#it's high marks and low riders

[eriquin]

@inairbinad tagged me in the last line post.

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

"‘Do you have games on your phone?’"

Yes, that's quotes within quotes. Someone is making fun.

Tagging game restarts now. Tagging 7 people even though I'm sure I've tagged them before in the past few days.

@nburkhardt, @atmilliways, @momotonescreaming, @disastardly, @weronlystardust, @hellsfireclub, @anzelsilver

[absolutebl]

Top 10 Most Underrated BLs of the last 3 years

(mid year 2021 - end 2023)

This list will not include BLs that ended their run in 2024. I need some distance to know if something is actually underrated (We Are maybe?) or justifiably ignored.

1 I Cannot Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan 2023 Netflix?)

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, increasingly unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life, which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen. Full review.

2 My Ride (Thai 2022 Gaga)

Thai BL grew up with this pulp (the first ever pulp to make my end of year top 10). It’s a truly lovely and special little show featuring the extremely rare pairing of sunshine/sunshine (AKA a cinnamon roll couple) plus mature explorations of relationships using one of the softest, sweetest, and most innocent friends to lovers vehicles. Kindly, overworked doctor meets broken-hearted motorcycle taxi rider in an “other side of the tracks” slow burn romance. The support cast is excellent, making for great friendship groups and family dynamics. With honest queer rep that adds to, but doesn’t impede, the story, and genuine conversation about the nature of class, wealth, and classism, not to mention communication, honesty, and respect for boundaries, you can’t go wrong with this show. In other news, I am a sucker for a single dimple. Full review.

3 Our Dining Table AKA Bokura no Shokutaku (Japan 2023 Gaga)

A lonely salaryman (+ talented cook) gets accidentally adopted by a college kid (and his little brother). I was always gonna love this show if they stuck to the original yaoi (which is very dear to my heart). And they did! Paralleling it almost exactly. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. Possibly too slow for some but definitely high up there for me as the best of what Japan can do with softness (like Restart After Come Back Home). It’s only flaw (if I dare say such a thing) is that it is not really “romantic.” Lovely & sweet but the romance beats are being used to build a family relationship, not just couple intimacy, but that's OK with me. This is a very safe show for anyone to watch.

4 About Youth (Taiwan 2022 Gaga)

A truly lovely little coming of age high school BL with a classic YA low drama but high angst and earnest depth. I didn’t even mind the singing, and that’s saying a lot. A weak seme/uke dynamic but tons of BL tropes (both rare in a high school setting but common for Taiwan) makes this one feel both sweet and colored by real world authenticity and grit. Full review.

5 Step By Step (Thai 2023 Gaga)

This was Thailand’s answer to The New Employee, and everything I loved about that show I loved about this one. This office romance between a stern boss and sweet subordinate felt more authentic to cubical work than previous Thai BLs of this ilk. That authenticity added tension to the narrative and its characters development (how novel). I also really enjoyed the charming side characters and the brothers' relationship to each other (although I could have done without that brother's side BL). Full review.

6 DNA Says Love You (Taiwan 2022 Gaga)

DNA deserves extra marks for an upbeat approach to a queer story arc that other shows have systemically mishandled with sadness (in the guise of realism). There is a twist, which I found predictable, but knowing what would happen didn't spoil this show. The leads are luminous and engaging, and it’s full of queer found family representation and an unexpected amount of domesticity, plus it’s Taiwan, so the kisses are great. The first few eps are rough going but have patience, it's worth it I promise! The second half is really special and life/love affirming - and the end is big-grin charming. Full review.

7 Unintentional Love Story (Korea 2023 iQIYI)

Of all the BLs on this list, this is probubly the MOST underrated. OMG the plot! Uke forced into a totally understandable betrayal, falling in love despite himself, put into a corner he can't get out of, the AGONY, the PAIN in those gorgeous eyes. Gah. Okay, so: A boy loses his job due to trumped-up corruption charges accidentally discovers his ex-boss's favorite artist, now a recluse. Evil manager offers him his job back, if he can convince the artist to rejoin society. Instead, they fall in love. I found the artist a bit stiff and reserved but Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT - he carried this show (which I do not expect from the idol element). He was luminous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, just drown in the emoting abyss. The external conflict, social tension and pressure is complex and beautifully executed, plus Korea gave us legit side dishes (NOT a love triangle, hally-fucking-luya). Full review.

8 Dear Doctor I'm Coming for Your Soul (Thai 2022 iQIYI)

This is a romance between a doctor trying to save his patients and a reaper who is both his enemy and (eventual) lover (basically the genius premise of a gay Doom at Your Service). High concept looks good on you, Thailand. It’s lovely to see KarnNat back on screen together and they are still great, and Karn is just as painfully beautiful as ever. I enjoyed this one more than its ending deserved, and the best I can say is that it’s not strictly HEA but if you’re okay with Life: Love on the Line, you’ll be okay with this BL. It’s set up well, there’s no surprise unpleasantness like HIStory 3: The BL that shall not be named. Full review.

9 Destiny Seeker (Thai 2023 WeTV)

A darn near perfect pulp featuring 3 likable grumpy/sunshine pairings with uncomplicated iterations of enemies to lovers. At least one half of each does a decent amount of pining and there’s good chemistry, classic tropes, and excellent communication rep. It’s fun and full of linguistic jokes. Sublimely cheesy but a good rainy day offering with tons of rewatch potential. (Also WAR PEANUTS!) Full review.

10 Make a Wish (Thai 2023 grey)

A doctor who can see the dead strikes a bargain with a wish-granting irreverent tree angel - naturally they fall in love (from Sammon: Manner of Death & Triage). Stars Fluke Natouch opposite not Ohm, but who cares because Fluke has chemistry with everybody. Once again the Thai afterlife is incredibly bureaucratic but I enjoyed the premise and the unfolding of the story (it’s not predictable but still satisfying and with nice little twist). I like that the doctor is just gay AF - fag hag bestie and made of swagger. The cast is excellent but the comedic stylings are a bit overblown and tonally off. It has sad parts and did make me cry but is ultimately happy with a great sex scene, good smiley kisses, and all the agency.

10 others I rarely see anyone talk about:

Triage - Many would put this at the top of the list, but I don't find it very rewatchable and that weighs a lot in my assessments. Still it is GOOD and very underrated. BL does Groundhog Day featuring a doctor stuck in a time loop who must save a poor little rich boy from death by seducing the stuffing out of him, then PLOT TWIST, poor little rich boy must do the same for doctor! Unfortunately… stuffing keeps leaking. I thought the plot was engaging if a little redundant and occasionally exhausting. The pairs were all well done, low heat but with decent chemistry and the support characters were likable (or unlikeable, as required). My reason it's not in the top 10? If anything, the romance arc detracted and distracted from the main plot, but that doesn't stop this from being a genuinely good show it's just time loop is not a trope I personally enjoy. Review here.

See You After Quarantine? - This under appreciated gem is Taiwan’s answer to Gameboys and is just as charmg and adorable yet still as quintessentially Taiwanese as one might hope. It features a Japanese love interest and the cutest most confused disaster gay. Slow burn because the two have almost no actual screen time together and yet manage some truly amazing chemistry. Honestly how does Taiwan do it?

The Tasty Florida - I don't know, maybe it's Speed nostalgia, but I love this one, classic Korean BL with all those strengths and flaws... but The Prettiest.

You Make Me Dance - it's Korea but somehow they got this one, maybe by featuring mature characters and a real world crisis? Also they both ve hot.

Blueming - at the time it got a lot of attention but it seems to have faded into obscurity under the shod of The 8th Sense and Love of Love's Sack. This was a precurser to both and well worth a watch if you like it when Korea gets a little gritty.

Love Stage!! (Thai version) - I liked this IP alerady more than most. But this is the best of the 4 adaptations, and the first full Thai version of Japanese IP. It's both charming and notable in the industry. Hard to find and that's why it gets so little creddit but I think it's well worth the effort to track down.

Oh! Boarding House - I think most who watched this din't jive with it because it's an ensamble piece witha wicked love traingle. But I really enjoyed it. It felt like the move Kdrama BL that Korea has given us and I like me some Kdramas.

What Zabb Man! - one of the better BLs to come out of Star Hunter in the last few years. I like this pair a lot more than most, and the sides are wicked great. This is probably one of my favorite food themed BLs, actually.

2 Moons The Ambassador - possibly the lowest scoring BL to appear on this list but I just really like the leads. Nothing else is good, but they are kinda awkwardly fantastic. I also like how gay af the seme is.

Stay By My Side - This show was an interesting take on the "ghost boyfriend" trope. About a boy who is tormented by hearing the dead, except when he is around one other boy - desperation+proximity = love. Despite a strong initial premise it ended up mostly being enjoyable for sappy domesticity but nothing more. Still, I always give extra credit for the diabetes-inducing sugar content and rewatch capacity.

Requested by the lovely @l1xyz

FYI: I judge “underrated” on the strength of what I see people talk about (or more precisely not talk about) on social media, MDL reviews, and YouTube watch numbers (when available, as compared to comparable shows from the same country). 

Because of this, statistically, there will always be quite a few BLs that are difficult to get hold of.

Here's my pulls of the Top Underrated BLs prior to 2021. Considering the amount of content generated over the last few years, the pool to draw from is likely about the same.

My Top 10 Most Underrated BLs prior to 2021

Seven Days

Restart after Come Back Home

Wish You

Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding

He’s Coming to Me

Oxygen

My Day

Most Peaceful Place

HIStory 2: Right or Wrong

HIStory: Obsessed

I'd throw Great Men Academy in there, but I always dither over whether it actually is a BL.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Dragon Blood

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Dragonseed (f) reader

Chapter 5.5

Jace pulled away, his breath still heavy as he surveyed the red marks blooming on your neck. The sight stirred something possessive inside him, and his lips curled into a grin. By morning, they'd bruise, a physical reminder of his claim of you. He couldn't help the rush that came with it. Making his mark was just the beginning. He wanted more than just the bruises. He wanted to leave a deeper imprint on you, something that couldn’t be erased.

But then he hesitated, his grin faltering as he caught the look on your face. It should’ve been intoxicating—should have driven him further—but something about your expression gave him pause.

“Stop,” your voice was soft, almost fragile, but it cut through the haze between.

Everything froze. The smirk disappeared from Jace’s face, replaced by confusion. His heart was still hammering in his chest, the need still pulsing, but he met your gaze, searching those troubled, violet eyes.

“What is it?” His voice was low, though there was a hint of concern he wasn’t quite sure how to express.

You shook your head, breath still coming fast, as your desire clashed with your self worth. “I don’t want this. Not like this.” The words barely made it past your lips, as though you hated speaking them.

Jace blinked, stunned by the shift in the atmosphere. He stared at you as though trying to read your mind, to figure out what went wrong. His hands, still lingering on your skin, now felt out of place, unsure. “I would never hurt you,” he said.

You shook your head again. What were you doing? Every part of you was still aching for him.

This was Jace. The prince. The heir to the Iron Throne. He wasn't just any man. And you... you had fantasised about being this close with him more times than you could count. But your fantasies had been soft, warm, threaded with tenderness. In your dreams, it had been about love. Not this strange combination of anger, jealousy, and raw need.

You swallowed hard, feeling the burn of your words before they left your mouth. “I want to be with you, Jace. I do.” Your voice wavered, your gaze dropping from his intense stare to the cold stone floor beneath your boots. “But you think of me as a servant. A bastard. Someone beneath you.”

He said nothing. The cold, unforgiving stones of the training room took over the warmth of his embrace, the flicker of torchlight casting shadows over Jace’s face masked his reaction.

You rushed to fill it, the words spilling out of you. “As is your right. You’re a prince. But… when I imagined my first time, I wanted it to be with someone who respected me. Maybe not in stature, but in spirit. I hoped it would be with someone who saw me as an equal, not someone who only realises they want me when they feel jealous.” Your gaze flickered back up to him, eyes filled with both hurt and resolve. “Not like this. Not in a training room, of all places.”

Jace’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your words, his jaw clenched tight. For a long moment, he said nothing, only staring at you with an intensity that made your heart twist in your chest. “I understand,” he finally said, his voice quiet.

You exhaled, relieved, though a part of you mourned the lost connection. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance that’s been handed to me,” you murmured. “Claiming a dragon, training as a rider… I won’t jeopardise it. Tonight was tense for both of us. We need time to come down from this emotional high.” You hesitated, then forced yourself to meet his gaze again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my prince. As mentor and student.”

He nodded, dismissing you. Possessiveness and jealousy clashing with his affection, he restrained himself from saying anything, but the tension remained.

You offered a quick bow and turned to the direction of your chamber.

For a long moment, Jace didn’t move. His eyes followed you as you walked away, torn between letting you go and pulling you back into his arms.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list:

@legolastheleafyelf @alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @rav9n-16 @dracaryxzs @jacaeryvardaddy @alessiaparigim @zizouu23 @staarflowerr @deltamoon666 @burningwitchobject @alexa554

[topazy]

Hunted

Pairing: Liam Dunbar x reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 6.04

You were thankful Scott’s mom hadn’t returned from work yet; you didn’t want to be there when Melissa McCall discovered the large black scorch marks on her ceiling or when Liam went to a party in her house. You were collecting red cups and other trash that was scattered across the living room and tossing them into a black bag.

Realizing you’re the only one cleaning, you drop the bag and say, “I’m gonna need some help if we want this done before Scott’s mom gets home.”

Hearing multiple heartbeats racing in the next room, you go through and see Scott, Liam, Mason, and Corey staring up at the ceiling. You walk towards them and gulp down, “That’s where the ghost rider came in. It looks like it was burned.”

“Usually you'd find charred spots like that on the ground after a violent thunderstorm.”

Scott’s eyes widen as he processes Mason’s words: “That's how the Ghost Riders got in. He rode the lightning.”

Liam tenses, “If they can use lightning to pass the mountain ash...”

“We can’t hide from them. Nowhere is safe.”

“What about the others?” Corey asks. “It's my fault they're marked.”

“Hey, it’s not. We are all still learning about the ghost riders.”

“We'll find a way to protect them. All of them.”

Although Scott was determined to save everyone, you still doubted it could be done. Breaking the gloomy atmosphere, you pull two black bags out of your pockets and shove them at Mason and Liam. “Come on, we better clean this place before Melissa kills us.”

Scott gives you an appreciated nod.

—

Frustrated, you shove your phone into your bag before going to join Liam and Mason in the library. You hadn’t heard back from your dad in a couple of days and were starting to become worried.

The first thing you notice sitting across from Liam is the frown on his face as he stares at the book in front of him. You felt bad for Liam; he still blames himself for what happened at Scott’s party. “The k-index quantifies the horizontal component of the earth's magnetic field.” He bites on the end of his pen, looking lost in a deep thought, before asking, “What’s a k-index?”

“It’s a scale that meteorologists use to measure thunderstorm activity,” Mason explains. “So, a k-index value less than twenty meters means no activity, and above thirty-five is severe.”

“How bad is it?”

"Well, your average storm has about ten thousand lightning strikes. In the past three months, the average storm in beacon hills has been five thousand.”

“What’s it reading now?”

Mason types onto his laptop and brings up what he’s looking for: “It’s at fourteen. We’re clear.”

“If a spike in the K index means more lightning, we could know if they're coming.” Liam says, sounding unsure.

“That’s good. As long as it stays low, we’re good.”

Just as the words leave your mouth, Mason’s computer starts beeping. A few students turn and glare in your direction as he struggles to turn it off. You can’t see the screen, but sensing how anxious they are both becoming, you know it’s something bad.

“What’s wrong?”

Mason gulps down, “Oh, this is really bad.”

Under the table, Liam links his fingers with yours, attempting to comfort the both of you the best he can.

—

You pace back and forth up the hallways of Beacon Hills High School. You keep glancing back over your shoulder, waiting to see someone standing there. You didn’t know how to describe it, but you just had a feeling that you shouldn’t be there alone. Someone else was supposed to be with you, helping you.

Stiles.

That could maybe be the answer if you knew who Stiles was.

Liam and Hayden had managed to get everyone who was at the party, aside from three lacrosse players, into the underground tunnels. Your uncle Chris and Malia were staying with them underground to keep them safe.

Since the majority of the lacrosse team and coach were in the boys locker room, you couldn’t go in to help try and persuade the players to leave. Hearing familiar footsteps, you turn and see nobody, yet you have the feeling someone is standing right in front of you.

“Stiles,” you whisper. “Stiles, can you hear me?”

“Lu, who are you talking to?”

“No one,” you mumble. Turning back around, you met a confused-looking Mason’s eye. “Where’s Scott and Liam?

“They are playing the game.”

—

You sit beside Mason on the bleachers, cringing as coach becomes more and more angry. The Bulldogs had scored three times, and your school's team hadn’t had one goal all game. You weren’t happy about Liam being out on the lacrosse field, but they reasoned it was the only way to keep the other players safe.

“What are you doing out there?! i'm gonna kill the three of you!”

“Look how red coach’s face is,” you whisper. “He looks like he’s gonna blow.”

“This is the worst ga—“ Mason doesn’t finish his sentence when he notices Scott and Liam looking at him from across the field. “But of course we have bigger things to worry about.”

Over the cheers and boos of the crowd, you hear someone saying your name; they were calling for you. Suddenly sensing who it was, you stand up, and Mason takes your hand to gain your attention. “What is it? What do you hear?”

“My dad's here; he’s with Parrish. He needs to talk to me.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Find Hayden first, and then I’ll meet you inside. Liam and Scott will call if anything is wrong.”

You sprint from the bleachers towards the high school just as the light rain becomes heavy, soaking your clothes almost immediately. You burst through the doors. “Dad, dad?”

Derek appears behind you and pulls you into him. “We need to go.”

“What?”

“Kate’s coming. We need to go now.”

“But I—“

“The ghost riders are afraid of hellhounds, which is why I called Parrish.” Placing his hand on your back, Derek starts moving you towards the exit. “I’m parked outside. Soon as Liam is here, then we are leaving.”

“Liam is coming?”

He pushes the main doors open and says, “Liam will stay with you while I come back and help Scott and Chris with the ghost riders.”

On the opposite end of the hallway, you hear Hayden and Mason’s voices; they sounded panicked. You spin back around, “Somethings wrong!”

A brunette woman overtakes your friends while running in the hallway but is shot by one of the ghost riders bullets and disappears. Turning into his hellhound form, Parrish is shot by one of the ghost riders. The flames surrounding his body turn green, and he falls back, but is only momentarily stunned before getting back up.

The ghost rider turns its body to face in your direction and aims its gun at you. Growling, Derek shoves you forward just as the bullet skips past where you stood seconds before.

Parrish grabs the ghost rider from behind, giving Hayden and Mason a chance to run by it without being attacked.

You go to run outside but are pulled back. “There’s more out there, fuck.” Being faster than you, Derek takes hold of your hand and keeps you beside him. “Go to the nearest classroom and lock yourselves in.”

Mason’s eyes were widened with feet and adrenaline; he looked as if he were going to throw up. “The science lab is just down the next hall!”

The four of you make it to the classroom. Mason slips and falls. Derek, let’s go of your hand to help him up. Just as you’re about to step inside, a black cord tightens around your ankle. You sink your claws into the side of the door to fight against the ghost rider trying to pull you backwards.

You let out a piercing scream, “Dad!”

The ghost rider pulls on the whip, dragging you along the floor. Expecting to be shot, you squeeze your eyes shut, but they quickly open when the pressure around your ankle disappears. Derek had cut the cord with his claws before lunging on top of the ghost rider.

“Dad!”

Hayden yanks you backwards into the classroom. There’s a bright flash of lightening, then the ghost rider disappears.

[scuderiasundays]

the smoothest operation

summary: roller coasters, third wheeling, and a diamond ring + a little insta au at the end 💍 part two to you and me together so i brought back a few characters!

words: 1,414

a/n: on a writing kick! this one's for @vamossainz55, who i adore 🫶🏼 feedback is much appreciated as always. hugs and kisses!

September was a special month for the two of you, as it marked the arrival of three events: his birthday, yours, and your anniversary. Carlos had asked you to be his girlfriend during a celebratory soirée, thrown by his closest friends. The speakers were blaring Bad Bunny’'s "Enséñame a Bailar" so loud that you could barely hear him when he nervously asked you the big question. Despite the noise, your answer was an immediate and resounding yes. The usually reserved Spaniard couldn't contain his joy and spent the rest of the evening twirling you around to DJ Lando’s handpicked tunes.

You had never been one for extravagant birthday celebrations, the type to turn bright red whenever people sang “Happy Birthday” to you. You found more joy in giving gifts, searching high and low for the most thoughtful presents. Carlos had been on the receiving end of your love for three summers now and wanted nothing more than to give it all back tenfold.

Carlos was thrilled when the race calendar for 2023 was unveiled, revealing that the two of you would be celebrating in Tokyo. He knew just how much you adored the vibrant city as you’d joined him at Suzuka last fall, where you were amazed by the politeness and dedication of the Japanese fans. Carlos’ fame had skyrocketed after “Drive to Survive” aired and walking around a city without someone recognizing him had become a rarity. You took great pleasure in getting to witness how he genuinely engaged with his fans, attentively listening to every word. Despite this, you were only human and there were times when you longed to have your boyfriend all to yourself. Tokyo, one of the few cities where Carlos wasn't as widely known, held a special allure, allowing you both to feel a sense of normalcy.

Carlos wasn't really into roller coasters, but you? You were absolutely obsessed with them. If the Ferrari crew mentioned an amusement park outing, you'd be the first to sign up, whether Carlos joined or not. Last season at Ferrari World in Abu Dhabi, you had him in stitches as you dragged him from one ride to another, giggling like a little kid. This year, Carlos had decided to take you to Tokyo DisneySea as he’d heard nothing but rave reviews.

As you hopped into the Purosangue, you were taken aback to find Lando sitting in the backseat. "You're serious? Lando's coming?" you exclaimed, a mix of surprise and amusement in your voice. Lando chuckled and replied, "Well, this could be the best day of your life, Y/N. It's all about perspective," snapping a photo of you. While you and Lando were the same age and had a sibling-like bond, the whole third wheel situation was starting to get old. Carlos, however, defended his decision, saying, "I couldn't just leave him at the hotel. He promised to take photos of us, so it's a win-win situation, no?"

Lando's promise to be a fly on the wall quickly faded away the moment the three of you stepped foot in DisneySea. He had a well-researched list of foods he wanted to try, and his determination to conquer them all was clear. Carlos, being a self-proclaimed food connoisseur himself, eagerly agreed, as you embarked on a gourmet tour.

"We're here to actually go on rides, right?" you questioned, observing the two grown men as they devoured their Little Green Men mochi. "I think I'll take advantage of the 'Single Rider' line while you two feast. Just how I feel today—single," you said with a smirk, before heading towards Raging Spirits.

As your patience began to wear thin, Carlos couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of anticipation. Everything was falling into place; thanks to the help he had sought from Lando months ago. They had even created a joint Google doc titled "El Plan," meticulously outlining each step. Carlos knew you wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of a roller coaster, and he intended to use that time to set everything in motion. Behind the scenes, the incognito cameraman (also known as @lando.jpg) and friends + family were ready and waiting. And, of course, there was the most crucial piece: the ring.

Carlos had purchased the engagement ring in secret, right after his victory in Silverstone last year. After missing Wimbledon, he had taken you to Tiffany's and let you choose an item of your liking. After much browsing, you settled on a gold pendant adorned with a delicate C. It was a symbol that served as a tactile reminder of the one you loved most, keeping him close to your heart no matter the distance.

On the way back to the hotel, you passed by Harry Winston, and there it was—the oval-shaped engagement ring of your dreams. You joked about how it could probably buy a few Ferraris, but Carlos couldn’t help but notice the undeniable sparkle in your eyes. He discreetly took note of your ring size by borrowing one of your rings from the bedside table while you were asleep. When he was away at a race, he seized the opportunity to purchase the ring, vowing to protect it until the perfect moment arrived.

After riding the exhilarating 360-degree looping roller coaster, you felt a surge of energy and pure adrenaline. As you made your way towards the Venetian gondolas, clutching your map in hand, you caught a glimpse of a couple wearing Mickey ears who looked just like Taylor and his girlfriend Morgan. The thought briefly crossed your mind, but you dismissed it, thinking it couldn’t possibly be them. DisneySea had done an incredible job recreating the charm of Venice, evoking memories of you and Carlos’ weekend getaway to the city last summer.

You waved at Carlos excitedly, his figure standing out among the rest. "Where's Lando?" you asked, scanning the crowd for the British racing driver. “I sent him on a mission to get us some pineapple smoothies," Carlos blurted out.

“You look pale and fidgety. What's going on?" you asked, noticing the unease in Carlos's demeanor. Normally, your ability to pick up on his emotions was something he cherished, but at this moment, he wished you were less perceptive. Carlos could feel his body trembling as he got down on one knee.

 “Mi vida, I love you more than anything in this world. You’re the person I want to wake up with and go to bed beside for the rest of my life.” Carlos began, his voice filled with genuine affection. "Y/N, will you marry me?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and a surge of overwhelming joy filled your entire being. Jumping up and down with excitement, you exclaimed, "Yes!" Your jubilant shrieks filled the air as Carlos carefully slid the breathtakingly beautiful ring onto your finger. 

Through your peripheral vision, you could see a crowd gathering around. It took a moment for it to sink in, but as you looked closer, you recognized the faces of Taylor, Lex, Caco, Rupert, Ana, and Lando with his trusty Leica camera. It all clicked into place – Lando had been in on the surprise from the beginning and had captured the entire proposal.

Overwhelmed with emotions, you grabbed Carlos' face and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, expressing your love and gratitude in that tender moment. Carlos beamed with pride, knowing that everything had gone according to plan. With a playful wink, he acknowledged Lando's involvement; “The smoothest operation of my life thanks to you, cabrón.” You playfully smacked Carlos, exploding in laughter.

Lando approached with his camera, a wide grin on his face. "I got it all, every precious moment," he said, showing you a glimpse of the photos on the camera's display. As you hugged him tightly, you felt a deep sense of comfort and security. You knew in that moment that you could count on Lando for life, that he would always be there for you through thick and thin.

As the day drew to a close, you and Carlos found yourselves sitting by the waterfront, hand in hand, reflecting on the whirlwind romance that had led you to this very moment. With the ring sparkling on your finger, you felt an immense sense of gratitude for the love you and Carlos shared. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and whispered, “I can't wait to spend forever with you, Mrs. Sainz.”

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liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, and 57,575 others

yourusername: came to tokyo as his girlfriend, leaving as his fiancée! still in awe of the fact that the boys managed to keep "el plan" from me for so long

carlossainz55: mi amor, mi vida. thanks for participating in the carlando food tour 🫶🏼

taylorfritz: you set the bar for proposals high, @carlossainz55 👏🏼 doubles with me and morgan soon?

alexafritz: the love you two have for each other is infectious and that ring is to die for 🤍 karaoke + shots on me tonight!

pierregasly: karaoke? @yukitsunoda0511 and i are in

fan1: i respect her for popping on here to announce their engagement but keeping the proposal private!

yourusername: you're the sweetest! as mother taylor once said, romance is not dead if you keep it just yours 💌

lando.jpg: engagement photographer available for hire (disclaimer: only available on non-race weekends)

yourusername: thanks for capturing our proposal and taking our engagement photos! 10/10 would recommend 🥹

fan2: the fact that lando was THE designated photographer! excuse me while i ugly cry

update: part three here ➡️

[hamsterclaw]

Dragonfire

Lord Namjoon commands the dragon riders of Mount Halji, he's authoritative and respected, a fearless warrior, celebrated for his prowess on the battlefield. So why aren't you afraid of him, damnit?

Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader

Genre: Fantasy AU, smut, a spin-off from the Royal Pain AU

Rating: 18+

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: Sex, Namjoon mounting everything in sight

Namjoon’s watching from across the room as she greets guests at the banquet. She’s striking, not only because she’s beautiful, with her dark hair and lovely eyes, but also because of her bearing. There’s pride in the way she holds up her head.

When it’s his turn to greet her, he bows, low, and kisses the hand she offers to him.

‘Good evening, your highness,’ he says. 

He can feel her eyes on him, his black armour, the mark on his hand signifying his status as a dragon rider.

‘Lord Namjoon,’ she murmurs. The way her tongue flicks over her full bottom lip, the spark in her eyes, makes his blood warm.

Then she’s letting go of his hand, stepping away gracefully to greet the next person, and Namjoon’s left with the faintest scent of lavender, tantalising and sweet.

When she reaches the end of the line, she looks straight at him, like she’d known he’d be watching.

She inclines her head just slightly, but it’s enough.

Blood hot, lust thrumming through his veins, Namjoon follows her out of the banquet hall.

***

Namjoon’s tired from his night with the beautiful and lusty princess of Ijil, and it takes him longer than it should to realise that his armour is missing.

Even worse, his sword is gone.

He storms out of his chambers, looking for Jimin and Taehyung. He’s heading for the stables when he sees you.

His first impression is of softness, which is ironic given you’re staggering under the weight of his armour. His sword swings from your hip, he doesn’t even know how you managed to attach it you.

‘Stop,’ he commands.

You glance around, looking for where his voice came from. 

Namjoon doesn’t know how you could possibly miss him. He’s always been tall, and of recent years, his build has filled out, a byproduct of wrangling Styx, his bonded dragon.

He still feels a thrill of pride when he thinks about her. Styx, with her midnight black scales, her wingspan wider than any others in her clan. She’s a magnificent beast, fiercely loyal, with the instincts of the finest warrior in battle. 

He snaps out of his reverie when he realises you’re limping away, dragging his armour with you.

‘Stop!’ he commands again. 

He catches up to you easily. ‘Where are you taking my armour and my sword?’ he demands.

‘Didn’t Jimin tell you? I’m your new squire,’ you tell him, like it’s a done deal.

Namjoon’s flabbergasted.

‘I’m a dragon rider, not one of those fanciful royal knights,’ he scowls. ‘I have no need for a squire.’

‘The dullness of your armour tells a different story,’ you have the audacity to say.

‘It’s black!’ protests Namjoon, not sure why he’s arguing with you but unable to stop himself.

‘You’re a disgrace to Styx,’ you mutter.

Namjoon realises he’s walked with you all the way to the stables.

Cursing, he lifts his armour off you, and you sigh, relieved.

‘It’s very heavy,’ you remark. ‘No wonder you’re so muscular.’

Namjoon stares at his sword, hung carelessly around your shoulder.

‘How are you supposed to be my squire if you can’t lift my armour and sword?’ he mutters, more to himself.

You’re already gesturing to a small area you have set up with a scrubbing brush and a bucket, a polishing cloth and a tin of oil.

‘Leave it with me,’ you say airily.

You frown at his sword. ‘Sweet mother of Jaesu, how old is this blood? It’s caked on.’

Namjoon scowls. ‘I’ll be back in an hour to collect it for a sparring session.’

You wave an arm at him, muttering something that sounds awfully like ‘Lord Jimin’s armour is pristine.’

Namjoon decides to pretend he hasn’t heard you.

***

When Namjoon returns, Taehyung’s leaning against the wall, chatting to you.

‘Did you know about our new squire?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I’m right here,’ you announce, bright, chirpy.

Namjoon ignores you.

‘She’s very good at mending clothes as well,’ Taehyung replies, smiling at you.

Namjoon’s forced to turn to you when you push his armour into his arms.

‘I only do mending for selected people,’ you say, haughty, like he’d shown any inclination to ask.

He’s about to snap a retort when the Princess of Ijil arrives.

Namjoon bows deeply.

You drop into a surprisingly graceful curtsy.

She eyes you.

Namjoon’s already stepping in front of you when you say, ‘I’m the squire to the dragon riders of Mount Halji, your highness.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she says, dismissive.

She turns back to Namjoon.

‘Do you have time for a quick catch up in my chambers before you set off back home?’ 

��Of course,’ Namjoon replies, admiring the way her skin glows in the late morning sun.

She flicks her gaze over his shoulders, gaze meaningful.

‘I can help you mend that rip in the seam of your tunic,’ you say, helpfully, calling everyone’s attention to it. 

Namjoon narrows his eyes at you, then turns back to the princess.

She’s already walking away.

***

‘Oof,’ you remark, holding up Namjoon’s tunic. ‘What’s this stain?’

Namjoon’s gaze flies to you.

‘Just kidding,’ you say, chuckling gleefully. 

‘Are you ever quiet?’ Namjoon asks, exasperated. ‘Being a squire is a serious task.’

‘She’s a very good squire,’ Jimin says, emerging from the stables with their horses in tow.

‘Thanks, my lord,’ you say cheerfully.

‘You don’t call me my lord,’ Namjoon observes, tetchy.

‘I’ll call you it, if you can tell me my name,’ you say, smiling at him.

Namjoon realises he doesn’t know your name.

‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ he complains.

‘You didn’t ask,’ you shoot back, merrily.

‘Is everything a joke to you?’ snaps Namjoon.

‘Ignore our grumpy commander,’ Jimin says, giving Namjoon a quelling look. ‘He gets cranky when he’s tired.’

Jimin hands you the reins to your horse. ‘Need anything before we set off?’ he asks, offering you his knee to help you mount.

You shake your head, seating yourself. ‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon mounts his steed and sets off, nudging his stallion into a brisk canter.

He doesn’t look back to check on you. 

***

The first hint of trouble is a rustling in the trees overhead.

Then, firebolts rain down.

Namjoon’s about to urge his steed into a gallop when your horse, spooked and less battle-worn than all the others, rears up.

You land in an ungraceful heap on the forest floor and immediately get up, dazed.

A firebolt grazes your foot, and you lift an arm up over your head in an attempt to protect yourself.

Taehyung and Jimin are up ahead, turning back to help, but Namjoon’s the closest to you. 

‘Get your horses away!’ shouts Namjoon. ‘It’s fire demons!’

He turns his steed, Thunder, and speeds towards you.

You watch him approach with wide eyes.

Namjoon reaches down and plucks you off the ground.

You land, hard, on the front of his saddle, face planted in the breastplate of his armour. 

‘Hold on,’ grunts Namjoon. He leads Thunder towards a clearing he noticed earlier, to another route that will take you both to the edge of the forest, away from the fire demons.

For once, you appear to have no snappy remark at the ready. 

You wind your arms around his waist, holding on tight, and Namjoon’s stomach flips unexpectedly when you press your face into his chest.

He leans forward on Thunder, urging him on, you soft and pliant between his thighs, and gets you both the hell out of there.

***

It’s late afternoon, the sun filtering through the trees, and you’ve yet to catch up to Taehyung and Jimin.

Namjoon stops by a brook to allow Thunder to drink and dismounts.

He lifts his arms to help you down.

You place your hands on his shoulders trustingly, and Namjoon’s stomach does another curious flip.

He wonders if he drank too much arabica before leaving Ijil.

You stay for a moment like that, pressed against him, arms up, face tilted to his.

‘Thanks for saving me,’ you say. 

‘You’re one of mine,’ Namjoon says. He doesn’t think he’s saying anything but the truth, but you look pleased about it just the same.

He looks around. ‘It’ll be dark soon. We should set up camp around here.’

***

Namjoon lets out a sigh.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, barely concealed impatience in his voice.

‘It’s cold,’ you complain, even though he can barely see you under the mound of blankets you’ve stolen, including his own.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. ‘Live with it,’ he says, unsympathetic.

‘They say body heat is good,’ you suggest.

Namjoon scoffs. ‘Is that an attempt to get into bed with me?’

You’re quiet, he almost thinks you’ve fallen asleep when you say, ‘we’re not technically in beds.’

Namjoon thinks it’s dark enough that he doesn’t have to hide his smile. 

‘Come here then,’ he says, gruffly.

‘No thanks,’ you say rudely.

Namjoon reaches over and yanks you into his arms, blankets and all.

‘Just shut up and sleep,’ he advises, when you open your mouth.

Your mouth closes and you nod.

You’re asleep in seconds. 

***

When he wakes, too hot, you’re already up. For some reason you’ve wrapped him in blankets, even though he runs hot all the time, a byproduct of his bond with Styx.

Namjoon fights his way out of the blankets and rises, stretching and yawning, rolling the stiffness out of his muscles.

Footsteps make him straighten up and turn around.

You’re bright and freshfaced, holding out a mug to him. 

‘Made you arabica,’ you chirrup.

‘Thanks,’ he grunts, accepting.

Your eyes fall to his bare forearm. 

‘You’re burned!’ you say, sounding genuinely worried.

‘It’s nothing,’ Namjoon says, amused by your concern over the tiny burn. You should see the scar on his side from the last dragon battle.

You’re rustling through the leather bag you carry near your hip.

‘Let me put some salve on it,’ you say.

Namjoon sits and drinks his arabica whilst you fuss over his arm.

‘You’re aware I’m a dragon rider,’ he can’t resist teasing you, but he lets you rub salve into his arm anyway.

He can’t deny it feels soothing. 

He realises you’re looking at the dragon rider mark on his hand.

‘Pretty,’ you say. Your thumb rubs over it, a quick smooth swipe, and then your hands leave his skin.

Namjoon doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him pretty before.

Big, yes. Tall, certainly. Ruthless. 

Not pretty.

To hide his discomfiture, he stands. ‘We should get going,’ he says, brisk.

You’re already heading to Thunder. 

You stop in front of his enormous steed and look to him for a leg up, as though you’re expecting him to kneel before you like Jimin did.

Namjoon mounts Thunder, then holds out his arms for you.

You reach up, trusting like you were yesterday, and Namjoon’s stomach flips again. 

It’s definitely the arabica, he tells himself as Thunder falls into an easy canter.

***

Namjoon says, grumpily, ‘stop wriggling.’

‘It’s just, the hilt of your sword keeps poking me,’ you complain, wriggling more, another smooth movement that makes him grit his teeth.

You look back at him just in time to catch him clenching his jaw.

‘It’s not my sword,’ Namjoon growls.

Your hand on his thigh makes his muscles jump.

‘Something in your breeches —-‘ you trail off abruptly.

‘It’s just the friction,’ Namjoon says, as your whole body stiffens between his legs, against his chest.

You don’t say a word.

‘You’re my squire. I don’t think of you lustfully,’ Namjoon continues.

You’re still silent, ramrod straight against him.

‘I prefer women who are —-‘

‘Beautiful and curvaceous,’ you fill in for him, describing the princess of Ijil.

‘Less annoying,’ finishes Namjoon.

You suggest, ‘I can ride behind you, if my ass is too tempting.’

Namjoon snorts a laugh. ‘And press those pretty breasts into my back?’

You look down at your chest thoughtfully.

Then you quip, barely stifling your laughter, ‘want me to polish your sword, my lord?’

‘Silence, wench,’ growls Namjoon.

Your laughter is equal parts infuriating and infectious.

***

You both catch up to Taehyung and Jimin at the gates guarding the dragon rider enclave on Mount Halji.

Namjoon takes a moment to savour the familiarity of it. He was born to be a dragon rider, the latest progeny of a long line of Eosulian warriors. 

He was fourteen when he bonded with Styx, a lanky, graceless teenager with no idea what the hell he was doing. There was more than one surprised reaction at the unlikely combination of the studious teenaged Namjoon and the most fearsome dragon in the clan.

It’s been a while since anyone’s looked at him and Styx with any incredulity.

These days, Namjoon leans into his powerful build, his broad shoulders and chest, the lean muscles of his thighs. 

Underneath he’s never stopped studying, learning, trying to better himself.

You nudge his chest with your shoulder, and he realises you’re talking.

He’s quite pleased with how he’s managed to tune you out.

You’re much more easy to tolerate when you’re on mute.

Namjoon allows himself a moment to admire your piquant little face.

He’s almost smiling when your voice manages to break through. 

‘Plain?’ you ask.

Namjoon frowns, and obligingly, you repeat yourself. ‘Heading to the plain?’

He nods. He’d automatically guided Thunder in the direction of the plain, where he knows Styx will be waiting for him.

Namjoon stops and dismounts, instinctively reaching up to help you down. 

It’s funny how he’s got used to doing that so quickly.

He faces North, and within moments, there’s a change in the air.

Styx lands noiselessly before him, sleek and so beautiful his skin thrums at her proximity.

Namjoon bows, and her massive head dips low to the ground in response. In two steps he’s mounted her, feeling at home in the way he never did in the vast Royal Palace of Ijil.

Something makes him look towards you.

You’re watching him and Styx, unmoving, hands clasped.

Namjoon doesn’t realise what he’s going to say until the words leave his mouth. He’s never invited anyone else to ride with him on one of these journeys before.

‘We’re reacquainting for the bond,’ he tells you. ‘You can come, if you want.’

He can sense Styx’s assent, but she lowers her head again, as if to show you, too.

You approach tentatively. 

Namjoon holds out his arms to pick you up, and you say, ‘wait. Would you prefer tits or ass?’

Namjoon, to his surprise, can sense Styx’s mirth.

‘Just get on, and be quiet,’ he grumbles. He lifts you in front of him, locks his thighs around yours and pulls you tight against his chest, and then you’re off, gliding through the mountains of South Eosul.

***

Namjoon looks up as you enter the courtyard where he and the other dragon riders are combat training.

You march past everyone and head straight for him.

‘I need your muscles,’ you announce, without context.

Namjoon mops sweat off his brow and waits.

‘I’ll help you,’ Taehyung volunteers. 

Namjoon stops him with a look. 

‘What do you need help with, squire? And why is it so important that you’re interrupting our training?’ 

You frown. ‘The merchant down by the market is a swindler and a scoundrel,’ you tell him.

‘A swindler, and a scoundrel,’ Namjoon teases, amused by your vehemence.

You stare at him. He can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears, the way you’re vibrating with rage.

‘Fine!’ you burst out. You stomp away. ‘I will take care of him myself.’

You’re walking so fast you’re most of the way to the market before Namjoon catches up with you, even with his longer stride.

‘I’m sorry I teased you,’ he tells you.

‘I’m sorry I interrupted combat practice,’ you reply immediately.

You sigh. ‘I needed cloth for your jackets for the Harvest banquet next month. This merchant’s got the best supplies, but all the cloth he’s delivered is less than what we bargained for. Less than what I paid for.’

You’re getting worked up again, indignant. ‘How dare he try to swindle us?!’

Namjoon falls into step beside you. ‘It could be a genuine mistake,’ he says, trying to be reasonable.

You snort in disbelief.

Namjoon accompanies you to the stall, a little worried about how you’re going to approach this.

The merchant bows as you both approach. 

‘Can I interest you in the new silk taffeta I’ve imported from Seldinia?’

‘No, but you can interest me in the remainder of the order I put in last week, of which only half has been delivered,’ you say, firmly.

The merchant eyes you narrowly. ‘Which order is that? I’m afraid I’ve completed all the orders from last week.’

You’re apoplectic. ‘Surely you have a ledger!’

You step around the table displaying his wares as he sighs and opens a worn ledger.

‘There!’ you say triumphantly, pointing to an entry that takes up half a page.

The merchant elbows you away from the ledger, making you step back. 

Namjoon’s not sure how it happens, all he knows is one second he’s watching you and the next he’s got his forearm to the merchant’s neck, holding him up against the pillar.

The merchant’s looking at his dragon rider mark, spilling apologies.

Namjoon takes a moment, letting the rage recede. 

You’re unharmed, you hadn’t even flinched when the merchant pushed you.

So why is he so goddamn incensed that that asshole had the audacity to touch you?

You can hold your own.

So why does Namjoon want to grind this man to a pulp?

He grunts, lets the man down, and he scuttles to do your bidding.

You wait until you’re both walking away, cloth tucked in a basket over your arm, before you turn to him.

‘What?’ snaps Namjoon.

You put your hand on his arm. ‘Thanks for ——‘

You pause, searching for the right phrase. 

Namjoon lifts the basket off your arm.

‘Thanks for helping,’ you say carefully.

You seem to not know what to do with your arms now that he’s taken the basket, so you clasp your hands demurely in front of your chest. 

‘No problem,’ Namjoon replies. 

You keep sneaking glances at him as you walk, until Namjoon sighs. 

‘What?’ 

‘You look quite dashing when you’re angry,’ you tell him.

‘Is that why you’re always vexing me?’

You nod. ‘That jaw clench you do.’

Namjoon glowers at you. 

‘You’re doing it right now!’ you point out, delighted, skipping alongside him.

Namjoon says, ‘Quiet, or I’ll make you carry this,’ nodding to your basket.

‘Pfft,’ you scoff. ‘It’s nothing.’

You give him a sideways look. ‘Especially after I’ve got used to carrying your sword .’

You waggle your eyebrows meaningfully and nudge him between the ribs, like he wouldn’t get the innuendo otherwise.

Namjoon turns away so you can’t see him biting back his smile.

***

Namjoon answers the knock at his chamber door with a brisk, ‘come in.’

You take two steps into his chamber, eyes fixed on his chest. 

‘My lord,’ you say, bowing. ‘You look very well indeed. That material suits you.’

Namjoon finds he’s distracted by your own appearance.

Has your body always been this lovely shape? And surely you’ve done something to your hair, too. 

‘My eyes are here, my lord,’ you say, but you sound more amused than vexed.

‘You look beautiful,’ he tells you.

‘Thank you. Did you call me in here to seduce me with your sweet words and broad chest?’ 

Namjoon rolls his eyes.

‘I have something for you.’

You look suspiciously at the black bangle in his outstretched palm.

Namjoon says, ‘hold out your wrist.’

You hold out your hand, palm up, and Namjoon fastens the slim black band around your wrist, securing it with a tiny key.

You lift your arm, admiring the way the onyx gleams in the light as Namjoon threads the key along the silver chain he always wears around his neck.

When you speak, there’s a softness in your voice Namjoon’s only heard a handful of times.

‘What’s this for, my lord?’

‘The merchant at the marketplace,’ says Namjoon. ‘He changed his tune when he realised I was a dragon rider.’

He shrugs. ‘You don’t have a dragon rider mark, but I want people who deal with you to know that you have our protection.’

You’re standing so close to him he can feel the warmth of you, smell the fresh scent of your hair.

You look up at him, and he braces for whatever smart retort you’ve thought of.

Instead, you say, very sweetly, ‘thank you, my lord, that’s very thoughtful of you.’

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already speaking again.

‘Thank you for my shackle.’

Namjoon stares at you, speechless.

‘Shackle?’ he splutters, incredulous.

‘It goes round my wrist, it fastens with a key that you wear around your neck. It’s a shackle,’ you say, nodding.

Namjoon glares at you.

‘Aaaaa there’s that sexy jaw tick,’ you say, beaming at him.

Namjoon sets his jaw and ushers you out of his chamber.

‘Ooh, you look like you’re about to turn me over your lap and paddle my bottom,’ you say, chuckling merrily.

‘Maybe I will one day,’ Namjoon threatens.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ you say, looking positively thrilled at the prospect.

Namjoon slams his door in your really rather pretty face.

****

Namjoon’s near the end of his speech to open the Harvest Banquet when the doors to the Great Hall open.

‘The Princess of Ijil,’ announces the herald.

Namjoon remains standing as she crosses the room, beautiful and resplendent in a gold gown that matches the brocade embroidery of his jacket.

She raises a hand, and Namjoon automatically leans down to kiss it.

She smiles at him, skin burnished gold in the candlelight, eyes full of promise, and Namjoon feels that familiar heat pool low in his groin.

She takes the seat next to his like she belongs there, and on any other day, Namjoon would be proud and honoured to have her by his side.

Today, though, his attention is divided by you, sitting in between Jimin and another dragon rider, Mingyu.

You’re chatting to them merrily, more than a little tipsy, judging by your bright eyes and the way you’re letting Mingyu lean against you.

Namjoon doesn’t realise he’s glowering at you until the Princess says, coyly, ‘I’ve come all this way, and you haven’t so much as complimented my gown, Lord Namjoon.’

He turns reluctantly from you. ‘How remiss of me,’ he says, politely. ‘You are very beautiful, as always, your highness, and we are privileged to have you in our midst.’

A burst of laughter and a round of applause erupts from your end of the table as Jimin leaps up, gracefully, to catch a tray of mead on the verge of tipping over.

Namjoon watches as Jimin deposits the tray safely on the banquet table and twirls you around triumphantly.

Jimin is his second in command, and has saved Namjoon’s ass more times than he can count. He’s a gifted fighter, instinctive and merciless when he has to be. 

It’s also vaguely annoying that he has the face of an angel and a physique sculpted by the gods. 

Namjoon tears his eyes away from you in Jimin’s arms.

He turns back to the princess.

***

Namjoon’s heading to his chamber after dinner, wondering where you are and why he cares. 

If you’re with Jimin, you’re in safe hands. 

Jimin likes you more than he does.

Namjoon stops in front of the looking-glass by his bed, staring at his reflection. 

Does Jimin like you more than he does?

He slips his jacket off, starts unbuttoning the white silk shirt underneath. 

There’s a knock on his door. 

Namjoon cracks it open, an odd burst of warmth blooming in his chest when he realises it’s you. 

You hiccup and reach out, curling your fingers into the open placket of his shirt.

The tips of your fingers are cold, and Namjoon realises just how much he wants to warm you up.

He’s reaching for your arm to pull you into his chamber when you both hear approaching footsteps, an entourage.

The Princess of Ijil.

Namjoon’s distracted for an instant, and when he looks back at you, you’re giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

His hand closes around nothing.

The Princess of Ijil reaches his chamber door.

And you?

You’re gone.

***

Namjoon has to admit, you’re quick.

By the time he’s made his excuses to the princess and tried to follow you, there’s not a trace of where you might have gone.

It’s only when he passes the stables and hears Thunder whickering and stamping his feet that he finds you, sitting on a groomsman’s stool in a corner of Thunder’s stall.

You give Thunder an accusing look that makes Namjoon bite back his smile.

Namjoon looks at you, at the petulant way your lower lip is pushed out, the bottle of potent mead in your hand, and says, gently, ‘want to go for a ride?’

Before you can come up with whatever terrible innuendo he knows you’re capable of, he’s saddled and mounted Thunder, and is holding out his arms for you.

You give him a curious look but it doesn’t stop you from letting him lift you up into the saddle in front of him.

You settle back into his arms, between his thighs, against his chest, like you belong there. 

Namjoon leans forward, urging Thunder into a gallop. 

The cool night air is like a balm on his brow, and for the first time Namjoon decides to let himself enjoy how you feel in his arms.

He thinks you’re trying to say something to him, but it’s lost in the wind as the fields of Mount Halji speed past.

He’ll ask you later.

***

Namjoon beds Thunder down in the small barn and heads to the tiny farmhouse.

He finds you standing by the door where he left you, waiting for him.

He lights a lamp, holds his arm out to you. 

You say, ‘wait.’

You set the mead down on the wooden table and step up to him, hand on his chest, going on tiptoe.

Namjoon stays perfectly still as you press your lips to his.

It’s sweet, chaste, and yet it makes him want to push you against a wall and take you right here.

You pull away. 

‘Just wanted to check if you’re a good kisser,’ you say, breathlessly.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you, tilts his chin. 

‘Am I?’ he asks, like he doesn’t care what you think.

‘Yeah,’ you say. 

‘I’m good at a lot of things,’ he tells you.

‘Stop showing off,’ you chastise. 

You squeal as he chases you into the bedroom.

***

Namjoon’s trying to take it slowly but you’re writhing under him, rubbing against him in all the places that he likes, and god, he’s so hard he can’t imagine there’s any blood going to the rest of his body. 

He can’t think . 

You’re kissing his neck, tongue flicking against his skin, and Namjoon groans at the pleasure of it. 

‘I didn’t know you were so sensitive, here,’ you note, a purr to your voice that makes his eyes close. 

You grind your hips against his, arms splayed around him. 

Namjoon’s got no idea how you managed to get on top of him but Jaesu, he loves the view. He already knows he’ll never get tired of taking the weight of you. 

Namjoon raises his head, trying to kiss you as you’re pulling away, and you press your hand to his lips. 

‘Look at you, my big dragon rider,’ you taunt. You roll your hips against his cock, still covered in the dress pants he put on for the Banquet, pulling another grunt from him. 

‘You like being under me?’ you ask. 

‘I’d rather be in you,’ Namjoon tells you, honestly. 

He runs a hand down his torso, cups his length. ‘Get these off and I’ll show you.’ 

Your eyes meet, and the heat in his gaze makes you visibly shiver. 

Then you’re undoing his pants. 

Namjoon lifts his hips to help you slide them down. 

His cock brushes your parted lips, and quick as a cat, you open your mouth and take him in. 

Namjoon’s fist clenches in the silk of your dress as you take him deeper, tongue flat against the underside of his cock. 

‘You unman me,’ he utters. 

You look up at him, mouth full, eyes wide, and he groans at the sight of you. 

‘Do you like this?’ you ask, pulling back, lips swollen, stained with the stickiness of his seed. 

Namjoon reaches down to cup your cheek. ‘I want you on top of me, love,’ he tells you. 

He never knows if you’re going to do what he says, but to his relief, you wriggle up to sit on his chest. 

He reaches out, undoes the ties fastening your gown carelessly, enjoying the way it falls open under his hands. 

He tugs it up over your head, leaving you in a chemise so gossamer thin he can see the outlines of your pretty breasts, your hardened nipples imprinted against the fabric. 

Past the length of your torso he can see between your legs, and, he realises he can feel the dampness of your arousal on his own stomach. 

You’ve wetted through his shirt, and Namjoon doesn’t think he’s ever been more aroused. 

Your mouth opens, and Namjoon shakes his head. 

‘Look what you’ve done,’ he tsks, his voice husky, low. 

You open your mouth again, and again, he shakes his head. 

‘You and your smart mouth,’ he says. ‘You’re so wet you’ve ruined my shirt, and I’m so hard I hurt.’ 

He hisses as you roll your hips over him. ‘What are you going to do about it, my love?’ 

You’re moaning at him, and he laughs harshly. ‘You want my cock? Do it yourself.’ 

‘Or do you just like talking with that smart mouth,’ he taunts. ‘Can’t follow through?’ 

Your eyes flash at him, and then you’re bracing against his chest, taking him in hand, lining him up. 

Your eyes flick to his, and Namjoon stares you down. ‘Shy?’ he asks, voice mocking. 

‘No,’ you gasp, as you lower your hips onto his pelvis, taking him in increments. 

Your hand tightens on his arm. ‘Too big,’ you murmur, breathless. 

Namjoon has to take a breath when he’s in all the way. You’re wet, and warm, and he can already feel his pleasure starting to coil out from his shaft, sending tingles across his groin, making his balls tighten. 

You’re moving on him, thighs flexing as you ride him. Namjoon has the loose thought that the definition in your thighs is probably from carrying his armour around for months, because he’s never seen you do any other form of exercise, then you’re leaning forward on his chest, murmuring in his ear, and his thoughts evacuate his head again. 

Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come. 

You cry his name, and Namjoon cups your ass, helping you move on top of him, wringing every last bit of pleasure out of you until you’re limp on top of him. 

He waits, hard and throbbing inside you, until you look up at his face. 

‘Did you think we were finished?’ he asks. 

There’s a spark of something in your eyes at his challenge. 

‘I did, actually,’ you say haughtily. 

You make as if to move off of him, and as always, Namjoon’s amused and outraged by your audacity. 

He grips your thigh, admiring the mark his fingers leave when he lets go. 

You’re watching him carefully. 

‘Should have known you’d like that,’ you remark. 

‘You know,’ Namjoon says thoughtfully, pulling you underneath him, thrusting once, experimentally. 

You wait for what he has to say. 

‘I like you better when you’re not talking,’ he says. 

Your squawk of outrage turns into a moan as he starts to move, his cock sliding in your slickened cunt. 

‘Yeah,’ he says, as you moan. ‘This is better.’ 

He seals his lips against your own and fucks you until you’re crying out and coming on his cock. 

***

Namjoon’s awakened by a pounding on the door. 

He stumbles to the entrance of the tiny farmhouse and is greeted by Jimin, dressed in full battle gear, thrusting his armour at him. 

‘Halians,’ Jimin says grimly. ‘They’re en route to the Hold.’ He pauses, meaningfully. ‘The Princess of Ijil is still within our Gates.’ 

Namjoon’s pulling on his armour, methodical. ‘The dragons?’ he asks. 

‘They’re all in formation,’ Jimin says.

He looks up as you walk into the room, dressed in Namjoon’s shirt from last night. 

‘Ah,’ says Jimin, unsurprised. ‘Tell me later if I need to defend your honour to your brother.’ 

You laugh. ‘Seokjin can’t talk,’ you say, and Jimin grins. 

‘Don’t I know it,’ he agrees. 

Namjoon doesn’t have time to unpick this conversation right now. 

He tightens his sword and says to Jimin, ‘Let’s go.’ 

‘Wait,’ you say. 

You step forward and pull him down into a kiss. 

‘Stay safe,’ you say. 

Namjoon casts a look at your pretty face, wishing he had the time to appreciate how good you look in his shirt. 

You’re already stepping back. 

‘Look after him, Jimin,’ you say. 

Jimin nods. ‘I always do.’ 

The laugh you both share at his expense makes Namjoon scowl. 

***

Jimin grew up with Namjoon, and he’s been analytical, an overthinker, for as long as he’s known him.

Namjoon was the friend who always used to get caught when they played dragons and wizards, the kid who was busy trying to strategise when what he needed to do was run.

He made up for it by becoming quicker, stronger than anyone else. So then he didn’t just win at games, he annihilated his opponents.

He’s fought alongside Namjoon in countless battles against the Halian army, and there’s no doubt that Namjoon’s brilliant strategising has saved their asses many a time. 

It’s just that, Namjoon’s so damned serious all the time. He wears his responsibility as commander on his shoulders, bears the weight without complaint. 

When he started sleeping with the Princess of Ijil, Jimin had realised he was in real danger of losing his friend to a life of power seeking and political manoeuvring. 

That’s where you came in.

Jimin’s known you for years, he’s friends with Seokjin, your brother who’s currently making a name for himself in the vast plains of Daljeon.

He’s always liked your sense of humour. Like Seokjin, you cloak your inner steeliness in jovial banter. Also like Seokjin, you’ve been blessed with a face as pretty as Jimin’s own. 

You’d been at a loose end when Seokjin left, and Jimin had quickly realised that your personality was the perfect foil for Namjoon’s seriousness.

He’d watched in amusement as you ran circles around Namjoon with your quick wit, and had relaxed after he’d seen the way Namjoon had consistently chosen to laugh with you rather than flatten you. 

Today, though, Namjoon’s not laughing.

They’d returned from a skirmish with a Halian sub unit at the border of Eosul to find the farm cottage empty. 

A search of the Hold has so far, not revealed your location.

Namjoon looks up as the doors of the Great Hall open and a messenger comes in carrying a package.

Namjoon tears it open and stops dead as pieces of onyx fall out.

He looks at Jimin, jaw set. ‘It’s hers. I gave it to her the night of the Banquet.’

Jimin’s already grasped the messenger. ‘Where is she?’ he demands.

‘It’s from General Dei of the Halian army,’ splutters the messenger. ‘That’s all I know.’

Namjoon moves so quickly the messenger’s against the flagstone wall before he finishes his sentence.

‘Tell me where she is and I’ll spare your life,’ he utters, voice low and deadly.

One move of Namjoon’s hand toward the hilt of his sword yields the information they need.

Then Namjoon’s running, heading for Styx on the plain.

***

Namjoon glances over at Jimin as they approach the caves where you’re being held. 

‘I’m worried, Jimin,’ he confesses. 

Jimin places his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, drawn taut with worry. 

‘She’s the only bargaining item they have, even the Halians wouldn’t be stupid enough to harm her knowing you’re on your way.’ 

Namjoon’s gaze is dark. ‘I’m more worried about what this is going to cost them,’ he tells Jimin. ‘I’m angry.’ 

His fists clench. ‘I’m really fucking angry right now.’ 

Jimin says, carefully, ‘This isn’t a reason to start a war.’ 

Namjoon laughs, short, humourless. ‘I don’t want a war,’ he agrees. 

He sets his jaw as they reach the entrance. ‘I want a massacre.’ 

You’re against the back wall of the cave, flanked by Halian guards. 

General Dei’s standing by. ‘Lord Namjoon,’ he says, inclining his head in greeting. 

Namjoon, imposing in his battle armour, gives the General a look that has the guards behind him shifting nervously. 

‘I know you wanted a negotiation, General,’ Namjoon says, ‘but I don’t negotiate when one of my own hangs in the balance.’ 

He draws his sword. ‘Release my squire.’ 

***

In the clamour of battle, Namjoon has a direct line of sight to you, and sees the moment you flatten yourself against the wall to avoid a wayward strike. 

He’s by your side in moments, cutting you loose, pushing you behind him. 

‘It took you a while,’ you point out. He can’t see your face but he can hear the smile in your voice. 

‘I’m sorry I left you,’ he says, tucking you under his arm, cutting down two Halian guards in a swift movement. 

He heads for the entrance of the cave, where Styx is waiting to dispense with any Halian guards who manage to get past Taehyung and Mingyu. 

Jimin emerges a moment later, sheathing his sword, breathing hard from exertion.

He draws you into his arms, raises an eyebrow when Namjoon doesn’t let go of his hold on you.

‘I’m taking her back to the Hold,’ Namjoon says.

Jimin murmurs, ‘and the rest?’

Namjoon helps you onto Styx, jaw tightening as he takes in the rope marks around your wrists and ankles. 

He can find no mercy in his heart for anyone who’s tried to hurt you. 

Honestly, he can’t even trouble himself to look.

He turns to Jimin. 

‘Let them burn.’ 

***

You awaken so quietly Namjoon’s got no idea how long you’ve been watching him sit by the window.

You clear your throat. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ you say, the words heartfelt.

Namjoon looks at you, at your skin coloured in the hues of the rising sun, at the sincerity shining in your eyes, and thinks that you’re the beautiful one.

He comes to sit on the bed next to you.

You clamber into his lap, face close to his, legs either side of his waist.

‘Thank you for coming to get me,’ you say.

‘I’m sorry I let you get taken in the first place,’ he replies. ‘Did you get hurt, my love?’

He’s looking at the mark on your wrist, where your bangle was.

You catch the direction of his gaze.

‘It didn’t hurt apart from that I didn’t have anything to show I belonged to you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon lifts your wrist to his lips, kisses over the bruise marking your skin.

‘I can take care of that,’ he says.

He moves his mouth further up your arm, sucks your warm skin, laves the new mark he’s left with his tongue.

You’re breathing faster now, watching him intently.

Namjoon tugs the shirt he put on you apart, presses his lips to the warm curve of your left breast, and sucks.

You make a pretty sound, and he does it again, suctions his lips over your softness, admires the lurid colour of the mark he’s made.

You’re shifting your hips slightly, moving over his thigh.

Namjoon flexes his thigh between your legs, and you whimper.

He dips his head again, this time to your other breast, coaxing your nipple out from under his shirt. He licks over your nipple, and to his pleasure, you let out another pretty moan.

You’re still moving your hips over his thigh, more boldly now, grinding harder with each pass.

Namjoon keeps up a steady pace laving your nipples with his tongue. He takes your breast into his mouth, lifts a hand to tweak your other nipple, and you gasp.

He can feel your wetness on his thigh.

His free hand lands on your thigh.

‘Ride me,’ he utters.

‘Namjoon,’ you gasp.

Namjoon can tell by the raggedness of your breathing that you’re close to your release.

He flexes his thigh again, helps you drag your hips along, laps at your nipples, and with a cry of his name you come.

Namjoon pulls you onto the bed, slides his hand onto your bare hip under his shirt and admires the view.

Your breasts look so pretty covered in the marks his lips have made, nipples taut and slick with his saliva.

There’s wet between your thighs, your cunt glistens with your release, and Namjoon’s never seen anything prettier.

His cock, already hard and aching, swells even more as you pull him down to you.

‘I want you, Namjoon,’ you plead.

‘You have me,’ he replies.

He settles himself between your spread legs and pushes into you.

Your back arches as he slides in, slow, giving you time to adjust.

He can feel your hands on his back, one near his shoulder blade, one low on his hips, urging him on, and Namjoon doesn’t want to hold back anymore.

He sheathes the rest of his manhood within you with another push of his hips, groaning at the pleasure of it.

He can feel the walls of your cunt fluttering around his hardness, the rush of slickness from you coating him.

You’re so wet, so warm Namjoon finds himself without words.

He starts to move, and you cry his name so loudly he stops, worried he’s hurt you.

‘Don’t stop,’ you reassure him, teeth on his earlobe. ‘Jaesu, don’t stop.’

Namjoon drags his cock from you and enters you again and again, going deep with every thrust, hard the way you seem to like.

He rolls his thumb over the swollen bud between your legs, and you buck your hips against his, chasing your pleasure.

You’re tightening deliciously around him now, clamping down on him like a vice, and Namjoon’s close himself, leaking into you with every thrust.

He strokes between your legs, dips his head to lap at your nipple, and then you’re coming again, gasping his name.

Your pleasure drags him over his own edge, Namjoon manages another thrust before he’s coming, spilling his seed into you with an intensity that robs him of his breath.

You’re pulling him down onto you now, arms around him. Namjoon has just enough awareness to move slightly so you’re not taking his full weight as he collapses onto the bed, tangled up with you.

***

When he stirs, you’re up already, but thankfully not any more dressed than you were.

You’re looking at him in the looking glass by his bed.

‘I like these marks you made on me,’ you announce, nonchalant.

‘I’ll make more,’ Namjoon says. 

He rises from the bed, drops to his knee before you.

‘On my legs?’ you ask, looking down at him quizzically.

‘If you want.’

Namjoon reaches for your hand, looks up at your face seriously. 

‘I vow fealty to you, in this kingdom and beyond,’ he promises you. ‘I will protect you to my last breath.’

‘Well,’ you drawl, with the familiar quirk to your lips he’s grown to love, ‘we’d better make sure you live a very long life then.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

[youcanwatchmebutcanttouchme]

Stray Kids as subs

Sub Stray Kids x Neutral reader

Warning:Smut

♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆_♥︎☆

Bang Chan:

•He let’s out a lot of high pitched whines and whimpers

•Lots and lots of tears

•You’re very gentle with him

• “So good~ Yes like that~”

Lee Know:

•Surprisingly soft sounds

•Definitely has a mommy/daddy kink

•Likes it soft

• “Please be gentle~”

Changbin:

•Definitely loud as hell

•Leaves a lot of marks on your back

•Loves it rough

• “Harder!~”

Hyunjin:

•Soft whimpers,almost quiet

•Very obedient

•Cries when over stimulating

• “Don’t stop~ please don’t stop~”

Han:

•Louder than Changbin

•Very whiny

•Bossy

• “Please~ Let me cum~”

Felix:

•Profesional rider ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

•Low groans

•Most likely to break the be with

• “More!~ Harder!~”

Seungmin:

•Lots and lots of shivering

•Very passive when subbing

•Soft groans

• “Don’t stop~”

I.N:

•Messy

•Sloppy moans

•Loud sounds

• “I-I’m gonna-“

[ebaeschnbliah]

We both have need of haste ...

... Eomer said. 'My company chafes to be away, and every hour lessens your hope. This is my choice. You may go; and what is more, I will lend you horses. This only I ask: when your quest is achieved, or is proved vain, return with the horses over the Entwade to Meduseld, the high house in Edoras where Théoden now sits. Thus you shall prove to him that I have not misjudged. In this I place myself, and maybe my very life, in the keeping of your good faith. Do not fail.'

'I will not,' said Aragorn.

There was great wonder, and many dark and doubtful glances, among his men, when Éomer gave orders that the spare horses were to be lent to the strangers; but only Éothain dared to speak openly.

'It may be well enough for this lord of the race of Gondor, as he claims,' he said, 'but who has heard of a horse of the Mark being given to a Dwarf?'

'No one,' said Gimli. 'And do not trouble: no one will ever hear of it. I would sooner walk than sit on the back of any beast so great, free or begrudged.'

'But you must ride now, or you will hinder us,' said Aragorn.

'Come, you shall sit behind me, friend Gimli, said Legolas. Then all will be well, and you need neither borrow a horse nor be troubled by one.'

A great dark-grey horse was brought to Aragorn, and he mounted it. 'Hasufel is his name,' said Éomer. 'May he bear you well and to better fortune than Gárulf, his late master!'

A smaller and lighter horse, but restive and fiery, was brought to Legolas. Arod was his name. But Legolas asked them to take off saddle and rein. 'I need them not,' he said, and leaped lightly up, and to their wonder Arod was tame and willing beneath him, moving here and there with but a spoken word: such was the elvish way with all good beasts. Gimli was lifted up behind his friend. and he clung to him, not much more at ease than Sam Gamgee in a boat.

'Farewell, and may you find what you seek!' cried Éomer. 'Return with what speed you may, and let our swords hereafter shine together!'

'I will come,' said Aragorn.

'And I will come, too,' said Gimli. 'The matter of the Lady Galadriel lies still between us. I have yet to teach you gentle speech. '

'We shall see,' said Éomer. 'So many strange things have chanced that to learn the praise of a fair lady under the loving strokes of a Dwarf's axe will seem no great wonder. Farewell!'

With that they parted. Very swift were the horses of Rohan. When after a little Gimli looked back, the company of Éomer were already small and far away. Aragorn did not look back: he was watching the trail as they sped on their way, bending low with his head beside the neck of Hasufel.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers,  The Riders of Rohan

[madhattersez]

I finally got my hands on something I've been looking for (for a reasonable price) since I was just a lowly little level 12 hornball - A "Marvel Swimsuit Special!"

This is the second issue in the series (though the third book of its kind), and it was released in 1993 when... times were different.

The coolest thing about them (other than the totally radical '90s hunkeroos and baberinos in general) is the amount of really talented artists that submitted pieces - So many industry-leading folks putting their spin on the self-aware, low-brow, tongue-in-cheek project.

This first image was by Joe Jusko, a super popular cover artist at the time. I remember his Conan covers the most.

I'll eventually scan the whole thing in high quality, but for now, I'll take some preview pics to show you some of my favorite and/or goofiest pages:

Here is Domino, looking like we might need to race her to a Dermatology appointment. She's apparently tacky enough to wear a swimsuit with a domino print on it.

And check out Cable in the back - Sun's out, cyberbun out! He's ready to catch some waves on a totally-worth-the-money-and-production-time rocket-powered machine gun surfboard.

I really appreciate this artist's commitment to all the "Liefeld pouches" here. I hope they're waterproof, or all those Tic Tacs inside 'em are gonna get ruined. :(

Penciling by Chris Batista, ink by Hector Collazo, coloring by Mark McNaab.

Let's kick off the "after the jump" part properly with this glorious image of Pip. Because this is certainly what people bought this book for.

It just so happens that this fuzzy little asshole narrates the entire issue, so he's to blame for the inherently sexist captions on all the pictures.

Jesus Christ, he's got two big toes on each foot.

Pencilking by Darick Robertson, ink by Andrew Pepoy, coloring by Tom Smith.

I love me some Cloak and Dagger.

Tandy looks as gorgeous as ever. Surely she owns stock in boobie tape by now.

Tyrone, however, is getting so much sand stuck to him right now... I don't think he digs being used as a beach blanket. I'm... not even sure he's ever had to wash his cloak before today! Yikes. He's all like:

Penciling by Joe Madureira, ink by Terry Austin, and coloring by Gregory Wright.

I can't stop laughing at how much Thunderstrike looks exactly like the Genetic Freak, Big Poppa Pump Scott Steiner in this picture:

The work is entirely by Lou Harrison. It may not surprise you to learn he's also a Fantasy artist.

I've always had a thing for Silver Sable, and this page is just fantastic.

That being said, my favorite part is Sandman sitting there, looking like a dope, shaped like a sand castle. Which, while it seems silly, was probably the most challenging and detailed thing I've ever seen him do with his powers. Worth it for the shot, I suppose!

Line work and ink by Steven Butler, a favorite of mine. He did penciling for the "Silver Sable and the Wild Pack" series (which got me attached), but he's also known for designing the Scarlet Spider suit. Coloring by Gregory Wright.

If you thought I wasn't going to Morb out on this post, you were undead wrong.

Just look at that ridiculous batpackage. Also... Is he really serving a cape over a leather jacket, but with absolutely no pants? Damn, dude.

Penciling by Gary Barker, ink by Jimmy Palmiotti, coloring by Tom Smith.

I can spot Adam Hughes' work a mile away, wow. I guess I didn't realize he was doing work for Marvel this far back.

A fierce-as-ever, short-haired Natasha who looks like she got slammed so hard against a rocky wall that it cracked, got up, emptied out the rest of her clip, and still had enough time and energy to pose during a reload.

Black Widow, bay-bayyy. ♫

Oh my god, Ghost Rider is just so naughty. Wearing nothing but his birthday bones.

This scene just looks like it smells awful.

Artwork by Tristan Shane.

Shulkie in a metal bikini (function over fashion?), bursting out of the lava from an active volcano. You wanna talk "hot tub?" Sure, this gets a feature.

Penciling and ink by cover artist Steve Geiger, coloring by Paul... Mounts.

Deezamn, Bishop. Never seen guy looking so buff before.

Instead of just Bishop, this looks like Hank McCoy and Bishop had a child together. Does he have any other mode than "arm vein p-pop?"

Penciling by Dwayne Turner, ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Ah, one of the more famous '90s Psylocke images that wasn't done by Jim Lee.

This centerfold was used in lots of comic store ads for several years after this issue came out. I remember seeing posters in the shops themselves. Trading cards of this picture are one of the most costly to collect.

It's beautiful, and the colors/lighting/shading are all fantastic.

Penciling and ink by the wonderful Art Thibert, creator of the Raft max security prison and inker of some of the most iconic X-title covers.

Coloring by Paul Mounts, who did the coloring in hundreds and hundreds of just Marvel comics alone - I didn't mention that earlier because I was snickering at his name earlier in the She-Hulk feature. My bad.

Well, this wouldn't be Tumblr without a cat picture, yeah? Or a catgirl picture, I suppose.

This is the most adorable scene in the book. Just Tigra innocently taking a cuddle nap with some... um... wow, I don't know what the fuck those things are. Snuggle up anyway!

Penciling and ink by Amanda Conner, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Huh. Of all the characters in this book, I really didn't expect to see Dr. Cooper... Either which way, the swimsuit under the detective get-up is pretty choice, honestly.

This is, of course, another Adam Hughes line art joint. Ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright (who did a lot of these, huh?).

What's this? A parody ad that you'd more expect to see in an issue of "What The--?!" that only '80s kids will understand? Yup, totally.

This was in the back of the book and doesn't fit the theme at all, but it gets a mention because of the weird inclusion and also to stall time until I had the final image ready, because I needed time to prepare...

THIS.

This is the one.

How could I not end this little "show and tell" without this beauty right here?

Here, we have remorseless killer Frank Castle flexing his best end-of-catwalk pose in front of a... wrestling match between a bunch of lady demon dinosaurs battling... for his affection? To tip him American cash? Or maybe all those hearts come from their love of beating each other up? I'm not here to judge.

And then there's a sign for 75 cent hotdogs, but it's been covered with another sign for... $20 tooth brushes? What in the shit is going on here?

There is one thing I do know, though. The artist wants you to think that The Punisher has at least $2.75 worth of hotdog under that massive crotch skull.

[sotwk]

5th Day of Yule: “Five Golden Rings”

King Thranduil & Sons

Third Age 491

Bar Lasgalen, Palace of the Elvenking

As the lone rider came into clearer view in his progress up the snowy road to the palace, Thranduil began to descend the steps that led to the main courtyard. He sensed the rushed footsteps of someone coming up behind him, and he took one step lightly to the side to make room. 

“Pardon me, Ada!” Legolas called out, while he sailed down the lower half of the steps in a single leap. 

Thranduil kept walking at his steady, even pace, but watched as his youngest son barreled all the way across the courtyard. The prince paused only to gather up an armful of snow from the covered ground and hastily pack it into a giant clump. Returning to a full sprint, he drew back his arm and flung the icy projectile--with impressive aim, Thranduil noted--in a straight shot toward the approaching rider. 

The rider noticed in time, just barely, and swerved his horse to the right to narrowly avoid having a snowball smash squarely into his face. A bellowing cry rang through the night as the rider leapt off his horse and rushed toward his attacker. Thranduil heard Legolas scream as well, and watched the two figures charge at each other like two stags in rutting season.

In the next minute they were on the ground, only partially visible within the thick blanket of snow as they rolled and thrashed about, grappling until a victor emerged. 

“Yield!” Gelir commanded, pulling his arm tighter around Legolas’s neck as he yanked him upright. 

“I will not!” Legolas grunted, already red-faced as he strained against the merciless headlock.

“He yields,” Thranduil said sternly, finally coming up to the brothers. “Let him go.” He shook his head at Legolas’s groan. “You can seek a rematch tomorrow. Your mother is waiting.”

“We could have had enough time if this one had the decency not to arrive so late!” Legolas laughed, dusting the snow and dirt off his shoulders. “Or is that the custom in your province, oh Lord of Dant-en-Aras?”

“Oho, you shall see for yourself, mark my words, once you move into your own lands next spring, and you have to travel so many miles just to return home.” Gelir gave him a light shove. “Even then you would not have to cross over half the forest like I do.”

Thranduil cleared his throat, anticipating Legolas’s intent to shove him back and resume their shenanigans. At last Gelir remembered himself and greeted his King with a low bow, and then stepped forward to greet his father with an embrace. Thranduil held his son perhaps a little tighter, and a few seconds longer than usual--his now very busy, son-turned-lord whom he had not seen in almost a whole year. 

“You need fresh tunics. Both of you.” Thranduil raised his eyebrow at Legolas, but could not help a smirk. “This will not do for dinner. Not when your Ammë has spent weeks working to make this evening perfect.”

As soon as they entered the palace, Thranduil’s three eldest sons were ready in the foyer to meet them. Loud voices filled the hall to its high ceilings as the brothers happily exchanged greetings, while the Elvenking walked up to the line of servants standing by to attend them. He sent two to collect the things he needed, then went to ask his sons to follow him into a nearby parlor. 

“Is Ammë upstairs?” Gelir asked, tugging off his traveling clothes to slip on the formal garb that had been brought in for him. 

“Yes, with Itarildë and Aranion,” said Mirion, lingering hesitantly by the doorway. “Shall I fetch them, Ada?”

“In a moment,” Thranduil replied. “First, I wanted a chance alone with you all to give you this.”

A butler stepped forward carrying a large coffer and opened its gilded lid.  Inside were five identical goblets, with bowls and stems made of clear crystal and a thick band of gold circling the rim. Thranduil extracted them from the box and one by one presented them to each of his sons.  

“These are for you to toast with at tonight’s dinner, as we mark Legolas’s last Yule as a resident of this palace.” He smiled at their cries of admiration and appreciation for the gift. “Then they are for you to take back to your own houses.”

Arvellas held up the goblet to scrutinize the delicate engraving around the bowl, which sparkled with an inlay of tiny gemstones in green and gold. “I would say this technique looks very similar to something I have seen in Hadhodrond, but the Khazâd never work with crystal in their tableware.”    

 “It seems your cousin has stumbled upon yet another innovation,” Thranduil said. “And another craft he intends to keep a trade secret for our realm.”

“It is a good size,” Turhir grinned at his father. “Enough to hold twice the usual serving?”

“What better to sample the latest arrival of new vintage from Anórien with?”

“Hear, hear to that!” Legolas exclaimed, as they simultaneously raised their goblets to each other. Empty for the moment, but undoubtedly to later on serve as their instruments for draining the King’s wine cellar of half its stock in a single night--and Thranduil would not have it any other way.

Yuletide Series MASTERLIST

Yule Event Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @spacecluster @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell @acornsandoaktrees @warriormirkwood @emmanuellececchi @minaturefics

[eriquin]

@aparticularbandit, some words:

“It was off a balcony,” Sil said quietly. “Hargon was trying to kill me and he tackled him off a balcony. It was...” She put her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. When she’d calmed enough to look up again, Lulu and Rosie were staring at her. They looked shocked. “I need to talk to Deborah. Or at least Hellen.”

“I’ll go get Hellen,” Rosie said. She scurried off.

(make me write)

(join the community)

[crisalidaseason]

Survival

Summary: He did not want to go inside. The guilt’s tendrils had a grip on his heart, much like the black veins draining Violet of her life. His head hung low for the first time in his life, no need to keep his head up when failure painted his actions. No need to see in a perfect clear image as his friend is dying. Tags: Spoilers for Fourth Wing, Resson battle, Liam POV, canon divergence, Liam Mairi lives, sibling relationship, friendship, near death experiences, Liam is not okay, guilt, survivor's guilt, I can't fucking accept certain deaths so this is my brain not accepting it!!!! (don't mind me, i'm sad and delusional)

If Liam had to summarize his strength and perseverance in one single factor it would be survival. Everything he became was for survival - before, during and after the apostasy. In a world that wanted nothing more than to humiliate and murder all his legacy was known for, he kept his head high even if his face was struck over and over again. He had to if he wanted a chance at seeing Sloane again, at building a safer place for all the marked ones.

But in this life, survival also meant sacrifice and he used to think he was fine with dying for their cause. His certainty wavered while he watched - still attached to Violet’s saddle belt - as the wyvern latched on Deigh, brutally fighting the red daggertail. In shame, Liam could only think about how afraid he was. If his dragon perished, so would he. And while he should feel honored for fighting to keep a friend and a brother alive - and he was - a small instinctual part of him had this utter fear settled in the spine, so difficult to ignore.

Liam did not want to die.

If he did, he would not see Sloane ever again. Would never shadow Violet and make her wooden figures. Never spar or joke with the other marked ones. Xaden and him would never share silent evenings playing a card game. He would not fly on dragonback again.

Deigh screamed in agony inside his mind and his own body revolted in pain and nausea. Tairn violently destroying the wyvern, raging to free the red daggertail from the large creature. Another scream of pain echoed through his mind.

Liam was going to die. The fear was still present, but a glimpse of acceptance rooted his heart. So be it!

“No…” Violet’s voice was stolen by wind, but he still heard her “not. on. my. fucking. watch!”

It was all a whiplashing blur afterwards, maybe due to his own conscience being affected by his dragon’s lethargy.

From Tairn destroying the wyvern to Deigh escaping with a gashing wound on his side, still stubborn enough to demand for his rider.

From Xaden forcing him to take cover within his shadows - infuriating Liam and Deigh to no end - to the dreadful moment Violet had to fight a venin alone on her dragon’s back.

From screaming at her how to defeat the wyverns to seeing Xaden struggle to keep all the wyverns from attacking them at the same time.

From feeling his ears bleed as thunder and lightning rippled the air to witnessing the worst sight of his life…the friend he was supposed to protect falling to her death below.

Nothing could have prepared Liam to the complete and utter guilt as he stayed behind, watching Sgaeyl and Tairn fly at monstrous speed while he and Deigh flew at a much slower pace with the support of Cradh and Glane. His cursed sight gave him a perfect clear image of how green and gray Violet was becoming, something he could have stopped from happening if he had been smarter about his plans, if he acted, if he wasn’t fucking stupid.

Forgive me. Deigh’s usually impatient tone was sorrowful, weak from the blood he lost.

More guilt flooded Liam.

It’s not your fault. You did what I asked for, I should have thought better.

Deigh did not speak after that, Dragon and Rider too exhausted to think straight. The flight to Aretia was nothing but mournful - they had lost Soleil. The intimidating and familiar mountains greeted them and Liam should have felt delighted to see his homeland after years, but nothing brought him joy - landing in a disturbing silence only proved he was not the only one who felt that. Imogen and Garrick helped him dismount as Deigh was looked after by the other dragons. Liam almost cried at the sight of the wound - now burnt by Cradh in an attempt to cauterize the wound and stop it from leaking to death.

“They’re looking after him, Liam” Garrick whispered “ we need you to rest”

He did not want to go inside. The guilt’s tendrils had a grip on his heart, much like the black veins draining Violet of her life. His head hung low for the first time in his life, no need to keep his head up when failure painted his actions. No need to see in a perfect clear image as his friend is dying.

“I’m trusting her safety to you” Xaden had said “If she is safe, so am I, so is everyone”

He was a failure. All that survival for nothing. If Violet died, so would Xaden. He felt shame burn his body as the tears escaped copiously, the softness of a mattress lulling him to an exhaustion induced slumber.

“Rest, Liam” was the last thing he heard.

He awoke almost an entire day later - according to Garrick - disoriented and in pain. Deigh was in deep sleep, using his power to heal the wound properly. Liam sighed in relief as he learned the dragon was out of immediate danger, but soon his worries turned to her…Liam was afraid of checking on Violet. The shame took over his mind and body, paralyzing his hands by the door. The images of the battle flooded his mind, analyzing everything he could have done better, that would not let his dragon endure such a horrible wound or Violet and Xaden to cover for him.

“Liam” the door opened itself, revealing his brother.

Xayden’s eyes were bloodshot, deep dark shadows below his eyes. He still wore the same clothes from Resson, but his skin was clean from the dust. Liam lowered his sight to the ground, not daring to look behind the other man, not daring to look into the figure laying on the bed. His heart started to beat in such a hurry that he wondered if it would fail. He had cheated death three times. Maybe Malek was finally claiming him. But he knew that was just the shame for what he did - or didn’t.

“I’m sorry-”

The air from his lungs fled as the older man pulled him into a tight embrace. His brother was never one for physical affection, the only other situations he had ever given Liam a hug was after the executions and before Xaden left for the rider’s quadrant. As if he was a sorrowful teenager all over again, he returned the embrace just as firmly, a few tears threatening to escape. Xaden pushed him back to stare into his eyes, breathing unevenly.

“Thank you” his voice was hoarse, as if he had used it too much or not at all.

He did not expect that. Gratefulness was far from what Liam ever expected from this exchange. He had failed!

“If it wasn’t for you we would have all died”

Except she almost did. His eyes rebelled against his will, landing on the girl sleeping in a bed so large that it made her look smaller than she actually was. His sharp eyes noticed the gray tint of her skin, the paleness of her lips. His heart tumbled faster and faster as he noticed the prominent veins under skin.

“Is she…” he could not bring himself to ask. He did not want to ask. Afraid of hearing his biggest failure.

“She’ll live” Xaden replied, but his voice was far from relieved “we don’t…”

Xaden’s own breathing was failing and soon his gaze turned to her. Both men stood quietly, watching the shy rise and fall of her chest under the sheets.

“We don’t know when or how she is going to wake up” Xaden’s voice had only sounded that strained when he mentioned his father “the poison had spread to her brain and…she stopped breathing by the time we reached Brennan”

Both of them knew how unfair life could be, but it seemed the gods felt pleasure in their suffering. Making the woman that saved them from certain death dance on the edge of the living world.

“I should have-”

“No” Xaden had not switched his gaze from her, but his voice was an order “you will not wallow in blame, Liam”

Silence stretched between them, Liam’s mind too poisoned to let the guilt go, but he did not insist on it anymore. He did not want to cause Xaden any more distress.

“Apologies and blames will get us nowhere, Liam. We learn from mistakes and accept the few victories we have. You are alive, and I am fucking relieved that you are because I don’t think I could…”

His breathing was uneven again and Liam finally understood. Xaden was holding the same knot on his throat, the tears burning his eyes.

“You’re alive” he repeated.

Liam was alive.

“And Violet will live too” Xaden whispered the last part, as if afraid the gods might listen.

[rainintheevening]

Part I – Part II ... Part X – Part XI

It is an enduring image, in paintings, in books, in the legends that spread, in the mural swirled across one wall of the keep’s entrance hall in Cair Paravel.

High King Peter of Narnia, astride the unicorn Erah, red tunic with the gold lion rampant and sun shined silver armour, contrasted with the unicorn's gleaming white hide. He rides without saddle or rein, they all say, man and unicorn as one, and they speak a language no one else knows. Erah is the only mount the High King will ride to battle, and he has never let his king fall while he still stands. So goes the truth of the legends.

Theirs is an image Ed searches the narrow valley for as he surrenders his beaten foe into the care of Whiptail the panther, and turns back, eyes skipping over the great black lumps of fallen bears, the smaller pale lumps of their slain riders, the torn grass and mud, a fallen faun… The cloud cover has closed in again, threatening to return yesterday's rain, muting the colours of the life and death struggle, and the rush of battle is fading into the sober weariness of a dear-won triumph.

“Hailstar?” he calls as a passing centaur sights him. “Hast thou seen my brother?” Even as he speaks, he reads the sorrow in Hailstar's face, and his heart misses a beat, he is gripping his sword and bracing himself as he moves to the centaur’s side.

“Yes, majesty, he is just yonder, and would almost certainly be grateful for thy company. He has suffered some hurt, they say, but I fear Sir Erah has been dealt a mortal blow. The king is with him now.”

On the battlefield one grows accustomed to death, to loss, to marching back with fewer in one's ranks than went out. But this news strikes Edmund sharp and deep, and he hurries away in the direction Hailstar has indicated, without thanks or dismissal.

Erah? Erah felled? and Edmund reels back from the thought, already feeling the pain that must be gripping Peter's heart, but he will not hold himself away from it; if Erah is truly dying, Peter will need his brother's comfort. He sheaths his sword and runs, nimble over the ruts and bodies, careful of the slippery ground, and then…

Then blood.

There is blood, so much blood, a great deal too much of it, and Edmund has to pause, has to look a moment longer to assure himself that this is indeed his brother and the faithful white unicorn. Erah is stretched on his side, head cradled in his king's lap, and Peter's shoulders shake as he bends low, strokes tangled mane with fingers that do not seem to know exactly what they are supposed to be doing. Most of the blood on Peter's armour does not appear to be his, but Erah's white hide is scored with claw marks, some deep, and Ed's hopes shatter as he spies the broken-off stumps of some Bear-Riders’ pikestaffs protruding from the unicorn’s breath-heaving belly.

It is all crimson and brown, all blood- and mud-coated legs stretched out on the grass, all wild, keening struggle for air, and the unicorn’s suffering is a palpable thing, as Edmund kneels in the heat of it, opposite his brother.

Peter does not look up, but bends lower, traces a line up Erah's long nose through the blood and gore with his kisses, fast-falling tears washing a little of it all away.

Edmund blinks, sending tears tumbling down his own cheeks, and he fumbles with the buckles on his gauntlets, lays them aside so he may lay warm hands gentle on the unicorn's neck.

One dark eye rolls round to find him, a flash of recognition piercing the haze of agony, and another noise comes Erah's lips, something Edmund can barely recognize as a whicker.

Yet, for the first time, Edmund understands, he knows exactly what Erah has just said, has just asked of him, he needs no translator for the plea in that throaty utterance, and fresh tears spill over.

He opens his mouth to speak, to acknowledge and affirm that yes, yes, of course he will care for Peter, as tenderly as any brother could, of course he will watch over him in all of this, but there is nothing, no words, now he is the mute one, and he can only reach for Peter, lay his palm over shockingly cold fingers, till at last Peter looks up. Face and beard messy with tears and blood, eyes red with crying, golden hair dark and matted with sweat, he is the king no one sees in the paintings, he is Edmund's brokenhearted brother, he is a man struggling to say goodbye to the dearest of friends.

“He–” Peter's voice is wrecked with weeping. “He will not let me end it.”

Oh, Aslan.

Edmund reaches out to grip the back of Peter's neck with his other hand, and he pulls Peter in, presses their foreheads together, so their tears fall to mingle on Erah's neck between them. It is the kind of comfort Peter offers so readily, but now it is Edmund's privilege to return it.

No legends, no paintings come to mind for Edmund then, but only an image of Peter standing on Erah's back under a tree and tossing apples down for the unicorn to catch, another memory of finding Peter sleeping in the stable, curled against Erah's side. Peter as a boy, rolling in the grass howling with laughter as Erah pursued him with wiggling lips. The pair of them washing off under a small waterfall after a long session under Oreius's instruction. Peter laughing in the golden noon light, as he and Erah raced Edmund and Philip down the long track toward Beruna. Peter dozing in the sun with Erah's first colt asleep across his lap, while Erah and Pearl watch over them both.

A hundred little moments in which Edmund has witnessed the love his brother and this unicorn bear toward one another, yet he knows Peter must have a thousand more such images and sensations passing through his thoughts.

And this is how it is to end? This is when the beautiful life of a faithful, loving servant and friend is to fade out of this world?

Edmund is helpless in the teeth of all this pain, his brother's soft keening, the sobbing breaths of Erah, and the taste of blood is heavy on his tongue.

If only Lucy were here with her cordial, he thinks, and the thought of his sisters' coming grief is another blow.

Peter murmurs something low, something not quite words, and Erah answers in a heaving gasp.

Edmund draws back, wipes one hand roughly over his face, wanting to ignore the thought growing in the back of his mind, but it is sharp and bright as the edge of his sword, a terrible thought, but if it would save them at least a little of this agony, and Peter had only said Erah would not let him…

Yet as he looks again at his brother huddled low over Erah's head, as he tracks the tender fingers beginning to tease through the knots of blood drying in the long mane, he is struck as if by a dagger to his own heart that there is beauty here, there is beauty in love that lingers to the last breath, there is… something he cannot name here as Peter and Erah share their final moments together, something deeper and truer than the pain, something that will last long after the earth has greened over a grave and the heart-wound is but a tender scar. Love can make anything—anything at all, no matter how terrible—into a thing of beauty, and Edmund can not, will not, rob the ones he loves of such a thing. Rather he will guard it, bear witness to it, hold them in his own heart. Until it is over.

Peter looks up then, finds Edmund's eyes, before he looks past, looks behind his brother, and Edmund is close enough to see a flash of gold reflected in the High King’s tears.

Abruptly he is aware that the battlefield has hushed, the air has grown warmer, and he knows before he turns his head.

“Oh, Aslan,” and Peter's voice does not sound like Peter's, it is so small and broken. “Oh, Aslan, please.”

Edmund tears his gaze away from the Lion's face, looks back to his brother, and he sees no startled awe, no courtly reverence, no High King or magnificence. Just… Peter, armour covered in blood and mud, face streaked with the clean lines of tears, cradling Erah's head in his arms so tenderly, and looking up at Aslan with all the gieving hope of a child in his eyes, as if He is all that matters.

It is an image Edmund will never forget.

Erah, whose breathing has eased, says something deep in his throat, and Peter shakes his head sharply, cuts him off.

“Peace, Erah. I beg thee, Aslan, do not listen to him. My leg will mend, but his wounds–”

A sob rattles him, and Edmund reaches to take his hand, but Peter chokes out the words anyway: “Oh, Aslan, please. There- there is no other– Help. Help him. He is my friend. I love him.”

“I know, my son. I know.”

Aslan’s voice is rich and strong, as deep as if it came from the earth itself, as soft as spring rain. He holds Peter's gaze for a long moment, before he speaks again.

“Remove the pikes from his wounds.”

Peter turns at once, preparing to rise, but a hiss of pain escapes his lips.

“Brother?” he asks, but Edmund is already moving, shuffling on his knees till he can lean over the unicorn's belly to grasp the shafts of wood, thick as a wolf's leg.

He does not allow himself to hesitate, only trust, only obey, and he sets his jaw, seizing one, two, three, drawing them out swiftly, all scarlet and stained. The rush of blood is instant, and Edmund's breath catches in his throat, but then the golden presence is beside him, stooping down, lion's mane brushing his cheek. And softly, gently, rain begins to fall.

So Aslan comes, and bends his greatness low, paws in the mud, rain on his back, and like a mother with a newborn colt, the Lion's tongue cleans the blood away— everywhere He touches, the unicorn is healed, before their very eyes.

There are many wounds, and Aslan is thorough, but it seems only moments before Erah is lifting his head from Peter's lap, snorting into the High King’s face, so that Peter's sob is a laugh, and then he is gathering his legs under himself, and rises to stand above them, only mud or grass-green staining his white coat, darkened by the rain. Aslan steps back, as the unicorn steps forward, wobbly as a colt, until he sets his feet, shakes himself all over in the way of horses, and whinnies something loud and delighted. Edmund finds himself laughing, but he sees Peter is weeping once more as his brother stumbles to his feet, left leg buckling under his weight so he falls into Erah's shoulder.

The unicorn catches him, head ducking under Peter's arm in a practiced move, and Peter makes a wordless noise, part laugh, part cry, but all wild joy, and flings his arms around Erah's muscled neck, buries his face in the long mane. Erah curves around him, whickering softly, and then Edmund too is blinking away tears once more.

Aslan eyes are smiling, as he looks over at Edmund, and Edmund clambers to his feet, dips into a bow, smiles back, heart full. “We thank thee, Aslan. There are not words enough–” He shakes his head, spreads his hands, laughing again.

Rain falls in a fine grey mist, sweeping over the battlefield, yet it seems the sun has come out, everywhere there is colour and hope. Edmund still reels inside with this reversal of grief; he can only imagine how much deeper and greater Peter's emotions run.

Peter and Erah separate, though the High King still leans on the unicorn's shoulder as Edmund comes to Erah's other side, and they bow toward the Lion.

“Peace, my children,” Aslan says. “Your faith has been strengthened.” And He breathes on them then. “You are beloved of Me, and of one another. Rejoice.”

And then He is gone across the torn and wounded meadow, flickers of tawny gold through the mist.

There are many stories told of King Peter on the battlefield, and many pictures painted of he and his warmount, the white unicorn Erah. But to Edmund, the ones he loves best are the stories of his brother's great heart, and the images that linger in his memory are of a blond man stripped to his breeches, sitting up spluttering in a stream, with Erah prancing around him, while Edmund sits on the bank, cleaning his sword, and laughing.

Next

[racefortheironthrone]

Hey, what does disruptor mean? I saw it when looking at your answers. I’ve also seen people joke about it on twitter but I can’t find a meaning to it.

It's a term I personally loathe, but I'm willing to do some recent cultural/intellectual history to explain where it came from and what it means.

The term disruptor as it's commonly used today comes out of the business world, more specifically the high tech sector clustered in Silicon Valley. Originally coined as "disruptive innovation" by business school professor Clayton Christensen in the mid-to-late 90s, the idea was that certain new businesses (think your prototypical startup) have a greater tendency to develop innovative technologies and business models that radically destabilize established business models, markets, and large corporations - and in the process, help to speed up economic and technological progress.

While Christensen's work was actually about business models and firm-level behavior, over time this concept mutated to focus on the individual entrepeneur/inventor/founder figure of the "disruptor," as part of the lionization of people like Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerburg or Elon Musk, or firms like Lyft, Uber, WeWork, Theranos, etc. It also mutated into a general belief that "disrupting" markets and, increasingly, social institutions is how society will and should progress.

I find these ideas repellant. First of all, when it comes to the actual business side of things, I think it mythologizes corporate executives as creative geniuses by attributing credit for innovations actually created by the people they employ. Elon Musk didn't create electric cars or reusable rockets, Steve Jobs didn't design any computers or program any OSes, but because they're considered "disruptors," we pretend that they did. This has a strong effect on things like support for taxing the rich - because there is this popular image of the "self-made billionaire" as someone who "earned" their wealth through creating "disruptive" companies or technologies, there is more resistance to taxing or regulating the mega-wealthy than would otherwise be the case.

Even more importantly, treating "disruptors" like heroes and "disruption" as a purely good thing tends to make people stop thinking about whether disruption to a given industry is actually a good thing, whether what tech/Silicon Valley/startup firms are doing is actually innovative, what the economic and social costs of the disruption are, and who pays them. Because when we look at a bunch of high-profile case studies, it often turns out to be something of a case of smoke and mirrors.

To take ridesharing as an example, Lyft and Uber and similar companies aren't actually particularly innovative. Yes, they have apps that connect riders to drivers, but that's not actually that different from the old school method of using the phone to call up a livery cab company. There's a lot of claims about how the apps improve route planning or the availability of drivers or bring down prices, but they're usually overblown: route planning software is pretty common (think Google Maps), when you actually look at how Lyft and Uber create availability, it's by flooding the market with large numbers of new drivers, and when you look at how they got away with low prices, it was usually by spending billions upon billions of venture capital money on subsidizing their rides.

Moreover, this "disruption" has a pretty nasty dark side. To start with, Lyft and Uber's business strategy is actually a classic 19th century monopoly strategy dressed up in 21st century rhetoric: the "low prices" had nothing to do with innovative practices or new technology, it was Lyft and Uber pulling the classic move of deliberately selling at a loss to grab market share from the competition, at which point they started raising their prices on consumers. Availability of drivers was accomplished by luring way too many new drivers into the labor market with false promises of making high wages in their spare time, but when the over-supply of drivers inevitably caused incomes to decline, huge numbers of rideshare drivers found themselves trapped by auto debts and exploited by the companies' taking a significant chunk of their earnings, using the threat of cutting them off from the app to cow any resistance. And above all, Lyft and Uber's "disruption" often came down to a willful refusal to abide by pre-existing regulations meant to ensure that drivers could earn a living wage, that consumers would be protected in the case of accidents or from the bad behavior of drivers, etc. As a policy historian, however, I find the extension of "disruption" into social institutions the most troubling. Transportation, health care, education, etc. are absolutely vital for the functioning of modern society and are incredibly complex systems that require a lot of expertise and experience to understand, let alone change. Letting a bunch of billionaires impose technocratic "reforms" on them from above, simply because they say they're really smart or because they donate a bunch of money, is a really bad idea - especially because when we see what the "disruptors" actually propose and/or do, it often shows them to be very ordinary (if not actively stupid) people who don't really know what they're doing.

Elon Musk's Loop is an inherently worse idea than mass transit. His drive for self-driving cars is built on lies. Pretty much all of the Silicon Valley firms that have tried to "disrupt" in the area of transportation end up reinventing the wheel and proposing the creation of buses or trolleys or subways.

Theranos was a giant fraud that endangered the lives of thousands in pursuit of an impossible goal that, even if it ould have been achieved, wouldn't have made much of a difference in people's lives compared to other, more fruitful areas of biotech and medical research.

From Bill Gates to Mark Zuckerburg, Silicon Valley billionaires have plunged huge amounts of philanthropy dollars into all kinds of interventions in public education, from smaller classrooms to MOOCs to teacher testing to curriculum reform to charter schools. The track record of these reforms has been pretty uniformly abysmal, because it turns out that educational outcomes are shaped by pretty much every social force you can think of and educational systems are really complex and difficult to measure.

So yeah, fuck disruptors.

[tarotoftheendless]

Forever Waiting: Waiting for Forever 0.5 - Chapter Four

Forever Waiting

Summary:

Willie tries something new. Revelations come to light. The origin of Jules' band name is revealed.

Warnings/Tags:

Drinking alcohol. Mentions of an original character's death by unaliving themselves. An angsty fight that could feel all too familiar to those who have been in toxic controlling relationships. If I forget any warnings/tags that should be here, let me know and I will add them.

I want to thank @thoughtsfromlayla as being manned right now by the lovely @arunawayheart. Both these folks have been such an amazing help to me when writing this story. The love and encouragement I feel from the both of them is exactly what I needed to carry on with this passion project of mine.

Accounts Wanting to be Tagged:

@notyourwildestdream

If you want to join the tag list, let me know and I will tag you so you know exactly when a new chapter drops, and or new content for this project drops.

MASTER LIST/FIRST/PREVIOUS/NEXT

Chapter Title Card is done by me this time!

Chapter Four: The Promise

October 3rd, 2008

Taft, Pennsylvania

11:11pm

Jules’ POV

It's not that I don’t know he is there. It is more that I feel a sense of embarrassment go through my whole body that I am trying to suppress. Looking at him would break my resolve. I realize I just came out to Willie without having the chance to say, ‘Hey, bestie, yeah, I’m bisexual. Cool? Cool.’ 

Besides, I likely appear messy as fuck right now. Having to be at full energy fronting a band and the harshness of stage lights made me work up a sweat. The feeling of droplets making a path from my hairline down to my chin has me glad waterproof make-up exists. Willie on the other hand has this effortlessly sexy vibe to him in his red plaid hoodie and pajama pants. Always with the pajamas, but it suits him.

Feeling Willie’s eyes burning holes in the side of my face, I finally turn my attention towards him. I have to stifle a laugh as he just seems visibly uncomfortable. Shuffling closer to him, he leans away from me, his blue eyes reflecting in the low lighting, big as saucers. 

My brow knits in concern and I glance over at Dean who is filling four shot glasses of Tequila for my band and I. Willie isn’t homophobic, is he? Worry sets in as I can tell he is studying me as if I grew antlers and a tail.

Brushing off the feeling, I know that can’t be it. Willie has always been so open to new ideas that are different in the past. I call out to Dean again, “Hey, babes, pour two extra. I wanna toast with my friend here.”

Dean makes a sound that lets me know he heard me and I lean over to Willie. “You know, if it is too loud in here, you can ask the bar for earplugs.” I say close to his ear and I swear I hear him take in a sharp breath. If not for his fixation on Emma, I would think it is me affecting him, but that couldn’t be it.

Willie leans towards my ear, his stubble tickling me in a way that makes me feel warm though very differently. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. I’ll ask.” He says, his voice low, almost husky, making me just want to kiss him on the spot. When he doesn't move away from my ear, my imagination goes wild. I almost wish he would just take my earlobe between his teeth and… 

Instead, he spoke again, “I had no idea you could play like that. Jules, you’re amazing.” His breath is hot on my neck and I wonder if he even realizes what he is doing to me. His eyes dart down to my chest and part of me doesn’t know if he is looking at my sun tattoo or the claw marks. He seems like he wants to say something but I don’t give him the chance.

I lean towards his ear again. “Well, if you had written to me during high school, or I don’t know, visited, maybe you would have known that sooner, babe.” I am teasing him, but with the way he tenses up a bit, I know I struck a nerve that was still fresh for him. Feeling bad, I try to recover the low blow with a kiss to his cheek. Surprise comes over him, but he then smiles at me.

Dean then comes up to us on his side of the bar with a tray of six shots, salt, and lime wedges. He seems like he wants to say something, but another bar patron takes his attention away.

Smiling, I grab two shots, the salt, and a couple lime wedges, putting one of each in front of Willie. He cocks an eyebrow at me as he eyes the shot and then me. His quizzical expression makes me laugh. “Bitch, I want you to do a shot with me,” I shout over the noise in the pub.

Willie bites his lip. The uncertainty on his face almost makes me not catch that he has said something, though the loudness around us in the pub swallowed his words. Moving my body towards him again, I shout so he can hear me, “What?”

He moves closer to me again and says in a raised voice, “I’ve never had Tequila before.”

I can’t help but giggle. I meet his eyes with a sudden seriousness, my hand reaching for his on his lap, to which he tenses at. “Would you like to have your first shot with me then?” My thumb gently brushes the top of his hand, and I can just feel him relax to my touch.

Slowly he gestures ‘yes’ with his head, quirking a smile at me, albeit a cautious one. Whispering the instructions in his ear, Willie continues to nod his understanding. I show him to wet the top of his hand between his thumb and pointer finger with his lime wedge, then to shake some salt there from the shaker. After we are both properly salted, I ask him, “You ready, sweet summer child?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, moon child,” is his only response. With that he closes his eyes and quickly licks salt off his hand, causing me to need to catch up with how fast he is doing this. 

We both do our shots at the same time, but whereas I am more calm about it, Willie seems frazzled as he practically slams the empty shot glass down. His nose is all scrunched up along with his eyes as he tries to handle his first shot of Tequila. It is probably the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life. 

He grasps for his lime wedge, sucking it for all that it is worth. Lazily, I take my lime wedge between my lips, casually biting into it, drinking down the tart juices.

Setting my wedge on the tray of other shots I am gonna take to my bandmates in a moment, I watch Willie just completely destroy his lime wedge. Laughing, though I am concerned, I reach out to Willie again and ask, “Willie? You gonna be okay?”

Frantically he nods, though I notice a tear escaping his left eye. Seeing him like this just makes me want to take him into my arms and to kiss away any and all discomfort he may be feeling. Instead I lean close to him again and say, “Well, I gotta go back to my band. They need libations of their own and we have a few more songs to play for everyone. You sure you are gonna be okay here?”

Willie hasn’t stopped moving his head up and down to the point that I almost think it’s a tic but when he breathes out a husky ‘yes… I’m fine’, I can’t help but smile.

Seeing Dean out of the corner of my eye, I shout, “Hey, Dean, another water over here, please and thank you!”

Dean grunts in response but starts to do as I say. 

Sliding off my stool, I grab the tray of shots. Making a point to catch Willie’s gaze again, I wink at him before turning to walk through the crowd of folks all drinking and waiting for my band and I to start playing again. Smiling to myself, I swear I see Willie blush before I turn around.

Rachel and the guys – Cole my drummer and Zach my keyboardist – are standing on the side of the stage around a tall table, clearly waiting for me to come back with the shots.

“Took you fuckin’ long enough, I think I got sober just watching you flirt with the guy in, what are those, pajamas?” says Zach, who is always high or buzzed when I see him. After the one time I saw him sober, I almost preferred him under the influence.

Rolling my eyes, I set the tray on the table and set to wetting my hand with a new lime wedge.

“Yeah, Julie, who’s the hottie? Think he likes men?” Cole pipes up, twirling his long black fringe as he looks in Willie’s direction.

Rachel scoffs before I can answer and says, “That’s Willie.”

I almost take my shot before them as Cole and Zach give each other a bugged eyed look.

“That’s Willie? The Willie?” asks Cole as he leans towards me, hoping to hear all the juicy gossip.

“Yes, shit for brains, that’s Willie. And never fucking call me Julie ever again if you’d like to keep your balls, got it?” I growl at Cole. He gives me his most offended expression he can, hand over his chest and everything.

“Dean is practically glaring at your boy, Jules,” Zach informs me. I don’t need to look, I already know.

Rachel shifts so she is close to my ear. “Does he know? About you know… the sex? His name?”

Shoving Rachel away, I glare at her. “No, of course not. But I am now realizing that might be inevitable…”

Zach and Cole are holding their breath, as if they are waiting to be let in on the secret. Groaning, I grab my shot and use it to point at the both of them. “Willie is hardly my boy, Zach. He’s in love with Emma, remember? And as for Dean? Well, he likes to think he owns me, but he doesn’t. I’ve got it handled. Just drop it.”

Both Cole and Zach put their hands up in surrender while Rachel is giving me an ‘uh huh, sure…’ look. Choosing to ignore her, I raise my shot.

“We have a kick-ass show to put on, guys, let’s take our shots and fucking do just that!” I shout, encouraging them to toast with me.

The boys relent, and get ready to take their shots with me. Rachel is slow to commit to the bit. When she finally concedes, her wary stare burns a hole between my eyes.

The DJ MC is hyping us up again and I know that’s our queue to hurry the fuck up.

“Suicidal Wyrms!” I chant, downing my shot. The others follow suit, exclaiming with me. We suckle our limes and then make our way back to the stage with the crowd cheering us on.

The guys get into position, Rachel hands me my guitar and I slip the strap back onto my shoulder. Striding up to the mic, my fingers wrap around the pole of it, my lips touching the surface with a smile.

“Awww! Did you miss us?” I ask in my most sultry voice, which was met with an instant roar of applause.

“I suppose we have a few more songs to play for y’all, right guys?” I ask my band and they all give me their affirmative answers in the form of shouts and whistles.

“Well, y’all better be in the dancing mood, or really just the mood, ‘cause we are about to crank up the fucking heat!” With that Cole starts the beginning drum sequence for ‘Blue Monday’, our own synthy metal cover.

Letting myself get lost in the music, my focus is more on giving the crowd a performance that they will remember in the weeks, if not months to come. I handle my electric guitar as if she is my baby and the mic as if it is my lover. The perfect balance of leading my band in the dark sexual spell we are weaving and lulling the people into submission with our witchcraft. The sensual movements of my body are very much intentional.

My guitar solo is where my mind wanders for a moment. Closing my eyes as the flashing red and blue lights move back and forth across the stage, my thoughts are filled with Willie. In my head, I see the vignette of Dean and I from earlier, but instead of it being Dean, Willie is in his place. 

Shock courses through me so hard that it brings me back to the present moment as I finish my guitar solo. The crowd is cheering and dancing. Shaking off the feelings I was having, I usher my band towards the end of the song.

After playing a few more songs with so much energy that I am sweating harder than before, I pause for dramatic effect, allowing the audience to praise us.

“We have one more song for you before Mike, our fan-fucking-tastic DJ, takes over for the rest of the evening! Thank you so much for having us back here to play for y’all! It’s been fucking real!” I shout into the mic and the crowd erupts.

My eyes meet Rachel’s and she nods. The weight of many unspoken emotions come to the surface as I let my guitar fall slack on my shoulder, trying to center myself as I breathe in, ready for the fall that was surely about to follow.

“If you need a friend, don’t look to a stranger! You know in the end, I’ll always be there! And When you’re in doubt, and when you’re in danger, take a look all around, and I’ll be there!” I begin, following Zach’s intro on the keyboard. Cole comes in with Rachel after that in our more emotional arrangement of this song.

“I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say!” I sing. Holding the mic with both hands, my eyes close and I feel everything all at once as words fall from my lips.

“I promise you!” Rachel sings back up, strumming her bass in rhythm.

“I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be!” My voice almost quivers but I hold the notes.

“I promise you!”

“But if you wait around awhile, I’ll make you fall for me!”

“I promise you!”

“I promise, I promise you, I will!”

My eyes remain closed. The fear of them finding Willie’s across the bar, even with the lights flashing in my face, grips the very heart of me. Will he know that I am singing about us? What I have always hoped for and felt? I hope so… but also I hope not. He is so pure and beautiful and I feel like I am just too broken for him to even want.

Zach, Rachel and Cole are accompanying me perfectly, allowing all of us to feel the raw emotion of the music. The audience is captivated. As I reopen my eyes, I can see many have taken out lighters and are holding them up for us.

“I gotta tell ya! Need to tell ya! Gotta tell ya! I’ve gotta tell ya!” I belt as I feel a tear fall from the corner of my eye, bleeding in with the sweat from the heat of the stage lights.

We finish out our last song and the crowd is riotous. Their vigor snaps me out of my emotions for a moment.

“Thank y’all for being such a fucking rad audience! We’re Suicidal Wyrms! Have a fuckin’ good night!” I yell into the mic as another round of applause begins.

Rachel and the guys are already getting gear together to start to take our instruments off the stage. I notice Dean storm out from behind the bar looking angry as fuck as he heads to the side door towards the alley.

I hand Rachel my guitar, which earns me a questioning look. “Dean’s pissed… again.” I offer as an explanation. Rachel rolls her eyes when I brush past her down the stage steps. We both know what this is likely about.

Pushing through the crowd, who seem to be content to shift their attention to their drinks and whatever music the DJ has put on, I attempt to make my way to the side door to follow after Dean.

“Jules!” I hear to my left and I realize it is Willie yelling to get my attention.

Stopping in front of the door, Willie catches up with me, almost out of breath. He takes out an earplug. I guess he asked the bar, likely Dean, for a pair after all.

“Yes, Willie? I’m a bit busy at the moment…” I start but he interrupts me.

“Yeah… about that… I think something I said might have upset the bartender. Is he your boyfriend?” Willie whisper-shouts into my ear to be heard over the DJ’s music.

Scoffing, I whisper-shout back, “Fuck no, Dean just likes to think he owns me, that’s all.”

Reaching out, Willie’s fingertips touch the top of the claw marks on my chest, causing me to pull away an inch. His eyes study the bruises, then my tattoo, only to finally meet my gaze. “Is that what that is?” He asks with sadness in his voice.

“Willie, go home. It’s late and I have too much to fucking deal with right now rather than worrying about you judging me on who I spend my time with.” It comes out more harsh than I mean it to. I see that same shock and hurt wash over Willie as I did back in the summer of 1999.

Before Willie can say a word, I open the door that leads to the alley, walking through it. It slams shut on his face. If I had dared to look back, I know I would have seen concern and worry painting his features.

The air is a bit cooler outside now that it is after midnight. Dean is pacing back and forth by my band’s van, cigarette in hand, bottle of whiskey in the other.

“Were you ever gonna tell me? Huh? Jules? Were you ever gonna fucking tell me?” Dean seethes as he paces, taking a drag, then a swig, not meeting my eyes.

Opening the passenger side door of the van, I fish out a lighter and pack of Camels. Not my favorite brand, but it will do. Lighting up my own cigarette, I close the van door, then lean up against it. Sighing out a plume of smoke, I know I don’t need to ask what he means, but I ask anyway. “Tell you what, Dean?”

Taking another hit, Dean is practically sneering at me. “Do you really think I am that fucking stupid, Jules? Huh? You are such a fucking bitch, you know that?” He tips back the whiskey bottle, gulps down more than a shot before he continues. “Willie? That guy out there, that you were getting all cozy with right in front of me? He told me his name is Will Donner. That’s Willie, right? The fucking name you moan like a bitch in heat every time you cum on my fucking cock? He’s a real fucking person and you didn’t have the balls to fucking tell me before I had the pleasure of meeting the jack-off himself!”

Dean just goes off, not letting me say a word. The moment he almost throws the bottle of whiskey at the brick wall across from him is when I leap into action to take the bottle from him.

“You just had to grab the most expensive bottle, didn’t you? Jack is gonna be pissed that he’ll have to replace it so soon,” I say, trying to defuse the situation. Dean gives me a look of disgust as he pulls away from me, leaving me with the whiskey.

Taking a drag and then a swig with the bottle, I sigh. “I wasn’t expecting you two would even talk, Dean.”

“Are you fucking serious? Even the bouncer knew he was supposed to be here and you knew I was working tonight! Are you that fucking selfish?” Dean snaps as he gets in my face, glaring down at me. 

I would have kissed him and fucked him right in this alley, but Dean struck a nerve. “Selfish? I’m selfish? Fuck you, Dean! You are fucking half the women that are in there and you are calling me selfish? That’s so fucking rich coming from you!”

“Those women are nothing!” Dean taunts.

“Do they know that? Jesus, fuck Dean, why does it fucking matter if Willie is a real person?” I ask, taking another drink from the bottle. I did not want to be sober anymore.

“Because you want him! Don’t even fucking deny it! You want him!”

“Why does that matter?”

“You don’t want me!”

Hearing Dean say that takes me aback. Taking a drag, I breathe out the smoke before I answer him. “No, I don’t want you. I never did, Dean. That was the point.”

He gets closer to me, his eyes almost pleading with me as he gazes down at me. “You love him, don’t you?”

I am too stunned to speak. Dean steps away, breaking eye contact, making a sound of bored annoyance. “Guess that’s my answer then. Fuck.” He takes another hit, blowing out the smoke.

Pressing my back up against the van again, I watch Dean carefully. “Why do you even want me, Dean? We had an agreement. No attachment.”

He sighs, his blue eyes meet mine. “Because you don’t want me. It’s refreshing.” Finishing his cigarette, he drops the butt onto the ground, putting it out with the heel of his boot. “You know what, Jules? Lose my number. And don’t look for me.” He says as he starts to walk away down the alley, ditching the rest of his shift.

I am left there in the alley, on this cool October night, with a bottle of whiskey. “Fuck it,” I say to myself, bringing the opening of the bottle to my lips, and beginning to chug. The burn both hurts and feels good. If I can’t fuck my way out of this, I can at least not be sober anymore. ************************************************************************

Sunday, June 13th, 1999

Taft, Pennsylvania

2:13pm

Jules’ POV

Willie had just gotten back into town the day before, but much of the excitement was dampened by the fact that it was still raining yesterday. The rain only let up a couple hours ago, and the heat started to set in.

Joey wasn’t interested in going outside as Dee was gonna come over to watch a movie with him in a bit, but he had suggested that Willie and I get some fresh air if we were feeling that restless.

Of course, Willie had written both Joey and I all year, especially after what happened had happened, but we haven’t really talked-talked about much of anything out loud since the summer before.

My dad had almost tried to cancel Willie’s summer with us, telling his aunt and uncle that we were all still grieving. Dad rarely listened to me anymore, hell, he couldn’t even look at me anymore. However, I had overheard Joey tell dad that it would break my heart more if Willie didn’t stay with us this summer.

 I didn’t really like Joey speaking for me, but he was right. The loneliness I had been feeling for months had eased some when Willie had shown up. He hadn’t said a word, just took me into his arms, whispering to me that it was okay if I cried. I didn’t cry though. I just breathed Willie in, letting his very scent calm me down.

Now we were walking around the neighborhood, both of us in shorts, tank tops, and flip flops. My hair was in a messy bun, though I wanted to shave my head entirely because of how hot it suddenly had become. Willie’s hair was shaggy and a mess, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about putting my fingers through it.

We walked in silence for a long while, just doing laps. I don’t think either of us knew what to say. Willie had lost both his parents, so I knew he understood to some extent how I was feeling. He also seemed to understand that this was affecting me much differently than his loss had affected him. Willie was trying to be as considerate as possible, given the circumstances.

After lap five, his hand found mine, and I truly thought that was his way of letting me know that he knew I was in my head too much. It made my heart tighten in my chest. He was trying to be an anchor for me like I had always been for him. If I could have fallen any more in love with him, I would have.

When he decided to break the silence, it almost startled me. “Have you noticed all the burned up worms on the road? What’s that about?”

I almost laughed at the innocence of the topic. “Well, they likely were enjoying the moisture of the rain on the asphalt, but when the sun came out, the droplets magnified and fried them.” I stated matter-of-factly.

Willie considered my answer and then said, “Surely, they had to know that would happen. Unless of course they did know and they were suicidal.”

The moment he had said the word, we both tensed up, stopping in our tracks on the sidewalk.

“Jules, I…” Willie started but I finally just broke, falling to my knees on the sidewalk, sobs racking through my body uncontrollably. 

Willie dropped to his knees next to me, wrapping me up in his arms. My head tucked up under his chin and he kissed the top of my head as he held me. He didn’t tell me to shush though, or that I would be okay. He just kept saying ‘I know, I know, I know,’ over and over again. And he was right. He did know this kind of pain.

As my sobs started to lighten up, we both fell into silence for a few minutes. Not only was my face wet and my eyes raw, but we both felt a bit sweaty just holding each other in the middle of the sidewalk,

“I’m sorry about your mom, Jules,” Willie finally whispered to me.

My lips still against his now very damp tank top, I said, “I know, Willie, I know.”

He held me for a couple more minutes before we let each other go. He stood first, offering his hand to me to help pull me to my feet. Intertwining our fingers, we continued to walk down the sidewalk hand in hand.

“Suicidal worms? That’d make an awesome band name.” I finally said, thoughtfully.

Willie seemed stunned at first that I could just say that casually after breaking down like I had. Though when he saw me smiling at him, even if that smile didn’t quite reach my eyes, he relaxed a bit, smiling back at me.

“Yeah? I heard your music lessons were going well.”

Blushing, I asked, “Where did you hear that from?”

Willie laughed and said, “Joey told me, in his letters to me. I’m not sure why you’re embarrassed by it, Joey says you’re a natural.”

“Joey’s full of shit most of the time,” I blew Willie’s comment off.

Willie stopped us on the sidewalk again and caught my gaze. “Jules, don’t dismiss your gifts like that. If there is one thing you got from your mom, it’s her musical talent. Honor her memory by owning that for yourself.”

It was my turn to be stunned. We were only fourteen years old and here Willie was speaking with wisdom beyond his years. I wanted to lean in and kiss him, but I didn’t. He was only focusing on me right now because my mom was dead. If it wasn’t for that, he would be gushing about Emma.

I don’t speak, but I nodded my acceptance of his words, hoping that would be enough for him to believe. He seems to take it and let us walk on, still hand in hand.

“You’ll have to play for me one day, Jules.”

“If I am half as good as you assume I am, Willie, maybe I will.”

MASTER LIST/FIRST/PREVIOUS/NEXT

[maracujatangerine]

79. The butler didn’t do it - part 2

CW: pet whump, animal death

Lydia leafed through page after page, pen in hand, marking out passages to be revised and spelling mistakes to be corrected.

*

The butler didn’t do it

The low, midwinter sun cast its golden glow over the snow-covered forest. White-robed spruce and birch, rowan and beech, all stood silent in the cold. No wind stirring their branches.

The only thing moving was a lonely figure in a grey cloak who arduously trudged through the snow. They dragged a heavy spruce branch behind them, efficiently obscuring their tracks.

A man on a gleaming chestnut horse came to meet them. The horse high stepping through the snow. The jingling of the tack and the muffled hoofbeats loud in the stillness.

“There you are, Coal!” The man’s voice was suffused with joy and relief. He pushed back his brown hood to reveal long, dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard and sparkling, blue eyes. He reached out a restraining hand. “No, no, do not kneel. How are you?”

The blonde man bowed deeply. “I am well, Master. They have not suspected a thing.”

“Well done!” The man frowned. “Your clothes are too thin.” With a swift motion he unclasped his cloak, whipped it off and leaned down to lay it around Coal’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Master.” The pet gratefully wrapped the warm cloak tighter around himself. “I dare not arouse suspicion by showing off things that are above my station in life.”

“I’m sure you could come up with an excuse,” the rider grumbled, “a gift from your late master. A gift for uncommonly devoted service, that sort of thing. It is not uncommon, you know.”

Coal petted the horse’s neck, the mare nuzzling his hair with familiar affection.

“With all respect, Master. It isn’t worth the risk.”

“I trust your judgement.” The rider sighed. “I’m just worried about you.” He rallied, and continued briskly. “How did you manage to get out?”

“Like we planned. The cook was very happy with my avowed skill in setting traps and eager with the prospect of some hares to add to the supplies.”

“Brilliant.” The dark-haired man opened his saddlebag and revealed a brace of hares. Their soft, white fur shimmering in the pale sunlight. Thin, red lines circling their necks.

“Here you go, to further strengthen your reputation. I have sent Meredith to restring your traps.” He laughed. “She is a natural. She will take the path by the manor and insisted on wearing your old booths in case someone would be suspicious enough to check.”

“I had expected nothing less.” They exchanged proud smiles. Coal stuffed the hares into his own satchel.

“What is the mood in the house?”

“Everyone is in a tizzy about the upcoming holidays, eagerly and nervously awaiting the arriving guest.”

“I’m still angling for an invitation.” The rider interjected. “I will do all that is possible to make sure that I am there.”

“Thank you, Master.” The pet nodded and continued on. “The pets and the servants - not all of the servants are pets - are afraid.” He paused, thoughtfully. “But not, I think, of Mistress Gwendolyn, who I have barely seen, but who I hear is strict but fair and not unduly hash. The butler, the housekeeper and the cook have all been long with the household and they seem also generally well-liked by the staff. However… I’m sorry, Master. It pains me to speak ill of a person… the Mistress’ son seems to be a right piece of work. Cruel, insidious and apt to make problems for the staff.”

“Hmm…” The owner rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard anything about this, but I will try to find out more about him. Anything else?”

“I think that is all for now.”

“Good work. Here, I brought some food for you.”

“Thank you, Master.” The pet handed over the cloak and took the packet. He bowed again. “I will head back. I’ll try to return here on the day after tomorrow.”

“Coal?”

“Yes, Monsieur Dupond.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

*

Satisfied, Lydia left all the pages in neat stack of papers on the windowsill. Coriander would go through them and add comments later, too.

*

This is the continuation of The Butler didn’t do it that absolutely no one asked for. 😂 Actually, this is a chapter of Lydia’s work in progress that happens before the events in the first part. Cory is working hard to help Lydia improve her writing, and specifically her writing of pets.

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning