#i had more planned but it twas not happening :(

[thatonefreemanversefic]

ITS THAT TIME AGAIN EXCEPT 2 DAYS LATER!!

Sorry for being late, I am the pinnacle of health I swear (me when I lie)

Anyways, Goodbye Black Mesa East!

[hihhasotherfixations]

Kinktober Day 12: Hate/Angry sex - Price x Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

CW: fem!reader, rough sex, oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, angry Price - though not at you

So, the reason these fics of the last few days are late are cause ‘twas my birthday! So I’m catching up now but I figured for my birthday day fic I’d go a little more out than usual, hehe. Enjoy Price using you to blow off some steam ;3

Word Count: 3468

Walking in through the door, John slammed it shut, an anger and vitriol radiating off of him that had you wide-eyed and silent in a second, sitting on the couch and watching him.

“John?” You asked, but it was like he didn’t even hear you as he kicked off his boots, dropping his bag with only a little too heavy a thunk before he stalked into the house, an angry frown on his face.

Immediately, he walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a scotch and pouring himself a hefty glass, not even bothering with the ice he usually so meticulously put in whenever he poured himself a drink.

Leaning back on the couch, you looked at him, a worried look on your face. “John. Big bear.” You finally got his attention with the horrible nickname you only ever used to tease him, though this time, there was not a hint of teasing or mischief on your face, your brows pulled up in worry. “What’s wrong?”

Taking in the deepest breath you’d seen him take in a long time, it almost seemed as if he was trying to reel in his anger before he sighed out deeply, rounding the couch and crashing down into it right next to you, nearly sitting down on you and spilling his drink; though it was clear his mind was somewhere else as his face twisted up in frustration. “Fucking Norris thinks he can ground my team because he’s ‘higher rank’.” He spat, making air quotes at the end as he took off his hat and slammed it onto the coffee table.

“Whoa, hey, what happened?” You ask, placing your hand on his thigh, to which John started tapping his fingers into his knee.

“Colonel Norris – bastard that he is – decided to ground my team because of a mistake his men made while we worked together a month back. An op went wrong because of it and now he’s making it a whole case, trying to spin it on my team.” John seethed, his fingers stopping their tapping as he instead started bouncing his right leg, frustrated. “Because it’s being investigated, we’re not allowed to go out until it’s solved. But we had a fucking target right in our grasp-!” John sat up, his hand wringing an imaginary neck before he huffed out a frustrated breath, falling back into the couch as he covered his eyes with his hand.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.” You frowned and John sighed deep, sitting straight to throw back half of his drink in one go, barely even reacting to the burn as it glid down his throat.

“We’re not getting this guy in our sights again. It took me three months to track him down and right as we were planning a mission to get him, Norris comes with this shit!” He hissed, partially turned to you now, just ranting to you. “And I’ve had problems with Norris in the past in Urzikstan but back then it could be excused by him simply following orders from higherup, but this time it’s completely him and I’m bloody done with this bastard!” He growled to you, a fire in his eyes that didn’t seem to want to die out anytime soon.

“Is there anything you can do?” You asked, hoping to diffuse the situation a bit though it had the complete opposite effect, firing John up even further.

“I already tried everything! I sent e-mails, told Norris in person to just hold it off for a week, spoke in meetings about it but this molded muppet used his rank to override any of my requests!”

Seeing he was not going to be stopping, you knew you had to do something.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do my job when he is coming in here during one of the most vital times happening in the last half a year?! For a thing we didn’t even do?! It’s ridiculous and I’m gonna-!” “John- John?” You stopped him mid-ramble, turning his face towards you. “You’re getting too worked up. You need to blow off some steam.” You spoke softly, watching him huff out a breath as he tried to reel himself in, realizing himself he was just throwing everything on you now.

“I know, but I really can’t be bothered. I’m not going to the gym and I’m through my cigars this month. I’m not doing anything else today, sorry Y/N but-“ “That’s not what I meant.” You interrupted him again.

At that, his brows furrowed in confusion and you shifted on the couch, leaning towards him and placing your free hand directly on his crotch, your lips centimeters away from his, causing his breath to hitch.

“Plenty of ways to blow off steam without leaving the house.” You whispered and John groaned, shifting as just your touch – palming him – had him turning hard ridiculously fast.

“Darling, it won’t be pretty.” He gasped softly, trying to keep his composure as he closed his eyes, his lips pressed in a tight line while he leaned forward to slowly place his partially drank scotch on the coffee table.

You however, leaned in and started peppering kisses down his neck while he moved back to lean properly into the couch, having deposited his drink. “I don’t need pretty. Seeing you so worked up is just doing things to me.” You admitted, continuing to palm his crotch, feeling his erection straining against the fabric of his uniform.

Groaning, John just threw caution to the wind, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his lap, his mouth slamming into yours.

You barely had any time to squeak before it was a mess of teeth clacking and tongue, John wasting not a single moment to claim your mouth for himself while his hands went down and tightly grabbed your ass, squeezing.

Pulling your hips into his, he practically forced you to straddle him as he began to thrust up, rocking his bulge against your crotch desperately.

It rubbed straight against your clit, making your eyes flutter shut as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing back with fervour.

His hands wouldn’t stop groping your ass, running up and down the expanse of it before he released his right hand, using it to smack the flesh hard. “Take it off.” He commanded, barely breaking the kiss to say it, his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

“O-Okay.” You whispered, trying to catch your breath from the intensity and suddenness of the situation, only to get a firm squeeze to your rear again - you better hurry up.

Getting off his lap, you took off your pants, pushing them down and stepping out of them before looking at your husband.

His eyes were roving your thighs, his pupils blown out before he reached out and held you by the back of the thigh, right under your ass as he pulled you in. “Be good for me and take it all off.” He rumbled as he slid forward on the couch, leaning in to place his lips to the front of your panties, grazing his teeth across it and making you shudder.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, getting an approving squeeze to your thighs as you then pulled your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra as well.

While you did that, John’s hands roamed up your ass, slipping under the fabric of your undies and up until he turned his hands around and gripped the fabric, bunching it up before tearing it off your ass, leaving you completely naked as he simply dropped it to the floor.

Gasping as he ruined your panties and threw them, you didn’t even have time to protest as John locked his arms under your ass and lifted you as he got to his feet, starting to carry you to the bedroom.

“God, you’re exactly what I need right now.” He murmured against your stomach, his beard rubbing across your skin, making you close your eyes.

“Use me however you want.” You whispered, one of your hands tangling in his hair, making the man groan softly.

“Are you sure, love?” He asked, kissing your stomach while he kicked open the bedroom door, only half an eye used to navigate his way around the house.

“Positive.” You smiled and a little growl left the man.

Before you knew it, you were dropped onto the bed, your husband crawling over you with intent. Yet before he could fully eclipse you, you placed your hand against his chest, stopping him.

“What?” He grumbled, clearly unhappy by being stopped but you just smiled.

Seeing the sly look in your eye, John narrowed his own, trying to deduce what you were planning as you slowly moved out from under him, sitting up while he followed until you lowered yourself off the bed and down onto the floor.

“Thought I could do what I wanted.” He challenged, his chest deeply moving up and down, betraying how worked up he actually was.

“I’m just here to help you along.” You grinned, moving between his legs as you then reached for his belt, starting to unbuckle it, never breaking eye contact as you opened his pants.

As you moved to pull the clothing down his hips, he gripped your wrists. “No, darling. If you want to suck it, you can. But I’m in control. Understood?” He asked, dropping your wrists to instead fish himself out of his underwear, hard and leaking a drop of precum.

Swallowing softly, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his cock, a low chuckle leaving the man when he noticed. Reaching out, he placed his left hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer while his right hand gripped the base of his shaft, angling it towards your lips.

Without complaint, you parted your lips and took him into your mouth, immediately starting to suck.

Feeling that, John let his head fall back as he groaned, slightly rocking his hips. “Fucking hell-“ He hissed and you smirked around him, making the brunet snap his head down to you. “Don’t get cocky.” He warned and you innocently looked up at him, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked, taking him a little deeper into your mouth.

Groaning, his brown furrowed in irritation as he clenched his jaw, his hand tightening in your hair as he then pulled your head down, making you take him even deeper.

Getting the reaction you were hoping for, you moaned around him, sucking as you bob your head, John helping you by beginning to move your head up and down, clicking his tongue to try and stay quiet when he felt your tongue swirling around him.

“God, keep that up.” He grunted, starting to lightly buck his hips up into your mouth while he pulled your head up and down.

Closing your eyes, you just relaxed your throat, letting John begin to fuck your mouth as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his hips beginning to speed up.

Almost as if a switch flipped, John groaned as he began to lose himself, leaning forward over you as he thrusted into your mouth, moving deeper and deeper until you gagged, spit gathering at your lips as he continued to move, pleasure curling through him.

Reaching out, you placed your hands on his thighs, doing your best to stay put, tears in your eyes as he became more and more vocal, pushing past your gag reflex.

His hips eagerly pumped into your throat, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you drooled around him, both of his hands cradling your head, pulling you down onto his cock in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-“ John choked out, abruptly pulling out of your mouth, making you gasp for breath while he panted, his left hand holding the base of his cock, almost as if he was stopping himself from climaxing.

“J-John-“ You whispered but his right hand moved from holding onto your hair, down to your chin.

“Get on the bed.” He ordered through his pants.

Wiping the spit away from your mouth, you nodded and slowly got up, climbing onto the bed while still trying to catch your breath.

Grunting softly, John shifted onto the bed again, spreading your legs as he then spit onto his fingers, reaching down to rub through your folds, only to find you absolutely dripping.

“God, you love me being rough, don’t you?” John huffed, spreading your slick onto his fingers as he then pushed two fingers into you, making you whine.

“Y-Yes.” You mumbled, blushing. Though he always held an air of dominance in the bedroom, John never truly lost himself, always being just a little too careful for your liking whenever he went onto the rougher side.

Pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, John growled softly, his eyes dark and intense. “You want me to fuck you then? Blow off steam?”

“Properly, yeah.” You whispered, taking in a sharp inhale when he scissored his fingers in response, a slight burn appearing as he stretched you out just a little too fast, needing to be inside you but wanting to prepare you at least a bit. “Leave it.” You gasped, John tilting his head, still scissoring his fingers.

“It’ll hurt, darling.” He growled softly, leaning down to bite at the sweet spot on your neck he knew by heart.

“I want it to.” You mumbled, grabbing his hips and pulling him down, making John huff.

“So you’re working against my command now too? Not even letting me prepare you.” He grunted, still moving along with you as he rubbed his cockhead through your folds, spreading your arousal on it as he clenched his jaw. At his words, you nodded as you bit your lip and the brunet growled. “Very well.”

With that, he pushed into you, not waiting or letting you adjust like normal as he instead shoved in to the hilt, groaning as he felt your heat envelop all of him, his eyes closing as he paused.

Opening his eyes, he then looked at you. “You asked for it.” He spoke lowly, the gravel in his voice twice as prominent as he began to move, his hands shooting down to your hips to hold you down; no easing into it as he began to rapidly pump into you.

Gasping at the burning stretch, you threw your head back, whimpering out a moan as your husband began to fuck you, his hips slapping into yours as he took you with short and quick thrusts.

“My team disobeys me, my superiors sabotage my mission, and now my own wife won’t even let me take care of her properly.” John hissed, a fire burning in his eyes as his thrusts intensified, strokes long and deep.

Your walls clenched around him as you moaned, a flush to your face from the anger and irritation radiating from him as he pounded into you, keeping you pinned down to the bed as you tried to buck away from him and into him at the same time. 

“Stay still.” He growled, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room as he kept you down on the bed, his tip pushing into your g-spot with every thrust.

“Fuck-“ You gasped, making John groan as he moved, his eyes half-lidded as he could feel every ridge of your cunt, wrapped so tightly around his shaft, rubbing into him as he pushed in and out of you.

“That’s right, take it.” He hissed, his left hand moving up to squeeze your breast while the fingers on his right dug into the side of your ass. “Just like that.” He praised, his voice still rough as he leaned his face back into the crook of your neck.

“John-“ You gasped, only for him to sink his teeth into your skin. “Shut it.” He grunted, bucking his hips into yours in a frantic pace, his cock hitting deeper because of the new angle, rutting into your cervix and making you cry out.

Feeling the entrance of your womb, a loud groan escaped the brunet, his tip bashing into it repeatedly, sending waves of pleasure and slight pain through you, making you moan out more.

“Fuck, you feel good.” The man grunted directly into your ear, making you whimper.

Huffing, he couldn’t take it anymore, pulling back from your neck to tear his shirt from his body, throwing it off the bed and allowing you to see the hair dotting his torso, leaning down into the v-line and happy trail connected to his cock currently thrusting deep inside you.

Groaning, John pushed his pants and underwear down his thighs, not willing to stop fucking you just to take it off, simply accepting it as he felt relief washing over his sweaty body, no longer completely cooking in his clothes.

Seeing his chest bare before you, you whined and reached out, running your hands down his pecs, feeling the coarse hair on his chest, hiding the scarred, warm, soft skin underneath. As you trailed further down, your lip between your teeth, John suddenly grabbed your wrists, swiftly pushing them down above your head.

“Did I say you could?” He growled, punctuating his words with a hard thrust, making you moan out. “Stay put.” He huffed, holding your wrists down with one hand while his other moved to your waist, holding you down while he slammed his mouth to yours, his chest pushed into you.

Whimpering into the rough kiss, your eyes rolled back as heat grew in your abdomen, feeling him fuck into you, your toes curling as he bottomed out with every thrust.

Pounding roughly, John was huffing against your lips with every thrust now, sweat gathering on his brow and running down his back, causing a sheen on his skin mirrored on your own, the exertion and pleasure coming to a head.

“John, please-“ You moaned, your legs weak and trembling, feeling your head start to go light as the heat spread, your walls clenching slightly around his shaft.

“I know, shit-“ John groaned, rutting into you with fervour as his cock began to twitch, feeling you clench around him.

Whining out a moan, you clenched your eyes shut as you arched your back, John moving his lips from your lips down the center of your throat, his teeth nipping and biting as he groaned out a moan of his own, trying to stave off his orgasm as he slowed down his thrusts, getting rougher.

“Fuck, please!” You cried out for him, only for his thumb to descend onto your clit, making you moan loudly as your back fully arched, your cunt tightly clenching down on him.

Feeling that, John moaned, his cock twitching while you came around him, your walls spasming and squeezing tightly, making him groan out low and desperate, his hips bucking as he continued to rub your clit, stretching out your orgasm.

“Good girl, good girl-“ He panted like a mantra, his hips bucking quick and sharp into you, your pussy so greedily taking him in, your arousal coating his entire shaft and leaking down your thighs.

Whimpering out as you came down from your high, John thrusted just a few more time before moaning low in his throat, shoving deep into you, filling you up completely before he released himself inside your walls.

His cum, thick and plentiful, spurted into you, making you whine out at the feeling of it splashing against your walls, your entire body flushed as you panted, exhausted and spent, your throat and voice raw.

“Bloody hell.” John panted, staying inside you as he lowered himself onto you, his arms on either side of your face holding him up while he tried to catch his breath. “Are you okay?” He mumbled after a moment, pressing kisses to the apples of your cheek.

“Never better.” You panted out, letting out a short and light chuckle before you reached an arm up and placed it onto his cheek. “Are you?”

Leaning into your palm, his eyes finally seemed to have calmed the storm, instead holding a loving look towards you. “Definitely a lot better.” He smiled.

Carefully, he rolled onto his side, taking you with him, refusing to pull out as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you too.” You replied, closing your eyes as you snuggled into him. “If you’re ever angry, you know where to find me.” You teased and John let out a rumbling laugh, kissing the top of your head again.

But then again, he was definitely considering on taking you up on that offer.

[sitp-recs]

15 Christmassy fics to read (or reread) this month

This rec list is for @annakendricks who sent an ask about Christmas reads and also dedicated to @lettersbyelise for supporting this idea 💜 Despite the winter blues, December will always lighten up my mood with the holiday spirit. This month has been pretty hectic for me but I can’t wait to get some time off and indulge my fave Christmassy rereads. Come and join me if you like! Here you’ll find a little bit of everything: soft and contemplative, smutty, crack-y, movie AU, holiday romance and even Gen fic, which is not my usual fare but fit the theme perfectly. Pick your flavour and Happy Holidays!

🎄A Christmas Happenstance by Only_1_Truth (E, 5.5k)

The Hogwarts School for the Gifted and Supernatural had classes year-round, but the dormitories emptied out regularly on holidays as if the students were suddenly becoming allergic to the walls. Both humans and non-humans mingled freely in the surrounding town of Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy, however, isn't feeling in the mood after a rather spectacular break-up.

🎄A Charitable Christmas by Alisanne (E, 5.6k)

Hermione’s plans to raise money for war orphans do not meet with Harry’s approval. Fortunately, Draco steps in to help him come up with a much more enjoyable strategy.

🎄A Hippogriff for Christmas by @xanthippe74 (G, 6.4k)

Draco is desperately trying to fulfill four-year-old Scorpius’ dearest wish for Christmas: a visit with a real Hippogriff. Harry is desperately trying to be left alone, safely tucked away from the attention of the wizarding world as Hogwarts’ Keeper of the Keys and Grounds.

🎄Surviving the Horde by FleetofShippyShips (T, 7k)

Draco has managed to avoid Christmas at the Burrow for ten years, but not this year.

🎄Tidings of Comfort by @blamebrampton (G, 10k)

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, London has places where the tired can rest and recover.

🎄Love, Actually, is All Around by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 10k)

It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco works in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

🎄break the bad luck in my life by seaworn (E, 12k)

Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.

🎄All Roads Lead Home by @dracogotgame (G, 15k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

🎄Love All Lovely by @shealwaysreads (T, 19k)

Draco comes home for Christmas, and discovers that sharing is the best way of celebrating old traditions, and new ones too.

🎄Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

🎄I'll Floo Home for Christmas by jadepresley (T, 39k)

The Ministry Christmas party is the biggest event of the year and Harry absolutely does not want to plan it, and he certainly, one hundred percent, does not have a crush on Draco Malfoy.

🎄The Romantic Prawn Who Loved Christmas by @bixgirl1 (E, 39k)

When Draco, forced into sharing a room with Potter for the year, finds out that Potter has a sleepwalking problem, he expects the odd conversations and the weird games of chess. What comes as a complete shock are Potter's other activities...And why he seems so intent on having Draco join him.

🎄December Never Felt So Wrong by @maesterchill (E, 50k)

'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side. All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there.

🎄A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit.

🎄All Must Draw Near by Saras_Girl (M, 61k)

Harry doesn't have time for rumours; he has a shop to run. Which is just as well, really.

[nrdmssgs]

Can you do a soap fic where a new girl gets transferred and she’s also a sergeant and she’s short and really bitchy, soap flirts with her and she never fails to reply within an insult or a snarky comment?

Masterlist Pairing: SoapXReader TWs: no AN: I took forever, I know, sorry.

The first thing, you thought of, seeing how people gather around Soap, how attentively they catch every bit of phrase covered with thick accent, how eager are they to become part of the next mischief, his mind plotting, is a Kelpie. By no means you were superstitious, but you remember well, what your granny told you: these Scottish demons are nothing but deception, temptation and constant shapeshift, hiding under calm water surface and dragging anyone, reckless enough to trust them, to the depths of cold northern lakes.

You had enough of 'shape-shifters': you were fed up with friendly looking lads, being all sweet around you, only to find out your soft spots and use them against you. So when his smile sparkles too close to your secluded corner of a bar counter - you frown automatically

"Oi, wee-one, what are you doing here all alone, while all the fun happens elsewhere?" That shit eating grin is too familiar. It only portends lies and mockery.

"Daydreaming of your smooches, Sergeant." You know, this man will start flirting with you today sooner or later: after all, he always does. So instead of fearing it coming - you decide on leading this train wreck.

"A'm sa-a-a-a-ae flattered." Johnny can speak British, very much so, when he needs it. But he must be too used to everyone falling for his accent. So he decides to torture your fogged mind with his gibberish.

"And a`m sa-a-a-a-ae lying." You can't hold back a little aping to make this moment even more harsh for him. But that'll teach him.

From your very first day on the base, this man decided, that his holy duty from now on was to haunt you with his flirtatious comments and stupid jokes. You ignored him once, then twice... on his fifth 'strike' you decided, you had enough and fought back. None of Johnny's line remained unanswered by you ever since.

Your rebuffs usually helped for some time. Today it won you fifteen minutes of peace. Because after that Soaps face reappears on the horizon with a jolly 'Anyway, Sg, hae any plans for t`night?'

"Oh, I have one plan, buddy. The first part of it is to not share the other part with the people, I don't want anywhere around me. So lemme guess, this is the moment, you are asking me about the second part?" You talk loud enough, so that not only Johnny, but the whole group of dumbheads enamored by him, hears you.

"I guess, nae, but if you want me to... What's with the second part?" Slowly but surely the damned accent leaves his speech.

"I can't, love, I'm tied up by the first part." Any person, not familiar with Soap would shame you for such a strong reaction. But you knew better, and soon he only proved you right.

"So someone is into restraining? Ah kin just happen tae know a thing or twa aboot this..." You are in mere seconds from snapping right back at him, but he manages to switch your attention to some completely unrelated question.

And just like that you lose concentration for a moment only to find yourself walking down the street with MacTavish and his company. His speech is all honey and velvet with notes of cheerful laughter. Man shouldn't possess so much charm - it is simply unfair. Yet, here he is - all bubbly and so tempting and warm.

Your group turns onto a quiet road, lit by one streetlamp. "Hey, look up!" calls the voice of one of the soldiers, and you lift your head. There is a soda can on the flat lid of the lantern. God only knows how it got there. You're not even surprised when Johnny asks right next to your ear who's ready to knock down the can on the first try. You just turn to him and clarify, “If I do this, can I ask you for anything?”

Soap nods enthusiastically, and before he can add something about the fact that you can always ask him for anything and without any bets, you pick up a pebble from the pavement.

"Watch and learn, Sergeant." You smirk and throw a pebble. The sound of an empty can hitting the asphalt echoes down the street.

Others cheer your victory, when Johnny leans closer and nods with a face of a defeated one.

"Sae what shuid it be, darlin'?"

That smirk. He is trying to look happy even after he lost. Lying scoundrel. Oh, you'll wipe that smirk off his face.

"You seem very proud of your country?" You can't help, but smile, as Soap nods and moves even closer, invading your personal space. So you go on.

"And very proud of that hairstyle of yours... How about we combine your two biggest sources of pride, Johnny." Some soldiers start getting your idea and you hear a few muffled laughs. But Soap doesn't get it till you specify, "Lets paint this mohawk. Blue and white sounds patriotic enough for you, MacTavish?"

If anyone asked you to name the highlight of that day - it was it. Shining smile disappearing from Soaps face, his head ducking, his eyes looking for something under his own boots. He looked lost... But only for a moment.

"Aye. Will need yer help though, wee-one."

For some time, you forget about this evening. Work and duty are quite effective at helping you to put aside any life outside debriefs, trainings and missions. That is, however, only until one late evening, when Soap appears on the threshold of your room with a towel and a pair of tubes of hair dye.

"Sergeant MacTavish keeps his word. Always." These words you hear from a tiny bathroom, where you wash your hands.

He welcomes your return to your room with a bare torso. You try to not look, but one brief glance is enough for his sculpted six-pack, ribs covered with a thin web of scars and tanned broad shoulders to be forever ingrained in your memory. Scoundrel. Seducer. Kelpie. You turn away almost immediately.

"Out of my room. Now!"

"Naw-naw-naw-naw, ye got me wrong! Ah juist dinnae want ma tshirt to get goosed!" He started babbling as quickly as if his life depended on it. So you take a deep breath and nod.

"Ok-ok, calm down!" You come closer to him and brush your fingers through Johnny's dark hair, trying to understand, where should you begin.

It's so strange to see his face not somewhere above, not even on your eye level, but somewhere below. For the first time, you notice the faint freckles on his face, the dark edges of his incredibly blue eyes, the small wrinkles. That all brings you a very strange thought: maybe there are people out there, who know soft and vulnerable Johnny, maybe there are people, whom he will never fail, never betray. You personally can't have a luxury of trusting your colleagues so much as to let them be close to you. But maybe there are people, that trust these eyes and find comfort in these arms.

Your hands fall down. "You know what, Johnny, consider the deed done... To hell ruining your hair, your self-esteem. Forget, we even had this bet, it's stupid."

"Whaaa? Naw, bonnie, it is hilarious! I want this! With ye only! And ah trust ye." He catches your hands and eagerly places them back into his surprisingly soft hair, making sure, your fingers drown in the mohawk fully and touch his scalp. There is not a single note of mockery in his voice - only plea to keep going and trust, endless trust in you - the person, who always had a few sharp words ready for any his attempt to approach you.

You feel guilt stinging you from the inside.

"Ok, I'll do it. But I must warn you - I don't have a single idea, what am I doing. And this will probably turn out ugly."

Soap only keeps nodding, not looking away from your eyes for a moment. His eyes shine with obedience and anticipation.

Not knowing it yet, you are slowly drowning in deep waters, dragged by a Scottish demon. Your very own Kelpie.

[kingdoms-and-empires]

I'm so glad you're back Flame! Because I have some questions!

Since I reread the demo around the same time you came back, I wondered. Given that Grandpa had been planning his little massacre for months, how could he not have managed to identify those responsible for what happened to Grandma!

He's got what it takes!

Instead, he's indulged in a bloodbath of inoncents. Morons, yes, but not all of them have poured or ordered the poison.

No wonder Lady M and Theo are afraid of him!

As a result, Remiel made enemies and, thinking he'd killed them all, let his guard down, allowing an assassin to seek out Juli!

The little boy Theo refuses to kill? I bet it's the assassin. His face is devoured by fire and he evokes Remiel in front of Aure and the others.

Remiel was blinded by his feelings, so I hope he'll forgive my Mc for being different from him. She loves him, she understands, but she also knows there was another way. Another Night of Tears won't happen! Nope.

We have to kill Josh, letting him live is no longer possible but at least my Mc will arrange for him to be killed quickly.

That is, if we manage to survive the battle of Silverhill, because between the battlefield, what coming for us by water, not to mention the fact that I suspect your evil genius will bring in the abominations that traumatized us when we were 7, I'm afraid...

I'm glad you're back. I swear !

"I'm so glad you're back Flame!"

"Since I reread the demo" I apologize for the walls of text.

"...how could he not have managed to identify those responsible for what happened to Grandma!" My answer to that is answered by yourself: "Instead, he's indulged in a bloodbath" Remiel was a tadbit angry that the nobles he forgave after the civil war pulled a stunt like this, almost killed his newborn son, and killed his wife. At that point, in his mind, he thought the best thing to do was quite literally burn the poisoned and nearby stalk to save the rest of the harvest.

Then he let himself feel justified by rewriting the feudal contract with the nobles and abolishing the council's power to further centralize the kingdom.

"We have to kill Josh, letting him live is no longer possible but at least my Mc will arrange for him to be killed quickly." Twas a bit more bloodthirsty than i was expecting xD

"That is, if we manage to survive the battle of Silverhill, because between the battlefield, what coming for us by water, not to mention the fact that I suspect your evil genius will bring in the abominations that traumatized us when we were 7, I'm afraid..."

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | How the Ghosts Stole Christmas (6x06)

‘Twas the night before Christmas on Larkspur Lane;

Ev’ry corner held loneliness, sadness and pain.

The house reeked of sorrow beyond all compare.

Indeed, ‘twas a time of dark, dark despair.

For many a moon we stayed dormant and still,

Awaiting some guests to our house on the hill,

For this singular night, yes– the one night all year

We’d be given a chance to spread holiday cheer.

But as the clock ticked further into the eve,

We worried that there might be none to receive;

Maurice in his topcoat and I, pale and gaunt, 

Lamented a Christmas with no one to haunt. 

When, what to our wondering eyes should appear 

But two such lonely souls (also suckers, my dear)!

They searched through the mansion, as their flashlights beamed

For ghosts —but in truth, for each other, it seemed. 

Our grayed, ghoulish faces grew flush with delight

As they crept through the hall —how delicious a sight!  

Foolishly thinking themselves to be brave,

They were perfect, exactly the targets we craved!

The one with red hair, spouting theories a-flurry

Was doing her best to get out in a hurry,

While her partner (so handsome!) wanted not a thing more

Than to keep her nearby for just one more dark floor.

In eighty long years, I’d never quite seen

Two hearts locked at impasse like these two had been;

Denying their feelings, year after year

Out of loneliness, pride, and a good dose of fear.

At eleven o'clock, the grandfather did chime,

Giving we two just an hour of time

To trap these poor souls in their own lovers’ pact —

Like Maurice and me, there’d be no going back.

Maurice took the tall man; I, Lyda, the dame,

As we worked to uncover their secrets and shame.

You see, ghosts can’t do much but mess with the mind,

And these two were a challenge with so little time.

Maurice began prodding him– Mulder, his name —

To help find the answers he couldn’t explain;

Run down his issues, a glum inventory

(All of them paramasturbatory)

I, Lyda, found Scully, the lass of the two,

A bundle of pent-up neuroses, ‘twas true;

Her unconscious yearning, though present, was faint

For her partner, displaying impressive restraint.

I had to give credit, for weakness she lacked;

Resisting that man was a heroic act!

But… in love with a gent who would only see ghosts?

A lovers’ pact? Please. These two had no hope.

We considered retreating back up to our beds

While the agents ran into brick walls in their heads.

But something about them had told us instead

These two star-crossed lovers were better off dead.

(You might fairly ask why a couple of ghosts

Would decide to become such abom’nable hosts,

But ‘ere you judge us for what happened that night,

Remember: they trespassed, thus earning our spite.)

A wee little push, then, was all they would need,

And eventually they’d watch the other one bleed.

We’d need all our tricks, it was well understood,

To get Dana and Fox ‘neath our floorboards for good.

Getting him to believe was a simple first leap,

Then surely she’d follow, like a redheaded sheep;

‘Twas easy as shooting two fish in a barrel

Or singing a well-trodden old Yuletide carol.

With glee we did watch as they squirmed on the floor,

Covered in blood, all trust broken, for sure.

Our events set in motion that one day they’d see

How amazing a true partnership could be!

But then, in a twinkling, we heard Mulder speak

In a voice that grew strong after starting out weak:

“You’re not shot,” he told Scully, to greatest avail,

And they both got up, leaving our fine plan to fail!

Grabbing her hand, they took off like the lark,

Sprinting away, lost to us in the dark.

Maurice was upset, and I, Lyda, distraught;

Our scheme to turn foursome had all been for naught.

But the spirit of Christmas, alas, was not lost

As my love took my own hand, whatever the cost;

‘Twas a night to remember, although it was done…

What more’s there to say? Even ghosts should have fun!

Read the Rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@admiralty-xfd

[tiredmoonslut]

The fish wives are fine! Either that ending did not happen or it was all a planned thing for everyone to get stuck in THEIR nets. Whatever. Those are the only 2 options.

Still in all seriousness it was a planned thing between Moiraine and Siuan IMO for too many reasons. The delusion is real

Oh I have no doubt they'll be alright, nonny! Rafe Judkins is smart enough to know that if he was going to canonize Siuanraine, we wouldn't accept its mishandling. We're gonna be fine.

Personally though I do think that conflict was real, not planned. Of course, I do love the idea of them orchestrating a fake falling out! But it just doesn't peg me as something that wins them anything.

I think Siuan is so used to her and Moiraine being in agreement about how to handle the Dragon prophecies that she truly didn't expect for Moiraine to go rogue. The way I see it, Siuan sees two things: for one, Mo has been stilled. That is agony no matter how you slice it, and she's deadset on taking as much of the Dragon burden off of Moiraine's shoulders as she can so Mo has more of a chance to heal (remember, there's been a whopping two Aes Sedai who ever managed not to kill themselves after being stilled in the Tower's known history).

Secondly, she sees that the time of the Last Battle draws near, and Moiraine has been withholding information for the past six months and also very pointedly not tried to prepare Rand at all. Siuan is the Amyrlin Seat. She's made of strategy, and that is a bad one, whether it was her lover's choice or not. I think Siuan was certain that if she made a point of taking the burden off Moiraine's shoulders, she'd be met with acquiescence---perhaps even appreciation.

Watching the episode, I took Siuan's reaction to Rand having been released to be one of complete shock. I'm sure she expected stubbornness, but not outright double-crossing. That's why she made a point of chasing after them alone, with no guard. She felt betrayed.

Then she runs in to see Moiraine channeling. I'm sure she was floored, and this is why I think the theory that she suspected Moiraine of joining the Dark to hold weight. I mean, how bizarre from her perspective. Six months of correspondence, and Rand hasn't been trained even a little, and this alleged stilling was kept from her completely until Lan tattle-taled. That's outrageous, especially since it doesn't seem like Moiraine has ever been that dishonest with her before. And now it was apparently a complete lie? It shouldn't be possible. Unless of course Moiraine made an oath that supersedes her previous ones...

Which is why she forced her to close the Waygate. Twas a test. Once Moiraine obeys, you can see just how much Siuan regretted doing it. Her eyes well up immediately, like all she wants to do is apologize. Had Lanfear not walked in that very second, I'm sure she would have.

So, we'll just have to see how Siuan feels once she hears about the events of Falme, that Ishamael is dead, and that Alanna and Verin were Mo's accomplices. Hopefully she reacts well, or at least well enough to still want to talk it out with Moiraine when she gets the chance---and I think she will. This has been the burden that's ruined their lives for 20 years. She's not just gonna let that go.

So yeah, we'll be okay. We're just gonna need some medicine, perhaps an emergency operation. 😭

[mybrothercainmybrotherabel]

no one: ...

My brain: hey, what's just the worse AU ever that ends bad for everyone?

Me: well I suppose it would be if Caleb didn't manage to push Evelyn back when the witch hunters attacked, but I don't want to write that...

My brain: 😈😈😈

Me: damnit

TW: hanging, violence, death

Before Caleb could react the mob descended upon him.

“Caleb!” Evelyn leapt forward, reaching out to him. Caleb tried to push her back, but he was too late. The world seemed to slow down while he watched helplessly as Evelyn was tackled to the ground.

“EVELYN!” Caleb screamed, “Get off her!” Flapjack tried to defend her, but the next thing Caleb could see was the palisman smashed underneath a heavy boot. “NO!”

Evelyn screamed. Caleb fought off six men trying to reach her. 

“Leave her alone! Don't hurt her!”

 Something hard hit Caleb in the back of the head stunning him just long enough for someone to gag him. The next time he caught a glimpse of Evelyn she was also gagged. Blood and tears streamed down her face. Her eyes were wide in horror.

Caleb threw his body towards her, he didn't care what happened to himself. But he had to get to her. He had to find a way to get her free. 

They were dragged to the hanging tree in front of the settlement, the bells ringing out loudly to announce their execution. Caleb did not stop fighting. He had to get to her somehow. He had to get her free. Perhaps if he could shake off his assailants and throw himself at hers she could have a chance to run…

People emerged from the settlement. Mr. Fuller amongst them. He saw Caleb and immediately confronted Mr. Archer. Caleb was too preoccupied trying to get to Evelyn to pay attention to their conversation. 

The next thing he knew he was being pulled in the opposite direction, while Evelyn was being pulled towards the hanging tree. Caleb fought harder. Sheer terror filled her green eyes. She knew what was about to happen. They both did. 

No! No! NO!

Caleb didn't stop bucking and kicking and throwing his body in her direction. He held her eye contact until she was ripped away from his view. 

He was dragged to the church, fighting all the while. Even when he was tied up to the pulpit and left alone in the darkness he continued to struggle against his bindings, hoping to loosen them. He only stopped when Mr. Fuller entered the church.

The older man hurried to Caleb and removed the gag from his mouth. 

“You have to save Evelyn!” Caleb cried as soon as he could get the words out. “Please, don't let them hang her!”

Mr. Fuller's face washed over in sympathy. “I'm sorry, son, tis too late.”

“No…No!” 

The knowledge that she was already gone was more painful than his shattered ribs. Mr. Fuller held Caleb’s face as he wept. There was nothing he could do. Evelyn was dead. She had died alone and terrified. She was dead because of him, because he had failed to protect her, because he was too stupid and too selfish to stay away from her even though he knew the risk. Had she died hating him? As she hung there, the life choking out of her, had she blamed Caleb for her fate?  

“I am sorry, son. Twas all I could do to convince them to allow you to stand trial. There was nothing I could do for her.”

“Tis all my fault.” Caleb sobbed. “I promised to protect her! I promised…I…”

“Breathe, son. I know how bad it hurts. Trust me, I know. But you need to breathe. We need to focus on clearing your name, once you are safe, we can mourn her. But first we need to come up with a plan. Philip is claiming you were bewitched, most people are inclined to believe him. No one can blame you for that, if we say that the enchantment broke when she died…”

“I wasn't bewitched. Evelyn, she…she would never do that. She isn't…she's not evil.”

“I believe you, but the others won't.” Mr. Fuller said, “I'm sorry, Caleb, I truly am.”

“I won't lie.” Caleb said, “I will not slander her, she is…” he could hardly speak. “She was kind and clever and thoughtful and…and good. She was good…and now…” 

…now she was dead…she was dead because of him…

“...I won't say she bewitched me. I won't stand trial. I won't.”

“If you don't they'll hang you.” 

“I know.”

For several long moments Caleb and Mr. Fuller held each other's gaze. 

Mr. Fuller was not Caleb’s father by name or blood but Caleb was his son, there was no doubt about it. Mr. Fuller had worked so hard to keep Caleb alive over the past ten years. Anytime Caleb thought all hope was lost Mr. Fuller would come and pull him through. But this wasn't something Mr. Fuller could pull him through. He had made up his mind. 

Evelyn was dead. Evelyn was dead because Caleb had failed to protect her. He would not betray her. 

Slowly Mr. Fuller closed his eyes and lowered his head. The weight of failure aged him, turning his face into that of a tired old man. 

He turned his head away from Caleb for a moment to regain his composure. He would not cry in front of Caleb. 

Finally, after what seemed like a very long time he nodded.

“You grew into a good man, Caleb. I am proud of you. I will always be proud of you. I only wish there was more I could do.”

“Take care of Philip for me.”

“I will, you don't even have to ask.”

“Do you think they'll allow me a Christian burial?” Dread was coursing through him. He was resolute, but not unafraid.

“I will do what I have to do to assure you are both buried. Your grave may have to be unmarked, but I will make sure the two of you are together.” 

Caleb nodded. 

“I'm scared.” He admitted.

“I know.” Mr. Fuller put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “I know.” 

“I can't repent. I can't with any honesty or conviction say I am sorry for the love I feel for Evelyn. If that means burning in Hell…”

“Do you want me to give you last rites?”

Caleb nodded.

Mr. Fuller took out the bottle of whiskey he kept in his pocket. “I know tis supposed to be wine, but this'll have to do.” 

He held the bottle to Caleb's lips so he could drink. Then he made the sign of the cross on Caleb’s forehead and recited the Commendation of the Dying.

“I commend you, my dear brother, to Almighty God, 

and entrust you to your Creator.

May you return to him who formed you from the dust of the earth.

May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints 

come to meet you as you go forth from this life.

May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace.

May Christ who died for you admit you into his garden of paradise.

May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of his flock.

May he forgive all your sins, and set you among those he has chosen.

Amen.”

“Thank you.” Caleb said, his throat tight and his voice hoarse. 

“Here, drink this, it will…it will dull your senses.'' The older man still did not cry, but it was becoming increasingly obvious how much of an active effort he was making to stay stoic. He helped Caleb drink a tincture of laudnuam. “I will make sure Philip is not there to see.”

“Thank you.”

There was still so much both of them had to say to each other that words could never express. Caleb could never express his gratitude to Mr. Fuller for everything he had done. There were no words to repay the guidance, trust, and understanding that Mr. Fuller had given Caleb throughout the years. Nor were there words that could express the depths of despair felt by a man looking into the eyes of the boy he had raised, knowing that there was nothing else he could do to save him. 

“Goodbye, son.”

“Goodbye. And thank you, for everything.”

With that, Mr. Fuller left. After a long time he returned with the other four men who more or less governed the settlement. Zachariah Archer, George Tilley, Eli Carver, and John Percy. 

“William says you wish to forgo your right to a trial?” Mr. Carver said. 

“Yes.” 

“He knows he is guilty.” Mr. Archer said, “I must say, Wittebane, I do commend you for choosing to face your actions as a man rather than put everyone through the spectacle of a trial.”

“Is there nothing you wish to say in your defense?” Asked Mr. Carver.

Caleb shook his head, “I was not bewitched. I truly cared for Evelyn and do not believe her to be evil. I believe we have a misunderstanding of witchcraft and that the witches are innocent.”

“Blasphemy!” Mr. Tilley hissed.

“Caleb, think of what it is you are saying.” Advised Mr. Carver. “If you were bewitched we can hardly hold it against you. We could not allow you to remain in this settlement, but you could leave with your life. If you claim such heresy, we cannot allow you to live.” 

“I understand.” Caleb said, somehow he managed to keep his voice steady. “I did not expect you to believe me. And I will accept my fate with dignity. I only request that I am allowed to say goodbye to my little brother, and that he is not punished for my actions.”

“Surely you understand we cannot trust you alone with him while you are claiming such blasphemy.” Mr. Archer said. 

“But you cannot deny brother's their farewells.” Mr. Percy argued. “Not when they are each other's only kin.”

“Very well, fetch Philip, but they may only speak under supervision.” Mr. Archer said. 

Mr. Percy left to get Philip. 

“Have you made your peace with the Lord?” Mr. Carver asked, his eyes full of sympathy. He was a kind man, Elizabeth's companion came from somewhere.

“Mr. Fuller gave me last rites.” Caleb said. 

Mr. Carver nodded, “I shall pray for your soul.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Percy returned with Philip, who ran straight to his brother. 

“Caleb! I don't understand! What's going on? Why do you refuse to stand trial?”

“Listen to me, Pip, we don't have much time. I need you to be strong for me, okay? You're going to have to take care of yourself now, but you can do it. You are smart, and Mr. Fuller will help you, lean on him if you need to.”

Philip shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “No! The witch is dead, tis okay now! The bewitchment is broken! They can't execute you! They can't!”

“Tis okay, Philip.”

“NO!”

“Philip, please.”

“Tis all my fault.”

“No. I do not blame you for this. I love you, I have always loved you. You're going to be okay.”

Philip squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“I need you to promise you won't watch. I don't want you to see. Stay here with Mr. Fuller.”

“Caleb…”

“Promise me, Pip.”

“Okay…I promise.”

“One more thing.” Caleb leaned close enough to whisper into Philip’s ear. “Promise to stop witch-hunting.”

“I…I promise.”

“You'll be okay.” 

“Time to go.” Mr. Archer said.

“No,” Philip cried, grabbing Caleb's sleeves, “No, no…”

“Tis okay, Pip. I love you. Goodbye.”

Mr. Fuller silently came up behind Philip to hold him back as Mr. Archer and Mr. Tilley roughly pulled Caleb to his feet. Caleb made eye contact with each of them one last time. Philip’s eyes were swimming with tears. Mr. Fuller gave a solemn nod. It was the last bit of strength he could offer. 

Mr. Archer pushed him hard and he stumbled forward. Outside the church a crowd had gathered. Henry Jones and Elizabeth Carver amongst them.

“Father!” Elizabeth cried as soon as Mr. Carver walked out, she ran to him and clung to his arm. “Father, please reconsider!”

“Tis the law of the Lord, Lizzie. He confessed. Tis out of my hands.”

“Tis okay, Lizzie.” Caleb told her. “Go back to Henry.”

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed. “At least give him a barrel to stand on.” She begged her father. “Please.”

“Very well.” Mr. Carver said. 

“Thank you.” Caleb said, “and thank you for being my friend.” 

Elizabeth threw her arms around him.

“Eli, you would do well to teach your daughter restraint.” Mr. Archer said.

“And you would do well to show some compassion!” Mr. Carver snapped back. “Come now, Lizzie.” 

Mr. Carver pulled Elizabeth back, Henry came forward to comfort her. 

Mr. Archer continued forward, pushing Caleb along. Tears sparkled in Elizabeth's eyes until she turned and buried her face in Henry's chest.

Others came out to witness Caleb’s final walk. People whispered, but Caleb kept walking with his head high until they reached the palisade gate, that was when the hanging tree came into sight. His knees failed him at the sight of Evelyn's body dangling limply from the branches. 

Mr. Archer and Mr. Tilley caught him under his armpits to stop him from hitting the ground. 

“You'll join her in Hell soon enough.” Mr. Tilley growled.

Caleb closed his eyes and looked away, she was dead. She was really dead. Tears rolled down his face. I'm sorry, Evelyn. I'm so, so sorry. 

Mr. Carver called for a barrel and helped Caleb step onto it. He was far more gentle than Mr. Archer or Mr. Tilley. He was a good man.

“I pray your neck snaps quickly.” He said quietly as he slipped the noose around Caleb's throat. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

Caleb wanted to thank him for his tiny kindnesses, but he didn't think he could speak. His heart was racing in his chest, desperate to get as many beats out as it could before it stopped forever. At least the laudanum had been given a chance to work, causing the world to blur and sway a bit, but dulling the pain of Caleb's broken ribs. 

Mr. Archer addressed the crowd.

“Caleb Wittebane stands before you, having confessed to consorting with witches. We now condemn him to face God's divine judgment.”

The next moment the barrel was kicked out from underneath Caleb’s feet. 

William Fuller waited in the church as once again one of his children was taken from him. In spite of what some people said, he had never seen Caleb and Philip as replacements for his own children. The loss of his brave David, sweet little Felicity, and their mother would forever be a hole in his heart that nothing could ever heal. But when he found Caleb and Philip, they had started building around the hole. He had needed them as much as they needed him. They had given him a reason to carry on living even after he felt like his heart had died. 

Caleb had grown into exactly the type of man William had hoped he would be: curious, open-minded, noble…those traits that had drawn William to him as a child, the traits that made him who he was, those were the traits that led him to his death. 

Young Elizabeth Carver was praying at the pulpit, with Caleb’s buddy Henry Jones beside her. Philip was still clinging to William like a child might cling to their mother. 

Finally, Eli Carver returned. Everyone looked up, his daughter stood as if hoping her father had come to deliver news of a miracle.

“It is done.” He said simply. A new hole ripped wide open in William's heart. Elizabeth crumbled, Henry caught her and lowered her gently to the floor. Eli crossed the room to stand before William.

“William…I…” his eyes were full of sympathy.

“Tis not your fault, Caleb had made his decision, not even I could talk him out of it.”

Eli nodded, “His neck snapped. I thought you should know that. Twas over quickly.”

Philip let out a sob. William put a hand on his head to comfort him. He didn't suffer, that was a small mercy. 

“Thank you.”

“I presume that I need not remind you that giving a Christian burial to one accused of witchcraft goes against the King's laws.”

“I am aware.”

“I also presume that you have every intention of burying that boy.”

“You presume correctly. Are you going to arrest me?”

“No,” said Eli, “I will aid you.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

William exited his bedroom to see Philip dressed and ready to go in the main room. The younger boy had come home with William, unable to face the idea of returning to the empty Wittebane house. 

“You're not coming with.” William told him.

“You can’t stop me.”

“Caleb asked me to keep you safe. I'm not going to immediately go against that promise by bringing you out to break the law.”

“He's my brother.”

“I know.”

“I'm never going to see him again.”

“I know. But your last memory of him should not be seeing him like that.”

“I've seen plenty of hangings, nothing will be worse than what I am already imagining.”

William sighed. With both himself and Eli complicit in this crime, the likelihood of any serious consequences was low. How could he deny Philip the chance to see his brother laid to rest?

“Carry the blankets and for the love of God, keep quiet.”

Philip nodded and obeyed, William shouldered a shovel and led the way through the darkened settlement. 

Eli and Henry were both waiting at the gates to the settlement.

“Let us make haste.” Eli said. 

They approached the tree with the two bodies dangling in the dark. 

“Cut him down, Henry.” William ordered. He and Eli got into position to guide the body to the ground. It looked like Eli had been telling the truth. While Caleb’s neck lobbed at an unnatural angle, his face was absent of the telltale bloating that came with strangulation. Philip could hardly contain himself. He held his brother's corpse to his chest and sobbed. 

“You must pull yourself together.” Eli said.

“Give him a moment to grieve while we cut her down.” 

“Surely you aren't serious!” Eli said. “Tis one thing to bury Caleb, but the witch? Have you gone mad?”

“She is but a girl,” William replied, “By looks younger than your own daughter.”

“She is the one who led Caleb to his fate.” 

“As he led her. Believe what you will, but Caleb loved her, enough that he would rather die than sully her name. I will not leave her here to rot.”

Eli sighed, “Cut her down, Henry.”

Carefully, William guided the girl's body down. She was not as lucky as Caleb. It was clear from the red spots on her skin and her swollen lips that she had not died quickly.

He thought about all the stories Caleb had told about her. She liked exploring and watching animals. She had a little sister and an older brother. She loved to tell riddles and snorted when she laughed. She had hopes and dreams for the future. She was just a kid. They were both just kids. 

“I'm sorry I couldn't have gotten to know you.” William whispered. “I hope you find peace.”

Carefully, William shrouded her in one of the blankets while Henry and Eli wrapped Caleb in the other. 

“There is a clearing by the river where the ground is soft.” Henry said, “Tis out of the way enough that I don't think anyone would disturb it or notice fresh turned soil.”

“Lead the way, then.” 

William lifted Evelyn’s body into his arms, Eli carried Caleb's. Philip trailed along with the shoves, shaking hard. 

Henry had been right, the earth in the spot he suggested was soft and it did not take long to dig an adequate grave. William lay the two bodies side by side. Eli helped him climb out. 

“Heavenly Father,” William prayed. “Look down in mercy upon these two children whom we offer now to thy care. Forgive them their trespasses and cleanse them with thy holy light. Grant them everlasting life in your kingdom. Let them know no more pain or sorrow. For you are the most holy. In your name, Amen.”

[hockeyboysimagines]

A very Merry NHL Christmas

Warnings: Mild cursing, some sexual humor, talks of Christmas, Jesus and the holidays.

This was originally planned for last Christmas but ya girl had writers block. So enjoy this now. Let me know what you think!

Note: this is a small group of blurbs about all the couples currently in process on my Masterlist. This won’t include anyone who’s not currently being written about. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and happy holidays to the rest🤍

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, the kids were asleep, and Matthew and Brady were trying to get Keith into a Santa costume without laughing too loud.

Chantal had one hand over her mouth as she watched them struggle with the zipper before finally closing the suit, and adjusting Keith’s beard. Brady was red faced, and coughing to cover his laughter as Keith whipped around and glared at him, while Matthew had one hand braced on his knee, the other holding his side laughing openly.

“I’m never doing this again.” He grumbled as he stepped into the boots and straightened up looking for the sack of presents. The kids had set up a hidden camera earlier in hopes of catching a picture of Santa putting presents under the tree. Taryn was outside picking up the reindeer food they had left in the front yard and making hoof marks on the front walkway, the milk and cookies had been disposed of and Emma, who would be spending her first Christmas with them since they got married, was sprinkling sand by the front door because south Florida Santa had no snow to work with. Noticeably pregnant Hallie rubbed her hands together and smiled excitedly. Keith placed the presents under the tree, keeping his back to the camera.

“They’re going to love this.” Chantal said giving her hand a squeeze.

Matthew was smiling at her from the doorway as he watched his dad carefully set out gifts and made his way over. He glanced down at her baby bump and rested a hand on it.

“Merry Christmas in there.” He said softly rubbing it “Can’t wait to celebrate with you next year. And by that time someone else will be taking up your space.”

“Uh I don’t think so.” Hallie said shaking her head “This mama is done….for a little while.”

“How many fucking-freaking kids are you guys gonna have Jesus.” Brady said around a mouth full of Christmas cookie. They were all looking at them mildly interested and Hallie wasn’t really sure how to answer.

Matthew shrugged “I guess until I don’t get it done on the first try.”

Her face burned in embarrassment, and she couldn’t believe she had let him answer, but the others were laughing. He threw an arm around her shoulders “But who am I kidding, that won’t happen. I’m 3 for 3. A triple champ.”

“Yeah kind of like an ugly, skinny, Conor McGregor.” Brady said elbowing him.

That started a scuffle and Hallie crossed her arms shaking her head, eyes moving over their house. Over the pictures on the walls they’d amassed over their years together. The ones that started with just them, and then their family, and then their children. Over the decorations, and lights, and ornaments the kids made for them at school that hung on the tree. Her life was so full, so wonderful.

Taryn bumped her shoulder and smiled, eyes moving around before coming back to meet hers “So? Is it everything you hoped for?” She looped an arm around her waist.

She nodded, reaching an arm around her “It’s more than I hoped for.” And then she laughed when Matthew and Brady’s scuffle dissolved and he came over and grinned at her.

“If you don’t stop fighting with Brady you’ll end up on the naughty list, and you won’t get any presents.” She said, reaching forward to wrap her arms around him, as much as possible, with the baby bump in between them.

“The naughty list is more fun anyways. It’s how I became 3 for 3.”

*************

Music played softly in the background of Pierre’s apartment as snow fell outside. It was warm and cozy, the house smelled of cinnamon, and Mila and Pierre were snuggled on the sofa watching the snow fall.

“It’s so pretty.” Mila said off handedly, eyes following the flakes as they blanketed the ground below them, creating a fluffy white blanket on the ground.

“Not as pretty as you.”

She rolled her eyes and tilted her head up to look at him “Your so cheesy.”

“It’s all part of my appeal babe…which speaking of. I have something for you.” He nudged her so he could stand and disappeared around the corner and came back with a box.

“Here.” Pierre said handing it to her. It was long and rectangular shaped and she took it before looking at him.

“Didn’t I tell-“

“Oh shutup.” He said waving her off “Stop trying to police my spending habits on Christmas.”

She giggled and rolled her eyes “Okay Jesus.”

He held a hand up to his chest “Did you just take the lords name in vain…on his birthday?”

“Okay now you shutup.”

“Open it.” He said nudging his chin impatiently at her.

She pulled off the paper, which was no easy feet as it was wrapped like a car ran over it, and pulled out a long blue velvet box. Inside of it was a shining, glittery diamond bracelet.

“Pierre!” She said mouth falling open “This is-“

“Nope!” He held up a hand “It’s not too much. You are worth every single dollar I spent on that, which is none of your business before you ask.”

Mila bit her lip. It was gorgeous, platinum with what looked like a hundred tiny diamonds, held together by a small clasp with her initials on it.

“Well?” He was smiling widely “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it.” she held it out to him so he could put it on. She turned her wrist so the light caught the diamonds and smiled a little before looking at him.

“Merry Christmas Mila.”

*************

“Wake up! It’s Christmas Eve!”

Vince felt a weight bounce across his bed, rip the covers off of him, and a body wriggle under the blankets, kicking him out of his warm spot.

Josie had come barreling in the room, smiling so wide it could light up a city’s worth of Christmas lights.

“Noooooo.” He groaned eyes closing again. He reached down and pulled the blankets up over his head, and then pulled her closer, leaning down to kiss her deeply but she pushed away from him and tapped him on the lips.

“Uh uh. Santa says no funny business on Christmas Eve until we do something fun!”

“Well Santa can-“

“Ah! None of that or you won’t get any presents!”

She jumped out of bed and pulled the covers off of him, pointing at a neatly folded pile of clothing, “Get dressed. We’re going somewhere.”

He sighed and rolled over with a groan, but when he saw the look on her face he sat up. She looked so excited, hands clasped under her chin as she stood in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Okay, okay I’m awake.”

She squeaked excitedly and bounced from the room, leaving him to get dressed and brush his teeth. She was bundled by the front door as he came around the corner.

“So where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

10 minutes later, he was chuckling as they stood in front of an outdoor ice rink, and he knelt down to tie her skates. He finally got them tied, even though her legs were shaking in excitement and looked up at her.

“Do you even know how to skate?” He asked as he adjusted her leg warmer over the top of her skate and then did the same on the other one.

“Nope!” She said brightly, tapping him on the nose and standing, hands resting on her hips “That’s why you’re going to teach me.”

He helped her out on to the ice and stood facing her, gripping both of her hands in his. He skated backwards pulling her along. It was slow going and he was laughing as she went split legged a few times.

“Hang on. I have a better idea.” He skated around her and pressed himself against her back, arms coming to rest around her waist.

“Hang on.” He said lowly in her ear.

Josie smiled with excitement as he started moving, allowing her to just let her skates sit on the ice without having to do anything else. She closed her eyes and breathed in, the winter air stinging her skin.

“Having a good time?” he asked from behind her.

“Always when I’m with you. Are you having a good time?”

“Of course.” He slowed down a little and walked over her shoulder to kiss her cold cheek “Even though I’m doing all the work. Santa had better reward me with a great gift.”

Josie giggled to herself thankful for Christmas with Vince.

And thankful that he didn’t know, she really did know how to ice skate.

************

“Smile!”

Mat snapped the picture of Leighton and Lucy in front of the tree and smiled.

“Beautiful.”

His first Christmas with his girls had been perfect. The entire month of December had been like something from a dream. Lucy had been to every possible Christmas event they could find on Long Island, often accompanied by her godparents, who were across town celebrating their first Christmas together. Snow angels, Christmas decorating, and even the first time she’d been in an ice rink had all happened in the part month and Mat’s heart felt so full it might burst.

“Let me see.” She squinted at the picture and smiled down at Lucy, who was looking more and more like her as she got older.

“Who’s that beautiful girl?”

He smiled down at them and stood up, setting his phone on the couch and picked up a box and went to hand it to Leighton.

“From Santa. I guess I’m not the only one who thinks you’re beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes and blushed, but pulled out a box and handed it to him. “Here open this first. I think you’re gonna love it.”

He sat on the sofa and pulled at the paper. It was small, enough to fit in his hand. The box was flat, with a cardboard lid and when he pulled it off he saw a blank sheet of paper that said “Pick me up.”

He glanced at her, to find her smiling brightly and she nodded “Go ahead.”

He gripped the paper and pulled, and from it another long sheet of paper fell like an accordion. He pulled it up to look at it and saw that it was t a sheet of paper.

It was a sonogram.

He whipped up his head to find that Leighton was now crying, cheeks red.

“Are you-Oh my god.” He reached forward to hug her, chin resting on her head.

“Are you happy?”

“More happy than I’ve ever been.”

She closed her eyes and breathed him in as he spoke again “This is the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten, and I love you.”

************

“Is this dress to short?” Ginny asked turning in front of the mirror. Beau leaned out of the bathroom and grinned in a way that was not appropriate on any level, but especially not on Christmas.

“Yes. You should definitely wear it. Can’t wait to take it off later.” He leaned back in the bathroom.

She smiled and looked at her closet for shoes. The Islanders Christmas party was in a half and hour and they were running a little behind.

She’d been on time until he came into the bathroom and cracked a joke about opening a present, which turned out to be his jeans and the rest of it was a Christmas story for another time. But not the kind you read before bed.

He walked out of the bathroom looking better than he needed to in a pair of grey pants and a black button up. Ginny paused while she slipped a shoe on, eyes moving from his face to his feet and then back up. He winked and smiled at her.

“Not bad huh? But you’ve got me beat. WOW.” He said as he took in her red dress, and heels. It had been a little over six months and she continued to surprise him by outdoing herself. This was the first big holiday they were spending together and tomorrow she’d be meeting his parents.

He stood staring at her “You look beautiful.”

She smiled and blushed a little. Though she was used to a slew of compliments from him, and she knew he was always being genuine when he said them. But it still made her blush.

“Thank you.” She said softly, slipping into her shoes and turning back to the mirror.

“Are Mat and Leighton coming?”

She nodded and sat at her vanity to find earrings “Yes. She said she has something for me.”

“Like a gift?”

Ginny shrugged “I’m not sure. She just said it was something I would love.” She smiled a little as she poked an earring in her ear.

“You know what I love? That dress. Gosh.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her hair over her shoulder to put in her other earring “Why are you being so nice to me? Keep being too good and I won’t let you unwrap my present later on.”

His mouth fell open “I think it’s supposed to be the other way around. Only people on the nice list get to unwrap presents.”

Ginny smiled at him over her shoulder “I much prefer my present openers to be on the naughty side.”

Beau leaned on the doorway, smile as wide as it could possibly get “Best Christmas ever.”

***********

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m not!” Nash giggled from the ground.

Travis was up on a ladder hanging lights from the archway inside the living room of their new house. She’d insisted for weeks that she didn’t want any there, until she announced she was throwing a Christmas party, and then decided the house wasn’t festive enough, which meant she’d shoved a bunch of lights into his hands and told him to hang them.

“Oh come on!” He yelled as he turned the bulb on one of the strings and the rest went out. He’d been fighting with them for 10 minutes “One goes out, they all stay on. One goes on they all go out!”

“Well at least we know that if hockey doesn’t work out, you won’t have a career as an electrician.” She said from the bottom of the ladder with a shrug.

He glanced over his shoulder “Ha Ha. I’m glad you’re having fun down there.”

“Of course I am. The view is fantastic.” She said with a wink.

Travis chuckled and went back to hanging lights, finally getting them all lit “Finally.” He turned to find her smiling at the bottom of the ladder, hands on her waist “How does that look?”

She nodded and pursed her lips “Perfect. Thank you.”

He shrugged “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I could do. And it makes you happy so it’s a win in my book.”

He made his way down the ladder and pulled her into his arms “Besides. A good deed on Christmas always gets rewarded and I-“

But he was cut short when there was an electrical pop and every light in the house went dark.

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing. You can’t even see me.”

He grinned “I don’t need to.”

She sighed and he felt her arms slide around his waist “We could just stay here…in the dark I guess.”

“But then how would Santa find our house?” As he said that the lights all lit up at once just in time for him to see her smiled widely at him.

“Who cares? Nothing he could bring me would ever be a better gift that the one I have right here.”

***********

“Merry Christmas!” Sawyer yelled as she pulled open the door to find Nolan’s parents on the other side. She pulled them inside and out of the cold Winnipeg winter and into their cozy house that was full of friends and family.

Nolan was parked on a barstool at the counter watching Sawyer. She was having the absolute time of her life and just looking at her made him want to smile.

It had been a hard year. A hard few years actually but this one in particular had been rough. They’d had so much hope for Vegas and it had only been more of the same, and no one was sure that he’d ever be able to play hockey again. It was sad and scary and she held his hand every minute, but he’d come to terms with it now.

But he didn’t have time to think about it because Sawyer herself came bounding over, hanging mistletoe over his head and kissing him on the cheek with a loud “smack”

“Come on you Grinch! At least smile a little.”

He smiled and she made a face “I mean a real one. Santa is watching.” She pointed upwards.

“I thought that was Jesus who lived up there.”

“Yeah well then he’s watching too. So you won’t get any presents and you might get struck by lightning and that will ruin the whole holiday.” She grinned “And I’ll have to take all these decorations down by myself.”

He chuckled and reached forward, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She said against his chest, quietly enough that only he could hear.

“For?”

“This.” She pulled back and gestured around “I know this isn’t your thing, but it means a lot to me that you let me throw this party.”

“It’s not that bad. I’d do anything to make you happy, you know that. My Christmas gift to you.”

She looked up at him and smiled the most beautiful smile “Your the gift that keeps on giving Nolan Patrick, and no gift could ever be better than spending my life with you.”

Nolan rested his chin on her head “Merry Christmas Sawyer.”

“Merry Christmas Nols.”

************

“Cash will you sit still!” Tyler grumbled as he tried for the third time to stick reindeer antlers on his head. Marshall, Molly and even Gerry were all sitting obediently, but Cash had shaken them off twice. Even though he was as uncooperative as possible, Ava was having so much fun. There was a magic in the air that only lasted one month out of the year that you couldn’t find any other time. The feeling of Christmas was unlike any other and it was the first one she was spending with Tyler, and the first one she could remember being excited for.

She was knelt down, phone in one hand, tennis ball in the other which had the attention of the other three dogs, waiting for Tyler to quit wrestling with their most unruly child.

“Freakin dog.” He said with a huff as he finally got them fastened and made him sit.

“Just like his dad.” She said smiling at him “Okay ready, hey guys!” She waved the ball so they all looked and quickly snapped several pictures before they all started moving with excitement.

“Got it!” she said tossing the ball.

All four took off running after it, skidding through the house and falling over each other like Bambi on ice, and Ava and Tyler both yelled “No!” as Gerry went flying right into the tree.

It swayed for a second before it fell in slow motion as Tyler raced forward to catch it, which he did, but not before it rained ornaments that hit the floor and rolled in all directions.

Ava covered her mouth the keep from laughing and hurried forward as Tyler tipped the tree back up on to its stand, and made a loud noise of annoyance.

“What’s so funny?” He asked when he saw her laughing.

“What’s funny is now you have to help me redecorate it. Since you conveniently seemed to be missing last time.”

“I was at practice.” He said eyeing her with a small smile.

“Sure. That’s why Jamie called looking for you.”

“That douche. Busted I guess. Okay I wasn’t at practice I was out-“ he reached into his pocket and pulled out a box “Buying this.”

She smiled and glanced up as she took it “That’s funny cuz I wasn’t here waiting for you, I was out picking up this.” She pulled a bigger rectangular box from under the sofa.

As they opened their respective gifts she heard Tyler make a noise like a gasp and an exclamation and she smiled. She’d had blown up and framed the first picture they’d ever taken together, them and all four of the dogs. It had been the first time Ava had let anyone take a photo of her in years, and Tyler was so proud of her for it. But she’d kept it hidden, telling him it didn’t take for months. This was the first time he’d seen it, and his eyes softened as he looked at it and then at her.

“I love this. Thank you it’s amazing. We gotta hang this.” He glanced around and picked a spot right by the front door “There. So people see it right when they get here.”

He turned as she pulled her own gift out, a silver locket with a tiny photo of the dogs on one side, and them on the other, and a date a time inscribed on the back.

“This is beautiful, but what’s this?” She asked pointing at the date and time that was engraved at the bottom.

“The day and time I saw you for the first time.”

“Oh my gosh.” She was blushing but he continued “That day and time changed my life. The only thing that could would have made it better was if you wanted to join the mile high club or something.”

She laughed and swatted his arm “Tyler!” She turned holding up her hair so he could put it on and then smiled “Thank you for this and for making every other day better than the one before.” She placed a hand on his heart.

“Thank you.” He said placing his hand over hers “For letting me.”

He squeezed her hand and then pulled her into a hug. He was warm, and she could feel his heart beating through his chest. Tyler smiled and squeezed her tighter. “Best Christmas ever. Don’t you think?” He asked glancing down. She nodded with a small smile.

“Better than all your others?”

“Everything with you in my life is better, Christmas included.” She closed her eyes and squeezed him tightly.

There really was something magical about Christmas.

************

“Ho Ho Ho!” Joel rumbled as he made his way inside of the Connolly’s house. He and Libby had gone home for Christmas and though they wouldn’t be able to stay long, there was no way they were missing her parent’s Christmas party.

“AH!” Heather screamed rushing forward to pull them both into a hug, as she had also voyaged home just for the holidays “Happy kissaversary lovebirds.”

Th house was packed with guests and family and friends, and Libby couldn’t stop smiling. It felt so good to be here in her parents house, on Christmas Eve, with Joel where their story had started. She’d kissed him for the first time right upstairs in her room, and at that moment their lives together began.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked from beside her, arm around her shoulders.

“Oh just about that Christmas Eve when I kissed you upstairs.”

“Uhm no.” He scoffed “It was me who kissed you actually.”

“Im thinking about-“ they turned to find Heather, standing with her sweater half open to conceal a bottle of wine under it. Discreetly they all made their way up to Libby’s room and out on to the roof, bundled in jackets as they each took sips from the bottle.

“Last time we did this we were teenagers.” Joel said from his spot next to Libby.

“The last time your mom had a party was when I was in Florida and you guys were in there making out, thinking we all had no idea.”

“Well you might, but my parents didn’t.”

Heather rolled her eyes “Yes they did Libby. They just didn’t think Joel had it in him so they didn’t care.”

Joel gave her a dirty look and an eye roll, and stared off into space for a second before he asked them “Do you guys ever think about what things would be like if you hadn’t moved here in 8th grade?”

“I don’t like to.” Heather said rubbing her arms “You moving here was the best thing that could have happened to us.” She said smiling at Libby “Because I gained a best friend and Joel finally found someone who would go out with him.”

Libby started laughing, breath turning into fog and Joel’s mouth fell open “On Christmas? Really Heather? Aren’t you already pretty low on the naughty list?”

“I live on the naughty list. Alright I’m not 15 anymore. It’s too cold for this, you guys coming?” She said as she climbed back in.

“In a minute.” She disappeared out Libby’s bedroom door leaving her with Joel on the roof. She reached forward grabbing his hand to hold it in her mittened one.

“If I hadn’t moved here in 8th grade, we still would have found each other some way.”

“You think?”

She nodded and looked out across town, at the black sky, white snow and twinkling stars above their heads “I do. Just would have needed some magic. Some Christmas magic.” She pointed at a star that streaked across the sky and disappeared before she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Can you think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve?” He asked.

She shook her head “No. I want to spend every Christmas Eve here, and every other day of the year with you until we’re old and grey. Promise me that?” She looked up at him, eyes wide under her glasses.

“Promise. Merry Christmas Libby.”

“Merry Christmas Joel.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi cas, turnip anon here, this might be a long one

Firstly, I think I’m going to start using she/they pronouns, mainly online, I don’t really feel like putting them to use in person, not yet. And I do think I am a demigirl. And I like that label, I think it works well for me

So, that’s that update. But I’m actually more here to vent, if you don’t mind

About 2 years ago I stopped going to school. I was severely depressed, and the effort of getting into school was causing panic attacks upon panic attacks, it was awful. This pretty much happened for a year, where I would be going into school about once every 2 weeks, and when I did go in, I didn’t go to any lessons. I was put on a school avoidance plan, thingy idk what it was tbh. But I had goals to go in 3 times a week for an hour. It didn’t work, nothing worked, so May 2023, I snapped one morning and I told my mum that I couldn’t do it anymore, and she pulled me out of school to start being homeschooled.

It was a big change, and I struggled with it. I always struggled taking work home, like with homework. To me, school was where you learn, and home was where you didn’t. So having my home also being my place of education was difficult. I didn’t end up doing much. I enrolled in this learning centre in my town, and I took a maths course so I was doing something, it just wasn’t much. I hated it there, there was no communication between the teachers and you were placed in front of a computer and told to work for 3 hours straight. Addition to that, the man in charge of the maths course made me very uncomfortable. He often singled me out and spoke to me a lot more than the other people there. I did not enjoy being there. Twas bad

A couple months ago I finished the maths course there, and I took the final test and got a score of i dont even know what, I don’t understand the grading system.

So, this was kinda background information, like I said, this might be a long one

During the 2 years of struggling with school and then being homeschooled, I have been very isolated. I live in a small town away from all of my friends, my older sister is at university, and the town I live in is not the kind of town you meet people in my age range. So for about 2 years, I have been very alone.

I never really liked interacting with people, I still don’t, but I miss having people around me. I miss my sister, she lives just under 2 hours away so I don’t see her too often. I visit her, and sometimes I stay with her and her friends (who are amazing), and those times when I’m there are my favourite because I’m with people I like. Her friends really are amazing, one of her friends, ‘insert friends name’, is autistic like me so when we’re together we just tism about our special interests and hyperfixations. It’s great.

But I miss my 2 friends at school, we hardly talk anymore, and when we do, conversation doesn’t seem to flow easily because we haven’t seen eachother in ages. I hardly know them anymore. I’ve been lying to myself, saying that it’s fine, that I’m fine, but I snapped today. Finally, it was long overdue. But today was prom. I didn’t know, I went on Instagram and saw posts from other people that were in my year group all dressed up saying ‘prom 2024!’ And then I saw one of my friends post and she looked incredible, like really amazing. But I wasn’t there, and I didn’t know, and I missed out. And I have missed out so much and I’m never going to have any of this opportunity again and I feel like I’ve wasted 2 years of my life alone in my bedroom doing absolutely fuck all

I’ve been crying nearly all day, I’ve never been happier to be home alone.

I am so lonely. I don’t feel like I have any friends anymore. My childhood best friend lives 3 hours away, we never message, and we are very different people. We have nothing in common, and I know I shouldn’t but I’m starting to hold it against her. When I do visit her she spends so much of our time together on her phone messaging her other friends or her boyfriend, and it’s so difficult to be around her.

I have nobody to talk to. Nobody talks to me. And I am miserable

I’m going to this college in September, but it is tiny. And I mean, three people in a class. That kind of tiny. I was going to go to this other place but that’s a whole other story and I feel like if I get into that, this will go on for pages.

But, the other place was pretty big. There were a lot of people going there, and then I didn’t get in, and I was really upset. I was looking forward to being in a big environment with lots of people around me. I would of been able to hide away but not be alone. There would of been more opportunities. But I’m not going there, I’m going to some other place. And, okay, it is a nice place, and it seems like, on an educational level, it will be good for me. I know this. But how am I supposed to hide away when it’s one of those places where everyone knows everyone. I know I wanted human interaction, but not that much. My plan for the other place was to hide away and maybe make one friend. I WONT BE ABLE TO DO THAT THERE everything that I had planned for just went bye bye and flew out the window

I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore but I am not okay, I am struggling

I miss my friends, I missed the prom, I didn’t even know about the prom, I miss my sister, I’ve wasted my life, I have zero skills, I have no hobbies and I’m a pathetic waste of space. And nobody cares because nobody knows because nobody asks because nobody is here because I am so alone

And I really wish I wasn’t

Woah, woah, woah, take a deep breath!

Your last paragraph: None of it is true! Listen, I went through something similar in high school- panic attacks, missing a lot of school, feeling removed from my friends, all of that. I was even schooled online for a while.

Here's the thing- I know how you feel. There are certain things that I missed during the time I went to school online, and it made me upset. But the good news is, your life isn't over. You haven't wasted anything. You don't have zero skills and people DO care (I promise. I care).

Just because your high school experience was different doesn't mean you did it wrong. And just because it was different doesn't mean you ruined your life.

You will ALWAYS have more opportunities. Will they be exactly the same ones? Probably not. But they will be just as exciting, just as fulfilling, and just as wonderful.

So now, I think you have a chance to really work on this before college. Try to find a therapist and some coping mechanisms, that way when you get to college, you're ready to take advantage of every opportunity available! Because trust me, everyone outside of high school will tell you: it's not the highlight of your life, whether you go to prom or not. The best parts are still to come <3

If you ever need to talk, I'm here, okay!

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: A Very Christmas Special 🎄

Summary: Twas the night before Christmas and all through the basement. A wicked thing happened, over a Santa hat placement. Witty Girl's stockings were knee-high and red, as she fell to her knees to give Dr. Crane hea-*gunshot*

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even the louse who remained in a hunched position over his work desk as you emerge from the bathroom of the basement. 

Well, that simply wouldn't do.

Clearing your throat, the high-pitched jingle of the bells which line the very tip of your hat finally attract his attention as he glances over at your standing position.

The Mrs Claus outfit you had bought on impulse and saved for this moment is scandalous; the sheer red babygirl-styled teddy pushing your breasts up to an obscene level as the white fluff which decorates the edges of the red lace thong tickles your inner thighs with every slight movement.

He makes a noise low in his throat, his body moving quicker than you would have suspected him capable of as he slips free of his work stool and strides across the basement to stand before you.

"As foolish as whatever you are planning is, know that the colour red is very becoming on you." He mutters, the words suspiciously rough and muted as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

"Really?" You humour him with a wicked smirk. "You think so? Tell me more."

"I can't speak much for the childish costume, but the colour makes me want to see how closely I can match it on your skin through other means."

"It's not childish, it's Christmas."

"Same thing, different language."

"No love for the holidays, Dr. Crane?"

"I'm not much of a holiday person," he purrs, unable to prevent his hands from ghosting across the sheer fabric which covers your stomach, "and I never celebrate if I can help it. Just another distraction from the things that truly matter."

"If that's true then what the hell did I buy this for?"

Pulling out the object which you had carefully hidden behind your back, you don't miss the twitch in his jaw as he stares at the lurid red Santa hat.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh well." You sigh with exaggerated disappointment. "Then I guess I'll need to take this outfit off then. Which is such a shame because it feels wonderful as it clings to my skin. It's so soft and- oh well."

You turn back to the bathroom but find your exit paused by a thin hand as it locks around your wrist.

"You'll find it very tricky to take off when I have you fully wrapped up with some of that tinsel I can see poking our from your little bag on the couch. Is that what you want, Witty Girl? To be tied up and unwrapped like a salacious gift?"

"Maybe." You purr, unsurprised at how quickly he has seen through your game. "But only if you wear the hat."

"The hat."

"Mm-hmm."

Perhaps a result of all his blood rushing south as your hands run across the pronounced swell of your breasts, he does adopt a look of serious consideration as he follows the path of your fingers with his gaze. 

"And what will you give me, in return."

Splitting into a wide grin as his inherent selfishness shines through once again, you place the tips of your fingers on his chest and guide him carefully to the nearby couch, allowing him to drop to the fabric without a hint of grace. Your hands move up to wrap around his knees, spreading his legs with clear intent as you drop to the floor and balance your weight on your knees.

"A head for a head." You explain. "You wear the hat and you get my mouth. It can be my gift to you and I think it's a pretty fair exchange given the circumstances."

"And what a nasty mouth it is." He mumbles, reaching for the hat with about as much enthusiasm as you suspected he might.

In only takes a moment before the Santa hat is perching precariously atop his head, the deep russet colour peeking free of the white fluff which rings the base of it as a grim line of displeasure settles on his lips.

Biting back a smirk at the obvious grouchiness, you drop your head to his inner thigh as you glance up at him coquettishly.

"Play along, Mr Claus, and I might even sit on your knee and you can decide if I've been naughty or nice this year."

"Naughty." He replies without hesitation. "All of your actions have demonstrated a pervasive naughtiness which even my extensive corrections haven't put a dent into."

"Then play nice and you can have your reward." You scold him gently as your fingers reach for his zipper. "Just like I'll have mine."

His cock is hot and heavy in your hand, straining against your touch, and it brings a smirk to your lips as you realise just how much of an effect your little costume seems to be having. He could bitch all he liked about not having any love for the holidays but that didn't seem to hold him back from enjoying this.

Licking a sordid line from the base of his cock to the tip, you loosen you jaw and relax your throat as you quickly dip your head forward, swallowing his entire length in one fell swoop until your nose brushes the very edges of his pubic hair.

The urge to gag is strong but it's placated by the sound of utter surprise which breaks free of his chest, the noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan as his back arches off the couch.

As your warm throat envelops him, the muscles massaging his cock while you pull yourself free, he is unable to prevent his hands flipping from their casually splayed position to claw their way into the fabric beneath his fingers.

The sheer nastiness of being on your knees before him never failed to make a hot flush of shame heat you from within, the subservience itching that little part of you which delighted in making yourself available to him and his twisted whims.

By this point, you know what he likes and you wield that accumulated knowledge like a dagger as you both your head along his length, using your hands to massage the base of his cock in a wicked pulse.

"And what about you, Dr Crane? Have you been naughty or nice this year?"

You ask the question a little hoarsely as you pull free of him, your enthusiasm making your throat feel tight even as you continue to pepper the tip of his cock with small kitten licks, the taste of his pre-cum as familiar as ever.

"I think we both know the consensus on that answer, witty girl. You're the special case who has somehow conflated my misbehaviour towards you as being something nice to enjoy."

A surprisingly teasing response and you can feel his good mood in the words and the way in which he is indulging your own whims.

"In fact-" 

Continuing, he cuts himself off as he moves forward suddenly, capturing you in an unexpected grip. 

His hands are are strong as ever as they wrap around your waist and pull you to your feet before snatching you down onto his lap; your knees spread on either side of his legs as the length of his cock presses teasingly at your sheer thong.

"I think I will alter my half of the bargain." He grunts. "Instead of that velvety mouth, I would much prefer having you wrapped around my cock so I can listen to the noises those beautiful lips make as you work for your reward."

Pulling a short string of tinsel from your abandoned bag, his torso pushes up against yours as he swiftly secures your wrists behind your back with a practised ease.

"Nowhere to escape to now, little mouse."

You tilt your head in faux-confusion.

"Who's trying to escape?"

"Not yet, maybe, but we'll see. For an alleged gift, you are lacking some decoration. Lets see-"

His hand once again dives into your bag as his long fingers secure around something and pull it free.

"Ah, perfect."

Eyeing up the familiar nipple clamps, you moan and push your chest out towards him in clear encouragement. He doesn't need to be told twice as his strong hands slips within the structured cups of your teddy to pull your breasts free, allowing them to fit comfortably in his palms for a quick, harsh grope before release.

He moves quickly, plucking at your nipple until it's peaked and reddened enough to snap the clamp on; the sharp shock of the pain taking your breath away as you arch your back and gasp. He repeats the feat quickly and you revel in the delightful ache of your chest as he flicks the left clamp with his finger.

"Hmm, you want this to be festive? Yes?"

"Sure. Why not."

He catches the end of your hat between his fingers, carefully ripping off two of the small bells which decorated the edge as he tears through the cheap fabric. Using the sharp edge of the pin which held the bells in place, he forces it through the thinnest part of the rubber edge of the clamp before doing the same to the other.

Impressed with his commitment to the bit, you reward him with a slight bounce of your tits as the tiniest movement caused the bells to jingle in a thoroughly pleasant way.

Your face must have shown your delight as the very corners of his lips tugged for only a moment before his hands returned to your chest; groping and teasing the skin there as the bells tinkle away.

"Just one more addition."

"You're enjoying this." You accuse as he dives into the bag once more.

"Your wicked debauchery has the unfortunate effect of being somewhat contagious. Particularly when the benefits are mine and mine alone." He pauses. "Still, do not be foolish enough to expect another gift from me for the holidays."

You barely refrain from rolling your eyes at him, knowing that the clear disrespect would irritate him.

Pulling another thick length of tinsel free, this one finds its home around your neck as you swallow around it with a sudden flush of anxiety. It's not the most comfortable restraint, ticklish and rough against your exposed skin, and you are forced to tilt your head back as he ties the ends around the tinsel which is restraining your hands.

Breathing heavily as you wriggle against him, the position is an interesting one. The tautness of the tinsel around your neck puts you in an interesting predicament as leaning your head forward chokes you further and forces your hands up your spine to prevent the material from tightening too much. Leaning your head back lessens the pressure but also forces your chest to push out in what you can only imagine is a delightful view for him.

The fabric of your thong is damp as you press down on his cock in open invitation, the insistent moving garnering a quirk of his brow as his right hand slips between you. His fingers are warm as they rub along your slit, testing the wetness there with an obvious rumble of approval as he lines himself up against you; his cockhead bumping against your sex.

"Let's see how nice you can be, witty girl."

Hilting himself within you with in one messy thrust, the sudden stretch draws a sharp yelp from your lips. Pained pleasure has you biting your lower lip as you roll your hips against him, your fingers pressing against each other as they remain pinned to your lower back.

Your rhythm is jerky, mostly guided by his hands as they hold your hips steady and bounce you stop him; every thrust making the bells on your chest ring out with a frantic pace as you gasp your pleasures.

The tinsel does a marvellous job of keeping your focus as you tilt your head back as far as possible to prevent the mild choking. 

A choice which he seems to appreciate as his rough lips make themselves known on the exposed length of your neck; sucking a livid mark atop the area he tended to use as an injection site as you whine and clamp down around him.

As far as your fucking goes, it's a mess. Finesse is out the window as you both press against each other like animals and allow your actions to be guided by pure instinct and pleasure. His hands are everywhere against you; groping, nipping, massaging and worshipping your body with an unfamiliar reverence which makes you want to please him all the more.

His sadistic tendencies seem muted in favour of pure enjoyment and, in this moment, it could be easy to imagine yourself as just another couple enjoying the holiday season with some festive sex.

"Am I boring you, little mouse?"

His rough, slightly panting voice pulls you from your thoughts and you stare at him. The Santa hat looks ridiculous on his head and the silliness of it is at odds with the heated expression which he is piercing you with.

"Never. I think we both know you couldn't bore me."

"Then what are you thinking about?" One of his long fingers flicks at the clamp decorating your left nipple with amusement as the bell rings out.

"Nothing as exciting as what you're doing to me right now."

The response makes his brow furrow slightly as you evade giving him a proper answer but he accepts it at face value as he instead grinds his groin against your ass, his pubic hair tickling your inner thighs as you meet his movements with another roll of your hips.

Resuming your earlier frantic pacing, the hot arousal which sits low in your stomach is almost at breaking point as you whine and mewl with every renewed thrust. Hands restrained as they are, you can't reach your clit and a growl of frustration joins the cacophony of sound as you grind yourself against him, seeking additional friction that way.

It doesn't go unnoticed and his hand slips between your legs once more as his other arm wraps around your waist to secure you to him like an anchor. His fingers move in jerky circles as they press against your clit with a torturous pressure that borders on being too much.

Chest aching and neck extended backwards, the added pleasure proves enough and you come with a full-bodied shudder; your body clenching around him to milk every last shred of pleasure you can as you hilt yourself fully atop him. The tinsel pulls roughly against your neck with every small jerk and your convulsing is enough to force him over the edge as well as his orgasm follows just behind your own.

As he comes, his cock twitching within you with his last few lazy thrusts, his lips lock around your neck once more to bite down harshly on the sensitive junction where neck meets shoulder and the sharp pain draws a fresh groan from your lips as you lean into it.

Both ruined, the only sound within the room is your paired breathing as his fingers fumble messily with the tinsel which is looped around your wrists. It takes him a good moment but eventually he releases your hands - also freeing your neck since the tinsel there is no longer attached - and you fall forward onto his chest carefully.

The fabric of his shirt is smooth and your hands drop down for a moment to release the clamps which are still locked around your nipples; the sudden blood flow returning to them forcing a grunt of painnfrom your lips as shaky fingers drop them to the couch by your side.

Sated, aching, and thoroughly fucked, you allow a slight smile to play on your lips as you inhale the familiar scent of him through his shirt- the sound of his heart beating erratically in your ears.

"Merry Christmas, Jonathan."

The chest below your head stiffens and a wash of regret passes over your heated skin at the impulsive words. It was a sincere comment and he didn't seem to mind wh-

"Merry Christmas, witty girl."

A sighed response, but you don't miss the slight incline of his head towards you as his large hands come to rest on your lower back, locking you in position and showing his lack of intent to move anytime soon. 

You would never be foolish enough to describe it as an cuddle, but it was close enough that you knew to shut your mouth and not question it.

After all, it was practically a Christmas miracle.

Also on AO3

[another-identityofmine]

•Buttered and Sweet Bread•

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of “Buttered and Sweet Bread.” Change of plans, I would imagine Elvis in his army years, especially in his handsome uniform for this chapter. Here’s more information.

warnings: throughout the whole story, it’ll use the word “slave,” but the term will be briefly mentioned, harsh language, dialect and behavior appropriate for timeline.

𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹

April morning, the Mercy had briskly sailed across to the mouth of the Connecticut River and into Saybrook harbor. Francine Blair had been on the forecastle deck since daybreak, standing amongst the rail and staring hungrily at the first sight of land for five weeks. Her elbows ached from however long she’s been standing, as well as the fist that holds her jaw firmly.

“There’s Connecticut Colony,” a southern drawl, warmly tickles her ear, startling the young dame. “You’ve come a long way to see it.”

Francine turns her head and her hair, the color of russet, follows her sudden movements, bouncing along her shoulders. Her eyes twinkle, capturing the pleasant sight. The voice belongs to him, Elvis Presley, the captain’s son. Although throughout the whole voyage they’ve scarcely exchanged words, she had noticed him more often. His thin wiry figure swinging easily hand over hand up the rigging, his gold, cherry wood head bent over a coil of rope. Francine only now notices as they stand closer in conversation, that her head barely reaches over his shoulder. The young woman can only feel her cheeks burn a light crimson, as she glances to meet his sharp blue, inviting eyes.

“What do you think to it?” He questions, glancing back out the sea with a proud smile. The young woman can only purse her lips to stop herself from saying that the first glimpse of America is disappointing as it is. The sight was dissatisfying, a dirty gray and an ill green ombré splashes beneath, rocking the brigantine ship that they steady upon. The disheartening contrast to the shimmering white that fringed the turquoise bay of Barbados, her home. The earthen wall of the fortification that faced the water was bare and ugly, the houses looked no different than plain wooden boxes. She clears her throat and quips instead, “Is that Wethersfield?”

“Oh no, Wethersfield is some way up the river. This is port of Saybrook. Home to us Presleys. There’s my father’s shipyard, just beyond the dock.” Elvis beckons, and her eyes follow to make out the row of unimpressive shacks and the flash of raw new lumber. She sighed out with a smile of relief. At least this grim place was not her destination, and surely the colony at Wethersfield bound to be more colorful and sorts.

“Ever been on a ship before?” Mr. Presley breathes out, folding his hands behind his back and raising a brow to her.

“Just the little pinnaces in the islands…I’ve sailed those all my life.” Francine’s voice trails quiet, as memories flood beyond her vision. Mr. Presley nods, “that’s where you learned to keep your balance?”

So he had noticed! To her pride and joy, she had proved to be a natural sailor. Certainly she had not spent the voyage groaning and retching, as the other passengers. She nodded eagerly, now busying her eyes to the waters ahead, “‘Twas the most exciting thing I know of.”

His eyes lit with admiration, all for the ship. “She’s a stout one, the Mercy. She’s come through gust and such.” His eyes dwelt on fondly on the topsails.

“What is happening?” Francine asked, taking notice of the abrupt activity along the deck. Four husky sailors in blue clothing and bright handkerchiefs had hurried toward to the man the capstan bars. Captain Presley, in his well blue coat, was shouting orders from the quarterdeck. “Are we stopping here?” Francine’s curiosity and discourage was apparent in her tone.

Elvis snorts a soft laugh and shakes his head, looking to where her eyes have averted. “There are passengers to go ashore,” he explained then continued. “And we need food and water for the trip upriver. We’ve missed the tide, and the wind is blowing too hard from the west for us to make the landing. We’re going to anchor out here and take out the longboat in to shore. That means I’d better look to the oars.” He walked away, moving lightly and confident with authority; there was a bounce in his step that matched the laughter in his eyes.

With dismay, she saw the captain’s wife among the passengers. Had she to say goodbye so soon to Mistress Presley? They’ve bonded so kindly over time throughout the voyage and time being. In a swift move, she greeted wistfully, “Are you leaving the ship, Mistress Presley?”

“Aye, didn’t I tell you I’d be leaving you at Saybrook? Oh but child, don’t you look so sad. Tis not far from Wethersfield, we’ll be meeting again” Mistress Presley replied, her brows up in reassurance, along with a soft smile. Francine softly gasped to herself and furrowed her eyebrows, her words coming out as if she were pleading, “B-but I thought the Mercy was your home!”

Mrs. Presley shakes her head with a sigh, “Oh, child, Tis during wintertime when we sail to the West Indies. But I was born in Saybrook, and in the spring I get hankering for my house and garden. Besides, I’d never let on to my husband, but the summer trips are tedious, just back and forth up the river and such. I stay at home and tend my vegetables, and my spinning like a proper housewife. Then, come November, when he sails for Barbados again, I’m ready enough to go with him. ‘Tis a good life and one of the best things about it is coming home in the spring time.” Mistress Presley finishes with a sigh and a gentle smile, a twinkle in her eyes that are almost just the same as her son’s.

Francine looks along at the forbidden shore, only adding to her reason for a frown to droop on her plump, mauvelous colored lips. She could see nothing about it to put such a tinkle of anticipation in anyone’s eyes.

Could there be some charm that was not visible from out there in the harbor?

𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹

Author’s note: i know it seems pretty boring in the beginning but I’ve got major plans for this story! My apologies, it may be a little tedious a little longer. Also if you’d like to be added in a tag list, of course, ask awayyy!

Tag list: @precious-lil-scoundrel @starryschoolgirl and that’s really the only ones I’d known to tag for now since they sparked such creativity in me 😜

[daitranscripts]

What Pride had Wrought Pt. 4

Plan of Attack

What Pride had Wrought Masterpost First: Speaking With Morrigan First: Meeting Kieran Previous: The Eluvian

Leliana: With an eluvian, Corypheus could cross into the Fade in the flesh?

Morrigan: Indeed. The Inquisitor can attest that these artifacts still work if one knows how to use them.

Cullen: What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?

Morrigan: Why, he will gain his heart’s desire, and take the power of a god. Or–and this is more likely–the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart.

Dialogue options:

General: Another reason to stop him. [1]

General: We can’t have that. [2]

General: He won’t live to try. [3]

1 - General: Another reason to stop him. PC: I won’t allow it. I can’t. Morrigan: Indeed. Should Corypheus succeed, do not doubt you would be first to feel his holy wrath. [4]

2 - General: We can’t have that. PC (sided mages): In Redcliffe, I saw the future Corypheus built. We can’t let that happen. PC (sided templars): Reasons for stopping Corypheus have gone from “revenge” to “keep the world intact.”

Morrigan: ‘Twas always so, was it not? The madman would bury us all. [4]

3 - General: He won’t live to try. PC: We don’t have to worry about this eluvian if Corypheus isn’t alive to use it. Morrigan: Stopping him thusly would be ideal, if you could manage it. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Josephine: Pardon me, but… does this mean everything’s lost unless we get to the eluvian before him?

Cullen: Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army moves.

Josephine: We should gather our allies before we march.

Leliana: Can we wait for them? We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.

Cullen: Without support from the soldiers? You’d lose half of them!

Josephine: Then what should we do?

Dialogue options:

General: You work as a team. PC: You overcome it. All three of you together. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

General: I advise we stop panicking. PC: For starters, we don’t let Corypheus worry us to death. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

General: You listen to my plan. PC: You follow the orders of your Inquisitor. All three of you.

PC: Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’s army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.

Morrigan: Such confidence, but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods.

Josephine: We’d be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan. Please, lend us your expertise.

Morrigan: ‘Tis why I came here, although it is good to see its value recognized.

Cullen: Any further instructions, Inquisitor?

Dialogue options:

General: I’m proud of all of you. [5]

General: This is going to hurt. [6]

General: Corypheus has this coming. [7]

5 - General: I’m proud of all of you. PC: The Inquisition began as a handful of soldiers. Thanks to you, we’re now a force that will topple a self-proclaimed god. I could ask for no finer council, no better guidance. Cullen: I speak for all of us when I answer: we could ask for no finer cause. [8]

6 - General: This is going to hurt. PC: We’ve embarked on a quest that ends in facing the most powerful monster in all Thedas. Do get a good night’s sleep. Cullen: As you wish. [8]

7 - General: Corypheus has this coming. PC: Remember what Corypheus has done while you plan. Every loss, every setback, every death. Let him learn what it means to be an enemy of the Inquisition. [8]

8 - Scene continues.

Leliana: We’ll hound Corypheus in the Wilds before he can find the temple or this “eluvian.”

The PC confirms the quest, and the scene fades to black. A cutscene plays of the Inquisition gathering allies and preparing for the march on the Arbor Wilds plays.

Next: The Arbor Wilds

[blueshistorysims]

April 1934, Perthshire, Scotland

Byron called Montgomery’s mother Janet after Miranda had come up to him on a March morning, crying over her father who was having a breakdown of his own. He knew Montgomery had made an effort to ensure that his daughter never saw that side of him, but now… it worried Byron. Janet had welcomed the Walshes with open arms, more than happy to host them and see her son and granddaughter. 

“I think this visit will be good for Montgomery. It’s the first time he’s left Walshstone Park in years. Perhaps it will revitalize him, and he’ll look for work again, either in Henford or elsewhere.”

Byron frowned. “I do not think so. I suspect he is planning something, but I fear the worst.” He looked at his wife. “When our lawyer came two weeks ago, he had his will updated and sealed. …I think he is planning his death, Eleora.”

“Byron, you shouldn’t think like that.”

“I’ve known him nearly twenty-one years, darling. He is a shell of the man I first met in 1913.”

Eleora did not answer.

The next evening, Byron accompanied Montgomery on a walk. It was still light out, but the hills now hid the setting sun.  It reminded him of the quietness that Henford had in the early evenings.

“I can scarcely imagine what it was like to live somewhere like this and then move to a big city like Edinburgh.”

Montgomery nodded. “Aye, ‘twas a big shock to a wee country lad like meself, but ya get used to it.” He swallowed. “How’s Eleora’s family? I heard Mr. Balass is pullin’ out of Germany.”

“He is. Now that the Nazis are in power, they decided to pull any business out of the country. It was already bad after the Crash but since the elections in 1932… I worry—especially since our government doesn’t seem to care. I’d give anything to call Chamberlain a cunt to his face. Albert, Eleora’s brother, was nearly detained trying to cross the French border a month ago. It breaks my heart really. Germany seemed to be finally standing on its two legs before the Crash. With Mussolini in Italy, Hitler in Germany, and Stalin in the Soviet Union… one can only wonder what will happen.”

“Same shite from twenty years ago.”

“No, I don’t think it will go that far. We destroyed Europe in the War. To end all wars, yes? I don’t even think there is a word in English to describe such blatant stupidity if we are truly headed in that direction.”

“Byron,” Montgomery began, “I… I wanna thank ya and Eleora for takin’ Miranda in. I canna tell ya how much it means to me.”

“Of course, we’re her godparents. …We didn’t take her in, she’s merely living with us and her father.”

“I’m a shite fuckin’ father. Sometimes… she looks so much like her ma I canna even look at me own fuckin’ lass,” he confessed, his voice breaking. “God, I miss her. Edeline too.” He turned away, staring into the ground. “I’m tired, Byron. I want to be with them again. I wish it very much.”

Byron frowned, worried. “What do you mean by that?”

Montgomery turned to face him. “I love ya.”

“I… love you too. You’re my closest friend.”

“Not like that. Ya ken it’s not like that.”

“I know,” Byron whispered, feeling his throat clog up. “I’m sorry I can’t love you that way. I wish I could. I’ve only ever seen our friendship as platonic.”

The Scotsman only smiled sadly. “I ken. It’s alright. I’ve made me peace with it. Only wanted to tell ya.”

“You can always talk to me. I’m here for you. Please talk to me. What happened in March? Miranda was terrified.”

Montgomery shook his head. “Not this time, Walsh. …I promised Miranda I’d read her The Tale of Peter Rabbit before bed. She finds it funny that the farmer’s name is McGregor. Good night, Byron,” he said gently before kissing him on his forehead. 

As Montgomery walked back to his mother’s house, Byron had a sickening feeling that he would not see the doctor in the morning. “Good night, Montgomery,” he whispered, tears pooling in his eyes.

[boombrothersasks]

Redoing the question "Eclipse, your brother seems stressed for some reason, you should help him relax" sent by @livingthewritelife-things bc I misread it AGH

"Hey Shadow...!" Eclipse sat beside his older brother. "Uh...SO! Some person said you were stressed out or whatever...crazy, right? You? Stressed? Couldn't be, amiright?"

Shadow simply looked up at him, then looked away again with a huff.

"Okay, not the best choice of words. Um...y'know, I'm not very good at this. I can talk, A LOT, but listening? No go. I'd LIKE to help you and all that, but I also don't know if I can do that? Just blows my mind in a weeeeird way."

"Yeah, I can see how you don't shut up. It would help if you left me alone."

"Maaaaaybe, but if something's up, shouldn't you...I dunno, talk about your feewings?"

"I won't be doing that, thank you."

"Well...can I at least help you chill out? I can do whatever, BESIDES leaving. Because I know you were going to say that. Not that one, big bro."

"Don't call me that."

"But that's what you aaaaaaaaaareeeeee!!"

Shadow sighed. "Look, you want me to relax? You want me to 'chill out?' Then how about this. You just sit here, in silence, and let me have my quiet time."

"Fine, I guess."

And so they sat for a little while, just staring out at what was outside the mouth of the cave. It didn't take long before Eclipse started getting antsy and impatient, though. He didn't like silence much.

"But what is it, really? What's the reason you need quiet time right now?"

Shadow glared.

"I promise I'll leave you alone after this! Just answer me this one thing?"

"...I suppose its just...everything, really. All that's been happening all at once. The whole situation with Doom, what happened with Starline, and the chip, and running into Rouge and Omega..."

"But all that stuff passed? What makes it still stressful?"

"I'm not really too sure...it just is. Maybe the best word to describe it all is overwhelming. I don't think you would understand."

"Hey, all that stuff affected me too! More than you, probably! But like I said before, we have each other, at least! Maaaaaaybe that'll make things a little easier than they would've been otherwise."

"If it had been otherwise, none of it would've happened, Eclipse."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that? Boring."

Shadow really had to hold in the urge to smile a bit this time. It was getting harder all the time, and he hated it. But...having Eclipse to talk to about it did help, even if it was just a little. He huffed again instead. "Perhaps...did you just trick me into talking to you?"

"Twas my plan from the start, big bro." He stood and took a fancy bow, like he had just discovered or done something incredible. Though, helping Shadow feel less of his negative emotions, and far quicker than normal? This darkling was doing something to him...

[astrology-bf]

The Necessity of Fiction

A fic dedicated to Sir Terry Pratchett.

(CW: Minor Spoilers for ARR and Hogfather, Theology)

High up in the heavens, a ball of burning gas cast its harsh, indifferent light upon a sphere of stone. Upon this sphere; or rather, sitting beneath a tree near Revenant’s Toll, a magician gnawed his lower lip as he perused a tome in idle study. It was a fair day in Mor Dhona; no clouds, no gloom, and neither heat, nor chill. A perfect day, or near enough as could be found in such a rugged clime.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Ifan blinked and glanced up at the sound of the voice. “Oh, G'raha.” he let out a little chuckle at the sight of the miqo’te and raised a hand to rub his eye, then shook his head. “Not at all, I was just reviewing a formula.” 

G’raha smirked as he took a seat beneath the tree at Ifan’s side, a grimoire of his own in hand. The comical (if frustrating) circumstances of their initial meeting in the Shroud had quickly given way to a friendship over books, and since then the two had grown accustomed to shared study. “Ah. Doubtless more homework from our dear mistress Y'mhitra. I take it your endeavors in summoning proceed apace?” asked G’raha with a glance at the tome in Ifan’s hands, one ear perked quizzically.

Ifan nodded. “They proceed, just not as quickly as Y'mhitra would like.” he answered, failing to hold in a faint sigh of consternation. 

The ear that G’raha raised flattened quizzically as one eyebrow rose. “She does not strike as the overly impatient sort.” he mused.

“She isn't. I’m simply a little deficient.” answered Ifan, without thinking or looking up from his book.

G’raha frowned. “There is no need to put yourself down, Ifan. If something troubles you, I should be happy to listen.“ he offered with a cant of his head towards the mage, ears splayed forward and open as visual indication of his willingness to listen.

A mirthless chuckle escaped Ifan’s lips. He raised his head and turned it to meet the miqo’te’s eyes. “I wouldn't want to make my troubles your troubles.” he countered with a little smile.

G’raha gave the midlander a coy little smile of his own. “Simply being around the Warrior of Light entails trouble, and I happen to find that one of your more preferable qualities." he teased before his smile took on a more sympathetic bent. "It is no burden, truly. You certainly have been more patient than I merit when it comes to myself."

Ifan snorted faintly, nodding. “Mm, aye. I still haven't quite decided how to get back at you for that whole business with the aethersand.” he snickered. 

G’raha gave the mage a flattened frown, ears mirroring the line formed by his lips. “Do not tell me you are still annoyed by that? ‘Twas an idle jape.”

Ifan stuck his tongue out at G’raha from between his teeth in a teasing little grin. “An idle jape of my own.” Then he gave a sigh and idly cast his eyes upwards towards the leaves above their heads. “Alright... Well, it's sort of a matter of faith.” 

The miqo’te cocked his head at this. “Faith?”

Ifan nodded. “Egis are images of primals after all, and primals images of gods. And…” The hyur trailed off and gnawed his lower lip once more. “‘Tis foolish…” 

“Foolish it may be, but it being so will not assuage my curiosity.” said G’raha with a pointed look.

A laugh escaped the mage. “Ah, so you plan to pester the reason out of me?” he asked. 

“If it should help you arrive at a decision, then I should be happy to confess some thoughts of that nature.” answered G’raha, a playful little grin dancing upon his lips.

Ifan stuck his tongue out at the archon and then gave a little sigh. “In a word: blasphemy.”

G’raha blinked, his ears twitching in surprise. “It seems I must confess some confusion, also. What is your meaning, if I may ask?” 

The magician hummed from within his nose as he gave his words some thought. “Beastmen gods are still gods, and I can't in my heart invoke their image without direct consent or being at the end of need. Even if I may not believe in Ramuh, or Ifrit, there are many people who do. People I respect, so I respect their faith just as I hope they would respect mine. I wouldn’t want the Twelve to have their images used for foul ends, after all.” he said and finished with a nod.

“You believe in the Twelve?” asked G’raha, suddenly. Then he blinked as the impertinence of the question caught his notice. “Oh… I apologize, that was-”

Ifan laughed and leaned over to nudge G’raha’s shoulder with his own. “You can make it up to me by buying the first round tonight,” he teased. “I take it that means you don't?"

G’raha’s humor quickly reasserted itself at the nudge. He grinned a little and gave a nod. “Only the first. And not necessarily, my position is that I simply have yet to see convincing proof of their existence.” he explained. 

Ifan nodded. “Fair enough. That's a good position to have. And to be fair, my idea of the Twelve existing is probably very different from most others'.” he added with a smile at the other man.

“Oh?” asked G’raha, one ear flicking up in idle curiosity at the words.

A deep sigh left Ifan’s chest as he leaned back against the tree, looking up towards the sky between the gaps between the leaves above their heads. “I believe the Twelve are a necessary fiction, in the sense… How should I put this…” he began. “One of the Sisters who took care of us at the orphanage owned this book - I forget the title - but the story really stuck with me when she read it to us. Pretty fantastical tale about Thal and his ‘granddaughter’ needing to perform some frivolous holiday rite, and at the end she asks Thal what would have happened if the rite hadn’t been performed and he tells her that the sun wouldn’t have risen.” A fond chuckle escaped his lips at the memory of the tale; Sister Brazen Briar seated upon a chair, Ifan and the others at the orphanage sitting looking up in rapt wonder at her words. 

G’raha waited a moment for the magician to proceed, then noticed the wistful little smile upon the hyur’s lips. He found himself unable to stop himself from doing the same. “Not so frivolous a rite, it would seem?” he mused, coaxing Ifan from his thoughts. 

It proved enough. Ifan hummed and looked at G’raha with a wry grin upon his face. “Ah, but there was the author’s mastery of words at play, you see. Thal said that instead of the sun rising a mere ball of burning gas would have orbited a sphere of stone. The frivolity was the key; frivolous fictions like holiday spirits teach us how to believe in important fictions like justice, mercy, that sort of thing. I think the words were ‘to be where the falling god meets the rising beast’, or near enough. Fantasy is the essence of what makes us human.”

G’raha found himself a little moved. The tale was simple in profundity; easy enough for a child to understand, yet a lesson sorely needed by adults. “An exceeding wise moral for a mere children’s tale. I should like to read it for myself when I have the chance. ‘Tis a pity you do not recall the title.” said the miqo’te with an intrigued canting of his head.

Ifan nodded, humming once again in fond nostalgia. “I’ll let you know if it comes back to me. In any case, the point is that the Twelve are a similar sort of fiction. Figures of aspiration, comfort, art. I believe the Twelve should exist because it’s better if they do.” he finished with a nod. 

A few moments passed in contemplative quiet, G’raha mulling over Ifan’s words as his tail rhythmically swayed. “Hm,” he hummed, at length. “I had no notion theology was among your many talents.” said G’raha as he returned his eyes to Ifan’s face.

The hyur rolled his eyes. “Pfft, hardly. One just thinks a lot about faith when one is raised in an abbey.” 

G’raha cocked his head. “Truly? I had no notion, you seem so…” Then he paused.

Ifan raised his eyebrow.. “So…?”

The miqo’te flattened his ears and pursed his lips. “Mrm.”

By now, the mage knew G’raha well enough to know that look. “G'raha.” said Ifan simply, with a flattened frown.

“...Worldly.” managed G’raha in a mumble.

"A whore, you mean."

G’raha’s ears and tail shot up. “You-..Pfft!” He sputtered with a glare at his companion. Then he shook his head and sighed. "My meaning is simply that you do not seem the type to have been raised in a religious community.”

“And what type do I seem like?” countered Ifan with a little waggle of his head and a devilish little grin.

G’raha pouted angrily. “Posthumous, if you continue to insist upon putting words in my mouth.” 

“You’re one to complain about teasing, Mister ‘I’m going to annoy the Warrior of Light for jollies’.” bantered Ifan in return.

The miqo’te found the hyur’s humor overly infectious, and he returned a smirk with a small shake of his head. “I suppose I must concede that point. May I ask whom among the Twelve you chose for your patron? I confess some curiosity, given your upbringing.”

“Assuming they exist,” said Ifan with affected sageness. 

G’raha stuck out his tongue.

Ifan snickered slightly. “I jest. I chose the Scholar.” he said with a small nod.

“You did not choose Nald’thal?” asked G’raha with a tilt of his head.

“Not everyone from Ul’dah is a merchant or trying to buy their way into the heavens, G’raha.” snickered Ifan with a small roll of his eyes.

“That is a fair point, I suppose. And I would ask why you chose Thaliak, but it seems obvious given your calling.” said the archon with a nod.

“That, and I had a crush on the icon of him in the library. Very cute.” added Ifan with a kiss into the air.

“One would think a man raised by clerics would not be quite as lewd as you.” said G’raha, tilting his head with a teasing little smile. 

"I've been told that, aye.” Ifan nodded with a grin. “One would have thought the abbey dedicated to Menphina rather than the Warden.”

"Azeyma?” asked G’raha, one ear flicking up as the man’s curiosity was piqued. “It must be quite ancient, given how rare houses of her worship have become in recent days.”

Ifan hummed in affirmation. “Tradition dates it to Belah'dian times, actually. It's survived this long mostly because it's got good agriculture and a long history with the Seekers that live near the desert - temples to the Warden are rare these days, as you said, so they show their appreciation through donations and such. I did think of asking for Azeyma's blessing rather than Thaliak's, but..."

"No icon of hers on which to crush?" supplied G’raha with a smirk.

"I didn't say that. The statue of her behind the altar was pretty ravishing." said Ifan, joining G’raha in a mutual bout of chuckling. “And who is your patron, might I ask?”

G’raha glanced off to the side as he gave the matter a moment’s thought. Then he smirked again. “Perhaps I wish for you to guess.” The archon’s voice took on that playful edge that once had driven Ifan to frustration on his hunt for aethersand, not long ago. 

Ifan rolled his eyes, but a smile was on his lips.  “More games, hm?... Oschon.” he guessed.

G’raha’s ears fell. “...Is it truly so obvious?” he said with a little pout.

“You’re an archer, G’raha.” 

The miqo’te’s breath caught in his throat as some color tinged his cheeks. “...A fair point.” he muttered.

“Again, I jest.” snickered Ifan as he leaned to give the man a nudge again to coax him back to smiling. “'Tis more that you seem the sort to look to the Wanderer for aspiration. To what he represents, rather: adventure, travel, freedom. Much like myself with Thaliak - I want to be wise. Not just know things, I want to do things with that knowledge. Use it, teach it. Do good with it. That’s wisdom.” he finished with a nod, gaze cast wistfully ahead. 

G’raha didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on Ifan’s face, ears and tail unmoving as he simply watched the mage in silence. His face unmoving, too, save a slight parting of the lips and a softening of the eyes. 

At length, Ifan noticed G’raha’s stare. One eyebrow rose. “Do I have something on my face?” he asked. 

G’raha blinked. He shook his head, then gave an airy little chuckle. “Apologies, my thoughts ran away with me.”

Ifan hummed at G’raha with a smile. “I’ll give you a gil for them?”

The miqo’te shook his head once more. “Mere fancies. They have already passed, and I would not wish to distract you from your studies overmuch.”

“As you say, G’raha.” conceded Ifan with a chuckle as his eyes lowered to his book once more.

“Ifan.”

Ifan glanced back up to meet the miqo’te’s eyes. “Hm?”

“If you would prefer… You needn’t call me more than ‘’Raha’. I should like to think of you as my friend, and I yours.” said G’raha with a smile.

Ifan snorted with a grin. “There’s no ‘should like’, I thought we already were. Even if you can be irritating as sin when you feel like it, ‘Raha.” he teased.

G’raha returned a wide grin of his own, leaning over to briefly grind his shoulder against his friend’s. “Believe me, Ifan, you have not even begun to see irritation.” he said, coaxing mutual laughter from the mage whilst high up in the heavens, the sun shone down upon the earth.