Do you have any more worthless stories?” he asks, sinking down on the bed with you.

They’re not worthless to him, you realize. He thinks that they’re fun and interesting, and he wants you to keep going. You look over to Finnick with tears in your eyes, and a frog in your throat, “Hundreds.”

[robronfic]

Could you pls do a Big Bang fics round up of sorts? Would be so helpful to find them all in one place. Thanks

swings & roundabouts by dvs/@dvswraatins

summary: “life can be unfair, robert. that’s just life though, innit?” aaron said, matter-of-fact, a kind smile on his face. “but…sometimes it can be good too. it can give you things you weren’t even looking for.” 32k. 

[a wonderful and joyous and absolutely brilliant story that will make you feel so much love your heart may be in danger of bursting! you will fall in love with robert and aaron all over again, and twice as hard - oh - and you will adore the very alive sarah! a fic for a rainy day.] 

serve me your black hand by littlelooneyluna/@littlelooneyluna

summary: after a failed attempt at his life by a very much not dead client, hit-man robert sugden is given an uncertified bodyguard to protect him on the job. 37k. 

[you’re not ready for this fic. you’re just not. it’s intense and angsty and compelling and completely worth losing sleep and shedding tears over. but it’s also soft and delicate and loving and everything robron are - i mean, what’s not to love?] 

breath of ember by some_mad_lunge/@some-mad-lunge

summary: in a society where you are defined by your element, aaron dingle has been marked by the rarest of them all: fire. still, he has built a contented life for himself even as he wages a war with the flame within him. that is until robert sugden, a mysterious air, blows into his life and binds them in an attachment unlike anything anyone could have expected.

and like nothing aaron could have ever prepared for. 19k. 

[i’m quite literally still speechless from this fic so finding the words to explain my love for it is proving difficult. but, just…. wow! what a brilliant and unique story! reading this will make you feel like you are aaron and robert and their emotions are yours - that’s how well their feelings are portrayed. just… make sure you have tissues at the ready, okay?] 

aftershocks by illgetmerope/@illgetmerope

summary: aaron is a mutant working undercover for the sugden family as robert’s bodyguard. jack sugden is writing the bill that will inform how the world responds to mutants, and robert is the resistance’s only hope. can aaron convince him to help the cause? 68k.

[an utterly wonderful and unique fic that will make you feel all the emotions you’ve ever felt x1000. look out for the club scene because that will give you all the feels! you can cut the tension with a knife and can feel the chemistry right down to your fingertips. save this fic for when you want your heartbreaking and putting together again.]

secrets kept, secrets told by raelee514/@raelee514

summary: robert and aaron have always had a connection. 74k.

[this fic has everything you could ever wish for - from a whirlwind of angst, to a generous flurry of love n softness and a whole heap of emotions. it’s an impressive 74 thousand words or pure brilliance. if one fic will make you believe in soulmates, this is the one.]

you only live twice by anythingbutplatonic/@robertsvgden

summary: robert sugden is agent 007, living a life of luxury as MI5′s most prestigious and coveted agent. but when his increasingly reckless behaviour threatens to put his job and his title - not to mention his life - at risk, madame secretary is forced to assign him a new assistant to help him toe the line. but aaron dingle is unlike anyone robert has ever worked with before, and the threat he poses to his place at the top of her majesty’s government might just be the one thing that ends up keeping both his feet on solid ground. 33k. wip.

[there’s nothing quite as beautiful as watching a story grow and blossom and unfold right in front of your very eyes, especially a story as beautiful and brilliant as this one. it’s intense and intimate, yet tender and warm - aka everything you could ever wish for. lorna has created the most fascinating and captivating world here, and i guarantee you’ll be checking ao3 each day for updates!]

love, aaron by dingletragedy/@dingletragedy

summary: sometimes i feel like I’m stuck on a ferris wheel. one minute i’m on top of the world, then the next I’m at rock bottom. for the most part, i’m you typical 19 year old boy. i have a less than normal family, spend my weekends watching footie and drinking more than i can handle, and can’t wait to finally escape this damn college. but i have one huge secret. nobody knows i’m bisexual. sometimes I wonder if I really am all alone in this, or if there’s others out there who feel the same, trying to get by being half of the whole they know they could be. red.- or: a love, simon au with a twist. 43k. 

[this one is kinda alright. i suppose. maybe. maybe not. idk. don’t ask me.]

heaven is a place on earth by sugdingles/@sugdingles

summary: aaron meets robert in san junipero in 1987. how will their relationship progress and is everything really as it seems? black mirror au. 20k.

[a brilliant and imaginative story that will leave your heart aching in the best way possible!!! it’s magical and unique and so, so amazing. it’s just… all the emotions! one hundred percent the kind of fic that’d you want to stay awake until 4 am reading - and you will not regret it one bit!] 

run over by robronsnuggles/@robronsnuggles

summary: robert sugden has reached a high point in his life. born rich beyond his wildest dreams, owns a successful business, engaged to a beautiful woman, everything is just perfect for him, and yet something is just off. what he doesn’t expect is for his life to take a turn for the worse and with a car accident and just a few words from a certain handyman, his life turns upside down.

“i can’t believe he doesn’t remember me. everything’s gonna be ok. now.... i am your husband. my name is aaron dingle”. 23k. wip.

[i mean, who doesn't love an amnesia fic - especially one with so many twists and turns that you’ll find yourself gasping and begging for more! another fantastic work in progress that we’re lucky enough to get to watch grow and blossom and unravel - how exciting is that? such a brilliant and captivating story - you’ll be bookmarking this one!] 

worse than strangers by escapingreality51/ @escapingreality51

summary: as a young businessman, robert sugden meets and falls in love with aaron dingle, a young, passionate rugby-hopeful. however, when aaron wants to make their relationship public, robert freaks out and breaks up with him. robert has been buried in his work and his family life for the past five years, focusing all his energy on work after never truly recovering from his loss. when aaron returns to emmerdale unexpectedly he is a changed man; rich, famous, and he has not forgiven robert for what happened. will robert and aaron find each other again with five years and so much pain between them? 27k. 

[everyone’s favourite jane austen book combined with everyone's favourite yorkshire soap couple, wrote by one of the most talented writers around - pure perfection! this story is intense and brilliant and gorgeous! another one that will break your heart and then put it back together twice as full!] 

[cofffeeekinks]

Katsune no Hanayome Ch. 2

Hey, everyone. :D

This is a commission multi-chapter fic, for @eggyboi13, who has been so patient with me in regards to how long I’ve been taking to get this out. I’m hoping to get a new chapter out every Friday and here is the second one. I’ll work on putting these on A03.

If you want to show me your support, consider asking for a commission (only for art though) or leaving a tip in my ko-fi.

—-

Katsune no Hanayome Chapter 2

Rated: Mature (18+)

Trans!Bakugou Trans!Todoroki Trans!Kirishima

Later chapters will contain things such as: s e x , lots of it. Heavily pregnant s e x.

[Chapter 1]

A year certainly passes quickly, regardless of how much fun you’re having. For Shoto, Eijirou, and Katsuki, that year of courting began rather slowly but as their fondness and affection for Izuku began to heat up, and well, time did seem to slip.

Every morning the men would open their doors to see flowers waiting for them. Sometimes it would be one or two, and other times it’d be a stunning bouquet. These flowers never wilted and would always smell lovely. Eijirou loved the little surprise every morning, as far as anyone was concerned it was obvious that Izuku had won his heart only a week into their stay. The red haired warrior, despite his unbreakable nature, could be quickly smitten by the kitsune’s sweet affection.  

Especially when he realized that maybe life in the spirit world might actually be better for him than the land of the living. At first, he wasn’t so sure, but emotionally bonding with Izuku was enough for him to make the decision to stay early on. Although he didn’t tell Izuku right away, he knew that this was what he wanted.  

About three months into their year, Izuku caught Eijirou acting strange in the bathroom. The door wasn’t shut all the way, so the kitsune peeked in. Eijirou was staring at his reflection, pulling on his hair and complaining about his black roots.

Izuku knocked, and asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” Eijirou looked over at Izuku, “Oh, um, so I don’t suppose you have any hair dye, do you?” 

Izuku shook his head. 

Eijirou let out a sigh, “Well then I guess I’ll --,” 

“Wait.” Izuku reached forward, he clasped Eijirou’s hands and smiled brightly, “Come to the potion room with me, I think I might have something that might work.”

Izuku’s hands were soft and warm against Eijirou’s toughened, thick skin. He didn’t hear a word Izuku said, no, not over the sound of blood rushing in his ears and god damn, why was this man so beautiful??

Eijirou nodded, and allowed Izuku to pull him into the hall. 

Their hands firmly woven together. 

Eventually Eijirou found himself in a large room, with shelves of bottles lining the walls. Each bottle contained a different liquid, and probably performed a different magical feat. 

“My clan makes potions.” Izuku explained, as he grabbed a few bottles off the shelves and placed them onto a table in the middle, “Let me make you something special for your hair.” 

Eijirou nodded and he watched Izuku begin to work. 

Izuku took each bottle and poured a varying amount of its contents into a small wooden bowl. Then with a finger, he mixed the contents thoroughly and held the bowl out toward Eijirou, “Here, drink this.”

Eijirou held the bowl in his hands and he stared down at the liquid inside it. It was watery, but a rose color, and it smelled sweet. After a few short seconds of deliberating on if he should drink the potion or not, he decided for it. 

And the effects were instantaneous. 

“Did it work?” Eijirou asked.

“Sure did.” Izuku reached into his kimono and pulled out a little round mirror. 

Eijirou saw his reflection and smiled. 

His roots were gone. 

Eijirou was completely won over. 

This was a fact. 

He would spend hours and hours in the library with Izuku, talking about the different myths. Eijirou’s mothers had told him countless stories about this topic and he’d discuss them with the kitsune. 

Sometimes Izuku would correct him on a little detail about an event or explain further about something else. It was truly amazing to hear and converse with someone who had been around such a mythical -- wait, it wasn’t mythical anymore, was it? No. It was real. 

Every time they’d talk Eijirou could feel his heart flutter and his body heat up.

Yeah. 

He was staying.

--------

Shoto was indifferent to the flowers. He wasn’t really sure what to do with them. Yeah, they smelled nice but he didn’t really need them. Regardless, Izuku still sent them every morning. It was quite a thoughtful action.

What Shoto did enjoy was the candles and soaps that would occasionally be gifted to him. He valued these objects, especially during the first few weeks. He was more anxious than Eijriou and Katsuki about this situation, even though he didn’t really let them or anyone know. The calming scents of the soaps and candles would relax him.

The lavender would relax him.

The mint and eucalyptus would ease the soreness of his chest that would often come with long periods of binding. 

It was thoughtful of Izuku.

One of the gifts that Shoto valued the most was the homemade soba. It was amazing. He’d eat it every day if he could, but he knew if he did he might gain some weight. He did plan on rejecting Izuku’s advances afterall, he didn’t want to come back home out of shape. 

Of course, that was his first opinion, but such things do change. 

Especially after months of courting.

“Do you have a father?” Shoto asked Izuku as they watched the koi fish swim in their pond on a warm night.

Izuku looked over at Shoto and smiled, “Yes, all spirits have to be born somehow and it's done very similar to humans.” he explained, “My father never treated my mother well, and when I became of age to take over the clan I challenged him. It was a tough fight, let me tell you. It’s never easy fighting family, but I did what needed to be done and banished him from ever stepping foot in my territory.”

Shoto nodded, he reached over across the foot of grass in between them and took Izuku’s hand in understanding, “I wish I was strong enough to challenge my father and protect my mother.” he admitted. 

“You’ll have your time to, I know it.” Izuku encouraged, flashing a sweet smile. He then lifted Shoto’s hand and kissed it, “And I would also like you to know, if you choose to stay here with me, I will never treat you badly.”

A blush began to form on Shoto’s cheeks, he smiled and allowed himself to be smitten.

------

Of the three men, Katsuki was the hardest to win over. 

Any flowers given to him were instantly lit ablaze. Soaps and candles were melted or crushed. Silk robes were dirtied and ripped to shreds. If Izuku was ever going to win Katsuki over, he was going to have to do more than just give him cute, little things. 

Although, he did love the scrolls. Izuku had given him scrolls filled with ancient fighting techniques and styles that were so old they were long forgotten by mankind. Katsuki would spend hours and hours of his days reading these scrolls and learning from them. 

“Hey, fox boy!” Katsuki called from an open area in front of the house, “How about we have a little sparring match?” 

“You want to fight me?” Izuku inquired. 

“Hell yes, I wanna fight you.” Katsuki confirmed, “And listen, if I win, you're going to let me go. You got that?”

Izuku appeared to consider the proposal, he knew there was literally no way a human could win against him. Katsuki could study all those books and learn every fighting technique to perfect and he’d still lose. He knew Katsuki would lose, but was it wise of him to entertain the request and fight the man whose heart he was trying to win over?

“And if you win....” Katsuki continued, “Not only will I be a good little captive for you, for the remaining months at least, but I’ll even give you a kiss.”

“Deal.”

There was no way Izuku was going to lose. 

Shoto and Eijirou watched from a window on a higher floor, “Looks like they’re going to spar.” Shoto described. 

Eijirou glanced down and smirked, “Oh, well no offense to Katsuki but this is a fight he isn’t going to win.”

“Agreed.”

Katsuki would argue and say the only reason he lost was because he was distracted by the beauty that radiated from Izuku. But, even though he did lose, it was worth it in the long run. His blasts would tear away chunks of Izuku’s robe until he set fire a little too close to the kitsune’s genitals. 

It looked like a human’s dick. At first, Katsuki had figured a yokai spirit or whatever the hell he was, would have like, a dick with eyes and seventeen testicals or something like that. Maybe it was the magic of the place, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had any action in too long but, damn.

Katsuki felt himself crumble, and in this moment of distraction Izuku pounced on him and pinned him to the ground. Katsuki could feel Izuku’s penis touch his inner thigh and a heat began to radiate from within his pelvis but he ignored it.

“Well, it looks like I’ve won.” Izuku declared. 

“Y-yeah, it does.” Katsuki pushed himself upward on his elbows and gave Izuku the promised kiss.

[triibutes]

(  KRISTINE  FROSETH ,  CIS  FEMALE ,  SHE / HER .  )    introducing  karma  oren ,  TRIBUTE  of  the  74th  hunger  games ,  representing  district  twelve .  my  sources  say  that  they  are  twenty - two  years  old ,  &  that  they’re  pretty  handy  with  hunting  /  tracking   and   a  slingshot .  wonder  if  that  will  do  them  any  good  in  the  arena ? 

catapults  this  intro  out  into  the  world  like  it’s  been  shot  from  kar’s  slingshot .  hey  everyone  !!  i’m  alli ,  she / her  in  the  cst  and  i’m  absolutely  obsessed  with  this  group .  seriously ,  it’s  everything  i  didn’t  know  i  needed  and  i’m  so  excited  to  be  here .  

AESTHETICS : 

dirt  stained  clothing  that  hangs  off  a  too  slender  frame .  large  doe  eyes  filled  with  worry ,  with  dread ,  with  determination .  silent  screams ,  the  red  string  of  fate  dangling  just  out  of  reach .   PINTEREST .

GENERAL : 

full name ;   karma  pepperdine  oren 

age / dob ;   twenty - two ,  september  9th . 

zodiac ;   virgo 

gender ;   cis  female 

pronouns ;   she / her

district ;   twelve 

occupation ;   awaiting  work  in  the  mines  ,  tribute 

face  claim ;  kristine  froseth 

sexuality ;  demi 

weapon  of  choice ;  a  slingshot 

BACKGROUND :  

born  in  the  seam  of  the  poorest ,  least  advantaged  district  of  TWELVE ,  karma  has  struggled  for  most  of  her  life .  she  has  a  brother ,  pick ,  born  six  years  her  senior ,  and  a  now  deceased  younger  sister ,  who  was  named  cornith .

her  parents  are  both  miners ,  and  it  was  always  expected  of  the  oren  children  that  they  would  follow  in  their  parents  footsteps .  pick  works  in  the  mines  presently alongside  them ,  and  karma  full  expected  to  join  them  in  just  three  years . 

the  three  oren  siblings  were  always  particularly  close ,  spending  most  of  their  childhoods  exploring  the  alpine  terrain  of  their  unimpressive  district .  the  children  would  often  pretend  to  hunt  and  track  game  in  the  woods  near  their  home ,  armed  with  only  slingshots ,  though  they  never  actually  killed .  rule  followers ,  they  feared  the  peacekeepers  who  ran  their  district  with  iron  fists .  

karma  was  an  extremely  fearful  child ,  often  led  through  life  by  her  far  more  outgoing  brother .  though  the  idea  made  her  sick ,  she  would  sometimes  tell  herself  he  would  bode  well  in  the  games ,  if  he  were  ever  reaped .  

she  wasn’t  well  known  around  the  district ,  and  she  had  very  few  friends .  she  has  watched  one  close  acquaintance  die  in  the  games  before ,  her  neighbor  mint ,  who  was  reaped  for  the  70 th  games .  

death  tw  ;   she  often  found  herself  left  behind  by  her  more  adventurous  siblings ,  including  the  day  that  molded  her  into  the  tribute  she  is  today .  pick  and  cornith  went  too  far  in  the  woods ,  tracking  the  hoof  prints  of  an  elk .  they  didn’t  know  about  the  electric  fence  that  outlined  the  district ,  held  them  captive .  cornith  perished .  

this  was  four  years  ago .  pick  and  karma  don’t  talk  about  it ,  but  karma  experienced  real  anger  and  grief  for  the  first  time .  what  had  once  been  feelings  of  mistrust  evolved  intro  a  fierce  hatred  for  the  capitol .  like  caged  animals ,  with  no  where  to  put  the  ferocity ,  karma  took  to  illegal  hunting ,  pick  to  the  mines .  

this  was  life  until  the  74 th  reaping .  is  karma  ready  for  everything  to  change  again ?  

PERSONALITY :  

positive ;   resourceful ,  driven ,  nurturing ,  adaptable 

negative ;   meek ,  incensed ,  distrusting ,  fearful

WANTED  CONNECTIONS :  

for  tributes ;   unlikely  allies ??  she  definitely  fears  and  despises  the  careers  going  into  these  games .  i  think  it  would  be  a  really  interesting  dynamic  to  have  an  alliance  with  one  or  a  few  of  them  due  to  a  surprisingly  closeness  during  training .   doomed  romance ??  i’m  such  a  sucker  for  the  angst  that  this  plot  allows ..  seriously  obsessed .  love  to  yearn  and  crave  and  all  of  those  richard  siken  adjectives .  they  know  likely  one  or  both  of  them  will  die .  enemies ??  on  either  end ,  or  mutual .  on  sight  or  due  to  their  interactions  in  training .  bred  from  jealousy  or  stereotyping  of  the  districts .  anything  that  would  lend  to  bad  blood  in  the  arena .  betrayal ??  friends  in  training  who  will  turn  on  each  other  come  game  time .  sad  and  dramatic ,  soap  opera  esque  twist . 

for  victors / stylists / game makers / escorts , capitol  citizens ,  etc . ;   those  who  underestimate  her ??  they  look  down  on  her  small  stature ,  the  fear  in  her  eyes ,  the  district  that  raised  her .  she’s  something  feral  to  them .  a  sure  death .  could  bring  pity  or  disgust .  allies ??  they  see  some  sort  of  fire  in  her ,  some  sort  of  something .  or  maybe  they  just  really ,  really  pity  her  and  they  want  to  give  her  all  the  help  she  can  get .  friends ??  maybe  someone  to  help  her  navigate  the  capitol ,  to  calm  her  nerves .  

for  district  citizens ;   i  know  this  one  will  be  harder  to  plot ,  but  maybe  anyone  whose  visited  twelve  ??  i’m  not  sure  why  anyone  would ,  perhaps  for  work  or  illegal  trading .  a  strange  run  in ,  and  now  they  see  the  small  and  timid  girl  they  met  in  the  hob  on  tv ,  preparing  for  a  fight  to  the  death .  

anything  else ;  i  love  to  fill  connections  and  my  brain  is  small  so  let  me  know  what  you’re  craving  and  i’m  so  excited .

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Melbourne, An Interlude

Summary: Merriell “Snafu” Shelton is on leave in Australia and meets a girl who, in quite a twist for Merriell, ends up charming the pants off of him. I was inspired by @rami-hoe and their story, The Soldier and the Nurse, because it was written in Snaf’s first person POV.

 I am experimenting with this whole first person POV thing, so I keep Snaf’s thoughts in a slight version of his accent—this might be annoying af and not work at all :/ Feedback welcome! This is also my first piece on here with an OFC instead of a reader insert. I still tried to keep her vague-ish, but I wanted to do something different : )

 This story will be two parts because I no longer seem to be able to write a one-shot to save my life.

   Permanent Taglist: @rami-malek-trash  @sherlollydramoine

   Warnings: language, racial slur against the Japanese in accordance with the time period, and lots of sex stuff, so no under 18s, please!

If Guadalcanal was anythin’ to indicate what else was comin,’ I was gonna make the most of my time here in Melbourne. I was one of the lucky ones without malaria, but I was skinnier than I’d eva been and it was provin’ to be difficult to keep food in me long enough to actually fix my malnourishment.

What I can tell ya was takin’ a shower without a gun within arm’s length, without the fear of havin’ a shell dropped on ya naked ass, was next to feelin’ like god himself was wrappin’ ya up in a hug made out of warm rainwater.  

 It took a few days of eatin’ a little here and there and a whole lotta sleep for my nerves to relax. After a few meals dat finally settled well and sleepin’ for damn near 36 hours, I was ready to go out and find a drink, and I more than hoped not to spend anotha night alone on a fuckin’ cot in dat stadium.  

 First night out, I drank five glasses of whiskey and ended up stumblin’ around, gettin’ lost—I used to be able to drink a hell of a lot more than dat. I ended up runnin’ smack inta a gaggle of girls, gigglin’ and chatterin’ as dey were headin’ into the bar I just left.

 I’ll be honest, I didn’t care which one said yes—so I took my shot, hopin’ I’d come across as charmin’ to at least one of em. I smiled a lot because I knew girls liked it when I did, and I ran a hand through my hair, short because it had just been cut, tryin’ to look just a little innocent and tryin’ to not sound as drunk as I was.  

 Her name was somethin’ like Stella or Bella, and I’m pretty sure she was a decent lookin’ girl. She took me back to the place she shared with her sister, and while she was shy at first, she opened up once the lights were out. I tried my best to get her to leave a little light on because I spent enough time in the black of night, not able to even see my own dick in my hand when takin’ a piss. But she was too shy for dat.

 I took my time, drunk as I was, and made sure she was ready for me. I wasn’t ‘bout to do somethin’ stupid to start off my leave and maybe she’d be the only girl I’d end up gettin’. I wanted her to remember a good enough time.

 The sex was . . . sex. She was a little quiet, a little soft. She kept her hands at her sides, clutchin’ at the sheets on occasion as she laid under me. I eventually gave up on askin’ her what she liked, how she wanted to be touched, because she just giggled and shook her head. I liked it betta when a girl let loose, when she let me know it felt good, too.  

 I came, pullin’ out even though I was wearin’ a rubber. Unlike a lot of my buddies, I paid damn close attention to those fuckin’ VD movies dey showed us. Right before we shipped out, a kid I knew from trainin’ camp got the clap. Sometimes, when I think ‘bout just slippin’ in to a woman, I remember what his fuckin’ dick looked like and I spend the thirty seconds lubin’ and wrappin’ up with one of the rubber kits the officers give out like candy. I wasn’t gonna spend half my leave vistin’ a Pro Station, or worse, laid up in the hospital with my cock on fire.

 Once somethin’-ella was asleep, I tried to leave, quiet as possible. The damn MPs were still up everyone’s assholes, and I didn’t wanna be put in a cage. But on my way out, I ran into her sister and her name sounded somethin’ like Stella or Bella, too. She wasn’t quite as good lookin’ as her sister, but at least she wasn’t shy.

 Honestly, I was just engagin’ in small talk, tryin’ to leave, but before I knew it, I found myself, naked and sprawled out on Stella/Bella #2’s bed with her bouncin’ on my cock like she’d been born to do it. Unlike her sis, she really didn’t need my help to come, and I actually was a little taken aback when ‘bout two minutes in she started screamin’ like a banshee, shakin’ and comin’ undone on top of me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feeling of her warmth, the sweet smell of sex mixin’ with whateva clean soap she had used, until I found myself comin’ for her, just like I did for her sister.

 This one was more difficult to get away from, her limbs all tangled with mine and I wasn’t ready for dat—for feelin’ like I couldn’t move. It was way too much like sittin’ in a foxhole up to ya asshole in mud, tangled with ya weapon and ya gear and leanin’ against a buddy.

 I relied on instinct and stayed real still, laborin’ my breathin’ like I was asleep and sure enough, she drifted off, snorin’ her head off.

 I detangled myself and got outta there. I’d come enough to be a little more sober, so I snuck a glass of water before headin’ out, hopin’ I’d be able to find my way back to base unnoticed.

 * * * * *

 The next few weeks proceeded in much the same fashion. Drinkin’, smokin’, a little gamblin’, and closin’ out the night by finding some sweet thing to bed down. I was the happiest I’d been in a long time and even though the threat of drills and trainin’ was kept loomin’ ova our heads, I didn’t mind. Nothin’ here would eva be as bad as what was ova there.

 Like I said, I was content with my days and nights and believed it would be how’d I’d spend my time in Melbourne until I saw her.

 I was playin’ a game of cards with a few of my buddies, a cigarette danglin’ from my lips, the smoke waftin’ up in a thick stream when I glanced up at a loud guffaw of laughter comin’ from a few tables ova. I reached up to lower my cigarette, and when I found the source of the laughter, I saw the sexiest woman I had eva laid my damn eyes on.

 She was surrounded by a group of marines I didn’t know, probably from the 7th Division. Her laughter had them captivated, and her glass of beer was—goddamn, she was drinkin’ beer like she’d been doin’ it her whole life. Her lips fit sensuously ova the thick rim of the mug, and the way she licked the little bit of liquid from her upper lip after a long draught, not just a sip, but a real drink, made me shift in my chair.

 I had to know her—fuck sleepin’ with her; I just needed to be near her.

 I bowed out of the game, the guys givin’ me major shit as I walked toward her table, all of them turnin’ to see if I’d make an asshole of myself.

 When I stopped in front of the table, the conversation barely paused, even though she noticed me immediately and shot me a smirk, her pink lips glistenin’.

 “Hi ya,” I said loud enough to turn all their attention. “Name’s Merriell Shelton, 1st Marines Division, and I’d love to buy ya a drink.”

 The woman raised her eyebrow, her smirk still planted on her lips. The marines around her laughed and told me to fuck off, albeit with more polite words since dey were in front of the lady.

 “As you can see Merriell Shelton, I don’t have a shortage of marines to buy me a drink. What makes your offer so special?”

 American. I wasn’t expectin’ dat. Her response made it clear she was bein’ coquettish. Her tone was teasin’ and her eyes were shinin’ with a wickedness I had never seen in a woman’s eye before. It only made her more appealin’ and only made me more determined to shut the other guys up who had started laughin’ at her response, tellin’ me to keep movin.’

 “Well, my offer is different, Miss, because dat’s all I want,” I said.

 The marines shifted in their seats, clearly annoyed, until one of em I hadn’t seen earlier, guffawed. It was a guy in my company named James Haneson, but everyone called him Hollywood because he had movie-star good looks and wore sunglasses every chance he got. In fact, even though it was night, he had ‘em on now.

 “Sure, Snafu. You’ve been with a different girl every night since we got here. Remember those sisters? Or were you just full of shit?” Hollywood said, his white teeth glitterin’ as he laughed while the othas joined in. Because I knew him, I caught the edge in his tone. He was sendin’ a clear signal, but I wasn’t ‘bout to let him win without a fight.

 Still wearin’ a grin I considered to be charmin, I retorted, “I neva’ said I been a saint. All I want is to buy a drink for the most beautiful woman I eva seen who also happens to be able to drink betta than about half the men in my company.”

 The woman laughed at dat, a throaty, deep laugh I felt run straight through body, like I got a good jolt from a bad wire.  

 “Well, gents,” she said lookin’ all ‘round her circle of admirers and fixin’ em with a sad little downturn of her mouth, which was surely negated by the wicked look in her eyes. “How can a gal refuse such a reasonable request?”

 The guys all protested, Hollywood even reached out to take hold of her elbow, but she slid out of her chair and her linked her arm in mine.

 “I’ll see you boys soon,” she said as she reached across the table to drink down the last of her beer.

 “Wait, Kathryn! Are you gonna come back to this bar or will you be at the one ‘cross the street?”

 “Or the club down on Main?”

 “Or—”

 Kathryn cut them off with a wink, statin’, “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see!”

 Then, she turned to me and whispered, “Let’s get out of here before they stop being so amiable.”

 “Kathryn! Where ya goin’? You promised to have a drink with me tonight,” an Aussie marine who was at least three times my size and looked to be more mountain than man said as we whirred by him, Kathryn callin’ out her response ova her shoulder.

 “Now, I know that isn’t true because I never make promises to soldiers, Roger! Catch ya around!”

 As we exited the bar, Kathryn leaned into me to make way for a group of people headin’ in and she whispered right in my ear, “I took him home night before last and he came on my thighs before he even got my panties off.”

 I laughed, goddamn did I laugh! She was sexy and had a mouth on her dat woulda made most men blush.

 She continued to lean into me, and when I turned to look at her, her eyes were on my face and she was grinnin’.

 “That was a good reaction. You see, I was testing you, Mr. Shelton, and you passed. Shall we have that drink now?”

 “Yes, ma’am,” I said returnin’ her dazzlin’ smile.

 “I know a place that isn’t quite so inundated with, well, your lot.”

 I let her lead me through the streets, happy she kept her arm linked with mine. She smelled like perfume, a familiar scent dat reminded me of the little purple sweet violets my granmama grew. Perfume was a luxury now, so I figured with the way she spoke and dressed she was from money. Girls with the kinda confidence Kathryn had were used to havin’ things at their disposal.

 As we walked, she pointed out various places and named them, tellin’ me whether dey was worth vistin’ or if dey’d charge ya double.

 “How do ya know so much if ya American?” I asked, no longer able to keep my curiosity from climbin’ out the bag.

 “Well, my father is Australian. He met my mother while he was at University in the States. We always spend Christmas here with my grandparents, but since the war, I haven’t felt much like going back to my studies. I work in the shipyard now as a welder.”  

 I actually stopped in my tracks. I was expectin’ maybe a Red Cross volunteer or a nurse, but a welder, huh.

 Kathryn let go of my arm and pulled off her glove, holdin’ up her hand and tellin’ me to feel it.

 I reached out and ran my own calloused fingers ova her’s and across her calloused palm.  

 “You really are somethin’, ma’am,” I said, not botherin’ to hide the awe in my voice.

 “I guess we haven’t been properly introduced—I’m Kathryn Taylor,” she said as she held out her ungloved hand to me.

 “Merriell Shelton. Pleasure to officially meet ya,” I said as I enveloped her hand in mine, admirin’ the strength in her grip.

 “Come on, Merriell. We’re almost to Smithy’s.”

 We turned a corner and after walkin’ a few more feet, Kathryn took my hand in her once-more gloved hand and lead me down what seemed like a never-endin’, near pitch-black alley. She made a sharp turn left and then a right before we were brought to a buildin’ dat looked just like any otha bar in Melbourne, except the accents from the patrons out on the patio were all Aussie.

 “Kathryn! Good to see you, luv,” the man at the door said. “And who’s this?”

 “My friend, Merriell Shelton. He passed my test, Joe,” Kathryn said with a wink.

 The man called Joe chuckled and clapped me on the back, however, his next words were anythin’ but friendly.

 “Start any shit in there, mate, and your MPs will be the least of your concern, clear?”

 “Clear,” I said with an affirmative nod.

 I followed Kathryn in and got a fair share of stares, but no one seemed to pay us much mind once we slid into a little booth in the very back.

 “Drinks are on me,” Kathryn said as she fished around in her little bag.

 “Oh, no ma’am. I invited you—”

 “Merriell. You fought. You lived. You’ll be off to fight again. I’m not the one risking my life on those godforsaken islands. The absolute least I can do is buy you a drink,” Kathryn said with finality as she slid from the booth and strode away—at least before stopping on her heel and doing a rather impressive about-face.

 “I forgot to ask what you wanted,” she said with a quizzical look on her face as she stood in front of me.

 I had to laugh. I didn’t think I’d eva met a woman who made me laugh as much as I had in such a short while.

 “I like whiskey,” I said.

 “You’ll get the finest in the house,” she said, smiling again before she turned and took off for the crowded bar.

I took a lot of pleasure in watchin’ her walk away. Her blue dress clung to her backside like it was made for the sole purpose of drivin’ a man wild.

 When Kathryn returned, she had two large glasses of beer and two glasses of whiskey.

 “Figured it’d be awhile before they’d make room for me at the bar again,” she said as she scooted a beer and a whiskey to my side of the table.

 I thanked her and took a sip of the whiskey. It was damn smooth, so smooth I was sure I’d never tasted anythin’ like it before.

 Kathryn also took a sip and thought for a moment before sayin’, “I think it has a nutty taste. Definitely not floral, not woody.”

 I shrugged my shoulders at her, not sure what else to say.

 “It’s my dad’s and my granddad’s favorite. I’ve been sneaking sips since I was a little girl,” Kathryn said as she slid her glass toward me. “However, I really don’t like it at all.”

 I laughed again, a quiet chuckle of surprise because I wasn’t eva sure what was gonna come out of her mouth next.

 “Where are you from, Merriell? Your accent is . . . sexy,” she said, pausin’ to either add emphasis or because she might’ve finally felt a little shy.

 “I’m from New Orleans, Louisiana.”

 “New—Naw Orlens. No. New Or-lins. How’d I do?”

 “Not too bad,” I said with a chuckle. “Just don’t eva go full yank on me and say New Orleeens,” I said, draggin’ my e’s out to create dat sound I absolutely hated.

 Kathryn giggled and said, “Point taken. I never want to hear you make that terrible noise again.”

 We both smiled at each other, and even though the night was still young, I wished it would neva end.

 Talkin’ to Kathryn was the easiest thing I’d eva done. She didn’t ask about the war, so I got to enjoy not talkin’ about it. After a few more hours and several more drinks, I learned about her childhood, her schoolin’, and her life here with her grandparents. In turn, I opened up to her about home, growin’ up and not always havin’ money but how my granmama made sure us kids neva went hungry.

 I could tell I was feelin’ the effects of the whiskey and Kathryn could, too. Like everyone who wasn’t Cajun, she said my accent was takin’ up ‘more space in my mouth’ as she put it.

 “But it’s still so sexy,” she said, this time bold as brass.

 “I’m convinced dat nut’in on dis earth is sexy as you, darlin’,” I said, shooting her what I hoped was one of my best grins.

 “You know, I’ve never met anyone with eyes more beautiful than yours. They can’t lie, Merriell. Did you know that? I’ve been testing you all night,” Kathryn said with seriousness, except I couldn’t help grinnin’ at her slurred speech.

 I was a little taken aback at the compliment, though, and told her so.

 “Nobody’s eva told me dat ‘bout ma eyes. Usually, dey just call me . . . unnervin’ or some shit,” I said with a nervous laugh. I had never confessed dat it bothered me to anyone.

 Kathryn narrowed her eyes, takin’ her time to formulate her response.

 “Prolly because you can see right the fuck through people—just like you did with, oh, what’s his name back at the bar . . . Hollywood! People want to feel like they’re special, like they’re some kinda enigma that can’t be solved. But you, Mer, you just cut right through their bullshit.”

 “I’ve neva wanted ta kiss someone more dan I wanna kiss ya right now,” I said, leanin’ on the table, my fingers dancin’ ‘round the glass dat was between em.

 Kathryn sat straight up and looked like I’d dumped a gallon of ice-water ova her head. I was confused enough to start to apologize for bein’ forward, but she cut me off.

 She locked her eyes on mine and said, “No. When we kiss, it’ll be something that you remember for the rest of your life, not a stolen press of the lips or dart of the tongue in a back-alley bar. You deserve something more than that, Merriell.”

 No woman like Kathryn had eva said anythin’ like dat to me. In fact, no woman had eva said anythin’ like dat to me. I was a lotta things, a whole lotta things, but this girl seemed to deem me worthy of far more than I eva imagined for myself.

 We were both disappointed when the bartender announced last call. It was near 3 am, but I neva felt more awake; it felt like the fuckin’ Japs were a million miles away on their own stinkhole of an island, mindin’ their own goddamn business and dey had decided to keep it dat way.

 “Guess I outta let you get back before they send the MPs after you,” Kathryn said, her eyes a little glassy as she smiled at me.

 “Nah—da officers quit checkin’ up dat closely on us. All it takes is a few favors and ya safe from dem assholes.”

 Like I was discoverin’ she was prone to do, Kathryn grew serious and changed the topic on me.

 “I’m looking for something, Mer. I’m just not sure what it is yet, but I do know that I’ve never found it.”

 I smiled at her, puzziln’ a little ova what she said.

 “I dunno if I’ve got anythin’ dat interstin’ for ya, but I would sure would like to see ya again.”

 “Done,” she said, pullin’ a little notepad and a pen from her purse. She scribbled an address on it and reached ova to tuck it snug into my shirt pocket.

 She had put her gloves back on and reached up to cup the side of my face. I leaned inta her touch and closed my eyes, savorin’ her gentleness. She slid her gloved thumb ova my lips, pressin’ just a little on the bottom one. I opened my eyes and we just stood there for what felt like a lifetime, lookin’ at each other.

 She shook her head, and pulled away, sayin’, “I’ll make sure you get on the right tram. Come on.”

 Kathryn took off down the dark alley, and I followed her, thinkin’ there was a good chance I’d follow her anywhere.

[piixelatedpastries]

Know it’s been forever since I updated..but more updates will be coming..we are so far ahead in writing but my game crapped out so couldn’t get any pictures. I know pics are sparse, but and can’t wait to share how things are developing in the story! To read the previous parts go to the Port Stone Rp link on my tumblr

Shaylee

"He promised it would..but it won't..I'm going back..I have to go back..I didn't mean to.."

 My words trailed off, it wouldn't make much sense to admit I wasn't supposed to even be here this morning, but I had all but said exactly that now.

 I sat up, wrapping the robe back around myself and tying the strap as I gathered up bedding wrapping it around me as well.  Another realization dawning on me.

 "I don't have anything to wear..not really.."

 The last thing I could fathom doing right now was putting that horrid outfit back on, not until I had to anyways.

 "Xanthos..have you always had him?"

Xander

I watched as she wrapped yards of material around her little body as if it would protect her and sat up. Getting off the bed I walked to my closet to find clothing for the day.

 "I'll get you some clothes, do you know what size you wear? I'll take you shopping later today once a friend brings something by for you to wear" "

 Shrugging on clean jeans I walk out of the closet pulling a black tee over my head, covering myself as if I could cover the scars and the shame of having a side of myself, I couldn't always control.  How many times had I had to apologize for the terrible things he did, for the things he made me want to do. "

 With a sigh I turned back to her, scrubbing my face with a hand.

 "Yeah, I was born with him, courtesy of my father. The Wolf is courtesy of my mother. I really am so sorry you had to meet him that way. Given the time restraints there wasn't much time to warn you of him, I didn't think he'd be making an appearance so soon..."

 Walking to the bathroom I lay out a fresh towel and cloth before coming back out to her still sitting on the bed.

 "Why don't you take a long hot shower. clean the night off and try to relax. I don't have anything of the girly variety but the travel pack of soaps I bought had a conditioner at least.  I'll have Jen bring you something over while you're in there."

Shaylee

"Is there ever a good way to meet a demon?"

 I asked wryly as I slid from the bed, taking the sheets with me, letting them trail behind as they engulfed my body in their soft cloth, tickling against my skin.

 A soft moan escaped as I stepped into the shower, feeling the warm water trickle against my skin and soaking my hair. I wasn't sure how long it had been since I had last been cleaned with more then a sponge bath of murky water from a bucket. It would be so much harder to return now, memory of what it was like to feel human was awakening more and more.

 I didn't step out from beneath the water until it finally ran cold, the last of the dirt and disgust of that place circling the drain in sudsy finality as I wrapped the giant terry cloth towel twice around me.  The sheet was wrapped again before I emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing out around me.

 "You don't need to take me shopping..you need to take me back..the longer I'm away, the worse it's going to be for me. Just a clean t-shirt of yours will be enough, I won't be keeping it there anyways."

Xander

"Probably not so much, no.... but I suppose it would have been nice to have more than 24 hours to prepare you for him. If you see him again just tell him Tianna would hate you for this and he might go away quicker"

 As I watched her walk away, I placed a call to Raven and asked her to get my things from the bar and her an outfit, guessing she was a size 0 and bra I guessed was about a 24b or c cup. also guessed her feet were a size five and told her to get her a pair of sandals of some sort.

 Walking into the kitchen to make her something to eat I wondered just what the fuck I had planned. Obviously I couldn't keep her captive here forever but what would I do with her, how could I let her go now?  The questions swirled in my mind as I made bacon, eggs and pancakes for her, cut up strawberries and squirted a generous dollop of whipped cream on top "

 Hearing a knock I open the door to Jen, taking the things she brought, thanking her and shutting the door on her well-meaning questions.  I place the items on the bed  and go to the living room to wait. "

 After what felt like an eternity, I finally heard the water shut off and her pad her way into the bedroom. Ignoring her words completely I walk in and point to the bed.

"There's your clothes sweets, put 'em on and come eat breakfast."

 Not waiting for a reply, I head back to the kitchen and wait for her to finally emerge. anticipation running heavy through my veins making me restless. I couldn’t wait to see her clean, dressed and no doubt breath taking.

Shaylee

I frowned a bit, but didn't argue, taking the clothes into the bathroom and shimming quickly into them. The jean material was strange feeling, not a fabric I was used to, but it felt good to be covered, to be..presentable, was the word I suppose they would use. I took a few extra moments to brush out my hair, quickly  tying  back, loose strands framing my face softly.

 I headed towards the sound and smell of the food, my mouth already watering before I stepped into the kitchen and scrambled up onto a chair.

 "Tianna was your wife? She had control of your demon?"

Xander

I was not disappointed in the least as I watched her walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, her hips naturally swaying as she walked. She was a sight, no doubt about it. The way the shorts hugged her hips had me transfixed and made me jump as she scooted to the table.  Sliding her plate towards her and making a gesture at the pancakes I turned to pour another cup of coffee.

 Her question took me aback, as questions of her usually did. Even after 55 years it was still a raw spot that had me emotionally on edge whenever I thought of her. I truly loved her as much as was possible to love another person. My once little family was perfect until it was taken from me.

 Clenching my jaw, I swallowed a few times, checking my emotions were under control before turning to answer her.

 "We were all in love with her in some form or another. He had his fair share of fun with her that I always ended up having to apologize for, but over the years he grew to respect her enough to not scare her or hurt her and couldn't stand to see her cry any more than I could.  There was a time when she actually told him she was proud of him I guess and he would have done anything for her after that."   Sitting down beside her I take her hand in my own, stilling her from eating for a moment.

 "I truly am sorry about this morning Shaylee, he's.... complicated. but not something to play around with. He can be a completely evil bastard, or he can toy with you. He's an asshole with no conscience and that makes him unpredictable. He does things for his own gain, has his own desires that he will do his damnest to fulfill. I am sure that was scary and the absolute last thing I wanted for you. But I swear to you, I am not him. We may share this body but his actions and thoughts are entirely his own."

Shaylee

The bacon was cleaned from my plate first, and the sweet pancakes and fruit were quick to follow, leaving me to pick a bit at the eggs before his hand wrapped around mine and his eyes locked with me, the pain in them palpable making my own heart ache for him and his loss.

  I bit my lip for a moment shaking my head, my bottom lip glistening as I released it to speak.

 "That's not true..he has a conscience, or he wouldn't have been bothered by Tianna's tears or wanted her praise..if those things mattered..he isn't totally lost..he can't be."

 I gave him a small smile shaking my head as I placed my free hand over the one that engulfed my other.

 "I know he is separate..mama spoke about demons often..they..like our kind..almost as much as vampires do."

Xander

I roll my eyes, pushing the bar stool back with a huff and standing up. She was wrong thinking there was something worth saving in Xanthos. He was the pure evil side of me, and I really needed her to see that, though now was hardly the time.

 "He is lost, when she died, whatever she had given to him died with her. He was only good, or as good as he could be, because of her, for her. We all died a little with her....." I let my words trail off as the pain crawled its way up my throat and into my eyes once more.  I needed to change the subject. This was going nowhere.

 "Now get your ass off that chair and let’s go do some shopping. I will hear nothing of this bull about wearing my 20x too big of shirts. You are a lady and you will look the part!"  With that I swept her up in my arms and marched out the door with her, ignoring her feeble attempts at protesting and placed her in the passenger seat.

Shaylee

I could sense his discomfort and the need for a subject change, and what right did I really have to push it anyways. I was only here temporarily. I still couldn't resist one last observation though.

 "He could have hurt me..but he didn't..just..just scared me."

 I shook my head as he plopped me into the seat of the truck again.

 "Everything you have is like..giant..your bed..your shower..your truck..everything!"

 I knew it was a waste of breath to remind him I couldn't stay, he was ignoring everything I said about it anyways, acting as if he just didn't hear, or maybe as if I didn't speak.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Pact - Chapter 3

Sam Winchester, Gothic AU

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

A/N: This idea was a long time coming. My first true AU, so please be gentle. This will be a slow burn, multi-chapter fic. 

Summary: Lord Samuel Winchester has lost the love of his life due to the actions of the Demon King, Crowley. As he plots secret revenge, his father, the King of Lawrence, decrees that Sam will wed Crowley’s daughter in order to unite the two families to protect the sacred ground the Winchester’s Kingdom is built upon.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Crowley’s Daughter!Reader

Other Players: John Winchester, Crowley, Rowena, Dean Winchester (mentioned), Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore (deceased)

Warnings: mild language

Words: 5.3K

Everything Tags:

@sorenmarie87 //  @lefthologramdeer // @rockyhorrorpictureshowstyle // @his-paradox // @letsby

Supernatural Tags:

@wings-of-a-raven // @kazosa // @negans-wife // @grace-for-sale // @geeksareunique // @tiquismiquis // @mrsbarnes-rogers  // @teller258316 // @spnhollis // @sweet-things-4-life // @hobby27 // @sweetlythoughtfulbird // @theoriginalvicki // @dreamchester67 // @xxwarhawk // @babykalika2001 // @superwhovianfangirl81 // @toobusynerdfighting // @missihart23  // @crowleysreigningqueenofhell // @idreamofplaid // @thewinchesterchronicles  // @wayward-gypsy  // @closetspngirl // @fatestemptress // @rebelminxy  // @22sarah08 // @witch-of-letters // @cole-winchester // @rainflowermoon // @adoptdontshoppets // @foreverwayward // @waywardvalkyrie // @fandomoniumflurry // @gnrfanfic // @blackcherrywhiskey // @jessieray98  // @lyoly  // @a–1–1–3 // @31shadesofbrown // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare // @screechingartisancashbailiff

(I don’t normally tag series, but since this is an AU, I will tag specifically for this one if you don’t want to be on my SPN list. Let me know if you want to hop on any of my tag lists.)

The Pact Tags: @theplaid-wearingmoose // @zombiewerewolfqueen // @silkiechicken // @collette04 // @flamencodiva // @katiecurls75 // @death-unbecomes-you // @colie87 // @roxytheimmortal // @klanceiscannon14 // 

A glimmer of light reflected from her dress, capturing his attention again. Though relatively short, Samuel kept drifting in and out of the ceremony as his mind wandered through a battlefield of questions and emotions.

So much about what was happening felt wrong; yet somewhere inside, he knew it wasn’t. Each passing moment, he felt the Oracle’s words burning an imprint in his brain.

“…behind the feathers, the dark, iridescent feathers, lies the match to your unburnt flame. She’ll be of great comfort to you when your grief folds you over and renders you useless…”

The meaning wasn’t quite clear to him yet, but it meant something. Whether it was that (Y/N) MacLeod was crucial to his plan against Crowley, or to his own demise, it wasn’t certain. Either way though, the nightmarish feeling of misery he lived with in his heart would be over. He’d have his revenge on Crowley, or he would be dead and in Heaven with his beloved.

Bobby continued with the promise and vows, not bothering to savor the moments as he did with any other previous ceremony. All parties involved were clearly anxious for it to be over, Samuel included. Once it was done, he could at least leave the shared space with Crowley and begin planning exactly how he would use his new wife to his advantage.

Samuel dared to look down at her then. Though the sheen of her gown was captivating, he purposely kept his eyes cast down at his hands, shoes, cane… anywhere that her curious gaze was not. He drew in a deep breath and being this close to her was able to pick up the scent of lilacs and juniper. Bobby’s words faded into the background as Samuel finally caught her gaze.

(Y/N) lifted her face up at the exact moment Sam looked down. It was also the same moment, Bobby asked them to join hands. He reluctantly held out his hand not using the cane for her to place her hand in. When she did, he was surprised to feel just how delicate her hands were. Her skin silky and warm, and her fingers held steady against his slightly trembling ones.

In stark contrast, her expression was steely and determined. She continued to meet his gaze, holding her head regally while pursing her full lips into knowing smirk. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts had set her face that way, then decided that he didn’t care. It didn’t matter because he refused to take the time to know her. She wouldn’t be alive long enough.

From within his cloak, Bobby removed the burlap chord that would be warded and tied to bound Sam’s and (Y/N)’s wrists, a symbol of their union as man and wife. That chord would be loosely tied and worn until the wedded couple reached their marriage bed to consummate the coupling. Samuel’s heart began to pound when the Maester wove it across both their wrists, securing it with an Enochian blessing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Crowley flinch at the prayer. His smug face fell away, and his jaw clenched, along with his hands. He seemed unsteady on his feet for just a moment; but enough of one for Sam to take note of. When the prayer was finished, Crowley steadied himself and straightened his shoulders.

“Can we get on with this, please?” the demon asked with a raise brow. “Some of us have other places to be.”

Bobby flashed him a look of disdain and continued with the ceremony. As he read the final passage from the Old Carver Testament, he raised both hands, placing one on each of their shoulders.

“Samuel, (Y/N), with this last gesture, I ask you to share your first kiss before the witnesses present, confirming your vows to be man and wife.”

A streak of panic washed over Sam’s face. His mouth went suddenly dry as his jaw clenched just like Crowley’s did a moment before. He looked back to (Y/N), who’s expression hadn’t altered one bit from the cool and unrattled exterior she presented before.

Sam took a step towards her, her hand still lightly held in his and leaned in. The closer he got, the more he could smell the lavender of her soap. Sam brushed his lips to the corner of her mouth, allowing only the briefest moment of contact. It wasn’t horrible, but he was glad to see she recoiled from it just as quickly as he did. It was enough, however, to satisfy the onlookers.

Bobby held both his hands out, palms up and directed his voice towards the entire room. “Forever here, joined in this place, may your lives together be long, happy, prosperous and in service to each other.”

With their wrists still bound, and no celebration to contend with, Samuel led (Y/N) from the catacombs and back up the stone stairwell. Slowly they ascended to the main floor of the castle, and that’s when he finally was able to speak to her freely.

“So, what now?” he asked.

“I supposed you’re suppose to get me pregnant,” she replied calmly, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Or, if you aren’t quite ready for that, we can say our goodnights and revisit this… problem, in the morning.”

Sam snickered. “Problem?”

“Yes, the issue of you can’t stand the sight of me, and I’m quite sure I’m meant to die in these walls.”

Her frankness caused him to choke and begin to cough. “What… what would ever give you that idea?” He tried to sound surprised, which he was, but not for the reasons she probably guessed.

(Y/N) smiled and rolled her eyes, but not in an annoyed sort of way. “Oh, you are a naïve one, aren’t you,” she tutted. “I’m a MacLeod, and you’re a Winchester. We are born to be mortal enemies, are we not?”

Sam shrugged, “I suppose.”

“So, what reason could our fathers have for putting this together other than to begin the War to end all Wars?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’ve honestly decided to let things go?” he lied. He knew the reason, and also realized that she probably did, too. (Y/N) wasn’t some stupid, naïve woman. Sheltered or not, he could tell just by the twinkle in her eyes that she knew far more than she was letting on. “Either way, I don’t think tonight is the time to figure it out.”

“No, I guess not,” she said, and for the first time, Samuel thought she actually looked nervous. “What are we to do about this?” She lifted her wrist that was bound to his.

“We go up to my chambers, untie it and figure out which side of the bed you want to sleep on. If we don’t make it look real… at least for tonight…”

“Better than getting lectured I suppose,” she relented. “Well, husband, lead the way.”

  Up in Samuel’s chambers, the space was kept warm by a fire burning lowly in the hearth, but you still felt a chilly reception upon entering. You saw your trunks had been moved in there and Sam happened to see them just as you did. Being so close, with your wrists still bound, it was hard to miss his body flinch at the realization that he would REALLY be sharing his room with someone else. Someone, he never wanted.

You kept your cool about you, just as you had for most of the evening thus far. Instead of concentrating on how much Samuel despised you, you decided to take in every detail that you could.

In the center of the room, was a large, wood-carved, four-post bed adorned with a deep blue canopy with gold accents. The woven blanket that covered it was made of the same colors. Two high back chairs graced either side of the large window that overlooked all of Lawrence.

The far wall, starting from the edge of the window, was lined with book shelves and full, to overflowing, with hundreds of books.

“Like to read?” you asked casually, trying to lessen the awkwardness that was rapidly growing.

“Yes,” he said simply and quickly removed the binding from your wrist.

Sam moved to throw it into the fire, but you placed your hand over his to stop him.

“I wouldn’t. You know they’ll ask for it. It supposed to follow our lives and children, remember?”

He grunted in agreement and haphazardly tossed it onto a small trunk that lived near the bed. Samuel sighed then and limped his way towards the bed. When it gave under his weight, he sighed again, but this time with the relief of being off his feet.

“Does that give you much trouble?” you asked and nodded towards his hip.

Again, he just glared at you and nodded. “Some.”

From the moment you had entered the catacomb chapel, and promised to be his wife, Samuel had done little to show you he was on board with the arrangement, other than not object to it. He had been cold and aloof, and while you didn’t expect him to lay out a red carpet for you, you had hoped he would at least be curious enough to ask you a few questions, or maybe even, engage you in conversation.

“Is there anything you’d like to know about me? Anything that may make this all a little less uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable?” Sam questioned, rising again to his feet and turning to face you. “You think this is uncomfortable? This is Hell, M’Lady. What our fathers have arranged here is my Hell on Earth.” His tone was nearly conversational, even chuckling after what he had just said. A gesture that made your blood start to boil and your spine straighten.

He took a few steps closer, his shadow engulfing you. “I don’t know what you imagined this arrangement actually becoming. I, however, do not plan to take this any further than what we already have. Save the binding or burn it, I couldn’t care less.”

He turned on the heel of his boot and made his way towards the door. Without turning back around, Sam simply turned his head to leave you with one last remark.

“I’m going for a walk, do not wait up.”

With that, Lord Winchester allowed the oversized door close behind him, leaving you alone in the room, with only the crackle of the fireplace making any sound.

 No sleep came for you that night. Afraid the Winchesters would have someone stab you in your slumber, you sat up in the bed until light came in through the window. Finally, allowing your eyes to close, even if it was just for a minute, and a booming knock came at the chamber door. Bolting up from sleep you sprung from the bed, pulling your nightgown closed at the neck and wrapping one arm around your chest.

“Co—come in!” you called.

When the door opened, you imagined Samuel would be on the other side. So, when it was the King’s face you saw, you tried to composure yourself and not react the way your surprise wanted you too. Before he could notice you still in your nightgown, you grabbed the robe you’d laid out on the bed, put it on and quickly cinched it around you’re your waist.

“M’lady,” the King bowed. His eyes were dark, and his face wore a Cheshire cat smile, which did a lot to enhance the dimples buried in his salt and pepper beard.

“Your Majesty,” you said and returned the gesture. “To what do I own the honor?”

He didn’t answer right away. John Winchester clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked through the room. He eyed the bed and saw that only one side had been utilized. His dark brown eyes flicked up towards you, and for a moment you weren’t sure if he was just going to get it done and slit your throat himself. Instead, a smile appeared, spanning the width of his face, and enacting crater-like dimples to form on his cheeks.

“Check in on you of course. Seeing if your first night in your new home was comfortable. You may be my son’s wife, but that makes you my daughter now, does it not?”

“Yes, I imagine it does,” you replied demurely, trying to maintain an ounce of respect.

“I see my son is up and gone, already. I hope he was kind to you, on your wedding night.”

He watched your reaction from the corner of his eye as he walked across the length of floor and towards the window that overlooked his Kingdom.

“He was a gentleman,” you said, not wanting to give more than necessary.

“Good. That pleases me. Though we are Winchesters, warriors and peacekeepers by rite, doesn’t mean we can carry on without couth and respect. I know Samuel struggles with the arrangement. As I imagine you do, as well. I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but I want you to know, (Y/N), your willingness to step in and take part in it shows your dedication to the cause.”

“What cause is that, Your Majesty?”

“The protection of Lawrence, of course. You do realize just what it is we do here, don’t you? How imperative it is to maintain peace in the realm, and to keep these lands away from those who would seek to control or destroy them.”

“Like, my father for instance?” you dared to suggested.

John paused and looked at you curiously. You could tell he was examining you, trying to read the root of your intentions. You internally laughed at his attempt. One doesn’t live with Crowley for as long as you have and not learn the art of maintaining an impenetrable poker face.

“That was in the past,” he said, finally moving on. “I meant the battle that rages in Purgatory. That’s the true threat. If our forces cannot hold them off. Your father’s attempt at stealing what’s ours will pale in comparison to what those monsters will do.”

He turned to full on face you now. Though he continued to move slowly towards you, the way he carried himself told you that he was holding a lot back.

“Now, what matters, is keeping this alliance between us and your kin. An heir was promised; its what cemented the deal,” he began, his voice lowering with each word. “I didn’t expect it to happen in one night, but, if within a fortnight you aren’t with child, I will have you sent back to your father’s castle. But from now on he’ll house you in the dungeons with the rest of the traitorous filth.”

His voice went deeper with the last few words, causing a nervous reverberation to rattle through your body. Your limbs began to shake, not visible enough for John to see how much he’d shaken you, but enough for YOU to know. You instantly hated him for the threat and wondered off-hand how Samuel truly felt about his father. The only way you were going to get through this all alive, was to show him you were no one to be trifled with.

Standing taller and letting your arms fall to your sides, you cleared your throat and squared off with his gaze. “Clearly, I am not the problem here, in that regard… Your Majesty. I am here, in the chambers I was to share with my husband. He is the one who went for a late-night walk, not to return. So, if you want to have this conversation and try to intimidate anyone in this scenario, may I suggest you tracking him down and laying the threat of damnation upon his shoulders.”

You were able to maintain a calm tone, but internally there was an inferno of anger raging. The King seemed slightly amused at your reply and leaned back, casting his gaze down at you. Thankfully, it had softened a little and helped you to feel slightly less defensive.

“I mean no disrespect, I just don’t feel—”

“Its fine. You had every right to say that. You’re right, Samuel isn’t here, and he should be. I shall have a word with him.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. This is difficult for everyone. However, I would like to give him a day or two to adjust. Myself as well. I shall seek him out and ask for a tour of the castle and grounds. I understand your urgency for an heir, but if you want this to be successful, I ask you to give me that fortnight to make it work. Give your son time to comply. He’ll hate you less for it in the end.”

Waiting on pins and needles for John’s reply was torture enough. Finally, he nodded and cast a smile in your direction.

“You have the MacLeod knack for negotiating. Did your father ever tell you that?”

“No, sire. My father rarely speaks anything to me unless it’s a command of some kind.”

“I see. Shame on him then.”

A slight knock wrapped on the door, right before it creaked open, one of the Winchester guards came in, whispered something in the King’s ear and he nodded in response. John bowed slightly and upon standing straight, noticed for the first time you weren’t properly dressed. “I shall take my leave of you M’Lady. Be sure to get that tour. I think you’ll thoroughly enjoy the gardens. I don’t believe you have many places like those left around the cliff.”

“We do not.”

“Well, be sure to see them. We will speak again, soon.”

As the King took his leave, and the door shut behind you, you exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. The relief that washed over you was enough to bowl you over. Sitting back down on the bed, you steadied your breath and closed your eyes.

There was work to be done, that was for certain. You would not be sent back to Crowley’s, nor would you be the King’s puppet to control his son. You would, however, try and get Samuel to cooperate just a little; even if that meant using the potion you had stored away in your gown to initiate that cooperation.

Reaching between your breasts, you pulled the small crystal vile from your cleavage and held it up eye level. Narrowing your eyes at the clear liquid, you smiled wanly. “Looks like you’re going to be useful, after all.”

  The gardens were in full bloom and bursting with color. Sam slowly strolled down the gravel path as he passed through the rows of lilies, roses and box hedges. He approached the archway that lead to the reflecting pool and eventually to the path into what the old Maesters labeled as the Elven Woods.

Sam had never ventured in there himself, but that was mostly because he had never been allowed to trifle with the magic that lived within Lawrence. Then, when he had met Jessica, she was enamored with them; asking dozens of questions and nearly begged Sam to take her there. He promised he would, as soon as the rains had passed. By then she was gone and now, it was just a place that he avoided.

Just before the arch, he found a stone bench and sat down to rest his hip. From the direction he just came, her heard footsteps shuffling along the same path of gravel. Bobby was approaching, his cloak loosely tied around his neck, his head down most likely deep in concentration.

Despite his melancholy, Sam smiled to himself at the sight of his old friend.

“Bobby!” he called, grabbing the man’s attention. “What brings you out here so early?”

At the sound of Sam’s voice, Bobby’s head snapped up in surprise. “Sam,” he started and quickly glanced around the path. “What are you doing out here? I figured you would be with your bride.”

“You thought wrong,” he shrugged and moved over on the bench offering Bobby a place to sit.

“So, what are you doin’ out here? Shouldn’t you be with her?”

“Don’t start with me, Bobby.”

“Let me guess, you’ve barely said two words to the girl since last night.”

“It was more than two… five at least.”

“Don’t sass me, boy.”

“I’m not, Bobby. I just don’t need to be with her every moment of the day,” Sam shrugged, and hoped that Bobby wouldn’t read too much into his overt aloofness.

“She should be out here with you at least. Keep up appearance. You know your daddy will expect you to treat her as your wife.”

“Yeah, well, he can’t control everything I do, now can he?”

“Samuel, you are walking a dangerous path. If you don’t do what’s expected—”

“And what is that, exactly? Produce an heir? Fine, but for God’s sake, I just met her. I need a minute to adjust and John will have to wait.” He couldn’t help the wrinkle of his nose and the distaste in his mouth that appeared when saying his father’s name. He loved the old man, but he sure as Hell didn’t like him in that moment.

“You listen here, Sam. That woman there, she’s your wife now. You agreed to his terms, and part of those terms is producing an heir. You don’t gotta like her, son, but you gotta find a way to get past your hatred of her father and make this work. Part of making it work, is you’re gonna have to spend time with her—”

“Bobby, please, just stop,” Sam pleaded, but the old man wouldn’t relent.

“I don’t know exactly what your daddy and that monster are cahootin’ over, thick as thieves they are. But, at least they ain’t fighting, and that’s just better for everyone. So, man up, be kind to her, treat her with respect, and maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised at what you find there. Also, keep your eyes and ears open, boy. Those two are cookin’ something up, and I’d bet anything if you wanted the truth, the way to get it is to be nice to that wife of yours.”

A calculating smile rippled across the young Winchester’s face. “Why, Maester Singer, are you suggesting I use that girl to advance my own agenda?”

The corners of Bobby’s mouth turned down and he shrugged, as if to say, ‘Who knows?’

If Bobby knew that he already had a plan for his new wife, he probably would’ve knocked Sam out cold. But his plan wasn’t what stopped him from at least making small talk with her the night before. It was the feathers and what the Oracle had said.

Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that began to grow inside him; the one that started the moment the binding chord had joined their wrists. The feeling that gave him pause and wonder just who this woman was.

He figured keeping his distance as much as possible would have to get him through until he figured the best way to take care of her, permanently.

“I heard what Pamela said,” Bobby continued, as if reading Sam’s thoughts. “I’m not blind, either. I saw what the girl was wearing…”

Sam’s head snapped up, and before he could speak, he saw (Y/N) walking towards them. Bobby followed his line of sight and immediately turned to face her. Sam stood, using his cane for support and tried to paste a smile to his face before she reached them.

With each step she took that brought her closer, the more Sam felt the pace of his heart quicken. There was no denying her beauty, nor the regal way she carried herself down the gravel path. Rays of sulight peeking through the trees coupled with the pastel flowers that lined either side of the path, she appeared to have an ethereal glow surrounding her. She wore a deep blue gown, with a matching hooded wrap that flowed out behind her. The way the material rippled around her legs as she moved made her look even more otherworldly than before.

Samuel’s breath caught, but only for a moment. In it though, for the first time in nearly a year, the name Jessica wasn’t sitting heavily on his heart. In that moment, there was nothing but (Y/N) MacLeod.

  You saw them, your husband and the old Maester, talking in hushed tones at the end of the path. Deciding to carry on anyway, you slowed your gate and hoped you would be able to be a few steps away before they saw you. No such luck.

Both men spotted you quickly and were at attention by the time you reached them.

“M’Lord,” you said softly and offered a small curtsy to Samuel. Then turned to Maester Singer and did the same, “Maester.”

They both bowed their heads and smiled wanly in greeting.

“What brings you out here?” Samuel asked politely.

“It’s a gorgeous afternoon. As you well know, we don’t see the sun nearly this much over near the cliffs. Thought I’d take the opportunity to enjoy it.”

Bobby not so subtly cleared his throat and cast a look over towards Samuel, who seemed to ignore it. Biting his lip, Bobby spoke up for him.

“Sam, why don’t you escort (Y/N) here through the gardens, give her the grand tour. I’m sure she would love to see the roses, and maybe up to the entrance to the Elven Woods.”

Bobby turned and glared at Samuel, who simply paused, then stared back for a moment. You noticed an expression cross Lord Winchester’s face and made sure to tuck that away for later. It was strange to say the least, and something that just piqued your curiosity.

He eventually broke the stare and turned back to you. “Yes, a tour would be a great idea. Can I interest you in a proper walk about?” he asked, unaware you could tell he was placating the Maester.

“I’d love that,” you replied and took a brief glance down at his cane. “Are you feeling up to it?”

He gripped the top of it tightly enough for his knuckles to whiten. “Perfectly fine. Shall we?” Making a sweeping gesture with his arm, you nodded at the Maester and began to walk past him.

Samuel stopped at Bobby’s side, whispered something and left the old man with a lingering, stern expression. When he finally caught up to you, he held out his elbow for you to take, and escorted you through the gardens.

You walked for a while in silence, and every so often he would point to a certain flower or herb and give you its proper name and what it would benefit. From what Samuel told you, all the flowers and herbs that were planted were done with purpose. Maester Singer and his flock tended to them daily, painstakingly weeding the gardens, pinching off the herbs when ready, and making sure they received all the proper watering when the rains and storms didn’t decimate them.

“So, what are these Elven Woods Maester was speaking of?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“A place that I do not venture to,” he said flatly, his eyes forward and intent on the path ahead.

“Why not?”

“Because, I don’t.”

“There must be a reason,” you said, but he didn’t respond, just kept his eyes forward and his shoulder’s straight. “Or not…” you mumbled.

Deciding to change tactics, you chanced another question. “Did you spend a lot of time out here as a boy?”

You saw his expression flinch, then soften. He inhaled and when he responded with more than a grunt, you were a bit taken aback.

“No, not too much. Especially not after my mother died,” his said, his tone softer, more conversational. “She loved being out here. I was young when she died, but what I can remember was she loved the gardens. Her family had tended the lands for a long time, and she was incredibly knowledgeable in spell work, herbs, potions. My dad, however, is a soldier. Always was, always will be. Once she died, he pretty much took me and my brother under his wing, said to leave the plants to the Maesters, then tried to make us soldiers, too.”

You stayed quiet, hoping he would continue. Getting him to open like this meant getting to know him. If you could get to know him, maybe your chances of staying alive would improve. But Samuel stayed quiet, not offering anymore details to the conversation.

He turned you down another lane and paused halfway towards the end. His brow furrowed, but only briefly. Assuming he had simply been taken over by a passing thought, you didn’t nudge him to go on until he was ready.

When he turned to you then, he smiled large enough that both cheeks dimpled. You found him to be incredibly handsome, but also intrigued by whatever caused this shift.

“(Y/N), see that there?” he pointed down the lane to a small path that was covered in an archway of trees. “That’s the entrance to the Elven Woods. Its where so much of Lawrence’s magic stems from. I understand you have a knack for spellwork, at least that’s what my father told me. Rowena taught you, right?”

“She did. Some of it. Some I learned by trial and error.”

Sam laughed. It rang partially false to your ears, but you considered maybe he was just nervous. “Would you care to take a stroll through the woods?”

“What about you? Didn’t you just say you don’t go in there?”

“Well, yes. I won’t be able to go, the terrain… its too rough on my hip. But I highly encourage you to pass through the arches, at least. There are fields and fields of ferns and wildflowers, mushrooms, dandelion and even Devil’s Claw just growing everywhere.

Samuel was continuing to surprise you; first by answering a question with a personal story of his mother, and now with encouraging your interest in herbs and spell work. Your hackles were raised now more than ever.

“Alright, sure, I’ll take a quick look. Promise to wait for me?” you asked, softly batting your eyes and trying to appear interested in his company.

“Of course. I’ll be right here, M’Lady,” he said, with another half faux grin.

Stepping over a smattering of bright pink petals from the azaleas growing through the trees, you picked up the dirt path and followed it into this special place known as the Elven woods. The deeper you progressed, the more you were enveloped by a low hanging mist.

A dozen or so more steps, and the canopy of trees broke, but only to rise up further into the sky. You could still see spots of blue with light filtering towards the lush forest floor. With the mist settled on the ground, it reflected the light giving the forest a lustrous glow that surely only lent to the area’s mystique.

In the midst of a small clearing, stood a hundred-year-old oak tree. It had dozens of limbs twisting and turning in every direction. The way the light was floating down through the leaves was mystical. Slowly taking steps towards you, you reached out and placed your hand against the bark.

Instantly, you could feel the surge of energy that spiked up through the bottoms of your feet, then coursed through your veins. It was as if it was just sitting there, laying dormant waiting for you to come along. You felt alive, inspired and injected with a sort of euphoric calmness you’d never experienced.

Later, when you were soaked through, bleeding and trying to catch your breath, your thoughts would circle back to the day and how you ended up where you were… you would blame that infusion of magic, for being distracted, unable to hear your attacker approaching from behind and getting close enough to put a blade to your throat.

Tags are open! Chapter 4, coming soon! 

[sunsetbeachsoap]

Interview: Life's a Sunset Beach

She was going to be the next Elizabeth Taylor. These days Lesley- Anne Down takes work where she finds it - right now, it's in the best daytime soap opera since `Crossroads'.

Deborah Ross @deborahross

Monday 30 November 1998 01:02

So, here she is, then, Lesley-Anne Down, once "Britain's Most Beautiful Teenager" and once, of course, the flighty, ravishing, utterly captivating Miss Georgina Worsley in Upstairs, Downstairs. I can still see her now, in her little sparkling bugle dress, with those big sparkling eyes, flirting outrageously with someone jolly handsome in the Eaton Place drawing room, while, downstairs, Mrs Bridges was bellowing: "RUBY! ROO- BEEEEE! YOU COME AND HELP ME WITH THIS MILK PUDDING NOW, MY GIRL!" The part quickly transformed her into the nation's, and the tabloids', absolute darling. She may even have been Elizabeth Hurley before there was any Elizabeth Hurley. The prototype, if you like. And very, very big things were predicted for her. "The next Elizabeth Taylor," declared the Daily Mail in 1973. But today? Today she is not a great big movie star. Instead, she is Olivia Richards in the American daytime soap Sunset Beach.

Now, let's see, how best to give you a little thumbnail-sketch of Olivia? OK. Here goes. Olivia used to have a drink problem, and also used to be married to Gregory Richards, played by a cracking actor who can do lines, and facial expressions, but singularly fails to ever tie the two in together. Olivia has a baby son, Tres, unbeknown to her grown-up daughter, Caitlin, who is a graduate (cum laude) of The American School of Dramatic Hair Tossing - they are all, actually, very good at tossing, but Caitlin's the best - and who thinks Tres came from a prostitute. Caitlin certainly doesn't think Tres could be her brother, or might even be her half-brother, because Olivia once had an affair with Cole, who suffers under the weight of a great deal of hair gel and thus looks permanently perplexed, and who is now married to Caitlin, while Gregory is now married to Annie, who has lips like dinghies and who drugged Olivia and stole Tres in the first place before Olivia found out and Gregory divorced her, because he thought Tres died as a result of her drinking. And that's about it. I think. Tragically, Sunset Beach is only on here at 10.20am on Channel 5 which means that, for a busy, professional, go-getting high-brow like me, I only ever get to see it daily.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: "Look what Lesley- Anne has come to!" And: "Where did it all go pear-shaped!"Well, if that's the case, and I suspect it is, then I can only say you are mad. Sunset Beach is, almost certainly, the best thing on telly at the moment. Indeed, for anyone who has had, say, a Crossroads-shaped hole in their lives ever since Crossroads was axed, then Sunset Beach is just the ticket, and possibly more so. The plots are ludicrous, the acting is appalling and, as for the dialogue! Well, take Olivia to her ex, Gregory, while they are stuck in a lift, and he's coming on to her, because he's unknowingly been doped with Viagra, and she finds herself succumbing: "LOVE [breath] ME [breath] GREGORY [long breath]. LOVE [breath] ME!" It's all you could ever hope for, frankly, and no Benny in his silly bobble hat, which has to be a plus.

I say all this to Lesley-Anne. She is not offended in the least. She has, she says, never considered herself an artiste in any way. Do you think you can act, even? "God, no. Absolutely not. But if someone pays me to do something, I will do it to the best of my ability, and on Mars if necessary." How would you describe what you do in Sunset Beach? "Technique. Just full-blown technique! Although it's very hard work, darling. We average four scenes an hour. We don't rehearse. It's brush your hair, then boom- boom-boom, you're doing it." So, in short, it's a matter of trying not to fall over the props, then waiting for the truck to come round with your wages? "It is certainly much better paid than Upstairs, Downstairs ever was!" She says she now takes her jobs where she can find them. She once did a season in Dallas as PR Stephanie Rogers. "Why? Because they offered me a quarter of a million dollars for seven days' work over 10 weeks. What do you think I am, darling? STUPID?" Still, she agrees that "Who shot JR?" might be up there with "Is Amy Turtle a Russian spy?" as one of the greatest soap storylines ever. "Was she a Russian spy?" she asks. I say she got off in the end, but frankly, I always had my doubts. There always looked like room for a kalashnikov under her pinny, to me. "I see," says Lesley-Anne. "Hmmm."

Although she now lives in the very Hello! territory that is Malibu - "Jane Seymour lives round the corner. Her kids came trick or treating the other night" - she is over here for a few days, so we meet in her London hotel suite. We are joined, at various times, by Lesley-Anne's younger sister, Angela, Lesley-Anne's husband, Donnie, and her and Donnie's eight-month-old son, George, who seems to have black teeth ("We think the housekeeper is feeding him juice"), plus a succession of chambermaids who knock then come in to say: "Hiya, Olivia. I just wanted to say hiya, and maybe I could have a photo, Olivia?" "Maybe a little later, sweetie," says Lesley-Anne, who isn't even very good at acting friendly sometimes. Later, she complains: "This has been going on endlessly. In fact, when I first arrived here a few days ago, I went out in the evening. I was knackered, I looked awful, I wore a big hat - but still everyone in the street was shouting, `Ohhhh, Olivia'. And `Ohhh, Sunset Beach'. I don't understand it. It is such a silly little show."

Nonsense, I protest. It's a terrific show. In particular, I love the strange kind of time warp that goes on, so that a character knocks on a door, then 139 episodes later someone finally answers it. I like the fact that there are only ever two camera angles. I like the fact it makes Santa Barbara look slick. I like... "Oh, stop," pleads Lesley-Anne. Her sister Angela interrupts to say she thinks Lesley-Anne is a better actress than she thinks she is. "You were very good in Hanover Street with Harrison Ford," she insists.

"But that was such romantic drivel, darling!" Lesley-Anne cries.

"Trouble is, that film didn't know whether it wanted to be a war story or a love story," says Donnie.

"Ag-ga-ga-ga-goo," goes George, through his spooky, rotten teeth.

I say that, aside from anything else, she did do truly great cleavage in the American mini-series North and South. She can at least feel proud of that. She says: "That wasn't cleavage! That was my spare tyre being pushed up!" Lesley-Anne is possibly rather bonkers. But, still, she can be quite bright and funny at times.

She is now 44, but is still very fine looking, with the huge green, sparkling eyes, and great bones and everything, although she might be a bit over- made-up. You know, lots of black round the eyes and lashes so mascara- ed they look crunchy. She has so far resisted plastic surgery, "but only because Donnie won't let me". "Roy Orbison died on the table getting a face-lift," retorts Donnie. "It is a life-threatening operation."

Donnie, her third husband, is a cameraman whom she met on the set of North and South. Lesley-Anne seems to have spent much of her life going from one bloke to another, actually. First it was Bruce Robinson, the actor who turned writer (The Killing Fields) then writer-director (Withnail and I, How to Get Ahead in Advertising) and with whom she lived with for 10 years from the age of 15. Next it was an Argentine, Henrique Gabriel, an assistant director whom she met in Egypt on a film set, and whom she married on a whim, but left after 18 months for William Friedkin. She married Friedkin, the director of The French Connection and The Exorcist, and together they had a son, Jack. But when Jack was two, Lesley-Anne met Don, and upped it again. Lesley-Anne and Friedkin then fought a custody battle for Jack in a case which even her own lawyer, Marvin Mitchelson, described as "the nastiest, most vicious, custody case this town has ever seen". Friedkin said Lesley-Anne was an alcoholic, promiscuous coke fiend. She said he had threatened to kill her on more than one occasion, and had used a stun gun in front of Jack. After spending a million dollars each, they eventually agreed to a pre-trial settlement and joint custody, but only after Lesley-Anne had been vetted by a team of shrinks.

She says the shrinks ultimately declared her "a super-intelligent woman" which, she adds, "was very funny, because I lied to them every step of the way. They did these Rorschach tests on me. You know, the ink-blots. And they'd say, what does this one look like? I wasn't about to say it looks like two women having it off, was I? So I said, `Ohhh, it's a beautiful butterfly."' What did they conclude about you emotionally? "That I'm a complete hysteric!" And she might be, although perhaps not dangerously so. Certainly, she doesn't seem entirely whole somehow. I think she is intelligent, yes, but am not sure she's entirely all there.

She was born in Wandsworth, south London. Her father, James, apparently a very dashing-looking man, was caretaker of the local Territorial Army Centre. Her mother, Isobel, stayed at home to bring up the two girls, although did a bit of cleaning on the side when things got tight. Lesley- Anne, however, craved a more colourful life. "I had these cousins in LA, who'd send us care packages of clothes they'd grown out of - the most amazingly beautiful dresses that were totally alien to, say, going to Clark's for another pair of lace-ups in black, black or black. So I always had this desire, and image of myself, leading this fantasy life."

She started modelling at 10, was drinking gin and orange and clubbing at 12, started appearing nude in films at 14, and was living with Bruce at 15. I ask her if she thinks her childhood finished too early. She says. "I don't think it ever started!" What do you mean? "I just never felt like a child. I always had this desire to be a grown-up. I never had friends. I never felt I belonged. I was always happiest on my own, inventing things, finding secret places. If I'd also mutilated small animals, I think I'd have the perfect psychological profile of a serial killer." Did you ever, for example, have birthday parties? "Perhaps once. Although, then again, I might just be jealously appropriating someone else's." Did you like school? "Hated it. In particular, I hated Miss Harden, the maths teacher, who had hairy armpits and never wore long sleeves."

The trouble with Lesley-Anne, perhaps, is that she focused for so long on achieving things outwardly, via her own admittedly fabulous looks, that something within her just shrivelled and died. When, later, I ask her what attracted her to Friedkin, she says: "Money, talent, power." And you find those things attractive? "I did then. I'd met men with one or other of those things but, until Bill, I'd never met a man with all three." And the combination was lethal? "Lethal is the right word. That man was MERCURY IN MY BLOOD!" She can seem quite hysterical at times, yes.

Her first modelling assignment was for school uniforms, then it was bonnets, then it was a commercial in Barbados for an American soap powder - "and I thought, this is the life". She hooked up with Bruce at a party thrown by Ava Gardner. "He walked into the room in a white coat. I was in love. I didn't have a comb, so I ran into the lavatory and used Ava's toothbrush on my hair and lashes." He assumed she was at least 18. He, nearly 30 then, wasn't best pleased to find out she was only 15. "He called up all his friends, and said: `What am I going to do?' He went though a difficult time. My parents called him all sorts of names. Bruce would pack my bags and send me back to mum and dad. `I want to be with you,' I would scream. "

He proposed to her just the once, when she was 16. "But I said no. I didn't believe in marriage then." He never proposed again, although they stayed together until she was 24. She doesn't see him now. "He's become such a hermit, hasn't he? He lives in place near Wales that begins with H." Hereford? "Yes, that's it. He has so much to play for, but just tucks himself away." Perhaps he just doesn't want the whole LA shebang? "Oh. yes. Perhaps."

She says she is happy now, with Donnie and George. She doesn't mind that she never really achieved anything after Upstairs, Downstairs apart from a number of lacklustre films culminating in Death Wish V with Charles Bronson. "I'm happy to have survived, to still be here," she says. She has, yes, had her run-ins with drink and drugs but never, she insists, excessively so, and certainly not now. She adds that it's now time for her afternoon nap. "I'm very tired, darling." Bye, Olivia, I say. And I hope you get out of that stuck elevator shortly. "Oh stop!" she pleads again.

[thesweetblossoms]

Blossoming Pear Trees

🎼Breakfast at Tiffanys by Truman Capote, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by Betty Smith and The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, are a few of my favorite books based in New York City. In each, I learned about the charms, qualities and history of the port town bordered by rivers and saturated with hopes, dreams, ambitions, adventures and ideas, each framed within its unique time and context. These books careful plots, characters, storyline, setting and subtexts offering a sliver of knowledge, into the eras thinking, behaving, cultural nuances, as well as the animated energies and perspectives, that shaped and influenced such a complex and captivating town.

In Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I was struck by the fathomless quarters of the heart, the vivacious and inimitable character of Holly Golightly, and the sumptuous homage to the renowned Manhattan nightlife, rife with its glamorous habitués, black silk Givenchy dresses, cocktail soirées and scintillating repertee. I read The Tree Grows In Brooklyn, while living on Roosevelt Island. Within the pages of this delightful rendering of childhood memories, I was gripped by the historical flavor of Brooklyn, the memories of life as a small girl in a lively neighborhood, and the universal experience of being a child tempered heavily with the backdrop of a multicultural new land. The Age of Innocence, portrays another world within the five boroughs, it spotlights, the heady world of upper east side mansions, park avenue town homes, sea escapes to Newport and Long Island, the closely knit and highly structured world of the old New York elite, and the inevitable barriers that plant themselves, in the purest love stories. The book is strewn with references and symbolic meanings of flowers; ‘His eye lit on a cluster of yellow roses. He had never seen any as sun-golden before, and his first instinct was to send them to May instead of the lilies. But they did not look like her- there was something too rich, too strong, in their fiery beauty.’

Having studied and lived in NYC for eight years during my early twenties to early thirties, I often miss the alchemical rush, fearlessness, possibility, dreamlike and magical qualities of living and experiencing one of the great world cities. Thus, a setting in Manhattan brings back the memories of my own time in the city, whether in the faint refrain of notes of music drifting from long ago nights dancing, flirting and imbibing cocktails in Soho with my dearest friends, remembering the anticipation of getting ready for nights out, in short, white, party dresses, also sprinkled with hazy recollections of ending up at somebodies apartment watching the sunrise over the east river, or rainy, rose and iris strewn June walks in Central Park, or hot chocolate from a café near the Met Museum, or of teetering in four inch hot pink stilettos to law firms in midtown or Wall Street, or even further, back to my first night of Law School, crying myself to sleep in a dark dorm room in Greenwich Village, to the day I left, unsure of the journey as the cab carried me across the midtown bridge to the airport, Manhattan lit up behind me, my passage barely dimming its intensity or power. My first stop was to spend a few weeks in the South of France before moving to Vancouver. While those trillion and one lights in the epic skyline glittered farewell, I didn’t know that I would create homes soon, in Vancouver, Los Angeles, Toronto and in my current home in palmy, light saturated and desert bewitched Phoenix, all within half a decade of leaving New York.

Of course, when I miss the city and its aphrodisiacal properties, reading a lighthearted, expressive and engrossing book, such as Sweet Bitter by Stephanie Danler, is transportive and thoroughly entertaining. In this book, I follow the hectic, hedonistic, raucous, fast paced and party filled days and nights of Tess, the small town heroine who moves to the city with hardly any money, to work at a celebrated and iconic NYC restaurant. The most riveting elements of the narrative beyond the illuminating yet relatively common premise of being young, confused, riddled with anxiety about the future, driven to the edges of exploration and self discovery, are the careful and considered details that are painstakingly layered, by the author, like nacre accumulating on a shell, to create a picture of one persons bewildering unfurling of time and space; of developing a crush and falling in love, of connecting with other people through post work hours of heavy drinking and drugs, of everyday group camaraderie, of obstacles and of the costs of taking a chance, of being hurt by the many thorns, blind spots and fractures within reality and of times reluctance to reveal the truthful bitter notes of existence to the untried and uninitiated. Along with the protagonists evolving ability to understand her own capacity for work, of her desire to party, and to chase the object of her desire at the risk of rejection, we are gifted with a rich, informative, luscious, compelling and beautifully conveyed dialogue, steeped in knowledge, brimming with anecdotes and lush with poetic names of revered wines, sherries and champagne. Readers are granted an epicurean education into the sybaritic realms of hospitality, of torn figs, marcona almonds, black truffle laced risotto, of fine cheeses, of terroir, of perfumery and of the effervescence, of those who chase the ephemeral, whether in briny winter oysters, mornings commenced with espresso and closed with half discarded bottles of celebrated wine, in rootless love affairs and in risking everything for the intoxicating New York City moment.

Sometimes nostalgia hits in painful ways, like a cut, tearing skin when scraping against a jagged wall, yet when I see my little son who was born in the city, or my husband, whom I met therein, or my daughter, who might one day visit my favorite museums such as The American Museum of Natural History on the Upper East Side, I don’t miss it that much, I become lost in my current adventure, in baking the family walnut, chocolate chip banana bread, in cutting shell white roses from my balcony garden, in hiking in the charged desert and realizing with the grace of hindsight, the I found both heartbreak and love, from a storied place, and that it is as close to me as my breath and as dear as the Callery pear trees that bloom in the early spring along the proud avenues and reverie misted streets.

Dwelling here in the present, I vow to write more about flowers. For a petal and dew drenched reality accumulates hope, positivity, happiness, reveries, ideas and inspirations. One is potently healed by the generosity and brilliance of blossoms, from witch hazel sprays, to lavender soap, to jasmine and vanilla perfume, to dried rose petal dipped madeleines to countless other floral injections. To be among flowers, is our most natural and exhilarating state, whether it is a summer picnic by a meadow of chamomile and violets, or a October harvest of basil blossoms and cosmos, or a spring seaside hike bordering a swell of wild lilies of the valley. Yet, no matter the climate, reading about flowers provides a season-less joy and bliss to those who might stumble upon a pressed peach pink peony, laid lovingly in the pages of The Painted Veil by M. Somerset Maugham, or to the person who receives a catalog of old roses, featuring Chateau De Malmaison from David Austin, or the person that seldom tires of dreaming about flowers, lost in the liminal botanical sphere, content with the written words about these delicate creatures, no matter the coordinates of the sun, or the exact location of ones own heart, beyond the garden.

In between the hours of work and play, sleep and wakefulness, dancing and being still, writing and reading, planting seeds and cutting flowers, I conduct a search for signs from the universe, fully aware, that there may be many that we are sorely deficient in sensitivity, imagination and consciousness to perceive. Perhaps these subtle jewel boxes of illumination render themselves mute, appearing as the earliest streaked lavender, roasted sweet potato orange and bleeding pink dawn in the morning, the horizon appearing as we are struggling to rise and challenge the random slights of the work week, or it could be the jasmine flower you discover on the desk by your computer, turning striped royal purple as it dries slowly, learning later, that it was left by a fellow attorney who has knowledge of your love for flowers, or maybe, proof of grace may arrive, as innocuously as the black holographic star decals, a gift sent along with the romper room nail polish you purchased in the mail, or it could be from the positive occurrence of an overdue text message from your beautiful, talented and successful law school roommate in Los Angeles. However, they appear, the ones that please you the most, are the ones you should carry closest to you, for these may be the keys to unlock your dreams, discover your nature and decipher your heart.

Though I often encounter unbounded bliss, dwelling in my garden by candlelight, under the mist laced stars, calmed by the analgesic dance of the palms and the steady flow of the water fountain, I have discovered an equal passion for delicate, fine or potent pieces of jewelry. My earliest memories of jewels are of tiny, delicate, faceted gold bangles, from my grandmother, that I wore on special occasions or events. I remember them mostly from old pictures of when I was four or five living in Sydney, but also recently, when my mother gave them to me, collecting them from the locker, for my little daughter to wear. Other reminisces include the memories of the joy, ceremony and fanfare when my parents gave my sister and I, little opal earrings as gifts, or when my mother lent me petite ruby and diamond flower studs to wear before a party, reminding me of their preciousness and to return them to her for safe keeping later. Perhaps, just as the energy, vibrations, subtle magic, healing and alchemical qualities of trapped fire, air, water and earth exert their influences over us, working in tangent with the myriad other cosmic objects that comprise reality, the wearer of these exquisite, handcrafted and artistic pieces also alter, influence and change the mystical qualities of the jewels. For after, I wear a piece, whether an heirloom, a vintage piece, or a newly commissioned trinket, I sense a change, both in my self and in the inanimate stone and metal. The jewel and the bejeweled act in concert to chase and trap the light, the anklet bells drifting into the music, the diamond engagement ring quietly drawing two souls closer and the emeralds earrings annotating the laughter and erasing the tears. 🎹