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thursdayinspace · 17 days ago

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Okay, so I wrote a sequel to this one that doesn't hurt! I made them all better! Listen, I love making them sad sometimes, but also I want them to be happy all the time and to have everything they want forever and ever. Soooo here's a ficlet for that. Tagging @today-in-fic

He’s not hers. He never will be. That’s not how it works. He’s not hers and she’s not his, and that’s as it should be.

“Hey,” he says, next to her on the bed, his eyes soft in the early evening light. “You’re far away.”

“I’m right here,” she says, and she is. With him in this moment, because he isn’t hers, but he is here.

His kiss is slow and full of promise and she sinks into it with her eyes closed. She’s mapped his body with her hands and navigates by touch, knows her way to all the secret places that she loves, all familiar routes that guide her home. She stakes no claim on this new land, he isn’t her possession. He is her haven in the storm and her shelter, he’s jagged cliffs and burning desert and dark, starless woods that tempt you off the path straight into peril. He’s her October afternoon, soft blankets and candlelight when rain falls heavily outside.

She’s on her back and he’s above her, unmoving for a moment, and her smile is easy and content, she doesn’t need to make it happen. His eyes hold stories in their depths and so many are about them, dark and tragic, hopeful and not yet over. She doesn’t need his words. He offers them so freely and she takes them for the gift they are. Her own seem so inadequate to her ears, but he takes them with wonder in his eyes and affection in his smile and maybe he understands her like she understands him. If anyone ever has, it’s him.

He’s mapped her too and knows her secret places; he doesn’t hurry as he travels her body with his lips. Down and down, he knows where he wants to go, and she’s ready, always ready, waiting for him eagerly. He opens her with his tongue and sighs against her, so content, like he has finally arrived. His mouth is skilled and hungry. He parts her thighs wider to expose her completely, and she fists her hands in his hair as he licks at her eagerly like he’s the one receiving pleasure from this. He’s sworn to her that it’s true.

It feels amazing and she loses track of time. She’s surfing on the waves of arousal that crest higher and higher until her thighs clench and her toes curl and her hips rise off the bed. She comes with a cry, flooding his tongue, and he grips her tighter, presses in closer, and laps at her like a starving man. He doesn’t stop until she pushes his head away weakly, whispering his name, her heart racing.

His cheek is resting on her thigh when the world swims back into focus. He looks very pleased with himself.

“Good?” he asks.

“Oh god.” She laughs. “Do you really have to ask me that?”

The happiness on his face is everything. She doesn’t remember the moment she made it her goal to put it there as often as she could. He’s been smiling a lot more lately.

It’s hard to comprehend sometimes how much she wants him. Hers is a world of science, of facts. This can’t be quantified. Even if there were a scale, it would be useless. If there were rules, they wouldn’t apply. There is no limit and there are no conditions, there’s only him, and he is infinite, he’s everywhere. In everything she sees and feels there is a part of him because their lives have touched and blended, and should they ever separate, a part of him would stay behind. He’s not hers. But he’s a part of her.

She welcomes him back into her arms and he leans in for a kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue. She is a part of him too.

There’s no resistance as he sinks into her. The stretch is welcome and familiar, her body knows him, needs him. His hips move with intent, with purpose, no hesitation, no reason to hold back. And she brings her legs around him and holds him close.

He’s not hers, but he gives himself to her, wholly and completely. He gives himself not as a thing to posses but as a companion, a partner, a home. His heart is in her hands as a loan, and she will keep it safe until he wants it back. His words, his eyes, his touch tell her it’s hers forever, but only time will tell them if that’s true. She’s given him her heart in return. She can’t imagine ever asking for it back.

The presence of him as he moves inside her still overwhelms her. The look on his face, the warmth of his body, the sound of his moans. She’s out of her box, and maybe it was always her who kept the lid closed, maybe it was always him who tried to let her out. The walls are shattered and the universe is rushing in on her, on them. It doesn’t scare her anymore.

Words are on his lips and she doesn’t look away. Her hands are on his back and she feels his muscles working under his skin as he rocks into her hard, over and over. He’s taking what she gives, and she lets him lose himself in her.

“Scully,” he breathes.

She leans up to kiss her own words onto his lips while he searches for his voice. “More,” she whispers, and knows he catches every meaning of the word.

His forehead touches hers as he shifts between her legs before he thrusts in hard, harder than before, and she throws her head back and gasps out her pleasure. “Like this?”

“Yes,” she says, and loses herself in him as he fucks her like he knows her.

Her orgasm is different with him—she holds nothing back. The sounds she makes, the look on her face, the desperate way she claws at him. She cannot hide from him, she has no protection. And she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care. He’s seen her dying, seen her bruised and beaten, held her sobbing in his arms. There are no secrets between them anymore, no shame.

She lets go, his name falling from her lips, a cry of pleasure and a prayer. He’s here, not hers, but with her. And she comes with her whole body, with him deep inside her, and she’s wild, ravenous, her tensing muscles burning as he makes her come alive with pure and perfect bliss.

When he comes inside her she clings to him, rides it out with him, her body still pulsing with the memory of her release.

And she is no longer waiting for the bee to sting.

He raises himself up on his forearms to look at her face, meet her eyes, his cock softening inside her, and at last he finds his voice.

“I love you,” he says, and she doesn’t need to believe. She knows.

“I love you too.”

They don’t need to pretend. Maybe there’ll be an end one day, but the universe is eternal and so are they, a part of each other, and this she does believe: there’s always a way.

He lies next to her and takes her hand, and for now, they’re home.

#txf #the x files #msr #mulder and scully #fic #poangpals #cali please let me out of jail now?

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petrichor-idyllic · 2 years ago

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MINHO

MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS IN GREEN

NO SMUT OR EXPLICIT CONTENT

○ FLUFF | □ SPICE | ● ANGST |• HEADCANONS

◇ FEM! READER | ☆ GN! READER | 《》 MASC! READER

□ LONGING FROM AFAR ◇

↳ Minho has always been cocky and self-assured. That is until a girl arrives in the Glade. A girl he's had some interesting dreams about.

Contains suggestive content and spice.

• SOME HEADCANONS ◇

↳ Just some headcanons about our favourite Runner.

Contains suggestive content and spice.

□ FIRECRACKER ◇

↳ Minho finally agrees to teach you how to fight after weeks of pestering him. Though, things take an unexpected turn.

Contains suggestive content and spice.

○ SAFE PLACE ◇

↳ After you narrowly escape the vicious actions of another Glader who couldn't take no for an answer, you find refuge in Minho's hut - and his arms.

Contains references to sexual assault but there's nothing explicit.

○ UNDER THE INFLUENCE ◇

↳ After the Greenie Day celebrations leave you a little bit intoxicated, Minho takes care of you and keeps you safe.

○ HIDE AND SEEK ◇

↳ You're training to be a Runner and, as the Keeper, Minho is made to look after you. Though, things take a dramatic turn as Minho is forced to save your life.

□ LET ME MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER ◇

↳ Somehow, you end up giving your best friend a massage. Things go about as well as expected.

Basically the start of a bad porn scenario.

□ INAPPROPRIATE WORKPLACE BEHAVIOUR ◇

↳ You miss out on the Bonfire to stay to help Minho with the Maps. Unfortunately, he's a little distracted.

Contains suggestive content and spice.

□ AFTER THE CALM ◇

↳ Joining the group from the scorch, the Gladers take a blow after losing Newt to the Crank Palace. So, you help cheer Minho up.

Book-based fic. Contains suggestive content and spice.

□ BEYOND THE OTHER SIDE ◇

↳ Despite your feelings for one another, you and Minho have decided it's best to stay friends. But, after you nearly lose him to the clutches of the Maze, and he says some choice words to Gally - you decide enough is enough.

Book based fic. Some suggestive themes.

● ALL YOU HAVE ◇

↳ Minho has always had you by his side. He doesn't know how he'd cope without you. Well, now he might have to learn how.

Bro, you die. Rip.

WARMTH IN COLD PLACES ◇ ➤

○ PART 1 | □ PART 2

↳ You are an undercover agent for The Right Arm working behind enemy lines in WCKD's headquarters. Your simple intel gig ends up being the least of your problems as you're suddenly put on the front lines of a rescue mission. It doesn't help that the boy you're pretending to keep prisoner is pretty cute.

□ BEHAVE ◇

↳ You're obsessed with your boyfriend. It's just so hard to keep your hands off of him - even when he's working.

Contains suggestive content and spice.

□ MIRAGE OF THE PAST ◇

↳ Despite never seeing Minho before, you swear you recognise him. That's why you're always staring. Well, and the man is fine. Now in your place of refuge, the Safe Haven provides you with a home, and a new sense of freedom. A bit of flirting can't hurt, right?

Contains suggestive content and spice.

○ IT TAKES TIME ◇

↳ You were immediately attracted to Minho when you met him in the Scorch. Now, after six months and many losses, you're reunited.

○ STAY CLOSE 《》

↳ Your dream of becoming a Runner is crushed time and time again. But that doesn't stop you from running out into the Maze to help Minho and Alby. Though, that doesn't mean you're the only one willing to risk your life to protect those you care about.

□ FRIENDLY COMPETITION ◇

↳ A friendly game of capture the flag turns heated thanks to yours and Minho's competitive spirit.

Contains suggestive content and spice.

○ SOFT AT HEART ◇

↳ Soft, sweet and caring; you're the mother of the Glade.

○ BLIND EYE ◇

↳ Minho has a crush on you. You're oblivious. He's losing his mind.

○ DECEPTION IN LIBERATION ◇

↳ You're from Group B. Meeting someone in the middle of a prison break is one hell of an introduction.

□ HIGH SCHOOL NOT-SO-SWEET-HEARTS ◇

↳ High school AU. Minho is popular and sporty. You're quiet and smart. It's a stereotypical high-school romance, except Minho is the one tripping over himself for you. And, well, you don't believe him.

Contains suggestive content and spice. Minho won't accept your rejection.

○ HOW TO WINGMAN (POORLY) ☆

↳ Everyone in the Glade is sick of watching you and Minho dance around your feelings for each other. So, they decide to do something about it. Well, they attempt to, at least.

○ DIE FOR YOU ☆

↳ Song fic based off of "Die for You" by The Weekend.

ON YOUR OWN ◇ ➤

○ PART 1 | ○ PART 2 | ○ PART 3

↳ You were put in a Maze all on your own, with nothing but your dog. The isolation is one thing, but what'll happen when you finally escape?

○ SOLIDARITY ◇

↳ Minho is used to being the tough guy; but he doesn't know how to react when he meets someone tougher than him.

○ LIFE BEFORE DROWNING ◇

↳ You're from one of the many alternative Mazes - and yours happened to be full of water. Though, you only realise how weird your Maze was when you reach the Safe Haven, and meet a certain Runner, who feels weirdly familiar.

○ SAVIOR COMPLEX ◇

↳ You're a new Runner, and a disobedient one. So, when you get stung, Minho is left to play saviour. And doctor. Though, as he looks after you, he starts to think you might not be so bad.

○ IN ADVANCE OF GREIF ◇

↳ Getting bitten by a crank is never fun. But, you're from a Maze, so, you'll be fine... right?

□ EXPOSURE ◇

↳ In an attempt to comfort Chuck, you confess an embarrassing secret about something you did back when you were crushing on Minho and before you started dating. Unfortunately, your boyfriend isn't as heavy of a sleeper as you originally thought.

Contains mild suggestive content and spice.

□ SPARKS ◇

↳ Now in the Safe Haven, the sexual tension between you and Minho has turned into a twisted game of restraint. Though, it's hard not to break when you finally catch a glimpse of Minho's lightning scars.

Contains suggestive themes and spice.

□ BEST FEATURE ☆

↳ You can't stop staring at Minho's arms.

Contains suggestive content and spice.

• INDOCTRINATION ☆

↳ The first time you ever met Minho in the WICKED facility, and the corrupt childhood you briefly spent together before things take a wrong turn.

#🌿 petri's masterlist #tmr fanfiction #tmr imagines #tmr minho #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #minho maze runner #minho tmr x reader #the maze runner

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sunflowersandsapphires · 10 months ago

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A Hint of Lovely Oblivion

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: After a week of sleeping terribly, Frank makes an effort to help you get the rest you deserve.

warnings: Swearing, fluff, caring Frank, this is not medical advice

a/n: I wrote this for my lovely bestie @madschiavelique who wanted some Frankie comfort. As someone who deals with insomnia pretty regularly, this was very cathartic! I hope you all enjoy. A huge thank you to my other bestie @gracethyomen for beta-ing and helping me plan this fic!

w/c: 4.6k

Inhaling deeply, the frigid air of the room made your nose twitch. Sliding as deep as you could into the blanket pile while maintaining your seated position, you bit your lip, shifting the pad of paper on your lap and craning your neck once again. While your duvet provided an excellent shield to lock in heat, your shoulders inevitably poked out whenever you weren’t fully horizontal, leaving your body to sit in a temperature regulation purgatory; your consciousness rumbled uneasily as the hair on the back of your neck refused to flatten, your brain torn between making you shiver or letting you sweat. The position was far from comfortable—but being awake all night made comfort an unattainable goal for you anyways.

It had been days since you’d slept through the night. You were no stranger to insomnia, you’d been cursed with it your entire life, but lately it had dug its malicious claws into your chest with the violence of a starving feral animal. Your bed, which used to be a haven of rest and relaxation, was now a space that you avoided at all costs—the wonderfully soft pillows and warm blankets mocking you as they sat untouched well into the night, fatigue never overtaking you when you needed it to. For the first few nights of your ongoing battle with sleeplessness, you’d crawl under the covers anyway, praying to any deity listening that the weight and heat of the fabric would force your eyelids to close—but it never did.

Sighing as your pencil tip snapped, you closed your eyes, letting your breath rest in your lungs for a moment before exhaling again; apparently your frustration with your own hormone production created a physical pressure on the lead of your pencil. Picking up a fresh one from your nightstand, you did your best to clean up the smear of graphite from the impact of the broken point.

Turning your attention back to the subject of your sketch, you chewed your lip to stifle a smile. Despite the thick curtains your partner had insisted on, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the massive man slumbering beside you, quietly snoring away—completely oblivious to the inspiration he'd given you. The feather-light moon beams shone through his tousled hair, creeping down over his face, which was adorably mashed against his singular pillow. Considering that he'd turned up a handful of hours ago drenched in other people's blood, it was downright ironic to be calling him “adorable” as he slept—but you couldn't shake the giddy feeling that always bubbled up when you saw his face so lax with sleep. His expression was so uncharacteristically peaceful, it never failed to make you happy.

Sure, not sleeping sucked. You'd be plagued with jaw-cracking yawns and mild memory loss in the morning, just like yesterday and the day before that. Having the opportunity to watch Frank sleep soundly, didn't make up for the fact that you'd accidentally put orange juice in your coffee yesterday, but it made the build up of irritation much easier to bear. Which is why you'd decided to memorialize it in your sketchbook.

Studying the map of shadows on Frank's handsome face, you scratched the pencil over the thick paper, the rasping sound soothing the constant buzzing in your brain. Scrunching your nose as you tried to smooth out the sketch in front of you, you nearly jumped out of your skin when he spoke.

“Why're you up, darlin'?” His voice was rough with exhaustion. Noticing your wide eyes and ragged inhale, a large hand slid up to rest on your thigh. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya.”

”It's alright, Frankie. I wasn't paying attention.“ You tried to laugh, but the sound died in your throat.

His hand stroked over your leg as he waited for you to answer his question. Instead, your eyes remained trained on the book across your lap, pencil moving fluidly through the silence. Tracing a thumb over your warm skin, Frank frowned. “Ya didn't answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” Your tone was innocent, but the way your eyes remained glued to your work was enough to tell him you had definitely heard the question.

Squeezing your thigh with a yawn, Frank tried not to groan as he dragged himself up to sit next to you. His movement finally captured your attention, your brow furrowing as you set your pencil aside. “What are you doing?”

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, Frank slid an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. ”Sittin' with my girl. That a crime now?“

Smiling despite the guilt flaring in your chest, you shoved at his solid torso feebly. ”Go back to sleep, Frankie. I'm sorry I woke you. I can—“ Shuffling in your seat, you tilted towards the edge of the mattress, fully intending to relocate to a different room so that Frank could go back to bed. Foiling your plan, Frank's arms held fast against your teetering, pulling you flush against his chest.

”Don't you dare.“ He growled, chin resting atop your crown.

”Frank! I didn't even finish my thought,“ You wriggled against his hold, your brain torn between reacting with endearment or annoyance over being imprisoned by his strength. “Let me go, you...you...butthead.” Whining at your own lackluster insult, you buried your face in Frank's neck as he chuckled.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Ain't gotta go for my throat like that.” Frank murmured smugly. You could envision his shit-eating smirk despite it being out of your line of sight.

”Shut up,“ You muttered, a tiny smile gracing your lips against your will. Your body trembled as Frank shook with rumbling laughter. Drawing you into his arms, Frank set your legs over his lap, positioning you towards the windows. The gusting heat from the vent closest to your bed ruffled the fabric covering the panes, the pale glowing rays of moonlight fluttering over your knees as the drapes shifted. It created a mesmerizing dance of light and dark, captivating you.

”Ya gonna tell me how long you've been sittin' here starin' at me or did ya wanna keep pretendin' you were asleep?” In defense of your ruthlessly persistent boyfriend, it has been said that the third time’s the charm. His tone was as delicate as his gruff voice allowed, the muscles of his jaw and throat rippling against your scalp as he spoke.

Eyes falling closed, you focused on the warmth of Frank’s body surrounding you as you willed the tears pricking your eyes to back down. Another unfortunate side effect of sleep deprivation—your emotions started to go haywire over the littlest things.

It wasn’t that you thought Frank would be angry. Well, it wasn’t the biggest anxiety on your mind, at least. It was more the fear of burdening him with your own issues at all hours when you knew a good night’s sleep was practically a miracle for him. The first night at home after a few weeks away always seemed to make it come easier, but other than that Frank rarely rested. The mere thought of forcing him to sit up with you, especially on the one night this week he’d get a full 8 hours, grabbed your guilty conscience by the throat.

Giving a halfhearted shrug, you caved. “Dunno. Slept for a few hours when we went to bed. Then I got up and...” Trailing off, you gestured to the bed in front of you, which was clearly not being used for sleep.

Frank withdrew from the embrace and your pounding heart sank. You set your jaw, waiting for the frustrated scolding…but it never came. Instead, one calloused finger landed underneath your chin, tilting it upwards as he spoke. “You been awake that long?” His eyes shone with concern, boring ferociously into yours.

Nodding miserably, you swallowed the overwhelming shame crawling up your esophagus before speaking. “I’m sorry, Frank. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t—“

Cutting you off with a tender kiss, Frank’s hand moved to cup your cheek. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, honey. Ya shoulda woken me up.”

Looking up at him with glossy eyes, you bit your lip, ”You deserve to sleep uninterrupted. I didn't want to be the one to take that away from you.“

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek as he was overrun with waves of adoration and sympathy for you. How he'd managed to end up with such a considerate partner, he'd never know. Especially when he didn't consistently return the gesture.

He'd come home yesterday and practically collapsed into your arms—ignoring how unsteady your balance seemed when you dragged him into the apartment, blaming it on his own weight. You'd patched him up sweetly, as you always did, and Frank hadn't thought twice about the fact that you'd had to leave the room three times to get the gauze, assuming your memory had just been shaken by his battered appearance.

Was he truly so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he hadn't noticed the sunken crescents underneath your eyes? They were so prominent now, stark sepia bruises on your otherwise even skin. It must have been days since you slept properly. Beside himself with worry, his thumb traced the indent under your left eye. ”Shit sweetheart...“

”I'm—“ You started to apologize, but it stuck in your throat when Frank shook his head.

”Hey, none of that. Don't wanna hear it, ok?” You nodded in response to his gentle command, sitting there quietly as he schemed. “Are you tired at all?”

The pitiful shake of your head seemed to make up his mind.

Unwinding from you, he raised his arms above his head in a stretch, moaning as his back popped with the movement. Your face scrunched in disapproval, making him grimace sheepishly. “Sorry, honey. Guess I was stiff from drivin' all day.” Without waiting for your response, he slid out of bed. Your brow furrowed as he strode over to the dresser, pulling a shirt over his rumpled hair.

“Get dressed, darlin'. I have an idea.” He called to you over his shoulder as he rummaged for a clean pair of pants. Sighing, you abandoned the bubble of heat surrounding you in bed and headed for the closet.

Despite your grumbles and evident confusion, the two of you were dressed and on the road before the sun even peeked over the horizon. With one hand settled in yours, Frank kept his gaze trained on the road ahead, trying not to laugh at your exasperated questioning and adorable pout. Dragging you out of the house at this hour might not have been his brightest idea—since he normally tried to remain on your good side—but hey, he’d gotten this far without you chewing his head off.

Frank could hardly be considered a morning person, but you were practically nocturnal. Leaving the house before dawn was probably high up on your list of personal hells, but staying in bed when you couldn’t sleep wasn’t a good idea. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Curtis’s agitated tone.

“For the last time, Frank: staying in bed will make it worse.”

Way back in the day, during his first trip home after going overseas, he’d bugged Curtis relentlessly about his own sleep issues. Maria was tired enough raising a wandering toddler and an imaginative kindergartener, she didn’t need to worry about a restless marine to boot. He’d tried every suggestion under the sun, but sleep still evaded him. Tour after tour, night after night, he’d lay beside his wife in their bed and stare at the ceiling until his alarm went off. After his family died, well…it didn’t exactly get easier to rest.

Despite scouring the internet, a few libraries, and the expanse of Curt’s brain for any possible cures, his sleeplessness persisted. It was a torture he endured for years, and an anguish he wouldn’t wish on anyone but his worst enemies.

Finding out that you also dealt with insomnia was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, not having to explain his fickle moods and constant absence from the bedroom was a welcomed relief. On the other, seeing the symptoms of sleep deprivation in someone he cared about was an agony worse than an infected bullet wound.

He knew what you were going through all too well, which meant he was determined to try and help. Getting you out of the house was just the first step of his admittedly too-detailed plan.

His lips twitched with a smile as he spotted the building. Turning into the ragged asphalt lot behind the restaurant, he turned his attention to you.

“We’re here, darlin’.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you remained unimpressed. “A diner?”

Letting out a bark of laughter at your obvious disdain for the activity, Frank pointed a finger at you in warning. “Hey, don’t knock it til ya try it, sweetheart.” His exaggerated stern expression broke through your apprehension, your lips turning upwards into a fond smile.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Frank pressed a kiss to your temple, heart swelling as you leaned into him. “If ya wanna go home, just say the word.”

Biting your lip, you glanced out the window at the electric blue awning extending from the glass doors. The yellow lamp lights lining the sidewalk reflected in your wide eyes as you stared. “No, we can go. I, just…can I ask you a question first?”

“Course, honey. Anythin’.”

“Why here?” Your question was soft, but genuine; your curiosity was outweighing the contempt you’d previously shown for his choice of destination.

Running a hand through his hair, he gave a one-armed shrug. “Fuck, well... ya know I’m no stranger to the whole…not sleepin’ thing. And, uh, back in the early days, when it was real bad for me, I’d come here. We– er– Maria and I, we took the kids here a couple of times. Dunno, wanted to remember the good times, I guess, and it became a sort of tradition. Thought it might help you too.”

With a stuttering inhale, you reached for his hand, stroking a finger over his knuckles as you looked up at him shyly. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I didn’t mean to be rude about it, I’m sorry.”

Squeezing your fingers, he could feel heat creeping up his face. “It’s nothin’ sweetheart. Ain’t gotta worry about that.”

Glancing back out the window for a moment, Frank could see the gears turning in your head as you turned back to him with a tiny grin.

“Lead the way?” You asked tentatively.

“For you, sweet girl? Always.” He pressed a kiss to your hand, his stubble scratching at the skin of your fingers.

Frank ushered the two of you inside and into a booth in the back of the diner. The restaurant was lacking in customers, as could be expected given the early hour. While the inky black sky was broken up with dim streetlights outside of the building, the inside was flooded with fluorescent lights--so bright that you had to shield your eyes with a limp hand for a few minutes.

Once your vision adjusted, you had to admit that the energy in the diner was quite nice. The chipped linoleum tiles that lined the floor were a gorgeous cobalt blue. Along the ceiling, large chunks of the roof had been replaced with thick panes of glass, allowing you to watch the clouds float by, the darkness of the night contrasting beautifully with the intense lighting. You and Frank were seated on a worn vinyl booth, the strips of fabric alternating between silver and black. Similar booths wrapped around the space, almost twinkling as you looked at them.

“So,” Frank pushed a mug towards you. “Whaddya think?”

“It's nice.” You murmured, pulling the warm cup closer to yourself. Somehow you'd missed him ordering himself coffee and you a tea in your distracted state.

Frank cocked his head at you, lips turned up in a smug smirk. ”’S that so?“

Smiling into your mug as you took a sip, you retorted. ”Shut up.“

The drink was warm and, thankfully, unsweetened. It's crisp flavor relaxed your shoulders as you sipped, settling your anxious stomach.

“Hope mint is a’right.” Frank spoke quietly, a blush creeping up his face as he studied his own drink.

“You remembered.” You breathed out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly as your eyes prickled with emotion.

“Course I did.” Frank huffed, draining the rest of his black coffee. You shuddered in distaste and he chuckled, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand. “You hungry at all?”

Shrugging noncommittally, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. Frank sighed, but didn't push further on the subject, which you were very grateful for. You'd never explicitly spoken to him about the effect your insomnia had on your eating habits, but--being the observant partner he was--he'd clearly picked up on it anyways. Once your day started with little to no sleep, it was like all of your bodily functions forgot how to...function. Hunger and thirst cues were practically impossible to read, your body and brain battling each other ferociously at every turn. Which, of course, just exhausted you further.

Scrubbing at one eye with the heel of your free hand, you grit your teeth to keep from groaning. Dwelling on how miserable you were going to feel today wouldn't solve anything, it would just worsen your mood.

”Head botherin' ya?“ Frank asked, brow folding in concern as he watched you knead at your forehead.

”No more than usual.“ You cracked a small smile, hoping that didn't sound as sad as you thought it did. “Just...frustrated with myself.”

“I feel ya, sweetheart. Not sleepin' ain't any fun. But I have some ideas, so don't you worry your pretty little head about it, ok?” Frank tangled his fingers with yours, his gaze earnest.

“You get ideas?” You scoffed, grinning when Frank rolled his eyes in return.

“Ya know what? Just for that, I ain't gonna tell ya about 'em.”

“Nooo,” You whined, taking Frank's massive hand in both of yours and pouting at him. ”I was just kidding. Please tell me.“

”Hmm, I dunno. First you insulted the diner, then my intelligence. Seems like you don't want my help, sweetheart.“ Frank withdrew from your grasp, pretending to sulk into his coffee.

Giggling at Frank’s pout, you reassured him. ”No, I do! I do!“

With a sad little shrug, Frank glanced forlornly out the window.

“Please Frankie,” Pleading with your gaze, you tried to keep a straight face. “You're my only hope.”

Dropping his startlingly believable moping act, Frank cackled. “Ya think you're real clever, don't ya?”

Smirking into your tea, you gulped down the last remnants with a shrug. ”Maybe.“

After your countless apologies for insulting his intellect, Frank finally explained why he'd encouraged–forced–you to leave the house before sunrise. Apparently he'd heard that staying in bed while awake could perpetuate the cycle of sleep deprivation. And, though you were loath to admit it, it seemed to help.

The little excursion definitely lifted your spirits, if nothing else. You were able to admire the sunrise and mess around with Frank without your anxiety skyrocketing because of the city crowds. It was nice, and you told him such–even at the risk of over-inflating his ego.

His next activity, however, was not as pleasant.

“Are you going to have me carry you around the apartment next?” You groused, hefting the bedframe up so that you could adjust your rapidly loosening grip on the cold metal. This much physical labor on an empty stomach and no sleep was not what you’d had in mind for a relaxing day with Frank. He, however, was insistent on moving the furniture in your room immediately upon your return home.

“You offerin'?” Frank smirked at you, pretending to set the bed frame down. His eyes glinted with a humor you didn’t share over the current situation.

“Fuck no.” You muttered, glaring at him until he lifted the majority of the weight once more. Frank laughed deeply.

“Set it right over here, darlin’. We gotta move your dresser and then we’re all done.”

“You know, if you hated the layout of my room so much, you could’ve told me months ago.” Instead of waiting until I was already reaching my limit. You thought to yourself, not vocalizing that particular vulnerability.

“And have you put me out on my ass for bein’ so forward? I’d never, sweetheart.” Frank chuckled, adjusting your bed as you collapsed against the mattress with a huff. “I’m teasin’, honey. It’s an old trick Curt told me about. All the rearrangin’ is supposed to help your brain remember how to sleep, or some shit.”

Rubbing at your forehead as the ache that had been plaguing you all day made a sudden resurgence, your limbs instinctively curled into fetal position as a small whimper escaped your lips.

“It’s helping it remember to bother me is what it’s doing.” You grumbled, gritting your teeth as the pain ebbed and flowed. You knew the more you thought about it, the more it would torture you–but the stabbing sensation was all that your fatigued brain could focus on right now.

Frank snorted, sitting beside you gingerly and caressing your hunched back with an open palm. “‘M sorry, sweet girl. Let me get ya some meds and you can lie here while I finish movin’ shit around.”

Your body felt like it was aimlessly floating, untethered to the Earth and hurrying to escape the pain so viciously attacking it at the moment. You were so tired. Every blink was a reminder of the heaven that had been ripped from your delicate grasp hours ago because your body couldn’t even function in the way it was designed to. Brow scrunching, you burrowed under the covers with a sigh.

“Ya better not be sleepin’ on me, honey.” Frank murmured as he stepped back into the room.

“Course not,” You mumbled. “Would never…”

“I know you’re tired, darlin’, but ya gotta stay awake until it’s dark. Naps will just make ya feel worse, trust me.” He trailed a finger down your arm, taking your hand and placing some painkillers into it. Waiting patiently until you begrudgingly dragged yourself into a seated position, Frank smiled softly at you as you popped the pills into your mouth. Holding the glass of water out to you, the Marine squeezed your leg as you drank, tucking his chin over your head as you collapsed wearily into his side.

“The big bad Punisher takes naps? Hard to picture, Frankie.” You teased, your voice morphing into a satisfied hum as he threaded his fingers into your hair.

Frank scoffed, kissing your crown before returning the jest. “Maybe I should take the vest off before closin’ my eyes next time.”

You giggled, burying your face into his neck. His warm flesh felt wonderful on your pounding head, soothing the pain behind your eyes with each measured breath. “Do you cuddle your guns like teddy bears?” The question was overtly ridiculous, but Frank loved you enough to entertain it anyway.

“Course. What else would I do with ‘em?” He asked coyly.

Looking up at him, the corners of your lips lifted as he pressed a line of gentle kisses down your nose until he reached your lips.

“If I turn on the TV, are ya gonna pass out on top of me?” He murmured, his stubble scratching your face as he spoke.

“Wouldn't dream of it, love.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his sturdy jawline before he stood up to grab the remote.

If someone would’ve told you a year ago that your next boyfriend could make a bad insomnia week feel tolerable, you never would’ve believed them. But here you were—lying on your stomach completely topless as Frank massaged a lightly scented lotion into your back—feeling pretty comfortable with the whole arrangement.

After you’d failed to stay awake during the movie you’d picked out, Frank had carted you around town on various errands: picking up groceries, going to the bookstore, and even taking a quick walk around the park to feed the ducks, which he knew you loved. Your body still ached, and your mood still waned, but overall, it was a good day. And all the credit belonged to your incredible partner.

Groaning appreciatively, it felt like you were melting into the mattress as Frank tenderly stretched your taught muscles, unraveling the knots of stress that had been building up all week.

Chuckling, Frank pressed a tiny kiss to your bare shoulder. “Glad it feels good, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s awful,” You lied. “You clearly need more practice..”

Frank snorted, “Noted. How’re ya feelin’?”

“Tired.” You sighed, rolling over as Frank handed you one of his tees to sleep in.

“I bet. We’re on the last leg, sweetheart, almost there.” Frank’s large hands eagerly wrapped around you as you nestled into his side. Cupping your face with one palm, the fingers of his other hand threaded into your hair, detangling it carefully and brushing it off of your face.

Biting your lip in frustration, and to keep from sighing again, you nodded. Attempting an understanding smile, you poked him in the chest. “I know. Thanks for putting up with my cranky self today.”

“Sweetheart, you can be snappy with me as much as ya want if it means you’ll sleep through the night.” Frank smirked, squishing your cheek as your eyes suddenly blurred with tears.

“I love you.” You whispered, going limp in his hold as he settled against the pillows.

“I love you too, darlin’. So much.” Resting your foreheads together, he kissed you delicately and your lashes fluttered.

“Frankie?” You looked up at him with your practiced ‘doe eyes’ expression that he could never resist.

“Yah?” He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Can you read to me?” Batting your lashes, you watched with satisfaction as Frank’s expression softened, your eyes taking in the exact moment he caved to your whims.

Straightening his posture stoically, he reached over to grab your new book from the nightstand with an exasperated huff. “Oh, I see. This was all a scheme of yours to get me to read to ya? ‘S that it?”

“No…” You giggled, nuzzling into him as he cracked the novel open.

“Sure, sure. You’ll be hearin’ from my lawyer, sweetheart. Think ya owe me compensation.” He winked at you, eyes lingering on your face.

“Honey, before ya drift off, jus’...” Sighing, he stroked a thumb over your cheek. “Just know, if all this doesn’t work, cause it ain’t a cure all, ya know–”

Laying your hand over his, you gave him an encouraging look. He inhaled sharply, thinking about how he wanted to phrase the sentiment.

“I want you to sleep, darlin’, ya know I do. But if it doesn’t happen tonight, we can always try again, ok?”

Startled by the affection in his tone and his beautiful promise, your face went slack as you nodded. Eyes flitting over your gaze, he nodded curtly once he decided you understood. Returning his attention to the book in his hands, he cleared his throat before beginning to read. His rumbling velvet tone soothed you, your eyes falling closed almost immediately. Here, in the safety of Frank’s arms, surrounded by his beautiful voice and reassured by his adorable promise, you finally felt at peace. Though you knew sleep might continue to evade you, the anxiety you’d felt about your insomnia didn’t feel quite as all-consuming tonight. Whatever happened, Frank would be there. And, for now, that was enough.

Thanks for reading!!

#frank castle #my writing #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher netflix #the punisher imagine #punisher #netflix the punisher #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #fc

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 months ago

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Okay, this is really nitpicky, but I have to say it. When the Fëanoreans landed in Middle-earth, Celegorm did not lead an army south and relieve the siege of the Falathrim. I’m seen that referenced or mentions in a lot of meta and fics, but it never happened. And there is no indication that Celegorm even met Círdan or any of his people, or was even aware of them prior to Fingolfin’s forces arriving.

What happened was that Morgoth reacted to the Fëanorean forces’ arrival by pulling his army besieging the Falathrim away and sending it north towards Ard-galen. And then, when it was in the north, far from the Falas, attacking the Fëanoreans, Celegorm defeated that army.

Yes, this is minor, and yes, it’s beneficial to the Falathrim that the arrival of the Fëanoreans made Morgoth decide he needed that army more elsewhere, but there is no direct “showing up and rescuing them” moment, and none of the Fëanoreans are anywhere near the Falas during the Battle-under-Stars, and Celegorm has no more to do with the benefit to the Falathrim than anyone else does (though he gets the Fëanorean forces out of a tight spot) and this just seems to be a weirdly common fanon misconception?

Under the cold stars before the rising of the Moon the host of Fëanor went up the long Firth of Drengist that pierced the Echoing Hills of Ered Lómin, and passed thus from the shores into the great land of Hithlum; and they came at length to the long lake of Mithrim, and upon its northern shore made their encampment in the region that bore the same name. But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of the Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put into defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle of the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song.

The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There [in Ard-galen] the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the Vale of Sirion and beleagured [EDIT] Círdan in the Havens of the Falas came up to their aid, and were caught in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech.

If you will indulge my very bad edit of the Beleriand map:

The orcs coming from across Ard-galen from Angband cross the mountains and attack the Fëanoreans up at Mithrim, in the top. The Fëanoreans drive them back over the mountains into Ard-galen. The orcs that were besieging the Falas, brought up as reinforcements for the other orcs, come up all the way into Ard-galen. Celegorm, attacking from Eithel Sirion (which is north of the Fen of Serech), drives them south into the Fen.

At no point in this are the Fëanoreans - Celegorm or other - anywhere near the Falas. Celegorm's actions have no more impact on the Falas specifically than anyone else's.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #dagor-nuin-giliath #feanoreans #celegorm #falathrim

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brineoffire · 4 months ago

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Part 2 of The Right Price!

Riled Up

You had none. Zero. Absolutely no idea how you got here. Laswell introduced you again to them man you saved. The Captain. You saved. You babble on about how it was a fluke, how it was absolutely dumb luck but there's no insisting with Price. There's no damn way a rookie could take out four hostiles on his own on luck alone. He knows it and you sure as hell better start focusing on it because you CAN NOT turn down the pay raise.

You'd definitely never planned to be flying with a Captain to join his task force. And you definitely didn't plan to have the shit scared out of you by the huge Lieutenant waiting at the helipad to meet the two of you when you touched down. The guy was huge! He saw a little over eye to eye with Price and damn if you didn't stare at that skull mask a little too long. It wasn't your fault. Tall, dark, and secretive was everyone's thing. That's what you tell yourself when you realize the guy, Ghost, is eyeing you suspiciously.

"Easy there Ghost. New recruit."

"H-howdy, good to meet you sir. Roland Haven, sir." You stumble over your own words as he stands there unamused, your hand out awkwardly before you give up and let it fall to your side. You suck in an embarrassed puff of air through your teeth.

"Don't take it personal, kid." Is all Price gives you as he claps you on the shoulder, pulling you forward with him past Ghost and into the base. You still feel his eyes burning into your spine but you don't let yourself look back again and focus on the direction your pushed in. You get shown to a small barren room, a simple bed, dresser, desk, and chair as Price nods you in.

"This'll be your room from now on lad. Get cozy, proper intros start in thirty." Giving him a nod he heads off as you set your small bag on the bed. You didn't have much with you but you do take a little time to throw your clothes in the dresser and drop your laptop and headphones on the desk. A deep sigh leaves your lips as you look around again and wonder how you got yourself this fucking deep. It doesn't really matter how anymore though, you definitely need the money, and you're not one to turn down a fast track past dealing with other shitty recruits like in your last two teams.

Before long you find yourself heading down the hall following after where Price went to the meeting room. You didn't have anything else to do so heading here ten minutes early was fine by you. Looking around the room you make a note of the layout, wandering around and glancing at maps and a few images of what you can guess is the entirety of the 141. Your skin nearly falls off your bones when you hear a gruff voice call out loud and clear somewhere behind you and you thank your horror game conditioning for keeping you from physically flinching.

"Someone's early ay?" You glance over your shoulder towards the opposite side of the room and notice Ghost once again. He stands by the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, the sockets of the skull baklava on his face look empty with how dark that end of the room is. There's a chill that runs up your spine as you turn to give him a salute, unsure of how to proceed.

"Uh. Yes sir. Wasn't really sure what else ta do." He stares at you as he steps forward, you can see the glint of the lights on his eyes now at least. Makes him look less like death but it means he's that much closer to you. Out of the frying pan you think to yourself. He stares for a long while before nodding and moving to lean on the large rectangular table.

"Right well now you wait with me then." He gestures a hand over to one of the seats opposite him and you hesitate before you get yourself stepping towards it.

"So, uh. Ghost huh? How'd you get that name?" His eyes narrow at you as you sit and you can't help but swallow air.

"Listen 'ere recruit. I ain't in the mood to lead a green'orn around 'ere, an' I sure as shite ain't gun'na let you get anyone on this team killed. You best keep up or you will be lef' behind." Another gulp as his dark eyes bore into yours. You raise your hands in a mock surrender as you nod.

"Understood sir. I ain't looking to ruffle any feathers." He scoffs but doesn't add anything else to his rant so you lower your hands to your lap and sit in a silence so loud you feel like your breath is annoying him. You know better then to piss off a giant you couldn't even hear so you keep any snark behind your lips, rare for you to keep quiet but Ghost didn't know that yet. It's a long ten minutes before you hear footfalls getting closer to the room, time to meet the team.

#141 x male reader #141 x trans male reader #poly 141 x male reader #141 #141 x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #poly 141 #cod 141 #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick

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vodika-vibes · 6 months ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could write a fic about CX-2, because he needs some love and maybe a reader or S/O could rescue him from tantiss and take care of him and feed him good food and make sure he’s happy and healing

Idk if he is tech or dogma or anyone we’ve met before cause nameless clones deserve so much love and idk why I feel lowkey emotional, but it made me so sad when he got turned into a kebab, after all the torture and stuff he went through, I just wanted to hug him

Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day!

In The End

Summary: It’s been a year, 12 long months, since the last time that you saw CX-2. You went on a date with him, and then he vanished, with only a simple message saying that he had to work and that he’d contact you when he could. And then he fell off the face of the map. And now, almost a year later, and with the able assistance of a group of Wookie Mercenaries, he’s back with you, safely on your ship headed for the haven you’ve arranged beforehand.

Pairing: CX-2 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1359

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So as much as I love Tech and Dogma, I love the idea more that CX-2 is someone else entirely. So, here you have CX-2 being happy with his family. I just needed to take a break from my AU event, I have so many ideas for them, but it's like there's a traffic jam in my brain, I can't get the words to word.

Your knuckles are white as you grip the sleeves of your jacket. You’re very, very stressed. But then, you’ve been stressed for the better part of a year.

Hopefully, now that CX is safe, your stress levels will drop to a more reasonable level. And your medical droid will stop chiding you to practice yoga. That would be nice.

Speaking of said medical droid—

The door to the infirmary slides open and the silver droid hovers out and over to you, “The Patient is awake and aware. There seems to be no lasting damage due to his year-long confinement.”

“So I can see him?” You ask.

“He needs his rest.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The Droid sighs heavily, a very human reaction you can’t help but notice, but then he nods his head. “You brought him food, I take it.”

“Uh, yeah,” You gesture to the small tray of some of CX’s favorite foods. A pasta dish, with some roasted veggies, and a proper dessert.

The droid eyes the food critically, and then nods, “That is all acceptable.” He says, “I am returning to my charging dock.” And then, abruptly, he hovers off.

You watch him fly into another room, and then slowly stand and grab the tray of food. Hopefully, he’ll be happy to see you. It’d be heartbreaking if you went through all of this trouble, and he wasn’t happy to see you.

Lightly, you knock on the door and then press the control to allow the door to slide open when you hear an answer from inside. You step into the room, making sure to shut the door behind you before you focus your attention on him.

He looks…well, he doesn’t look well.

Oh, sure, he’s still the handsome man that you fell in love with. Only he’s lost a lot of weight, his abdominal muscles are clearly defined, not protected by the thin layer of fat that gave him a very pleasant squish. He also has bags under his eyes, and you’re pretty sure that there’s a hint of grey in his dark curls.

But he’s still CX.

Your name falls from his lips, he looks astonished to see you, and then he averts his gaze, as if ashamed of something.

And that just won’t do.

You cross the small room and set the tray of food on an open table, and then you reach out for him, stopping just shy of touching him. “I missed you,” You say, your voice soft.

His dark eyes snap to meet yours, and the smallest smile crosses his face. “I missed you more,” CX replies, his voice slightly raspy, and for once, you believe it.

He reaches up and takes your hands in his and pulls your hands to his face, and you eagerly cup his face, content to feel his warm skin against your hands again. You don’t fight him when his arms snake around your waist and he pulls you as close as he can without pulling you onto the bed.

He buries his face against your chest and just breathes.

You gently card your fingers through his curls, your other hand moving from his cheek to wrap around him, holding him as tightly as you can. Just enjoying him.

You lightly drop a kiss on the top of his head, “I thought you were dead,” You murmur against his hair.

He trembles slightly, “I’m sorry. I never meant to disappear.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You should be.”

“Never.”

He pulls back, and looks up at you, “Cyare,” this time his hands come up to cup your face, “You don’t understand, I’ve hurt so many people—”

“It doesn’t matter.” You reply, “Not to me. You didn’t have a choice, CX. I know that.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

You shush him gently, “We’re going somewhere else. Somewhere where the Empire can’t touch you ever again. You have brothers there.”

CX looks baffled for a moment, “Brothers?”

“I think they called themselves Nil…or null?”

He blinks at you, “We’re staying with the Nulls?”

“Yeah, when I was looking for you, I managed to stumble over them. We’ve been offered a place with them. They have a whole settlement for clones and their families.”

“Even clone assassins?”

“All clones,” You reassure, “What do you think?”

He looks uncertain for a moment, “I suppose we can try it out, and see if it works.” CX finally agrees, and then he pulls you in so he’s able to press his face against your chest again, “cyare?”

“Hm?”

“What scent are you wearing?”

“What scent am I—?” You pause and your face flushes, “Oh, right. I’m not, not really.” You gently push him back and lean in to kiss his forehead, “There’s actually something I need to get for you, I left it in my room.”

CX peers at you, “Can it wait?”

“It’s a surprise. And I think, well hope, that you’ll like it.”

CX watches you for a moment, and you smile at him reassuringly, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He unwraps his arms from around you, “Alright,”

You beam at him and quickly drop a chaste kiss against his lips before you turn and hurry out of the room. You’re vaguely aware of him sitting up in the medical bed and swinging his legs off the edge as the door slides shut behind you.

You walk the short distance to your room, and don’t bother shutting the door behind you. There’s no need, you’ll only be in here for a moment, after all. You walk around your bed (big enough for you and CX to share), and lean over the much smaller bed, a loving smile crossing your face as you look at the face of your sleeping daughter.

CX’s daughter.

He vanished before you even found out that you were pregnant, so hopefully, she’s a good surprise.

You scoop Eli into your arms, adjusting her weight so she’s comfortably nestled against you, and you head out of the room. The scent that CX asked you about was baby powder, which you seem to always smell like since giving birth to Eli.

You step back into the infirmary, and CX opens his mouth to say something but stops when he sees Eli.

“...cyare?”

You sit on the bed next to him, “This is Eli, she looks like you.” You lightly brush a dark curl off your daughter's forehead, “Luckily, can you imagine if she got stuck with my hair color and your skin tone?”

CX doesn’t say anything, you glance at him and notice that he’s staring at Eli, wide-eyed.

“I found out that I was pregnant 2 weeks after you vanished,” You explain, “She’s 5 months old now. Would you like to hold her?”

“Can I?” He asks, his gaze darting to your face, “Am I allowed?”

“She’s your daughter, you silly man. Here.” You pass the baby over to CX, and adjust his arms so that he’s cradling her properly, “She’s a very calm baby, she doesn’t fuss a lot.”

Cx stares at Eli, mesmerized, “Was the pregnancy easy?”

You shrug, “Unimportant, I had plenty of help.”

“Cyare—”

You smile at him adoringly, “Next time, we’ll do it properly.”

He blinks at you, “Next time?”

“Um, well…if you want a next time.” You correct sheepishly.

You watch as he brushes a finger down Eli’s nose, “I’d like there to be a next time.” CX murmurs, “I can’t believe you gave me a baby.”

“Well, you gave her to me first,” You say with a soft laugh, “I’m just returning the favor.”

He glances at you and a genuine smile, the first one since you’ve been reconnected, crosses his face. “We’re going to be okay,”

“Of course we will.” You lightly lay your head on his shoulder, “We’re going to be better than okay, we’re going to be great.”

You feel him press his head against yours, “I love you,” The words are soft as if he’s not sure he has the right to say them, and you smile.

You turn your head and press a kiss against his bare shoulder, “I love you too, CX.”

#star wars #tbb #cx-2 x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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nvthedasmode · 4 months ago

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The Dread Wolf's Grave

Notes:

Very short one-shot fic inspired by the quote; 'They asked "do you love her to death?" I said, "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.'

Lavellan's name is Harellan, 'Raven' is Varric's nickname for her.

One of Harellan's nervous habits is rolling coins over her knuckles.

Set sometime during early Veilguard, Solas presumed to be at the Lighthouse rather than in a separate prison.

First ever fic! I am not a writer! I am just a lil guy with a lot of feelings!

And I am so sorry I have no idea how to write Solas and Varric lol.

-----

To say that Varric was uncomfortable was an understatement. It was one thing to ask a dwarf to live on the surface, another thing entirely to ask him to make himself at home in the Fade. Unfortunately, he had little say in the matter. The Veilguard had settled themselves within a deep pocket of the Fade; a safe haven from the blighted elven gods now roaming Thedas, and thus far it had proven to be a wise choice.

Their new home was where he emerged from now, and the morning silence (save for Bellara’s excessive snoring) was a welcome indication that everyone was still fast asleep. Or, at least, everyone but the one elusive elf he was looking for. Once he was confident he had not woken anyone up with his heavy dwarven tread, Varric’s footsteps established a leisurely pace as he descended the stygian steps weaving from the gilded door of the Lighthouse to the shifting island below.

The Dread Wolf’s corner of the Fade expanded before him, shimmering masses of Fade-touched rock floating across the enchanted vista as unhindered wisps of magic soared above him like stars against Kirkwall’s night sky. It was brighter, warmer, but still as commanding as the area of the Fade the fear demon had ruled. Some of the silhouetted islands in the distance would have been large enough to cast a city the size of Starkhaven into complete shadow, and some dipped deeper than even the oldest of thaigs. Smaller rocks housed old and ruined walls, frescos of the fabled wolf glowing faintly from the veilfire sconces and causing him to appear equal parts treacherous and feeble.

The littlest cluster of rocks presented an assortment of ancient elven … trees, Varric assumed. Their metal base gave way to a spherical head that sprouted sharp, golden branches. They wove intricate shapes that moved to shelter a gleaming emerald centre, glinting like fire. This group veered closer to the island he now trudged along, glittering vines with blossoms as large as ponds wrapping themselves around the jagged surfaces and reaching out to grasp their neighbour - a complex walkway of mystic bridges that connected the islands, forming an imposing jungle that served as a shrine to what once was.

Far above him, when he thought to look, Varric could have sworn he could make out the slightest shape of an azure city, light refracting across the landscape as if it was pouring through a window in a Chantry cathedral. The sight was often cloaked in a calculated mist, as though his eyes were intruding on an intimate scene between two lovers - but every time he rubbed his eyes to see it clearer, it had vanished.

Varric had learned that the island he had called home for the past few weeks could shift its appearance depending on his old friend’s mood. While the Lighthouse remained the same, often the Veilguard would wake up to see their interim home had a different garden to explore, each one shaped from Solas’ lonely library of memories. Sometimes there would be luscious fields of green, emerald blades swaying to a song none but they could hear as perfectly round drops of dew dissolved into dazzling specs of light. Other times there were seemingly never-ending pathways; rivers of crystal gems creating a map upon the island, waterfalls replacing cities and curious wisps building toy castles from motes of magic. Once, when Varric awoke in the dead of night (or as close as one could get to that, in the Fade), he peered out his window to see Solas strolling Skyhold’s grounds, his tired eyes never leaving the figures of Cole and the Inquisitor as they helped to soothe a dying woman lying by the campfire, clutching a fatal wound. Had Solas reached out to them, Varric did not know, for he had quickly retreated back to his bed to allow his old friend his privacy.

Today, as Varric disembarked the steps, the soles of his worn boots met an impossibly soft sand that shifted gently beneath his weight. Something resembling seashells dotted the ground, their surface gleaming and moving in a way that made them look more like creatures than collectible souvenirs. Out of baseless paranoia more than respect, Varric carefully picked his way across the fabricated beach to the towering figure in the distance.

Solas stood at the end of the beach, the ripples of the ocean creeping along the sand to stop just shy of the tips of his feet, as though magic itself dare not disturb him. He stood tall, gazing across his domain with an expression befitting his name as the manufactured breeze lifted the ends of his coat. Hands clasped habitually behind his back, a single gold coin rolled lazily across his knuckles, causing tiny spurts of reflected light to shower across his long fingers. Any reasonable dwarf back under the surface might have mistook it for magic.

“Good morning, Varric,” came his familiar voice. He spoke in barely more than a murmur despite Varric still being numerous paces away, yet he heard it as though they were standing next to each other.

“And here I thought it was only Rook who had to listen to your voice inside their head, Chuckles,” Varric shouted back, scowling half-heartedly when he saw Solas’ shoulders betray a small laugh.

Solas patiently waited until Varric had made it to his side before speaking again, finally turning his gaze to his friend with a playful smirk on his lips. “Ir abelas, I did not want to deny you the pleasure.”

Varric let out an indignant snort. “I’m starting to understand why so many dwarves stay below the surface.”

“To avoid speaking with me?”

“Now, now, I didn’t say that.”

“You did not need to,” Solas responded curtly. Varric was glad to see the smile still lingering.

At least he hasn’t lost his sense of humour.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves crashing a few hundred yards ahead of them filling the space. Had he let his mind tune out for a moment, it would not have been unlike the mornings they had spent waking up to the sounds of the Storm Coast - Solas casting a protective barrier over the campfire before the Inquisitor burst into tears at the idea of going a single moment without her tea; Cassandra cursing from the edge of camp as she tried and failed to prove she could in fact approach a nug without scaring it away; Lace and Varric placing bets on how many more days it could rain before they all lost their minds. He wasn’t sure which put his back up more; being surrounded by suffocating grey and rain, slipping on lethal cliffs that never seemed to dry - or being in the Fade.

It was Solas who broke the silence first, as if sensing Varric’s unease. “How are you adjusting?”

Varric shrugged, stalling as he measured his response. It wasn’t in the nature of their relationship to lie to one another (or so I thought, he corrected himself), but he wasn’t about to start tearing apart his friend’s home either.

“I can’t exactly say I’m keen to settle down and start a family here, but I’ll give it to you - it’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” Solas sighed heavily, his eyes focused on something in the distance. “Imagine what it would be like without the Veil.”

“Chuckles, not now.”

“So, when would you propose-”

“I came here to talk to Solas,” Varric said morosely, feeling a pang of regret as Solas’ shoulders stiffened. “Not the Dread Wolf. How about you humour me, just this once? Then I promise we’ll go back to the uncomfortable ‘Child of the Stone’ and ‘Ancient Elven God’ dynamic.”

Solas silently met his eyes then, and the coin in his hands stilled as white knuckles wrapped around it tightly. Just like the painted walls on the islands floating around them, Varric could see his were tall but crumbling. Exhaustion and pain had sunk their bloodied talons into his sharp features, but under the wolf there was still the man. A friend that desperately wanted to get out.

“I’ve never been good at this sort of stuff,” Varric muttered, turning his gaze back toward the ocean, “but you left a lot of people behind. Good people, that missed you.”

“I am not unaware of that, Varric,” Solas replied. Varric could hear the sharpness to the tone, a warning that he should drop the subject immediately.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

“I mean, even Buttercup seemed upset - although she tried her best not to show it. With you gone, Cassandra became her next target for pranks, and we both know pissing off the Seeker is a dangerous choice at best - lethal at worst. I mean, I’m speaking from experience here.”

A quick glance to his right told him Solas was also very pointedly staring out at the ocean again, doing his best to look the picture of disinterest, but the ironclad set of his jaw gave him away. It always had.

“And Ruffles! I thought she would never stop accidentally adding your frilly cakes to the Val Royeaux order list each month. Eventually, me and the Kid-”

“Did you come out here with the intent to torture me, Varric?” Solas snapped, his proud mask melting away to pained anger as he pressed his eyes closed. His nose scrunched as he breathed through it, the waves that stretched before them stuttering and turning a sickly green. “Do you see me as so many of my People do? Do you also think me a heartless monster with no feelings?”

Against his will, Varric’s mind recalled his friend’s broken sobs as she read Sutherland’s reports about the monstrous demon that had plagued Skyhold. Her heart’s deepest regrets ravaging the place they had once called home, the scars of his past forever embedded in the old Inquisition fortress.

“No,” he sighed. “I don’t think that at all, Chuckles.”

Another deep breath from Solas. The water slowly began to settle once more, melting back to a cool, pure cerulean that would have made the painters at Halamshiral turn crimson with embarrassment.

“Then what can I do for you?”

“Remember,” Varric said shortly.

Solas opened his eyes to peer at Varric with confusion, and he could see the purple storm deep within them threatening to pour out and engulf the island they now stood upon.

Silently, Varric nodded to Solas’ hands, still held tightly shut as though he were frightened of dropping whatever was in them. Solas slowly unfurled his fingers, the gold coin nestled innocently in his palm, small dents pressed into his pale skin from clasping it so desperately. The purple storm observed it silently, eyes barely blinking as they stared.

“I saw you playing with it,” Varric said gently, feeling his friend was more a terrified Halla than the dreaded wolf in that moment. “Raven used to do the same thing, when she was nervous. Ruffles had to pry it from her hand when we went to the Winter Palace.”

Solas continued staring at the coin, his expression unreadable. “She gave this to me on the way to the Temple of Mythal,” he said tentatively, as though testing out the words in his mouth. Varric supposed this was the first time he had allowed himself to speak of her in years. “She said she had no need for it any longer, since she had …”

“Since she had your hand to hold,” Varric finished for him. “She said it loud enough for the entire camp to hear.” The memory almost made him smile himself.

A ghost of a smile tried to lift the corners of Solas’ mouth, but it faltered before it even began.

“I remember.”

Varric did smile then. I knew you were still in there, Chuckles.

“Do you still love her?”

There was barely a heartbeat before Solas tore his eyes away from the coin, wrapping his fingers safely around it once more before straightening to his full height and turning to look along the endless sands.

Varric felt the Fade change before he saw it. The sands before them rippled and swirled, floating smoothly into the air to reveal the harsh black rock of the island below. A deep shadow lurked over the area, a stark contrast to the vivid, colourful sky behind it. The sands shifted and formed a familiar image; tall swaths of darkness encircling a small enclave while a suffocating green mist rolled along the floor, catching Varric’s ankles and sending small tendrils up his legs that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. Paltry red spirits skittered around nervously, as if they were constantly running toward - or away from - something.

This was the graveyard from the Fear demon’s lair. Or - more accurately, Varric supposed - Solas’ memory of it.

There was a slight adjustment, however. Only one, solitary gravestone sat in the enclave. The stone it was made from looked sick, brimming with fear and unspoken terrors, its aura almost oppressive.

Varric approached it wordlessly. The words upon it were the same and yet not as he remembered - the elegant, smug carvings of the fear demon were gone, replaced by hurried, almost infantile writing that looked as if it had been carved with a very sharp claw.

‘Solas,’ it read. ‘Dying alone.’

It was only then that Varric saw them. A spectral version of Solas - his friend, Solas - appeared slowly from the darkness, smiling as he offered a gloved hand to the second figure that manifested. Harellan met his smile with her own, eagerly gripping his hand and laughing as he twirled her into his arms. The scarlet spirits, appearing to be calmed by the two newcomers, turned to watch, sweeping closer to the radiant scene that seemed to consume the darkness around it. Varric could hear the faint sound of a band playing from - somewhere? Nowhere? The memory of his friends didn’t seem to care, nor did they notice him or the cruel grave at their feet. They danced and looked at no one but each other, and Varric was irrevocably certain that they would dance forever if the world would let them.

The lonely voice came from behind him then. It was so thick with immeasurable pain that Varric could not bring himself to turn around.

“Speak of her over my grave, Varric,” Solas murmured, “and watch how she brings me back to life."

#dragon age #solavellan hell #solas dragon age #varric tethras #fanfiction

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nichknack · 1 month ago

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Wandering Witchbreed Masterpost

A Master Post for my Marvel/Xmen Medieval Fantasy AU focusing primarily on the travels of disgraced knight Sir Logan the Wolverine and the Part-time Jester Wade Wilson.

This AU borrows from a variety of sources, including the comics, movies, and cartoons. Basically whatever I think is cool.

Main tag - #wandering witchbreed AU

Premise -

In a universe that is not-quite that featured in the Sonyverse and The MCU, the feared and disgraced knight known as The Wolverine is sentenced to death for the crime of being a witchbreed. Sent to the pyre by Father Robert Kelly of The Holy Order alongside the part-time jester Wade Wilson. Despite both Witchbreed meeting a seemingly painful end, Logan is shocked when the jester also does not die.

This AU is very much a work in progress and open to change, as I also have plans to encorperate the avengers and various spider-men.

AO3/ FICS

Main Cast -

ⓧ Sir Logan: the Wolverine ⓧ Wade Wilson: That Damned Dead Fool

World Building -

ⓧ Witchbreeds

"Witchbreed" is the term used to refer to mutants. Originally used by Neil G*iman in the series Marvel 1602. While Witchbreeds--like their modern day counterparts--are the next step in human evolution, The Holy Order preaches that they are the spawn of demons and witches. Often, human mothers to witchbreed children are accused of either being witches themselves or allowing Mephisto into their hearts.

ⓧ Map

The world of the AU is very much like our own, with a few distinct differences. While the general 'layout' of the globe remains the same names and climates are not exact one-to-ones.

Current locations of importance include:

- Kingdom of Ventra Where the majority of the story takes place. Name comes from a combination of the Latin words "Ventus" and "Terra", which (roughly) translates to "land of Wind", the direct translation of "America". Made up largely of small towns and hamlets surrounding larger cities, often ruled over by a noble lord or lady. The Holy Order has a lot of sway within the kingdom, preaching anti-witchbreed sentiments throughout the land. In many places being a 'witchbreed' is punishable by death--however there are small towns or groups that act as safe havens for Witchbreed, such as the mining town of Acmeore at the Ventra-Kanata boarder.

- Kingdom of Kanata The home kingdom of both Logan and Wade. Name comes from the Huron-Iroquois word meaning 'village' or 'settlement' (believed to be the origin for the spelling of 'Canada'). While The Holy Order does have a foothold within the kingdom, it is not to the same extent as Ventra. Rumours of the Kanatan spymasters using Witchbreeds to do their bidding have been rife for decades.

-The Rossiia Empire The home of Pitor and Illyana Rasputin. Name comes from a 15th century name used to refer to modern day Russia. Unlike Ventra, Rossiia actively recruits Witchbreeds for combat roles in their military. However, this does not mean that they are widely accepted by the people of the empire as a rule. Due to the sheer size of the empire, treatment of and opinions towards witchbreed differ from territory to territory and even town to town.

Factions

ⓧ The Knights of Xavier

ⓧ The Holy Order

ⓧ Sentinels

Divider credit to @sister-lucifer

#marvel #xmen #mcu #logan howlett #wolverine #wade wilson #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #deadclaws

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

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Addicted to Love has me craving more Bucky!

Me, too, nonnie.

Worship

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky should have worshipped you sooner.

Word Count: Over 600

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, implied vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), insecurities, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sinday belongs to Addicted to Love Bucky again. Hope you lovelies like it! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Header by yours truly, banner by the wonderful @sgt-seabass, and divider by the lovely @rookthorne . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

One of the most difficult decisions Bucky made was saying "yes" to you. Looking back, he wasn't even sure exactly how he got your attention. He didn't exactly exude a welcoming presence with the permanent scowl on his face. Too busy trying to make amends after a failed attempt at dating. Too lost in his head or unintentionally pushing people away before they even had a chance to form a connection.

Yet you smiled at him.

He didn't smile back.

Now he worships you at your altar.

"Bucky?" you asked, cradling his face in your hands as you straddled him. He gripped your thighs in response as your delicate folds brushed along his cock, but he didn’t let you lower yourself onto him yet. As much as he craved his personal heaven on earth, uncertainty seeped through his mind like poison. “Talk to me.”

"Some days I think you deserve better than me," he admitted in a quiet voice.

You're worth more than weight in gold. If I’m a humble servant, do I need to cleanse my hands to touch you?

It didn't mean he'd let you go. He couldn't. It sickened him to think of another man having you in his lap like this, allowing you to touch him with such infinite tenderness. Or allowing him into your heart. Maybe Bucky wasn’t worthy because of his sins, but he’d repent and be pure.

Well, as pure as a man can be when indulging in what you offered.

"Hey," you whispered, keeping a firm grip on his face so he couldn’t look away. He didn’t dare close his eyes either. "I'm the one who gets to decide what and who is best for me."

You hovered over him, taking in the tip of his cock as you kept your eyes locked with his. The gateway to the soul, you told the unspoken truth in your gaze. That he not only deserved you, but there would be hell to pay for anyone who said otherwise. The fire that burned within your orbs warmed him, an antidote to the venom in his veins.

“So, you’re saying I deserve you?” he asked.

You rolled your hips to sink down further. “Some days I think I don’t deserve you.”

“What?” his eyes flashed as he clung to your thighs in an almost painful grip, not to stop you on purpose, but to leave his mark in a small way.

How could you think you're not worthy of me? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re a fucking goddess.

“You’re a hero, Bucky Barnes. I’m just me.”

No, fuck that. You’re everything.

“But I think that’s more than enough,” you said, pressing your forehead against his before he could speak. “And I think we’re both worthy of love. We just need to remind each other some days.”

“Yes, we do,” he agreed, fastening his mouth to yours as he guided you the rest of the way down.

Take me into your haven. Bring me to paradise that you believe I’m worthy of. Surround me with your wet heat and let me paint you with my love and devotion.

You both took what you wanted, but you gave back to each other. You gave him sighs and mewls as he grunted and moaned your name. His hands mapped your body as you moved as one. He was yours to worship as much as you were his.

And in the end, he gave you a smile reserved just for you.

The way he should’ve the day you met.

But now he could spend the rest of his days worshipping you.

Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #addicted to love #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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olivyh · 2 years ago

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You’re Safe Here

A/N: Sorry for the improptu hiatuses! I'm currently struggling with a housing issue so most of my energy has been put into that! It's been a rough couple of weeks since I returned from London so I wrote this little tidbit to cheer me up! I enjoy all the time I get to write, though, and they lift my mood so much so a huge thank you to everyone for all the support even when I'm not active :) Out of all the brothers, Lucifer is the one who I could see most as my own older brother (even though both of mine are nothing like him), and I have found a lot of comfort in that since I started playing the game. Because of that, this fic is probably one of the many brother! luci fics that I'm gonna write

Lucifer's head felt as though it were going to split in two from the migraine that had been building up all day. Meeting after meeting, he could barely find the time to eat a quick snack or drink a sip of water (which he often hesitated to tell his younger pbrothers, knowing all too well they would take the situation into thier own hands and, without meaning to, would make matters much worse than if he'd just handled things on his own). Once he finally found time to settle down at dinner, his hands were shaking so badly from the exhaustion he had to simply pack his meal away (somehow avoiding suspicions from the other residents of the House of Lamentation, minus his sixth youngest brother, who shot him a worried glance from across the table). In his office he was greeted with a stack of paperwork so high he began to question how Barbatos managed to sneak the whole stack in without any of it falling down or alerting Cerberus to the sudden intrustion.

By the time he finished the stack, it was already late into the night. The inky black of the Devildom's night sky seemed to silence the world outside of the sins' safe haven (the darkness being one he believed he could never get used to, no matter how many centuries would pass). It was far too dark, even for the beings who could see in the dark, only broken by purple and golden stars that flickered and shone down upon the residents. If he strained his pointed ears he could make out the vague sounds from the house; faint music from Levi's room, with a shout here or there; Mammon's snoring (which he could hear even from the other side of the house, a feat which he would never not be impressed by); a thud from Beel followed by faint crunches and the rustling of wrappers; another thud followed by a soft groan, likely Belphegor sleepwalking once more and being lifted by his twin to return to their shared room; the only brothers of his who he couldn't hear were Asmodeus and Satan, the former likely getting his 'beauty sleep' and the latter likely silently reading (a hobby which Lucifer appreciated for the lack of noise and the distraction it gave his mischevious younger brother).

The demon sighed, loosening his tie and folding it on his desk, standing and stretching his arms above his head. The bones cracking along his spine and joints seem to relieve some of that tension. He heaves a sigh, finally releasing the breath that had been held prisoner in his lungs from the moment he woke up- an anxiety he was far too used to dealing with. He swallows briefly, the dryness of his mouth and throat making it a near impossible task. Had he had any water that day? He recalled taking a sip or two at dinner, however...

Shrugging off his vest, he folds it over the back of his office chair and begins his trip to the kitchen. Lucifer doesn't bother turning on the lights- even if he couldn't see in the dark, he knew this house better than the back of his own calloused and scarred hand. Each hall and hidden passageway was mapped in the back of his mind at all times. Every dent in the corners and tears in the wallpaper from his brothers and their fights, some of them he hadn't bothered to fix due to the memories they held.

His favorites were the ones which his brothers had made, like the dent in the wall from when Mammon, upon the first decade of the Fall, had decided it would be fun to ram his horns into the wall to see if they would stick (and they did, they all learned, after having to pry the demon out of the heavy stone behind the wallpaper); Or the lipstick stains that Asmo had drunkenly left on the wall around the large mirror that hung in the hallway.;The small dents left in the floorboards from Beel dropping one of his weights, or the chip in the tiles of the bathroom from when Belphie fell and smashed a tile with one of his horns, the outline of a book that Satan threw into the wall after a particularly horrible ending, and the carving of a strange symbol into the florboards from a bored Levi- all of them held stories of his brothers being themselves, not simply the embodyments of the sins.

The one he adored most was one in a storage room in the back of the house, one everyone (aside from Lucifer) hardly visited. Early in their new lives, they had all attempted to repaint a small portion of the house. It was chaotic, yes, and they ended up painting anything but the walls. During the last moments, his brothers all decided to leave their handprints on the wall.

Lucifer wasn't sure if they remembered it was there, but he knew it all too well (and he had placed a spell on it to ensure it's survival, no matter what happened to that portion of the house- neither fire nor flood could wash those handprints away).

He was surely too sentimental for a demon.

A part of him wished to have something of his younger sister on the wall as well, a handprint of her own to markwhat was now their home for the rest of their lives.

Another part considered asking the human who lived with them to add theirs- knowing of their fleeting existence and wanting a permanent reminder of them.

It pained him deeply to think about, the human who he started to see as a younger sibling. Not a replacement for who was gone, no, but an addition. Just as Satan became an addition all those centuries ago, they had wormed themselves into the family as well.

Eight siblings, he pondered most nights, the thought warming the heart he believed to have lost during the war, the heart he had locked away swelling in content (whether of his own accord or due to the nature of his sin, he truthfully did not know). For reasons unbeknownst to him, his hardened persona had softened to them and their bright smile. He knew it would be futile to resist it, so he had slowly started treating them like a sibling. Scolding them and one of his brothers when the had done something stupid, diligently ensuring that they were sae whenever they left the house, saving them a little extra food during dinner so they wouldn't go hungry (even when they insisted they were alright).

How could a creature, so susceptible to the gaping maw of time, make him, the most powerful of all his brothers and feared by most (if not all), a being who could flatten entire civilizations with a snap of his fingers if he so wished, turn into such a fool?

Perhaps he was weakening with time, or he was simply too worn from his brothers to notice how they became a part o fhis family, how they became someone he wanted to protect.

He was so lost in his thoughts that, by the time he'd arrived to the kitchen, Beel was already back for round two of his bedtime snack.

"Beelzebub," Lucifer chides, deep voice breaking the peaceful silence of the night (if the clinking of jars and opening of cabinets had not broken it enough). "We'll barely have enough for breakfast at this rate," His younger brother simpered for a moment, smiling innocently and scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I know," The redhead mutters. "Sorry." Lucifer feels his eyes on the back of his head as he reaches into the cabinets, grabbing a glass and promptly filling it. "Lucifer?"

"Yes?" The man takes a sip of the chilled water, sighing softly at how different he felt from the simple action alone.

"Can you check in on Mc?" His brother's voice dips softly, as though he was worried they were listening to the conversation. It was unlikely, despite the proximity of their room to the kitchen. "I... their room smelled... salty, like tears."

"Tears?" The older man paused, turning his attention fully to his brother, pointed tips of his ears turned to the sky as they were piqued in concern.

"I tried checking in on them but they told me they were okay..." Beel looks away guiltily, biting the corner of his lip with one of his fangs until it nearly bled. "I asked again but..."

"They told you to leave?" The black-haired man mutters in disbelief. His human... no, their human... would never turn one of the brothers away. The thought formed a lump in his throat as he sat up a little straighter, nodding towards the glutton. "I'll check on them. Thank you," Beel nods, bidding his eldest brother goodnight as he leaves the kitchen.

Lucifer looks down to his water hopelessly, watching his darkened expression swim in the glass. Sighing, he dumps the rest down the drain before grabbing a second glass, filling it and making his way out of the kitchen.

To his dismay, Beelzebub was right. Lucifer could hear faint sniffles from the other side of the door, a sound which brought him physical pain in the center of his chest as his stomach clenches painfully. Swallowing thickly, he raps his knuckles on the back of the door.

"Mc, it's me," He murmurs against the oak door. "May I enter?"

When he gets no response aside from a soft shuffling of fabric from the other side, he allows himself entry. Mc is nothing more than a pile of soft blankets and pillows piled atop their bed. He slowly walks closer to them, placing the water on their desk and taking a seat on the edge of the bed, watching as their form trembles beneath the layers.

"Mc," He whispers, gingerly placing his hand on the blanket atop the pile (It was Belphie's, he recalled. One of the youngest's favorites). "I ask that you remove yourself from there, it cannot be easy to breathe under all of that and I will not allow you to do anything detrimental to your health in such a way." He knew he sounded harsh, the end of his words holding a bite that was reserved for scoldings and sighs of annoyance. He reprimands himself for that fact. Their response is a heartbroken sob, one that send a pang so sharp through his chest that he was certain he had just been struck by one of his heavenly brothers once more. His mind is muddled, memories of comforting his brothers and sister during times like these flashing through his mind.

As though subconsciously, he lifts the edge of the blanket, smiling softly when their tear-streaked face framed by soaked hair that clings to their skin meets his own. Their wide-eyed, anguished expression is nearly enough to make him falter in his steps. In their time in the Devildom, he had forgotton how young the human truly was in compared to them. Despite their magical strength and resilience in the harsh environment they were thrown in, they were still such a small thing in the world of demons and angels and sorcerers, so inexperienced in the cruel world Lucifer and the others had grown accostumed to.

He mentally berated himself for forgetting such a thing, for this moment to be the one to bring him to the reality of their existence. They were quite generous, weren't they? To spend their very few years in the land which most humans would pray they never caught a glimpse of.

Generous, and oh so strong.

He should have guessed that strength came with their moments of vulnerability, should have planned for this moment.

"L-Luci?" Their voice shakes from the heaving of their breaths between hiccups and sobs (how long have they been like this? Lucifer thinks bitterly).

"Yes, it's me, little lamb," He murmurs.

"I-I-" Their voice breaks into more sobs as they bury their face into a plush pillow, alrerady damped from ters from who-knows-how-long-ago. He runs his hand over thier forehead, wiping their tears with his thumb as he hushes them softly. Lucifer feels the harsh retaliation of his sin, clawing away at it's confines at the display tenderness that it despises so much.

"It's alright, you don't have to speak to me if you don't wish to," The demon moves the blanket away from their face, allowing them to catch a quick breath. "However, I will be staying here." They hum an affirmation as their sobbing resumes. "May I hold you?" His soft voice is met with another weak nod as he shifts them into his arms, cradling their head into the crook of his neck as he rocks softly. Their tears seep into his collar as he rubs his free hand along their side.

"Everything is going to be okay, Mc," He mumbles into their hair, pushing back some stray tears once their sorrow is reduced to hiccups and short breaths. "I'm here."

"I-I-I'm so sor-so sorry," They mumble into his collar.

"No need to apologize," He quickly hushes them with another soft swipe of his thumb over their features. "It's not healthy to hold back tears." He understands the irony of his words, he didn't know the last time he has cried in that way, or any way, for that matter. If they hear the strain in his voice, they don't comment on it, only choosing to nestle their face further into his tear-soaked shirt. Their shaking shoulders don't cease, despite their breathing getting slower and more controlled.

He reaches over gingerly, grabbing Belphie's blanket from the top of the stack and wrapping it around their trembling form, resuming the rocking once he's finished.

"Would you like some water?" He asks softly. They shake their head, making the man frown. He was well aware that humans needed to stay hydrated after events such as these, however... he didn't want to push their limits in their fragile state. He makes a mental note to give them the big glass at breakfast in the morning rather than the smaller glass they normally choose. When their sniffles return, adding on to the air of distress around the human he and his brothers adored so, he resumed his rocking.

The demon began to hum a soft song, one that drifted in the slightly chilly air of the bedroom (has it always been this cold?) and rested on the flowers above their bed. It was an old song, even older than what the humans would consider ancient, in a language weaved from light and the prayers from below, a solemn psalm only known to those granted the right to be born in the skies. He was shocked that he'd kept that privilege after the Fall.

Not that any of the brothers still used it, as the undulating sounds and breathless whispers between the words spoke of memories they all would rather not taint with the consequences of their rebellion.

The song, however, was still held deep within their hearts. It was a lullaby for cherubs, for freshly created beings unsure of the roles they were given. A pathway to a silent sleep filled with dreams of purple clouds and golden stars.

Lucifer felt a wave of deja vu, a flash of warmth and sunlight, the shadow of a small angel in his folded arms, her soft snores the harmony to his music.

"When my brothers and I were first created," He murmurs against their forehead, feeling the deep need to express the pressure within his chest. "We would have lots of nights like these," His voice is soft, reminescent of the times they had spent in the sun, flying amongst the clouds and telling each other stories of humans and angels alike until they would all fall asleep (mostly in Lucifer's room, which he didn't mind at all. In fact, he felt better knowing where they all were). "I cared for them just like this, cradled them in the same way I'm doing to you now."

He notices that their breathing had begun to even out, yet had not fallen into the steady rhythm of sleep.

Good, Lucifer thinks.

"They all had their own reasons. It was quite stressful in the Celestial Realm, despite what many humans believe and are told," He recalls the work that was provided for them, the countless days in and out of carefully treading around the rules and guidelines set by their Father. Questions left unanswered out of the fear of sin, every move perfectly calculated and planned so as to not make any slight mistakes.

They were created for one purpose, and it was expected of them to fulfill those perfectly.

"It went the same every time," He sighs. "Levi would be the hardest to coax out of his room, and I was lucky if Mammon spoke one word to me when he got upset," He remembered sitting outside of Leviathan's door for hours on end, sitting cross-legged on the floor and completing his work there until he heard his younger brother's sniffles cease and he would open the door for the older brother; Mammon curled up, refusing to face Lucifer while he wailed into his pillows. Lucifer remembered how hopeless he felt, left only to rub the younger's back until he calmed down enough to fall asleep. "The others would come to me, which I never minded," The memory of Asmodeus, porcelain face tear-streaked and hair messy as he crawled into his brother's bed, weeping into his shoulder as Lucifer would pet his hair down; Beelzebub shyly asking Lucifer for a hug, and, the moment his brother's arms wrapped around the larger man's shoulders, the tears that would begin to flow; Belphegor, who wouldn't say a word as he came into Lucifer's room and curled under the blankets, hugging the eldest's arm to his chest like his life depended on it.

Lilith, who he would rock and hum to until her tears stopped flowing down her rounded face, holding his hand and playing with his fingers as the sun slowly rose above the clouds.

"I do wish you would tell us when you're hurt, or scared," The man sighs. "I- we truly care about you." The words felt like claws as they scrambled up his throat and out of his mouth. His heart seethed at the curse of his sin, at how agonizing expressing the simple fact was. Lucifer would prevail. "Beelzebub asked me to check on you. He was worried."

"I'm sorry," The human whispers, nearly a whine as their jaw quivers and eyebrows knit on their forehead. "I didn't mean to make you both worry."

"I am not telling you these things to make you apologize," He smiles softly, the lines around his face shifting in the candlelight that dimly illuminates the room. "These are simple facts. You are family to us now- even as a human. And even when you pass on-" The phrase gets lodged in his throat, their mortality was such a burdensome thought to all the brothers. He takes a breath, calming his thoughts. "We will still love you, angel or demon."

They stay silent, making Lucifer question their belief in his words. Did they truly not feel the same? All the laughter, all the joy and memories they'd created together- as a family- did they think he thought nothing of them still? Perhaps he should have made it more clear to them (if his brothers hadn't proven so enough times).

"I love you guys too," They whimper, silenced by a sniffle.

"Thank you," The man murmurs into the crown of their head, placing a small kiss on tha spot afterwards. "If there is truly anything wrong, tell us. We'll protect you, always," I'll protect you always, the small voice between his words said (what he couldn't say aloud, damn the curse of his sin).

"Promise?" Their human's voice was small, hopeful as they gazed up at him with wide, watery eyes- red and puffy from the tears. He always thought they looked too sweet, too innocent to be trapped in such a place. Up until recently he'd believed that to be true. He had changed that mindset in the past couple of years, having watched them grow into the powerful sorcerer they were today. However, looking into their eyes at this moment, he felt as though he couldn't be more wrong. Protect them, his mind screamed, perhaps the part that had remained angelic after the Fall.

"I promise." His rocking paused upon hearing their soft snores, peaceful as they nestled deeper into his chest. He casts a soft glance over to the clock, unwilling to let them go just yet and relishing in the warmth they offered (he told himself that humans tend to run warmer than demons, is all, opting to ignore the way his heart swelled at seeing their form curled against his own. "I'll protect you," He whispers, barely a sigh in the night air as he kicks off his shoes and lays down on the matress, pulling them closer to his form and hushing their whimpers and groans as they stir in their sleep.

"You're safe here."

#obeyme #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #omswd #om lucifer #om mc #om angst #om comfort #obey me comfort #obey me angst #obey me mc #obey me oneshots #obey me drabbles #lucifer obey me #Lucifer Morningstar

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moongazeonastarfillednight · 9 months ago

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The Terror: When, How, Where... (PART 1)

See part 2 for the end of my sanity (ep 6 through 9. Wasn't enough characters left on the post for ep 10)

See part 3 (and episode 10)

As I am writing the fic, I was getting frustrated at trying to figure out the timeline of the expedition. More specifically, what happens after they dropped the Victory Point Note.

Therefore, in order to organize my ideas, and also because it might be of interests to some of you, I will document here what I got.

Episode 1 through 5 for now.

Methodology

If we agree that the showrunners (and Dan Simmons to an extent) made their research, we should be able to match some of the event of the story with notable point of interests where artefacts and/or remains were found over the numerous searches made to ascertain the fate of the Franklin Expedition

I also tried to take note of all indications of time passing so that I might document their speed travel and the dates when they are not mentioned.

... And the death count. (Departing Beechey Island with 24 officers and 102 men)

Finally, I also used the following website to keep track of sunrises and sunsets: https://www.timeanddate.com/

1927 Admiralty Map

I may be an amateur in this kind of research but I find myself frustrated that the most complete map I've been able to find showing all that was found between 1850 and 1926 is shown on this map from 1927

To be noted, we now know that the Skeleton of H. Peglar was more probably W. Gibson or T. Armitage

The Skeleton of Lt. Le Vesconte has also been reevaluated and is now believed to be that of Harry Goodsir ( :( )

Also, as it happens, if we compare to 2024 maps, we can say that this is not the actual shape of KWI (close enough!).

Therefore, for my own sanity, I recreated with modern maps. Is it accurate? Well, I wouldn't publish it but I think it gives a good enough view of where they went and where they were going:

Where the Ships had drifted to in June 1847 (According to G. Gore's coordinates left on the Victory point note)

Where the Ships had drifted with the Pack by April 1848 (Victory Point Note)

Victory Point

McClintock's Boat Place (proposed to be same location as NgLJ-1)

Camp with Many skeletons

From D. Simmons' The Terror - The Hospital Camp

Peglar Skeleton

Starvation Cove

A Bunch of cairns in the area

Harry Goodsir

Gjoa Haven (Netsilik Settlement)

Fort Resolution (Dear God... look at how far they wanted to walk/Canoe/make portage...)

Matching the Show

Episode 1 - Go for Broke

Location 1 - David Young's grave (71.22, -96.60)

Date: September 5th 1846

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 14h 57 min

Twilight - 9h 03 min

Sunset: 7:51 PM - Sunrise: 4:55 AM

David Young was buried 7 days before they were beset in the ice (see point 3 on the map below).

During the dinner in which we were regaled by the tale of Mr. Fitzjames' Holes, Franklin discuss that they were approaching a bigger channel, which is now know as the McClintock Channel (see point 1 on the map below), meaning that at the time, they were still in the Franklin Strait.

On the day after his death, Franklin discuss their next course and assure that they must be 'nearly in sight of KW Land'. Crozier suggests it might take them weeks to actually make it to KWI. This would confirm what was infer above.

As we can see the two ships fitting in a cozy little cove while the grave is being dug, I would like to propose Point 4 on the map below as Ficitonal David Young's final resting place, on Tasmania Islands

Location 2 - Ships September 1846 (70.25, -98.00)

Date: September 12th 1846

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 13h 45 min

Twilight - 10h 15 min

Sunset: 7:19 PM - Sunrise: 5:34 AM

Well, for this one, we need to use the extrapolation provided by the 1927's Admiralty map by tracing the line from where the ships were known to be in 1847 and 1848 (Point 5 and 6). (see point 3)

For Future Reference:

Travel Time between Loc 1 and Loc 2 - 7 days

Distance between Loc 1 and Loc 2 :70 NM / 80 Miles / 130 km

Average Travel Speed - 11.4 miles a day

Travel Condition - Ice breaking

DEATH COUNT: 2 + 3 (Total 5)

24 Officers and 100 Men remaining

Episode 2 - Gore

Location 3 - The Ships in 1847 (70.15, -98.30)

Date: May 24th 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Coordinates and Date From the Victory Point Note (see Point 1)

Location 4 - The Cairn (69.66, -98.27)

Date: May 28th 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

From the ships, Gore lead his party to James Clark Ross' Cairn.

Now, in the Show, they found JCR's Cairn without an issue. In reality, while Gore had found the Cairn just fine, Crozier and Fitzjames did not. One of the reason for it is that JCR had, apparently, made a miscalculation in reporting where he had erected the Cairn by several miles. Honestly, the way that Fitzjames had written the words was so confusing, I appreciate that the show made the whole thing so much simpler, ahah. So let's say that it matches what we know now as Victory Point. Easy Peasy! (see Point 2)

To be Noted, we know the dates of departure from ships and arrival at cairn from the Victory Point Note.

Location 5 - The Ice Camp (69.665, -98.32)

Date: May 28th 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

The Camp was raised just beyond the ice ridge that blocked the way form the shore and the Cairn was only a mile or so away. (see Point 3... hidden between point 2)

Of Note: That hail storm's cloud coverage was intense to say the least... So dark :')

Back to Loc 3 (70.15, -98.30)

Date: June 2nd 1847

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Wednesday is a good day to drink with the Captain :D which makes it the Wednesday following May 28th 1847! So it's June 2nd!

For Future Reference:

Loc 2 to Loc 3

Travel time - 8 months, 12 days or 254 days

Travel Distance: 8.6 NM / 10 miles / 16 km

Average Travel Speed - 0.04 miles a day

Travel Condition - Pack drifting

Loc 3 to Loc 4/5

Travel time - 5 days

Travel Distance: 29 NM / 33.5 miles / 54 km

Average Travel Speed - 6.7 miles a day

Travel Condition - 6 Men hauling Sledge on Ice

Loc 4/5 Back to Loc 3

Travel time - 4 days

Travel Distance: 29 NM / 33.5 miles / 54 km

Average Travel Speed - 8.4 miles a day

Travel Condition - 6 Men hauling ASS and Sledge on Ice

DEATH COUNT: 1 (Total: 6)

23 Officers and 100 Men remaining

Episode 3 - The Ladder

This one is fun because, well... they're not moving! I could point out where Silna ends up but it looks like she remain close enough to the ships that it doesn't matter all that much. So, let's just make note of the date and events:

Location 3 - Ships in June 1847 (70.15, -98.30)

For the duration of the episode:

Nighttime - None

Daylight - 24h min

Twilight - None

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Date: between June 2nd and June 10th 1847

- Silna makes her igloo a few miles away from the Ships

Date: June 11th 1847

- Franklin Dies

- Crozier drafts his resignation letter

Date: June 12th 1847

- Franklin's leg is buried :')

- Lieutenant Fairholme is sent to KWI.

DEATH COUNT: 2 (Total: 8)

22 Officers and 99 Men remaining

Episode 4 - Punished, As a Boy

Another fun bottle Episode!

Location 3 - Ships in same approx position as June 1847 (70.15, -98.30)

Date: November 23rd 1847

Nighttime - 12h 35 min

Daylight - None

Twilight - 11h 25min

Sunset: 11:47 am - Sunrise: 10:51 am

- William Strong's birthday :)

- We know because it's the last sunrise of the year!

- Evans and Strong die :(

They searched for a long time if it was just before 4 pm when they got the alarm and then they came back in time for last sunrise at 11 am...

Date: November 24th 1847 to November 25th 1847

Nighttime - 12h 35 min

Daylight - None

Twilight - 11h 25min

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

- Hickey has a communion with Tuunbaq (supposedly next day or so)

- Then Hickey gets evily booped.

DEATH COUNT: 2 + Hickey's postern (Total: 10)

22 Officers and 97 Men remaining

Episode 5 - First Shot the Winner, Lads

More fun in a bottle. These boys are not going far...

Honestly, for this one, the trouble was figuring out how much time had passed. For one, we know it's not yet Christmas because Christmas is, in fact, mentioned in Episode 6 (And Lady Jane's Christmas Pudding, hear hear) as part of the meeting between the officer and there was not yet a cooperation between the Terror Lts and Fitzjames for counting the supplies.

ALSO! That scene where Mr. Wentzell got killed dead over his nail... well, it gave me the feeling that either the review of the crew is not daily or that they've been on Erebus for a short time because 1) Fitzjames doesn't know their names and 2) He has to repeat the instructions about cleanliness... Perhaps they sent the Terrors in waves and not all 50 of them at once.

Other details to be mentionned:

Hickey is not recovered yet and Goodsir suspects he might reopen his wounds from working.

Goodsir has had time to be quite good at speaking inuktitut. Now, he could have had a continuous learning experience from Dr. McDonald since June 47 and before but considering that Dr. McDonald is stationed in Terror and Goodsir in Erebus, I suspect they did not have much time to have a class together...

Finally. Crozier suggests that he would be 2, perhaps, perhaps more... sick from sobering up. He got up just in time for First sunrise (Jan 17th).

So! We can infer that the episode might have spanned over 1 or 2 days (what's with the movement between the ships and the whole Rat Wedding).

My best guess is that the dates for this whole episode would be:

Date: December 14th 1847 to December 18th 1847

Nighttime - 13h 32 min

Daylight - None

Twilight - 11h 28min

Sunset: N/A - Sunrise: N/A

Why December 14th? Because it would be Edward Little's Birthday and I feel like it is appropriate for his character to have his boss send him back to the killing cold for more booze :') (December 16th to December 20th seems more likely but...)

This would give Crozier a full month to recover from sobering up and 22 days for Goodsir to learn inuktitut (impressive!), for Hickey backside to feel better and for Fitzjames to NOT learn the name of his new Terrors.

DEATH COUNT: 3 + Blanky's leg (Total: 13)

22 Officers and 94 Men remaining

That's it for now. I'll do the last 5 episodes soonish...

Conclusion to the first sets of episode: Sunsets and Sunrises were whacky in June 1847 but, so far, distance and travel times make good sense. If the accuracy holds up until episode 10, we might be able to have a pretty good idea of what, when and where everything happened in episodes 6 through 10.

#The Terror #The Terror AMC #Reference #The Terror Timeline #19th century dead sailors #At least now it's written somewhere that is not 120301923 word files...#Might need later editing #Super duper long post

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vasyandii · 17 days ago

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TROUDARA FIC

Bind Safely, Fellas.

Pairing: Clopin Trouillefou × Vihaan Douangdara

Synopsis: Vihaan talks with Clopin over his reckless habits.

Word Count: 1,308 lmao

Creator Note: I originally wasn't going to finish this writing, it was a mere screenshot on one of the early TrouDara posts, but @brokenglassapplepie encouraged me to do so! So I'm publishing the whole thing :) Appreciate you Shaye!

The soft hum of Paris’s nightlife barely filters into Vihaan’s shop, a place that serves as both his office and storefront. The walls are solid stone, lined with well-organized shelves filled with rare spices, fine silks, intricate trinkets, and carefully curated oddities from his travels. The furnishings are refined—polished wood counters, a well-worn leather chair behind the counter, and a few richly decorated rugs scattered across the floor. A large oak desk stands to one side, piled with scrolls, maps, and neatly stacked coins.

It’s a place of comfort and success, a merchant’s haven, designed to look lived-in but also to impress. The smell of aged leather and incense hangs in the air, a calm, familiar mix that suggests wealth without excess.

Vihaan sits at the counter, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out casually. He looks relaxed despite the faint hint of exhaustion in his eyes. His coat, made of fine cloth and trimmed with rich embroidery, is slightly undone, the carelessness almost an afterthought to the casual elegance he usually carries. The lamplight flickers against the fine woodwork and the stacks of goods around him, casting long, shifting shadows across the room.

Clopin’s gaze drifts briefly to the window. He notices the faint glow of lanterns outside, the streets of Paris still bustling with life, before moving toward the window. With a practiced hand, he draws the curtain a little tighter, ensuring no prying eyes can catch sight of the scene within. The space may be familiar, but there’s no room for mistakes.

“How was it this time?” His voice is tinged with a disappointment that speaks of repeated conversations, the kind of disappointment only familiarity can breed.

“Six… seven hours? I’ve lost track,” Vihaan replies absentmindedly, his words muffled by the resin of opium still in his mouth. He prefers to chew than smoke.

Leaning back in his chair, he lifts his arm, almost lazily- offering Clopin a chance to examine his ribs before the man asks, his posture loose and unbothered. The discomfort didn't quite reach him.

Clopin’s expression softens as he inspects the damage, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he sighs. He stands quiet, as though he’s trying to avoid saying the words that linger on the tip of his tongue.

“I hope it was worth it, Monsieur.”

Vihaan looks up, raising an eyebrow at the sudden formality. “Monsieur? You never call me that.”

Clopin’s lips pressed together, his fingers brushing over the bruises with a familiar gentleness before he pulled away, his eyes narrowing just slightly. He looks at Vihaan for a long moment.

"I can't call you anything else right now."

Vihaan opened his mouth to fire back something clever, something sharp to cut through the thick tension, but the words refused to come. Instead, he stayed where he was, sitting in a heavy silence that wrapped around them like a second curtain, blocking out more than just the outside world.

Clopin didn’t push him. He stood still, hands resting on the edge of the counter, his gaze lingering on Vihaan’s faintly trembling fingers. Disappointment didn’t need words to be heard.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Vihaan broke the silence, his voice softer than before, deliberately casual. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

Clopin’s brow lifted, his disappointment melting into something more weary than wounded. “Are you trying to upset me further?”

“No,” Vihaan replied evenly, leaning back into his chair. “I’d just like to let you know.”

Clopin tilted his head, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make Vihaan squirm. “You spend more time with those snobs than you do with me. I’m practically a widower.”

The words stung, but Vihaan didn’t flinch. He met Clopin’s gaze with a faint smirk, masking the pang of guilt that clawed at his chest. “When are you leaving?” Clopin finally asked.

“Tomorrow.”

Clopin scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away, as if the answer was a personal affront. “Tomorrow?”

“I’ll be back in three weeks’ time,” Vihaan said, his tone light, almost dismissive, but his eyes darted toward Clopin’s reaction.

Clopin exhaled through his nose, his arms still crossed. He glanced at the cluttered desk, then back at Vihaan. “Three weeks. Long enough for you to forget how to find your way back here, I’m sure.”

Vihaan huffed a soft laugh. “I’ll send you a letter if I get lost.”

“You’ll send a letter,” Clopin repeated flatly. His lips curled into a wry smile as he tapped his fingers on the counter. “Oh, yes. I’m sure I’d love to receive another one of your incomprehensible scrawls. You do that on purpose, don’t you?”

“It’s not my fault you can’t read half of what I write,” Vihaan quipped, his smirk widening.

“Can’t read half of what anyone writes,” Clopin muttered, his tone light but with an edge of self-deprecation.

The shift didn’t escape Vihaan. He sat forward, resting his elbows on the counter as his teasing softened. “I’ll make sure it’s something short. Just for you.”

“Something short?” Clopin raised an eyebrow. “What, like: ‘Still alive. Not dead.’?”

Vihaan chuckled, leaning his chin on his hand. “Exactly. Brevity is a virtue, after all.”

“I suppose I should consider myself lucky you even bothered to tell me.” Clopin replies, putting an exasperated hand on his forehead, as if he was going to swoon.

Vihaan’s smirk flickered, replaced by something softer, though he didn’t let it linger. “You’d find out anyway. I wouldn’t get far without your nosy little network sniffing me out.”

Clopin huffed a laugh, straightening. “I’d let you get as far as Lyon before I sent someone after you. Keep you guessing.” He moved toward the desk, where a clutter of scrolls and maps threatened to spill onto the floor. “Speaking of your comings and goings, what route are you taking this time?”

“North, through Champagne, then east.” Vihaan stood, brushing off his coat, though the exhaustion in his movements was hard to miss. “The usual, though I might stop by Beauvais if the weather holds.”

Clopin picked up a rolled map, squinting at it before grumbling under his breath and setting it down. “You’ve got ink stains on half of these. How do you even know where you’re going?”

“I remember,” Vihaan said with mock superiority, plucking a map from the pile and sliding it neatly into his satchel. “But if you’re volunteering to play secretary—”

“Ha!” Clopin cut him off. “I’d sooner teach a goose to juggle. Besides, I’m not the one who gets lost in his own city.”

Vihaan chuckled, the sound warm and low. “Not true, and you know it.”

Clopin didn’t reply right away, his fingers fidgeting with the worn fabric of his shirt. After a moment, he sighed and gestured at the shelves around them. “You’ll at least leave me something good, yes? A little trinket to remember you by while you’re off gallivanting with your silk-stocking clientele.”

Vihaan tilted his head, pretending to think. “A trinket? You have half my shop already. What more could you possibly need?”

Clopin smirked and leaned across the counter, close enough for Vihaan to catch the faint smell of opium and the lingering scent of the city on him. “Surprise me.”

“Always,” Vihaan murmured, his smile softening.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them comfortable.

Clopin hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of the desk. “You’ll need warmer clothes if you’re heading north. It’ll snow.”

Vihaan tilted his head, half-amused. “Are you offering to lend me something?”

“Not unless you want to freeze in one of my shirts,” Clopin deadpanned. “But I might lend you a... decent enough coat—assuming you don’t leave at sunrise and forget to stop by.”

Vihaan smiled faintly, his usual sharpness dulled by a rare tenderness. “I’ll stop by.”

“You’d better.”

#the hunchback of notre dame #clopin #clopin trouillefou #hunchback of notre dame #art #digital art #artwork #original character #vihaan #Vihaan Douangdara #Songbirds (TrouDara)#writings #oc x canon fanfic #fanfic

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