#daniel sharman fic

[escapist-of-fiction]

One shot - Troy Otto x Fem Reader

Description - just a bit of fluff really. Something that has been floating in my head for a while and needed to write it down. Troy is a bit of a tease in this but I like him like that.

Warnings - none really. Mild swearing.

If you do read, a like, reblog and/or a comment would make me smile :) enjoy!

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It had become abundantly apparent to everyone that something was developing between you and Troy.

There was something about the way he looked at you from across the room, never intrusive but always keeping one eye closely on you, watching your every move. You didn't mind though. It made you feel safe. You didn't feel so alone in the crowd.

Every chance Troy had; loading supplies from the trucks, collecting empty dishes at meal times, showing you how to hold a gun in the right way to defend yourself, any excuse to have just a little bit of contact with you. You didn't mind. You wanted him to do it. Your skin tingled at his touch. If he stood close to you, you would hold your breath without even realising. It was just the effect he had on you. In a group situation, he would always somehow find his way next to you, by now it was almost an expectation.

You wondered how long it would take for him to make a move. It had taken so long that you were unsure whether it was all in your mind and he had no interest in you at all.

"You can see it, can't you?" Alicia said one day as you sat together at lunch.

"See what?" You responded innocently.

You needed someone else to spell it out to you. To make it seem real. It seemed too good to be true in your own mind. After all, why would someone as complex as Troy be interested in someone as basic as you?

"Troy. There's something about you two. The way he is around you, it's like you're precious cargo or something. He speaks to you so differently to everyone else, with a whole new level of respect. He doesn't even speak like that to Jake, his own brother."

You didn't know how to respond to this, so you decided not to say anything at all.

On the day the Militia headed out on their short mission, you stood with everyone else at the gates. Going on missions was a weekly occurrence in the post-apocalyptic world but today everyone seemed a little on edge. Everyone except Troy.

You stood a little away from the small gathering, leaning against a table where supplies were piled up high. You watched as Troy fooled around with some of the Militia members, his trusted and closest comrades obviously. He wasn't normally this way before a mission, which made you think it was a little more serious than the average. He was trying to put everyone at ease. Rumours had been going around the Ranch that you were heading out to confront another group, who were threatening to steal water supplies. It wouldn't be an easy mission and lives were potentially at risk.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice someone pick up a box beside you, until their voice brought you back to reality.

"You aren't normally here to see us off," Troy noted.

"I'm surprised you would even notice," you answered with the tiniest of smiles, watching for his reaction.

"Dont worry, I notice."

You watched as he walked towards the truck and placed the final box in the back, hitting the side panel to signal to the group that they were ready to go.

You expected Troy to climb into the driver's seat as normal, rev the engine, turn up his heavy metal music and speed out of the Ranch, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. But not this time.

This time, he turned and walked back in the direction of you. You lifted your head to look up at him as he got closer and closer, until he was stood toe to toe with you. He had a look on his face, a mixture of uncertainty and, was that yearning?

You were perplexed by Troy's actions and you were just about question his odd behaviour when he suddenly grabbed you by the waist and....kissed you.

The briefest of kisses that lasted long enough to make your head spin, your toes curl and heart race all at once. It stunned you but made sense to you all at once. You felt Troy's hand press firmly into the small of your back to pull you against him as his other hand gently caressed your cheek.

Then no sooner had it started, it stopped and Troy pulled away. No explanation. No second glance as he turned and walked back towards the truck and the waiting Militia.

You stood there in shock, your fingers reaching to your lips to trace the echo of his touch.

What the hell was that?

Five days passed until Troy and the Militia returned.

Five days for you to mull over your encounter and ask yourself a million questions. You flitted from the feeling of lusting after Troy and more from that kiss, to being filled with a mild rage at how the bastard had acted in such an impulsive way and walked right out of the Ranch with no explanation.

By the time they returned, you had made up your mind on what to do next.

You never normally gathered with the others at the gate but this time was different. This time you had a reason to stand amongst the friends and family. You wanted Troy to know he had left someone behind. Someone who cared about him, his reckless behaviour and the consequences that came with it.

You watched him exit the truck last of all. He looked tired and weary, having been on the road with little to no sleep and carrying the responsibility of everyone's safety on his shoulders. There was a part of you that wanted to rush to him, embrace him but something made you hold back and wait.

Eventually, Troy looked up and spotted you, his eyes lighting up as they met with yours. You gave nothing away. He approached you, watching your expression tentatively, wondering how you were going to react since your last encounter. He took the fact you were here at all as a good sign.

Coming to stand in front of you, he rested his hands on his hips and tilted his head with a cocky smile.

Words were lost on you. You tried to think of something smart to say, to chastise him for what he did the last time you saw each other but you just kept losing your train of thought in those azure, blue eyes.

Instead, you communicated in the only way you both knew how.

Stepping forward and rising to the balls of your feet, you placed a hand on the back of Troy's neck and pulled him down to meet you.

Your lips pressed firmly against his. A kiss almost sweeter than the first, full of promise and something that you couldn't quite describe but you knew you needed more of it.

Reluctantly, you pulled away to look up at Troy, your hands pressed against his chest. Judging by the hazy look in his eye and the delectable way he licked his lips, it told you everything you needed to know. He felt exactly the same way.

And then, just like that, you found your voice again,

"Hi."

Troy laughed softly,

"Well it took you long enough, darling"

[insom-nom-nom-niatic]

2 Of A Kind Ch. 3

CHARACTERS: Troy Otto X Fem Reader

WARNINGS: It's made for FTWD so you should know the basics. +SMUT (read at your own risk. I'm nobody's mom) +Fem receiving

There may or may not be a part 4... need to see how people feel about it. ALSO! Shoutout to all the GIF makers out there for giving me so many options and I love you all... I still feel the need to use the same one repeatedly, but you all help me fight that urge!

This is made for THIS anon request!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“Can I help you with that?”

Troy’s eyes grew dark, feeling his senses begin to tunnel into her and her alone. The woman merely smiled, adjusting herself under the blanket to the side. Her cheeks burned with a fury of confusion and anticipation as she stared back into the blue eyes watching her. “I mean-” Troy shuffled his feet lazily towards the right side of the mattress, closest to the woman. “You helped me so it’s only polite of me to offer my assistance. That is - if you want me to help. Not to be frank but, I could do a bit better than what you were doing.” Troy cocked his head to the side with a crooked smile when the woman scoffed exaggeratingly at his remark. It had been some time, if ever, that anyone had made him feel like this.

Powerful.

“Come’er,” She whispered to him, a voice sending shivers down his spine, but Troy followed her order. The mattress slunk down from his weight, dipping the two into one pothole in the middle. Her fingers ghosted over his hand, the wound on it open to the warm air. His eyes flinched at the sting that rang up his extremity as she placed the hand to her lips, gently kissing the inflamed skin while looking up at him through dark eyelashes. with a twist of his hand, Troy caressed the woman’s cheek, feeling the heat radiate from her dewy skin. Their eyes never broke until Troy lowered his gaze to her lips, softer than he thought they’d be, swiping one calloused digit across the delicate flesh.

With a smooth lick of his lips, Troy initiated the kiss. Pressing his flesh upon her own, feeling her warmth and hearing the ever-so-silent moan that escaped her lips against his. He thought about going slow. He thought about taking it easy with her and not being so forceful, but the sound she made turned him into something more than he thought he was. Deepening the kiss, Troy licked at her bottom lip begging for permission.

Denied.

He could feel her lips pull at the sides, smirking against his touch. This was a game.

A hand found its way to the base of her neck, his fingers dancing along her spine until she felt his way into her hair. Troy took a handful of lush locks, pulling it into a fist. Her body began to arch as her neck pulled back just enough to gain his awaiting tongue entry. His body began to barrel over her as she was lost in the feelings. She wasn’t one to ever relinquish control… yet, here she was. Allowing a stranger control over her body, and she liked it.

As Troy’s tongue ventured into the walls of her mouth, his free hand found its way up her chest, burning fingerprints into the skin he began to expose. With one final nip to her bottom lip, Troy backed away, his lips at least. His eyes regained control again, watching her once-hardened eyes turn soft and needy. The look she gave him through those dark eyelashes gave him the feeling of warmth… possessive… needed.

Fully collapsing into the soft sheet below, the woman gave up her fight. His touch felt too good to push away.

Watching his head dip below her chin, she felt his lips once again burn into her skin, just below her collarbone. His tongue swirled with small suctions traveling lower and lower. His nimble fingers pulled the blanket she was hiding under exposing both breasts to his full view. Troy glanced up, his fingers pinching the sensitive skin of her nipples.

He wanted to see her face as she let him do everything he wanted.

He wanted to see her vulnerable. He wanted to see her as his.

After a little while, he couldn’t take it any longer. Seeing her skin raised in goosebumps and her nipples formed into full points, Troy replaced his fingers with his lips. He hadn’t thought he had an oral fixation before, but the way his cock begged for his lips to have her, any part of her, was beginning to make the brunette re-think that. Her voice jumped when he sucked in a breath against her, biting harder than he had before. Her fingers weaved through the curly locks on Troy’s scalp, tugging ever so much with each moan that escaped her. Troy hadn’t realized that his hand had already found her most sensitive region until she shook under his grasp.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait!” She exclaimed, her fingers lifting his chin to look back at her. “If you’re going there, then I need something other than ‘fuck-boy’ to scream. So what’ll it be?”

Troy smirked, a devilish smirk, with one arm under his weight to keep him raised above her form. The hand that was at her core swiped the saliva from his lips before ghosting down her body, once more resting where he could see a glint of her slick dripping from. His eyes watched her skin react to his touch the entire time, her scars rough and coarse before his fingertips met more soft skin. He thought about toying with her, prolonging her wait for any form of identity of him, but he wanted to hear his name echo on those walls just as bad as she wanted sweet release.

“I’m Troy.”

As soon as he spoke, Troy delved two fingers into her core. Her hands fisted into his hair as he did so. He watched as her entire body arched from the mattress and her lips enchanted the delight of moaning his name. Enjoying the sight before him, Troy watched as she came to orgasm. His digits glided in and out of her sodden core, stretching the walls of her pussy farther with each spasm she had. As she began to clamp down, his thumb rubbed circles through her clit, only causing even more mess as she finally climaxed with a squirt of fluids soaking the bedding below her sweat-slickened skin.

She was a mess, a hot uncontrollable mess as she came back down from her high. She had completely forgotten she was even in company until she felt one strong arm tighten over her belly and soft curls itch across her cheeks. Troy knew she needed a little time, so kept himself busy making bruises to last her a few days on her neck. Once he felt her heart rate slow against his touch, he pulled back to look upon the magnificent work he had done. One arm, again held him up as the other moved slickened hair from the woman’s face. His eyes peered over her lips as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from dazing before meeting her watchful gaze.

“I suppose I should thank you.” She spoke quietly, much softer than normal. Her mouth upturned into a shy smile before turning to look at the ceiling. Troy chuckled tenderly. This woman wasn’t at all who he thought she would be as he peeled back layer after layer.

“There’s no need, I’m here to help, ma’am.”

Troy rolled over to the edge of the mattress, swinging his legs over the side. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome so he figured it was off to the couch for another night. Then, a soft touch wrapped around his wrist.

“Why are you leaving? Did I-”

“I didn’t want to overstay or put you in a position to ask me to leave.”

Troy looked back at the woman from over his shoulder. She sat where he had left her, trying to hide her modesty behind entwined arms and legs. The look she returned was not one that he had assumed he would get. Her coy smile beckoned his feet to not move. Her eyes were like a siren making any thought he had of leaving melt away.

“I’m grateful, I truly am -” her hand that was on his wrist weaved through a belt loop, tugging at the fabric, “- I need more, Troy. And given by how tight those pants have gotten, I think you need more too.”

[escapist-of-fiction]

Just some casual Tuesday fic inspo

[perseephoneee]

Can you do a isaac lahey imagine where the reader us on her period and freaks out and doesn't know what to do so lydia tells him what to do

hehe yes omg

period talk (isaac lahey x f!reader)

warnings: fluff, period talk, dumb boy

a/n: try the drink mentioned if you want to imagine running through hogwarts on a winter day.

↳ masterlist ↳  want to be shipped with a fic character?

Isaac wouldn't admit it, but he loved the cold weather. He liked when the winter season would hit, and holidays were a topic of conversation. Holidays were the only time his Dad treated him like he was actually proud of him, and despite that fucked up relationship, Isaac couldn't help but romanticize the season. It's why, when Beacon Hills hit a new low for the weather, he was excited to see you at school. Perhaps he could even convince you to skip class and get hot coco with him.

Unfortunately for him, your period had started therefore your mood was sour. The cold just added to your discomfort, and you basically hissed at him when he came by your locker.

"Woah, what did I do?" Isaac recoiled, a nervous laugh on his lips. You took a deep breath before turning and facing him.

"Nothing, you did nothing," you sighed. "I'm just...not doing great."

"Whats wrong?" Isaac inquired, brows furrowed and concern evident on his face. You loved your cute werewolf boyfriend, and while he was very helpful, he probably couldn't do much for you right now.

"I'm on my period," you admitted with a twinge of shame. Talking about these things was never fun, even to someone you trusted. A blush coated Isaac's cheeks as he processed what you said.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Should I, uh, do something?" Isaac stammered, hands in his pockets.

"Just be you, I'm a big girl and can handle myself," you chuckled, lightly slapping his arm as you closed your locker and started in the direction of class. Isaac stood in the hallway a moment longer, before deducing a game plan and targeting the area of the school he knew the familiar red head would be. She was typing on her phone when he ran up beside her, backpack slung lazily over his shoulder.

"I need your help," Isaac said hurridly, earning a squeak of surprise form Lydia. She set two angry eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to run away. Women did not like him much today.

"Stop sneaking up on me like that," Lydia rolled her eyes, putting her phone in her purse. "What is it?"

"Y/N is on her period, and I want to help, but I don't know what to do, and you're a girl and you're smart so I thought you'd have some ideas?" Isaac rushed, lips pressed in a thin line as Lydia cocked a brow at him.

"Why do you have to make everything so dramatic?" Lydia huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Isaac sent her a look though that showed that he wasn't going to figure anything out, anytime soon. "Look, unless she asks for products, don't bother trying to buy her them-- you'll likely get the wrong ones anyway. Get her her favorite warm drink, a heating pad, blanket, maybe an activity or something calming."

"Drink, heating pad, blanket, activity, got it," Isaac listed out everything, brows scrunched together in concentration. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, during this time, she's always right. Even if you think she isn't, just agree that you're wrong and she's right. Otherwise, she'll claw your eyes out," Lydia crossed her arms, daring Isaac to challenge her. He stayed quiet though, and she loosened up her stance. "I have to go, have fun, don't get killed."

Isaac was never that great at social cues, but he really liked you, and that was enough. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling taking pit in his stomach, he skipped out on school to go get the necessary things Lydia listed. Starting off with a butterbeer chai, a concoction you created (two pumps caramel, two pumps toffee, caramel drizzle, and chai); going to CVS for a heating pad and a blanket; then finally the bookstore down the street where he found a book you wanted (after searching through his phone for fifteen minutes trying to find the text where you mentioned wanting a new release). By the time he had finished his grand adventure, school was out and he would be able to surprise you.

You were having a crappy day with a side of more absolute garbage, so you were very pleasantly surprised when your golden hair boyfriend comes bounding up the street as you exit the school building.

"Woah, where's the fire?" you chuckle. You finally take notice of the bags he's carrying, as well as the drink.

"These are for you," Isaac stutters, passing you the drink. You peer in the bag and can't hide the grin on your face as you take in the plethora of supplies he got. "I know you weren't doing well, and I felt bad, so I got some stuff."

"Isaac, you are the sweetest puppy of a boyfriend a girl could ask for," you smile, wanting nothing more than to pick him up and twirl him around (he is too tall, you are too small). "How did you know what to get?"

"I asked Lydia," he mumbles, staring at his feet. You fight back a chuckle.

"Probably the smartest thing you could've done."

"That was my thought process as well," he chimes, scratching the back of his neck and shooting you a grin. You lean up, kissing him on the corner of his mouth and looping his arm through yours.

"C'mon, lets go hide from the cold together and I'll bitch to you about life," you chime, the cold dusting yours and Isaac's cheeks in shades of pink.

"Sounds perfect, just like you," Isaac smiles, kissing the top of your head as you walk off back home.

[everlastingdreams]

Isaac Lahey x Reader : Theft Of The Heart

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: You are new at the Beacon Hills High school and catch the attention of a certain lacrosse player. Being too shy to interact properly leads to awkward situations.

Notes: This was in my WIPs for so long omg.

Word count of this fic: 2.6K words. One-shot.

Warnings: None. It’s funny (I hope)  fluff.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was the first day at a new school after having moved to Beacon Hills with your family two weeks ago.

After one week, you were already hired at a small local grocery store.

Today was the start of a new direction in life and it was nerve wracking.

Making friends at a new school was never easy, but at Beacon Hill’s High you were rather quickly approached by Lydia who was now sitting next to you on the tribunes watching the lacrosse game.

You didn’t know who to cheer for, only knew to cheer for the ones wearing Beacon Hills uniforms.

Lydia did try to point at some players and name them, saying they were friends of her.

But they ran across the field constantly, so you barely had a chance to really spot them. You had to strain your eyes to be able to follow the game.

She on the other hand seemed to focus all her attention on player twenty-four.

You just tried to keep your eyes on who had the ball in their possession.

Player fourteen was running towards the opponent’s goal.

“Lydia, I think that one is going to score.” You nudged her arm and she snapped her attention to the player running at the goal.

Isaac had the ball and was running towards the goal of the opponents, his team mates where giving him cover. He was sure of victory, that was until he saw a new face sitting on the tribunes watching the game.

A pretty face…

It was too late to avoid the collision with a player from the other team and he ended up taking a fall.

The ball and victory was lost.

Scott hurried over to his fallen friend.

“What are you doing?! Did you fall asleep or something?” Scott helped him up from the ground.

Isaac mumbled the excuse “I tripped.”

“You alright?” Scott scanned him for injuries.

“Yeah…” Isaac nodded, attention continuously darting to the tribunes.

Scott snapped his fingers in front of his face “Hey, heads up. Keep your mind on the game.”

Isaac pulled his eyes away from the tribunes and tried to focus on what his friend was telling him “Got it.”

Scott patted him on the shoulder “Alright, cover me.”

                                                            ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  At lunch, Scott noticed the way his friend’s attention kept being pulled to you sitting at a table with some of the other new students.

He nudged his elbow with his own, Isaac looked a little startled at Scott.

“What?” Isaac asked him a little agitated that he was pulled out of his daydreaming.

Scott just gave him a knowing look, trying his hardest not to laugh even just a little at Isaac’s reaction.

“She’s new.” Scott opened the door to the conversation.

Isaac cleared his throat, suddenly trying very hard not to look in your direction again “Who’s new?”

Scott snorted, shaking his head as he deadpanned “The girl that cost us a point in the game.”

Isaac frowned at him before he realized what Scott was really trying to say “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. You’ve been staring at her since the second you saw her sitting in the tribunes with Lydia. Don’t even try to deny it.” Scott chuckled at his friend’s desperate attempt to hide the instant interest Isaac had for you.

“I’m not staring at her.” He bit the words at Scott and looked around him to see if no one was listening in on their conversation “..I thought I recognized her from somewhere. That’s all.”

“Yeah. You recognized her from when you let the other team knock you to the ground because you were too focused on her instead of the game.” Scott could tell with ease that Isaac was trying to bullshit his way out of this.

Isaac finally snapped “Okay, fine! Maybe I was looking at her, so what?”

“Go talk to her.” Scott said as if it was that simple.

Isaac lowered his voice “What?! No way.”

Now that Scott had him confessing, he wasn’t going to let it go so quickly “Why not?”

Isaac spoke fast, anxiety laced in his voice “Because I don’t know her. I don’t even know her name, what would I even say?”

“Ask for her name.” Scott said casually.

Isaac scoffed and turned away from him “You’re no help.”

“Chicken.” Scott muttered quietly, knowing damn well that Isaac could still pick up on it.

Isaac was about to reply when he saw you stand up from your seat at the table and walk in their direction. He felt himself freeze up completely, Scott’s eyes darted between you and Isaac as you walked past their table while chatting with one of the other new girls.

It was then that Scott failed to hold his quiet laughter at seeing Isaac look at you like a deer in headlights.

His poor friend seemed so rattled by your presence at the school that it made Isaac fall completely silent the closer you got to him.

A little help would be needed.

                                                                ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  The days flew by, it was weekend before you knew it.

The place you worked at in the weekends was a small but busy shop. The work that had to be done everyday surpassed the staff that was available. In other words, you spend your time constantly hurrying from one chore to the other.

You were stocking the shelves while keeping an eye on the checkout area.

You often were so concentrated that you kind of zoned out sometimes, it was why you had failed to see him approach you.

“Hi…” His voice pulled you out of your concentration.

You turned and your eyes met with a pair of blue ones. You fumbled with the box containing a piece of soap as you were faced with someone you had seen around school before but had never talked to.

You knew he was handsome, but having him stand so close to you made you realize how truly good looking he actually was.

The tall, curly haired, blue eyed boy. The sight of him was enough for you to develop a small crush.

“Hi…” You greeted him after composing yourself, he was still a customer “Can I help you?”

He nodded, appearing a little nervous “Uh yeah, I’m looking for the…the uh…”

Another guy approached, one who’s name you thought was Scott, if you had heard Lydia right…

Scott looked at his struggling friend deciding to end this struggle “He’s looking for the feminine hygiene section.”

“Oh.” You believed it was why he had looked so nervous “Please, follow me. I’ll show you where it is.”

They both walked at a distance behind you and you were unaware of how Scott smacked a hand against Isaac’s shoulder and gestured in your direction.

Isaac quickly looked in your direction hoping you hadn’t noticed it before he glared at his friend.

“Here it is.” You stopped in front of the shelves filled with the many products “Anything else I can help you with?”

You were already starting to turn away, ready to go back to the work you were doing.

Scott saw Isaac struggle to find a good excuse to make you stay around them a little longer.

“Uhm… I uh…” He stammered again.

You waited patiently for him to form a sentence.

Scott sighed before speaking up again “Could you help us find the tampons?”

Isaac’s eyes snapped to Scott, why couldn’t he ask you to help him find anything else in this store?

He never should have mentioned to Scott that he thought you were pretty. But then again, Scott had probably noticed days ago when he caught him staring at you on the field. It was why he had collided with a player from the opposite team.

“It’s for a friend.” Isaac cleared his throat, not daring to look you in the eye.

“Sweet of you to come and buy it for them.” You send him a smile.

At that his eyes found yours, even though he felt very embarrassed, seeing your smile made him less self-conscious about all of this.

                                                               ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  “The women’s hygiene section?!?” Isaac snapped at Scott the second he walked out the store.

Scott snorted at his reaction “What? Girls like a guy who is comfortable buying that sort of stuff.”

“Thanks a lot.” Isaac huffed.

Scott shrugged his shoulders, a quiet laugh escaped “Not my fault you failed to think of a better excuse to talk to her. Besides, she said it was sweet.”

It got on Isaac’s already delicate nerves “Yeah, well, now she’ll think this ‘friend’ is someone I’m dating. Ever think of that?”

Scott waved it away “You know what? Now that you know where she works, you can talk to her yourself. Just think of some question about a product and go ask her for help.”

He wasn’t sure of the plan “She’ll think I’m stalking her.”

Scott saw right through all the excuses of his shy friend “Isaac… it’s a shop. People go in there and ask questions every day. You’re not the only one, okay?”

                                                               ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  On Sunday, you were sticking security stickers on the more expensive items in the store. Everything over nine dollars needed one to prevent it from being stolen.

The door of the store opened and in walked the handsome boy you had barely been able to talk to yesterday. Maybe you could at least find out his name today.

With one of the make-up mirrors up for sale, you quickly inspected your appearance before placing it back.

You were in the corner where the make-up was and saw him walk in your direction, stop and then walk the other way.

Oh…

Was he too shy? Or just not interested?

With the roll of security stickers in your hand, a plan formed.

You took one sticker off the roll and waited until he was looking at something. When he was looking at cereals, you walked past him and stuck the sticker to the elbow of his sleeve without stopping.

A customer was waiting at the register and it was the perfect excuse to have walked past him.

You rang up their items and helped the old lady put them in her bag, then handed it to her “Here you go, thank you and have a nice day.”

The lady gave a broad smile and left with her groceries.

Before you could leave the register, the handsome boy walked up and placed a single box of cereals on the counter.

“Good morning.” You made an effort to give him your sweetest smile.

He blinked a few times before finding his voice “Uh…good morning.”

That shy smile of his was adorable…

You accidentally knocked over the box and he reached for it at the same time as you.

His hand landed on yours, you froze, he froze…

With a nervous laugh, you broke the awkward tension and he quickly withdrew his hand.

“Sorry, I’m clumsy.” You apologized and rang up the box of cereals.

“It’s fine. So, am I.” He said.

You had grown quite nervous and felt yourself withdraw in your shell of shyness “That will be three dollars, please.”

He pulled some coins from his pockets and put them on the counter for you to count.

After counting them, you picked the change up and offered it to him “Your change.”

“Ah, nah. Uhm, you can keep it.” He was nearly caught staring a you.

“You sure?” You asked.

He gave a nod “Yeah.”

You smiled at him, appreciating the kind gesture “Thanks. I hope you have a good day.”

Poor Isaac was trying to think of something to say and when that didn’t work, he replied “Thanks. You too.”

There you stood, watching him head for the door, the boy who’s name you still didn’t know…

And then, the alarm of the store went off.

Oh, gosh…

You had almost forgotten about the security sticker and hurried over to him.

He looked ridiculously nervous and you felt a pang of guilt.

Even when he was sure he had not stolen a thing, Isaac began to search his pockets “Ah, crap…”

Oh, no…

“Oh! Wait… hold on for a sec…” You quickly pulled the tag from his sleeve, holding it up for him to see.

Realization dawned on him “That’s what set the alarm off? I don’t know how it got on me…”

You smiled like a sinner in church “Oh…it happens all the time here.”

He quirked a brow at you “Oh. Weird.”

“Anyway… sorry for bothering you. I hope I’ll see you in the store again and that this didn’t scare you off.” You stammered nervously.

He nodded quickly, a shy smile growing on his face “Yeah. Don’t worry, you’ll see me again.”

You nodded nervously, feeling like a fool for doing all this.

“I’m Isaac.” He suddenly blurted out and held out his hand.

You blinked twice before you took his hand in yours and shook it “Y/n.”

He looked almost flustered now “Nice to meet you. I wanted to get a chance to talk to you but I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

Did he think that you believed he would stick a security sticker on himself to get your attention? This was getting more and more ridiculous.

“I uh…” You stammered.

“Sorry if this is weird or something, I just-” He sounded so timid and sweet.

“I stuck the sticker on you.” You finally confessed.

Isaac frowned for a second “Why would you-… oh.”

A smirk spread across his face “So instead of trying a pick up line, you try to frame me for theft?”

“No! No, of course not I was just shy and stupid and -” You covered your face with your hands in shame.

He chuckled at your reaction “Don’t worry. It worked.”

What?

WHAT?!?

You couldn’t believe your shenanigans had actually worked on him.

The relief you felt was instant and you hoped to break the ice completely “But if you want a cheesy pick up line…we are supposed to tag everything above nine dollars. So I guess that means you’re a ten.”

His mouth was a little agape now and he chuckled “That uh… that’s not bad.”

You hummed in agreement.

Isaac scrambled all his courage together “Now that we’re on the topic of numbers… what’s yours?”

Your smile could not have been broader, you couldn’t believe that someone as cute as him would ask for your number.

Then you quickly looked around you for a piece of paper and a pen “Hang on… I’ll write it down for you.”

Isaac realized you were looking for something to write your number down on. He quickly took his phone from his pocket.

“Here. You can put it in my phone…if you want?” He clumsily handed you his phone, almost dropping it twice.

You gladly took the phone from him and added your number to his contact list, then handed him back the phone “Here you go.”

It was as if he couldn’t believe you had actually given him your number “Thanks…I’ll call you soon.”

You truly hoped he was being honest and that he would actually call you.

The both of you were suddenly interrupted when your boss asked you why you weren’t busy doing your job at the moment.

So you said a quick goodbye to Isaac and got back to work.

You were waiting for the familiar ringtone all day, waiting for his call.

Only at ten that evening did Isaac find enough courage to call and ask you out.

And of course, you said yes.

  Tags: 

@rachlovesactors​

I lost my Isaac taglist ;_;

[noemitenshi]

What should've been - Troy's revenge

OK so, this here

is absolute bullshit. No way in hell would the person who stabbed his injured hand on enemy’s knife

(gif for your convenience)

be as easily deterred from extracting his revenge as depicted in the first gif (especially since he's so fucking close to finally getting it). So what actually should've happened in this scene* is some iteration of the following.

Troy's revenge

God he was so close, so fucking close to finally avenging his Serena, finally getting his due. Finally… it was all he could think as he dragged Madison towards Serena’s spoiled form. Finally, finally, finally.

God, he felt like he was going crazy with the anticipation of it, so so close now, he could hardly believe it. But it was happening. He was making it happen. Finally, finally. Seconds, really, until Madison would get what was coming to her, until he could watch her being torn apart by his wife that wasn’t his wife anymore.

Even if that turned out to be the last thing he’d ever do – that’s what it felt like with the pain burning white hot in his chest, a beacon of agony, tearing through the entirety of his body, reverberating in his bones, his teeth, his very soul. He paid no mind to it. Couldn’t. It wasn’t important now. The only thing important now was right in front of him, Serena, Serena. His eyes were glued to the shell of her, this distorted, wild thing. No matter how much effort he put into taking care of her, she never again looked right. Not since he watched the life drain from her eyes. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t not see his wife in her—

Suddenly the pain became unbearable, driving everything else from him – nothing else existed in him than this pain. No thoughts, no feelings, no goals and wants. For an eyeblink he didn’t even see her anymore, even though his eyes were staring right at her snarling face. Just an eyeblink and he’d almost given in – anything to make this pain stop – but then he could see her again, hazily, chopped, in a way, as if his mind wasn’t working right, but he could see her again and he gritted his teeth, and with a choked shout he stayed right where he was, his hands still on her, dragging her forward, even as she was still twisting the branch in his chest, pulling and tugging, trying to make him stop. He wouldn’t.

He didn’t surrender. Not ever. Not even when the sheer agony caused tears to spill, when every part of him, every fiber of him wanted nothing more than to let go of her, hide and cower until the pain passed. She was shouting now too, with the effort it took her, both of them not able to talk anymore, not in control of their voice anymore, and finally, a howling scream rang out – and at first he wasn’t even sure if it was her or him it was torn from, but his sight didn’t betray him this time, and when he saw flesh being torn from Madison’s neck, then did he finally realize that the pain wasn’t as pronounced anymore, not as all-encompassing – Madison had finally let go of the branch.

He was still holding on to her jacket though, was still holding her close to Serena, while she was thrashing now, limbs flying uncoordinated. It was her in agony now. He stayed right there and watched how she was being devoured, bit for bit, watched as her screams died, turned to gurgling, sobbing, sounds, turned to nothing. Watched as her limbs trembled and twitched until they didn’t. Watched as her face turned unrecognizable, muscle and bone showing. Watched as Serena’s mouth, her face turned a bloodied mess and still bite and chew and tear. Still not satisfied. Never satisfied.

Troy let go. And the pain, the pain he’d ignored by sheer power of will returned and he gasped, sank down, whimpered. Sobbed. Cowered and hid his face and was hurting.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like this, how long he’d let his pain overwhelm him but when he could finally feel, think something else besides it, he heard chewing noises. His gaze sought their origins and he saw that Serena’s form was still straining towards Madison, still tearing flesh where she could reach, though there wasn’t much left, still this groaning, gurgling sounds out of her throat, filling the air.

Suddenly he moved, swift, a reflex maybe, and buried a knife in what had been his wife’s head once. All movement stopped and her corpse sank down.

He cradled her head in his lap, hugging her helplessly, stroking her hair – that wasn’t as silky as he remembered it being – because it wasn’t her, even if it was.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

His hands moved through her hair that wasn’t hers desperately, as if trying to find remnants of her, patting her head sweetly, stroking her cheek, all empty gestures now.

“I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for – not having been there to protect her, not insisting she stay home, not having buried her when she died, letting her turn, using her body as means for revenge…

“God, I’m sorry.”

He was sobbing again – still, his vision blurred by hot tears, dripping down his cheeks. He leaned closer over her, as if wanting to be even nearer to her, or as if to shield her, the sharp pain intensifying, though by now he’d almost grown accustomed to this tortured feeling, his body screaming at him, frantic and terrified.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t stop saying it. Sobbing, blubbering, whimpering and short, panicked breaths interrupting his words until he was hiccuping, wailing. Mourning her.

And now, once he’d started, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop. Didn’t think he’d ever feel alright again. How could he when his wife lay dead in his arms – while he was alive. There was no denying that, the pain tearing at him unmistakable proof of it.

He was alive while she was dead, what a travesty! It should’ve been him, it should’ve been him.

Why wasn’t it ever him?

Why did he keep surviving the people he wanted to protect?

Why couldn’t it be him?!

He didn’t know how long he stayed like this, uselessly caressing his dead wife, his hands not able to stop – they remembered, too – while his body was wracked by grief, unable to speak anymore.

And though he thought he wanted nothing more to join his Serena, the second Madison stirred, letting inhuman sounds escape, he was startled into motion, eyes landing on her hammer while he scrambled to his feet and he didn’t hesitate to smash her legs – he wouldn’t be fast enough to escape like he was – and he’d be damned if he let her rest in peace. She didn’t deserve that. Crawling on the ground in perpetual hunger sounded just about right for her.

Then he took Serena in his arms, gently, gently, finding her a last resting place, every step poor agony, every scoop with the shovel dousing him in flames, ruthless and cruel.

But he persevered. He always did. He always would.

When he finally lowered her down his hands tightened around her and almost didn’t let go—

But he did. He let her sink into the earth, started covering her with it, shovelful by shovelful.

Soon he couldn’t see her anymore but he continued, dutifully making sure she wouldn’t be disturbed. He let her go because he had to. He wasn’t done yet. He was still needed. Tracy still needed him.

And with one last look at his wife’s grave stone

he turned to go get his daughter back.

-The end-

*that the scene shouldn’t exist *at all* because Tracy begging like this

should’ve been enough motivation for Troy to free himself earlier is another thing entirely...

[baezen]

a perilous place masterlist

ISAAC LAHEY X OFC PRINCESS!ALEXIA

JACK THE GIANT SLAYER!AU

summary: in which the once sought after magic beans that the Dread Doctors of Beaconia once crafted have found their way into the hands of an orphaned peasant boy who opens a gateway between the worlds. warnings: violence, revenge, treachery, gruesome deaths, word count: [tbd]

prompt: jack and the beanstalk + petrichor for @arcane-vagabond fairytale writing challenge

author's note: this is basically a rewrite of the jack the giant slayer movie don't come for me

coming soon | masterlist

other content:

moodboard

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Horizons to Battlegrounds Masterlist

Read it on Ao3 Here!

Summary; Out on the road a gravely injured Weeping Monk reflects on the events of the past day after betraying the church, defeating the Trinity Guard, and fleeing with a young Fey boy and unconscious Green Knight...

TWs; Major character injury, pain, religious guilt, battle, internal injury, broken bones

Wordcount; 3,902

POV; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

A gust of wind brought with it the promise of change.

Rising up across open moorlands the breeze carried scents of a season quickly turning, a cold Autumn drawing in as Summer began to rescind her fierce control of the land. She had not yet bowed to the golden leaves and crisp mornings that warned the land of Winter on its way, and so the air was mild and pleasant, quiet and calm. This peace was gradually interrupted by the slow and rhythmic clattering of hooves as two weary horses emerged from the swell of a hill to the west. They wandered steadily along the lonely gravel path that split the vast moors in two.

The leading horse was a large, muscular Stallion; He was black of coat and tall for his Courser breed- a good 15 hands- lightly armoured, with dark leather blinders intricately decorated and a matching worn saddle and blanket. On his back rode a disheveled, heavily bloodied rider, dressed all in black with a young boy at his lap. Both were quiet, as if afraid to further disrupt the tranquility of this late morning than their mere presence here did already.

The pair looked for all the world like they had been pulled through one of the heathland's colourful hedges of gorse and bramble five times backwards.

The young boy was bleary-eyed with a scrape and a bruise and a lightly blooded nose, his lip was split and puffy, and one of his eyes was bruising. The Rider, on the other hand... had they indeed been dragged through the hedges then his had definitely fought back, and with a great many thorns too by the looks of it.

Dried blood stained his face, bruising painted purple what visible skin wasn't just a little too pale to be considered healthy. His left arm was clamped to his side in some futile effort to stem bleeding, a widening stain of crimson steadily darkening the fabric of his battered black suede surcoat. His body seemed curled around this injury though it was far from the only one he had, and he used an evidently practiced effort to keep his oddly crimson-Ash-marked face stoic. The emotionless mask slipped all the same with a pained grimace at every other jolt of the Stallion's hooves.

From a lead rope tied over the Stallion's neck was secured the second horse. She was relatively young, though full grown, and like the Stallion, a Courser. A diminutive thing in comparison to him, though an arguably more reasonable example of her breed, she stood at around 13 hands with a lithe build. Her Chestnut coat shone with a healthy luster, that is, what parts of her that weren't stained dark with mud from the path and far too much blood that was not her own. She snorted irritably, tossing her long copper-brown mane at the joining rope that clipped to her simple bitless halter.

A plain saddle matched the worn brown leather of the straps, sat upon a red blanket that may or may not have been another colour before it was bled on profusely. Unlike the black Stallion she had no saddlebags, instead, she carried a far more precious cargo; for draped across her back was a Fey man. He was unconscious, beaten and broken, covered in another blanket which too was stained with blood, and he had been hog-tied to the saddle with rope. The Stallion's Rider cast a careful look over the limp body dangling over the saddle for at least the 50th time this hour alone. He silently noted the faint but sure rise and fall of The Green Knight's chest, allowing a rush of relief to tug at the edges of his mouth.

Still alive, then. Good. The Weeping Monk thought to himself, though his mind was hazy and sluggish from the pain of his many injuries. Again, he scanned a careful eye back over the path ahead as he had done repeatedly now, anxious to ensure there was no danger, feeling exposed here out on the path but without knowledge enough of these moors to risk straying from the road. What offered them steady travel also brought the risk of being caught, he knew. Yet after another several minutes of suspiciously glaring hedges into submission there was nothing of note but the rolling moorlands stretching wide across the horizon, and the only scents he could catch on the breeze were cool air and the unmistakable tang of his own blood.

The latter he probably shouldn’t have drawn attention to. Now that he had it seemed overwhelming, this thick coppery stench that began to combine with sweat and horse and God only knew what else to send his empty stomach roiling in complaint.

He coughed involuntarily, nearly retching at the smell. Immediately he regretted the movement as a sharp, stabbing sensation grated through his side with enough strength to blacken his vision momentarily and force him to hold his breath lest he scream. Bloody knuckles whitened around his horse's reins, gripping the leather like a drowning man clinging to driftwood floating at sea, and The Weeping Monk was all but overcome with the powerful resurgence of this all-encompassing, mind-numbing pain...

God help me…

It became inordinately difficult to even think as this blanket of fog descended on him. His body burned and ached, and though it had done so for hours this sharp pain caught him so off guard that it was all he could do not to voice the agony surging through him aloud, not a single wretched part of him spared its suffocating grasp. He couldn't mask the silent, pained snarl that twisted his expression as his Stallion once more jarred him on the uneven ground just as he began to regain his composure.

Silently, he took a shaky breath to calm himself.

Breathe. You're fine.

He almost wanted to laugh at the thought; Fine was surely a generous statement. Without having even checked yet, he guessed that he had at the very least several broken bones, a myriad of lacerations, more bruises than he could count, and there were several other places that just. Fucking. Ached. It made every stride a hellish torment regardless of if his trusty horse was surefooted or not.

You have endured worse than this before.

Indeed, The Weeping Monk knew well that he could tolerate this sort of treatment from far too much past experience in enduring terrible suffering. This particular example still tiptoed further and further over his resilience with an increasing severity as the hours slipped by.

And in truth, they had been riding for hours. The Monk had admittedly been barely conscious for much of the night during the ride, having been dragged awake by the Fey boy in front of him only when he nearly fell from his horse, which had been at least seven times too many, and those were only the instances that he could remember. (If you'd asked the boy he would have informed you that it was more like fifteen. At least.)

They'd stopped once just before dawn, otherwise having ridden constantly throughout the night and morning since fleeing The King's encampment until now. It had been only a momentary pause when they had stopped, he reflected, and a brief and unfulfilling respite at that.

The Weeping Monk probably would not have chosen to stop, himself, a stubborn determination that continued lending him the strength to carry on far beyond what he should have. Nay, it was the boy who had been the one to demand a rest so he could relieve himself, with a rather barbed threat to do so where he sat if The Weeping Monk refused. The Monk had reluctantly agreed, having very little desire to deal with either that particularly unappealing scenario, or the joys of a complaining child in general, for that matter…

When The Weeping Monk had gone to relieve himself in turn, his waters had been stained dark with blood and he had nearly collapsed from the stabbings of utterly crippling pain and nausea that had twisted brutally like a knife in his abdomen. He'd spent a good few minutes on his hands and knees, brow slicked with sweat, trying in near pathetic desperation not to vomit. It had taken him an inordinate amount of effort for him to regain his composure, energy he knew he really couldn't afford to spare, but he had in the end managed to succeed in not emptying his stomach of what little would even be left in it. He was quite acutely aware the action alone would have made him scream. Thankfully enough the Boy had given him privacy and had been busy sorting the horses a little ways out so hadn't noticed, and, if he had then seen the Monk's discomfort when he returned then he hadn't voiced it aloud. In fact, he hadn't said anything at all. The Monk had been equally silent in his gratefulness of it.

As he'd proceeded to check on the Knight, the Boy had watched him like a hawk with an aggressively suspicious look pinching his small features, but again made no comment.

They had been quick to return to the road afterwards.

The thought that the Boy was probably only so quiet from sheer exhaustion had stuck in his mind winding round and round like a nagging worm in his skull after this morning's stop, and so, despite his own fatigue and a fierce need to rest the Monk had encouraged the shattered Boy to do just that, taking over the reins in full without complaint. It had taken more willpower and focus than he liked to ignore every agony that flared within his body, keeping himself as awake and alert as he possibly could.

The Boy, meanwhile, had accepted with an almost dazed nod of his head. He had fallen asleep quickly, still without a word, and once asleep he'd snuggled into the Weeping Monk's side and clung to his surcoat like a limpet to a hull. It was both endearing and excruciating to him as the child unconsciously aggravated still bleeding wounds and broken bones, yet the Monk hadn't known how to react but to wordlessly allow it to happen.

Even now, reflecting on the memory as he was, his heart thrummed with a warm and soothing sensation The Weeping Monk just couldn't place.

The Monk had felt oddly compelled to wrap the Boy in his grey woolen cloak to keep him warm and when he'd still felt the child shiver in the cold dawn, he'd cradled him protectively in his right arm.

Never before had the feared Weeping Monk known a touch like this. It was one of comfort and trust and closeness, and so if he breathed through it and focused on the warmth of the child nestled against him, then the pain was just about bearable... Just. As time went on, though, breathing had become difficult. The pain had in fact been so severe, that with every breath he had taken, he'd begun to wheeze painfully.

When the Boy had woken he had anxiously muttered a few choice swear words and moved away as much as the limited saddle space would allow. He hadn't seemed to notice the blood that had stained into his clothing from leaning against the Monk's injured side, and the Monk, for his part, was momentarily relieved he could breathe a little easier. Strangely enough came the near immediate realisation that his touch-starved body seemed to mourn the loss of contact...

The Weeping Monk shook his head, trying to distract himself from this idea. No longer lost in his thoughts, the pain stabbing through him offered itself immediately for the role and it took great effort to keep it at bay. He could feel how his body shook with fatigue as this torment took its toll.

As if echoing the sentiment, the Boy yawned loudly in front of him. It had been an hour or so since the Boy had awoken--

--The Boy? Quite suddenly came the realisation that he had no idea what the child was even called. Or the Green Knight, for that matter. He knew he'd heard at least one of their actual names spoken before, in fact he was certain he should know the Knight's for sure, but what... what were they...?

A snippet of remembrance, yes, the young Fey warriors he'd used the Boy to bait back in the Iron Wood had called him something...

Josse? No... that was the one he'd killed. It began with an S... Seth? No... Serrel? Sorrel? For the life of him he couldn't remember what either one of these irritatingly elusive names actually was.

Why is it so fucking difficult to think?

"What was your name, Boy?" The Monk asked, daring to break the silence to speak his question. His low voice was hoarse and cracked, immediately betraying his poor condition aloud.

"Squirrel." Came the quick response. The Boy's voice was sullen but level and clear. He had thankfully escaped the sort of damage that had the Knight unconscious and himself suffering. The Monk paused at the answer, smiling lightly. He'd been close with Sorrel then, but just like his own monikers- The Weeping Monk, The One Who Cries, The Grey Warrior, Ashman - he recognised the false name.

"A Squirrel is an animal..." The Monk stated, pausing to take a breath, already, the speaking alone was draining him and he had to gather strength to continue "...What is the name you were given?"

"I don't like that name," Squirrel said, looking away almost petulantly. The Weeping Monk pondered this for a second. His brain was sluggish and slow, pain again dominating the majority of his thoughts, and Lord, it was difficult to even focus on what the Boy had said.

"Well... It's still your name..." He felt himself respond, leaving his words hanging in the air like an unspoken question though he didn't directly ask again. The agony lancing through him was swiftly sapping him of what little he had left.

"Fine..." Squirrel huffed, pulling a face. Even from behind the Monk noticed it. "...It's Percival."

"Percival..." The Monk echoed in a breath, allowing himself another smile. He may not like it, but it is a good name, he thought to himself. A good name, for a courageous young Fey.

"Do you… have a real name?" Squirrel asked, and The Weeping Monk took an anticipatory breath. He ignored the sharp stab of pain, the sensation in his injured side like he was actively being attacked again. He probably should have anticipated that question. Or perhaps he'd asked the Boy's name on purpose, subconsciously wanting the Boy to ask after his, he wasn't fully sure...

Unbidden, memories of his childhood- before the slaughter- came to him. He could not truly remember the face of his mother anymore, nor could he remember her voice, but he could remember his name and knew well enough that it was she who had given it to him. It was a name he sometimes whispered aloud when he was alone at night, a name that didn't feel like his own and hadn't for years, yet he still held onto like a secret, prized possession. A name he knew he must reclaim, for no matter what happened next, The Weeping Monk could surely not endure.

"Lancelot..." He finally said, inhaling again to gather his waning strength in the face of this quiet admission. "...A long time ago, my name was Lancelot."

A disconcerting feeling enveloped him when he spoke the name aloud, the oddest sense of... relief, perhaps? that mingled with a prickling unease. Yet at the same time, nothing had changed, nothing at all. All he truly knew was that it somehow felt...

Yes. It felt right to return to this name now.

The Boy, Squirrel, regarded him for a moment. He gave the slightest nod to acknowledge The Weeping Monk's "new" name, before he turned away without another word and studied the Knight and the horizon before them. Whatever Lancelot had been expecting in terms of a reaction he wasn't entirely sure that was it. Better than a worse reaction, he supposed, raising his eyebrows in his own silent acknowledgement.

And so they were quiet once more, both lost in the private solaces of their own minds. In truth Lancelot was too bone-weary to strike up any further conversation right now- not that he was particularly prone to that anyway.

It still took him far longer than he thought it should have to recognise that Squirrel was still being uncharacteristically quiet. It was quite unlike the last journey the pair had taken together in which Lancelot was fairly certain the child hadn't stopped talking for even five solid minutes. He remembered that he'd used Squirrel's utter inability to fucking Shut Up to his advantage by patrolling the boy through the forest, Squirrel playing his unwitting part as bait extraordinarily well. The barest hint of a smile edged the pained grimace upon his face as he recalled the boy spending an inordinate amount of the time talking on insulting him. Pretty damned inventively too, the Monk had to admit...

Ex-Monk now, he supposed. His tonsure seemed to prickle in response, and God, not for the first time he had an almost overwhelming desire to carve it from his head. Not that he physically could, he knew well enough that it was too deeply branded.

Pity...

Before his mind could wander down the specific circumstances of his unconsentual branding or the all too appealing idea of harming himself, he focused on the scents on the wind, on the scenery around them, on the pain of his injuries and keeping them navigated the right way. His Stallion, Goliath, would lead them well without his interference, but Goliath didn't quite have his ability to scent enemies or allies.

Not that you know which is which anymore... Lancelot shook his head against the thought. He didn't particularly want to face the reality of that situation either just yet.

Finding his pain still too overpowering when he focused on it, he distanced his body from his mind as best he could and forced himself to reflect on the events of the past day that had led them here instead.

Percival, Squirrel, whatever he wished to be called, had been uncharacteristically quiet back then, too, as The Weeping Monk had marched them both through Father's Carden's encampment. As they'd approached the horses the child had broken the uneasy silence to protest.

"No! Where are you taking me!"

Squirrel had begun struggling, standing so firm his small feet carved furrows into the ground against the Monk's firm grip; the latter had restored to dragging them both towards their freedom like cuffing a young animal.

"No! We have to go back! The Green Knight! We must save him!"

The Weeping Monk had found himself halting at the mention of the Green Knight. His mind flooded with the memory of those kind, empathetic eyes, of that fucking look the Knight had given him, a look that had been haunting him like a tenacious ghost since their… enlightening conversation in the torture tent…

"Where did they take him," The Monk remembered replying.

No, what are you doing? Flee, now, or they'll catch you!

He remembered too the voices in his mind, yet The Monk had ignored his internal warring then, just as he ignored it now.

"To Nimue! We have to-"

"...Nimue?"

"The Fey Queen!"

"The Wolf Blood Witch..."

He'd spoken it as barely a whisper, yet still Squirrel had pulled an indignant face at his use of her moniker.

For some Godforsaken reason that he could not explain, he'd found himself saying yes...

He'd tracked the Green Knight's bloodied scent all the way from the Red Paladin encampment to a lone tent in King Uther's, sneaking past the majority of soldiers, finding the way suspiciously clear and a rising tension that crackled through the air like thunder…

When he entered the tent he'd immediately been struck with a second familiar scent, that of the Fey girl who had evaded him for so long... The Wolf Blood Witch. This scent was young and mingled with Brothers he recognised, she'd clearly only left within the last few minutes, dragged out against her will by Red Paladins from the look of the scuff-marks on the floor. But his attention was pulled quickly from the innate desire to follow those tracks by the shape of a body, encased with living, writhing vines.

Blessed Mother Mary... What sorcery was this?

"Green Knight...?" The child had asked, small voice trembling with fear.

The Weeping Monk had knelt at the side of this strange cocoon. This was the Witch's doing, of that he had no doubt, but beneath the stench of magic he could indeed smell The Green Knight. The Monk had pulled a hand through the vines, a warm, soothing sensation dancing across his skin as he had, and unbidden against his will his skin had reacted, swirling with the colours of these vines whilst he revealed the man lying beneath. Squirrel hadn't noticed, too intent on pawing over the Knight, who's broad chest lay still. Too still.

Leaning back on his haunches, The Weeping Monk hid his hands in his lap and waited silently without much hope for the man to breathe. He would allow the boy a short moment to grieve before fleeing this place.

"Wake up, Sir! Please, please wake up..."

And just as The Monk moved to step forwards and drag the boy from his fallen leader, The Green Knight’s emerald eyes had flown open as he gasped a breath...

A pain as sharp as a stab from a blade cut through these ruminations, throwing his shattered body, mind, soul down down down into the darkest depths of these recent memories.

...Blows rained down upon The Weeping Monk, adrenaline seeping from him as crimson splattered across the floor and he was driven to his knees. Golden death-masks leered in his face, a strike to the side of his head sent the whole world spinning and he lurched from it, gasping, before a second strike to his jaw snapped his head back painfully. He felt rather than saw his own blood spray forth, warm and wet where it oozed down his face and neck as he sunk limply to the floor, this broken toy that coughed and wheezed from the agony in his side and back, spitting out the hot blood that collected in his mouth before he choked...

...The rest of the battle faded into a haze of pain, the moment that he waited to die... The moment he forced his broken body upright, to save the Boy who had shown him why he must carry on... The moment he raised his sword to a cowed Abbot Wicklow- a deadly promise that he intended to keep...

The moorlands before him loomed into his darkening vision. Horizons turned into battlegrounds, the terrible clash of war painted the skies and fields around them in rivers of crimson, the stench of blood flooded Lancelot's senses. He watched Goliath's hooves splash into these waves steadily rising, felt them lapping at his feet, thighs, chest, he breathed it into his lungs, drowning now, choking, helpless to do a thing but watch this vision fading to an engulfing sea of red...

Taglist; @holy3cake @violetastrid

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Chapter 1 done! Thanks for reading, let me know if you enjoyed this :) Chapter 2 coming soon, I won't be updating incredibly regularly but I am on the final edits for Chapter's 1-4.

I will link to Chapter 2 here when it is posted. I always to Ao3 before I post here, so that's the best place to read it first!

[usermiczyeis]

At the request of fans, Jeff Davis decides to make a one-season series for the character Stiles Stilinski.

The series takes place in an FBI agency, where Stiles solves "normal" but also supernatural cases. the series also features characters such as Isaac, Theo and Kira, fans were surprised by Kira's appearance, Jeff apologized for the racism she suffered.

The series ends up being very successful due to the scenes with Stiles and Theo, the sexual tension between the characters ended up being multiplied many times more than it was in the series.

So much so that the entire cast shipped them both, even Jeff, but no one shipped them more than Cody and Dylan.

Stheo's fans went crazy, especially since the last episode ended up having a kiss between them. but in addition to the romance between Theo and Stiles, a romance also developed between Dylan and Cody.

[ragerageatn]

My fic is anyone wants to give it a read — I’m planning on posting ch.3 today and keeping a posting schedule of Friday nights 🩷

[escapist-of-fiction]

Title - Old habits die hard

One shot - Troy Otto x Fem Reader

Warning - alcohol use, mild language and some hot and heavy foreplay.

Disclaimer - I borrowed some of the characters of FTWD but that's all.

Author's note - I honestly loved writing this. Heavily influenced by the Chris Stapleton song that's included throughout. If you read, feedback is most welcome. Reblog if you think someone else might enjoy 😉

~ E

I know it ain't all that late

But you should probably leave

And I recognize that look in your eyes

Yeah, you should probably leave

-------

"A storm's coming," Nick murmured, his eyes lifting to the sky, squinting under a furrowed brow. No one disagreed with him. The air felt thick and the sky had turned a hazy, pale orange with streaks of dark pink running through it. Uncrossing his legs that were rested on the table, he stood up, stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn. "I better go. I'm on the night shift at the gate."

"We're going to make tracks too," Alicia said, "I promised I'd help with prep the breakfast in the morning now the large group have arrived." She looked over at me as I remained in my seat, "are you coming Y/N?"

I shook my head, "not yet, I will soon. Promise." Alicia hovered on the steps of the veranda hesitantly, trying to read my expression but failed. She allowed herself to be ushered on her way by Jake, his hand laced securely with hers as she looked back at me curiously.

I watched everyone leave and stared up at the night sky, lost in my thoughts.

I knew why Alicia was reluctant to leave me behind. I had no reason to stay. Troy and I had broken up a month ago, albeit for the second time after a brief reconciliation. Ordinarily I would have followed everyone else. We'd been on a supply run earlier, the five of us, and had habitually decompressed over a few beers and some food after at Troy's.

Except now I couldn't leave without speaking with Troy alone, I had a bone to pick with him.

I heard the familiar thud of his boots on the wooden floorboards of the porch behind me and slowly turned around to face him. Troy looked around at the vacant chairs and seem mildly surprised that I was still there.

"How come you haven't left with the others?"

"Because I wanted a word." I said curtly. "I need to set something straight with you."

"Okay..." Troy looked at me in question, he crossed his arms over his chest defensively and waited for me to speak.

"On the supply run today, when we were killing that herd...I was fine, you know. I didn't need you to get involved. You can't just step in and save me all the time."

Troy's mouth twitched ever so slightly as he realised what I was referring to. He shrugged,

"Y/N, when we go on a run, we have each other's backs. We do it for anyone out there. That's just the way it goes. It's what the Militia do."

I rubbed my forehead in frustration,

"You know that's not what I mean, Troy. When we're out there, you need to let me be me. I can fight my own battles. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not yours to protect anymore." I huffed and turned my back to him to face the fields as I leaned over the side of the porch.

Troy's shadow loomed over me in the moonlight as he came to stand beside me,

"Fine. I promise that in future I will not have your back, nor will I be your second pair of eyes on a run or help you out. In future, I will just let you get bitten and count down to the minute until the moment I watch you turn."

I turned to scowl at him,

"You're an infuriating bastard, do you know that?"

Troy smirked, "you're not the first person to tell me that and you won't be the last." He held up a bottle of red wine, "drink with me?"

I shook my head,

"I should probably leave."

-------

There's still time for you to finish your wine

Then you should probably leave

And it's hard to resist, alright, just one kiss

Then you should probably leave

-------

"One swig won't hurt." Troy insisted as he twisted and pulled at the cork, with a 'pop.' "peace offering?" He said, waving the bottle under my nose.

I sighed and took it from him, helping myself to a generous sip. The red liquid tasted sweet and nutty. Clearly not the dregs of the apocolyptic world. I handed the bottle back to Troy with a questionable look on my face.

Troy glugged back the wine with a satisfied "ahhh" before answering me. "It's one of the old man's bottles. I found it behind his whiskey stash. He'd obviously hidden it for a rainy day."

I swiped the bottle back from Troy and drank a generous portion again before raising the bottle to the skies,

"Cheers to pilfering old Jeremiah's alcohol. His loss is our gain!" My wicked laugh echoed in the darkness.

I hadn't eaten a lot earlier on so I could feel the wine was going straight to my head.

This wasn't going to plan at all...

It all suddenly seemed too easy again. Standing together, laughing, sharing stories about everyone on the ranch. I had forgotten this feeling when I was around Troy. This is when it felt right. So why had it stopped?

With every sip of wine, my reasons for being mad at Troy and his stupid decisions seemed to peel away and disintegrate, as if they had never been there at all. I was losing myself in a comforting blanket of red wine and Troy's company. It was a downward spiral.

As Troy drained the last of the bottle, he peered down its glass neck to double check the contents was truly gone and sighed, before placing it back onto the table.

He came to stand next to you and looked over at Jake's house that he shared with Alicia. You noticed their porch light was still on - she must have been waiting up for you to pass. A similar thing must have run through Troy's mind as well.

"She won't be happy that you're still here, you know." He said it with a gentle nudge of his shoulder into mine. I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

"She's not my keeper."

Troy's look said it all, I scoffed and changed tact,

"She just cares about me and doesn't want me getting hurt..." again, I added silently.

Without realising, our bodies had gravitated toward each other, I could see his fingers twitch, wanting to reach for my hand but he decided against it last minute.

Troy lowered his voice as if the world were listening and he didn't want them to hear,

"I would never hurt you, Y/N. You know that. I care about you too much. Its why I do what I do when I'm out there..."

I bit my lip. It was so easy for him to say those words and for me to fall right back into his trap. They weren't lies. He did care about me and he didn't hurt me but it was everything else - the stupid decisions he made (without thinking them through) with a gun in his hand, the experiments, let's not even mention the obsession with his notebook...

I turned to step away from him but in one sly movement, he had closed the gap between us, his legs either side of mine, a hand on my waist holding me in place.

"I need to go... " I murmured, already fighting the magnetic pull that was drawing me closer to Troy, like a moth to a flame.

I didn't feel trapped . Right now I wanted this.

I wanted him.

"Troy, what are you doing?" I whispered. His hand reached for my cheek, his fingers grazing my skin and my eyes fluttered closed, succumbing to his every touch.

I felt the stubble of his chin graze my cheek briefly as he spoke,

"This is me saying goodnight," He said, and I gasped quietly as his lips connected with mine.

-------

Like a devil on my shoulder you keep whisperin' in my ear

And it's gettin' kinda hard for me to do the right thing here

I wanna do the right thing, baby

------

I should have stopped him right there and then, I should have turned and walked away but when your heart says one thing and your brain says the other?

You go with the burning desire that is rushing through your veins and making your head spin.

My hands moved up to grasp the collar of his jacket and I pulled Troy down to my height, eager to increase contact with him and deepen our kiss.

I grazed my teeth across his bottom lip teasingly, emitting a growl from deep within his throat and I smiled, knowing I'd hit his sweet spot. I knew him too well.

Everything about this felt familiar and delicious - the warmth of his hands as they found their way under my shirt, the circles he danced across my torso, the impatient tugging at the waistline of my pants.

I shook my head, "not out here.." I mumbled against his lips. I felt Troy's lips curl into a devilish smile before moving to my neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to my chest. Ignoring my request.

Insistently, I tugged on the bottom of his jacket, pulling him in the direction of the front door, hoping he'd get the message.

With a little laugh, he followed but known for his impatient streak, decided to speed up the process by picking me up. Without skipping a beat, my legs wrapped around his waist, my arms wound around his neck. I pulled back to look at him under the porch light as we passed through the doorway,

"This is such a mistake." I declared, almost groaning. Troy chuckled,

"No time for regrets. Hate me in the morning, darling."

------

Sun on your skin, 6 AM

And I been watchin' you sleep

And honey, I'm so afraid you're gonna wake up and say

That you should probably leave

Oh, you should probably leave

------

I woke up with a start.

I knew that I wasn't in my own bed but it certainly felt familiar to me. As I opened my eyes, I glanced around the room and found Troy sat in his favourite spot, his bay window, notebook in hand whilst he scribbled down in it furiously.

My hand went to my head, I could feel the beginning of a hangover rumbling.

"We did it again, didn't we?" I knew the answer. I didn't need him to confirm it.

Troy smirked, obviously enjoying as I squirmed in embarrassment, he placed his notebook down on the table next to him,

"Actually if you want to be really accurate, we did it again... three times."

I groaned inwardly, having no patience for his humour then threw a pillow in his direction, which he expertly dodged. I then began to move around the room, collecting the discarded clothing from the previous night and dressing myself in haste.

"Why are you in such a rush? I can make us some breakfast before you go..?"

I froze and looked at him incredulously.

"This," I began, pointing at both of us, "is not a thing. This was a mistake, a huge one at that."

Now fully dressed, I walked toward the door to open it but in three long strides, Troy had reached it as well and infuriatingly placed his foot in the doorway to stop me in my tracks.

I stared up at him, eyes wide in rage,

"You can't keep me here under duress, Troy. I'm not one of your prisoners. Let me pass."

"I will... if you answer me one question first."

I folded my arms in a huff and looked at him questioningly.

"Admit you enjoyed yourself last night."

I opened my mouth to give him a seething response but closed it again, he knew it would be a lie.

Of course I had enjoyed last night.

But this was the dance we did, Troy and I. We fought, we made up, we would do the same over and over. We were each other's addiction and no matter how much I fought it, I would always keep going back to him.

My silence spoke volumes.

Troy dared to reach out and push a strand of my hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

This was the Troy I fell for, the one that no one else saw. The softness underneath the hard exterior.

He tried leaning in for a kiss but miraculously I resisted, placing my hands flat against his chest to gently push him away.

"Don't push your luck."

Troy chuckled but nevertheless, moved to the side to allow me to pass and watched me jog down the stairs before calling after me,

"Same time tomorrow then?"

Gif not mine

[insom-nom-nom-niatic]

I see you write Troy Otto Fics 🫣

“you fixed me. you fixed my broken heart.”

could I request a angst turned fluffy fic where Troy is being an ass but around reader he’s an awkward ass bc he doesn’t know how to process his feelings but one day reader confronts him and is like “dude tf” and he reveals it all ? 👉🏽👈🏽

It has been quite a while since I have done any requests and succeeded in actually writing them, so first of all THANK YOU. And secondly, this terrified me so I'm sorry if I changed a few things because that's how my head works.

CHARACTERS: Troy Otto x Female Reader

WARNINGS: Normal FTWD stuff. FEELS!

Everyone within a few miles distance could have heard the yelling coming from the militia tent. No one could tell who had started it when the ruckus had suddenly erupted moments ago. All you could tell was that the boys were finally fighting back at Troy, making your feet pace a little quicker and making your way across the ranch. 

When you made it to the ruckus, you noticed the eyes peeping through the windows of the outlying RVs and tents scattered around. Giving an all knowing smile to the peeping eyes, you quickly disappeared behind the tan curtains finding a group of 5 men squaring off against 2, Troy, with Nick holding Troy back. 

Your entrance was soon noticed and the group grew silent. 

“What in the holy hell is wrong with you all?” Toeing up to John who was rubbing the newly formed bruise on his jaw. Nick let go of his hold on Troy’s jacket, heading to the back of the tent with a grunting sigh, catching your gaze as he did so. 

“You have all been a bunch of children the past few days, and now this?” Turning on your heels you make eye contact with Troy. Scanning his features, you take in the red patches growing upon his cheek and jaw line before meeting his gaze once more, this time more worry and sadness laced in your eyes. “You’re going to attract every walker within miles, and if you’re all fighting eachother, who is going to fight for the rest of us?” 

All men in the tent sunk a bit in their boots, all eyes staring at the ground. Troy’s cheeks reddened, not from a sucker punch this time. You look over to Nick, a smirk turning at the corners of his lips as he stared back. 

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Cooper spoke up. “We had a disagreement. We will watch our voices.”

John scoffed loudly, his eyes shooting back up to Troy on the opposite side of you. “I think she should know. We’re done getting the shit end of everything and still getting shit on while others can skate by and get the royalty treatment.” His eyes then shifted to you, scanning your frame up and down. You could feel the hair on your neck raise at the feeling, and you could feel the way Troy shifted his weight behind you. 

“It’s not her fault,” Nick finally raised his voice. The tone sounding over this bull shit and ready for someone to lay everything out. “You’re all being a bit dramatic anyways. Troy hasn’t done shit, except be an ass as usual.” 

This earned a raised eyebrow and questioning look from Troy, standing with both hands on his hips. Everyone knew Troy was kind of an ass, that’s how he got the miltia where it is, but you had never really seen what everyone else said about him. He was typically kind and oddly gentle when you were around him. He wasn’t this “monster” you hear the ranch whispering about. 

“Troy-” you took a deep breath, your back still turned towards him with your eyes staring straight back at John. “-Say you’re sorry.”

The tent went still. No one, not even Troy, was expecting that. No one told Troy what to do other than his late father and brother, and after they had expired, no one would have ever tried. Let alone tell him to apologize. 

To everyone’s surprise, Troy spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice low and grumbled through gritted teeth, but he said it. The men all shook their heads in response. Not knowing how or what to do next, they funneled out of the tent one by one. All as quiet as a mouse leaving only Troy and yourself in the space.

Turning on your heels, you lock eyes with the tall brunette. His face red and one eye growing bloodshot from what you assume was a nice hit from John. His eyes weren’t angry though… he was nervous as he tried his best to maintain the eye contact. 

“I didn’t think you would actually say it, but I’m glad you did.” Your lips turned into a gentle smile, closing the distance between you both. Your hands reached up to his face, cradling his jaw in both palms, fingers carefully brushing over the small cuts and broken capillaries in his skin. 

Troy returned the smile once he felt your warm touch. His blue eyes fluttering closed with a sense of comfort that felt so extraterrestrial to him. “Thank you for stopping us, Nick, that bastard, was close to getting his ass kicked too.” His voice cracked witha chuckle between his words. 

“Your still a ass though, Troy. You have to change that. I hear it from so many here, yet I never see it. So I know you are capable of being a gentleman, Troy Otto.” 

“If you tell me to, then I guess I have to.” Troy’s body shook with a mischievous laugh. His eyes opening to find yours once more. The closeness between you both instinctively closing little by little. “You fixed me, you know that?”

His words caught you off a little bit, making you stutter in your actions. His skin felt warm against your touch, his mere presence so close brought on a sense of safety and openness. You could have stayed like that for hours… days. It somehow felt right. 

What he spoke, however, caused a twisting feeling in your gut. 

“I was broken after everything, after everyone was gone. I was alone and hurt in so many ways,” Troy’s eyes softened. He had figured opening up to you would be impossible, his feelings always getting the best of him and taking any words he wanted to say and throwing them out the window. Bu here and now, with you like this, he was at peace. 

“I was broken and you fixed me-” His eyes fell from your own to land upon your lips, those nerves that had stopped him from saying it all previously appearing in his belly again. “-so thank you.”

You could feel his tension grow in the moment so you took matters into your own hands, raising to your tip-toes and crushing your lips to his. Years it had been since you had ever felt this feeling. Even then, it didn’t feel like this, not this strong. 

Troy was a pain in the ass. 

At times, an actual ass. 

But you were his golden key to change. 

And there was about to be a lot of it. 

[generalallxsanjishipper]

Icon made by: me

Hi! Welcome.

This is Generalallxsanjishipper's blog

(A long ass nick, I know.)

*stares at the (not many) but 100% "Yes" votes that was in the poll* (How the hell am I supposed to introduce myself? I have no idea, but okay, whatever—)

Killian here! It's not my real name, but it's my art name. I can be called Isa or Bibi as well. My real name is Barbara.

I'm from Italy and I'm a 2001 girl, She/her pronouns, bisexual, introverted, Virgo (too much of a perfectionist sometimes. Ops)

I am a Writer, a Screenwriter and an Artist. I even went to an art school, but the only thing that I learned there is anxiety. Yey.

I love reading. Like tons of books, but for whatever reason I stopped entirely reading books written in Italian and now I'm constantly binge-reading english stuff.

As a Writer, I create tons of Own Characters, yes. I have honestly so many OCs that it's hard to keep track of them between Original Works and Fanfiction. I have to admit that I never wrote as much fanfiction as I'm doing during those last years, mostly for bad experience with criticism in my first fics. But apparently I got over it after randomly starting to write little One Shots of a few different fandoms. It excalated, now.

To read my stuff, you can find me in AO3, Efp and Wattpad under Killian44peeta's nickname. Even as an Artist, you can find me with that nickname on Instagram. I DO NOT have TikTok and I DO NOT intend to have it. If I change my mind, it's gonna rain for months lol.

I have many, many fandoms.

Listing them all is impossible, but my obsessions usually stuck the most when I have a "main crush" in said fandom. If not, they are fleeting at best... And usually the same main crush is the one that I ship with most people (Not always though).

Yep. I'm a multishipper, pro LGBTQ+ and I love polyamorous relationships.

When I hate a ship, I just hate it. No matter how hard you try to change my mind. Still, I'm of the "live and let live policy" because, damn, ship wars are boring and if you dislike something, YOU BLOODY IGNORE IT.

YOU DO NOT STUPIDLY FIGHT SOMEONE AND SAY TO THEM TO K*LL THEMSELVES BECAUSE THEY DO NOT SHIP YOUR PAIRING. THOSE PEOPLE YOU SHIP DO NOT EXIST. THEY ARE JUST A WRITER'S FANTASY. NO NEED TO BE SO STUPIDLY CHILDISH. JUST CALM DOWN.

*takes a deep breath*

Thanks.

A few examples of my main crushes:

Animated ones first.

Sanji, Corazon, Reiju and Vivi (One Piece), Douxie (Tales of Arcadia), Zuko (Avatar), Mika (Owari No Seraph), Levi, Jean and Yelena (Shingeki no Kyojin), Akashi and Kise(Kuroko no basket), Gwen (Total Drama), Megara (Hercules), Dark Bloom (Winx Club), Hijikata (Gintama), Hyoga, Eden, every Virgo Saint ever except Shun (Saint Seiya+), Shiro and Pidge (Voltron), Lust and Roy(Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood)

Not animated crushes (directly the person, not the role, because if not the list would be sooo much longer, ok)

Daniel Sharman, Danielle Campbell, Colin O'donoghue, Richard Armitage, Ian Somerhalder, Josh Hutcherson, Zoe Kravitz, Tom Ellis, Hayden Christensen, Bridgette Mendler

(am I forgetting someone? Probably. Sorry)

Welp. I dunno what else to say. Hope you have fun inside my blog? If you wanna be friends (chat here, on Discord, WhatsApp... ) and ask questions I'm okay with it? If you wanna talk with me about (my, yours) stories, I'm DEFINITELY okay with it.

:D I love to rant about fanfictions and original works. I love ranting about ocs and headcanon about characters. Yes.

(do not kill me if I don’t answer immediately, I have a life/I need time to draw/I need time to write)

Bye.

-Killian

[perseephoneee]

ask me to dance? [isaac lahey x f!reader]

request: can you do some wholesome isaac content?

warnings: pure fluff. teenagers being awkward.

a/n: me? remembering to write? shocker. literally struggled with this lol but i'm here and i'm trying to write more in order to be a productive member of society. also i'm so in love with Isaac it's not funny *cries*

↳ masterlist ↳  want to be shipped with a fic character?

It never really got cold in Beacon Hills, considering it was located in California. Still, when temperatures started to fall to a mild climate, it signaled to the teen population that winter was fast approaching. And with that came Winter Ball. Which is all you've been able to think about. 

To anyone who would ask, it wasn't that big of a deal– but you secretly thought about it. All the outfits, the decorations, the romanticism of it all. Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in you, especially as someone who has never had a date. It used to not bother you; you were happily involved in your studies or worrying about being murdered by a supernatural at any time. But then you started spending more time with a certain werewolf and thought it wouldn't be that bad to care about that stuff. 

"Do you think Scott is going to ask me?" Kira said, scaring you out of your thoughts as you closed your locker. You took in the dark-haired female beside you, her eyes questioning and fingers tapping her books. "Will I have to ask him?"

"He'll ask you," you sighed. "He trips over his shoelaces every time he walks down the hall."

"Maybe he didn't tie them well?" Kira looked down the hall as if the boy in question would show up. 

"He likes you," you sent a small smile. Kira relaxed slightly, loosening her shoulders before facing you with a questioning glance. 

"Do you have anyone to go to the dance with?" Kira inquired, plain curiosity in her eyes. You knew, though, that she wanted more info on if you liked anyone. Even with her as a good friend, you rarely discussed those feelings with anyone. Usually, you were the one everyone else confided in. 

"Might not even go," you averted your eyes as Kira slapped your arm lightly. 

"You have to go!" Kira begged. "I can't go alone if Scott asks me."

"Kira, you won't be alone if you go with Scott." She silenced you again with a sharp look. 

"You know what I mean," Kira sighed. "I just don't want you to shy away from something you might enjoy. Especially when I am certain some eligible young bachelor or bachelorette would be interested in going with you."

You pressed your back into your locker, looking down at your scuffed shoes rather than the girl beside you. You glanced up when you caught sight of Scott and Isaac in your peripheral vision. Kira grew still as she saw Scott shuffling closer to you to hide. You tried shoving her, but the kitsune was an immovable rock as Scott and Isaac got closer. You saw Scott's eyes light up as he caught sight of Kira, and you wanted to smile when Kira's cheeks deepened. You made it a point to not stare at Isaac next to him, even if you really liked the blue sweater he was wearing. It's purely observational, with no lurking feelings behind it. 

"Hey guys," Scott smiled, holding his backpack straps like a kindergartener on the first day of school. "Whatcha guys up to?"

"Talking about the dance," you answered right as Kira tried to pass your prior conversation off as nothing. She shot you an angry look, but you hid the smile on your face as Scott perked up. "Kira wants to go but worries about not having a date." The look Kira shot you could be akin to being burned in the seventh circle of Hell, but you knew that your fair-weathered friend would've spent the whole time pondering if Scott liked her rather than making a move. 

"I don't have a date either," Scott grimaced, trying to pass off as a smile. Kira visibly perked up, and you and Isaac barely hid smiles. "Maybe we can go together?" 

The glee that overtook Kira's eyes was radiant, and she nodded enthusiastically. "I would love that," Kira grinned. 

"Great," Scott beamed. "Can I walk you to class?"

Kira grabbed her books, sending you a look that said, "We'll talk later," while happily following the alpha wolf. You turned towards Isaac, feeling your heart start pitter-patter as he made eye contact with you. He gave you a shy smile, fidgeting with the books. 

"They seem happy," you sighed, trying to break whatever tension you imagined. 

"I'm glad it worked out," Isaac said, his steel blue eyes connecting to yours. "Scott was getting annoying."

"So was Kira," you slyly smiled. "What about you?" Isaac looked at you inquisitively. "Are you…going to the dance?"

"I don't think so," he mumbled, averting his eyes briefly. You felt your heart sink in disappointment. Luckily, you were spared a response with the bell ringing. 

"See you around, Lahey," you smiled jokingly, trying to brush off any lingering feelings you had. You turned on your heel and walked off towards the direction of US History. You barely paid attention in class, though, your thoughts consumed with the micro-interaction by your locker. You didn't like Isaac, right? You just were disappointed a good friend wouldn't be there at a dance you might not even be attending. Totally rational feelings. At least that was the mantra you kept repeating till the end of the school day. 

You managed to keep most Winter Ball-related thoughts at bay for the rest of the week while you helped the pack deal with whatever issue. Sometimes, it felt like you guys lived in a CW show with a villain of the week, but somehow, fighting and scheming became part of your routine. You would never admit it to anyone, but you did enjoy the research portion of your problems. Even if it was you and Stiles eating pizza in his room while staring at way too many red strings. It made you feel wanted in a way that you haven't before. By the end of the week, though, the only research you were doing was for a class project. You were already debating when you could (reasonably) quit for the night and curl up with some Netflix or Hulu. Your phone rang by the fifth academic journal, and you glanced to see Lydia's name lighting up the screen. 

"Hello," you said, setting your phone on speaker. 

"Dress shopping tomorrow. Are you in or out?" Lydia asked on the other line. 

"For what?"

"Winter Ball, obviously," Lydia scoffed, the sound of rustling clothes in the background telling you she was going through her closet. "The fact I've waited this long when it's two weeks out is actually ridiculous, but with our life, I guess it's not surprising."

"I might not even go, Lyds."

"Don't be like that," Lydia sighed on the other line. "What's holding you back?"

"Kind of lame to go to a dance without a date," you mumbled, shrinking back into your chair. Maybe if you curled up in a ball and became a turtle, no one would ever ask things of you again. 

"All of your friends will be there, and most girls will probably ditch their dates anyway," Lydia chimed. "And besides, who cares? I don't have a date either, and I'm still going."

"I thought you were going with Stiles."

"In a completely work-related situation," Lydia coughed, even as you rolled your eyes. "He knows that."

"I'm sure he'll figure it out by the tenth corsage he buys you," you snickered.

"Just come tomorrow; Kira is joining. We'll get dresses, lattes, and have a day where werewolves don't intrude." You bit the inside of your cheek, staring at your laptop screen as the words melted into mush in your brain. You could at least hang out, even if you didn't buy anything. 

"I will come," you amended, almost hearing Lydia's excitement from the phone. "I won't promise that I'll buy anything."

"Grab you at 11 a.m., be ready," Lydia chimed, hanging up the phone. You sighed and put your head in your arms, wondering what you got yourself into. 

It was a reminder that waking up by 10 a.m. was a struggle for you. You barely dragged yourself out the door as Lydia spammed your phone, pleading for your coffee as you slid into the car. Kira laughed at you as you curled up in a ball and muttered about sweet death taking you soon. Lydia drove up to the coffee place, an ivy-strewn brick building called Cafe Allegro, and you bolted out of the car and through the doors. The smell of roasting coffee beans and the whir of the espresso machines welcomed you like a blanket on a cold night, and you wondered if you could ask that when you die, it could be in a pile of coffee beans. You ordered your latte, not having to wait long to get your order as you stood off the side, inhaling the fresh scent. Having been absorbed in your calm, you didn't notice the boy standing next to you. 

"You are really into your coffee," Isaac remarked, scaring you out of your stupor. You made a pathetic yelp, grimacing as a chuckle escaped his lips. 

"It's too early."

"It's almost noon."

"Too early," you sighed, sipping the heavenly goodness in your hand. "Why are you here?" 

"Scott and Stiles dragged me to the suit rental place and told me they didn't want me left alone to wallow or something like that," Isaac laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a heather gray henley today that you were enjoying and trying your hardest not to notice. "If it's so early, why are you here?"

"Similar reason. Lydia and Kira dragged me dress shopping," you glanced up at him before looking around the shop and realizing that your comrades were hiding on the opposite side. Annoyingly leaving you with the person who gives you immense jitters. 

"Do you think you'll get a dress?" Isaac inquired. 

"Not sure why, don't have a good reason to," you mumbled, staring at your cup. Gosh, your heart was beating fast, and your stomach hurt. Maybe you should've gotten something calming like herbal tea. 

"You should get one," Isaac coughed, looking visibly uncomfortable. For a second, you worried that you were annoying him. "You would look…pretty."

"Thanks," your cheeks burned. "Then, you should get a suit." You swallowed, feeling like your head was in a whirlpool. Isaac's eyes looked at you with something akin to interest, but you passed it off as your caffeine-filled hallucinations. 

"We should go to the dance together," Isaac said quickly, tensing slightly as he awaited your reaction. Your eyes widened, and you had to remember what solid ground felt like as his words sank in. 

"I would like that very much," you breathed. Isaac's demeanor softened, relief flooding his eyes. He bit his lip to stifle his grin, which was the worst mistake he could've made as now all you were focusing on was his lips. "Gotta go," you announced, bolting from him before he could say anything else or before you jumped him at a coffee shop. You made it to Lydia and Kira and dragged them out of the door, not bothering to look back for fear of embarrassment. Lydia had mild complaints, but mostly, Kira gave you a knowing look. 

"Is there a reason for this rush?" Kira asked, eyebrows lifted in question. 

"I need a dress," you said. Lydia and Kira shared a grin and you knew there was a specific reason they left you with Isaac in the cafe. You wanted to strangle them and kiss them for it. 

The ride to the dress shop was short, but the anxiety building like a knot in your stomach persisted long after. Isaac asked you to the dance. He asked you for some unknown reason. You guys were friends and occasionally worked together. Still, you struggled to have a conversation before that didn't end with you saying something weird and making it awkward. You used to chalk it up to just not having common interests. Still, if you admitted the truth to yourself, you would know it's because you had a giant raging crush on the werewolf. Words were not in your vocabulary around him. 

Entering the dress shop (a cute place called Laura Jane's Boutique), you were suddenly reminded why you didn't really want to go in the first place. You love pretty things, but the over-glitzy dresses and jumpsuits are not your style. At least Kira looked as out of place as you. Lydia led the charge, though, immediately saying "no" to many dresses on the rack and holding up some options for you and Kira. You did love it, though, Lydia caring enough to try and find the perfect dress for her friends. It made you feel wanted. 

You wandered into one of the back sections, skipping the colors you would never wear. What was Isaac's favorite color? Maybe that's the color of dress you should go with. Your inner voice told you it shouldn't matter what color you wear. Not just because you value your independence but because Isaac would love it either way. 

You pushed some dresses aside on one of the racks, stopping at a shorter-length dress. It had bell sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was simple but not understated, and you loved it. 

You went home that night feeling like you were on a cloud. Except, like all good things, your crippling insecurities had to rear its ugly head and make you start questioning everything. Laying in your bed, the dress still in its tissue-wrapped bag, you stared at the ceiling, debating what had happened. What if Isaac only asked you to the dance because it was convenient? Or worse, he was asked to by someone like Scott or Lydia? He probably didn't like you at all. Why would he? You were human. Unremarkable. 

Vibrations could be felt in your head as your phone rang, and you begrudgingly grabbed at it without checking the caller ID. "Hello?" you grumbled.

"Hey," the tenor voice said from over the phone. "Can I come over?" 

"Isaac?" you asked, sitting up in your bed. "Is everything okay?" Oh my gosh, was he hurt? Or rescinding his previous offer of the dance.

"I just want to see you," he breathed. "Is this a bad time?"

"Never," you answered quickly. "You can come over."

Ten minutes later, of anxious pacing in your room, you got a text from Isaac saying he had arrived. You ran downstairs to open the door, slightly winded from the rush. Isaac's face was illuminated by your porch lights, and all you could think about was how pretty he was. 

"Hi," you spoke, looking up at him.

"Hi," Isaac smiled, "can I come in?" Nodding, you opened the door further so the golden-haired werewolf could enter. You gestured for him to follow, leading him to your room for privacy. You started to regret that decision when you realized that you had invited someone you were interested in into your bedroom. This was the plot of a bad romance novel. 

"What brings you to my humble abode?" you inquire, twirling to face him.

"I came to check on you," Isaac glanced around your bedroom, smiling faintly at your posters on the wall. You watched his eyes catch on your corkboard, where a photo of the two of you at Derek's loft is in prime display. It was after saving the day, and Stiles had bought multiple tubs of ice cream to celebrate. Derek demanded why this "celebration" had to be at his place. However, Stiles had never once listened to Derek's complaints and hosted it anyway. You loved that picture and that memory. 

"Check on me? I'm not in danger again, am I?" you smile, sitting on your bed and subconsciously grabbing one of your stuffed animals. 

"Kira was over to see Scott and mentioned you might be 'spiraling into oblivion,'" Isaac turned to you, quoting Kira's words. Sometimes, you wondered if that girl was telepathic with how well she knew you. 

"Maybe a little," you mumbled, fidgeting with your fluffy friend. Isaac hesitantly sat next to you on the bed, his weight causing you to sink closer to him. 

"Can I ask why, or should I just infer?" he chimed, grabbing another stuffed friend you have and twirling it around. It was a blue chicken from a video game you play, with a cute pink gizzard and round body. "I like this one."

"Do tell," you chuckled, watching him squish the chicken plush. 

"It's squishy," he muttered, patting it on the head before setting it carefully beside him. Your heart wanted to burst at the small interaction. 

"I was worried about the dance," you responded, answering his previous question. He gave you a sidelong glance, asking you to elaborate. "I don't know why you asked me."

"I like you."

"Like me, or like me?" you whispered, barely able to get your voice heard. Unfortunately, Isaac is sitting next to you and has a werewolf hearing, so he didn't miss a thing. He hesitantly grabbed the stuffed animal from your fidgeting hands, putting it aside before carefully holding your hand in his own. 

"I think you're amazing," he smiled, looking at you with eyes the color of a lakeshore. "So yes, I like you."

"I like you too," you breathed, a smile gripping your lips. "When did you get good at socializing?"

Isaac laughed, still holding your hand as he absentmindedly traced shapes on your knuckles. "Had lots of time to practice conversations while trapped in a freezer."

"You need therapy."

"Probably," he laughed, grinning at you before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat as he looked at you. "Can I kiss you?" 

You barely managed a nod, your heart thumping loudly in your chest as Isaac kissed your lips. It was soft and somewhat hesitant, like he didn't want you to run away afterward. You boldly deepened the kiss, as it felt like water filled your ears and a marching band played in your heart. The hand he wasn't holding you used to capture his face, his free hand lightly gripping the outside of your thigh. It wasn't fireworks but an ocean at high tide with waves crashing against the shore. And you didn't mind it one bit; you hated fireworks anyway. When Isaac did pull away, his breath was warm against your lips, and you had to remember to let out a shaky breath before you hyperventilate. Isaac kissed your cheek, pulling back to look at you with pure adoration on his face. 

Kissing him again was pure bliss, and you couldn't help but look at him with awe. You weren't sure how you were granted something this good when you've spent your whole life dreaming of something worth half of this. Still, you wouldn't exchange it for anything. It meant you got to spend Winter Ball with the most handsome boy on the dance floor. 

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader Masterlist Part 2

The Forbidden Apple:

Story Summary: Father Carden begins to notice how his Weeping Monk starts to question all he was raised to believe in. In an effort to distract him, he has his Red Brothers bring him a ‘gift.’ The Monk is skeptical when he hears of this, Father never just gave him gifts. But when the Monk enters his tent in the evening he understood what Father had meant by 'gift’. You, a fey girl, were the gift.

Notes: Please do read the warnings ! I hope I got them all.

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Stockholm syndrome (?), lima syndrom (?). Rape threats, sexual assault, murder and violence. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. 

Other warnings: ! Smut ! . Jealousy. Enemies to lovers (?). Romance. Pining. Thigh grinding.

Word count of this fic:  157K

Chapters:  27

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26  Chapter 27

The Patience Of A Heart:

Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Little Slow-burn. 

Word count of this fic: +138K

Chapters: 27

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26  Chapter 27

Pray For The Wicked:

Summary: When Father Carden and his Red Paladins arrive at the convent with their wounded brother, Aveline is tasked with serving them something to drink. What she did not expect was that she would catch the attention of the notorious Weeping Monk.

Warnings:  Strong Language. Smut. Dom(?) Lancelot. 

Word count: 4k+

Pray For The Wicked 

The Last Flames Burn Together 1&2:

Summary: You were one of the many Feys trying to seek refugee from the cleansings across the lands. When you finally find the carriages that smuggle Feys to Gramaire, safety seems closer than ever.

Warnings: Violence, death, strong language. Spicy (?). No descriptive smut but spoken off.

Word Count: 7K

The Last Flames Burn Together  + Sequel 

Cloaked Beauty:

Summary: The struggles with your body image begin to affect your happiness. Your two recently acquired companions, Lancelot and Percival, notice the changes.

Notes: Insecure plus size y/n. Fluff. Stuff I wrote when I was feeling down.

Warnings: Possible ED symptoms/signals (?)

Word Count: 3K+

Cloaked Beauty 

More to come...

[noemitenshi]

You're not really my type~

A Daniel Sharman x OC fic (more or less written for kinktober)

Summary: After a chance meeting (two, actually), Daniel becomes interested in Ally – from the looks of it a sweet and thoughful girl, though not afraid to go after what she wants, even if it may offend. However, she may be more than he bargained for.

Author’s note: I, unfortunately, don’t have the bandwidth to truly participate in kinktober this year (since I’ve got about a billion other projects to juggle (and yes, this is me still starting something new, shut up)). But since this kinky idead popped into my head not too long ago I thought it would be fun to try and get as much of it done in October, as a kind of ‘kinktober adjacent’ work. Rpf isn’t normally my cup of tea… but I guess this is a case of never say never. Can’t promise that every entry will be as detailed as this one, I had originally just planned on doing a summary type post with maybe some more detailed scenes slotted in here and there… we’ll see.

Chapter 1

Ally watched her sister’s drawn, miserable expression unhappily. Her and Bob had just broken up – Ally had known it was coming. In fact, everyone had known except for Liz herself. And though Ally was glad to see him finally go (in her opinion he was a selfish, childish man not above taking advantage of her sister’s good (though sometimes naive) heart. The very heart he’d broken in the process – and that thought made Ally simultaneously angry and sad.

Therefore she’d invited Liz along, into her favorite café, hoping that being outside, listening to Ally’s work tales would …well maybe not cheer her up but at least stop her thinking about Bob for a hot second. And Ally had really tried everything to take Liz’s mind of what was tormenting her. And so far she’d failed spectacularly on all fronts.

Liz hadn’t even touched her hot chocolate, her favorite drink. Ally was at her wit’s end. She tried to remember another funny story she could share so that Liz could stop thinking about stupid Bob for a moment – but she’d already shared her best ones (and honestly, the thing she really wanted to do was put all her frustration that had been piling up for months about Bob into words but just now wasn’t the time for it...)

The silence stretched between them almost uncomfortably long. Then her sister’s face transformed, her drawn eyebrows relaxing, her head lifted… She’d seen something that had caught her focus. Oh god, please don’t let it be Bob, appearing all of a sudden in that café!

Trepidatiously Ally followed her sister’s gaze… and breathed a sigh of relief. No sign of that asshole after all!

But then… what had captured Liz’s attention like that. Or should she say who? There was a guy standing at the counter, trying to decide what coffee to get, from the looks of it. Slender and tall, slight curly, dark hair… She stared for a moment, the uncanny feeling that she’d seen him before suddenly coming over her.

A quick glance back at Liz’s face told her her sister was enthralled. And slowly it dawned on Ally who that was.

“Isn’t that… that actor you like so much?”

“Ssh!” Her sister shushed her without sparing her so much as a glance, though a slight blush colored her cheeks, “Not so loud, he’ll hear…”

Ally looked at the guy again who seemed happily oblivious to their conversation, She doubted he could hear them.

“Wanna go talk to him?” she asked, glad her sister wasn’t in that pit of despair anymore,

“What? No! That’s embarrassing…”

“Just a quick ‘hi’? You’ll be hardly the first person to approach him…”

Liz shook her head, her gaze still glued to him. Ally looked back at him, too (and yes, she could see why her sister was so into him; he was fairly attractive). It seemed he had finally decided on what to get and was in the process of paying. About to walk out in a moment and then Liz would be back to pining over Bob… Ally made a split-second decision, standing abruptly and with a decisive “come!” at her sister, she walked towards him… what was his name? David… no. Daniel. Daniel… something.

“Hi!” She greeted him with her best customer service smile, her sweetest ‘let me help you’ voice. “Are you Daniel—” unfortunately his last name still evaded her “—the actor?” Her smile didn’t lose its radiance despite her faux pax.

Daniel (if indeed that was his name) just blinked at her and she felt compelled to add as clarification, “From that werewolf show?”

“...Teen wolf?” He sounded somewhat uneasy. She didn’t let that stop her, she was a woman on a mission after all.

“Yes!” Thus clarified, she got to her request, “I’m sorry to bother you but… would you maybe consider taking a quick picture with my sister Liz”—she glanced around just to see that Liz hadn’t moved from their table, had her face buried in her hands. Typical—“Liz come over here! Liz is a big fan of yours! And she just got through a horrific breakup today. I’ve been trying to cheer her up but no luck so far. It would really mean a lot to her if you’d give her just a few moments of your time. So today won’t be the day her heart got broken but the day she met you…?”

She tried her best soulful look on him, big brown eyes gazing up into startling blue ones – while she gestured for Liz to get over here, now!)

Daniel looked at a loss for words.

“You wouldn’t want to be responsible for her having a bad day, right?” Ally added conspiratorial, an attempt to joke that fell flat judging by Daniel’s still blank look.

But then his own blinding (though also fake) smile broke out.

“Sure. Wouldn’t want that.”

Mission accomplished.

As her sister stood awkwardly besides her favorite actor (and finally, finally flashed a real smile), Ally snapped several pictures in short succession. Liz then stammered her thanks. Blushed, when Daniel told her to “forget him, yeah?” before she hurried back to their table.

“Thanks,” Ally told him, the first earnest thing she’d said to him, “You really made her day.”

A wry smile curved his lips upwards. The first earnest thing he’d given her.

*

Some days later Liz asked her sister to accopmany her to a bar. Her newfound sense of adventure probably fueled by her meeting with Daniel (a complete success thanks to Ally, even if she had been a bit pushy about it). Of course Ally agreed to go with Liz – she’d wholeheartedly agree to anything if that meant her sister got over Bob sooner.

And so she found herself sitting in a bar, nursing her drink on her own while she watched Liz dance with no less than three gentleman. Whatever helps her get over it, Ally thought benevolently.

“Hey.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw that someone had approached her table, greeting her now. She half-expected it to be some dude wanting to buy her a drink and so she turned, prepared to turn him down.

It was some dude, alright, but one she knew. The same wry smile playing on his lips as the last time she’d seen him.

“Hey!” she greeted back, in her surprise adding too much enthusiasm. Daniel gestured with his half-full drink to the empty chair besides her, asking to sit and she nodded.

“How’s your sister?” He leaned in for the question so she could better hear him over the music. That way she could see the boyish look on his face all the clearer. Oh – he expected Liz to be better after meeting him? That confidence was kinda cute (and it wasn’t like he was wrong there).

“Look for yourself.” She nodded towards the dancefloor.

“Got over him then?” Daniel said, more a statement than a question, a certain satisfaction in his tone.

“Definitely in the process of,” she countered. No, Liz wasn’t over Bob yet but tonight was a good sign.

“And what about you?” Daniel asked, “Dancing not your thing?”

She shook her head, her long curls swaying with the movement.

“No, I love dancing. But tonight I’m… the chaperone.”

“Chaperone!?” He laughed a little, making him look boyish again. For a moment she wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her.

“Making sure she doesn’t get her heart broken so soon again… what about you? All alone here?”

Oh, that sounded way more like a come-on than she’d intended.

“Uh, I wasn’t…” he started saying, his hand moving in a throwaway gesture “but, you know… pretty girls seemed to be a more enticing company than me…”

Ally’s mouth formed a little ‘oh’ of understanding.

“And you didn’t… want to join?”

“Ah, well… that is… no.” All the while he was talking his hand had gone to his chin, moving restlessly along his jaw, his cheek.

Oh. She nodded her head in understanding.

“No! I, I like girls! I do!” He was quick to assure her and she couldn’t help herself but laugh a little at him. “Just… not what I was looking for today.”

“What were you looking for?”

“A night out with friends.”

“Aw, I’m sorry—Oh! Is that why you came over here? Did you think you and I…” she gestured between them but before she had finished her question he shrugged, somewhat awkwardly and tried a grin. It seemed more embarrassed than genuine. So yes, he had thought they’d been in the same position. “Sorry to disappoint but my solitude is self-imposed,” she told him, her gaze going to Liz. He followed it and then, when she was looking at him again, he told her,

“You’re a good sister.”

He seemed to really mean it, she noted, pleased.

“Why thank you!” she beamed. That wry smile lit his face again.

“You know I…” his hand had gone to his face again and as he broke off it went over his mouth. He didn’t seem to want to say. It only made her want to know more.

“What?”

“Ah, no, I…” again he broke off, not having taken his hand off his face yet.

“What?” she asked again with more emphasis. He shook his head, dropping his hand.

“Oh, come on. Now you gotta tell me!”

“Well…” he did a helpless grin before his hand was back on his chin again. “I thought you were… quite rude the other day.” His gaze had jumped around restlessly while he talked but her sudden laughter had him look at her again.

“I was!” she agreed readily, “I know I was… but you saved the day! You truly did. Thank you.”

He watched her bemusedly and then nodded.

“I honestly wouldn’t have done it if you’d asked like that for yourself…” he told her and then after a slight hesitation he added, “Uhm, actually, I uh, I kinda expected you to still jump in and want a picture with me anyway…”

She blinked at the awkward way he looked at her before another bout of laughter burst out from her, bashful, this time. It was nice to hear him talk honestly (even though he hadn’t thought too kindly about her – or maybe because of it).

“So I made a real good first impression, huh?” she asked, still giggling.

He swayed his head.

“There… have been better once…” he said as if he was confiding some great secret to her.

“And yet, you’re still here,” she pointed out, slyly.

“And yet… I’m here. Futily trying to bond over being abandoned by those closest to us.”

She laughed again.

It continued like that, slight teasing and at some points even some flirting. He was smooth though that awkwardness she’d already seen in him glimpsed through now and again. It was fun, though and passed the time well enough.

They even discovered they had a shared passion – art. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage,” he’d said, “I don’t even know what you do.” And so she had told him about the art supply store she’d opened just months ago. How before she’d worked in a B2B and how it had sucked the life out of her. How she prefered what she did now to it even though it was harder to get by. But helping her customers realize their visions, the connections she made, that really made it worth it.

That was when he had told her that he loved to paint. Confiding, it had felt like. And the conversation had remained on that subject for quite some time, his drink long empty when he finally started to say his goodbyes.

Then he hesitated for a second before asking,

“Listen. Would you… consider giving me your number?”

She looked at him, startled. Sure, they had been flirting throughout the night – but for her it had just been a way to pass the time. Nothing more.

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling bad about it. It hadn’t been her intention to give him the wrong impression, “You’re… not really my type.” She tried for a soft tone, a regretful tone.

“How can you tell? We don’t really know one another yet.”

“Oh, I can tell.”

He was a sweet guy if somewhat awkward feeling in his skin at points (though that could be endearing, too. Was, endearing, she had to admit). Attractive, yes. She could get lost in his eyes alone, if she let herself. Honest and passionate. And definitely, 100% painfully vanilla.

“We… had fun tonight, didn’t we?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, we did.”

“Then… ” he furrowed his brows as he looked at her closely, as if he could read what the problem was on her face. “...what’s your type?” He settled on asking. It was her now that searched his expression, unsure if she should share that. But he looked so earnest. Pleading almost but not quite and so she beckoned him close, to whisper in his ear,

“My type of boy loves kneeling at my feet, thanking me when I degrade him, wanting me to treat him like nothing but a toy…”

He recoiled and stared at her with wide, wide eyes.

“Not your thing, is it?” she asked, not expecting an answer, “That’s ok. I did enjoy tonight. Thank you for keeping me company.”

He nodded, a bit lost, then shook his head.

“No that’s… my line.”

Poor guy, she might’ve frightened him more than she intended.

“Goodnight, Daniel. No hard feelings, right?”

As she watched him go, she couldn’t help herself but imagine him kneeling at her feet… what a pretty sight that would be. Alas…