#beyond harrowing thank you so so much this is amazing

[elvisbdoll]

Book review

From Here To The Great Unknown

Author: Lisa Marie Presley and Riley Keough

Pages: 304

Rating: 5/5

Disclaimer:

The opinions shared in this review are my own personal thoughts and feelings about From Here to the Great Unknown by Lisa Marie Presley. Please respect my perspective, as it comes from my own interpretation and emotional connection to the book.

This is a safe space for open discussions, not negativity. If you disagree or don’t like what I’ve said, that’s okay! Feel free to scroll past or ignore the post—there’s no need for hate or unnecessary criticism.

Also, please be aware that this review contains spoilers about the book. If you haven’t read it yet and want to experience the story firsthand, you might want to come back to this after you’ve finished reading. Thank you for understanding!

Lisa Marie Presley’s From Here to the Great Unknown defies traditional memoir conventions while still delivering an intimate, soul-baring account of her life. It feels less like a polished narrative and more like a heartfelt conversation, as if Lisa Marie is sitting across from you, speaking her truth in a way that is deeply personal and unguarded. There’s no performance here—no attempt to embellish or dilute the rawness of her experiences. Instead, the book is steeped in emotion, so much so that it becomes almost overwhelming at times.

At its core, this book offers a window into a life marked by extraordinary fame and profound loss. For many, her story might begin with the death of her father, Elvis Presley—a loss that has been mythologized and scrutinized for decades. But for Lisa Marie, it was only the beginning of a lifelong struggle with grief and the weight of a legacy that, as much as it elevated her, also bound her. She doesn’t just recount events; she explores their emotional impact, pulling readers into the turbulence of her world.

What stands out most is the sheer honesty in her reflections. Lisa Marie doesn’t attempt to hide behind the veneer of her famous last name. She opens up about the constant comparisons to her father, the relentless spotlight, and the toll it took on her sense of self. Her perspective is refreshing because it’s not tinged with bitterness or self-pity but rather a genuine desire to share her reality.

The most harrowing parts of the book are her accounts of loss. Lisa Marie brings readers into the most painful moments of her life, from witnessing her father’s death as a young girl to the unimaginable grief of losing her son. These experiences, which might seem surreal to an outsider, are written with such clarity and emotional depth that they become almost tangible. You don’t just read about her pain—you feel it.

And yet, this isn’t a story of despair. While the grief and sadness are palpable, there’s also a quiet strength in her words—a testament to her resilience. Lisa Marie’s ability to keep moving forward, even when life has thrown unimaginable challenges her way, is both humbling and inspiring.

From Here to the Great Unknown also offers a glimpse into the darker side of fame. It challenges readers to consider what it truly means to live under a microscope, where every move is analyzed and compared to a larger-than-life figure. In an age where many idolize fame, this book is a stark reminder that it often comes at a tremendous cost.

Ultimately, Lisa Marie Presley’s memoir is for anyone who wants to see beyond the glitter of fame and understand the human being behind the headlines. It’s for those who seek stories of resilience, those who want to explore the intricacies of grief, and those who are simply curious about what it’s like to grow up as the daughter of an icon.

From Here to the Great Unknown isn’t just a book—it’s an experience. It’s raw, heartbreaking, and deeply human, leaving you with a profound respect for Lisa Marie Presley and the strength it took to share her story.

Riley did an amazing job making also notes and sharing how was Lisa Marie as a mother, she was caring, loving and she didn’t let her past traumas affect how she raised Riley, Benjamin, Finley and Harper.

Some of my favorite pages…

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thank you so much for your hard work, people :D I found lots of amazing fic from here and I must say, I very much appreciate it. The titles you people recommend are always amazing.

I wanted to ask for your help on recommending me fics in which Crowley is a human and Azi an non-human, if possible? Preferably Azi as an angel, but anything is fine. I've read when it was Human Azi and Demon (or other non-human entities) Crowley, so I was searching for the opposite. Once again, thank you!

Hi! You can check our #human crowley for more fics like this. Here are some to add to the collection...

The likeness of a man by hapax (G)

There was something … wrong … about Aziraphale. Well, not wrong, exactly, but not right either.  Not … normal. No matter how nice he was, there was no getting around the fact that Aziraphale was too weird to pass for a high school student. That didn't mean that Crowley didn't want to be his best friend.

out of touch, out of time (out of my head when you're not around) by popcornizuku (T)

"Uh, are you a demon?” His face crumbles, clearly distraught by the implication, and Crowley winces. He shakes his head vehemently, “Oh, Heavens no. Quite the opposite, really.” Before Crowley can question whatever that means, he raises a brow, considering, “Were you attempting to summon a demon? I don’t believe that would be a very wise course of action. Awful company, demons are. They have never been known for their manners, I can assure you.” “Er, right. I’ll take your word for it… Wait, no, I wasn’t trying to summon a demon!” (Or, Crowley accidentally summons an angel, attempts to find his soulmate, fights some demons, and falls in love.)

Guarding Anthony by Magnolia822 (E)

When middling angel Aziraphale is assigned as guardian to one Anthony J Crowley, aging playboy and heir to an industrial fortune, he finally has the chance to prove himself to Heaven and earn his place on Earth. Armed only with the compendious yet vague Binder of Guardian Angel Protocols, he must learn to trust his own instincts if he is to stop Crowley from self-destructing. Anthony Crowley has been living his life in the shadow of a tragic incident from his past. He never expects help to come from the most unlikely quarter: a dowdy, yet intriguing, bookseller named A.Z. Fell. Neither of them expects to fall in love. But on this crazy place called Earth, anything can happen. Can't it?

Pure of heart by taj_mahal (G)

After a particularly harrowing day in heaven, trying to avert the Second Coming from the inside, Aziraphale decides to treat himself to a visit to earth to indulge in one of his most treasured earthly delights – a meal at a new up and coming restaurant in London. He is not prepared for what he finds.

Who wants to live forever? by jessescreations (NR)

Antony Colby is a young man living in London, who is suddenly plagued by nightmares of fires, angels and demons. In search for simple answers he discovers big errors in his life - trying to make sense of things, he comes in contact with a bookshop owner who seems to know more than he wants to admit and the longer the search goes the larger the pile of questions grows - in the end of it all Antony Colby has to make a choice or Crowley is punished with a mortal life and does not remember the past 6000 years.

The Mourning Star by RavenMelon (M)

In the aftermath of the thwarted Apocalypse in this alternate universe, Crowley has forcibly lost his memory and taken on a humble life as a greenhouse keeper in Upper SoHo. Meanwhile, Aziraphale, believing Crowley perished during the tumultuous events of heavenly punishment, has adopted a young girl he named Nebula in his process of healing. Their paths unexpectedly cross when Aziraphale seeks horticultural knowledge for Nebula, leading to a heart-wrenching reunion with a forgotten past. Will the Angel be able to find new happiness? Will he bring his Crowley back to him from beyond?

- Mod D

[fenrysmoonbeamswife]

Day 3 of ACOTAR Games: This or That

Here is a respite after the harrowing recollection of Cassian’s wrongs.

Who should be deposed from their position in Night Court?

Morrigan: Third-in-Command to High Lord

Feyre: High Lady

[Rhysand would be in the running if magic hadn’t chosen him and he could be dethroned.]

You may recruit your tribe in your crusade if it pleases you. Your contenders: @litnerdwrites @gwandas @positivelyruined @hrizantemy @yaralulu @kataraavatara @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken And, our very first penalty goes to @achaotichuman!

Thank you for your response. Short live our unbeloved king of abuse!

I actually had to think about this one because Mor is basically useless but Feyre as HL is just a mascot for #feminist king Rhysand to look good

Now I don't think Feyre right now should be high lady, she wasn't actually chosen in a magical sense, the only purpose it serves is to make Rhysand look good, she literally just learned to read, she doesn't know anything about the Court she's ruling, she has lost all of the empathy and spirit that she had in the beginning, and it is all effecting her ruling or lack of. Rhysand doesn't even "let" her rule and everyone looks to him to confirm her "orders" so it's a title only, there's no actual weight to it. That being said I think if by some miracle Rhysand kicked the bucket and Feyre was finally free of his shackles she has the potential to be a truly great ruler, especially if she could get her shit together and take on people like Nesta and Lucien who would be amazing advisors

As for Mor, I'm not sure if this includes her being like basically in charge of Hewn City or not because that's the point that's really cutting these two close for me. I'm going to assume it does because that's her role as the third in command so this is based on that assumption. Even though it makes it harder to decide😭 So Mor is pretty much useless at being responsible for the CoN, she is extremely biased (rightfully) so why she was even put in that role is beyond me. She has extremely limited empathy, she has absolutely no concept of the fact that the other women and children that are there are victims too. She seems to believe she's the only one, even though she herself mentioned the other women in her family. She is literally in charge of this place, she holds so much power that she could use to make change yet she does...nothing. She villainizes all of them, she doesn't even consider for one second that anyone else but her could be an innocent. The things she could accomplish if she acted as an advocate instead of an oppressor is such a missed opportunity. There's so much potential for her to do good

So moral of the story is they're both pretty much useless but could do great things in each role. But I think I'm going to depose Mor. I think Feyre has the potential to be a good ruler, it also doesn't really harm people for her to be HL because right now anything that happens under her rule would happen under Rhysand regardless if she's there or not. I think Mor has the potential to do amazing things for the women and children of the CoN but right now she won't and she is actively doing harm. There is also an alternative, the Valkyries seem to be going in the direction of helping the Illyrian women and the women in the library so who's to say that couldn't include the CoN women too? So while I actually took a minute to decide, I chose Mor because ultimately she is causing harm and there is another option if she is deposed but Feyre isn't causing any harm that wouldn't happen either way, with or without her. Even if Feyre was deposed, Rhysand would still be harming those around him/his court, if Mor is deposed there is some chance that the CoN women could be helped or at the very least not be villainized by the one woman who could help them

[unproduciblesmackdown]

i'll listen to some version of some album for good measure not even so much as dutiful research as "yeah i liked the music haha yaaayyy" and i just am generally like "listening to the music what in the?" so knocking back any album is like, probably me firing up the goosebumps the musical phantom of the auditorium original screen cast recording playlist again, hell yes

anyways what i remember. first of all you understand that for a while all i Really specifically knew about little shop, beyond that it existed and had a joie de vivre & je ne sais quoi & the plant, was that there was the dentist song. thanks to marble hornets (that i knew even this). and i knew Just this. so for a good decade i've at least been able to hum the chorus to myself like (be a dentist) you have a talent for causing things Pain (pain!) and i love a bicuspid lyric usage, don't tell joe iconis (imperfect rhyme)

amazed when i did hear it like i've never heard this titular song?? it's so fun. i guess i wouldn't have unless i was experiencing little shop of horrors. but now here we are like i sure remember that one. i also really enjoy The Sound of the chorus of some fun now, both the melody and prosody of it. likewise so high energy and catchy and that juxtaposes so humorously with recalling our montage of rick moranis pouting while getting sucked (the '80s gum lsoh movie novelty stickers ranked by rick moranis's sex appeal text post scrolls by at half opacity while i voice over "a tremendously boneable ricky m") which brings me to one of the most memorable parts of the feed me song being like okay really long list of "what is going on in lsoh metaphor wise (speculated or stated as intended Or as interpreted): for one, sex with the plant" like i do truly appreciate that list just as i truly appreciate someone making a post about which rick moranises are hottest in the vintage gum stickers

i saw indeed the "this is kind of sing speaking as i remember? does it count?" number seems to indeed be a song, da-doo? which works out b/c i sure recall enjoying the doo-wop style backup echoing that sing speaking, speak singing. and of course it being really funny and itself just so B movie and lord like of course choreographed in acting And cinematography and that's so powerful in juxtaposition like grabbing directors Make Your Movie Musical Have The Movieness Work With The Musicalness anyways thanks frank oz obviously. and speaking of being able to see it, is it somewhere that's green that has that like Surburbia Fantasy sequence because that was soooo fucking funny lmfao they crushed that thank god. annnnd. suppertime sequence standing out being so like No Jokes ominous & harrowing for a scene? great to have that, greatly executed. umm he sure Does look like plant food to me, is another musical moment i remember even as that was earlier and of course i remember it due to Effect like exactly, i'm there. it's like the elevation and method of expression that is A Song has effect and it pwns

umm. i mean this is turning into like "what's Everything i remember" but as i especially remember like i do recall any of the movie's required whole new closing number, as stated like also love how there's just plenty to forever pace about mulling over they die, they don't, compare, contrast, i sure don't mind having Both, or all the more opportunity to Juxtapose as much & muse. umm oh my god yeah suddenly seymour like i'm missing some big one huh. t4t happy pride. can you believe little shop had small joe iconis immediately love Musical Theatre or can you believe that for real rick moranis was just There on closing night of joe's broadway debut musical that also is a great and obviously lsoh esque musical and it was just a coincidence? he was just there? and there was already that picture of him (rick) and will when he (rick) was visiting deh and it's like ooh That's giving father & son, will roland seymour krelborn when WHEN and it's me and even as i post this i'm not That familiar with the show in the least (only seen the film once or twiceish, never a stage production) and yet. and later completely coincidentally rick moranis walks on in to closing night of broadway be more chill (chill da-doo) and later than that. finally will roland seymour krelborn. mwah

[montanababe7]

Wrote this last year: Her heart was young, her mind however was very old. Ancient. For many years. Nearly four decades to be exact; she had acted as a standing overseer-a mother figure to her own heart.

She might be 36 in natural years; but one look into her eyes and you will know that she has lived more and experienced much in that time. She is young, but she is also very wise beyond her years.

She has prayed for countless youth. The young people she has prayed for-the Lives that Jesus spoke through her. She saw many young people transformed in the loving presence of King Lord Jesus. She has seen Jesus work the impossible in many. She has led many teams. She has been a spiritual mother to many; and she’s also a spiritual grandmother 👵🏼, too.

Yup, the woman-I speak of, is none other than, I.

Looking back, the incredible journey Jesus has taken me on has been exhilarating, exciting, thrilling, and at other times gripping the seat and white knuckling it through the amazing adventures and harrowing rollercoaster 🎢 rides.

I’ve stated this many, many times. That it is surely by Jesus wonderful and loving, saving grace alone..that I am alive.

Jesus is the reason I’m here.

He has seen me through all my laughter and all of my tears.

Every day, Jesus has something brand new.

Most

Don’t know this,

But, I prayed for my future husband-on my knees in prayer for that whole year in 2012, daily. Jesus had me journal and pray. Long before..I even knew my husband’s face, I asked Jesus to speak to me about my husband’s heart. Jesus would speak, I’d write✍🏼 and I’d cry 😭. And, I’d pray 🤲. Jesus spoke to me about Michael Wolf 🐺 heart 💜. He told me that he loved Jesus with all his heart. He told me that he was a psalmist. I knew deep down he’d be a worshiper who loved Jesus deeply. Jesus saw the love story for Michael and I, long in advance before I even knew that Jesus had a plan. Jesus knew.

I don’t even know why I’m fully awake writing ✍🏼 this right now. All I know, is this; I can’t sleep at the moment: and even writing ✍🏼 this. I feel led to pray 🙏🏼 in the spirit.

Jesus is at work.

Much will

Soon take place

There are two sides. At w a r with one another. Eternity will soon be in sight

Much is coming.

The darkness will

Never win.

All things Jesus is bringing restoration in sight.

Light is coming.

The light has already surely won 🏆

It’s time for the people of Jesus to pray as in such a way-that they’ve never even prayed before. Much is shifting. Much is shaking.

There is so much that is very soon on the way.

You’ve seen absolutely nothing yet.

For what’s coming.

Is very mighty

The glory of

Jesus is weighty.

It’s a heavy newer realms of glory

Don’t mock

What you don’t know.

Jesus has a plan. He has always had a plan.

Much is coming.

There’s the day.

And very soon-it’ll be night.

Aslan is coming back soon on the s c e n e.

All eyes shall very soon see the King of all kings and the Lord of lords.

Jesus is not yet done with the pretty kingdom of the lands of the shining sea 🌊 to sea. The USA 🇺🇸-you surely do see.

Pray now. And pray hard.

Thanks for reading. Don’t stop 🛑 praying 🙏🏼

Jessica

Jessica Wolf

[gentlemancrow]

In its Vastness, Floats Some Fragment of a Song - A Fairytale (Preview!)

AAHHHH CROW WRITING? ON YOUR DASH? IT'S MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK!! (ER WELL SORT OF!!) This, my friends, is a little PREVIEW of my fic I am writing for the Summer in the Archives event over at @seasons-in-the-archives!! It is not quite finished, but I am posting the first little bit as a prologue so that my AMAZING AND INCREDIBLE AND BREATHTAKING INIMITABLE ARTISTS might post their pieces as well! I CANNOT thank @lucky-numberme and @fadesinthelight enough for their ABSOLUTELY MINDBLOWING ILLUSTRATIONS for this fic I was reduced to a puddle every time I saw them and they are just RADIANT please go check out both their stuff!! And please do stay tuned for the full fic SOON!! It's got everything! Mer!Jon, Martin with big sailor rowing arms, Peter Lukas suffering for eternity, the works!

In its Vastness, Floats Some Fragment of a Song Artists: @lucky-numberme [ART HERE] and @fadesinthelight [ART HERE]

In a tiny little town far up north, there is a strange lighthouse keeper with a story... The story, he says, is true, no matter what anyone says, and it is all about the strange fog that seems to both haunt and protect the town all at once. It is about a young Sailor full of song and hope and passion, and a Captain, full of salt and cold and greed. It is about a beautiful Siren of the deep, doomed to be fascinated and consumed by both. But it is also, as all stories are, a story about love, and how love, above all things, is the most powerful force in the universe.

Way and away up North in the pink heather-speckled Highlands, watched over by a plucky herd of wooly cows and cradled by the sea, lies a sleepy little town.  Many stories begin just like this, but this town is not a sleepy little town like the kind found in the once upon a times of myth and legend.  No heroes have been birthed, nurtured, and then launched to glory from its humble foundations.  No illuminated manuscripts have been penned singing the humble origins of a tale that changed the course of history and the world.  It is not the resting place of holy artifact, arcane knowledge, or treasure beyond the wildest of dreams.  It is not even the first step on a journey to greatness and discovery for anyone seeking answers or absolution.

It is nothing and nowhere.

Naught more than a barnacle crusted dock with a few stalls that pass for a fish market, a ratty old pub that leaks in the summer and the winter, and a smattering of cottages huddled up against the sea cliffs, most maps won’t even bother giving it the dignity of a dot.  There is not much to earn it one, either. 

Perhaps the best piece of fried haddock you ever had in your life and would never have again, yet always crave when the salt air hits your tongue just right.  Maybe a beautiful piece of scrimshaw to take home to a spouse or child as a souvenir, but then never being able to recall exactly where it came from or what, exactly, it depicts.  A harrowing tale of a town so dank and damp and dripping from every rafter the favorite coat you wore would never be fully dry again.  A pressed thistle so purple it recalls a bruised seaside sunset and the lines of poetry you read when you plucked it and laid it down against the lines of it.  More likely, though, it would become a wistful memory of the last restful stop before heading out into the blinding white of arctic waters for a whaling voyage.  Just a desperate sliver of idyllic peace before steeping yourself to the elbows in blood and gore and bone.

Truth be told though, even the whales know better than to waste any time in that particular dreary little cove.  But there is one thing even the smallest, humblest bastion of quaintness, no matter how dull, always seems to possess.

A secret…

Something buried in the sands of time, hidden betwixt dusty vellum pages of history, whispered and polished on so many tongues it hardly resembles itself anymore.  There are stories here, indeed.  If one were to stay in the town long enough, treat just the right local to an extra pint, they might be lucky enough to catch one.  Though none would give anything much away of the truth of what really happened there all those years ago. The thing about a good secret is no one knows truly what the truth of it is.  It only knows itself.

And this town’s secret lies in the fog.

There’s really only one thing any poor soul has ever said upon taking their leave, and that would be something along the lines of, “Thickest fog I ever did see in my life!”, or “Like pea soup, it was!”, or “Blimey, I couldn’t see me hand in front of me face!”.  For, truly, that is the one thing notable at all about the place.  It is visited, nay, haunted, by a wicked fog that presides over the town as mayor, ruler, deity, judge, jury, and executioner— all of the above at once.  When the fog rolls in, everyone in town knows to close the shutters and close their hearts against the silvery sovereign that guards them from ancient evils they are privileged not to comprehend.  Nor does anyone care to.  They need not know how it came to be to accept it for what it is.  Though, it is not a cruel thing at all, despite how it may sound.  It looks out for them as much as they look out for it.  It is their guardian and custodian.  The billowing mists are as much a lonely embrace as they are a shield.  There is an ineffable and beautiful sort of love there and the residents wouldn’t have it any other way.

The more skeptical amongst visitors might say upon hearing this lore, for one cannot help but hear it from someone, that it sounds like romantic balderdash, or utter poppycock, tripe, drivel, or whatever colorful word they like best to describe something out of a fairy story.  Just a tale for children and old folks in their cups shameless enough to believe in magic again.  And perhaps there is a small bit of merit in that.  Everyone knows deep down fog is just fog.  It has no soul, has no master and obeys no laws of humanity or divinity.  But the locals will swear on the graves of all their ancestors before them to you that their fog, above all fog, is indeed a living thing with a will and a mind of its own, and you would do best to give it the reverence it is due.  Lest it claim your very soul from your body to drag out to sea with it when it goes, forever to wander the watery wastes.  Or to turn you into fog yourself, forever restless, forever intangible and mutable.  Or to forever be lost no matter where you wander, never to find your way home again.  It has happened before and it will happen again.  Or so the stories go.

That strange tenet, or superstition, or legend, or whatever it may be, lays as thick upon the town as the fog itself, coiled like a silver dragon guarding its secret and guarding its home.  Then it vanishes from waking memory just as fiercely with a snap of white-fanged forgetfulness.

Strange, indeed…

Though perhaps it is a bit of an exaggeration to say the fog is the only thing strange about the little village.  There would be little to tell if there were only a nasty bit of weather to the place with a few fanciful tales to give it life.  There is also something to be said of the lighthouse that stands sentinel high atop the misty cliffsides to watch it. 

And there is especially something to be said of its keeper…

He is an old man.  Not old in the way that creases the face and rots the tooth and loosens the tongue, but old in the way of the stone of the cliffs, softly etched by the wind.  Of the dauntlessness of the waves that crash upon the jetties, knowing they will someday, even if eons from now, prevail.  Of the stars that still guide sailors home from their cosmically fixed points in the sky.  The locals say he has lived for a hundred years and he’ll live for a hundred more yet.  No one knows exactly when he came, but no one remains who can recall a time without him.  He has always been.

He is built like those very cliffs upon which he roosts, dresses only in a faded blue peacoat and a mariner’s cap over his silver-white hair, and says very little. He has rheumy blue eyes with a clouded pupil that some swear rolls and swirls like the fog, but he has never made eye contact with anyone long enough to be sure.  He keeps his hands in his pockets and his gaze on the ground and the smoke from his pipe seems to cling to him like a shroud.  His rare comings always feel like a prophecy come to pass, expected and yet somehow unexpected.  A scrimshaw etching come to life from dead and yellowed bone.  He lives a solitary existence in his lighthouse, and might just fade away into myth and memory himself, if not for the command of the full moon and the story of what truly happened in that sleepy little town so long ago that lives inside of him and only in him.

Everyone in town knows there is only one chance to hear it.

On the evenings of the nights when she shines her brightest and the tide pulls back its curtains wide, he comes.  He stops at the market for the few paltry supplies he always buys, smokes his pipe on the dock as he watches the tide roll out and away from him, and then, without saying a word to a single soul, heads into the pub.  The owner already knows to pour him a pint without his asking— stout, dark and frothy, and placed on the table beneath the window as far from the other patrons as possible.  The Keeper takes the same chair, faces it toward the window, toward the mocking moon, and takes out the same book of folk tales from his pocket in a vain attempt to look unapproachable and absorbed.  It never works.

Every time The Keeper thinks perhaps this time they will not come, perhaps this time they will leave him alone.  He is always wrong.

He barely has time to even get through the haunting description of the selkie standing upon a cliff, without her coat, without her home, without anything, before the first child skitters bashfully up to him with wonder and stars in her eyes.

“E-Excuse me, sir…?” the tiny voice quivers behind him.

The Keeper winces.  He closes his book slowly, deliberately, and draws in a long, shuddering breath.  She is only spared the frostiest of glances out of the corner of an eye peeking from beneath a bushy brow.  The girl rocks to and fro on her heels and chews her lip, brimming with innocence and absolutely unafraid.  The Keeper says nothing.  She had been warned of this, she is prepared, and she continues undaunted.

“They say, sir…” the girl starts up, glancing back at her eagerly grinning father for reassurance, “They say you have… A story?”

The Story again.  The Keeper feels its weight tighten around his throat.  An albatross.  A noose.  A curse.  A duty.  It is all of these things, and he may not refuse it.  He has not the power to do so even if he dared.

“Is that what they say…?” he rumbles at length.  His voice creaks like an old castle door pulled open after centuries.

The girl bobbles her head in affirmation.

“Yes, sir!  They say it’s the greatest!  They say it’s a story about the merfolk!  And that it’s TRUE!  And-!” she chirps, then suddenly turns bashful, her voice lowering under the weight of some unutterable secret.

“…And that it’s a… a love story?”

The Keeper grinds a pensive note between his teeth and down his throat.  It is no longer avoidable.  They are no longer avoidable.  The Keeper can feel the aroused ears and eyes of the pub patrons turn upon him, luminous and yellow like a pack of wolves in the night.  He knows has but one weapon to keep them at a safe distance, loathe as he is to lay himself bare once again.  Yet he knows he must, and he deigns at last to turn his solitary chair.  The legs scrape mournfully in harmony with the crackle and pop of the hearth.  A collective breath is held. 

The storyteller faces his audience.

“A love story, you say?” he asks, painting each word in hushed calligraphy with his tongue.

“Mmhmm!” 

The girl, unafraid of the craggy, shadowed face hollowed out by wicked firelight even still, grins from ear to ear as a few of the not quite as brave children scuttle to flank her and claim their spots.

“Is that what you desire to hear?” The Keeper rumbles, his eyes everywhere and everywhen in the room but the child before him.

“Yes, yes!  Very much!”

The Keeper snorts and scoffs loudly, drops his forearms to his knees, and looks the brazen child dead on, eyes full of fog and eternity and a nameless, primordial darkness.  The blood chills in her veins and she swears she feels the fire falter and its warmth flee, but she does not look away.

He demands payment of her, “What’s so dreadfully exciting about a silly old love story, then?”

She answers the call.   She answers it with a fearless step forward and her full chest.

“Oh, everything!  Everything!” the girl cries, “Love is the best thing in the world!  It’s what gets us through life!  It’s the meaning of it all!  It’s what they always fight for in the best stories!  Love is the only thing worth dying for!  Isn’t it?  Isn’t that true?”

The Keeper’s weathered face splits into a bitter, cryptic grin.  The eyes vanish beneath the brim of his mariner’s cap.  The payment is accepted.

“I see.  Aye, you do speak true.  But I’m afraid you’ve missed the most important part-” he corrects, and hoists himself back up to his full height like a mountain crushed upward into agonizing, epochal existence as he goes on.

“You see… Love is so much more than just two people choosing to spend the rest of their days together.  More than just something to fight for, something to get you through the dark of the night and the cold of winter, something that makes life worth enduring.”  

“Love is… a force of nature- no, no… more than that… so much more than that.  It is everything.  Literally everything.  So I suppose, then, that one could say all stories ever told or will be told are love stories if you look at it the right way.  But that only makes it that much more essential.  Love is the only force in this universe stronger than death, the only one to outlive it and the only one to destroy more utterly.  It is the only one that needs no other force to sustain it.  It simply is.  It always has been and it always will be.  It is creation and destruction together incarnate.  Just like the wind will always love a cliff and by the end of the eons it takes to destroy it with its passion another will have risen to love it right back.  That’s what love is.  A constant, binding force that weaves the very fabric of the world.  And all stories are about those who would either be bound or unwound by it.  Mine is a story about both.”

The adults are captivated by him now, even the ones he knows have heard his story a thousand times before.  He must tell it.  He doesn’t want to.  He never wants to.  He knows if he doesn’t there will be a greater price to pay.

He takes out a piece of half-finished scrimshaw from his pocket, as well as a scriber, and etches at it for a while in contemplative silence.  The Story comes back to him in undulating bluegreen waves, unseen, unheard, as he adds a few delicate scales to a sinuous, achingly beautiful mercreature upon the whale bone.  His thumb runs almost mournfully across it, and his lip curls back into a barely perceptible sneer.  The ceaseless tide inside of him wells up.  The rest of his fingers tighten ever so slightly, imperceptible to all but the few children seated closest to his boots on the floorboards.  The fog in his eye swirls, furious, indignant, but then gives way and parts like a silvery curtain upon the beginning of his story so many years ago.

When he finally begins his voice is thin and shivery, almost inaudible, like seafoam slinking over shimmering sand.

“Once upon a time…”

[saphirered]

I just want to say your writing is absolutely amazing! It's what I read to destress after college courses and I hope your having a good day and taking care of yourself!

If your still open for requests though how about Yasha with an S/O who comes to her in the middle of the night because they had a nightmare?

Thank you so much! double shifts have popped up again but I've been dealing and have managed to do some writing in between. Take care and I hope you enjoy this one! 😘

-

You don’t know exactly what’s the cause of this recent raise in night terrors you’re experiencing. Endless falling into the void, drowning deep beneath the waves unable to swim, being on the run trying to escape a falling city, those you can deal with. Sure they don’t provide the most comfortable night’s rest but you can deal. The ones that truly haunt you, have you stunned and off your game are the ones involving your friends and family. The hopelessness of being unable to save them from a demises, or worse; them being killed by your hand, watching all your fears crash down upon you. You can’t keep doing this. Not even Caduceus’ special tea can keep the nightmares at bay. You’ll find yourself waking up in the middle of the night breathing heavy more often than not trying to calm yourself before attempting to go back to sleep.

This night is no different. You’d fallen asleep within the warm comforts of the dome provided by Caleb but not long after the nightmares showed up again.

You’re standing in the darkness; an eternal void like the blackness of the depths of the ocean but you’re not swimming. You’re floating. You see a flash of red come by and disappear as quick as it came. You hear the movement of shackles. Heavy shackles. You hear maddening laughter, the unsheathing of a blade and then a piercing pain between your ribs. You fall to your knees clutching the source of your pain as your breathing shallows. Your hands feel wet, sticky and warm. Glancing down you see it’s blood. You’re bleeding, heavily. You begin to panic, trying what you can to stop the bleeding but you feel weaker, a vignette clouding your vision as you desperately look around.

You hear the breaking of a chain, a battlecry, one of rage and heartbreak, the sound of metal clashing against metal. The maddening laughter comes to a stop. A flash of red comes by you again but still you cannot make out the details. Something touches you and you feel cold, so cold. Your limbs grow weaker and you’re having a hard time staying on your knees, the void is spinning around you. You fall to your side. It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe and as your hand lays within your view you can see it stained red. You move your fingertips barely a feeling left in them but the cold and you plead that whatever gods are watching will be merciful, will be at the side of your friends when the time comes.

The pain is unbearable but you can’t resign yourself to this fate. You’re not done yet. You have to stay. You have to… A hand touches your bloody one and you see black boots step into your vision. For a moment you think the final blow is coming but it doesn’t.

“No.” The word sounds like a silent sob. The voice is familiar to you but sounds so distant. The figure kneels down besides you and you can barely muster the strength to look up at them. There you see your white and black haired angel. She’s divine and for a moment you consider you’re to be carried to the afterlife. It’s the desperate scream ending in a stifled cry that makes you think otherwise. Yasha’s face is ridden with guilt and pain and anger but you know not who the latter is directed at. You can’t bring yourself to smile or comfort her, tell her it’s all going to be okay. You feel sad, the pain of the heartbreak, a thousand time worse than the cold numbness washing over you as the void grows darker and more consuming, to where not even your radiant angel can keep it at bay.

And then you wake, not shooting up in a sweat or a scream or shout. You wake up in silence, trails of moisture running down your face as your eyes open and you feel cold despite the warmth of the dome. Stretching and curling your fingers you can still feel the phantom stickiness of blood, your blood staining them but your hands are clean and clear. You wipe the tears from your cheeks as you sit up burying your head in your hands with a deep breath trying to calm yourself. You do in the sense you do not suffer a panic attack or a mental breakdown but you cannot scratch that feeling from your dream. There’s something harrowing about it, something true and you can’t shake it.

Then there you see Yasha, on guard for her shift of the night’s watch keeping her gaze trained on the wastes of Xhorhas. Not much longer before you make it to Bazzoxan. Not much longer before you all get some more answers about this Angel of Irons. There’s something in your mind that tells you to go to her, like Yasha is a beacon in the middle of a storm, keeping safe those trapped within it but it’s also laced with an unknown sense of loss and sadness. You decide to listen to it. Getting up, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders you approach the barbarian.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask. Yasha nods for you to sit down next to her and the two of you sit in silence. The lingering cold in your body is vanquished simply by her presence and you’re thankful you listened to that gut feeling instead of being stubborn and sucking it up dealing with it on your own.

“Did you not get your tea from Caduceus?” Yasha asks breaking the silence. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She knows you’ve been suffering from night terrors. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept herself and she feels sorry for you. Gods know what she’s tried to do to get rid of hers, but to no ends. Maybe she should be thankful for losing parts of her past because at least she cannot remember the nightmares she’d undoubtedly suffered within that same time.

“Yes. But it’s not working anymore. I don’t know what it is lately. Maybe it’s just the Barbed Fields getting to me in some way but every dream seems more… true… than the one before. It scares me.” You admit looking over the wastes with a deep sigh. Yasha awkwardly pats your shoulder. She’s not sure how to bring you any comfort in this. You send her an appreciative smile no less, thanking her for the effort.

The two of you watch the Barbed Fields, a storm rumbling in the distance and both of you let out a sigh, one of relief, as if the storm brings you some sense of comfort and warmth despite it’s nature. Maybe the Storm Lord smiles upon you, answering to your prayers by offering distraction. Or maybe more likely, sending you a warning of what’s to come but you dare not assume. You dare not interpret just as you dare not interpret your dreams anymore, scared of the answers you will find.

Yasha opens up her harms and allows you to lean into her side. Whatever phantom memories, pain and cool remained within you fade as you watch lightning strike in the distance, the ground rumbling beneath you. Neither of you jump or make move. There’s a serenity and safety in that light illuminating the skies for a brief second. You feel yourself humming to a melody as Yasha rubs circles into your shoulder. The melody falters and loses pace as your exhaustion returns.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.” Yasha encourages as you try to fight the sleep. She gently guides you down until you have your head resting on her thigh using it as a pillow. Yasha strokes a few strands of hair from your face as you take in a deep breath and nod best you can. The promise made by the woman feels like the truest thing you’ve ever heard and you can’t do anything but obey. You take one last glance up at Yasha’s face trained on the storm. She looks like a champion from the tales long past and you couldn’t think of anyone better to guard you while you sleep and keep the nightmares at bay.

Yasha does keep the nightmares at bay. You don’t know why or how nor do you care to understand. It is simply a fact; when you’re near Yasha the terrors fade and your sleep is restful so she’ll keep you company until morning and you’re back on the road again until your nightmares have truly gone and long beyond. She’ll be your the light in the darkness of your dreams no matter what. She’ll be there for you.

[vannahfanfics]

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ NYOOMS IN hellooo i would really love to request a sokai fic with the lollipop prompt!! personal anecdote: lollipops were the first sweet i ever hand-made for valentine's day because i wanted them to last longer than chocolates, bahaha :D thank you so much for all your wonderful work!!! ♡

Hi, liesles! Thank you for waiting patiently for your request! I thought it would go really well with a prompt from @sokaiweek​, “Be Mine,” so I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with!

Sweet on You

“Ahh, it feels like forever since I’ve been to Twilight Town!” Kairi cried jubilantly as she ran down the forest path, eager to escape the woods where they’d hidden the Gummi ship and reach the town proper. She stopped to spin on her heel in the dirt, flashing Sora a brilliant smile. “Of course, the last time I was here, I was hiding from the Organization,” she joked, twirling a lock of her short auburn hair around her finger. Sora snorted at her cheekiness, amazed at her ability to reconcile with what was probably a pretty harrowing experience. But, that boundless optimism was one of the many things he appreciated about Kairi. 

“Well, now we don’t have to worry about them,” he smiled back, leaves crunching under his feet as he followed after her. She waited for him to join her on the path, standing there with her hands clasped behind her back in that adorable way that never failed to make his heart flutter. He was glad to see that even after everything they’d been through, some things still hadn’t changed. 

“So? What do you want to do while we’re in town?” he asked when he reached her, sliding his hands in his pockets. Kairi walked along beside him, a spring in her step. 

“I want to visit Olette, Pence, and Hayner, of course! Oh— and Xion, Roxas, Isa, and Lea, too. I want to try those pretzels and sea salt they brag about so much!” she giggled. He loved her giggle, he realized dreamily. It was the sweetest of sounds, sweeter than even the bells of Scala ad Caelum ringing in the dawn blush light. “But you know,” she said suddenly, snapping him out of his daze, “I didn’t really get to enjoy the town much last time, since I was hiding away. Before we do that, can we explore a little bit, Sora?” 

“Absolutely! Anything you want, Kairi!” he agreed immediately. 

Ugh. He could hear Riku laughing now, calling him “whipped.” How was he supposed to refuse, though, when she was asking him so cutely with that excited shine in her eyes and that pretty smile on her lips? Saying no would be downright criminal!

Giggling with delight, she scampered down the path again towards the triangular gap in the brick wall that served as the entrance to the woods. Yeah, Sora reconciled with a soft smile as he watched her skirt swish around her thighs and her hair bounce around her shoulders. He was definitely whipped for Kairi. He’d always been, really. She was his light.

The sunlight enveloped them as they stepped out into the city, warm and welcoming. The tram was trundling by, rocking gently on the tracks with its metal gleaming in the sunset haze. Sora had always liked Twilight Town, not just because Roxas’ heart lay dormant inside of him. It reminded him a bit of Destiny Islands— the warm sun coating his skin, the breeze carrying the scent of trees, the atmosphere of peace and tranquility. He paused at the edge of the ledge to close his eyes and savor the sunbeams playing over his face. He cracked an eye open when he felt Kairi stand next to him. 

“I can see why they love this place so much,” she hummed, observing the honeyed skyline with lidded eyes. “It really is beautiful…” 

He could sense the “but” lingering on her tongue. 

“But… It’s not home?” he guessed, and she looked at him with a wan smirk. 

“Yeah. But it’s home to them, so I suppose that’s all that matters,” she shrugged, her look turning cheery, and he couldn’t help but grin. She always found the bright side of things— she always found the light. “But, you could definitely pick a worse home to have.” 

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Kairi took another moment to scan the horizon, watching the golden light play across the oranges and browns of the buildings. Then she cocked her head to the side with a girlish laugh. Her smile was nearly blinding as she declared, “All right, enough sightseeing! I wanna go shopping!” 

“Yes ma’am!” he said with a salute, and Kairi laughed again. Gosh, if he could only hear one sound for the rest of his life, it would be Kairi’s laugh, no question. Her giggles floated in the air as she hurried down the steps to the causeway. If Sora tried hard enough, he could see them floating around like bubbles, little iridescent, rainbow films of her beautiful laugh. He reached up to touch them, but they skipped just beyond the edges of his fingertips to float up, up, up into the honey-colored sky and red-tinged clouds. That was okay, though, because there were always more where that came from. 

“You know, I’m surprised to see so much green here,” Kairi commented as she looked at all the small planters and flower boxes adorning the city. They perched on windowsills, rested on tables, sat on porch steps, or were positioned along the sidewalk. Flowers, ferns, herbs— everything and more could be found in the myriad of little pots littering the city streets, and their bright green fronds and stalks almost glowed against the background of autumn colors. “It really does make everything a little bit homier,” she hummed in contentment. 

“Yeah, and gives Little Chef a lot of ingredients to gather!” he added with a bright grin. 

“Oh, right, of course. That’s very important!” she giggled, prompting Sora to raise an eyebrow challengingly. 

“What? Are you making fun of me?” 

“No, it’s just nice to see that your love for food hasn’t changed,” she chuckled. “You either think with your heart or your stomach!” 

Sora opened his mouth to object, then closed it because it was true. It still felt like he was being made fun of, but darn it, she just looked too cute with that teasing smirk and the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth! Oh, he was whipped all right, more than Little Chef’s best frosting. He looked out to the road, and a smile played over his lips as he considered just how much Kairi had him wrapped around her finger. 

It was then that he spied something resting beside the main shopping complex, and he started thinking with his stomach again.

“Speaking of love for food…” 

A cute little cart was parked beside the complex. Pink and white heart-shaped balloons that were tied to the handle bobbed in the breeze, their metallic surfaces gleaming. Red, white, and pink streamers adorned the white cart’s side, and inside, an assortment of candies rested on a soft bed of baby-pink faux grass. Sora’s mouth began to salivate immediately upon clapping eyes on it, and Kairi laughed at him. For the first time that day, he was too absorbed in the promise of sweets to fixate on how much he loved her laugh. 

“What’s this? This is new!” he exclaimed as he pranced up to it. The young woman chuckled at his excited approach, flicking her bangs out of her face and primly resting her hands against her chocolate-smeared apron. 

“Hi there! This is a special promotion that the local chocolatier is doing for Valentine’s Day.” 

“Valentine’s Day?” he echoed. Was it really February? Time sure flew when you were running around saving the world. 

“What’s the promotion?” Kairi asked, peering around his shoulder to admire the assortment of candied goods nestled in the plastic stringy faux grass. 

“We’re giving away free samples today!” the attendant chirped. “Please, pick whatever you like— for yourself, for someone special.” She gave Sora a playful wink, which made his cheeks turn as pink as the decorations on the cart. 

Thankfully, Kairi had become too engrossed in the heart-shaped cake pops to catch the candy seller’s jibe. After carefully studying one for a moment, she plucked it out of the display and promptly took a chomp out of it. She hummed exultantly as she chewed the red velvet and red icing, then opened her eyes to smile at the attendant. 

“This is delicious! Oh, we should bring everyone something, don’t you think, Sora?”

“Totally, as long as the attendant doesn’t mind. We don’t want to run off with all her stock.” 

“Please do!” she smiled pleasantly. “We want everyone to be able to enjoy these sweet treats. All I ask is that you check out the chocolatier sometime soon to look at our complete stock!” 

After promising to follow through, Kairi and Sora began picking out free samples to bring to their friends. They tried to choose a variety while still choosing things they thought they would each enjoy. While Kairi was debating between a mini strawberry shortcake and a chocolate eclair, Sora discreetly stowed a wrapped heart-shaped lollipop in his shorts pocket. 

Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed by the candy attendant. 

Someone special? She mouthed with a smirk playing over her lips. With a sidelong glance at Kairi that melted into a loving smile, he nodded. Someone special, indeed. 

After making their decisions, Sora and Kairi headed off to rendezvous with their friends. They were delighted to find the treats well-received (though comments of pretzels and sea salt ice cream were made… and comments turned into procuration, but Sora was never going to complain about more food!). They watched the sunset from the clock tower, all of them squashed together on the ledge so tightly that poor Pence almost fell off, but it worked out all right and they had a good laugh about it. 

Just as the last red rays of the setting sun were spearing across the sky in their last goodbye, they said their farewells and headed back to the Gummi ship. Kairi pranced along the path, cooing at the fireflies flitting through the trees and underbrush to fill the gloomy forest with an earthy green glow. It was a town of sunset and greenery, two things so at odds with each other yet complimented one another so well here. And at the center of all that beautiful color was Kairi. 

She danced in a circle, laughing jubilantly as she whirled her arms around to scatter the fireflies like a thousand leaves. Her hair flowed around her face like an autumn breeze, and her skirt swished around her legs like florets on the wind. The green flickering lights and puddles of moonlight illuminated her form, and in that moment, she looked like an angel descended to earth. 

“I love you,” he whispered in reverence. He found his throat closed up with emotion, but he kept going in his head. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I can’t imagine life without you, because I love you, I love you, I love you, and I always have. He wasn’t sure when he started crying, but Kairi saw them gleaming in the moonlight, and that’s when she stopped dancing to look at him in concern. 

“Sora? Sora, what’s wrong?” she gasped and ran up to him. He just looked down at her while she raised her hands to his cheeks, sweeping away his tears with soft, gentle brushes of her thumbs. “Talk to me,” she whispered, oh-so-sweetly that his heart broke with happiness. 

“Kairi… There was something from the candy cart that I didn’t share with anyone else,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. She knitted her eyebrows together in confusion as he procured the lollipop from his pocket and held it out to her. She looked up at him, then down at the lollipop. She took it, turning it over to peer through the plastic film at the simple words etched in white icing on the front of the pink lollipop. 

BE MINE.

“Sora…” she murmured, looking up at him. He smiled sweetly even through the tears that still spilled from his eyes. She looked beautiful even in the way she kaleidoscoped in his watery vision. He reached up to cup her face in his hands, and he marveled at the way her cheeks nestled so perfectly against his palms, like they were made to be held by him and only him. Her eyelashes fluttered as she stared up at him in bewilderment, surprise, and hope.

“I love you,” he whispered again, but so she could hear this time. “I love you, Kairi. You are the light of my life, you know that?” 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking as her own tears broke through the dam to flow down her face. They beaded against his palms, roughened by his years of wielding the Keyblade, but still soft enough for her to cuddle into his touch. “You’re the light of my life, too. I’m yours, Sora, I always have been.” 

He smiled at that, a broken smile because his mouth just simply couldn’t display the sheer amount of joy welling up inside of him. He petted her cheeks, wiping away her tears as she hiccuped sobby little giggles that just made her cheeks warm with embarrassment. He leaned forward to press his forehead to hers, unable to stop himself from whispering, “You’re so cute.” 

“Stop… You’re gonna embarrass me,” she complained, even though she laughed. 

“I can’t help myself. You are.” 

“Can… Can you just… Can you kiss me already, please?” she sniffed, her cheeks shining like pink opals in the moonlight. 

How could he ever refuse, especially whipped for her as he was? 

He immediately rushed in to do as she said, but he let his zeal get the best of him, because his nose collided with hers. Nervous apologies tumbled from his mouth but Kairi just giggled and guided his face back down, nosing his cheek to prompt him to try again. He took it slower this time, easing himself in to experimentally brush his lips over hers. Kairi waited for her to find his rhythm, but he could feel her excitement in the way her mouth trembled. After a few tentative pecks, he smoothed his lips over hers in a full, sweet, passionate kiss, and she melted against him. 

Forget the candy cart— Kairi’s lips were the sweetest thing he would ever taste, period. 

He kissed her again, and again, and again, until Kairi was fleeing his advances with giddy, bubbly laughter. His lips still fluttered over the places he could reach— her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her jawline, even her eyelids. He was just drowning in love and he didn’t know how else to get it out besides showering her in affection. 

“Sora,” she insisted as she ran from his lips again, and this time, he just pouted at her. She placated him with a little peck to his pursed lips, which did make him feel a little better. “We have all the time in the world now,” she reminded him with a sweet smile. “I would like to go home at some point.” 

Right. Home— the home he shared with his friends, with his family, with Kairi. He pulled away to link his hand with hers, while she peeled the plastic off the lollipop to pop it into her mouth. The BE MINE flashed in the moonlight, making Sora’s heart swell with adoration. Kairi didn’t mean for it to be a question, but he answered it in his heart anyway. 

Always, Kairi. Always and forever. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[sineala]

hii i love your fics and your blog. what are some writers, fanfic or otherwise, who inspire you? have you read anything good, fanfic or otherwise, recently? thank you i hope you have a nice day

I hope you have a nice day, too, anon!

The past year’s been kind of hard on me mentally -- and I am pretty sure I am not alone in this -- and until very recently I really haven’t been motivated to read much of anything, or write much of anything. I am slowly working on being able to do both of these things, but I am definitely not at 100% yet.

So I haven’t read all that much lately. In terms of actual books, I really liked Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth and am looking forward to the last book in the trilogy; last year I finally decided to get a supporting membership to Worldcon so I could vote for the Hugos, and while I didn’t manage to read anything other than the Novel and Novella categories, I enjoyed getting a giant virtual packet of books and getting to read some of the nominees, and I am looking forward to doing that again this year with the current Worldcon. (For approximately $50 you too can vote in the Hugos and receive a large number of current SF books and stories!)

If you’re looking for a rec for a SF/fantasy novel you probably haven’t read, one of my favorite authors, the late John M. Ford, is finally having most of his books come back into print. So far the only book that’s been reissued is The Dragon Waiting, which is an alt-history fantasy novel about the Wars of the Roses in a world where Byzantium has conquered much of Europe. It is very, very good. I reread it last year when it was rereleased. He does some really amazing things with POV (actually, so does Harrow the Ninth) and it has possibly my very favorite portrayal of vampires, in that vampirism in it is an unfortunate non-sexy medical condition that also happens to make you something fairly close to immortal, so people often seek to become vampires for strategic political reasons because they would really like to rule forever.

I really haven’t been reading a lot of fanfiction lately -- I have about twenty pages of stories Marked For Later on AO3 -- but let me see what I can come up with, looking at things I’ve bookmarked. Honestly I think one of the best parts about not lurking in fandom anymore is getting to befriend authors whose work I really admire; it’s a great experience. Kiyaar’s work always destroys me emotionally, and at some point I am gonna get to write a story with her, and I don’t know what it will be yet but it’s gonna be so much fun. (Insert “someone will die! of fun!” meme here.) Isozyme is currently playing in Untamed fandom and I really wish she would come back and write more Steve/Tony; I keep rereading her Ults fic and having Feelings. Mizzy consistently hits basically every narrative trope that I have ever liked, and I know this fic predates the pandemic, but I feel like always winter, never spring has been a Big Mood this past year. Sadisticsparkle does really consistently lovely work that I feel deserves to be recced more. I feel I have been pretty open about the fact that BlossomsintheMist’s Relativistic Heat Conduction is still my absolute favorite comics Steve/Tony story ever. Ever. (I would also like to try to cowrite with her someday but I have So Many Things to write first.) And also Crait’s Stark Disassembled series is perfect, perfect Civil War Tony Stark and I wish I could write half as well as this. I wish I could write half as well as any of these people.

And so you’re not like, “Hey, Sine, why are you just reccing your friends?” let me rec work by a couple of people whom I am pretty sure I have never interacted with beyond leaving embarrassingly-gushing comments on AO3. JenTheSweetie only writes MCU but every time I get a story notification email from AO3 I am super-happy, and I have read And Time Can Do So Much more times than I can count. It is an Endgame fixit. And I also want to rec -- oh my God, I just realized this is the exact same premise but it’s 616 and not MCU and also the other way around, oh my God, am I really this predictable, I guess so -- haemodye’s when you are fallen, which is a story in which Steve is presumed dead but is not really dead, just invisible, and Tony completely falls apart. And Steve gets to watch. So angsty. So good. Also it’s relatively recent, so probably not everyone has read it!

(I guess I really like stories that are basically AUs of the movie Ghost. I’m very predictable. In that vein, there’s also Mizzy’s ooh you and me would be a big conversation. Presumed-dead is the best trope because you get all the angst of deathfic but then you get a happy ending! Where Our Restless Monsters Sleep is also presumed-dead, I guess, in that it’s an Endgame fixit, but I figure every MCU fan has read it already. You know what, just go read all of Mizzy’s fic. I’ll wait here.)

There! I hope you find something good to read!

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

Date tag - January 28

January 28 - Angst with Confessions

Author’s Note: So one of my weird, obsessive interests is war correspondents. I’ve read lots of books by them and lots of articles, including this amazing one about female war correspondents. There really was a “reporter hotel” outside Baghdad during the various wars in Iraq, which is oft cited as being a place that is falling apart and may suffer from rubble from bombings and blackouts, but offered an array of black market booze for the reporters. I really admire war and conflict correspondents, so I hope I don’t make light of the harrowing situations they put themselves through in order to do their jobs well. Also, this was oddly inspired by a convo with @theunpaidcritic about reporter!AUs for JB.

Slightly NSFW.

***

“Fuck, Hyle, how many times do I have to tell you? Your job is to send our editor the photos we choose together. Not your favorites.” 

Jaime looks across the crowded hotel ballroom, where Brienne’s usually calm voice is raised above the normal level of ruckus of the room. At any given time, the Orange Coast Hotel, is a temporary home to numerous reporters and photographers from across the known world who cover the war raging in the Disputed Lands and beyond. 

The nearby conflict has not left the hotel unharmed, and at any given time, there are bombings and blackouts. Correspondents hunker down in the ballroom, swearing over stories or taking calls on their various phones, both the slim mobiles if there’s service available, and the chunky satellite phones when in an emergency, which for them means a deadline. 

Brienne sorts out whatever issue she’s having with her colleague after more raised voices and wild hand gestures, before she huffs across the room and sits down next to him. “I don’t know why you put up with him,” he says calmly. 

“He has a lot of conflict experience,” she sighs, her voice a near grumble. 

“But you don’t get along. In this line of work, you need someone who has your back, and not just with your editor.” 

Brienne narrows her eyes at him and takes a swig from Jaime’s half finished glass of whiskey. “It’s only a six week assignment. I’ll make do.” 

The first time he met Brienne, he called her too innocent to be a war correspondent. She’d been green, he hadn’t been wrong about that, but she found her footing quickly. Brienne scarcely backed down--not from her editors or a story--and over the years, their admiration for each other had only grown. Reporting on conflict and trauma made you bond quickly, and sometimes in unhealthy ways, with your colleagues. “You could come work with me,” he offers easily. 

“I already want to kill Hyle,” she grouses, running a hand through her hair. “You think that wouldn’t apply to you?” 

Jaime chuckles. “Probably doubly so.” 

She allows a small smile at that. “Where’s Dacey?” 

“Off on a world tour,” he shrugs, but catches Brienne’s worried gaze. “She’s having a tough time, after what happened in Qohor. So she’s taking a break. A long one.” 

“So you’re out here by yourself?” He sent in his photos an hour ago, but prefers to stay in the midst of the fray rather than return to the quiet of his room. He nods. “That isn’t safe, Jaime.” Her hand falls to his knee and he tries not to think of all the times they’d turned to each other for comfort. This godsforsaken place. 

“It’s alright,” he replies, a little too cavalierly. Brienne’s blue eyes slice through him, practiced and observant. 

*

It’s practically a rite of passage at the Orange Coast Hotel: reporters and photographers drinking heavily and then winding up in each other’s rooms. Some of those nights have destroyed long distance relationships, a few marriages, but never, as far as she knows, anyone’s career. War reporters are far too proficient at being damaged. They might fuck a colleague, but their moral obligation is to tell the story, to let people know of the world’s horrors and injustices, to challenge them not to look away. 

So when Jaime shows up at Brienne’s room after midnight, she’s hardly surprised. He steps into her arms without so much as a hello and then her hands are undoing his belt, and fuck, she’s forgotten how fun it is. It feels wrong to say she missed this, but it rises up on her tongue all the same, Jaime kissing her in reply. He fucks her, Brienne bent over, her hands against the wall. When she drags him to bed, they slow things down, the closest to loving she’s ever had. 

Afterwards, he falls asleep, his soft snores keeping her company as she lies awake, wondering what it would be like to work together. Jaime is the best in his field, and has been since before she graduated. Brienne never told him that when she was still in university, he came to give a lecture on war photography. All the other girls were swooning over his brooding nature, his devil may care smile, but she thought he was full of himself, and he proved her right the first time they met in a conflict zone. Never meet your idols, she remembers thinking, and now, she sleeps beside him, trying to puzzle together when she may have fallen in love with him. 

In the morning, she’s surprised to find him there with coffee, orange juice, and toast brought up from the bar downstairs. His camera bag is by the door. “You don’t even carry a suitcase now?” she teases, starting to reach over him for a piece of toast, but he snags her wrist and to her surprise, pulls her down onto his lap, kissing her. “Jaime, is everything okay?” They’ve never done this. The morning after. At most, they would give each other a nod or wave in the hotel lobby, one or both of them with bags under their eyes. 

“I have to go to the Painted Mountains for a couple weeks,” he tells her, voice gravelly and still thick from sleep. “But when I get back we should talk about this.” 

Brienne blinks, thinking she’s dreaming it. “About what?” 

“You and I,” he chuckles, his green eyes twinkling. 

“Working together?” she asks, confused. 

“Brienne.” He says, exasperated, but he’s laughing, and then leaning in for another kiss, longer this time. Oh. Her hand tentatively traces his cheek, skin weathered from the time spent outdoors in the desert sun, her fingertips burning over his scruff. 

When they pull apart, Brienne nearly laughs, she’s scarcely felt this happy. “Why now?” They’ve been doing this for years. 

“Why not now?” he replies, not giving much away, but understanding slowly dawns on his face. She wants a real answer. “Because I miss you when you’re gone.” 

A warmth pulses through her, realizing the kernel of truth in what she said last night. Brienne doesn’t just miss the sex, their connection. She misses him, she misses them, when they’re apart, each off on assignment. “I miss you, too.” He wraps his arms around her then, Brienne resting her chin on the top of his head. “You’re coming back here in two weeks?” Jaime nods. 

*

She and Hyle return to the hotel after a long day. Covered in dust and mud and possibly blood, all she wants is to take a shower, but Brienne stops in the middle of the lobby when she sees Catelyn Tully at the hotel front desk, looking frazzled. Her heart rate picks up. Why would Jaime’s editor be here if he’s not due back for another week? It’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other, but Brienne steps over to where the older woman is standing. “Catelyn, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, Brienne, thank gods. I’m trying to find someone to take me to Slaver’s Bay. Jaime is in the hospital there.” Everything happens in slow motion after that. Catelyn must lead her over to one of the lobby’s couches, because that’s where she finally returns to herself, a stiff drink in her hand. “You didn’t hear?” She shakes her head. “There was an ambush in Khyzai Pass. He was with the company under attack.” 

“Khyzai Pass?” It was incredibly dangerous, much more so than the Painted Forest. 

“I didn’t know either,” the older woman says, her tone somber. “I wouldn’t have let him go.” 

Jaime’s sudden need for clarification about their relationship takes on a new meaning and Brienne curses herself for being so stupid. “I should have realized.” The whole area is in such tumult that for years, Slaver’s Bay has been cut off from most means of transportation. The only way they might be able to reach Jaime is by boat, but traversing the straits of Valyria would take days. “Did you talk to the hospital?” 

Catelyn nods, her face pale. “They said he was stable, but he’d lost a lot of blood. He...his hand got hurt. There may be nerve damage.” 

She nods, her throat thick with emotion, tears welling up in her eyes. If he couldn’t take photos, Jaime wouldn’t want to live. An urgency rises up in her chest. “We have to get to him.” 

A shadow falls across the two of them, and Brienne looks up to find Sandor Clegane looming. “I can take you there.” 

They spend the next two days in an armored Jeep, barely stopping, but Clegane is true to his word, they breeze through checkpoints, and Brienne can barely thank him before she’s racing through the hospital corridors, a name echoing in each heartbeat. Jaime Jaime Jaime. 

[seriouslyhooked]

Lighthouse (CS AU)

Short oneshot where Emma is the Princess and Killian is her longtime love. He’s serving his last deployment in the royal navy and she is eagerly awaiting his arrival. Available on AO3 Here and FF Here.

A/N: This is a fluffy drabble that was prompted FOREVER ago by a lovely reader. They wanted the song “Lighthouse’ by Collabro and the story to include a Lieutenant Duckling Reunion fic. It has been so long since I’ve gotten to write something like that, and I have really missed it, so here is my attempt at some cuteness for you all. Thanks for reading, and thanks so much to the awesome reader who suggested this!

Please let him be safe. Please let him come home. Please let him return to me.

The silent prayers were ones that Princess Emma had begged for more times than she could count. Over the past year, while Killian was out at sea, serving in the royal navy, Emma had been beside herself with worry. It was bad enough to be separated from the man she loved, but to know that he could be in danger all this time pained her heart in shades of sadness she’d never be able to vocalize.

If she had her way in this scenario, Emma would be down at the docks, watching the horizon for any sign of his ship in port. No, forget that idea, she��d be on the ship with him, facing whatever harrowing adventures the high seas might call for without a drop of fear. When she was with Killian, nothing could touch her. The magic they shared was a barrier against anything bad, a fortifying force that protected them both, and Emma felt steadier and at peace. But alas, her destiny was written already, and it held no space for seafaring voyages or long treks on the open ocean.

As the one-day heir of the realm, Emma was expected to put on a brave face and attend to her duties. The people looked to her and her family for leadership and guidance. They all played a part in the health of this kingdom, and her birthright was to inherit all of this someday. At some point in the not too distant future, when her mother and father were ready to step aside, it would be Emma who took the throne, but all the grandeur and the power meant nothing to her, not without Killian to share it with.

Every spare moment she thought of him, and imagined what it would be like someday, when this was all behind them. This was his last deployment under the careful watch of his elder brother Liam, and prior to his going, he’d already received her parent’s blessing to marry her, though not before asking Emma for her hand herself. She’d accepted in a heartbeat, failing to let him even finish the romantic question when she understood his intent. She was desperate to be his in every way, and remembering the smile he’d bestowed on her and the kisses that they shared when she’d agreed, it was obvious that Killian felt the same.

Almost a whole year had passed since that miraculous night, and not long after he was sent away, sailing for the edge of the known world to see what lay beyond. It terrified her to think of what danger may lurk in what was unknown, but Killian reassured her that it would all be fine. He and Liam knew what must be done. They understood the sea and their mission, and Killian swore to find his way back to her just as he had so many times before…

“I just wish that you didn’t have to go,” she’d said, unable to hide her tears in the early morning hours before his ship set sail. They’d run off together to the guest house in the garden, a special spot of theirs since they met when they were younger. For years it had been their hideaway. Killian called it their sanctuary, and Emma always thought that was an apt description.

“Believe me, love, if there were any way around this, I would see the course. You know I’d give anything to be here making you mine as soon as may be. But my brother needs me, and your father has been clear. We need these alliances for the good of the kingdom, and the safety of the people, you most importantly.”

“I know,” Emma agreed, understanding more than most how precious their alliances were with the kingdoms of all realms. This voyage, though long and arduous, would protect them for years to come, and was the last request of Killian’s brother Liam before Killian exited the navy. “You just…”

“I just what, love?” he asked, cupping the side of her cheek and watching her with those beautiful blue eyes of his that always made her dizzy. They were so focused in on her, as if the universe began and ended with what she was about to say. In a world where she was important but never felt truly seen, she’d grown addicted to such attentions. Killian truly knew her and still loved her, and she was more herself with him than with anyone she’d ever met. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him and savoring the warmth and electricity that came when he was close.

“You just made me love you so much, that letting you go feels like losing part of myself.”

The murmured curse he let loose before devouring her lips made Emma shiver with delight, but she was hardly cold. His touch was like a fire, sizzling through her and marking her as his, just as much as she was marking him as hers. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, but it felt mere seconds later when they pulled apart. The brightness of the room and the daylight that was breaking signaled much more time had passed than seconds, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of time together ever would be.

“There’s nothing in this world or any other capable of keeping me from you, Emma. My love for you is constant. Not just for this life, but every one from here to always. Have faith in me, my love, because I promise I will be home to you as soon as I am able.”

Though the words were whispered so long ago, Emma still felt them wash against her skin as the sun began to sink over the tree line. Out here, in the back woods of the palace, she was totally alone, but if she couldn’t be with Killian, that solitude was all she could accept. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to fantasize that he was here. Autumn’s chill was back once more. The year was up, and so too should his mission be. In a perfect world she’d hear the gentle crunch of footsteps and catch the subtle scent of ocean waves. The footsteps would approach with precision and determination until the moment just before he reached her where heat flared through her system. She fended off tears at how good her imagination was becoming, and then she felt him, the undeniable press of his body on hers that was so much more vivid than any daydream ever could be. Her eyes popped open and her heart took flight.

“Emma,” he said, nuzzling into her neck as he held her tight and the sound that came from her chest was one of desperation and relief. “Gods how I’ve missed you, love.”

“You came back,” she said, spinning in his hold and seeing that this was truly real. Killian was here and alive. He was somehow even more gorgeous than when he’d left, and he was looking at her with even more affection and love than he’d had before. Tall dark and handsome did no justice to all he was. He was perfection, and he was all hers.

“With a light like yours to return to, there was no other option, love. Trust and believe in that.”

He whispered the words of affirmation as her hand came over his chest. She felt the racing of his heart, and she knew, without his admitting it all that things had been the same for her him as they had for her. She may have been here, and he may have physically been worlds away, but her heart could not reside in a space without him. Now they were together again, and she was whole, happy, and unwilling to ever let him go.

Pulling him in by the collar of his navy coat, Emma almost wept when their lips met after so long a separation. His taste was just the same, his arms, holding her close, the warmest and most soothing home she’d ever known. She was safe here and hopeful, finally believing that the worst was behind them. From here on out things would be different. She and Killian would be together, and there’d never be cause for such sad partings ever again.

“I thought for certain that the love we shared before was as big as it could be…” he murmured, running his hands through her flowing hair and smiling at her, as if he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t all a beautiful dream they’d both soon wake up from. “How wrong I was in such a thought. This love grows deeper every day. It can’t be quantified. It just…”

“It just is,” Emma echoed, and he agreed, kissing her again and grounding her in a happiness that had been missing for twelve long months. Only when they were breathless, did they break apart, but even then his forehead rested against hers, his arms surrounding her, giving them space to breathe each other in and surrender to their feelings.

“I’ve brought you something, Emma,” he finally said, and she could see the pride in his eyes at the mention of this gift. “It’s something I hope you’ll find worthy of a woman like you.”

Emma knew she’d cherish any parcel from her sailor, but the preemptive affirmations died on her lips as he pulled out a small velvet pouch. Inside the compartment was a ring with a band of white gold, and a green blue gem unlike any she’d ever seen. In the royal vaults there were many treasures belonging to her family, but none that looked like this. It was a sapphire, but colored in such a vibrant aqua hue it didn’t look like any stone she’d seen before. Yet it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this iridescent shade. In fact, it was one that always seemed to find the two of them some way or another.

“Killian, it’s gorgeous,” she said in awe, amazed at how much it looked like the lightest flecks of color in his piercing blue gaze. She knew that in her own green eyes there were flecks of this tone too, a shared sample of their souls, indistinguishable and utterly spectacular. “But you didn’t need to bring me anything. All I need is you, you know that.”

“I do, love. Believe me, a man doesn’t forget such miracles when he’s as blessed as I am. But you are to be my wife, and after searching for some time, I finally found the ring I know was meant for you.”

With gentle ease, he took her hand in his and placed the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit, and matched the modest white gold of the band he’d given her in promise before he left. Emma knew he’d had the choice of any ring in the castle for his proposal, but he was determined to find something special just for her. She didn’t need anything more than the wedding that would come, but when he shared the origin of this particular gem, she felt its significance.

“I found this treasure at a time of great pain. I missed you so dearly, that even the sea could offer no distraction. Twelve weeks into a twelve-month journey and I was homesick, as I’ve never been before. I walked along the beach in port and found this in a tide pool, underneath a rising moon. Liam gave most of the crew some leave for the first time in ages, but there was nothing that I wanted when I knew you were waiting for me here.

“My brother insisted I get off the boat, despite my attempt at protest, and so I wandered for a while, thinking only of you. Of your beauty and your brilliance and the future you deserve, the one I will do anything to give you. The waves in that water are notoriously unruly and sporadic. They rage along the coast and filter into tide pools unlike our shores here, but the locals claim that the sea bring treasures and tricks alike from far off places. Needless to say I didn’t care about these stories. All I cared about was you. I was thinking that maybe I should come home, even though the mission was not over, and then I found this, glistening in the water just below.”

Emma looked down at the stone and their hands intertwined. She imagined each point of his memory, feeling it so surely, it was like she had been there too. It helped in easing the pain of separation, and she settled in the fact that soon their being parted would be just a distant remembrance, never to be repeated.

“The first time I held you in my arms for a dance, you were dressed in a gown of this shade. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.”

“Neither will I,” Emma agreed, recalling her public debut. She was a girl of sixteen and Killian was the brother of one of her father’s most trusted Captains, a whole year older than her but already in her eyes so much more mature. Now, so much time had passed, but when he smiled at her the same boyish charm was ever present, and she fell under his spell, stepping into his arms as she would to share a dance. Out there, in the setting sun he held her close, guiding her though there was no music, and she tried not to cry the joyful tears that threatened to spill as he twirled her, eliciting a laugh and making her feel lighter than air.

“Finding this felt like a sign, that even we were parted, we would always be together. I carried it every moment since, knowing someday it would end up here, with you.”

“And now it’s here, and so are you,” she whispered, stealing another kiss from him and halting their dance. He was the sweetest man alive, of that she had no doubt, but suddenly that sweetness was not what she needed. What she needed was love, the love that only they shared, made real in a stolen, private moment.

Reading her mind and her wants with precision, Killian pivoted from dancing to sweeping her up into his arms. She laughed aloud at the motion but didn’t pull back far. Instead she clung to him as he strolled through the back way. A few minutes later, when they arrived back at the garden house she was in no way surprised. She hadn’t been out here since his leaving, but it was just as she remembered, and immediately her sense of inner peace solidified. This was everything she’d wanted and more.

The kiss he pressed on her once they were shut away inside was filled with heat and desire, and soon kisses devolved into so much more, a merging of two people who had missed each other fiercely and we were intent on tying themselves together once again. It was perfect, hard-fought reunion, and Emma would cherish the memory always. But perhaps no part was as special as the glow that came between them when she was wrapped up in his arms hours later, safe and happy as the dawn of a new morning began to break. The world was not bright enough to have created such vibrancy, that was all thanks to them and their true love. As a product of two soul mates, Emma had inherited a bit of magic herself, but that magic was always the strongest in the arms of her Killian.

“Gods above, Emma, you are my light, my truth, my home,” he murmured, his words placed between the lightest kisses that sent thrills of pleasure dancing across her skin. “I’ll love you forever, I give you my word.”

“Good,” she replied, silently affirming that she felt the same with a gentle kiss before finally giving in to the tiredness of her body. And luckily for both of them, the sweet dreams that came of their reunion were nothing compared to the joy of their life together. For they had found something better than wishes – a love so real it would live forever, and a bond so sure it would always lead them home.

………………

Where ever I am Where ever I go Whatever happens, this year I know That you'll be with me to the end When the cold sets in Like you told me all those years ago You hold my hand Where ever I lay And you guide me through come what may Bring the silence through the noise I still hear your voice I remember what I heard you say I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Whenever I feel I'm all by myself And every word is a cry for help I just think of you and then I'm safe again I feel you close though you're somewhere else I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Do you remember What we used to say? I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home

Post-Note: Wow, so first and foremost, if the person who requested this even still reads my fics (because it has literally been something like 4 years since they asked for this), I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. I am so sorry for making you wait so long, but I am also so grateful for your lovely prompt. What happiness this fic created for me as I wrote it. I hope you all get to share in that too as you read the story. I’m also shocked at how close I am getting to 200 chapters of the mixtape. I can’t tell if it is something that I should put on hold, or make a volume two perhaps, but in the meantime, thanks so much to all of you for reading, for commenting, and sending me amazing songs to include. It has meant the world to have your support, and I hope you’ll continue to join me on this slow but steady journey in cute CS oneshots!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193

[gveret-fic]

Alright HtN final thoughts

Similarly to the last book, I’m overstimulated to all hell and back. Gideon is my favorite protagonist of all time, no question. The sheer endorphin rush I get reading her cracking jokes and being insufferable is just bonkers. I started this book with 2 spoilers, without which I might never have even started this book: 1) there was Gideon content in HtN, and 2) there was multiple Gideons content in HtN. On the first point, I’m more than satisfied; I’m currently buzzing with how ecstatic that was as a reading experience. On the second, Gideon 1.0 was a boring lump of dude lmao, the only interesting thing about him was his bodyswap poly relationship with Better Gideon’s mom, which, wow. What a 10,000 year old soap opera. So that was disappointing, but you know what, one Gideon is really enough.

The vast majority of this book was a miserable slog and it genuinely hurt to read to the point where I don’t know that I can recommend this experience to anyone who isn’t already a huge fan. Yeah, the payoff was massive and I was played like a perfect little fiddle, but I don’t approve of the tune. I think Muir could’ve cut out a good third of the book and at the very least 50% of the relentless torture she put Harrow through and it would have still been effective. I still have a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t have a problem with difficult or hurtful stories and I’m not trying to invoke any moralistic outrage here, but that wasn’t what I expected or frankly could have prepared for coming out of the (drastically tonally different) first book and I do believe it was excessive. It was blow after blow after blow to an isolated, terrified, pointedly disabled protagonist with no single moment of relief, comfort or connection until the fucking reveal and I don’t want it, thanks.

Okay that’s enough about that. Now the rest of it.

I really tried to care about the new characters, but no dice. God had his moments, but we haven’t really seen him do too much interesting shit. Ianthe was fucking excellent, though I really really didn’t want her to be. The rest were dead boring, I’m sorry. The blasphemous makeouts were their only redeeming moment. When we finally got some Palamedes and Cam, I could have cried. Wish we could have spent more time with them, but I have high hopes for the next book. Ortus, surprisingly, was awesome! I wish him a happy afterlife with his poetic legendary husband. Also he did nothing wrong and all that nonsense about finally fighting for what’s important yada yada was pure military propaganda, let the man write lengthy poetry about his ghost boyfriend in peace. Dulcinea was a fucking badass! So happy she got a chance to shine, and to say ‘nyah!’ Abigail was also fantastic. Well that whole section of the book had me swimming in endorphins so maybe it isn’t saying much, but I fucking loved them, I fucking loved how much Harrow cared about them, Harrow, who had been an emotionally depleted husk throughout most of the book, now showing the most heartrending vulnerability and care for this little found ghost family and practically rotating through them one by one to apologize in the most terrible, gutpunching way, and finally being told not everything in the whole fucking world is her goddamn fault. This is the only reason I was able to accept no Gideon reunion, not even a single word between them. I’ve been yearning for hundreds of pages for Harrow to find human connection and care, and I’m so happy these are the people she found it with.

Gideon. I’m like tearing up right now just thinking about this. After the endless tedium, suffering, emotional disconnect to the point where characters dying horribly seemed insignificant against the backdrop of unrelenting despair, to have that vibrant, wonderful, dumbass motherfucking voice back---it was beyond cathartic. I reread every single line multiple times and I still don’t think I’ve wrung em fully dry. It was amazing. The personality dripping off the page, the immediate chemistry with any character living or dead or dull as rock, the blatant, beautiful disrespect for the sombre self importance of the whole preceding narrative. It was my favorite character crashing into one of my least favorite books, and making it awesome. I think a lot of people try to write a Gideon, and most of the time the result is completely unbearable, and I’d posit there’s 2 reasons for this: 1) they tragically, mistakenly make their Gideon a man, and 2) they just aren’t funny. Of course an unfunny Gideon would be unbearable. Of course a funny but emotionally vacant Gideon would be dull. But this Gideon is a fucking delight with a real heartfelt gooshy selfless vulnerable yearning center, and every line I got to spend with her was a rush.

Harrow and Gideon. Oof. I’ve been going back and forth on whether I shipped them, whether I even could, whether it was the intention at all. But like, come on. This is clearly a love story. It’s a love story from start to finish, and it’s cool that it got me to doubt that so sincerely when it’s just this level of ride and die, jump into hell, carve out your brain, share a body and preserve its modesty against your every instinct and not even make any jokes about it, universe crossing, death defying, soul melding level of mushy ass romance. Harrow fucking kept Gideon’s shitty sunglasses wrapped in a love note. She did find&replace on her whole personality. She kissed Ianthe. I remember the first time I watched Revolutionary Girl Utena, where almost every other episode would begin with a lil fairytail backstory recap telling you about the little girl who saw a prince and was so enamored she decided to become a prince too. And you believe that narrative, because why wouldn’t you? It’s a stylized repetitive fairytale at the start of a show. Why would it lie? And then you find out, at the very end, that it wasn’t the cool manly prince who precipitated all of this, but baby Utena witnessing another young girl in pain, and deciding then and there that she was going to grow up and help her. And she does, even if she can’t remember why.

This was that level of paradigm shift for me. Harrow and her pile of letters and rules and her obsession and her nauseating work ethic, what was she doing?? Saving the world? Fixing a broken timeline? Trying to unlock unlimited power, bring back the corpse in the locked tomb, serve her god and emperor? Nope! She was just trying to keep her big beautiful dumbass girlfriend a little bit alive. 

Yeah. It’s a fucking love story.

Random thoughts: I liked Harrow’s grudge against food and the word ‘pommel’. I liked the diminishing ages Mercy inflicted upon her. I liked the first/second person shenanigans, tho really, there’s no way that was Gideon’s voice, first of all, there was way too much anatomical knowledge there. (Gideon’s secretly a time traveling bone doctor, calling it now). I liked the fanfic AUs, and very sad we didn’t get a fake dating one or like a nice “there was only one bed”. Not gonna mention soulmate AUs cuz that’s just canon.

That was a ride. Coulda done without some parts of it, but don’t regret it one bit. Let’s see what kinda nonsense the next one brings!

[allegedlyanandroid]

Love Yourself

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works your created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Thank you so much for the tag! @mollyinthewater <33

1) Baby It’s Cold Outside

This is the first fic I ever posted to AO3 and my first work in the fandom. It holds a special place in my heart for that reason.

Staking out a building takes a turn for the worse when an unfortunate snowstorm hits Detroit.

2) Adventures in miscommunication

I just wanted to write a short, sweet little story of Nines not understanding how high-fives work. Absolutely hated it. It sat untouched in my WIP-folder for months. Eventually I posted it anyway and it ended up being very well-recieved. It made me realise I shouldn’t be too harsh on myself. A work doesn’t need to be perfect for someone else to enjoy it and it’s now one of my favourites! :)

Nines doesn’t understand social cues.

Or, in which Gavin feels like high-fiving is the best way to celebrate solving a case and Nines misinterprets the gesture.

3) Through the cracks I see you (and you’re beautiful)

This was my first long boi! I’ve always had issues writing more than 5k words for a fic but I just got really invested in this one. I loved writing it and I’m very happy with the end result. CaffeinatedJimmie acted as a beta for it and made it way better ^^

With his body damaged beyond repair, Nines’ memories are set to be transferred into a different AI-core. Gavin is right there by his side throughout the harrowing process and seeing the progression of their partnership through Nines’ perspective gives him some valuable insight into his partner’s mind. 

4) Promise me today and I’ll promise you tomorrow

I loved the idea, brought to you by the lovely Yayen-chan, and I knew I wouldn’t know peace until I wrote it down. I dunno- it was cathartic to write in some ways. It’s sad but hopeful in some places. 

Story about death, reincarnation and undying love.

5) This little prompt-thingy

Written as a part of the first prompt-ask-thingy I did on tumblr. It’s the first time I wrote RK1700 and while potentially a bit ooc, I do like the way it turned out. I’d like to write more for the pairing in the future.

Nines is sick and Connor looks after him.

Tagging: @caffeinatedjimmie, @gavinisqueertbh, @yayen-chan and @marndraws, if you want to of course! 

[stabletwooriginals]

CHAPTER THREE: Guidance

LittlePip wakes up to a brand new day. Which she never experienced before and we get some fun observations from her about.

I knew this was coming but I’m so relieved LittlePip finds one of Rarities dresses in perfect condition inside a locked chest.

The comment, that the dress is the prettiest and most cheerful thing she has seen since leaving is striking to me. She has had one terrible string of bad luck so far, but there are amazing things still waiting to be found.

Which is undercut somewhat by her discovery of the dead cats hung over where she slept. Absolutely terrifying. That doesn’t seem just for shock value, as it preoccupies our (and LittlePips) mind as she accidentally activates a land mine. Oops.

Watcher making his first appearing here, giving LittlePip life saving advice.

Raiders attack again. And we get LittlePips naive interpretation of grenades through a childhood memory of someone bullying her. This explains to us why she focuses on throwing the granade back next… killing her first pony.

We don’t get a lot of rumination on that yet though, as we get a scene break and LittlePip has managed to sneak out of Ponyville. What are these segmenting parts called, actually? Is it “Dinkus”? That’s a fantastic name.

The retelling of escaping Ponyville sounds like a stealth sequence in any video game, which I find amusing.

After a brief first encounter with a Bloatsprite - the mutated version of the Parasprites from the show - we reunite with Watcher and LittlePip get’s to have her first friendly conversation so far. (You might wanna count Velvet at the very beginning, but that’s up to you.)

“A friend.” I raised an eyebrow. “Okay, a passing acquaintance. But one that doesn’t mean any harm.”

This back-paddling is interesting. Why isn’t the “Friend or Foe” distinction enough here? My interpretation is that FoE takes friendship quite seriously. Since it is adopting “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic”, in which friendship is the key to change the course of history, just the word “friend” has a lot of worth and meaning that can’t just be thrown around lightly. We don’t know it yet but the core mechanics of MLP, namely friendship and the Elements of Harmony, are still intact in this story.

Finding my apple, I levitated it up. “Thank you. And thank you for the warning about that… thing in the ground.” “Mine.” I blinked. “Y-you want my apple?”

I just want this on here.

We get some info on the Bloatsprite - mainly it’s name and that it is the result of something called Taint. Which, uh– and Watcher’s name. He is not a Spritebot himself, but located somewhere else and just hacks into them to interact with remote places of the world.

Finally he gives vital advice any newbie RPG player can use: Find better gear, learn about the world and make some friends! What? Yes, there it is again. Friendship.

For guidance LittlePip returns to Ponyville. Watcher told her a copy of the Wasteland Survival Guide should still be at the Ponyville Library. Twilight’s home! (Remember, we’re sticking strictly to the first season.)

I was convinced The Wasteland Survival Guide was a reference to an older piece of post-apocalyptic fiction, but nope, it seems to come from the famous quest line in Fallout 3. At least, that is what dominates the search results when I try to google it.

Quite some time is also spend on the horrific decoration, namely desecrated ponies. Mutilated and in pieces, stuck to the walls and hung from the ceiling. These displays of gore are reminiscent of how Super Mutants tend to gather in places with such bloody decorations in Fallout 3. That game reduced the Mutants personality from a faction, as they were in the previous titles, to little more than orcs. Which is a shame, as they mostly exist as canon fodder now. And help us get over killing them, it shows us with lootable sacks of gore that they deserve it.

The raiders here get painted in the same light and fulfill a similar role. As clear bad guys and somewhat as cannon fodder. Their psychology never gets explored much beyond “the Wasteland drove them mad”. They often even have ridiculous cutie marks, implying they have been born into being raiders and that being cruel is their special talent. Which, besides painting the saddest existence, is a shame, since they clearly form groups among themselves, can talk just fine and are/were, by all accounts, just ponies like anyone else. Except, they’re not. They have gone insane, mind you. They live in their own shit and sleep under fresh, dripping intestines. Because they’ve gone mad, you see!

My point with all that is, that the excessive gore in this scene takes away from my immersion, as it raises questions with no answers, and raiders holding slaves and killing ponies (without putting their corpses on display), again, would be fine enough to convince me of their evilness.

Watcher was playing LittlePip a little, as he knew it was also where a couple slaves are kept in cages. One of them is implied to have been sexually assaulted, which - while still despicable - at least makes more sense for raiders to do than the gore fest described earlier.

LittlePip glancing over the bottle caps the first freed slave offers her without a second thought is a fun touch.

Then a fight breaks loose!

I hadn’t just killed a pony–these raiders had given up any right to the title! These were not ponies, they were sick monsters that needed to be put down!

Which implies choice. Something I can’t imagine, choosing to be a raider like this, but fine. I’m sure plenty of FoE side stories go more into detail with raiders, FoE itself seems mostly comfortable portraying them as orcs most of the time. Until it doesn’t. But we will cross that bridge when we get there.

I didn’t realize until that moment, but I was mad! The pure evil of this place had shaken me to the core… and my core was furious!

Regardless of my feelings towards the raiders, Littlepip’s reaction to them has always been inspirational to me. I know, it leads to… problems later on. But joining in with unbridled rage of LittlePip is cathartic in ways I haven’t yet seen replicated somewhere else.

(what do you know, they do shoot with their tongues!)

Figuring out how horses shoot firearms is… it’s own entire discourse I am not very interested in. But it’s fun to see what ideas FoE brought to the table. And it’s even more fun to see high quality concept art of tongue-triggered pistols for the Fallout: Equestria fan game Ashes of Equestria.

The fight is fun, with brisk and clear descriptions and punctuation of humor (“Shouldn't you ponies be smarter than this? You live in a library!”).

LittlePip gets shot but finds the Fluttershy branded medical box. Love that decision. Also our introduction to healing potions – they work like Stimpaks from Fallout, but are actually more believable because magic actually exists!

I was even more pathetic with melee weapons than I was with guns.

Love that RPG progression being set up here.

It was a zombiepony!

Don’t be mean to ghoul Ditzy Doo. Don’t ever be mean to ghoul Ditzy Doo.

I can’t really place the note about why someone might need binoculars in a library. I assume it’s a MLP reference but I’m lost on that one.

After another short lived meeting with mines the fight is over and LittlePip decides to loot the bodies for armor. The bloody, tattered armor. To be fair, it is the best armor she has come across so far and we do stuff like this in RPGs all the time.

She finds bottle caps again and chooses to ignore them this time. Great tease. Love it.

She finds and identifies radigator meat. I’m not sure she should know their name at this point, but whatever. The narrative framing allows it.

Lastly, she confronts the sniper that has been on the balcony of the library the entire time. Here we get a better glimpse at AngeryPip, surprising herself with her audible confidence and malice. It feels like a different character, but since this is portrayed as a extreme situation this seems more adrenaline fueled to me, rather than pathological.

Leaving the library, LittlePip has a combat shotgun, an assault rifle, a revolver (which gets lost in the next scene), a knife and now a sniper rifle. Impressive for this early in the story.

An alert flashed on my PipBuck. Checking it, I discovered that it had labeled the gazebo in front of me: The Macintosh War Memorial.

First, harrowing. Love it. Secondly, I love the inclusion of the gazebo, which has to be the one we can see in the show. It’s cool to see how many elements of the show actually made it in here. Pretty unobtrusively too.

The Memorial specifically names Big Macintosh and his sacrifice. It’s obviously unclear how much of the story was prepared in advance, but the way the war started 200 years ago must have been among that. We get to learn later what Big Mac’s role in the war was.

And we end with LittlePip picking up “The Wasteland Survival Guide. By Ditzy Doo…”

Level Up! New Perk: Bookworm. Kinda nice how we went to the library this time, got a book out of it, the quote at the beginning was “Books! I’ve read several on the subject.”… So, this one feels more than earned.

[littlefreya]

Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

Summary: You’ve been a naughty girl, Private, thirsty for the Captain’s attention while he’s busy leading the base. Time for you to learn some freakin’ respect and patience. 

Pairing: Captain BDE Syverson x You

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: SMUT! Masturbation, really dirty language, abuse of power, pleasure denial. 

A/N: This was a request made by @hcfavoritegal I’ve been a good devil and happily obliged! Thanks once more to my amazing @agniavateira for being my editor! Happy FuckDay! Title: Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

“Your bratty attitude has been on my last nerve,” his deep southern accent thundered behind you as the both of you walked into the stuffy little room. There was a small shove at the arch of your back, forcing you further inside before the captain shut his office door. You turned to look at him, crooking up one eyebrow, focusing on how his long fingers tinkered with the lock. 

Huffing like an angry bull, he walked right past you, his large body bumping into yours with obvious intent. He moved to claim his spot on the worn-out leather sofa, body slumping down so heavily a loud thud filled your ears.

You glanced quietly at the hulking man: legs spread out widely in his seat with his groin bumped forward for display, the outlines of his large cock were prominent, undoubtedly presented  like some sinful temptation. 

“You’re just thirsty for some attention, aren't ya, Private?” he asked with menace on his smooth baritone and in his piercing blue gaze. That look couldn’t be mistaken for anything but hot, angry desire. It made a chill run up and down your spine, spreading throughout every nerve.

“I…” 

You tried to speak, yet only one word came out, quivering on your tongue like a thin thread snapping with force. You always saw yourself as strong-willed, but this man had some power over you, and it wasn’t just the impressive size of his body against your smaller frame and his higher rank. He gave away an enigmatic force that left you burning for him. If he told you to come, you’d come on your knees. 

Syverson smoothed his hands over his thighs, drawing more attention to the forbidden delight between his legs. The worst part is that you knew the undisclosed desire that hid behind those camouflage trousers, and how satisfying it was. “You think I’m okay with you touchin’ me and flingin’ that hot ass of yours, while we’re both on duty?” he paused, sucking his pouty lips in and fleshing his tongue over them briefly. “Have no one ever educated you about patience, kitten?”

You frowned at him, clenching your fists tightly until your knuckles turned white. You’ve always been a hot-blooded woman and the fact that Syverson was the gods’ gift to women didn’t help either. It was as if your body constantly yearned for his touch, making you frustrated whenever he refused to provide it. 

For him, it was all about the army. He was patient, immune to your spells during those long hours of hard work. But when the sun came down and he’d finally have his break, he’d come and claim, plunging all his pent-up frustration inside you until you’re searing inside.

You wanted to either slap that smug smirk off of his face or spread your legs and sit on top of it, knowing very well how strong these arms are around your inner thighs.

“You don’t pay me any attention at all lately!” You snapped, raising your voice at him which only granted you a dangerous grimace. For a moment, you wondered if you should apologize to your captain. But before you even managed to muster a second thought, Syverson lifted his hand, fingers curling inside to gesture you to come hither. 

Not saying a word, you made your way toward him, feeling numb in your legs as if the blood began to drain from them. With just a gaze and a gesture you were already following his rules and it had nothing to do with him being the captain anymore. It’s just how Syverson was. Dripping of confidence and power, he made men and women cower at his striking presence. 

His hand went over his jaw, stroking his beard and looking up to meet your face while you stood waiting between his legs. 

“It’s called duty, Private.The job comes first.” He spoke dangerously low, letting his eyes trail up and down the pleasing shape of your body. “You wanna keep this bratty attitude up?” he tested and shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting the growing hardness in his groin.

“Yeah, at least until you’d pay me some attention. I’m not some toy you can pick up whenever you’re bored.” Your heart pounded in your ears as you spoke, knowing very well you’re only making things worse for yourself. But once that onslaught of complaints spilled from your mouth. it was hard to stop. “You’re not the only one with needs here!” 

Syverson sat listening to your whines while a wide, scornful smirk spread across his face. “Sit down over there,” he commanded, tapping the empty spot next to him. The glare he gave left you no place to even think of protesting. Submissive as you’ve never been before, you did  as you were told. With trembling legs you went to sit next to Sy while looking at him with fear and anticipation.

His hands still rested on his thighs, nails slightly digging onto  the fabric of his trousers. His eyes scanned you with dark lust, looking you up as if you’re a tasty treat.

“I think it’s time to teach this brat a lesson about patience.” 

Not saying anything else, Syverson began undoing his belt. The sound of metal clinking sharply as the buckle unclasped did nothing but make your pussy clench with excitement. When the zipper slid down and freed his bulge, you wanted to straddle his waist immediately and take him inside of you.

A delicate wanton moan left your lips instead, showering his beautiful cock with admiration as it stood vast and solid between his coarse fingers.

“You’re gonna sit there and watch like a good girl, without moving a muscle.” he threatened, allowing his long digits to run up and down the thick shaft while emitting a small groan that made your chest sink.

“And you’re going to say exactly what I want you to say. If you break the rules, I’m going to deny your pleasure for weeks. Is that understood, kitten?”

The sight of his cock made your mouth water and your cunt throb, wallowing in your own sticky juices with harrowing desperation. Your eyes flicked along the ridges and veins that decorated his huge erection. Syverson beamed at your response, his callous thumb caressing the bulbous head, circling and smearing the pre-cum drops at the tip.

“Tell me how much you want this cock inside you Private, and be specific.”  

You gaped, smitten at his demand and cruel set of rules. Sy had a nasty mouth and he would say the most profane things while fucking you. Secretly you loved it, but you were never able to bring yourself to speak back, you simply moaned or said yes to whatever it was that he said he was going to do to your body. 

His hand began to make its way up and down his girth with achingly slow tugs. This entire time he was looking straight into your eyes. His defined lips parted while he feasted on the sight of you, not missing how your nipples hardened through the fabric of your shirt as your entire body prepared for a joining which was brutally denied.

“Fuck, Sy…” 

The desire to touch yourself never felt this excruciating, even just to stroke and squeeze your breast or your fucking knee.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting, Private?” He teased you, a vicious smirk lighting his face.

“I want you to bury your gigantic cock deep inside my pussy,” you fulfilled his wish, nearly mewling these words came tumbling out of your mouth. In an instant, you realized they did nothing but increase your painful need to be stuffed by him. 

Syverson groaned with a grin, shutting his eyes for a moment while squeezing himself. He imagined your sweet warmth tightening around his cock while he pressures himself into you. 

“Yeah, you want me defiling your tight little pussy, babygirl?” he asked in his low velvety voice, now accompanied by small husky grunts while his breaths became heavier.

“Tell me, tell me how big my cock feels inside you.”

You bit your lip so painfully it hurt, your core pulsated as if furious for not being granted what it needed. 

“You’re so big, Captain.” You paused, having to swallow the dryness in your throat as he continues to squirm and groan “I want you to throw me on your desk and fuck me like a slut, you’d make me sore for days.”

A pleased guttural groan escaped his mouth, you finally began following his rules and hearing how much you wanted him made his cock red and aching for release. His hand locked tightly around his cock, squeezing in a pace that grew more and more urgent. 

Although he never broke eye contact, his eyes fucked you a dozen times harder than he ever did. His glare made you feel as if you were being defiled. You felt naked, wanting to be exploited by him in ways you never imagined possible.  

You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat, intoxicated by the sight of this beautiful man. His scarred face was covered with a sheer layer of sweat, his blue eyes were now hazy and the very vocal groans that came out his throat had you soaked beyond imagination.

“Fuck Sy, please, I need you to fuck me so bad.” You begged, pouting desperately and clenching your thighs together to fight that lonely feeling inside you.

His free hand reached for your knee in an instant, forcing your legs apart while he shook his head with a disapproving glare. “Nah ah. Patience, babygirl, you touch yourself now I’ll make sure you won’t come for a whole month.” 

The touch of his hand on your knee made you shiver and moan, increasing the raging flutter inside your core. You wanted to cry with how needy you felt. This beautiful beast had you locked in his twisted little game while he enjoyed every inch you were prohibited from having. 

As if you were locked out of heaven. 

“Say,” he rasped breathlessly, his control beginning to slip. “Say you want me to come inside that pussy.”

His hand stroked faster and faster, the sounds of his skin slapping reminded you of the sounds your bodies made together. And his breath, fuck, even the sound of his breath made your chest sink as if there were weights atop of it. 

“Please,” you begged again out of frustration. You were just as breathless as he was, and your lungs felt empty. “Punish my pussy, Sy, bottom me out and fill me with your cum.”

You watched as his testicles became stretched and clenched upward, his cock throbbed, swelling larger while he tugged himself with fury and growled like an animal. You moaned to urge him, biting your lower lip and shifting on the sofa helplessly.

“Yes, Sy! Give it to me! I want it so bad!” 

His hand landed on your knee with might, making you jump as he squeezed you hard. A loud grunt erupted from his chest and then a deep sigh of release as he breathed out with bliss. You gasped with him, watching as his thick liquids glazed over his hand.

He felt no shame, nor disgust, breathlessly staring as if what he did was liberating for both of you. Well, it wasn’t. You were flushed, breathing in fumes as you watched him climb down from ecstasy. His pupils were expended, his lips were slightly red and he licked them while smiling at you with mischief.  

“Next lesson, I’ll teach you how to clean that potty mouth of yours.”

__________________________________________________________

[nejitenforlife]

Nejiten Month 2020

Day 15 - Pirate AU (Final Part)

I am so late with the final part of this little story. I sort of lost my groove, and gave up on many of the AU prompts (which I really wanted to do at first), but I’m back! I hope you like the final rendition of my little pirate AU. I’ll be posting a couple of things tomorrow to get back on track.

Word Count: 2,906

.

Despite the warm day, Tenten shivered against the breeze, her clothes soaked through from the seawater. One of the crew members hauled both her and the captain up and she found herself once again on the deck of the pirate ship. Which, after almost dying by both her fiancé’s hand as well as the sea, Tenten wasn’t in the mood to complain. These people—these supposedly barbarian people—had been kind to her. The kindest anyone had been in a very long time.

The fighting had stopped some time while Tenten was in the water, and pirates were binding their enemies with rope before sending them back to their ship by means of a plank set up between them. Tenten was curious to know how the pirates had won, but she was too cold to ask. Instead, she let herself be led by the captain as he escorted her across the deck.

At first, she thought he might be taking her back to the brig, but surely not, with the hole gaping in the middle of it. She would freeze to death if she had to spend any more time there. But when he steered her towards what she suspected was the captain’s quarters, Tenten began to worry that he might want something in exchange for saving her life. She was still his captive, after all, and he had every right—at least in his mind—to demand compensation. Especially once he found out that the attack had happened because of her. She had no idea how many men he had lost in that battle, and what feelings and emotions were swirling around inside his head.

Neji opened the door and she walked inside to a spacious room. It contained a desk near the entrance along with a bookshelf that she suspected was bolted into the floor. Further inside, a bed leaned against a wall with a small window above it. Just beyond that lay a door where Tenten figured held the bathroom.

The room was significantly warmer than outside, and Tenten shivered at the abrupt change in temperature, but was grateful for the warmth. She wouldn’t be surprised if her lips had started turning blue by this point. She had been in the water for longer than she would have liked, and she was exhausted from treading water for so long.

Neji spoke to a cabin boy at the door before turning back to face her. His own clothes were drenched, his long dark hair plastered to his skin, and he didn’t look any better than she felt. No doubt the last thing he wanted to do was look after her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his soft voice loud in the quiet room.

Tenten shook her head in response. “No, just cold.”

“Konohamaru is fetching some water for a bath, so you can warm yourself soon.”

Not expecting that comment, Tenten was shocked. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why are you drawing a bath for me?” She figured he would give her a change of clothes at best. She hadn’t even contemplated receiving a bath from him, especially since he had refused every time she had asked him up until this point.

“If you do not get warm soon, you will become sick.”

Tenten didn’t doubt it. Already she could feel her nose starting to run. She was extremely grateful for being allowed a bath, but she didn’t quite know how to tell him that. It wasn’t as though they were suddenly best friends after surviving such a harrowing ordeal. She stepped aside as a boy, no older than twelve, walked in and out of the cabin, carrying buckets of water to fill the tub as he went.

“While it is getting ready,” Neji said, opening a trunk by his bed and pulling two small towels from it. He threw one to her. “I believe you owe me an explanation. Why were you running from your fiancé?”

Tenten wrapped the towel around her shoulders, her heart sinking at the topic of conversation he chose to go with. But she supposed she owed him an explanation. “He was a cruel man. He hid it well and he was respected by many within the navy, but he had an evil about him that my father noticed straight away. He quickly became my father’s right-hand man, doing many of the dirty jobs a mayor would never do himself. Amongst other things, he killed people.”

Neji was sitting at the edge of his bed, listening quietly, but he didn’t look convinced. “Many of us kill people. That does not necessarily make a person cruel.”

“No, that’s true. But enjoying it does. I heard him speaking to my father about how much he enjoyed planning his kills, of how he relished the blank look of death on people’s faces when the deed was completed. He was a man unhinged, though he hid it well from much of the populace.”

Tenten fidgeted where she stood, eyeing the bath through the open door to the bathroom as it continued to rise with each bucket the cabin boy poured in. She could see the steam rising from the tub and absentmindedly wondered how they were able to heat the water so much. She was grateful for being able to bathe, to get truly warm and clean, but she was still wary of her pirate captain. What would he do with her now that the danger had passed?

Neji caught her looking at him and he frowned. “You are looking pale. Are you unwell?”

.

.

.

Neji hurried Konohamaru along in his mind, knowing his cabin boy could only go so fast. Thankfully, the bath was almost ready, and Tenten could soon warm her chilled bones. Her lips were blue, and she had gone pale in the last few moments, making him worry for her wellbeing.

She shuffled from foot to foot, her hands wringing in front of her, and Neji got the impression she wanted to say something but was too scared to ask. “What is it?”

“What are your plans for me now? Are you going to demand money from my father? Are you going to kill me? Or—” she glanced towards the bed quickly, “—do you want something else from me?”

“Why should I demand ransom from your father?” If she believed he would harm her now, after he had saved her life, she was dafter than he thought.

His captive had the gall to glare at him, much to his relief. If she still had spirit, she must be feeling better.

“Surely you must know who I am, now that I’ve told you my name.”

Neji pondered over her name, having brushed it aside when she had first told him, having had more important things to focus on. Her family name was familiar, and it only took him a few moments to realize why. Neji had once considered plundering the mayor’s storehouses, having had heard the man’s habit of demanding more tax from the people than was needed. He was incredibly wealthy, so much so that Neji knew he could afford losing some coin. In the end, though, he had decided to pass on that endeavour, since the risk, if the job had gone south, would have outweighed the reward.

“You have no need to fear,” Neji assured her, trying to keep his voice placating. “No harm will come to you on my ship. Nor will you be held for ransom.” Even if the coin was tempting, Neji wouldn’t want her to find her way back to her father. No doubt, he had been the one to orchestrate the marriage alliance between her fiancé and her, and anyone who would pair a woman such as she with a beast didn’t deserve her in their life.

Neji saw the tension fall away from her shoulders and when she met his gaze, the relief shining in her eyes was evident. “Thank you. Though, even if you were to demand ransom, he wouldn’t have paid. The only loss he will mourn will be the loss of an alliance of any kind, not the loss of his only daughter. I am glad to be away from him and his violent tendencies.” She smiled, but Neji could tell the words hurt her to say, and he felt anger rise in his chest that she had experienced such cruelness in her life.

“The bath is ready, Cap’n,” Konohamaru informed him, the boy’s small frame gazing up at him with admiration. Neji gave him a brief smile, nodding his thanks, and Konohamaru left the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

Neji walked back to the chest by his bed and picked out a plain white long-sleeved shirt before handing it to Tenten.

“Two baths in one day? I feel like I’m getting the royal treatment.” Her voice was amused but her smile was shy, and Neji found he enjoyed the combination.

His smile was brief but genuine. He wanted to continue the banter, say something to make her laugh, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Lee would know, but Neji wasn’t known for his sense of humour. Instead, he only said, “Take your time,” and turned towards his desk.

.

.

.

The bath was heavenly. Tenten had only been at sea for about a week, but already she had forgotten just how amazing a hot bath was. She took her time, washing her hair twice with some soap she found, as well as her aching body. She leaned against the edge of the tub, enjoying the way the heat soothed her sore muscles and warmed her from the inside out.

It was only when the water had cooled that Tenten pulled herself out and dried off. She slipped the shirt over her head, thankful for the captain for providing it for her. If only she had asked for pants, though. The shirt didn’t quite reach her knees, and Tenten suddenly felt very self-conscience. She had never been in the presence of the opposite sex with so little on.

Opening the door slowly, she peeked out into the cabin. Neji was sitting at his desk, concentrating on something he was writing. Tenten took a deep breath and walked into the cabin, but immediately became shy when he looked up and ran his gaze over her.

She wasn’t sure why, but his gaze heated her skin more than the bath had, and she quickly averted her eyes from his, finding the knickknacks on his shelf extremely interesting.

“Konohamaru will arrive soon with some food,” Neji said, causing her to glance at him again. “You may eat while I bathe.”

He stood up and made his way to the bathing room, and Tenten suddenly felt contrite.

“Will he not fill it again for you?” she asked. She hadn’t even been thinking of the captain, and she hoped she hadn’t just selfishly used all the hot water on him.

“Hot baths are a luxury on a ship. It would be a waste to use more water than necessary by emptying the tub and filling it again.”

“I’m really sorry,” Tenten apologised. “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have spent so long in there. The water will be cold by now.”

“It is fine. I am used to cold baths. Besides,” he added, that small smile gracing his lips again briefly. “You needed it, after the ordeal you have gone through.”

Tenten felt her heart warm at his words, at this unexpected gift from this pirate captain. “Thank you. I’m very grateful.”

They gazed at each other, unmoving, until a knock at the door made Tenten jump. Neji closed the bathroom door behind him and Tenten opened the cabin door to see the young boy with two trays of food in his hands.

“Food for you and the Cap’n, miss,” he said, squeezing past her into the room. He set them down on Neji’s desk before giving her a small bow and leaving again.

The smell of stew—yes, stew!—made Tenten salivate. She was sitting at the desk in a heartbeat with the bowl in her hands, breathing in the delicious smell. She ate ravenously, and the food was gone much too soon for her liking. She eyed the captain’s meal longingly, her stomach still rumbling pathetically.

“You are welcome to mine.”

Tenten whipped her head up and around, her cheeks pinkening at both his words and the sight before her. His hair was damp, and his pants rode low on his waistband. He was shirtless, and Tenten tried not to ogle his muscular build.

She shook her head and pushed the bowl towards him. “I couldn’t possibly. I already stole all the hot water. Besides, I’ve had my fill.”

On cue, her belly rumbled and Tenten flushed, embarrassed. Neji’s lips tipped upwards at the noise, and he pushed the bowl back to her. “I insist. Eat.”

She did as she was told, though she ate the second bowl with more etiquette. While she ate, Neji leaned against the door of the cabin, in front of her, watching. After some time, he asked, “What are your plans now?”

“My plans?” Tenten glanced at him, a frown on her lips. “What do you mean?”

“Now that your fiancé is dead and you no longer live with your father, what do you plan on doing? What was your objective when you came aboard my ship?”

Tenten worried her lip, thinking. “My plans were to get off at the next port you stopped at and start a new life. Though, I admit I don’t have much in the means of money. Or clothes,” she added with a glance at her attire.

Neji nodded. “You are welcome to leave the ship at the next port if that is your wish. Although, our next port will be Kirigakure, and I have to warn you that it is not the safest place for a young woman by herself.”

Tenten had heard of Kirigakure, and nothing she heard had been pleasant. If she were to set up in a new town, she didn’t want to start a new life in a town rampant with violence and theft. “Maybe I should wait for a friendlier town,” she murmured.

“You are welcome to stay onboard until we make port at a more suitable village.”

“Would I be welcome to…” she let her words peter out, knowing she would be insane to voice them. But if she was going to be staying onboard for the foreseeable future as it was, maybe the captain wouldn’t mind. Taking a deep breath, Tenten asked, “Would I be welcome to stay and work onboard? I think I would enjoy some time at sea after my sheltered life at home.”

Neji’s eyebrows had raised almost to his hairline as she spoke, but he managed to school his features back into a blank line. “I do not hire women.”

Her heart dropped and she looked down at her lap. “Of course, forgive me for asking. I know about the superstition about women on ships.”

She felt him push off against the door and walk towards her, but she didn’t look up. “I do not care for superstitions, Tenten.” Her name on his lips made her heart race and she glanced up at him, who was now directly in front of her on the other side of the desk. “I will not hire you, but you are welcome to stay onboard.” His lips tipped up, just slightly. “If you wish for adventure, you will see plenty of it aboard my ship.”

“I can stay?” Tenten couldn’t quite believe her ears. “Can I help with the chores? Learn how to use a sword?” Her father had refused to let her learn, though she had wanted to since she was a little girl. She had held a sword, only once, and Tenten had known in her gut that she would have an affinity for the weapon if only she was given the opportunity to learn how to wield it.

“You wish to work with my men and learn to fight?” He looked at her, incredulous.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please. Even if you don’t hire me, I will work. I’m not going to sit around doing nothing while others work. I’ve spent my whole life bored in a house that was much too large for me, so this will be a pleasant change of pace.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you forget that we are pirates?”

Of course, Tenten had loathed him and his crew when she first came aboard—not just them, but all pirates. And she had no doubt that there were pirates out there that were truly horrible, but Neji and his men had shown they were decent people. They killed when necessary, but not excessively, and the few she had met had been kind to her. If the captain was a good person at heart, she had no doubt he chose similar men to work with him.

She smiled. “Yes, but I also believe you are good people. I would very much like to stay onboard for as long as you will have me.”

“Very well. He nodded his acceptance, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome to the Crimson Night, Tenten,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”