#it’s like getting a commission I didn’t know I wanted 😂

[the-adventures-of-dave]

So on the weekend I went to an art fair thing. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular when something caught my eye.

I stopped.

I stared.

“Huh. That looks a lot like Dave.”

It is not uncommon for cat art to look like Dave. In fact, most cat art looks like Dave. This painting was Different though.

“Can I see Dave?” The artist asks.

Not one to pass up an opportunity to share a Dave photo, I show her this:

“Oh wow.” she says.

“Yep.”

I got the painting.

(Artist is @colettebachand.art on insta)

[silentglassbreak]

Oh babe I hope I can make it!!😂💗

How about Noah dating firefighter? I love women in those fields, they are queens!

Maybe some angst like Noah being away on tour and reader having hard days at work, trying to hold it in cause she doesn't want to worry Noah when he's away, but she's avoiding daily facetime calls lately and Noah gets worried?

Doesn't have to be angst, I'll leave it up to you!

Thank you💗

Wow! We’ve finally made it to your ask, love! I’m sorry for how long it’s taken, but I promise to give this one some extra love - just for you! 😘

After Writing Notes: don't hate me

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Uhm...all of'em. No smut this time. Stressful situations. Angst. Mentions of death. Injury. Hospital setting. Burns.

All You Wanted

Noah was having a really bad day.

Not just shitty, or annoying, or rough.

Bad. Plain and simple.

First, his car wouldn’t start. He tried to turn it over so many times he killed what little juice was left in the battery. No one else was home to give him a ride to the auto parts store, so he had to call an Uber - heavy battery with him - to pick up a fresh one. After the new one was installed, and his car was back in commission, he realized that had taken up two hours.

Next, due to the car issues, he was late to the movie he planned to go see. By the time he was able to make his way to the theater, it was already half over. Rather than wait for another showtime, he elected to not even bother. He was too irritated to enjoy a movie.

Then, as he tried to relax at home and let the frustration of the day pass, he managed to spill his bowl of cereal all over his carpet.

“Did I break glass, or something?” He wondered too himself as his shop vac sucked up the milk and soggy Cinnamon Toast Crunch off of the floor.

However, his day was due to get worse, much to his dismay. He didn’t realize it, but when he set his bowl on his nightstand next to the bed, he slid the candle he kept there over as well. That would’ve been no issue, normally. However, in his haste to grab the vacuum before the milk set in to the carpet, he flung his duvet over the nightstand…

The smell of smoke wafted through his room, and he was almost too angry to notice it. Once he did, he turned to see the corner of his blanket on fire, spreading slowly to the rest of his bed.

Jumping back, he yelped in horror.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He screamed, grabbing the water bottle he kept on his computer desk and spraying the half-empty contents onto the blaze.

It did virtually nothing, and he groaned, darting downstairs. Faster than he thought he could, he ran to the kitchen and grabbed the extinguisher from under the bathroom sink.

By the time he made it back to his bedroom, his entire bed was ablaze, pillows smoking heavily, and bed frame catching.

“Fuck!” He pulled the pin on the extinguisher, releasing the fog desperately, losing his breath as the mixture of fire retardant and smoke filled his lungs.

“Dude!” A voice came behind him, and he turned to see Jolly staring at him, grocery bag still in hand, a look of shock on his face.

Noah was coughing harshly now as Jolly’s hands came to wrap around the extinguisher.

“Go! Go outside and call 911! You need to breathe!”

Noah just nodded, backing out of the room and swiping his phone off of the desk. As he made his way down, his fingers dialed.

“911, what is your emergency?”

Noah and Jolly sat on the tailgate of Jolly’s pickup, staring at the house. Smoke still billowed out of the upstairs window of Noah’s room, and firefighters moved in and out of the house periodically.

The fire was out, but they still wouldn’t allow the men inside as they cleared it.

Noah’s room was about 50% burned, as he was told by the fire Captain. Luckily, the burn was contained to the bedroom, and nowhere else in the house sustained more than smoke damage. It was a relief, but also devastating. He didn’t know how much he lost of his belongings, but - at the very least - he’d be sleeping on the couch for a while.

“Guys?” Both of their heads looked up, seeing you stood in front of them. Your face still had soot coating your cheeks, and your hair was disheveled from the helmet you wore. “We’ve got the house secured and stabilized, so I’ll be able to take you in soon. The room will be off limits until the Fire Marshall can come through and confirm no structural damage to the walls or ceiling. We’ll seal it.”

Noah’s eyes fixed on you, wondering how, despite the gray cast on your skin and obvious sweat sheen on your forehead, you could manage to be so cute. You weren’t petite, per se, but you were small. Smaller than what he’d expected in a fire fighter. You stood with your shoulders square and tall, all business. The frayed, frizzy hair on your head was pulled back in a low ponytail.

“Have you both been checked out by EMS?” You pointed to both Noah and Jolly, and the two of them nodded in response. “Good. You want to take a look?”

Jolly clapped a hand to Noah’s shoulder, and hopped off of the truck. Following suit, Noah paced slowly behind both yourself and his brother, the guilt creeping in.

He had set his house on fire…

His home. His sanctuary. His haven. He lit it on fucking fire.

This was some kind of cosmic metaphor for his luck, right? That’s how his entire day had been…a dumpster fire.

Following you into the house, and trekking up the stairs, the guys stopped at the doorway to Noah’s room. Two additional firemen were poking around, checking for any embers.

First thing Noah noticed was that his bed was gone. Not burnt…gone. Reduced to ash on what used to be the carpet beneath it. The raw wood flooring was below, blackened. His nightstand was charred pretty badly, but one side of it was still the red oak color it was previously. His computer desk seemed virtually untouched, and he breathed relief from his lungs.

“Whose room is it?” You looked between the two boys, and Jolly looked at Noah from the side of his eyes. With a heavy sigh, Noah raised his hand begrudgingly. “Okay. If you need anything out of here, now is the time. We’ve taped off the areas you cannot walk in at all, so don’t step over the tape. Other than that, go ahead and grab your stuff.”

Noah nodded, taking a careful step into the room, the floor creaking with his weight. He clenched his jaw, and walked over to his laptop, pulling it from the desk and unplugging the charger. He gathered several other things he assumed he’d need for the next day or so, and stepped back out.

“The Marshall will be able to come by in the morning to inspect. After that, you can begin getting the repairs done.”

“Thank you.” He spoke to you directly, but didn’t look at you. Jolly had retreated to his own room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey?” He looked up at you, eyes saddened. “You going to be okay?”

He nodded, moving past you down the hall. You followed him. “Yeah. Just kind of jarring. I’ve never had a fire before.”

You both padded down the stairs. “I get that.”

His shoulders bounced as he walked, and even three to four steps ahead, he was taller than you. You took note in your head of how large he was, and it made you smirk.

“You sure you're going to be alright?”

He didn’t answer verbally, rather just shrugged his shoulders and dropped his items on the couch. You began making your way toward the door, but turned around to look at him.

“Just out of curiosity,” His eyes flashed to look at yours, and you couldn’t help but notice that, like the rest of him, they were so big. “What started the fire? We couldn’t find the ignition source. We just knew it started on the bed.”

He scratched the back of his head, his lips turning up in a nervous smile.

“A candle.”

You raised your eyebrows. “A candle? On the bed?”

He shook his head. “No, it was on the nightstand. I dropped my blanket over it on accident, I think.”

Teeth biting into your lower lip, you suppressed the laugh that was bubbling in your chest. What an interesting way to start a fire? You had heard a lot of candle-related incidents, but this was a first.

"Well, probably best to not have candles in the room anymore?"

His eyes widened, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Never burning another candle again, actually."

You couldn't help it, the giggle escaped without being able to catch it. "Alright, well be careful in that room, okay?"

He acknowledged you silently, and you wanted to turn to leave, but you were distracted by the walls, decorated with framed vinyl, guitars, and magazine covers blown up to poster-size. You noticed in some of the photographs, him and the other man were posed with two other guys.

You pointed a finger to the poster directly in front of you. "You in a band or something?"

He smirked, leaning back on his heels. "Something like that?"

Nodding, you heard Ramos, your Captain, calling for you from outside.

"Well, what's it called? I'll listen to it."

"Bad Omens."

Turning your body toward the door, you probed a little further. "Right on. Rock, I assume?"

He nodded. "Metal."

Your teeth flashed, and you saw his eyes light up just a little. "Nice." Your name was called from outside again. "I didn't catch your name?"

You held your hand out for him to shake, and he took it gracefully.

"Noah."

His hand gave yours a firm shake. "Y/N. Nice to meet you, Noah."

With that, you began heading for the door.

"Uh," His voice chimed behind you, and you turned your neck back to him. "Could I, maybe, get your number?"

Your chest warmed, and the grin that spread across your face threatened to break your jaw bone. You thought about it for a moment, pulling your brows together. That was a bit forward, so you responded as appropriately as you could.

"125." And you began walking away.

"Wait, what?"

Still walking through the door, you turned around, and waved. "You'll figure it out."

It took three days. Three long, annoying days for him to figure it out.

But he did.

You were sat in the dorm, shaking off the two hours of sleep you had achieved before the alarm woke you up. It wasn't your turn to head out, but there was no sleeping through that noise. The last twenty-six hours had been grueling, and you couldn't wait to get through the next ten, and go home for your two days off.

You stalked into the kitchen, waiving at Gillman and Reed in the training room. The coffee was heavenly, warming your insides enough to fully wake.

"Y/L/N?" Your head cocked to the bay door, Ramos standing on the other side. You had your hips leaned against the counter, and you were too tired to stand at full attention. "There's someone here asking for you."

Cocking an eyebrow, you huffed away from the countertop, setting your coffee down, and walked to the door. Who the hell was going to come see you at work?

You pushed the heavy door open, and behind it, stood right next to engine #14, was a tall, brown-eyed boy, smiling at you. It had been such a long few days, you had honestly forgotten about your encounter with him back at his house. After you finished up the paperwork, it had been jammed into the back of your head.

"Hey?" You asked, crossing your arms in front of you. "I see you figured it out?"

He nodded, pursing his lips. "Station 125. Yep, took me a while."

Shaking your head, you laughed. "Well, what can I do for you?"

In his hand, he held a small brown paper bag, and presented it in front of him. "For you."

"What's this?"

Smirking, he handed you the gift. "Just a token of my gratitude."

Unfolding the top, you scoffed when you saw what was inside.

"A candle?"

He snorted. "Not just any candle." He took it from your hands, showing the label. "This is a WoodWick Sagewood scented candle." He placed it back in your hands. "It's exactly the same as the one that burned my bedroom down."

You laughed at this, gawking at the glass in your hand. "And why did you want me to have one?"

Suddenly, he looked unsure. "I had a really cool, witty reason, when I picked it up at the store. I can't seem to remember now, though." He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "To be honest, it's my favorite scented candle."

You nodded, recognizing the sweet gesture. "Thank you."

It fell quiet between you both, and you put the candle back in the bag.

"So." You set the bag down on the step of the engine, and recrossed your arms.

"So." He repeated. His eyes darted around the bay, taking all of it in. "You're a fire fighter, huh?"

This made you outright cackle. "Yeah? What gave me away?"

He sighed out a defeated chuckle. "Yeah, that was a dumb question."

"Why did you come here, Noah? Just to give me a candle?"

He shook his head, hands buried in his pockets once again. "No, I uh," He took a deep breath and looked at you. "I came to ask you on a date."

Your eyebrows shot up. "A date?"

"Mhm." Noah chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Noah, you know nothing about me."

He leaned forward for emphasis. "Right, usually what people do on dates - " He put a hand up to gesture between you. "get to know each other."

Well, hard to argue that.

"I mean, you don't know if I'm married or have a boyfriend."

"Do you?" He didn't seem bothered by your statement, his question sounding more like a formality.

"Well, no."

"You're allowed to say no." He smiled, then. It was genuine, and it made one of your own creep onto your face.

"I wasn't going to."

6 Months Later

"Noah, it's not that big of a deal." You trudged through the airport toward the Delta desk, and stood behind at least twelve people, your phone pressed firmly to your cheek.

"It's a huge deal, babe!" He sounded so exasperated. "I haven't seen you in two weeks, and I miss you!"

You giggled, leaning your head back. "I miss you too, honey, but shit happens. I'll catch the next available flight, and I'll be there before you know it."

"Think they'll have another one today?" You glanced around the airport, seeing the groups of displaced, disgruntled passengers.

"With this storm? It's doubtful. I overheard one of the workers saying winds were as strong as one hundred miles per hour."

"Okay, but once you're up at altitude, none of that matters."

You rolled you eyes. "Can't get up to altitude if the plane blows out of the sky, babe."

"I know, I know. I'm just pissed off."

The line was crawling, but you were slowly getting closer to the desk.

"It's alright. I'll make something happen, okay? As soon as I have news, I'll call you?"

"Okay, babe. I love you."

Your face blushed. You still weren't used to that. "Love you too."

You disconnected the call and took a deep breath.

The woman working for Delta Airlines looked as stressed as a person could be without physically combusting.

"Hello, are you here about the cancelled flight?" You just nodded, showing your boarding pass on your phone. "Okay. Well, all of our flights have been cancelled until further notice. We have no way of knowing when the storm will die down, so right now, we're not rescheduling any flights. We're only offering a credit."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to get too upset. "Do you know if any other airlines are still booking flights?"

She shook her head. "We've all been grounded until the wind dies down."

Shrugging hard, you gave her your information so she could put in for the credit, and walked away from the desk. You decided not to call Noah back right away, needing to deal with the irritation and disappointment yourself first.

You called an Uber outside the airport, and made your way the short distance back to the apartment. After you had huffed your bag down onto the couch, you sat on the edge of your bed, allowing yourself a moment to sulk.

The last six months had been a dream. After your first date with Noah, which included a dinner at a beachside restaurant in Santa Monica and arcade games at the pier, you and him were absolutely intertwined together. The clicking noise you made was loud and strong, keeping you both in a stranglehold over each other.

As different of people as you were, you learned that Noah was not nearly as different from you as you had assumed. He grew up in West Virginia, a rough life, dropped out of high school, joined a band young, and ended up a successful rockstar after twelve years of hard, rigorous work.

Your life had been quite the opposite. You had lived in Los Angeles your entire life, namely Orange County. You lived with both parents, who were mostly well-off with high powered careers. They wanted a lot for you, growing up. Education. Career. Family. Marriage.

You wanted none of it. You wanted to be free. You wanted to get tattoos and go to festivals in the desert. You wanted to know who you were spiritually. You wanted to paint and sketch. You wanted to find out who you were.

Somewhere along the way, in your twenties, you learned more about yourself than you ever wanted. You learned that you trusted too easy. You were easily persuaded and pressured. You weren't prepared for the life you thought you wanted.

So, like a lot of young, naive women do in the city of angels, you got run down, stepped on, and burned out. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, that's what it was all about right?

It wasn't until your last relationship ended - badly - that you decided you were done. You wanted chaos, but the kind you could stop. The kind you could help. You found firefighting. It was a big adjustment, but you took to it well. You did the courses, you took the classes. In less than a year, you were out in the field with all the men, running into the blaze and extinguishing the flames.

It was incredible.

So, where did that leave you and Noah? You worked thirty-six hour shifts with eight hours in between until your mandatory two days off every ten days. It was grueling, but he stuck it out. He'd visit you on your overnights when it had been quiet, bringing food and promising not to get in the way. When you had your days off, he typically kidnapped you, holding you hostage in his bed for the duration.

Noah's life was busy as well, constantly touring, it felt like. Currently, he was in Philadelphia, a show later that evening. You had taken your seven vacation days and had planned to fly out to Pennsylvania, travel with him to his next two shows, and fly home with him from New York City. He had four weeks off before he had to head over to Europe, and he claimed to spend as much of that time with you as humanly possible.

Imagine how much of a kink this storm put in his plans.

The phone rang on the other end while you waited for him to pick up. You laid flat on your back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey! I go on stage in ten minutes. Did you rebook the flight?"

You sighed hard. "No."

"No? Why not?"

"Noah, all of the flights are grounded because of the storm. They don't know when they'll be back up, so they wouldn't rebook me."

You could hear the agitation leaking out of his voice. "God damn it!"

"Don't get too worked up before the show. I'll be out there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Has there been any news of how long this shit's supposed to go on for?"

You threw an arm over your eyes. "The weather report I read says it could last through Monday."

"Monday?! We're supposed to be on our way home by then!"

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you kept your voice even. "Noah, please don't yell at me."

"Doesn't this bother you?" He was frustrated, and you knew that it wasn't your fault. You knew that he knew that, but it didn't help the feeling that he was angry with you for something completely out of your control.

"Of course it does, babe, but there's nothing I can do." You sat up, crossing your legs in front of you.

He scoffed on the other end. "Yeah, alright, whatever."

You rolled your eyes. "Baby," He didn't say anything. "I get you're mad, but please don't take it out on me?"

"I got to go."

Your heart sunk a little, a stinging in your eyes emerging. "Okay. Have a great show okay?" Again, he didn't respond. "I love you, Noah."

"Yep. Bye." And the line went dead.

The night had drug on. You waited as patiently as you could for the concert to end, and to give Noah enough time to relax before you tried reaching out. After three hours, you decided enough time had passed, and you dialed him.

But he didn’t answer.

Instead of blowing up his phone like your internal anxiety was trying to convince you to, rather, you decided to send him a simple text.

You: Hey, I know you’re upset, baby. I’m sorry this didn’t work out the way we wanted, but just know that I love you, and I will see you as soon as I possibly can. Call me when you get a chance. ❤️

You dropped your phone on the bed and sighed loudly, walking over to the couch to begin unpacking your bag.

By the end of the night, you hadn’t had a single text or call from Noah, so you had tried to accept that he just wasn’t going to reach out anymore tonight. You’d try again tomorrow. You loved Noah, more than you could’ve ever expected, but the speed at which he threw a tantrum like a child was a turn off, and you were combatting the urge to cringe at the thought.

You had only been together six months. You had no baggage together. You lived apart. You had no pets or plants together. You didn’t have any financial ties. If things didn’t work out, it was as simple as goodbye.

And as much as you loved Noah, you couldn’t help but feel the tug inside, reminding you that this wasn’t the first fit Noah had thrown over not getting his way.

He wanted to take you out for your birthday six weeks ago. You didn’t know where, it was a surprise. But you ended up called in to work, and it was an all hands on deck. Forest fire. They were everywhere lately, and when you were called, it was non-negotiable.

Noah hadn’t taken that too well. He begged you not to go, asked you to fake sick or pretend to be out of town. That was not happening. You had a job - an important job. It wasn’t as if you didn’t go in, the work would be there tomorrow. This wasn’t cancelling a concert. There were lives on the line.

He didn’t comprehend that in the moment, and stormed out of your apartment. He didn’t call you until the following day, after you had been out for sixteen hours and had finally fallen into your pillows to sleep for five hours before going back out. He was apologizing frantically, and begging you to forgive him.

And truly? You were too tired not to. You let him come over and snuggle you a while before you had to leave again.

Then there was the time you were too sick to come over. That was earlier on in the relationship, so his reaction was slightly less dramatic, but it was still frustrating nonetheless.

You had been fevering and vomiting the entire day. It was one of your off-days, and he wanted to you to go to his place to watch movies and whatever else came with that. In the state you were in, it was entirely out of the question. Besides the fact that you were likely contagious, you were disgusting. Your hair was greasy from sweat, your skin was a sickening pale, and you spent 80% of the day hugging the toilet and emptying your stomach violently.

Rather than throwing an all out fit, he just resorted to texting you here and there to check in, but kept his messages cold. He showed up the following day with supplies, mask on, and claimed he really didn’t care if he got sick or not.

You overlooked it.

There were small things that happened here and there, but it never was enough to stick out in your mind.

But tonight, this just felt off-putting. More so than before.

You tossed and turned on the mattress, your heart begging for your phone to chime, proving your assumptions were wrong…but it never did.

As your mind drifted closer to sleep, the memories began rolling into your brain.

“Noah, I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me where we’re going!”

His lips were plucked up into a playful smirk. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you!”

He guided your hand, trailing you behind him, and trekking through the trees around you.

“Are you bringing me out here to murder me?”

He turned, stopping, look of absolute horror on his face. “Who told you?!”

You lowered your lids and shifted your weight one one leg, rolling your eyes. He giggled in response.

“Babe, just trust me, okay?”

You continued to follow him deeper into the forest, losing your way from the path further and further.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

Before you could get a response, you hit a break in the treeline, and a large clearing laid out before you. It was beautiful and picturesque, looking to span about a square quarter mile. So out of place among the expanse of greenery, you gazed around, taking it in.

“Oh wow.” The air in the clearing was sweeter than the woods, and you could see white butterflies catching the light pooling on the grass.

“Come on.” He was still pulling you toward the far side of the clearing.

At the edge, he stopped abrupt, and gestured with a hand toward some large stones near the trees. Taking a step closer, you could see more clearly that the moss-covered fixtures weren’t any stones.

They were headstones.

Stepping forward carefully, you pulled a large arm of vines off of one that was cross-shaped, revealing the crumbling rock, engraving nearly illegible. You took a step back, and noticed rows and rows of them along the trees. They blended in naturally, overtaken by the Earth.

“Noah,” You turned to look at him. “whose graves are these?”

He shrugged his shoulders, walking up to one that was broken in half.

“I found this clearing about a year ago while hiking. There’s twenty-two graves here. Most of the etchings are illegible or worn off now, but the couple I found date back to the early 1900s.” He approached one in particular, smaller than the ones around it.

Squatting down, he brushed the moss off of the plaque and read it aloud.

“Emily Wheatley. Born 1913. Died 1918.”

The thought made your heart hurt. “She was five…”

Your voice was somber.

“Yeah, from what I gather, these are all people who died during the Spanish Flu pandemic.” He patted the tiny stone with care, and stood back up. “Back in that time, so many people were dying so fast, a lot of folks just ended up buried on their own properties or in their communities. Maybe that’s what happened here?”

You nodded, bending down to another grave, running your hand over the decaying concrete. “These tombstones look handmade.”

He nodded. “I bet they were.”

Your fingers touched the cracks of the stones, feeling the lives that were laid to rest here. Such a beautiful place to spend eternity.

“These are incredible, Noah.”

Looking up at him, he smiled down at you. “I’d hoped you’d like it.”

Your eyes danced from each grave. “Like it? It’s so serene. So stunning. I could stay here for hours. I love it.”

“I love you.”

If you had been any more entranced with your surroundings, you would’ve missed it. It was so quiet and uncertain.

Your eyes peered up to Noah, who looked wrecked with nerves.

“What?” You stood, looking directly at him.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your bottom lip twitched, a heavy tingling sensation covering your face.

“I love you too.”

His eyes lit up, but he didn’t smile yet.

“Really?”

All you had to do was kiss him. That’s all you could manage, overwhelmed with emotion. His lips pressed against yours, hands wrapping around you and lifting your feet off the ground.

His admission was so raw, in this beautiful, wonderful place of death and rest. You had never felt more sure about anything other than the fact that you loved Noah, and you would never stop.

The ringtone sounded like a shrill scream, waking you from the memory that was laid softly in your brain, buzzing you in your sleep and helping you forget your worries or concerns.

For a split second, your heart leapt, thinking only one person could be calling you at whatever hour this is, right? The clock on your nightstand told you it was four-thirty in the morning.

Your hand scrambled to your bedside table to answer the call, failing to even check the screen for who was calling. You were so sure of who it was…

“Hello?”

“Y/L/N?” Ramos’ gruff voice rang through the receiver. You flopped your body back onto the bed, internally groaning.

“Yes sir?” 

“Did you make it out of town before the flights were grounded?”

You scrubbed a hand over your eyes. “No, sir. I was going to try and get another today.”

“No dice, unfortunately. The storm’s gotten worse.”

This time, your displeasure came out audibly. “Lovely.”

“Sorry about that, kid. But, listen, we have an all hands situation.”

You sat up now, already swinging your legs off of the mattress.

“Yeah? Where?”

“The Cajon Pass. LA Fire’s called in hands in six additional counties. They’ve so far had over a hundred acres burnt and the wind is causing a rapid spread.”

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, and put your phone down on the counter, now on speaker.

“Any aerial attempts yet?”

“Mhm. They’ve dropped 4,000 gallons so far.”

Sucking your teeth, you let your head fall back. “Damn.” You began running a brush through your hair. “Alright, when do we head out?”

“Thirty minutes.”

You picked up your phone, staring at the screen. “I’ll be there.”

You ended the call, and quickly swiped to your home screen. 

No missed calls. No missed texts.

Despite the volume of people riding in the engine, the air was silent. It always was when you headed to the site of a wildfire. No matter how much you thought you knew about it, it was always worse than you were expecting, so you never found any lightheartedness in the atmosphere.

You sat next to Ramos as he tightened the boots on his feet. Your back was leaned heavy against the side of the rig, the bench bouncing beneath you as you headed toward the approaching disaster.

Your mind should’ve been running through the brief again, or reciting your safety protocols. But you were too focused elsewhere.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Noah. 

Fingers hooked onto the gold chain you wore around your neck, the small glass stone smooth as you twirled it back and forth. The necklace was newer to you, only haven been gifted it two months ago before Noah left on tour, but even then - you hadn’t removed it once.

It was a custom piece. The glass was hand-blown and a beautiful shade of amber. It was clouded with ash - specifically from burnt sage. Noah had told you it was a representative of the both of you, and it signified that although you had met under such unfortunate circumstances, you had managed to find something so stunning in the process - much like the stone.

While thinking of this, you felt conflicted. Emotions over your relationship with Noah were so back and forth, frustrating you. 

The look on your face must have been telling, because a hand dropped on your knee, and you looked up to Ramos.

“You alright there, kid?”

Nodding, you gave him a half-smile. “Yeah. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Bummed about having to change your plans?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you ran your palms over the tops of your thighs.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not too convincing. Weren’t you going to see Noah back East?”

“Right.”

He leaned back, turning his head to look directly at you. “Was he upset?”

Lifting your eyebrows, you breathed heavily. “Oh, yeah.”

“Well, hopefully once this fucking wind dies down, you can head out there.”

You let your eyes fall to the window on the opposing side of the engine, letting your vision unfocus.

“Or not.”

This caught him, his eyebrow raising suspiciously.

“Oh?”

Over the years, you’d come to learn that Ramos was more than just your Captain at times. He also had become one of the few people in your life that you could consider a friend. He was a staggering twelve years older than you, so he gave an older-sibling, protective type persona. It made life easier when you had a safe place to come to with your personal problems.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your temples. “I can’t say for sure if I I’ll be joining Noah.”

“Because of the transportation issues?”

Shaking your head, you fiddled with you fingers in your lap. “Not just that. He hasn’t even texted me back since last night.”

He grunted. “Why? Was he mad at you?”

“I don’t know if he was mad at me, but I know he felt like I didn’t care that our plans were cancelled. Which is ridiculous, you know that.” You looked up at him, and he nodded in return.

“Right.” He gave a short response so he could leave space for you to continue.

“So I don’t fucking get why he catches such a fucking attitude with me!” You slapped a hand down on your leg in irritation. “Like, who does he think he is? I didn’t cause the God damn storm! I didn’t force the planes down on the ground! I wanted to see him just as badly! I’m just an adult who understands that throwing a tantrum gets us nowhere, so fuck me, right?”

Letting out a hard breath you had been holding, you let the words vibrate off of you, lifting a weight off of your spine you didn’t notice before.

He chuckled low, staring down at you. “How’d that feel?”

You had your eyes closed, enjoying the lighter feeling. “Good. I had been holding it in.”

“As usual.” He bumped your shoulder, making you look up at him. “Give him a little time, Y/N. He’ll come around. He always does.”

You shrugged. “I know he does. But how many times is he going to do this? It’s stupid, and it makes me anxious for literally no reason every time. Sure, he says he’s sorry after, but that’s doesn’t erase the feeling.”

Considering this, Ramos nodded his head. “That’s valid. You know better than I do that maturity doesn’t exactly come naturally to us men. He’s, what, twenty-nine?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Right, so he’s practically a teenager, still. I’m not saying that excuses his behavior. Not at all. But I’m just saying, I was very similar at that age. I get it.”

You shrugged. “How long did it take you to quit acting like a child?”

He laughed again. “Ask my wife, and she’ll tell you I never did.”

You smirked, your hand finding your necklace again, twirling it around in your fingers. His words permeated you.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you just needed to give Noah some time to navigate his own emotions. At some point, preferably soon, you’d need to talk to him so you both could work out the behavior. Maybe there was something you were doing that could be improved as well as him? 

Maybe the consideration of ending things was a bit premature.

Pulling out your phone, you checked and saw your messages had still been unread. Shaking off the sinking feeling, you typed out a quick message.

You: Hey babe. I got called out to a wildfire in the Cajon Pass. Flights are still grounded. I’m so sorry this didn’t go the way we wanted, but when I get home, I need to hear your voice. I know you’re upset, but I really think we should talk. I’ll call you as soon as I’m headed home. I love you, Noah. I hope you had a great show, and slept well. Talk to you soon.

Noah stared out of the window, rain pelting the glass, creating designs in the cityscape below. 

“You going sit there and brood, or are you going to come eat?" Folio's voice bounced off of the glass he stared into. He wanted nothing more than to tell him to fuck right off and not bother responding, but he knew that wasn't going to get him anywhere he wanted to be.

With a huff, he stood up out of the chair, and stalked over to the table the rest of the guys sat at. Nick was shoveling bacon into his mouth while Jolly sipped coffee from his mug. Folio was finishing off the last of his pancakes with urgent bites.

Noah stared down at his breakfast, grimacing at the plate. He wasn't hungry, but if he didn't eat now, he couldn't even guess when he would be willing to try again. Reluctantly, he picked up his fork and dug into the scrambled eggs.

"Dude, if you're so bent out of shape over it, why don't you just call her?" Jolly set his cup down and leaned back in his chair.

"If she wanted to talk, she would've called. She's probably pissed at me." Noah rolled the bland food around in his mouth, setting his fork down and groaning. "She should be. I was such a dick."

"Or," Nick spoke up from across the table, looking up at Noah with deep seated, irritated eyes. "she's waiting for your tantrum to be over, and for you to call her. You are the one who hung up on her, remember?" His best friend was the least patient with Noah's temper.

"Alright, I get it, okay? I already said I was a dick." Noah threw himself back in the chair, snarling back at Nick.

Nick, however, wasn't having it. Instead, he set his cup down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you get it? Or are you just saying that until the next time you act like a baby?"

The words came off Noah's lips like venom. "The fuck did you just say to me?"

"Let's keep it calm, guys." Jolly's Dad voice started emerging. Folio eye's flashed between his two brothers anxiously.

"You fucking heard me, dude. I'm so sick of your mood swings every time you decide to be an ass to her. That girl isn't going to put up with you forever, you know that?" Nick was nonchalant in his tone, but his words were just as sharp as his counterpart's.

Noah stood, catching the edge of his plate and making a sharp clattering on the table.

"Fuck you, dude!" He tossed a stray apple from the fruit bowl in the center of the table at Nick. "You don't know shit!"

Nick caught the apple, standing nearly in sync with Noah.

"No? I haven't known you longer than everyone else here? I haven't watched you drive away girl after girl after girl?" He gestured with his hands in a circular motion.

Noah scoffed. "What difference does it make to you? It's not your relationship." His hands were balled into fists at his sides.

Nick snorted, incredulous. "Well, for starters, every time this happens, we all have to deal with your bullshit attitude!" His eyebrows raised, and the other two men at the table looked away.

"On top of that," Nick kept speaking before Noah could rebut his argument. "this one actually fucking loves you, you jackass." These words came out just a touch softer, and Noah deflated like a punctured balloon. His shoulders fell in, signaling his instant defeat.

Nick continued. "Y/N is a rad fucking girl, man. We all like her." Jolly and Folio nodded in agreement. "We don't want you to fuck this one up. She deserves better than you throwing a fit like a toddler when you don't get your way."

That stung.

Noah didn't enjoy being this way. He never tried to hurt you. If there was one thing that came with a lack of upbringing and a tumultuous adolescence, it was a complete and total absence of understanding emotion.

He didn't know how to deal with it. Anger? Sadness? Happiness? Those were - for lack of a better term - big fucking emotions, and he never knew where to put them. Reigning them in was not something he was fluent in at all, and he hated that about himself.

Every time this happened, and he found himself lashing out or turning cold toward you, he told himself that was the last time. He wouldn't keep doing this. It wasn't fair to you that he didn't know a better way to express himself than to take it out on you. To Nick's credit, he was right. It was surprising you had stayed.

"I don't-" Noah cut himself off, biting his own tongue before another excuse rolled off of it. He instead opted for the far more bitter option. "I know."

He shrugged back down into his chair, face falling into his hands. "I can't keep doing this. I'm going to lose her if I do." His words came out muffled, but they had heard him.

"Just call her, man." Nick's voice was relaxed, now. Back to it's normal cadence.

"I'm going to." He stood again, heading for the other side of the room where his phone sat on the bedside table. He picked it up, noting still no notifications on the screen. His insides clenched.

"What do I even say?" He chewed his bottom lip.

"Tell her you forgot to take your phone off Do Not Disturb after the show." Folio said around the food in his mouth.

Noah rolled his eyes. "I don't think lying to her is the right choice, bro."

Folio just lifted his shoulders, smirking.

Swiping open the phone, it opened to his banking app, which was the last thing he had used before he fell asleep the night before. But before he could close it, against the dark background of the screen, he saw it. Upper left corner of the screen.

The tiny white moon.

"Oh fuck!"

Nick's face fell. "You fucking didn't."

"I always turn it off! I never forget!"

Jolly spoke up. "You were worked up last night..."

Noah swiped to the home screen, seeing the 2 icon on top of the message app. He also saw the signal of missed calls. His fingers ripped through his hair, and he stood up.

"At least you're not lying to her!" Folio added as Noah pressed the phone to his face, immediately calling you back.

Your phone rang, but he was eventually met with your voicemail.

"Fuck! What time is it in California?"

"Seven." Jolly responded.

"She's probably sleeping." Noah maneuvered to the messages, seeing the message from last night first, his heart sinking.

He felt like a combination of dirt and that residue that gum leaves on the bottom of your shoe.

He then saw the message from this morning, and sank down onto the end of the bed, staring blankly.

"What's wrong, dude?" Nick nodded to Noah, trying to get his attention.

"There's uh," He tried to calm his racing thoughts. "there's a fire in the Cajon Pass. She got called down to help."

"How long ago did she text you?"

Noah sighed heavily. "Two hours ago. She's probably just getting started out there."

His fingers began frantically typing a response to you.

Noah: Hey baby. I'm so fucking sorry. My phone was on DND overnight, and I'm such an idiot and didn't turn it off. I'm an idiot for more than just that. I'm sorry for how I acted. I know that wasn't okay, and I can't even begin to tell you how awful I feel. I promise I will make it up to you as soon as humanly possible. Please call me as soon as you can. Please be safe. I love you, more than you could ever know.

"How long does she usually stay out?"

Folio and Jolly stared at Noah, the sounds of all of the people moving around the room blurring together as he stared at the unread message he had sent over twelve hours prior.

"It really varies. Sometimes hours? Days? Depends on the fire."

Folio was staring down at his phone now, eyes fixed on something on the screen. His elbow tapped Jolly, handing him the device. Jolly's eyes scanned the text on the phone, and sighed hard. This all went unseen to Noah, who was just spacing out at his own text.

"Why don't you try calling again?" Folio chimed.

"I've tried to call six times." His voice was solemn.

"Have you called the station?" Noah's eyes flicked up to Nick, who was now staring down at him from where he stood directly in front of his legs.

Noah hadn't considered it, but what could it hurt?

The line rang twice before Reed answered. "Station 125. Is this an emergency?"

"It's not. I don't think. Reed, is that you?"

"Who's calling?"

Noah tried to keep his patience. "It's Noah."

"Oh." The man on the other line paused. "Hey Noah, hang on, okay?"

For a split second, he felt bad. He was calling her job. They had more important things to worry about than him and his paranoia.

This only lasted that split second, when the line picked back up.

"Noah?" The deep, raspy voice was unmistakable.

"Ramos?" Why was he talking to your boss, and not you? "Hey, is Y/N around?"

"She, uh" He cleared his throat. "she's not right now."

"Did she go home already?"

The line was silent. Eerily blank, white noise buzzing through the receiver.

"Are you in town, Noah? Can you come to the station?"

Something in Noah's stomach twisted hard, the little food he had eaten that day threatening to make a reappearance.

His words. His tone.

"I'm in New York." Was all Noah could get out without retching.

Ramos sighed. "If it's possible, I think it's best you get here soon."

"Ramos..." Noah was standing, back stiff as drywall. "Where is she?"

"Listen, I'm going to tell you this, but I need you to stay calm, alright?"

Noah didn't audibly respond, praying he would just continue.

"We don't know exactly where she is."

The ground fell out under his feet. Noah was free-falling through space and time, only the words swirling around him.

"What?" The word came out as a breath, or what was supposed to be one.

"The fire had spread to several neighborhoods. She went out with a unit lead by LA Fire. There were some collapses, and they're still trying to get everyone evacuated and located."

English was no longer Noah's first language. It was panic.

"What?!" His voice topped out, cracking hard at the end. "What do you mean?! Was she in a building when it collapsed?! Is she hurt?!"

"Noah, calm down."

"Calm down?!" Hands were on his shoulders, trying to physically restrain his arms flailing. "Why are you in Calabasas?! Why aren't you out there?!"

"Noah, I had to come back and get some food and rest. I'm headed back out in five minutes to rejoin search and rescue. We're going to find her."

The water flowing down Noah's cheeks went entirely unnoticed. He couldn't form any more words.

"Like I said before, it's best if you get here soon."

East to West Coast flights are already long. However, they tend to be much longer when you're working hard to not go into full panic attack mode.

Noah hated flying. Despite Nick being sat next to him, soothing small circles into the back of his hand every time he would begin to tremble, he was a semi-catatonic mess the entirety of the plane ride.

It wasn't until they were pulling up off of the highway, right to the barricades set up by the fire engines, did he feel himself come back to life. Ramos met them at the edge of the blockade, waving them through. He then took them on a short drive in his Jeep through the hills. What started as plush greenery, soon turned to charred, blackened, ashy mess. The sky grayed over them, the rising sun not having a prayer of breaking through the deep hue of sobering truth in front of them.

The small, hillside town hidden within the Pass was completely leveled. Buildings barely stood, crumbling horrifically around them.

"Now listen, you two will do as I say, when I say it, is that understood?" His voice was stern, all business.

Nick answered audibly, but Noah just shook his head as he watched the destroyed town around him. Civilians sat in ambulances, wrapped in blankets. Firemen in all different uniform colors roamed the streets around them. It resembled a warzone.

"How did this happen?" Noah spoke against the glass.

"We haven't determined the cause yet, but our best guess is a series of bonfires. Add the high winds?"

Noah's spine tingled at the thought.

"Now, listen, you two are here on a volunteer basis. There will be waivers to sign, and we'll get you some gear. I'm going to take you to the neighborhood where Y/N was last seen. We're looking for any and all civilians. Alive, or otherwise."

Noah's neck snapped to his left, staring at the large man next to him.

"Otherwise?" He swallowed hard. "People died?"

"Seventeen confirmed deaths so far. Eighty-six injured."

Noah's heart rate sped up to an alarming pace. "God."

A hand clapped over his shoulder. "We'll find her." Nick's voice rang in his ear.

Noah walked through the strip mall, poker in hand, and overturning debris. So far, he had found a lot of nothing. A few burnt rats, a lot of smoldering wood from building rafters. No sign of life in any of the shops he had wandered into, Nick on his heels.

"I don't think anyone's in here." His brother's voice rang behind him. He sucked his teeth.

"I don't think so either."

The radio on the heavy coat he wore began blaring, startling him.

"We've got six survivors, four are critical." The voice rattled off the location, which was less than a quarter mile from where they were currently searching. Their eyes stared at each other, before they made a dash for the exit, headed for the street toward the area where the people were found.

Noah ran toward the ambulances, a heavy hand catching him in the chest. Peering down at him was Ramos, a serious scowl crossing his face.

"Wait here." He let out a breath. "We've got her."

His breathing picked up, and he removed his respirator. "She's alive?"

"She's hanging on. EMTs said she's got full thickness burns to her legs, face, and back. She didn't have her helmet on."

His eyes caught the ambulance leaving, sirens screaming. "Where are they taking her?"

"UCI. She'll be taken to the remote area where she can be airlifted."

Noah began ripping the gear off. "I've got to go with her."

Noah didn't like airplanes. He really didn't like helicopters.

In all fairness, this had been his first time on one, but given the circumstances? He hated them. They were terrifying, but it didn't matter.

He stared at the stretcher, your body covered in heat-protecting blankets. What little of your face he could see under the bandages was charred, blistering and bleeding. It made his heart invert, his entire being hurting at the sight. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have had the audacity to hang up on you, give you attitude, and then not return your calls? It was unforgivable. He deserved for you to hate him. Leave him. Never want to see him again.

But all he could do was watch you. Listen to the heart monitor beep to remind him you were still here.

How could this have happened? You were so smart. You had taken so many courses. Why would you take off your helmet and respirator, exposing your face to the flames? Your jacket was found with you, and was one of the only ways they were able to identify you.

Aside from your hair, build, and general appearance, you were unrecognizable. Your body was mauled so badly by the flames.

The hospital staff frenzied around you, ripping your hand out of his without question, and whisked you to the ICU. He was told he had to wait, and if that wasn't the most devastating thing he had heard...

Nick, Ramos, and Reed all joined him at the hospital an hour later, as quickly as they could. They received updates every few hours. You had stabilized quickly, and they were keeping you under observation, treating the smoke inhalation and infection risk before moving you to the burn unit.

Jolly and Folio showed up six hours later, having caught a later flight than Noah and Nick. All of the men sat, deathly silent, until a nurse called Noah's name.

He walked over to her too quickly, but she was unbothered.

"Mr. Sebastian," She held a clipboard in her small hands. "Y/N will be moved to the burn unit as soon as a room becomes available."

"When can I see her?" His words were shaky, his hands knotting in the hair on top of his head.

"The doctor has advised she can have up to two visitors." Her eyes glanced back at the group sat behind Noah. "You have to change into sterile clothing that we can provide. The risk of infection is extreme."

Noah nodded. He looked back at Ramos, who was now standing behind him. "Okay, we'll go in."

She smiled sweetly. "Follow me."

The nurse led Noah and Ramos to a small locker room, sealed packages of lime green scrubs laid on the bench.

"Once you're done, come to the nurse's station."

Noah changed as quickly as possible, sitting on the bench while he waited for the other man to finish. He was annoyed at how long it was taking, but he used this moment to take a deep breath, leaning his head against the lockers behind him.

"It's good that you came, man." The voice that came out was so tired. It sounded the same way Noah felt.

"Of course I did. How could I not?"

Ramos chuckled at Noah's humorless tone. "I just mean, I know it'll mean a lot to her, that's all."

"I love her." His words weren't spoken to convince or persuade. They were just fact. They hung in the air on an invisible thread.

Ramos stood, staring at him, a blank expression on his face. "She loves you too. Don't forget that."

With that, they both made their way back to the nurse. Gloved and masks on, they were allowed behind the large glass door. A heavy white blanket pulled up over you to your shoulders. Bandages now covered the entirety of your face, small amount of hair sticking out in random places. Your body was propped up slightly on the side, likely due to the burns covering your back. Small spots of blood were etched into the pillow and sheets beneath you. Your eyes were closed, and a large tube was jutting from your lips.

Both men had been instructed not to touch you. Noah felt the physical ache in his fingers to not reach out and touch what little unmarred skin was left, signaling somehow that he was there. He was never leaving.

Ramos took a heavy seat in the chair next to your bed, staring down at you, disbelief painting his features.

"I've been at this job for twenty-one years, Noah."

The deep brown eyes flashed over to him, now wet with tears.

"I'll tell you, this never gets easier."

Noah tears fell freely, his hand bracing on the rail on the side of the bed.

Hours passed, Noah and Ramos unmoving except for when the nurse came in to check your vitals. He had been told you would not be allowed visitors in the burn unit, so he was getting as much time as he could with you.

He was, however, worn down.

After a while, Ramos stood, stretching his arms over his head. "Noah?"

He tore his eyes off of you, staring up at your friend. "Take a minute. You look like you're about ready to fall over."

Shaking his head, Noah breathed for the first time in what felt like days. "I'm fine."

"At least see if they've got a pillow. You can recline this chair and try to relax."

His stare challenged Ramos, but was met with an even more intimidating glare.

"I'm not asking."

After a moment, and an unwavering stare, Noah finally receded, backing slowly from the room. Once the door slid shut behind him, he let his shoulders sink, ripping the gloves from his sweaty palms, chucking them in the bin.

He stepped over to the nurse's desk, smiling as genuinely as he could.

"You wouldn't by chance have a pillow?"

Her grin was warm, her small frame standing. "Of course, honey. Give me a second."

She disappeared from her chair, pacing to a small room next to the desk.

Noah's eyes wandered as he waited, his teeth ripping at the dried skin on his bottom lip. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shiny plastic on the desk under the counter. His tall stance leaned over, hand reaching down to run his fingers over the smooth bag. It was clear, and he could see the shredded remains of a navy blue t-shirt, yellow pants, and...

A stone?

His palm gripped the bag, lifting it over the counter and up closer to his face. Inside the sealed plastic, he could see it shining back at him, small amount of soot coating it.

Your necklace.

The nurse returned, two pillows and a folded blanket under her arm, pulling him from his focus.

"Hey, uh," He set the bag down on the counter. "these are her belongings. Can I open this?" He pressed a finger into the bag.

She adjusted the glasses on her face, and pulled the bag away from him, looking down at the label. Her lips puckered, eyes reading the words.

"I'm sorry, honey. This is someone else's."

Noah's brain blanked out.

"No. No, this is her stuff. That's her necklace."

She shook her head. "No, dear. This came in with someone else."

His hand slammed down on the counter with a sharp thud, making the nurse visibly jump.

"No, no! This is hers. I gave her that necklace!"

Her eyes deadpanned at him.

"Sweetheart, I think you're confused. This came in hours before she did, with another person."

Noah's eyes stared deep at her, working to make sense of her words.

"What do you mean? Who had her necklace?"

She sighed hard. "I can't tell you anything about other patients."

His voice snapped. "No one else could have that necklace! It was made for her!"

"Mr. Sebastian, I need you to calm down."

"Who had the necklace, damn it! Those are her clothes! That's her stuff!"

The nurse squeezed her eyes for a moment. "You're certain?"

"Where is the person who came in with these?!" His hand snatched the bag from her hand.

"No, you have to be mistaken, Mr. Sebastian. You identified her."

He stopped, heart seizing.

"Where are they?"

"You identified her, right?"

"Where are they?!"

His fingers squeezed the bag until his fingers nearly ripped into it. The nurse, fully stunned, spoke quietly.

"Mr. Sebastian, your girlfriend is in that room. These can't be hers, because these bags," She patted the stack of plastic on the desk. "are on their way to the morgue."

His chest imploded, his knees shaking.

"That's not..." His brain sparked and sizzled at her words.

"That's not hers." The nurse repeated back to him, but he couldn't hear.

He dropped the plastic, and his body turned. His fingers plucked the mask up over his mouth, his eyes wide as saucers as he slid the door open. He could hear the footsteps behind him.

"Ramos?"

A deadly calm fell over Noah, his head quirking to the side.

The man's head picked up from where he was staring down at the bed. "What's going on?"

The nurse behind Noah looked panicked.

"How did you identify her?" Her voice was shaky.

"Her, uh" Ramos stood, his words uncertain. "her coat. Her name is on it."

"And?" Noah was monotone.

"Well," Ramos looked down at the bed, gesturing to it. "look at her."

"Does she have any identifying marks? Scars? Birthmarks? Tattoos?"

"What is going on?" Ramos' voice raised an octave.

"She has a tattoo."

They both turned their heads to look at Noah.

"It's on the back of her right bicep. It's new. We got them together six weeks ago." He felt a tear sliding down his face, absorbing in his mask. "It's a headstone."

The nurse just nodded, padding to the bed, and reaching a gloved hand to pull the blanket down, exposing some of the only untouched skin. Back of the right bicep.

And there it was. Clear as day.

Nothing.

It was instantaneous. No one could have prevented it. Nothing could have stopped it.

Noah collapsed.

One Year Later

Fingertips ran over the stone, smooth and unharmed. Gold chain holding it together. Only one single micro fracture in the glass. It was perfect. It always would be.

His fingers twirled it, knees bouncing up and down, eyes closed and lips moving silently.

'I love you, more than you could ever know.'

"Noah?"

His eyes opened, catching Nick's easy smile looking back at him.

"Ready?" His bass hung comfortably over his chest, ski mask in hand.

Noah's lips lifted, returning his grin.

"Yeah, let's go."

[choicesficwriterscreations]

October Creator of the Month: Tessa-Liam

Please welcome this month’s Creator of the Month: @tessa-liam

Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists. The writer or artist is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page. Past COTMs can be found here.

Tumblr Blog Name: Tessa-Liam

How do you want to be known on Tumblr? Tessa

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog

Masterlist

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

Christmas 2017, I was scrolling FB and saw an ad for Choices featuring The Royal Romance Book 1. I downloaded the app and started reading TRR right away.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I was hooked on that series and was waiting for a new chapter to release. I was desperate for more and my sister suggested that I try searching Tumblr for fanfiction in 2021.

3- How did you pick your blog name?

Liam was my LI, so I joined his name with mine!

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!

My very first post was the masterlist to @ao719's series ‘The Invitation’. I found her treasure trove of Liam Rys/TRR stories very quickly! I couldn't get enough!

5- Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both?

I write fanfiction. I wish I could draw…the best I can do is create moodboards.

6- How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?

I started writing my own stories for Choices pretty much at the same time I found the app. Publishing those stories started with prompting and encouragement from Anitah [@ao719] & Emmy [@txemrn]. I posted my first on October 28, 2022, ‘October Weekend Retreat’. I have also written for ‘Game of Thrones’, ‘Twilight’ & ‘The X-files’. These stories are all published on AO3 with other pseudonyms

7- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?

My favorite book(s) to read and create for: The Royal Romance Series. Favorite = book 3

8- Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?

I do still like it! The changes I would make…I would add more ‘Would You Rather’ questions and dialogue.😁

9- What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created?

My favorite: ‘All is Fair in Love & War’ …and I won an art commission (my center pic) for it from CFWC, by ArtbyAinna (IG).

10- Do you have a fic/art that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?

I am always honoured whenever anyone takes the time to read, comment, or share my stories!🥰

11- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Definitely angst❣️ I love writing/drama about a group of characters in a series with various sub plots and relationships over time.

12 - Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

Yes! My OC Sophie Taylor from Marabelle.

13 - What element of writing/art do you struggle with most?

Writing…Definitely 😏 smut! ….but practice makes perfect, right!? 😉

14 - Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

Oh geez, so much!? My one drive is well stocked! 😂

15 - If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first?

Yes! My sister. No, not necessarily…I know she reads AO3, cuz she posts there too!

16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing? Are there any writers that influence you?

Anitah @ao719, my fellow Liam stan definitely inspired me to write TRR stories here on Tumblr. She is a phenomenal writer!💖

17- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

Marabelle …it's still a W.I.P. right now and I have so much story to tell!

18- Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art?

I have started a framework for a novel and have created storyboards for it.

19- What other hobbies do you have?

I love horses and am learning dressage. Reading, writing, politics.

20: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to)

I adore royalty in real life and follow news on William & Kate. They toured Canada in 2016. I was in Victoria, BC on vacation when they were here, but I couldn't get anywhere near that area of the city. 🤷‍♀️

[uchihaharlot]

I didn't mean to break their hearts, I was just curious, srry!😭😭 (but Itachi's one was kinda funny-)

But anyway, now I'm wondering about how they would react if they found out that you can draw really cool and beautiful.

(I'm an artist, so😎)

Nonny 🥹🥹

That put me in an really good mood; lol. That was way too fun to write; maybe I can one day write a super angsty break up (but I love them too much!!!).

I love all artists 😭😭😭 Painters, writers — digital or paper. Anything that expresses the inner workings of someone’s mind and the fact that they can manifest it to reality is so so so beautiful. I hope I’ve secretly seen your art, I’d probably simp over it. Always simp over art. 😂😂🥹🥹

N/SFW; very cute Uchiha men adoring your artwork! 🥹🥹🥹 (ooc Madara??); Simpy Obito; …Scandalous Shisui; abnormally observant Itachi 😂 suggestive themes rolled out the further I got. For some reason, I just had to. (P.s. I should not be allowed to write when tired??? Half of this was done while my eyes rolled shut in bed).

Madara:

It’s not everyday that Madara is blown like a leaf in the wind. When you mentioned being a patron of the arts, he thought maybe the art of battle?? Didn’t expect your weapon to be a paint brush with some acrylic paint. Thought it was some weird jutsu infused shit.

And then you just had to go above and beyond and do a portrait of him for his birthday!!!!! It’s hung on the living room center wall so that it’s the first thing anyone sees! Honestly, this man is a brute, but your art envokes his softer side! A side that he hasn’t been in touch with for…well, a long time.

Makes sure that everyone and I mean, everyone, is aware of your talent! Still, he tries to find the side hussle in it, soliciting customers for you and all. 😭😭 Will trash talk the chalk art children make on the sidewalk, which ‘…that’s not nice, they’re children..’ you say. He shrugs, nobody is as good as you.

Obito:

Finds out and tries to ‘secretly’ commission you lmao. Makes it totally obvious too, his handwriting is shit and eveeeerrryyyyone knows who Tobi really is…. Plus how can you even begin without discussing what he wants done!! Duh, Obito! Unfortunately for him, you are more interested in drawing matters of the flesh. He’ll only show his chest, nothing more.

‘That’s fine.’ You shrug, and get to work. Obito, however, does not have the resolve to sit still! It’s frustrating to no end, but alas, after what seems an eternity— its done. Sort of. Still much to add, but the basics are there and you’ll work better when he’s not asking how does it look every twenty minutes.

Eventually you do finish this beautiful piece of him, and Obito cries. You made his scars tolerable and beautiful with your mind’s creativity, he feels less self conscious about them, only a little.

Shisui:

Is the least normal about it when he discovered your sketchbook — more like snatched and played keep away. Had to fight him for it, literally. Will ask you to paint/draw him naked…many times lol and you respectfully say no... Not that he likes people to see him naked (ok maybe a little?) but he secretly hopes it might happen one day. It would be a private thing for the two of you, cause he wants that ass.

And when you do cave to his whim, just to satiate him. He’s nervous lmao. Had this oh so macho man idea of rocking a hard on but Shisui simply maintains his usual semi. It’s nice though, you make sure it’s extremely detailed..as he asked for.

But, ‘(y/n)… this is chibbi!!!’ Lol, jokes on Shisui!! He didn’t say how to draw his pp.

Itachi:

Is the most normal about it. Though he still will praise you every time you finish a piece and show him, he is still massively impressed. How does your wrist not get tired? …maybe this is why your hand jobs are so good. 😈 Just watching you try a new technique (pointillism, which is my favorite style) makes his wrist hurt. Enjoys when you ask him for ideas! He has lots of them! Mostly…obscure and derelict landscapes though.

Would not be opposed to having his portrait done, but it’s really not his style. He is disciplined enough to sit still but doesn’t see the value in it. Not until the final product is revealed, does he truly understand how important this piece was. You’ve captured his personality in a new light.

[arte-rose]

💚Samirah Al Abbas🍀

🌱🐞Hi guys it’s been a while I hope you’re all doing good

This is my first fanart of Samirah I hope you guys will show it some love thank so much for all of your reblogs u guys are already 200 who are following me thank you so much you guys are awesome 🤩

I might open commissions but I’m not really sure cause to be honest every time that I did open it I didn’t get any 😂🤣

So I just wanted to know if some of u would be interested and if yes let me and I wanted to ask too if u guys would be interested in print, stickers thing like that 🤔

[theforgottenmcrmy]

live reactions to house of the dragon season 2, episode 1: a son for a son

i'm basically doing this for my own amusement and reference, but i'm also up for constructive discussions on the episode if anyone feels like commenting

(but if you feel inclined to yell at me for any of my comments, please remember that these are fictional characters, and everyone is entitled to their own opinions🖤)

spoilers beneath the cut

it’s still the s1 recap and I’m already tearing up, can’t believe s2 is finally here

Jaw is dropped, actual chills at new intro. I love it

Winterfell theme=instant tears

Cregan Stark, the man that you are

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince” YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT THEY DON’T 🐺

The cave dragon-mounting platform setup? Love it.

“The mother grieves as the queen shirks her duties.” ~ harsh, but the truth

“Would that you were the king” ~ the queen who never was 💅

Rhaenyra 💔

Not Corlys commissioning a dagger for Lucerys😭 he doesn’t give af about blood, that was his grandson through and through.

Here we go, what have the Usurper and crew been up to….

Am I misremembering, or weren’t scorpions a relatively new invention during GOT?

OMG

wtf

I literally can’t with these two 🤡 like

The BALLS of Criston Cole with the damn cape like wtf.

Aegon, did you really expect the North or the Vale to answer you? If your councilors didn’t give you a heads up that that was not likely, you ought to fire them and get new ones.

Tyland and Jaehaerys😂 a pony ride?! These writers were in a silly goofy mood. Although, I will say it’s interesting to see the Lannisters being the ones to take orders for once, rather than give them.

Aegon really shows his age and lack if maturity here doesn’t he?

LARYS

LARYS IS ON THE CASE 🕵️‍♂️

The real question is how will he react when he sees what the dowager queen and ser Crispin have been up to. I’m gonna wager it won’t be pretty

Not Arrax’s wing

LUKE’S CAPE?!😭😭😭

I get they’re trying to make Aegon a bit more likeable this season, but as a member of the audience, I can’t help but feel like that would be SO much more effective if we didn’t already know that he was a predatory 🍇 ist 🤷🏼‍♀️

Otto needs to retire.

Good ol’ Larys, already schmoozing up his next meal ticket. Can’t knock the strategy though.

Alicent’s really trying to justify what happened to Lucerys 🤡

I’m getting the sense Alicent will have wished she kicked Otto out of the Red Keep herself by the time he finally gets canned

House Velaryon theme = always a banger

Mysaria’s accent is SUCH an improvement this season! 👏🏻

Daemon’s desperately pointing fingers at ANYONE who was even remotely close to Aegon😂

That little moment between Rhaenyra and Daemon was so little but said so much

“I want Aemond Targaryen” HELLS YEAH YOU DO 🖤🖤🖤

Daemon- “your wish is my command” 😇

I love that Baela accompanied Jace to go see Rhaenyra.

Jace💔 can’t even get through his report…

Rhaena😭

NOT THE DAMN TOY HORSE FROM BACK IN THE DAY

Jace and Joffrey😣

The fact that Rhaenyra and Alicent both accept what happened to Luke at the same time, but in different ways…. Cinematic poetry right there

A son for a son🤷🏼‍♀️

We love those in King’s Landing who remain true loyalists to the Queen🖤

What would Aemond think if he knew what the Commander of the Kings Guard and his mother do together in their free time🤔

Something funny about a man with no dragon experience and a young prince with no true battle experience talking about a war with dragons as though they’re even remotely knowledgeable…

What vengeance does Aemond seek at this point? Alicent even suggested it was because Lucerys was never punished for taking his eye… Aemond literally unalived Luke. At this point, the Greens seem to have all the advantage. So, at this moment, what exactly does Aemond want?

If anything happens to the dog I stg-

Don’t think Aemond would appreciate you referring to him as a “hound”, Aegon, but go off, I guess

Okay kicking the dog was so not fucking necessary-

Lucerys died during a storm, and it looks like someone else is about to too 👀

The fact that Blood is the voice of reason rn

Helaena💔 you don’t deserve any of this

Okay these noises are fucking AWFUL 😭😭😭💔💔💔

Helaena, not knowing where to go, going to her mother’s chambers🥲

OF FUCKING COURSE these two are at it again like- will they stop now? Will Criston at least have the decency to feel immense guilt and put an end to it himself?

While one can argue Criston Cole has a power dynamic to contend with in both situations (though I would argue he still consented to both), the difference is Rhaenyra was 17, and and Alicent is a woman in her 30s who also prides herself on being religious and practically pious🤷🏼‍♀️ one of them really ought to have known better then sleeping with a member of the Kingsguard, but I won’t say which one.

The Blackwoods and the Brackens!!!

Dragon eggs?👀

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter fourteen

well it's love, make it hurt series

fourteen: we can't go back

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 1.9k

Summary: your past comes back to haunt you in your new life.

Warnings: discussions of genocide, the purge of mandalore, descriptions of grief, survivor's guilt, bounty hunting, gratuitous batuu references, canon-typical violence

a/n: i just want to say thank you. yesterday's chapter had some of the loveliest comments and y'all have warmed my cold little heart. it was very short and so is this one, so here it is early. I almost made them into one chapter but thirteen needed to end where it did.

(if you make it past the first line without cursing my name, i love you. if you don't, well, i still love you but I'm not sorry 😂 i am, however, hella anxious)

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika

5 Years Later: 9 ABY - Fall

Din Djarin climbs up to the cabin of the Razor Crest. The Kid is still asleep, drained from the confrontation with Gideon, but Din is restless without a destination. Fortunately, the comm is flashing with a message, sure to be Karga with a lead. He hits the blinking button, and Karga’s holo flickers into view.

“There’s a man called Gor Koresh who allegedly knows where to find Mandalorians. Abyssian, a real shifty sort, runs Carnita Arena. Sorry I don’t have more for you, but he keeps his tracks covered.”

Din grins. Perfect. He doesn’t need more than that; he’ll find Koresh easily enough. He goes to turn off the holo before it repeats but freezes with his hand hovering over the button as Karga begins to speak again.

“There’s one more thing. And you didn’t hear this from me, understand? But there was a bounty turned in two days ago on Batuu that might be something you want to investigate.”

The loop resets, and he hits the button. His heart is pounding so loud he thinks he can hear it reverberate in the helmet. He checked Batuu. But when was the last time he was there?

Kriff, it’s probably been a couple of years.

At first, he’d done everything short of commissioning a fob or taking out a bounty. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered it. But if you were hiding from him? Or at least, if you had left not knowing, if you had decided not to stay, then tracking you across the galaxy would be a betrayal you’d never forgive.

In his most desperate moments, he thought about—and once came very close to—slicing into the guild database. But in the end, as always, duty won out. He couldn’t wager the job that supported what was left of his people over one person.

As the years passed, he found himself fatigued, the search less of a cuff around his chest and more of a string tied around his finger.

It hurt to think about, but like the ache of a once broken bone in the cold rather than the maw that used to be in his heart.

He still took bounties in every crevice of the galaxy, still looked over every crowded market and every booth in every cantina, but it was more of habit than hope.

Something very akin to hope burns in his gut now, boiling the acid until it crept up his throat and threatened to smother him.

There was no place in the life of a Mandalorian for the kind of cowardice he was considering, so he swallowed hard against where his heartbeat battered, shook the static from his fingertips, and programmed the nav.

Raga Bua has bounty hunting figured out. The rest of the guild needs to catch up, you think. The drop-off system is so much more efficient than carbonite freezing, and the tiny guild’s presence is so subtle that mid-level criminals keep thinking they can hide out here. After all, Black Spire has a reputation.

Lots of places for seedy types to lay low.

She has one rule—never take a bounty on a Batuuan. The locals are more than happy to keep the operation quiet for protection. Of course they are. The bounties are their competition.

It’s consistent, and the credits are steady. It took you a couple of years to get on the good side of things and get into the inner circle, but now, things are almost stable. You have your own place. An apartment, not a room in a shitty inn. Not an abandoned cargo unit. Two rooms and a fresher, all to yourself.

You don’t have friends, exactly. You think you could, since no one is afraid you’ll turn on them for a wupiupi, but you can’t bring yourself to try. You’re friendly, and on a first-name basis with almost everyone who runs a stand in the market.

It’s just. Despite the relative peace here, something never quite settled right in your bones after. You’re quick to anger, and you don’t fancy losing your cred because you pulled a knife on a drunk who got a little too close.

So you keep to yourself. You hunt. You train with new weapons, since the Batuuans prefer that the blaster fire be kept to a minimum. You spend most of your time outside the outpost limits, sitting on the banks of the Surabat River, or throwing knives at the old petrified tree trunks.

It’s a weird place. But it grows on you.

You almost start to think of it as home.

When you apprehend today’s bounty, it’s too easy. You’re too skilled, too dangerous, and he gives himself over to you.

“Thanks for not shooting me. I’m just glad you weren’t that Mandalorian.”

You jerk to a stop, yanking the Heptoonian to a halt with you. “What did you say?”

“There was another hunter, a Mandalorian, at the market earlier. Gave him the old slip, though.”

“There are no Mandalorians left.”

“Then someone got their hands on a full, shiny set of armor. Bet those go for a lot now.”

Your knife is at his throat. “Shut up,” you snarl and drag him into the nearest drop spot, heavy automatic lock sealing him in.

After scanning in and swapping his location for your credits, you go home. You change into something less equipped for hunting and better suited for blending in before sneaking through your neighbor Moshi’s apartment. Your apartment isn’t close enough to reach any of the huge beams that cut through the adobe, but you can swing over from Moshi’s window from the back of the building to hoist yourself to the roof.

Most of the buildings here are either connected or close enough to jump between, though your knees won’t thank you later. The idea that there’s a surviving Mandalorian isn't something you really consider. No, you're much more seduced by the idea that there's some scumbag with stolen beskar. It makes your vision get fuzzy around the edges, that sickening rage that you haven’t been able to shed threatening to spill out. You almost hope it’s true, because then you’ll get to slit a throat tonight.

It doesn’t even cross your mind to hope. Your Mandalorian has been dead for five years, and part of you with him.

From your vantage point, he’s not hard to find. He thinks he is, holed up in the ruins of the old outpost, a few klicks from town. You wait, and when night starts to fall, he leaves. It’s a mistake a lot of the outsiders make, thinking the outpost has a nightlife, that their target will be getting pissed at the cantina or stealing from the market.

But the streets are quiet, and they are yours.

The beskar is all silver, shiny and spotless. Not pocked and scratched with battles won. You grin. It’ll be an easy kill.

He doesn’t even see you until you jump, but the ease at which he defends himself is a bit troubling.

It doesn’t take long before he’s on the ground, your vibroblade to the cowl around his neck. You’re strong, but you know that you wouldn’t have been able to take him down that easy if he had any idea how to fight back. You don’t fancy cleaning blood off the beskar when you peel it from his corpse. (What you’ll do with it after hasn’t come under consideration yet).

Instead, you dig your knee into his lower stomach, where the plate doesn’t cover. “Take it off, or I will,” you hiss.

“Going to kill me, cyar’ika?” says the man wearing the metal face of your dead lover. He glances quickly to the pod, making sure the kid isn’t waking up to choke you out for threatening him.

You follow his gaze and seem to notice it for the first time.

“Is that a pram?” you ask, but you’re already up and off him. Your eyes are wide, moving between the ghost and the apparent baby.

He raises his hands in supplication, sitting up and nodding.

You run.

You’re off before he can even register it, leaping over the gate of a stall and through the back.

He swears and gets up, forced to follow your path because he can’t remember where it would exit, where you will go.

When he pushes through the curtain into the street, you’re gone.

Your leather shoes barely make a sound as you flee. You can’t go home. You can’t go anywhere that might put someone between you and what you’re starting to think is a nightmare you’ve summoned into reality.

You’ve lost him for now, but—and it makes you sick to consider this—but if it is a Mandalorian, you know their abilities. You slow down and let yourself be seen, looking around you before going into Oga's Cantina. Slipping into the refresher, you’re relieved to see the vent panel already open. You go into a stall, and then another, and another. You double back to the first stall, walking backward to further confuse any tracking capabilities in the visor, and pull yourself up to the top to straddle the divider.

It’s really un-fucking-comfortable, but you manage to open the ceiling access panel and leave the covering on the top of the toilet to set a second trail. Then, you stretch over to swing to the next dividers before pushing off and tumbling through the open window. You close it behind you, climb up the side of the roof, and ease your way down the back of the apartments that connect to Oga’s.

You figure you’ll head to Peka and lay low for a few days, maybe a week or so. You’ve got a few connections who might let you crash in a barn. There’s an open valley through the forest between the Outpost and the small town, but it runs along the most direct route, so you stick to the trees along the edge.

Now, you’re alone in the dark in an area you’re not very familiar with. The wildlife here are mostly harmless, and you’re fully armed, but it’s irritating. And you’re mad at the Mandalorian about it.

Their modulators must all sound the same, you decide. And he never told you what cyar’ika meant, but it was clearly a pet name. It was a coincidence. Your Mandalorian had red armor. Your Mandalorian didn’t have a jetpack.

Your Mandalorian was dead.

There's one logical answer, and so the question was, how did you end up with a bounty on your head?

You’re losing your nerve. Every noise makes you jump. You're mad about that, too. So one piece of bantha shit shows up in Mandalorian armor, and you fall to fucking pieces?

Your heart had finally stopped leaping into your stomach every time something shiny caught the sun about two years ago.

Kriff. The sooner you find a pile of hay to sleep in, the better. As it is, you’re pretty sure you’re going to cry.

You’ve managed to talk yourself down, and you’re more than halfway through the valley. Once you pass it, you’ll have another hour’s hike to Peka, but you’ll still have the cover of darkness. As dark as you can with both moons overhead, anyway.

That’s when you see it. A flash of silver. You freeze and consider if you should run or climb. He has a jetpack, you remind yourself, but you haven’t seen him use it. And the branches would be a good obstacle.

Quietly, you scale the tall, broad tree and find a sturdy branch. Silver catches the moonlight again, and you peek down through the leaves to nail down his location.

But it’s not a suit of beskar. It’s a ship.

Someone has parked their ship at the back of the valley, cradled but not covered by the dense canopy.

It’s the Razor Crest.

*title from "Error Operator" by Taking Back Sunday.

[tangledbea]

Why do you think they even put Hook foot on the caravan anyways? I understand Shorty for comic relief, but why Hook Foot? They may have wanted someone to balance out the two duos of Rapunzel and Cass and Eugene and Lance, or someone to fill the slot Ariana would’ve had on the caravan trip, but that didn’t have to be Hook Foot. And was Lance (and for that matter, Varian) even developed during the point where Ariana would’ve been on the trip? If not, that point may be moot. They may have wanted to put another guy on the team for when Lance was out of commission during the S1 premiere. But my personal opinion for why they chose Hook Foot specifically is that they really, really wanted to do both the Seraphina episode and the episode with Hook Hand, which afterwards Hook Foot no longer mattered to plot so he left. I think they wanted to bring back Hook Hand for an episode and have him and Hook Foot interact, and I guess they figured the best time for that was when they were on the road, but I can just imagine someone who worked on the show just really liking the concept of Hook Foot and a mermaid having a romantic thing going, and then they decide to make an actual episode about it, and that being the main reason they put him on the caravan 😂

So, fun fact from what I know about Hook Foot existing at all: They wanted it to be Hook Hand, but Brad Garret wanted them to pay him way more money/amenities to play him than they had the budget for, and they weren't going to get a sound-alike. Their general rule was: if the original cast can't be the character, that character won't be in it. Ultimately, they got Brad for one (1) episode, and I believe that was agreed upon much farther down the road, not when they first asked him to reprise the roll. In fact, there are early storyboards where Hook Hand is included, and Hook Foot is nowhere to be seen. (Unfortunately, I can't seem to find said storyboard at this time, or I'd show you.)

I have no idea why they ultimately decided not to include Arianna on the trip, but I think that was decided on well before they decided to include Hook Foot. So it's not a case of "instead," more a case of "they went in a different direction".

As for why Hoot Foot was included in season two at all, while I don't have any hard facts about this, I feel like it has something to do with making Eugene more serious during the season (especially towards the end), and so they needed comic relief to balance him out. They (and by "they" I mean "probably Ben Balistreri") seemed to really like the gag where his hook foot was used as a tool. And, yeah, probably also to balance out the traveling party, numbers-wise.

But primarily, I feel like it was because they wanted an excuse to have him not be at the wedding (I guess, even though Hook Hand ultimately was). Like, Hook Foot was the first of the cast to leave the party permanently. I think we're meant to assume that, between him joining Hook Hand on the road, and then not being at the wedding, that he either got his solo career and/or ultimately went off to be with Seraphina (like the end card implied, even though that was just one artist's personal desire). Either way, someone in the crew (again, probably Ben) really liked him enough to include him.

[im-a-wonderling]

A Union of Obligation

I wasn’t actually planning on writing a continuation of Sorrows can Swim, but writing inspiration is an unpredictable mistress, and it was already written when @thepenultimateword requested a continuation. More to add to the @fantasci-side-blog I guess 😂

Word count: 3.3k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

-

Prince shoved aside his lunch, sliding a paper describing trade routes into the place vacated by the bowl of soup that wasn’t at all warm anymore. 

Trade with Tunica and his own kingdom had always been strained, but managing the routes was crucial for maintaining the peace between the two kingdoms. If it wasn’t crucial, Prince would not have acted as swiftly as he did to avoid Princess’s name falling into scandal. If the Tunican king found out that his daughter had consorted with a lowly soldier from Prince’s kingdom, the repercussions would’ve been catastrophic for both lands. Prince hoped his new marriage would go beyond simply saving face, solidifying the bond and giving way to beneficence for all. 

He’d already seen the beginnings of that hope’s fruition. 

Reports of celebrations throughout both kingdoms had reached him, and there were rumors circulating the court that this union marked the beginning of a golden age. 

Well, at least his marriage was good for something.

He rubbed his forehead. If a golden age was in the future, why had the requirements of his position doubled?

Sure, before the wedding, he’d spent nearly every day dealing with some odd commission. But in the fortnight since the wedding, the only day he’d had off was the day immediately following his wedding. 

To all outsiders, it was easy to assume those hours had been spent intimately getting to know his new wife. In reality, he’d spent them pretending to work in their sitting room while listening to Princess’s bilious sounds coming from their bathroom.

Clearly Princess didn’t drink liquor all that often, a fact that both relieved and worried Prince. He didn’t want an alcoholic for a wife, but if she drank far beyond her limits because of marrying him… 

Prince sat back in his chair, giving up on the trade routes. He let out a deep breath and allowed his eyes to fall shut. The expectations that came with being royalty were always exhausting, but he’d been freer. Before, he could go for a horse ride, eat alone, sleep alone, and go gallivanting through the city to his heart’s content.

Now, he was a married man. 

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Prince called, wearily rubbing his eyes.

“Your Highness.”

Prince glanced over at the man who came in and, at first glance, nothing seemed amiss. But then Prince noticed the mud decorating the man’s shoes. The servants, occupied with the cleanliness of the castle, should’ve made him change footwear or at least go barefoot rather than track mud over the expensive carpet. Then, he saw the piece of paper clenched in the scout’s hand, for the man could be nothing else.

Prince sat up straight, holding out his hand for the paper. “What is it?”

“I’ve come from the watchtower.” The scout handed the page to Prince, who quickly opened it, taking in the information. “We spotted a company of soldiers marching through the forest, all bearing the Tunica coat of arms.”

“What did they say when they stated their purpose?”

“Your Highness, they…didn’t stop to do so.”

Prince only just managed to keep his thoughts from leaping from his mouth. There shouldn’t be a company across the border at all, and if they hadn’t stopped to talk of their intent…

The scout shifted, likely uncomfortable being in the room with Prince with such a tense silence. 

The scout had done his job, Prince reminded himself. The information was known, and now actions could be made because of this warning. “Thank you. Please, go down to the kitchens for refreshment before you leave the castle.”

The scout bowed and retreated. 

Prince gave him the count of ten before storming out of the room and down the hallway, the report clenched tightly in his hand. 

One thing he’d learned about his wife since their wedding was how much Princess loved to sleep in. Prince could be dressed, fed, and already halfway through his tasks for the day when Princess stumbled out of the bedchamber and into the sitting room. 

If one wanted to paint an angel waking from sleep, Prince knew exactly what it would look like, for Princess never looked quite so divine as she did when her countenance was weighed down with sleepiness…and it was her ethereality that tugged at Prince’s heartstrings like nothing else. She would yawn and lift her arms up towards the sky, her eyes falling shut as she stretched. Then, one hand would drop to trace a path down her face while the other ran through her slightly disheveled hair. 

Prince shook his head. 

Considering the sun’s position, she would certainly be awake by now, which was good, because he needed her. 

…for affairs.

…of state. 

Prince rounded the corner, opening the door of their suite, expecting Princess to be amusing herself with sewing or reading. 

But the sitting room was empty. 

He glanced out the window. The sun was high in the sky. Could she possibly still be in bed? 

Shaking his head, he reached for the polished doorknob of their bedchamber. He almost pushed it open, ready to catch sight of her, when he heard the sound of giggling. 

His fingers froze, his ears strained. 

More giggling. 

It’s probably one of Princess’s lady’s maids, he told himself, the hand holding the forgotten paper limp at his side. They were a giggly bunch, and if Princess had just woken, they’d be helping her dress anyway. 

But there was a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat as a preternatural sense of dread seized control of him. He clenched the doorknob, praying he was wrong. It was a prince’s job to be prepared for the worst possible scenario. Paranoia was a useful skill when one couldn’t make any mistakes. That’s all this was. It was his paranoia making him think the worst of the situation. 

Then his ears caught the unmistakable sound of a moan. 

His grip tightened in time with his heart, and he flung the door open. 

Princess and Guard leapt away from each other, looking at him with shock, which quickly morphed into guilt as details bombarded Prince’s brain.

A padded vest, resting a foot from Prince’s feet.

The way both of their chests heaved. 

A woven tunic discarded on the armchair.

Princess’s curls, dislodged from their normally careful hairstyle.

Guard’s bare torso.

The partially undone laces of Princess’s dress. 

All semblance of composure slipped from Prince’s grasp, and his fist clenched, reducing the report into a ball of paper. 

Guard and Princess didn’t move. They both just stared at him, frozen pillars of uncertainty.

Then Princess began to wring her hands together, lowering her eyes to the floor with pink cheeks. Guard, however, continued looking at Prince straight on, directly contrary to the disparity between their stations.

Somewhere, a tea kettle must’ve been boiling, because Prince’s ears filled with shrill whistling. 

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three breaths. 

“I believe you’re supposed to be on duty elsewhere,” Prince calmly told Guard.

Guard walked slowly towards the door, bending to pick up his vest.

“Don’t forget your–” Princess began, reaching for the tunic on the patterned armchair, but Prince was already there.

“Yes,” he said slowly before turning to face Guard, “you can hardly return to your post half-dressed.” He held out the garment.

Guard flicked his eyes towards Princess. Prince nearly turned around, aching to see what expression lay within the devastating beauty of Princess’s face, but he steeled his resolve. Guard inched closer, gingerly taking the tunic from Prince’s outstretched hand. In the split-second before Guard turned away, his eyes met Prince’s. 

Prince was transported back to their private conversation in the library, and judging by the look on Guard’s face, Guard was reliving it as well. Prince couldn’t decide if he wanted to hit Guard now more than he’d wanted to then. 

Despite the conclusion of their conversation, whatever he saw in Prince’s expression made Guard pale, his first sign of discomfort, and he quickly left the room, leaving the door open.

Prince faced Princess. 

Her red cheeks suggested a modicum of shame.

Prince just stared at her, forgetting what he’d come here to do and the threat that was marching closer to the castle. All his strength went into taming the tornado of thoughts and feelings within him. Once the roar inside finally dulled, he opened his mouth, fully intending to ask her to compose herself and accompany him to the councilroom.

Then he made the mistake of looking at her lips. 

Her normally perfectly pink and plump lips were angry red. 

Swollen.

From Guard, the man who respected her so little that he never tried to do the right thing by her. He hadn’t even stepped up to do the right thing when Prince threatened him. 

Princess’d let such a man kiss her.

Red-hot anger boiled underneath his skin, tearing apart every natural connection that held his body together until all that held Prince together was rage. It frothed inside him, multiplying every negative feeling tenfold. 

But even as the ugly feelings spumed, he couldn’t bring himself to allow them to erupt, not at her. Even if she deserved it and perhaps even expected it. 

Without a word, he turned away, leaving the suite as fast as his legs could carry him.

He would solve the issue with Tunica without her. 

-

Prince didn’t go back to their bedchamber. Even when the sun set and the rest of the castle had gone to sleep, he remained in his study, pacing back and forth, alone save for the candles that were steadily burning shorter and shorter. 

He’d sent a message to his father-in-law, inquiring as to the intent of the company of soldiers currently headed towards his castle. Their numbers weren’t great enough to be of any threat, but their presence indicated something more sinister. As it was, he’d prepared the defenses of the castle, just in case. 

Now the only thing he could do was wait, either for a response or for the arrival of the soldiers. 

Which he could technically do from his bed. 

But how could he go back? How could he lay beside Princess, in between the sheets, when she so clearly didn’t want him? 

The thoughts whirled around and around, picking up speed as the hours passed by. 

How soon after the wedding had Princess resumed her tryst with Guard? How many times had Prince laid in that bed not knowing that he was only the second man to slide between the sheets that day? 

His patience slipped, and he slammed his fist down on the desk, breathing hard. 

Prince thought he’d had burdens, but this extraordinary affection he carried for a woman who barely looked at him before she was to marry him? It weighed him down, changing him from an unhampered bachelor to a lovesick fool. 

He would do well to not think of her, but he wasn’t convinced there would ever be a day when he didn’t.

Behind him, he heard the whisper of the door opening. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Only two people possessed the rank to come into his study without knocking first, and he knew his father had no reason to come in this late. 

“Can I help you?” he asked cooly, leaning forward to pluck some arbitrary scroll from his desk. He opened it, his eyes not taking in the meaning of any of the words as he waited.

The only thing Prince could hear was his own breathing, his own heartbeat, as if she wasn’t here at all, simply hiding somewhere within him. 

“You haven’t come to bed.” Her timid voice spoke of reluctant, but clear worry. 

As it should, he furiously thought. She was a married member of royalty fooling around with a man other than her husband, someone of lower rank. And she hadn’t even locked the door. 

She didn’t ask a question, the slight lilt of her comment the only indication that she wanted him to speak. 

Well, he wouldn’t. 

She’d stolen his own heart away from him; he wasn’t about to let her steal his silence too.

“Are you…coming to bed tonight?”

Prince couldn’t decipher her tone without seeing her face, and he couldn’t see her face without picturing those swollen lips.

What did she want from him? Yes, they slept in the same bed, but with their backs to each other and without speaking. She couldn’t possibly think he’d missed the way she placed a wall pillows in between their bodies every night.

“Prince–”

“If you’re lonely,” he said before he could stop himself, “I imagine Guard will gladly keep you company.” 

So much for her not stealing his silence. 

There was no reply. Prince replayed the comment in his head, realizing how harsh it was. Guilt infested his insides, twisting and turning around his organs, turning them black from the inside. With a sigh, he turned to face Princess. “Look, I’m–”

She wasn’t wearing a dressing gown over her white sleeping shift. 

He kept his eyes dutifully trained on her face, refusing to let his focus dip down even a centimeter. Nonetheless, he felt his cheeks fill with color. Was he a juvenile? For crying out loud, he’d seen fully bare women before. Why did he get such a thrill just from seeing her uncovered arms and collarbones peeking out from the simple sleeves of her nightgown? 

Princess stepped forward hesitantly. “I don’t want you to be angry.”

He was angry. He was seething, but seeing her face made it…so…hard…

He dropped his gaze, replacing her bare arms and undone hair with the gold designs in the velvet carpet. “I am well aware that you hold no affection for me.” He took a ragged breath. “Ours is a union of obligation, not fondness or…or love.” Heavens, those words maimed him, each one a dagger. 

Clinging to the pain, he used it to bring him fire. He slowly met her eyes. “But marriage…especially a royal marriage…requires fidelity.” 

Princess jutted out her chin. “This marriage wasn’t my idea.”

“That may be so, but you agreed to it.”

“Under duress!” 

“And who’s responsible for your duress?” Prince snapped. “If you’re blaming me for that too, you are not as bright as I thought!”

Princess advanced on him, her eyes alight with vexation. “You have no right–”

“To what?” Prince stepped forward too, refusing to be cowed. “To speak the truth? Guard is the reason you married me, supposedly against your will, and yet I find you in an indecent position with him today! Have you learned nothing?”

“You certainly think tremendously of yourself, to lecture me in this fashion!” 

“Maybe so,” Prince retorted, “but you are far too obstinate to agree to this marriage unless you saw the need for it. If you didn’t, no one could have forced you to make those vows for all the world!”

Princess growled right in his face, the sound filling him with heat. “Yes, there was a need for it. And you are correct, if there wasn’t, I never would’ve married you.”

“Is that so?” Prince replied, feeling his gut whip into a heartbroken frenzy. “Well, whatever reason there was, whether you wanted it or not, there is no way out of this. You are my wife. I am your husband. And if anyone finds you in Guard’s embrace, both of you might lose your heads!”

Prince didn’t realize how close they’d gotten until he could see every aspect of the fear that flashed in Princess’s wide eyes. He cursed himself, because once again his mouth had run ahead of his brain, and now she was scared for her life.

He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder. “You don’t–” he began to say.

Princess peered up at him, moisture gathering in her eyes, giving them a glossy appearance. “Guard could be killed?”

Prince nearly bit his tongue.

Her concern was not for her reputation, for their kingdoms, but for that man. Over and over, she chose Guard over everything else.

“There is no telling what might happen,” he said, unable to muster much volume over the roaring of his heart. Princess lowered her head, looking downcast.  “If you are not careful…I fear the consequences will be steep.”

When she lifted her head, he caught sight of the determined twist of her mouth. “We’ll be more careful.”

Prince balled his fists, trying to stop the hurt. She wasn’t going to stop her relations with Guard, she wasn’t even going to get angry at Guard for his carelessness or demand better of him. She was going to continue on her current path.

He couldn’t stand keeping it from her anymore. He grabbed her hands. “Listen to me. Guard–”

“I know you hate him.”

“No, he–”

Princess lifted her hand to stop his words, her fingers cold against his lips, and every nerve in Prince’s body lit up. She’s touching me, his body sang, she’s touching me. Nothing had ever silenced him so effectively as he waited for Princess to speak.

Her eyes beseeched him, for what, he didn’t know, but he knew he would give her anything and everything she asked for.

“I love him.”

She might as well have gutted him. 

“I love him,” she said again, as if he hadn’t heard her well enough the first time. “He and I, we’ll be better about it, I promise.”

Promise.

Prince made a promise as well—a promise to Guard that he wouldn’t tell Princess of what had been said in their conversation in the library. He’d only made it because he knew the information would crush Princess, and unlike Guard, Prince couldn’t ever do anything that hurt her. 

Princess didn’t understand, and he longed for her to understand. 

But as he looked at her, she seemed so small, with desperation in her eyes and, underneath that, the love she spoke of. Whatever she had with Guard, it meant everything to her. Prince believed that she loved Guard, perhaps as she had never loved anyone before. He wished he didn’t believe it.

He pulled her hand away from his mouth. “Okay,” he managed to say, and the pain was all worth it for the hope that lit up her face. “Be smarter about it.” She nodded, and he stepped away. “Now, please, go back to bed.”

Princess nodded and started towards the door.

Some string linking them grew tight, the attachment point in his chest going tight. “Wait.” Princess turned to look at him. 

Prince quickly undid his laces and pulled his sleeves out of his arms. “Take my doublet. It’s too cold for you to be walking around in just your nightgown.” 

Princess padded forward, allowing him to wrap his jacket around her. He started doing the laces up again, pulling the fabric together to block those lovely collarbones from view. The burden of her attention on him nearly made him crumple to his knees in a vow of fealty, but he focused on his task. 

Far too soon, it was over. 

And yet, Princess didn’t head back for the door. 

She simply remained where she was, looking up at him. He gazed back at her, his eyes trailing the features he already knew by heart. Someday, when he was old and his memory started to fail, he knew he would always be able to describe her perfectly. 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Goodnight.” 

Quick as he could, he walked back to his desk, taking a seat and pulling out that same scroll, making a great effort to move his eyes from side to side as if he were reading. 

Princess shuffled towards the door. 

Prince could’ve sworn he heard a whispered goodnight, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Either way, she slipped out of his study, and the door clicked shut behind her, leaving the room far emptier than it’d been a moment before.

The string in his chest stretched, pulling him forward, tightening to the point of pain. Instead of following her, Prince slouched back in his chair, the scroll tumbling to the floor.

His eyes fell on the report from earlier, rumpled from when he’d crushed it in his anger earlier.

Even if he didn’t tell her the truth about Guard, he should’ve told her about what was brewing between their kingdoms.

But he feared Princess only cared if one specific man were sent into the skirmish, and it wasn’t him.

-

Part 3

Overall Tag List:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Tag list: 

@writing-on-the-wahl @elf-kid2 @thinkwrite5 @tobeornottobeateacher @brekker-by-brekkerr​

[girl-monkey-odalys]

Amazing background art by the incredibly talented @cutekoala1001. I commissioned her to draw The Salty Simiano, which is the restaurant from my Sing fanfic. I could not be happier with how it turned out!!! The colors, the lighting, the decorations, the angles, the way she fit so many features into one shot, just...all-around mind-blowing 🤯 

As you all know by now, I am kind of obsessed with the anthro primate characters from the Sing movies. For my Sing universe I made up a Latin American-style cantina that welcomes all animals obviously but panders to primates; it is known as a monkey hangout in Red Shore City. It also features sugar skull-type art, except the skulls are of anthro animals 😂 In the picture, the larger skulls on the wall, window and floor are chimpanzee skulls. In the bar area, the two skulls behind the chairs are a deer and a crocodile, and the one by the menu is a dog. The one in the corner by the enclosed seating area is a koala. The area on the floor covered by the skull is a dance floor. 

What I love about this piece is that, like all good art, it tells so many stories. I didn’t really flesh the restaurant out very much in my fic, and seeing it here really helps inspire me to create ideas for it:

• That little enclosed seating area by the tree is very cozy, so I can see it being a popular romantic place for  couples. But it’s also large enough to seat more than two, so I can also see it as a meeting place for friends. 

• The restaurant has live music from time to time. Most of the bands are local Latino musicians, but since this is Red Shore City, you can also find visiting musician stars performing here from time to time. 

• The band plays in front of the Salty Simiano logo. This allows for many photo ops, especially with the dance floor nearby. 

• If the band knows that there is a romantic couple sitting somewhere, they will walk over to the couple and serenade them. They will also play music loudly in front of shy-looking patrons seated at the tables, insisting that they go out and dance. 

• There’s one band that’s really sassy and heckles the crowd all night, in Spanish and English. The singer will butt into a dance and “steal” the guy’s partner from him and tell the girl that she could do better in terms of mates. He says this into his microphone so that everyone can hear him. 

• The art in the restaurant is featured in numerous cultural publications in Red Shore City (magazines, etc.). The restaurant has also published a pamphlet that explains the history and meaning of the sugar skulls. Art students also come here for studies. 

• The tree was already on the land before the building was constructed, and the tree was special to the restaurant owners (being monkeys). They didn’t want to cut the tree down, so they just constructed the building around the tree and made a skylight so that natural light could filter into the room. As the tree gets bigger, they will remove the tiles that surround it. They hired a professional landscaper to prune the tree in such a way that it will eventually grow through the roof, and they will renovate the building to accommodate the tree. I know this would never happen irl, but I’m kind of a hippy and would love to see this. 

Thanks so much for doing such an amazing job on this, @cutekoala1001! 

[peaachietea]

a little recap of my weekend..

i went to megacon! even though joseph quinn didn’t go, i meet some other people i’ve been wanting to be meet for a very while now! also overall the con was awesome and definitely a lot better than last year!

be warned it is a little of a long post 😬

on friday, i finally meet jeff ward who plays buggy in the one piece live action! i have one thing to say about this man… HE IS THE SWEETEST SWEETHEART TO EVER WALK THIS EARTH. his laugh is so contagious and honestly i could have spent hours talking to him! he is so engaging and kind💛 jeff ward is literally the best!!

i also got to see a lot of cool artist on friday and got a few commissions done which i adore💛 

on saturday, i finally got to meet paul bettany who plays vision in the mcu! he also is so kind and i got him to sign my wandavision special edition wandavision box. i asked him to draw a heart with a v in it like they do on wandavision and he deadass said to me “that’s what they did??” which made me laugh because HOW DID THEY NOT TELL HIM VISION BOUGHT THAT PLOT FOR WANDA AND HIM 😂 i also brought up how much i want to see vision back in the mcu and how much i love vision and he winked and smiled at me about it and then later saturday night it was confirmed that vision was gonna be coming back! im glad i was the first to know about it 🥰

i also meet jason lee who plays earl hickey from my name is earl and i know what your thinking.. you watch that show??? yes, yes i do! it one of my all time favorite shows and im currently on my rewatch of it for like the 1000th time and i just have to say that jason lee is a really down to earth man. he is literally just vibing and having a good time. we talked and i told him how much i love him as earl and how much i watch the show and even at one point he chuckled and kept repeating “damn it randy!” and then i cried because i think i’ve been waiting so long to meet him and then luckily my mom was with me because she reminded me to show him the picture my boss made of us (she bought me is autograph and photoshopped him and me together) and he loved it and signed it for me just because he loved it so much!

now for sunday, this was more of a chill day but was also very stressful because con going for more than one day gets very very exhausting. i was definitely not feeling it. i would have definitely said screw it if it weren’t for tom hiddlestons panel i bought tickets for. let me just say how incredibly lucky i was to go to that panel because i will cherish it forever. just being able to see him sit and talk about loki and himself was amazing and seeing all the people that also love him was amazing. he is so sweet and kind and said so really insightful things! i wish i could have meet him face to face but 10000000% if he goes next year… im spending ever penny to meet him.

here is a little clip from the panel💛

[hsr-texts]

Lmao the fact that welt had an accent and everything for this scene is hilarious 😂

Also POM POM WTF EHHSJWJEEJKSJSJ when she appeared i straight up laughed

Also I know people might say when they did loucha’s quest they didn’t really find anything fulfilling but me personally I think that this gave us insight into that he isn’t really a bad guy per-say me personally I feel like he is more of a grey character but we don’t really know much about him yet

But a lot of people (march 😒) judged him but welt had every reason to judge this man because of what happened in HI3 and I can understand having his suspicions because of the messed up stuff he did.

The reason why I’m giving march the side eye 😒 is because she was soo quick to be impatient and snappy and it kind of annoyed me because of how quick to anger was too rash and wanted to hurry up the process of the case she got which was irritating not to mention she hates negotiating which is a very key in every transaction and if you want something you’ll have to sometimes charm someone for the right price that or to charm the person your getting information from for example, sampo.

How else do you think do you think he’s able to so easily charm his way into his victim’s hearts and scam them out of their money? He gets patient and waits for the right moment to strike I just get frustrated with march because these are things that your supposed to get used to and if you want something you have to work hard for it even if it’s tiring eventually you’ll get the results you wanted

Talking bout some “oh because we need this information” proceeds to have npc scam her out of her money. 😒 do get me wrong I love march 7th but she irritates me sometimes

I mean yeah that's pretty on brand from March considering how she treats Sampo 😅

I'm more surprised that the Realm-Keeping Commission just watched her do that whole roleplay thing without even going like "Yeah maybe this wasn't the best idea to ask complete strangers who are... very eccentric"

But I'm guessing they had to add more filler so that the ""plot"" could plot ;w;

And yes I'm aware the quest is meant to be like- A buffer to mitigate those "Luocha is Otto so he's a bad guy!!" ideas but I feel that this... was still not the best way to do it.

We only learn that he's not such a bad guy until the very end when it's revealed this whole goose chase was practically for nothing since all he did was save some two guys and gave them a prescription, then stopped people from getting spoiled.

People say that the companion quest is like this because MC hasn't met Luocha but... then they meet him on the Express after his quest bc Dan Heng apparently invited him there...

We also had a companion quest for a character we haven't officially met before and that was Silver Wolf. I'm pretty sure MC has only seen Kafka at the beginning before Kafka handed them over to the Express. You can also argue that she's possibly a bad guy since she's wanted criminal by the IPC for 5 billion credits.

Despite Silver Wolf not having as much screentime as the other characters in the quest, we still learn a pretty important part of her character. We get to see her motivations and what drives her actions. Even though the Stellaron Hunters' story isn't complete yet either. Plus we get valuable lore about her homeworld "Punklorde", which was very interesting to me.

But I digress. Ultimately, I'm speaking from my perspective as a writer. I have my own standards for what makes good character writing but people can have equally valid ideas for what they believe is good character writing as well. The fun of art is that it's subjective and everyone has a different interpretation.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

The Marali Festival Commentary Part 2

Alright, the next 3 chapters! Honestly, I think it’s fair to say these might be my favorite 3 chapters... 👀 But more on that below!

**SPOILERS FOR THIS FIC BELOW**

Chapter 4- Hug

Dwalin took his place next to Thorin, silently holding the same position as the king.

“I have a plan.” He finally explained.

Dwalin chuckled. “I would hope so. Mahal knows we’ve all been waiting for one of you to do something.”

This was supposed to make people still think that Thorin wrote the note, but I don’t think any of my readers were actually buying it.😂

Thorin had already been placed in the first position and was almost pleading with Mahal for who would be number sixteen. His prayers were answered and he met Heor’s glare with a challenging grin.

Let’s call this chapter the “what-if Thorin got to fight Heor in Guardian of Kings instead”. I don’t think it was nearly as good a battle scene as it was with Bilbo, but I had more time to work with on GOK. 

Thorin immediately took to the center ring as soon as he was summoned. His head held high and his shoulders pulled back. Heor met him stride for stride.

“Been awhile, Thorin.” He smirked.

The disrespect.😒 You know, with this particular OC, he was always supposed to come off as ‘the asshole’ but not necessarily the villain. That definitely didn’t happen in this fic. 

“Heard that before. Although that is a lovely trinket. Did you get that from your hobbit courtesan?”

Thorin’s nostrils flared, and he had Heor shoved three feet away before he even had time to think.

The lesson here: don’t call Bilbo a whore to Thorin’s face.

The blade cut straight up his sternum (would have sliced open his neck) had the chain carrying the acorn button not snagged it. The metal snapped, Thorin hit the dirt, and there was a plethora of guards restraining Heor. Dwalin at the forefront. Thorin lay there as blood ran down his chest in amazement that once again, the hobbit had inadvertently saved his life.

I liked the symbolism here of the ‘acorn’ always saving Thorin and him tying that directly with Bilbo. It was just a nice little parallel.

Something in the hobbit suddenly snapped, and before Thorin knew it, he had Bilbo pressed tightly against him, sobbing into his chest, his arms encircling as much of his body as he could. Thorin felt pained at the memories that still haunted his hobbit, but he returned the hug as best as he could murmuring softly all the way.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Everything is fine.”

If I remember correctly (this was a year ago after all), I think my initial plan had this hug being a lot more light-hearted, but the moment I brought Heor into it I was like WAIT I CAN MAKE THIS HURT. Did I have a plan to explain how exactly Thorin survived BOTFA? Not exactly.😆 Everyone just got to use their imaginations as I referenced it.

Chapter 5- Harmless Flirting

I feel like I should preface this chapter by saying as someone who is a terrible flirt, I really worried about this prompt...

When asked why the king himself did not choose to show off the merit of his skill, Thorin became surprisingly tight-lipped.

FORESHADOWING! 👀 I either already had @stardryad-random​‘s commission at this point, or she had sent me updates so I was pretty sold on the metallic bouquet at the end.😂

“How about you try and guess. If hobbits had a seven day passion festival, what would we feature?”

Thorin smirked at the challenge. “And what do I get if I win?”

“Whatever you want.” Bilbo breathed almost before his mind could catch up.

Does this count as flirting? Because I’m not so sure it’s harmless at this point.😆

“That’s six.” Bilbo agreed.

They walked in silence for a while. Thorin clearly lost in thought while Bilbo pretended to be impressed by a particularly hefty stone-hewed bookshelf they passed.

Writer Thoughts: What in the hell can be a seventh hobbit ‘passion’? Think, Sunny, think...

“You’re right that dwarves take their crafts to a much more serious level than any hobbit, but if you’ve ever been to a harvest festival…there are contests for nearly everything! Sure the farmers are showing off their prized vegetables and livestock. But oh, there’s so many different contests just for eating! Pie-eating contests, pudding, fudge…and of course lots of games and activities for the faunts. My cousins on my mother’s side that I was particularly close with and I would make the most handsome paper boat. The object being to see it safely down the Brandywine to the finish line, and it would always sink just beforehand. Siggy would get in such a tiff over it. Then there’s beautiful handcrafts that are up for judging too! Hand knitted blankets, prized family recipes, gorgeous wreaths for your door. No, hobbits don’t have crafts persay, but I would think we would have a day just for being passionate…about life, I suppose.”

Good job, Sunny. Self-five. As someone who grew up in a small, rural area, this was 100% based on our county fairs. I won showmanship with my sheep, and my homemade wreaths usually won 3rd place.😏

“Well I suppose I lost our little game, so I feel it only fair to turn the prize to the victor. Ask what you will of me, and I will see it done.”

“Be my escort tomorrow?” Bilbo blurted, catching Thorin off-guard. “I just…today was so lovely. And I thought if you didn’t have anything else…But then you are the king! Of course you would have better plans than to escort…”

Thorin cut him off with a gentle whiskery kiss to his hand.

“It would be my honor.”

So it was actually a little before this chapter that I knew I had messed up. But to be fair, I only had up to Chapter 4 written before I started posting. If you guys actually look at my tumblr post for the first chapter, you will notice the next chapter was supposed to be ‘Dance’. I realized about halfway through this chapter though that I had this idea of Thorin and Bilbo seeing the opera before going to the dance. So he would need an escort for that...

Chapter 6- Be My Escort

So on the original prompt list I borrowed from, it had ‘Movie Night’. I decided to replace that with the Middle Earth equivalent: play/live theater, but named it “Be My Escort”. 

There was a shift in their relationship that has happened recently that Thorin didn’t feel entirely prepared for. Perhaps, he should have been. Perhaps, this was just logically the next step. However, he found himself concerned for Bilbo’s image. The ‘courtesan’ comment made by Heor has sat ill with him, even though the vile vermin was sitting comfortably in a cell right now.

Does anyone else HC Thorin as somebody who has to have a plan and stick to it? Maybe it’s his stubborn nature, but I always imagine Thorin freaking out if anything deviates from the way he saw things working out. This plays into his ‘freak out’ in the next chapter. 

Bilbo had indeed dressed for the occasion. He wore one of his hobbit button-downs and nicer knee length dark slacks, but over that was a dwarven tunic of Durin blue with golden trim and a golden belt around his waist. However, Thorin felt his eyes drift to the hobbits chest where in the gap of the vest, he could see the mithril glittering brightly.

FUNNY STORY! I was complaining to @lordoftherazzles​ that I didn’t know how I wanted Bilbo’s outfit to look, and then sent her down a rabbit hole for a reference pic just for these few sentences of description.😅 Thank you Razzy!! Your efforts were well appreciated.

There was once a point when Thorin was still quite young and naively believing that Erebor would always belong to him, that wanted to forgo any notion of kingship in favor of an operatic career. Before puberty dropped him into a deep bass, his range had been wide and high, and he had been mesmerized by the players on the stage utilizing such gifts for storytelling. Thorin’s grandmother probably would have been the first dwarf in his corner had he ever brought it up. She had always been rather adoring on him and his vocal talents. Alas, life did not turn out the way he wanted nor ever envisioned.

Is this not the cutest headcanon for a young prince Thorin? More on this later this week... 👀

“I didn’t mean to offend.” Bilbo stated quietly.

“You didn’t.”

However, even Thorin recognized the waspish tone in his quick answer.

More evidence of Thorin being needled by things not going his way. It will blow up on him soon. You’ll have to wait til tomorrow though for me to talk about it.😏

[rachaellawrites]

Find the Word Tag

Thanks to @k--havoc for tagging me!

My words were face, music, hurt, very, and enough.

Face (A New Age of Magic, Book 4)

Shooting a glare over her shoulder, Farida said, “What do you have against people being nice?” “It’s not nice, it’s annoying.” “She’s just doing her job.” “I thought her face would break from forcing herself to smile.” “She’s just a normal worker,” Farida chastised her. “She spends her days dealing with actual jewelry sales and trying to earn a commission, not talking to weirdoes like us about magic.” The word “magic” seemed to reverberate especially loudly off the whitewashed walls. “Maybe this isn’t the best place for that discussion,” I said, keeping my voice low.

Music (A New Age of Magic, Book 4)

Even more alien was the perfectly mundane sounds of [REDACTED] and Farida bickering about what music to play on the radio. [REDACTED] wanted silence or classic rock, while Farida was insistent that upbeat pop was perfect driving music. “If we listen to that shit,” [REDACTED] said, “then we’re also stuck listening to you sing like a dying whale.”

Hurt (A New Age of Magic, Book 4)

Farida’s shriek sent my heart rocketing into my throat. But she wasn’t hurt. Instead, her expression was twisted in fear and fury, hand shooting out, clawlike, toward Eden. Five ribbons of fire streaked out from her fingertips, writhing and twirling around them in a brutal, burning dance. Their head snapped back, mouth open in a cry of pain. The branches around me slackened and stopped dragging me.

Very (The Willing and the Chosen, Book 1)

“No!” Tiffany whirled around in her seat, clutching her beauty blender a bit desperately. Eyes wide, she said, “We can’t go alone! Roommates are supposed to stick together through this whole program. It’s tradition.” Ella wanted to point out that this “tradition” had only been introduced eight years ago, making it even younger than the already very young school, but she knew that was besides the point.

Enough (The Willing and the Chosen, Book 1)

“Of course…” He let out a breath of laughter. “And what about the Chosen? Do they choose to come here?” An identical response almost rolled off her tongue, but she caught herself, knowing it was untrue. The Chosen didn’t get to choose. They were drafted. Wasn’t that exactly what she and Nick had talked about the first time they met? Seeming to take her silence as answer enough, the Headmaster offered a brief, mirthless smile. “Do you consider that fair?” “… I guess not.”

I will tag @mjjune @antique-symbolism @oh-no-another-idea @jezwrites @wardenred

Edit: I FORGOT TO PICK WORDS 😂 Your words are forget, mind, loss, away, and slow.

Also, special shoutout to @moondust-bard for creating the Writeblr Tage Game Directory. Always comes in handy!

[chernayawidow]

This got lost in my notifications ahhhhh!!! But it’s okay because I’ve found it now and LETS GET INTO THIS!! I am SO PUMPED UP YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!!

“Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette.” — I always find it so amusing that these dudes were originally her captors, and now there’s a fondness for each other. The fact that she’s having a positive dream featuring them just makes me giggle 😂

“And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time.” — The image of her just pulling along this all powerful Supe into her room makes me smile, because Ben would have to LET her drag him lmao!

“But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp.” — I can see him 1000% putting a mirror in above their bed…

“You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID. Fucking Butcher again.” — Oh for fucksake Butcher, LET A GIRL HAVE A SEX DREAM WOULD YA?

“You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.” — THIS FEELS LIKE SUCH AN OLD MAN MOVE! Just sitting and smoking cigars on the porch! 🤣🤣

“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.” — HE’S WEARING SLIPPERS TOO? Oh my gosh that’s even better, she should’ve taken a photo of that (and made it her phones wallpaper)! 🤣

“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.” — Annie darlin’, I know you’re late to the group, but that’s kinda exactly what it was about… hunting down evil assholes and absolutely annihilating them. The targets just all used to be Supe’s is all lmaooo!

“But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one.” — You’ve marked her indeed, no takesies backsies!! 🤙

“You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.” — THEY’RE SO DOMESTIC OMGGGGG 😩🫶

“Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”” — Entering once again from stage left, Jon the asshat that should get a good old king hit 💀

“He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it.” — He’s learning!!

““You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile.” — I actually love this whole moment, he’s telling her what she needs to hear.

“Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs and soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath.” — And just like that, I’m tearing up from how cute and sweet Ben is with her 🥺💖

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.” — AHHHHHHHHHHHH OH MY GOD MY HEART IS HAVING A WHOLESOME OVERLOAD!!! 😩💖💖💖💖

“And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…” — Oh my god is it… is it happening???? IS THE MOMENT HAPPENING????

“You…were his. That was just how it was going to be. He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple. You were his.” — YESSSS HE’S REACHED THE EPIPHANY FINALLY OMGGGGGG!!!!!! And it was even more wholesome and sweet and adorable than I could’ve imagined!!! 😭🫶

“Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.” — I love it when you add tidbits like this, they just fluff it up even more. It’s so simple yet so effective in terms of story telling!

“Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced.” — THIS MADE ME WHEEZE 🤣 gotta respect his dedication though!

“While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father.” — I can’t imagine Ben was happy about her being alone with stupid ass Jon.

““Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.” — Oh for fucksake Jon, the only manipulator here is you, and at least SB cares about Pookie’s wellbeing!

“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.” — Correct me if I’m wrong, but I love that this kind of insinuates that she wouldn’t exactly stop Ben from caving in his skull 🤣

“And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father.” — Okay there we go, that explains it!

“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.” — LET ME AT THIS BITCH ASS, HE NEEDS A GOOD OLD LEFT-RIGHT-GOODNIGHT!!

“Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.” — Yessss! Our adoptive dad meets the deadbeat piece of shit!! 🥳

““What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes).” — Holy shit! Is this the work of the Temp V?

“It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.” — AWH! I’m so glad that he thought about the whole ‘no collateral’ thing, because regardless of whether it’s his fault or not, Grace wouldn’t give a shit.

OKAY SO THIS CHAPTER WAS HECTIC!! We got Ben wearing slippers and finally realising his feelings, we got Jon being a hypocritical prick, Daddy Frank meeting aforementioned prick, Stan being a cold and calculated queen, Annie being self-righteous and annoying as usual, and VOUGHT TOWER IS FALLING!!! OH MYYYYYY!! I seriously love what you did with this chapter, especially Ben’s protective nature and how he wants to finish off Jon for her that way she’s safe from him forever. He’s been so attentive to her this chapter and it’s so heartwarming to see, I really really need to know his reaction when he finds out she was alone with Jon before Frank and Loco got there! So excited for the next one!!! 🫶🫶🫶🥹💖

Break Me Down - Part 15

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

Word Count: 4,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smuttish. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, peril, and a cliffhanger…

Part 15: The Tower

You dreamed of Medellin. 

Of being back in that mansion on the cliffside, during a Columbian summer. Sometimes it was sipping a vodka cranberry by the pool. 

Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette. Or reading by yourself in the garden, surrounded by yellow flowers, as the salty wind from the nearby waterfall kissed your cheeks and rustled your sundress.

And once, it was getting caught by Ben on your way back to your new, bigger room. Pretending to be coy, fully aware of him following you, feeling his stare on your ass.

Then when you got to the door, you paused and turned in the doorway, boldly meeting his gaze. 

And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time. He pawed at your dress, those heavy hands dragging underneath, probing between your thighs.

You held him to you, reveled in the scrape of his beard against your neck, sighed shakily in his ear as he walked you back, your ass bumping into the dresser.

Ben turned you around. You allowed his manhandling as those hands wrapped around you and found your breasts, kneading every curve before he bent you over on the dresser. 

You braced yourself on the hard wood when those nimble fingers of his teased you through your underwear. Soon enough you sucked in a sharp breath, felt the burn of the lace ripping off, sliding from between your already slippery folds. 

But before he gave you what you wanted, what you were begging him for without words, he reached around and took your face in his hand, encouraging you to lift your head. 

Your gaze found his in the mirror, scorching lust and naked desire. And yet, you still wondered what he saw when he looked at you.

You just couldn’t know that he was wondering the same thing. 

But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp. 

You woke in bed with a jolt as your cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand. You pressed a hand to your rapidly beating heart and sighed. 

You didn’t quite remember the dream, but your skin was tingling all the way down to your toes. Not to mention the suspect heat between your legs…

You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID. 

Fucking Butcher again. But you answered, and he had unexpected news for you. 

When you eventually hung up with him, you got ready for the day. Ben must’ve already been awake, as his side of the bed was empty when you woke up. You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.

How can he smoke so early in the morning? you thought with a shake of your head. He looked up at you, his lips lifting around his cigar. 

“Morning,” he said, puffing away. 

“You shouldn’t be hanging out here in the open,” you reminded him. 

He shrugged and reached out a hand to you. Sighing, you took it, and he tugged you over to sit in his lap. You waved the smoke out of your face, giving him a look of amusement and disbelief.

“Where the hell did you find a cigar?”

“Had it ordered in,” he said with a smirk. “That French fuck knows his shit.”

You shook your head at him with a small smile. You assumed he meant Frenchie. 

“We gotta go,” you told him. “Butcher just called.”

“Churchill can calm his tits for ten more minutes,” he said. He offered you a puff of his cigar when he caught you eyeing it. “Want to try it out?”

You grimaced, but part of you was curious, as you had never smoked one of these before. You took the cigar and inhaled a bit, and immediately started dying. This was nothing like smoking a joint.

“Shit,” you coughed out smoke. Ben rumbled with laughter, and you playfully hit his arm. 

“Here, take this thing back,” you said, still coughing. He rubbed your back and took the cigar from you. He continued to puff away. 

“Lightweight,” he teased you. 

“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.”

He glanced down at said slippers with a slight raise of his brows. Then he rolled his eyes. 

“Eh, fuck off.”

“Mhmm,” you said wryly. And you took the cigar from his mouth.

“Hey!”

Ben didn’t appreciate being dragged all the way back to Supe Affairs, just to be told they couldn’t nail down Stan fucking Edgar.

“I got you Neuman. So what’s the damn problem?” he groused. 

“We haven’t been able to find anything concrete to pin him with, legally speaking,” said Hughie. 

You, Ben, Grace, and the rest of the team had gathered in a large conference room near Grace’s office. You sat while Ben stood to your right, his arms crossed grumpily. 

“What the hell does that matter?” Ben said. “We know what he’s guilty of. I’ve been ready and waiting to take out that fucking weasel.”

“He’s got a bit of a point, actually,” Butcher said. Annie raised an incredulous brow at both of them. 

“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.”

“You’re a late comer to this fucking group, to be fair,” Butcher pointed out, crossing his arms as well. M.M. shot Butcher a look that said, really?

“We do have Victoria,” you spoke up. “Even if she isn’t holding anything else back, she can still help us.”

Grace considered you. “Yes. She can get through his network and give him a call, try to set up a time to meet.”

“And what then?” Annie asked, gesturing at Butcher and Ben. “These two assholes vaporize him?”

“We know they cloned Black Noir,” Hughie jumped in. “Along with a lot of other experiments that are so not fucking legal. We just need to find evidence in the lab.”

“And in the meantime, we get ahold of the slippery bastard,” Frenchie added. You nodded in agreement. 

“The sooner he’s behind bars and Vought is dismantled, the sooner I can bring my family out of protective custody,” you said. 

Grace then turned to M.M. “Marvin, what do you think?” 

All eyes turned to the man, who took in the various stares with a resigned sigh. 

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he said.

With a plan made, Grace, M.M., and Butcher went to visit Victoria upstairs in her holding cell. They coached her through her call to Stan. 

Meanwhile, Ben could care less about how the others eyed him with mistrust. (Well, Hughie tried to “buddy buddy” himself by offering up a cup of joe, but Ben mostly ignored that cum-guzzling moron.) 

No, he’d expected that. He noticed more how they treated you, still with polite distance and awkwardness, making glances between him and you. 

“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you’d said to him once. 

Ben understood a bit of what you meant now. 

You later led him out of the conference room and to the cafeteria with your head held high, but he could see that you were hiding it. How people’s stares and whispers were affecting you as the two of you walked down the hall. 

He had plenty of practice with that, letting attention (wanted or otherwise) roll off his back. But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one. 

You later picked at a caesar salad while Ben was busy inhaling his second Italian sub. He subtly watched you, wondered what the hell you were thinking. 

Before he might’ve bit the bullet and just asked you, your phone buzzed on the table.

You read the text from Butcher in the group chat:

Stan agreed to meet Neuman. Tomorrow night at her apartment.

“Good,” you breathed in relief. And you showed Ben the text. He nodded around a mouthful of salami and provolone. Though he had a bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth.  

You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.

“Okay, let’s meet up with them after this. There’s going to be a lot to set up,” you started to say. But your phone trilled once again in your hand, this time a call from an unknown number. Frowning, you answered the call.

“Hello?”

“He knows you’ve got her.”

Your expression slackened at whose voice was on the line. Ben noticed, and it actually made him pause on taking another bite of his sandwich. 

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” you said tersely. 

Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”

You reluctantly perked up at that. Ben raised an expectant brow at you. Your lips pursed; you really wanted to hang up on principle, but you knew you couldn’t. You held up a finger at Ben that said, wait. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Exactly what I said. He knows you have her. He knows you’re trying to trap him,” said Jon.

You sighed, rubbing at the ache starting to form between your eyes. But then your hand fell back to the table. Your expression hardened.

“Did you order the fucking hit on me?” you asked. 

“Sweetheart—”

You closed your eyes. 

“No. No. You don’t get to sweetheart me after you broke my fucking ribs,” you snapped. “Did you know?” 

Ben’s frown darkened as he finally realized who you were talking to. His hand curled into a fist on the table. 

“…No, I didn’t know,” Jon replied. “Why do you think I’m calling you now?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Why the hell are you trying to help me? Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

You heard a heavy sigh on the line, and you waited. Your patience was starting to thin. You could also see Ben’s mood darkening now that he knew you were talking to your father. You angled yourself slightly, so he couldn’t reach over and grab the phone from you. (You saw his fingers twitching.) 

“He crossed the line sending Black Noir after you and your sister…and your mother,” Jon said. “I can help you on this.”

“There’s no world in which I’d ever trust you again,” you said flatly. 

“You’ve just gotta think here,” said Jon. “Do you want Stan Edgar or not?”

Your lips pursed. But you listened to what he had to say.

When you eventually hung up, Ben walked with you back up the stairs to the conference room. He watched you explain to Butcher and the rest of the team what your father had said, and what he’d proposed as a solution to the problem of Stan Edgar. 

Stan was due to come into the office at Vought Tower for a meeting with presidential candidate, Robert Singer. With Jon’s help, they could squeeze through a gap in security and intercept Stan before the meeting. The idea was to arrest him, but if Black Noir made an appearance, then that was Soldier Boy’s cue. 

And all bets would be off then. 

After Ben sat through the more boring logistics, he was relieved when the meeting finally dispersed, with the goal of meeting back here bright and early tomorrow. 

Even back at the safe house, you were antsy, pacing back and forth across the living room. Ben had changed out of his supe suit into some jeans and a shirt, and he now watched you from the kitchen with a beer. 

He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it. 

Not that he was afraid of that, by any means…but he’d just rather not get into it with you right now. Not when things had been going good for the past few days. 

So he went into the living room to sit on the couch. He was about to turn on the TV, before you sat down heavily in the lounge chair beside the couch. Your face looked so pensive, so troubled as you rested your chin in your hand, that Ben let out a breath. 

He set down his beer on the coffee table. Then he sat back and crossed his arms, glancing over at you. 

“If we’re going to do this, you need to get your head on straight,” Ben said. 

You looked over at him, not willing to admit you were upset (and that he was right), but unable to lie either. 

“Let me figure out dinner,” you said instead. You got up, but Ben’s voice stopped you.

“When you see him, don’t give him an opening,” he said. You turned to meet his eyes, and you knew full well who he meant by him. 

“You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile. 

You crossed your arms. Emotion rose high in your throat, and it threatened to choke you as your eyes started to burn. 

“Am I?” you asked. 

Ben’s attempt at a smile faded at the sight of your burgeoning tears. He sighed deeply, and he held out a hand to you. 

“Come ‘ere.”

Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs and soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath. 

“Bet you wish I’d knocked him a bit harder against the fucking wall,” he quipped. 

You uttered a laugh at his dark humor, wiping at your eyes. “Heh. Maybe. It’d certainly make my life less complicated.”

You sighed and rested against his chest, leaning your head on his shoulder. A smile raised your lips when his arm slid around your waist and held you. His thumb soothed back and forth across your thigh. 

And it was then you knew that he really did care about you. 

You turned into him, and hid your face into his neck when your tears burned anew. This time for a different reason, as you realized what this meant to you. How this man had broken through your defenses and slipped his way under your skin.

You had a suspicious feeling that he was there to stay, no matter what happened after this mission was over.

“Want me to finish the job?” Ben offered, barely even half joking. 

“Ben, please,” you implored into his skin. You shook your head, and your fist curled tighter into his shirt. “Just…”

Ben hesitated, but he held you more securely. He soothed a hand up and down your back. 

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.”

You nodded with a sniffle, and Ben felt your tears against his skin.

His hands really itched to finish the job he started with your father—and rip out his throat next time. Matter of fact, as soon as he saw that limp-dick piece of shit, it was on sight.  

And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…

(And you will, he thought.)

You…were his. That was just how it was going to be. 

He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple.   

You were his. 

The following morning, Stan straightened the blazer of his navy suit as he got off the elevator. 

His office lied at the top floor of Vought Tower, and it was newly renovated after the battle that took place last week. His bodyguard opened the glass door for him before he stepped through. 

He reached his new desk and sat down at the plush leather office chair, took up a freshly brewed mug of coffee (cream, no sugar), and enjoyed a satisfying sip. 

Then his bodyguard was pulled away from the front of his door, thrown down the hall. Stan raised his head, but didn’t startle as the door was wrenched open. 

“What the fuck! Not yet—” Starlight’s voice in the hall. But the next guest in his office was a different former employee.  

Soldier Boy stepped through in his familiar green suit. 

Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.

“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”

“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”

“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”

Ben raised a finger. 

“See, that’s what I can’t fucking stand. A goddamn hypocrite,” he said. “When you came to me in ’84, you said partnering with the military on that Nicaragua mission would call back to my unveiling in ’44. Forty years of service in the making.” 

And forty more that would be stolen from him.

Ben’s hand clenched into a fist. “My mistake was believing you.” 

“And my mistake was replacing you with more of the same,” said Stan, with his usual bland stoicism. “For all that you’d claim otherwise, you and Homelander shared more than just chromosomes.”

Stan stood from his chair, but was discreet in pressing a small button under his desk. 

“In all this posturing, I see an insecure child, yearning for attention,” he continued with a mild shrug. “Your strength is…nothing but a mask for how truly empty you are.”    

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he resisted losing his temper. He knew that would only goad this little prick on. He watched as Stan rounded his desk, pulling his hands behind his back.

“The cold truth is, you sold your humanity so that someone in the world would deign to love you. And if not, to fear you,” he said simply. “I sell it to win.” 

Ben’s senses prickled just in time to raise his shield against a metal spike aimed at his head. It ricocheted and speared into the ground. 

Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced. But he stepped to the side as Black Noir burst into the office and went for Soldier Boy. He carefully avoided the fight as his bodyguards came to pull him out of the fray. 

Stan’s eyes only widened when the first two guards were shot dead by Billy Butcher and his team. 

While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father. 

The two of you had taken control of the room, dismissing the on-site personnel, and now were in the process of evacuating the tower. At this point, who knew what could happen in the fight between Ben and Black Noir. You weren’t willing to abet any collateral damage, even here. 

Out of several monitors on the big screen, you kept one eye on the fight in Stan’s office. You and Jon noticed a breach in the hall.

“Butcher, you should be on your way out already,” Jon told him through the communicator in his ear. “The secondary team is also on its way up.”

“Right.” 

You watched with a measure of concern. Butcher seemed to be waning against a common security guard. He’d needed M.M. to grab the guy from behind and hurl him into Stan’s desk. Stan himself was plastered against the far corner of the wall, letting his security attempt to subdue Butcher and the rest of your friends. 

Your eyes moved to Black Noir. He’d also brought the same gun from last time—the one that had disrupted Ben’s powers. He was evading well enough so far…

“Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.”

Your lips pursed in annoyance. 

“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.” 

Jon didn’t answer, but when you glanced at him, you saw the way he stilled, his jaw tensing. 

“Aren’t you glad I dropped him off at the lobby?” you quipped. Then you pressed a button on the control board and overrode the overhead speaker in the Administration office, where you saw people still milling about. 

“Evacuation was not a request,” you said into the speaker. “Put down the fucking chai tea latte and exit through the stairwell to the garage please.”

Jon turned to you while sitting in his chair. 

“After this is over, you’d be smart to start fresh…I could help you.”

You met him with a flat glare. “Now that’s just plain delusional.”

You had half a mind to get Ben on the comm to let Jon know exactly what he’d be in for if he tried to take you anywhere, but you didn’t want to distract Ben right now.

And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father. 

Meanwhile, Jon’s mouth firmed into a line. A tendril of wariness (and maybe fear) laced down your spine. Your hand slowly moved to your belt…but he merely inclined his head. 

“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.”

“The best for—” You paused with a sharp sigh. And you steeled yourself before you replied. “I don’t know what fucked up fantasy world you’re living in, Jon. But after I left, I could finally see it clearly. You are the reason I hated myself.”

Jon didn’t show the true depths of his reaction. That wasn’t his way, but his steely eyes hardened as they held yours for a long moment. Then, he turned back to the screens. 

You released a subtle breath, though your hand stayed resting on your belt. 

Only Ben and Grace knew the truth about the injuries you’d sustained after being picked up at Vought. This time, you weren’t without a weapon. You had a gun on one hip and a taser on the other.

Ben had only agreed to your role in the mission because you’d called for backup. They should’ve been here by now, actually. In fact, they were supposed to meet you in the lobby, before you met up with your father.

Maybe they got stuck in traffic, you thought. You’d been checking your phone for the past ten minutes. 

But then a silent text came in: your backup team had just arrived. In fact, they strolled into the command center in full tactical gear, with guns drawn. Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.

“Hey, welcome to the party,” you said, greeting both men with a grateful smile. Jon glanced at you, then the men with a frown.

“Who the fuck are these two?” he asked. 

“My reinforcements,” you replied tartly. You felt better with them here as your spine untightened a bit. 

Frank nodded at you and remained standing to watch the door, while Loco grabbed a chair at your side. You gave him the lowdown of the control settings on the dashboard in front of you. 

“Oh shit,” Loco said when he glanced up at the screen. You followed suit, and a gasp fell from your mouth. 

Ben managed to unmask Black Noir. 

The helmet hung from Ben’s gloved hand. It was Earving all right, but it also wasn’t. His eyes, normally a dark brown, were misted over with gray and almost lifeless. 

“Noir, destabilize him,” Stan commanded from his cowering corner. The supe seemed to hear him, and only that order.

Ben realized now what these fuckers had done. Not only did they create this Noir clone with Homelander scraps, but they’d made the perfect soldier. One that only took orders. 

Butcher noticed too, with widening eyes. Fucking hell.

But he had to brace a hand against the wall as a hacking cough rose unbidden from his chest, worsening the roiling pain in his stomach and the ache behind his eyes. Hughie grabbed his arm to support him, and his face was picture-perfect concern.

“What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes). Hughie’s eyes widened. 

“What the fuck’s going on with you?” he exclaimed. Butcher just grabbed his arm and pulled him a few feet over, so they wouldn’t get caught in the blast of Noir’s energy gun. 

Ben was grappling with him. He focused on summoning the nuclear power collecting in his chest. All he needed was one clear hit, and he’d be able to end this motherfucker for good. 

But before he could fully charge up, Black Noir aimed a well-placed kick to his sternum, sending him back a few feet. It gave Noir the opening he needed to shoot Ben right in the chest with his energy gun. 

An electrifying blue met pulsing red, and swallowed it up. It took Ben along with it. Luckily his shield was clipped onto his back, so it didn’t get eaten up in the initial blast.

Now, he fairly crackled with red and blue fractals, which coursed together into a violet haze. He felt dizzy and wrong, knowing that all this power had to come out. But if that happened, he knew he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t know what would happen. 

Part of him knew it would solve his problem, killing Noir, Stan, Butcher, and the rest of those assholes in one powerful swoop. 

No collateral damage. 

It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.

He couldn’t stop it. The sheer force brought him to his knees before he could angle it up into the sky. Instead, it released into the ground below. 

The nuclear blast tore through concrete like a drill, and it didn’t stop until it reached the very foundations of the tower, deep into the earth.

Afterwards, everything was still. Ben could only stare into the chasm below him while he caught his breath. 

Until the ground, the walls, everything began to tremor and shake. 

“Oh shit,” said M.M. 

During the blast, he’d held onto the far wall with Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie. But now, he grabbed Annie’s arm to pull her up. The shaking grew worse with every second. 

“What the hell was that?” you commed in. No one could answer you yet, but at least it let Ben and the rest of them know that you were alive.

Annie reached out to Hughie, who grabbed onto her hand in relief. He also helped Butcher straighten, putting his arm across Hughie’s shoulders. Butcher glanced up at Black Noir, who was heading towards Stan. Meanwhile, Ben was stumbling to his feet. 

“It’s gonna come down like the fucking Eye of Sauron!” Hughie shouted. 

Butcher shared a grim look with M.M. “Like the bloody Twin Towers.”

AN: 🫨 The Tower's falling! But how'd you like Ben contemplating getting his hands on Jon? 😏

We're heading into the real action here, folks!

Next Time:

You pressed a shaking finger to the comm in your ear. 

“Ben, where are you?” you asked. Maybe he heard the tremor in your voice, because you certainly read the concern in his.

“You’re not on the second floor. Where are you?”

You closed your eyes for a beat. “On the first floor. The garage is blocked and Noir has us bottlenecked.”

“I’m almost there. Just stay put,” Ben said. His tone was firm, and it reassured you. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you. 

“Yeah, not going anywhere in a hurry,” you whispered.

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[unrequited-words]

02/09/2023 Thursday 8:47 p.m.

Last night was difficult. Around 2:30 or 3:00 I heard Zod dancing and singing with his headphones on. He was singing but a whisper/singing. I walked in the other room and told him to stop or turn it down and he got pissed at me. It was my day off and after he and I had sex he continued drinking to calm his anxiety and insomnia. It caused a stupid fight and I turned my phone around so the screen wasn’t lit up and ignored his texts and went back to sleep.

We transitioned A to her toddler bed. Around midnight or so she gave up and fell asleep. She woke up about 8:30 and I heard the toilet seat bang and so I thought it’s Zod either half asleep or drunk but it was A. I got up with her and around 10 or so we made us scrambled eggs and I had a piece of toast. Zod did something to his back and has been out of commission.

We took her to grandmas and Aunt Reese around eleven and an hour or so later we left to go shopping. He said let’s get a bottle so we did. The fireball is almost gone (yeah, I know… whatever) and he picked this goofy new Amsterdam raspberry vodka and it tastes like a weird candy. I made a smoothie and added it to it. I had a little of it when we got home around 1:30 or so.

Mom gave me some clothes and most don’t fit and the ones that didn’t I repacked them and put them back in the car. Around 6 or so he was drunk and woke me up to text my friend Sue and tell her off. She’s been putting me on read due to seasonal depression and her situation. She and her husband aren’t working and it’s messy. Zod keeps saying let’s buy them a car battery. I’m like why? She’ll never answer me back. It’s the nice thing to do I’m just fucking sad. She’s the only friend I have her in Utah and now I’m just so alone.

I have Neil and our kids, I have his sister and his step mom but any other friends are nonexistent. I have my work buddy and his gf but I’m here just like damn, when I left three years ago I really left everything behind. My so called ‘bff’ Heather doesn’t fucking get it. She has a job now and wants kids but doesn’t get the struggle. She doesn’t get how isolating it is and how sad you get.

I work from home, Zod raises our daughter who I hardly see. I can’t separate work from home so when. I get a shitty customer I take it out on Astrid and Neil with my yelling. I need to work on that but damn I truly feel so fucking alone. I don’t speak to any of my brothers except in some group family text and they kind of respond but not really. I knew I’d always be alone and making internet friends is useless. I have put so much emotional energy into friendships and it’s bit me in the ass.

I have had people ghost me and not tell me why. I have always been too much for one reason or another and it’s getting to the point to where I’ll just keep writing here and pretend I don’t exist. It’s almost a quarter til nine and I keep thinking… what is the baby up to? Did she have a nap tonight? What did she have for dinner?

I keep praying to have a good night so we don’t fight. I hope the customer are nice to me tomorrow and I have a good work day. I was hoping to go out on a date and he said let’s get some propane, a really nice cut of steak for valentines and I said no that’s not what I want. We haven’t been out on a date in TWO FUCKING YEARS. Can we go somewhere? The sizzler? A restaurant called Dees? Any place but in this house.

I want to be wined and dined on 50.00 😂 we can finally afford it. What will happen is he will continue to drink, I’ll continue to work and we won’t have a date and I’ll be fucking sad and I won’t say anything. He doesn’t get me flowers but he takes care of the house while I work. He got me chocolate that I’ve been eating the last few weeks. I know he’s sad because he doesn’t work and has anxiety. but why don’t i get nice things? He keeps saying to buy a tv which we can afford the Visio we have is on its last legs l… and he said let’s get you something nice and I’m like if we can afford it sure.

I hate being alone in my thoughts. It’s very quiet tonight. Everything is turned off and the only light is the lamp from my work desk. I made some work notes to make tomorrow easier. Before I napped he made me a burger because I said can we stop for a burger and he said no it’s too expensive when burgers should be 3.50.

We don’t eat out. We don’t get coffee at Starbucks or beans and brews. We don’t eat out, and yet I’m not happy. I’m happy for what we have but I’m sad. I stay home, work from home, and the only time we leave is to get groceries. I haven’t been sick in a while I’m thankful for that, I’m just fucking sad and I wish something would change.

I want to make Valentine’s Day special but it won’t be. Hell drink, I’ll work, and the vacation we have from the baby is that. Just silence. Fuck, how depressing.