#i wrote it in the middle of march

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[suzannahnatters]

So here's one of the coolest things that has happened to me as a Tolkien nut and an amateur medievalist. It's also impacted my view of the way Tolkien writes women. Here's Carl Stephenson in MEDIEVAL FEUDALISM, explaining the roots of the ceremony of knighthood: "In the second century after Christ the Roman historian Tacitus wrote an essay which he called Germania, and which has remained justly famous. He declares that the Germans, though divided into numerous tribes, constitute a single people characterised by common traits and a common mode of life. The typical German is a warrior. [...] Except when armed, they perform no business, either private or public. But it is not their custom that any one should assume arms without the formal approval of the tribe. Before the assembly the youth receives a shield and spear from his father, some other relative, or one of the chief men, and this gift corresponds to the toga virilis among the Romans--making him a citizen rather than a member of a household" (pp 2-3). Got it?

Remember how Tolkien was a medievalist who based his Rohirrim on Anglo-Saxon England, which came from those Germanic tribes Tacitus was talking about? Stephenson argues that the customs described by Tacitus continued into the early middle ages eventually giving rise to the medieval feudal system. One of these customs was the gift of arms, which transformed into the ceremony of knighthood: "Tacitus, it will be remembered, describes the ancient German custom by which a youth was presented with a shield and a spear to mark his attainment of man's estate. What seems to the be same ceremony reappears under the Carolingians. In 791, we are told, Charlemagne caused Prince Louis to be girded with a sword in celebration of his adolescence; and forty-seven years later Louis in turn decorated his fifteen-year-old son Charles "with the arms of manhood, i.e., a sword." Here, obviously, we may see the origin of the later adoubement, which long remained a formal investiture with arms, or with some one of them as a symbol. Thus the Bayeux Tapestry represents the knighting of Earl Harold by William of Normandy under the legend: Hic Willelmus dedit Haroldo arma (Here William gave arms to Harold). [...] Scores of other examples are to be found in the French chronicles and chansons de geste, which, despite much variation of detail, agree on the essentials. And whatever the derivation of the words, the English expression "dubbing to knighthood" must have been closely related to the French adoubement" (pp 47-48.)

In its simplest form, according to Stephenson, the ceremony of knighthood included "at most the presentation of a sword, a few words of admonition, and the accolade." OK. So what does this have to do with Tolkien and his women? AHAHAHAHA I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. First of all, let's agree that Tolkien, a medievalist, undoubtedly was aware of all the above. Second, turn with me in your copy of The Lord of the Rings to chapter 6 of The Two Towers, "The King of the Golden Hall", when Theoden and his councillors agree that Eowyn should lead the people while the men are away at war. (This, of course, was something that medieval noblewomen regularly did: one small example is an 1178 letter from a Hospitaller knight serving in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem which records that before marching out to the battle of Montgisard, "We put the defence of the Tower of David and the whole city in the hands of our women".) But in The Lord of the Rings, there's a little ceremony.

"'Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone.' 'It shall be so,' said Theoden. 'Let the heralds announce to the folk that the Lady Eowyn will lead them!' Then the king sat upon a seat before his doors and Eowyn knelt before him and received from him a sword and a fair corselet."

I YELLED when I realised what I was reading right there. You see, the king doesn't just have the heralds announce that Eowyn is in charge. He gives her weapons.

Theoden makes Eowyn a knight of the Riddermark.

Not only that, but I think this is a huge deal for several reasons. That is, Tolkien knew what he was doing here.

From my reading in medieval history, I'm aware of women choosing to fight and bear arms, as well as becoming military leaders while the men are away at some war or as prisoners. What I haven't seen is women actually receiving knighthood. Anyone could fight as a knight if they could afford the (very pricy) horse and armour, and anyone could lead a nation as long as they were accepted by the leaders. But you just don't see women getting knighted like this.

Tolkien therefore chose to write a medieval-coded society, Rohan, where women arguably had greater equality with men than they did in actual medieval societies.

I think that should tell us something about who Tolkien was as a person and how he viewed women - perhaps he didn't write them with equal parity to men (there are undeniably more prominent male characters in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, at least, than female) but compared to the medieval societies that were his life's work, and arguably even compared to the society he lived in, he was remarkably egalitarian.

I think it should also tell us something about the craft of writing fantasy.

No, you don't have to include gut wrenching misogyny and violence against women in order to write "realistic" medieval-inspired fantasy.

Tolkien's fantasy worlds are DEEPLY informed by medieval history to an extent most laypeople will never fully appreciate. The attitudes, the language, the ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS use of medieval military tactics...heck, even just the way that people travel long distances on foot...all of it is brilliantly medieval.

The fact that Theoden bestows arms on Eowyn is just one tiny detail that is deeply rooted in medieval history. Even though he's giving those arms to a woman in a fantasy land full of elves and hobbits and wizards, it's still a wonderfully historically accurate detail.

Of course, I've ranted before about how misogyny and sexism wasn't actually as bad in medieval times as a lot of people today think. But from the way SOME fantasy authors talk, you'd think that historical accuracy will disappear in a puff of smoke if every woman in the dragon-infested fantasy land isn't being traumatised on the regular.

Tolkien did better. Be like Tolkien.

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

What the MHA boys might do for your birthday. This one was extra special and took some time so I hope yall liked it <3

Bakugo Katsuki

I think he'd be the type of guy to give you hot kisses at random times of the day. You could be doing anything, talking to anybody and this explosive hot-head would march right up to you and tug on your hand like a child. "C'mon, let's go."

"Suki, wait-!"

He wants the whole world to know that yall are together. I take him as the needy type, the type who'd place butterfly kisses on your neck and shoulders when he pulls you into a random classroom or storage room or behind one of the bleachers.

Huge bouquet of roses with tiny little gifts tucked in between along with a box of your favourite treat and a special little note he wrote himself. You're interrupted in the middle of class by a delivery man who mumbles something about the instructions being ridiculously specific.

In the afternoon, he'll take you to the park and pull out an intricate pair of silver promise rings. "G'nna be a great hero, dollface. 'Cause I can feel it."

Midoriya Izuku

I imagine Izuku as the most giving person so him giving you something like an exclusive All Might plushie that he spent months saving for would be an understatement. He just loves you too much.

He caught you ogling a cute pair of leg warmers the other day when you guys were walking home so of course he got a pair for you.

Lots of handholding that he actually initiates. Whispers of sweet praises in your ears that just corrupt your thoughts. Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"You're so cute, y'know that?" And there you are blushin' so hard, Mina thinks he said something dirty.

Him walking you home and giving you a long hug in front of your door just so he can have a whiff of that shampoo you use. He made a mental note to drop by with a new one and some more shower things you like before the night was out.

Kirishima Eijiro

He stays up until 12 just so that he can photo-dump you across all of his social media platforms. He'll send you a long text paragraph (that took him days to type) with all of the things he loves about you.

Gives you roses and a huge gift bag filled with all of your favourite skin care products and lipglosses. His wallet is crying but nothing compares to the smile you have on your face. You'll make sure to thank him properly afterwards anyways.

Offers to walk you home that afternoon. He's helping you carry all of the gifts you got and you're telling him all about your day, and he doesn't miss the way your eyes light up when you reach a specific topic. You're just the sweetest thing.

Todoroki Shoto

Shows up at your house in the morning with a limo all fancy in your favourite colour and he's like, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Now you feel bad. He wasted money on a limo just to take you to school.

You just know Enji's credit card is paying for all of this and Shoto seems unbothered by spending his father's money.

"Red bottoms?!" you screech, looking at the pair of heels in the box. "Do you not like it? If it's not enough, I could always-" he began, coming up behind you and wrapping a hand around your stomach to pull you closer to him.

"No. I love it but Sho, this is too much." you turn to look at him.

Heterochromatic eyes look into yours affectionately, "For you, I'd say this is a small gift."

You blush, still worried. "What will your father say?"

Shoto scoffs. "He doesn't need to know."

Sorry for any errors lovies but I hoped yall liked this one.

[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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[just-some-random-blogger]

The Cage Of My Rib

"Aegon?" "Mmm." "They say twins come from a split rib... do you think it is true?" "Pfft, no. If it were, I'd be short and ugly like you!"

Aegon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Aemond Targaryen | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest, twin!reader, wife!reader, pregnancy, motherhood, post-rook's rest, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this is a fic I wrote for my lovely luna. im going to be completely honest with you. i had a vision then i didnt... i dont know if this has a happy ending im so sorry T_T HAHAHAHAHA @vhagar-balerion-meraxes I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

His skin was scalding as he stormed into the dragon pit. His nostrils flared at the sight of the dragon about to exit and take flight. He clenches his fists, "keligon."

My mount rumbles at the sound of the command. I, at first, do not realize the command was given and pat my dragon's skin, encouraging her to continue.

"KELIGON!"

Both my dragon and I turn, seeing Aemond march towards us with a face painted in fury. He screams again, "STOP!"

I furrow my brows and hush my ride when she grows restless. She screeches at Aemond to show her displeasure, and so in turn, I have to calm her down as my he approaches. I pull on my reins and scowl at him. I quip in High Valyrian, "you dare command Rhovior while I am mounted?"

Aemond looks up at me, pulse raging in anger. He screams again at her, commanding my dragon to obey him with such severity that she forgets her own predatory inclination and submits. Rhovior then cranes her long neck to the side and looks up at me. Her violet eyes reflect my own and I rub her pinkish scales before turning back to the man.

"Get down," he commands me in High Valyrian, reaching a hand out to me.

I clench my jaw and tilt my head at him, "I do not wish to."

His nostrils flare, "you truly think it wise to fly on dragonback in the middle of a war?"

"I am not flying into war, brother."

"You are not flying anywhere," he snaps, "wife."

Rhovior was getting restless again. She begins to shake her head and shift towards Aemond. I have to calm her down, lest the one-eyed prince be left one-armed or worse. He at least has the mind to step away from her at this point, his hands coming to his side.

Aemond clenches his jaw as I calm Rhovior. I grunt when part of the saddle digs into my belly. My husband flinches, boot skidding forward on instinct. He hisses in the High Valyrian once more, "you are in no state to be flying."

I make sure my ride is completely calm before finally dismounting. Once I do, Aemond comes upon me, glaring down with a furious eye.

"I am her rider," I repeat in the same tongue, "she would not cause me harm."

"She does not need to cause you harm for harm to come to our child."

I step forward. My protruded belly barely brushes against him, "she would not harm my child."

"Our child," he corrects, "I have as much say on what happens to the babe as you do."

I sigh and close my eyes. I hear Aemond command the dragon keepers to bring Rhovior back into the pit. I rub my belly and ignore my husband, walking past him.

"Do you think you would be spared simply because you are a woman with child? Rhaenyra will spare none in King's Landing to have her way."

I remove my gloves while he follows after me. I respond by the time I feel him beside me, "as I said, I was not flying into w-"

"Flying at all is an act of war," he grabs my arm, forcing me to face him, "you are my wife."

I whip my head, pulling my arm out of his clutch, my silver hair flipping behind me.

"You carry my seed."

"Trust me, Prince Regent, I know what I carry inside me better than you."

Aemond's jaw sets. The muscles on his face feather. I can practically feel the anger radiating off him. My stomach begins to churn. I look down and sigh. I step forward and grab his bicep. I can feel his muscles are tense. I whisper, "I would not have flown far."

He does not reply.

I look up at him. His face is bound in anger. I reach for his cheek, but he pulls away and steps back before I touch him.

I gulp. I allow my hands to drop.

His silence held the violence of a storm, and his stoic expression held something searing beneath it. His voice held a false serenity as he whispered, "you'll have to kill me before you forfeit so much to a dead man walking."

I stare at him. I do not argue with his distasteful comment nor do I correct his belief that I meant to fly out to do something for the said man.

I simply walk away after he's said his piece and head for my chambers.

I change out of my riding clothes and go to the nursery. I dismiss the wet nurse and tell her I will continue breast feeding my son.

I immediately take my child onto my hip and rub his back as I make my way down the hall. Aenar sighs into my shoulder, his soft cheek pressed against my neck. I make it to the King's quarters and nod at the Kingsguard stationed outside his room as he opens the doors for me.

I stop just as I enter; the sight and the smell never gets easier to palate. I shift my boy in my arm when he begins to fuss. A mewl from across the room makes my heart twinge.

I walk towards the bed, the sound of my heels on the tiles reverberate in the otherwise silent chamber. By the time I sit down on the chair beside the bed, Aenar is restless, and so I undo the ribbons on my chest and allow my baby to feed.

I stroke my son's head, rocking him in my arms slightly, but my eyes are on the man before me and his are on mine. Aegon's lilac gaze is watery. His lips are dry as he speaks, "you shouldn't be here."

I adjust my son in my arms so his weight doesn't put so much pressure on my belly. I rub the boy's bald head, "and where should I be, my king?"

He scoffs but regrets it when he breaks into a ragged cough. I huff when it doesn't seem to stop and reach for the glass of water on his bedside table. I manage to keep a firm grip on son as I help him drink. Liquid spills from the corner of his lips and soon he shakes his head, making me pull away.

"There is no king here."

I simply wipe his skin, careful not to irritate him. Aegon watches me, or rather, he watches Aenar. I freeze when he grabs my wrist weakly before I pull away.

His voice is soft and strangled, "you misunderstand."

He releases his hold. I put the cloth down.

"I don't want you here."

We stare at each other. I am unfazed because I knew he did not mean it. I adjust Aenar in my arms. He stops suckling after this, and so I move him to my other shoulder and lace up the ties on my chest. I rub his back and gently pat him, "shall I move to the other side of the bed then?"

Aegon does not reply.

Aenar burps softly. I lean into him and kiss his head, "good boy."

His eyes water. He screws them shut, "do not insult me further-" his nostrils flare, "-and fucking leave."

My brows knit, "I've not yet helped you ea-"

"I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!" he snaps, spit flying out his mouth as he screams.

I jolt at the severity of his tone. Aemond, even with his display prior, was never one to shout at me, not even as a child. Aegon, however, always did. It did not make it any bearable. Aenar too was affected by the shout. He promptly begins to sob.

I immediately begin to rock him and shush him. When he does calm, I cradle him in my arms and sing to him. It was my favorite High Valyrian lullaby, one that our father sung to us in but a few instances or less.

Aegon's face twitches at the sound. The act causes his tender injuries to flair. Tears stream down his face.

It takes two repetitions of the song for my baby finally find peace again. By the time he does, I feel out of breath. I sit back down but do not stop rocking him. Aenar coos and I do not dare to cease my singing.

That is, until, Aegon calls my name.

Not only do I stop singing, I stop moving altogether.

His eyes are closed and his voice is shaky, "your being swells with life while mine wastes away."

"No, you get better everyda-"

"I am a dead man walking," he chuckles dryly, "I cannot even walk-"

"And did Aemond tell you this?"

His eyes slowly open. A tear drips into his mouth, "I know what I carry inside me better than he."

Aenar begins to fuss again, and so I bring him to my shoulder and pat his back.

Our silence is broken by the sound of my brother and I saying each other's names at once. I pull my chair close to him. He slowly shakes his head in disagreement, screwing his eyes shut.

"I am here," I tell him.

He chuckles, "I pray you were not."

"I will always be here, Aegon. Your woes are mine and my joy is yours."

He slowly opens his eyes. He sniffles and mumbles, "you are not my wife."

"I am your twin-"

"I am glad of it," he reaches out a hand. I perk and lean in, knowing exactly what he wanted instinctively. I maneuver Aenar until he was laid back in my arms. Aegon's curled hand comes to my son's leg. His breathing is heavy, "he would have been Jaehaerys."

I clench my jaw and place my hand atop his.

He huffs slowly through his mouth, "I cannot feel you anymore."

I rub his burnt hand, "perhaps not in flesh, but always in heart."

Aegon slowly pulls his hand away.

"I wanted to pick you flowers, but Aemond did not let me."

"I would not have either if I were him."

"But you are not."

"I wish sometimes I was," he looks away, "how content I would have been to be born the second son... to have you."

"You have me."

He chuckles, mumbling under his breath, "do not tell him that. My injuries are suffice."

I cradle Aenar as he snuggles into my breast.

"Do you remember what you asked me when we were children?"

I nod, immediately knowing what he meant, "if twins are split from the rib?"

He hums, "if we were, I am glad that you are rid of me."

"I am glad we are not joined at the rib, but I do not wish to be rid of you."

He mumbles my name. No one but himself hears.

I adjust my baby's collar, "I should put him down. I will return before your supper is served."

He does not reply. I give him one last look before heading back.

I enter the nursery. I stop in my tracks when I see the figure looming over the cot. Aemond turns over his shoulder. I blink at the sight of his distraught expression before walking over to him.

I stop beside him, debating where I should place my son. I decide to hand him to Aemond, who graciously takes him into his arms. Aenar mewls before settling against him. A line forms between Aemond's brows as he gazes at the boy. He mutters, "how is he?"

His words hold double meaning and yet I could feel like it was a trick, to see if I would talk about Aegon.

I step closer, gazing at the infant who was blissfully unware of all that was around him. I stroke his cheek with my finger, "he is tired," I pull away, "not unlike his father."

Aemond turns to me as I rub my belly. He clenches his jaw but says nothing.

I cautiously reach out for his cheek. He does not pull away from me this time, "I will return to join you for supper."

I wait for him to respond. I walk out when he does not. He watches as the door close. He turns away after the click.

"Keligon, muña," Aemond mutters as though it was his son speaking. He then shushes him, "muña kessa daor henujagon īlva..."

Mother will not leave us.

"... my son."

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Neil talking about the responses to Good Omens Season 2 - from the Neil Gaiman interview with Brian Levine for The Gould Standard (x,x)

BL: The audience that you have built is a very passionately engaged audience. They, frankly, they love you. And one of the reasons they love you is that you fit into what I think of as one of two great divisions in art. There's, or in writing, um, there is: I'm entertained, I'm amused. I may be even enchanted; and then there's this hits me at a visceral level. You understand me as no one else does. You have touched something very central to my experience. And it seems to me that Much of your writing, maybe all of your writing, actually reaches your audience at that latter level. You know. I would say in the former category, sort of my quintessential and beloved example would be P. G. Woodhouse. He amuses me, but I don't feel like he's revealed my inner self at a very deep level. Um, were you aware that you were going to be able to achieve that? Um, that this is something... was it a startling thing when people began coming up to you, who'd read your work and said, this means so much to me?

Neil: Yeah. It was huge. And it wasn't expected. I... if I had a mountaintop I was heading towards, it was gonna be P. G. Woodhouse. Um, I wanted to be a proficient entertainer with a clear prose style who could tell stories. Um, it probably wasn't until Sandman that I found... I started to realize that in order for a story to work, I had to show too much. In order for a story to resonate, in order for a story to matter, I had to let it matter too much. And, and I remember the first people who would start coming up to me and saying, um, you, you know, your, your Sandman comics got me through the death of a loved one. Your death character got me through my child's death, through my parent's death, through my partner's death, through my friend's death. Um, and that left me kind of amazed. I'm like, well, I didn't write it to do that. I wrote it to feed my children. I wrote it to satisfy myself. I wrote it because nobody else had ever written it. And if I didn't write it, it wouldn't be written, but I don't think I wrote it to give you what you've taken from it. And I spent really about 20, 25 years feeling awkward about that. And then my father died, in March 2009, and never got to cry about it. Never... I, you know, I've, I've got on a plane and I went to the UK and dealt with the funeral stuff and organized all of that stuff and came back and go toff the plane and went and did Stephen Colbert's Colbert Report and wearing the funeral suit because and that was all I had with me and carried on. And then, somewhere in the middle of summer, I was reading a friend's script. They'd sent me a script and said, can you look this over? And I'm reading it, and on page 20, the lead character meets somebody, and on page 26 maybe, she's dead, and I burst into tears. And I'm bawling. I am sobbing. It is coming out of me in giant racking waves. And I realized that it's everything that I'd been, hadn't let myself feel, or hadn't been able, hadn't stopped enough to let myself feel, was suddenly being given permission to feel by the death of a fictional person who I'd met six pages earlier, ia script. And I thought that... and it was huge for me, and I thought, okay, that's that thing that people are talking about sometimes, when they come tome and they say, you, you did this. So right now, I'm in this weird, wonderful place where I think a lot of people in Good Omens Season 2 thought they were signing up for the P.G. Woodhouse, and didn't know that, no, no, no, you've, you've signed up for the whole thing. You've signed up for the feelings. You've signed up for the emotions. I... it is my job to make you care and to make you feel and to feel things you haven't felt before. And which meant that the first week or so after Good Omens came out, I was getting angry, furious, deeply upset messages on every possible social medium telling me that I had betrayed people, and it was awful, and they couldn't stop crying, and why would I do that to them, and did I hate them? And they hated me. And then a weird sort of phenomenon happened as people would watch the show again. And again. And now they started to know, okay, this is where it's gonna go, this is what's gonna happen, this is how it works. And they started realizing that they were actually feeling things, and that was good. And that they were caring about two people who don't exist. You know, I made them up, and then and Terry Pratchett made them up, and then, um, David Tennant and Michael Sheen gave them life, and then they get to walk around on a screen and you know they don't exist, but you can cry for them, you can love them, they can make you laugh, they can make you exult, and most important of all, they can make you care. And the number of people who are now writing to me, saying, 'This was so important to me. This has changed my life. This makes me feel like I belong. This makes me feel like I can cope. And it's let me sort of find myself. P. S. I hope you get to do Season Three.' is, is huge.

[thisismeracing]

The one | CS55

― Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: mentions of break up and food; typos. ― Summary: Yn is doing well a few months after her break up with Carlos, and so is he. Everyone thinks that this paragraph of their lives is over, but as it happens they may be a chapter to each other, and Yn makes sure everyone knows he was her great love, the one - through her new song. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

February, 2023

February, 2024

realyn

liked by charles_leclerc, sza, and others

realyn "The One" has just come out on all streaming platforms. I hope this piece of my heart reaches yours. Tune in and dive into the feels 💐🤍

view all comments

saintsainz "for old time's sake" HELLO?????

ynsummer omg another bop!!! I wish I could write songs when I'm sad, the few breakups I had I could only cry and try not to choke on my own phlegm

⤷ fan2000 ewwww LOL

hammert1m3 charles on the likes 👀

leclowns1655 in my head they're not over yet

⤷ mercmickey you need therapy, bestie

lewishamilton great music as usual 💜

francisca.cgomes 😍😍

szadirection I love how the grid's still here supporting here even a year after she and carlos broke up 🥺

popyn WE WERE SOMETHING DON'T YOU THINK SOOO ROSÉ FLOWING WITH YOUR CHOSEN FAMILY 🎤🎤🎤🎤

ferraristrangers I have so many theories for the lyrics and the cover and kksjksdj aaaaaaaa

Old posts

March, 2018

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, ynfan, and others

realyn eat pasta, run fasta, they said 😋😂

view all comments

bieberf1 they my new fav couple now 💋

raintyresainz thank you for feeding us that last carlos pic

hurricaneyn welp now I wanna eat pasta but its like the middle of the night

⤷ alonsochamp eat pasta, sleep fasta 😙😂

carlossainz55 ❤️❤️

amarelorenault her glasses are so cool!!!!! her style is always on point

carlossainz55

liked by yourfriend, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 we tried homemade, it worked 😋

view all comments

realyn we didn't run fasta this time though :(

⤷ carlossainz55 there wasn't any race this Sunday, cariño

⤷ realyn shhhh, let me be funny

harrystylistee I want what they have!

April, 2018

realyn

liked by hulkhulkenberg, renaultf1team, and others

realyn enjoyed April with my fav spaniard, wrote a few songs for you guys - new album dropping soon!!!!! 🥳

view all comments

aussiegrid howd you like Australia, Yn?

⤷ realyn I loved it, def gonna come back soon 🥰

ynfan 💙💙💙💙💙💙

carlosfullname1 where’s your jacket from?

⤷ realyn website.com 😘

fab2000 can’t wait for the new song and espec the new album!!!!!

July, 2018

carlossainz55

liked by pierregasly, realyn, and others

carlossainz55 Yn's new album "I used to know her" is out now and you guys should run to listen to it 💙💙 she did an amazing job as usual. I'm very proud of you, cariño @ realyn

view all comments

lewishamilton congrats, Yn!

hulkhulkenberg everyone here loved the new album, well done, Yn!

renaultf1team its our garage soundtrack 😎💛

March, 2019

realyn

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and others

realyn the past few months wearing papaya have been amazing! 🧡 and yes, last concert clothes were orange bc of the team

view all comments

landonorris looks like the concert clothes gave us some luck, make sure to wear orange again next time!

⤷ realyn I love you guys but I can't be wearing orange all the time

⤷ yourmanager yes, you can

⤷ realyn shut up, I'm gonna fire your ass

⤷ yourmanager no, you won't

⤷ carlossainz55 jajajaja

tifosinha I love how lando looks like their kid 😂

spaincarlos_ not yn and carlos adopting lando lol

ynfan4 her music taste is *chef kiss* 🤌🏾

ynandsainz yn, your album still on repeat on my apple music!

mclaren 🧡🧡

December, 2019

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc, hulkhulkenberg, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Navidad! 🎄❤️

view all comments

saturnracer FELIZ NAVIDAD TAN TAN TAN PROSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDAD 🎤

szalover 😭😍 its the way she loves pasta

⤷ cowboyvettel @ realyn pasta or carlos? choose one

⤷ realyn carlos cooking pasta 😙😋😜

July, 2020

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

realyn compilation of some of the flowers Carlos gave me and pics he took 💖 Te amo, cariño 💐🌷🌹🌸🌺🌼🌻

view all comments

fonedirection God I see what youve done for others

carlossainz55 you’re my favorite flower, love 🌸💖

⤷ fernandoalo_official you guys know how to be sicklengly cute huh 🙄

piastripastry see? carlos gets flowers regularly to yn and yall out there crying over an ugly ass man who gives you the bare minimum 🫵

March, 2021

realyn

liked by carlossainz, scuderiaferrari, and others

realyn new character unlocked hehe ❤️💛🏎️

view all comments

ynfrance We want a new album, queen!!! save us!

swiftverstappen the way they went through everything togerher 🤧

⤷ russellsainz I want what they have

monegasque16 another day another yn post to make me cry in single and alone

carlossainz55 thank you for the endless support, cariño 💛 you’re my everything

tifosisunshine you’re 😭 my 😭 everything 😭

August, 2022

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and others

carlossainz55 my kind of free-weekends 🩵

view all comments

sunnyyn yn looks so good 😍😍

yourbestie ❤️ aweee

realyn te amo! 😘

January, 2023

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, francisca.cgomes, and others

realyn happy new year 🙃

view all comments

charlsmonaco where's carlos? 😟

mylightyn I don't like this vibe…

ynwardrobe what is she reading?

lewishamilton 💙

⤷ mclatinha lew do you happen to know something we don’t?

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Año Nuevo! 🎉

view all comments

brocedes2010 where's Yn??????

schumini_ at least they seem to be on the same place 🙏🏾🙏🏾

redsainz he looks so good it hurts

back to 2024 💬📩

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this piece! I'm set on publishing my drafts but I need time to work on them, this one was saved for a while now, and it's finally here heheh let me know your thoughts!

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘

▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @dearxcherry @elliegrey2803 @peachiicherries @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji @leclercsluv @bbreezybitch @graciewrote @alessioayla @littlesatanicassholebitch @barcelonaloverf1life @noncannonships @fanboyluvr @is-just-a @love4lando @woozarts @namgification @formulaal @v1naco @skepvids

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

[gottagobuycheese]

HEY! YOU!

You've probably heard by now, but from March 4th to 10th 2024, Help Gaza Children will be sending all their donations to families in northern Gaza, where food prices have skyrocketed even more than in the south. Their goal is $25K by the end of the week; at the time of writing this post, it's about halfway a quarter way there! (OG post about it) [EDIT: my mistake, I misinterpreted the numbers in the original post; evidently I cannot do arithmetic anymore]

This is their notion site, which has their donation link as well as additional info, their FAQ, important updates, and proof of purchases from donations they’ve gotten in the past. You can also donate directly to their paypal here.

As such, I'll be open for sketch commissions up from now (March 7th, 2024 ~02:20 PST) through March 10th in exchange for proof of donation to Help Gaza Children!

BASIC OVERVIEW:

Tier 1 - Basic head/bust sketch for $1-5 USD, +50% for basic color. Up to 3 characters.

Tier 2 - Basic screencap resketch for $5-15 USD, +50% for basic color.

Tier 3 - Posed sketch for $15-25 USD, 1-2 characters ONLY.

Tier 4 - Colored clean sketch: $25+ USD, 1-2 characters ONLY.

RULES:

Please provide a visual reference or detailed description of the character(s) you want drawn (and depending on the tier, a screencap or pose/expression you want to go with it)

DO'S: OCs, humans and human-like creatures, other creatures that don't have a lot of mechanical or anatomical detail (as in, I can TRY to do mecha stuff, but I think you and I will both be better of if I don't lol; can ask for further details)

DON'T'S: any NSFW stuff, real people currently alive (as in, historical figures in the setting of historical fiction may be okay, but other things may not be; can ask for further details)

If you've made your donation in a currency that is not USD, I'll give you something of equivalent value according to the tier based on whatever the conversion is at the time that I look it up. If one or both of our economies crashes spectacularly in between the time you send it and the time I look it up, I'm very sorry in advance

DISCLAIMER 1: I reserve the right to decline a commission for any reason; however, if this ends up being the case, I may reach out to you to see if we can come up with a middle ground that suits us both.

DISCLAIMER 2: I don't anticipate being able to do a lot of these, as I've got a full-time job that's in the ballpark ~80+ hours a week with really weird hours. That being said, depending on how far this goes, turnaround time will probably be ~2-3 months, give or take...something. I'll update you monthly until it's done.

FOR PERSONAL, NON-COMMERCIAL USE ONLY!

If you're interested in nabbing a sketch from me in exchange for your donation, email a screenshot (devoid of any personal info please) of your donation receipt and details of your sketch request (e.g. reference, tier, etc.) to gottagobuycheese@gmail.com. For your donation to count for a sketch, it must be made after I wrote this post! (March 7, 2024 ~02:20 A.M. PST)

If you are NOT interested in nabbing a sketch from me, feel free to donate anyway!!

(And if you've got any questions about anything feel free to email, DM, or send an ask!)

[fairuzfan]

June was working at the Goldie restaurant in Philadelphia on Sunday night when protesters started assembling outside the Israeli-American-owned eatery waving Palestinian flags.

"Goldie, Goldie, you can't hide, we charge you with genocide," they chanted.

The 24-year-old June, who asked to be identified by his first name only, told Middle East Eye that they watched the rally through the window of the restaurant which sells falafel, hummus and other Middle Eastern cuisine. June was shift-leading at the time.

"I remember thinking it was a big crowd, given it had been raining," June said.

"No one inside was bothered. I didn't feel unsafe. There were orthodox Jews taking part in the protest. We even had a customer come into the business," June, who is also Jewish, added.

After a few minutes, the protesters left.

When June went home after the shift, they found social media alight with accusations that the crowd had targeted the restaurant because it was a Jewish establishment.

But June says they knew that this wasn't a case of antisemitism.

"The protesters had assembled outside Goldie because the restaurant owner had sent money to an aid organisation that supported the Israeli military. They had come because two employees at Goldie were fired for expressing support for Palestine," June told MEE.

Outraged by the feverish pace with which the false narrative of a marauding mob intimidating a business on account of their Jewishness was being amplified on the internet and the news media, June posted on social media in support of the protesters.

"If you don't want to be directly funding genocide, stay away from Goldie, Kfar, Federal Donuts, Laser Wolf or Zahav. Goldie's parent company CookNSolo held a fundraiser where sales from all their restaurants went to an org [sic] that gives supplies to the IDF [Israeli military]," June wrote.

On the way to work the next morning, June received a call from the restaurant. They were told that they were no longer needed and they was fired with immediate effect.

That made June the third person at Goldie to be fired on account of their pro-Palestinian advocacy since 7 October when Israel's war on Palestine began.

Since late Sunday, the US media, prominent Jewish Americans, Philadelphia's mayor, several lawmakers, and even the White House have issued statements condemning the protests outside the restaurant.

"This is idiotic and dangerous. Protest outside the Israeli consulate or the offices of your member of Congress, not Jewish or Israeli-owned restaurants," prominent Jewish-American writer Peter Beinart wrote.

Likewise, Andrew Bates, a White House spokesperson, described the incident as "antisemitic and completely unjustifiable to target restaurants that serve Israeli food over disagreements with Israeli policy".

On Tuesday, US Vice President Kamala Harris' husband, Doug Emhoff, called Michael Solomonov, the owner of the restaurant group, to express support for his business.

But former employees at Goldie as well as pro-Palestine advocates who either organised or participated in the protest say the outrage was manufactured to distract from both the crimes of the Israeli state and those who have chosen to support it.

"While Goldie was not the goal of our protest, we briefly paused and led chants [outside the restaurant] because the owner, Michael Solomonov, has used proceeds from the restaurant to fund an organisation that works directly with the Israeli Occupational forces," Natalie Abulhawa, a spokesperson from the Philly Palestine Coalition, said.

Abulhalwa said that the group spent only a few minutes outside the restaurant and moved on to other stops before continuing the rally.

"We also stopped at Starbucks for the same reason and then continued to march. Our march was roughly three hours long and we stopped at Goldie's for four minutes, at most," Abulhalwa added.

June, who was at the business at the time, confirmed to MEE that the protesters were only around for a few minutes.

Sophie Hamilton, who worked at Goldie for more than two years, including as a store manager, confirmed to MEE that Solomonov had held a fundraiser in mid-October, where $100,000 was raised for United Hatzalah, an Israeli emergency aid organisation based in Jerusalem.

She said Goldie, part of the CooknSolo company, was not some small-time "mom-and-pop" business, but a sprawling company whose owner was appointed by the Israeli tourism ministry as its culinary ambassador for Israel in 2017. Solomonov is an Israeli chef who owns four restaurants in the Philadelphia area under the CookNSolo banner.

According to a statement released by the Israeli authorities at the time, the role was designed "to champion Israel’s extraordinarily diverse and vibrant culinary landscape".

Hamilton said the company had mischaracterised United Hatzalah to staff as "non-partisan, non-military aligned, like the Red Cross", when a cursory internet search showed that not only did the charity openly collaborate with the Israeli military, they also spoke like an arm of the Israeli state.

"The influx of terrorists infiltrating Israeli territory and the resulting high number of injured individuals also prompted United Hatzalah to provide additional medical supplies and protective equipment to IDF teams on the ground," a statement issued in late October by United Hatzalah, reads.

"Since the beginning of the war, United Hatzalah medical teams have treated over 3,000 soldiers and civilians and provided more than 900 soldiers, civilians, and volunteers with psychological first aid. The organization also delivered over 30 tons of medical supplies and humanitarian aid to the IDF and residents of southern Israel," the statement added.

Hamilton said when she had discovered the information, she refused to take part in the fundraiser because she didn't want to be complicit in the genocide of Palestinians.

However, when she returned to work after the fundraiser, she said she still wanted to show solidarity with Palestinians and decided to wear a pin bearing the Palestinian flag on her shirt.

A few days later, the company came out with a new policy that banned any pin or patch unrelated to the store on their uniforms.

"I wore the pin anyway in defiance of the policy and I was sent home that day," Hamilton says.

When she returned to work, she decided she needed the job and abided by the policy. But when one of her colleagues, Noah Wood, refused to take off his pin, and she wouldn't discipline him as his manager, she was fired. And so was he.

"I would never, as a manager censor someone I work with for showing their heartfelt belief in human rights," Hamilton said.

Wood, who had already resigned from his job on account of the suppression of Palestinian advocacy at the restaurant, was serving his notice period at the time when he was told to stay home.

He told MEE that it appears a customer complaint may have led to his dismissal.

"We've had LGBTQ flags up in the store. They might still be up. And one of the other locations had Black Lives Matter signage, so it wasn't as if it was an entirely politically neutral work environment," Wood said.

"You must remember Sophie and I didn't say anything. We didn't argue with customers. We weren't posting online. We were just wearing Palestine patches and pins and this seemed to make a customer uncomfortable, and this was enough for termination," he added.

Goldie and its parent company, CookNSolo, did not immediately reply to MEE's request for comment.

Activists say they remain appalled by the smear campaigns pitted against Palestinians on a daily basis. The rush to defend a business working with the Israeli army under the mask of an antisemitic attack was in line with the higher echelons of the American state to equate criticism of Israel with antisemitism, they say.

With the devastation in Gaza spiralling and the death toll ever increasing - now upwards of 16,000 Palestinians - organisers say the rapid resort to smear those who dare to raise the plight of Palestinians was the surest sign that officials had run out of excuses to justify the support of Israel.

Activists say the flurry of support for the Israeli-owned business also showed the close ties between the US political establishment and Israel-aligned businesses.

"The hypocrisy of our elected officials is despicable. Within a couple hours of our protest, Pennsylvania's Governor Josh Shapiro and others ran to Twitter to accuse us of antisemitism with absolutely no context and no facts," Abulhalwa, with the Philly Palestine Coalition, said.

"No one from their offices reached out to us to 'investigate'," Abulhalwa added.

Organisers said US politicians were constantly attempting to portray pro-Palestinian protesters as unhinged or violent when it was the US state that was supporting genocide in Gaza and it was Palestinians in the US who have either been killed or physically attacked.

In its report about the call made by Emhoff, the US vice president's husband, to Solomonov, the owner of Goldie, NBC News reported that the duo spoke about "how food was actually supposed to bring people together rather than be a source of division"

Likewise, Pennsylvania's Governor Shapiro, who was among the first to condemn the protests outside Goldie, baked bread with its owner, Solomonov, as recently as September.

"Being an Israeli ambassador is a big part of Solomonov's brand," Leila, a Jewish-American who took part in the protest outside Goldie on Sunday, said.

Leila, who offered only her first name to MEE, said the suggestion that any part of the action outside the restaurant may have been construed as antisemitic was simply absurd.

June, the former employee at Goldie, who had watched the protest from inside the store itself, said the charge of antisemitism was divorced from reality.

"They didn't come to the restaurant simply because it was Jewish-owned. If that was the case, they would've gone to hundreds of restaurants across the city," June said.

Likewise, Abuhalwa said the smears against Palestinians were once more exposing a double standard toward Palestinian life.

"Palestinian protesters being held at gunpoint by a racist, Islamophobe is a hate crime. Palestinians being shot for wearing keffiyehs is a hate crime. A grown man stabbing a little boy for being Muslim is a hate crime. Using your First Amendment rights and peacefully protesting is not a hate crime.

"They accused us of targeting Goldie because it's Jewish-owned, which is far from the truth. Solomonov is not being targeted due to his religious beliefs, but rather his ties to a violent apartheid state that is currently enacting a genocide," Abuhalwa added.

Meanwhile, June, the 24-year-old who lost his job at Goldie for supporting the protesters, says he has no regrets.

"If I could educate more people on how this company feels about Palestinians being killed, I'd gladly do it in a heartbeat," June said.

"I will always advocate and support anyone who advocates for a ceasefire and an end to the occupation of Palestine," they added.

[nadiahshaven]

we leavin

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summary : you and connie at a party, and he gotta correct your smart mouth.

content : connie x f!reader. reader is black-coded. mention of connie being a drug dealer. pieck is a fruit feen. choking. slight nsfw mention. connie fine ass got a thumb ring. cant think of nothing else.

wc : 851.

a/n : this was jus sumn i wrote up quick asf bc i wanna update real bad LOL. lmk if yall want an extended smut ver. enjoy!

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you knew connie, and you knew he wasn’t the type to let up on you when you acted out. whether it was because you couldn’t watch your mouth, or because you simply forgot who you were dealing with, your dope boy was there to reel you back in every time.

“watch that mouth, ma.”

“keep fuckin’ playin wit’ me, (y/n), and i’ma give ya’ ass exactly what’chu lookin’ fa’.”

never was this more apparent than the night you had the audacity to try and push your luck in front of your best friend.

you and connie got invited to a kickback at his best friend, ony’s house. ony was the easygoing, fun kind of dude that perfectly balanced out connie’s sort of reserved personality. any time connie was out, you knew he was with ony. any time there was a party of any kind, you knew ony was hosting.

the two of you walked into the loud party, scrunching your faces up a bit in unison at the intensity of the bass of future’s ‘march madness’ blasting throughout the house. you kind of expected the volume, due to the fact that you heard the music while you were outside. it didn’t help that everyone was singing the lyrics with their entire chest, either.

pushing through the crowd to get to some sort of rest spot, ony caught you two.

“aye!” he yelled, catching you and connie’s attention.

connie walked you two over, hand on your waist so he wouldn’t lose you, over to the drink table where ony was previously mingling with some other guys.

“you got this shit jumpin’, ony!” you chuckled, voice raised a bit higher over the music.

“it’s what i dooo.” ony shrugged, pearly whites on full display as a smile painted his dark, plump lips. “i’m jus’ that nigga.”

“yea’, yea.” connie intervened. “i can’t wait for the day you throw a jaint and nobody show up fa’ ya’ ass.”

“never gon’ happen.” ony simply said.

before connie could give a very aggressive rebuttal, you peeped your own best friend, pieck, over in the kitchen snacking on fruit that she knew was supposed to go into the punch. you decided it’d be best to leave ony and connie to their madness in favor of making your way over to her, strike up some conversation.

“pieckkk!” you opened your arms, barreling toward her in a hug. due to her scrolling on her phone while eating the fruit, she didn’t notice you were about to tackle her, until you did. she engulfed you back into the same, tight, hug you gave her.

“my heartyy-“ pieck smiled, leaving a quick smack on your plump ass as you two pulled away from the hug, to which you chuckled in response. “bitch, yo’ ass look good as fuck in’nat dress. how connie ain’t act up?”

“girl, i don’t know.” you rolled your eyes. “he choose when to appreciate me.”

pieck snickered, going back to eating the fruit she was almost done with at this point. you and pieck engaged in catching up with each-other. ranging from talking about your relationships, to simply rating people’s fits that you saw around the party.

you didn’t realize how much time passed, and a hand snaked around your waist— which caught you off guard. before you could turn around to flip out, a familiar, silver thumb ring with your initials engraved into it grabbed your eye. it was connie, and by the look in his eye when you turned your head towards him, he was ready to leave.

you ignored it though, given you were in the middle of a conversation with your best friend.

“mami.” connie called you.

“what, connie?” you responded, with a bit more attitude in your voice. he decided to give you this one pass, because he did kind of interrupt you in the middle of a sentence.

“i’m ready to leave.”

“you gon’ have to wait.”

pieck tried to pretend she was minding her business, starting to scroll through nothing on her phone.

“(y/n), i don’t got time for the bullshit. let’s go.” connie put a bit more firmness to his voice. this is where you would usually oblige, but you wanted to see how far you could go in public. he wouldn’t do much in front of all of these people, right?

“like i said,” you mistakenly repeated, with your back still turned to him. “you gon’ have to wai—“

you couldn’t finish your sentence before he grabbed you by your throat from behind you, leaning down to your ear.

“let me have ta’ repeat myself for a third time, and watch how fast i put’cho ass over my shoulder.”

you couldn’t respond, for the simple fact that you knew anything you were gonna say, would not help your case. so, he continued.

“bein’ hardheaded won’t get’chu nowhere except on ya’ knees, ma. now lem’me make sure you hear me loud ‘nd clear when i say this.” his lips were tickling the outside of your ear, making your body hotter than you wanted it to.

“we leavin’.”

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property of @nadiahshaven.

continuation -> good girl

[sonotkari]

Meaningless

Hanni Pham x Fem reader

[ Synopsis ]

When, Where, and How did you and Hanni become so close? What was the start of the yapping duo's relationship?

Fluff

[ Word Count ]

1.6k

[ a/n ]

I'm struggling with my other fics so in the meantime I'm dropping this off to feed my children (I'm sorry I just need MORE TIME) This was just something I wrote without my two brain cells actually functioning so heads up for that info! /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

My dearest and my loved ones dis for u bae <3

Somewhere in your mind, you'd wonder how everything started but never recall the moment. Maybe it was that one time way back in March when she sent you a picture of pudding flavor ice cream because apparently, it reminded her of you. Or maybe it was when you ranted about how you had volleyball practice almost every day with no breaks making you lose your shit soon. The question of how you became so close with Hanni had come up in your mind from time to time but it would always end up with no answer. It's really not that big of a deal, where an answer was needed asap, no, it was like those shower thoughts or maybe those random questions coming up in your head at 3 am while listening to music on your headphones, something like that. Regardless, whatever or however the conversation started, you were very grateful for it because now you have someone on your side who would listen to your random yappings whether it was about that hallway crush or that annoying History teacher who mostly talks about his life rather than teaching the class. 

The memory recalls when that one time she asked about your MBTI which was trending off at that time for who knows why. You did it once before it became popular and didn't think much of it since you never really understood a thing. You just did it anyway because TikTok told you so. So why not? But to think of it now, you made a good life choice of taking a 15-minute survey with just two of your brain cells working. Because now you both were texting each other nonstop knowing you were matching MBTI's with her. "I knew it. You sound like an INFP" "What's that even supposed to mean" And in the very end, Hanni fell asleep in the middle of texting, debating whether fairies are real or not. 

Most of the time the text messages and everything else were random. Except for that one time when she got into a (not so) fight with her best friend, giving her the cold shoulder. It was about something that triggered her which made her feel uneasy. You remember clearly how Hanni had asked you to come to school earlier than you usually did because she wanted company. And how she confessed she wanted to get things back to how it used to be with her best friend while crying on your shoulder in the bathroom. Encouraging her to speak her feelings to her best friend, after some days she was smiling excitedly rushing her way to you, grabbing your arms, saying she finally "did it" telling her best friend how she felt, and now they're back on track. 

In class, she would be seated beside you and always giggle about small little things making you hold on for your dear life to not suddenly burst out laughing in the middle of the session because, for some reason, you were so easily affected by her. Her smile makes you smile, her laugh makes you laugh, and her cheeky grin addressed to you makes you roll your eyes and look at her in a sidelong look with a small smirk on your lips. Others would point out or look at you both with dumbfounded expressions because you both wouldn't stop giggling every 5 minutes and everyone in class already knew whose voices the giggles belonged to because of how frequently it would happen. 

It was before summer break had started and you were ranting at Hanni about how you won't be seeing each other once the break starts. "You'll miss me, right?" became a habit of yours to say in your everyday convos, and her replying with a "Will I tho?" made you smack the girl's arm as a set, and that also became another one of your (bad?) habits. You wanted to squeal and jump around hearing her respond "Of course" to your ask if you could randomly call her because of how you'd probably miss her a lot and feel sad out of the blue due to the lack of her presence. Talking on a call wasn't your thing because you only have two brain cells that don't function well and you left your vocabulary somewhere making you end up in a stuttering mess but, you'd rather be a stuttering mess to Hanni than spend 2 months without hearing her voice. 

One memory from another, you recall another happy moment with her. She was in the cheerleading team and you promised you'd see her cheer on the day of the game but sadly you got a high fever the night before and had to inform her you couldn't get to see her first cheer on her first game. You couldn't help but think about the disappointment in the girl's face especially when she was eager for you to come and watch. The temperature got a bit better the next day and you were debating to yourself. Yes, your head was panging in pain, yes your body was a bit hot, and yes you feel numb moving and basically doing anything. But will it be worth it to bear everything just so you could see Hanni's surprised happy expression when you go and watch her? Oh yes. You know damn well everything's worth it when it's about Hanni. 

There you were in a rushing mess, running around your room while trying to get dressed, finding the other lost pair of socks while holding a cooling gel sheet for your forehead in your hand. Running wasn't good for you since it'll make your temperature go high again but all the rushed efforts will go to waste if you missed it. Is there any other choice? Of course not, silly. By the time you got to the gates of the school, all you could hear was the rhythmical beat of your heart with your panting, trying to calm yourself before you entered the gym. Of course, she was the one who noticed you first. There it was. The face. The expression. The dimples that would show every time she smiled. Excitedly rushing to you and showering you with questions about your fever state. "Weren't you not feeling well? What are you doing here― are you okay? Are you about to pass out?" "I just couldn't miss your cheer. I for sure would've regretted it if I stayed home" Your (maybe not so bad) habit had definitely influenced her as you felt a gentle smack on your arm along with a soft giggle from the girl.

The leaves began to lose their vibrant colors, crisping up and slowly falling down with the cold breeze flowing by in November. You asked Hanni to go out and hang out in this cafe your friend told you that had the best pudding in town, which she happily agreed to, and now both of you were walking in circles at the same place lost. Having no sense of direction and the Google map not being useful at all, you decided to give up going to the place. But someone doesn't seem to be happy about it. "What do you mean, let's go to a different shop?" "No, it's fine we can just go in another time. Besides it's cold and you're not very good with the cold" You looked at the flushed red tip of Hanni's ears and nose as you mumbled. "I'm not giving up. You were so excited about the pudding, so we're going to eat that goddamn pudding" And now you were walking again with Hanni by your side but this time, you were holding hands to "keep me warm if you're that worried" 

"What are you smiling so giddily about?" You snap out of the memories and look at the girl looking at you with concerned looks. "You look creepy to be honest babe..." "Oh shut up" Replying with a playful snicker you stood up from your seat and walked your way to your girlfriend hugging her from the side, resting your chin on her shoulder. "Hey, do you remember how we became friends?" Shifting your gaze to her, slightly tilting your head as you asked so. "Uhh... I don't... think so..." She now looked at you with a puzzled look. "I think we just went with the flow" "Haha, wow I went with the flow and got a girlfriend? Must be a mastermind then" Smackng your arm, Hanni outed a chuckle. "Hey, remember when I used to smack you like that a lot but now we switched positions" "Oh I'm definitely influenced by you. Bad and good" You mocked an offended expression, holding your chest dramatically. "What's that supposed to mean...!?" Hanni laughed again and went back to making her coffee. "I definitely remember that one time you came to see me cheer with a fever" It was your turn to out a chuckle hearing her recall the memory. "Hey how about that one time we went out but then got lost midway?" "Yeah, and you insisted on finding the place, even making excuses to hold my hand" "Aaahhh shush! Shut up! I was 16 leave me alone!!" Hanni sheepishly laughed which made you laugh again as well. 

"We had meaningless conversations all the time, talking about random stuff" Sighing softly as you linger your thoughts about your past friendship with Hanni. "What do you mean, meaningless?" Hanni was now stirring her coffee, blowing it occasionally as she fixed her gaze at you. "All the conversations we had, meant everything to me" She took a sip of her coffee along with a sigh and stared at you again. You could feel the affection from her gaze and can't help but feel your chest get warmer every second with the small smile and the little dimples on her cheeks showing.

Every moment we spent together means more than anything to me than you'll ever know. 

Hanni secretly, quietly thought to her mind, while smiling at the woman she loved most.

yappers falling inlove r so cute

[neyafromfrance95]

galadriel & sauron vs. morgoth theory + trop.

we all love the theory that sauron and galadriel would eventually fight side by side against morgoth.

if u think about it, trop is a perfect groundwork for this theory.

in trop, it is implied that sauron and galadriel meet by eru's design and their connection is destined. but why?

sure, galadriel has a hand in sauron's defeat, but so do many others. why does galadriel and sauron's relationship have to be so special and significant on the cosmic scales, above everything else?

in lotr, galadriel passes the test by the end of the 3rd age. she outgrows her pride and selfish need to rule without sharing her power with anyone and determination to rule the middle-earth even if it means becoming a terrible tyrant.

but it's interesting how later frodo sees galadriel through her phial's light:

“frodo took the phial, and for a moment as it shone between them, he saw her again standing like a queen, great and beautiful, but no longer terrible. he bowed, but found no words to say.”

i wonder if this is a subtle implication that galadriel has finally became worthy of succeeding her father one day. her father is the high king of the elves in valinor, and while he has sons, no one is as great as galadriel. tolkien himself commented on galadriel's commanding stature in valinor - "the equal if not unlike in endowments of fëanor." and "(galadriel) being mighty among the eldar, obtained this grace (entering valinor) for him (gimli)."

it has been generally agreed upon that since tolkien wrote several versions of it, galadriel’s story is convoluted, contradictory and inconsistent. but one thing has always remained at the core of her characterization - she is a politician who desires to be a leader. so ofc she would still be a politician in valinor, but it's interesting to imagine she would become a queen after outgrowing her greed and her time in the middle-earth was a neccessary test to shape her into a perfect leader.

considering trop canon, it can be said that even after everything, if sauron was to repent, galadriel would be the one to vouch for him or bring him up in a conversation regarding the battle against morgoth (and the first of all valinor to march to fight again).

another thing to note is that now, the only connection to the physical world sauron would have after the destruction of the one ring is galadriel's scar that binds them by blood! they have been bound by the sea, their admission of cosmic connection, nenya, and their souls are basically merged.

trop interestingly underlines the undertones of galadriel and sauron's comparability - they are mirrors that represent the light and the dark, but also galadriel is a natural born leader and sauron is a natural born follower. underneath sauron's desire to possess her, is the desire to serve and worship her as his queen!

and more importantly, his repentant phase in the show was when he was following her, when his presence actually was healing for galadriel.

so what does all of this have to do with haladriel vs. morgoth theory and how trop lays a groundwork for it?

galadriel's authority in valinor, sauron being bound to her, and galadriel being the one who makes sauron actually go back to his maiar purpose that valar ordained - the one who provides servitude and healing, all of this would make galadriel the perfect candidate to bring back sauron and make the valar consider his repentance.

as for sauron, by then, he would have enough time to get humbled and face what he knows subconsciously - he was meant to serve the light of his leader, not some silly ass rings. and by then, as we said, galadriel would have became even more perfect of a leader, maybe closer to how sauron saw her - a queen for all, a perfect antidote to morgoth. (and having outgrown her pride, galadriel would be able to admit her love and be by sauron's side as well.)

sauron says that after morgoth was defeated, he could feel the light of the one (eru) again and he knew if he ever was to be forgiven, he needed to heal everything he had helped ruin. he comes to see that light in galadriel. by helping her, he gets to receive "forgiveness" from the one he helped ruin ("i'm sorry for your brother, for everything" -> "whatever you did, be free of it"). he tells her that he never believed he could be free of it (morgoth's darkness) until fighting by her side (following her lead, serving her, healing her) and he wishes to bind that feeling (of being bound to galadriel's light) to his very being. and his subconscious screams at him that nothing he does will ever give him what he wants unless it's galadriel by his side, unless it's her light he worships ("your beauty still overshadows everything i could possibly write" ->"worship the light of its queen").

his repentance is tightly intertwined with his bond with galadriel and him coveting her light. he believes that he can be free of his bond to morgoth's darkness if he binds himself to galadriel's light instead. it's just that he can only truly repent if being bound to her light happens on *her* terms. in that case, they can be the force of the good together, pulling each other back from the darkness.

(it is interesting how in sauron's vision, his crown disappears once it's aligned with the sun, as if galadriel's light destroys it. girlboss taming her malewife but make it epic.)

whatever it is, i need one of u haladriels to adapt this theory on screen one day in the future.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Danger Zone (Part 14) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 4.8k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Military Inaccuracies; Daddy and Mommy Issues Galore; Arguing; Crying; Angst; Screwed Up (Seresin) Family Dynamics Discussed; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: You and Jake spend some time apart. Maverick offers his help.

Series Master List

Master List

You called out of work the next day, knowing that you were in no shape to go. Closer to lunch time, after you'd wallowed for a time, Maverick drove you over to Jake’s apartment and packed up a few things while Jake was out. You didn’t take everything, just a few days' worth of clothes and necessities, before heading back to Maverick’s house to wallow some more.

Burying your face into your pregnancy pillow, you looked up when the door to your room opened. You sat up when you saw Penny standing there. And when she walked over and sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t help but latch onto her.

Penny pulled you close and rubbed your back as you cried, sharing a worried look with Maverick. He leaned against the doorframe, looking like he didn’t know what to do. Penny gave him a look, glancing down at you, before returning the same look to Maverick.

He nodded and walked away to make a call.

While Penny led you outside, Maverick stood on the front steps with his phone to his ear. He knew that it was the middle of the day, but he was still hoping that there was a chance.

“Hey, Mav, what’s up?” Javy answered calmly after a few rings.

“I’m assuming that you’ve heard,” Maverick stated bluntly, causing Javy to sigh.

“Yeah, I’m putting out my own fires over here,” Javy stated, glancing over at Jake’s office.

Jake was furiously writing away at forms and typing paperwork into his computer, barely taking a moment to blink. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night and hadn’t eaten anything, save for three cups of coffee. He was in no shape to do anything. Javy would tackle him to the floor himself before letting him into a plane in this state.

“How’s she doing?” Javy asked Maverick.

“I haven’t seen her like this in a long time. And I don’t ever want to see her like this again.” Maverick glanced back at the house before turning back to the street. “What happened, Coyote?”

“His mom wrote him a letter.”

“And?” Maverick pressed a bit more, not seeing the connection.

“Jake doesn’t really have a traditional relationship with his parents. And for good reason on his part. And he needs to tell her about it, but he’s not exactly the most emotionally intelligent guy.”

Javy gestured for Fanboy to carry in another stack of files into Jake’s office. Jake didn’t look up, working through the paperwork in front of him like a robot on rocket fuel. Fanboy hesitated for a moment but with another sharp look from Coyote, Fanboy turned to Jake.

“Hey, Hangman, we’re kind of falling behind, so I was wondering—”

“—Just put it on the pile, Fanboy,” Jake stated, not even looking up.

Fanboy dropped the stack and walked out, shooting Javy a thumbs up that Javy returned. Glancing worriedly at Jake again, Javy turned away to continue his conversation with Maverick.

“He’s not anywhere near a plane right now, right?”

“No, I’m making sure of that," Javy promised him.

“It might be a good idea to keep Rooster away from him too.”

“Already on it,” Javy replied, watching his wife march Rooster down the hall to go and teach lessons today. Far away from Jake. “I’ve got it handled here but I’m worried about him when he gets off.”

“I should warn you that we went over, and she took her stuff.”

“She’s already decided to move out?” Javy asked, starting to panic.

“No, she just needed some time and some of her things for now. But I'm worried that if he sees her stuff gone, it might set him off.”

“Alright, I’ll drag him home with me and Phoenix.”

“Actually, Coyote, I was wondering if you think that Jake would come with me for a drive tonight?” Maverick suggested, causing Coyote to pause for a moment. “If you think that he needs more time, he needs more time. I trust your judgment.”

“Tomorrow,” Coyote decided after a moment. “Come to my house in the morning. Before he has a chance to get worked up.”

“Alright. Keep me updated, Coyote.”

“You too, Mav.”

Hanging up the call, Maverick walked back inside the house and paused when he saw you and Penny out on the back porch. You seemed to have stopped crying, but you looked so broken that it felt like a direct punch to Maverick’s gut.

You were the little girl that Goose and Carole hoped and begged for. You were the little girl that Goose continually sobbed over when he got a photo of you from the hospital, having missed your birth. You were the little girl that he then proceeded to sob over at the airport in Miramar when he got to hold you for the first time. You were the little girl that Goose swore up and down that he’d protect and love and definitely not let you anywhere near naval aviators.

And when Goose died, Maverick took up that mantle in his place. And he wasn’t going to let you, or Goose, or Carole down.

They were going to fix this. Someway. Somehow.

~~~~~

Bradley, as soon as he saw that something was off with Hangman, knew that something was probably off with you too. And when you didn’t answer his call, he went looking for you after work. He drove by your apartment and after a quick scan of the parking lot, moved on.

And when he saw your car parked in Maverick’s driveway, he pulled in. Getting out of the Bronco, he walked around the back and entered through the side door. Rooster spotted you standing in the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink. You looked up at the sound of footsteps before looking right back down, defeat written all over your features.

“Where’s Mav?” Bradley asked, looking around.

“He went out to grab dinner. Did you need him for something?”

“No, I came to check on you.”

“Why would you do that?” you asked, adding some ice cubes.

“Well, Hangman seemed off today.”

“Did he?” you questioned quietly.

“Yeah.” Bradley waited a moment before asking, “What happened between you guys?”

“Why? So that you can run off and yell at him?” you scoffed haughtily. “Or make some comment to him tomorrow in front of everyone and watch him bite his tongue? Or finally explode?”

“Are you okay?” Bradley asked you worriedly.

“Yeah, Brad. I’m really fucking peachy,” you snapped, causing him to wince. “Look at how okay I am. I’m living out of a bag in Mav’s house after having a massive fight with my boyfriend while I’m nearly six months pregnant with his baby. And one of the things that we were fighting about just so happened to be about how hard my family was on him. Comparing him to my ex. Making him feel like he wasn’t good enough to be with me. Telling him that he was going to be a shit dad.” Placing your hands on your hips, you glared at your brother. “Does any of that sound familiar, Bradley?”

When he didn’t respond, you grabbed the paper towel roll off the holder and threw it at Bradley’s head. And when that bounced off his arm, you reached over and yanked the dish towels off the oven and chucked them at him too. Bradley walked around the cabinets and grabbed the loaf of bread before you could throw it at him too.

“Just put the bread down,” Bradley tried to coax you, worried that you’d grab a knife next.

“Why the fuck did you say that shit to him!?” you yelled, pushing your brother in the chest.

Bradley called your name softly, but you kept pushing him away or trying to hit him. And when he grabbed your wrists gently, you finally broke down. Bradley, not sure what to say, just pulled you in for a hug. You didn’t fight him on that one.

“I love him, Bradley,” you sobbed, your whole body shaking. “Why’d you say that to him?”

“I’m sorry,” Bradley replied a few moments later.

“Are you? You wanted us to break up and now he’s probably shut down completely and is packing up the rest of my stuff in his apartment as we speak.”

“No, he’s not.”

“How do you know? Do the two of you talk now?”

“After your last appointment, he showed the whole squad and about half of the department the ultrasound. I had several people ask me if he had an identical twin brother playing a prank on everyone because he wasn’t acting like his usual asshole self.” Bradley paused for a moment before adding, “A man who’s that excited about his baby isn’t just going to walk away after a little fight.”

You slowly stopped crying, but you didn’t let go of your brother. And he didn’t let go of you. It kind of reminded you of when he came back home to grab some more of his stuff after his fight with Maverick. You were home and tossed everything but the kitchen sink at him for not calling you to tell you that he was alright.

“Everyone has fights. Emma kicked my ass out onto the couch before. We got through it. You’ll get through it too.”

Maverick walked in with a bag of food, not surprised to see Bradley standing there with you. You and Bradley slowly released each other, and you reached to grab a tissue, but paused when they weren’t at their usual spot. You must have thrown them at Bradley.

“I found them,” Maverick called, grabbing the box from behind the kitchen table.

~~~~~

Jake stared at the ceiling of Javy and Nat’s guest room. He hadn’t slept for more than three hours before the nightmares woke him up. You still hadn’t reached out to him, and he took that to mean that you decided to break up with him and the next time that he’d get to see you was in court about child support.

Well, at least he wasn’t crazy to assume that it could all blow up.

Getting out of bed, Jake got dressed. He usually went for a run after he woke up, but he didn’t even care anymore. He just wanted a coffee. But with his current streak, he’d fuck that up too. Not even bothering to shave, Jake headed out to the kitchen. He heard Phoenix and Javy already up and talking.

But when he turned the corner, Jake was surprised to see Maverick standing there.

“Morning, Jake,” Javy greeted him, placing a cup of coffee down.

Jake walked over quietly, reaching for the coffee. He didn’t respond verbally and simply stared down Maverick, waiting for him to explain his presence.

“Morning, Jake,” Maverick repeated in greeting.

“What are you doing here, Mav?” Jake asked, a bit defensive, but mostly exhausted.

“I came to ask if you were free for a chat,” Maverick replied calmly.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course, you have a choice, Jake.”

“Should I bring my photo ID? Or would you prefer to make it a little difficult for whoever drags my body out of the ditch to identify me?”

“You can bring whatever you want.” Maverick glanced between Jake, Javy, and Phoenix before moving to leave. “I’ll wait out in the car.”

Jake turned to Javy and Phoenix, who stared at him with encouraging looks as Maverick walked out of the house. Jake took a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down.

“Did you call him?” Jake grumbled, causing Javy to sigh.

“He called me because he’s worried about her.”

“What do you mean? Is she hurt? Is the baby hurt?” Jake asked urgently, but Phoenix quickly shut it down.

“No, just emotionally.”

“You talked to her?” Jake asked her.

“I texted her,” Phoenix answered honestly. “She responded, but not much.” After sharing a look with her husband, Phoenix added, “And she asked me about you. So, if you want to repair your relationship with her, go for the drive with Maverick.”

“You have nothing to lose by doing it,” Coyote added, causing Jake to look to where Maverick’s car was parked in the driveway.

~~~~~

Jake didn’t know what to think about Maverick taking him for a drive. He just sat and stared. Maverick started driving up the coast, letting Jake stew in the silence, before pulling off the coastal road. It was a random barren pull off with a stretch of sand beyond the pavement that wasn’t even a body length wide.

Jake guessed that Maverick wanted him to swim with the fishes.

They walked to the edge of the lot together, though they made no move to break the silence. Jake stared down at the dark waves, waiting for Maverick to speak. But Maverick was too busy staring off into the distance.

“What is this place?” Jake asked quietly.

“It’s the closest point to where my accident happened. The one that ended the life of my best friend. And the maternal grandfather of your child.”

“Why’d you bring me here?” Jake questioned quietly, sounding like he was walking on eggshells. “Do you even bring them here?”

“I brought Bradley here once. Not long after their mom died. But I never brought her here. I’m sure that Bradley mentioned it to her, but she never asked me to take her here.” A breath of silence passed between them before Maverick added, “I come out here to reflect. I guess it’s a type of therapy for me.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Jake asked again.

“You’re having a baby with my goddaughter. That means that you’re part of our unconventional family now. And despite what you may think about us, we know that we’re not perfect. We’re far from it.”

Maverick stared out at the waves, lost in his thoughts for a moment.

“My father died in Vietnam. He was a pilot and crashed after a dogfight. The State Department ran his name through the mud and sent my mother into a downward spiral. She died less than a year after my father. And then I went into foster care.”

Maverick turned to look at Jake out of the corner of his eye, though Jake did not return his stare.

“The only point that I’m trying to prove to you is that whatever you’re worried about sharing with her about your past, she’s not going to care. Your parents don’t define you. Their lives don’t define yours. And they’re not going to change how she feels about you.”

Maverick turned to Jake, his serious expression hidden by his sunglasses. Jake didn’t return his gaze directly, but his body did tilt more towards Maverick to show that he was listening.

“But she mentioned that you told her that you were trying to ‘protect’ her from your parents, which, as her godfather, raises some concerns.” Maverick folded his arms behind his back. “I don’t need any specifics. All I need to know is whether my goddaughter and her child are in any kind of physical danger.”

“They're not”

“Then what are you referring to?”

“My parents, the type of bullshit that they would try to pull would be financial. They would try to stop the transfer of any of my assets to her and the baby. At least ones that I inherited. They’re not the mafia, just some old money assholes trying to keep their wealth.”

“And the baby? They wouldn’t try any bullshit with the baby, right?” Maverick asked seriously.

“They wouldn't fight for custody. We’re not married and she’s not a choice that they would have ever made for me. They’d probably try to prove that the baby isn’t mine or do something else to cut off any sort of inheritance or child support from me or my estate. They wouldn’t want anything to do with the baby beyond that.”

“We can work with that,” Maverick stated calmly. “But you need to tell her what you told me and even more. If the two of you are going to raise a baby together and deal with whatever your parents throw at you, you need to be on the same page. And we’ll support you through it. All three of you.”

Jake nodded slowly, staring out at the waves in the distance before he looked down at his shoes.

~~~~~

You sat out on Maverick’s back porch in the shade, reading a book when you heard a car pull into the driveway. You assumed that it was just Maverick.

But when Jake came walking around the corner, you completely forgot about your book. Jake slowly walked over to you, stepping up onto the deck, and slowly sat down in the seat across from you. The two of you stared at each other for a moment in silence until Jake finally bucked up the courage to speak.

“Can we talk?” Jake asked softly.

“Yeah,” you returned quietly, shifting in your seat. “Of course, Jake.”

“How are you feeling today?” he awkwardly asked.

“Can we please cut past the small talk?” you inquired, causing Jake to pause, looking a bit surprised. A bit embarrassed, you rephrased your sentiment. “Sorry. I just really want to talk about our fight. It’s been eating away at me since I left.”

“I get it.”

Jake pulled out the envelope that set off a bomb in your relationship. He stared down at it for a moment before leaning over and holding it out to you. You started to reach out but hesitated.

“Read it,” Jake insisted, leaning further forward.

“Are you sure?” you asked quietly, gently taking the envelope from him.

“I want you to read it.”

You slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the card. It started out as a normal card would. But there were a few lines that jumped out at you that were distinctly odd. And by the end of it, you were more confused than you were when you started. You looked up at Jake and handed the card back to him. He placed it on the table between you and stared down at it, getting ready to begin his speech.

“I haven’t talked to my mom in five years. I wasn’t lying about that. But she has sent me a few cards, usually for my birthday, since then. Similar to this one. I’ve ignored them because I was happier without them in my life.” Jake slowly turned back to you. “And the reason why I stopped talking to my mom is because she is an extension of my father.”

Jake looked away for a moment, thinking over his next words carefully, before turning back to you. You were sitting calmly across from him, hands folded in front of your bump.

“My father is the type of guy to make his own kid call him ‘sir’ around the house. He wasn’t caring. He wasn’t ever there for me, except when I won an award or did well. And I caught him cheating on my mom at least three times myself.”

“Does she know that he’s cheating on her?” you asked softly.

“She’s known since the first affair. He’s not exactly a discreet guy. But she’s stayed with him for three reasons—her image in their community, her religion that preaches that divorce is a sin and a bunch of other bullcrap, and because he’s manipulated her into thinking that she owes him.”

“What does she owe him for?” you asked, growing more confused and concerned.

Jake paused, rubbing his hands together. He turned back to you and straightened up.

“Because she could never give him the biological son that he wanted more than anything else in the world,” Jake stated, causing you to blink rapidly.

“But . . . you . . .”

Jake let you fumble for a moment before finally dropping the bomb that he had held inside of him pretty much every day since he found out the news himself all those years ago.

“I’m adopted,” Jake explained calmly. “And you’re only the second person that I’ve ever told.”

“Jake, I never would have cared if you were adopted or not,” you reassured him. “And if I ever did, I’m sorry.”

“You never did. And I wasn’t scared to tell you that I was adopted. I was worried about explaining the story that comes along with it.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck slowly, trying to figure out the best way to tell you.

“My parents tried to have a baby naturally for three years to no success. My father threatened to divorce my mother because she couldn’t give him a baby. And the bastard never stopped to consider the fact that he might be the problem.”

You sat back quietly, hearing the anger build in Jake’s tone and giving him the space to let those thoughts out.

“He never got any of his mistresses pregnant. If he did, he would have divorced her in a heartbeat and claimed that kid as his true son. And he could have easily pulled it off with a paternity test on me. No one else knew that I was adopted. He would have claimed that my mom got pregnant with another man’s baby and he probably would have gotten away with it. Maternity tests aren’t exactly common outside of adopted children and my mom was never going to expose the secret to the world.”

“There wasn’t any paperwork to say that you were adopted? Nothing?” you asked curiously.

“No, because my manipulative father and desperate mother did it all under the table. They found a woman who was unexpectedly pregnant. Vulnerable. Desperate. Apparently, she couldn’t tell her family about the baby and the father was gone. My mother took her to a doctor and paid for an ultrasound. Discovered that the woman was pregnant with a boy. And so began the sham.”

He couldn’t bear to look at you, afraid of what he would see in your eyes. But now that he had started, he wasn’t sure that he could stop until it was all out there and in the open.

“They took her in until she had the baby. They hid her away with my mother away from everyone for months to build up the story. And after I was born . . . they coerced her into giving me up. They told her that they would give me a better future than she ever would. They offered her money for her troubles and to write a letter to sell whatever story she told her family. And two weeks after I was born, she left.”

Jake stared at the ground for a long moment and only looked up when he heard you move. Picking his head up, Jake watched you as you slowly walked over to him. You hesitated when you drew close, but Jake didn’t pause when he reached out for you. Finding your seat in his lap, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“The only thing that I can think to say . . . is I’m sorry,” you whispered, causing Jake to pull you closer. “That’s awful, that’s-that’s . . . psychotic. Criminal. Absolutely disgusting. I—” You cut yourself off, focusing on Jake in your arms again. “I’m so sorry, Jake.”

The two of you sat there for a long moment, just processing your conversation. You focused on rubbing Jake’s back and slowly combing your hand through his hair to try and soothe him. You could feel how tense he was and had to wonder how much he had worked himself up to tell you those dark secrets.

Jake didn’t say anything, keeping his face buried in the juncture of your neck. His arm was solid on your back, keeping you supported and close with his hand curled protectively around your bump.

Feeling Jake pick his head up, you turned to meet his gaze, letting him set the tone. He took another breath, leaning back and pulling you further into his lap and you had no qualms about curling up against his chest. You didn’t even realize how much you missed the simplest details about him.

“I don’t plan on ever inviting them back into my life,” Jake began, causing you to nod supportively. His voice cracked a bit as he continued, “And I know that you pictured a life with a guy who didn’t have such a fucked up family and past and—”

“—Jake,” you cut in, tears building in your own eyes. Cupping his cheeks with your hands as a tear slipped down Jake’s cheek, you let a few fall yourself. “I don’t care about any of that. It doesn’t matter what I pictured before I met you. You’re my baby’s father and you’re the man that I love and I don’t care about how your family is. I just care about you.”

“You love me?” Jake asked you softly.

“I love you, Jake Seresin,” you repeated with more confidence in your tone.

“You’re not going to leave me for being a complete asshole to you?” Jake added, his voice breaking again. “Because I hate myself for that. I hated that I said that the second that those words left my mouth.”

“Of course, I’m not leaving you, Jake,” you practically sobbed, tears quickly streaming down your cheeks. “I love you. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I love you too,” Jake returned softly, surprised by the amount of emotion in his voice. “I love you. I love our baby. And I don’t want to do anything else to jeopardize it and risk losing you. Because I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

“You’re not,” you promised him, pulling him in for a tight hug again. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I was stressed and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I just—when Cyclone told me about my promotion, he told me that there was a higher chance that I could get deployed over the next few weeks or months.”

“Jake,” you whimpered softly, drawing your fingers down his cheek. “It wouldn’t be your fault.”

“It would feel that way.”

“But it wouldn’t be,” you told him firmly. “I know that you want to be there, Jake. I’m not going to hold that against you. I knew that was a possibility. And I don’t want you to hold that against yourself, alright?”

“But—”

“—Alright,” you pressed more.

The two of you latched onto each other, letting your tears dry and fade. You felt Jake press a kiss to your neck and leaned into the touch when you suddenly jolted in his lap.

“What? What’s wrong?” Jake asked you quickly, causing you to smile.

“Nothing’s wrong. They’re just moving again. They scared me.” Moving Jake’s hand to rest over the side of your bump that your child was active around, even though he wouldn’t be able to actually feel them, you rested your head on his chest. “They weren’t moving around as much when I was here.”

“Do you need to go to the doctor?” Jake asked, staring worriedly down at your bump.

“I called yesterday. They said just to monitor them and to relax a little bit more. And they were right because now our child’s moving around again.” You leaned back against him as he curled his arm around your bump. “They’re going to be a handful? Aren’t they?”

“More than likely,” Jake agreed, sharing a smile with you before turning back to your bump. “But stop scaring your mom. Do you hear me?” After a moment, Jake turned back to you. “Can they hear me?”

“I think so. At my last appointment, they said that the baby should be responding to sound soon.”

Leaning down more so that he could speak directly to your bump, Jake repeated his earlier message, causing you to laugh. He picked his head back up and turned to you, smiling softly. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He, in turn, pressed a kiss to your lips that you happily accepted.

“Do you think that you’re ready to come home with me?” Jake asked, causing you to nod quickly. “Then let’s get you packed.”

Jake got you packed in about ten minutes and as you pulled your snacks out of the cupboards, Maverick came walking back inside. He paused by the door, hanging up his keys, before walking over.

“You’re heading home?”

“Yeah. Thanks for taking me in for a little bit,” you replied softly.

“You’re always welcome.”

You pulled Maverick in for a hug and whispered your thanks again. Maverick gave you a squeeze and looked up when Jake came walking around the corner with your bag. Releasing you, Maverick stepped aside and let the two of you out the door.

“Drive safe.”

“We will,” you promised him, smiling over your shoulder at your godfather.

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Hook Man | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of religious trauma/parental abuse

Word Count: 4869

A/N: Guys. We hit a bit of a milestone earlier in the week. Just wanted to say in celebration that I am so beyond grateful for all of your love and support. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Giving big big kisses to all of you!!! Taglist is open!!

Edit: Hey.... I suck I forgot to add the taglist when I published. So sorry!!! fixed now!!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and Dean were sat at an outdoor cafe; coffee cups in hand. He was clacking away at his laptop while you wrote in your journal. You wrote your excerpt on the shapeshifter next to a drawing of Dean’s necklace. 

“Is that…?” Dean asked, pointing to your journal.

You nodded. 

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“No offense, lovebug, but you don’t know much of anything about me,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Will you take the compliment and be quiet?”

“I didn’t hear a compliment,” you giggled. “Well, maybe in ‘Dean Winchester Land’ it was a compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” he responded playfully. 

Sam hung up the payphone he was standing in and came back over to your table.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean jabbed at his brother.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” you told him.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam huffed. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looked disappointed.

“Check this out.” Dean turned his laptop around to you and Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank god, a short trip,” you sighed. 

“ ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road,’ “ Sam read from the article.

“Keep reading.” Dean nodded at his laptop.

“ ‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.’ “

That last line caught your attention. “Could be something interesting.”

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam protested. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean responded.

***

The one hundred mile drive concluded with the boys dropping you off at a sorority house. 

“Remind me why I have to play barbies for the week again?” you asked.

“Because this is Lori Sorensen’s sorority house; the witness from the killing,” Sam replied.

“Great,” you mumbled.

“Have fun making s’mores and singing campfire songs,” Dean remarked.

“Bite me,” you snarked. “You’re going to a frat, though, Steve McQueen, so I wouldn’t be so cocky.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” you said and shouldered your duffel bag. You bid them goodbye and reluctantly marched up to the door of the sorority house.

A girl with long, dark curls opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Can I… help you?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you explained. “I’m your sorority sister from Ohio State. Do you guys have an extra bed I could sleep in? I just transferred here.”

“Sure,” she grinned. “I’m Taylor, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

She led you inside and introduced you to Lori Sorensen. She was a sweet girl; very naive and a little stuck-up. Taylor seemed a little more like a party girl, but still relatively tame. You decided you could gel with these girls for the time being. 

They told you they were headed to Sunday service at Lori’s father’s church and invited you to go with them. You obliged.

In the middle of the introductory rites, you heard the heavy church door slam shut. Your head swiveled to find Sam and Dean frozen and looking guilty. You scoffed amusedly and rolled your eyes, turning your attention forward for the rest of the service. 

Taylor invited you and Lori out to a party after the service, but Lori said she couldn’t. Her father had dinner with her every Sunday since her mother passed away. She and Taylor hugged and Taylor bid you goodbye before heading off.

Sam and Dean came over to you and Lori.

“Guys!” you said excitedly. “Sam, Dean, this is Lori.” You introduced her to them. “They’re my friends from Ohio. They transferred with me.” 

“I saw you inside,” she told them.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

You knew where this was going; he was cruising for another hookup.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam broke back in. “I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori nodded slightly. Just then, her father came up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook the reverend’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” 

“Yes, sir,” you replied and began leading him away from Sam and Lori. “Actually, we’re looking for a new church group…”

***

Later that day, you and the boys were sitting together in the local library. Sam relayed to you what Lori had told him about the passing of the guy she was with.

“So, you believe her?” Dean asked him.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smirked at him. 

“You think almost everything with a vagina and legs is hot, Dean,” you remarked.

“Not you,” he jabbed back, still smirking.

You clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m hurt, you dick.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Can we focus, please?” Sam broke in. “There’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—”

 Sam cut you off. “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.” 

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean added. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?” 

You had the librarian bring over boxes of arrest records. The three of you poured through pages upon pages for hours. 

“Hey, check this out. 1862,” Sam said finally. “A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ “

“Get this, the murder weapon?” Dean was looking at another page. “Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.” 

You pointed to a page in Sam’s book. “Look where all this happened. Nine Mile Road.”

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam chimed in. 

“Nice job, Dr. Venkamen and Annie Potts. Let’s check it out,” the older brother quipped.

The three of you headed to Nine Mile Road. Dean parked off the road in a clearing in the woods. He popped the trunk and handed Sam a shotgun. “Here you go.”

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam said.

“Yeah, rock salt. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean led the three of you through the clearing. 

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?” 

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”

“Cool it, Winchester. You and your daddy aren’t the first people to think of rock salt bullets.” You loaded your own gun with shells of your own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“They’re a bitch to roll,” you said.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he remarked. 

You suddenly heard rustling in the bushes.

“Over there,” you whispered to Sam. The two of you aimed your guns and cocked it. 

The “ghost” came out from behind the trees. A sheriff. 

‘Dammit.’

“Put the gun down now!” he yelled. “Now! Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait, wait, okay!” Dean told him. 

You immediately dropped your gun and put your hands up.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

You three obeyed.

“Now get down on your bellies,” he commanded. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you just on a power trip or something? ‘Cause— ah!” you were cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from Sam. 

The sheriff brought the three of you into the station. It was early the next morning by the time you were able to leave.

“Saved your asses!” Dean jeered. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. I am Matlock.”

“How was it that you were left in charge of talking him down?” You raised a brow at him. “And how in the fuck did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, this may surprise you, but I’m good at my job. And I told him Sam was a dumbass pledge, you were his girlfriend we’d dragged along, and we were hazing you.”

You and Sam both recoiled at the idea of dating each other.

“First of all, ew,” you started, “No offense, Sam.”

“None taken.”

“But what about the shotguns?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You stuck your tongue out at Sam.

Moments later, several officers ran out of the building to their cruisers. Barely needing to share a look with the boys, you hurried into the car and sped away to follow them.

You could see Lori wrapped in a disposable blanket in front of the sorority house you were staying in. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but you had no doubt that it was another murder. The stretcher carrying a body bag rolling out of the front door affirmed that thought seconds later.

Dean parked the Impala around the back of the house. 

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asked as the three of you crept around the building. “This is a long way from Nine Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested. 

You pulled his arm back seconds later to avoid being seen by your “sorority sisters.” You used the fact that you had now pretty much pulled yourself in front of him to allow you to lead the way up to the second floor. 

While Dean made a stupid joke about a naked pillow fight, Sam was busy giving you a boost before climbing up himself. You looked back down at the ground to see Dean struggling to find his footing.

“Need help?” you smirked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You waited patiently, leaning your head in your hands on the railing of the balcony and smiling down at him. He struggled for a few more moments before he conceded. All he did was open and close his hand he was extending upwards, similar to a toddler asking to be picked up.

“What’s the magic word?” you sing-songed.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Please?”

“There we go,” you smiled. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled him up.

You then realized the window you were entering was the one in Lori and Taylor’s closet. You hoped to god in that moment that Taylor wasn’t the one dead.

Your fears were realized, however, when you entered Lori and Taylor’s room to find the words “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” crudely etched into the wall above Taylor’s blood soaked bed. You didn’t exactly get attached to people on hunts, but seeing good people die was never easy for you. It didn’t get easier. Your dad would call you soft, but you always liked to look at your compassion as a strength.

“ ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’ That’s right out of the legend,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean tapped his nose as he spoke. “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before,” Sam muttered.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked you. 

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… look at this symbol.” You were referencing the one beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Your head jerked toward the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly shooed Sam and Dean back into the closet and out of the house. Thankfully, you made it back to the car without being seen. You pulled the copy you’d made at the library of one of the pages on Jacob Karns out of the backseat. That was where you had seen the cross symbol; on Karns’s hook. 

You showed it to the boys. “Told ya.”

“Alright, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean said.

Sam took the page from your hand. “ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ “ He flicked the page with his finger, looking aggravated; as were you and Dean.

“Super,” the older brother muttered.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why,” Sam pointed out.

“I could just be spitballing here, but Lori definitely has something to do with it,” you said, looking up at the sorority house.

***

You managed to get into a party at the fraternity house Sam and Dean were staying in later that night. Dean had been busy mingling with thin college girls dressed in mini skirts while Sam stuck to the outside wall. You bounced around from talking to Sam and hustling some of the drunk frat guys in multiple rounds of pool.

The three of you reunited around the pool table you’d been dominating that night.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean told Sam. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiled and winked at a passing girl.

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “This wasn’t really my experience.”

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nodded. You chortled.

“What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?” 

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unfolded a piece of paper. 

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage,” Dean read.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam explained. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out— get this— with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asked.

“Her dad. Man of religion who openly preaches against immorality,” you pointed out. “Maybe this time, though, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his kid.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean tsked. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe it’s like when a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place,” you suggested.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam chimed in.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told his brother.

“What about you?” 

Dean looked over to the opposite side of the pool table where the blonde you’d been playing with smiled at him. He reluctantly said, “(Y/N) and I are gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave.” 

“We are? I wanted to play more eight-ball,” you told him. 

He looked back over at the blonde, back at you, and shook his head in disappointment. “C’mon. I’m not happy about it either.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back?” you asked Dean as the two of you trudged through the Old North Cemetery. You were holding shovels and flashlights searching for the grave of Jacob Karns.

He shot you a look.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “But seriously. Now that we’re… acquaintances, we should go out to a bar sometime. Preferably one with a pool table.”

“That’d be cool, actually,” he said, smirking at you. “You’re pretty good.”

“What, at pool?”

He nodded. “I could probably still kick your ass, though.”

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

He stopped and turned to you. “Don’t objectify me.”

“What?” you asked, stopping next to him. “You know you’re gorgeous. You frequently use it to your advantage.” You marched on.

You smiled when you heard him mutter, “You are so confusing, woman.”

You walked for a few more minutes before your flashlight landed on a grave marked with that cross symbol from Taylor’s room. “Jackpot.”

You and Dean set to work exhuming Jacob’s corpse. Your back and shoulders ached more and more the deeper you dug. “How fucking far down is six feet?” you remarked breathlessly. 

“I don’t know, but next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house,” he replied.

“Aw, you don’t wanna spend quality time with this cute girl?” you asked playfully. 

He eyed you strangely with a lopsided smile. 

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” he told you.

You smiled back and got back to digging. Your shovel finally hit the wooden box lying below. You broke through it to reveal his corpse. Or at least, what remained of it. 

“Hello, preacher,” Dean said. He threw his shovel aside and helped you out of the hole you had dug. After he had climbed out, you poured salt and lighter fluid all over the bones. 

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean threw a match down into the grave.

Your nose twisted up in disgust. “I will never get used to that smell.”

“What, burnt, hundred-year-old preacher? Me neither.”

You and Dean packed up and headed back to the car that was parked in the cemetery’s parking lot. Your body was exhausted. 

“Um, weird question,” you started. 

He turned to you and threw his shovel and duffel bag in the trunk. 

“You think we could sleep in your car for a bit? I’m running on two days of no sleep.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It should all be over now and Sam should be layin’ it down with Lori.”

And so, you did. You stretched out over the backseat, and Dean laid down on the front. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, and strangely, you no longer felt tired. You supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. You were now sharing a somewhat intimate moment with a man you despised just weeks prior. You weren’t quite sure where your relationship with Dean was heading, and that bothered you a bit.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

***

Four hours of shut-eye later, you felt recharged. You awoke to the sound of Dean’s phone vibrating over which Sam told you to meet him at a hospital.

“Hospital? Why? Is he okay?” you asked Dean, climbing over the front seat to sit shotgun. 

“I think so, but he said the reverend’s hurt.”

About fifteen minutes later, you were walking down a long corridor only to be stopped by two cops in wide-brimmed hats. 

The sheriffs put a hand to Dean’s chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, we’re with him. He’s my brother,” he explained. “Hey! Brother!” he called, waving dorkishly at Sam.  

“Let them through.”

“Thanks.” 

You and Dean began walking toward Sam, who met you in the middle.

“You okay?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah,” sighed Sam.

“What the hell happened?” 

“Hook Man.”

You looked incredulous. “You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam responded.

“We did,” you rebutted, confused. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him,” Sam returned. “And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, duh, he wouldn’t send Hook Man after himself,” you remarked.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” He whispered that last part.

“Damn.” You gritted your teeth. “I could see how that could upset her.”

Sam nodded. “She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted,” Dean chimed in. “And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” the younger brother nodded. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean muttered. “But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“We must’ve missed something,” you said. 

“No, we burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?” Sam asked the two of you.

Realization struck you. “Fuck,” you grumbled. “No.”

“Why does that matter?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam told him.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook—”

The three of you finished Sam’s sentence in unison, grinning. “We stop the Hook Man.”

“Well, back to the drawing board,” you said as the three of you began walking away from the reverend’s hospital room.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Do you know where the hook is?” you raised your eyebrows at him. 

He said nothing.

“Exactly,” you giggled.

***

Your next stop was the library for the second time this hunt. As much as you liked to read, obnoxious amounts of research was not your thing. Finally, you thought you’d found something. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal effects: disposition thereof.’ “

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asked you.

“I don’t know. ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church,’ “ you read aloud. “That’s where Lori’s dad preaches.”

“Where Lori lives, too?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean added.

“Yeah, but I think someone would’ve noticed a blood-stained, silver-handled hook hangin’ around the church or Lori’s house.”

Dean pulled out another book and slapped it down in front of you. “Check the church records.”

Sam pulled the book to sit between the two of you. You and he flipped through pages upon pages of records before he found something. “ ‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.’ “ He sighed. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“Goddammit,” you grumbled. 

Later that night, you and the boys returned to St. Barnabas Church. Dean shouldered a duffel bag and began leading you to the church. Sam followed close behind.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances,” the older brother began. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Okay, take your pick,” you told him.

“I’ll take the house,” Sam responded.

“Dean and I will take the church, then.”

“We will?” the older brother asked.

“Yup.”

You led Dean up to the church. He called back to his brother. “Hey. Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and giggled.

You took the top floor of the church while Dean scoured the basement. The two of you, along with Sam, met up in the furnace room. 

“I got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told you.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean said. 

Your head turned upward at the sound of footsteps. You could hear Dean taking his gun from his jacket as you grabbed yours.

“Move, move,” Dean told you quietly.

You crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. When you got back to the ground floor, you could see Lori hunched over, her shoulders shaking. You lowered your gun and lightly pushed Sam forward. He shot you a look, but headed over to Lori anyway. You and Dean went back downstairs to continue melting the silver. 

“I feel for her,” you said quietly. “I know how much religion can fuck you up.” Silver clanked against the coals in the furnace as you spoke.

Dean turned his head to you. “You do?”

You nodded. “I’ve watched so many people go through crisis after crisis when their loved ones end up dead.”

“Me too,” he said earnestly. “Probably why I don’t pray.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to believe in a higher power when all day, everyday is blood, guts, and monsters,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve met one religious hunter.”

“I have,” you said. “My mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was somehow still convinced of ‘God’s plan.’ “

“Catholic?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied playfully.

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled. “My dad wasn’t, but, uh, he had his… other issues.”

Before he could ask further questions, you heard commotion upstairs. It sounded like running heading toward the opposite side of the basement.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, sprinting out of the furnace room with his gun in hand. You followed closely behind. You could hear the breaking of boards and slamming of what you assumed were bodies that practically shook the walls that got louder as you got closer. Sam was maneuvering himself behind the Hook Man’s clunkily-moving apparition. 

Dean gruffly called to his brother, “Sam, drop!”

His brother obeyed and Dean shot the Hook Man, who disappeared.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you said.

“So did I,” the older brother answered.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam’s voice was frantic.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked around and noticed Lori’s cross necklace. “Lori, where did you get that chain?”

“My father gave it to me,” she responded nervously.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Sam asked.

“He said it was a church heirloom,” she answered quickly. “He gave it to me when I started school.”

“Is it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off her and threw it to you. You caught it with ease and went to start running back down the hall when the invisible Hook Man started dragging his hook along the wall.  

You threw Sam your gun and started running down another corridor you hoped would bring you to the same destination. You could vaguely hear Dean say to his brother, “I’ll cover (Y/N), shoot anything that moves!” before you heard approaching quick footsteps behind you.

You sprinted down winding hallways and thankfully quickly made it to the furnace room. You threw the necklace into the fire and watched as it slowly began to melt. “C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered anxiously. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but the cross broke off the necklace and burned into ash. As soon as it did, you and Dean ran back to the latter’s brother to make sure the ghost was gone. Thankfully, he had, but Sam seemed injured. He was clutching his left shoulder and wincing. 

You called the police to the scene and urged them to send an ambulance. They arrived in no time, and Sam was able to get his injury patched up. 

“And you saw him, too?” A sheriff was asking you and writing in a notepad. “The man with the hook?”

“Yeah, we all saw him,” you responded. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” The sheriff was skeptical.

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. You and those two boys—”

Dean came up behind you and answered for you. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.”

You laughed at his response. Sam and Lori talking near the ambulance caught your eye. You continued watching them in the rearview mirror once you’d gotten in the backseat of the car. Sam soon left Lori, who looked after him sadly, and stooped down into the car. 

“We could stay,” Dean suggested. 

You could tell Sam wanted to, but he shook his head. A deflated air had settled over the car, but you knew the younger Winchester wasn’t ready for anything yet. He’d been dating Jessica for a year and a half and had just lost her less than four months ago. You knew he needed more time. The best way you knew to comfort him was to wrap your hands around his shoulders gently, minding his injury, from your place in the backseat. He tensed for a moment, but allowed you to hug him nonetheless. He responded by holding your arm with his good hand. And for a moment, if you closed your eyes, it was almost like hugging Steven again. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee

[minaturefics]

There Will Be Time

Request: I have a request for Boromir x reader! (My favorite of yours is "Anything But This"). What if Boromir survived the Uruk-Hai ambush by getting pierced by just one arrow, was saved by Aragorn and helps pursue the orcs to save Merry and Pippin? He still carries the wound of the arrow and the guilt of attacking Frodo, but his internal and external wounds begin to heal by falling in love with a shield-maiden of the Rohirrim.

A/N: Thank you for waiting! I actually wrote part of this before my hiatus and finished it recently so hopefully it doesn't feel too disjointed!

Boromir x Reader

Fem reader

Content warnings: Vague mention of battlefield carnage

3.9k words

---

It was day but the sky was dim and overcast and tinged with an ominous red that bled from the horizon. The clamour and chaos from the city and the citadel seeped through the walls of the Houses of Healing, and even the matrons and patients were restless with the mustering of the army. You paused by an archway, staring out at the plains, still dotted with blood and bodies, and looked to the horizon. In a day or two, the people will march. And the fate of Middle Earth would be determined. 

You carried on along the corridor, cradling your bandaged arm, wishing you had accepted the healers’ suggestion of a sling, and searched for Eowyn. It had been a terrible day in Dunharrow when you realised she had gone off with the army. Your princess, your future queen, but more than that, a friend, a sister almost. You had ridden after them, arriving just in time for the battle, and your heart had shattered when you heard Eomer’s cry of anguish on the field. 

You rounded a corner, eyes still half-focused on the horizon, and collided with someone. Pain flared in your arm and you hissed. The other person let out a pained groan and a sharp exhale. Righting yourself, you looked up at them and saw a familiar face.

“Boromir?”

He looked better than he did the past week, laid up in bed, pale and delirious with fever and infection from the arrow wound in his shoulder. It seemed that the matrons finally allowed him out of bed and granted him a bath, for his hair was damp and his beard was trimmed. Colour was coming back to his face and he looked more like the strong man you saw a few months back when he had stopped by Edoras to borrow a horse. 

“My lady,” he said, astonished. “My apologies, I was not watching where I was going.”

“I am equally at fault. I was distracted by the sky.” He nodded, understanding. “I was looking for Eowyn, have you seen her?”

He chuckled a little, the smile softening his face to something cheeky and boyish. “She is with my brother. The last I saw of them they were talking on one of the balconies. I think it is best we leave them undisturbed.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” He grinned. “Though, if you are in need of some company I will happily volunteer my own.”

Your acquaintance with Boromir was still a fresh one; he had not come with his companions to Edoras and instead had gone ahead to Minas Tirith. It was visible to anyone that Faramir had some amount of admiration and interest in Eowyn, but it puzzled you why Boromir always seemed to come along to the rooms where you and Eowyn were staying when Faramir visited. And when Faramir and Eowyn were lost in their own conversation, you would speak to Boromir.

Seeing him up close and at length, it was easy to believe the stories of bravery and valour about him that spread to Rohan. He spoke with a sureness and an authority, logical and bold with his opinions. But of course, none of the stories mentioned how quick to laugh he was and how freely smiles came to him, and of course, there was no mention of the endearing  avuncular fondness he seemed to have for the hobbits.

 Still, there was a grimness to him, a darkness that seemed to pass in his eyes every once in a while, his expression turning from elated to guilty when he spoke of the halflings, particularly Frodo and Sam.

Was there something there? He had said that the fellowship had become separated when the Uruk-Hai attacked, but he always omitted the reason for the separation, or what drove Frodo and Sam to be foolhardy as to continue on the quest alone.

“My lady?” Boromir said, a frown forming on his face. 

“Forgive me, I have been lost in thought,” you said. “Your company would be delightful.”  He offered you a fleeting smile and the both of you drifted towards one of the small balconies overlooking the fields. You rested your arms on the cool bannister and gazed out at the carnage. 

“I wish I could go with the soldiers to The Black Gate,” you murmured. “I feel guilty that I am unable to fulfil my duty to my people.”

“I understand what you mean,” he said, voice low. “To have my father so recently gone, and Faramir and I here… It feels as though the House of the Steward is shirking its duty.”

“But you have done your duty — shepherding the ringbearer, travelling by yourself from Rohan to Minas Tirith, wounded, to warn your people. But me?” You could not help the note of bitterness that seeped into your voice. “I did not fight at Helm's Deep, I left my people at Dunharrow, arrived just in time to join the battle here and still managed to wound myself and fail to defend my lady Eowyn.” 

“I would tell you not to be so harsh on yourself, but I think it would be hypocritical of me.” He gave you a wry smile before his face grew serious again. “Though, my time away from my city and the hours I have spent alone here in bed have made me question how I value pride and valour and duty. It has made me wonder how easily the pursuit of such things may warp one’s actions.”

You eyed him, curious but cautious. The red light on the horizon only served to highlight his handsome features. The line from his brow to his nose was strong, and his chin was lifted, still proud and noble even in such dire circumstances. And his eyes, all grey and cold steel, were burning with intensity. 

Would it be better to be tactful? Or would directness be best with a man like Boromir? 

“Did something occur on your quest?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light. “Such thoughts rarely arise without some sort of event to drive them.”

He paused and looked at you, his gaze hardening then softening. He let out a long breath and shook his head. “You must forgive me. You have been frank with your… perceived failings, but I fear I am still too proud of a man to admit my own. Perhaps in time I will forgive myself enough to share my shame.”

You nodded slowly. “I hope when the time comes you will find in me a good enough friend to speak of such things. Sometime in… the future.”

“Ah yes, the future. Here on the cusp of destruction, can we even speak of such things?”

“I must confess, I have lived so long in the shadow of the Enemy, I am uncertain what I shall do with myself once it is all over.” You sighed, wistful. “My family rares and cares for the horses that the Rohirrim ride on — it is how Eowyn and I met as children — I was to carry on the tradition but… More swords were needed, and I felt a need to stand by and protect Eowyn while she was still restrained by the trappings of her position.”

He hummed. “I am the same as you — I do not know what I shall do once we have victory and peace. I suppose either my brother or I will take up the mantle of Steward. Faramir is far more suited than I am, so I’ll have to find some way to occupy myself.” He grinned. “Maybe I shall take up smithing or music or… weaving.”

You laughed, lightness slowly filling your chest. “All those things require patience, Boromir. Are you sure you have enough supply of it?”

He chuckled. “We will have to see. I have not had much time in my life to explore what else I may pursue and enjoy.”

“I am the same. Maybe I will join you in your smithing or music or weaving.” 

Another laugh burst from him and suddenly he looked young and boyish, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and your heart leapt from your chest. You turned away from the horizon and looked towards the comforting warm light of the torches. “We should make a list.”

“A list?”

“Yes, to ensure we have a good variety of activities to try. At the very least, it would serve as a distraction for the time being.”

“Very well.” He gestured towards the corridor, a wide smile on his face. “Lead on, my lady.”

-

Boromir frowned at the paper flower in his hand. The binding’s tension was uneven and the delicate paper was mangled and creased. Merry and Pippin had somehow convinced him to help them make decorative flowers in preparation for Aragorn’s coronation. The hobbits had shyly offered to create something for the high table, and Aragorn, forever fond of his little friends, had given them free reign. 

He sighed and tossed the ruined flower off to the side. 

You came through the archway and into the little alcove the hobbits had commandeered and smiled at him in greeting.

You were dressed in a set of borrowed clothes and your hair was done up in a simple braid. The Gondorian cut and style complemented your figure, and you stood strong and healthy and radiant. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, before he looked back down at the table. You were not for him, never for him. If you knew the depths of his treachery, there was no doubt you would scorn him.

The last couple of weeks were spent in a wild fervour. Between managing the city with Faramir, he had attempted the activities on the list he shared with you. You had excelled in the wood carving, your little bear more detailed and fine than his, but he had bested you at the loom, his piece of fabric coming out more smooth and even than yours. Pottery, painting, gardening, juggling, needlework — the both of you attempted whatever your injuries allowed.

He adored the way you looked when you were concentrating. Your eyes were downcast and focused, your brow just slightly knitted, and you had this endearing habit of tilting your head just so when something vexed you. Each time he met with you, he searched for ways to elicit your smile, fumbled with something just to get you to laugh, even at his own expense. What a privilege it was to see the respected and stalwart shield-maiden soften and melt. It was even more of a privilege to watch you with the horses.

The old stable master had taken to you instantly, curious and interested in what you had to say about the care and rearing of horses, and nearly every morning you had gone down to the stables to check on the animals. He had watched as you taught the shy stableboys how to braid the horses manes, your deft fingers working the strands, and listened as you told them what sort of grains and seed were best for the foals.

You seemed to come alive in the stables, eyes bright and smiles brighter. Was this what you looked like unburdened by duty and responsibility? Was this what you could become, always?

The stablemaster was old, due to retire, and perhaps…

He shoved the thought out of his mind. 

You were friendly enough with him, playful and affectionate with your comments sometimes, but if you knew the truth… How could someone like you, loyal and strong, look past his mistake with Frodo? No. It was better to keep you at arms length, as a friend. Whatever disappointment you felt with him would be more tolerable.

“Having trouble?” you asked, plucking the ruined flower from the table and holding it up to the light. 

“You are welcome to give them an attempt if you wish,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. “Valar knows we’ll need more hands if we are to finish these. I can teach you.”

You slid into the chair and watched as he moved through the steps. The flower looked better than its previous counterpart but it still looked a little wrong somehow. “Where are Merry and Pippin?” you asked, taking a sheet and mimicking his steps, folding the paper and trimming the edges.

“They have gone to visit Frodo and Sam.”

“And you did not follow?”

He shook his head and kept his eyes fixed on the sheet of paper. In truth, he had already gone to see Frodo. There, in the quiet and privacy of Frodo’s room, Boromir had wept and fallen to his knees, asking, nearly begging, for forgiveness. Frodo’s eyes, so wide and expressive, had softened and watered. He clasped Boromir’s hand, bid him to rise, and gave his forgiveness right then and there. 

But how could it be so simple? So easy? Was there not some sort of trial, some sort of penance, that he must perform to earn such forgiveness? 

You let out a little gasp of delight and presented your flower to him. It was beautiful and well formed, the petals fanned and splayed, the perfect facsimile of a blooming flower. “You know,” you said with a smile. “This is probably one of the more agreeable activities we have done.”

He wished he could spar with you, to connect with you in the mutual language of battle,  but alas, your injuries and his were still healing. He rolled his shoulder, the muscle still stiff and sore from the wound, and grimaced.

“It is still not healing well?” you asked, lowering your flower.

“The infection from before did more damage than previously thought. It is healing, just slowly, the matrons assured me.”

“Merry and Pippin told me how you faced the Uruk-Hai by yourself. Truly, a remarkably brave act.”

He deflated a little in his chair, thumbing the edge of the thin paper. “Bravery did not enter into my mind at that time. I thought only of my friends who, at that time, were neither ranger or soldier.” 

“Still, it was a brave act.”

“Brave… but not strong.”

“Boromir,” you said, exasperated. “The fact that you are still alive now is testament to your strength.”

“It is not the strength of body I am speaking of but rather the strength of will.” He shook his head and forced a smile onto his face. “What am I speaking about? These are merry times and happy days — we should not dwell on such ill things of the past.”

You paused, eyeing him. “Just as our bodies sometimes fail us, so do our minds. In Rohan, we learn in our training that it does us no good to fault and blame our bodies when they cannot perform as we wish — it simply gets in the way of learning, and more importantly, healing — it would seem remiss to not extend that same grace to our minds.”

Grace. Forgiveness. Gentleness. He had never been able to afford such luxuries, not ever since his mother died and he and Faramir had to grow up all too fast in the shadow of Mordor. Faramir seemed to be easing into the position of Steward comfortably, looking far more at home in the office than he did in the barracks, and even Eowyn was getting on well in the Houses of Healing. 

People were… moving on. Or at the very least, trying to. 

He picked up a sheet of paper and began folding it, binding the middle and trimming the ends. He started to unravel the petals but only managed to put his thumb through it.

 Could he move on as well? Was he allowed to?

“Here, like this,” you murmured and reached over. “Slowly. Gently.”

You guided his fingers, and right in his hands, his flower bloomed.

-

Early morning light glowed through the open ends of the stables. The air was warm and musky and you inhaled, relaxing into the familiar scent of horse and hay. The stableboys were yet to turn up for the day and you took your time greeting the horses individually. One of your favourites, a beautiful black steed with a glossy coat, nudged your outstretched hand and dipped its head while you stroked it affectionately. 

There seemed no end to the post-war celebrations with the coronation beginning a stream of parties and dinners, lunches and teas, but finally after nearly two weeks, the city was blessedly calm. You pressed your forehead to the cheek of the horse and sighed. He was warm and solid, grounded and real. The days and nights had passed like a dream. Boromir, smiling at you over the rim of his mug. Boromir, meeting your glances across the room. Boromir, taking you into his arms, your bodies moving in sync with the music.

He had been so close, so warm. His smell, salt and cedar, enveloped you. You had looked up into his eyes, the candlelight flickering in them, and nearly leaned in.

The horse snorted and you stepped back. What were you thinking? There was no time for such things. You were still yet to find yourself in this new world of peace, King Theoden still needed to be buried and mourned. Eowyn would return to Minas Tirith in due time — Faramir had all but formally proposed, waiting for the mourning period to be over — but what about you? 

Eomer had assured you that if you wished to return to Rohan there would be a place for you as part of the personal guard but was that something you even wished for yourself? 

Minas Tirith had grown on you. The bustle of the morning markets, the distant bell that tolled every hour, the ivy covered walls, the polished marble. Boromir had even promised to take you to Dol Amroth to see the ocean one day. And Eowyn would be here in Gondor.

It had been so lovely working with the horses and the stableboys, your muscles remembering the things you had been taught as a child. It felt like some part of you, long dormant, was finally waking up. The stable master had mentioned that he was planning on retiring soon. Perhaps you could speak to Boromir and Faramir about filling the post. 

You hummed to yourself. With Boromir retaining his position as Captain of Gondor, there was something deeply satisfying about the thought of caring for the steeds he and his men would ride on. 

“My lady?”

You turned and found Boromir standing by the entrance of the stable. He was in his casual tunic and trousers, and his hair was lightly tousled. Boromir looked the best liked this, just slightly dishevelled, loose and relaxed. 

“Good morning,” you said. “It’s early, even for you.”

“I wished to speak with you. You and Eowyn will be heading back to Rohan in a few days and I wanted to discuss something with you before you left.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Very well. Let us speak outside.”

He nodded and the both of you made your way out to a small open balcony that overlooked the rest of the circles. The air was warm and balmy and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted on the breeze. Boromir stood beside you and surveyed the city. 

“I never thought I would see the day where there was no shadow on the horizon, that my people would wake and live in peace.”

“Yes,” you murmured. “There is change in the air, a renewal. It is quite exciting to witness.”

“Speaking of change…” He turned to face you. “I am sure you are well aware that our stable master is thinking of retiring. Faramir and I have been discussing and we were wondering if you would be open to fulfilling the position.” He glanced away then back at you. “You and I will be working with each other, of course, with regards to the Calvary. Before you accept, there is something… something I wish for you to know.”

His eyes swept down and his jaw tensed. “Go on, my friend,” you said gently. 

“The Ring… I had tried to take it from Frodo. He had gone off to think and I had followed him. In my weakness, I —” He swallowed. “That was why he had continued on alone with Sam.”

You had suspected as much, gleaned from his various comments and the way he would both keep his distance from Frodo but be overly courteous in his presence. “The Ring had tempted many over the years. I do not think any less of you. And… this may be presumptuous, but knowing you, I suspect you were motivated out of love for your city and your people rather than any personal gain.”

He exhaled, short and sharp, and a wry smile crossed his face. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged. “We are friends, are we not? Friends and —”

You snapped your mouth shut and looked away. What were you going to say? ‘More’? How foolish. The man had just offered you a job, for Valar’s sake. He was a friend. A friend.

“And?”

You hazarded a look at him. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted in disbelief. Was it possible that…? 

“I… I do not know,” you muttered, and he deflated a little. His mild disappointment emboldened you and you continued. “Sometimes, I think I see more in your eyes, but I can never be sure.”

“You are not mistaken,” he said, straightening his shoulders and meeting your eyes. Your heart sped up and hope sparked in your chest. “But I do not wish for this to sway your decision in accepting the position. I —”

“Either way, I would accept. I do accept.” You smiled. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to oversee and care for the steeds of Gondor. Except, perhaps,” you added softly, “being able to be by your side.”

A smile broke out on his face, open and unguarded, and the years fell away from him. He offered his hand, palm up, and you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Faramir has always berated me for my lack of romantic tendencies and I always dismissed him. For the first time, I wish I had paid more attention in my poetry classes.”

“I do not need to be wooed with poetry and flowery words, Boromir.” You laughed and he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “Besides, it is not our way.”

“What is the Rohirric way?”

“Sometimes courting couples braid the manes of each other’s horses, weaving in their family’s colours or tokens. Wealthier families exchange horses to show that their horses are healthy and well-trained, that they can be trusted with the care of their partner, to carry and support them through life.”

He nodded. “I like that. It is practical and… sweet, in a way. I would offer to give you a horse, but I have just given you a stable full of them I suppose.” You laughed and he shared a smile with you. “In seriousness, I wish to court you properly. I understand that you will have to go back to Rohan, and there are matters to sort out. But when you return to Minas Tirith…”

“Yes. Whatever you wish, yes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Whatever I wish? A dangerous thing to say.”

“I trust you.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple, his warm breath tickling your hair. He smiled against your skin and drew back.

“So yes,” you murmured, grinning. “Whatever you wish.”

___

I really wanted the reader to have some sort of arc/development as well, and not just act as some developmental catalyst for Boromir - I hope that came through.

@mileycyprus-hill

[stingynugget]

Bowuigi Mating Dance Idea

Again, another crack Bowuigi idea that I'm not sure how to flesh out. For this one, Bowser steals a serum/potion from the Mushroom Kingdom in hopes that it will make him invincible. However, instead, it reveals his subconscious desires. And one of those desires is to have Luigi as his partner.

Wrote some copy for this, but again, not entirely fleshed out:

Mario and Luigi stood up with a grunt. Princess Peach’s throne room was a mess, with rubble everywhere and a gaping hole where the room’s doors used to be. From behind them, Peach reached over to see if they were okay, but Mario gently pushed her back, straightening himself. 

The toads who had been in the room had already fled. They had been in the middle of a meeting when Bowser so kindly interrupted. 

Bowser guffawed as he strolled through the hole his airship had just made. His advisor, Kamek, flew on his broomstick above Bowser’s head. Green-shelled koopas marched behind them, and they quickly flanked the trio. 

Luigi took a deep breath and tried to stop shaking so much.

“Well, well, did I catch you guys on a bad day?” Bowser crooned. “That’s too bad.” He looked as menacing as usual, especially with the setting sun on his back. 

Mario rubbed the dust off of his mustache. “Can’t you just leave us alone? We all know how this ends.”

Luigi nodded in agreement, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bowser pretended to look at his claws. “I’m afraid things are going to be a bit different this time.” He smirked as he reached into his shell and pulled out a bottle full of strange, pink liquid. He held it up into the sky and roared, “Behold! My raw strength is about to increase tenfold!”

Peach pushed past Mario and Luigi, a confused look on her face. “Wait, why do you have that?”

“My dearest Peaches, it was actually quite easy to steal from your castle’s boring research facility. And now, I’ll use it to rule the world.”

Peach raised an eyebrow, and Mario and Luigi looked at each other. 

“I would highly recommend you don’t use that, Bowser,” Peach said slowly.  

“Hah! As if,” Bowser sneered. He opened the bottle and downed the contents in one go. 

Mario and Luigi readied themselves, clenching their fists and opening their stances. Peach covered her mouth in surprise. 

Bowser grinned and looked down at his body in expectation. But… nothing about his body really changed. He glared over at Kamek. “You idiot! I thought you said this would make me invincible!”

Kamek held up his hands in placation. “I couldn’t quite examine it, sire, because you didn’t want me to waste a single drop. So I made a guess based on what it looked and smelled like.”

Bowser growled. “That’s it. When we get back, you’re—” Bowser stopped talking mid sentence, his snout twitching like crazy. He tried again, “You’re…” He shook his head and stumbled a bit.

“Your majesty! Are you all right?”

Luigi glanced over at Peach, who was rolling her eyes at Bowser.  “Um… what exactly does it do, princess?” he asked.

Peach opened her mouth to respond, when Bowser let out a loud grunt. They all looked over at him to see his pupils had dilated. He was staring right at them. Luigi and Mario both took a step in front of the princess.

Bowser didn’t move for a second, then he leaned forward and let out a low bellow that sounded like chainsaws trying to start up. Luigi had never heard such a sound from Bowser before. 

Turning around, Bowser’s tail swept across the floor, flickering and moving in a strange pattern. Even stranger, his spikes started raising and lowering in some sort of rhythm.

Luigi had no idea Bowser’s shell could do that. Looking over at Mario, Luigi could tell he was thinking the same thing.

Bowser faced forward again and let out another bellow. This one was accompanied by a small burst of sparks from his muzzle. Then he turned right back around and kept doing that weird shell and tail combo.

“Well… that’s a thing. I guess,” Mario said, stroking his mustache.

Luigi kind of wanted to laugh. But they were still surrounded by Bowser’s minions. “Hey, how about I take the right side, and you take the left side?”

Mario nodded and said, “Peach, keep Bowser distracted?”

Peach hummed in agreement. 

The two Mario brothers took off. The koopas charged at Luigi, but he easily hopped onto their heads and kicked them out of the hole Bowser made. He hit a few with his hammer and kicked those, too. 

“Luigi, look out!” Peach called.

Luigi turned around and came face to face with Bowser. He jumped back with a shriek and held up his hands in defense. The koopas he had been fighting now took cover behind Bowser.

“Sire! What are you doing?” Kamek called. He shot a blast of magic at Mario, who dodged it easily. Mario’s end of koopas were already out of commission. 

Bowser didn’t answer, he just stared at Luigi with his red eyes. When Luigi continued to stand there, Bowser let out a rumbling bellow and bobbed his head up and down. 

Luigi had no idea what was going on. Maybe he should just leave this sort of thing to Mario. He tried to run back to Peach’s side, but Bowser stepped in front of him. Luigi didn’t dare breathe. But Bowser didn’t hurt him. Instead, he turned around and slapped his tail up and down on the floor. 

Now Luigi was really confused. What exactly was in that bottle?

A blast of magic surrounded Bowser and lifted him towards the hole in the room. “Your Craziness, we must retreat!” Kamek cried. He barely managed to dodge Mario trying to jump up and grab his broom. 

Instead of listening to his advisor, Bowser let out a fierce growl. Kamek froze in his tracks, dissipating the hovering spell, and stared at Bowser in bewilderment. Mario managed to grab the tip of Kamek’s broom and yank him down. The magikoopa freed himself by shooting a small lightning bolt at Mario, who avoided it gracefully.

Bowser let out one last growl towards his advisor, then he approached Luigi again. Smoke billowed out of Bowser’s mouth as he approached.

“What do you want?!” Luigi cried hysterically, glancing around the room. 

A piece of debris hit Bowser in the head. Luigi and Bowser turned to see Peach winding up to throw another one. Bowser blew a plume of fire in her direction. Mario dove onto her, getting both of them out of the way. Mario dragged Peach out of the way when another one of Kamek’s lightning bolts struck the ground.

Luigi returned his attention to Bowser, who had managed to get up close to Luigi’s personal space without him noticing. Luigi held up his hands in surrender; the last thing he wanted to do was set Bowser off in his crazed state.

Bowser stared down at Luigi, his blown up pupils nearly drowning out the whites of his eyes. Luigi tried to take a step back, but he got poked by something. He glanced behind him to see the few koopas he didn’t manage to take care of standing there. One of them had a long spear, which they used to push Luigi towards their king.

Luigi covered his head with his hands. His legs shook violently, and he muttered prayers to himself in Italian.

However, instead of Bowser biting his head off, Luigi felt something warm and soft rub against his face. He opened his eyes and moved his hands away, right when Bowser leaned back from Luigi. When Luigi didn’t do anything, Bowser leaned down again and rubbed his cheek on Luigi’s. 

Luigi froze. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Mario, Peach, Kamek, and the koopas staring at the scene.

“Seriously, Peach, what was in that elixir?” Mario asked. His eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head. 

Peach hummed. “It was a serum that revealed your subconscious desires… We were testing it for interrogation purposes…” She tapped her chin in thought. 

Kamek shook his head. He flew down and wacked Luigi’s face away from Bowser’s with the back of his broom. Luigi sputtered and tripped on something behind him. He heard a low growl and something firm wrap around his body. He looked down to see Bowser’s hand around his waist. 

With a gulp, Luigi slowly looked up at Bowser, whose eyes were half lidded as he stared down at Luigi. Was it just him, or was Bowser’s face getting closer?

“Sire! Enough of this nonsense!” Kamek screeched. He flew up to Bowser’s head and wacked the back of it with his wand.

Bowser’s eyes shrunk back to their normal size, and Bowser shook his head to clear it. 

“W-what?” Bowser groaned. He glanced at Luigi, then at Mario and Peach, then back at Luigi with a look of bewilderment. 

“Um… hi…” Luigi muttered. He tried to tug Bowser’s fingers off of him, but his grip was strong. 

Bowser’s face morphed into his usual cocky sneer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“H-hey!” Luigi protested, “I’m not the one who was making googly eyes earlier! And is still holding onto me!”

Bowser glanced down at his hand and blinked, as if just noticing he was holding onto Luigi. He dropped Luigi unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Your highness, I suggest a tactical retreat!” Kamek called.

Bowser grumbled. “FINE!” He blew flame towards Mario and Peach, so they wouldn’t follow after them as they ran back to their airship. 

Luigi watched them go with absolute confusion. Mario tried to chase after them, but he was too late. Luigi didn’t bother standing up, his mind still stuck on what had transpired.

I like to think that the bellowing Bowser's doing is like an alligator's bellow, but much louder.