#candour is going mad

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Clandestine. Part Four.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

Chapter Synopsis - Death puts everything into perspective.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Roy!Reader

Warnings - cursing. lots of talk about grief.

Word Count - 3k

Author’s Note - now I might just be the last person on tumblr still writing for stewy, but I am determined to finish this series. let’s ignore the fact it’s been a year since I updated it, shall we? one more part of this to go!! thank you, if you’re still here for my succession stuff <3

Series Masterlist. Main Masterlist. Inbox.

You’re floating around in a daze.

It’s been a week since Connor’s phone call. A week since the formidable Logan Roy died on the floor of his private plane, surrounded by his closest employees. A week since you’ve seen Stewy.

You’ve been crashing in Roman’s guest room, neither of you wanting to be alone. You go to your Dad’s apartment, have meetings with old white men that all look the same, pop into the office every now and again and go home to your brothers. You were barely speaking to Kendall before all of this happening, never mind now. You can’t remember the last time the two of you said more than three words to each other.

You’re sat at Roman’s dinner table when a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You watch him picking at his salad for a minute before you say anything.

“Have you… spoke to Kendall? Like, over the last few days?”

Roman looks confused by the question, but doesn’t voice it.

“Yeah, here and there. You guys are in a fight, right?”

“Uh, yeah. We were. I guess we still are. I’m just… worried about him. God knows his mental health has been in the gutter recently anyway, but now Dad’s dead, and… I don’t know. It just can’t end well, right?”

“All we can do is keep an eye on him, I guess. He won’t fucking accept it even if we try and help, so.”

“Yeah.”

You move the chicken around on your plate with your fork, neither of you having much of an appetite recently.

“So, you never told me what your fight was about. It all seems like this big ass fucking secret that only Roman doesn’t know about.”

You’re a little taken aback by Romans candour. Usually he’s pretty avoidant, happy to live with the not knowing. He’s done with that, apparently.

“You’re not the only one that doesn’t know, Rome. Ken is the only one that does.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why? Why does everyone include Kendall in everything and leave me on the fucking sidelines? Why am I always the one who doesn’t get the joke, who doesn’t know the secret?”

“Rome-”

“I know he’s your favourite, but Jesus. You could at least try and include me sometimes.”

“Roman.”

“What?”

“Kendall only ‘knows the secret’ because he… walked in on the secret. Not because I sought him out and told him, or anything like that. I promise.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

With what has happened over the past week, your perspective on almost everything has changed. Keeping your secret is no longer top priority - or priority at all. You’re realising that you don’t care, because it doesn’t matter. Not much really matters.

“I’m in love with Stewy.”

Roman’s silent for a moment, processing.

“Hosseini?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, Rome. Hosseini. Do you know any other Stewys?”

He shakes his head, still visibly confused.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah, um… he already knows. We - we’re in love. With each other. We’re dating.”

“You’re dating him?”

“That’s crazier than me being in love with him one sided?”

“Uh, yeah.”

You chuckle, looking at him for a moment before a grin breaks out across his face. He’s always been the most easy going of your brothers, the most understanding. You’ve always felt a comfort in talking to Roman - he’s more open minded than he appears. He’s a surprisingly good listener, even when you think your problems are trivial or stupid.

“For how long?”

“Fuck, I don’t even know. Two years, give or take?”

“Two years?”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad? I’m mad impressed, Princess. I didn’t think you’d be able to keep a big secret like that from me for that long.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

You’re suddenly vulnerable, terrified that your big brother is going to think less of you. Your brothers are all you have, all you’ve ever had. The four of you learned to survive with each other, with no help from parents or nannies or any kind of adult. You have nothing if you don’t have your brothers.

“I don’t hate you, dummy. I could never hate you.”

You stand up and make your way over to him, perching on his leg like you used to when you were kids. You wrap your arms around his neck, exhaling when he wraps his around your middle.

“Love you, Rome,” you whisper. “Even if you are a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, love you too,” he murmurs. “Even if you do keep important secrets from me.”

“I promise I won’t keep anything from you ever again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise. No more secrets.”

You pull back but stay sat on his lap, feeling six years old again, taking solace in the presence of your big brother.

“So Kendall… walked in on you?”

“He saw us leaving the gala together and got suspicious. He showed up at Stewy’s apartment the next morning, banging on the door and asking where I was.”

“Oh shit,” he laughs.

“It’s not funny,” you retort, but you’re holding back your giggles as you do it.

“And I’m guessing he didn’t take it well.”

“Not at all. He was cycling between yelling and swearing and then sitting really quietly just… staring into space. Then he got personal, which was expected, but that pissed Stewy off, so the whole thing got awkward again. It was… horrendous.”

“He’s horrible at feelings.”

“Says Mr Communication over here.”

He shoves you off his lap, chuckling when you slide onto the floor. You punch him in the arm as you get up, returning to your original seat. You sit in silence for a moment, neither of you quite sure how to continue.

“What now?”

“I… don’t know, Rome. I just don’t know.”

“I mean, the world hasn’t stopped spinning. Maybe it feels like it has for us, but everyone else has carried on.”

You’re confused by your brother’s sudden wisdom, until it clicks for you.

He’s free.

Sure, he’s grieving. You all are. But he’s lighter. Laughs a little easier. Gives out advice quicker.

He’s free.

You all are.

The shackles your father had placed on all four of you are broken. You are no longer bound to him or Waystar or his insane ideals as to what family should be or do or say.

“I need to get out.”

“What?” Roman asks as he cocks his head, quirking a brow at you in curiosity.

“I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. This… constant cycle of destruction and deception and stabbing people in the back. It won’t stop now that Dad’s dead. It’s the very foundation that his business is built on.”

“So you’re gonna… leave?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna sell my shares and I’m gonna get the fuck out.”

Roman laughs, now, all big and bold and beautiful. You don’t know what’s funny, but you can’t help but laugh with him.

“I am too.”

“Wait… what?”

“I’m doing the same.”

“Roman.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know who CEO is gonna be, but it isn’t gonna be me. It’ll be Kendall or Tom or someone completely different, but we all know neither you or I are capable.”

“Jeez. Thanks.”

“You’re telling me you could run the entire Waystar business?”

You roll your eyes, kicking him under the table.

“Obviously I fucking couldn’t. But at least pretend to have a little bit more faith in me.”

Your brother chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

“We’re not built for it, you and me. We’re meant for something different. Something better, Princess.”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

“What about Kendall?”

“What about him?”

“I feel like we’re… abandoning him.”

Rome looks solemn, suddenly, thinking about your older brother.

“He’ll come around, you know. And he’ll understand. That’s the thing about Kendall - he can’t hold a grudge to save his life. He tries, but he can’t.”

A tear rolls down your cheek, lump in your throat choking any words that try to escape.

“Hey, hey,” Roman soothes as he walks over, standing above you.

He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away your sadness.

“He loves you more than anything, you know.”

You shake your head, so your brother doubles down.

“He does. You’ve always been his favourite. He’d do anything for you - anything at all. He’s mad because you and Stewy kept a secret from him, not because you’re together. Trust me.”

“He looked at me that day like he hated me.”

“He couldn’t hate you if he tried. He’s just… emotionally unavailable. Everyone knows this.”

“I miss him,” you whisper, lip trembling. “I miss my brother.”

You’re taken aback by how much you miss Kendall, suddenly. You miss him so much more than you miss Logan, or your Mom.

“Give him time. That’s all he needs. He misses you, I know he does. But you know what he’s like when he feels betrayed. He shuts down and gets all aggressive.”

You look up at Roman, gentle smile making its way onto your face.

“When did you get so smart, huh?”

“I’ve always been smart,” he laughs. “Everyone underestimates me.”

“That they do.”

“Well, not anymore. We’re getting out.”

“We’re getting out,” you repeat, finally allowing yourself to feel happiness at the prospect. “We’re gonna get the fuck out.”

“Talk to Stewy about selling your shares and let me know what he says. The sooner, the better.”

“I will. I’m excited, Rome. The world is our oyster.”

“Me too,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair. “We’ll go to the funeral, and then we’ll never have to see any of those assholes ever again.”

“I can’t wait to not have to look at Karl’s stupid fucking face every day.”

Roman keels over laughing, wheezing as he clutches his stomach. You’re crying with laughter too, both of you lighter and freer than you’ve ever been.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You sure about this, Rome?”

“One hundred percent.”

You hug him tightly as you say goodbye, smiling when he presses a kiss into your hair.

“I’ll let you know what Stewy says tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Princess. Call me if you need anything.”

“You too. Anything.”

He ruffles your hair before sending you on your way, waiting at the front door to watch you go.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Stewy? You home?”

You drop your bags by the front door, kicking off your shoes and jacket as you do it. You’re about to yell again when he comes running around the corner, sliding across the wood floors in his socks.

“Baby.”

He breathes it, as if he can’t believe you’re really standing in front of him again.

“Missed you, Hosseini.”

You fly into his arms, burying yourself as deep as you can in his chest. His old, worn t shirt is soft and grey and smells like the love of your life and all of his memories spent at home. He tightens his grip on you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“How are you?” he asks without letting go, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I’m okay. I’m good, actually. Really good.”

“Yeah?”

Now he pulls away to look at you, confused by the sudden change of heart. When you left to go to Roman’s a week ago, you were a shell of a woman, a little girl without a dad. Now, you’re back, brighter and more alive than ever.

“Yeah.”

You look at him, really look at him, for a moment, before taking a deep breath and saying the words you’ve been dying to say.

“Marry me, Stewy.”

He staggers back as if you’ve hit him, eyes blown wide.

“W-what?”

“Marry me.”

He inhales, exhaling shakily before stepping forward to cradle your face in his hands.

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

“Maybe,” you laugh. “But I guess I got there first.”

“Honey, forgive me if I’m a little confused, but… you just came back after being gone for a week because your dad died and now you’re… proposing?”

“Me and Roman are leaving Waystar,” you explain. “We’re selling our shares and getting the fuck out.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Really. The only thing stopping me from leaving years ago was the fear of disappointing my dad, and now he’s gone. So… there’s nothing keeping me there. I wanna do something else. Something for me.”

“Yeah?”

He’s grinning, beaming at you from ear to ear. Light is practically pouring from him, radiating in all directions.

“Yeah,” you half yell, leaning up to press an excited kiss to his lips. “I’m done, Stewy. I’m free.”

He picks you up, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you spin. You shriek with laughter, the world blurring as it whizzes past you. Eventually he puts you down, both of you breathless.

“Life’s too short. I need to start living it.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you so much. More than anything.”

You kiss him tenderly, gentle and sweet and filled with so much adoration.

“So, back to my original question…”

“Wait,” he interrupts, halting your speech. “Let me do this the right way.”

With that, he runs off towards the bedroom, leaving you stood in the hallway as confused as ever. You wait patiently, desperate to be privy to his plans.

When he returns, still in his pyjamas, he kisses you softly before getting down on one knee, ring box in his hand.

“Honey. You are the love of my goddamn life. I bought this ring after we’d been dating for… three months? Call me crazy, but I knew. I just knew. It was always going to be me and you. Always.”

Your hands are shaking, breath caught in your chest as you try to soak in every second of this moment.

“So…. how do you feel about becoming Mrs Hosseini?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d love more.”

“Is that a yes?”

“The biggest, most sure yes of my entire life. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes.”

He swoops you up into his arms, kissing you with more passion than you ever thought possible. You slip your tongue into his mouth cheekily, tangling your fingers into his hair to pull him closer as he groans.

You finally pull away for air, both of you panting like you’ve just run a marathon. Your eyes well up suddenly, a tear falling without you realising.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheekbones.

“I’m so happy,” you whisper. “I feel like today is the first day of the rest of my life.”

“So do I,” he agrees, looking down at you with so much love you it makes your knees buckle. “Baby… if you’re getting out, then I’m getting out.”

“Wait, what?”

“If you want to get out of Waystar, I’m not gonna stay. If you’re washing your hands of it, then I am too.”

“But… your money.”

“Honey, those shares don’t mean shit to me. The only thing that matters is you.”

You look at him intently for a moment, searching for any traces of doubt. All you find is pure adoration.

“Stewy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna keep that ring in the box forever?”

He throws his head back as he laughs, opening the velvet box to show you what’s inside. He slips it onto your finger with ease, the diamond sparkling perfectly on your hand.

“It’s so beautiful. I’m the luckiest person in the world, Mr Hosseini.”

“I think I have to disagree with you there, Mrs Hosseini.”

“Say it again.”

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“And again.”

He kisses you, mumbling against your lips.

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“Mhmm.”

“My wife. The prettiest girl in the world. Mrs Hosseini.”

You can’t help but grin into his mouth, buzzing with the energy of it all.

“Now, I was about to make dinner before you came home, but we can go out and celebrate if you want?”

You shake your head, snaking your arms around his neck.

“All I want right now is a night in with you - that’s all the celebration I need. Let’s make that pasta you like, and then we can watch old sitcom reruns on the couch.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Stewy slides his hand into yours, his thumb playing with the shiny band of the ring on your finger.

“It’s gonna be like this forever, you know. We get to do this for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you breathe, resting your head on his shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

As the sun sets through the floor to ceiling windows, you and Stewy dance across the kitchen, slipping and sliding across the tiles.

Your heart skips a beat every time your ring catches the light.

Your heart skips a beat every time you look at your fiancé.

Your heart skips a beat every time you realise that you’re not dreaming.

This is your life. And you’ve never been more excited to live it.

@justacaliforniandreamer @616wilsons @shawty-writes-a-little @isuspectitwasthenargles @thinemineours @buckysbae @jolie989 @allcheesemelts @nosebeers

[loveinthetimeofcoolers]

As Rough Trade issued that first contentious press statement confirming Marr’s exit, so Morrissey began vetting potential substitute guitarists. Among the first to be contacted was Kevin Armstrong, best known for his work with Thomas Dolby.

'I got a call out of the blue from somebody at Rough Trade,’ says Armstrong. ‘They said Morrissey wanted to meet me because he was considering a replacement for Johnny Marr. Now, The Smiths were one of my favourite bands so to step into Johnny Marr’s shoes would have been amazing, but at the same time I thought he was mad. When I met him at Rough Trade I was quite nervous, but quite out-spoken. He said he wanted to carry on The Smiths and I said, “I don’t think you should carry on because you and Johnny are a once-in-a-lifetime creative thing, you’re not gonna repeat that straight away, he’s not replaceable. But if you’re thinking of going solo or something else then in that case it’d be great.” He said, “No, I’m going to carry on The Smiths. It doesn’t need Johnny”. And I said to him, “Look, you remind me of that knight in Monty Python And The Holy Grail, who has his arms and legs chopped off, sitting with blood pissing out, wriggling around shouting, “Come back, it’s only a flesh wound!” Maybe he appreciated my candour, I don’t know, but I thought it was a mental idea.’

-

from Songs that Saved Your Life: The Art of the Smiths

[cullen-cannons]

What New Chicago Factions the Cullens Would Be In

A/N: this got long, so it's under the cut.

ALICE: is in Candour. Her whole family has been in Candour for as long as anyone can remember. Her father was not an honest man. He cheated on Alice's mother with a much younger woman and then he and his new girlfriend conspired to force Alice's mother to leave Candour and become factionless, by threatening Alice. They intended to kill Alice's mother after she became factionless.

Because Candour's faction members are so good at detecting lies Alice realised what was going on and reported it to the authorities. Or at least that's what she told them, the truth is she had a vision about it, but was scared of not being believed, or being called crazy. Both Alice's father and his new girlfriend were put into jail after confessing to truth serum.

Because of this Alice doesn't trust easily and values the truth above all else. She stayed in Candour and passed the initiation with flying colours. She can very easily tell if someone is lying. She hates lying and people who lie. Because of this she always says exactly what she's thinking and often comes off as blunt or rude to members of other factions when she has to interact with them.

—

A/N: I chose Candour for Alice because of her pure nature, she kind of always says what she's thinking. EX: "Wow, you do smell good!" (Alice to Bella in the first book/movie.) She does hide things from Edward and the others (but only for their safety) she is generally a truthful person (in my opinion at least)

— — —

BELLA: was born into Abnegation. Rene was a Dauntless who thought she was in love with Charlie, an Abnegation. Rene transferred to start a family with Charlie but regretted it soon after they had Bella. Rene loves Bella but not Charlie. She regrets transferring and marrying him a lot. Seeing him makes her mad at herself for tying her down like that, and slightly resents him. She even sometimes privately wishes she didn't have Bella. 

Bella is more observant than Renee realises though, and she knows and tries her best not to be a burden. It's one of the many reasons she dreams of leaving Abnegation, and also the reason she doubts she'll be able to. Renee, even unconsciously takes advantage of Bella's behaviour thinking it's just Bella's nature, and treats her more like a female best friend than a daughter. Renee is unaware that Bella is just acting that way because she knows how Renee feels.

They all still live together because of the stigma around divorce in Abnegation but Rene and Charlie don't talk and Bella finds the awkwardness stifling. Sometimes she tries to fix things but it never works. Rene has actually considered becoming factionless and Bella always talks her out of it because she needs to know her mother is being taken care of before she can leave.

In order to escape her home situation she throws herself into school, studying during any free time, so she has an excuse to be in her room. She joined all the maths, debate, and science clubs just so she doesn't have to go home. Soon she realised she loved the world of maths and science and wanted to be a Biologist. She often finds she is the only Abnegation in a room full of Erudites but it hardly matters because she loves seeking learning (and Edward Cullen, an Erudite who is also in several of the same clubs).

—

A/N: I don't think I need to explain this choice, but it's basically because of Bella's martyr complex and need to feel useful.

— — —

CARLISLE: is in Erudite. His father was a priest in Abnegation who fell in love with Carlisle's mother at a young age and transferred to her faction, Amity. Carlisle was raised in Amity until he was 16 and transferred to Erudite because of his desire to study medicine.

His father's view that you should put others before yourself and his mother's view that you should be kind to everyone but also make sure that you are happy, worked well together to give Carlisle a good moral character and made him into the thoughtful generous man he is today. 

His mother taught him his desire to help and heal, but he knew he wanted to do more than be a nurse like many in Amity, he wanted to stop suffering at its source.

He loved his parents but he longed to pursue higher knowledge and work in the medical field. He wanted to be a researcher so at the choosing ceremony he chose to transfer to Erudite. Unlike some Erudite members, he still holds high regard for his former faction of Amity and his father's faction of Abnegation, even if he may not wish to live that life anymore.

—

A/N: I picked Carlise to be an Erudite with both an Amity and Abnegation background because I think those three factions best represent his character. His choice to be non-violent and refusal to drink human blood as well as his desire to help others in any way he can and his desire to gain new knowledge.

— — —

EDWARD: is in Erudite. He is Carlisle's adopted son. His mother was one of Carlisle's patients and Carlisle took over his care after her passing.

—

A/N: Again, not much explanation is needed, I think. He has an interest in literature, poetry, music, art, and architecture, all very intellectual things.

— — —

EMMETT: was born into Dauntless, but transferred to Candour after meeting Rosalie at 15. He was in love at first sight and knew she was the one. 

Because Roslaie's family was powerful within the faction, they sheltered her, and Emmett didn't see her for the first few years, despite all his searching they always seemed to miss each other. He was greatly saddened when she announced her relationship with the faction leader's son, Royce King.

While Rosalie was dating Royce, Emmett became friends with Rosalie's adopted brother, Jasper. Neither of them ever liked Royce, even in junior high. Both disapproved of the match but wanted her to be happy. 

It took her a bit to warm up to the idea of marriage after what Royce did to her, but she became friends with Emmett. He was her protector while she recovered and during Royce's trial. A while later, when she turned 18, and Emmet turned 19, they started dating.

— — —

ESME: was born into Dauntless, but transferred to Amity to escape Charles Evonson, the man who wanted to marry her, despite their large age gap. She works as a nurse at the hospital where Carlise works, and the two have something of a secret romance. She's the other reason Carlise volunteers at the Amity farms so often besides visiting his parents. They have to be careful though, given Erudite's policy of Faction before blood, or love. Esme wishes she could transfer, but knows it's far too late at twenty-six, and settles for what she can get.

JACOB: is in Dauntless. He's the 15-year-old son of Rene's old friend from before her transfer, Sarah Wilde, who later married Billy Black before her untimely death from one of the stunts the Dauntless are known for.

Jacob is in love with Bella and follows her around at school. His constant presence was one of the reasons why she wasn't bullied so much before she started hanging out with the Erudite.

Jacob is caught in the middle of complicated Faction dynamics. 

He resents Dauntless for being the "reason" his mother died but loves his friends there. He also loves Bella and wants to join her Abnegation. He doesn't know she plans to transfer to Erudite. He hates the Erudites because many of them are stuck up and treat him like he was dumb in school.

When he finds out Bella's plans for a transfer he doesn't understand and is angry.

JASPER: was born into Amity. He used to have a girlfriend in Dauntless and almost transferred for her, but the day before choosing day, he found out she was only using him. He was secretly glad because as a person sensitive to emotions, the Dauntless had always kind of overwhelmed him, and he sensed something off about the leader's cruelness. To this day he suspects that something not quite right is going on there, but he never engages the subject.

Angry, betrayed, and desperate for control of his own life he took the advice of a friend Peter who was a year older transferred to Candour, and followed him.

He was happy with the farmer's life and understood the value of physical labour, but couldn't stand the faux happiness and wanted something more ambitious. He wanted to study why people and why they do what they do. His parents were bought completely into Amity's bliss and he found it honestly a bit creepy, so he was okay with leaving them.

He chose Candour because he knew he could rely on people, to be honest with him there and because when not blinded by first love, he was always naturally good at telling what people were feeling or when they were lying. 

ROSALIE: is in Candour. She's a year younger than Jasper, and her family allowed Jasper to stay with them after his initiation. 

Jasper warned her to be cautious with Royce, sensing that Royce had some ulterior motive, but Rosalie was too in love with love to see it. 

Jasper, like Emmett, wishes he'd done more, but Rosalie feels like since she should have listened to the boy she considers her brother, it was enough that he was always there for her and spoke against Royce at the trial.

After everything, Rosalie was even more motivated to stay in Candor and learn not to be deceived again. She wants to be a prosecutor.

[yeojaa]

called a thousand times.

prompt:  “did you miss me enough to drink or did you drink enough to miss me?”   (orig.)

this drabble is more an exercise in catharsis and serves as my first (!!!) jin piece.  i dedicate this to my loves @jinsearthh​ and @seokjinssi​ lmao.  enjoy!

pairing.  ksj x reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  angst.  but like, not really terrible angst.  just semi-bad angst.  wc.  1.8k.

The call comes in the dead of night while you’re curled up in linen sheets and comfortably drooling into an unbelievably worn white plush.  It buzzes loudly in your ears, vibrating obnoxiously against your pillow.  Sleeping with your phone in bed is a bad habit you’ve never really been able to break.  

You’re barely awake - caught in that strange in-between land of lucidity - when you hazard a glance at the time and number.  2:47 AM.  Far too late for you to be receiving calls - especially from contact you don’t have saved. 

“Hello?”

“Hi.”  It’s a voice you’d never expected to hear.  A voice you haven’t heard in forever, clear as bells through the phone line.  “It’s Jin.”

You’re wide awake now. 

“Hello?”  It’s terribly jarring.  It jolts you straight up in the bed that hasn’t felt his warmth in close to three years, every notch of your spine electrified by the simple sound.  It rings, bouncing around in your ears.  

You should reply.  You don’t know how.  

“Are you there?”  Uncertainty and something else - something heavy and medicinal - coats syllables and turns them into molasses.  It drips off each vowel, rounding each consonant.  Your entire world feels like it’s spinning, tilted on its axis by this strange happening. 

“Jin?”  It doesn’t sound how it should - wishful and more than a little surprised.  It trips heavy off your tongue, splitting the darkness with the radiance of your hope.  

He laughs on the other end.  You realise now why he sounds different, the familiar squeak of his amusement dulled by liquor.  He’s drunk or at least, on his way to it.  The telltale signs are there:  the faintest hiccough after every second inhale, the vaguely nasally first syllable, the dulling of his rain-streaked laughter. 

“It’s me,”  he confirms, far more comfortable than he should be.  The relief practically radiates through the phone, further severing the strings that bid you back to bed.  “I didn’t know if you’d pick up or if you even had the same number still.”

At least he’s honest, you think. 

The conversation is carried on like there’s nothing at all strange, as if he - Kim Seokjin - hasn’t just called up his ex-girlfriend at quarter to three in the morning. 

“How are you?  Did I wake you up?”

You know your silence is rude.  It’s stifling in a way that even he can’t combat, sitting stony between you two as you try to wrap your mind around the current situation.  

“Hello?”  He repeats, vaguely uncertain but not otherwise bothered.  That bothers you. 

“Why did you call?”  You can’t help the question.  It pierces the quiet before you can catch it, disappearing into the night like a thief.  It takes with it all of your turmoil, tucking years of hurt in its pockets to wear on its sleeves. 

That seems to catch him off guard.  He inhales once - a sharp thing, right through his front teeth.  

“Ah, yeah.  I—“  You wonder whether he’s even given this any thought or if he’s just been driven to it by the beguiling hand of liquor.  You wouldn’t put it past him, though he’s never been one to drink himself into bad ideas.  He was smarter than that. 

He pauses.  It’s long, drawn out, punctuated by city sounds you assume come from 27 floors below his apartment.  They’re muffled and unrecognisable, the din of Yongsan-gu too faraway.  

“I… was thinking of you.” 

There’s a strange confidence to his response, a self-assured calm that feels like moments before a storm.  It eases uncertainty over your limbs, still wrought with sleep and sluggish.  He shouldn’t sound this way after so long, as if he’d never left.  A part of it feels nice, warm and welcomed into the cavity behind your ribs, tucked neatly alongside the organ that stutters because of him;  the other feels like a knife to the heart, slotted right between the vulnerable spaces you’d shown him.

You echo him in uncertainty.  “Thinking of me?”  

“I wanted to apologise.”

Now that’s the last thing you’d expected.  

“Apologise for what?”  Not that there aren’t so many things Jin owes you - so many I’m sorrys that would never make up for the rivers you’d wept, the nights you hadn’t slept.  

“How I left things.  How we left things.”  Something not quite a laugh comes, dresses his words up prettily like a sinner in his Sunday best, eager to learn and repent and do better.  “I know I can’t undo the past but I’m sorry for the ways I hurt you.”

It’s so vague even you aren’t sure what he’s referring to.  The brief but blinding relationship you’d had with him?  The heartbreaking, determined way in which he’d broken up with you?  The months thereafter when he’d still warmed your bed, where the strange in-between was no longer between awake and dreams, but love and not-love?  The pieces he’d left you to pick up yourself when he’d disappeared, seemingly out of the blue? 

“I still think about you a lot.  I miss you.  I wanted to make it right.”  When he backtracks, you realise he’s far smarter than you give him credit for.  “—Try to make it right, that is.”

“Why?”  You should demand more.  You know you should.  Yet this is the only thing that comes, dripping like the tears that line your lashes, glittering jewels that you’d trade for even an ounce of understanding. 

He hesitates.  There’s a clinking glass, ice, and then a thick swallow you can hear quite clearly.  “Why?  Why what?”

“Why did you leave?”  You’re really trying - holding onto composure with a white-knuckled grip that leaves your hands bleeding - but it’s futile.  The grief is too much - a thousand pound weight that splits the frayed edge of your composure in a clean line.  “Things were…”  Weird, strange, undoubtedly a bad idea, as messing with your ex tended to be.  “Things were okay, I thought.  And then out of nowhere, you were gone.  You stopped calling.”

For three long weeks, you’d jolted awake at 3 AM, waiting for the dedicated ringtone to alert you of his call.  It never came.  You’d waited even longer after that, though you’d learnt to turn your phone to silent.

Months turned to years and then one day, nearly four months later - there he was, displayed as a missed call at just after midnight.

You’d blocked him then, for your own sanity.  And then another six months after that, you’d unblocked him.  A moment of weakness you’d all but forgotten about until now.  You’d figured it wouldn’t matter - that there was no way he’d contact you again.  So much time had passed and he was Kim Seokjin;  you were nothing but a small blip on his radar - a tiny ink splatter on the story of his life.

“You blocked me.”  Or not.  

You tuck this knowledge - his knowledge - away into the manila folder you keep stored away in a dusty cabinet, covered in yellow tape that reads Do Not Open.

“Before that.  Three years ago.”  

“I honestly… don’t remember.”  The answer stings, candour a struck match to your already miserable nerves.  “It was bad timing, I think.  We were on the phone one night.  I was heading back from filming and I just remember being so mad.”  That doesn’t surprise you.  Jin’s temper rages like a wildfire before burning out like a match.  Intense but short-lived.  “You were having a bad day, too.  You’d started your new job and you were stressed out about something not working.”

You recall it clearly - can call to mind exactly what brief you’d been working and how that night had felt awful.  You’d hardly slept, almost pushed to tears by the frustration you’d felt.  For the life of you, though, you can’t recall an argument.  You’d been happy to hear from him - found solace in the sound of his voice, even as you’d worked through pages that made you want to tear your hair out. 

“I remember you were dismissive and it just…”  You imagine he shrugs, those impossibly wide shoulders of his rolling beneath something soft and sleep-appropriate.  His brow’s probably knit, little dent forming between them as always happens when he’s faced with discomfort.  “I didn’t want to deal with it.”

It’s an honest answer, which you’re grateful for.  It sheds light where there was one.

But it also hurts far more than you’d expected, stirring to life an ugly aching sob in your chest.  One night.  One night was all it’d taken.  The realisation is sobering in its pain.

“And… now you want to apologise for that?”  It doesn’t make sense.  Not to you, at least, who holds three long years of unrequited love for a man who’d thrown you away over nothing.

“I want to apologise for a lot of stuff.”  Things he doesn’t seem ready to articulate just yet, either due to his inebriation or contrition.  “I didn’t think you’d pick up, so I’m kind of still working through it in my head.”  You can hear his smile, turned playful by alcohol.

It’s like waging war when you speak - your heart against your head.  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“But… I miss you.” 

I miss you too, you almost say.  

“Did you miss me enough to drink or did you drink enough to miss me?”  Comes hushed instead.

Jin isn’t ready for the conversation.  You know he isn’t - can tell by how he inhales shakily, knocks back another drink that rattles ice noisily.  “That’s not fair.”

“You’re not fair,”  you return in a voice that’s meant to be scathing but seems to have found itself at the bottom of his glass, wet and diluted.  “You’re calling me because you feel bad and for whatever reason, you think I’m going to make that go away.”  

He’s not wrong - you would, in a heartbeat.  But there’s a very big difference between would and should and you’re doing your best to learn what that is, even if it hurts.  

“What do you think’s going to happen after I forgive you?  Are we just going to go back to our lives like nothing happened?”

“If you want.”

You laugh, a sound that’s brutalised by your own sadness and barely sounds like anything at all.  “And what if I don’t want that?  What if I want you in my life?”  

Another pause, another drink.  There’s a part of you that worries for him.  

“You know that’s not an option.  Not right now.  We’ve got so much happening right with our comeback and then enlistment and…”  It’s a cop out.  You can see it from a mile away, a red flag raised to mock you as Jin speaks.  “I can’t give you what you want.”

“Then neither can I.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​

[mymelodyheart]

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 7 ~The Holiday Feeling~

Picture Source

WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in Christmas Treats ...

After Annalise had left for a night out of bowling and dinner with Willie, she'd put on her new pyjamas, a long coat so no one in the street would notice what she was wearing underneath when she walked to Jamie's cottage and a pair of Ugg boots. All the while, her stomach did a mad flip-flopped, and she continually found herself staring into space, almost tripping on the way to Jamie's house.

Obviously, she hadn't finished staring into space because when Jamie opened the door after she'd knocked, sending her hurtling back to the present, she was speechless. Rollo dashed out of the house and circled her happily, jumping on her.

Jamie grinned and opened the door wider. "Sassenach! Get in here! We have a guest."

"Oh!?"  I thought we're alone.

She pulled the coat tighter and patted Rollo's head. She remembered Annalise's word not to brace herself too hard, took a deep breath, relaxed and stepped into Jamie's house.

What she saw next, took her by surprise.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

 "Oh, it's alive. I thought it's a toy. What's that?" Claire asked as she stepped into the cottage and saw movement in the shoebox on the floor. Rollo flopped himself down beside it like he was the keeper and protector. "Is this the guest you're talking about?"

"One of them." Grinning, Jamie shut the door and followed her gaze. "Can't ye tell what's in the box? Harry found the poor wee thing mewling under the bushes in the park. It cannae be more than a week old. Probably wandered away from the litter and got lost. It's good Harry found her when he did. I dinnae think it would have survived tonight in this cold."

"It's a kitten!" Placing the paper bags she had on the rug, she got on her knees, picked up the ball of grey fur and held it against her chest. Half of its body was cocooned into a red child's sock, and its tiny head had a comical covering. "Goodness, it's even got a hat with earholes. I've never seen anything like this." 

Jamie beamed. "Not my doing. Harry brought it all bundled up like that already."

"Who's Harry? Another sibling?" she asked, nuzzling her face into the tiny furry body before carefully depositing it back into the shoebox.

Ach, Harry! He was here a minute ago. "No. A mate. He's here somewhere. I invited him to stay for dinner. Give me a sec." He'd been distracted by Claire's arrival, he'd forgotten all about his unexpected visitor.

Jamie left Claire in the living area and went to look for his friend. When he felt a draft of cold air, he went into the kitchen thinking Harry probably went to have a peek at his back garden. 

He poked his head out the back door. "Harry!" he called out. There was no answer. Where the bloody hell has he disappeared to?

All throughout the day he'd been looking forward to tonight after he'd spent the afternoon putting up a Christmas tree he'd bought at a tree farm and decorating it with ornaments belonging to his grandmother from his mother's side. And of all days, Harry had to drop by. Not that Jamie wasn't glad to see him, but the timing was terrible as spending some alone time with Claire was on top of his agenda. Nevertheless, he'd invited the Englishman to stay for dinner. But where the hell is he?

He scoured the yard, but he couldn't find Harry. Suddenly feeling the cold, he slipped back into the kitchen to check the pot roast. It was already ready after he'd left it in a slow cooker to cook all day.

Earlier this morning, after he'd dropped by at Claire's B&B cottage and kissed her, it had been a mammoth task to leaving her side, so he'd kept himself busy all day to make time go by faster. It was becoming apparent spending time away from her was starting to feel like the tension on a bungee cord. The longer the time they spent apart, the greater the urge to see her. And the line felt like it was getting shorter, like his threshold for not being with her was diminishing. If Harry was joining them for dinner, he hoped he wouldn't stay too long after dessert.

"Jamie?"

He glanced up to find Claire holding up a bottle of red wine.

"I splurged a bit. I hope this bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon will go with whatever you're cooking?"

Perfect! Putting the teatowel down, he grinned and approached her.

"It's a classic," he said, taking the bottle from her hand and putting it on the counter. He pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry Sassenach, I havenae given ye a proper greeting."

She smiled against his mouth. "Where's your friend?" she asked when he was done kissing her.

He pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. "God knows! He probably left. Harry does that all the time. I've invited him to Lallybroch for tea countless of times, but he’s always refused. I guess he's just not a people person." Jamie decided not to worry about it. "Hungry?"

"Very." She glanced past his shoulder. "What are we having?"

"Pot roast."

"Hmmm, nice. Smells heavenly. Need help?"

"No, I have everything under control. Want something to drink?" Jamie asked, taking out wine glasses, plates and cutleries.

"Not just yet. I had a cuppa before I left the cottage." She smiled at him. "I love your home, especially that fireplace. Is it original?"

He checked the roasted root vegetables in the oven for doneness and shoved them back in again. "Aye, it's an original. This is a crofter's cottage from the eighteenth century, and I've salvaged most of the original fixtures and fittings."

"Love the Christmas tree too. Did you put it up today?" she asked glancing around the kitchen, peering out of the window and touching his collection of fridge magnets.

"Aye, I did."

"Those antique Christmas ornaments are stunning and much better than those plastic baubles you get in shops. I have a few antique ornaments myself. Just too bad, our London flat is not big enough to accommodate a proper Christmas tree." She lifted the lid off the slow cooker and took a whiff. "Mmm, this smells lovely."

He straightened and glanced at what she was wearing. "Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are ye still wearing yer coat? Are ye cold? I thought I put enough wood in the fire."

She grinned. "Oh, this. It's a surprise. Hang on a minute." She turned her back to him, and he waited with anticipation, watching her movements of undoing her coat. If she was wearing a negligee under that coat, he knew he would have a heart attack, and dinner would definitely be put on hold if not cancelled. But he rubbished his thoughts immediately, knowing she wasn't that type of lass. "Close your eyes!" she instructed, and he did.

"Ye're killing me."

"Patience!"

"Are ye naked under yer coat?" he teased.

"You wish!"

He heard rustling followed by footsteps.

"Right, you can open them now."

He slowly opened his eyes, and his gaze immediately landed on the front of her top. It was a Rudolph the Reindeer's face applique complete with a protruding shiny big nose. She was a bundle of red, wearing  red fleece pyjamas with plaid bottoms, and her feet were covered in thick, red woollen socks. He laughed out loud.

"Wait for this. You haven't seen anything yet." Claire fiddled with something from under the hem and pulled the reindeer antler's hood from behind. The reindeer's nose on her front lit up, and the antlers stood lopsided on her head. The hoodie was far too big for her, and it hid one eye. "Ho, ho, ho!" she intonated in a low voice.

He chuckled and pulled her against him. "Ho, ho, ho, indeed. Where did ye get this? This is something for Christmas morning. It's almost as ridiculous as the Christmas jumpers."

"I know, right? As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to get it. Bought it today in Inverness. I thought since we've been doing all sort of Christmassy things together, I'd stick with the theme."

"That red nose is not going to keep flashing like that the whole evening, will it? It's very distracting."

She pressed something from under the top. "Nope. The show's over."

He arched an eyebrow and decided to tease her. "Really? What's underneath that top?"

She blushed, but the smile never left her face. "A hungry tummy."

"Brilliant! Shall we eat then?"

"Sure! I'll help set up the table."

Claire rattled off the things she did with Annalise that day. He was glad her friend had agreed to stay until Three Kings which would buy him more time getting to know Claire better. Jamie didn't want to think of the day when she would go back to London, even though it had been lurking all day at the back of his mind. Watching her work beside him in the kitchen, he was glad she felt comfortable and right at home. He wanted to make good memories with her just in case this was all they would ever have.

They served dinner like they'd been doing it together for years, pouring red wine, plating food he'd prepared and chatting the entire time. They sat opposite each other so Jamie could see every blush, expression and emotion that crossed her face, appreciating the fact she had an appetite, a sense of humour and took a keen interest in his work, life and Broch Mordha. He might have sounded a tad bit like a salesman trying to sell a lifestyle in a remote Highland village, and if she noticed, she didn't give any hints.

When they touched the delicate subject of his PTSD, he realised it was easier to talk about it this time. Claire spoke with refreshing candour, even suggesting alternative healing such as meditation and acupuncture, which he liked and made a mental note to look into it.

Throughout their meal, Claire spoke of her childhood, and in exchange, he talked about his family. From time to time, he would reach out to squeeze her hand so he could see the blush blooming on her cheeks or kiss her, to see the shy smile spreading across her face. Every second with her was a pleasant discovery, and he knew what a lucky bastard he was. How she was without a boyfriend was beyond him but thankful that she didn't have one.

After dinner, they cleared the table and did the dishes. And when Jamie took out Rollo for a short exercise, Claire fed the kitten with a wee bottle Harry had left him.

They took their coffee, a box of chocolate Claire loved, and the unfinished bottle of red wine into the living room. As Jamie put another log into the fire, Rollo curled up next to Claire. It was quite apparent, he wasn't the only one smitten. Smiling, he plopped down next to her and turned on the TV to watch Home Alone.

..........

When the film credits started rolling in the end, Jamie turned off the volume and stretched. He glanced over to Claire just in time to see her unwrapping a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. When she realised he was looking at her, she offered him the already unwrapped sweet. 

He shook his head and smiled. "So, what do ye want to do?"

The room filled with silence as she exaggeratedly contemplated, tapping her chin and scrunching her nose while rolling the chocolate in her mouth. 

His eyes dropped to the delicate lines of her jaw. The smooth, pale skin of her neck and the movement of her throat as she swallowed wreaked havoc with his concentration. He had a very vivid image of what they could do, and they involved running his tongue along the neckline of that ridiculous pyjama top. Since that option would probably send her running out the door, he quickly dismissed the idea. "More movies?" he suggested.

"No. Had enough. Do you know how to play poker?"

"Do I know how to play poker?" He laughed out loud. "I'm a master at the game."

Her eyes lit up. "You have a deck of cards?"

"Aye, I will go and get them." He got up from the sofa and headed towards a desk in the corner of the room. "Always love a game of poker."

"Oh, good. I haven't played for ages."

"What do we play for?"

She cleared the coffee table and crossed her legs. "We'll play for pennies, how about that?"

"I dinnae think I have any loose change."

"We'll think of something else. I'm dealing."

He handed her the deck of cards, put on some classic Christmas song, and then refilled their glasses. He sat beside her and watched with amazement as her fingers expertly flew through the cards with ease, shuffling with lightning speed. While concentrating on his hand, he wondered where she learned how to deal and surmised probably her uncle, the same man who taught her to play pool.

"Alright, here we go, dealer's choice. Five-card stud, ante up."

He glanced up at her. "Wait! We havenae decided what we're playing for." 

"Oh, I forgot. You said you don't have any loose change."

"Maybe we ought to play for the family jewels."

She slapped him on the thigh. "Ha-ha! You funny man!"

His lips twitched. "Weel, any ideas?"

"Can't think of one at the moment."

"Wait a minute ...I have a verra interesting one."

Claire glared at him. "If you're thinking of strip poker, forget it."

He laughed out loud. "No, I didnae mean that. Although I wouldnae mind that." When she arched an eyebrow at him, he grinned. "I meant we'll play for favours."

She bit her lower lip. "Favours? What kind of favours?" she asked suspiciously.

"The first to win three hands gets a free favour from the other. It can be used at any time, like a voucher per se."

Her face suddenly became animated. "Can you use the favour for anything? How about the rules?"

He grinned. "Nae rules and ye can redeem yer favours on anything. Anything at all."

The challenge lured her in like a true gambler following the scent of a big stake. "Very well then, we're playing for favours."

He smothered the jubilant smile threatening to surface and quickly fixed his expression into poker-face, almost licking his lips with glee when she'd agreed.

She dealt, and he almost pumped his fist in the air at the obvious outcome, but he remained silent, watching her replace one of her cards.

After a while, he laid down his cards. "Flush."

"Cool. Two queens. Your deal." Her expression remained inscrutable. God, her poker face is good!

Jamie had to give her credit for keeping her emotions under control. Whoever taught her to play, taught her well and if it wasn't for his past experience, he felt in his guts she'd be one hell of a player to beat. Next, she threw down a pair of aces and yielded gracefully to his three twos.

"Alright, one more hand to go," he announced, subduing the mirth in his voice.

"My deal. I can count, ye ken," she said, imitating his accent. He kept his face impassive as he watched her dainty fingers flitting over the cards. "Care to share where you learn how to play poker?"

He inspected his hand casually. "Played a lot with my unit during my SAS days. Beats sitting around and twiddling my thumbs during long intervals."

"My uncle taught me," she shared. "As well as backgammon and chess."

He threw in a card and replaced it. "I have backgammon and chessboards if ye feel like playing for another time. I'm quite good at both games, in case ye're up for a challenge."

She let out an unladylike snort when she laid down her cards, displaying straight as victory gleamed in her eyes.

Jamie almost felt sorry for her. Not quite but almost.

He whistled low and shook his head. "Good hand." This time he allowed himself to smile. "But, sorry lass, it's no' good enough." He threw his cards down, showing four aces and then cockily stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on the sofa. "Nice game, though."

She gasped and looked at him with those beautiful golden orbs. "Jamie, the probabilities of four aces in five-card stud are ..." Her eyes widened. "Oh my word, you didn't!"

"What?"

"Why you cheeky sod ..."

"What, Sassenach?"

"Don't Sassenach me. You cheated!"

"No!"

"Yes, you did!"

He shook his head in feigned horror and tried to look offended. "Och, how could ye think that? Surely not! I ken ye're verra good at it, but this is all on luck."

Her pretty eyebrows slammed together. "No way you can get those four aces unless you palmed the cards. Admit it, because I was thinking of doing it myself, but I refrained from doing so!"

"Don't ye think yer accusation is a tad bit harsh?"

"Jamie, you cheated! I know you did. I can't believe you cheated on our date night. Oh, my God! How could you?"

"I did no such thing."

"Jamie!"

"No cheating occurred, Sassenach." He straightened up from his sitting position and smiled. "Now about that favour I won ..." But his voice trailed off when she abruptly stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "Sassenach?"

"You cheat!" Without warning, she propelled herself over the coffee table and into his arms. Air whooshed out of him as she toppled him back onto the sofa and slipped a hand under the sleeves of his sweatshirt, looking for the suspected hidden cards. Jamie grunted as the full weight of Claire landed on him, her intent on finding proof of foul play resolute. He attempted to regain his balance, but she shifted her attention somewhere else, making him fall back again. When her hands slipped into his pants pocket, he realised if she delved any deeper, she wouldn't come up empty-handed. Ah, sweet Jesus!  With no other options, he flipped her onto her back and pinned both hands above her head.

The tie holding her hair somehow became undone during the struggle, causing her chocolate brown curls to spring forth and tumble down, and a few unruly locks to settle on her face. Jamie stared at the snapping golden eyes peeking between the strands, filled with determination despite his more considerable strength. Her chest heaved against her ridiculous top, the appliquéd Rudolf the reindeer staring mockingly at him. Without meaning to, his weight forced her thighs apart, and he wondered if she was aware of both their predicament. Or at least his.

Jamie knew he would be in deep trouble if he remained where he was, as she continued to wriggle under him.

"I know you're hiding the cards somewhere. I wasn't born yesterday, you know! Admit you cheated and I will forget this ever happened."

"Will ye keep still, Sassenach" he muttered. "Ye're torturing me."

She stuck out her bottom lip and blew a hard breath, the wayward curl lifting and blowing sideways, clearing her line of sight. "That's your conscience doing that. Did you know there's a special place in hell for cheaters?"

He muttered a curse under his breath. "Don't ye ever think of the repercussion to yer actions? Ye cannae just tackle a man like that."

"Oh? What are you going to do about it? Tell Santa to put me on his naughty list?"

Her body suddenly started to shake when she burst into fits of laughter at her own words, causing the heat in his groin to surge through his body like a wildfire gone out of control. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! His blood buzzed in his head like a swarming fog, and even though he tried to shift all his thoughts on the fat man sliding down the chimney and getting stuck halfway, all he could only think of was the soft body beneath him. He tried not to breathe and held his body in a tight muscle lock and prayed Claire wouldn't make any more sudden big movements; otherwise, he was going to explode like a schoolboy and look like a glaikit idiot.

But when the realisation of his plight swiftly dawned on her, her mouth formed a comical O, and her face turned bright red, her previous intent on extracting a confession of his cheating, dissipating. 

"Jamie?" Her voice was husky.

He swallowed hard and ignored the fact he had a big fat boner wedged between them. "Did I hurt ye? Didnae mean to be so rough."

"No. I'm fine."

"Are ye sure?"

She smiled, and he inhaled deeply to regain his composure. She smelled like shampoo and flowers and just a hint of fruit flavoured lollies, and he could just about see the pulse palpitating on her neck. Their position made his erection harder, and the way she was looking at him wasn't helping at all.

"You're a big lad," she gulped. 

Ah, shite! "And ye're not helping," he said hoarsely, tamping down a groan.

"Shall I go?"

"No!" He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Just be still for a moment, aye?"

"Alright."

They laid still for a while looking at each other.

Carefully, he let go of her wrists above her head and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I can stare at ye like this for hours and never tire of it," he whispered. She smiled, and he kissed the smooth line of her jaw. When she tilted her head back, his lips trailed down of their own accord, bowing his body over hers as he worked his way to the side of her neck.

Hard as he was, he didn't move against her. He wanted her to feel safe and everything to be on her terms, letting her know this attraction went beyond sex. He held on to his control with a mental vice grip and simply appreciated the moment. 

His combed his fingers through her curls, feeling the softness of it in his hand as he kissed her softly, never demanding or pushing even if it pained him a lot.

He heard Rollo sigh from somewhere in the house and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. He almost shot out the sofa as small hands tentatively explored his chest and shoulders, before sliding around his neck and up through his hair. Then they moved down his side and waist before her palms settled over the ridges of his stomach. He loved the small sounds she made at the back of her throat and the softness against every part of him that was hard. Every movement and sigh she made, her scent drifted and surrounded him, a heady pheromone, pulling him in closer.

When her hands slipped under his sweatshirt and settled at his lower back, his breath broke and went ragged, and an instant electric tension rose between them, turning their soft, playful kisses heated and more urgent.

As much as it hurt him to do so, he tore his lips away and looked into her eyes. "We dinnae have to do anything ye dinnae want, Sassenach. We can stop right now," he whispered, his voice sounding oddly gruff in his ears. He felt his cock protesting against his boxer shorts, but he ignored the mounting discomfort in his groin.

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to stop. Kiss me again." 

Relief slammed through him as a ton of weight lifted off his back. "Sassenach, are ye sure?"

She nodded. 

He was about to kiss her again when a gentle push of her hands on his chest stopped him.

"I've never done this before," she whispered. 

"What do ye mean?" 

She rolled her eyes. "I meant sex!"

Ah, Christ! A virgin living in London! How is that possible? Even for Broch Mordha, a virgin was a rarity. He shut his eyes for a few heartbeats, and when he opened them again, suddenly she looked unsure, almost embarrassed, and he felt she needed him to step up. He gave her a slow smile to put her at ease. "Do ye come with a user's manual? Never been with a virgin before."

Her face broke into laughter, and the tension eased a bit. "No! And before you start having all sorts of notions about virgins, I'm not all that naive. I have a fair idea of how it suppose to happen."

"Weel, no crash courses needed then," he joked before his face turned serious. "But why me, Sassenach?"

She gave him an unwavering look, her chin tilting up slightly. "Because I've never felt like this before." 

Neither had he, but the wee voice in the back of his head reminded him this lass was the type of lass you brought home to introduce to your parents. Getting involved with her on a deeper emotional level wouldn't bode well for both of them as her life was in London, and he belonged here. He didn't want to hurt her. She deserved a man who could live in her world without falling down to his knees and having one of his episodes. But the gravitational pull between them was unrelenting. He needed her badly, but his conscience compelled him to offer one more out. One more, before he lost sight of the right thing to do.

"We can just continue kissing ...nothing needs to happen," he rasped, brushing their lips together. "Just say the word, Sassenach. I promise ye I wouldnae mind. I'm perfectly happy just to kiss."

Claire's breath caught as she scrutinised him, the weight of what could follow once they'd stripped each other's clothes written in her eyes. Probably in his, too. "I want this Jamie ... I'm ready."

He studied her for a long while, before making up his mind and nodding. "Wait here."

Getting up, he grabbed some blankets and throw cushions from the sofa and laid them out on the floor. And then he went to retrieve some condoms from the bedroom. After a couple of minutes fussing and finally satisfied with his handiwork, he picked Claire up and gently carried her by the fireplace. Though the fire was already slowly dying down, the embers still glowed, lending the room a cosy feel and warmth.

Claire looked up at him and beamed. "Well, I suppose this is the part where you take off your top."

He laughed out loud despite his balls almost on the verge of mutiny. What supposed to be a tense and awkward moment, was turning out to be fun. He didn't need telling twice. Grinning, he dragged his shirt over his head and was hovering over her under a split second. She looked mightily impressed as she pulled him down. "Wow, never seen anyone take their shirt off so fast," she breathed as he pressed his lips on the hollow of her throat.

"Ye should see how fast I can get yers off," he muttered against the crook of her neck. 

She laughed and gently pushed him away. "I don't want my Rudolph top damaged. I'll take my own clothes off, thank you very much."

With his heart in his throat, he watched her stand and peeled off her pyjama bottom first. She had her back to him, and he figured she was trying to hide her blush. And when she took off her top next, his cock roared back to life, and he hurriedly followed suit, taking off his sweatpants, his eyes fixed on the smoothness of her long legs. Leaving her red bra and knickers on, she swiftly slipped next to him, her teeth clattering and her beautiful pale skin covered in goosebumps.

He gathered her immediately under him, rubbing her arms and the side of her body. "How's that? Still cold?" he asked, looking down at her.

She bit her lip and nodded. "Feeling a lot warmer now."

"Christ, ye smell so good."

"And you're so hot." When she realised what she just said, her eyes widened in horror. "I mean you're like a heating pad."

He grinned at her. "I know what ye meant, but I'll take the other meaning any day. It will do wonders for my ego."

She slapped his arm. "Your ego is perfectly intact, I can assure you."

He smiled as he skimmed his hand up her side and gently cupped her breast, waiting for her reaction. When he felt her back arch a little, he brought down his lips to hers, gently thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She let out a tiny whimper, opening and taking each thrust, conscious of her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He reminded himself to take it slow and make it memorable for her, but when she parted her knees and allowed him to settle between her thighs, he groaned out loud and changed position, so the tip of his erection pressed right into her through their undies. The slow tease of their movements was maddening, and he wondered if she was aware of it. His cock was straining against her where it would slide in effortlessly if there had been nothing between them.

He felt her hooked her thumbs at the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down. He helped her by kicking them off while putting his fingers under the edge of her knickers. He paused with bated breaths, waiting for her permission, and when she lifted her hips, he groaned and kissed her long and thorough, pushing the flimsy scrap down her thighs.

He nipped at her lips, then trailed down with his tongue to nibble her neck, his fingers unsnapping the clasp of her bra. Claire flailed her head, seemingly unable to verbalise the reactions her body was experiencing, and he watched her with fascination. Emboldened, he cupped the weight of her breast, rolling her nipple, then gently tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, God Jamie ..."

"It's good?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling her lips in.

Jamie lowered his mouth and sucked her nipple, his tongue flicking and never letting up the frantic pace, his fingers trailing along her inner thigh, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. When he touched her core, she was already wet with need, making his head spin out of control. Fighting the urge to take her now, his index finger traced her folds, rubbing her wetness on her nub. The delicate hitch of her breath hit his ears the exact time his mouth abandoned her breast. 

He met her gaze and sank into the amber depths of her eyes, so far gone with pleasure they turned to molten gold, full of feminine demand that battled past all obstacles and shattered them to pieces. The raw need etched in her features told Jamie she was past the point of no return, that she wanted him now and he knew the feeling.

"Sassenach ...are ye sure?"

"Oh, sweet Mother of God, if you stop now ..." her voice trailed off in a hiss.

"I need to hear the words."

"For God's sake, I want you, Jamie. Now."

Knocking back the reluctance to untangle himself from her, Jamie reared back and reached out for the condom he'd left beside the cushion. He quickly sheathed himself in stretched latex and prowled up her body, settling between her thighs and muffling her requests to hurry with a hard kiss. 

"The first time ye come, I want it to happen while I'm sunk so deep in ye, ye'll never forget who broke it in," he muttered, words muffled by her lips.

"Oh, dear God ..." she moaned.

"Open yer legs wider for me, Sassenach."

She nodded, her fingers running over his cheekbones, lips, chin, as she hiked her knees up. Their breaths raced out of their mouths as he reached down and guided his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inch by inch, allowing her to get used to his girth. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he collapsed and dropped her forehead to hers. 

When he got his breath back, he braced himself on his elbow and looked into her eyes. "Did I hurt ye?"

"Just a little. I hardly noticed. Keep moving." She wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingernails scraping his back lightly on the way down to his arse, which she gripped with hesitation at first, then with more confidence.

With a groan, his hips started to roll of their own volition. He held his breath as heat threatened to flare up in his balls. "Oh fuck, ye feel so good."

"Don't stop ..." she gasped frantically moving her hips against him.

With a hand on her bottom, he lifted her hips effortlessly and drove himself deeper, the last shreds of his control dissolving as he fell on top of her like a dying man. His mouth travelled over hers, and she responded in kind, their tongues twining, their bodies moving in synchronicity to the erotic rhythm and dance. The root of his erection grated against her core and her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, her breaths coming out in pants. It was so breathtaking to watch her pleasure, and what his body is doing to hers, it constricted his heart.

When she dropped her legs from his hips to spread them wider, she let out a strangled moan, and his cock bore down, working her nub. He angled his body for more friction, watching and always conscious of her reaction. When her back arched, and her right leg extended further out, they descended into what felt like wanton madness. She whimpered and raised her hips to meet his thrusts, her inner walls beginning a slow, tight suction of his cock. Jamie was almost afraid to look at her, worried the sight of her would make him lose his restraint and come before her. But it was an impossibility to keep his eyes away when she looked so beautiful beneath him.

He watched her writhe and finesse flew out the window. He fell on her, grunting, sucking in huge gulps of air, pushing her thighs open as he drove faster, listening to her moans of his name, treasuring the throaty awe of them in his ears and all around him. Their mouths joined and gorged, her hands slapping down on his buttocks to pull him in deeper and push him faster. All thoughts of logic, questions and issues suspended as he dipped his head, lowered his mouth over her jiggling tits and continued to pump like a wild beast.

Her body suddenly stilled, before trembling violently underneath him in a climax accompanied by a soft moan, her inner walls squeezing his cock tight. Cursing under his breath, he yanked her legs up and drove himself with a few more hard thrusts to his own peak, a loud groan reverberating from his chest and echoing into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut as his body exploded and spilt his seed. He went from being a bundle of tensed nerves to being utterly devoid of it. 

Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her, gathering her against him, almost smothering the air out of her. His insides were totally decimated, mind blown and floated down like confetti. 

Moments later, when he lifted his head and searched her eyes, he couldn't stop the widest grin from spreading across his face. And when she returned it with a twinkle in her eye, he fell irreversibly and completely in love with Claire Beauchamp.

..........

The next morning, Jamie got up extra early to let Claire sleep while he did a few chores around the house. He'd kept her up all night, making love and sometime in the early hours of the morning, he'd carried her to his bed. Sleep had been evasive, but this time the cause hadn't been his nightmares or one of his episodes. His thoughts had been filled with the future and its uncertainties instead of being plagued with the past. There were still some niggling doubts lurking in the recesses of his mind, and one of them was his concern when Claire returned to London.

How often had he asked himself in the past twenty-four hours if he could live in London to be closer to her? But now that he had an arboricultural business with Willie, it was doing very well and planning on expanding. He was excited about the community projects he was involved in and committed himself to working long-term. With his episodes and PTSD, the idea of being surrounded by busy streets, chaos, traffics, loud noises, and shoes on the pavement rather than fresh earth paralysed a piece inside him.

Jamie had spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Eventually, some choices have to be made. And he wasn't sure if love would be enough for either of them and if Claire felt the same way.

Taking that leap would only end in heartache and worsen his condition. There had to be some other way. But he couldn't ask her to give up her life and career in London. Or could he? Could he give her what she needed? He shook his head and pushed the bugging thoughts away. They still had the time, and he should focus on that.

After letting Rollo out and bringing in more logs for the fireplace, he made some coffee, answered his emails and read some news on the internet. When his phone chirped and realised it was from his sister Jenny, he groaned. He decided to answer and get it out of the way.

Jenny: I heard all about the lass you're seeing. A city lass, no less. Have you gone mad? Haven't you learned your lessons?

Ah, fuck, I don't have time for this.

Jamie: Enjoy your holiday, and don't worry about me. It's just a winter fling. OK? She's on holiday, and she'll be going back to London. Soon. Happy now?

He left his phone on the kitchen counter and shook his head. This wasn't the text conversation he should be having about Claire. But if it would keep Jenny from busting his balls of all days, he'd play along just to pacify her. He slipped into the bedroom, and when he saw Claire still asleep, he decided to have a shave and shower.

After he was done, he walked into the bedroom and noticed the bed was already made. He searched for Claire, humming under his breath and planning what breakfast he should prepare.

"Sassenach?" he called out. 

No answer. 

She probably went back to her cottage to get a change of clothes, he thought.

He shrugged and went ahead and prepared breakfast, singing along to the song playing on the radio. All I Want For Christmas Is You.

Dear Readers,

Thanking you all for reading and leaving your feedback on the previous chapter. Very much appreciated. It's crunch time now with my writing and preparation for Christmas, but thank God, I'm still on track.

Anyway, I hope this story has given you Christmas joy so far and looking forward to reading what you thought of my latest update. Sending you best wishes and positive vibes. Take care of yourselves and until next time, much love. x

[incongruousstrawberry]

Magnets pt. 1 (Kuroo Tetsuro x f!reader)

Word count: 1.9k.

Tags: none.

Summary: During your third year of high school, you get acquainted with a very charming boy. How will things evolve?

Kuroo Tetsurou was definitely a popular guy. Tall, athletic, with beautiful but weirdly cut hair, he always had a predatory sneer that made everyone shrink in his presence. Everyone except you. The reason was that, unlike most other people, you had fortuitously got the chance to discover that under that cocky and strict air he always showed around there was something else.

After your second year of high school, you had to transfer to a new school, Nekoma High. On the first day you had left home a bit too early, so you decided to take it easy on the way there, walking slowly and observing your surroundings in order to get a better view of your new city. While doing so, your attention was caught by a voice coming from your left. You turned your head toward that direction and saw a small green space, in the middle of which stood a crouched boy and a tiny white and brown dog. The boy had a weird haircut that reminded you slightly of a rooster and he was talking to the puppy while petting him profusely.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you? My little good boy, you like when Kuroo pets you, don’t you? What a good boy you are.” The tone of the boy was the usual ridiculous high-pitched tone people use when they talk to puppies and babies, and the thing clashed hilariously with his outer rebellious appearance.

After a moment of affectionate tones, the boy noticed that you were observing him and his face darkened briefly. After leaving the dog alone and after inspecting you from the bottom to the top (he was still crouched), he stood up and walked toward you, assuming an attitude that you soon discovered was his default one.

“You attend Nekoma High, don’t you?” he asked confidently, recognising your uniform.

“Yes,” you simply replied.

“How is it that I’ve never seen you before?” His tone was inquisitional and somehow it seemed like he deemed it impossible that he could not know every single person (or maybe girl) in the school.

“I’ve just transferred. Today will be my first day,” you replied, a little annoyed by the way the boy was towering over you now that he was standing and scanning you.

“Oh, which class?”

“3A.”

A pensive expression played across the boy’s face. “You don’t say…” Then he started walking, turning distractedly toward you with a gaze that you immediately recognised as a way to say “follow me”.

Since you had to go in the same direction, you were left no choice but to walk together with him, but you felt a bit strange about the change in the attitude of the boy. You wondered if he was the type of person who constantly wanted to make an impression.

In truth, you had soon discovered that to simply put it, Kuroo Tetsurou was a person with a thousand facets. Sometimes he was arrogant, but other times he was extremely humble; sometimes he could be a bit of a dick, but at times he could also be surprisingly kind; sometimes it seemed like he didn’t care about people that much, other times he almost seemed maternal. There was one thing that was constant, though, and that was that having to deal with him was always fun. And it was particularly fun when the boy was dumbfounded by the fact that you, unlike most of the girls in the school, didn’t hang on his words.

It wasn’t like you didn’t notice the remarkable charm of the boy, but you had imposed upon yourself to keep a certain distance at least until you had the chance to get to know him better.

Being classmates had been a source of information, but you had the impression he wasn’t completely himself in that environment. New clues started to arrive the first time he invited you to watch one of his friendly matches. He had heard you telling a friend and classmate that you were free that afternoon and he had immediately taken advantage of that, saying that you couldn’t miss the chance to see the great volleyball team of Nekoma High.

Sceptical, but curious, you had accepted the invite and followed the boy to the gym, where he had briefly introduced you to his teammates, and particularly to Kenma, who you later discovered was his best friend.

While the boys had gone into the locker room to change, you had found a place on the bleachers and shortly after a parade of boys in red had appeared in front of you. Needless to say, red suited him. The other team arrived soon and, after a bit of warming-up, the match began.

You had watched some matches on the TV, but looking at the movements of the players from up-close was rather exciting and you soon realised that Kuroo was a very good player. He had scored many points with his serves, strikes and blocks, but that wasn’t all. Even if he had neglected to mention it, he was the captain of the team and you had had the chance to overhear the speech he had delivered to his teammates. It was something about blood and bringing oxygen to the brain. It had seemed quite peculiar but at the same time…

BOOM. You got hit by a ball in the face, on your left eyebrow to be precise. You hadn’t had the time to avoid it because you were completely lost in thought and you had seen it just at the very last moment. The boy who had hit the ball last - you discovered later that it had been a receive gone bad - apologised over and over for a while and then the match continued normally, but you had noticed the worried expression of your voluminous haired friend.

After the match, Kuroo had insisted on walking you home and, as soon as you had gone far enough from the school, he had taken you aside and caressed your temple gently, making you stare at his dark eyes in surprise.

“Does it hurt?” he asked you, concern clouding his eyes.

“No, I think it’s just slightly swollen. I haven’t had a chance to check my face in a mirror yet, but maybe it’s better this way,” you said with a chuckle.

“Damned Yaku, of all the days he had to make that mistake today…” Kuro seemed upset and moved his hand, gesturing while talking.

You stopped one of his hands by gently taking his wrist in your hand. “Kuroo, everything’s alright. By tomorrow I won’t even remember this happened.” You smiled. “Furthermore, that guy played like a god today, so I really don’t think you can get mad at him.”

Kuroo gave you a suspicious look and started walking again. “Is that so? And what do you think about me then?”

You followed him, walking side by side. “Mmh… let me think…” You were playing. You knew that Kuroo wanted to hear you said that he was good, but it was funny to make him suffer just a little.

The boy looked at you sideways. “If you talk like this, you make me start to think that maybe you deserved being hit by that ball.”

You laughed and then finally replied. “You’ve played very well, Kuroo. I’m no expert in volleyball but watching you play was very interesting.”

While you walked and looked at the little shops you were passing by, you smiled and the lights of the windows reflected in your eyes. “Mmh…” you pondered for a moment.

“What is it?” he asked, interested.

“That speech about blood… could you explain it to me? I couldn’t hear the whole of it.” You turned briefly toward him and glimpsed a hint of surprise in his eyes.

“Oh… it’s just a speech I make before we start the match to psych up the others.”

“Yeah, I got that part, but what does it mean?”

“Well, in our team the essential element is Kenma. Not just because he’s the setter, but also because he has an incredible analytical capacity that allows him to always choose the best strategies.” Kuro looked at you for a moment and then brought his gaze in front of him again. “For this reason, he is the brain. And we, his teammates, have the responsibility to make the ball arrive at him in the best way possible, like the oxygen must flow in the blood. This way he can play to the best of his capabilities. That’s all.” The boy put his hands in his pockets.

You pondered for a moment. “I understand. It makes sense now that you say it,” you paused for a second, already smiling internally, “you surely couldn’t have been referring to yourself when you talked about the brain.” You had pronounced the sentence in a perfectly serious tone, so serious that Kuroo had needed a moment before understanding that you were teasing him.

“Y/n!” he exclaimed in a scolding tone, turning at you.

“Hey, I have never given you the permission to call me by my first name, you know?”

The boy said nothing and replied with a crafty expression instead and then turned his gaze back in front of him, sighing and walking faster, as if you weren’t there anymore.

You quickened your pace in order to keep up with him and nudged him lightly. “I was kidding. As much as I’d like to affirm the contrary, you’re not dumb.”

The boy didn’t turn at you, pretending to be offended, but slowed down his pace so that you could start walking normally again.

After a while, you arrived in front of your house. “We’re here,” you said gesturing at your house. “I still don’t get why you wanted to accompany me home since you live on the opposite side of town. It will take you forever to get home now.” You were close to your gate, the feet together and your gaze towards your shoes.

“I clearly did it because I like you. Wasn’t it obvious at this point?” the boy replied with a candour only he could muster.

You felt a clench in your stomach and raised your eyes, meeting those of the boy. For a moment you had thought that he was joking – you had always thought that the interest he had shown to you was just a friendly fondness – but his face was terribly serious.

You tried to say something, but your voice got stuck and your mouth remained half-open,  without a single sound coming out of it.

“I’d like to kiss you now, y/n,” said Kuroo, his eyes intense and fixed on you.

You remained speechless once more, your breathing passing quickly in and out of your mouth.

Kuroo leaned forward – his dark eyes hadn’t left you a single instant – and kissed you. The kiss lasted about three seconds and it was a simple kiss, just a contact between your lips, but it was enough to make your head spin. Then the boy straightened himself, shot you his signature sneer and took a step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I expect you to be a bit more… talkative.” The sneer got bigger and even before he turned around and started walking home a red hue began to spread across your face and a smile rose slowly until your cheeks started looking like small knobs.

Part 2

[josefavomjaaga]

Three letters from Naples by Austrian diplomats in 1811

Actually, the first two seem to be only postscripts of other official letters that were not cited in the book. They are all taken from Helfert, »Joachim Murat« again, and describe the atmosphere and the rumours floating around Naples at the time. In 1811, Napoleon’s son by Marie Louise had already been born, Louis Bonaparte had renounced on his throne, and Holland had seized to exist as a country.

To be noted: All of these were – of course – written in chiffres.

1.) Legations Secretary Karl Menz to Metternich

[In German] High-born Count! My lord!

[In French] There are those who want to know that Napoleon will soon go to Milan. If so, some great event should be expected in Italy which will perhaps unite all the peoples of the peninsula under one government. It is believed that the King of Naples will be appointed Viceroy of Italy as a whole; this event would certainly not fail to bring about changes in Germany with regard to Prince Eugène. At the time of my visit to General Dery, Commander of the cavalry of the guard, he entered into a very confidential discourse, and said to me: that if war broke out between France and Russia the King of Naples would be destined to make an invasion of Serbia with his troops. When I told him that I had reason to believe the Court of Vienna would do all in its power to settle these differences and to restore peace to the Continent, he showed great joy and satisfaction, and, bursting into praise of the Austrian nation, he lauded the care they took of him when he was wounded at Regensburg, and assured me that he always grew enthusiastic when Vienna was spoken of, where he had occasion to know the excellent character of its inhabitants and their exemplary attachment to their Prince. He then touched of his own accord the affair of the Priņce Auersberg, and spoke with great candour of all that King Joachim had done to him.

[In German] I remain in the deepest reverence

Naples, 26th July 1811.

Your Excellency's most obedient servant 2.) Count Mier to Count Metternich

[In German] High-born Count!

[In French] The ever-increasing pretensions and vexations of the Emperor Napoleon with regard to this country necessitated the Queen's trip to Paris. She must try to mitigate them and to smooth out the differences which have arisen between the two Courts. It is claimed that in addition to a very heavy sum of money which he demands, Napoleon wants to join to the government of Rome the two Abruzzi and a part of the terra di Lavoro up to the river Garigliano to round off his territory. It is to be foreseen that each day will bring new demands, and that this country finding itself unable to execute them will experience the fate of Holland. We flatter ourselves that the Queen, having power over the mind of her brother, will perhaps be able to divert the storm ready to melt on Him and to bring this negotiation to a desirable end, failing which the existence of the Kingdom of Naples is done. Knowing Napoleon's character, one can hardly have illusions, and if once he has decided on this reunion, I believe that no one will be able to divert him from it, especially since I do not foresee anything that would impede it. It would be madness to hope to be able to oppose this step by armed force, because according to the general opinion the King can hardly count on his army, composed largely of French and foreign officers.

General Aimé was arrested in Paris on the 24th of August when he was already in his carriage to return to Naples, and taken to Vincennes. For some time it was not known what had become of him and it was only recently that the King learned of his imprisonment.

La Vauguyon, the King's first Aide-de-Camp, while on leave in Paris, was exiled from that city. He left it to go to Naples; but arrived at Rome he found Napoleon forbidding him to go there. He notified the King, who left him with all his considerable salary, and told him to wait for more fortunate circumstances before joining him.

It seems that all these vexations affect Their Majesties, for I have found them quite changed.

[In German]  I remain in the deepest reverence, Your Excellency etc.

Naples, 20th September 1811.

3.) Mier to Metternich [completely in French]

Honorable Count!

The day before yesterday I received the dispatch in cipher which Your Excellency honoured me with on 17 September and I thank you for the interesting details it contains.

The statements made by Marshal Pérignon since his arrival in this capital have greatly reassured the public. He says, to anyone who will listen, that it doesn't enter into the projects and the policy of the Emperor Napoleon to reunite this kingdom with the great Empire; that he doesn't want to take away from the King a country which he has put in order and whose people are attached to him; that the Emperor doesn't want to meddle in any way with the internal administration, but as far as policy is concerned it must be and must always remain subject to his. He adds to all this that the King must not forget that he is French, a great dignitary of the Empire; that he holds his state from the munificence of Napoleon; that he can only keep it by the preponderance of France, and that as the Emperor gave it to him, he can likewise take it back from him. These speeches, very humiliating for the King, do not seem to hurt the self-esteem of the Neapolitans, who prefer to endure all possible humiliations rather than be united with France. It is still hoped that the Queen will succeed in calming Napoleon's resentment against the King and that she will urge him to set limits to the humiliations which he continually inflicts on him. It is said that Pérignon warned the King he would frequently have unpleasant things to communicate to him, but that he would do his utmost to sweeten the pill; that he was very sorry not to have met the Queen, for he could have given her salutary advice on what she had to say and to keep silent to the Emperor. This uncertainty about the existence of this kingdom not only hinders the operations of the government, but also has a powerful influence on the affairs of private individuals; no one dares to make contracts and arrangements except by interim; and the government has stopped all public works so as not to spend the money it has left, and it saves above all to find itself in funds in case of misfortune.

One does not hear any more about the English fleet, and many people are persuaded that it was only a tale arranged to mask with a plausible pretext the occupation of Gaeta and Capua by the French troops.

Please accept etc.

Naples, October 10th 1811

An interesting phrase used by Pérignon in the last letter is Napoleon saying “I can as easily take it from him as I have given it to him”. I have found that precisely same sentence in another context, relating to the talks Josephine and Eugène de Beauharnais had with Napoleon about the “divorce”, when Josephine demanded that Napoleon - finally - do as he had promised and give the crown of the Kingdom of Italy to Eugène. Apparently, there were rumours that these harsh words had been Napoleon’s answer; at least in his brochure about his former master’s life Darnay feels the need to add that Eugène had told him explicitely that this sentence had never been uttered.

(Which kinda makes me assume what Eugène really told Darnay was: “Well, he didn’t quite say it like that...”)

[whoisbxcky]

Survivor

request: Your work is awesome!!!! Could I request a civil war imagine where the reader was tortured as an example in the raft prison and then tony finds out and everyone’s mad at him for letting them hurt her?

pairing: None

word count: 1300

warnings: mentions of imprisonment and torture, implied ptsd, angsty angst

author’s note: Just a short one for today my lovelies! As much as I’d love to turn every request into a 5k roller-coaster ride, I do want to start writing some of my own ideas again soon as well!

Thank you anon for this request! I hope you enjoy! ~ Toria <3 

Pain… That’s all there was now… Pain, and the insufferable wait in between your tormentor’s visits… There was no respite, even when you sat alone, shivering and whimpering in the darkness of your cell… You weren’t sure how long you’d been like this… Alone in the dark… Your mind haunted by what was to come, by what had already been done unto you… Your mind was beginning to crack like the blisters on your skin where the hot iron had bit hardest… This was all there was now… So much pain… No way out… So… Much… Pain…

“Y/N?”

You blinked, the haze of your memories from the past ten months clearing like dust on the wind, drifting back into the darkest recess of your subconscious.

Almost as if waking from a dream, you glanced around the room lazily, taking in the concerned expressions of your fellow Avengers with a rueful smile.

To your left, Steve reached across the table to grip your hand reassuringly, his eyes alight with concern. To your right, Natasha, who you now realised had been the one to call you out of your musings, offered you a sympathetic half-smile. The rest of the room was a mixture of uncertainty, worry and no small amount of tension. However, no one was quite as tense as Tony, who stood in the far corner of the room, his gaze unable to meet your own.

“Sorry, guys. What was the question?”

You heard Sam let out a breath of frustration, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Rhodey shake his head, eyes fixated mournfully on the floor.

“You were about to tell us more about your… Experience… At the raft. Talk us through this, Y/N, what happened?” Fury called to you in a measured tone from where he sat languidly in the seat opposite you.

You grimaced, clarity washing over you like an icy torrent. That was why you were all here, gathered in the Avenger’s Tower briefing room. It had been only three days since you were rescued from the Raft prison site, after rumours circulating of an Avenger being used as target practice for the UN’s new… Toys… Reached Nick Fury’s ears.

For ten months, you had been marked as MIA. The Raft had reported that you’d somehow escaped, prior to Steve freeing the rest of your teammates, and everyone simply assumed you’d gone in to hiding.

Oh, how wrong they’d been.

For ten months, you had been brutalised. For ten months, you were used by the Raft prison guards to demonstrate to new inmates what insubordination would result in. For ten months, you were their guinea pig, to try out new methods of torture, new instruments, even break in the new staff.

For ten months, you experienced hell.

“There’s not a lot to tell. They’d rough me up on occasion, just to intimidate the new arrivals a little. Nothing to write home about.” You spoke matter-of-factly, carefully working to mask any trace of a lie in your expression.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your teammates with the truth. It was that admitting to yourself that you had been victimised in unspeakable ways, used as nothing more than an ant under a magnifying glass for almost a year, and completely stripped of your identity inside and out, was more than you could admit you yourself. Nevermind say it out loud.

“Y/N, we’re talking about you being tortured, you know. You could sound a little less dispassionate about it.” Natasha quipped at you; her brow raised.

“Torture is a strong word for it.” You reasoned coolly.

“I’ve seen the medical reports, Y/N. We’re not just talking about a few cuts and bruises here! The things they did to you…” Natasha trailed off, her eyes growing dark. You fought to keep your emotions in check as memories of those darkest, most painful moments materialised to the forefront of your vision.

The room fell into dead silence: no one dared speak, move or even breath as the full weight of what had been done to you in the name of the ‘Accords’ became apparent.

“Was this what you had in mind, Stark?” Sam’s venomous tone cut through the stillness like a shard of glass.

All eyes turned to him, before shifting to Tony, who was still stood, head in hand now, in the corner of the room.

“Well? Is it? Is this “keeping us in check”?”

“Sam.” Steve’s brusque tone cut through Sam’s rage, silencing him. However, after a pause, more voices chimed in.

“You said we needed this. Is this,“ Wanda gestured to you, her voice quivering with emotion, “what we need? To be brutalised? To be treated as less than human?”

Tony lifted his head from his palm, his eyes red and glassy as he glared back at Wanda. The trembling in his hands was visible even from the other side of the room.

“I didn’t know.” He hissed, barely-audibly.

“How could you not know? This was supposed to be keeping one hand on the wheel, Tony.” Steve’s even words held an unmistakable undertone of rage, as his eyes glanced over you once more, taking in the scars and bruises that still littered your body.

“I hate to say it, Tony. But they’re right.” Rhodey muttered apologetically from where he sat, a few seats down from where Tony stood. He refused to look at his friend, or even you, his gaze firmly fixated on the table in front of him.

Tony shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as one-by-one, the room turned on him. Even those who didn’t speak, held the same contempt in their gaze as they watched him. Finally, finding your voice, you stood up, causing all eyes to fall back on you in confusion.

“That’s enough.” You spoke with such candour, you surprised even yourself.

You ignored the puzzled stares from all corners of the room, instead fixating your determined gaze on the pained figure in the corner of the room. Tony’s head snapped up, his eyes finally meeting yours, and you continued.

“I don’t blame you, Tony. Not one bit.” You gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself, as your still-weakened form swayed from the exertion.

Tony stared at you incredulously for a beat, before muttering to no one in particular, “they’re right. What happened to you… I should have stopped it…”

“Maybe. Maybe I should have fought my way out. Maybe this whole team should have questioned the likelihood of me ‘going into hiding’.” You argued.

Glancing around the room, you noticed that expressions once filled with confusion and rage were now the very picture of guilt-ridden, making your heart ache dully in your chest.

“The fact of the matter is that what’s done is done. And there’s still a group of monsters out there who need to be brought to justice for what they did to me.” You continued, finding a resolve in your words that made you stand just a little taller. “Now, we can either sit around here moping about the past and squabbling like children, or we can track the bastards down and put them in check.”

Your eyes found Tony’s once more, the new-found determination practically radiating from his oak-brown depths. All around the room, you were vaguely aware of nods and murmurs of agreement coming from your fellow Avengers, and you could not help but smile softly as your family rallied to your aid.

You may have been victimised. But you were not a victim. You may have been through hell. But you’d found your way home again. And with the support of your teammates, and the fire that now burned in your previously hollow heart, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you could, and you would, get through this.

[evolsinner]

⊱┊24

days go by, another one comes across. however, today is that day, and by ‘that day’ i mean, can we all please have a drumroll, it’s fucking parent~teacher interviews! aka an interrogation under the guise of pleasantries. i thought if i didn’t think about it, it’d just fucking disappear, but hey no, it’s still here.

but that’s okay, you see my parents don’t know a thing about it. i shredded all the notices they’ve sent us and made sure to cut the line every time my sneaky ass school called home. so when it came to my last class for the day, which is english lit obviously, i was quite happy that i didn’t have to stay behind like some students.

the class is empty, it’s almost 4 sharp.

“it’s only interviews,” i try to ease mr killian’s nerves. “just tell them what they wanna hear ~ easy peasy.”

“i wish, but it doesn’t work like that, luv. you know,” he looks up from his paper and removes his reading glasses to rub his weary eyes, “believe it or not, but we hate this day just as much as you kids do.”

“really?” i’m shooked. “thought you teachers just loved taking your sweet as revenge on students on this devilish day. it’s practically reverse halloween where the educators aren’t in costume for the first time, huh.”

mr killian places his pen behind his ear, entertained. “‘reverse halloween’, aye?” he leans back on his chair, arms folded and an ankle~on~knee. “you’re too funny.”

“‘funny’?” i walk over to him, admiring the tantalising dark circles underneath his scintillating eyes. “yeah? and what else?”

he possessively pulls me in between his legs, squeezing my booty in fistfuls. “and sexy and fierce and delicious.”

“do you want a bj?”

“oh, and very fucking naughty too!”

“what you gonna do about it?”

“gee, you’re tempting me.”

“mhm,” i bite my lip.

“you are in serious need of punishment, little girl,” he flicks an eyebrow up. “slide down your panties and lean over my desk.”

my eyes open wide, “no.”

“pardon?”

“i mean, there’s no space on y~y~your desk,” i glance at it. “there’s those booklets, essays, midterms, finals, your laptop...”

“i’ll make space.”

“uh, umm,” i step back.

“nuh~uh,” he pulls me in again so that i’m standing with my thighs directly opposite his thingy. “slide ‘em down right in front of me.”

“that’s too close,” i squeak, going red.

“what difference does it make? you a step back or not, i’ll still see it. c’mon,” he feathers a finger down my bare thigh, “you can’t still be shy? i’ve seen every part of you, every inch of you. the hills, the slopes, the blemishes... want me to go on?”

ok, imma prove him wrong. i undo the button and zipper on my shorts, exposing the bright red lacy panties i got just for him.

“you were hiding those from me?” he points to them, sounding offended.

slowly, i rub my hand over the skimpy fabric, sticking a finger behind the elastic.

“such a tease,” sir leans back. “congratulations, darling, you’ve earned yourself 5 more spanks.”

the thought of him spanking me…

“want me to go easy on you?” he asks, and i see rare mercy dancing around in his eyes.

i nod, prolly a goner if i were dumb enough to take my chances with this guy.

“then touch yourself, sweetheart,” the mercy evaporates from his eyes completely. he just went from a saint to a sinner in a millisecond. “mhm,” he nods to my hesitant expression, “slide your hand through your panties and touch yourself for me. if you don’t moan my name whilst finger~fucking your cunt, i’ll give you the belt.”

heck no, i don’t want to get spanked with a belt! that’ll hurt so much more!! i’ve seen it on 50sog!

“y~you w~want me to m~masturbate for you?”

“did i stutter?”

no, but i did.

shocked at how strangely turned on i’m feeling, i slide my fingertips under the double thin lines of the red covered elastic bands. tell me, why did i wear this again? i inch my fingers down further, my breath hitching up and pelvic muscles contracting.

sir slides his hand into his pants and gently strokes his cock, scarring me with imaginary ciggy burns from the way he’s staring at me doing me. “hurry it up, little one, time is of the essence.”

3 knocks on the door and it swings open with a, “hello?”

mr killian speedily sits up.

and i step back right away, pulling my hand out and tugging my shirt over the open zipper. “mum?”

“roséah,” she squints, “what on earth... dear lord, you have a lot of explaining to do!”

i refuse to blink. i think i’m having something like a heart attack. “w~what do you mean?”

“well, for starters,” she struts up to me, “you didn’t tell me that today was parent~teacher interview night.”

i exhale deeply, relief has never felt this good.

“mr killian, i presume?” mum says, holding her hand out.

i quickly fix myself up behind her.

“please,” he smiles, shaking her hand, “call me isaac.”

why the fuck would mum come here without informing me about it?!?

“apologies for not booking in a time slot and barging in like this. had i known,” mum gives me an irritated look, “i would have been more prepared.”

“it’s no worries, mrs blackburn,” sir tries to downplay it. “i reckon i can squeeze you in before my first interview. so please,” he motions to the two seats preplaced in front of the desk, “have a seat.”

“christella will do just fine,” and she takes no time in making herself comfortable.

i roll my eyes, so fucking annoyed and anxious at the same time.

“if you don’t mind my saying so,” sir gracefully says, “but now i know where your beautiful daughter gets her beautiful looks from.”

mum titters, tucking invisible strands of hair behind her ear and straightening out her pencil skirt.

tf.

sir glances at me and it’s so provocative in nature that i can’t look away, hence he does it for me. “do we have a common friend that can get both of us acquainted with one another?” he causally asks my mother with a chuckle.

aren’t they supposed to be talking about me?

“i don’t suppose so, isn’t that a shame?” mum smiles.

“‘shame’ would be an understatement, stella…can i call you stella?”

“you can call me whatever you want, isaac.”

“ahem!!” eww. ew. “mum,” i shake my head at her like ‘did you forget you have a husband?’, “you might wanna..”

“oh, yes, of course! silly me. so do tell, isaac? how has my daughter been doing?”

“well, to be candour, i’m rather impressed at how dedicated rosé is on learning.”

“hm, is that so?” she gives me a suspicious glance.

“indeed,” mr killian sends me a secret wink.

“does she slack off? because you’d tell me if she did, right?” mum asks.

“mum,” i grumble, she’s so embarrassing sometimes.

mr killian chuckles, “you’d be the first to know, stella. fortunately, that isn’t the case. rosé has quite the eye for accomplishing her goals.”

i’m getting lost in him again...

“gets all her work done on time, doesn’t send inappropriate text messages in class,” he proceeds professionally, kinda cocky, “nor does she ever has to stay back late.”

all of which i do the opposite of, i give him a guilty grin.

mum looks rather very taken aback, considering how i am at home. “seems like she’s quite the student?”

“you’d be surprised by what goes on in these walls.”

that not so hidden half~smile sir gives me pauses my mum in her tracks with her next question. i look at her sudden stiffness and notice how she’s surveying mr killian intently, her eyes narrowed into slits. oh crap.

“ahem!” i shift in my seat quickly.

sir coughs and swiftly brings in another topic.

mum gradually returns to her usual manner.

that was close.

when they finally say their farewells, i feel relieved as a fucking kite flying high up in a blue cloudless sky. mum did a few more interviews before she finally decided to go home. mr killian had given her false hope and high expectations, so it was funny when my other teachers informed her that my grades were declining from b’s and c’s to d’s and e’s.

oops, my bad.

-ˋˏ ༻🍷༺ ˎˊ-

it’s late, a major thunderstorm has hit and maxi being the scaredy~cat he is has crept into my room for the night. incoming call from isaac. i decline it. so he calls me again. and i decline it again. busy tryna shoot him a text which he keeps interrupting with phone calls.

daddy🔐 is my furry baby avoiding my calls?

tf he just called me??????

me im not avoiding ur calls jus ctrn cuz baby bro is sleeping in my bed thunder isnt his strong suit :/

daddy🔐 why am i jealous?

lol, seriously? i smile, rolling over to the edge of my bed.

daddy🔐 can’t stop thinking about you...

me jus stop its not dat hard

god, i suck at this.

daddy🔐 i really need to be fucking inside you right now!

uh, what the fuck do i text back?!

daddy🔐 would it be inappropriate of me to ask you what you are wearing since you’re with your kid brother?

haha.

me wow, ur quite the gentleman, arent ya ?

daddy🔐 i try my best.

feeling kinky, i silently remove my oversized graphic tee and take two pictures of myself. then i quickly pop my tee back on before curling up on the bed and hitting ‘send’.

daddy🔐 mmmm leopard panties and no bra, sexy. though i do wish you could move your arm out of the way so i could see my two girls?

no, my boobies are too small and i’m shy!

daddy🔐 such unspeakable things i could to your body right about now. would you like to know, baby?

i’m so tempted to text back ‘yes’, but that’d just get me too hot and bothered which is not a good idea when your lil brother is lying right next to you.

me behave (;

daddy🔐 how about we finish off what we started back in the classroom?

me we hv company rmbr ?

daddy🔐 right.

there’s a while with those 3 flashing dots before he texts back.

daddy🔐 considering we have an audience tonight, i’m willing to keep it pg. on the contrary, was nice talking to your mother today.

me were u flirting w her ?

daddy🔐 i don’t know. was i?

me u so were ! nd evry subtextual sentence u uttered !! she cud hv caught on yanno ?!

daddy🔐 that, i couldn’t help. the look on your face was hilarious. hers too.

i almost lol by just picturing my mum’s face, but i suppress it.

me jus bc u made me laugh dnt mean im not still mad !

daddy🔐 allow me to make it up to you?

me go on...

daddy🔐 there’s this soirée i’m holding with my crew for the long weekend. lakehouse, few beers, great view - thank kinda thing. i want you there.

me y do u want me der ? (;

daddy🔐 ‘cause i wanna fuck you hard on my mate’s couch whilst everyone else is out by the lake.

oh?

daddy🔐 and also because i want you to get to know my people more. (:

he used a smiley face! he never uses smiley faces!

me hmm, guess ill hv 2 think bout it

because i have to ask my mum first!!

daddy🔐 hope this helps?

he sends me a photo or two back, like it was a trade or something. but jesus christ, isaac killian! he was definitely not kidding about having me on his mind!

daddy🔐 don’t ponder too much. goodnight, love.

“rosé..?” maxi murmurs behind me, rolling around.

shit. i drop my phone in an instant and cringe for my luck. “yeah?”

“you’re taking all the blanket and i’m cold..”

“oh, right...” i exhale with relief, placing my phone on the bedside table. i turn around, shifting the blanket over him and putting my arms around him. phew.

i rest my eyes for a second when maxi is like, “what was that?”

“hm?” i smile as he snuggles between my arms.

“that big cucumber looking thing on your phone.”

i almost choke on my saliva. “t~t~that was...you’re dreaming, maxi. this is all nothing but a dream...” i add some whooo noise effect to make it more believable.

“no i am not!” he asserts.

“yes you are! now shut up or go back to your own room.”

thunder cracks intensely and he doesn’t say anything further. thank you, sweet jesus.

[ariainstars]

Reylo is Canon... It Isn’t the Plot

All right, before some of you will want to kill me: I have no doubts that Ben and Rey are meant to be together.

But I am also positive that Episode IX will not be a romantic love story.

I cannot say it often enough: despite the parallels, Star Wars is not Pride and Prejudice. Kylo Ren will not prostrate himself at Rey’s feet saying how sorry he is and asking her to tell him what he is supposed to do now and how she wants him to be.

The title says it: Pride and Prejudice is about a couple. His fault is the pride, hers is the prejudice. Elizabeth had judged Darcy quickly, believing everything George Wickham told her although she hardly knew him. Darcy had to tell her his own version of Wickham’s account in writing before she understood that there was more to it than she thought, and she felt ashamed immediately.

 “How despicably have I acted!” she cried. “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! Who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity, in useless or blameable distrust. How humiliating is this discovery! - Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly. - Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.” (Chapter 36.)

This is a major plot point; Pride and Prejudice is not a Cinderella story where a guy wants a girl who is socially below him, but first must overcome his arrogance to realize that she’s the right one for him. Elizabeth, in her own way, is as flawed as Darcy is.

Please read Jane Austen’s novel again if you don’t believe me. I love the book but it hurts me to see it so often misunderstood. The author’s intentions are clear: man and woman both need to grow and mature one through the other. As for me personally, I see nothing romantic in a guy crawling before a girl asking her to permit him to become her sugar daddy, pardon my blunt words.

So, even if we would assume Ben and Rey are like Darcy and Elizabeth, we would have no situation where the woman is morally high above the guy. Man and woman are equally right and wrong in both stories.

I agree with many fans that Ben and Rey need to finish what Padmé and Anakin had started. However, “Reverse Anidala” does not quite hit the nail on the head. One couple was doomed from the start, whereas the other two will have a future; but Rey cannot save Ben from himself. Padmé tried to do the same with Anakin and it ended in disaster - not through any fault of her own but because it is not a woman’s task to redeem a guy. Anakin obsessed about her to the point that it drove him to madness and ultimately caused his descent to hell. No woman ever ought to be loved to the point that a guy will do anything out of fear of losing her. Apart from that, Padmé did not know Anakin’s intentions, and if she had, she never would have wanted what he did.

What was Padmés and Anakin’s tragedy? They knew and loved one another since childhood, they had a romance, they got married and wanted to have children; they loved one another beyond death.

But:

1) Padmé did not have the Force; thus, she never understood the conflict in her husband’s heart, but it also never tempted her to do evil. Rey and Ben have a telepathic bond through the Force, both know well how each other’s minds work. But Rey needs to know the temptation of the Force in order to understand that she judged Ben although she never was in his shoes.

2) We hardly see Padmés own parents (so I assume they play no major role in her life), and Anakin loses his mother at age nine: both of them ardently wish for a family. Padmé had relinquished her mandate as queen of Naboo because she wanted to get married and have children of her own. Anakin declared the happiest day of his life when his wife told him she was pregnant. Their tragedy was that their children were born, but that they could not be parents, never actually have the family they desired.

The Skywalker family was meant to bring balance to the Force, and there can only be balance once the family wounds are finally healed. The last scion of the Skywalkers needs a family of his own, a happy and united one.

Ben needs to be redeemed; Anakin had cursed himself killing the Jedi padawans, and the last person we saw in Episode VIII was a Force-sensitive child. That is why I am positive that they are his redemption, not Rey.

Rey’s role is not to be Ben’s savior but to be the mother to these children who, like her, were abandoned. That is what’s important about her provenience, not that she might be a Skywalker or Kenobi or whatever else.

Ben is not meant to become Rey’s pet on a leash but the Good Father opposite to Darth Vader, the Dark, the evil Father. Ben is the last scion of the Skywalkers and the protagonist always becomes the central figure, finally choosing his own fate, only in the third installment of each trilogy. Essentially this is his story, not Rey’s. Adam Driver has Vader’s stature but his features are the opposite of Vader’s creepy mask. If you watch a few other movies with him, you quickly realize that he very often deals with children, and that he does it well. And there has never been a Star Wars film or series without a father figure until now. Who else is it supposed to be? I hope not Palpatine. 😉

Conclusion: we are not following a romantic couple here but a future mother and father. If Ben and Rey “only” declare undying love for one another, not much will be won. There is a lot more at stake here than romance. The strong chemistry between the protagonists is not leading to some passionate scenes with the lovers saving the galaxy through their devotion for one another; honestly, I am not even sure that Rey is requiting Ben’s feelings yet. They are almost strangers and politically arch-enemies, the exact opposite of Padmé and Anakin. Two actors with an intense sensual aura were necessary to make the bond between them palpable, although in the story’s context it stems from the Force.

I know I am speculating. But the saga’s themes are clear, and I have studied them for almost two years now. I would be very surprised if things went differently after everything that has happened in the saga before. You don’t need leaks to see where things are going, all you have to do is listen.

I am 99 % sure that Ben and Rey will be together and happy in the end. But I am also quite sure that they will have much more than that - a purpose, most probably taking care of children who were trapped and alone the way they were, each in his own way.

Remember how The Last Jedi gave Reylo’s so much more than they hoped for? The Rise of Skywalker will do the same.

In any case, I have my fingers crossed. 😉

P.S. I had already written about this at length some time ago, in case somebody is interested in more details: Homecoming of the Children

[thenewnio]

The Statement of Randolph Carter

I repeat to you, gentlemen, that your inquisition is fruitless. Detain me here forever if you will; confine or execute me if you must have a victim to propitiate the illusion you call justice; but I can say no more than I have said already. Everything that I can remember, I have told with perfect candour. Nothing has been distorted or concealed, and if anything remains vague, it is only because of the dark cloud which has come over my mind—that cloud and the nebulous nature of the horrors which brought it upon me.

Again I say, I do not know what has become of Harley Warren; though I think—almost hope—that he is in peaceful oblivion, if there be anywhere so blessed a thing. It is true that I have for five years been his closest friend, and a partial sharer of his terrible researches into the unknown. I will not deny, though my memory is uncertain and indistinct, that this witness of yours may have seen us together as he says, on the Gainesville pike, walking toward Big Cypress Swamp, at half past eleven on that awful night. That we bore electric lanterns, spades, and a curious coil of wire with attached instruments, I will even affirm; for these things all played a part in the single hideous scene which remains burned into my shaken recollection. But of what followed, and of the reason I was found alone and dazed on the edge of the swamp next morning, I must insist that I know nothing save what I have told you over and over again. You say to me that there is nothing in the swamp or near it which could form the setting of that frightful episode. I reply that I know nothing beyond what I saw. Vision or nightmare it may have been—vision or nightmare I fervently hope it was—yet it is all that my mind retains of what took place in those shocking hours after we left the sight of men. And why Harley Warren did not return, he or his shade—or some nameless thing I cannot describe—alone can tell.

As I have said before, the weird studies of Harley Warren were well known to me, and to some extent shared by me. Of his vast collection of strange, rare books on forbidden subjects I have read all that are written in the languages of which I am master; but these are few as compared with those in languages I cannot understand. Most, I believe, are in Arabic; and the fiend-inspired book which brought on the end—the book which he carried in his pocket out of the world—was written in characters whose like I never saw elsewhere. Warren would never tell me just what was in that book. As to the nature of our studies—must I say again that I no longer retain full comprehension? It seems to me rather merciful that I do not, for they were terrible studies, which I pursued more through reluctant fascination than through actual inclination. Warren always dominated me, and sometimes I feared him. I remember how I shuddered at his facial expression on the night before the awful happening, when he talked so incessantly of his theory, why certain corpses never decay, but rest firm and fat in their tombs for a thousand years. But I do not fear him now, for I suspect that he has known horrors beyond my ken. Now I fear for him.

Once more I say that I have no clear idea of our object on that night. Certainly, it had much to do with something in the book which Warren carried with him—that ancient book in undecipherable characters which had come to him from India a month before—but I swear I do not know what it was that we expected to find. Your witness says he saw us at half past eleven on the Gainesville pike, headed for Big Cypress Swamp. This is probably true, but I have no distinct memory of it. The picture seared into my soul is of one scene only, and the hour must have been long after midnight; for a waning crescent moon was high in the vaporous heavens.

The place was an ancient cemetery; so ancient that I trembled at the manifold signs of immemorial years. It was in a deep, damp hollow, overgrown with rank grass, moss, and curious creeping weeds, and filled with a vague stench which my idle fancy associated absurdly with rotting stone. On every hand were the signs of neglect and decrepitude, and I seemed haunted by the notion that Warren and I were the first living creatures to invade a lethal silence of centuries. Over the valley’s rim a wan, waning crescent moon peered through the noisome vapours that seemed to emanate from unheard-of catacombs, and by its feeble, wavering beams I could distinguish a repellent array of antique slabs, urns, cenotaphs, and mausolean facades; all crumbling, moss-grown, and moisture-stained, and partly concealed by the gross luxuriance of the unhealthy vegetation. My first vivid impression of my own presence in this terrible necropolis concerns the act of pausing with Warren before a certain half-obliterated sepulchre, and of throwing down some burdens which we seemed to have been carrying. I now observed that I had with me an electric lantern and two spades, whilst my companion was supplied with a similar lantern and a portable telephone outfit. No word was uttered, for the spot and the task seemed known to us; and without delay we seized our spades and commenced to clear away the grass, weeds, and drifted earth from the flat, archaic mortuary. After uncovering the entire surface, which consisted of three immense granite slabs, we stepped back some distance to survey the charnel scene; and Warren appeared to make some mental calculations. Then he returned to the sepulchre, and using his spade as a lever, sought to pry up the slab lying nearest to a stony ruin which may have been a monument in its day. He did not succeed, and motioned to me to come to his assistance. Finally our combined strength loosened the stone, which we raised and tipped to one side.

The removal of the slab revealed a black aperture, from which rushed an effluence of miasmal gases so nauseous that we started back in horror. After an interval, however, we approached the pit again, and found the exhalations less unbearable. Our lanterns disclosed the top of a flight of stone steps, dripping with some detestable ichor of the inner earth, and bordered by moist walls encrusted with nitre. And now for the first time my memory records verbal discourse, Warren addressing me at length in his mellow tenor voice; a voice singularly unperturbed by our awesome surroundings.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you to stay on the surface,” he said, “but it would be a crime to let anyone with your frail nerves go down there. You can’t imagine, even from what you have read and from what I’ve told you, the things I shall have to see and do. It’s fiendish work, Carter, and I doubt if any man without ironclad sensibilities could ever see it through and come up alive and sane. I don’t wish to offend you, and heaven knows I’d be glad enough to have you with me; but the responsibility is in a certain sense mine, and I couldn’t drag a bundle of nerves like you down to probable death or madness. I tell you, you can’t imagine what the thing is really like! But I promise to keep you informed over the telephone of every move—you see I’ve enough wire here to reach to the centre of the earth and back!”

I can still hear, in memory, those coolly spoken words; and I can still remember my remonstrances. I seemed desperately anxious to accompany my friend into those sepulchral depths, yet he proved inflexibly obdurate. At one time he threatened to abandon the expedition if I remained insistent; a threat which proved effective, since he alone held the key to the thing. All this I can still remember, though I no longer know what manner of thing we sought. After he had secured my reluctant acquiescence in his design, Warren picked up the reel of wire and adjusted the instruments. At his nod I took one of the latter and seated myself upon an aged, discoloured gravestone close by the newly uncovered aperture. Then he shook my hand, shouldered the coil of wire, and disappeared within that indescribable ossuary. For a moment I kept sight of the glow of his lantern, and heard the rustle of the wire as he laid it down after him; but the glow soon disappeared abruptly, as if a turn in the stone staircase had been encountered, and the sound died away almost as quickly. I was alone, yet bound to the unknown depths by those magic strands whose insulated surface lay green beneath the struggling beams of that waning crescent moon.

In the lone silence of that hoary and deserted city of the dead, my mind conceived the most ghastly phantasies and illusions; and the grotesque shrines and monoliths seemed to assume a hideous personality—a half-sentience. Amorphous shadows seemed to lurk in the darker recesses of the weed-choked hollow and to flit as in some blasphemous ceremonial procession past the portals of the mouldering tombs in the hillside; shadows which could not have been cast by that pallid, peering crescent moon. I constantly consulted my watch by the light of my electric lantern, and listened with feverish anxiety at the receiver of the telephone; but for more than a quarter of an hour heard nothing. Then a faint clicking came from the instrument, and I called down to my friend in a tense voice. Apprehensive as I was, I was nevertheless unprepared for the words which came up from that uncanny vault in accents more alarmed and quivering than any I had heard before from Harley Warren. He who had so calmly left me a little while previously, now called from below in a shaky whisper more portentous than the loudest shriek:

“God! If you could see what I am seeing!”

I could not answer. Speechless, I could only wait. Then came the frenzied tones again:

“Carter, it’s terrible—monstrous—unbelievable!”

This time my voice did not fail me, and I poured into the transmitter a flood of excited questions. Terrified, I continued to repeat, “Warren, what is it? What is it?”

Once more came the voice of my friend, still hoarse with fear, and now apparently tinged with despair:

“I can’t tell you, Carter! It’s too utterly beyond thought—I dare not tell you—no man could know it and live—Great God! I never dreamed of THIS!” Stillness again, save for my now incoherent torrent of shuddering inquiry. Then the voice of Warren in a pitch of wilder consternation:

“Carter! for the love of God, put back the slab and get out of this if you can! Quick!—leave everything else and make for the outside—it’s your only chance! Do as I say, and don’t ask me to explain!”

I heard, yet was able only to repeat my frantic questions. Around me were the tombs and the darkness and the shadows; below me, some peril beyond the radius of the human imagination. But my friend was in greater danger than I, and through my fear I felt a vague resentment that he should deem me capable of deserting him under such circumstances. More clicking, and after a pause a piteous cry from Warren:

“Beat it! For God’s sake, put back the slab and beat it, Carter!”

Something in the boyish slang of my evidently stricken companion unleashed my faculties. I formed and shouted a resolution, “Warren, brace up! I’m coming down!” But at this offer the tone of my auditor changed to a scream of utter despair:

“Don’t! You can’t understand! It’s too late—and my own fault. Put back the slab and run—there’s nothing else you or anyone can do now!” The tone changed again, this time acquiring a softer quality, as of hopeless resignation. Yet it remained tense through anxiety for me.

“Quick—before it’s too late!” I tried not to heed him; tried to break through the paralysis which held me, and to fulfil my vow to rush down to his aid. But his next whisper found me still held inert in the chains of stark horror.

“Carter—hurry! It’s no use—you must go—better one than two—the slab—” A pause, more clicking, then the faint voice of Warren:

“Nearly over now—don’t make it harder—cover up those damned steps and run for your life—you’re losing time— So long, Carter—won’t see you again.” Here Warren’s whisper swelled into a cry; a cry that gradually rose to a shriek fraught with all the horror of the ages—

“Curse these hellish things—legions— My God! Beat it! Beat it! Beat it!”

After that was silence. I know not how many interminable aeons I sat stupefied; whispering, muttering, calling, screaming into that telephone. Over and over again through those aeons I whispered and muttered, called, shouted, and screamed, “Warren! Warren! Answer me—are you there?”

And then there came to me the crowning horror of all—the unbelievable, unthinkable, almost unmentionable thing. I have said that aeons seemed to elapse after Warren shrieked forth his last despairing warning, and that only my own cries now broke the hideous silence. But after a while there was a further clicking in the receiver, and I strained my ears to listen. Again I called down, “Warren, are you there?”, and in answer heard the thing which has brought this cloud over my mind. I do not try, gentlemen, to account for that thing—that voice—nor can I venture to describe it in detail, since the first words took away my consciousness and created a mental blank which reaches to the time of my awakening in the hospital. Shall I say that the voice was deep; hollow; gelatinous; remote; unearthly; inhuman; disembodied? What shall I say? It was the end of my experience, and is the end of my story. I heard it, and knew no more. Heard it as I sat petrified in that unknown cemetery in the hollow, amidst the crumbling stones and the falling tombs, the rank vegetation and the miasmal vapours. Heard it well up from the innermost depths of that damnable open sepulchre as I watched amorphous, necrophagous shadows dance beneath an accursed waning moon. And this is what it said:

“YOU FOOL, WARREN IS DEAD!”

[kateyandthecloset]

Sect Bound . Aaron Hotchner [1.8]

Request . Prompts . Masterlist . Sect Bound

A charismatic leader was all it took to twist her trauma to faith; A charismatic leader was all it took to send her running, washing his blood from her hands.

Aaron Hotchner didn't want to scare Annie as he walked through the door of his apartment. Earlier that day, he had told her to take his room, primarily as he wasn't even certain he would be home before she would wake, but much like the night before she had refused. No matter how much Aaron tried to convince her, Annie was sure she was a burden on him. Though, having watched her interact with Jack that day, he was sure that she was become increasingly accustom to the idea that she was a member of the family.

As he opened the door, careful not to jerk it in the way that cause it to hit the back wall, Aaron was shocked by the sight. On the couch, Annie seemed to be sleeping peacefully, the subconscious filches and momentary sobs he had witnessed as she rested in his office were nowhere to be seen. It was this that made him adamant he wasn't going to wake her, despite desperately wanting coffee or the microwave meal he knew was waiting in the fridge he was going to cross the living room straight to the bedroom.

After closing the door, the agent slipped his shoes off, the impact of the sole's being more than he wanted to risk on the dated floorboards. He moved slowly, keeping an eye on the woman as he moved through the room. It wasn't until he found himself in line with the couch that he noticed the redhead shivering, her arms wrapping around herself instinctively.

The blankets were in the living room, Aaron knew that much, but he wasn't aware of where she had put them when she cleared up the previous morning. He scanned the room, catching sight of the fabric on the armchair. Once again, he tried to remain quiet, but, unlike Jack, Aaron was unaware of the floorboard that always creaked under any amount of weight. The noise, while not substantial, was enough to wake the sleeping woman.

Annie shot up, her breath picking up as she held her hands out in front of her defensively. Remembering where she was, the woman dropped her hands, the shaking in her limbs continuing despite her anxiety levels dropping. When she saw Aaron, she forced a smiled onto her face, shaking her head at his apologies, "It's okay, I'm fine now."

"Annie, I was trying to get through without waking you, but you were shivering." He explained, picking up the blanket and cursing as he stood on the same floorboard on the way back. "I tried everything to be quiet."

Taking the blacker, and wrapping it around her shoulders, Annie laughed lightly, "I wouldn't have mind if you did wake me, I don't now. It's nice to know that you're back."

"You seemed peaceful," he muttered, putting his arm around her as she continued to shiver. "I thought you were finally resting properly."

She had a smile on her face as she closed her eyes, leaning into Aaron's embrace, "I was having a nice dream."

There was a form of relief in Aaron's mind as she spoke, it was as though she was radiating her relative happiness. It had always been the case growing up, Annie's feelings were contagious. If she was mad, he was mad with her and for her. What was worse, was when Annie was hurting. The moment there was any pain in the girl’s life, he felt it tenfold braking him apart atom by atom. Though, at that moment, he didn't feel pain, he just felt content.

However, he knew he had to break that cycle. Neither Penelope nor Jennifer would tell her what they had found in their search of Gabriel Martyr, they only gave him another name. They told him to ask her about his wife, Mary Martyr. The secrecy concerned him, but they reassured that there was no malicious intent, towards him or Annie. They just wanted him to hear whatever they had learnt from her.

"Annie," Aaron whispered, shifting so that he could look down at her. She bummed in response, her eyes still closed, as he asked, "Who's Mary Martyr?"

He felt the change in atmosphere, Annie's eyes flicked open at the name and she inhaled sharply in shock. In less than a second, Annie had pushed herself away from his chest, stood from the couch and begun pacing before him. She was muttering words under her breath; her finger twisted the crucifix around her neck - which she hadn't removed since she was twelve. The change worried the man who had now stood, closing the distance between them.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her still as he reassured, "Annie, you're safe here."

"Me." She whispered. Aaron was visibly confused as he watched her, still twisting her necklace between her forefinger and thumb. "I'm Mary Martyr." He remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "Gabriel, he convinced me that we had both been divinely chosen, that he'd found me through what the lord had told him. He said that I was his Mary, a woman sent to preach by his side."

That wasn't all, he could see she was holding back. Having guided her back to the couch, Aaron asked, "Martyr? Did you marry him?"

"I don't think it was legal." She confirmed. "It wasn't even a proper ceremony, he said that in the Lords eyes we were already a union. He said that we couldn't exist without one another, but he lied. The worst part is I believed him."

Aaron let out a sigh, holding her hand in his, "Annie what was this church called?"

"Church of the Archangel Raphael, he's the patron saint of healing. That how he sells it to everyone, that they can find peace with the church." Annie explained, being open with Aaron for the first time since she had returned. He had found Mary; it was only a matter of time before he found everything else. "Aaron," she began, her voice dripping with anxiety, "you can't go and play hero."

"Why not?" He snapped slightly, causing Annie to flinch slightly. "I'm sorry, but the leader of that church he forces you to stay, didn't he?"

"Not for the entire time," she announced, the truth shocking Aaron. "I was there for two and half years before it was forced. It wasn't until, um, I found out that I was-" She trailed off, but Aaron offered supportive squeeze of her hand and she continued, "It wasn’t until I had his twins, that I realised I was in the wrong place. When you sudden have someone else to worry about, your logic and your rationing kick in."

"Annie, does he have your children?" Aaron asked, and she nodded her face screwing up as she sobbed audibly.

"That's how he kept me there for the last seven years." She explained, taking her hand from Aaron's and forcefully wiping her eyes, taking a deep breath to compose herself. "Every time I mentioned leaving, or talked against him, he’d put me in this room. It was so small, and he’d leave me there hours, until he was sure I wasn’t going to separate from him again. But he started to realise, that putting one of my girls in there was a better way to keep me by his side. So, every time we had to leave the compound, or he thought I was going to act out, he would put one of them in there."

She swallowed back her tears, the hurt she had felt for her daughter not having subsided with time. Her hands shook as she lowered the, Aaron taking them in his once again as she added, "One day, he had been called to talk to the police, one of the boys who had joined, his parents had accused Gabriel of holding him against his will. I had to play the part of the perfect wife, accompanying him, while Elisha, the youngest of my girls, was locked in the room."

"Annie you don't need to say anymore," Aaron declares, but she shook her head.

"You need to know." She mumbled, holding her head high at an attempt to stop her tears from flowing. "We were gone longer than was expected, one of the officers saw a mark on my arm and took matters into his own hands. I didn't know my baby was ill, but if I had I could have recognised the symptoms. I could have seen what I saw with Liam and told Gabriel about my families genetics." She took yet another deep, composing breath. "She had a seizure in the room, no one knew so, when we got back to the compound, I found her there. The walls and the floor were concrete, there was blood everywhere.”

Aaron didn't need to here anymore to understand that Annie had been through more than her fair share in the last few years. He simply pulled her into his chest, allowing her to cry into his shirt once again. Part of him was certain she had more to tell him, but there had been enough candour for that night. He just held her as she mumbled, repeatedly, "I failed her. I failed them both."

Tags: @fandoms-unite14​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ (message to be added).

[back-and-totheleft]

Romantic, freewheeling, containing fathoms

IT'S early in the piece but maybe the best way to explain the allure of Oliver Stone’s romantic, freewheeling autobiography is to tell you how one of my best friends took on the experience.

My mate, a self-confessed Stone nut, downloaded the audio version of Chasing the Light - as read by the author - and then proceeded to drive around Cork city with the Oscar-winning director and screenwriter for company. “Love how he paints a picture of post-war optimism in New York circa 1945-46,” he messaged me. “Take me there...” Throughout his storied but turbulent career, Stone has certainly taken us places - the steaming jungles of Vietnam, the (serial) killing fields of the American heartland, the fervid political theatre of El Salvador, the grassy knoll. Even if we didn’t always like the destination, more often than not it was worth the journey.

Reading Stone's words in Chasing the Light, it’s impossible not to hear that coffee and cognac voice. The words roll from the page, sentences topped off with little rejoinders, just about maintaining an elegant flow. Drugs are mentioned early and often, while the word “sexy” features half a dozen times in the opening chapters alone. As in his best movies, Stone displays a positively moreish lust for life, at one point referring to how the two parts of the filmmaking process, if working well, are "copulating".

The book tells the story of the first half of his life, up to the acclaim and gongs of Platoon, and it’s clear that his own sense of drama was underscored by his family background, which is part torrid European art flick, part US blockbuster. His mother, Jacqueline - French, unerringly singleminded - grew to womanhood during the Nazi occupation of Paris. She downplayed her striking appearance as the jackboots stomped the streets but quickly scaled the social ladder, becoming engaged to a pony club sort. Enter Louis Stone.

Considerably older than Jacqueline, Louis quickly zoned in after spotting her cycling on a Paris street. In no time Jacqueline has jilted her fiancée (who, remarkably, appears to have turned up as a guest at the wedding), Oliver is conceived and one ocean crossing later, William Oliver Stone is born.

This family contains fathoms, Stone's father straight-laced and Commie-hating on the surface, yet a serial adulterer (even threesomes are mentioned) and positively uxorious towards his own mother. "It was sex, not money, that derailed my father," he writes. Louis's infidelities nixed Jacqueline's American dream, and Oliver’s with it. Jacqueline ultimately cheats on Louis, not simply via a fling but a whole new relationship, and with a family friend to boot.

What’s even more interesting is Stone’s reflections on *how* it was dealt with. Already dispatched to a boarding school, he learns of the disintegration of his family down the phone line. It has the coldness of some of the best scenes from Mad Men, children of the era parceled off to the side even as momentous events in their home life detonate in front of them. As things veer ever more into daytime soap territory, Louis then tells his son he's "broke", echoing the impact of the Great Depression on his own father's business interests.

By now, Stone is unmoored. He has secured a place in Yale but blows it off for a year and heads to Saigon to teach English: "I grew a beard and got as far away from the person I'd been as I could." On his return he decides he is done with academia; he'll be a novelist in New York, much to the distaste of his father. "That's why I went back to Vietnam in the US Infantry - to take part in this war of my generation," he writes. "Let God decide."

And here we are at the pivotal moment in Stone's adult life. Plunged into the strange days of 1968 in the jungle, he recalls a scene in which his patrol group comes under attack, imagining itself surrounded. Time elides and a metre may as well be a mile, explosions going off everywhere and bullets flying amid paranoia and uncertainty that borders on the hallucinogenic. "Full daylight reveals charred bodies, dusty napalm, and gray trees."

Tellingly, Stone focuses on this arguably cinematic episode while other incidents in which he is actually wounded don't receive the same treatment. By the time he leaves Vietnam he has served in three different combat units and has been awarded a bronze star for heroism. So many of his peers were drafted, yet he had decided to go. You never get a direct sense that his subsequent career is in any way a type of atonement, yet it is never fully explained. "Why on earth did you go?" he is asked. "It was a question I couldn't answer glibly."

From this point on, Chasing the Light mainly becomes a love letter to the redemptive power of the cinema, pockmarked with acerbic commentary on Hollywood powerplays. Stone's firsthand experience of jungle combat gives him a sense of perspective that no amount of cocaine or downers can ever truly neutralise, and it also imbues him with a sense of derring-do. At NYU School of Arts, his lecturer is Martin Scorcese, an educational home run. Watching movies is a place a refuge, writing them a cathartic outlet. It leads to visceral filmmaking, beginning with his short film Last Year in Vietnam. That burgeoning sense of career before anything else brings an end to his first marriage - "'comfortable' was the killer word". The seeds are sown for the plot that would germinate into Platoon.

As he moves past the relative disappointment of his first feature, Seizure, the big break of writing Midnight Express, and then onto the speedbump of The Hand, his second movie, Chasing the Light becomes a little more knockabout, though no less enjoyable. Conan the Barbarian, for which he wrote the screenplay, became someone else's substandard vision, Scarface a not entirely pleasant experience as his writing efforts move to the frosty embrace of director Brian de Palma. Hollywood relationships rise and fall like scenes from Robert Altman's The Player. His second marriage, the birth of his son, the slow-motion passing of his father, and all the time Stone is chasing glory on the silver screen.

By his late thirties it feels like he's placing all his chips on Salvador, a brutal depiction of central American civil war based on the scattered recollections of journalist Richard Boyle and starring the combustible talents of James Woods and John Belushi. His own high-wire lifestyle is perhaps best encapsulated in his reference to Elpidia Carrillo, cast as Maria in Salvador: "Elia Kazan once argued against any restrictions for a director exploring personal limits with his actresses, and I wanted badly to get down with her," he writes with delightful candour. Yet ultimately "I convinced myself that repression, in this case, would make a better film." Note: in this case.

Salvador was a slow burner, not an immediate critical or commercial success, but then in the style of a rollover jackpot, it started climbing the charts just as Platoon is about to announce itself to the world. Despite some loopy goings-on, that shoot in the Philippines had never gone down the Apocolypse Now route of near-madness, the drama mainly confined to warring factions within the production team. Ultimately, Platoon was the movie mid-Eighties America wanted to see about Vietnam. The book finishes in triumph, Stone clutching Oscars for Best Director and Best Picture.

There are piercing insights and inconsistencies dotted throughout. Stone lusts after good reviews but rails against the influence wielded by certain writers, such as Pauline Kael. He makes frequent reference to his yearning for truth and factual accuracy, yet hardly raises a quibble with The Deerhunter, the brilliant but flawed movie by sometime ally Michael Cimino which - particularly in the infamous Russian Roulette scenes - delivers an entirely concocted depiction of North Vietnamese forces. But then again, Stone revels in what he says is the ability to "not to have a fixed identity, to be free as a dramatist, elusive, unknown."

We've come to know him more in the decades since - through the menacing Natural Born Killers, the riveting but wonky conspiracy of JFK, the all-star lost classic U-Turn, even the missed opportunity that was The Putin Interviews. As my friend, who is the real authority, correctly observes, Chasing the Light is also weighted with nostalgia for a time when political dramas and anti-war films were smashing the box office, something hard to imagine today.

The second volume, if and when it arrives, will surely make for good reading - or listening. Buckle up your seat belt and take a spin.

-Noel Baker, “Oliver Stone’s freewheeling autobiography tells the story of the first half of his life,” Irish Examiner, Jan 17 2021 [x]

[kshitij1997]

Hello again!

I hope you're all doing well! I have to say, I'm enjoying writing this far more than I thought I would.

For those who were confused as to who the giants of Europe were in the previous chapter, they were namely Great Britain, Austria-Hungary, the Russian Empire, and the Ottomans, to an extent. I forgot to add that detail in the previous chapter, sorry 😉.

All frozen characters belong to Disney, all I own is this head-cannon and the original characters.

Let's continue :D

Chapter 3: A Collapse, some friendships, a wedding, and possible parenthood

Agnarr sometimes had a habit of zoning out and biting his lower lip while listening to Iduna sing, a quirky quality Iduna found adorable, and always ribbed Agnarr about it in good humour. Agnarr on his part, always found it fascinating and endearing how Iduna was always drawn to nature, and how a nice cup of brewed hot chocolate always lifted her spirits. He also felt a sense of pride when he saw how quickly she learnt the ways of the European royalty despite being a mere commoner. Sure, the beginning was a little rocky with Iduna making small mistakes in conducting herself, but what she may have slightly lacked in conduct and tradition, she made up for it in emotional intelligence and choosing her words carefully, and most importantly her good humour and candour. Ah, the things lovebirds discover and like about each other when they court. While the people were wary of her northern ancestry at first, they soon warmed up to her due to her kindness and sincerity of her desires to want the best for them.

But, while these two were building their own corner of paradise, big changes were happening in Europe. The Emperor of France was finally cornered in a defeat two years after that damned invasion of the Russian Empire. Napoleon was finally ousted from power and exiled to the island of Elba. Fair enough, Europe agreed, for the troublemaker to be kept away from the mainland, like the naughty kid punished to stand outside and think about what they have done. France came to Arendelle for help again, however by now Arendelle was done with them, having reached an understanding with the Russians and the crown of Corona, and the Southern Isles and Weselton only too happy to fill up the vacuum left by the French.

Still, the king was wary of the Southern Isles and Weselton, what with the Southern Isles royal family being notorious for their bonds of blood thinner than air, their tendency to breed like rabbits, and their famed history of going at each other's throats. As long as Arendelle didn't get injured in the crossfire, the King didn't really care, but he could have done without the acrimony, as the present king of The Southern Isles was a little eccentric, but he was fun to hang around with. As far as Weselton was concerned, it was a royalty of crooks and gangsters to king Agnarr. They had little class, lesser respect, and both the duke and his successor never found an opportunity to turn any event into a money-making machine, as they worshipped their riches, and no people, land or race was sacred enough to not sacrifice for them to achieve their ends. The Russians Tsars on their part were never very popular among their own people, and they were regular subject to assassination attempts and revolts, so the Russian empire too couldn't be the definitive reliable ally. Moreover, Alexander was closer in age to his father, so while their interaction was always warm and cordial, king Agnarr always felt distant from the Tsar. The one true ally and possible friend to Agnarr was King Reginald of Corona and his queen to be, lady Sophia of Southern Austria, who bonded with Iduna over their mutual good fortunes and friendship. When the friendship between the kings was on rocky terrain back in 1812, it was the two ladies who made the peace;

"I have all the respect in the world for Agnarr, and the way he has tried to manoeuvre his kingdom through this crisis, but I can't see my husband to be turning the other on this one, Iduna. Reginald feels betrayed, and he's not too keen on being forgiving yet."

"I understand and that position Sophia, but Agnarr didn't have the luxury of making a good decision from that mess. He tried to please everyone, as was expected of him, and everyone has taken advantage of it. He has bent over backwards trying to make amends for his father's harsh stance and the former French emperor's megalomania, for which he was gotten nothing but ridicule and contempt. He and I are desperately trying to find someone in this moment of chaos and trying to escape the witch hunt."

"It's not just a witch hunt, it's also restitution. The European monarchy has had an axe to grind with king Runeard, now they feel cheated and angered by how he's ignoring them to fight his own countrymen. I can't say I blame them, what with how the 18th century ended and the 19th began." Said Sophia, with the horrors of the Napoleonic wars fresh in her mind.

"They may have their reasons, that doesn't mean we don't have our own. Agnarr also has his own father to contend with. Do you really believe he wanted all this to happen? His father was backed into a corner by his French friend, he couldn't refuse him after what happened in Spain. Agnarr tried to minimize the ensuing forest fire, but his efforts were not appreciated." Iduna defended her beau.

"Don't get me wrong, we fully appreciate his endeavour in that direction, however it was an admission of weakness on his part, and as we have both come to know, weakness is not received well in our circles." Sophia said empathetically.

"This is all moot, as Agnarr is not being given a chance to correct his father's errors, and he wants what's best not only for Arendelle, but also for the stability of Europe. He is making sincere attempts at reconciling with his friends, spending far more effort at retaining those who are close to him than acquainting and dealing with strangers." Iduna put her foot down.

"The strangers being Corona's immediate northern and western neighbours, correct?" Sophia inquired with a faint smile on her lips.

"Yes, and he would appreciate and hold the true friendship strong through thick and thin." Iduna replied, making her point here.

"I have a couple of observations to make." Sophia started after a few minutes of ruminating on the subject. "Go ahead Sophia" Iduna pressed on.

"Agnarr is lucky to have you, and you have learnt well a trade completely alien to you." Sophia grinned. Iduna blushed despite getting used to the praise and replied with a smile, "Thank you, Sophia. I have a very good and supporting companion whom I'm fortunate to have in return. I also have come a long way from tripping over the coattails of the king of Bavaria, and almost setting him on fire. I have on good authority that he still doesn't like me." Iduna added with a smirk. Sophia laughed heartily at that for some time, remembering the pandemonium that had happened at the Bavarian king's wedding anniversary four months ago; in the May of 1812.

She calmed down at length, and assured her, "Alright, you've made your point Iduna, leave Reginald to me. I'll convince him. Soon, this problem wouldn't be a problem anymore." Iduna beamed at that "Thank you so much, Sophia. You don't know how much this means to both Agnarr and me." Iduna said with genuine gratitude and relief in her voice.

"You are most welcome, Iduna." Sophia beamed with satisfaction. "So, when are we all getting the much-awaited wedding invitations for the romantic, noble and adroit couple?" Sophia teased.

"Well, we are romantic, arguably noble and rumoured to be adroit, but we are still fourteen or fifteen at best. You tell me Sophia, when shall Europe see Corona and Austria-Hungary join hands in matrimony?" Iduna asked cheekily in return.

"Ah well, I'm ready now, but we both know there are other things at hand first." Sophia sighed.

"True, but at least we can put this particular business behind us" Iduna assured.

"Yes, and just in time for both of us to leave" Noted Sophia.

The two friends embraced and wished each other safe travels.

Iduna remembered the conversation that had brought the two nations together two years ago, quite fondly, and had grown very close to Sophia in the meantime. As King Agnarr and King Reginald forged the new order of Europe post Napoleon, European society keenly baptized them as ' The northern brothers '. As for the queens-in waiting, they maintained a healthy correspondence, discussing all joys and tensions, and forged a nigh sisterly bond. It wasn't surprising to for Iduna to be the first person to know about the wedding date and being Sophia's maid of honour, and it was inevitable for king Agnarr to be king Reginald's best man.

It was a happy and lavish affair in October 1814, with royalty coming from as far as the Ottoman Empire, Macedonia and Egypt. Sure, now Corona had ideological differences with the Ottomans, but that didn't stop the Sultan from helping himself to the finest offerings of king Reginald's palace kitchens. The then-king of Great Britain sent his regrets, but that could be forgiven as the poor monarch was already half-mad and blind with age. As for the ever-dignified Tsar, he blessed the union with prosperity and a long lineage. He may have been a party mad youth in his time, as were all the Romanovs, but his Tsarina had tethered him to a dignity that he quietly enjoyed. The king of The Southern Isles was particularly interested in the lineage and advised king Reginald to secure the succession as soon as possible.

"The Tsar's blessing is good and all, but I'd wish king Christian the eighth of The Southern Isles had more time to educate me on the subject." Reginald said glibly to Agnarr after making sure the father of nine children was out of earshot.

"I don't know about the king, but Sophia would definitely fucking kill you when she hears that." Laughed Agnarr.

"Hey, Iduna taught you to have a brutal sense of humour! That lady is magnificent" ribbed the king of Corona.

"I agree wholeheartedly. Do you think king Christian will reach double-digits with his kids?"

"He's definitely getting close, even if he's up there in age. I'll wager at least eleven before he's done." teased Reginald, before his queen quietly twisted his ears.

"You two clearly have way too much fucking time on your hands" scolded the inebriated queen; well, it was her night too. "I'm sorry, dear. It slipped out; I didn't mean anything by it." wailed the king. "Yeah, we'll see about that." challenged his Austria-Hungarian better half.

This silly exchange lightened up the ballroom, with The Southern Isles King and the Duke of Weselton cackling in the distance and even the stoic Tsar grinning good-naturedly.

"Hear hear, the true power of Corona!" Proclaimed Iduna, appearing as if out of nowhere with her signature mug of hot chocolate.

"Hey darling, you got your way after all" said Agnarr, graciously admitting defeat to an earlier bet he made with his belle.

"Damn right." Iduna replied, holding her hot chocolate mug high up. Then she spoke "I'm so happy for them, the whole thing was textbook." "Yeah me too, they are a fine couple, we are good at this, we should do this more often." Agnarr said.

Then Agnarr turned wistful and grim and said, "I wish the French leader came, they have been our longest supporting allies, even if our relations have soured in the last few years."

"The surviving bourbon king is old and obese; we can't expect him to travel such a distance without incident." Mused Iduna.

"Still, he could have sent a representative, would have meant everything. I know from experience that this can't end well." Agnarr said quietly "Now why didn't he send any message?"

As if to answer his question, a messenger entered the ball room and made a beeline for the centre "Pardon me for this ugly interruption but listen all. Napoleon Bonaparte has escaped the island of Elba, has garnered support back in France and has usurped the bourbon monarchy again. King Louis the eighteenth is on the run, requesting asylum in Corona."

The European royalty may have had various grim reactions to this worrying news, but the Tsar summed it up best "That fucking devil."

It was a tough few months for the northern brothers ahead, along with the rest of Europe. Napoleon, the crazy genius that he was, had managed to find the backing of the crown of Spain, the Italian peninsula whom he had promised freedom from Austria-Hungary upon his conquest, and some nominal support from the Ottomans, who were only too happy to stick it to their problem neighbour up north.

But Napoleon's star was on the fall, suffering terrible losses despite some early victories. Despite that, it took the combined forces of the Russians, the British, Corona, Austria-Hungary, The Southern Isles and Weselton to destroy his presence forever in the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. The kingdom of Arendelle chose to maintain the supply lines for its allies instead of sending actual soldiers. Upon Napoleon's defeat and escape from the battle, the Tsar called for his head once and for all, but the duke of Wellington and Iduna intervened to exile him to St Helena's instead. They reasoned to avoid making that statement by rationalizing that France would be better left intact than scrambled by Napoleon's Execution.

Three weeks after the European powers decided Napoleon's fate, king Agnarr married now queen Iduna in a simple private ceremony, worlds apart from the celebration at Corona months ago. Of course, the close friends and allies were invited, and even though they had the odd Duke of Weselton grumbling about the lack of pretence and grandeur, king Reginald and queen Sophia lifted all spirits by announcing that they were with child.

"You magnificent bastard, you did it!" shouted the king of Arendelle as he gave the king of Corona a bear hug. "Right back at you, you scoundrel." bellowed Reginald.

"Well done both of you, but remember, this is but a beginning." The Tsar grinned.

"Oh your majesty, you're making us nervous" King Reginald replied in good humour.

"Thank you for taking my advice to heart, king Reginald" said king Christian, clearly pleased with himself.

"I suppose it makes the paltry Arendelle wedding ceremony worth it" grumbled the duke of Weselton.

"You make me sad, duke. I think you might either be clinically insane, or drunk on an empty stomach. Seeing the empty glass in your hand, I guess the latter." teased Christian, to which the duke merely grunted.

"Come with me, I'll introduce you to a poison far better than money" winked the king of The Southern Isles.

Agnarr merely laughed as Reginald relaxed his fisted hands after the duke left with the king, and within the span of a few minutes, was dancing his best impression of a chicken.

"He's clearly forgotten all his troubles"

"Good for him."

"Ah lighten up Reggie, I doubt you'll remember in the morning either."

"Hmm, I guess."

Agnarr grew serious and put his left arm over Reginald's shoulder, who returned the gesture.

"All the best for your parenthood."

"All good fortune for your married life as well, brother."

Agnarr gave a big smile before calling out: "Iduna, sweetheart, come here and bring Sophia with you as well."

"Here I am" Iduna warbled, clearly enjoying the first time she had ever been drunk, hanging onto Sophia's shoulder, who merely found it adorable. By this time, king Christian had also managed to calm the duke down after thoroughly enjoying the duke's dancing and 'mating calls' himself.

"Let's make a toast" Agnarr raised his glass as he collected Iduna in his right arm.

"To the lost" Agnarr said at length.

"To the lost" echoed the queen and everyone else.

"Skall to that" king Christian being himself, followed the duke shrieking "Caw Caw!"

Overcome with emotion and love, king Agnarr kissed his bride Iduna, who was so emotional at that point that she let out a long kulning for the occasion and buried her face into Agnarr's chest. She said with her voice cracking from tears, "If only my family could see me like this." King Agnarr whispered back kindly, "I know, I miss my parents too." The king held his bride close till she was well again, her eyes shinning with tears of joy. Reginald and Sophia watched the pair fondly coming closer themselves.

"I love you, Agnarr." "I love you too, Iduna"

"Not fair" Sophia remarked, trying to lighten up the mood, "she gets drunk then sings like an angel and tells people that she loves them, I get drunk and get into a quarrel with Reggie."

"We all have our charms, love." grinned Reginald.

Hmmm, this is getting somewhere, well thank you for sticking with this story!

Next time, we will see the sisters we have been waiting for :D

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome.

[tetrakys]

Show me

My rewrite of the scene in Nathaniel’s room in episode 13 if Candy had slept with Castiel in episode 11.

Big warning, this is really kinky shit, NSFW doesn’t even begin to cover, there are lots of mind games, if you can only bear sweet sweet love please stay away and don’t read.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bath in holy water to cleanse my soul.

————————-

“I’ll walk you back to campus.”

Nath was looking around the room, busying himself searching for his keys. We’d spent the evening in his flat, just chatting and talking about his situation. From time to time we’d played with Blanche. During the few hours I had been at his place he had barely looked at me, let alone kissed or touched me.

Not. Even. Once.

It wasn’t really like him. When we weren’t dating yet he had made very clear that he wouldn’t have minded getting ‘physical’ with me. And I knew he wasn’t really inexperienced in that field, he had quite a reputation around campus.

So, what was his deal now? A part of me couldn’t help but worry it had something to do with what had happened last week between me and Castiel.

I walked to him and huddled up in his arms.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I feel like leaving, actually.”

“Of course I’ll walk you back…” he said with a smile, “because I’m not going to be able to be good very long if you stay in my room a minute more.”

“Who said I wanted you to be good?”

“Me, I said it.” He replied with a hint of sharpness in his voice, taking a step back. “I don’t have enough time these days and…”

Time? I was right there, in the middle of the night! I was sure he was lying to me.

“Stop Nath, these are only excuses. You’ve barely stepped close to me the whole evening.”

“What do you mean excuses?” he replied, starting to sound as pissed off as I was, “why would I need to lie to you?”

“We both know the reason, just admit it!”

“Admit what?”

“That you are still mad… about what happened between me and Castiel last week!”

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me like I had just slapped him. Then I saw his expression change in a heartbeat. He was furious… I had clearly said the wrong thing.

He came to me looking really determined. Grabbing me by the arms, his lips an inch from mine, he looked at me with fury in his eyes.

“That fucking name… again… he is either on your mind, on your lips or in your cunt. Or all of them at the same time.”

I was shocked by his attitude and his crude words. But guess what, I was mad too. He had dumped me, I had all the rights to do whatever I wanted with my body, he had said as much himself last week, but now I wasn’t sure I believed him anymore.

“What Nath… are you jealous?” I replied coldly, “Weren’t you the one who said I was free to do what I wanted while I was single? And now you can’t even touch me. You… who have fucked half of Anteros?! Hypocritical much? Yes, I slept with Castiel, big fucking deal, get over it!”

His hold on my arms tightened, it was almost painful now.

“Maybe… I’m not ‘touching you’ because I don’t want you to think you are just a one-night stand to me? Maybe… I’m dying to rip your clothes off and fuck you senseless, but I’m trying to be respectful? But maybe that’s exactly how you like it!”

He pushed me, and I fell back laying on the bed.

“And Maybe… you are the one who can’t stop thinking about what you did with that prick.”

“Sure. Or maybe you’re just an insecure pussy, afraid of comparison.” I spat out.

He took the front of my shirt between his hands violently tearing it open, buttons flying everywhere in the room, and grabbed one breast roughly.

“Am I, now?” he said coldly, “Was the starlet that good? Did he rock your world?”

“Yes, he was.” I replied between my teeth. “And yes, he did.”

He grasped my face with his other hand and with a deadly whisper said, “Fine. Since you want it so badly, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll see who is afraid to compare.”

He rapidly removed my pants and the rest of my clothes and went to seat on the chair in front of his bed. So now I was laying there, alone, completely naked, while he stared at me with calculating eyes.

“So, tell me. What did he do to you, first?”

He was completely insane… but I couldn’t help being turned on by his demanding attitude.

“He… he kissed me.”

“Of course he did. But I’m not going to, you have to earn it. What did he do afterwards?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” I asked unsure.

“I don’t fucking care. Talk.”

“He made me lay down, took off my panties and eat me out.”

I saw his fists tighten, but his expression didn’t betray any inner turmoil. He looked almost bored.”

“Good… show me… touch yourself.”

This was the moment to back out. This thing… was fucked up… but was also incredibly hot, and I wanted to call his bluff and see where he was willing to take it.

I opened my legs, giving him a perfect view. His stare zoomed in immediately to my core, and I saw him swallow hard, more affected than what he was willing to let on.

With my back on the pillows, against the headboard, I used my hands to touch myself.

“He started kissing me here,” I said with one finger on my neck, “and then he went down” I dropped my finger to my chest, his eyes hungrily following its path. “And down,” it was now caressing my belly “and down,” I finally rested my hand between my legs.

“But he didn’t touch me here right away,” I said with a mischievous smile, “no, he liked to tease me, so he started to kiss my inner thigh first.” I caressed my thigh from my knee to my centre. “Then, when he saw me squirming, and panting, he licked me exactly where I wanted him to.”

My hand went to my core and I started caressing between my folds.

“What did he do? Did you come?” his voice was low, his tone dangerous, and his eyes locked to the movements of my hand.

“Oh yes,” I replied, my fingers expertly touching like I had done so many times before. “He ate me like a starved man. He told me he’d always dreamed of doing that since high school. He took my clit in his mouth and sucked. It hurt so good.” My fingers started moving delicately on that spot.

“When I was close, he pushed two fingers inside me, I was so wet they slipped right in, and I came in his mouth.” I closed my eyes and rested my head on the headboard. Remembering the scene was turning me on, but his eyes on me were pushing me over the edge.

I moved my fingers faster and, after a moment, I felt his hands touching me, his fingers slipping into me. I arched my back surprised and delighted by the feeling of him, but his other hand pushed me right back onto the mattress.

“Fuck you are wet,” he said pumping his fingers in and out of me with strength, there was nothing sweet in his movements, he wanted to both punish and give me pleasure at the same time. “Is the simple memory of him turning you on so much? Or is it because of me?”

“Both” I said honestly, he pushed my fingers away and started touching my clit with his other hand. Wow… it was better… much better… I thought I knew my body better than anyone else, but the way he was touching me…

“I appreciate the candour,” his movements increased in speed, faster and faster, and my thoughts started to blur, I was pure need. “Do you think you deserve to come?”

“Yes,” I panted, grabbing the sheets of his bed.

“Yes, what?” he asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yes… please?” I said biting my lip.

He smirked and, without a reply, put his lips on me, sucking my clit in his mouth. I came immediately and violently. My body was completely overtaken by the amazing feeling and I heard myself curse in pleasure.

I had barely stopped coming that I felt him entering me.

Grabbing both my legs and resting them on his shoulders he started pumping into me with quick short movements. He was looking at me with a pretty pleased smile, and I couldn’t help but moan in pleasure.

When he suddenly stopped, I looked at him surprised. He was still completely dressed, and I wanted to see him naked, touch him everywhere, like he was doing with me. But it was clear he wanted to be the one running the show now.

“Tell me…” he said caressing my legs, “how did he take you? Nice and slow?” and he started moving just like that, “Or fast and hard?” he added, changing the pace again. He kept switching between the two paces, effectively making me go crazy.

“Mmm…” was the only thing I managed to reply.

“What? Finding it hard to concentrate?” he asked with a smirk. “Is this good enough? Am I fucking you to your satisfaction?” his movements quicker and stronger. “Do you wish he was here in my place?”

I could tell there was a just tiny note of apprehension behind his cocky tone, so I looked at him straight in the eye and said “No. I want you Nathaniel. Keep fucking me, you’re doing me so good.”

His smile was almost child-like. Removing his tee, he tossed it on the floor, and without leaving my entrance, he came down on me, crushing my chest with his.

“I know baby, but I also know that you wouldn’t mind if he too was here right now. You’re such a spoiled princess, you would love to be fucked by both of us at the same time, wouldn’t you?”

His words reminded me of the dream I'd had a few weeks ago, and I felt myself blush. I couldn’t help it, the thought was just too hot.

He suddenly left my body and I sat on the bed worried I had offended him, that he maybe was mad. But I saw him strip completely, and I finally managed to see him in all his naked glory. His sculpted chest… those strong arms… and his cock… I had felt he was big, but having visual proof was something else.

Coming back to me, he took me in his arms. I thought he was going to enter me again, but he got up and took me to the other side of the room. I had no idea what he had in mind, but then he stopped in front of the big mirror that occupied a big part of the wall.

Making me stand in front of the mirror, he came behind me, his big and strong body completely enveloping mine while he took me from behind.

Starting with slow deep movements, that were hitting all the right spots, one hand grabbed my breast possessively, the other came to my neck, moving my hair on the side while whispering in my ear.

“Look at you… all flushed and wild, looking so completely well-fucked. My dirty girl…” he gave me a small gentle bite on my chin, “I don’t mind you liking sex so much, I actually love it. I don’t even mind you finding other men hot and having dirty fantasies, hell… I wouldn’t even mind making some of these fantasies come true…” he added, pumping into me faster, “as long as you remember who owns your mind and soul.”

Our gazes locked in the mirror and I nodded.

“No matter what Nath… you are the one I need. You are the one I want to be with.”

He smiled, and turned my head slightly to the side, so that our mouths could meet.

“Good fucking answer.”

His lips came crushing down to mine, and he kissed me with fervour, like he had been dying to do since the moment he had seen me hours ago. His peace got more frantic and, hugging me closer to him, he pumped into me with all he had got.

Looking at him in the mirror was an incredible sight, his strong muscles flexing with the effort, his big arms completely enveloping me, his face frowning in concentration. It was enough to make me come again without even realising I was that close, taking me completely by surprise.

As soon as he felt me shiver in his arms he came too, squeezing me even closer to him, like we were trying to become one single entity. He rested his forehead on my shoulder, while the last spasms of pleasure ran through his body.

“So…” he said after we’d both managed to catch our breath. “What about a movie this weekend?”

We both burst out laughing and fell on the bed, where we stayed for the rest of the night.

[slytherthicc]

Light’s Comfort

I wrote this for my beautiful love @angelgranger a few weeks ago and I finally got the courage to post it

Malfoy knows. Somewhere around here, Draco thought, he always comes from the studio with chocolate. Where the fuck does Harry keep his stash anyway? Draco continued to lift books, searching for his latest obsession. Carefully levitating the books back to their place to leave no evidence, Draco surveyed the studio. He did not need Harry knowing about his newly found love for chocolate.

All this time Draco had shamed Harry for liking such a "tasteless treat." However, his opinion changed when he tasted the chocolate from Harry’s lips. Instantly, he became addicted and had succumbed to stealing from Harry’s (not so secretive) chocolate stash.

Draco’s spell faltered at the thought of chocolate causing the levitating books to fall to the floor. Draco stood wincing at a loud sound echoing through the house. Thankfully, Harry was away. Just as Draco commenced his search once again, footsteps echoed in the hall. Swiftly he ran to hide under Harry's desk. He listened carefully for the noise. Draco was sure the footsteps belonged to Harry because other than Harry, Pansy was the only one able to enter the wards and Pansy constantly entered the house with a loud “I’m here homos!” It had to be Harry.

Draco shifted in his position since his back was already crying from the uncomfortable position. The door opened and Draco kneeled more to hide completely.

The steps became louder once in the room. Draco cursed himself for hiding; why didn’t he pretend to read a book? He could’ve done anything that didn’t look suspicious, but he chose to hide. And when had Potter even come from work?-

The footsteps grew louder and louder.

Next, a thundering noise was heard and everything became dark.

“Draco? Can you hear me?”

Draco blinked away, indistinguishable images surrounded him. A shadow was over him. Draco continued to come into consciousness as the person sat next to him watching. “Are you all right?” Harry’s voice continued guiding him. His vision became more distinct and now, in addition to Harry, Draco could distinguish lights floating around them coming from Harry’s wand.

Draco tried sitting up but was stopped. The warm floating lights travelled to him, forcing him to lay back down. “What happened?” Draco massaged the back of his head from where the pain was coming from. “I…” Harry’s face flustered as he maintained his eyes low on Draco’s hand in his. “What?” Draco asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“I whacked you with a book because I thought you were an animal that was snatching my chocolate.”

His fiancé. His fucking fiancé had knocked him, with a book, because of chocolate.

“You h-hit me because of chocolate!” His own shout made his head throb. Draco cursed everything in the world and turned away from Harry to stare out the glass doors which lead to the balcony. Rays of pink and purple laced across the sky as the sun set for the day. He concentrated on the gorgeous spectacle, despite the tug he felt on his arm. He slapped the hand away, his sight travelled from the sunset to the steam floating from the white mug on his nightstand. Harry had brewed him tea. It produced a pleasant smell too.

But no.

Draco was not losing to temptation, not today. Today he was standing up for what he believed in. Harry shouldn’t have knocked him with a book.

“Draco?”

“You hit me because I was craving chocolate, and with a book may I add.”

“So it is you! You’re the one that has been stealing my chocolate for a month! I thought racoons were breaking in!” Harry said as he adjusted the covers around his fiance, as this he continued to look elsewhere pouting.

“Rac-? What is-? Wait. You’re the reason why I caught my pinky on that trap!” Draco glared at Harry’s reflection on the glass door. Two weeks ago, as Draco had scavenged for chocolate, he managed to catch his pinky on a trap. His fingernail was bruised for weeks. Draco unconsciously laid his hand on the pillow next to him and stared at it.

"THAT WAS YOU?" Harry shouted. Oh. Draco had accidentally come clean.

Draco felt his cheeks redden. He was embarrassed because he was caught red-handed. He felt ashamed because his sneaking skills had worsened. And he felt fucking betrayed. Betrayed by his own fiancé. This could only happen to Draco Malfoy. Hadn’t he suffered enough? He should’ve dumped Potter when this one secretly bought Keef the Ferret. Betrayal after betrayal. With this in mind, Draco lifted one arm and with much exhausting work, he managed to put together a poorly built pillow fortress around himself. All the while, Harry watched.

“Love?” That’s all Harry could say? Draco rolled his eyes, fuming under the blankets. Potter and his unruly ways, he always ruined everything. “Draco, are you mad?” Harry’s hand came up to nudge Draco’s shoulder but this one shrugged it off again. Yes, he had stolen chocolate so what?

The floating lights came floating at his side of the bed. They shimmered all around him. If he focused on them, he could virtually see Harry and him on broomsticks attempting to catch them. Draco followed them as they twirled around the room, except for three specific ones that stayed close to his hand. Draco lifted a finger to see if he could touch one but his finger went through the light. His finger felt a familiar warm sensation. A familiar warmth. Draco closed his eyes, perceiving one of the lights flicking his hair around.

Coolness reached his feet; Draco opened his eyes only to realise Harry was standing by the balcony. The pillows covered most his vision but he could still Harry's silhouette. The sky was dark except for the rare star. Harry’s hair tousled from the cold wind as he stood looking out into the sky. The sight made Draco’s heart fluttered, but he ignored it as he ran a finger through one of the lights. As if he sensed Draco’s stare, Harry turned to look at him.

“You’re awake.”

“I fell asleep?”

“You fell asleep for about ten minutes.” Draco hummed as a response and curled up into a ball.

“My feet are frozen.” Draco snuggled deeper into the sea of blankets and kicked his feet under it as emphasis to his sentence. The wind once again picked up, ruffling Harry’s already tousled hair. Draco was hit with wintry air and was succumbed to escape under the blankets. Who in their reasonable mind goes outside without a warming charm?

Harry walked into the room and closed the door. He turned to Draco to see his reaction, Draco indifferently raised his eyebrows. The ongoing lights fluttered around Harry and Draco could merely stare in amazement at such a gorgeous sight. How could this human be so perfect?

Draco felt the bed dip a little under Harry’s weight on the other side of his fort. Slowly Draco turned inside his nest, through a hole Draco could see Harry’s eye staring back at him. Draco was tempted to flick the glass lens.

“Do you want one?” Harry’s muffled voice travelled to Draco, as well as a plastic noise.

“What?” Draco placed his eye into the hole to see what Harry was talking about.

Oh.

Draco’s face reddened as he caught sight of the purple wrapper. He had forgotten about that, but there was Harry clutching a bag of chocolate, reminding him.

Defeat or chocolate?

In a hasty decision, Draco offered his hand through the hole. He perceived Harry’s finger brush with his and was tempted to enclose them in his own but resisted the enticement. He felt the chocolate being dropped in his hand; he retrieved his hand taking off the wrapper and immediately putting it to his mouth. He felt the chocolate melt in his mouth, and he was a goner. Why did he ever think this was a “tasteless treat”?

In a flash, his hand shot out to ask for another piece.

“I really don’t know why you didn’t just Accio them.” Said Harry as he placed another chocolate into Draco’s unwavering hand. And that’s when Draco wanted to kick himself in the face. Why didn’t he? He had been so focused on retrieving them, it didn’t enter his mind to use a simple Accio charm. He had been certain Harry would secure them with some protection charm.

“What? So you’re going to ma-”

“Make fun of you?” Harry cut him off as Draco ate another chocolate. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.” Draco extended his hand once again to silently ask for more candy but was met with Harry’s fingers.

“I know you’re not going to mention it, so I’ll say it. You don’t have to be afraid of changing your opinion on something.” The whisper would’ve gone unnoticed had it not been for the soft caress Draco felt on his hand.

Harry knew him. Harry comprehended why this was so embarrassing for him. Changing an opinion on something? What kind of Malfoy does that? No. A Malfoy is destined to follow the rules, set and believe in their opinions until they die. He had changed his Pureblood beliefs because his future depended on it and because he deeply wanted to believe there was more to the Wizarding World than sovereignty. But that was the only thing. Besides that there wasn't any other alternative; he was abstained from his changing beliefs. Once everything was set, there was no going back on it. No matter how small it was.

Draco saw a hand appear above his fort. Silently, he watched Harry carelessly remove the pillows next to Draco’s head. He watched as one of the lights touched Harry’s hand. Draco continued to watch Harry lift the white duvets making the pillows on top of it fall carelessly. He felt Harry’s hand caress his hair and a press on his own hand. He lowered his sight to see a chocolate being pressed into his hand.

“I know you’re really stubborn, but you should know I won’t judge you if you ever decide to believe in something different.“ Harry’s facial expression held such candour; Draco swerved his eyes to his hand.

Without any expression in his face, Draco gently removed the rest of the pillows and lifted the covers. Harry’s caresses faltered. Draco wasn’t keen on initiating physical contact, ever. But this was inexplicably different. Draco knew that much.

Draco motioned Harry to come under the covers. Harry’s hand raised to Draco’s cheekbone in question, forcing Draco to maintain eye contact. Draco motioned Harry once again. Carefully, Harry slid next to Draco.

Draco could feel the warmth. That familiar warmth. Once it hit him, the rest of the world was gone. Gone, gone, gone. There were only him and this unique warm presence. This inevitable frankness and raw emotion of their relationship. Draco placed his arm around Harry, cradling this one in his arms.

Draco almost laughed. Harry’s expression was something he’d never seen before. Draco experienced the pure appreciation and admiration emanating from Harry’s gaze. Draco knew there’d be no other bliss compared to this one.