#keep up the good work lark!

[satorusugurugurl]

I Think He Knows: (Chapter Five)

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he tell you how he feels when you leave him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,197

Warning: Language, fingering, oral sex female receiving, horny reader, fuzzy feelings, pining!

A/N: Srry for the late update!! I struggled a bit with this chapter! But I hope y'all enjoy it!! 😘💚💚

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Sharing a bed with Geto was normal for you. He was always so courteous, snuggling when keeping his hands to himself. You always loved that about him. But as you lay in your bed, eyes focused on the morning rays of light peeking in through your blinds, you wished his hand wasn't under your pillow as he snored behind you. His other arm was draped over your body, his hand limply dangling close to your crotch, leaving a warmth tingling between your thighs.

Something was burning in your gut, a desire you’d never felt. You wanted Suguru to touch you and make you feel like he did the night before. To feel his lips on yours, to have his hand in your pajamas. Something had awakened inside you, and you weren't sure what to do with it.

A frantic feral desire urged you to rock back against your best friend. To have him touch you, kiss you, do so many other things to you. But how could you ask him to do that?! He was helping you with your book! Why the fuck were you being so weird? Why was your pulse racing? And why did you feel so wet?

Clutching your pillow, you fought against the urge to grab his hand and lead it between your legs. God, something was wrong with you. Amid your mental breakdown at eight in the morning, Suguru shifted, groaning as he moved his hips closer to you, making a slight moan sound in your throat. That sound, the feeling of your damp shorts, and the heat of Suguru’s body made you realize what was going on.

You were horny.

This yearning, the desire to have him touch you, the need to cum, was driving you insane. You shifted and squirmed, bringing your fist to your mouth and biting down on your knuckles. Of course, the first time you wake up uncomfortably horny is when Suguru is with you! You couldn’t just start rubbing your clit with him holding you or ask him for help. Because he wasn’t teaching you this ‘stuff’ because you were together, it was for research! You’d have to take care of this yourself!

Slowly lifting Suguru’s arm off you, you began inching towards the edge of the bed, but a hand grabbed you by the back of your tank top, pulling you back down. You yelp as his lark arm snakes around your waist, turning you so you are facing him, and god, he was a sight to wake up to in the morning.

Dark hair spilled out over your pillow; his eyes were slightly opened, dark irises searching your face as he licked his lips. He looked so fucking good; it made your wet shorts even wetter as he gently smiled, reaching out to brush back strands of your bed-messy hair. Your lips part before you shakily sigh, giving him your friendliest smile that doesn’t scream, ‘Touch me more!’.

“Good morning.” The tone of your voice is more breathier than you would have liked.

“Mornin’.” His voice is so grave and low that sounding that good this early morning should be illegal! “Where are you running off to?”

“R-running off!” You stutter, nervously laughing as you gently pat his chest. “W-What? Haha—no—no.” His chest vibrates with a low chuckle at your shy tone, and his muscles tense, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

Suguru’s hand rests on your hip, and he can feel you slightly jerk as if you are sensitive to his touch. Did you not want that? Maybe he should have checked before touching you so casually like that. Suguru slides his palm back, letting it dangle behind you instead.

The sudden lack of his touch makes your heart pot as you clear your throat. “Do you want to go get breakfast?” Suguru asks before clearing his throat. “Or do you have to get back to rewrites?” God, breakfast with him sounded so good, but you had so much editing to do. Plus, it didn’t help that you wanted to do nothing more than lie in bed with him and touch each other more.

Is fondling each other on the menu?

Suguru stiffens, and your eyes widen as he stares at you. Did you say that out loud? You open your mouth as he pulls back, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh my god—” he says softly. “Sorry, I probably—”

“I-I didn’t mean it!”

Suguru blinks, cocking an eyebrow, as you sit up. “Huh?” You realize you did not say anything when he just stared at you.

“I-I—”

“I was saying I should probably brush my teeth. What were you thinking about?” The smug tone in his voice has you scurrying away. You weren't sure what you were thinking. Because seeing you so flustered and jumpy had him following you close. A grin on his face as you scrambled out of bed towards the kitchen. “Where are you going? Come back here~!”

“I-I’m gonna make breakfast!”

Something in the way you rushed to the kitchen made Suguru’s heart swell. He flopped back down in bed, grinning happily. Suguru pictured waking up in bed with you, making breakfast, and being domestic. God, he could get used to this.

But if he wanted this to continue, he'd have to come clean and say that he didn't want to be your friend; he wanted to be more than that.

He'd get to that point eventually. For now, this was

good enough for him. Helping you out, in a strange way, was helping him build up the confidence to confess to you. Hopefully, he can do it before you leave for Europe.

Breakfast was terrific, omelets, coffee, and fresh berries. It was you, that was so strange. Suguru watched you closely, taking in how you shifted and kept your eyes on your plate.

“Hey,” he finally couldn't stand the standoffish behavior anymore as you stabbed a strawberry with your fork. “Are you okay?”

Oh, you were okay, aside from the undeniable horny fire and heat burning between your legs. “I’m fine, just tired.” Suguru didn't look at all pleased with your answer.

“Is it about last night?”

“Last night? No, it’s just got a lot going on.” in your shorts. “With the rewrites and plotting.” you took a bite of the juicy berry with a sigh.

“Oh, is there anything I can do to help out?”

If he could make you cum again, yes, he was more than welcome to do that. “No, I think I have enough uhm—” you cleared your throat, motioning between you both, “notes~ to help me with the next few chapters.” In reality, you wanted to do nothing more than stay in bed and have him show you what else he could do, like with his tongue and his coc—.

“Did—did I go too far last night?” You choked on a blueberry, eyes watering as Suguru looked off. You coughed and chugged down some coffee, trying to clear your throat. “Oh, shit? Are you okay?!” He jumped up, heading around the other side of the table, smacking your back as you coughed up the berry.

That was not what you wanted to choke on.

“Fuck—” you wheezed out, clearing your throat, “Oooh fuck.”

Suguru’s hands slid up, gently rubbing your shoulders, making you whine. “You okay?” His thumbs dug into your stiff muscles, kneading the soreness away.

“Mmm~ I'm good now.” you learned back, moaning softly. “A-And ahh~ to answer your question, you didn't go too far last night.”

“Oh, okay, good.” you could feel the relief in his touch as he squeezed your shoulders harder. “So, can I ask why you've been jumpy all morning?”

“No, you may not.”

“You’re no fun.”

You tilted your head back, staring at Suguru as he squeezed and massaged you. “I think you had a lot of fun with me last night.” Both his hands froze.

The tension from the night before began to build as Suguru smirked his hands, leaving the back of the chair and turning it for you to face him. He knelt so you were eye to eye, his bed-messy hair tied up in a bun, but his bangs fell in his face. Why did he have to look so perfect? So fucking glorious? Seeing him like this, cocky and knowing, had you pressing your thighs together.

You might not be able to actively tell him what you want. That was too embarrassing, especially when it was to benefit your book. But opening the door for him to make suggestions for you possibly wasn't something you were opposed to. Getting Suguru worked up might be the best way to get what you want without ruining your friendship.

“If I remember correctly, you had as much fun with me as I did with you.”

“Mmmm, if I remember correctly, you jerked yourself off mostly; I just rested my hand on top of yours.”

He closed the distance between you, his hands resting on top of your bare thighs. “Funny, I remember you pulling my hand off and jerking me off until I came all of your hand.” Your breath came out as heavy as his fingers slid under the edge of your shorts. “Is that why you’re so jumpy? Thinking about last night?” His whole hand slid underneath the edge of your shorts,

“M-Maybe—”

“Mm, soo if I did something like I don’t know—“ his hands slid to the inside of your thighs, “like this.” Suguru forced your legs open, making you gasp. “I wouldn’t see a wet spot on those pretty purple shorts?”

You knew there was a wet spot. You panted heavily, watching as Suguru's eyebrows rose at the sight of your arousal. Those dark eyes trailed up your body before he began massaging your thighs. They moved in slow circles up to where your thigh and hip connected.

“You’re soaked.”

“I am.”

“Thinking about your book?”

No, you weren’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Yeah, thinking about the next chapter Sugu.” His fingers drew closer to your throbbing, dripping sex.

“Yeah? Need a little more help with research? I’d be happy to help; it’s for your book, after all.” Yeah, your book and nothing more than that. “So tell me, what happens in the next chapter?”

“Ilsan, uhm, licks her. Wanna help me?”

Suguru licks his lips, grabbing your shorts, hooking them under his fingers, revealing your dripping cunt to him. Suguru can’t help but groan, his fingers pulling your shorts off to the side as far as he can to get a good look at your pussy. It’s so wet and twitching with anticipation. He leans in, gently blowing in your sex with a grin as you jump.

“Princess,” he says in a deep, primal voice, “allow me to help you.”

“H-Huh?!” You flush as he tugs you towards the edge of the chair. “S-Sugu!”

“Shhh~ I got you.”

His tongue darted out between his perfect, pretty lips, licking at your folds. The sensation of his tongue running up and down your slick slit, your eyes rolling back. You thought last night with his hand felt good. This was a whole new level. His gentle, slow, and teasing, you cry out in ways you had never done before.

“O-Ohhh shit.” Your head tilts back as Suguru science, his tongue up higher and higher until the tip meets your clit. “Nnngh!!” You screamed much like you had last night, but this time, your whole body jerks forward.

Suguru groans against you, tasting your sweet, sticky essence, his eyebrows furrowing together and pure concentration. He doesn’t want to lose himself in your taste. But fuck is that hard to do. Tasting you, hearing you, being the one pleasuring you, had his dick throbbing in his pants.

He wanted to hear more of you, to make you scream, to taste you when you came on his tongue. So he slid his tongue down, caressing your entrance with a groan before sliding it inside of you. You squeaked, gripping his hair and tugging on the dark strands as he shoved his tongue deep inside of you, his eyes rolling back as he lapped and teased your walls. The sweet tang of your juices flooded his mouth like the most decadent wine. If it weren’t for your taste alone, your sounds would have urged him to continue to lap at you as if you were his last meals

Your fingers gripped the long, dark strands of hair as you felt your eyes fill with tears. The feeling of his tongue was much more intense than you ever imagined. You felt so full as his nose brushed against your clit, rubbing it as he furiously ate your pussy. It felt like you couldn’t breathe as Suguru ate the life out of you.

“S-Suguru!” You cried out, trying to close your legs around his head as the pleasure became almost too intense for you to handle. “S-Sugu! Suguru, p-please I-It’s so intense.”

“Mmmpmh—” he moaned into you as you clamped your thighs around him harder. “Mmm, princess, gotta stop that—trying to help you~.”

“I-It’s r-really intense!” You yelped as his tongue pressed up against your g-spot. “Oooh fuuuck! Su-Suguru!”

“Want me to stop?” His tongue flicked devilishly over your swollen clit. “I can.”

Your legs squeezed harder around his head. “D-Don’t stop! Please, I—” In one swift movement, Suguru yank your shorts down, holding them just above your knees. Your body curves as your ass is being lifted, causing your back to lean awkwardly against the back of your chair. It’s almost like he has you in a forty-five-degree angle. “S-suguru! A-Ahh!” His mouth latches onto your clit, sucking on it gently as he shoves two fingers inside of you, curling them up against your g-spot as he holds your legs up by your shorts.

Fuuuck why was this so hot? Your body felt like it was melting as you grabbed onto the sides of the chair, clinging to it for dear life. The man knew what he was doing, and he did it well. Between his mouth and his tongue, he left you a babbling, heaping mess of twitching limbs.

The low whimpers and the way you jerked against his mouth had Suguru humming around your sensitive clit. He was determined to make you feel so good that no one would compare. So with his eyes focused on your’s he curled his fingers inside of you, rubbing your g-spot as he sucked roughly on your clit. Your pretty eyes went wide, mouth falling agape into an ‘O’ as you focused your attention down.

”S-Suguru—wait a second!” The coil in your abdomen was tightening, like the night before, but it felt different. “Oh wait, wait—“ He pulled away from your twitching bundle of nerves, tilting his head to the side to look at you. “I uhm—I think I’m going to cum—“

”Cool, cum on my face.” He goes to bury his face between your thighs, only for you to pull away just a bit. “It’s okay—I want you to—“

“N-No, that’s not it! I feel different!”

”Different?”

”Yeah, I need to pee—so maybe we should stop.”

After hearing you say something like that, there was no way in hell he was stopping now. “You’re not going to pee; just let it go, princess.” Without so much as an explanation, Suguru’s mouth is back on you, swirling his tongue around your clit like it is the tastiest candy he’s ever eaten.

“S-Sugu!’ His fingers rub your g-spot, massaging the spongy tissue, making your toes curl as your chest heaves. “Fuck, oooh fuck, Suguru, please!” Your legs are shaking as he feels your walls fluttering around his middle and ring finger. “Please, fuck ohhhh fuck please!”

You weren’t entirely sure what you were begging for, but Suguru did. He picked up the speed of his fingers fucking into you as his mouth continued suckling your pretty clit. Toes curled as your eyes rolled back into your head. You had always wondered if getting eaten out was as good as it looked. From the one time you walked in on Suguru in the past, you assumed it was good. But now you were beginning to wonder if it was just getting eaten out that felt so good or if it was Suguru. If you were a betting woman, you would spend all your money on it, being Suguru.

The man was licking and lapping at you like it was his job. Like he was at risk for a promotion, making sure he put all his effort into it. It wasn’t just his technique that got you trembling and crying out; it was his pure enthusiasm that was getting to you. He was enjoying this as much as you were and wasn’t even getting touched.

That in itself was true; Suguru did love eating pussy, but never in his whole sexual experience had he ever gotten this into it. He was swirling his tongue, dipping it down to lap at the ring of slick forming at the base of his fingers. He never thought he would get the chance to be like this with you. And now that he had been given an opportunity to taste you firsthand.

He wasn’t sure he could ever let you go now.

Not when you. were screaming his name, one hand gripping the side of the chair while the other grabbed his bun, yanking it as your legs violently shook in the air above him. You were so close, oh so fucking close, he could taste it. His tongue started working faster, his fingers following their lead, slamming into you until you saw stars. Your back arched off the chair, a silent scream forming in the back of your throat as you inhaled sharply.

The coil in your lower stomach snapped with a release of pressure. Screaming his name as you came as a stream of clear liquid splashed against his face. His cock twitched twice before he felt himself cum; feeling and tasting your release had sent him over the edge. He was so into it that he dropped the hold of your shorts, freeing his hands to grab your hips, pulling you tighter against his mouth, allowing him to drink everything you were giving him in entirely. His mouth worked you through your most intense orgasm (your second one), not stopping until your legs were shaking and your hands were trying to push his head away from your oversensitive sex.

“Haaah—haaaah—“ you wheezed from the chair, your hands resting against Suguru’s head as he finally pulled away. “Oh, fuuuck.”

Your best friend chuckled, nipping gently at your inner thighs before he helped tag your pajamas back up your legs. “Feel good?” He asked as he gently massaged your upper thigh, trying to ground you as you came down from your high.

“Felt so fucking good.” You slowly slid out of the chair, joining him on the ground. “That felt so good.”

“It looked like it did, and hey, looks like you’re a squirter, that’s fun.”

Your cheeks burned as you noticed the mess of droplets on his shirt before covering your face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I could do that.” His hands gently grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away.

“Don’t apologize for feeling good, I loved seeing you cum like that.”

“That’s good to know, uhm so—“ You pulled your hand away from him, sliding it up to grope his thigh. “Can I help you? Maybe you could tell me how to use my mou—” Suguru’s hand grabbed your wrist again, halting your advances toward his crotch. For a second, you thought maybe he wasn’t interested, but from the flush that spread over his cheeks, you assumed it was something else.

“I uhm—I came already.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I came while eating you out,” he motioned to the wet spot on the front of his shorts. “But thank you for offering.”

“Oh,” you were slightly disappointed, “Okay, well, uhm.”

Suguru interrupted your lack of words with a happy hum. “Are you free on Friday?” You blinked before nodding.

“I just have a meeting with Utahime to give her the newest chapter, but I’m free after that.”

“Great, how about dinner at my apartment on Friday night? Then, if you’re up to it, we could go over more ‘stuff’ for the book.”

You beamed up at him, nodding your head. “That sounds like a plan! I’ll make dinner.” His hand reached out, caressing your head with a fond smile as he shut his eyes.

Things between you two didn’t change after he returned home. You both were busy, so you didn’t have much time to hang out in the next few days. While you worked on your rewrites, he was busy working on a couple of commissions. But you always found time to text each other, ensuring the other was taking breaks and drinking plenty of water. Things weren’t different at all.

Aside from the fact you found yourself grinning like an idiot at your phone each time he would text or call you. For the first time in the years that you had been friends, you felt your heart race every time he’d text you. Was it the research you both had been doing? Or was it something more?

Even more strange was that you wanted it to be something more. You should have been terrified about a couple of folding sessions ruining your friendship, but you weren’t. What was happening between you and Suguru felt so natural and genuine. Like you both were growing and for the first time in your relationship, you were growing closer together.

That in itself was both terrifying and exciting.

Friday afternoon finally came around, and you were grinning at your phone

Suguru: Tell Utahime you have a date 😩 why does she need to read your rewrites in person?

You kicked your feet under the booth. He was so cute when he was impatient. With a quick bite of your lip, you quickly shot him back a messages

You: because she’s my agent. And strange, you never said my coming over was a date. 😏

Suguru: We’re eating food, drinking wine, and are going to snuggle. It’s a date with your best friend, as always. 🙄

You were about to ask what he would say if you wanted it to be a ‘date date’ when Utahime slammed the papers you handed her down. You winced quickly, putting your phone away. Her eyes were glued on the pages before she smiled wide, leaning back in the booth.

“This is some of your best work yet. It felt so real! Your writing has improved!”

It was funny how a little experience could go a long way! “Thank you. I had some help.” You glance back down at your phone.

“Oh my god, I’m so excited to see what you have planned for Oaklynn and Ilsan next! Can you get me the next couple of chapters in two weeks?”

“You got it!”

Utahime straightened the papers, sliding them into a binder before getting up. “Keep up the good work, sweetie; this will be big!” You followed her, fixing your bag. “Seriously, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

“Oh, I plan it, by the way. About the cottage, could you maybe do me a huge favor and ask the owners if it would be possible for me to stay a month? Uhm, I don’t need to stay the full two years.”

Utahime eyes you, fixing her baseball cap before chuckling as she flags down her Uber. “I’ll see what I can do for you.” She approached the back door and opened it. “They must be special.” Cocking a brow at your agent, you blink several times as she gets in the back.

“What do you mean?”

“Whoever had you grinning at your phone like a teenage girl. They must be special if they’ve become your muse. I’ll see you later!”

Utahime was right; Suguru was important to you. He always had been, and he always would be. He had been selfless enough to offer to help you when you needed it most, seemingly leading to a more profound relationship between you.

That prospect of what might come to be had you happily skipping back to your apartment building to the third floor. Tonight might be the best night to tell him how you had been feeling and how you wanted this best-friend date to be more of an actual date. The unknown was terrifying and exciting as butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you knocked on his door. As the door creaked open, you adjusted the brown bags full of groceries for your dinner.

“Oh,” a woman’s voice scoffed, “it’s just you.”

Your stomach dipped as Manami Suda leaned against the doorframe, looking down at you as if you were garbage. You usually liked a lot of people and rarely had issues with anyone. Manami Suda was the one person you couldn’t stand in the world, but you had to put up with her because she was Suguru’s agent.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

Tag List (TO BE ADDED AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@lemonintrovert01 @spankmydepression @renttheannihilator @witchbybirth @missmuffinr @lialia3945 @theobsidianempress @aquasan29 @toffeebrat @aussiemeerkat @chimichangagirl @zoroisminty @spankmydepression @em-aizawa @gojosimp26 @moonlightazriel

[gabessquishytum]

As summer is ending.

https://www.californiabeaches.com/california-sandcastle-contests-and-festivals/ | https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20240424-the-triumphant-return-of-us-sandcastle-championships -- Sandcastle competitions!! (the winner in the BBC article won with a sculture called "Sweet Dreams Are Made of These"!)

🪣🏖

Dream now travels around the world to compete at sandcastle contests. He started doing it as a lark when his inspiration was at a low point and he wanted a new direction for his sculpture. The prize money isn't even a lot really, and many of the people who enter are just doing it for fun (like Hob Gadling and his son, Robyn).

Dream should be more focused on his sand sculture, but he keeps getting distracted by Hob and Robyn; Dream met them at last year's contest - they were grieving, but trying to get out more and do fun things together.

This year they looked better and Hob even waved at Dream when he saw him. Dream might have a crush on the little family.

This is perhaps the most adorable meet-cute of all time, and also feels so nostalgic to me bc I used to love seeing sand sculptures as a little kid 🥺

Listen, Hob and Robyn's sand sculptures are not very good. This year they are making a "speedboat" which is mostly just a hole with sand piled up around it and spade stuck in it as a gear stick. You could accuse Hob of not taking it seriously but he is taking it seriously, he's just a) not very good at sand sculptures and b) being assisted by a very enthusiastic 10 year old. It's a little embarrassing when he sees Dream working a few feet away, making a beautiful gargoyle from sand which looks like it could step right out of a fairytale book.

But Dream is so nice about the speed boat - he politely asks Robyn if he can sit in it, and Robyn makes appropriate speed boat noises while Dream sits in the hole and looks genuinely quite delighted. He even lets Robyn help him finish up the gargoyle (which stresses Hob out because he does not want to witness his beloved son accidentally knocking the sculpture to the ground - thankfully that doesn't happen).

Hob makes an executive decision and invites the gorgeous man to join him and Robyn for an ice cream. It may be his one chance to gaze at Dream in his little black sand speckled shorts, and Hob is determined to make the most of it. He'd reach out and hold Dream’s hand even, if he didn't think it would be confusing for Robyn.

He never could have guessed that Dream feels exactly the same way, and that seeing Hob lick ice cream off his fingers is driving him absolutely wild! Nor could he guess that next year, all three of them will create a terrible, wonderful, enormous sand sculpture together... and that Dream will kiss him when they win first prize!

[delinquentbookworm]

I just realized, if Henry doesn't get killed by something, he's going to live a really long time. Like, stupidly long.

He's a druid and at 18th Level he gets access to the class feature Timeless Body, meaning that for every 10 years that pass, his body only ages one year.

He was mid-thirties when Odyssey took place, it's like two and a half decades later and biologically, he's only now in his late thirties, maybe forty at a push. He probably looks more like Lark and Sparrow's brother than their dad.

Also I fully believe that Henry wouldn't think it was magical in nature, he would be totally convinced it was due to lifestyle choices.

Glenn - Henry, look, here's a picture of us from twenty years ago. And here's a picture of you I took earlier today. Side by side, look, you look exactly the same.

Henry - Well, would you look at that? Gee, it looks like wearing all that sunscreen is really paying off!

Ron - Okay but you're sixty and your hair isn't even thinning.

Henry - Huh, I guess you're right. That's probably the all natural shampoo that Mercedes makes - she puts rosemary oil in it, she thinks it smells nice, but it's also supposed to be good for hair follicles. I guess it's working?

Darryl - Henry, everyone else your age has creaky knees and back problems and groans when they get up out of a chair!

Henry - Ah, yes, but you're forgetting I do yoga every day, so, that keeps me limber.

[buckets-and-trees]

They like to watch you sleep

but one night they just might wake you up...

initially had me thinking of of Little Lark Steve and Bucky, but those two don't care if you're awake or asleep, they're having sex with you whenever they want, and the inclination to only watch you sleep is one they don't have very often... 🥵

But maybe you're a civilian who's become a person of interest. They don't know why yet, so they're just going to keep an eye on you from a short distance, make sure you're safe, and it's an easy assignment for Nomad and the White Wolf undercover. Baseball caps, casual clothes/jackets, and sometimes sunglasses.

They get into a building across the street from where you live with a decent line of sight to keep watching you - a very good view into your bedroom, which it good because if the greatest amount of time you spend there is asleep, they need to watch you sleep. For professional reasons of course, only that, they're just doing their job.

But on the fourth day of protection/surveillance, everything changes, and it all comes too late. Steve and Bucky get updates and the intel they need about why you're important/why you're connected moments before three armored trucks roll up and a large tac team in dark suits spill out on the curb outside the building you're working in.

Explosions, fire, chaos, casualties, but somehow they manage to find you and get you to safety. It's nothing serious, but you do need some medical attention and - above all - absolute safety, so they call for an extraction team to bring the three of you in to the Avengers Campus in upstate New York.

You seem surprised but not completely shocked at your predicament. And there's more you're not telling them, things they aren't ready to tell you yet either that they know about the situation, but everyone agrees to a tenuous trust.

Exhausted, you call it a night.

Around midnight, the two of them sneak into your room - just to check on you.

But they don't leave immediately.

They watch you sleep, and this close to you now, in the same room, it's all too visceral.

But they're only watching you sleep, there's no harm in that.

Besides, they're super soldiers, they don't sleep much. Watching you is no trouble.

After about an hour, you start to stir, clearly troubled in a nightmare.

Steve delicately runs his finger over your cheek, wanting to bring you out of the fraught experience happening in your subconscious, and he does seem to draw you out of it.

But the soft, sweet sounds you make, the sigh and a little mmm...

it's too much for two men who have done nothing but watch you for five days

Their need to wake you up is undeniable. That they would share you? Since they share everything else, it's only natural.

They just want to take care of you, sweet girl...

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Bastard’s Mistress ~ A Don John x Servant!Fem!Reader Fic

So I caught the don John brain rot this weekend…very contagious, 10/10 recommend. This might be @scarlettspectra ’s fault, from all her beautiful gifs she’s been posting!😆 I didn’t go full Shakespearean here but had some fun with the syntax. I apologize in advance. Reader is properly deferential for the time, but she’s got a little spunk.😬 

Warnings: the line between dubcon and noncon here is VERRRY thin. I don’t even know. So if that bothers you do NOT read this! What else. Period correct misogyny and degradation. Corruption. I’m so bad at itemizing these things. Please take care. If u have squiks i probs wouldn’t read this…

You are a chambermaid in His Excellency don Alejandro’s hacienda. It gives you a certain distance from things, as you come and go, doing your best to keep the country house clean and stay out of sight. But don Alejandro’s bastard, the fire-eyed boy with such a burning contempt for the world, has always seen you. 

When you were young children, don John would play with you all, the offspring of the servants who were too young to work. Not because he enjoyed your company, but because he delighted in ordering you all about. Luckily in those days he ignored you as often as he tormented you. 

Then there was a time, when the two of you hovered on the precipice between childhood and adult responsibilities, that you had almost been friends. Or at least, not enemies. He, the bitter outsider with the privileges of a full blooded son, but none of the standing. You, unmoored in your fatherlessness, the fever having taken your sire when you were just a babe. 

Don John goaded you into shirking your chores one day to go play in the hills. He’d only taunted you a little, as you played your silly games, which mostly consisted of him manipulating you, ordering you to do this and that, always testing just how far he could go before being met with rebellion. It was still better than working your hands raw in the laundry. “We should run away,” he’d said in that devil-may-care way brash young boys have, so sure the world is destined to fold for them. You, however, had begged to go home, for all it won you. Upon returning your mother absolutely tanned your backside, and you never associated with Don John in such a familiar way again.

You saw him around the grounds, of course, as you scurried from one backbreaking chore to the next, and as he went through the motions of learning how to become a gentleman. Amidst his riding lessons he would wink at you from astride his fine black horse, but the cruel turn of his mouth never failed to halt you in returning it, even if your heart quickened in your chest.

That did not mean you didn’t think of him later though, on your lumpy cot of straw, as urges began to awaken in your body that was well on its way to becoming a woman’s. You saw his face at night, so achingly handsome you could hardly contain your longing. It felt like madness, and so you shoved it down in the deepest dungeon of your heart, as far as it could go. 

It was not helpful, or good, the times when young don John passed you in the halls, and you felt that he would like to just eat you up. He would tug at your apron strings with a smirk before striding on to whatever lark he plotted for the day. The unholy feelings just a look from that man called up in you had you reaching for your rosary–and late at night, when all others lay asleep, between your legs.

You’d felt a certain relief when he went off to war with don Pedro. Even though your heart ached for the inevitable change, a part of you hoped he would never return.

As it turns out, your hopes were not to be realized. He has returned to his father’s country house, on the tails of some scandal in Messina. His temper is even fouler than you remember. His scowl, crueler. He has met with some disappointment, out in the world. You hope he will not take it out on you blameless servants.

Perhaps that is too much to ask of the upper caste.

You feel his eyes upon you again, as in the old days, but different. There is a weight in his gaze that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, as though it no longer fits upon your own bones. It makes you ache for something no pious unmarried girl should yearn for, something you cannot name, only feel in the darkest hours of night when you lay awake on your mattress of straw, your sinful fingers exploring the bud of flesh between your legs.

You decide don John carries the flames of Hell in his burning dark eyes.

You dream of him, as though he has possessed your flesh in your sleeping hours.

He corners you one day, as you are changing the linens in one of the many airy rooms of the hacienda. You eye him warily, as he shuts the door, his large and forbidding form blocking your exit. His dark eyes upon you are black as night.

“What a flower you have blossomed into, y/n,” he muses, stepping slowly into the room with the measured calculation of a predator stalking prey. “No longer the knees and elbows girl I remember.”

“You…have also changed, my lord,” you offer cautiously. No longer the awkward, rail thin youth, his shoulders have the breadth of a man who rides a charger and wields a sword. You have tried not to notice.

“How so?” he fishes, canting his head with a smirk.

Your face feels as though you have caught on fire. “You are…taller,” you offer, winning a cruel little chuckle.

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. What else?” Another step closer, his booted heel clicking on the floor, and you are veritably boxed in between the walls and the oversized bed.

“My lord?” you stall, mortified.

“Did you miss me, y/n?”

This question also takes you aback, and perhaps that is why you answer honestly.

“Sometimes.”

“Well. That is more than any of my relations here will bother to claim,” he answers bitterly. In that moment you still see a boy just striving, yearning for his father’s recognition. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but you always felt bad for him, in a way.

“Did you hear the happy news? Don Pedro has taken a wife, and opts to dwell in Messina,” snarls don John with a mocking brightness.

“How…fortunate for him.”

The man before you makes a sound that suggests he barely restrained himself from spitting upon the floor in his half brother’s name.

“Indeed.” He takes one more step, and you know you are done for, your heart in your chest. There will be no escaping now. “What of you, fair y/n? Assumed the yoke of marriage yet?” The disdain in his words hangs bitter in the air.

You are tempted to lie, but know no good should come of it. “No, my lord,” you answer, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“How fortunate for you.” 

Perhaps in your fear, you forget yourself. “John, please–”

He moves to strike, and you are but a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, quick but not quick enough to evade him. His arm is like a band of iron about your waist, lifting you off the floor in his fury. He slams you down–albeit upon the feather mattress–a luxury you’ve never experienced for yourself, your back accustomed to scratchy tick straw.

“Insouciant wench! How familiar you are, to address me so.” He sounds so cruelly delighted by it, wedging his lean body like a knife between your legs, his narrow hips locked against yours. When you attempt to sit up he easily pins you down, his large hand spanning two of your wrists with ease, his other pressed lightly over your throat. You can hardly hear, hardly think, over the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He can surely feel it in your pulse, fluttering against his fingers. You are filled with fear–and the sharp ache of desire, God save you.

“Please, my lord…”

He makes a low sound in his throat, his lips tracing your jaw. “Please what, pretty maid? I have a mind to make a meal of you.”

“Please…don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? That is up to you, my dear. I will have you. Sweetly, or by force, tis your choice.” Your heart lodges in your throat. Your mother warned you about this, time and again. Men are dogs and gentlemen the worst of them. Never let them catch you alone.

And in your darkest heart of hearts, you know that a part of you hoped don John might do just that.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, surprisingly gently for such a villain, but you attempt to turn away. It only wins his annoyance, his large hand turning your face back to him. Before he can press his mouth to yours you say, “You merely seek to make sport of me in your boredom here. It is not right.”

He laughs at that. “Sport, I shall make,” he muses, hiking your skirts above your thighs. “Let us test the truth of your righteous outrage?” Boldly his fingers climb the trail of your leg, to the apex where he finds the damning evidence of your treacherous loins. “My lovely girl, so wet for such a reluctant quarry.” His long fingers dip inside your weeping center, and the sound you make does not resemble protest at all. He smirks down at you like the very devil. “And a virgin my little rabbit is not.”

Javi the stableboy took care of that for you, in a quick and disappointing tumble in the hay. His touch…had felt nothing like this, if truth you tell.

Ashamed, and burning, you look away. Tears trail out of your eyes, and a part of you wishes it shall just be over soon. He frowns at the shining tracks of water upon your cheeks, a menacing scowl that makes your eyes screw shut tight.

“Do not seek to engage my sympathy or my better nature, for you know I have none,” he growls above the dip of your throat, his lips searing as a brand upon your chest. 

“That wasn’t always true,” you dare, winning naught but a growl from this ravenous beast of a man above you.

“You are the only one who thinks so.” For the barest moment you see a flash of vulnerability in his eyes–the ghost of the memory of the boy he once was, there and gone like ripples in a pool. It is as though this second of softness spurs him on in his deed, as though he must shove it aside to enjoy his sordid pleasure.

Clever fingers tear at the laces of your stays; you are freed to breathe, but you are bared to his hungry gaze as he tugs down your shift for his delectation. “Such lovely fruits, just ripe for picking,” he muses, cupping your breast in his hand, suckling upon a nipple.

You never knew how such a thing could make your insides clench, your sinning cunt tightening in its aching emptiness. Your hips move against his of their own accord, your legs wrapping about him as you mindlessly seek some relief from this madness. He withdraws with a dramatic pop, laughing at your body’s treachery.

“You are a fiend.”

“Pray, tell me,” he taunts you.

“I hate you.”

“Is that any way to speak to your master?”

He is enjoying this far too much.

“You forget your place, don John, as ever.” 

That is when he slaps you. Not hard, nay, your own mother has hit you harder, but it certainly gets your attention. “I will rule here someday, y/n. Have a care with that tongue. I can think of better uses for it.” His piercing eyes fix upon your lips, a moment before he falls upon you, kissing you as though he means to devour you. You tense, thinking to bite him for being so cruel, so conniving, for just using you for no other reason other than he can.

He plays a very dirty trick on you, though.

That dexterous hand slips under your skirts again, swiping up your slick before circling that small nub of flesh that causes you such great tumult and shame. You moan into his mouth, and you feel him smile wickedly against you.

This man is the very devil, you are sure of it.

“Now who is ready to forget?” he taunts you, rubbing you in slow circles that drive you mad, make you writhe for the unbearable tightness coiling between your legs.

You can only manage a small cry, words escaping you. You’ve never felt anything like this, not at your own hands, and certainly not with Javi the stableboy.

“Please,” is all you can manage, and you’re not even entirely sure you know what you’re begging for.

“I like to hear you beg so sweetly.” He reaches to free himself from his breeches, his swollen tip hovering at your entrance. “So beg, wench, what favour is it you ask of me?”

You should entreat him to leave you be–you should beg for his mercy. But the delicious weight of him atop you, this dastardly man whose touch is such sweet sin–you are not sure you wish for him to leave you be. Your whole life has been such a march of drudgery. Even just the possibility of feeling something that is not pain or exhaustion makes you willfully forget every lesson your mother ever taught you, every fiery sermon the Padre ever flung down from his pulpit. Tis easy to renounce the Devil, until temptation has you in its clutches.

“I know not what to ask for,” you answer cautiously, and that at least is true.

Don John smirks down at you, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes. 

“Ask for my cock, you stupid girl, and if your quim pleases me perhaps I may be moved to share in the spoils.”

“Yes.” You strain your hips towards him, craving that satisfying, stretching burn of a man’s first thrust. That, atleast, you know something about.

“Yes, what?” he taunts you, delighting in your torment as he holds himself just out of reach.

“Yes, my lord,” you whimper, hating yourself as much as him in that moment. “May I have your cock?”

His smile widens in his devilish delight, almost showing teeth. “Remember that you asked for it.” But he taunts you no further, his thick head penetrating your weeping hole, the fullness of him stealing the very breath from your lungs. He groans once fully inside you, burying his face in your neck. 

“I’ve always known you would have the sweetest little cunt in the sierra,” he growls against your skin, and he begins to thrust.

If there is one thing you have always known about don John, it is that he loves to hear himself talk.

“You are mine, little maid,” he goes on, filling you so deeply you fear he must be in your belly. You are not sure you like it, and you only whimper in answer, straining for a better angle against him, seeking that certain friction that made you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, understanding what you seek very well. You whine, turning your eyes to the ceiling. You know you are a mere peasant, and you know you do not own anything, much less yourself. Yet some small defiance rises in you, for his demanding tone.

“Perhaps I shall, if you make it so.” 

You wait for him to strike you again, but to your surprise he smirks with a sort of dark delight, only turning your gaze back to his with a rough hand upon your jaw. “There is the saucy wench I remember of our youth. Do you remember how you used to defy me?”

You don’t very much, recalling that he usually always emerged the master and victor of your games.

“No, my lord.”

“You do not recall striking me with a stick, in defense of a hapless bird?”

You blink, finding it rather unfair of this man to expect you to command the capacity to think in this situation. But then you do recall. You had all been small children. The boys sought amusement in throwing rocks at an injured sparrow. You had taken exception to it. 

Don John had sworn he would tell his father and have you executed.

You’d cried for days, but the sword never fell.

You’d nearly forgotten all about it, perhaps willfully burying the memory out of shame and fear. Mostly fear.

The bastard had deserved it.

He never forgot a slight, it seems.

“I always told myself I would have my revenge for that,” he tells you with a smirk, pressing his thumb into your mouth. You try to shrink away, but he has you like a fish on a hook. “Suck,” he commands you. You do not understand why those jetty black eyes boring into yours, paired with that unyielding tone, makes your needy cunt clench around him, only that it is extremely satisfying to see his eyes flutter closed, even if just for a moment.

You do as you’re told.

He uses your own saliva against you, reaching between your legs with that spit-wet thumb to touch you again. 

You forget everything else, but the carnal heaven that is his clever fingers with his manhood inside you. The sounds the two of you make are barely human, as you strain and writhe against each other, chasing your release from this hell. Those full lips made for sin devour you–his mouth on your breasts makes you see God, a searing pleasure crashing through you in a spine-cracking rush. How can something that feels so wonderful be so forbidden? Only then does don John truly let himself go, the sound of flesh striking flesh filling the room as he takes you with all his pent up fury. It is not long before he roars his release, filling you with ropes of his hot seed, his powerful body trembling in its tangle of limbs with yours.  

For just a moment you wished would last, his fingers lace with yours rather than pin you, his head heavy on your chest as he catches his breath. Yet when he lifts his gaze to you, his eyes gleam with their usual malevolence. 

“You will come to my chambers tonight,” he orders you. “For I am not finished with you yet by half.”

When your mouth opens–indeed to give protest–he silences you with a hard but heart-melting kiss, his long fingers tangled unforgivingly in your now loosened hair. 

“Do as I say, servant girl. Though if you don’t, I may enjoy making you.” That proud mouth ticks as he seems to imagine it, that fire igniting once more in his mesmerizing eyes. The thought simultaneously makes your blood run cold–and a thrill of desire run raucous down your spine.  

This man is the very devil. You are as sure of it now, as you know when the household goes to sleep, you will find your way back to his merciless embrace.

[augustinewrites]

“hey,” you murmur, shaking alhaitham’s shoulder. “you need to get up soon so we can–”

“i only run if i’m being chased.”  

you frown as he turns away from you. “but studies show that morning jogs–”

“i am well aware of what the studies say, and i am electing to ignore their findings.”

“well, i’m a doctor, and i’m telling you that running is good for you. it increases mental focus and productivity–” 

your gaze turns hopeful when he finally lifts his head from the pillow, uttering the words, “against medical advice.” 

“haitham,” you pout. “what’s the point of me finally staying the night if we can’t do fun things together in the morning?” 

“if running was what you had in mind, then this is going to be the first and last time you stay over.” 

you grumble something mean under your breath. alhaitham grumbles back, an i love you too, followed by a let me sleep, woman. it’s the weekend.

“fine,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “then i’ll just go over to cyno’s place and see if he wants to join me. he’s probably a much better jogging partner than you anyway. he’s so fast that he once helped the traveler escape from the heart of a crumbling pyramid.”

you let that bit of information turn over in his mind, leaving the bedroom and grinning triumphantly when you hear him curse, the bed creaking as he gets up. 

satisfied, you turn into the bathroom–

–to find someone already in there, about to help themselves to the geothermal mud mask you’d gotten from inazuma. your shocked gaze meets his and—

you both scream. 

“who are you?” you question, grabbing a copy of sapiens, which would be an effective weapon if you intended to bore him to death. “what are you doing here?”

“me?” he asks incredulously. “i unfortunately live here, so who are you and what are you doing here?” 

“oh, good. you two have met.” 

you both whirl around to face him, hands on your hips. “haitham, who is this?”

the stranger makes an offended noise. “alhaitham, do be sure that your escort keeps the details of our living arrangement to themselves.” 

“escort?” you gasp, alhaitham plucking the book from your hand before you can throw it at this strange man. “i am a doctor!” 

the stranger looks you up and down. “so…alhaitham didn’t pay you to sleep with him?”

you each size the other up equally scrutinizing squints, the acting grand sage pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing tiredly. “this is my roommate, kaveh.”

wait, you’ve heard that name before. gossip about akademiya alumni spread like wildfire in sumeru. you snap your fingers, pointing at him. “oh! i know you. you’re that architect who went broke funding his own project.”

“not broke, per se,” he sniffs, turning away from you rather indignantly. i am temporarily prudent.”

you look to your boyfriend, who shakes his head slightly and mouths, don’t ask.

then he tells kaveh your name, that you work at the bimarstan, and that you’re seeing each other. 

anyone else would have simply take he’d said at face value, because the scribe didn’t dance around points or over-complicate his explanations. he wasn’t exactly one to joke, either. 

but the broke architect immediately doubles over, laughing so hard that his face is the shade of a zaytun peach. “now there’s a lark! you with a— with a—”

“a significant other? yes.”

his laughter quickly dies as alhaitham winds a possessive arm around your waist, looking between the two before meeting the scribe’s unflinchingly flat gaze. you watch as his prior amusement dropped from his face, only to be replaced by disbelief. 

kaveh drew a breath and pressed his hands together. “when you say those words, what do you mean by them? 

alhaitham expression was inscrutable as always, but the corners of his lips were curved upwards the slightest bit. “i could not have oversimplified it more. if you require more detail, perhaps we could discuss it over coffee at puspa cafe?”

“only if you’re paying,” he answered testily, to which the scribe rolls his eyes. 

“of course. if the matter of payment were up to you, we’d just be thieves.”

kaveh sent him a rude gesture— one completely unbefitting of someone so respected within the akademiya.

then alhaitham returned it. 

the blonde turns on his heel to leave with a huff, stomping through the house and slamming the door behind him. alhaitham moves quickly, locking it behind him.

“are we not going to join him?” you ask, watching curiously as your boyfriend saunters back toward the bedroom, a satisfied look on his face.

“nope. he left his keys here. so if you want to do something fun,” he nods his head toward the bedroom. “now would be the time. cyno and kaveh can wait.”

and, well, you can’t say no to that, can you?

[faerunsbest]

Okay I have stumbled upon the two people living together trope but they are not in a romantic relationship but there is TENSION! And I read one with Zevlor and now I thirst for more!!!

Zevlor would be the perfect housemate to fall in love with. And I know for a fact he would keep that place so clean ❤️

Aww I can picture it!

Tav has a place in the gate and the open hand is overfull, so he overs to leave the temple and make room for more people. And tav happens to be there when he does.

"Oh I've got a little extra space. You can stay with me! "

Tav ignores the way he blusters about not wanting to be a burden. They drag him along to the less showy parts of town where the unlock an apadoor before elbowing it open

"Sorry it's a little sticky and I haven't had a chance to fix it."

The apartment is no more than four separate space, the wood floor damaged from furniture being dragged about. Shabby but warm, he looked around to see wads of paper crammed into cracks in the walls. The fireplace grubby from constant use. The loving room is its kitchen, off to the side is a small room with a washing tub and toilet. Oh good they have plumbing. Another door leads to a sparce room with a near nude bed. Off to the other side was a very small space like an office. Inside the space was a thin sofa with a guest. A very large brown cat sunning in the spaces window.

"One rule here, we do what mama tells us to!"

Tav thumbs over to the cat who looks at them for a moment.

The following day, tav almost tumbled into the place, they looked at the door confused. Zevlor fixed it.

Zevlor stands by the fireplace dusting off his hands on a rag.

" I wasn't able to find work yet, so I thought I'd do a few repairs."

"Oh wow, did you clean the fireplace??"

"Yes it should work much better now."

"You mean I can cook in there again?!"

"I hope it's helpful."

The following day, tav comes home happy as a lark when the door opens without a shove. When they look zevlor is sitting on a polished floor in front if the rumbling fireplace, looking a bit miffed.

"No luck today either huh?"

"Afraid not. I will not be a burden-"

"Don't worry about it besides I got us something!"

Tav raises a market bag of grocery and a new pot.

Another day and winter is beginning to creep in slowly. Zevlor searches all over town, so many people are still rebuilding and can't afford to hire new people. All the same he goes about doing whatever odd jobs he can find before coming back and fixing up something in the apartment. Today, however, when he comes home, he finds a box on his little sofa bed.

When he opens it up, it's new boots and a scarf. He can't help the big smile as he trues them on, especially please with the scarf. A silly thing he doesn't need at all, but a sweet gift.

A little more passes, and zev finds himself again sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with tav laughing about nothing really. They sit a little closer these days, while soup bubbles in the fireplace. He blinks in surprise when he feels tav lay their head on his shoulder.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there! I was looking for some fics where it details Aziraphale adjusting to being in Heaven again as the Supreme Archangel, possibly some angst about missing Crowley?

Thank you!

Hey. We have a #supreme archangel aziraphale tag, so do check that out. Here are more to add...

Face it alone by Angelica_Tree (G)

Aziraphale has every intention of changing Heaven for the better, but how do you change a large organization where everything is apparently working as intended? And who would’ve thought his new position would include so much paperwork? But Aziraphale soon discovers that his problems with staying afloat are nothing compared to what is heading his way; a power struggle between the Almighty’s Voice and Her Son. Aziraphale has to choose sides. Quickly. And without Crowley by his side.

In my blood like earthly wine by nightbloomingcereus (T)

Someone’s making mischief in Heaven of a decidedly Earthly nature. Aziraphale, as Supreme Archangel and Heaven’s resident Earth expert, is expected to deal with it. Which ought to be fine, really, only it keeps dredging up inconvenient memories of his time on Earth, and of a certain mischievous demon.

Good Omens: Revelations by Andimyon (M)

After returning to Heaven, newly appointed supreme archangel Aziraphale has to face new and terrible challenges, which he can't solve alone.Will he be able to pay the price to save the world? Can he get help in time, or do the wounds he caused run too deep? Once again, everyone's fate is in their hands...

Part II: Is It Raining In Heaven? by beardo (T)

It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale... I must be gone and live, or stay and die. (Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene 5) The new Supreme Archangel is Struggling. He can't stop the Second Coming, the archangels barely take him seriously, and a fog of blissful joy, only controllable by incessant, stone-cold fury, seems set to make his own mind betray him. Aziraphale has never been the one with the plan, but now, he needs to prevent the next apocalypse and keep Crowley safe on Earth, all while that reckless serpent insists on meddling in Heaven's affairs. (At least the new Christ is a good kid, and the Pope has nice tea.)

No Light, No Light by PolarisVega (T)

Aziraphale left his life on Earth behind to take the job as the new Supreme Archangel of Heaven. Delighted to be welcomed back and to have finally earned the respect of Heaven, Aziraphale is doing as much Good as he can from the inside. But when Heaven's plans for the second coming of the Apocalypse are revealed. The consequences of his choices, past and present, are greater than he ever imagined. Can’t wait for season 3? Me neither! This is my version of what could be. Please enjoy! The story is now complete.

Time Marches Forward by Bellisima_writes (M)

Our story follows Aziraphale as he toils alone in Heaven to thwart the Second Coming while Crowley, back on Earth, encounters a powerful and frightened 15-year-old Adam Young in desperate need of guidance. One of the infinite possibilities for how the Good Omens story can end. With some twists, and some angst, and lots of character development.

- Mod D

[raccoonfallsharder]

I just found out Rockets VA can sing (really good actually) do you have any headcanons based on that?

mmmmm. sorry for the delay, i got distracted by rocket prompt week and also by thinking about rocket crooning in your ear.

he’s always humming, you know? (this is not a headcanon — it’s in the movies.) he’s often humming while he works. and that scene on berhert? where he’s sort of purring along with the music while plotting severe injury to the incoming ravagers? i…

sorry. focusing.

im sure the first few times you hear him mumbling lyrics under his breath, you damn near need to excuse yourself. you know you can’t call attention to it — in a best-case scenario, he'll stop singing entirely. you say nothing, and your silence is rewarded: rocket's mumbling a tune — so low your toes curl in your boots — almost whenever the two of you are working quietly on some project or another. most of the time, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. the rest of the time, he thinks you can’t hear him.

once, while the entire crew was dicking around in the common room and rocket started humming under his breath, pete had commented on it. you'd shot him a murderous look but it had been too late: rocket’s ears had gone flat and his tail had tucked between his ankles and his eyes had swiveled around the room. he'd been shifting and snapping out harsh words so frantically that you were sure he was scarlet under his fur. you’d had to go a miserable dozen cycles before you’d stumbled across him lilting low to himself again in the engine room one night.

fuckin pete. you still haven’t forgiven that guy.

but things get easier — at least between you and rocket — after that. there's a day when rocket looks up and realizes that you can hear him — maybe you're swaying slightly to the sound of his voice, or lightly tapping the soft pads of your fingertips like raindrops on your knee. he stumbles to a fumbling halt. you don’t say anything, though: you just pass him an encouraging half-smile before returning to whatever you were doing. you’ll hang out with him regardless of whether you get to lull yourself to the sound of his deep, pretty voice or not, you figure.

it happens again — and then again. and eventually, rocket stops stopping. he sees you walk into the otherwise-empty common area while he’s clanging away on some new cannon, or you slide into the seat next to him while he’s piloting the bowie alone — and he tosses you a little smirk and keeps going, keeps humming those bars or rumbling those words up over his ribs and out the corners of his mouth.

you’re not the first person he’s sung to, of course.

there’s a reason groot loves music. when he was just a sprout, rocket would carefully place groot's small pot right next to where he lay his own head, and he’d croon a lullaby from star-lord’s library of songs. this was how the little flora colossus first learned to fall asleep — and how he woke up — every rotation for the first dozen cycles of his life. even when groot got a little bigger and could leave his pot and run around chasing orloni, he’d still drift off sprawled on rocket’s shoulder or across the top of his head: dozing to the sound of his father clinking away on aero-rigs while humming some melody or another.

even before that — i think rocket probably sung to groot the elder, too, at least once or twice. maybe the first time rocket had seen the big guy lose his limbs, before he'd learned that they would grow back. rocket had promised tibius lark that he’d look out for the flora colossus, and now here's groot — mutilated and in pain. rocket had tried to soothe the groaning, moaning groot to sleep, wracked by guilt before eventually realizing the big idiot was just a giant frickin’ crybaby with limbs that would essentially regenerate.

still, rocket hadn’t minded singing to his friend too much after that.

maybe even earlier, too. maybe there had been a time, after explaining music to his cagemates but before telling them about flying machines. maybe he’d hummed for batch 89 too.

they would’ve thought his childish voice was the most comforting, lovely thing they’d ever heard, i think. sometimes, as you might guess, the members of batch 89 would have nightmares or be in too much pain to close their eyes and rest, and when those nights happened, rocket would have hummed them back to sleep, all low and slow and sweet.

floor would have begged for songs every chance she got. teefs would have marveled at how beautiful rocket had sounded, and lylla — lylla would have told him, very solemnly, that he had a gift.

rocket doesn't think about that very often — tries not to think about those days at all, if he's being honest — but eventually, as you know, his past comes out. it's long after he’s gotten comfortable with you, of course — and raised his son, and saved half the universe, and purchased the skull of a god, and freed himself from the high evolutionary for the last time, and become a captain, but now—

now, he remembers lylla's words.

the star children descend from the arête and different households try to take them in, but it only takes one or two failed sleep-shifts across all of knowhere before it becomes apparent that none of the kids can rest. the children have nightmares — of course they do — and they’re used to sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder with each other in cages, on hard floors. they're used to whispering stories and comforts to each other, listening gratefully to the quiet words of their siblings, small hands gripping small hands in the darkness.

it takes a while to figure out, but eventually arrangements are made — at least until the kids can adjust. spaces are shifted so the children can nest together, and it helps — mostly. drax tries telling stories. cosmo recommends warm milk. howard suggests a quarter-shot of ginsky for each kid (you promptly put the kibosh on that one). nebula comes one night to tell the kids in great detail how she’ll destroy anyone who dares to harm them. you’re so happy mantis went on her journey to find herself but sometimes, when you see how exhausted and hollow-eyed the kids are in the morning, you just wish she were back so she could help them sleep.

and then suddenly it's a few cycles later, and you realize you haven’t heard any more concerns about the kids’ night terrors. you look around and realize they’re bright-eyed again, cheeks glowing, chattering at breakfast. curious as to what ended up working — if it was the indigarran lavender satchets sent by one of kraglin’s ex-wives or it it was the broker boring them with the droning details of the histories of various artifacts he’d once had in his shop on Xandar — you come visiting one night on tip-toe, just to check in.

rocket’s there — curled up on an old armchair someone had brought in for the neverending parade of storytellers and caregivers. his voice rolls over the sleepy children, and their eyelashes droop while he lingers on some notes and skips up and down others. the sound of it curls around them — and you. his voice nestles into the shadows, practically plucking up the edges of the blankets and tucking the kids in all on its own.

you watch as, handful after handful, they drift: eased deeply into dreaming by the power and protection of the captain’s voice, all on its own.

[cloudedmoonofficial]

Dustclaw and Vinestripe

Parents of Larkwing and Aspenbreeze

Dustclaw - Oak Colony Keeper

Parents: Maplebark and Ashbranch

Sibling: Frondsway

Dustclaw is Frondsway’s brother and mate to Vinestripe. Dustclaw is gruff, but good-natured; he tends to be more confrontational and on edge around those outside of Oak Colony. Patrolling around the borders spikes Dustclaw’s anxiety, and he’d rather not risk running into who he considers strangers. 

Dustclaw was pretty harsh on Frondsway when Tornleg had his accident, and agreed with Brakenfoot that justice should be served. His sister shouldn’t be able to neglect those in her colony who were depending on her because she didn’t plan ahead. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Frondsway and Dustclaw don’t share friendly banter and a bird together as often as they used to.

Dustclaw knows a lot about fibers such as grasses, vines and saplings; he is a master den builder and often organizes repairs after storms and damage, teaching weaving techniques. He take a lot of pride in his work and that extends to his kittens: Larkwing and Aspenbreeze. He looks forward to raising a second litter with the love of his life, Vinestripe, if she is up for it

Vinestripe - Oak Colony Envoy

Parents: Stormclaw and Stagcharge

Currently training Frost

Vinestripe is the daughter of Stormclaw and Stagcharge, but has more of a sense of humor than her serious natured parents. She has a bit of a devil-may-care attitude and loves a good brawl, but her tongue is often sharper than her claws. She loves to fling insults, but is also quick to forgive. She settled down with Dustclaw because she views him as the most practical tom of her prospective mates, though she’ll never forget the relationship she had with a rogue tom at a younger age…Ah, youth. 

As a mother, Vinestripe wasn’t too controlling of Aspen and Lark’s behavior, allowing them to wander and make mistakes. She is truly more of a solitary cat, but Colony life is what she knows and prefers.

Vinestripe is quite a bit more radical in her political ideals, maybe a trait that was carried over from her late mother, and tends to roll her eyes at Captain Elmtail whenever he makes lukewarm decisions about things. What the Colony needs, in her opinion, is a bold and decisive leader, willing to throw their weight around! She mostly keeps it to herself though, and is more content to busy herself with hunting. 

Art by Snap

[lannistertwinz]

"You loved me then what right had you to leave me?" - the parallels between Jaime/Cersei and Wuthering Heights

"There's a dialogue that goes on through the years and over the centuries where you read someone else's work and you're inspired by it, sometimes infuriated by it, and you say 'No, that's not quite right, here's the way it would be' and then you write your own twist on it, your own answer to it! There is this conscious playing with tropes, replying to other authors and making a reference or an homage in some cases… but there's also unconsciousness. Those are are rife, sometimes you read a book and you haven't looked at it for twenty years, but it's still there buried inside and suddenly someone points out 'this seems just like this' and you go 'Oh my god! It's right, I forgot about that!'. So it works both ways." - George R.R. Martin, Trinity College Dublin

“The first books I read besides comic books were cheap paperbacks which cost 35 cents back then. There were no bookstores in Bayonne so I got my paperbacks from a spinner rack and all the books in that were mixed up. There were science fiction books and fantasy books, which I liked, but there were also mystery novels, romance novels, nurse novels, gothics, spy novels and, of course, there were classics of literature mixed in with that: Shakespeare, Dostoiévski, the Brontë sisters, Jane Austen, etc.” – George R.R. Martin, Gamer’s Haven Podcast

As pointed out above, George has (whether conscious or unconsciously) taken inspiration from other works to create his own characters, and with this post I’d like to explain as to why I believe A Song Of Ice And Fire specifically plays with Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship from Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights through Jaime and Cersei’s dynamic.

To briefly explain it to those who have not read it, Wuthering Heights is essentially the story of Heathcliff’s revenge on the Earnshaws and the Lintons for the discrimination suffered at their hands and their involvement in his estrangement from his friend and lover Catherine Earnshaw (aka Cathy) and, at it’s core, it is a novel about intergenerational abuse and family dysfunction.

Shaped by these circumstances, we have at the forefront of the book the toxic romance between the foster siblings Heathcliff and Catherine who, like Jaime and Cersei, develop a very intimate bond early on in their childhood:

She was much too fond of Heathcliff. The greatest punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him. – Nelly, Chapter V He could never bear to be long apart from his twin. – Jaime, ASOS

‘I was a child; my father was just buried, and my misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff. I was laid alone, for the first time; and, rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck the tabletop!’ – Catherine, Chapter XII Though Cersei often slept alone, she had never liked it. Her oldest memories were of sharing a bed with Jaime, when they had still been so young that no one could tell the two of them apart. Later, after they were separated, she'd had a string of bedmaids and companions, most of them girls of an age with her, the daughters of her father's household knights and bannermen. – Cersei, AFFC

We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my ears, and croaks. – Catherine, Chapter III "Sometimes as a lark we would dress in each other's clothes and spend a whole day each as the other." – Cersei, ACOK

I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dogkennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. – Catherine, Chapter III The dank and dismal fortnight Cersei spent at Greenstone, the seat of House Estermont, was the longest of her young life. Jaime dubbed the castle "Greenshit" at first sight, and soon had Cersei doing it too. – Cersei, AFFC

Miss Cathy had been sick, and that made her still; she leant against her father’s knee, and Heathcliff was lying on the floor with his head in her lap. – Nelly, Chapter V "Care for a bath, Brienne?" He laughed. "You're a maiden and there's the pool. I'll wash your back." He used to scrub Cersei's back, when they were children together at Casterly Rock. – Jaime, ASOS

Additionally, in both cases, the female characters have, from early on, a clear influence over their male counterparts:

His peevish reproofs wakened in her a naughty delight to provoke him: she was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look, and her ready words; turning Joseph’s religious curses into ridicule, baiting me, and doing just what her father hated most showing how her pretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power over Heathcliff than his kindness: how the boy would do her bidding in anything, and his only when it suited his own inclination. – Nelly, Chapter V “Father will never consent,” Jaime objected. […] “Is it a rock you want? Or me?” He remembered that night as if it were yesterday. […] By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest. – Jaime, ASOS

‘He’s considering he’d rather I’d come to him! Find a way, then! not through that kirkyard. You are slow! Be content, you always followed me!’ – Catherine, Chapter XII She rose, her eyes brimming with tears. “Is it truly you?” She did not come to him, however. She has never come to me, he thought. She has always waited, letting me come to her. – Jaime, ASOS

And there’s an element of adoration as well. In Wuthering Heights, at the end of Heathcliff’s life, Nelly refers to Catherine as his “departed idol” and Heathcliff describes Cathy as “so immeasurably superior to everybody on earth”. On the other hand, in A Song Of Ice And Fire, Jaime puts Cersei on a pedestal as the figure of “The Maiden” and describes Cersei’s flame in his weirwood dream as “the only light in the world”. Furthermore, the two claim to have suffered through hardships solely for the sake of these women and that their love is the ultimate factor that drives them:

‘I’ve fought through a bitter life since I last heard your voice; and you must forgive me, for I struggled only for you!’ – Heathcliff, Chapter X When morning came, he made himself eat. They fed him a mush of oats, horse food, but he forced down every spoon. He ate again at evenfall, and the next day. Live, he told himself harshly, live for Cersei. – Jaime, ASOS

‘Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!’ – Heathcliff, Chapter XVI Beside Lord Tywin stood his sister, pale and beautiful, a torch burning in her hand. Her torch was the only light in the cavern. She turned to go. “Stay with me,” Jaime pleaded. “Don't leave me here alone. Don't leave me in the dark!” – Jaime, ASOS

However, the most striking similarities arise from the way that Catherine and Cersei perceive their relationships with Heathcliff and Jaime respectively. Catherine, though far from being the worst person out of the cast of characters present in the novel (certainly Hindley and Joseph and even Heathcliff himself are more morally reprehensible), is the one that possesses the most traits stereotypically ascribed to narcissism: she’s very duplicitous and self-absorbed, she has a completely delusional opinion of herself and consistently projects her own flaws onto others, she’s often contemptuous of the weaknesses of those around her, she has a very explosive temper and reacts with aggression when crossed, she flips situations on their head to make herself look like the victim and she certainly sees her relationships as transactional, including her relationship with Heathcliff:

‘And should I always be sitting with you? What good do I get? What do you talk about? You might be dumb, or a baby, for anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you do, either!’ – Catherine, Chapter VIII

It is also frequently mentioned that Catherine enjoys being in control and does not take well to being contradicted:

It was nothing less than murder in her eyes for anyone to presume to stand up and contradict her. – Nelly, Chapter IX Cersei is as gentle as King Maegor, as selfless as Aegon the Unworthy, as wise as Mad Aerys. She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. – Tyrion, ADWD

I observed that Mr. Edgar had a deep-rooted fear of ruffling her humour. He concealed it from her; but if ever he heard me answer sharply, or saw any other servant grow cloudy at some imperious order of hers, he would show his trouble by a frown of displeasure that never darkened on his own account. He many a time spoke sternly to me about my pertness; and averred that the stab of a knife could not inflict a worse pang than he suffered at seeing his lady vexed. Not to grieve a kind master, I learned to be less touchy; and, for the space of half a year, the gunpowder lay as harmless as sand, because no fire came near to explode it. – Nelly, Chapter X His sister liked to think of herself as Lord Tywin with teats, but she was wrong. Their father had been as relentless and implacable as a glacier, where Cersei was all wildfire, especially when thwarted. – Jaime, AFFC

And this leads to a point of contention when Heathcliff returns a changed man from his time away:

‘Don’t vex me. Why have you disregarded my request?’ – Catherine, Chapter XI Why does he insist on vexing me? – Cersei, AFFC

‘Oh, you see, Nelly, he would not relent a moment to keep me out of the grave. That is how I’m loved!’ – Catherine, Chapter XV “You swore that you would always love me. It is not loving to make me beg.” – Cersei, AFFC

All of this, combined with the particular way in which Catherine describes her feelings for Heathcliff, led critics of the book to accuse Catherine of perceiving and thus loving Heathcliff as an extension of herself. And, surely, most of these things she privately confesses to Nelly could have easily come out of Cersei’s mouth, who has been confirmed by the author to being written as highly narcissistic.

In chapter IX, Catherine says that her love for Heathcliff is a necessity and throughout the series Cersei’s sentiments for Jaime are frequently displayed through that same lens:

The wench had the right of it. He could not die. Cersei was waiting for him. She would have need of him. – Jaime, ASOS They rode hard the next day, at Jaime's insistence. His son was dead, and his sister needed him. – Jaime, ASOS “Jaime, you're my shining knight. You cannot abandon me when I need you most!” – Cersei, ASOS “I need you with me. In me. Please, Jaime. Please.” – Cersei, AFFC “Why would Cersei need the Warrior? She has me.” – Jaime, AFFC She licked her lips, shivering. “Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.” – Cersei, AFFC Jaime, I need Jaime. – Cersei, ADWD

Of course, in Cersei’s case, she “needs” Jaime because he is, in her mind, the brawn to her brain (“He was meant to be my sword and shield, my strong right arm.”), her protector, her agency in a patriarchal society… but she also needs him because she does not feel like a self-realized autonomous human being without him as she believes her own personhood has been split into two entities. And the same goes for Catherine:

‘I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here?’ – Catherine, Chapter IX “Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies.” – Cersei, AGOT

‘Supposing at twelve years old I had been wrenched from the Heights, and every early association, and my all in all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and been converted at a stroke into Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross Grange, and the wife of a stranger: an exile, and outcast, thenceforth, from what had been my world. You may fancy a glimpse of the abyss where I grovelled!’ – Catherine, Chapter XII “I was lost without you, Jaime. I was afraid the Starks would send me your head. I could not have borne that. I am not whole without you.” – Cersei, ASOS

In fact, both women go as far as claiming their partners’ identities as their own:

‘Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.’ – Catherine, Chapter IX “You are me, I am you.” – Cersei, AFFC ‘It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am.’ – Catherine, Chapter IX

And from this idea of a shared existence and a lack of purpose when apart comes the desire for union in death and the mythologizing of these relationships:

‘If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.’ – Catherine, Chapter IX “If he were dead, I would know it. We came into this world together, Uncle. He would not go without me.” – Cersei, ADWD ‘She’s dead! I’ve not waited for you to learn that’. – Heathcliff, Chapter XVI

‘We’ve braved its ghosts often together, and dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to come. But, Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I’ll keep you. I’ll not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I won’t rest till you are with me. I never will!’ – Catherine, Chapter XII I cannot die while Cersei lives, he told himself. We will die together as we were born together. – Jaime, ASOS ‘I wish they may shovel in the earth over us both!’ – Heathcliff, Chapter XXIX

What’s interesting about Wuthering Heights, though, is that, other than codependency, there is an inherent selfishness and possessiveness to this. In chapter XV, when Catherine is effectively dying, it is clear that she does not want Heathcliff to outlive her and she’s terrified by the idea of him moving on and finding happiness elsewhere:

‘How strong you are! How many years do you mean to live after I am gone?’ – Catherine, Chapter XV “Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence, ‘That’s the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I loved her long ago, and was wretched to lose her; but it is past. I’ve loved many others since: my children are dearer to me than she was; and, at death, I shall not rejoice that I are going to her: I shall be sorry that I must leave them!’ Will you say so, Heathcliff?” – Catherine, Chapter XV

Indeed, Catherine goes as far as telling Heathcliff that she wishes he would just die (and suffer) alongside her:

‘I wish I could hold you till we were both dead! I shouldn’t care what you suffered. I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn’t you suffer? I do!’ – Catherine, Chapter XV ‘I’m not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted.’ – Catherine, Chapter XV

And Cersei does something comparable when she (in her delusion) asks Jaime to be her champion in a mortal combat knowing he is likely to lose for his handicap:

“My queen,” said Qyburn, “have you . . . forgotten? Ser Jaime has no sword hand. If he should champion you and lose . . .” We will leave this world together, as we once came into it. “He will not lose. Not Jaime. Not with my life at stake.” – Cersei, AFFC

Heathcliff and Catherine don’t die together, however, and, despite what happened in Game Of Thrones, I’m still highly sceptical that Jaime and Cersei will die together in the books either. Yet the impression that Wuthering Heights leaves is that the unhealthy nature of Heathcliff and Catherine’s bond is at the root of their own self-destruction and tragic end:

Ere long, I heard the click of the latch, and Catherine flew up-stairs, breathless and wild; too excited to show gladness: indeed, by her face, you would rather have surmised an awful calamity. – Nelly, Chapter X ‘Mrs. Linton is now just recovering,’ I said; ‘she’ll never be like she was, but her life is spared; and if you really have a regard for her, you’ll shun crossing her way again. […] Another encounter between you and the master would kill her altogether.’ – Nelly, Chapter XIV ‘You have killed me and thriven on it, I think.’ -  Catherine, Chapter XV “’Nay, it’s enough that he has murdered one of you,’ I observed aloud. ‘At the Grange, everyone knows your sister would have been living now had it not been for Mr. Heathcliff. After all, it is preferable to be hated than loved by him. When I recollect how happy we were, how happy Catherine was before he came, I’m fit to curse the day.’ Most likely, Heathcliff noticed more the truth of what was said, than the spirit of the person who said it. His attention was roused, I saw, for his eyes rained down tears among the ashes, and he drew his breath in suffocating sighs.” – Isabella, Chapter XVII ‘She might have been living yet, if it had not been for him!’ was his constant bitter reflection; and, in his eyes, Heathcliff seemed a murderer. – Nelly, Chapter XXI

‘I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer but yours! How can I?’ – Heathcliff, Chapter XV ‘It was a strange way of killing: not by inches, but by fractions of hairbreadths, to beguile me with the spectre of a hope through eighteen years!’ – Heathcliff, Chapter XXIX

The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. ‘Catherine Linton,’ it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton) ‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window. - Mr. Lockwood, Chapter III The following evening was very wet: indeed, it poured down till day-dawn; and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the master’s window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. […] I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there laid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and fierce, I started; and then he seemed to smile. I could not think him dead: but his face and throat were washed with rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; no blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my fingers to it, I could doubt no more: he was dead and stark! – Nelly, Chapter XXXVI

And I wouldn’t be surprised if A Song Of Ice And Fire were to go in the same direction:

It is raining again, he thought when he saw how wet she was. The water was trickling down her cloak to puddle round her feet. How did she get here? I never heard her enter. She was dressed like a tavern wench in a heavy roughspun cloak, badly dyed in mottled browns and fraying at the hem. A hood concealed her face, but he could see the candles dancing in the green pools of her eyes, and when she moved he knew her. – Jaime, AFFC I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. – Jaime, AFFC The Stranger represents death and the unknown, and leads the dead to the other world. Whilst referred to as male, he is neither male nor female. The Stranger's face has been described as half-human, concealed beneath a hooded mantle. – A Wiki Of Ice And Fire

“Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.” – Maggy The Frog, AFFC “Tyrion is the valonqar. Do you use that word in Myr? It's High Valyrian, it means little brother.”  - Cersei, AFFC “He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said”. – Cersei, AGOT “The Imp is no longer my brother, if he ever was.” – Cersei, AFFC A man stepped into the lantern light, and she saw his cloak was white. “Jaime?” I dreamt of one brother, but the other has come to wake me. – Cersei, AFFC

So, in conclusion, I find it plausible that George might have simply taken the narcissism, the violence and the “twin soul”/“other half” connection present in Wuthering Heights to it’s even more extreme by creating the chaotic mess that is the incestuous relationship between twins who are mirror images of each other... And there's a decent number of parallels to at least make a case for it!

Tag: @faintingheroine

[gabessquishytum]

Naked Chef Hob

Hob has a cooking show that started on YouTube where he cooks in the nude with just an apron on -- depending on what he was cooking the apron was either around just his waist or a full apron (splat-ery things are going to splat!).

Every time he bakes, with just his (small) apron around his modesty, and gets flour or sugar streaks on his chest he goes viral. (The gifset from the episode where he frosted a cake & pink frosting got smeared near his nipple for the last 20 minutes of the show gets reblogged constantly.)

Hob is actually a very good chef and he started the YouTube thing when he lost a bet - it's not his fault the interwebs like to catalog his tattoos and his manbun broke the internet that one time. 😎 Despite his viral fame, he still cooks at his small restaurant.

The youtube thing was never supposed to be anything other that a forfeit, a lark. Well now, HFGTV wants Hob to take his "show" to tv. Being naked on YouTube is different than being naked on a channel that used to host Alton Brown,,,,and now hosts Dream d'Endless.

Hob doesn’t know if he can be in the studio, where Dream talks very seriously about fresh ingredients and food history, with nothing more than a branded apron covering his bits.

Of course, the pilot is a hit; of course, after his 2nd taping when Dream accidentally (on purpose) swung by to watch him work,,,,he kept. stopping. by. to watch Hob cook (hopefully, sexily) covered in the sauce of the day. Only problem, Dream never stays long enough for Hob to talk to him - it was all just smolder-y eyes. Hob is really glad the aprons are thick or he would be cooking on pornhub.

NAKED CHEF!!!! This is so good.

The show is a hit, which is great! Except that people keep recognising Hob in public now. It's great for the restaurant, they're booked out every night. But not so great when Hob is just trying to go grocery shopping, and gets accosted by fans. His YouTube show was never THIS big. He actually has a small breakdown about the whole situation in the studio bathroom (dressed only in his apron and sneakers because he may cook naked but he always wears shoes, he is NOT going to drop a knife on his foot AGAIN).

Anyway. Bathroom breakdown. Naturally, Dream comes in and sees him naked AND snotty. It's a nightmare.

But Dream is... very very nice. He wipes Hob’s face for him, and wraps his arm around his shoulder. He comforts Hob with the knowledge that the novelty will soon wear off, and people will stop bothering him. Dream solemnly says that anyway, people only notice Hob because he's so sexy. He could always try being less sexy?

Hob finally laughs and leans against Dream because this is his one opportunity and he's not going to miss it. Dream starts rubbing little circles into the small of Hob’s back, and it's like the dam finally breaks.

Hob just about makes it through making his Malaysian curry (artfully splattered in his chest hair, as always) and when they wrap up for the day, Dream is still there. Waiting, this time. He diligently swipes the curry off Hob’s chest with his finger, and his eyes are even more smoldery up close.

It's probably inevitable. But Hob still can't quite believe it. Dream sucks him off in the bathroom where he was just crying!! He ducks underneath Hob’s apron and stays there until he's done, and Hob just knows that the apron will smell of sex and Dream forever now. He might have to take it home with him, actually.

Or maybe he'll just take Dream home instead. It's his night off, and he can always get a table for two at the restaurant. He won't be naked, but it only seems fair to finally give Dream something to unwrap!

[hotluncheddie]

stop being a goblin and let me kiss you

part 3

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

‘ok. ok! you just, you just gotta be cool munson. be casual. chill. just like, vibe, yeah? yeah. no more funny business.’ eddie holds his fists up to himself in the dinky bathroom mirror. a couple of jabs, a quick one two, that’ll clear his head.

clear his head enough to go out and deal with steve fucking harrington again and his stupid stupid face and neck and tongue and like pretty fucking ankle bones. fucker.

see eddies not blind, and he’s not that dumb, he knows he flirts with steve and he knows steve flirts back. he just. cant deal with it just yet. it’s like every time he’s around the guy he blacks out and resurfaces red faced and half hard. but the point at which his vision fades and all hell breaking loose seems to vary so completely that he can’t stop it happening.

their conversations will start normal, a jolly lark, a guffaw here, a story there but then bam! someone said or did something that shifted his functioning brain capacity from 60% on a good day to like -5% and that’s being generous.

he just can’t get his ratty little self to either 1) stop liking steve harrington in a gay, gay, homosexual way. or 2) accept that someone like steve harrington could possibly like aforementioned rat himself eddie munson and actually process his feeling into a reaction that’s more than; red, red, half a boner, sweaty palms, red.

so he took a second to hide in the bathroom. that’s fine, that’s kind even. self care, as robin likes to say when she paints her nails on top of steve’s head when he sits on the computer at work. he likes to make the chair super low because apparently it helps his posture and he need to keep an eye on his posture or else he’ll end up like his great uncle melvin, or something.

self care time is over however because robins knocking on the little bathroom door, hollering about needing to get home to practice for her english presentation tomorrow. so it’s time for eddie to put his big boy pants back on and get in steve’s car.

eddie full body shudders.

‘finish writing you sad boy poems on the stall walls in there? roses are red, violets are blue, i like big dumb jock boys but can’t seem to accept they like me too, even if my very cool very in the know friend robin tells me too. hm?’ robin slings an arm over his shoulder and steers him back to the table.

eddie sniffs, crossing his arms ‘that last bit doesn’t rhyme so, i will be ignoring all of it. F for u buckbey.’

‘not everything has to rhyme perfectly u know. it can still fit together just fine as it is.’ she tugs on one of his curls before slipping back into steve side, finishing off the last of his milkshake and hauling him out of the booth because she ‘has shit to do dingus.’

too smart for her own good that chick. eddie loves her. he’s also going to move away and never talk to her ever again, maybe steal her collection of berets too, become a hat guy, once he reinvents himself. yeah.

steve is putting a few bills on the table, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘just fries tonight ed’s? that makes you kind of a cheap date don’t you think?’ tapping eddie under the chin before following robin to the door, smacking his palm on the frame above on the way out. because of course he does, the neanderthal. all broad shoulders and biceps and ass.

there a second where eddie thinks steve could smack him like that but then he feels his vision spotting. can a guy not catch a break around here? jesus!

the car ride is a blissful reprieve due to cyndi lauper coming on, which had steve and robin performing a duet. which then needed to be tweaked and discussed in detail ready for the next time that specific song came on the radio.

it was honestly nice to watch. eddie had walked to family video that day because his van keeps playing up after it’s stint hidden in the woods. poor girl just needs a day off once in a while so eddie walks and then listens to car duets from two very much none singers. but it nice. makes his heart all yucky and warm.

until robin is leaving. leaving him alone to be a big nerd with a future. leaving him alone to make a fool of himself again. his ego is big and he likes to keep it that way.

‘you coming up here then’ steve shifts slightly, looking as far as he can over his shoulder at eddie huddled behind the drivers seat. ‘no’ he squeaks because last time steve got all up in his face getting his tape box out of the glove compartment. rifling through it while it was on eddies lap. so close eddie could smell the apple from his shampoo and the cigarette they’d shared earlier.

self care.

‘ooh you want the full harington taxi service do you? i see, well then govna, where too is it?’ steve tips his invisible cap and has the most awful cockney accent eddies ever heard, and he did middle school theatre.

‘geeze, just take me home dude.’ eddie shoves through the gap between the seats, landing heavy in the passenger. crossing his arms and trying to hide his smile behind his hair.

‘there he is. out of the shadows.’ steve tucks some of his curls behind his ear. eddie sees the soft smile out of his peripheral. tries to swallow the cotton in his mouth. steve turn back to the road ‘let’s rock ‘n roll’ he revvs the engine, wiggling his eyebrows, before checking his blind spot and pulling away into a cushy 30mph.

eddie looks out the window and hides his grin in his palm.

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

part 1 (eddie) part 2 (steve) part 4 (steve) part 5 (eddie) part 6 (steve) part 7 (eddie)

tags! ( ty for asking to be tagged wow so lovely can’t believe it hehe :3c ) (sry if i missed anyone or u didn’t want to be tagged just let me know!)

@bidisastersworld @sadcanadianwinter @mightbeasleep @butterflysandpeppermint @gregre369 @fandomz-brainrot @satan-is-obsessed @resident-gay-bitch @grtwdsmwhr @forsexyscience

[e-rated-beardo]

Today marks the first time someone notices (edit: tells me they've noticed) the tiny, insignificant, sidenote, literally-one-word clue to the plot-irrelevant fact that an OC in the Second Coming fic I completed two months ago is trans - so I'm going to take the shaky pride month justification and reshare the fic and some of the artworks I made before I joined Tumblr 🏳️‍🌈

Length: 3 parts, ~117k words; complete Series rating: Explicit (but the three sections where it applies are skippable) Tags: They Are Not Talking, The Second Coming, Crowley Is A Mess, Finding Meaning, Heaven Is Terrible, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, Protective Aziraphale, BAMF Aziraphale, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Exiled from Heaven, Temporarily Human, Memory Loss, Skippable Smut, South Downs Cottage, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Ineffable Husbands (plus about 3451325 more tags on ao3)

Summaries for the three parts + art dump below the break! ⬇️

Part 1: After The End (T; 26k words)

Summary: Aziraphale has gone back to Heaven and Crowley has gone… well, in the direction his bonnet pointed, really; it doesn't matter, as long as it's anywhere but London. His back seat full of plants and his passenger seat full of empty bottles, he starts finding that his bonnet points back towards Soho more often than not and that the music is oddly appropriate. And some of the humans—and angel—on Whickber Street seem to care, for whatever stupid reason, whether he's dead or alive.

Part 2: Is It Raining In Heaven? (T; 30k words)

Summary: "It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale... I must be gone and live, or stay and die." (Romeo and Juliet, Act III, scene 5)

The new Supreme Archangel is Struggling. He can't stop the Second Coming, the archangels barely take him seriously, and a fog of blissful joy, only controllable by incessant, stone-cold fury, seems set to make his own mind betray him. Aziraphale has never been the one with the plan, but now, he needs to prevent the next apocalypse and keep Crowley safe on Earth, all while that reckless serpent insists on meddling in Heaven's affairs. (At least the new Christ is a good kid, and the Pope has nice tea.)

Part 3: Not Single Spies (E; 61k words)

Summary: A man with pale hair turns up in Saint Peter's Square, naked and without memory, and Crowley's old sense of Aziraphale's location snaps like a twig.

Heaven is down another Supreme Archangel—but the new Christ is already on Earth (in France, to be precise) and the Second Coming is well underway. And Crowley works for Hell now, but really, he works for the good of humanity; pulling on every friend he has to stop the end of the world.

Everything comes to a head with a delivery van, a flaming sword, a road trip, a prophecy, a wheat field and a miracle of rather significant proportions.

ping @goodomensafterdark ❤️

[the-wayward-arc]

So I forgot I actually had a good portion of The Depcepticon Au fleshed out and since I retired that Au officially, I'll give the main bullet points

Thunderstrike travels to different worlds, either bringing deceptions back to order.

Pyrospear (Pyrrha) travels as well with her group, unable to find Thunderstrike or his crew,

Eventually both receive messages from their respective leaders from a planet called Earth

Over the course of years, battles take place on earth, eventually the cybertronian war is exposed with the death of Talon (Qrow) and the destrcution of a city to all the world and humanity is forced to fight for its survival

StormBlight (Sky Lark) dies much to ThunderStrikes sorrow

FireStar (cinder) betrays the decepticons for an opportunity to gain more power but is killed by Crescent Rose (Ruby)

Megatron and Optimus Mortally wound each other in final battle between the two

Pyrospear is given the Matrix of Leadership and becomes Pyrrus Prime while Thunderstrike becomes leader of the Decepticons after megatron's death

The war lasts another 10 years before Thunderstrike realizes its a useless war of attrition that will eventually end with their species extinction while killing the home of another

An uneasy peace is established; Decepticons control one side of Cybertron and the Autobots the other. (Retconning the original idea of them controlling a colony planet, got the idea from the Cybertron Cyberverse and Killzone Shadowfall)

A cold war takes place after, both leaders trying to keep the peace while dealing with rogue elements within each faction that doesn't like the peace

Thunderstrike renames himself Solaris, homage to one of the 13 primes while also trying to distance himself from his former life

Megatron and Optimus are still revered

Solaris and Pyrrus Prime are known to talk to each other when need be, Pyrrus still trying to reach out to him via Arcstrike

Overtime, she comes to understand Arcstrike is gone much like how PyroSpear is gone. Both have gone through too much to be who they were before the war

Both leaders work together to eventually bring a type of permanent peace and the eventual unification of their Race as one

It never happens but the hardwork they did does lay the groundwork for it to happen soon.

Pyrrus does her best to ensure another council and Prime never become corrupt. She is highly revered for her rule with the Autobots adopting the term "Age of Pyrrus Prime" to establish the timeline of her leadership

Solaris is highly regarded during his rule, creating a system of passing down power to a successor, in he himself takes care and guides a young Cybertronian until he finally step-down after ruling for 1000 years. Part of this is leaving Cybertron as not allow the old Decepticon ruler to influence/control the new Ruler.

Oracle is chosen to lead the Decepticons

The Age of Solaris's Rule ends.

Pyrrus Prime relinquished the Matrix of Leadership and hands it to Crescent Rose who becomes Scarlet Prime. The Age of Pyrrus Prime ends

Both Solaris and Pyrospear leave Cybertron together, to travel the universe itself together. Both having eventually grew close once more during their respective rules. Solaris claiming how he wanted to achieve his dream of exploring until he rejoins the Allspark. Pyrospear wanting to join him.

The two leave Cybertron, never to return. Unknowingly starting a tradition/protocol for both their factions in which both faction leaders give up their respective leadership roles when it's time and leave cybertron together to find a new path among the stars. This eventually leads to the unification of the Cybertronian race.

[shellyseashell]

2023 FIC REC LIST

I did this last year, and I thought I’d do it again. To close out 2023, here’s a list of some of my favorite fics I’ve read this year. These aren’t everything, just of course the highlights. If the author has a tumblr, I tried to tag them, but if I missed anyone let me know or feel free to tag them yourself!

WILLOW

did i dream (that we were so perfectly entwined) | General | Tanthamore | One Shot | 8.9k

Jade and Kit, from childhood through season one. Jade’s pov.

Our hardest battles are the oaths we keep by @rehizle28 | Mature | Tanthamore | 7/25 | 50.9k

Jade grows up as a Knight of Galladoorn. When Graydon and Kit are engaged, she travels to Tir Asleen as Graydon’s personal guard. Words cannot describe how much I love this. The pining and shenanigans these two get into is so so good. Kit causes problems on purpose and Jade Cannot figure out what the princess’s deal is. King Hastur is perfectly normal and has Totally Good intentions.

be my mirror (my sword and shield) by @onlyshestandsthere | Explicit | Tanthamore | 30/? | 228k

Bone Reaver Jade helps the Crone’s followers bring Kit to the Immemorial City. Quite easily one of the angstiest fics I have ever read. But for all 100k of angst there’s another 100k of fluff and that’s only vaguely an exaggeration. The magic is absolutely horrifying but it feels totally realistic to what we’ve seen in canon. Jade and Kit both need a hug.

if we’d turned a corner (if i had waited) by @sugarfey | Mature | Tanthamore | 5/? | 13.9k

Soccer au! There’s plenty of angst in this one, but it focuses on the healing. I love everything about this fic. Kit and Jade are so dumb as usual and I love the social media bits.

The Flawless Five, Vol. 1: Rise of the Five | Teen | Gen | 2/6 | 11.9k

Superhero au! It’s silly and goofy and so so much fun to read. I’m really liking the mystery so far, and I’m looking forward to how it unfolds.

Triumph of the Wyrm | Mature | Tanthamore | 3/12 | 13.8k

Series still currently in the first book. Kit successfully runs away, and every attempt to rescue Airk fails. Twenty years later, the world is under the rule of the Wyrm. Kit and Jade work in smuggling, unaware what happened to the other. Until, of course, they end up working together on a job. The world is so so horrifying but so well done. Also, Kit is allies with Sarris the Troll.

Let’s take a knife and cut the world in two by @spybrarian | Mature | Tanthamore | One Shot | 7.9k

Exorcist Jade and possessed Kit! Very angsty. The worldbuilding is very very well done and so so horrifying.

these walls come tumbling down by @onlyshestandsthere | Teen | Tanthamore | 4/? | 28.8k

Vet Jade and Perfectly Normal Human Kit. After Jade hits Kit (as a cat) with her car, she takes it upon herself to take care of her. Told in two timelines, one in Kit’s pov before the accident, and one in Jade’s pov after. I have laughed so much reading this I absolutely adore it.

One Night in October | Teen | Tanthamore | 9/9 | 29.k

Slasher fic! Angsty, mysterious, but it has a bittersweet ending.

Sink or Swim | Mature | Tanthamore | 7/7 | 16k

Lifeguard Jade and disaster Kit. Seriously she is so, so dumb and it is so, so funny.

LEGENDBORN

Rescue | General | Gen | 1/1 | 4k

Valec’s point of view of Chapter 42. I love Valec okay.

A Place at the Table | General | Gen | 1/1 | 7k

Legendborn/Merlin cross over. Basically, Arthur is a lot better than in canon and it’s so nice to read after Bloodmarked.

Beach Day Memory Walk by @justbrainrot | Mature | OT3 | 1/1 | 3.5k

Bree takes Sel and Nick on a memory walk during Sel’s birthday. Super cute and fun.

Mother, Merlin | Mature | Gen | 4/? | 13k

Natasia healing Sel after the events of Bloodmarked. Very very angsty, but also very very good. I love how Natasia is written.

Dancing in the moonlight by @nightworldlove | Teen | Willark | One Shot | 3k

William and Lark dance. Uh. In the moonlight. Very cute one shot.

Sometimes Hunting and Running Blur Together… by @ficnoire2 | Explicit | Other | 4/? | 11.9k

Valec backstory and I absolutely adore it

DESCENDANTS

Yeah I’m pretty sure we’ve all probably read most of these but nevertheless

Blessed Art Thou Among Women | Mature | Gen | One Shot | 1.3k

Claudine and the Catholic virtues

Descendants: A Different Tale by @kanzakurawrites | Teen | Gen | 9/? | 17.9k

I think this altered my brain chemistry tbh Mal deserves the best parents

Dark Fire by @dragoneyes618

Yeah just go read these if you like Claudine

Obligatory @isleofdarkness shoutout I am quite literally obsessed with this au

Let Dead Men Lie by @dragoneyes618 | General | One Shot | 2.6k

Everyone takes the blame for killing Frollo. Ben is struggling.

Death threats on Dead Beauty by @panthera-tigris-venenata | Mature | Gen | 2/3 | 2.7k

Listen I think Harry should be this feral all the time

the devil had done for the rest | Teen | Gen | One Shot | 2.5k

Harriet! Harry! Yeah that’s all.

Cursed || Harriet Hook | Teen | One Shot | 10.7k

Any Harriet content makes me insane and this is no different. Harriet backstory.

THE MECHANISMS

love in his own eyes by @nonbinarylowkey | General | Gen & Multi | One Shot | 5k

Arthur’s first night as a father

(im)mortality by @nonbinarylowkey | Teen | Multi | One Shot | 7.7k

Arthur handles Mordred’s “death” in a perfectly normal way. Sometimes I think about this fic and take physic damage.

From The Wastes His Child Came (Bringing Revelations Of All Things) | Teen | Other | 3/3 | 7k

Arthur forgets trans people exist and finds Mordred. I’ve reread this so many times I adore it.

la soleil passe son bras par la fenêtre by @ladydragonkiller | General | Gen | One Shot | 6.4k

Brian falls from the gallows and stops the Battle of Camlann, as he should

Inverse Suspension | General | Gen & Multi | One Shot | 3.4k

Mordred frees Brian, and everything turns out okay

no path past kindred’s stain | Teen | Multi | 3/3 | 9.8k

Pendragon backstories my beloved <3