#i might whip up a more in depth reading into it

[ranishereforphae]

bruh taub crying in 5x20 is what set me off to cry too like i was just shocked like WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? insane episode

like....they were really planning for kutner to be the MOST like house and he just...

it ALMOST makes sense to me im gonna rewatch season 4 and the earlier season 5 episodes. BECAUSE they were already hinting at his misery in s5 but i need to pay more attention to s4

[punkshort]

It didn't mean anything

An I Know Who You Are drabble

Thank you anon for this request!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel finds out about your history with Ben for the first time.

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, possessive!joel (might be a bit over the line but i got carried away, sue me), jealous!joel, edging, rough sex but turns soft (bc of course)

WC: 2.1K

A/N: this is a request I had for a series I wrote but I think it could be read on its own.

"Where's my fuckin' glasses?" Joel roared from upstairs.

"Wherever you left them last!" you shouted back from the kitchen. You were tired and just wanted to go to bed but Joel was really starting to piss you off, so you made an excuse to come down to the kitchen to cool off.

It wasn't working.

"I left 'em on my goddamn book where I always leave 'em. You were movin' shit around up here today, you must've done somethin' with 'em," you heard him snap from the depths of your shared bedroom. You rolled your eyes and dug your fingers into the back of a chair to try to ground yourself. You knew his anger was misplaced. It wasn't really about the glasses.

Tonight at dinner you made one little innocuous comment about an old flame, Ben, another resident of Jackson, completely forgetting you hadn't found the chance to tell Joel about him yet, and it was all downhill from there.

Your relationship with Joel was still new. Well, not really.

It was and it wasn't.

This part of your relationship was new. Living together, sharing your lives together, loving each other... all of that was new. The sex was not new.

So maybe it was a little bit your fault for not telling Joel about Ben sooner. But it was the middle of the goddamn apocalypse and things like that didn't really cross your mind anymore. Besides, what you had with Ben didn't mean a thing. It was for comfort and stress relief on both sides, no feelings were involved whatsoever. And if that wasn't enough, Ben was also currently in a loving, committed relationship with your mutual friend, Lisa.

Joel didn't seem to care about any of that. He was still worked up, stomping around upstairs, slamming drawers shut and muttering under his breath.

It was really fucking annoying.

His heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs was the next thing you heard and you braced yourself for more of his attitude. Storming into the kitchen, he pushed things around on the counters as if his glasses could be hidden behind the flour while you stood at the table glaring at him. When he inevitably was unsuccessful, he spun around angrily with his hands on his hips.

"You gonna help me look or you just gonna stand there?"

With your nostrils flared and your jaw clenched, you marched across the kitchen, coming to a halt directly in front of him. Without breaking eye contact, you lifted an arm above his head and plucked his glasses from his hair, then blindly dropped them on the counter.

"Well?"

His eyes shifted to the glasses and back to you as he tried to hide his embarrassment.

"I'm goin' to bed," he muttered, leaving the glasses and heading for the stairs.

You scoffed in disbelief. "What? I don't get a thank you?"

He whipped around and stalked back over to you, his reaction so fast it startled you and had you backing up against the kitchen wall.

"What else should I thank you for? Hm?" he asked lowly, bracketing both arms on the wall on either side of your head. He stared down at you, anger rolling off him in waves, eyes dark and fuming. "Should I thank you for makin' me feel like a fuckin' idiot tonight? For not tellin' me somethin' you know I shoulda known 'bout months ago?"

"I already apologized, Joel! What more do you want from me? You didn't tell me about Angie until-"

"That was different an' you know it!" he yelled, smacking the wall beside you with the flat of his hand. "We weren't together then! You weren't livin' with me, sleepin' in my bed-"

"Goddamnit, Joel! It didn't mean anything!" You were mere inches apart, your hot, angry breath fanned over his face with every word. "I-I never even think about him like that! He was the only fucking guy I knew and I just wanted to get my mind off of the end of the fucking world every now and then!"

"I don't want you seein' him," he said, his tone threatening. "Ever. You pass him in the street, you just keep walkin'. He's on fuckin' fire, it ain't your problem."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" you seethed, but the arousal was already pooling warm between your legs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"Yeah, I do," he said through clenched teeth, then grabbed your jaw with one of his big hands. "'Cause you're mine."

You whimpered when his mouth crashed down on yours, teeth and tongues colliding messily as he pulled you off the wall. Your fingers twisted in his flannel, tugging and pushing him this way and that, acting as if you had any fight in you whatsoever.

"Shit," you gasped when his mouth traveled down to your neck and his hand cupped your aching core through your jeans. He applied some pressure with the tip of his fingers, locating your clit with practiced ease, and you tipped your head back with a moan. Your fingers that were once wrestling with the fabric of his shirt were now lost in his hair, holding the back of his head in place so he had no choice but to suck and bite marks across your collarbone.

His fingers were moving fast over the seam of your jeans, rubbing and pinching your sex through the thick denim, dragging you to the precipice just to deny you your orgasm at the last moment by pulling his hand away.

You whined and tugged his hair as hard as you could, trying to make it hurt, but he just chuckled and straightened back up. "Turn around."

Obediently, you swiveled around and braced your hands on the counter, your breath coming in sharp, excited pants as he unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down to your knees, your underwear quickly following.

He dipped one thick finger into your folds from behind and your back instantly arched. You felt his belt digging into the flesh of your ass when he ground his hips against you and brought his mouth to your ear. "You're so fuckin' wet, baby. You like workin' me up like this?"

You bit your lip and closed your eyes when he slid his finger inside your leaking cunt. "Maybe," you whispered, then moaned when he curled his finger inside you, purposely teasing you by not giving you enough. Just as quickly as he gave you his finger, he took it away, leaving you feeling hopelessly empty again.

"I think you do. And I think you need me to remind you why you're in my bed every night 'n not his."

Your thing with Ben ended before you even arrived in Jackson, before you even knew who Joel was, so to imply he was even remotely some type of competition was ridiculous. But when you heard the jingle of his belt and the metallic zip of his jeans being undone, you decided it to point that out another time.

"Fuck!" you cried out when he entered you with one quick thrust. Your arm shot backwards, hand searching for some part of him to hold on to. His hand found yours and laced your fingers together before looping both your arms around your front, holding you close. He was breathing heavily in your ear, giving you a few moments to gather yourself and allow your walls to relax around his girth.

"Fuck," you said again, but this time it was breathier and more at ease. The initial sting was fading with every shaky breath and even though he was driven by jealousy and irrational anger, he didn't want to hurt you. He never wanted to hurt you. At the end of the day, he knew how you felt about him and that was all that mattered, so he gave you as much time as you needed before experimentally rolling his hips. You moaned his name and pushed your ass against him, urging him to continue.

With one of his hands still bonded with yours across your ribs and the other spread wide and flat over the cool counter next to your hip, he bent forward and slammed into you a little rougher, a little harder, until the mixed sounds of your skin slapping together and the lewd wetness from your pussy filled the air.

"He ever fuck you like this? Make you feel as good as I do? Huh?" he groaned into your neck. Your body jolted forward against the edge of the counter with every forceful thrust, knocking the wind out of you but you managed to shake your head and offer a weak no.

You wished you could spread your legs wider but you were restricted by the material bunched around your knees, so instead you arched your back and pushed your ass back against his hips. Again and again, you rocked your hips onto his cock, matching his rhythm as sweat began to collect on the back of your neck and the muscles in your stomach tightened. Joel flattened his tongue against your skin, drinking down your sweat with a deep moan.

"Taste so good, sweetheart. Feel s'good too... fuck - yeah, yeah - keep doin' that."

You whined and tilted your head to the side, searching for his mouth. When you found it, you hungrily slanted your lips together, tongue invading, licking past his teeth while your free hand reached back to splay wide across the side of his face.

You gasped when the tip of his cock brushed against something inside you that made your vision wobble. Your nails raked pathetically against his skin and your walls clenched around him, silently begging for more when words failed you.

"I love you," he whispered, hips still ruthlessly crashing into you, forehead pressed against your hair, hot breath panting in your ear.

"I love you, too," you mumbled back. "S-so deep like this, Joel, fuck," you whimpered, brows pinching together as you struggled for air. Your legs tensed and your eyes flashed wide open, searching for him as you felt yourself near your peak. His eyes were dark and filled with animalistic desire as he laid claim to you in the middle of your kitchen, and even though his jealousy was severely misplaced, it fanned the flames of excitement inside you.

You were his, and he was yours.

The coil snapped and you sobbed his name, body going rigid under his touch but he fucked you through it, to not only prolong your orgasm but to join you, as well.

"Oh, god," he mumbled repeatedly, his thrusts becoming sloppy, his hands flexing and breath growing ragged before pulling out and spilling himself all over your backside with a heavy groan.

Your upper body slumped across the counter, arms spread wide, eyes squeezed shut. Your legs trembled as you fought to remain upright but soon it wouldn't be your concern. Joel grabbed the nearest dish towel and cleaned you up before dragging your underwear and jeans back up, leaving them unbuttoned, before hastily doing the same to his own so he could gently lift you into his arms.

"You okay?"

You hummed and nodded sleepily against his chest. To your surprise, he bent down to scoop you up with one arm under your knees and he carried you to the couch, setting you down carefully and brushing the loose strands of hair from your face. He stayed there with you, quietly kneeling next to the couch, rubbing soothing circles over your arm, your stomach, your hips until you finally opened your eyes with a sigh. His head was resting against his forearm but he lifted it up when he heard you and gave you a little grin. You smiled back and brushed the pad of your thumb over one of his eyebrows, taking in every fine line, scar and freckle over his beautiful face.

"You don't have to be so jealous, you know. There's nothing to worry about."

He snorted and nipped at your thumb. "I know."

You bit your lip and playfully tapped the tip of his nose. "But maybe we can do that again sometime because that was really hot."

He chuckled and pressed his hands into the cushion of the couch so he could stand with a groan, fingers digging into his lower back with a wince. "You're gonna be the death of me one day."

You giggled and forced yourself to stand, not even bothering buttoning your jeans as you headed for the stairs. "You coming?" you asked him over your shoulder. He nodded.

"Lemme lock up and turn the lights off."

You yawned and continued up the steps, a little smirk pulling at your lips when you reached the top, and you paused.

"Don't forget your glasses."

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[wheeboo]

01:10am | choi seungcheol

SYNOPSIS. in which your cuddly boyfriend interrupts your late night reading time. PAIRING. choi seungcheol x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. a lil suggestive, reader is smaller than cheol, lil makeout kissing sesh oops, terms of endearment, cheol is whipped, self-indulgent fr WORD COUNT. 1.1k

notes: i just have this thing for soft cuddly bed scenes w cheol :(

Seungcheol really doesn't know why that out of all other times of the day, you choose to read during the depths of the night.

But he's not at all complaining𑁋he's blessed with this grand view of you with your headphones on as you're sitting up against the frame of the bed behind, knees almost propped up to your chest, with a tiny, dim book light attached to the bridge of your book highlighting your face. Seungcheol thinks this might be one of his new favourite views of you.

He flips himself over to face your direction, opening an eye so he could quietly watch you. Seungcheol takes a moment to appreciate the cute, subtle details of your face when you're focused𑁋the way your eyelashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the steady rise and fall of your chest, and the way your lips occasionally move, silently forming the words you're reading. The only sounds in the room he can hear are the rustling of you turning the page, the distant murmur of the city outside, and the faint music escaping from your headphones.

Letting out a yawn, he takes a moment to check the time on his phone, eyes widening to see how late it was. Yet when he turns back to you, he only pauses, because you seem too immersed in the book to be able to go to sleep right now, and he really doesn't want to disturb you.

"Baby?" he calls out to you softly, yet you don't hear him as expected, only furrowing up a brow at what Seungcheol could assume was you reading a peculiar scene in your book. He feels his shoulders deflate.

Instead, with a huffed breath, he can only take to sinking back within the bedsheets and hoping that you'd fall asleep after him.

But he can't fall asleep, no matter how much tossing and turning he does, since it's almost outrageous to his mind to the thought of him falling asleep without at least holding you in his arms like he always does.

Seungcheol turns himself over once more, a pout at his lips as he scoots closer towards you, yet you still don't seem to notice him. He contemplates for a moment, glancing down at your free hand at your side, and a thought crosses his mind. Slowly, he grabs your hand into his, intertwining your fingers together, and the action is just so natural and instinctive like a missing puzzle piece fitting perfectly into place.

He glances at you, noticing the slight smile that tugs at the corners of your lips as you continue reading. It isn't until he starts drawing circles on your palm and picking at your sleeve that finally grabs your attention, and you pick your head up to look at him, slipping your headphones off.

You watch the way he continues playing with your hand𑁋from drawing shapes on it, tracing the creases on your palm, to running a finger over your knuckles𑁋like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"Cheol, what are you doing?" You ask bemusedly, attempting to pull your hand away but he just tugs it back.

"Hmm, missing you," he coos softly, adjusting your hands so that your flat palms are touching each other. The fact that the size of your hand is perfectly smaller than his is utterly adorable. "Your hand is small, you know?"

You roll your eyes, as if annoyed. "And yours is huge. We've been over this already."

"It's cute." He locks your fingers together again, tilting his head slightly to look at you. "You're cute."

You only click your tongue, biting back the smile to your face and the heat threatening up your neck as you bring your attention back to your book.

You release your hand from his. "Let me go read𑁋"

But before you can go back to reading, you feel a pair of arms wrap around and pull you into a tight embrace, knocking the book off your lap. A surprised gasp flies out of you, and in one swift motion, Seungcheol flips you both over so that he's now hovering over you. Your book is long forgotten on the floor as you stare up at him in surprise, the dim light casting a soft glow on both your faces.

Something catches in your throat as you lock eyes with him. If you listen closely, his breathing is just as unstable as your heartbeat, like he's breathless already. His dark gaze seems to hold a silent request, glancing between your eyes and your mouth. It bares a question that doesn't need words, and you answer with a small nod.

And with that, he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It's soft, tender like always, and it doesn't take much for your body to go all limp below his as it deepens. He presses his weight against you carefully, making sure you're comfortable beneath him.

You feel the way he trails his fingers along your arm until he reaches your hand once again. With a deliberate move, he laces your fingers together before bringing your hand up to pin it gently against the pillow behind your head.

Seungcheol breaks the kiss, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

"Okay?" he asks, voice a low murmur.

You nod, even though your heart is more than ready to burst out of your chest at any given moment. "Okay."

His eyes only soften, the smile to his face widening, a couple of shy giggles escaping your mouths together and into the thick air surrounding you both. He captures your lips once again in another sweet, lingering kiss, before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"So pretty," Seungcheol whispers against your skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. He starts peppering feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hand gentle on your waist as he revels in the simple joy of holding you close. You lightly run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingertips.

"Why are you being so... so touchy right now?" You tease impishly, sighing contentedly at his touch, feeling the soft vibrations of his laughter against your cheek.

"I dunno," he admits simply, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. "You were reading too much."

"I was only reading for, like, an hour. That's not that long."

"An hour too long," he counters sulkily, pressing a soft peck to the tip of your nose. "I can't fall asleep without you."

You let out a playful scoff, running your fingertips up the exposed skin of his back ridden up from the black hoodie he wore. "You're such a big baby, Cheol."

Seungcheol leans down so his mouth is just a breath away, and before you could register it, he's rolling over once again so that you're on top of him this time, his hands coming to rest firmly at your hips. There's a smirk to his face that you can hardly see, yet you already know what he's thinking.

"Only for you."

"For... me?"

"Just for you," he murmurs against your lips. "I'm all yours."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag

[sorceresssundries]

Dark Desires

A smutty one-shot based on a prompt from this list. I'll tell you the prompt after.

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav/Durge

Summary: Tav (Durge) is tired of Gale veiling his darker desires and limiting his potential.

Warnings: SMUT. SMUT SMUT SMUT. Dark(er) Gale.

Word Count: 3.1k

The day had not gone well.

They were all tired, bruised, and sweat-soaked from hours of scouring the abandoned adamantine forge. Exhaustion weighed them down and was pressing heavily on already delicate tempers.

They had set up camp in the bowels of the ancient, destroyed temple of Shar. The heat from the lava spluttered below them, the remains of once-worshipped idols now reduced to nothing more than a burning, molten sea. The hisses and pops of the lava echoed out into cavernous depths, its glow casting eerie, dancing shadows on the cracked stone walls, painting the temple crimson and black.

Tav sat outside her tent, head throbbing with a dull, pounding ache, as though her lost memories were closed knuckles trying their best to beat their way to the front of her mind, threatening to burst her skull apart into a white-hot flash of violence. The heat was not helping her mood. It made it tough to think clearly. The stifling warmth clotted the atmosphere, making each breath feel sticky as it was dragged into her lungs. She craved clean air. A clean mind.

“Might I have a word?” Gale’s posture was stiff, his tone formal as he approached her. They were the only two in camp, the others had headed out in search of much needed supplies, and Tav had hoped she would be able to spend a few hours in peace. She had no real desire to speak to him right now. She was tired and aching, the battle earlier had taken a lot out of her. 

They had scraped a win by the skin of their teeth, and only because her magic had bloomed outwards in a rage of fire, lashing whip-cracks of flame in all directions, injuring Lae’zel and Wyll in the process. She hadn't done it intentionally; the power fizzing through her veins sometimes had a mind of its own. That raw, uncontrollable magic combined with the pressing urges that haunted her made for a dangerous mix. It had gotten them out of numerous sticky situations but had also caused significant damage along the way. 

In the moments that followed, where the air still crackled with her magic and danced over her skin, she had locked eyes with Gale, and the desire in his gaze could have pulled a city from the sky. 

He stood before her now and cleared his throat, as though to dislodge his words.

“I once read a book that explained in some detail…”

“I don’t need one of your lessons right now, wizard” she sighed, standing, rubbing her temples with weary, calloused fingers. She glared at him, and noticed his expression shift from awkward to angry. The heat was clearly getting to him too.

“Well, maybe if you applied some basic discipline to that inert, crude magic of yours, sorcerer, we would be less likely to encounter the problems we faced today.” His tone was scolding, condescending. She hated when he spoke to her like this, it enraged her. 

“We survived, didn’t we? If it wasn’t for my crude magic then you’d be nothing more than a crater and a cloud of red mist. Not even the weave would have been able to stitch you back together.”

Gale's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Survival isn’t the only metric of success, Tav. The reckless use of power comes at a cost. Lae’zel and Wyll bear the scars of your uncontrolled outburst. We need to find a balance, a way to harness your strength without endangering the group.”

Tav’s frustration bubbled beneath the surface, her head pounding even harder. She knew Gale had a point, but the constant pressure to control something that felt as wild and untamed as a storm was suffocating. 

“And what would you have me do? My magic isn’t like yours. It doesn’t follow rules or commands. It’s a part of me, and sometimes it reacts without my say.” He was about to come back with a cut from that bladed tongue of his, so Tav kept going before he spent the next half an hour admonishing her.  “And maybe if you were a bit more reckless and free from your harness, you could cast magic without having to think about your dusty books and your precious ex-lover first. Might make you a little quicker off the mark.”

“Mystra is the source of all magic, including yours I might add!”

“My magic is my own.” Tav said steadily. 

“By Mystra’s grace.” Gale muttered under his breath. Tav was getting tired of his immovable, relentless devotion. It was becoming tiring.

“The weave may be hers, but our mastery of it is not.” Tav took a step towards him, she could smell the day’s musk clinging to him, mixing with the thick heat in the air. She could practically taste the scent of him on her tongue. There was a bead of sweat which slid down from his brow in a slow trickle. “You should let go a little, see what happens if you’re a bit more… primitive. There is life outside of Mystra’s palm, you know.” 

She was standing so close she could lean forward and run her tongue along his collarbone. She ached to do so. This man needed undoing. 

She had seen the way he looked at her, when the darkness called and her lips flashed from smile to sneer. When the bloodthirsty whispers poured promises of power into the whorl of her ear and she felt suddenly unstoppable. Her muscles would tighten and breath run ragged, and she would catch his eyes - a pretty creep of darkness stirring there to match her own. He hungered for her. He just wouldn’t admit it. 

She would have to make him. 

Tav met those dark eyes now, where lust for power and lust for her swirled together into a potent pool she wished to drown in. 

“I could help you let go, show you what real, mortal pleasure looks like. I could make you forget your Goddess for a little while. Perhaps even forever.” Tav’s voice was a siren’s song in a ceaseless ocean, and he was rock-strewn and desperate.

He swallowed thickly.

Gale liked to play the hero, but Tav saw through his façade, the veneer that masked a core of ambition and hunger. He cloaked himself in ideals, but beneath the surface, there was a darker drive that mirrored her own. Gale's ambition, though veiled in scholarly pursuits and noble causes, resonated with the raw, unbridled power that surged through her veins. They were kindred spirits, both dancing on the edge of control, both forged in the same fire.

They could be unstoppable, the two of them. There was enough power there to crumble the Absolute into dust. Not just the Absolute - anyone who stood before them. They could be more than gods; they could be whatever they wanted.

His fingers moved to trace featherlight over the sharpness of her jaw. His mouth was parted slightly and she could see the flash of his teeth, the curve of his tongue which she wanted to taste with her own. 

“Tempting” his voice was lower now, rougher. “But i’m afraid with my condition as volatile as it is, any undue… excitement… could tip it over the edge.” 

“I don’t believe that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I don’t believe it. Look at you now. Face flushed, chest heaving, provoked, heated. And you’re fine. I’ve seen you, mid-fight, full of adrenaline, when you make fire rain and lighting strike and the flash of light makes your smug little smile dance. You like it. And that level of excitement hasn’t destroyed you.” 

She reached out to trace the lines of the orb on his chest, exposed by his low-cut, loose robes, a necessity in the heat. Her fingers felt the indentations in his skin, the shallow, bruise-coloured carvings where his sweat gathered. She brought her damp, salty finger to her mouth, tasting the mingling of sweat and magic.

“I think you could handle it.”

His breathing was laboured, the hotness of it combining with the stifling air of the forge. “You would risk blowing us all to pieces, for what? Some mortal indulgence?”

“Wouldn’t you?” 

The silence burned between them, and Gale was caught between desires. He wanted her, but there was a voice telling him it would be a mistake. With his heart pumping so furiously and his head buzzing with the thought of Tav’s skin against his tongue, he did not know if that voice was his own - or that of his Goddess.

“Did she ever fuck you?” Tav’s voice was mocking, desire scorching the corners of her words until they smoked. 

“What Mystra and I shared was beyond fucking, I can assure you. You wouldn’t be able to understand the depth and intricacy of out…”

“So.. no?”

Her words were a lilt, a song, an invitation. She reached out her fingers to brush against the glint of silver nestled in the sweat-damp curls of his hair. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game. Meddling in things you know very little about.” He was speaking so softly now that each word was almost a whisper.

“Oh? I’d say I understand you better than you think. You tried to win a clever game against a God, and were surprised when she outplayed you. You wanted to match her power, and she cast you aside, seeing you for what you truly are. Another Karsus. An ambitious fool with an ego big enough to think he deserved to equal her power. That darkness in you had to cling to something Gale, It’s just feeding off what was already there.”

Something which was pulled tight, snapped.

“Go fuck yourself.” He purred, gaze glowering. There it was. That beautiful dark flash she loved so much. Tav had never heard him so blunt, so lacking in his usual verbosity. He hid behind his carefully constructed sentences like they were city walls, and now there was naught but crushed bricks and spite. 

He walked away, finished with her. But Tav was not finished with him.

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.” 

Coward.

The word ignited him. A second of final uncertainty was banished forever as he strode back to her wordlessly, blazing. He grabbed her waist, clutching her almost painfully as he kissed her the way he had fantasised about every time he saw her bursts of unbound, fiercely beautiful power. She was crimson in a world where he had only known soft violet.

There was no romance or tenderness, no promises of endless devotion or nights of a thousand pleasures. They didn't dance together in the sea of night, letting the weave morph them into ethereal, matterless energies. There was sweat and tongue and heat, pain that tasted like pleasure. Gale's moans were cracked and heavy as his teeth grazed Tav's neck. He could feel her heartbeat, hard and lustful under his tongue, pulsing all her mortal blood around the body he craved so desperately. Her hand was ungraceful as it tore apart the laces of his trousers, pushing down to find him unabashedly hard and wanting.

Tav smirked against his lips. "If you want something, you should just take it."

He grasped her hair hard in one hand, pulling her head back to look at him. Her pupils were lust-blown, her lips swollen from their bruising kiss.

"I intend to."

He tore the flimsy camp shirt from her, and Gale wasted no time in palming her bare breasts. He groaned at the feel of them, slick with her sweat, their weight and warmth driving him to the edge. He pushed them both to the ground ungracefully, his mouth moving down her body with such force and fervor that his lips and tongue left bruises. He wanted to fuck her recklessly and relentlessly, but first, he wanted to undo her completely.

He unceremoniously pulled down her trousers and underwear, feeling his cock twitch harder at the silken sight of her. The second his tongue tasted her cunt, she growled. He paused to look at her, writhing and helpless beneath him. Finally.

“Look who’s suddenly out of clever little words.” He murmured, breathing hard through his nose, her scent caught there. “Nothing to say to me now, hmm?”

“Gale,” was all she could manage, her sharp edges dulled. The plea in her softened voice made him drive his tongue back into her even harder. He was the one taking her.

Tav's hands clawed at the ground, her back arching as he devoured her. Every touch, every flick of his tongue sent shivers of pleasure through her body. She was unravelling, her mind a haze of lust and need. She pulled at his hair, guiding him, urging him on, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

He thought he would burn out from the heat alone. The sticky air clung to him like wet, heavy clothing. He felt so smothered with tacky humidity he could drown in it. They were both soaked, their sweat indistinguishable, their tastes mingling. Gale had once believed that the melding of minds and souls was the closest he could be to someone, but he was wrong. Here and now, with Tav, burning for and with each other, it felt like they were flames from the same ember.

She tasted like nothing else. Like sweat and salt. Like the first meal after a day of starving. She was red meat and bold wine and the ocean and something completely indescribable. She was a meal he wanted to indulge in completely until he was gorged. Tremors began to flicker through her legs, and her hips twitched more forcefully, pushing his nose further into her. He thought he might suffocate—let him, he thought. If he died with her scent in his lungs and her taste on his lips, so be it.

“Come. Now.” He said against her, the low thrum of his voice a vibration. Her hands clenched so tight in his hair her nails dug into his scalp, and he hissed as she came, bucking like an untamed animal as he did his best to keep her hips still while she rode his face into oblivion.

“More,” she gasped as he moved up to kiss her messily, his face soaked with her.

“Like this?” he growled as he finally thrust into her, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of her thighs. He pushed her legs upward, pinning her completely beneath him. He wanted her to feel all of him, to rub against her clit as he slammed into her.

He was tired of her acidity and sharp tongue; he wanted to douse her in pleasure until she was a wrecked woman who couldn’t string a sentence together. He wanted to fill her mouth with his cock just to stop her talking, to see her eyes water from the fullness of him as she gagged on him. And she would love every filthy minute of it, he knew, until he spilled himself down her throat, his hand tight in her hair.

He wanted to taste his own seed on her tongue. He wanted her to taste herself. He wanted to fuck her so deeply, and come inside her so fully that those two tastes became one.

She was intoxicating. Not only could he taste and feel her mortal flesh twitching and pulsing beneath him, he could feel the sensations dancing over his own skin. His cock throbbed, coated in the slick of her arousal. Caused by him. His breath was erratic, his usual reliable words lost in the bonfire of her.

She was infuriating. She was selfish. She was dangerous.

She was his, and he called out her name from the thought.

Her response was a mix of a moan and a cry, her nails raking down his back, her eyes half-closed in pleasure. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in another melting kiss, swallowing her cries as he thrust deeper, harder. His hands roamed her body, memorising every curve, every shiver of pleasure.

He could feel her nearing the edge again, her body tightening around him, every muscle coiling with anticipation. With one hand, he reached between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The sensation sent her spiralling, her climax crashing over her with a force that left her trembling and breathless. Her moans turned to cries of ecstasy, her nails digging into his back as her body shuddered violently.

He watched her face contort with pleasure, her eyes glazed and lips parted, and it spurred him to thrust harder, deeper. His fingers never stopped their relentless motion, drawing out her orgasm until she was a quivering mess beneath him. He could feel her pulsing around his cock and he knew he was close. The sight of her coming undone, the sound of her pleading for more, was enough to push him over the edge

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, his own release tearing through him. He groaned her name, his voice thick with passion, as he filled her, their bodies locked together. His fingers continued to work her, drawing out every last tremor, until she was left panting and spent.

He collapsed onto her, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, they lay there, tangled in each other, the air around them heavy and hot with the scent of sex. Slowly, Gale lifted his head to look at her, his eyes dark and glinting. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle after their ferocity.

“See,” she panted, “I told you you could handle it.”

He rested his head against her neck, wordless. His clever, moral little thoughts had burnt out in the chaos of her, and all that was left was the ambition she had stoked.

“There is so much more to life than what she offers,” Tav breathed. “A whole other, messy, mortal world out there, with more power than your Goddess was willing to give you.” She paused, her voice a whisper against his ear. “But I am. I would give you everything.”

Gale met her gaze, his eyes searching hers. For a fleeting moment, he swore he caught a flash of red within them. They were so close, their faces almost touching, that the same flash of red reflected in his own dark stare.

“Show me”

The prompt was...

"Go fuck yourself"

"Fuck me yourself, you coward."

[rainrot4me]

Whats the request you're most excited to write???? Also can you make a list of all the requests you've gotten so far? I just want to see how far down mine is LOL

So basically, I’m going to make it easier on myself to pump these out and fill requests so here’s what I’m planning on doing:

A lot of you have just requested simple “Can you write character x reader?” and left it up to me, but the other half of you (whom i could kiss on the lips ily all) have wrote a detailed, lengthy explanation of what you want and it makes it soooooo easy and enjoyable to just pump my brain to write without having to come up with a plot. So! I’m going to be combining requests and writing for requested characters, but using the specific prompts requested to actually post. I hope that makes sense… you’ll understand when I start posting lol

Anyways- here’s the current list! (I’ve shortened it down, as I look at my inbox I easily have 50 requests I’m just not going to write each individual one)

- Jeff the Killer x Female Reader (on her period) (currently writing!)

- Jeff the Killer x Female Reader x Ben Drowned

- Fluffy Kirishima x Female Reader

- Nina x Female Reader

- Clockwork x Female Reader (strapon yum)

- Hoodie x Female Reader x Masky (hunters x prey)

- Toby, Masky, Hoodie x Female Reader (this one is definitely the one I’m most excited for, already have a draft written up 🔥)

- Toby x Chubby Female Reader x Eyeless Jack

- Continuation of Just Relax (cockwarming and relationship building 😵‍💫 fwb turned deep)

- Kate the Chaser x Female Reader (more strapon YUM)

- Stalker Ben Drowned x Female Reader

- Hoodie x Female Reader (he chases you in a corn maze AHHHH)

- Toby x Clockwork (so excited for this omg)

- Slenderman x Female Reader (maybe a continuation of WITT)

- Toby x Transmasc Reader (clawing at the walls to write this)

- Bloody Painter x Female Reader (“let me help you love yourself” EEEE)

- Jeff the Killer x CVI Female Reader (basically reader is blind and isn’t afraid of him, it’s gonna be so fluffy)

- Jeff the Killer x Toby x Female Reader (Toby is whipped for Jeff and needs an excuse to get with him, so he uses you AHH)

- Toby x Female Reader (they’re childhood friends, major fluff in this one, lots of trauma too)

- Eyeless Jack x Medic Female Reader (basically Jeff and Jack fight over you, BUT JACK WINS!!!! gonna be a good possessive one trust)

- Jessica x Female Reader (very soft very cute)

- Tim Wright x Female Reader (christmas themed!!!!!!!) (might save this one for actual christmas cause it’s gonna be so good)

- Eyeless Jack x Artist Female Reader (you’re lonely, Jack thinks you’re adorable)

- Kagekao x Female Reader (i’m not very familiar with this character but i’ll do my research!!!)

- Jeff the Killer x Female Reader x Toby (heavy non-con)

- Ben Drowned x Tall Female Reader (climb that tree boy!)

- AFAB Jeff the Killer x Reader (considering i don’t want to be insensitive at all, i’m going to converse with the requester and get a more in depth feel of how they want this written! but i’m planning on t4t)

- X-Virus x Female Reader

- Toby x Female Reader x Masky (heavy power struggle)

- Eyeless Jack x Author Female Reader (he begs for your attention YUM)

- Evan/Habit x Female Reader (killer x stalker vibes!)

I’m sure this list will severely change before I know it, but I promise to work as quickly as I can and make all of you happy! I’m so excited for all of these!!!!! Thank you all so much for reading and requesting!!

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

seems like deja vu to me p2

pair: Fred Weasley x reader

requested by anonymous

Please write a sequel for seems like deja vu to me I need to read about them ending up together

masterlist | navigation | p1

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

The next few days at Grimmauld Place were no different—Fred was relentless, always finding new ways to show off or tease Y/N. But now, she found herself noticing more than she had before. His laugh wasn’t just loud and annoying; it was contagious. His constant jokes weren’t a bother—they made her smile when no one was looking. And the way his eyes gleamed whenever he tried to impress her? Well, maybe she liked that more than she let on.

One afternoon, Y/N was in the kitchen, reading quietly, when Fred strolled in, humming to himself. He didn’t notice her at first, but when he did, his face lit up like he’d found exactly what he was looking for.

“Y/N! Just the person I wanted to see.”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to hide her growing smile. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”

Fred leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, a playful smirk on his face. “I’ve been working on a new invention. Thought you might want to be the first to test it out.”

Y/N set her book down, feigning disinterest. “And why would I want to do that?”

Fred’s smirk didn’t falter. “Because, darling, I have a feeling you’ll be impressed. And I know you’ve been dying to admit that you’re impressed by me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the way her lips twitched upwards. “Fred, you’re delusional.”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice in that cheeky, conspiratorial way of his. “Come on, just admit it. I’m starting to think you like me.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

Fred’s grin only grew wider, and he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “You have no idea.”

For the first time, Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “And what if I do?”

Fred blinked, surprised for a moment, before his grin turned into a full-on smile, the mischievous glint in his eyes softening just a bit. “Well then,” he said, voice still teasing, “I guess we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she refused to let him see her falter. “Oh? And what exactly do you suggest?”

Before Fred could respond, someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Both of them whipped around to see Sirius standing there, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face. “Am I interrupting something?”

Y/N’s face flushed instantly, but Fred, of course, just shot Sirius a wink. “Not at all. Just talking about how Y/N here might have a soft spot for me.”

Sirius laughed, shaking his head. “Well, I guess James and Lily really have been reincarnated.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands as Fred chuckled beside her.

The teasing didn’t stop, but over the next few days, Y/N found herself spending more and more time with Fred. He toned down the jokes—just a little—and they started talking more. Really talking. She’d always known Fred was fun and lighthearted, but she hadn’t realized just how much depth he had. Beneath the constant teasing and jokes, there was someone who cared deeply for his family, for his friends—and, it seemed, for her.

One evening, they were alone again in the drawing room, the fire casting a soft glow over the room. Fred was sprawled out on the couch, and Y/N was sitting on the armchair, pretending to read.

“Hey,” Fred said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Y/N looked up from her book. “Hmm?”

Fred sat up, his usual grin replaced with something a little more serious. “I wasn’t joking, you know.”

She frowned, confused. “About what?”

“About liking you.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and for once, she didn’t have a witty comeback ready. She just stared at him, trying to process the fact that Fred Weasley—Fred, the biggest goofball she knew—was being completely serious.

Fred rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little nervous for the first time since she’d met him. “I just… I know I’m a bit much sometimes. But I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I just thought… well, maybe you feel the same.”

Y/N closed her book, standing up and walking over to the couch. She sat down beside him, her heart pounding in her chest. “You’re not too much, Fred.”

Fred’s eyes flickered with surprise. “Really?”

She nodded, feeling a little shy herself now. “Yeah. And… I might like you too.”

Fred’s grin returned in full force, and before she could say another word, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “You know,” he said, his voice teasing again, “I always knew I’d win you over.”

Y/N laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

Fred chuckled, pressing a light kiss to her temple. “But you love it.”

She sighed, but she was smiling as she snuggled closer to him. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

And for the first time, Fred didn’t need to say anything. They just sat there, wrapped up in each other, with the fire crackling softly beside them.

Maybe Remus and Sirius had been right all along.

[charmingsoa]

✶ Where the Wild Things Are: Two ✶ ■ 1960s Sons of Anarchy story ■

⌃ Jax Teller/ OC x Thomas Teller/OC ⌃

Warning: Please read with caution. This story will include: drug use, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse. miscarriages, sexual content, alcohol use, homicide, cursing, etc. ★ If You would like to be tagged in future updates, simply leave your username in the comments.

Taglist: @oskea93, @keyweegirlie @ravennaortiz

As the California sun beat down on me, the wind whipping through my hair as I rode on the back of the motorcycle, I couldn't help but reflect on the narrow-minded beliefs my parents had instilled in me and my brothers. Growing up in a conservative household where conformity and judgment were the norm, I had always been taught to view anyone who rode motorcycles as nothing but trash – individuals destined for the depths of hell.

My parents, staunch believers in their own sect of holy rollers, held strong prejudices against those who lived differently or held alternative beliefs. They saw the world in black and white, with no room for shades of gray or understanding. But as I clung to the back of the driver, feeling the freedom of the open road beneath me, I realized how misguided their teachings had been.

The rider in front of me, a stranger whose name I learned was Tig, exuded a sense of liberation and rebellion that I had never experienced before. The rumble of the engine beneath us seemed to drown out the judgmental voices of my past, and for the first time, I felt truly alive.

When the group first pulled up in front of me, I didn’t know whether to take their offer or run for the distant hills. Growing up, the horror stories of gangs kidnapping young girls and doing the unthinkable were ingrained in my psyche as my mother preached of their dangers. She would spew words of hatred and fear whenever the topic arose, warning me to steer clear of any suspicious-looking individuals or groups that might pose a threat.

As I stood there, frozen in indecision, the leader of the group stepped forward with a smile that seemed almost too friendly for someone in his position. His eyes held a glint of mischief, but there was something else there too – a hint of vulnerability that I couldn’t quite place.

"Hey there, don’t be afraid," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We’re just a group of travelers looking for some company on the road. We mean you no harm."

I hesitated, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Should I trust this stranger and accept his offer of companionship, or should I heed the warnings of my mother and make a run for it? The decision weighed heavily on my shoulders, the consequences of each choice playing out vividly in my mind.

In the end, curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself nodding hesitantly, agreeing to join the group on their journey. As I climbed onto the back of his bike and we set off down the road together, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was embarking on an adventure that would change my life forever.

As we finally started to slow down upon entering a small town called Charming, I couldn't help but notice the reactions of the locals as the bikes rumbled past. Pedestrians on the sidewalk stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening with surprise and disapproval as they watched the group pass by. Disapproving looks were etched on their faces, and I could almost feel the judgment radiating towards them.

The quaint shops and cafes that lined the main street seemed to quiet down as we rode through, the sound of the engines cutting through the peaceful ambiance of the town. I could see the whispers and sideways glances exchanged among the townspeople, their curiosity mixed with a hint of fear or disdain.

The men didn’t seem to mind the disapproving looks from the townspeople – smirks on some of their faces as they revved their engines a little more as they passed by. The sound of the engines roared through the quiet streets, echoing off the old brick buildings that lined the road.

As they pulled into a side entrance of a garage, I knew this was officially the end of the line for them. I watched as they parked side-by-side, each backing their bikes into their assigned spaces. The engines sputtered to a halt, the sound gradually fading into the background as the men dismounted and stretched their legs.

I quickly gathered my things, removing myself from the bike, my legs feeling equivalent to jelly as they gathered the strength to hold up my weight. The adrenaline that had fueled me through the ride was now dissipating, leaving behind a feeling of exhaustion and exhilaration.

I leaned against a nearby lamppost, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The men exchanged nods and grins as they gathered in a loose circle, their leather jackets creaking slightly as they moved.

One of them, a tall man with a patchwork of tattoos covering his arms, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered them around. The faint smell of smoke mingled with the lingering scent of gasoline, creating a heady mix that hung in the air.

As they lit up and took long drags, their faces relaxed into expressions of contentment. The tension that had hung over them during the ride seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose.

The door to the business slowly opened, an older woman stepped onto the concrete below. Her presence commanded attention, exuding a sense of authority and confidence that made it clear she was not to be underestimated. The leather pants she wore hugged her figure, accentuating her strong and graceful movements as she made her way towards the men.

Her blonde highlights caught the sunlight, creating a halo of shimmering gold around her head. Despite the warmth of the day, there was a coolness in her gaze that hinted at a steely resolve beneath the polished exterior. I observed from a respectful distance as Gemma interacted with the men, her gestures filled with warmth and affection that spoke of deep bonds and shared history. She moved among them with ease, exchanging hugs and kisses that spoke of a familial closeness that went beyond mere camaraderie.

A tall man approached her from behind, his presence exuding a sense of quiet strength and authority. He wrapped his strong arms around her small waist, drawing her close in a gesture that was both protective and intimate. The woman’s laughter rang out, a clear and joyful sound that seemed to light up the space around them.

Their lips met in a brief but tender kiss, a display of affection that was unapologetically open and genuine. There was a sense of ease and comfort between them, a connection that ran deep and unspoken, forged through years of shared experiences and challenges.

My eyes moved away from the couple as the door reopened, this time revealing a blonde man. He looked to be in his early 20s – shoulder length hair resting against his work shirt. I don’t know how I looked to those around, but it was almost like how a cartoon character’s draw drops to the floor – he was gorgeous. I watched as he stepped off the stoop, sauntering over to the circle of men, clapping them on the back as he welcomed their return.

I was so caught up in the enigmatic presence of the blonde man that I failed to notice another individual had quietly slipped into the corner with us – the older woman with a knowing smile playing on her lips. Her voice, smooth and seasoned, cut through the hazy atmosphere around us.

"You lost, kitten?" she inquired, her tone a curious blend of amusement and concern. Her eyes, framed by fine lines that whispered of wisdom and experience, held a glint of something indefinable, as though she saw more than just the surface of things.

Startled by her sudden appearance and the unexpected nickname, I turned to face her, momentarily at a loss for words. The air between us crackled with a kind of unspoken understanding, as if she could see right through the facade I presented to the world.

“Sorry-“ I stammered. “I – uh-“

A smile spread across her face as she placed her hand on my arm, her touch warm and comforting. "You must be the little one the guys picked up on their way home. Tig told me all about you when he called a little while ago."

Memories of when we stopped at the gas station hours before came flooding back – the smell of gasoline, the flickering lights, and the sound of chatter from the other customers. I remembered my eyes connecting with Tig’s as he spoke animatedly in the glass box, his voice carrying a sense of urgency and excitement.

"What’s your name, sweetheart?" the woman asked, her eyes kind and curious.

Tucking a loose red strand of hair behind my ear, I replied, "Catherine. Catherine Landry." My voice was low, almost a whisper, as if unsure of my own presence in this moment.

The woman's smile widened, a glint of recognition flashing in her eyes. "Catherine Landry," she repeated softly, as if savoring the sound of the name. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Catherine. I'm Gemma."

As I started to speak, the sound of gravel crunching beneath heavy steps caught my attention, drawing my gaze away from Gemma. I turned, my eyes following the path of the approaching figure with blonde hair that glinted in the bright sunshine.

He walked with purpose, his strides confident and measured, his presence commanding attention. The gravel shifted under his weight, creating a rhythmic pattern that seemed to echo the beating of my heart.

As he drew closer, I noticed the intensity in his gaze, the way his eyes seemed to search and assess, taking in every detail of the scene before him. There was a certain magnetism about him, a silent strength that seemed to radiate from his very being.

Gemma's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing her features as she greeted him with a nod. "Hey baby," she said, her voice warm and welcoming.

As the two embraced one another, I stood there, a silent observer to the intimate moment unfolding before me. The man's eyes remained fixed on me, a hint of curiosity and something else I couldn't quite decipher lingering in their depths.

Gemma's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her embrace filled with a sense of familiarity and comfort. There was a closeness between them, a bond that seemed to transcend words and time.

I watched as they held each other, their connection palpable in the air around them. It was as if they shared a history, a story that only they knew, leaving me on the outside looking in, a stranger to their world.

As they finally pulled away, a silent understanding passing between them, the man turned his gaze back to me. There was a question in his eyes, a silent inquiry that hung in the air, waiting to be answered.

As Gemma turned her attention back to me, her warm smile lighting up her face, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within me. "Catherine," she began, her voice filled with a sense of familiarity and fondness, "This is my son, Jackson."

Jackson. The name echoed in my mind, stirring something deep within me. I looked up to meet his gaze, finding a pair of eyes that held a hint of curiosity and a touch of amusement.

Gemma's introduction caught me off guard, her words painting a picture of me as a lost soul in need of rescue. "She's the little thing that Tig and the guys picked up along the way," she explained, her tone lighthearted but tinged with a hint of motherly concern.

I couldn't help but inwardly roll my eyes at her explanation, feeling a twinge of annoyance at being likened to a stray puppy. It was true that I had found myself in an unexpected situation, but I was no damsel in distress in need of saving.

As I exchanged greetings with Jackson, a sense of curiosity sparked within me. There was something about him, a quiet strength and a depth in his eyes that hinted at hidden layers beneath the surface.

Jackson smirked and his eyes roamed up my body, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me, causing a slight flush to rise to my cheeks. His gaze held a hint of mischief and confidence, leaving me momentarily flustered in his presence.

"It's nice to meet you too," I replied, trying to maintain a composed demeanor despite the flutter of nerves within me. There was something magnetic about Jackson, an undeniable charm that drew me in even as I felt the weight of his scrutiny.

Gemma's proud voice interrupted the moment, drawing my attention back to her as she spoke of her son. "Jax is the leader of the group," she said with a hint of pride. "Along with my other son, Thomas." The revelation that there were two brothers leading the group took me by surprise. “Club comes from a strong line of Teller men," Gemma continued, her tone filled with reverence and hope for the future. "Hoping to continue that tradition in the future." She affectionately patted Jackson's chest, her gesture a symbol of both maternal pride and a legacy to uphold.

Jackson rolled his eyes at his mother's suggestion, a hint of amusement danced in his gaze.

"Trust me," he stated, his deep voice carrying a sense of authority that cut through the air, "She's really the one in charge."

The bond between Jackson and Gemma was palpable from the very beginning. It was clear to anyone who observed them that they shared a special connection, a closeness that went beyond words. Jackson was the one closest to his mother, their relationship built on a foundation of trust, understanding, and unwavering loyalty.

In contrast, Thomas seemed to be as far removed from Gemma as possible. There was a distance between them, an unspoken divide that hinted at unresolved issues and unspoken tensions. While Jackson and Gemma thrived in each other's company, Thomas seemed to seek solace elsewhere, distancing himself from the intricate web of relationships that defined their family dynamic.

Jax and Gemma's bond ran deep, a complex tapestry of emotions that intertwined their fates in ways that were both captivating and destructive. They fed off each other's energy, their connection fueled by a sense of mutual need and dependency that bordered on obsession.

Thick as thieves one moment, brutal enemies the next, their relationship was a rollercoaster of emotions that played out like a high-stakes drama. Time slipped away, leaving behind a trail of unresolved conflicts and simmering tensions that threatened to erupt at any moment.

The heat that Gemma placed between her two sons was a double-edged sword, igniting a fire that fueled their passions and their conflicts in equal measure. Theirs was a relationship fraught with complexity, where love and loyalty mingled with jealousy and resentment, creating a volatile mix that kept them locked in a perpetual dance of push and pull.

Thomas felt the weight of his mother Gemma's favoritism like a heavy chain, binding him to a perpetual cycle of disappointment and resentment. From a young age, he watched as Gemma showered his older brother Jackson with praise and attention, leaving him in the shadows of Jax's achievements. Despite his best efforts to earn her approval, Gemma's preference for Jackson was unwavering, creating a toxic atmosphere of rivalry and animosity between the Teller brothers.

"So, from what I heard, you’re hitching to San Francisco?” Gemma spoke as she looked at me with curiosity. “What’s so important down there that you had to leave home for?” She pushed past her son, taking hold of my arm as she started walking up towards the building.

“From the looks of you-“She did a once over. “Looks to me like you’re running away from something – midwestern lifestyle, perhaps?” Gemma's keen observation caught me off guard, her words cutting through my carefully crafted facade. I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way I hadn't anticipated.

I cleared my throat nervously, feeling the weight of my confession hanging in the air. "My parents are very conservative – conservative and very religious," Her eyes closing in understanding, Gemma listened intently as I opened about my inner conflict. "They're lovely people – " I began to backpedal, feeling a need to qualify my earlier statement. "But the life I want to live doesn't match with how they want me to live. I want to be able to be free and do what I please, but they're all about the image and how the Lord wants us to live our lives."

"You ran away?" Gemma's voice was filled with concern and empathy, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I nodded slowly, the memories of that night flooding. "Left in the middle of the night after my father beat me with a switch," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes cast down to the ground, unable to meet Gemma's gaze as the shame and hurt of that moment washed over me once again. "He called me awful names, and my mother just sat there and watched."

Gemma's back straightened, a steely resolve entering her expression as she processed my words. "Doesn't sound to me like they're lovely people," she stated firmly, her voice tinged with indignation.

I shrugged my shoulders, “That’s just how they are – been like that my whole life.” I knew I shouldn’t be making excuses for them, but they were my parents. “I’m the only daughter – I was supposed to be the epitome of a perfect daughter.”

“What could be so bad that your daddy beats you?”

I watched as she pulled out a cigarette, gesturing for me to take one as well. She quickly lit the end of the stick, the smoke invading my lungs with ease. “I started messing around with boys at an early age – sex, drugs, dancing. Sex was my go-to though. They didn’t want their only daughter being known as the town whore, which I guess I became. I was supposed to save myself until I was married – only letting my wedded husband lay between my legs.”

Gemma chuckled, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Sounds a lot like my folks," she remarked, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and humor.

"I just needed to get away, and after seeing all those people on the nightly news coming out here and living life their own way and being free and peaceful –" I paused, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. "I just need that in my life right now. A life where I can be free and do whatever I want to do. And if that means I have to do negative things to get to that place, then so be it."

As I spoke, I felt a mix of determination and uncertainty churning within me. The longing for freedom and self-expression had grown into a burning desire, fueled by the stories of those who had dared to defy conventions and carve out their own paths. The allure of a life unbound by limitations and expectations beckoned to me like a distant star, promising a sense of liberation and authenticity that had eluded me for so long.

“You know –“Gemma started. “The Frisco area isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Her tone matter of fact. “I know it looks all peace and love on the tv screen but it’s really just a bunch of homeless hippies that are looking for attention and free handouts.”

I let out an annoyed sigh.

"Listen, little girl," her voice took on a more serious tone, the lines on her face softening with a mix of concern and affection. "You've accomplished the biggest goal you set for yourself – you made it all the way to California." She paused, letting the significance of the moment sink in before continuing.

A wide smile slowly spread across her face, reflecting pride and admiration. "By what you just told me, that was the ultimate goal. Now, I know going a little further south for the whole peace and love movement was the next quest, but I think for your sake it would be better for you to stay here."

“I don’t know anyone here, though.” I was grasping for excuses.

Her face twisted in a mix of concern and determination. "You weren't gonna know anyone down there either." She tossed her cigarette down, the ember extinguishing under the pressure of her heeled shoe. "You've managed to meet a whole crew of men that will now look after you if you choose to stay. You've met me and Jax – you'll get to meet Thomas when he decides to come home. You're no longer around strangers, baby doll. We can be your family – a family that'll treat you right."

Her voice softened, the edges of her tough exterior melting away to reveal a deep sense of care and protection. "We've seen the world through different lenses, faced our own battles, and carved out our own paths in this chaotic dance of life. But amidst all the chaos, we found each other – kindred spirits bound by shared experiences and unspoken connections."

The older woman's eyes held a glimmer of hope, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance. "You have a home here, among friends who will stand by you through thick and thin, who will lift you up when you stumble and celebrate your victories as their own. Take a chance on us, darling. Let us be the family you never knew you needed, but always longed for deep in your heart."

I would end up staying in that small fucking town for the next 25 years – my whole world coming to revolve around the Teller family and the Sons of Anarchy.

[delicrieux]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 | endless drabble series (autumn edition)

pairing—james potter x reader genre—very light enemies to lovers in the span of 5 mins xx summary—someone comes to annoy you as you read your book on the pier word count—2.7k

author's note: i've been on james potter spiral. won't elaborate

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open!

there’s absolutely nothing romantic about the way james looks at you – gaping maw and all, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose because he smacked his hand to the thin, wiry edge to lift them up and did it quickly and clumsily and for no reason – and if you assume otherwise, you’re an idiot. but you don’t assume otherwise, nor are you all the curious about the tangle of mush that could, perhaps, in a mind more evolved, be considered a thought. james can, you suppose, have decency, and he can, given the benefit of the doubt, appear thoughtful and tactful and, based on the information that came to dorcas in a dream, be serious about his affections. which he has none for you, just to be clear. in case the scene might paint otherwise.

what a curious sight it is on the rickety pier of the boathouse. the weather’s grown cold, near frosty, and the sky had long turned into something grey and woolen. the wind scratches at your ears, and at your lips, and james’ nose has gone red and so have his cheeks, and he looks ridiculous in his coat and burgundy sweater peeking underneath that you almost take pity on him. almost. though, if any of your friends inquired what was so ridiculous about him in that moment, you wouldn’t be able to form an answer that would appease them. james potter is simply too much – is that not fact? why should there be a trial to scrutinize your claim when the words are truth? yes, he’s ridiculous, and he’s stupid, and his hair is all a mess, and—

“i didn’t expect to find anyone here, to be honest,” he says after the long pause of nothing but glances and an understanding you haven’t figured out yet. when you’ll go to bed tonight and toss and turn, perhaps you’ll pick up the magnifying glass and recognize it as interest and be tremendously distressed and nauseous of that knowledge. now, you only worry for a heartbeat that’s just a tad too quick, “’s a bit odd, innit?”

“what?” your voice could’ve been like a whip in the air if only it wasn’t so hushed. pillowed by the cold that had frozen the strings of your syllables.

“you are.” he explains, a hint of teeth showing from his smile.

if you swung with all of your weight, perhaps he’d fall into the freezing waters beneath your feet and be so shocked that he would never resurface. no one would suspect you as culprit, since no one would see you escaping the boathouse, and you could, with great smugness, mourn with the rest when his disappearance is declared as demise. how positively villainous. he’s sitting close enough, you could try, but you know that, while a valiant attempt, he would grab you quicker than you could blink and drag you down to the depths laughing, like some deranged grindylow. a mirror-image in appearance, too.

“sod off,” you mumble, and seldom have you spoken words more genuine. you flip a page of an inconspicuous book borrowed from the forbidden section, intended to be returned, of course, once you had absorbed all it has to offer. not much, so far.

“there’s a library you can read in,” james says, scooting closer, because your personal space must be shared and perhaps he’s curious of the text that has commanded so much of your attention. he nudges your shoulder, and nudges it again when you don’t look up, “not sure you knew that.”

“was terrified you might find me too quick,” and there is some truth to that, but more so you were dissuaded by the idea of the librarian catching you. the book supposedly reveals archaic jinxes that went out of fashion – either too impractical or too dangerous – and the long-withstanding mythos about the book implies it discloses only when the shift in temperature is great. so you sit here, and freeze, and if you were honest enough you would tell him, and you would add that you like it here, even when cold, because it’s tranquil and the castle looks trapped in a snowglobe under the dome of the sky.

he snorts, “found you anyway.”

“have you nothing better to do?”

“not really. you upset?”

“hard not to be, around you.”

“flattered. and thankful. for, you know, the stature that comes with such an accomplishment—”

there you go, taking the bait and reeling in close. if your teeth chatter a bit as you speak, well, you were already blaming the chill, no? so let him think what he wants – a smirk tugging at his lips and eyes all lit up and giddy – and his face could warm you a bit. but then, it was your temper all aflame that might solve the problem entirely. and all you can think is, ridiculous.

perhaps his conversation isn't stimulating. perhaps the cold numbs your thoughts. or perhaps he is a pretty sight against this miserable, clouded backdrop, and so are you. a hand comes to the cover of the book, still flipped, and the skin brushing against the page is frigid to touch.

"you're freezing," he says, eyes trained on the book, and perhaps he really is talking to the cover. you wouldn't put it past him, "fancy warming up a bit? back inside, near the fire place in the common room. with company, for once. bet that'd be better."

"with your company, i take it?" you chime smartly.

"didn't i just say that?"

"hmm," is a reply given with a hum, and he only speaks again when his stare hasn't caused your skin to peel away.

"c'mon, then. there's nothing for you here but a bloody draft. come up now and we can steal butterbeers from the kitchen, if you'd like." there are an unnatural many suggestions, like he's grappling for a hook even when his expression shows nothing. he's usually less scattered than this, and he never considers your feelings in his very many attempts: 'come to the three broomsticks with me,' and you ask, 'why?' and he replies 'cuz i wanna drink.'

"no." you say.

"stubborn."

"willfully," and the emphasis is drawn out so maybe it sticks. you've dealt with him enough that his ramblings can hardly deter you, though, no matter how charming the prospect might sound, because you hate him. you've practiced saying these exact words in the mirror only to make them sound more potent. train your expression not to wobble, because no matter how unassuming james can appear at times, he strikes the moment he notices a slight hesitation.

he doesn't, because if he had, your hand wouldn't be clasping his so tight.

"fine," he nods his head, a huff of white cloud billowing from his mouth as he says so. his hand is equally as cold, like ice against your palm, but then his fingers wiggle a bit and lace through the empty spaces to properly intertwine.

"james?"

"they say sharing body heat is the quickest, y'know."

"unnecessary," you hiss.

"warm," is his only answer, and he inches closer so it's no wonder his face flushes like that. he's got his other arm around your shoulders, knee knocked with yours, "how long, you recon," he mutters, "before frostbite starts?"

"soon," you drawl, and if there's a small shiver running up your spine, then that's all the cold. nothing to do with the person beside you and how unabashed he is at his own closeness, and how warm he could be in this circumstance – when he was offered no objections, "if lucky."

a subtle lean in your direction, a nose buried in a scarf that smells faintly of cinnamon, is, at this rate, your ultimate surrender. how painful it is to do so, when pride swells like a bruise deep in your chest and the pain lingers. perhaps you can hide behind the flimsy veil of not caring and listen to the pace of his breath under your ear where his chin rests on your shoulder. if you were to look, you'd see a vague pout on his lips – chapped, but red, maybe even lovely.

"what are you reading, anyway?" he mumbles.

"history," is the quick and clipped answer. he doesn't deserve the details.

"not quite my subject. boring as all, i take it. does it at least mention me? history? dunno how anything goes without the noble house of potter contributions."

"noble? hardly," you state, "absolutely vain, though, obviously."

"begrudge me my blessings, but you love them," he chuckles and if you were feeling nice, you would say that it was warm enough that it chipped a tiny sliver of ice away. just a little. you settle for pinching his wrist, and are entertained to hear him wail a little.

he is the worst thing that's ever happened. the most tragic accident, and you just happen to have the most unfortunate timing. did he take a specialty class to master the art of pestering people? his eyes are big and hazel, and maybe it's because they are trained on that they seem a bit darker. absolutely repugnant. you'd rather die, and that is the truth. a death by looking. a tragic fate, a complete misfortune, an absolute bloody mess.

"you're blushing," he says, and if he had to bring it up, at least his voice is soft. no amusement, and he sounds just as fond as he is mystified, "thinking dirty thoughts? and on school grounds, no doubt. i am positively scandalized."

"piss off," the hiss is made venomous on purpose, and maybe you mean it. maybe.

"hope you aren't thinking too many about anyone else," this is the closest he has been to sounding thoughtful in any conversation, "that'd make me all sorts of bitter. wouldn't like that."

"of course you wouldn't, not when the possibility exists to bully me with the information," a huff, a quick exhale that clouds the air like his smile had before, and maybe he'd be charming, if only his intent wasn't as devious as it is.

"or i really just wouldn't like it," and how he dares to sound wounded with such a tender sentiment, and perhaps your insistence upon finding his ways less than humble could have come with a greater reluctance. as if you were dragged out of this, kicking and screaming. how utterly sickening his lips might taste, and your want has to be damned, so you don't look. and instead, his head comes to nuzzle on a shoulder with a knit scarf tickling his cheek, "wouldn't like it."

how utterly horrid.

there is no solution, really, and if you had looked, his eyes would've been heavy and his mind more so. it doesn't bother him, even if you are so silent – silent as stone – and his voice comes a bit thick, but he's smiling and he's always smiling like the imbecile he is. that you know he is. no one could fake the joy so pure that is beaming across his face. and what's worse, what is infinitely worse, is that he sees what must look like something far gentler in your expression.

"you're sweet," and if he is smug, you'd hardly noticed. a press of his lips at your temple, a warm chuckle against your neck, "and bloody adorable, too," because if there's anything that you couldn't handle right now, it's a heartfelt conversation. a damsel-worthy declaration, because, knowing him, he'd embarrass the both of you enough to melt a few inches of frost, and that just won't do.

"don't push it."

"or what? afraid you might lose the resolve to your no-nonsense-pretend-to-loathe-everyone act? and it was so brilliant, too."

"please stop talking," the whine could've been unbecoming if you weren't so desperate for him to silence himself, but, lucky you, "seriously."

"so hard not to when you are. how are you real?"

"questionable," you mumble, and this must be torture, except the prick hasn't pushed you, or grabbed you, or anything beyond holding your hand and wedging a cold nose into your scarf, "at the moment, i'm not entirely sure."

"miserable, aren't we? c'mon," and the only solution is to knock his head with yours, hard enough to make a noise that's audible over your hammering heart, and this time you give him the courtesy of seeing a brief flash of pain. and if you give him the curtsy of pressing your lips into his, well, he takes advantage of it and gets your hands. warm hands around cold, pale fingers, and a hum sounds into your throat and might vibrate all the way to the ends of your hair.

he's the bloody worst, isn't he? and somehow you're fated to know how terribly true the statement is.

"no, really, your hands are cold," he says softly, and the weather hasn't affected him. his words are sluggish and slow, like the pace of his palms on yours, rubbing and trying to warm them, and he might have a point, but he won't have the satisfaction of knowing that. the confirmation only came with another kiss, and how is that a deterrent? it really shouldn't be, "adorable, but i see frost on your fingers."

you roll your eyes, but for what it's worth, his kisses have an aftertaste of warmth, "my savior," your murmurs, and the irony is evident in how unamused the words are, "thanks."

"always at your beck and call."

"have i called?"

"many times," he presses a kiss to a wrist and another to your palm, and if his breathing warms the space between your hands then the problem's almost solved.

"in your dreams, perhaps."

"quite vividly," james has always had a glint to his eyes – an ambition, maybe, that shines brilliantly every time he's truly serious, but it's an intensity you had only seen a handful of times in him. so many wasted words, and how ridiculous he could be, how aggravating, and stupid, and wonderful, and in that instant, you think you could see stars, "but they don't last much."

"nice to know you've figured your issue."

"oh, hush." and the lips are on yours, and he smiles while doing so and you might melt away if only because the frost were forced into it. he doesn't open his mouth or let his hands do more than touch your cheek, your neck, with such gentility and no wonder your face grows warmer. it must glow in the evening air and you could be seen miles away, looking like an absolute prat, being adored so thoroughly. a long inhale before pulling away, but he rests his forehead against yours, "see? better, isn't it?"

"dreadful."

"sure, love." and it must be the first time the petname sounds endearing rather than mocking, or perhaps the frost in your limbs has really started to settle and the chill has worked into your bones, or perhaps his skin looks so bright under this awful dome and no one ever talks about the way his hair frames his face. maybe his voice has warmed you more than his hands. or perhaps he is softer and gentle with his affections and he isn't as mean as he claims to be or you insist. maybe, just maybe, you are secretly, obviously, terribly fond the brat and the starry eyed fool sitting next to you. more, or just as much, as he's fond with you.

"can we go back to the castle now?"

"no."

"cold out here," he reminds.

"so i've heard."

"i could help you with that, though."

"thought you already are."

"amazing," a new kiss, quick and chaste on a corner of your lips, "this has got to be a new record of no arguing. good. i can't believe, for once, that all it took was a kiss and some, like, a minute or three of talking, and i would've done it earlier, too. probably."

"don't think too much of it."

"i will. warm-up?"

"what?"

 "kiss me," is that impatience in his voice or the beginning of a tantrum? either way, when a something isn't instantly granted, it prompts a series of groans and complaints that surely rival the level of insufferability james has attained through the years. his head rolls onto your shoulder and you feel his voice against your neck. a hum, "you really, absolutely, one hundred percent have to."

 "i never signed up for such a deal."

 "you did. c'mere."

thank u for reading <3

[stayandot8]

Whispers In The Dark, Part One: Lying Through Your Teeth

Genre: college au, not all members mentioned

Relationship type: strangers to friends

Important Contents: Mr. Popular Chris Bang can't remember who he was before school. But with her? Maybe he might find a path that would lead him back to himself. But how far can he go before the rumors and his reputation become too much for her to ignore?

WC: 6.4k

masterlist

He was notorious. For what, no one could agree on, but he was well known around campus. Some would say it was his skill in bed, others would say his charms would keep him from any kind of trouble with anyone, professors and other students alike. His easy grace with people, especially strangers, made him the perfect showman for the school. He was at all the major events. It was like the head office paid him to be there, cheering when appropriate and constantly surrounded by his fraternity brothers. It was rare that he was caught without at least one of them within three feet of his personal space. It was also a well known fact that there was a roster kept hidden in the depths of his mind of those he hung around with in public, in private, and those he tossed to his brothers. It was like a hierarchy. All the girls knew where they stood with him and used that information against each other when they needed to. 

Chris Bang, appropriately named, was the top man on campus. When he approached you, you couldn’t help but say hello. And if he struck up a conversation with you, it felt like catching up with an old friend. He always wanted to know how you were doing, how your classes were going, and he was genuinely interested in the answer. He asked about your family, your friends, anything that would spark up a conversation with you. And by the time he found something that you had in common, you were hooked. The way he listened to you made you feel like he was your best friend and for those minutes, he was. 

He cared about people, truly. No one could act like that around people if they didn’t care about them. He was warm and inviting, like a hug when you really needed it or a warm shower after a day out in the snow. His gaze was that of a toasty fire, you could curl up in one or both with a book and live there forever. 

He was across the courtyard, surrounded by his usual entourage of fraternity brothers in their lettered sweatshirts and crewnecks. Each one had a girl next to them, talking emphatically with their heads held high. The Chosen Ones for the day, week and each somehow prettier than the last.  They all seemed so engrossed with one another that no one dared interrupt their conversations. 

“Hey! If you stare any harder, you’ll burn a hole in their heads. And those poor girls can’t afford for anything to fall out more than it already has.” Charlie’s words clanged around in my head until they landed and I burst out laughing. 

“That’s so mean.” I shook my head at her, still smiling from laughter. 

“Ask me if I care. Now come here and help me with this paper. I paid for your breakfast this morning for this.” I scooted closer to her laptop on the blanket she had spread out hours ago on the Great Lawn. She moved her coffee cup so I could sit where she desired and turned her laptop to face me. “How can I make this point more clear?” I glanced at the words on her screen, reading, until an obnoxious eruption of laughter interrupted my train of thought. I whipped my head back over to the cluster seated at the tables and traded my earlier look of curiosity to one of annoyance. Unluckily, or maybe luckily, this caught the attention of one of them. Chris made eye contact and nodded in my direction with that easy smile of his. I rolled my eyes large enough for him to see and turned back to Charlie. 

“Well, I think you have to stop using so many descriptor words. It’s confusing to read and I can’t tell what you’re actually trying to say. It seems like you’re saying you believe that Chekov’s plays had clear and concise endings when they really didn’t.”

“I’m getting him and Tolstoy confused again.” She hit the ground with her hands balled into fists. “Which one wrote The Living Corpse?”

A voice appeared in front of our blanket.

“That’s Tolstoy.” Chris Bang himself appeared as if from nowhere, black backpack strapped on and hands in his pockets. His hat was backwards, the casual gesture fitting for the jeans and black t-shirt he sported. He was rarely spotted wearing something different, it was his signature look of sorts along with his shining eyes and curious questions. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” I pulled my eyes from Chris to look at Charlie, who in turn was staring at me with a really weird look on her face. 

“Thanks, Chris. Have you done this essay yet? I swear the longer I’m in Schwartz’s class, the more I hate my life.” 

“I did, I just finished it actually. Took me longer than normal because of the word count requirement.”

“I know, it’s like he wants to kill us.” I snorted and picked up her textbook to flip to the page she would need. I look back up to find Chris’s eyes back on me.

“Are you in this class too? I don’t remember seeing you in there.”

“Oh no, I took his class last year. I’ve already been through that torture. Aced the class somehow.”

“That’s why she’s here, to make sure that my torture is just as bad as hers.” Charlie glared at me from the corner of her eye, making Chris laugh.

“Damn, you’re lucky. You’ve got someone to help you. I’m out here struggling to maintain my C.” 

“Well, you’re welcome to join our suffering, Chris. I’m dying over this paper and she’s laughing at me.” Charlie shot me a confident smirk, seeming to have picked up on something that I absolutely was not putting down. I furrowed my brows at her, the thought never crossing my mind about inviting him to share our blanket or the day’s exceptional weather with campus’ Mr. Popular. But there my best friend was, offering him a place in our little circle. 

“I would, but I’ve got an economics class to get to. But here, when you get a chance to come back out here to study, shoot me a text and I’ll come right over.” He stooped to rip a piece of paper out of a nearby notebook and a pen. He jotted something down and handed it straight to me, locking eyes with me as he handed it over. He paused, his face frozen in a soft smile and everything around us froze along with it. The wind stopped blowing, I paid no mind to Charlie, who I would find in a second was gaping at Chris, and I felt the spark that everyone felt when interacting with Chris Bang. The butterflies came in with a strong gust of chilly October air that unfroze the moment we were stuck in. He found his voice then. “Give me a call sometime.” he said softly.

“Yeah. For sure.” I whispered back against the rustle of the trees. Chris Bang winked at me and then he was gone. The piece of notebook paper was the only physical proof I had that he had been there and it sat in my hand until Charlie practically dove to reach for it. 

“Did you just get Chris Bang’s number?” She opened it and showed it to me. The series of numbers wasn’t the only thing on it. They were accompanied by a short message in his very un-boyish handwriting. ‘Call me :)’ “You have to call him later today. And don’t you dare do it without me.”

“Call him and say what? That I’m happy to be on his list of girls? Or to put me down for the newest girl to be conquered? Girl, please. I’m not Rome, I am not to be ‘conquered’.” I nodded with certainty, resolute in my mindset. Charlie just watched me, smirking and pulling her mouth to one side. 

“Yeah. For sure.” She mimicked my earlier words to him. Shaking her head at me and laughing no doubt to herself, she returned to her laptop and started typing. I couldn;t tell her that while I fully believed every word I had just said, that didn’t mean that the butterflies had gone right away. They stayed there, fluttering in the space he created. It hurt that I could feel how badly they wanted to be let out. 

*

I stared at the number on the piece of paper for the next few hours, going back and forth on whether I wanted to act on his invitation. Who knew the weight of a scrap piece of paper was so heavy? On the one hand, he seemed nice enough with no outright bad intentions other than to study. Whether he needed the extra study time or not wasn’t up to me, nor was I in the mood to find out right this second. But on the other hand, was this just a way to find a new girl? Yes, he was selective when it came to who he was interested in and his level of interest was measured by how long he pursued you. Making him wait was the way to maintain his interest. At least, that was what outside speculation had agreed on with further research and trial-and-error. To those he wasn’t interested in, he was always polite about it, but that left room for them to conduct these experiments. And the results were inconclusive. He didn’t have a type, it seemed random at times, and all of the girls seemed physically different. Only one conclusion could be officially drawn: he liked girls. That was it. 

Word that he had given out his number to his newest attempt hadn’t seemed to get around yet since I didn’t have girls eyeing me up and down all day. I was relieved since I hadn’t decided if I was going to use it yet, which was what I was debating now sitting in the shared room I had. My roommate, Rihannon (yes, like the song), was out, as she normally was. Ever the social butterfly, she joined a sorority the moment she stepped on campus and hadn’t sat down since. She was always going out with her sisters, going to mixers with the different fraternities on campus, or making new friends on a blanket of her own on the Great Lawn. All of these things were a perfect fit for her because she, like Chris, had the magnetic pull with people. They wanted to know her. And she wanted to know them too. She was nice, a friend until the very end, making her the perfect fit for the social scene. But her social expertise did me no good if she wasn’t here. 

So I was left to my own devices. Charlie hounded me until I ran away to catch the bus to get home. 

“You better text him tonight! I want to see him at our spot by noon tomorrow if he can! And you better have proof if he can’t!”

I had rolled my eyes at her. Typical Charlie behavior, sticking her nose in every business I had. This time I couldn’t blame her though since she had been present for this cosmic event. Is that what this was? A cosmic event? Had the stars aligned for this moment to happen today of all days? It was up to me if they had. And as the time grew later, the minutes were passing by, counting down until Charlie would kill me tomorrow or not. 

Ugh. Fine. You win this time. Both of you.

To: Chris Bang

I left the message open, thinking for too long about what to say to this mystical man that gave me his number out of blue. I debated texting Charlie to ask what I should say, but I knew her answer. ‘Just text him hi! Nothing scary about that.’ How wrong she was… I took a deep breath, letting my chest rise and fall fully before picking up my phone again. 

To: Chris Bang

Tomorrow, under the tree next to the Lewis building. That’s our normal spot. No later than noon or else I’m toast. 

I threw my phone across the bed, somehow thinking that if I held it when he answered he would know and he would think I was staring at my phone and waiting for his answer. I mean, I was, but he didn’t need to know that. 

My phone lit up across the bed. I couldn’t read what waited for me on my home screen and I could feel my heart beating faster the closer I drew to my phone. It was like a ticking time bomb, even when I knew it wasn’t. I crept until I could see that the waiting message was indeed from him. And what I read when I opened it made those butterflies that had finally quieted start up again.

From: Chris Bang

We can’t have that, now can we? ;) I’ll be there with my books. What are we studying?

I could and couldn’t believe it. Some part of me that was simply a girl was ecstatic that a boy was flirting with me, according to Charlie. The other, more cautious part that was protective of that girl, was wary. I wasn’t looking for another heartbreak and I was not wanting to set myself up for one.  

To: Chris Bang

Why don’t you come and find out?

Damn it.

*

“Why am I nervous? I didn’t talk to him last night. But then again, I didn’t buy coffee for him either.” 

“Charlie, I swear to god.” The chilly September air was unusual for so early in the month, but it was that time of year here. The mornings were colder so you wore a jacket and by midday, you wondered why you even brought one in the first place. “The girl asked me if I wanted a mess-up and you know I’m not one to turn down free anything. So I said sure. End of story. I wanted a muffin too but they didn’t have any left. The girl said some guy came in and bought them all. I did not buy him a coffee. Who knows if he even likes coffee?”

“I don’t know. But I know that if he accepts it, that says something.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“It does too.” 

“It says he likes free things. That’s about it. Who doesn’t like free shit?”

“I know I do.” Chris’s voice came from behind us just then, carrying a bookbag and a paper bag in his hand. “They had more muffins than they knew what to do with so I grabbed some.”

“Such a gentleman.” Charlie leaped for the bag and tore it open. “Ugh, I love Coffee Bean’s muffins. We also have extra coffee if you want it. She picked it up before she got here.”

“Oh, thanks!” Chris grabbed the cup and took a sip, his lips curving to the shape of the cup. It was that moment I took the chance to really look at him from top to bottom. His hair was parted off to the side and he had opted for a white t-shirt with our university on the front. Jeans and vans completed the look and a worn leather bracelet adorned his wrist. It almost looked homemade.

“That’s a cool bracelet.” I said as cooly as I could manage, trying not to stare at it too hard. He touched it with\a gentleness that resembled fondness, like he was remembering something to do with it. 

“Thanks, my sister gave it to me before I left for school. She’s back home in Austrailia.” It wasn’t news on campus that he wasn’t from America. His accent was a dead giveaway. “She likes to say that she hates me but when I remind her about this, she gets real quiet.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister, I have one too. She moved from my hometown to Arizona. Followed where her connections took her or whatever. But she’s happier there than she ever was back home. Even found herself a girlfriend.” 

“Oh wow, she must really be thriving over there then. That’s great for her. I wish my sister would find someone just so she have something else to do other than torture me through the internet.”

“How does she do that?” I took another sip of my coffee.

“She’s really growing in fame on Tiktok. She actually put out an EP not too long ago. Called Perfect Blues. She let me listen to it before she put it out for notes and stuff and it’s actually pretty good!”

“I'll have to give it a listen then if it’s that good. She must have worked really hard on it.”

“Yeah, she’s been working non stop promoting and writing new stuff. She’s actually good. It’s hard for me to believe because I still see her as my little sister. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

Charlie was being awfully quiet, scarfing down the muffins Chris had brought. When I spotted the wrappers placed beside her and counted them. “Charlie, did you eat all of the muffins? How many are in there?”

“Oh please, there are plenty left. You two just seemed to be engrossed in conversation, I didn’t want to interrupt.” She eyed me like she had the day before when Chris gave me his number. I couldn't help my eyes rolling in response. This girl will be the death of me…

“So what are we doing today? I know I have a paper that’s due on Friday, but I can do it later-”

“See, Chris? Maybe it’s a good thing you came to us this early in the semester. This is the time we do all of those things we say we’re doing ‘later’.”

“Charlie is very intent on keeping her GPA above a 4.0. We’ve been doing this ever since freshman year, but we only found this spot last year during Spring semester. She’s been on my ass ever since, which is why I have the grades that I do. She keeps me on top of my shit and I make sure she comes up for air every once in a while.” Chris nodded along to my words, listening intently and watching. Charlie just nodded along. 

“You’re welcome by the way.” She turned to Chris, coffee in hand. “I’m the reason she passed stats with flying colors last year.” I rolled my eyes for the second time in a two-minute period.

“That’s just what I like to tell her. Makes her feel more important.” I whispered over to him, which in turn made him laugh. I hadn’t heard it up close like I just had two seconds ago. When it was a genuine laugh, he almost squeaked on the intake like a door that needed to be oiled. It was an easy laugh to crave to hear. I knew it would haunt me like a ghost in the weeks to come, even then. Chris grabbed his laptop out of his backpack and started typing, pulling books from the backpack as well to occasionally look up an answer to something he was typing. I pulled out my headphones when the comfortable silence fell, leaving one ear open to the world outside of my own bubble.

“Whatcha listening to?” Chris poked my thigh from where he was laying on his stomach on our blanket.

“This and that.” I couldn’t help my smile when his attention was on me. It was like a shot of sunshine straight to your veins.

“Just this and that? Do you mind if I also listen to ‘just this and that’?” His question shouldn't have caught me by surprise, but I found myself handing him my other headphone despite myself. “I think someone’s music taste says a lot about that as a person. Well, movies and music.” He stuck it in his ear and returned to his laptop, typing away. 

“I love the Princess Bride. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine too.” He turned his sparkling eyes back towards me and smiled. I felt the blush creep up to my cheeks and I had to look away or else risk him catching it.

I flashed a glance towards Charlie to see if she had caught the exchange. She had, because she was wiggling her eyebrows at me. ‘Oh my god’ she mouthed at me, glancing at Chris to see if he was watching. He was not. And when she turned back to me, she picked up her phone, indicating that the conversation would continue there. 

From: Charlie

Dude WHAAATTTT??? I told you, he likes you!! That was not a coincidence.

To: Charlie

I still think you’re nuts

From: Charlie

Think me nuts all you want, but I’m about to prove it.

I looked up from my phone to catch her eye. ‘How’ I mouthed in my most disbelieving look. It didn't occur to her that Chris was just looking for his newest girl to conquer, and I didn’t want to spoil her fun, so I just sat back as she mouthed back to me ‘Watch’.

“Hey Chris?” He looked over his shoulder to her with his eyebrows raised. “I promised my friend over here that I would take her out for dinner tomorrow night, but I have to cancel. My boyfriend’s birthday is tomorrow and I totally forgot. He’s not around here so I have to call him and do this whole long distance date and everything. Anyway, I thought maybe you could cover for me with her?” 

I could do nothing but stare at my own textbook. One half of me was embarrassed that she would be so obvious with her plans. And even without my real knowledge of it. She would pay for that tonight, without a doubt. The other half couldn’t watch the trainwreck about to crash when he said he had plans. That half would be crushed when he said no, he’d have to pass like he did when he was trying to be polite when a girl asked him out and he didn’t want to go. Either ‘sorry, I have to pass this time’ or ‘I just don’t have the time right now’. Either of those were the responses I was waiting for. Definitely not

“Sure! Is that okay with you?”

Unable to feign my deafness when he poked me again, I mumbled a quick ‘hm?’ so they could catch me up to speed.

“Charlie had to cancel on you, so I’m taking you out tomorrow night.” His excitement was an unexpected surprise. Charlie beamed triumphantly from behind him at me, relishing in her victory. 

“Oh really?” I said a hair more fake than I meant to. When I tore my eyes away from Charlie to look at Chris, he had a confident but genuine smile to show me. And damn it, I couldn’t help but return it every time. “And where are we going?”

“I’ll text you the details tomorrow. Just be ready by 6, yeah?” He didn’t wait for an answer and returned to his laptop. 

The excitement of going on a date with a cute boy, no matter who he was, still ran through me like it was any other date. Charlie would pay for it, no doubt. But the thrill was still there that maybe, just maybe, he might be what Charlie suspects. But only time would tell. 

Chris was normal the rest of the time he laid with us on our blanket, making occasional jokes with Charlie about their shared class, the professor, and the stupid people in that class. This left me with the opportunity to look around and see if anyone noticed the Mr. Campu Man had picked a new spot to hang out. His usual crowd was seated near the picnic benches where they normally were. None of them seemed any kind of curious as to where their fearless leader was, and that seemed completely fine by them. It was when he left for his class load for the day that Charlie really got her proof. 

“Alright guys, I gotta head to bio. But if the invitation is still open, I’d love to come tomorrow too.”

“Only if you bring more muffins or some other baked good with you. If not, don’t bother showing up, Bang.” To that he chuckled and when Charlie didn’t chuckle back, he glanced my way.

“Oh, she’s serious.”

“As a heart attack.” Chare chimed in without looking up from her laptop. Chris kept his face blank for a second longer, then nodded in resignation. 

“Any specific requests?” He said this part to me, asking me directly. I thought for a second. If he was going to go through with it, then what was the harm?

“Bagels, if you please sir.” I said in my best mocking voice, leaving it up to him to decide if I was telling the truth or not. He laughed again and put on his now fully packed backpack. 

“As you wish.” He replied and left without another word. 

A hard slap hit my arm the second he was far away enough from us.

“Oh my god!” She hit me on the arm again and again until I had to grab her wrist to make her stop. “I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

“Why are you freaking out more than I am?” I buried my nose in the closest textbook to me to hide my face in. 

“Mainly because I was right. But also because of the simple fact that a cute boy likes you! And I called it. How am I more excited than you?”

“Mainly because he didn’t even ask me. You asked him for me. He’s just being nice, Charlie. No one can say no to you, don’t you know that?” 

“Girl. If he didn’t want to go, he would’ve said no. He has no problem saying no and you know that. I really don’t think he would have said yes if he didn’t want to.” I just shrugged, telling myself that she was right, but at the same time not wanting to believe it myself. I couldn’t bring myself to fully insert myself in the daydream that Charlie was living in, fighting the urge to run away and hide for good. 

“I just-” I sighed and laid back on the blanket, letting the sun warm the air around me and breezes come and go.  “I think I would be more excited if he had asked me himself.” 

“He just needed to know that you would be into it. Give him a chance and see how he acts tomorrow night. If he’s a douche, then call me and I’ll get you out of it. But if he’s nice and into you, then that’s kinda your answer, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” 

Wait and see. That was my plan. That was all I had.

After my classes of the day were over, I went back to my apartment with Rhiannon to unload in a hot shower. Rhiannon came in while I had my towel wrapped around me on the way back to my room. 

“Hey! How was your day?” She asked from her place in the hallway amid the ruffle of bags she dropped by the door. She only brought one to the couch with her and rifled through it to find her laptop. 

“Pretty interesting, actually.” 

“Oh yeah?” She inquired, ready for more details as she peered from behind her computer. 

“Yeah, I got asked out, well not really asked out-”

“BY WHO?!” She shrieked, throwing the laptop aside to jump out of her seat.

“Chris Bang?” She stops in place and turns to face me dead on. Her features were frozen in a mixture of shock and what looked like…sadness. 

“Chris Bang?” She repeated.

“Yeah. He didn’t really ask me out of the blue, Charlie made up some lie about us having plans beforehand when we really didn’t and she asked him if he would take her place, which he did.”

Rhiannon was pensive as she watched me recount the details, not letting me forget a single one. She even asked me exactly what his words were when he agreed to it and what exactly happened afterwards; his mannerisms, the word choice, and the nature of his body language. 

“It sounds like he was actually interested, if that helps you. From what you can recall, you don’t have to worry about that part. But you seem disinterested now. Why?”

“Because he didn’t actually ask me.”

“So?”

“He’s just filling in, he felt bad that I would be left hanging.” 

“I don’t think he would’ve agreed if he didn’t actually want to go.” 

“Rhi…”

She was eyeing me up and down, gauging my words against her own knowledge.

“Why can’t you believe he would like you? What’s so hard for you to believe?

“It’s not that, I just don’t want to be next in the queue. I don’t want to be just another girl he’s gone out with, no matter how cute he is or how smooth he can be. I wanted to be able to resist him because I know better than to believe-”

“Believe what? That a boy with eyes can have a crush on a pretty girl? That a cute boy would see the same thing your friends are seeing? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

I sighed. “All of it. Why him? Why me?”

“Why not him? Listen, if you’re really that worried about it, just take it slow. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t normally do on a date with a guy and just treat him like any other guy. That should ease your nerves, right?”

“No.” 

“Maybe picking out your outfit ahead of time will help give you more confidence. Come!” She sprung off the couch and headed for my bedroom without turning to see if I was following. By the time I passed through my door, she was already piling clothed on my bed a foot high already.

“How do you have nothing in here! What do you normally wear on dates?”

I rolled my eyes.

God help me.

*

He picked a good spot, I had to admit. Not to him, not to inflate what I was sure was a big enough ego. But Marty’s was far enough away from campus that we would be uninterrupted by any of his friends but not so far that we felt secluded from society altogether. The restaurant had a good enough reputation among students to be a good place to bring a date if you want some special alone time together. The implication of him bringing me here was not lost in the bounds of my thinking mind. 

The room was warm and inviting, a red kind of wallpaper surrounded us with candle lit sconces in the upper columns and casted the dining room in a warm glow. The wooden tables helped the cozy feeling as soon as you walked in, as most of the furniture in the large room matched the rest of the dining room. The walls were graced with vintage-looking florals paintings that looked like they could’ve been plucked straight from an art magazine. 

“Did I mention that you look nice tonight?” Chris blushed as he asked, turning his gaze back downwards toward his menu. His repetition of the question caught me off guard, being the third time he had mentioned it.

“Yeah, you did. But thank you again.” I tried to flash him my best comforting grin, which he looked up just in time to catch. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not normally this nervous.” He smiled again and let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing his hands on his pant legs. 

“Why are you nervous? At least your friend didn’t have to ask someone out on a date for you.”

“How do you know she and I didn’t plan something elaborate while we were in class because I was too nervous to do it myself?” I laughed at the preposterous notion that Chris Bang could be too nervous to do anything ever. “What was that for?” His smile was back in place of his nervous chuckle.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t ever seem nervous to do anything. So the thought of that just isn’t possible.”

“Why ever not?” He was quizzical, raising his brow at me from across the table and ruffling his white button down. His black earrings initially had given me some pause but the longer I looked, I saw the Prada logo and how well they matched his tailored pants. They had a light gray pattern going around them and hit him just above the ankle. He oozed wealth when dressed like this, not that I had seen him this way until now. His hair was perfectly styled to a side part, a few strands falling into his face. His dress shoes almost seemed too fancy for the restaurant he brought me to with their gold chain going across the top.

 His family must have had money. 

“You just don’t seem like you get your feathers ruffled very easily. Very go-with-the-flow kind.”

“You’re not wrong. But when the first half of the plan that wasn’t up to me went perfectly and now it’s only up to me, I’m getting nervous. I haven’t been this nervous before.”

“But why? What’s so different about me?” 

“Can I get you guys some wine to start with?” Just then a well-dressed waitress came up to us to hand us a laminated wine list with names I could barely pronounce written in a fancy cursive font. It distracts us enough that I forget what I was thinking before she arrived. 

Chris perused the wine list and selected for us, subtly but not so subtly flashing his knowledge just a touch. He eased up a bit as the night went on, bringing up his childhood. Head bounced between Korea and Australia before coming to the states during high school so he and his siblings could have a ‘normal’ education. They lived a few states away so Chris could ward off any unwanted visits from his parents. It wasn't that he didn’t love them, but they could be a lot sometimes. He talked about his sister and how she had stayed in Australia to pursue a musical path. Chris supported her in any way he could, but that life just wasn’t for him. And his youngest brother was in school back in the home state, going through all of the fun life stages of being fifteen. 

We had just gotten to what brought me to our university when the dessert had come out. The tension in my shoulders from the anxiousness of the situation had eased immensely and Chris hadn’t uttered a nervous chuckle since the appetizers. 

“I picked it because it wasn’t too far from home. I had the same idea you did, except I live in-state. It’s just my mom and me. My dad decided not to be a dad anymore when I was twelve and I haven’t seen him since. From what my mom can tell me, it’s better this way. She doesn’t miss him and that tells me I shouldn’t either. I don’t remember much.” 

“I’m sorry that’s the way it is, though. I don’t know what I would do without my dad.” He gave me a sad smile as he picked up his fork. I did the same and reached for the small tower of chocolate between us. It melted in my mouth just like I thought it would, but my thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of my phone on the table. I picked it up just in time to see Charlie’s name appear on my screen. 

“I’ll be really quick, I promise.” I said with a grimace, standing up from my seat.

“No problem! I promise I’ll leave some for you.” He smiled back, assuring me. I nodded and headed out the front door.

“What?” I bit at Charlie.

“Soooo? How’s it going?” Her voice was airy as it questioned me. 

“It’s still going and you’re interrupting!” I didn’t want to be rude but in spite of myself and how I got here, I was having a really nice time and I wanted to get back to it before the clock struck twelve and Chris Bang turned back into the popular guy who would forget who I was. 

“Okay, sorry! I will await the debrief when you get back! Come straight here!” I hung up on her and reentered the building. Chris was talking to the waitress with an easy smile on his face and my heart sunk. This wasn’t supposed to be a date anyways. Not really. Charlie had done this because she was nice. I had tried not to get my hopes up but the more we talked, the easier it was to believe he might actually like me. So much for that.

He spotted me by the door and waved, motioning to the plate he had left for me to finish if I wanted. I gave him a half smile and headed back over, doing my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. 

“Everything okay?” He asked gently. He was putting something into his back pocket while he watched my movements for an answer.

“Yeah, she’s just nosy.” 

“Ah. Well, thank her for me when you see her later tonight.”

“For what?”

“Oh, I was being serious. I asked for her help to ask you out because I was too nervous to do it myself.” I just stared at him in disbelief. He waited, with held breath it seemed, for my reaction. And when I didn’t give him one, he continued. “I had seen you around campus with her before and when she showed up in my class, I had to take my opportunity. I’m really hoping that helps me come off as cool or something and not a loser.”

“I don’t think you’re a loser.” I replied quietly. I gave him a reassuring smile and he mirrored it. 

“Do you want to head out of here? Go for a walk or something?”

“Sure. Don’t we need to grab the checks first though?”

“Uh, no. It’s all taken care of.” He patted his back pocket when he stood up, which I could now see held a wallet-shaped object. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did. It’s only right.” He held out his hand for me to take. “Shall we go?”

Oh boy...

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part IX): An Episode of Mad About You

It's hard to know how soon after Three Words this episode takes place, much less speculate what happened in-between.

The X-Files' timeline has always moved at an incredibly rapid, incredibly unreasonable pace; so we can assume less than a week (if not a day or two) has transpired since Mulder and TLG's break into the DOD. He and Scully must have had a conversation of some sort sometime afterwards (though that conversation might have taken different routes depending on the viewer's discernment, discussed at length here) based purely on their body language during the opening scenes and ensuing events.

Speculation aside, Empedocles is the first time Mulder draws direct lines between himself and the baby (despite the fact he already knew Scully's baby was his, post here.)

Let's go~!

THE MULDER MATING RITUAL

Knock knock, someone’s at the door. 

Scully appears from the right side of her kitchen, walking as fast as she can to the peephole. Not fast enough, apparently, because her visitor knocks, loudly, three more times. (Impatience, thy name is Mulder. At least that hasn’t changed, in spite of your absence and personal crisis.)

 Scully peeks through-- always cautious-- and is surprised to see who's there: her skeptical face reappears quite naturally at this latest, unexpected antic (or in expectation of a new, unexpected antic.) 

She opens the door to a casually relaxed Mulder, who quickly leans against the door frame right as Scully comes into view.

Mulder is here with aplomb, with a theatrical little plan that he intends to act out: the Mulder Mating Ritual, wherein he brings a trinket to the nest then dances around both of their feelings in an attempt to communicate without communicating.

It’s a sign that nature is healing-- more accurately, that Mulder is; and that he wants to reclaim his old life with Scully.

“Mulder…” Scully whines, adorably plaintive as she winds up an excuse not to go off on his latest goose chase. She also isn’t outright saying she can’t go, a sure Scully sign that she can be persuaded. 

Mulder senses that Scully is game-- or willing to be wheedled into one-- and commits fully to the Mulder Mating Ritual (as it shall now be called.) Whipping his head from its side-pivot (where he had indirectly assessed her mood and possible rejection), his eyes snap to hers, comedically wide and oozing with faux innocence. 

“What?” he asks, reeling her in. 

The interaction shows that something has been ironed out between them, whether in full or half-detail, between the conclusion of Three Words and opening of Empedocles. While we’ll never know exactly what was said, something had to have been based on the ease with which they speak to each other (closer to their Season 7 interactions, for example, than any season before it) and their body language throughout this scene.  

Scully-- who is not a fool and knows Mulder code down to a miniscule blink-- looks at him with an equal mix of resignation (for her peaceful pizza and shower moment) and blooming hope (for his return to buoyant Mulder Play.) Still, she tries to mitigate some of the impending disruption to her anticipated ritual, hiding a full smile while tumbling out a perfectly legitimate excuse to not go wandering (read: waddling) off somewhere. 

“I was just about to jump in the shower but I was waiting for the pizza man.” 

Immediately, Mulder sees an opportunity to tease and seizes upon it. 

“You got something going on with the pizza man that I should know about?” he responds, squinting in mock jealousy: a picture of the scorned husband who returned from his travels, bearing gifts and love, only to find his female consorting (and creating babies) with another. A copy of the bantery one he gave in Three Words.

This is incredibly important: Mulder is playing the role of jealous husband because he is secure in Scully’s loyalty, but even more importantly because he is secure in the baby’s paternity. As much as his partner knows him, he knows his partner: that Scully hasn’t betrayed or replaced him (discussed at length in-depth in this, this, this, this, this, and this post.) 

Scully is highly amused-- and charmed-- at this display of put-upon machismo. 

She digests his comeback a second before asking, “The pizza man?”, dipping her head incredulously at the stretches Mulder has always been able to reach. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Mulder continues, full steam ahead, “but you just said you were waiting for the pizza man to jump in the shower.”

He hides the sparkle in his eye with an slightly angry, slightly aghast expression, maintaining it while Scully jumps in with a “No--” 

“--what I mean was, the pizza man is usually late, and so…”

Scully trails off, intuiting that the angle her partner is playing is one of dense relentlessness: no matter how she tries to talk herself out of word traps, Mulder will find another angle and “aha!” his way to the top. Her intuition is confirmed as she examines his face, his second (mock-indignant) squint, and the sparkle in his eyes while he waits for her to verbally trip up. 

All excellent signs: he isn't treating her-- and their relationship-- like glass, instead reverting back to his annoying, endearing ways. 

Giving up, she cuts to the chase-- “Do you want to come in?”-- preferring that to outthinking Mulder’s next mental twister. Some games, she figures, are best fought on a full stomach.

Mulder, true to form, keeps up the mock squint and "Thank you" until he's certain he won that round. Like she suspected.  

As they both turn in, Mulder does a side-shimmy to hide his present while Scully huffs off, indulgently, to the bathroom (it looks like) to turn off the water-- a sure sign she knows her partner will stay a while. 

“I feel like I’m stuck in an episode of Mad About You,” she remarks, poking at this weird style of miscommunication more in-line with an everyday couples' squabbles and misunderstandings than their own particular partnership. In essence, calling Mulder out. 

Not to be outdone-- even while juggling a present and mentally running through places to hide it--  he stalls, “Well, uh, yeah--,” closes the door “--but small technicality--” spots the couch, locks the door, and stuffs the gift behind a pillow “--Mad About You is about a married couple, and we just work together.”

In any other set of circumstances, this would have been an accusation; but here, perversely, it’s a healthy sign of their relationship: Mulder wins an argument because neither of them are married, despite her pregnancy; and Scully grumbles over her defeat instead of his remark, knowing there was no ulterior motive behind his words. A mutual back-and-forth.

“Yeah, well, you know what I’m talking about,” she brushes aside, not wanting to dwell on Mulder's victory. And also bringing up, obliquely, a more domestic-focused conversation-- one that features a certain mad-for-each-other couple now on much better terms.)   

“I do, I do. What I’m, what I’m trying to say is, that, uh,” Mulder says, shifting his weight before putting his hands in his pockets and carefully reordering his thoughts.

His actions reveal Mulder isn’t here just to play around and leave-- he’s put careful thought and planning into this visit, finding a present for the baby (his baby) at his mother's and teasing his way into Scully’s apartment to open (in some manner of form) a more serious (perhaps permanent) conversation between them. 

Mulder’s silent for a few seconds, weighing how he wants to continue their interaction; but ultimately slips back to the comfortable familiarity of banter (although he will segue into more personal gestures: pointing at Scully’s belly, directing her to the gift with his eyes, misconstruing her “package” remarks because of his internal focus, leading them both to a touching exchange over his beautifully wrapped offering, etc.)

“We have no good reliable information on this man--”

Scully re-enters, eating out of his hand until Mulder's tired old trust no one schtick kills her enthralled curiosity. She majestically raises her head in judgment, the very picture of one bored and above-it-all, then tilts it and dons her work eyebrow (the one that tells Mulder she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious or not.)   

Sensing this shift (not a dangerous one, just one further away from his intended goal), Mulder swiftly re-centers the conversation away from conspiracy and back to jealousy. 

Comically raising his eyebrows and jovially pointing at the baby, he continues “--that the pizza man--” then abruptly stops, expression turning gentle as he watches the bump approach.  

“--is not above suspicion,” Mulder softly finishes, eyes still glued to his baby. 

Scully stares down at her bump in turn, unsure what Mulder means.

It would seem by her body language this is the first direct, personal reference he has made to the baby; and she carefully puzzles over his layered meaning before taking it in the spirit he meant it: personal. 

She sighs-- a little embarrassed, a lot relieved. Shyly keeping her head down, she whispers, “I see”; and, again, in any other circumstance, that could have been a dejected or lost or nervous response to a husband’s paternity concerns. Here, however, it’s another sign of health: that she understands Mulder is no longer avoiding the baby-- including it in his Mad About You scenario-- and that she is readjusting herself in this sudden onslaught of information. 

When she’s ready-- two or three seconds later-- Scully looks up with a knowing smile: she caught his meaning, got it, and is letting Mulder know she understood.   

And Mulder, delighted, turns the conversation to her prize, motioning his eyes back and forth from Scully to the couch. (He’s always loved giving gift-loving Scully surprises, after all.) 

She doesn’t understand at first, moving her head in janky segments until she catches sight of the wrapping paper. 

“Is that for me?” 

“Yeah,” Mulder replies, nodding and smirking over her suppressed, though obvious, delight. 

“Nice package,” Scully comments; and misses her partner’s flustered but touched “Thank you” as she bends to retrieve her bounty. “What’s the occasion?”

“Oh!” Mulder responds, catching the actual drift of her conversation. 

As a side note: her comment doesn’t seem to have been deliberately made to mess with Mulder: usually, Scully will fully face her partner when teasing him, wanting to see his face register and react to her comment. Here, however, she doesn’t. Further, she is so zeroed-in on the gift that she talks right over his thank you. So, the moment’s comedy seems to stem from karma getting Mulder for his morning games rather than Scully intentionally tripping him up. 

Voice quieting as he transitions to a more serious topic, Mulder explains, “I was going through some stuff, after my mother died, and, um….” 

He stops to bite his lip, and Scully looks down, respectfully giving him the space he needs; but, recovering quickly, he continues, and Scully reestablishes eye contact. 

“...it’s just an old family keepsake; and I wanted you to have it.” Mulder keeps his eyes down-- another sign that he’s serious about this-- and swallows before gazing at Scully again: nervous, obliquely giving away his own intentions. 

Scully catches, gets, and lets him know, again, that she’s caught, got, and understood his motives: “Well, I’m touched.” 

There’s a knock at the door, and Mulder lunges for a lifeline away from his vulnerability: “Little Caesar, I presume?” with another jealous deadpan, yet again. 

Her amusement is tempered: Mulder may want to escape his declaration, but it stays with her, giving her peace. He’s doing his best, given the circumstances; and, though Mulder hasn’t outright laid claims to the baby, they both know he’d considered it his. Moreover, Scully’s happy that not only does he consider it his, but he’s also taking steps to become more involved. He just needs time; and she’s had more than enough to process his abduction, his death, and his resurrection. Giving him some in exchange seems small-- and, really, when has it ever been too large a thing between them? 

Scully waits for him to turn away before smiling to herself: radiant, hopeful, content. 

Mulder, never one to to curb his actions or reactions in front of others, isn’t going to stop now, involving the pizza man in his shenanigans. 

And any sense of shame or embarrassment Scully might have felt being part of these shenanigans is long gone. However, he will not tie her to the mast of his behavior and take her down with him. “Hi. Just, uh, give it to the man with the funny look on his face,” she instructs, sitting down with her gift on her lap. 

An important side note: Scully, it seems, expects Mulder to bring the pizza to her while she opens her gift (which is proven correct by the end of Empedocles)-- a set-up-and-follow-through.  

Pizza boy is unfazed by their interactions. “Yeah, that’s $29.08.”

Cheapskate Mulder is snapped out of his playacting by the stunning reality of pizza over $10. “‘$29.08’? What’d she get on it, a tank of gas?” 

CONCLUSION

And that’s the last bit of fun they have before the next crisis. 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[emmaiscool22]

Falling

Eustass Kid x reader

Can be read as a stand alone or you can read it as a prologue to "Love Isn't Easy" which is the link right there!

https://www.tumblr.com/emmaiscool22/745878404264509440/love-isnt-easy?source=share

warnings: cussing, female pronouns used, SOFT!KID, mentions knives and whips (as weapons), unrequited love, fluff to angst

SPOILERS FOR WANO!

word count: 3k

shout out to @kai200x !! i hope you enjoy!!

Where am I? 

Why did I land on the most boring island on the Grand Line? 

Am I even on the Grand Line? 

Kicking rocks while moving through the woods, leaves crunch beneath my feet as I spin around taking in my surroundings. Trees, trees, and more trees. That’s all it's been for days. Since Kuma sent me to this island, I have been slowly discovering a new area each day. Satisfied with my in-depth search, I head back to the village. 

“Wonder where he sent everyone…” my thoughts echo around me. I bring my hands to my face, rubbing my eyes, becoming dizzy at the thought of being stranded without my nakama. I open my mouth to yell but am cut off by a scream. I whip around in the direction it came from, watching birds flock overhead moving away from the commotion. I take off towards the screams, hoping that I catch the person. Why is it coming from the village? The closer I get to the screams, I realize that those are shouts of terror, I run faster. Breaking out of the trees, I run into a crowd of people. The villagers are tied up in the middle of a small opening between the trees. What is going on? A maniacal laugh breaks me out of my thoughts, my head snaps from the crowd to the beast across the opening. Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid. “Look what we have here, boys!” Kid swaggers towards me, “Where were you hiding, sweet cheeks?” 

I whip around and snarl, “who are you calling sweet checks, fuck face?” 

Kid laughs once more and cheekily smiles, marching towards me, pushing anyone out of his way, “Who the fuck are you?” Kid barks, staring me down. 

I stay silent. I need to get off this island, back to Sabaody, and meet my crew. Lost in my mind, I don’t notice Kid stalking towards me with his hand raised. His hand starts to come down but he’s too slow. I grab my whip from its place on my hip and snap it around his wrist, throwing his momentum back. “Shit! You bitch!” Kid points at me, “I am going to kill you!”

Before he can throw his hand up once more, two men calmly move between us, “Get out of my way Heat! Wire! I am going to beat her ass!” Kid screeches. 

Taking this as a sign to take my leave, I move towards the woods, glancing around to see if I can find the shore. Maybe I can steal their ship? Or at least a row boat? Taking a step backward, moving slowly to not bring attention to myself until I bump into something, hands wrapping around my biceps. “Where do you think you’re going?”

My gaze moves from Kid to the man now holding my arms. How the hell? I didn’t even see him. The masked man meets my gaze. His blonde hair falling over his shoulders. Killer. I yelp as he yanks me up over his shoulder and begins to move toward the rest of the crew, ignoring my squirming and hands hitting his back. After a few minutes of walking, Killer throws me down onto the deck of their ship, shoving a piece of paper in my face. “This you?”

Y/N. 110000 Berri. My bounty poster. 

“It might be.”

“I knew it…What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

We both speak at the same time. Both of us go silent, leaving the questions unanswered. Killer hands me a newspaper a few moments later, gesturing for me to look at it. I gasp and grasp the paper tightly. “Luffy!” 

I observe the photo of Luffy, glad that he is okay. As I read the article, Killer begins moving about the deck, I can’t help but think that he is trying to give me a moment of privacy.

“Oh Luffy, I am so sorry about Ace,” I whisper. I look at the photo once more, bringing the paper closer to my face, and get a good look at his arm. 3D2Y, shit. I let go of the paper, letting it fall next to me, turning to Killer.

 “I am going to tell you something and I need you to listen.” I boldly state, hoping he couldn’t sense my nervousness. He turns towards me, tilting his head to the side and I take it as a sign to explain. The words fall out of my mouth, telling him what happened on Sabaody and how long I had been on the island… “but I need to ask you a question.”

Killer nods and murmurs, “go ahead.”

“You see this right here,” taking a finger and pointing to Luffy’s arm, “We were supposed to meet up on Sabaody in 3 days, hence 3D, but notice it’s crossed out.” 

I glance up at him and continue, “It means we are no longer meeting in 3 days but in…”

“2 years.” He finishes for me. 

“Yep, so I was wondering…” 

Before I could say anything else, Killer’s name is shouted from the shore. Kid storms on board. “You missed out, Killer!” Kid cackles along with the rest of the crew boasting about a good pillaging, bringing his eyes to me on the ground. Kid stares as I shift to my knees. I take a deep breath, quickly deciding what I need to do. I am scared at what's about to come, taking another glance at the paper by my side. I will get stronger, Luffy. 

“Captain Kid!” I plead. “I know you don’t know me but please let me join up with you! I can fight, cook, clean, I can do whatever you need me to! Please!"

As I keep pleading, Kid and Killer share a look. The rest of the crew stands in shock at what is happening before them. 

“I will sleep on the deck, I don’t care! I will do all the chores you -”

“You can stay, welcome to the New World.” Kid cuts me off. 

3 months later

“Let’s go again.”

Sweat rolls from my forehead down my face, dripping onto the ground. I huff as I push my arms against my knees, rolling up from my hunched stance. I needed to beat him. I lock eyes with Kid and grip my whip tighter, spreading my feet slightly. Woosh! A piece of metal flies overhead and I roll to the right, springing up and employing my whole body to crack the whip at my foe. I twist my wrist, making the whip’s end coil around a piece of metal in the air, pulling as hard as I can to change its momentum. Before I can look to see what damage the attack had done, my leg gives out and I hit the deck. “Shit!”

“Attract.” My body gets thrown across the deck and I land near a pair of boots.

“Get’s you every time,” Kid chuckles, looking down on me. He grins and sticks out his hand. I look at his hand and then at him. Gingerly, I put my hand in his letting him hoist me off the ground. It takes him a moment to let go of my hand.

“Thanks.”

“If you want to beat me so badly, take the anklet off,” Kid states, “before we spar you take all your metal jewelry off but that, why?”

I look at him with surprise, not realizing he even noticed my lack of earrings and necklace. His eyes move from mine down my body to my ankle. I hold back a shiver. “My best friend gave it to me before I left to become a pirate,” I answer, “I have never taken it off.”

Kid shrugs, “I won’t pull on it anymore then, don’t want to break it”

The air between us is different than it had been for the months I had been with them. There is no anger, annoyance, or the sense of danger. Before I could respond, Killer’s head pops out of the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready, go clean up!”

Kid takes another glance at me and I look at him, thinking he has something to say but he walks away. My gaze follows Kid, blaming my hot cheeks on the training and not on the man walking away from me. 

10 months later

“Does it feel good?” 

“Yes,” I nod, “looks good too.” I admire the new leatherwork and metal accents Kid added to the handle of my whip, the old handle becoming too worn out. Kid takes the whip from my hand, setting it on his workshop bench, “you’re pretty handy with this thing.”

I stammer slightly at the minor compliment, “T-thanks, still can’t believe the leather was that worn out. I have had that thing for years."

He plops back down in his chair, turning away from me. “There are just a couple more adjustments, then I can give it back to you. Shouldn’t take me too long if you want to take a seat there,” gesturing to the old couch in the room.

I head to the couch to rest, propping my feet on the large chest in front of me. Silence takes over the room, the only sound is the small sounds Kid is making. My eyes start to droop, and I rapidly blink them to keep them from closing. My eyes move up, expecting to meet Kid’s back, but his eyes are already on me.

“Your whip’s done,” he notes and sets it on the bench next to him, “I have some more stuff to do, so you can stay here and rest if you want…I will wake you when we reach the island.” 

I blush and duck my head, “Sorry I didn’t even realize how much time passed,” embarrassed, I stand up, “I will just head back to my bunk.”

“You aren’t going to get any sleep there at this time of day, just lay down.”

Agreeing, I lay back down, burrowing myself into the worn out pillows. Satisfied, Kid turns back to his desk and begins to work. The soft sound of his breathing and sketching drifts me off to sleep.

1 year and 6 months later

After sailing for two weeks without any landfall or any action, we are all itching for something to do rather than our daily tasks. So thank gods for us, one afternoon a marine vessel attacks us. 

“Finally some entertainment!” Kid shouts, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

“Let’s go!” Heat, Wire, and Killer grab robes and swing to the marine’s deck.

I decide to stay on the Victoria, marines piling over. I am quick to make work of them, those imbeciles. “Ow!” I moan, twisting around to see a marine snarling at me, a sword clutched in his hand. 

As the marine draws his sword with a ringing clang, my whip crackles through the air like a serpent's tongue, its tip lashing out with lightning speed. With a deft twist of my wrist, the marine parries the blow, the clash of steel against leather echoing on the deck. The marine's sword flashes in the afternoon light, its blade singing as it slices through the air, while the whip whistles and snaps with a deadly grace. With a sudden burst of speed, I lung forward, my weapon arcing toward the marine’s throat like a coiled viper. The marine hits the deck.

“Nice one.” Killer’s hand comes to rest upon my head, ruffling my hair. 

“You take them all out already?” I question.

“Yep,” Killer nods, “now the crew is searching their ship for anything good.”

“I will go help them.”

“No, you’re with me. Kid wants to have a feast to celebrate our boredom coming to an end, so I am going to need help.”

I sigh and shuffle off into the kitchen, Killer following close behind. 

… 

“Y/N! Y/N!” 

“Oh sorry,” I mumble, “I was lost in thought, what are you calling me for now?”

Looking around the table, all eyes are closely watching me. Kid, Killer, Heat, and Wire exchange glances, but I am too tired to read into them. The battle earlier exhausted me. I had training in the mornings with Kid and Killer then I did my tasks for the rest of the day, my days were tiresome.

Wire leans in, “I was asking you if you could show me how to use that whip of yours, you were badass today.”

“Sure.” I shrug, moving the remaining food around on my plate.

Suddenly, a fork moves to hover over my plate before digging into one of the potatoes. I follow the fork's movement to Heat, his solemn face turning into a small smirk, popping the potato into his mouth. The exhaustion leaves me as I am plagued with fury. “HEAT HOW DARE YOU! I WAS EATING THAT! JUST BECAUSE I SPACED OUT DOES NOT GIVE YOU THE…” 

I go dead silent as he goes to grab another potato, before he can stab his fork into it, a knife lands next to his hand. “Y/N, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!” 

“IT’S JUST A SMALL KNIFE! A POCKET KNIFE! I DON’T EVEN USE IT FOR COMBAT!” 

“YOU COULD HAVE CUT MY HAND OFF!”

“THEN DON’T STEAL MY FOOD!”

Kid, Wire, and Killer look on humorously. 

“Stop overreacting!” I huff to catch my breath, sitting down once more. 

Heat snorts, “could say the same to you.”

“Oh, fuck off”

A laugh booms through the air, Heat and I both turning to the culprit. Kid is sitting at the head of the table. “What’s so funny?” Heat asked.

Kid finally calms down, his face red, “nothing,” he turns towards me with a small grin on his face, “You good, sweet cheeks?”

“Yeah,” I smile at him, “I am all good.”

Kid hums, taking a great sip of his drink. Glancing at me once more. As the night wore on and the drinks flowed freely, their conversation grew louder and more animated, fueled by the camaraderie of the crew and the promise of a carefree night ahead. Soon enough, Kid and I stand by the door of his room. “Goodnight, Kid.”

“Night, sweet cheeks,” Kid opens his door before turning back to me, “I have you for 6 more months.”

Stunned, I stay silent as Kid stumbles into his room. As the door swings shut, I make my way back to my bunk, my hand resting on the wall to help me stay upright. A coldness runs through me as I throw myself onto my hammock, 6 more months with Kid. As my hammock sways side to side, a small grin adorns my face. I think I am falling for Eustass Kid. 

 2 years 

“It was nice having you,” Kid chuckles, “even if I really had no choice but to let you on the ship.”

“I could have survived without you.” 

Kid rolls his eyes, “yeah right, you were begging for me to take you in.” 

“Was not!”

Kid sends me a blank look. 

“Alright, you got me. Thank you Kid,” I grin, “I appreciate all you did for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the tips of his ears turning red, “Killer will accompany you to the archipelago.”

Looking at my feet in disappointment, “You are staying on the ship then?”

Kid hums, “Wait here," turning around to his desk to grab something. He hands me a letter, “Don’t look at it now.”

I tuck it into my bag, saying goodbye. I turn to leave the room when a hand grabs mine. Before I could question him, Kid pulls me into his embrace. We stay hugging in his workshop for what feels like forever, I take a deep breath, memorizing what this feels like. He slowly lets go, “You better go, you’re going to be the last of your crew to show up.”

I laugh, “That will probably be Zoro,” taking a step back, “thanks again, for everything.”

He smiles. I watch him for a moment, trying to commit his smile to memory. 

… 

Y/N, 

As I sit down to write these words, I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude for having you on my crew, even just for a short time. It's not often that we come across someone as genuinely caring and supportive as you are, and I feel incredibly fortunate to have met you. The crew will miss you. Your words of wisdom, jokes, and support will be missed. We will be enemies the next time we see each other, remember what we practiced. 

Eustass Captain Kid

Months later in Wano

“Kid? What are you doing here? Are you alright?” 

I usher him into the small cabin secluded in the forest in Kuri. Thank gods that Tama is not here and is off galavanting with Chopper. Kid slams onto the ground of the small home. I open doors and cabinets, looking for a first aid kit or any kind of medical treatment. In the last cabinet, I find gauze. Looking back at Kid, he has scooted over out of sight of the window. I move towards him, bend down, and motion for him to hand me his injured arm, “what are you doing in Wano?”

Kid stays silent and takes a deep breath, wincing at the pressure I put on his wound. In the silence, I discover a profound sense of peace – a tranquility that fills me with contentment. "I missed you," I whisper. 

Kid raises his head at my words but still doesn't speak. He only stares, so I ask, "What happened to you?" 

Looking into his eyes, I can see the tears start to form, but before they fall, I wipe them on the sleeve of my kimono. Breaking down, Kid explains the betrayal of Scratchman Apoo and Basil Hawkins, what Kaido did to him, and his escape from Udon. 

"You will find your crew," I comfort him, "they would never give up on you. They are all going to be okay" 

Kid moves to stand, "I have to go." 

"Maybe you should wait a day, you're exhausted. You can't fight anyone like this." 

"I can't stay here any longer, I have to find Killer and the rest of my crew, and kill Kaido."

I stand silently and watch him gather himself before heading towards the door but before he goes, I blurt out, "I need to tell you something"

Kid turns and watches me, I take that as my cue to speak, "I know this is coming out of nowhere and the timing is just awful, but I have to tell you. I love you. I fell in love with you during those two years on your ship, but I didn't realize the extent of that love until I wasn't spending everyday with you. I love the way you protect your crew so fiercely, the support you gave me during training, and the reassurance that my crew would be okay. I love the way you fight with anyone who gets in your way or disagres with you, although that is a tad annoying, and so much more. I needed to tell you. And though the path ahead may be uncertain, I am certain of one thing – my love for you"

A look of shock runs across his face but is quickly masked with a sneer, “I never loved you. I will never love you.”

...

I don't know how much time had passed. I can't even cry. I felt numb. I just stare at the place where Kid was before he took off out of the small cabin. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, it's not time to get stuck on such trivial matters in the middle of a war. I have my crew and that is what matters. Composing myself, I grab my whip from the table and head to meet my friends in the flower capital. 

[lullinglily]

Sorcerer Rogier X GN! Reader SFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He dotes on you incessantly. He’s always touching you in some way, whether it be playing with your hair or holding onto your arm or laying across your lap while he pretends to be interested in whatever it is he’s reading. He’s a smooth talker with a silver tongue that he puts to good use; rendering you weak with just a few words. Rogier leans in close when talking to you or helping you with something, he’s acutely aware of the effect he has on his beloved and quite enjoys seeing you so flustered. Likes to lift your hand in his and gently kiss it, his lips roaming up your arm until he switches to your neck, where he will of course continue his upwards pursuit. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He’d be a spectacular best friend. Rogier is a reliable, supportive, knowledgable and overall friendly guy! He’s great to hang out with. As for how it starts, maybe you need some help studying for something. Maybe you don’t understand the new scroll you picked up or you just can’t wrap your head around some obscure part of Lands Between history — Sorcerer Rogier to the rescue! He’d be more than happy to explain to you just about anything. Alternatively, I think a friendship could also stem from your shared interests in the Night of Black Knives, the dogmatism of the Golden Order, or just plain old Roundtable gossip. Swapping stories and getting in-depth details on petty rumors are his guilty pleasures. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Most certainly. Keeps at least one arm around you as he drifts off. He might shift around in his sleep but he still somehow keeps contact with you throughout the entire night. A drunken Rogier is twice as clingy. He’ll pass out on top of you, by your side with his face in your hair and half of his body covering you or with his head resting on your lower stomach. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Rogier isn’t sold on completely settling down, he’s much more interested in the partnership that spawns from a marriage than staying in one place and taking up a less dangerous hobby. He wants to be able to go on daring adventures and the like, and he’d love to have you with him! It’s just that he has some dreams he still wishes to realize. He’s set on marrying you, make no mistake. He’s pretty good at cooking, although he doesn’t do it much so he’s a little out of practice. It could be worse. He’s a fan of whipping up something quick to surprise you with; especially if he knows you’ve had a rough day. Likes it when you feed him and enjoys doing the same to you, he thinks it’s cute. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He's extremely respectful, keeps it lighthearted, promises to keep contact and actually does. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

If you both love each other and are content in your relationship, he’ll pop the question. Easy as that. He knows what he wants and is quite confident in his proposal. A healthy Rogier would wait around a standard time to propose, most likely a year and a half. However, towards the end of his life, he’d ask fairly quick (given that you are both comfortable in your relationship and it wouldn’t be random etc etc). He won’t be as slick or sure when proposing, instead he’s jittery and constantly stumbling over his words. He knows he’s dying soon, he knows it’ll be more than a little selfish to ask you to marry him when all has been said and done, but he needs to know if you’d be content being his. He wants to be your husband, if only for a little while. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Rogier is a very gentle lover. Physically his touches are always soft, kind and playful. He adores you and treats you with the upmost care. He’s just as tender emotionally, maybe even more so. You’ll come to him crying and he’s immediately swooping you into an embrace, tutting at you and kissing away any tears. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Of course! Any affection from his partner is much appreciated. He reciprocates it warmly but not without a few teasing words (“What’s this? Did my sweetness miss me?” “Such a clingy thing you are, my love”). He hugs you often. Every morning before parting ways, every evening when you are reunited with each other once again and anytime in between. He adores it. While he’s no stranger to kind words or friendship, he hasn’t known closeness like this before. The love you show him is truly unique. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It may take a while, at most 4-5 months. Until then he’s using “I like you” or “I’m fond of you.” Nothing too serious but shows that he cares. He’s such a charmer, constantly showering you with cloying compliments aplenty. When he does finally say those three troublesome words it’s like they mean nothing at all, yet they carry upon them the weight of his entire heart. He says them so calmly, so casually, it takes you by surprise. It was late, you were lying on his lap reaching up at and fumbling with the jewel that hung from his hat; admiring the way it’s dazzling light shone across his cheek. Your hand changes its course, choosing instead to run a finger over his cat-like smile. Its then that he captures your wrist in his hold, placing your palm on his cheek as he rubs the back of it with his thumb; tracing circles on your skin and looking at you with all the love in the world. He's lovesick and just can't seem to help himself around you, so when he next opens his mouth the cat's out of the bag. He's shocked when he realizes what he's said, but comes to accept the words just as soon as he'd uttered them. Yes, he loves you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Feels more smug than anything when someone stares at you for too long; Rogier knows how lucky he is to be yours. He enjoys sweeping in and placing a hand on your hip just to add salt to your admirer’s wounds. If things get too serious or he senses any discomfort from you he’ll step in and thoroughly tell them off, maybe even make a show of it and obscure you from their view. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Bewitching. It’s impossible to keep track of how many times he’ll kiss your cheek in a day, it’s his way of saying “hello” or “thank you” or “how are you?” or … Well, it can mean a lot of different things. The point is he does it so so very often. He likes to kiss you anywhere, he loves you and that includes your entire body. If he had to pick his favorite spots to kiss you though they’d have to be your hands, cheek and neck. Forehead kisses are used as parting gifts and are also often used when comforting you. Likes kissing the inside of your wrist as well, it’s like his usual hand kisses but more mesmerizing. He’ll do these just to see you squirm. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Acts like his usual self but a bit softer. He loves children, thinks they're a special blessing to the ever-dreary Lands Between. Although he never wanted to be a father himself, seeing the world he inhabits to be too cruel to bring a child into, he does find his thoughts drifting towards the prospect when he's with you.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

It’s truly a wonder how Rogier is able to act so charming despite only getting 3-4 hours of sleep a night. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead once he awakes, humming a tender ‘good morning’ to you in that chipper voice of his. If you’re not much of an early bird and slow to rise, he’ll get a bit playful with his methods to rouse you. Such methods include blowing raspberries into your neck/chest or bridal carrying you out of your shared bed himself. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Rogier are relaxing, healing and blissful. He likes to take the night slow and puts in a ton of effort to make you comfortable. The night begins with a fragrant herb-strewn bath that you both take together, washing each other off before fixing each other’s hair and so on. Rogier learns your favorite flavor of tea early on and perfects the recipe, handing it to you at just the right temperature before settling into bed. These times will either be spent basking in each other’s presence or rambling about your interests/days. Rogier enjoys the latter, opting to snake an arm around your shoulders while his other hand plays with your hair. You will always be the first to fall asleep no matter what. Rogier stays up late studying, reading, learning etc etc … he’s a capital ’S’ scholar and tends to get a bit lost in his work. He’ll often get up and move to a nearby desk if he feels he’s disturbing your slumber. It feels like coming home when he finally gives in to exhaustion, dragging himself to bed and slotting his drowsy form against your side. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) 

Oh dear. He’s a pretty open guy, just not with emotions. He tends to steer conversations far, far way from his inner turmoils. He won’t have any issue with you unloading all of your emotional baggage onto him —  he takes pride in knowing you talk to him about your own problems — it’s just that he never wants to go over his. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

 He’s a pretty lax guy. He doesn’t take what others say about him too seriously. He doesn’t tolerate any disrespect thrown on your name, however. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Rogier has you down to a science. He’s chatty, loves to learn, and you just happen to be one of his favorite topics of discussion. He remembers every important date, how long the both of you have been together, what sort of present you’d like for your anniversary etc etc … He acts very smug about it too. Knows just what to say or do to elicit his desired response. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Your first date! Oh to be searching for Deathroot with your crush clinging onto your arm because they're scared to death of the catacombs. How romantic. He lets no harm come to you whatsoever. He's a talented sorcerer, after all. He's also a perfect idiot; letting his ambitions spoil what was supposed to be a romantic and peaceful day for you both. While neither of you run into much trouble, he does sense that he messed up by putting his interests above your own and profusely apologizes. You have him pay you back by taking you on what you call a "real date," as if those imps weren't real enough. He obliges, of course, and goes well beyond anything you were expecting. Because of his excellent commitment to putting together the best date you've ever been on, you allow him to take you out adventuring again; so long as he gives you a heads up beforehand.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

A normal amount. You’re both living in the treacherous Lands Between, there’s plenty of reasons for him to be protective of you. He has your hand in his when you go out, leading the way so that he’ll hopefully be the first to weather any hardship. He’s very much against the prospect of you leaving the Roundtable on your own. If he can’t accompany you he’ll charm some other capable Tarnished into doing so. Gives them a whole talk about it too. Ensures that whoever it is looking after you gives you proper space, but should you return with even a hair on your head harmed they will not be getting paid.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Rogier puts an absurd amount of effort into dates. He once collected and took care of a myriad of glintstone fireflies just to release them on a date for some ambient lighting. He likes spiffing up an area before taking you there, often covering your eyes with his hands as he leads you to it. He’s always showing off when it comes to daily tasks. He does them well, just adds that extra bit of flourish to boring everyday chores to see you smile — to hear you praise him. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Has a difficult time conveying his more negative emotions. He’s pretty guarded in that regard, usually because he’s ignoring his own problems or isn’t sure how to address them. Gets easily absorbed by his work, can be a little impish at times and not take things as seriously as they should be. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not very, but he does want to look nice for you. He washes up well and combs his hair every day and whatnot. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

It depends on how serious the relationship becomes, but generally yes. It’s rare for Rogier to let his guard down completely around someone, and he’s become quite used to your affection. He’d be rather pitiful without it.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He’s playful and a huge tease. Loves to hold items out of your reach, exchanging them for a sweet peck on the cheek. Like to read books aloud to you in a theatrical manner, acting out scenes and changing the cadence of his voice to fit the scenario. He lives for your smile and will do everything in his power to see you beam up at him each and every day. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Closed mindedness, arrogance, etc … 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Sprawls out, always has a leg or arm hooked over you. 

[kyberphilosopher]

Tenebrous

Tenebrous/Tenebroum : shut off from the light : dark, murky. tenebrous depths... hard to understand : obscure. Word Count: 2362 NO WARNINGS Shadowhearts' mind is a weathering storm, but a storm is no match for one simple flower. A/N: Will be slowly returning to writing. I've been out of it for at least a year so my quality may not be what it used to, but I don't think it's that bad really. It's sorta proof read this time (not really)! Yayyyy.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

There are many changes in life that could be considered… unwelcome. Life in itself has a tendency to be such a complicated journey, weaving and webbing and entrapping all that it can; much like Lolth’s loyal, spindling spiders. Such arachnids, for example, shed their skin to allow for their growth. Flowers bloom up and down, all around, before they die. Even a body of water might change its height, day by day. None of these things, of course, possess a conscience. Only a human might possess that, and humans, miserably, are more often ticking time bombs than not. 

Shadowhearts' change was difficult to pinpoint. She’d shed her skin and dawned a better, holier mantle, and yet she did not shine anew. Her skin did not glimmer or reflect- only absorbed and denied. Her hair was black like loneliness, her eyes mossy shadows. The young woman, though previously punished and whipped, now rewarded with understanding. She understood how she’d come to choose the name Shadowheart for herself, and now she understood how she’d finally earned it. She was a living weapon. An envoy for The Dark Lady’s will. A Dark Justiciar. Shadowheart should’ve felt on top of the world for such a feat. 

You… well, all of you could still very clearly remember the look on Nightsong’s face when she was slain. Shock. Shock, surprise, fear. Shadowhearts' arm was heavy with muscle and willpower. There was no hesitation in her sage orbs as she brought down her Spear of Night. Then the Nightsong sang no more. 

“I did what had to be done,” the half elf had spoken about it after. “No point in fretting over it, is there?”

You watched her. Not always- not while she slept like a creep. A sneaking glance or two was all you needed. Shadowheart was a (somewhat) kind hearted, devout, and intimate woman who displayed a deep interest in bleeding something to dry as well as tenderly curing it. Few things seemed to matter as much to her as her faith- when there was a sky full of stars and constellations, an open emerald field dappled with lavender, a lost temple- she was always there, praying. Praying to her mother, who she did not know. Who she had no memory of. Who rarely answered her when Shadowheart thought up a question. Praying to the Lady of Loss. That never changed. 

You watched her. The morning light rose over the horizon, then the deep maroon leaves circling overtop the camp. Although Shadowheart had prayed this morning- early- she had not stopped. The young halfbreed sat with bent knees and clasped hands since before the sun had risen. Her peach-y pink lips muttered repeatedly to herself again and again, only pausing when she looked… pained? Or perhaps deep in thought?

She opens them. 

Your gaze turns to the gauntlets you fit around your arms. They are heavy, though not as heavy as Shadowhearts' eyes. When you glance over upon her once more, she pushes herself to her feet and then locks eyes with the ground for a long time. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

There was much of Faerun that you had neglected to see, as you came to find out. There were lands covered in blankets of deep shadow and physical fear, bogs that would take the appearance of groves simply to trick all those who enter. There were tears in the sky that melted every night, according to Lae’zel. Astarion had described the many gothic manors and mansions that he had visited and admired. Gale of Waterdeep took no joy in restraining himself from speaking of his many accomplishments- most of which involved seeing something so beautiful, so rare- that he risked the Gods smite. 

Your boots were from Baldurs Gate, and they were not necessarily made for the mud that you trekked through. They were scratchy and tight, but the laces were coming loose. If you ever saw the city again, you swore you’d get a new pair. What an ‘if’ that was. But you were no complainer. You swallowed dryly, shouldered your bow and sword and continued onward silently. 

“Need something, friend?” a voice called from beside you. A smile creeps over your lips at the voice. 

“Do you, Astarion?” you look at the elf now walking close on your left. He’s taller than yourself- mostly due to his long and prodding neck. You supposed he used such a feature for snooping and being nosey. 

Astarion scoffs out a chuckle, before his tone turns to defeat. “Oh, you caught me. I must admit, friend, I’ve grown quite bored.”

“Look at my shoes,” you sigh. “I’d rather be bored than inadequately dressed.”

“Mmm. Yes, how unfortunate. You know, I must say I would’ve thought you smart enough to get your own well fitting shoes by now. This little adventure hasn’t exactly been…”

“I know,” you tell him. “Say, what did we do with those boots from the Underdark? The red ones, with the little black and silver designs.”

Astarion is briefly silent in thought, though it’s not him that breaks it. 

“I’ve them.”

You and your elven companion turn your heads over your shoulders. Shadowhearts' face is solemn and gaunt- nothing out of the ordinary. Still, a certain regret lingered in her deep, dark eyes. Her beauty was matched only by the background behind her, which was nothing but darkness. Hair, long and inky, fell over her shoulder lazily. 

“Ah,” Astarion smiled wide, showing off his pointy canines. “I was just wondering when you would join our conversation. So tell us, what is it you’ve done with the things?”

Shadowheart stayed silent. Her pace quickened, her own greaves and boots were metal and solid in the mud- built for it. On your right, she materialized like a dream, though she did not turn to look at you. 

“I took the boots,” Shadowheart explains matter-of-factly. “They grant the wearer intense bouts of speed and pursuit- hardly a trophy to simply leave behind. I might loan them to you… should you require them.”

You blink, trying to find your words. “Might?” you settle on. 

One step, two step, three and four. The upward hill you battle to hike reaches its peak, slanting downwards once more. From up here, you can see only a bit more than you might’ve thought. The lands your party currently crossed through were completely devoid of light and life, and so although you could confirm the sight of a large lake, you (nor any other member of the party) was able to register the important details of the environment before you. You all continued walking downhill without skipping a beat, unbothered at the thought of imminent death. 

It happens in an instant. Your armored knuckles brush against the metal of Shadowhearts' own hand. No, not a brush- a touch. It reverberates up your fingers and straight to your brain, where it’s stored deep in your memory without you even realizing it. It even produces a soft, but undeniable noise. 

Your eyes snap to hers, wide and alert. “Apologies, my lady,” you urge quickly. “I did not mean-”

Shadowheart stops suddenly. She stands in front of you, Astarion and Wyll wandering onward seemingly unaware- or perhaps simply uncaring. Now shorter than you at the incline, the young woman looks up at you with her piercing orbs. 

“You need not worry on it,” Shadowheart tells you, and for some reason it seems, at this moment, that she is only ever talking to you. Your lips part, looking back at her. The Justiciar’s own light green gaze is flitting between your own eyes, and you can’t help but feel yourself growing distracted off her face alone. 

The woman’s face was porcelain pale, delicate but well put together. Her cheekbones were high and soft, dappled with freckles that Shadowheart hoped no one would notice. Her lashes were generous and thick- just the same with her eyebrows. Her lips were shaped like a heart. Gods, her lips. They were tantalizing, even chapped and chewed on like now. Not even the scar cutting across her cheek and nose was enough to deter from her otherworldly beauty. How were you supposed to resist such a temptation so close by?

You cared too much for the young woman to trample in on her faith. You had traveled with Shadowheart long enough to see it was one of the few things that she cared for. Shar this and Shar that… You were no Shar. What pain could you possibly alleviate of Shadowhearts’? What void could you introduce her to? The answer was simple: none. You were no match for the Dark Justiciar, and even if you were, she would not allow you to be. 

“I apologize again, my lady,” you tell her, a firm whisper. 

Shadowhearts' eyes shift between your own for another moment longer, brief and fleeting. “You might wish for some healing, if it is to be a while before we see those boots again.” She slips a glove from her lithe hand- you catch a glimpse of the plum wound buried in the center- and says, “May I?”

You swallow dryly again. Water, your brain wishes. Instantly, your prayers are answered as saliva flushes your mouth. 

Shadowheart presses the palm of her hand to the base of your neck, where your armor leaves a sliver of your skin exposed. Her hand is cold, colder than anything you’ve ever felt. Yet, your body warms as her lips begin to chant.

You can feel the blood rush to your feet. Blisters that have lined your heels and toes and soles for weeks diminish in seconds, leaving your feet to settle more comfortably in your wear. The two sore heaps previously referred to as your legs alleviate themselves instantaneously. Even the sweat, stinking and insidious, brewing beneath your armpits slips away silently to the wind. 

Eyes could not be torn from the half elf in front of you if they were taken straight from your head. Your gaze is locked and fixed on Shadowheart, though you cannot find the words. Shall you thank her? Ask for her hand? Attempt to engage in a heart to heart conversation? No, control yourself. You bite down on your lip, hard, but with Shadowhearts’ healing hand lingering over your sternum, the blood does not stay for long. You watch her finish her prayer. 

“There,” Shadowheart looks up at you once more through her dark lashes. “You just seemed a little… parched.”

The Dark Justiciar holds your eye for a few seconds longer. Then she steps away. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Before Selune blessed the Earth with the light of the sun, there was nothing. Faerun, and everywhere else, was well a part of Shar’s domain of darkness. When her ethereal twin betrayed her by inventing life sustaining fire, the change was instant and could not be ignored. 

Shadowhearts story seemed the opposite. She had been close to the light once, she supposed- closer. She’d resented herself for it at the time; so, Shadowheart chose to bring herself closer to the dark. She chose to be as close as she could. She wanted to sit side by side with her mother, spear in hand, and quench her thirst on the blood of moonmaidens. Though, no such feat had come to pass. Shadowheart was not foolish. She understood it was a change that would take time to see such accomplishment. But had she not made it clear that there was no doubt? Shadowheart would slaughter a thousand nightsongs if it meant being Shar’s chosen. 

And yet, she felt more unhappy with herself than she had before. She resented herself. 

In the mornings when she’d wake early, Shar’s voice might whisper instructions in Shadowhearts’ pointed ear. 

“You are to suffer,” the low voice would guide. “To hate until you are released to loss, child.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

In the nights when Shar’s power rose strong, her Justiciar would feel Shar’s thoughts as if her own. 

“You are to breathe in the darkness,” the low voice would guide. “To ponder on your wrongdoings until you might see clearly.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

It was what she had wanted. But now that she was alone, Shadowheart was lonely, and not even herself was reliable for comfort any longer. 

Luckily, there is always you. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

“Shadowheart!” you cry, lurching forward. “Wait!”

Alarmed, the cleric whips her head to yours. Shadowheart had not sensed anything more out there besides vague harm- certainly nothing close enough to warrant such urgency out of you. You need to catch up with the two boys, lest you end up hunting monster and monster hunter simultaneously. But your face shows no such concern for those things. Your eyes lower slowly from Shadowheart to the ground by her feet. 

Yes, there, beneath the greaves spattered in blood and leather soles reeking of death, was a flower. 

The thing was light, almost glowing, and a beautiful wisteria shade. It grew somewhat tall, with sharp leaves and petals like bells that only grew more midnight and lilac colored the deeper they went. Shadowheart let a small gasp slip from her lips. 

Slowly, as if you were dealing with a skittish, stray cat, you bend down into the dirt. As you pluck the flower from its stem, the smell of vanilla and musk swells the air. You stand eye level with the young woman in front of you, whose stare flits between the flower to your armor. 

“A night orchid,” you say. Shadowhearts’ favorite. “May I?”

The holy warrior looks at you sharply. 

You press it, holding her gaze with a soft and warming smile, to her palm. You can feel her heartbeat through her skin, excitedly in time with your own. Finally. 

“I…” she begins, but you turn your head to the side, waving her off. 

“It’s nothing,” you insist as you step away. “Wouldn’t want you to step on your favorite flower. I’m sure your Goddess would understand.”

Shadowhearts’ green eyes dance, though not with any emotion you’ve seen before within her. 

You smile again. “Let’s get you to Baldurs Gate.”

The young woman watches intently as you continue down the hill, clutching the purple flower tight in her hand. 

[questforgalas]

An Unexpected Enemy

This is literally a silly little dribble I wrote after this silly thought I posted wouldn't leave my mind. Just some early day fun with the Batch and brothers being brothers. Crosshair can't take corners. Someone give Hunter an aspirin. They haven't even left Kamino and he needs it already.

WC: 576

Characters: The Bad Batch pre Echo

Tags: Just brotherly fun, they swear

Tay's Masterlist

Read on AO3

“Alright lads, this isn’t any different than the simulator. We’ve done this a thou-“

“Oof!”

“We’ve done this a thousand times before. We’ll go in qui-“

Bang “Agh!”

“Go in quick and quiet. Wrecker, you’ll remain on the Marauder for back up. Shouldn’t be necessary with Crosshair’s eyes on us, but we’ll com-“

Scrape. Bang. “Agh! Fucking wall.”

“Crosshair!” Hunter whipped around to his silver-haired brother causing the other three batchers to halt their march to the hangar. “That thing doesn’t even stick out that far. Just, walk 2 inches more away from the wall!”

Earlier this morning, the sniper was as smug as a pirate on pay day when he was outfitted with his custom sniper perch protruding from his left pauldron.

“Nobody else in the galaxy has an attachment like this. The clankers might as well consider the war lost now,” he crowed, not even noticing his brothers receiving their custom armor before setting out on their first ever mission. This was before Crosshair met an enemy none of them ever anticipated – wall corners.

“I am! You try walking around with a rod poking out from you!” Crosshair shot back.

“Well, just walk on the outside of the group. Tech, go inside.”

“Negative. We tried that formation when leaving the fitting. I am certain my shoulder will be bruised from the amount of times Crosshair’s perch ran into me,” Tech, nose in his datapad, countered.

“Don’t be dramatic. Your shoulder is literally covered in armor,” Crosshair defended, toothpick stabbing at Tech. Pausing his perusing, Tech’s narrowed glare at the sniper was the only response he’d give.

“I got an idea! Why don’t I just carry him to the Marauder?” Wrecker chimed in, moving to take Crosshair under his arm. This earned him a swift punch in the shoulder from the sniper who backed away, poised to strike. As this usually went, Wrecker was only egged on by Crosshair thinking he could take him and advanced on their silver-haired brother as laughter filled the air around them.

Not wanting to be called to the prime minister’s office again this week, moments before their first mission, Hunter stepped in before a brawl broke out in the middle of the hallway.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wrecker, stand down! We’ve gone over this – you can’t antagonize Crosshair for amusement.” Relief passed as he saw Wrecker back off, but not before giving one more fake-out jolt at Crosshair. The sniper was ready to lunge, but Hunter caught him by the waist. “And Crosshair, just because you have eyesight that apparently doesn’t account for depth perception doesn’t mean you have to bite our heads off.”

That earned him a sharp punch in the stomach, but when he felt Crosshair relax, he released him, grumbling and all.

“Alright then. Crosshair, when we come to the corners, just take them wide. You’ll get the hang of it soon. Now, let’s get a move on before we’re late for our first mission.”

The four batchers fell in line once again as Hunter continued where he left off in his strategy briefing. Many corners later, they were coming up to the hangar. Their ship, the Marauder, ready and waiting for them. The excitement was palpable in the air as they reached the gangplank. As they made their way up, Hunter went on with his final orders.

“Alright, Tech, get the ship fired up. We’re out of – “ Scuff, bang, bang. “Oh, for fuck’s sake Crosshair!”

[mrsnancywheeler]

This one is so long I’m so sorry!!!

But Finnick is just so Hozier (I love a whipped man. Not like gale tho)

Finnick is “Work song” by Hozier it’s not even funny.

~~~~

“Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby”

Despite everything that has happened to him he persists because he thinks about his sweet girl. The pain, the hardships, the struggles, he can get through it all if he just thinks about her

~~~~~~

“I'm so full of love I could barely eat”

Just his all encompassing love, his love is enough to nourish him, he doesn’t need anything else she just needs his sweet girl

~~~~~

“There's nothing sweeter than my baby”

I mean….he literally calls her “sweet girl”. He thinks the world of her. She’s kind, she’s caring, to him she’s the definition of “sweet”. He thinks the world of her, nothing is better then her.

~~~~~

“'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me”

Again more just thinking the world of his sweet girl. There’s no one better, no one who makes him feel anywhere remotely close to what his sweet girl makes him feel. Just being around her fixes his mood, fixes his day.

And plus to him she literally tastes sweet, like peaches.

~~~~~

“When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her”

So I feel like this is so much about 1) Finnick also having kinda a death wish sometimes but 2) feeling the need to live so he can be with her. He fought in 13 for her, he’d fight tooth and nail for her.

All he needs to know is that she’s gonna be there. He will crawl from the depths of the earth, the depths of display to go back home (aka her arms)

~~~~~~

“Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin”

OKAY BUT LIKE THINK ABOUT THR CONTEXT OF WHAT FINNUCK WAS GOING THROUGH WHEN HE MET HER??? ITS SO FITTING

~~~~~~

“And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her”

Again think about what he was going through when he met her. It’s not like he valued his own life all that much and that year he spent with her felt like a dream, like something that was too good to be true.

~~~~~

“She never asked me once about the wrong I did”

“My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done”

“If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me”

This is getting long so I’ll have these lines together…so like again during the first year of their relationship. Finnick feels very guilty about the death he caused, that he’s a bad person, but his sweet girl never once held it against him, never once blamed him. She never even asked. Despite everything he’s done she’s still with him

~~~~~

“When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me”

AGAIN!!! Being with her is what defines his happiness. Those secrete moments between them, the ones in their home, when the Capitol isn’t with them, he was as free as he could be. Heaven and hell meant nothing being he was with her

~~~~

Anyway I love Finnick and I love Hozier

-🌾anon

you're all good pookie 💕

THIS. you're literally so correct with this, and he's the adorable, loving kind of whipped for his sweet girl

when he's in the depths of suffering or hardships he still only thinks about his sweet girl. how he needs to protect her and get back to her no matter what it takes, the games, the rebellion, the war, whatever he's got to do

and she truly is everywhere for him, like when he smells what he thinks might be peaches in his food and is consumed with grief because it makes him think of her. and regardless of how we as an audience might read into her actions as more harsh or impulsive, he sees only the good parts, her flaws are just things he has nothing but sympathy and love for. she does most of what she does out of a place of care of self-hate, and he just loves her endlessly. when he's without her, life is bitter.

yes yes yes, he needs her to stay as something he can come back too, to work for, to give him reason to keep living. he begs her not to go into the quell, he does all he can do she won't be on the squad. he won't let death get him when he knows he can come back to his sweet girl. if she's in the heat of danger and something happens, he doesn't think he'll be able to weather that and knows she wouldn't be able to either, which he could never forgive himself for, even in death.

YES finnick was a young, drunk teenage boy living in peak opulence, having everything at his fingertips, endless parties, and drinks, and fun, but then there's her. she feels so right, it's just too good to be true, to be real, because she's so perfect for him. he understands her and she understands him in a way that no one else can.

he's fresh out of the games really, like a year or so later and of course he's still wrecked with guilt, and always with the nightmares. she's so comforting, she doesn't pry, lets him open up whenever he wants too, and when he does she's nothing but loving. reminding him that he didn't have a choice and all the things he did just brought them together and he's starstruck with how endlessly kind she is. he can't fathom how she puts no blame on him, and he feels the same way when she comes back from her games.

when they can just purely be together, be themselves it's the most free he's ever felt and nothing else he's ever done or felt guilty for matters because it's just the two of them. his sweet girl in his arms, someone he loves more then life itself and he can drown in her very being because of the pure joy it creates

and that's so real of you, he's a Hozier of a man ❤️

[lemonhemlock]

Sansa says to Tyrion: “You’re afraid of her.” And Tyrion replies: “Every good ruler needs to inspire a bit of fear.”

Is that true? Should every good ruler do that?

Should Sansa be afraid of her and was her behavior towards Daenerys smart?

I feel like it was, Sansa's stance against kneeling to Daenerys was not just about defiance; it was a strategic move reflecting her commitment to Northern independence and sovereignty. Sansa's refusal to kneel to Daenerys wasn't about provoking her for the sake of it. It was a calculated decision to assert Northern autonomy and ensure that any alliance with Daenerys was on equal terms. Kneeling would have symbolized submission, potentially compromising the North's ability to negotiate from a position of strength. Sansa understood the risks but believed that standing firm was crucial for preserving Northern identity and security.

What an interesting question! Unfortunately, I was taught only one seminar class on Machiavelli during my one History of the Middle Ages course,* so I'll not insist on the discourse on whether he was writing satire, was being deceitful, opportunistic (my teaching assistant at the time certainly thought he was!) or was genuinely writing a <mirror for princes> in the hopes of Italian unification as he may have seen tyrants as an effective political typology who could achieve that goal. Others more well-read than me can comment much more in-depth on this topic.

*I know this is the Renaissance, it was an expansive course, alright. :)

The question should at least begin with a discussion around Machiavelli IMO because he is very obviously the most famous source for the quote and the majority of the population familiar with this quandary have most likely heard it in association with him. But it's very telling that the idea of being feared is the one D&D latched on to, no? This reminds me of that Twitter meme of red flag books you see in men's houses after going on a couple of dates and the list contained titles like The Prince, American Psycho, Atlas Shrugged, How to Win Friends and Influence People etc.

Even so, even if you take the text at face value, that's not exactly what the man says, is it? He is pondering several options. In fact, let me whip out my copy of The Prince I bought way back in the cretaceous period for Year 1.

Even if you believe he is being genuine here and not just sucking up to (or trying to placate) Lorenzo di Medici, he is saying that love & fear > fear > fear and hatred. So, whatever you do, make sure you are not hated. And what is a sure-fire way to getting hated? Taking people's stuff! "Above all, a man must refrain from seizing the property of others, because a man is quicker to forget the death of his father than the loss of his patrimony"! And how does Dany answer Sansa's question of "what do dragons eat"? What does she say? "Whatever they like." Does whatever they like perchance include the assets of the Northerners, like cattle and sheep? Hmmm.....

In any case, Machiavelli was an ardent Republican, so why is he giving advice to princes? There is a contradiction that lies at the heart of this question and in how fandom perceives some elements of ASOIAF as well. Authoritarian rulers and tyrants can be very effective. It doesn't mean we should accept or normalize authoritarian rule. These two things are not in contradiction. Machiavelli doesn't have to believe, in his heart of hearts, that tyrants are preferable; he can simply write about how to make them efficient. And, again, I'm leaving the conversation about his true intentions to others who have genuinely studied the issue, because it is still under debate.

How I'm redirecting this back to ASOIAF is by pointing out that a lot of critiques of Westerosi rulers are hesitant to characterize any kind of imperious or strongman ruler as efficient, even when the text doesn't point to any material issue that might undermine their rule. Tywin Lannister and Walder Frey are examples of this. To my knowledge, there is no real contestation of their rule by their bannermen or smallfolk and they are not exactly the warmest individuals. Yes, they die, because they are the playthings of the author and he is killing them to make a thematic point. Not because they were overthrown by their underlings or in a peasant revolt. Tywin is killed by his own son in an act of personal revenge that has nothing to do with politics. Walder Frey is killed similarly by Arya in the show (in the books he is still alive). But, that doesn't mean that, in the real world, rulers like Stalin don't exist and are not successful and always pay for their crimes.

I would thus advance the proposition that GRRM does think that tyrants might be effective, but not that they should be endorsed and definitely the endgame of the series will not involve another tyrant on the throne, because he has power over these characters and he can eliminate whomever he wants from the narrative if he doesn't believe they fit the profile for the type of ruler he is looking for.

Ping-pong-ing back to the show, the question is ultimately a misunderstanding of the themes by D&D. They conflate being effective with being a "good" ruler. And it is important to define that efficiency in the first place! Machiavelli talks a lot about how to maintain your seat as a prince once you've got it. And the discussion on love vs fear happens in the context of how to prevent oneself from acquiring the ire of the population / one's subalterns and prevent being ousted. But would that truly be the trait GRRM is looking for in his ideal model of a king? A good king being one who efficiently held onto the crown? What about policy? What exactly is Dany's policy for Westeros? She has none in the show. In the books she has none as well, but at least she hasn't reached Westeros there yet, so there may be time for her to formulate something.

Regardless, the population shouldn't be afraid of its rulers, who serve for them. The only reason one should feel fear in relation to one's rulers is because they are judicious applicators of the law and would mete punishment accordingly if one has committed a crime. This is very much an idealistic manifestation of the relationship between the two, but it is not an entirely new concept. Even in the context of the divine right of kings,* there existed paternalistic notions of benevolence (noblesse oblige being one such manifestation), the idea that the upper classes have social responsibilities to care and protect the vulnerable and those less fortunate. So the idea of the elites being indebted in a way (or more like having a duty towards) the populace has always permeated political thinking. Of course, in the case of unjust rulers, philosophers like Thomas Aquinas also condoned tyrannicide (legally permitted in Ancient Greece, too). So, I would so as far as to say that there is basis enough to argue that a "good" ruler is one who cares for their people and doesn't abuse them or incite negative associations such as fear - and that it's probably what GRRM also has in mind when writing these godforsaken books.

*although I suppose I should mention that the idea that God granted monarchs authority to rule predates the coinage of that term, which is essentially absolutist in phrasing, because we are LARP-ing medieval times here and that predates the absolutist monarchy, contrary to what viral posts will have you believe (no, I will never shut up about this).

As for the second part of your question, yes, I would say that in the context of the show, Sansa refusing to kneel to Dany would be consistent with the goal D&D gave her, namely Northern independence. So it wasn't about antagonizing Daenerys the person or playing mind games, it was about achieving her political objective and implementing her own policies, as Sansa was one of the only characters shown to care about the logistics of survival, ensuring the needs of her population and caring for them as best as she could. Had she failed, Daenerys would have kept asking for her armies and money in order to fight in her world domination tour - a loss of resources that Sansa wanted to prevent.

Please bear in mind, though, that a lot of this is coloured by the weird decision to have Cersei be the final villain to defeat, whereas it's much more likely that in the books the battle against the wights is going to be the final, major battle. It's likely that the dynamics in the books will be different - not saying that Dany and Sansa are going to be bffs, but Jon, for instance, could have a much greater political involvement, one would hope, instead of being reduced to moodily repeating 3 lines. Also, Dany's public perception might very well change if she, IDK, murders her alleged nephew Aegon VI or engages in other endearing brouhaha.