#but twig-kissing de would not wait

[peridotsarelongterm]

Gotta say I was surprised when I finally got to watch this with audio. Turns out western!De is threatening his cousin, with whom he has long-standing beef.

Just saying, if this is how he looks at a relative he hates, how do you suppose he’d look at a stranger he liked? 😜

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

10 BL Boys That I Want "Carnally"

aka The Horny List

I was tagged by @my-rose-tinted-glasses @twig-tea @rocketturtle4 and @nieves-de-sugui 🤍 Thank you so much! And sorry I am late to the game! I am lying down with a cold right now... what means I had a little time to think about this list and to respect my own weak heart for bad boys and puppy guys... The heart wants what the heart wants...

Starting the list with one of the softest and warmest bad boys out there right now:

Mhok from Last Twilight

He stole my heart from the beginning and never gave it back. I guess he will keep it for eternity. And that is totally fine! He has the biggest heart and is the biggest green flag disguised as a red flag that is walking the bl-world right now. I love how he looks at Day, how he takes care for him and how he slowly fell for him.

I guess the second one doesn't come as a surprise when you look at my profle pic:

Boeing from Only Friends

He is just sex on a stick and I am still mad that he got introduced so late into the show. He would have been so much fun to watch destroying the whole "friend group" piece by piece. I would have watched such a show. Well I guess I would watch a show in which he just leans out of the pool like that for 40 minutes straight and I wouldn't be mad...

On third we have our first couple, because one doesn't work without the other:

DongWook and DoHyun from A Breeze Of Love

I was so freaking happy seeing those two wanting each other. Those two were in love with each other, not just on an emotional level but on a physical level attracted to each other and the series didn't hide it! It is my favorite bl of this year and the mutual attraction played into it. And those two are just two lost puppies who wants to love and be loved and urgh! I love them!

Going on to an old crush of mine:

Forth from 2 Moons 2

Yes, it is mostly Pavel, but I really liked this soft bad boy with this rascal hair cut and the tattoos. I loved his whole character and yes in the end I am just a weak girl, because look at him!

One character I wish I could drag out of the screen and keep as my own little prince of his stupid white horse:

Yai from I Feel You Linger In The Air

He is one of the prettiest men I ever saw and his puppy eyes with which he is looking at Jom and the soft voice whenever he says his name were making me weak in the knees. He is a total romantic and just wants to love and be loved in return. He is the perfect gentleman and loyal till the end. He needs a strong partner at his side to be the best version of himself and when he dances, the whole world stops for a moment.

Coming to a very much new pic for me and it is a pairing again:

Naoki and Yamashiro from Kiss x Kiss x Kiss: Love ii Shower

I mean Naoki looked like a greek god and Yamashiro was just so sensual in this short episode. I have to confess, I couldn't find a version with subtitles, so I don't know exactly what they were talking about, but in the end, did I really care that much, especially when they started using a language I could understand very good? No, not really. Sometimes I just like looking at beautiful people kissing each other.

One of my long-lasting loves:

Mark from Love Mechanics

I adore War. I love him so much and I am going feral when Jack & Joker really comes real next year. He has one of the best faces out there. He looks good crying and being evil and of course laughing. And Mark was such a lost puppy prick and Vee treated him really shitty for most of the times, but because I love Vee too, I can't be too hard on him. But Mark, I want to give him a hug... everytime all the time!

And on we go with another recent catch for my eyes:

Phaya from The Sign

He is such a flirt and he makes it very clear that he likes Tharn and I love that for us. He is one of the people I want to be hold in their arms just like Tharn here. I can't wait for those two to finally give in to their feelings! And for the mystical plot to unfold itself more, because I really want to know what is going on! And I want those two to save each other.

The next one is called Papi Chulo on TikTok and I can see why:

Sailom from Wedding Plan

The series might not be the best one out there and Papi Chulo might be frustrating for some people, but I loved them both! Lom is such a treat and for most of the times I understand why he acted like he did. And after he came clean with Namnuea he was the best boyfriend/fiancé. And he has one of the best smiles out there and such a cute mole!

Closing this list with the one character I am going feral at the moment whenever he is on screen:

Prom from Playboyy

He has this pure lust in his eyes whenever he looks at Nont and I love it. I don't know if I would trust Prom, but be sure if this man wants to put on a mask and punish me in his basement I would let him... He is one of my guilty pleasures right now and I would watch the series just for him and his fucked up relationship with Nont.

This was fun! I am so late to the game, I am not tagging anyone, because I know many have done it already and I don't want to double tag :) But if you see this and want to do it yourself, feel free to make your own list and tag me, so I can have a look at your picks 😊

[lonewolfinthetardis]

Prompt from @coffee-writesthings

Prompt: “What do the mercs get up to in the middle of the night?”

They/It pronouns for Pyro and He/She pronouns for Spy

The New Mexico desert was silent, apart from the occasional howls and yips from far off coyotes. It was for this reason that Engie liked to sit outside after a hard days work, it was a great way to de-stress and wind down. He’d sit himself down on a log and mindlessly strum at his guitar, staring up at the stars. Sometimes he’d start playing a small tune, before it tapered off into random notes. Other times he’d play soft tunes and quietly sing along to them.

Pyro could also be found outside, sitting near Engie and feeding a small fire. They’d throw small twigs and leaves into the fire, and watch the sparks drift up into the star filled sky. The Engineer had asked the firebug once why it loved watching the sparks, they had simply signed back, “I love watching them find their way home.”

Further away, but still close enough to vaguely hear Engie’s strumming, Sniper lay on the top of his camper. The sun bleached metal cool after being in the sun all day. Tonight he was not alone, as the resident spook had made his way on top of the camper. Sniper and Spy liked to lie together in silence and watch the stars, hands entwined together. Sniper would sometimes point out constellations and some facts about them, and occasionally the odd shooting star would flash past, drawing a soft gasp from the pair as they watched it make its way across the night sky. Spy enjoyed this soft side to usually professional sharpshooter, although she’d never admit it to anyone but Sniper. 

Inside the base all was quiet, except for the shuffling of over tired feet as Scout wearily made his way to his room. A day of high exercise and chugging energy drinks had left him exhausted. As he was about to open his door, Soldier shuffled around a corner, looking worse for wear. Soldier glared at Scout, daring him to ask or say anything. But the usually loudmouthed Bostonian just blinked slowly, yawned and disappeared into his room.

Soldier waited until Scout’s door closed before continuing on his way. As he reached his destination, he looked around to make sure that no one was around, before opening the door and quickly going inside. Demo groaned as Soldier slid in under the blankets. The Scotsman didn’t push any further when Soldier buried his head in his chest, an arm wrapping around his torso. He knew that Soldier sometimes got nightmares about his childhood, and on those nights he just needed comfort. It seemed that tonight was one of those nights. Demo pressed a kiss to Soldier’s head as he felt him relax into his chest. Eventually Soldier’s breathing evened out as he fell asleep, coaxing Demo back to sleep as well.

Elsewhere in the base, Heavy and Medic lay together, asleep in each other’s arms. Medic lay with an arm around Heavy’s torso and his head on his chest, where he would listen to the Russians Mega-Baboon heart until it lulled him to sleep. Heavy held Medic in his arms, even while asleep he would make sure his doctor was safe. 

[one-parallel-universe]

~ P.O.V GoGo:

I noticed that Hiro was facing the horizon near the river that was passing by... I went to him and said...

- It's OK?

- I'm fine... I'm just admiring this wonder. - Hiro replied.

- Ah... it's really beautiful... wow, that's amazing. Have you ever seen something so beautiful and wonderful like this Hiro?

- Yeah. I'm looking at her now...

When I came across, he was looking at me...

Cough, cough, cough...

- Are you okay. he asked.

- Yes I am... cough... I just choked.

I was red, but I had to cough right now...

- Hurum... were you talking?!

- Look at this GoGo flower.! - He bent down gently picking up the rose.

I bent down to watch and hear what he said.

- She's here, around dry twigs, leaves and thorns... whoever passes by, hardly notices she's here. Then there will come a day that she will grow bigger and become more beautiful. But if there is no one to take care of her... she will suffocate and die... then there is the gardener... who will take care of her and protect her, for the love of seeing this wonderful rose, he will do his best to make the candle grow and become a standout among the others... - Hiro spoke while cleaning the rose spot... - And with your love, build your Garden.

- Wow… very beautiful what you said Hiro, I never imagined you would say such beautiful words.

I was overjoyed to hear Hiro's beautiful words...the more he surprised me the most...

~ P.O.V Hiro:

- I love you GoGo Tomago... and even if it's in the past or the future... I'll always love you. And what's most important in my life is this moment with you right now. "You are so much more than meets the eye." You accept to be my girlfriend...

Before I even finished...

Gogo in tears kissed me, with that tender kiss of true love. When we stop kissing... we look to the side and...

"That changes everything," Fred and Wasabi said in surprise.

Everyone was there... They came running and hugged us... "What happiness, how much love, you are so beautiful" everyone was talking until Aunt Cass got there...

- Oh, how cute ... - said Aunt Cass.

- Your heartbeats are accelerated, are you okay? said Baymax.

We laughed...

- We are fine, Baymax. We're just happy... come join us. said Aunt Cass.

- I'm super mega mini max happy... - Shouted Minimax.

- Wait a minute, I mean that all this time... you were disappearing and disappearing... you... I feel like I'm cheating again. said Fred. - But I love you...

- Cool is now Operation Big Love! - Wasabi said.

Heathcliff got there and said dinner was served... so we all started down the bandstand and into the dining room. So in the middle of the stairs GoGo stopped me, and I went back up...

- What!?

- I still haven't answered anything. Well, there was no time, So... I accept being your girlfriend, you are everything to me too. - said GoGo.

I took her hands and moved closer...

- I love you Hiro Hamada.

- I love you GoGo Tomago.

Then we kissed once more, and in the background soft and romantic music played...The rest you can imagine, it was a wonderful night...

The end?

//////////////////////////////////////////////

~ P.O.V GoGo:

Reparei que Hiro estava de frente para o horizonte próximo ao rio que passava.. Fui até ele e falei..

- Tá tudo bem?

- Estou bem sim.. só estou admirando essa maravilha. - respondeu Hiro.

- Ah.. é linda mesmo,.. nossa que incrível. Já viu algo tão lindo e maravilhoso assim Hiro?

- Sim. Estou olhando para ela agora..

Quando me deparei, ele estava olhando era para mim..

Cof,cof, cof...

- Você está bem. - perguntou ele.

- Estou sim.. cof.. eu só me engasguei.

Eu estava vermelha, mais eu tinha que tossi justo agora..

- Hurum.. você estava falando?!

- Olha essa flor GoGo.! - ele se agachou pegando delicadamente na rosa.

Me abaixei para observar e ouvir o que ele falava.

- Ela está aqui, em volta de galhos secos,  folhas e espinhos.. quem passa por ela, mal percebe-se que ela está aqui. Então vai ocorre um dia que ela irá crescer mais e se tornar mais bela. Mais se não houver alguém que cuide dela.. ela irar sufocar e morrer.. então existe o jardineiro.. que irar cuida-la e proteje-la, por amor em ver essa maravilhosa rosa, ele dará o seu melhor, para vela crescer e se tornar destaque entre as outras.. - Hiro falava enquanto limpava o local da rosa... - E com o seu amor, construir o seu Jardim.

- Nossa.. muito lindo o que você disse Hiro, nunca imaginei que dissesse palavras tão lindas assim.

Eu estava radiante em ouvir as belas palavras de Hiro.. mais ele me surpreendeu mais..

~ P.O.V Hiro:

- Eu amo você GoGo Tomago.. e mesmo que seja no passado ou futuro.. eu sempre vou amar você. E o que é mais importante em minha vida é esse momento com você agora."Você é muito mais do que os olhos podem ver." Você aceita ser minha namora..

Antes mesmo deu terminar..

Gogo em lágrimas me beijou, com aquele beijo carinhoso, de um amor verdadeiro. Quando paramos de nós beijar.. olhamos para o lado e...

- Isso muda tudo - disse Fred e Wasabi surpreso.

Todos estavam ali... Vieram correndo e nos abraçaram.. "Que felicidades, quanto amor, vocês são tão lindos" todos estavam falando até tia Cass chegou lá..

- Ai, que fofos.. - disse Tia Cass.

- Os batimentos cardíacos de vocês estão acelerados, vocês estão bem? - disse Baymax.

Nós rimos...

- Estamos bem sim Baymax. Só estamos felizes.. venha ajunte se a nós. - disse tia Cass.

- Estou super mega mini máximo feliz... - Gritou Minimax.

- Espera aí, quer dizer que esse tempo todo.. que vocês estavam sumindo e sumindo.. vo.. vocês.. eu me sinto engando de novo. - disse Fred. - Mais eu amo vocês..

- Legal agora é Operação Big Love! - disse Wasabi.

Heathcliff chegou lá e disse que o jantar estava servido.. então todos começamos a descer o Coreto e ir para sala de jantar. Então no meio da escada GoGo me parou, e subi de volta..

- Que!?

- Eu ainda não te respondi nada. Bom nem deu tempo, Então.. eu aceito sim ser sua namorada, você também é tudo para mim. - disse GoGo.

Peguei em suas mãos e me aproximei mais..

- Eu te amo Hiro Hamada.

- Eu te amo GoGo Tomago.

Então nós beijamos mais uma vez, e ao fundo tocava uma música suave e romântica..O resto já devem imaginar, foi uma noite maravilhosa..

The end.?

❤️❤️

[leonardhoee]

Ikevamp OC: Sandro Botticelli

Birthday: March 1, 1445

Zodiac Sign: Pisces

Height: 173cm (5’8)

Past Occupation: Artist

Vampiric Type: Lesser Vampire

MBTI Personality: ENFJ- A

Build: Lean, but toned. He says his best feature is his ass. Everyone agrees

Fashion Style: Modern day Sandro would wear light academia or cottage core. He would also wear a maid dress or skirt just because he’s proud of his thighs. In Ikevamp’s time period however, his priority is always comfort. He’s wear leather pants with either a white silk or cotton button up. (Tiddies out ofc because he is shameless) 

Background: Turned in 1510 by Lorenzo de Medici, Botticelli was initially unaware that he had even died and been resurrected as a vampire. As someone who greatly appreciates life, he was angry at first about being brought back without his permission, and immediately left the Medici court. For several decades he traveled the world and realized there was so much undiscovered beauty just waiting to be discovered and immortalized by him. Since then he made it his goal to seek out that beauty wherever he could, and create a painting so extravagant and ethereal that it would put the sun, moon, and stars to shame. 

Personality: He is one of the most outgoing people in the mansion. He is not afraid to speak his mind and often compliments random people he meets in town. He is very genuine, almost to a fault. He always sees the good in others and can be a bit naive at times, only because he choses to believe people at face value. His  authenticity and trust in others, inspire the people he cares about to believe in themselves and become more confident. He also tends to have a flair for the dramatic, basically the embodiment of “I’ll get over it, I just need to be dramatic first”. He can be a bit dreamy and carefree, tossing awareness of his surroundings. (One time he went horseback riding with Leonardo and saw a pretty flower. He spaced out, thinking about how he would paint it in the hands of a beautiful person and ended up getting thrown off his horse when he almost rode into a tree. A true himbo). His carefree attitude however, can leave him a bit detached from people. While he’s very empathetic, he doesn’t know what to do when those emotions are coming from him. Finding beauty is his motivation after being brought back, but what happens when he realizes beauty isn’t the only reason he’s so drawn to you?

In Love: At first, he simply thought he was attracted to you for your beauty. After all, that’s the reason he was drawn to people in the past. He understand’s beauty very well, but he doesn't know what true love feels like from his own perspective. A major conflict for him would be realizing that the reason his heart races after time you smile at him, isn't because he simply finds you worthy of his art. He is hopelessly in love with you. 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m just holding your hand because its pretty haha...”

He can be oblivious at the beginning and won’t understand why you’re jealousy that he’s admiring other people for their beauty. It’s only because he wants them to be art subjects right? 

But once he has come to terms with his feelings, he will be the sweetest lover you can ask for. You are a goddess to him, his one and only muse, and he will make sure you know that he worships every single part of you. (He will definitely ask to paint you nude because “beauty such as yours absolutely must be captured. I only hope I can capture your radiance the way you deserve Amore”)

Hobbies: Painting, Meddling in people’s business, Stargazing

Dislikes: Dishonest and close minded people, Spicy Food

Favorite Food: Crème Brûlée

Hated Food: Banana

Weaknesses: Physical fighting, Math, Situational awareness.

Speciality: Making people smile, Chaos

Extra Things:

-Lorenzo brought him back because he believed it would be a waste for the world to loose such talent so quickly. 

- He arrived at the mansion to surprise Leonardo after hearing he was still alive. It was supposed to be a temporary stay but he fell in love with Paris and asked Comte if he could move in with them.

- Sandro is a great singer and dancer and is often asked by Mozart to sing one of his pieces for him. However he only agrees if he is allowed to draw Mozart after. (He can’t help it, Mozart and Jean are so ethereally beautiful, they just have to be drawn.)

- While he is extremely talented artistically, he doesn't know how to cook, wash dishes, or hail a carriage. Sebastian has officially banned him from the kitchen after he set the cupboards on fire trying to make a cake. (Theo nearly had a stroke after taking a bite and realizing he mixed up the salt and sugar)

- He is already very hyper, and he is not allowed to touch coffee. One time Arthur gave him a cup and he was awake all night trying to turned all the residents into the perfect models. He carried their sleeping bodies to the garden and arranged them to resemble the 12 Olympians. Jean woke up the next morning curled up at Comte’s feet and since then he has banned Botticelli from visiting his room or painting him. 

- Botticelli originally met Leonardo while they were both studying in Verrocchio’s workshop, and he considers Leo to be like an older brother to him. Being the two college-age dumbasses they are, they decided to move in together and start working as waiters in a nearby restaurant. After most of the staff died from the plague, Leonardo came up with the bright idea of rebranding the restaurant, calling it called "Le tre rane di Sandro e Leonardo" (the Three Frogs of Sandro and Leonardo), and serving gourmet cuisine. It ended up being a failure because most of their customers were not used to the innovative new food being served. 

- A threeway with Leonardo is definitely a possibility for you.

- He has a pet peacock named Juno.

- Sometimes he lays down in the garden and watches the clouds imagining different animals based on their shapes.

- Surprising Botticelli is very good friends with Dazai, and his positive outlook on life has helped Dazai appreciate his own existence. None of the other residents understand their conversations but it makes perfect sense between them.

- He cannot handle spicy food. One time Dazai slipped chili powder into his dinner and his face turned red while he teared up. To this day he internally shudders every time he sees the others eating something spicy without flinching.

- He tries to avoid conflicts as much as he can because he tends to get emotional very quickly. Being so empathetic can be draining to him and getting into a fight hurts him more than it will ever hurt the other person.

- He loves making random sketches of you and the other residents, and he will leave them your respective rooms with a small note reminding everyone that they are appreciated.

- His love language is physical touch and he has a habit of kissing everyone on the cheek or forehead.

- Something about Napoleon’s room is so cozy and welcoming that it makes him sleepy. He’s woken up cuddling Napoleon many times. Yes they have kissed each other.

- Though, he doesn’t like taking naps with Leonardo because sleeping on the floor makes all his bones hurt.

- He has a sweet tooth that rivals Theo. Between the two of them, any desserts Sebastian buys, are eating within 2 days.

- Sandro loves shopping with Comte and he constantly asks Leonardo to let him pick out a new wardrobe. He cringes every time he sees those mismatched boots.

- Shakespeare is the only resident that makes him a bit wary. He is very good at figuring out when people are lying and Will’s personality unsettles him.

- Besides Leonardo, Vincent is his favorite resident. Sandro appreciates how kind and welcoming he is, and his favorite pastime is painting with him. If he ever hears people talk bad about Vincent he will not hesitate to give that person a piece of his mind.

- Sandro is a bi king who develops crushes very easily, but most of them are fleeting and superficial. He had a major crush on Leonardo that he quickly got over after they became friends. When they lived together, Leo would often tease him for his habit of falling for people so quickly and moving on within a week.

- Modern Botticelli would be a major Ariana Grande, Harry Styles, and FKA Twigs fan.

- One time he was running to show Dazai a pretty butterfly he found and he was so distracted by it that he didn’t notice the tree branch right in front of him. He ran into it so hard that he knocked himself out for 30 minutes and Napoleon had to carry him back inside the mansion.

Other characters he is similar to: Ranpo Edogawa, Tamaki Suoh, Grell Sutcliff

I’m going to be using Ikevamp Botticelli so you can follow that tag if you want to hear more about him!

[xtrashmammalstefx]

Nevermore (A Joe Mazzello x Reader Smut Sprinkled with Angst!)

WARNINGS: SMUT, LANGUAGE, ANGST...

NOTES: Again I am sorry this took so long but yall know how it is. Writer’s block is a bitch! Anyway thanks for your patience and enjoy! Oh...AND MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVIES!!!

Dying is easy (or so I've heard), it's living that's hard. I learned that during a time when other kids were learning their multiplication tables. Well, hows this for multiplication: hatred x time= an explosion that destroys many, sending the innocent into the vast land of Nevermore.

My parents had gotten together in high school but hadn't meant for it to last long. In their minds the other was just something to kill the time until something better and long lasting came along. Then a moment of fun turned into a lifetime of hell. My mom found out she was having me the winter after she turned sixteen. Dad thought of it as a nightmare come true but stuck around because, “That's what a real man does.” He used that excuse a lot, mostly because of his religious upbringing. The same upbringing that led to him marrying my mom at eighteen.

Fast forward a few years....I'm eight, about to turn nine and my dad was packing up his things. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a long time coming...I just wish it hadn't come so soon. “Can I come with you?” I asked hopeful...my mother wasn't exactly parent of the year.

“Not yet Bun,” he said using his nickname for me. “Mom needs you.”

“Mom hates me,” I rebuked. Dad just sighed and continued packing.

He was gone an hour later.

Why did you have to leave me Why did you deceive me You send me to the path of nevermore When you say you didn't love me anymore

As he drove away I ran up to my room and curled up on my bed. I cried for a long time that day, and mom kept telling me to shut up...that I didn't know my dad like she did. I ignored the horrible things she said about him and the outside world in general...until a soft pitter patter of feet entering my room caught my attention.

“Y/N?” Joe called my name. Joe had been my best friend since first grade. He was goofy, sweet, and just the best human in the world. I sniffed back tears and looked up.

“Huh-he's gone.” Was all I said before breaking down again. My bed shifted as Joe climbed on top of it and drew me into his small twig-like arms. “Nuh-now I'm stuck with her.” I almost started wailing. “Why am I stuck with her? Why can't I be with a family that cares?”

“You are with a family that cares, Y/N,” he said. “I'm your family.”

I looked up at him curiously.

“I'll always be your family,” he said.

I sniffed. “Puh-Promise?”

He nodded.

He held me there for the rest of the day, until he had to leave for dinner. He was going to ask my mom if I could join him at his house but she was passed out on the sofa; beer bottle hanging from her fingertips.

Years passed and things didn't get any better. My mom got sick when I was twelve...Years of heavy drinking sent her liver into hell. She underwent treatments and for fours years it seemed that they had worked. When I was sixteen I found out she was still drinking and eventually her liver became too trashed to function and her doctor said the only hope she had now was a liver transplant. Weeks passed and we were still waiting. Mom was in the hospital, hooked to machines, while I was home alone.

One day the stress finally got to me and I called into school sick. I spent the day under the covers of my bed. I tried to sleep...shut my mind off and go away for a while...but I couldn't. Instead I just laid there wishing this was some sort nightmare that I could wake up from at any minute.

“Y/N?” Joe's voice drew me out of my reverie. I sighed buried myself further under my blankets. “I-um-brought your homework.” He said.

“Thanks,” I muttered. I thought he would get the hint and walk away but then I heard a soft thud and felt the bed shift. Joe draped his arm over me pressing our bodies together. “I-I'm gonna be alone Joey.”

“Don't say that,” he whispered.

“It's true...” I muttered. “Mom doesn't have much time...she knows it...I know it...the doctors know it but they won't say anything...and dad knows...but still doesn't want me to go with him after...said it wasn't a good idea for me...”

“Doesn't mean you'll have to be alone, Y/N,” Joe said his voice cracking. I looked over and found his eyes shining with tears. “You have me...you have us...you’re a Mazzello forever and always.”

“I am?”

“Of course,” he said gently. “I love you, Y/N. I think I’m always gonna love you. Even when you don’t love yourself.”

“Promise?”

He nodded. “I do,” he whispered bringing his lips down to mine. His lips were warm and soft...and stunning. I froze for a bit shocked at the feeling it gave. It was like it was the most right thing in the world. That even though I was losing the last of my birth family I would be okay...because Joe was with me, he was breathing, and he was loving.

I kissed back fiercely.

Eventually his tongue slipped in and massaged mine as our hands explored elsewhere. My hands snaked up his shirt, nudging it up until he got the hint. He shrugged it off. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’ve been more sure about anything,” I said before tugging off my own shirt, kind of grateful I was too lazy to at least put on a bra that morning.

“Wow,” Joe said. “You grew.” I slapped him playfully on his arm and he brought his lips back to mine. “Seriously though,” he said leaving kisses on my cheek, neck, and collar bone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so fucking beautiful in my entire life.”

I felt my face warm up at that as he went down to my breasts. He kissed them gently, sucking on my nipple. “Fuck, you really know what you’re doing.”

Joe chuckled and ventured lower. He kissed a trail down my stomach stopping at the waistband of my shorts. I lifted my hips so he could pull them off. Once he did he got between my legs. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispered before pressing his lips to my cunt.

I sucked in a breath as he started kissing and sucking at me. The feeling was intense… something out of this world even. “J-Joey I—.”

There was a stirring brewing within and it was suddenly getting much, much stronger. Suddenly my back was arched, my toes curled, and I could feel a warm liquid leave me. I moaned loudly. Joe gave my cunt a final kiss and climbed back up, smirking. “Huh-how the fuck..?” I asked panting. Joe laughed.

“You have your talents...I have mine,” Was all he said before lining himself up with my entrance. I peered down seeing if he needed any help and gasped. I didn’t know how he was ever gonna make that fit. “Ready, baby?”

I looked up and nodded.

He pushed in and we both cried out. He held still for a while so we could get use to the feel of one another. “You’re perfect…” I muttered. “You’re perfect for me.”

“I dunno about that,” he grunted. “You’re so tight.”

I smacked him playfully on his (cute as hell) ass. “Smart ass.”

“I was just kidding, babe.” he chuckled pushing in a little more. I moaned at the feeling. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Just take it slow...you’re insanely big for a twig.”

“Ha ha,” he said but still pushed in as slowly and gently as possible. Moments later he was all the way in. He held still for a while longer settling for just kissing me on my lips and neck. After a while I felt comfortable enough that my body was aching for him to move.

“Joey are you gonna fuck me any time soon or are you just gonna leave your dick in me?” I asked.

“Oh, uh…” He pulled out and pushed back in.

Our bodies moved together seamlessly. As though this is how we were always meant to be. Together, joined as one. I held onto Joe as though I were holding on to my life; which I was, I really was.

Suddenly the same stirring feeling from earlier started up again. Eventually I was writhing beneath Joe, moaning as I was pushed over the edge. It got worse when Joe started thrusting into a certain spot. I bit back a scream of extreme pleasure. Joe smirked.

“I take it I found your weak spot?” he asked. I nodded furiously and he continued to thrust there. He went in harder and faster, probably feeling the same tension grow within him that I did.

To say that I was almost seeing stars would be the understatement of the century. Finally it all became too much and I became undone. I moaned loudly as my whole body tensed up, and more liquid left me covering Joe’s length.

This sent him over the edge and with a groan he twitched inside me, filling me up. His body shuttered as he released while mine began to relax.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he said panting once he collapsed beside me. “So, so, much.”

I cuddled up against. “I love you too, Joey.”

We were inseparable after that day. Mom passed soon after and his parents graciously took me in. Happily ever after doesn’t come easy though. The feelings I felt earlier that morning never really went away especially after mom died. It was hard for me to even leave my bed, and even Joe at times would spend the day holding me.

When we grew older and he filmed more movies and stuff, we got our own place. I still had those moments but they were far and few. Joe and I married soon after The Pacific premiered and a year later we were parents to a beautiful baby girl. A girl I swore to do right by, unlike my parents.

I swear on my every breath she will never know what it’s like to be lost in the land of Nevermore. She and her soon to be baby brother, Joey, will live happily no matter what.

I promise.

Taglist: @fairestkillerqueenofall @onceuponadetectivedemigod @boherahpsody @freddie-bulsara @rose-de-jaune @xxkellsvixen19xx @valeriecarolinaw @hearttshapeddboxx @pleasingiswhatweaimfor​ @hatemylifesofuckingmuch​ @painandpleasure86​ @haileynicoleseavey17​ @queenlover1997​ @mrsmazzello​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @zwiezraczek​ @night-writer-writer​ @theborhapboysawakenedmywhatever​ @tinywildeace​

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Drop of Birch

A/N: Surprise pre-FFXIV Write fic! Because getting Ehll Tou to Satisfaction IV inspired me. :3

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 2232 WARNINGS: Mild spoilers for Ehll Tou’s custom deliveries story. Cross-posted to AO3!

--

Aymeric heard the door to his office creak open and someone slip inside before closing the heavy oak behind themself with a barely perceptible thunk. Sure footsteps quietly padded on the thick carpeting—his parliamentary office was more richly furnished than his office at the Congregation, though it was a third of the size—before whomever it was that his gauntlet of aides had let by sat in one of the plush chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

There were only three individuals in the whole of Ishgard allowed into the Lord Speaker’s office without even a warning knock, and two of them were supposed to be busy with new Temple Knight recruits today.

He smiled, still primarily focused on the proposed trade bill in front of him even with such a beloved distraction now in reach. “I will be with you in just a moment, Synnove,” he said.

His ladylove hummed in amused acknowledgment, and he heard the creak of leather as she crossed her legs and settled back into her chair.

After a few more notations made on the document to pass along to his aides, Aymeric set his pen aside and sat up straight from the ungainly slouch into which he had fallen while working, rolling his neck and shoulders to stretch out his stiff muscles. He rubbed his forehead, then drew his hand down his face; he had been at this since before dawn, with only short breaks for midmorning coffee and lunch. Setting his gaze on Synnove, however, he felt his weariness melt away and a familiar, fondly besotted smile grow upon his lips.

Synnove returned the look with a wide, delighted grin of her own, her emerald eyes gleaming with adoration and a not inconsiderable amount of mischief. Her dark brown hair was done up in the crown braids she favored whenever she did some sort of manual labor, from baking to repairing the roof, and the heavy leather vest over a white work shirt with the sleeves rolled up was a familiar sight whenever his lady was assisting in the Firmament. No carbuncles accompanied her at the moment, but she had a jar of some dark substance—syrup?—held balanced atop her knee, the pads of her fingers soundlessly tapping against the glass.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my love?” said Aymeric, balancing his chin in his palm. “You look like the coeurl who’s gotten the cream.”

“I didn’t want to wait for you to get home tonight,” said Synnove, batting her eyelashes, and held up the jar. Her expression turned fully mischievous, her lips curving in a manner he most often saw on Galette’s face, and the twins’ when they emulated their elder sister. His lady continued, her tone taking a turn for the gleefully smug: “A student of mine completed her first lesson in cooking, and with flying colors. I’m rather keen to show off her success.”

He laughed softly, curious despite knowing that look of catlike satisfaction meant she had something up her sleeve. “Well, far be it from me to turn down the opportunity to taste test. Birch syrup, I presume?”

“How else to best test the patience and attention to detail of a would-be culinarian in the Ishgardian tradition?” Synnove drawled, leaning forward to perch on the edge of her seat, and set the jar down—on the edge of his desk closest to herself.

Aymeric smirked, raising his eyebrows at her. Synnove’s smug grin deepened.

He rose out of his own chair just enough to lean forward, reaching for the jar, when, almost faster than he could see, Synnove lunged towards him. She attacked him with fast, pecking kisses, the first on the apple of his cheek below his left eye, then the bridge of his nose, then the tip, his forehead, his right cheek, the corner of his mouth—

He returned her assault with his own, raining down a barrage of kisses, some hard and smacking, others the barest brush of lips against skin before it was on to the next target. At some point they both gave into deep, raucous laughter, the depths of their mirth forcing them to cease their kisses. Their skirmish finally ended with the pair of them leaning into one another, bent over the middle of the desk: Synnove’s arms around his shoulders, her face in his hair, and Aymeric’s face in her neck and his arms wrapped about her waist. The pair of them snickered and cackled like devious schoolchildren as they attempted to catch their breaths.

Three loud, banging knocks came on his door, and the unamused voice of his chief of staff, Norlaise, rang through the wood: “You have a meeting with the Commons’ Speaker about the trade bill in twenty minutes! Behave!”

Aymeric raised his head and called out over Synnove’s shoulder, “I know, Norlaise!”

One final, crashing knock for emphasis, and stillness settled on the office.

“I wasn’t going to start anything,” Synnove finally muttered into his hair after a short pause. “We aren’t that bad.”

“Yes, Synnove, we are,” Aymeric said with a ruefully unrepentant grin, and kissed the hinge of her jaw while running a hand up and down her spine in luxurious strokes. “Now, share that birch syrup with me and whatever nefarious scheme is rattling around that magnificent mind of yours related to it.”

Synnove let out a grumbling sigh and nuzzled the crown of his head, before they both pulled away—his back twinged only a little as he straightened his spine—and exchanged a final chaste kiss. They retook their seats, with Aymeric picking up the syrup jar as he did, while Synnove pulled her chair closer so that she was able to rest her crossed arms on the desk. She propped her chin on her arms, watching him with a sharp gaze as he in turn held the jar up, examining its contents with a critical eye.

Birch syrup was a much more laborious process than producing its maple cousin, requiring roughly double the sap, a lower cooking temperature, and a longer evaporation time. Aymeric’s mother had been raised in the Eastern Highlands and a tradition of her family and that of the villages on their land had been producing birch syrup during the spring thaw. Lady Gwenaëlle had kept to the tradition even after coming to Ishgard to marry the Viscount de Borel, and Aymeric had been her attentive assistant as a small boy and adolescent when sugaring season was nigh, faithfully absorbing all that she had taught.

Which meant just as Synnove was a snob about the traditional foods she had learned to prepare from her Aunt Angharad, so, too, was Aymeric a snob about those culinary staples he had learned from his mama. Especially birch syrup.

The color on this batch was excellent: the deep, dark mahogany of a proper, long simmer. He tilted the jar back and forth slowly, catching the light from the windows, and raised his eyebrows as he did. It was important to filter the syrup to remove any fine particles or bits of crystallized sugar, and this jar was beautifully clear and free of anything discernible to the naked eye. Most first-time syrup makers could become impatient at this stage, with the end in sight; certainly, his first attempt had not been as wonderfully pure and smooth as what normally graced the Borel table.

But far more important than the appearance was the taste.

Aymeric unscrewed the lid with a deft twist of his wrist and set it aside. Next, he retrieved a clean spoon from the tea service tray haphazardly pushed to the side of his desk, and, conscious of Synnove green-eyed gaze upon him, dipped the utensil into the syrup to lightly coat it. He pulled it from the jar, and popped the bowl into his mouth.

Aymeric groaned softly, eyes falling shut.

Having grown up on birch syrup, he found maple to be cloyingly sweet. Maple’s unique flavor was still lovely, but he had to consume it in very small amounts, else the sugar would make his teeth ache and it would take three rounds of brushing before he was satisfied that he had cleaned it all away. Birch syrup was less overtly sweet, and more complex besides in a way that was difficult to describe: like caramel, or molasses, and almost spicy. His da had always called it ‘minerally,’ or even bittersweet, depending on the batch; Lucia had once said her first taste had reminded her of a balsamic.

This jar was just as good as anything Mama had made; the same depth of flavor exploding and then lingering on his tongue, the same smoothness of a syrup that had been exceptionally well cared for as it simmered and evaporated. No taste of scorching or feel of crystallization at all. And…was that a hint of wintergreen? He knew freshly snapped black birch twigs smelled strongly of wintergreen, but if the sap retained that property even after cooking down…

Aymeric slowly opened his eyes. “That,” he said, breathless, “is wonderful.”

Synnove’s grin was sly and devious as he dipped his spoon back into the jar for another taste. (It was his syrup now, thank you, he was allowed to ‘double dip,’ as Rereha would put it.) “I thought so, too,” she said. “So did Arvide and Hautdilong.”

He paused, spoon still in his mouth and mind going blank for a heartbeat. He blinked once, and stared at his lady.

His lady grinned wider.

Aymeric pulled the spoon free, rolling around the dollop of syrup in mouth on his tongue to savor it even as every warning flag he could think of went up in his mind about Synnove’s intentions. He swallowed at last and said, tone even through sheer force of will, “Ehll Tou made this batch?”

“She did indeed,” said Synnove, pride suffusing her as she sat upright. “We originally acquired the sap from Anna, but Ehll Tou took one sniff and decided she wanted to gather her own. She even knew of a copse of mixed birches not far from Anyx Trine she told us had always smelled delicious when she and her cousins played outside the tower. She near vibrated out of her scales waiting to gather enough sap after Arvide and I showed her how to tap the trees.”

“How long did that take?” said Aymeric, honestly curious, dipping his spoon once more for a third taste of dragon-made syrup.

Synnove tilted her head as she thought. “About…two days, give or take. It was a larger copse than we thought, and we tapped fifteen trees. Ehll Tou was so excited to begin that we had to convince her having access to a proper kitchen in Ishgard would make evaporating the sap less of a hassle than doing so in Tailfeather or over a campfire in Anyx Trine.”

He didn’t bother to hide his grin at that. The dragonet had endeared herself to many of his open-minded countrymen and women with her enthusiasm for learning and throwing herself headlong into every task she undertook. Still, that a Dravanian would be so enamored with the idea of cooking was an idea that would take getting used to, even as enchanting as it was.

“She insisted on doing everything herself,” his lady continued, leaning back in her chair and lacing her fingers across her stomach, “from building the fire in the stove to pouring the sap into the various pots we found for her. She kept the heat steady, she brushed down the sides of the pots regularly to keep any lingering syrup from burning, she transferred the reductions into various smaller pots, and she filtered the syrup three times before she was satisfied it was fit for sharing.”

Aymeric shook his head, fascinated and astonished and awed all at once. “Sewing her own scarf and hat, and making her own syrup, as perfect as anything produced by the finest chefs in Ishgard,” he said. “She’s truly a remarkable individual, and that persistence will serve her well in bridging the divide between man and dragon.”

There was a very peculiar, familiar gleam in Synnove’s eyes as she sat up, vibrating with excitement. She opened her mouth—

Aymeric pointed his spoon at her and said, in the strict tones of the Lord Commander, “We are still not adopting her.”

“Aymeric!” His ladylove’s voice was pure affronted whining.

“No.”

“But—”

He would not yield to the affectation of her huge, sad eyes (oh, Galette had inherited that expression honestly!), and if he let her make the argument at all, she would take the bit between her teeth and charge off with the idea so that he was caught up in her whirlwind. “She is her own person and clearly considered of age enough to travel on her own into the lands of men at her leisure and without censure from her elders, despite their apparent displeasure at her sharing men’s culture with her peers. Never mind Gullinbursti would likely take umbrage with someone, even a Warrior of Light, attempting to lay claim to one of his hatchlings!”

Synnove crossed arms and slid down in her seat in a full-body sulk, a sullen pout on her face. “How dare you be logical,” she grumbled.

“On this matter, someone has to be,” said Aymeric, wry but fond.

Synnove sulked harder.

[gongju-juice]

8. Once Upon a Southern Night

The Wrath of Nature

Warnings: Fighting, the usual, language

It was a cold, damp morning when they arrived. Nature seemed to acknowledge the supernatural army’s presence, for not even a bird or cricket made a single chirp in the golden morning. Beside you, Jasper, your family, your friends, Zacarias, and the wolf tribe stood. You held your boyfriend’s hand, trying not to tremble from pure fear and the billowing wind that was so oddly cold this late in the spring. 

And when you saw her, your terror quadrupled. 

Her olive skin lightly sparkled in the morning rays, thick, black hair cascading elegantly down her bare, uncovered shoulders. She was dressed like she could be headed to Florida for vacation instead of the chilly environment that was Washington. Her piercing red eyes found yours, and your heart quivered in response.

Preston was even more unnerving. His hair had been let down, straight and free which covered his ears. He wore a long black coat that stopped at his mid-thighs as well as a wide-brimmed hat and leather black boots. He was eerily relaxed for a person who intended to go to war. 

Behind them were the newborns. They sauntered in the shadow of the trees, their glowing eyes full of hate and pure instinct. Some were young—looking no older than the age of fifteen. Others appeared to be in their late twenties. But none were over the age of thirty.

“Friends,” Maria called, but her voice was barely loud enough for you to make out. She was having a private conversation with the wolves, one she did not intend for you to hear. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen some of your faces. You, especially, Jasper. It’s been—what? Just over a century now.”

“Take your newborns and leave,” Jasper advised. “We left on a mutual agreement that you supported my search for tranquility. Does that agreement no longer stand?”

She tsked. “Jasper, Jasper, ever the romantic. You never liked violence, did you? I may be immortal, but a hundred years is still a long time. And besides, the Captain made such a tempting offer.”

Preston walked a few paces forward, his heels crunching in the soft grass. “I’ve waited forever for this. I thought my Camille was gone forever, that is, until I heard of a little baby being born in New Orleans. You wouldn’t believe how fast news spreads in the Crescent City.”

“So why didn’t you take her then?” your mother demanded. “Before I adopted her, before she had the chance to fall in love with Jasper, her mate?”

“I had to get my thirst under control. Living completely unrestrained is so satisfying, but when it comes to associating with humans, it’s impossible to stay decent. I didn’t know at the time that witches could change, but if I did, trust me, you or any of you rotten Cullens would have gotten to her first.”

Your breath caught in your throat. And to think this man had known about you along.

“That’s right, Jasper,” he chuckled, much to Jasper’s dismay. “I was watching from afar—every birthday, every school dance, and every vacation. You think she belongs to you? I know her inside and out, 19th century and 21st century. And when I was finally ready to bring her back with me, you just had to interfere.”

“You disgust me,” you spat. “You couldn’t win me over properly, so you had to become a perv. I will never love you.”

He lifted his head in the air, his dark eyes closed. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

The newborns behind him began charging, and those around you met them, alabaster limbs meeting alabaster targets. The young vampires were faster, stronger. But the Cullens and your friends’ combined experience forced them back until they could be dealt with individually.

In front of you, Zacarias and Ava worked hard keeping the waves of bodies back. It was then that you noticed the small, determined girl standing in between Maria and Preston. She looked no older than ten, someone who must’ve been easily manipulated to do their bidding. But one thing for sure, she was definitely a witch. And a powerful one at that.

“I should do something!” you cried. “I’m a witch, I can fight!”

Jasper held you back. “Your skills are not up to par. If you go out there, you’ll be killed. Or worse, Preston will get to you.”

Suddenly, a pale white arm came flying past you. Emmett barreled near carrying a decapitated body. His bulging muscles sparkled from the effort.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll have him ‘em all in no time.”

But that’s when Maria broke out of her formation. She wrangled Alice by her throat, her dainty legs swinging in the empty air. 

“If you won’t face me, then I’ll make you come.” 

“Alice, no!”

Jasper sprung towards them, his lightning speed barely registering in your mind. Alice’s face was contorted, the sickening crack of her neck like shattering glass. Maria smiled menacingly.

But before he could get there, his body was gripped in an invisible force that froze him in place. His amber eyes were completely overcome with a blue glow. Zacarias and Ava both worked to free him—Ava concentrating on Maria’s steele grip and Zacarias focusing on the tiny witch’s magic.

The hair behind your ear fluttered, you felt his cold breath in its stead.

“I told you. You are mine, you will always be mine.”

You tried to propel yourself away, but he snatched you by your arm, pulling you across his shoulder like a sack of rice. It was futile to fight like you did, to beat your fists on his back and kick your legs. But nevertheless, you struggled in vain.

“Y/N!” your mother called, but she was thrown down by a newborn so hard, her torso shattered from the force. And Ava, she tried to get to you, but the little witch wrapped her in blue light, her powers and range of mobility completely incapacitated. Meanwhile, Zacarias tried to hold the front for both the vampires and Maria.

This is it, you thought. Back to your chains. Preston would not give up his tirade. His muscles tensed and you sensed he was preparing to run. Before he could do so, however, a line of sun-tanned bodies emerged from the thick throes of the forest.

He stopped, his eyes widening in rage. “No! No! We had a deal!”

The first one to speak had long, gray braids covered in beads and ribbons that fell down her back. Her skin was golden brown and covered in elaborate tattoos which stretched down her arms. 

“The deal was that you’d take care of the girl, restore her back to her proper time. That was the only reason we allowed Maaliyah to come with you. But then we learned your true intentions—and no witch would ever bring you back to the 19th century.”

He shook his head, placing you on the ground beside him. “We belong together, Queen Lovie. In the 1860s. Help us restore the timeline, we don’t belong here.”

“No,” she said, “you do. You’re a vampire, you aged as a vampire should. But she was de-aged and taken to this time and century. She will go back, but you will stay.”

She waved her hand, and you were blinded in white light.

You looked around and you were standing in the Oakleigh mansion’s library. A wall of books lined the wall, silk curtains fluttering from the afternoon breeze. In the corner of the room was a crumpled American flag on the cherry wood floor, and up on the wall was the red and blue Confederate flag proudly displayed on the wall. 

You approached the glossy desk, examining the thin papers covering the surface. A broad newspaper, The Mobile Press Register, sat on one of the open bibles. The date at the top read, December 25, 1862.

“It’s you,” you whispered, lifting your eyes. “You’re my mother.”

She was dressed in a servant’s dress, her thick hair unmoisturized and unkempt due to the hard years of work in the fields. But she looked just like you, and she resembled your sister, Ava. 

“For years I’ve watched you from the spirit realm, watching you grow and mature under the care of a stranger. I watched you do things your father and I only dreamed we could see come true.” Reaching forward, she brushed her calloused fingers against your cheek.

You were filled with memories from another life—playing in dirt-floor shacks, braiding the other little girls’ hair with flowers and twigs, singing songs by the riverside on Sunday mornings. It was your life on the plantation, a happy, pleasant life. Your happiness did not solely revolve around Preston, and for years, the two of you encountered a rift from the ages of ten until fifteen. 

It wasn’t until his sixteen birthday did he start looking at you in that way, and it was only because his friends and male family members did it first. He wanted his own girl to call his own, something he could completely control and possess outside the realm of fancy dresses the daughters of wealthy girls flaunted when they visited the estate.

He never loved you—not the way a real man loves a woman. If his desire had a color, it would be blazing red. But Jasper. Jasper’s love was tender like lavender. Gentle and light like cornflower blue.

“I won’t let them undo what I sacrificed my life for,” she promised. “I knew they would try this eventually. That’s why I cast a spell, forever keeping you in the future. I won’t let you come back to this place, I won’t ever let you experience that pain—the pain you felt when my grandchild was lost.”

She waved her hand, and the view of the room began to fade.

“Please, Mama!” you cried, falling to your knees and the skirt of her dress. “I will never see you again! I lost so many good memories of you. . .I don’t even remember your name.”

She kneeled down, placing a feather-like kiss on the top of your forehead. Together, you cried in the receding reality of the room. She was sending you back home.

“Nothing—not time nor man—could take you away from me, baby. I will always be in your heart, even if you can’t quite remember it all. I would rather you hold on to the feeling, the love we had, rather than the details. Take that love and give it to Carmine, to the Cullens, and to Jasper.”

You opened her eyes, and she was gone. Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth.

“That damned woman,” Queen Lovie laughed mirthlessly, her hands resting on her hips. “She just don’t know when to quit—even after death. Well then, I guess if the Goddess would have it so, there’s nothing we can do.”

“But what about us?” Preston shouted. “The deal we had?”

“There is no deal, don’t you see? If she would have you, then by all means, I wish you a happily ever after. But it seems she hates you as much as you hate yourself,” Darla, Queen Lovie’s attendant, snapped. “And the witches have nothing to do with that.”

Maria’s grip failed, and Alice came bouncing to her feet as she ran away. Now the playing field was unequally matched. The newborns, in the meantime, were slaughtered by the Cullens and friends, it was just Maria and Preston on the opposing side. 

“It’s over,” you said. “You lost. Accept it, and move on. Life isn’t over, Preston. You have centuries to change your ways.”

He hung his head, fists curled at his side. He lunged.

You held him in mid-air. Your meeting with your mother completely empowered you. You were not some scared little girl. He did not own you, and he never would.

“I could kill you. Nobody would ever miss you. Nobody would ever care. But your life is not mine to claim. Every creature is subject to the wrath of nature, and you will meet that same fate.”

He shuddered violently before his eyes transformed from its vibrant crimson to their river gray. His brilliant pale skin became darker and darker until it was naturally tan, and the inhuman strength once residing within him gradually drained away.

“What. . .what did you do to me?”

“I made you human,” you explained. “To reflect on your actions. No matter what, if a vampire ever tries to turn you, not only will you die, but they will die too. You’re going to spend the next seventy or so years of your human existence regretting ever threatening my family. Since you blame Jasper so much for your vampiric life, you can thank him for delivering you back out into your second human life.”

He fell to the ground, coughing at the sudden impact. Maria’s wild eyes flashed at you, weighing her options. But you knew and she knew; she couldn’t get away.

“But you, bitch, I’m sending you straight to hell.”

When it was over, everybody rushed to their loved ones, throwing their arms around them, holding them close. The emotions were too much, you cried into Jasper’s chest as he cradled you. You refused to put him through the pain of killing two of the closest people in his lives. Yes, the Major would relish in their deaths, but Jasper—your Jasper would feel their pain. He would never be the same.

He didn’t have to say anything, but he professed his love for you as he held you quietly in the midst of the celebration. You were finally together, obstructed by no one or nothing. He reciprocated your emotions which multiplied twice as much, which then came back to you once again. It was a never ending cycle of love and joy, you felt high off of it.

“She really is the most powerful witch there is,” Zacarias said, breathlessly. “Her mother passed on her powers. She. . .teach me for crying out loud!”

Your mom, Carmine, wrapped you and Jasper both in her strong embrace. You didn’t feel the loss of a mother, but the addition of another. One to watch you on Earth and another to watch you in heaven.

One more chapter left and it’s sMuT.

Be safe mah bois, and remember: Black Lives Matter

@frozenhuntress67

Part Six  Part Seven

[sincerelybluevase]

A Danvich fic: the Somnambulist

A/N A sad, smutty one-shot. Mature! Tagging the usual crowd: @alice1nwond3rland @need-not @emptymasks @thegirlisuedtobe @solattea @halewynslady @ladynephthyss

I ran; he pursued.

Through the west wing, along the minstrel gallery, down down down the stairs I fled.

His strong feet followed me.

I was impossible to grab, like holding a handful of water. Salt water he’d think me no doubt, the brine choking, enough to ruin a man should he mistake me for something purer and drink me down.

Fool him, for thinking he could consume me whole.

Over the lawn I sped, into the woods.

He followed me there, and I knew that I had been the fool all along; did I think I would find shelter amongst the oaks? There was no place on this plot of land that would harbour me; this soil held no secrets from him, for it was his, and he loved it wickedly, obsessively, until there was no love left to give and he grew cold and twisted.

A clinging sob escaped my lips. He had found me, my demon, my tormentor, my husband…

A hand closed around my upper arm. I screamed and tried to pull away, but my attacker wouldn’t let go. I scratched at that pale long hand bruising my flesh, drawing blood, but it might as well have been made of wax, for it didn’t seem to have any effect. He spoke to me, but I couldn’t make out any words. I was so afraid I feared I might faint or die.

“Let go let go let go…” I sobbed, prising at the thin fingers.

A fierce slap against my temple stunned and silenced me. I looked up into a white, skull-like face, and did not recognise it at once. When I did, I thought I might weep.

“Mrs Danvers,” I said.

She still held my arm in her bleeding hand, the other locked around my wrist. All around me the air smelled of sap and green things and salt. Trees swayed around us in the wind coming from the sea, their gnarled stems creaking and groaning. I felt dizzy and had to sit down. I almost pulled her down with me. She had very long hair, pleated for bed. It slithered down her shoulder and swung against my chest like a twist of rope.

“Where are we? Where have you taken me?” I asked, still tugging at her fingers.

“I didn’t take you anywhere,” she snapped, “you were sleepwalking, Madam. God knows how you’ve done it, but you’ve sleepwalked straight out of the house and into the woods. I saw you crossing the lawn from my bedroom window as I made to fasten the shutters.”

Ah. That explained why we were outside in the dark surrounded by moaning trees; we were in the Manderley woods.

I felt so ashamed I might weep. Such a thing as this had never happened with Rebecca, of this I was sure. It was a common, vulgar thing, somnambulism, an affliction that plagued the weak of heart and mind.

“Why did you wake me? Don’t you know it’s dangerous to wake a sleepwalker?”

Finally she let go of my arm and wrapped a handkerchief round her hand. “I have noticed,” she said. The blood bloomed through the cotton.

Guilt smote me. “I’m so sorry. Does it hurt terribly? I didn’t mean to scratch you. Well, I meant to scratch you, but if I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have, of course,” I babbled. The ground was wet with dew, making my nightgown stick to my legs. I shivered and hugged myself.

Mrs Danvers did not answer. She pulled me to my feet and draped her shawl over my shoulders. It smelled like her. It was a strangely intimate thing, that piece of fabric to which her scent and warmth clung lying against my throat and shoulders.

“Come,” she said.

I followed her. We went slowly; I wasn’t wearing any shoes, and now that I was awake I felt every pebble, every twig cutting into the soft soles of my feet. We reached a gurgling stream and halted there, Mrs Danvers dipping her hand into it and gasping; the water was brackish. I bit my nails, tugging at the slivers of skin that had caught under there, a little bit of Mrs Danvers in my mouth. She shook her hand. Drops dripped from her fingers like diamonds. She wound the handkerchief back round her hand. I tried to help her knot it, but she pulled her hand back with the swift, waspish motion of one incensed with their own weakness.

I felt I had to explain myself to her. “I thought you were attacking me. I was dreaming.”

“What were you dreaming of?”

I hesitated, then said, “Of her. I was so afraid…”

Mrs Danvers turned to look at me. In the wan moonlight, her face was smooth as bone. She had a hungry look on her face, her eyes smouldering. “Afraid, Madam? Why, what did you dream? Did she mean you harm?”

I shook my head. “No, Mrs Danvers. She wasn’t the one attacking me.” I would say no more and averted my face. After a while, she dried her fingers on her nightgown and led me on. I did my best not to be scared by the groaning trees with their laced branches forming a vaulted ceiling over our heads, or by the strange sounds coming from deep inside.

I thought she was taking me back to the house, and so when the woods gave way and we found ourselves suddenly on the shingled beach, it came as a nasty sort of shock. The wind was fierce, whipping the waves till they foamed.

“Mrs Danvers, this is the wrong way,” I said, clutching her shawl round me. My wet nightgown snapped round my legs like a sail.

She did not respond but went ahead to the boathouse I knew was forbidden to me. Since I was too much of a coward to find my way back to Maxim by myself, and since I was cold and scared, I had no choice but to follow her.

“Careful; don’t cut your feet,” she said. When we reached the boathouse she struggled with the door, having to open it against the wind. She shouldered it aside and bade me enter first.

The boathouse was dirty, dusty, smelling of mould and salt. There was a stillness to it all, not so much a slumber as the careful lying-in-wait of a predator ready to pounce. Yet at the same time I knew I was being fanciful, for it was no more than a decaying boathouse, its books and furniture spoilt by time and damp.

Mrs Danvers lit a lamp. There was another one with us in that haunted shack then, a pale wraith who drew back when I did. Startled, my hand flew to my mouth; hers did, too. I could’ve laughed, then, had it not frightened me so badly; I had taken my reflection for a ghost.

Mrs Danvers threw back the covers on the bed. They smelled musty and slightly of camphor, but though their edges were frayed, they were serviceable. “We shall wait here till it becomes light,” she said. “I’ll go to the house then and fetch some clothes and shoes for you. How are your feet? Have you cut them on the shingle? You must remove your nightgown, or you’ll be chilled. Don’t be afraid; I won’t look.”

I dragged the sodden nightgown over my head, wiped my feet with it, and draped it over a chair, wrapping Mrs Danvers’ shawl around me.

I saw my every move in the looking glass. I stilled and studied myself. The flicker of the lamp made it seem as if my features swam and shifted, an ebb and flow of rippling change. My face, and then another’s, and back again.

Mrs Danvers appeared in the mirror behind me. She stood so close to me I felt the heat beat off of her. Her breathing was deep and regular. It blew over my cheek and ear, very softly, stirring the little curls of baby hair that grew at my temple. Why I didn’t know, but it was pleasant, that soft ghosting against the cockle of my ear.

It’s because Maxim doesn’t touch me, I thought, it’s because I’m a bride of three months and still as immaculate as when he found me in Monte Carlo.

“You think of her often, don’t you?” she whispered. “I know you do; I know it from the things you say, the way you hold yourself. It’s all right, Madam; I think of her incessantly, too.”

Gooseflesh rippled over my body.

Mrs Danvers wet her lips with her tongue. Her features rippled in the mirror, too. “Do you think the dead watch the living?”

“I don’t know.” My voice was a small thing, curled up and quivering.

“I think she watches us. I wonder what she thinks of you. Sometimes, I fancy she tries to break through the veil that separates her world from ours.” Mrs Danvers took a lock of lanky hair between her fingers and pushed it behind my ear, careful not to touch skin. “Sometimes,” she went on, “I fancy she tries to possess you. There are signs. I look at you, and she’s there in the way you shake your pen to get the ink flowing, in the way you unscrew your earrings, or call to the dogs. Once, I thought she looked at me through your eyes. They were so alive, so vibrant. Only for a short spell, though; then they dulled, and I knew she had gone, her power spent. Does Mr de Winter see it, too?”

“No,” I said.

“Of course not. He’s a man, and they are naturally blind and deaf. But you see it, don’t you? You feel her presence as much as I do. I thought you sly at first; then I thought you dull and stupid. But you are none of those things, now are you?”

“There’s strength in passivity, Mrs Danvers,” I said, quite calmly, quite rationally, as if this was normal.

We locked eyes in the mirror. Her breathing came quick now. The space between my legs clenched painfully. “Is it you?” she whispered. There was pain in her voice, and urgency. “Madam, is that you?”

Perhaps I truly was possessed then, for I let the shawl covering me tumble to the ground so she could see my body in the guttering light. I clasped her wounded hand so fiercely she hissed and guided it to that place she had caused to contract with want. For a moment it lay limp against me, a cold, dead thing. Then it stirred. She parted my folds and pressed a cool, long finger against me. I moaned and arched up against her.

She drew circles very gently until I tightened my grip on her hand; she rubbed me quite fiercely then, the cotton of her handkerchief rough against me. I took her other hand and placed it on my breast, twisting my face round so I could kiss her.

She was so fierce she made me tremble, but then I suppose I wasn’t gentle, either. I thrust against her hand, moaned into her mouth. She groped and bruised and rubbed. Something inside me coiled and strained, tighter, tighter, tighter…

I cried out when it broke; I could not help it. My legs went so weak I could hardly stand. I trembled, then stumbled. She twisted me round and held me against her, kissing my face, my hair. Her hand had begun to bleed again. She pushed her fingers in my mouth. “Bite me and I’ll slap you,” she said.

I sucked on them. They tasted sharp, like vinegar, like brine.

Like blood.

She withdrew them, wiping them on her nightgown. I rested my face against her throat. She was damp with sweat. The blood beat in her throat; I felt it jump about in her veins.

We stood together like that for a while, both trembling and panting. “Madam,” she said, but I would not raise my head to look at her. “Madam,” she repeated, cupping my chin and forcing me to look at her. She studied my features, her eyes darting like quick, hungry things. For a moment I could see right inside her; the rage, the desire, the hope, all barely supressed. Then, her face fell, and all was strangled down and swept out of side, her face a white mask, still and beautiful but utterly lifeless, as if made of wax or bone. She let go of me and began to fiddle with the lamp.

“Danny,” I pleaded, placing my hand on her shoulder. She jerked away as if stung.

“Don’t you ever call me that!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare!”

My throat constricted. Tears coursed down my cheeks. I wiped at them with the back of my hand. I felt cold and dirty.

Mrs Danvers turned her back to me. I tried to stifle a sob and couldn’t.

“You must sleep,” she said, her voice cold. “We shall forget this has ever happened.”

I picked up her shawl and wrapped myself in it, then lay down on the bed, my face to the wall. I bit on the edge of her shawl in an effort to stopper my mouth, but my weeping crawled through the fabric. Outside, the wind howled and whined, whistling through the crannies of the boathouse.

It could not drown out the sound of Mrs Danvers keening.

[ladywynneoutlander]

Hi guys. So I am writing a little story for the holiday season. It is very fluff-tastic, mostly family and love with a minimum of plot. I very much hope someone enjoys it!

Heart’s Abundance

Part 1 - Giving Thanks

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6

Bree and I are sitting in the kitchen, enjoying my own special blend of “Liberty Tea,” a mixture of dried strawberry leaves, lemon balm, and chamomile. It is hot, fragrant, and delicious. As we sip, the afternoon sun warms the whole room, giving the feeling of a golden cocoon in the midst of a particularly cold November day. Adso is with us, basking in a windowsill, and we are all practically purring with contentment. Then the sound of dried leaves crackling underfoot reaches our ears. We have visitors. Brianna and I sigh slightly but smile at each other. She opens the door while I take a honey cake from the cupboard.  

It is Young Ian and Rachel. I smile warmly at them. Ian is dressed in particular native splendor today, owing to a visit from a group of prominent Mohawks passing through. His head is freshly plucked and spiked, with metal ornaments and turkey feathers hanging from the back.  Over his pink calico shirt is a vest decorated with astonishing beadwork, and his buckskin trousers are fringed. Next to him Rachel’s Quaker attire is a contrast. She is in a gray wool dress with plain white cap and kerchief. As she enters the sunny room, she unwraps her shawl to reveal the newest Murray, snuggled in a sling against his mother.

Brianna closes the door behind them, then her face lights with a smile, “Why, you look like a Thanksgiving pageant!”

The couple look at each other in incomprehension. “A what, cuz?” Ian inquires.

“You know! When the Pilgrims and Indians ate together. At Plymouth? It was a long time ago…” Her voice becomes more hesitant as the faces of our guests remain blank.

I understand the difficulty. Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated now, even though the famous harvest meal happened more than one hundred years before. I’m struggling to salvage this time-travel faux pas when Jamie steps through the door leading to the front of the house. He bends to kiss my cheek then crosses to wiggle a finger at the newly freed baby. “And what’s that then?” he says, turning to Brianna. “Is thanksgiving not something you do, no a meal?”

“Well…” she hesitates, then boldly rushes on. “Where I grew up, in Boston, some people take a day near the end of November to give thanks for their blessings. They celebrate with a feast and invite close friends and family.”

“It sounds lovely,” Rachel says kindly, “though oughtn’t we to give thanks every day?”

“Of course,” Brianna agrees, ‘it’s just nice to take a special moment for it now and then.” She looks wistfully at me. “Right Mama?”

Suddenly I recall craft-paper feathers, Macy’s parade on the television, and the taste of a cranberry jello salad in perfect vividness. I move to stand by Brianna and take her arm, smiling softly in understanding. “Yes, darling. It is.”

Jamie looks at us and his own face grows tender. Rachel still looks confused, but Ian, who has been watching carefully exclaims, “Sounds like a fine idea! We should have our own thanks meal, aye?”

I look at Ian gratefully, thankful indeed for his enthusiastic spirit. I also see Jamie’s face. It is creasing slowly into a smile. “Aye. We should.”

Brianna’s hand tightens on my arm in excitement. “Great! We’ll have Thanksgiving on the Ridge!”

-o0OOO0o-

A few days later I pull Brianna’s turkey out of the oven and baste it well with drippings, butter, and thyme before pushing it back inside for another half hour. It is nearly time to eat and the bounty of the Ridge is spread throughout the kitchen. It will be a delicious meal (if I do say so myself). The smell is heaven, and by the discreet peeking and increasingly frequent visits of men and small children, they think so too.

Jamie and Brianna brought down this large tom the day before. Even with ten people there would be plenty to go around. I had also dug the last of the fresh vegetables and emptied the pantry. Fanny had spent the entire prior afternoon baking. It would be a feast indeed.

The table is set and festooned with colorful dried leaves and pinecones. Roger even wove a clever cornucopia from twigs and filled it with gourds. Perfect. The turkey has a chestnut mushroom stuffing. There are also yams and brussels sprouts and onion gravy, and (elegance indeed!) yeast dinner rolls rather than corn bread. Crocks of butter and honey and jam round out the meal. My mouth waters just setting it all out.

Soon everyone gathers and we ceremoniously present the pièce de résistance on a platter. Looking from face to face around our large farm table I see Fanny’s eyes widen and smile happily to myself. We are all here, Brianna, Roger, Jem, and Mandy. Germain and Fanny. Jenny and Ian and Rachel with the baby sleeping peacefully in a basket. Jamie takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, then leans over and whispers, “I often think your time strange, Sassenach, but this is fine, aye?” He kisses my lips softly.

The others, used to us, are chattering away. Jamie straightens, clears his throat and waits for quiet, then looks to the end of the table, saying formally, “Ieremiah, an toireadh tu taing?“

Jem, sensitive to the honor thus bestowed, sits up straight as an arrow, “Aye, sir.” He folds his hands before him and I am suddenly reminded of my first dinner at Leoch, when young Hamish said grace. Jem has the same red hair. I add Hamish to my prayers as we all bow our heads together.

“Dear Holy Father. Thank ye for the food before us. Thank ye for our family and friends. Bless us, O Lord, and help us to do good always. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” the table echoes.  

Jemmy peaks at his father, and at Roger’s nod of approval relaxes happily in his chair. Jamie carves and wafts of fragrant steam are released. The table makes noises of appreciation all around. We fill our plates and enjoy the meal.

“You know,” Roger says, buttering a roll. Since we are giving thanks today, maybe we should each say something we’re thankful for. I believe that’s something they do in Boston, aye Brianna?” He smiles at his wife and she nods.

“Oh yes, it’s a tradition.” When no one volunteers she goes on, and looking directly at Jamie and I, “I’m thankful to be home.” Brianna then turns to Mandy on her right. “And what about you sweetheart? What are you thankful for?”

Mandy turns up a honey-smeared face and smiles. “I thankful for Esmeralda!”

Everyone chuckles and Roger goes next. “I’m thankful for family, for my wife and bairns.”

Jem says, “I’m thankful for Grandda. And Grandma,” he adds hastily.

Germain is next. “I’m thankful for my friends.” He smiles at Fanny and Jem.

Fanny answers in a small voice, “I’m thankful to Mr. and Mrs. Fraser for keeping me.”

“Oh Fanny,” I say gently, “We want to.” She blinks quickly and gives a small smile and we continue.

Jenny, Ian, and Rachel take their turns.

“I’m thankful for our new wee bairn.”

“I’m thankful to have my mam here, and my wife.”

“I’m thankful for the peace we enjoy here.”

Jamie says simply, “I’m thankful for ye, Sassenach.”

I look around the table slowly and finally turn my face up to Jamie, the man who is my heart, “I’m thankful for each of us. For love and family. For every moment.”

“Amen,” he says, and kisses me.

-o0OOO0o-

Soon afterward the table is cleared, and dessert brought out. We have apple tansey, clootie dumpling, and for Brianna, pumpkin pie. There is also custard and sweet cream. I am just setting coffee to boil when a solid thump sounds on the front door. Everyone freezes in surprise for a heartbeat. Visitors are nearly unheard-of this time of year. Then, just as chaos breaks out, Jamie rises. He walks to the front of the house, myself close behind. He seems unhurried and calm, but I notice he carries the carving knife in his left hand.

Jamie opens the door, letting in a blast of frigid November air. What greets us looks like nothing so much as a bear covered in deer hide. Albeit a bear with merry blue eyes glinting above his beard.

“Myers!” Jamie greets the mountain man warmly, discreetly passing the knife to me. I stash it in my deep pocket. “Welcome! What brings ye here so late in the year?”

The bristles part with Myers’ grin. “Well, I’ll tell ‘ee sir. I’ve come wi’ company. Found ‘im near frozen on his way up from Cross Creek.” He steps aside to reveal a second figure in the dooryard, just as tall, but more solidly built.

Peering around Jamie’s shoulder my mouth falls open in shock. The last person I ever expected to see on the Ridge is the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere.

For once I recover more quickly than Jamie, and step around my husband. “William!” I say in sincere pleasure.

The young man looks up a bit uncertainly, then seeing my happiness recovers himself. “Mother Claire.” He might have said more but is prevented by a blur of yellow homespun that comes hurtling through the door and crashes into his middle. William teeters precariously at the impact before coming solidly back to his feet, Frances Pocock clinging to him in perfect imitation of a baby opossum on its mother’s back.

“William! Oh William! I thought I might never th-, see you again!”

William gingerly pats the capped head. “It’s good to see you again too, Fanny.” He smiles gently down, a slight shadow passing briefly in the depths of his slanted eyes. He gently disentangled Fanny and turns to Jamie. “I hope our arrival isn’t a cause of inconvenience to you sir. I…”

Seeing him hesitate I break in as politely as I can. “Of course not! You are both most welcome! Come in and warm up. We are just about to have dessert.”

I usher the newcomers and the gaping crowd back into the kitchen. In a few moments of flurried activity William and John Quincey are greeted by all and settled at the table, the children relocated to stools.

“We had a fine harvest this year so we’re having a wee meal to celebrate and give thanks for it,” Jamie explains, smiling.

“Judging from this bounty, indeed you have!” Myers exclaims as he unabashedly fills his plate with apple tansey, sweet cream, and one of the remaining rolls covered in honey and jam. Jem and Germain looking on in fascination.

I pour him coffee, hiding a smile. “We’re pleased to share it with you.”

William eats more sedately, but with evident pleasure. Watching him, Fanny on one side and Brianna on the other, I wonder suddenly why he has come. Then I look at Jamie. He is watching the boy as well, and though his face is expressionless, to me his eyes reveal the joy he takes in the sight. No. The reason doesn’t matter. I slide my arm around Jamie’s and lean against him, expressing without words my own joy in his happiness.

[chelsfic]

Maybe One Day, My Love - Guillermo x Nandor One-shot

Read it on AO3 | WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: "...It’s the deepest, darkest corner of the park; a lonely place, a forgotten place. As good a place as any to meet an old friend."

26 years later. Guillermo sits by himself on his favorite park bench, but he's not alone.

A/N: I had some feelings today. Enjoy!

Warnings: Angst

***

It’s nightfall.

Guillermo de la Cruz takes his time strolling down the empty park lane. Maple trees border the walkway on either side; their branches reach out overhead, blocking the starlight and blanketing him in shadow. A layer of iced-over snow covers the ground. Guillermo’s sensible sneakers crunch with every step. His movements are measured and cautious. He’s no longer the thirty-year-old man who raced through the snow in a bloody bathrobe. Nor is he the fierce warrior who swung to the rescue in a theatre full of angry vampires. Now his body moves with the knowledge of its own fragility. His curly hair is sprinkled liberally with grey, and the laugh lines around his eyes have deepened, but he’s still unmistakably Guillermo .

He passes several empty benches, intently making his way to his spot. It doesn’t have the best view, nor is it the most comfortable seat, but it’s his. Guillermo’s lips curve in a smile as he comes to the solitary little alcove where he spends every Sunday night. An ancient, wooden park bench sits beneath a wizened old tree. Thick bushes surround the bench, pressing up against the backrest and depositing spiders on anyone who dares sit there. The paint has almost entirely flaked away from the smooth, wooden slats that make up the seat. It’s the deepest, darkest corner of the park; a lonely place, a forgotten place. As good a place as any to meet an old friend.

  Guillermo sits. The bench is coated in ice from the recent storm and the cold immediately cuts through his slacks. He doesn’t mind. He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and tucks his shoulders up to his ears against the chilly air. He doesn’t read a newspaper or check his phone. He simply sits and waits. He’s waiting for a feeling, impossible to describe. It’s the feeling of sitting in his little room under the stairs and noticing the curtain sway just a second before his master’s cold, pale hand rips it open. It’s the feeling of standing in his master’s crypt in the middle of the day and hearing him snoring faintly through the thick wood of his coffin. It’s the feeling of walking through the endless night, always searching, seeking, yearning, and feeling his master’s presence at his back like a comforting patron saint or a hungry wolf. 

  He’s waiting for his master.

  While he waits, Guillermo thinks about the week to come. He has to take his mamá to an appointment with her ophthalmologist on Tuesday. Her eyes are getting worse and worse, but she’s so damn stubborn about the cataract surgery. He sighs, his breath streaming out in a white cloud that quickly disperses in the cool air. He has the familiar recovery group on Thursday night. He has to remember to talk to Colby about the coffee. Work stuff. It’s funny. Work stress used to include finding viable body disposal sites and worrying about being arrested. Yet when he thinks back to that time, despite the fraught, damaged and exhausting relationship he had with his master and the other vampires, he can’t help but smile fondly. That part of his life is over now. He can look back on it without the sorrow he’d felt when he walked away. 

  Well, with less sorrow, anyway.

  A shadow deepens in the far right of Guillermo’s field of vision. A casual visitor to the park would never notice. Nandor has always been the perfect predator: silent and invisible until the moment of the kill. Guillermo just happens to be attuned to him. If he were blindfolded and dropped to the bottom of the harbor, Guillermo would still feel his master’s energy should he drift by on the surface, propelled by the oar-work of some hapless, new familiar. The image strikes him as unnecessarily gloomy. He always gets like this on Sunday nights. Thinking back to the way things used to be. 

  Guillermo sits up straighter. He doesn’t turn his head or directly address the vampire he knows to be lurking just out of reach. That’s not their arrangement. Every Sunday morning he takes his mamá to church. But every Sunday night he comes here to hold a vigil for the dark deity to whom he once prayed. He feels Nandor’s eyes on him and, as always, he wonders how much he’s changed in the last week. Guillermo never used to worry about growing old. He always assumed he would be turned well before he had to worry about wrinkles or grey hairs. Does Nandor catalog the little imperfections? Does he mourn the loss of Guillermo’s silky, deep brown curls? Do his cheeks not look as rosy as they once did? Is his decidedly unvirginal scent less appealing? Guillermo finds himself wondering if the high blood sugar his doctor has warned him about would affect the scent of his blood.

  A noise from the bushes interrupts his train of thought. It sounds like a very impatient twig snapping. Guillermo smiles.

  “Let’s see…” He leans his head back and addresses the branches overhead. “I’m doing good. I joined a walking club in my neighborhood. That’s--um--a group of humans who walk together for their health. My doctor’s happy about it. It’s nice, even if it’s mostly catty soccer moms. I think they’ve adopted me as their gloomy, gay, middle-aged son.” He lowers his gaze to the slushy snow at his feet, rubbing the crick in the back of his neck. It’s dark in this corner of the park, but his round glasses manage to catch a stray beam of ambient light. “My niece is having a baby. Amá is so excited. It’s her first great-grandchild.” 

  He thinks of Madelaine and feels a pang for Nandor. Even after everything--the years of gaslighting, tossing out crumbs of affection to string him along, the emotional manipulation--Guillermo is still capable of empathizing for his master. 

  He falls silent, sniffling his nose a bit. He can feel a cold coming on. He probably, definitely shouldn’t be sitting in the frigid cold like this. But what would Nandor think if he didn’t show up? Would he assume that something had happened to Guillermo? Would he...stop coming himself? Guillermo shudders.

  “Yeah...I’m doing well. Healthy, safe…” he trails off. A gust of icy wind hits the back of his neck and he imagines it’s Nandor’s cool breath. God, there was a time when casual physical intimacy was a second language between them. Now they can’t even acknowledge each other’s presence. Guillermo takes a shaky breath. “I wonder about my old master sometimes. Nandor .” He savors the taste of the name on his tongue. “I hope he’s doing okay. I hope he’s eating enough and taking care of himself. Remembering not to leave candles lit before he gets into coffin. I hope he’s happy.”

  He swallows a lump in his throat. He used to cry. In the beginning, when the hurt of walking away was still sharp and fresh. It was torture, yearning to capitulate yet resisting. He would beg Nandor to step out of the shadows and hold him. He would demand that Nandor force him to come back. Now, with the benefit of years of growth and a lot of therapy, Guillermo sees Nandor’s stubborn silence in those early days as the most precious gift the vampire has ever given him. What had it cost Nandor? He wondered.

  “Maybe I’ll see him again one day…” Guillermo muses. For the first time he turns around and looks into the impenetrable shadows surrounding him. He strains his eyes, focusing on the spot in the darkness where he feels his master the most. He imagines Nandor stepping forward and taking his hand like he did that night in Manhattan. Guillermo, 56-years-old and definitely too old for this shit, would swoon just like he did back then. Nandor would smile, his fangs denting into his lower lip and eyes squinting adorably. He’d take Guillermo into his arms and they’d finally share the kiss that’s hung in the space between them for more than half his human life.

  The night is silent and still.

  “Maybe one day,” Guillermo says with a soft smile. He stands, rubbing his stiff knees and shivering as the cold air bites through him. He pauses before leaving, training his eyes on the ground and murmuring in a barely there whisper, “Goodnight, master.”

Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm gettin' older, too

--Fleetwood Mac, “Landslide”

[vexing-imogen]

Exit, Pursued by a Bear

-my contribution to @folktalesofexandria also on AO3

He doesn’t know who this strange creature is that’s picking him up, she’s certainly not his mama, but he feels safe cradled in her arms. Even though she’s shaking and her face is wet with tears and she smells like the Bad Things, he feels safe. She presses her face against his snout and starts making noises at him.

“It’s alright, darling, I’ve got you,” she says. She scratches behind his ears, and he growls happily. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.” They’re moving now, walking away from his mama. He whines, starts squirming in her arms.

She holds him tighter and keeps walking, but he manages to squirm out of her grasp and run back to his mama. His mama, who isn’t moving, isn’t making noise, isn’t breathing. A twig snaps behind him, and he turns to see Her kneeling on the ground. “I’m sorry, buddy.” A sob. “There was nothing I could do. I’m so sorry.” She holds her arms out for him and he goes to her, lets her bundle him against her chest again. “I may not be your mother, but I’m going to take care of you. I’ll never leave you alone, I promise.”

He believes her.

Trinket wakes from his dream with a snort. He yawns, shakes the remnants of sleep from his head as he ponders his dream. His first memory of Vex. It’s been a frequent dream lately, and he doesn’t know why. It’s confusing, especially for a bear as old as Trinket.

He’s stretching, trying to alleviate aching bones and popping joints, when the chamber door opens and Vex walks in. She beams at him. “There you are, buddy,” she croons, scratching him behind the ears. He leans into her, but not too hard. It takes her so much longer to get up now if he accidentally knocks her on her rump. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

Trinket huffs and butts against her gently. “I know, darling,” she says through a small yawn. “Like I have any room to talk.”

They take a meandering path through the castle and out into the gardens. Vex is resting on one of the small benches when one of the many young de Rolos approaches, a piece of parchment in his hand. Trinket doesn’t remember this one’s name, there are so many and he is a very old bear, but he looks so much like Uncle Vax that it makes Trinket’s heart ache. Vex’s too. She’s told Trinket so many times.

“Grandmother,” he says, handing her the parchment. “Lady Keyleth’s reply came quicker than expected.”

“Thank you, Hugo, darling,” she says, searching her pockets for something.

The lad doesn’t leave immediately. “Did you want any help reading her letter, Grandmother?”

Vex fixes him with a stern look as she locates Papa Percy’s spectacles and adjusts them on her nose. “I’ve got it handled, Hugo,” she says. “I’m not blind. And even if I were, your Auntie Keyleth writes so large, I’d still be able to read it.”

Hugo flushes and fidgets with his cravat. “I apologize, Grandmother. I’ll leave you to it.” He kisses her on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, her gaze softening. “Now, don’t you have an archery lesson to get to?”

His eyes go wide as he pulls out a pocket watch. “Shit.” He grins at her sheepishly. “I should go.”

“Make me proud, darling,” she calls out as he runs off.

Hugo’s voice echoes through the garden as he calls back, “I’ll do my best!”

“Dear boy,” she says softly, shaking her head with a fond smile. She pets Trinket absentmindedly as she reads Keyleth’s letter, only pausing twice to cough harshly into a handkerchief. “Sorry, buddy,” she murmurs when he makes a noise of complaint.

Vex reads the letter three times before she seems satisfied. Trinket takes the opportunity to doze in the mid-morning sunlight. He daydreams about the early days with Vex; learning to track and hunt, protecting her from bandits, swimming in rivers, playing in fields, sleeping by campfires. His mind wanders to their days with Vox Machina. To adventures in strange places, the monsters they fought, and all of the strange, wonderful things they did as a family.

He doesn’t realize that he’s fallen asleep again until Vex is shaking him awake. There’s a strange expression on her face. Something tired and sad, but determined all the same. She’s kneeling on the ground beside him, and when he tries to ask her what’s wrong, she simply wraps her arms around his neck, buries her face in his fur, and breathes in as deep as she can.

“Come for a walk with me, buddy?” she asks. “Kiki’s waiting for us at your uncle’s shrine.” There’s concern in her eyes as he struggles to his feet, holding back a groan of pain. “Only if you can manage it, darling. I can put you in the necklace if you can’t.”

Trinket snorts, determined to show her that he can still keep up. She’s barely made it to her feet before he’s making his way toward the Parchwood, toward that familiar path that leads to a clearing and a pretty stone bench.

Vex catches up to him, puts a hand on his shoulder to slow his walk. “It’s alright, Trinket, there’s no need to rush.” She smiles down at him. “We have all the time in the world.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Keyleth, Pike, and Scanlan are waiting at the shrine, talking quietly amongst themselves, when Vex finally crests the hill into the clearing. Trinket, who has been stubbornly struggling to keep pace with her, bellows happily and flops down on the grass next to Keyleth. Vex takes a moment to catch her breath while Pike and Keyleth lavish attention on her bear. She pointedly ignores their eyes on her as she settles herself, curling up next to Trinket like she has for decades.

They’ve all gone silent, though Keyleth is still absently petting Trinket’s snout. Up close, Vex can see that Pike’s eyes are red and puffy, Keyleth’s sleeves are stained with tears and snot, and Scanlan is fiddling with his shawm, as if he’s trying to think of the perfect song for the occasion. Her chest aches, and not from the disease that seized her so many years ago and refuses to let go. She’s never wanted to hurt them, which is why she’s so determined now to not drag this out any longer.

Keyleth is the one to break the silence, shaky and uncertain. “Vex, your letter…” She sniffles, hiccups. “A-are you sure?”

She nods slowly, closing her eyes against the tears that spill over when Scanlan’s sob echoes through the clearing.

Pike’s warm hands close around hers, and Vex forces herself to meet her earnest gaze. “You don’t have to give up, Vex,” she says desperately. “There are so many routes we haven’t tried yet. Maybe Sarenrae can-”

“Pike.” She cuts the gnome off gently. “We’ve had forty years to find a cure for this. I don’t think there is one. And I’m so fucking tired, darling.”

“Vex…”

“Just stop, please.” She draws in a sharp breath. “Just listen. I’m so tired. I’ve somehow outlived my brother and my husband and all of my children, and I’m so tired of fighting. I just want to rest.”

“But,” Keyleth starts tentatively, “what about Whitestone? What about your legacy?”

“Percy was the one obsessed with legacy, not me,” she says. “And I think our legacy is well secured, besides. Whitestone is in good hands, Kiki. And I’m little more than an old woman who sees ghosts in the faces of children.”

“Hey now, don’t sell yourself short,” Scanlan says, sniffling. “You’ve also got the best rack of any 133 year-old I’ve met.”

That gets a watery laugh from Keyleth and Pike, punctuated by a loud snore from Trinket. Vex leans back against her bear, tears dripping into his fur as she listens to his heartbeat.

“This decision isn’t just for me,” she says after a few minutes. “It’s for Trinket, too.”

Scanlan frowns. “How does your death help Trinket?” he asks.

Vex sniffles, her tears falling faster. “Barring external forces, Trinket can’t pass on until I do,” she explains. “His life force is bound to mine. He lives as long as I do. He suffers as long as I do.”

“Wait, really?”

“You really didn’t realize?” Pike sighs. “Scanlan, how long did you think grizzly bears could live?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. In case you hadn’t noticed, bears aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Well, I can assure you that 120 years is not a normal lifespan,”  Vex says. She strokes a hand through his gray fur. “He sleeps all the time, he’s in constant pain. He tries to hide it, but I know my buddy. It isn’t fair for me to ask him to keep living like this, but I couldn’t… I could never…”

She dissolves into sobs, muffling her grief in Trinket’s fur until he shifts underneath her, trying to maneuver so he can comfort her. “It’s alright, buddy, I’m alright,” she lies. “You can go back to sleep, darling. Mummy’s fine.” She scritches at a particular spot behind his ears, and after a few minutes, he’s fallen back to sleep.

She looks up from tending to Trinket to find her friends watching her, their eyes full of sympathy. Keyleth is the first one to nod.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, Vex.”

She wraps Vex in a tight embrace, tears soaking Vex’s hair. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be the last member of Team Half-Elf left.”

Vex laughs. “You always knew you were going to be.” She kisses her softly, then touches their foreheads together. “Kaitiake, Kiki.”

“Kaitiake, Vex.”

Pike approaches next, simply wraps her arms around Vex and cries into her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be,” she says. “You did everything you could.” She kisses the top of Pike’s head. “I love you, Pickle.”

“Love you, too, Vex.”

Scanlan has tears streaming down his face when she hugs him close and whispers, “Take care of them.”

“Of course,” he says, and she feels his lips press against her cheek. “On one condition.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “And what would that be?”

“I get to light your pyre.”

She sighs, thinking back to the disaster that was Grog’s funeral. “Fine,” she relents. “But if you burn my forest down, I will haunt your ass for eternity.”

“Just my ass?” he says with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows. “Kinky.”

Vex shakes her head. “I’ll miss you, too, you perv.”

Once they’ve all left the clearing, Vex sinks back against Trinket, suddenly exhausted. Without Pike’s healing magic coursing through her, she can feel her lungs starting to seize, making each breath more and more difficult. She takes a breath that turns into a harsh coughing fit that ends with her on all fours, dry heaving. She looks up into Trinket’s worried eyes and wipes blood from her mouth. “It’s okay, Trinket,” she manages, crawling towards him. “We can rest now.”

She curls into Trinket’s warmth and closes her eyes.

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

Trinket wakes from his nap with a loud yawn, immediately squinting his eyes against the bright light flooding the clearing.

“There you are, sleepyhead!” Vex’s voice calls to him from the path back to Whitestone. “If we don’t get going soon, we’re going to miss lunch.”

Trinket gets up, barely noticing that it isn’t the painful struggle he’s endured for years. He takes a few steps towards Vex, then stops, cocking his head curiously. There must be some kind of magic in this clearing, because his Vex is young again; tall and proud, grinning like they’re about to embark on an adventure.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Nothing,” he answers, shaking the last bit of sleep from his head. Something catches his eye, and he looks back over his shoulder. There’s nothing there. Nothing but a very old bear and a very old woman curled up together by a stone bench. He turns back to Vex, who smiles at him brightly.

“Aren’t you coming, Trinket?”

He huffs and walks over to butt his head against her thigh. What a silly question.

Where else would he go, but with Vex?

[darlingpetao3]

Hocus Focus (Matthew Clairmont x Reader)

Rating: T

Summary: Matthew helps you visually block out your surroundings to harness your witch powers, and ends up enjoying the outing more than you had expected.

gif source

“Matthew?” you call out. “Matthew, I don’t see how this will help me!”

You also can’t see. Period. Because your vampire boyfriend has blindfolded you. In the depths of the woods, no less!

“Focus!” he calls back, voice coming from somewhere over to the right of where you’re walking. “Clear your mind. Don’t think.”

With your arms outstretched, you walk over to where you heard him but bump into a tree.

“Oof.”

“You aren’t even trying,” Matthew insists. “Find me, little witch.”

You stand completely still and try to focus all your energy, harnessing it. All you see in your mind are swirls of blue and gold - but wait - they’re transforming. The swirls start to take misshapen forms of your surroundings beyond the darkness of the blindfold. And if you aren’t mistaken, you’re going to bump into another tree.

Not today, tree.

You stop, side-step it, and continue in this play-hunt for Matthew. Hopping over a protruding tree root, you give a little cheer. You’re doing it!

There’s a sudden crack of a twig and you freeze, knowing it wasn’t your foot that made the noise.

“Matthew?”

No answer.

Stay calm, focus.

There’s a tickle of coldness on the back of your head - like a roaming bullseye. You have nothing to fear. Turning around in place, you see in your mind a towering blue and gold form of Matthew. The corner of your lips turn up and you reach out with your hand which comes in contact with his chest.

“Found you,” you say.

“I knew you would,” he replies in his tempting honey-like voice. You can hear the happiness in his words. “Je suis fier de toi, ma petite sorcière.”

You can’t help but blush at his French. I am proud of you, my little witch. Your heart is racing now for a whole other reason, which makes you lose control of what you can see in your mind. Everything goes black again. When you reach up to take the blindfold off, Matthew grasps your hand.

“Are you not going to let me take this off?” you ask. At first, all you receive is a kiss in response. Soft at first, then hard. His ever-present natural musk of cinnamon and cloves fills your nostrils while his hand finds your waist in a firm grip. Breathing… His breathing is ragged.

“No. Keep it on.” Matthew’s voice is low, and tight like he’s holding something back. Could it be his animalistic side? (It’s certainly showing a new kinky side you’d not seen previously). But what’s stopping him from tearing you apart in these woods? He could easily do it; you are far from an experienced witch.

To say it was ‘love’ saving you from him would be naive, but then again…?

Being a witch with so much power, albeit virtually untrained in magic, you would think you would have the power not to trip and fall. That is far from reality as you find yourself hitting the hard ground. You sense his body now hovering over yours, as well as his slight breath against your skin.

The dirt is cold, you can feel it through your clothes, but it doesn’t compare to the prickling icy stare that Matthew’s eyes are giving you. Your neck feels frozen, so you can tell even without looking that this is where he’s fixed his gaze.

Matthew's lips make a smacking sound.

You swallow. No doubt he could sense the spike in your heart rate once more.

“W-what are you going to do…?” you ask. He places a chilly kiss to your neck. You can feel the smile on his lips.

“You’ll see.”

[danveresque]

Hi! #13 + You and I are gonna be friends :)

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

This is such a cool question because it was something I was thinking about the other day. This fic is part of a series and both the other fics have definite playlists associated with them (which I’ll add below), whereas I never really put anything together for this fic. 

What I did do was listen to some of the songs on the other playlists because these are universes that sit close to each other where Robert is always destined to return and listening to those same songs helps to retain this vibe of happy inevitability. 

In the commentary of I Belong To You, I mentioned also a second playlist which is kind of background music, or the background noise of these particular universes. So below is the unofficial playlist as well as all the other music behind this series. Enjoy, Anony Mouse, and thank you very much for this delightful ask which turned into a really wordy skip down musical memory lane <3

Listens to all the songs. 

- ask meme -

You And I Are Gonna Be Friends Playlist

You And I Are Gonna Be Friends / The White Stripes - I liked the idea of this title because it’s so determined. We are not going to do this again. We are going to be friends and nothing else. The song is about childhood friendship and innocence, but I hear the naivety of it which applies nicely these two idiots fighting the inevitable.

Back to You / Bryan Adams - this is the theme song for the series and you can just listen to it and you’ll know why it fits them and these fics. 

I Will Wait / Mumford and Sons - this is the Robron theme for these fics, and again, the lyrics and the determined tempo gives you an idea of why this song fits them. 

Awaken / Dario Marianelli - this is kind of Aaron’s theme for me. It’s from the Jane Eyre soundtrack, and is the background of Jane’s wandering across the moors. I listened to it through the writing of I Belong To You a lot because Aaron spends 11 years without Robert and this music does an amazing job of getting across a feeling of desolation, and for me it hits the spot of how Aaron must feel without the love of his life.

Spring 1 / Vivaldi - I had already started writing You And I Are Gonna Be Friends when I was listening to this and I just had this vision of green and yellow fields and I thought of Robert and I saw exactly how the fic would end. If you listen to this you can feel the budding of hope, the slow shining of the sun and a final bloom of happiness and relief and when I write the last chapter, this is the emotion in Robert’s chest whether it’s conveyed perfectly or not. 

To these I would add from the other playlists:

I Belong to You / Muse - this features on the playlists of the other two fics and definitely for this one too. There’s something about this song that makes me think of love across multiverses and it fits nicely for the entire series where Robert always finds his way back to Aaron and always will because they belong to each other. 

Along with this song, I’ll include the aria that is within the song:

Mon Cœur S'ouvre à Ta Voix / Maria Callus - This is another track from the He Belongs To Me soundtrack where Robert is daydreaming about a reunion on the streets of Paris, where he surprises Aaron and kisses him. 

In the last chapter of You And I Are Gonna Be Friends, when Robert is dreaming of the white room and there’s music floating around them, it’s just a dream, but if dreams are glimpses into other universes, it is definitely Robert seeing what happens the morning after the end of He Belongs To Me and maybe a sign of things to come. 

The Boy Is Mine / When We Were Young - Sometimes you’ll write a fic and you’ll associate a song with it and that song will be changed forever. I listened to this whilst writing He Belongs To Me (which is a lyric in the song). It’s so full of pep and sunshine this song, and possibly the kind of pop Robert might secretly enjoy :D 

I wrote this fic at the height of summer and we’d just had news that RH was leaving. I was determined to write something light, fun and summery as a balm and this fic never materialised as the comic piece I wanted, but it managed to be just light-hearted enough.

Now when I hear this song, I think of Robert walking around in Paris with way too expensive shades on, having no qualms at all about breaking up his husband’s marriage. I’ve listened to this quite a few times during the writing of You And I Are Gonna Be Friends and when I post the last chapter I will listen to it again as my musical happy ending because in a universe not dictated by the law of soap storytelling, that’s how it ends for them - happily. 

+

He Belongs to Me Playlist

[The Boy Is Mine / When We Were Young] 

[Je T’aime Tant / Julie Delpy] 

[I Belong to You / Muse] 

[Foux Da Fa Fa / Flight of the Conchords] 

[Jalousie / Baguette Quartet] 

[Dernière Danse / Indila] 

[Mon Cœur S'ouvre à Ta Voix / Maria Callus] 

[I Love Paris / J’aime Paris / Zaz]

[All of Me / De T-Mike & Biggie Jo] 

[Pour Te Dire Que Je T’aime / Thieve] 

[I Love Paris / Avalon Jazz Band] 

+

I Belong To You Playlist

[I Belong to You / Muse] 

[So Broken / Bjork] 

[I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself / The White Stripes] 

[I Go Walking Down There / Chris Isaak] 

[Without You I’m Nothing / Placebo feat. David Bowie] 

[Cellophane / FKA Twigs] 

[Shiver - Coldplay] 

[Something Good / Sarah Blasko] 

[Baby I’m Yours / Arctic Monkeys] 

[Better Off As Two / FrankMusik] 

[diceyfall]

[fic; when it breaks]

m!de sardet x kurt x vasco, kurt has a revelation when he sees de sardet and vasco together, 3422 words 🌹 [ao3]

It’s not that he’s jealous, Kurt tells himself.

His eyes follow Tristan’s hand as it settles between Vasco’s shoulder blades while the two of them are bent over the crafting table at camp. It slides down the length of Vasco’s spine, hugging the dip in his lower back as Vasco leans in to murmur something into Tristan’s ear, a gentle press of his lips to Tristan’s cheek where the mark edges out from underneath his beard. They’re probably not talking about crafting anymore.

As if sensing Kurt’s gaze lingering on them, Tristan glances over his shoulder to where Kurt sits in front of the campfire. Kurt holds Tristan’s curious gaze for a moment, long enough to not seem suspicious, before he averts his eyes and goes back to whittling the stick of wood with his knife. It’s not the first time during the trip Tristan or Vasco have been sneaking glances at him. He’s probably a bother to them.

Kurt is not jealous. They’re being painfully obvious about their little dalliance and it’s getting hard for him to ignore, that’s all.

“I wondered if you ever felt lonely.”

He barely remembers his answer, can only recall his spine tensing and the subtle frown pulling on Tristan’s brows, the flickering of hurt in his eyes that lingered in Kurt’s mind for days on end.

His rejection was not kind, tinged with fear and sharper for it, but a lot of time has passed since then. The ghost camps are gone, Hermann burned alive at the stake and Kurt has finally gained a sense of closure after these long years.

It leaves him alone with himself, watching from a distance as Tristan finds another who welcomes his affection without hesitation, eager for it, thankful for it and returning it tenfold.

Something heavy weighs in his chest as he watches Vasco lace his fingers together with Tristan’s as the two lovers lock eyes. A soft smile plays on Tristan’s lips as Vasco’s eyes flit down to Tristan’s mouth and Kurt feels ill.

He tosses his half-finished wooden carving aside, rising abruptly from the ground and slipping his knife back into its sheath. It draws attention onto him, but Kurt doesn’t look.

“Gonna take a leak,” he mutters as he stalks off into the forest, leaving the warm glow of the fire behind.

The cold settles into his bones as he moves in between the trees, but the distance does not ease his heart. If anything it makes the emptiness more pronounced as Kurt moves through the forest brush aimlessly. He keeps a mental map of the way back to camp, knows he’s being stupid because he’s practically asking for an ambush, but he needs to work off his restlessness.

Unfortunately the darkness of the woods leaves little for Kurt to focus on but his own thoughts, images and memories blending together to make his stomach churn.

Vasco and Tristan hadn’t been subtle the first time they had snuck off to Tristan’s bedroom in New Sérène, even less so afterwards when they appeared for dinner. Hickeys colored the skin between Vasco’s neck tattoos, Tristan’s curly hair that was usually meticulously styled a mess atop his head.

Kurt excused himself then, mind swirling with visuals he would rather not linger on. Now they all return to him once more as he wonders what Tristan and Vasco must be getting up to back at camp in his absence.

Would Tristan’s mouth latch onto Vasco’s neck again, sucking bruises into him while Vasco arches into the touch? Would Vasco’s hands grip into Tristan’s curls, holding onto him as they kissed, sparing no thought for anyone or anything else? Kurt doesn’t want to think about it, but he can’t seem to stop.

He imagines Vasco sitting on Tristan’s lap, chest to chest as their lips slot together, tongues sliding against each other, hips grinding in an obscene rhythm—Kurt stops walking, braces a hand against a tree as he breathes through the strange mixture of arousal and nausea coiling in his gut.

Why is he doing this to himself?

Frustrated, he turns around on his heel and marches back the way he came, though his anger is directed to no one but himself. He made his choice when he pushed Tristan away, there is no one else to blame for his stupidity.

The bewildering part of it all is that Kurt can’t tell what it is that has him twisted up more. He cares for Tristan—so much more than he should—but there is something about Vasco that stirs feelings inside of him that are fragile and new.

Kurt will catch Vasco’s eyes at times, staring at him with a look he can’t place but it always makes him feel seen, and it makes him feel vulnerable. Vasco has a way of pulling words out of Kurt’s mouth that edge too close to being suggestive, the way his lips curve in a not-quite smile doing funny things to Kurt’s head that he’d rather not examine too closely.

It’s as if he’s a teenager again, caught up in a childish infatuation with a dashing seafaring captain, which is ridiculous because Kurt is nearly a decade older and yet he is unsteady when it comes to Vasco, unsure of himself.

He returns to the camp, walking with what feels like stones in his gut as he thinks about what he feels for Tristan, what he feels for Vasco, how it knots him up inside to think of them together, but as he draws closer to the camp he pauses among the trees.

Two bodies are lying down by the fire, tangled with each other. Kurt’s mouth goes dry as he realizes Vasco is on his back, his coat off, Tristan on top of him slipping his hands underneath Vasco’s shirt while their lips are locked in a passionate kiss.

Kurt curses the way he reacts to it, the heat that pulses through his groin as he feels his trousers grow tighter and yet his heart aches sharply all the same, but it shouldn’t, because he should know better.

For a while he can’t seem to tear his gaze away, fantasy seeping through into reality as Tristan rolls his hips down into Vasco’s and Vasco’s fingers clutch at Tristan’s curls, breathing a moan into Tristan’s mouth that makes Kurt’s dick twitch and his fingers ball into fists by his side at the same time, blunt fingernails digging crescent shapes into the palm of his hand.

Coming back was a mistake. He has to get out of here.

Kurt takes a step back, and a twig snaps beneath his heel.

All three of them freeze.

Tristan pulls away from Vasco, turns his head to peer over his shoulder and somehow finds Kurt’s eyes in the dark, his startled expression shifting into a deep frown. Kurt wonders what his face must look like, for Tristan to look so concerned for him.

“Kurt—”

He turns around and walks away.

“Kurt!” Tristan calls after him, but he doesn’t listen.

He keeps walking, hears footsteps hurrying after him and wishes they would just leave him alone. Kurt is tired of this, tired of having to endure this self-inflicted torture.

It’s Vasco who catches up to him, jogging up from behind him to step in front of him, blocking Kurt’s path. He’s slightly out of breath, likely more so from kissing Tristan than running after Kurt, and Kurt looks away, doesn’t think he can hold Vasco’s piercing gaze.

“Where are you going?” Vasco demands. “You know wandering around like this is asking to get your throat slit.”

“Go back to Tristan, Vasco,” Kurt says wearily, moving to walk around him but Vasco steps in front of him again, a hand on his chest and Kurt halts, staring down at the fingers splayed on top of his armor.

“Tristan wants you to come back.” Vasco pauses, hands curling ever so slightly into the thick fabric of Kurt’s Coin Guard doublet. “And so do I.”

Kurt blinks, looking up to meet Vasco’s gaze, a subtle wrinkle between his dark brows as he stares at Kurt.

“You…” Kurt’s voice is hoarse, so he clears his throat before he tries again. “You seemed busy, I didn’t want to—”

“We were passing the time,” Vasco says quickly, sounding almost a little embarrassed as he glances away for a moment, releasing Kurt’s doublet. “Waiting for you to return.”

“Me?” Kurt raises his brows, baffled. “Why? I would think you- the two of you would appreciate some privacy.”

Vasco breathes out a long-suffering sigh. “I didn’t believe Tristan when he told me you were the oblivious sort, but now I’m starting to have my doubts.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kurt replies, defensiveness masked by an irritated tone. “Clearly I picked up on the fact that you wanted to have some time alone, so I don't see how you can call me oblivious.”

“Not alone, Kurt,” Vasco emphasizes, staring at him in that way again that makes Kurt feel bared.

Kurt hesitates, unsure of everything. “Not… alone?”

“Are you honestly going make me spell it out for you?” Vasco snipes, shifting his weight around on his feet in a way that almost seems anxious. “Tristan and I… we… ah…”

He’s flustered, Kurt realizes faintly, but before he can contemplate as to why, he hears another set of footsteps coming up from behind him.

“What are you two still doing over here?” Tristan asks as he walks up to them, standing beside Kurt and Vasco and glancing from one to the other before his gaze lingers on his lover. “Vasco?”

In the dim light of the campfire filtering in from between the trees, Kurt thinks he can almost see Vasco face darken with a flush.

“I was just about to tell him,” he mumbles.

Kurt scowls, only barely resisting the urge to take a cautious step back. “Tell me what?”

He looks at Tristan, who smiles lightly when their eyes meet and Kurt does his best to ignore the way his heart flutters.  

“Do you remember when I asked you if you were lonely?”

Kurt almost flinches at the unpleasant reminder. “I do.”

“Right.” Tristan’s smile fades as he takes a quiet breath, seeming to be working up to something, perhaps steeling his nerves and Kurt for the life of him can’t figure out what’s going on, what either Tristan or Vasco look so nervous about. “I thought… I was certain I had moved on from that. You made yourself pretty clear, and then Vasco and I—”

He doesn’t want to hear this, he can’t. “If you’re about to start rambling about how perfectly happy you are together, save it. I have eyes. I can see it without needing you to rub it in my face.”

That… came out more harshly than he intended.

Tristan’s eyes widen, mirrored by Kurt’s own panic flashing across his face.

“I- I didn’t mean—"

“Kurt,” Vasco interrupts sternly. “Please shut up.”

Kurt snaps his lips closed again, figuring he can’t make this worse than he already has and wishes halfheartedly the ground could just swallow him up and make him disappear.

Tristan doesn’t seem upset by his snapping, however. If anything, he’s smiling now, almost fond as he looks at Kurt and Kurt is more perplexed than ever.

“Are you jealous, Kurt?”

The words shoot straight through his heart as he turns his head away, breathes in deep; Kurt couldn’t have confirmed Tristan’s suspicions more clearly than if he had come out and answered with a yes. This is it, then. Tristan will gently turn him down, shattering whatever is left of him, leaving him as alone as he’d ever been—

He feels a touch on his hand through his gloves, looks down and finds Tristan’s fingers curling around it, holding it in his own. When he looks up at Tristan’s face, the gaze in his eyes is so tender, filled with affection that isn’t aimed at Vasco but at him, at Kurt.

“Don’t be,” Tristan says softly, and Kurt’s head is spinning.

“What… why are you…” He glances over at Vasco who is watching the two of them with a fond smile on his face, and nothing about this makes sense. “What is this?”

Tristan starts to laugh, still holding onto Kurt’s hand while Vasco lets out another deep sigh.

“What do you think, Kurt?” Vasco says.

“I think I’m dreaming,” Kurt responds weakly, and Vasco snorts before he reaches out and takes Kurt’s other hand in his own and Kurt is… he’s holding both of their hands now.

In his dream, obviously, because there’s no chance in hell this could ever happen in reality.

“I think,” Vasco says, speaking slowly as if to make sure Kurt is following along, “that we’ve both been in love with you this whole time and that you’ve been too thickheaded to notice.”

The words don't sink in, not at first. It's as if Kurt forgot the language, hearing Vasco speak in a foreign tongue. They're in love, he said. Both of them, with Kurt. Tristan and Vasco are in love with each other, and with Kurt.

Kurt’s lips part slightly in his shock as it finally dawns on him, looking from Vasco to Tristan, his heart pounding against his ribs like a drum.

“You- both of you?”

“I know it must be a lot to take in at once,” Tristan says, exchanging a look with Vasco. “But did you really not notice?”

They have both been shooting looks at him the whole trip, Kurt remembers. He assumed it was because they thought him a bother, but could it really be as Vasco said?

“I don’t know.” Kurt looks down at their hands, thinks slightly deliriously that if Vasco and Tristan started holding hands they’d form a perfect triangle. “I just assumed… I don’t know.”

“Do you need time to think?” Tristan asks, always so considerate. “Maybe we should—”

Kurt tightens his hold on Tristan’s hand when he tries to pull it away, thinks that even if this is a dream he’d be a fool to make the same mistake twice.

“No,” he says, voice rough in his throat as he looks at Tristan, can’t hide the longing in his words or his eyes. “I don’t need to think. Not anymore.”

Tristan carefully moves closer, almost cautious at first but more assured when he sees that Kurt isn’t backing away. He lifts his free hand to Kurt’s face, a caress of his fingers to Kurt’s cheek that makes Kurt’s eyes flutter shut—how many times has he thought about this? Imagined it, then shamefully denied it, repressing it inside him?

For a moment, there is nothing, but then he feels it, a hot breath brushing against his mouth, making butterflies flutter in his stomach. Tristan cups his cheek with his palm, and Kurt waits. There’s the softest brush against his lips, almost hesitant, but then a firm press and Kurt’s breath hitches in his throat as Tristan kisses him gently while Vasco’s hand squeezes his, fingers twining together.

It's perfect, more than he could've ever expected as he all but melts against Tristan, against his lips, grows weak at the way Tristan hums into his mouth. It's pure affection, warm and glowing in his chest as he lets himself go. Kurt’s doubt crumbles, collapses into itself when Tristan pulls back with a soft exhale and Kurt almost chases his mouth, but then Tristan steps aside and lets Vasco take his place.

Kurt no longer stands motionless, meets Vasco halfway as Vasco curls his free hand around the back of Kurt’s neck and tugs him close. His lips are more demanding than Tristan’s, the edge of his teeth shooting a thrill up Kurt’s spine.

It’s dizzying, a flood of emotions overwhelming him as Vasco’s tongue slides over his bottom lip, licking his way into Kurt’s mouth and then Tristan leans in to kiss and suck the skin beneath Kurt’s ear. Kurt pulls both his hands free, one arm curling around Vasco’s waist to pull him closer, the other reaching up to tangle his fingers in Tristan’s curls just like how he saw Vasco do it before.

They stand there and kiss for what feels like forever and yet is still not long enough. Vasco breaks away from Kurt to kiss Tristan next, though it’s more of a glide of tongues while Kurt watches with half-lidded eyes, dazed by how much he enjoys the sight of it when it hurt to watch before.

Tristan and Vasco are breathless when they pull apart, exchanging a look before they both turn to Kurt and start kissing his neck at the same time. Kurt’s legs go weak, stumbling a little and Vasco uses the imbalance to push him back against a tree, biting into his skin while Tristan sucks a bruise into his throat, like the ones Kurt saw on Vasco and it’s too good, too good to be true and too good all at once.

Kurt chokes back a groan, exhales a hot breath, fingers clenching into Vasco’s shirt and Tristan’s hair. They both pull back to grant him much-needed reprieve as Kurt all but sags against the tree, at a loss for words.

“Perhaps we should return to camp,” Vasco notes, finger idly tracing over the hickey Tristan left on Kurt’s neck. “You look like you need to lie down.”

“That… that would be good,” Kurt agrees dimly.

Tristan smiles at him, wrapping an around Kurt’s lower back. “Come on, then.”

The bonfire somehow feels so much warmer as the three of them settle down in front of it, their blankets rearranged beneath them to be side by side. Kurt lies in the middle with Tristan on his left and Vasco on his right, arms draped around his waist and his chest, legs tangling, heads resting on either of Kurt’s shoulders as they’re both tucked against his side and Kurt wonders if it’s possible for his heart to physically burst.

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice,” Vasco mutters against the crook of Kurt’s neck. “Tristan was hardly being subtle.”

“You are the last person to talk about being subtle,” Tristan replies with amusement. “If you recite me one more poem about blue eyes I’ll burn down the library.”

“Blue eyes?” Kurt notes curiously, and Vasco all but sputters.

“It wasn’t- I happened to find one verse—”

“Oh, he could wax prose about your eyes for hours if you let him,” Tristan told Kurt playfully. “It’s rather endearing.”

“Do I need to remind you that you wouldn’t shut up about Kurt when we first met?” Vasco points out, saying to Kurt, “The entire voyage of Teer Fradee was one endless monologue singing your praises.”

“I didn’t talk about him that often,” Tristan protests.

“Two mentions in every conversation at the minimum.” Vasco huffs a laugh. “It made me jealous, at first.”

“So, how long have you both… been interested in me?” Kurt asks, feeling almost narcissistic asking it that way, but it was the truth. They were both in love with him, and Kurt still had a hard time wrapping his mind around that.

“Around the same time we fell in love with each other, I think,” Tristan answers thoughtfully.

But that was months ago. Months.

“I’m an idiot,” Kurt concludes; here were two men who had apparently been utterly smitten with him all this time, and he hadn’t noticed. He was so caught up in his own feelings that the thought hadn’t so much as occurred to him before.

He feels Vasco smile against his neck and Tristan’s hand slide up and down his chest in a soothing motion, their weight against Kurt grounding and comforting in a way he can’t explain.

“It all worked out,” Tristan says, tone soft and content as he grabs Vasco’s hand in his own, tangling on top of Kurt’s chest. “That’s all that matters.”

Kurt hums as he closes his eyes, thinks his arms are definitely going to fall asleep in this position with both Vasco and Tristan on top of him, but he doesn’t care. The thought is actually pleasing, in a way.

There are still things they need to talk about, things Kurt needs clarity on because this is a first for him, is probably a first for the two of them as well. But that can wait until the morning.

For right now, he’s happy.

[xtrashmammalstefx]

Ogre Battle (Joe! Deaky x Reader) FLUFF w/ a Sprinkle of SMUT!!

Part 15 of The Queen Repertoire

WARNINGS: Cursing, mild smut, insinuation of domestic violence

Notes: Sorry this took so long it was ridiculously hard to come up with an idea for this song, and not to mention with what’s going on around the world I found it hard to find the mental energy to write. I’m doing better though and am planning to get stories up in a faster pace cuz lord knows  we need the distraction now more than ever. Stay safe and at home fam! Enjoy!

Come tonight Come to the ogre sight Come to the ogre-battle-fight

Not all heroes wear capes. I know that now.

My ex just left our flat fuming. The flat itself was a mess now, but it was nothing compared to me. My cheek stung from where he hit me and I was just... done. The phone rang as soon as he left. I tried to put on a brave, normal voice...but you can never lie to Freddie darling.

“Y/N what's wrong?” he asked.

“I-It's no—.”

“Lovey don't you dare say it's nothing. I can hear it in your voice something happened,” Freddie said. “Tell me.”

“Save me first then I'll tell you,” I said holding back tears. He and the other's knew my ex and I were having problems and that he wasn't always the loving type. So it didn't surprise me that Freddie knew just how bad things were with just that one little sentence.

“Pack your things lovey we're on our way,” he said.

It's been a few minutes. I packed my clothes haphazardly, and grabbed my box of records (what records were left after my ex took to smashing them against the wall). I waited by the door  grateful that my ex always spent a couple hours getting smashed at the pub.  Good for nothing drunken arsehole wanker. That's what they kept telling me but I never listened...just kept telling myself it wasn't true. God I'm such a bloody idiot.

I nearly jumped at the sound of a knocked at the door, a very furious knock. I opened it to see an enraged Freddie, being slightly held back by Brian who stood behind him with his hand on Freddie's shoulder. His hand slowly fell though when he saw my face.

“Where. Is. He?” Freddie said, fists balled.

“Not here,” I said turning to pick up my bag and box. As I did I left the door open revealing the mess left in the house.

“Jesus,” Roger gasped. “The prick is fucking mental!”

“Lovey, I will ask again, where the fuck is he?” Freddie asked again as John took my bag from me and Brian took my box.

“It's not worth it love,” I said closing the door behind me.

“LIKE HELL IT'S NOT NOW TELL ME WHERE THAT FUCKING WANKER IS BEFORE I TEAR ALL OF LONDON APART LOOKING FOR THE PIECE OF RUBBISH!”

“FRED!” I reached up and took his face in my hands. “I'm leaving him! Alright? I'm leaving...that's all that matters.”

“B-But he hurt you.”

“And it'll only hurt me worse if you got in trouble because of him,” I said. “Now can we please just go.”

Freddie cooled down a bit and we piled into Roger's van. We drove down to their flat where they escorted me to the 'guest room'. “Deaky isn't this your room?”

“You need it more than I do, love,” he said placing my bag down by the bed.

I walked over to it and collapsed. The lads just stood their awkwardly, as though waiting for a miracle to come and heal me right there on the mattress. “Well are you handsome bastards going to just stand there or am I not getting a cuddle tonight?”

With an eye roll Freddie moved to lay down beside me. John collapsed on the other side of me. Roger laid back by my feet at the foot of the bed. And Brian pulled up a nearby chair sitting in it with his long legs dangling over one of the arms.

I was surrounded by warmth and silence; the feeling so comforting I prayed I could stay like that for the rest of my life.

“Why can't all men be like you lot?” I asked not realizing I asked it aloud.

“Well then we wouldn't be so unique then would we?” Freddie said. “Besides can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if the world suddenly had more than one Roger Taylor?”

“As if one of me is so bad to be around,” Roger said. “Besides do you think a world with more than one Freddie would be any better?”

“Darling I don't think...I know,” Freddie said cheekily.

I rolled my eyes and pecked Freddie on the cheek. “I love you, you crazy bunch of nutters.”

We laid there together for what felt like a peaceful eternity.

“What do you suppose that pathetic waste of space is doing now?” Roger asked.

I groaned. “Roger please...I don't want to think of him anymore. Not even to imagine him dying of alcohol poisoning in his spot at the pub.”

“So he's there then?” Roger perked up.

“Proper smashed I'd bet,” Freddie said sitting up. “Lad's why don't we have ourselves a little fun showing that ogre piece of shite just how it feels to be on the other side of  the fist.”

“OH FUCK YEAH!” Roger stood up and ran to get his coat.

“Freddie please!” I said grabbing him by his arm. “I don't want you getting hurt or imprisoned because of me!”

“Darling just seeing that mark on your face hurts me. Ergo I must show him that you can't hurt anyone of us without hurting all of us. Now he may walk away alive but I can guarantee he will suffer pain a million times worse than what he has inflicted upon you.” I'd never seen Freddie so furious before. It was scary but at the same time...

“I love you,” I said pecking him on the lips. “So you better come back to me or so help me I will never forgive you.”

“I will, darling,” he said. “I love you too.”

“And I will do everything I can to keep these nutters under control,” Brian said standing up from his chair. “I'll carry you over my shoulder if I have to you are not leaving that pub a murderer.”

“As if you could lift me with your twig arms,” Freddie said.

“Want to bet?” Brian said in his serious 'I'm-Not-Bullshitting-Here' voice.

“Deaky will you join us?” Freddie asked the man laying beside me.

“Um no, thank you, I'd rather spend the night with Y/N than in jail,” he said. “Besides I don't feel comfortable leaving her alone right now.”

I sighed. “Well thank God one of you has a brain.”

“Ahem,” Brian looked at me offended.

“Fine, thank God two of you have a brain,” I said laying back down. Brian smiled at that and left the room followed by Freddie.

Once they were gone I turned and placed my head on Deaky's chest.

“I don't deserve you guys,” I muttered.

“Yes, you do,” Deaky said wrapping his arms around me.

“No I—.”

“Y/N,” he lifted my chin up with his forefinger. “You deserve the world and so much more.”

I brought my hand up to play with the tips of his long hair. Deaky was always the kind and gentle soul in my life. The one who held my heart and cared for it when nobody else would. “I should've been with you.”

“What?”

“Back when that monster first came into my life I was a bit conflicted. Here I was with two choices; go with this new mysterious path or go with the one my heart always wanted. I chose wrong.” I looked up at his gentle eyes, his face soft with innocence and love. “I should have chosen you from the start, and spared myself the horridly wasted time with that ogre...I choose you now...if you'll have me.”

“Y/N,” he said brushing my cheek with his fingers. They were rough and calloused but gentle as they touched me. “I chose you a long time ago. I will always choose you.”

I reached up and pressed my lips onto his. He kissed me back and after a while flipped us over. He peppered my lips and cheek with kisses before bringing his lips to the skin of my neck. He licked and sucked at my flesh, earning a moan from me. “Deeaaakkkkyyyy.”

He pulled back looking at me as though I was the only thing that existed for him at that moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said brushing my nose with his before our lips collided again.

Life with my ex was never like this. With Deaky I could breathe, and relax, my body melts into his, and my heart...my heart only beats for him. Making love with my ex was also never like this. Deaky was gentle touching me and taking his time; he made sure my comfort was a priority and not his satisfaction.

His hand snaked underneath my shirt nudging it upward. I pulled back and nodded letting him lift the material over my head. He tossed it aside and looked down. He gasped and I knew he'd seen them; yellow patches that used to be bruises decorating my stomach.

“H-He always had to have his way,” I said.

Deaky sighed and brought his lips to one of the patches. He kissed each one as though that was all it would take to heal them fully, and erase the painful memory. Soon after we continued ridding each other of clothing. Deaky might have been a thin and slender lad but that didn't reflect in his length which was a size other men could only dream of.

I moaned  loudly as he pushed into me. “God! Christ!”

“You feel fucking amazing love,” Deaky groaned as he started to move.

I really had chosen wrong but I was now making up for that mistake. Our bodies moved together in perfect rhythm as I knew they would for the rest of our lives. Sometime later, our skin glistening with sweat Deaky erupted inside me, filling me until he had nothing left.

“You are my life now, Deaky,” I whispered snuggling up to him after.

“You've always been my life, Y/N,” he said pressing his lips against my forehead.

We fell asleep and didn't even hear when our warriors returned from the great ogre battle.

“Dammit Freddie you're never wrong,” I heard Roger whisper.

“About love I'm never am,” Freddie said. “You can pay me in the morning. I'm off to bed.”

“I'm never betting against Fred again,” Roger said.

“I never do,” Brian chimed in laughing his soft and gentle laughed.

Eventually the flat was silent, as is every moment after a battle.

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