#man who mends the boats

[puutterings]

one of those things, adopted with a whoop

        “... what can you know of the real sorrows and hardships of life?”       “What indeed?” responded Katie briskly.       “And your heart has never been touched — and I don’t believe it ever will be,” Clara continued spitefully — Katie seemed so complacent. “You have no real feeling. You’re just like Wayne.”       “Katie laughed at that and looked at Clara; then laughed again, and Clara flushed.       “Speaking of Wayne,” said Katie in off-hand fashion, “he’s been made a major.”       She watched Clara as she said it. There were things Katie could be rather brutal about.       “I’m sure that’s very nice,” said the woman who had divorced Wayne.       “Yes, isn’t it? And other things are going swimmingly. One of those things he used to be always puttering over — you may remember, Clara, mentioning, from time to time, those things he used to be puttering around with — has been adopted with a whoop. A great fuss is being made over it. It looks as though Wayne was confronted with something that might be called a future.”       “I’m sure I’m very glad,” said Clara, “that somebody is to have something that might be called a future. Certainly a woman with barely enough to live on isn’t in much danger of being confronted with one.”

—

ex Susan Glaspell, The Visioning : A Novel (1911) : 389-390 : link NYPL copy/scan, one of several via hathitrust : link

Susan Glaspell (1876-1948) wikipedia : link  

[nunchler]

every time i see trad gender roles people being weird about fibercraft i wanna tell them

-medieval and early modern knitting guilds were full of men learning and perfecting fancy knitting techniques to impress rich clients

-in cold, wet climates like the scottish highlands knitting was done by the whole family, in fact it was the perfect activity to do while a man was out on a fishing boat or in the pasture with his sheep and cattle

-men who were away from women for a long time had to know how to knit and sew at least well enough to mend their own clothes. soldiers knitted. sailors knitted. cowboys and frontiersmen knitted. vikings probably knitted (actually they would have been doing a kind of proto knitting called nalbinding, but that's beside the point). all those guys the far right love to treat as ultra masculine heroes were sitting around their barracks and campfires at night darning their socks and knitting themselves little hats

[batboyblog]

Is Sean O'Brien secretly trying to destroy the Teamsters?

The first time since 1996 the Teamsters have failed to endorse a candidate

uh I don't think Mr. O'Brien is part of a secret plot or anything, I think he's just an idiot.

Biden has been the most pro-Union President in American history and very proud of it, Harris has embraced that part of his legacy. And indeed Biden and Harris saved the pension fund of the Teamsters in July, saving 600,000 retired Teamsters from massive cuts in their pensions

I mean Sean O'Brien and many working (white) union members have been bombarded with propaganda for many years about how Republicans are for the average man, they're normal working folk like you! and Democrats are rich, annoying, eggheaded busybodies with boats and summer homes and college degrees in art history who look down on YOU! regular guy!

the reality is Kamala Harris, Tim Walz, Joe Biden all come from mend and make work, working class, not have enough money homes who made their way on hardworking and talent. And Trump is Trump

Trump is a rich asshole who has been anti-Union in his businesses and his Presidency and would roll back every Union gain President Biden gave them

so the Teamsters are foolish not to endorse an aggressively pro-Union candidate who comes from the working class against a rich big business asshole who screwed labor as President and Project 2025 makes clear he'd do it again

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Love it when characters casually reveal some insane childhood trauma with a nostalgic smile on their face because this is just a normal part of their childhood how fun! to the absolute horror of those around them who are very much in the 'that's not normal what the actual fuck' boat

Okay but here's what makes me tear up:

This conversation happens in a devilgram where Diavolo is picking apples for Barbatos to make an apple pie for him and it cuts to a flashback that shows Diavolo wanted an apple tree to impress his new angel friend and excitedly tells this to Barbatos. Barbatos then helps Diavolo plant an apple tree in the forest

Isn't that rattling your brain!!!? Aren't you foaming at the mouth!?!?!

The Demon King enchanted this forest to be full of things that could hurt and kill his child, all in the name of preparing Diavolo to be a better king

Then Barbatos helps Diavolo plant apple trees in it, because Diavolo wants to share it with their enemy, a gesture of friendship and good will that would eventually bring peace to the three worlds* which in turn helps Diavolo grow towards becoming a better king

Diavolo's father created a deadly survival course for a child so he wouldn't get bored, something that would keep Diavolo away from him, and the man who actually raised Diavolo spent time with Diavolo helping him grow apple trees in it

A labour of love grown and tended to for years, if not centuries, just so Diavolo could give his friend apples (another gesture of love) built upon the soil of something that was meant to push and punish Diavolo into being the ideal ruler

*(over a series of meetings Diavolo & Lucifer become friends -> Lucifer starts questioning things in the Celestial Realm -> Lucifer, pushed by the sentence against Lilith, starts a war in the Celestial Realm -> Lucifer seeks sanctuary in the Devildom -> Diavolo helps Lucifer + reincarnates Lilith -> Lucifer pledges his loyalty to Diavolo + through Lilith's line MC is eventually born -> through MC & the brothers' fates being tied Lucifer accidentally picks MC for the exchange program -> MC showing that people from all three worlds could not only be close friends but family starts mending bridges + MC wanting to stay in the Devildom permanently gets everyone actively pushing for peace leading to them becoming part of the student council/government and challenging the views of the older/more conservative demons -> all this eventually kickstarts both Diavolo & Lucifer's character & relationship development -> Diavolo learns to be a more considerate ruler & person who listens to others instead of immediately jumping in with his own plans & ideas + Lucifer learns to actually push back against Diavolo & not just be his 'Yes Man')

Also this Devilgram is called "The Seven Apples"

and with lines like,

"Still...I hope that all this effort bears fruit, someday"

"With enough care and attention, I'm certain that it shall."

"Ah, well. Good things come to those who wait, and all that."

And talk about the future of the Devildom and how they pick exactly seven apples, the whole tree talk/metaphor is 100% about gaining the friendship & trust of Lucifer and his brothers by putting in the effort, care and attention to one day, years in the future, have seven shining apples with you

BUT, EVEN WITHOUT THAT DOUBLE MEANING,

It's not just a tree.

It's all about love, isn't it and the things we do for the people we love.

[biteofcherry]

Wetnessday anon here 💦

Your story about how you met king Curtis is awesome! I'd love to meet him like this!

I'm curious how the story would have went if she ended up in king Ari's kingdom though.

(you don't have to write anything of course)

xoxo Wetnessday anon 💦

One of the crew members finds you hiding on the ship, but since they don't know who you really are and you try to sell your story of dream life on golden shores and fishing, they simply tell you that there's no free ride, so you have to do some work on the ship

You mend some clothes and sails, as well get roped into helping with cooking for the crew

Not once do you meet king Ari, you just briefly see him from afar

Once you reach his kingdom the sailor who discovered you, gives you directions to the small fishing village not far from the docks and tells you there are a few fishermen who may look to hire a help

You fall a little in love with the kingdom as you walk down the shore, feeling the warm, golden sand beneath your feet and watching the shades of blue and turquoise of the sea, and the greenery of forests on the other side of the beach

Some of the fishermen shoo you away, but there's one grumpy older man who judges you head to toe, commenting how you don't look much hardworking, but he still agrees to take you under his wing

Duncan lives alone in a house the farthest from any other, but his boat looks really well taken care of.

You're surprised to find out there's a small, lush garden next to his home; but he shrugs and says that his wife used to take care of it, he just lets it grow.

He often sighs and grumbles "What has possessed me to teach stubborn youth again in my old days", especially when you show impatience with some tasks.

What you don't know is that Duncan is a former navy captain who used to be young Prince Ari's teacher and guardian, who retired early to take care of his sick wife who unfortunately passed away a few years ago.

You're also unaware that fond of his old friend, King Ari often visits Duncan.

It's a complete surprise to you when one day you're sitting in front of the house with Duncan, both of you working on the mending the nets and him telling you hilarious story of how he met his wife (it involved being smacked over the head with a paddle), and King Ari arrives unannounced.

The problem is that Ari recognizes you.

He saw you at the feasts when he visited your kingdom, he was introduced to you. So the plainer dress and lack of shiny jewelry don't fool him.

When he reveals the truth to Duncan, the older man just snorts: "She did a better job blending in than you when you tried to join merchants at thirteen springs."

Ari takes you back to his castle and it's non-negotiable.

No matter how much sympathy he feels for you over your story, you are a crown Princess of another kingdom and you're in his lands. If something were to happen to you while here, his kingdom could face a war.

At least he doesn't immediately sail you back to your kingdom, claiming he has to think it all through.

You're given beautiful chambers, even more beautiful gowns and you share dinners with Ari every evening. He likes talking to you and you find him to be a charming, funny companion.

One morning you wake up much earlier than usual and you take the opportunity to roam the castle grounds and nooks while everything is still sleepy and quiet. You don't expect to stumble upon Ari and two of his men returning from who knows what activities - all laughing, shoving each other and being very much wet

You stare at Ari, your eyes unable to stay on his face while his torso is shiny with water.

When you drag your gaze up and meet his blue eyes, there's a hungry spark in them. Also amusement that curves his lips and makes you realize he caught you staring.

You flee with a squeak, running back to your chambers to hide in embarrassment. You almost refuse to meet Ari for dinner later that evening, still mortified.

But it's that very evening that Ari makes you a proposal - he can't keep you here as a guest forever, since at some point someone will report to your brother where you are and it might stir a lot of drama.

He could send you back home, or send an emissary with official request for your hand in marriage; which would also include a false story of how Ari found you were abducted and saved you (a lie to save your reputation as well).

"It may not be your dream life," Ari says when you nervously play with your cup of wine, "but as heirs and rulers we have to also take responsibility. Even if we'd very much prefer to be fishermen and merchants," he winks at you.

"We like each other's company and I'm quite certain the attraction is undeniable." He gives you that hungry look again and your thighs clench involuntarily.

He lists a few more compelling arguments. When you finally say yes, knowing that it's still the best of your options, considering the repercussions if you were to be brought to your brother, Ari stands up and rounds the table to where you're seated.

He kisses you for the first time that evening

his hand moving from sweet, respectful caress on your cheek to gripping the back of your head as he slips his tongue between your lips

you've never been kissed like that and when Ari pulls back you nearly chases his lips with a whine.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Ghosted

Some Ruben angst to bless your feed. 😁 The picture is giving anxious Ruben.

Summary - Ruben and Reader has a fight whilst Ruben is on vacation with his friends.

Enjoy!

Ruben's friends teased him about it. About how the two of you had gotten into a fight over some picture of him in the club last night. He was still on vacation whilst you were at home in Manchester, working. The fight had happened over the phone. The phone that you currently weren't answering.

"Come on Ruben." His friends said. "Forget about her. We are on vacation for fucksake."

They had rented a small yacht for the day and blasted music loud enough to scare the fishes away. Ruben, however, was unable to enjoy himself. His thoughts were still of you and the fight you had. At one point Ruben looked so miserable that his brother took him aside. "Man, just call her and apologize." He said.

"You think so?"

Ruben's brother seemed to be the only one who understood the effect the fight with you had on him. His brother knew exactly how much you meant to Ruben.

"You know how women can get. The girls at the club were all over you last night. What did you expect her reaction to be seeing that picture that José posted?"

Ruben nodded. "You're probably right, I should call her. Tell José to delete that picture of me form his Instagram."

"Sure will brother. And here..." Ruben's brother tossed him his phone. "Since she won't answer when you call." He grinned.

Ruben waited until sundown, when the party on the boat had quiet down a bit and the guys were in their feels from all the alcohol.

"Hello?" You answered.

"It's me. " He said.

"God Ruben, you scared me."

"I did. Why?"

"Well, since it was your brother's number calling I thought somthing might have happened to you."

You still worried about him. A good sign, Ruben thought.

"What do you want?" You said, trying to maintain your angry voice even though you slipped up just then.

"I just called to say I'm sorry."

"You're sorry, for what?" You were hard on him, knowing he was just trying to break bread.

"For letting José post that picture of me and that girl?"

"And?"

"And the fight we had over the phone."

"And...?"

"I swear to God Y/N I'll apologize for whatever, but I can't come up with anything else I did wrong." Ruben ran a hand down his face. He was miserable. The long distance between you was one thing, but arguing with you from a long distance he simply couldn't do.

"Ruben I don't want you to make a list of apologies."

"No?"

"Of course not. I understand you're with your friends enjoying your well deserved vacation. But the way you spoke to me over the phone, like I was some annoying side piece you are fucking. I dunno Ruben, but it made me feel like you were trying to be something you're not in front of your friends. And if that is the case I don't think that it's going to work out between us."

"It's not...I mean I'm not!" Ruben exclaimed. "I'm not trying to be somone I'm not. I admit that I got a bit carried away during our fight, but your name you must believe me when I say that you're not some side piece. To me you're the main fucking course."

"Ruben." You chuckled.

Your laughter seemed to mend the sharp pain that he had felt in the pit of his stomach. It also restored his entire mood.

"I made you laugh. " He mumbled.

"Yeah, so?" You giggled.

"Does it mean you forgive me?"

"I forgive you."

"Good." All was well, he thought.

"But tell those Ibizian bitches to stay off my man!"

Ruben chuckled. "I'll be sure to tell them that."

[oo-artsy-oo]

What if the hornsent were trying to make empyreans with the Saint Jars? The hornsent seemed to have created the divine tower but why did they never ascend? And Marika, a Shaman, is able to betray them and “steal” godhood?

The Shaman, which may have been Numen women, possibly arrived on the boats found on the Cerulean coast, are used in this pot ritual as a kind of glue.

These shaman were able to ‘meld’ with the flesh of others. Possibly being the ingredient that ties all the souls and flesh together, a Shaman is a person who can interact with spirits, maybe as well as unifying them physically by melding the flesh together, the Shamans are able to unify the spirits, maybe not into one soul, but unify their goals or intentions.

Not all Shaman are empyreans though, to be clear. Empyreans are beings who are deemed fit to become a god.

The known empyreans are:

Miquella

Melania

Marika

Ranni

An interesting part of all of these characters is their ability to “split” their soul into two or more beings, or at least, share their very being with another.

Miquella + St Trina

Melania + her daughters (the god of Rot)

Marika + Radagon

Ranni + ???

In Ranni’s case, I’m unsure of what her split identity was. It is stated: Ranni had her own empyrean flesh slain. She, like Melina, is a bodiless soul and since we don’t hear much about Ranni before she became what she is currently, we can’t really know what it was that made her worthy as an empyrean.

So, what is an Empyrean?

As I said before, Empyreans are those who are fit to become a god. But what actually makes them worthy?

To become a God, an empyrean must align themselves with the influence of an outer god, and become its vassal. Watching Miquella’s ascent to godhood, shows us that he needs to divest himself of his flesh, he also divests certain psychological aspects, such as his doubts and his love.

So to become a God, one must divest themselves of their flesh? Things that tie them to the corporeal realm.

The Vitruvian man shows an image of a man posed two different ways, one, which fits perfectly within a square and one that goes beyond the bounds of the square to fit within a circle. In regard to the vitruvian man, the man in the square, is mean to represent earthliness, being rooted within the confines of the mortal/material world. The man in the circle, is mean to represent the infinite or divinity.

In regards to Marika and radagon, their statues always portray them in unique poses. Radagon is always standing straight, head held high and his arm out to the side at a 90° angle. Marika on the other hand is often standing with her head stooped low as if looking down, her arms are curved upwards, her hands meeting the height of her head.

To me, this shows that Radagon represents the corporeal and/or human aspects, this is further shown by Radagon’s fervent faith and loyalty to divinity, he is looking up to the heavens and is depicted in front of a lattice which could symbolise support. He attempted to mend the Elden ring by implementing this lattice into its very design.

Whereas Marika, she represents the divine and eternal aspects, from the point of view of those seeing the statues, Marika’s likeness would be looking down at them, divinity is always shown to be superior to those stuck in the corporeal plain. She is also depicted in front of a shawl styled similarly to velificatio (a stylistic way to depict deities in ancient Roman art). The shawl may also be a depiction of her veil.

Back to the Vitruvian man, the theory behind this artwork is that a human is both earthly and divine, having aspects of both plains.

This is shown in the empyreans with their two seperate personas. Maybe, the way one becomes a god, is to divest themselves of their corporeal aspects and give themselves to an outer god. Miquella, in becoming a god divested himself of St. Trina, and Marika must’ve divested herself of Radagon. This doesn’t mean that those parts of themselves are killed, as St. Trina is not dead and neither is Radagon. Similarly with Malenia, it is said that after defeating her, she will “bloom” once more and become a god. Interestingly, all of her daughters kill eachother in battle, which would divest her of her human aspects, and yet it is said that even those ‘children’ will bloom again, becoming scarlet Valkyrie’s.

All of the current empyreans have shaman blood through Marika/Radagon. And since shamans have the ability to meld with others, maybe that aspect of them is what makes them eligible to become gods? Being able to meld with their chosen outergod.

Also, I don’t believe Miquella joined with an outer god. He created the unalloyed gold, able to propel outer gods. Miquella became his own god, creating his own order, abandoning the Elden ring (this can be shown in his circlet’s description.)

Anyway, another rant xD

[netherfeildren]

Masterlist:

Updates Blog : Follow and turn on notifications for new writing! All works are 18+

Fear of God : Joel Miller x OFC

Summary : What was monstrousness? What was it, but a certainty that there existed within you multitudes of desires, needs, guilts, impulses – humanity? At the end of the world, when the dust has finally settled, Joel grapples with what it is to take hold of your own monstrosity – your own humanity – and live with it. And what it is to bear that truth in the palm of your hand held towards the person you love, offer it to them, and have it be accepted for what it was. Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

-OR-

Big bad Joel Miller falls in love and doesn't know how to deal with it.

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

The Cassandra Complex : Ongoing : Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else.

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored.

Enter: the creation of myth.

-OR-

the mandalorian / dark sider au

Fable of the Dog : Ongoing : Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: The sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks, and you’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended.

And then there is Joel Miller, too.

-OR-

the cowboy/heiress AU

Pink : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Honey, Stomach, Mine : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

One Shots :

bétteln : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary : You really want Joel to give you a baby. You don’t really care what he has to say about it.

biéten : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary : Now that you have his baby in you, you’re Joel’s most special girl. 

Kiss, Kiss, Kill, Kill! : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is a long haul truck driver. One day he finds a pretty girl in a diner and decides he’d like to keep her. 

Murder and sex ensue!

Greener Memories of Better Men : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them.

-OR-

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

I urge you: Bite me : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes love hurts like a split nail, and sometimes we like it like that.

Sometimes Joel hurts like a split nail, you like him like that too. 

With Mercy for the Disturbed : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Evermore : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The Thanksgiving AU

Meet Me in the New Year : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The New Year’s Eve AU

10:05 PM : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is exhausted, you’re there to make him feel better.

How to Endure Ardor : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you how to love him.

Notes On a Virtuous Affair : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: One would think this road ends in something virtuous—a greenness so dazzling it hurt the eyes—and not the sort of man waiting in his far out removed solitude.

At the Restaurant : Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Forfeiting My Mystique : Ezra x F!Reader

Summary: You're a girl made of golden gossamer, a work of art come to life, and Ezra, well, he's dedicated his life to collecting beautiful things.

-OR-

An Ezra Art Collector AU

Austerlitz : Simon (Ghost) Riley x F!Reader

Summary: The day he left for his hideous war, the dream changed. The house was still there, but now neither of us lived in it anymore. And when he finally came back, if that’s what you could even call it, he was nothing but a Ghost. 

-OR-

Ghost goes away, comes back in a maybe dream.

[eac101]

I've seen the idea that Kurapika sews/makes his own Kurta clothing thrown around a lot, especially as a way to preserve his culture, but I had another idea today: imagine Leorio being great at sewing. Imagine he overhears Kurapika cursing at something one evening and finds him in his room trying to mend his blue and gold tunic, but he just can't seem to thread the needle, or he keeps pricking his finger, or he realizes he pinned the fabric in the wrong place. Leorio offers to help and kurapika is mesmerized by how easily he works the needle, how he hums to himself as the thread moves back and forth. "where did you learn to sew?" "Oh, we've been learning how to stitch up wounds in class, I'm not that good at it yet though." He's being humble but kurapika thinks he's a natural at it and is still shocked to see the lanky, goofy, large-handed Leorio do something so delicately, and with such care for his tunic, and he wonders how is this the same man I once fought with on a boat? How is this the same man who punched one of the most famous hunters on live television and almost got elected chairman? What is this side of Leorio - and how can he see it more? What did he do to deserve this earnest and caring man?

Needless to say Kurapika will be asking for Leorio's help on sewing projects in the future.

[certifiedkazuhaskitten]

The uncrowned king of no man's land

duke of the north!wriothesley x fem reader

arranged marriage, romance, kingdom setting

Part 1

People who came to the Fortress of Meropide dukedom were either officials, guards, or criminals. After all, it is the "wasteland" of the kingdom of Fontaine—though you're not sure you're fitted to any of the category mentioned above. A mere diplomatic pawn you are; that's right, you're going to that northern dukedom. The Iudex worked hard to solve everlasting (one-sided) feud between the noble faction and the current duke residing in the Fortress of Meropide, and have came to the solution that the relationship between the noble faction and the duke may be mended through marital means. He chose Count Hugues, a noble who publicly opposed the duke to present one of his many daughters as the soon-to-be bride of the duke. And out of six beautiful daughters, five of which he spoiled, he picked you, the adopted daughter who happens to be a great convenient scapegoat. Your talents in swordmanship and mastering the pyro elements fell short on the count's eyes now as he easily sacrifices you to keep his five beautiful, frail biological daughters at home, waiting to be married to a good, rich noble.

So here you are, the soon-to-be bride of the duke, accompanied by your escorts to the Fortress of Meropide dukedom. You secretly sneak a grin as you cover your face with your hands, pretending to quietly cry and be distressed. No one should know you're secretly happy about this whole arranged marriage, because then the escorts will find you suspicious.

I'm finally out of that hell house. Fuck them, that shitty count and his bitchy daughters. And his idiot wife too. And everyone in that house.

Should've burned the house down before I left, you thought to yourself. To kill time as you wait the boat to reach the end of the underground water tunnel, you continue letting your mind idly wander.

Piercing eyes stab you in the back as the escorts seated next to you look down at you in disgust—apparently bloodline is very important for the nobles of Fontaine. Used to their treatment, you roll your eyes silently, unbothered with their unsubtle attitude. The whole reason you're in this situation right now is also because of those fontainian nobles; backstabbing, judging hypocrites who find it outrageous that someone of criminal background could rise to equal standing as them. And the duke couldn't care less because he had all the money in the world to mind his own business.

Who suggested the count that you must be accompanied with a bunch of escorts to the dukedom anyway? This bunch of losers are killing you with their repeated poor attitude towards you. You're convinced that they're sent here to be with you so they make sure you suffer somewhat in the dukedom and then they could gather something to accuse the duke of. You wish you could just burn them all off, but doing so may will struck the already severed diplomatic relationship even worse, so you keep your lips shut and sit silently in the corner of the boat heading towards the dukedom.

The air feels stuffy and damp, as expected of an underground water tunnel. It smells like sea and iron. Someone could piss down here and no one would notice given the sharp tanginess of such scent—or, you bet, someone already has. The scenery of underground tunnels and murky water reminds you of your old home residing just below the capital; Fleuve Cendre. Not that you miss it, but the nostalgia hits hard. Fleuve Cendre was known as the ugly place in Fontaine, and based on rumors you've heard, The Fortress of Meropide dukedom is no different. The only difference is at the dukedom, there are more killers, while pickpockets and alcoholics roam the streets more often in Fleuve Cendre.

"We're here." Said one of the guards. The long tunnel finally reached its end, revealing a cold and unwelcoming entrance used to greet criminals. Clank, the tip of the boat lightly bump the entrance. Everyone's heartbeat start to race.

Anxiety engulfed the escorts as they get off the boat, while you try your best staying calm and composed.

I've experience a lot of shit in my life already. I can do this.

You change your stature and body language subtly, making sure you act and look like a noble you were raised as. The escorts cowardly stand behind you, afraid of what the guards could do to them.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The sound of dangling handcuffs and a very nuanced footsteps can be heard. As the guards change formation to make way for the duke, you notice the deadly piercing eyes gazing upon you in alert. Pretty eyes, you admit, icy white irises that rekindles nostalgia.

"Welcome, the sixth daughter of Count Hugues and her escorts. We have long awaited your arrival." He spoke, and you can feel the vibration of his voice intimidating the whole room.

You hold your breath.

I can do this Can I really do this?

[satans-helper]

Back From the Dead

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~6700

Warnings: lots of angst & tears (Sam really is my token boy for that lmao sorry to my Sam girls <3); some sexual content (PIV--18+)

Another post-concert Sam fic. Hope you enjoy <3

---

Countless photos and videos of the boy who broke your heart, the boy who you loved so much it made you sick, continued to assault you day after day, month after month. You couldn’t help but become transfixed despite how it made your chest ache so deeply–Sam in shimmering cream, backlit by pillars of orange flame. Sam in glittering crimson, dripping jewels. Each photo and video captured that natural charm, that honed magnetism, all of that slick seduction that had won you over so long ago, and you were left feeling whiplashed with each scroll.

When the end came, your friends all told you that you were better off without him. They tried to raise you back up, tried to paint you as the victor despite you feeling like you’d lost the most precious thing in your life. You’d tried to rally along with their support but you never really felt it, not for one second. And as the months dragged on, your quiet heartache and gray despondency became old. Your friends didn’t want to hear about it anymore, not for one more second. You couldn’t blame them. You were sick of your own thoughts that tormented you–no matter what you did with your days, Sam was at the forefront of your mind, always. 

Not even sleep was much of an escape. You dreamed about him frequently, in situations that were nonsensical sometimes, but sometimes in situations where he’d come back to you. Sometimes the dreams erased the breakup entirely and there you two were, together like nothing had ever happened. Then you’d wake up covered in sweat and chilled with grief, your heart once again like a dead-weight in your rib cage.

Summer was here, but instead of feeling excited for beach days, boat rides, barbeques and all the weekend trips that had been tacked onto your calendar, you just felt the same old familiar grief and desperation. You were so exhausted from the pain that came from that horrible breakup that had come out of nowhere, a pain that should have left you long ago. 

Of course, despite the clear blue skies and beaming sunshine as you drove to meet your friends–yet another gathering that wouldn’t distract you–your thoughts found Sam and that final day with him. You never thought you’d beg any man for anything but when he’d dropped the bomb, you’d begged him not to, to take it all back, to just stay, to work it out. Because you loved him too much and truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. And you’d said all of that–you’d laid your heart out on the line, vomited your love, adoration and commitment up, but it hadn’t mattered. Sam said it was over, so it was. 

What made it so much worse was that you couldn’t even talk to him. You’d given up quickly–he’d made it clear that friendship was not part of the breakup package. For a little while, you’d held onto hope that he would reach out and at least mend that. But he never did, and it was another hard thing to accept. But what was harder was how everyone else in the world got to see him and experience him every night and it didn’t take long before you found yourself scrolling through apps just to see his digital beauty in the palm of your hands since you couldn’t have the real thing anymore.

The evening at the beach with your friends moved slowly. You tried, as always, to smile, to laugh, to match everyone else’s energy. But the cold drink in your hand only reminded you of how much you missed Sam’s warm hand holding yours; the blazing sunset, brilliant and beautiful reflected in the lake, only made you think of the flames that reflected in Sam’s dark eyes each night. The sand beneath your bare legs and feet only made you want the sensation of his silky skin against your own, and when you brought a cigarette to your lips, you knew you could still feel the long-lost ghost of one of his kisses. You’d never feel that again, you reminded yourself for the millionth time, and it almost made you cry right there.

But you managed to save your tears for the drive back home. They swelled into big droplets that rolled down your cheeks in the dark and you wiped them away continually, rubbing at your eyes too so the road would stop being a blur. Dejected and lonely, you dragged yourself back inside your home that always felt so empty without Sam’s scattered messes, even without his smell. 

The only one that you still managed to keep in touch with, though infrequently, was Josh. Bless his heart, and bless it even more because when you kicked off your shoes, dropped your back and checked your phone again while standing idle in the hallway, you had a text from him waiting for you.

Hey baby doll, what’s shaking? Sorry it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I was thinking about you tonight!

For the first time all night, a real smile curved along your lips. You started to type as you meandered over to the couch, sinking down just as you hit send.

Josh! I miss you <3 Did you guys have a show tonight?

Ironically, it was only when you got to talk to Josh that you ever felt relief. He was not only your one remaining link to Sam, but he was also just so pure of heart and kind–such a gem that you couldn’t not feel comforted whenever you two reconnected. Josh was your last thread to a whole world that you missed dearly and he was a true friend even if you wished you could talk to him more. 

Not even a full minute passed before your phone began to ring with Josh’s name and contact photo illuminating the screen. You took the call quickly and eagerly, settling back into the couch, your whole body feeling so much more alive than it had in ages.

“You know I’m not big on texting,” was the first thing he said when you picked up, a smile evident in his tone. 

“I’d much rather hear your voice,” you told him, smiling too. “I was thinking about you tonight too. Well–all of you.” You sighed, though Josh being on the other line kept the smile on your face. “As always.”

Josh said he missed you too. He launched into a whole recap of how much he and the boys had been writing and jamming, working on new songs, in addition to the touring that you were well aware of thanks to your incessant internet upkeep. You could visualize so much of it–you had garnered a fairly intimate knowledge of the boys’ creative process through dating Sam, plus you had seen them play numerous shows in the flesh. One thing you’d always loved about Sam was how he always found what you did and what you loved just as fascinating as you found his life.

Your life felt even less fascinating since Sam left it, but as you told Josh all of your most recent updates, he followed along with so much intrigue that you began to feel as though maybe things weren’t as boring as you once thought. Despite the constant heartbreak, you’d been pushing forward, carrying on doing things you love in addition to the regular grind. Even though you’d felt so broken, Josh affirming everything you’d done and were going to do made you feel whole again, if only temporarily. 

But then, just when you thought you were in the clear of even bringing him up, you blurted, “I still miss him so much, Josh.”

Josh let out a soft sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve never been able to understand why he didn’t think it’d work. To me–to the rest of us–it always looked like it was working.”

“I thought so too,” you said, lying back flat along the length of your couch. You were vividly remembering some of Sam’s final words to you: “I’m not unhappy. I know you’re not unhappy. But eventually, we will be.” It had made you more angry than hurt the moment he’d said it–what a cop out. It had been way, way too late in the relationship for him to suddenly become noncommittal or to pull out a random excuse of fear. A preemptive breakup with no reasonable cause in sight, as far as you could tell. Fame wasn’t enough of a reason for you. It never was, it never would be. Eventually, you began to realize that Sam maybe–probably, if you were being honest with yourself–just never loved you all that much.

But as you conversed with Josh, his next statement gave you a light of hope that you wanted to dash away before you ran with it in futility: “Honestly, Y/N…I think Sam misses you too.”

You shot up into a sitting position, feet flat on the floor. “Why do you say that?”

There was such a long pause that you thought Josh had hung up. Then, slowly and softly, he said, “Well, for one, he hasn’t really been with anyone else since. Not that I know of anyway, and it’s not like there’s an abundance of privacy while we’re touring, anyway.”

“Okay…” you said, also slowly, the wheels of your brain already turning.

“He’s been bringing you up lately. Just like, in normal conversation…it’s like he openly reminisces about you. He didn’t do that before.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“I also saw him looking at pictures of you, and of you and him together, recently. I don’t think he deleted any of them.” 

Your frown twisted into a confused purse of your lips, your brow tightening along with it–the statement, though encouraging, was so stark that it made you flinch. 

“I don’t–” You began, then shook your head. “Why won’t he just talk to me?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, love. But I do know, as you do too, that Sam is incredibly, ridiculously stubborn.” Josh clicked his tongue. “I think that his feelings for you are not totally gone. Personally, I never thought they were.”

-

Instagram alerted you to yet another end of the band’s tour. Well, a break–they’d all be off again soon and you were once again left to eventually play catch up with Josh, whenever that would be. You sighed as you paused on a photo of Sam. You gave yourself permission to look for another second, then just one more, before you locked your phone. It was time to move on, not only with your day but with everything. Sam wasn’t coming back to you. 

But then, when Sunday came around and when you were simply trying to focus on some back-to-basics self-care, Josh called.

“Hey, listen, mama,” he began, sounding a little on edge, which instantly put you on edge in turn. “I was sworn to secrecy but I just can’t keep it in. You deserve a heads up so you can figure out what exactly you want to do.”

“Josh,” you said, pausing your words as you began to peel away the Korean face mask from your cheeks. “What the heck are you talking about?”

“Sam’s coming to see you. Today. He flew in last night.”

A terrible, overwhelming wave of emotions swept over you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands–the used up face mask was stuck to one of them, your fingers clinging to it, with the bathroom trash can feeling so far away. The entire room surrounding you suddenly felt too small though, like the walls were closing in on you, and your heart began to beat frantically as the blood rushed into your ears.

When actual words entered your personal stratosphere again, you were tempted to ask if it was a joke. But Josh wouldn’t joke about this. Never. So you asked, “He was serious? How do you know?”

“Because he told me. He told all of us. He got on a plane, Y/N. He wants it to be a surprise and I just–” Josh let out an exhausted-sounding sigh. “I just don’t know what’s going through his head. I mean, do you want this?”

For the first time, you weren’t sure. 

But it didn’t matter–Sam showed up, just like Josh said he was planning to, just a few hours later. 

Nauseating panic made it hard to move right after the doorbell rang. You remained standing, totally frozen, right outside the door until it rang again and then, without having a coherent thought to drive your actions, you opened it.

No picture or video could ever compare to the real thing–you already knew that, but finally seeing Sam again in the flesh after so long was so uncanny and surreal that you wobbled back on your heels, so physically and mentally unstable. Josh may have warned you about Sam’s incoming presence, but there was nothing that could have warned you of the feelings his presence evoked–anxiety and confusion were at the forefront, so much anxiety that your vision blurred for a moment as you met Sam’s gaze, but also softer things. Adoration was there–that same adoration you’d felt throughout all of your time with Sam. Once upon a time, you’d looked at him like he was the sun, stars and moon combined. You just adored him that much.

“Hey,” Sam said, the first one to speak after what seemed like an eon of silence to you. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, long legs flexing slightly but visibly in just a pair of shorts. He inhaled deeply and his chest and shoulders rose and fell beneath the cream button-down shirt that you didn’t recognize. It looked like it could have been a thrift find, but you bet it wasn’t. 

“Hi,” you finally said, your own voice sounding strange to your ears. You left it at that, though there were so many other things another person might say–what are you doing here? Being the most reasonable one, and a question you were wholly justified in asking. But you didn’t.

“It’s been a long time,” Sam replied, and instead of the impossibly self-assured rock god you saw online every day, he looked sheepish. Trepidation wafted from his energy like a perfume, like he himself wasn’t even sure what he was doing on your doorstep.

You took a deep breath through your nose, trying to center yourself, and got a whiff of what Sam actually smelled like–amber and patchouli. A little bit of smoke. “Yeah,” you agreed. “It really has.”

Despite all the emotions that were gearing up, it took absolutely no convincing for you to let Sam inside. It was like muscle memory to open the door for him and to step aside, to follow behind and watch the subtle movements of his traps, shoulders and thighs as he made his way into your home. But now, he moved more slowly and his head turned from side to side, looking around as if to see what had changed. Not much had, you realized, apart from his own missing pieces. 

You needed a drink; Sam probably did too. So you both sat there on the couch, the ceiling fan above circling, sending drift after drift of his scent to you, and slowly sipped from beers you only ever started buying because of him. Awkward, tormenting silence ensued for far too long before you finally asked the necessary question of, “Why are you here?”

Sam looked at you, then looked down at the can in his hand. He brought it to his lips, tilted his head back and chugged the rest. After he wiped his mouth with the hem of his sleeve, he answered with, “I miss you, Y/N. I made a mistake.”

Your jaw dropped–then, quickly you realized you didn’t want to be so vulnerable again. Sam didn’t deserve to see you surprised. He didn’t deserve to see any emotion at all. You looked away, to the blank space of the wall above your TV–once upon a time, there were pictures of the two of you, and of you and all the boys, hung up there. 

“Oh,” you said, taking another drink. The beer tasted extra bitter on your tongue, and you felt your own bitterness, all the hard feelings that had been locked away inside your heart for so long, begin to seep out. “You seemed so sure of your decision before. I don’t see why anything would have changed.”

“At the time, I didn’t think we’d make it. We barely made it through that first tour together. Don’t you remember?” Sam asked, stuck in your peripheral vision.

You thought back to that time a couple years ago. Sure, it’d been hard–you couldn’t be with Sam as much as you’d wanted, but you were never the clingy girlfriend. You never made him feel guilty about any of it. Yet you’d come to learn that he felt guilty anyway, which led to resentment, all of which could have been avoided if Sam just learned to communicate better. But you never made him feel guilty for that either.

“You barely made it through,” you corrected, turning to face him again. His beauty struck you again like a slap in the face, making you falter silently–just a few weeks ago, you would have done anything to kiss those soft, plush lips. Has anything really changed for you?

“I know,” Sam said, one of the few times he’d ever admitted any kind of fault. “It was stupid. I should have trusted what we had.”

You looked away again, blinking as you felt a surge of rage and deep pain in your chest that was threatening to make you cry. How many times could you cry over one person? You were so drained. Then you felt Sam’s hand on your knee but refused to look down at the touch, though the sensation sent a shiver up your spine and a whirlpool of desire in your belly. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, his voice soft, but too sad. You didn’t think he deserved to feel sad. 

You shoved his hand away and shrank back against the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest. “What did you think would happen here?” you demanded, the threat of tears in your eyes traded for blazing anger that you hoped was cutting through Sam’s soul. “You don’t talk to me for all this time–you didn’t even want to be friends, Sam!” Your voice was rising like the tidal wave all your heartache felt like. “You toss me aside like trash then just decide to come back when, what? When you’re desperate? Because you finally feel real guilt, not just your bullshit self-pity?”

Sam’s mouth gaped in shock, just staring at you. You stared back until he stood up, shaking his head. “You’re right,” he said. “This was wrong. Another mistake.” 

But as he began to head out, steps trailing a line right for the front door, you knew you couldn’t bear to see him walk out again. 

You shot up to your feet and grabbed his arm–you pulled him back with more force than intended, making him stumble back against you with a surprised grunt. He actually looked scared when you physically turned him around but the anger you felt was drifting away–now you just felt charmed. Despite the changes there, you saw the same boy you fell in love with years ago.

“You ruined everything, you stupid idiot,” you said quietly, no heat in your words. Surprisingly, Sam smiled. He brought his hands to your shoulders and gently rubbed them as if he could massage all the turmoil of the past straight out of you.

It was also like muscle memory to have Sam beneath you as your legs splayed over his hips, knees pressed into your mattress. His hair was fanned out against your pillow as you swept your fingers through the long strands while your other hand kept a determined hold on his face, your thumb aligned with his jaw to keep him in place. 

His hands roamed down your sides, his touch fluid and familiar, his kisses the same, and all the daydreams and real dreams of doing this again flooded your mind, making you question if what was happening was even real. You pulled back to look at him, to assure yourself that he was here, that it was real, and those dark doe eyes looked back into your own, his lashes fluttering as a little smile graced his rosy lips. 

“Did you really miss me?” you asked as you released his jaw and touched your fingers to his mouth, tracing down his chin, his neck.

He nodded, hands squeezing your hips. “Every day.” Then he answered the next question you had: “I felt too embarrassed to go back…to try to undo it.”

You shook your head with a sigh, stroking his hair. “For being so smart, you really are so stupid, Sam.”

“I know.”

You sat back, removing your hands from him entirely. “So…what does this mean? Are you just gonna ditch me when the tour starts up again?”

“That wasn’t my plan. But I don’t expect you to forgive me or get back with me either.” He sat up as much as he could, propping his upper body up on his elbows. “We can stop right now if you want.”

Maybe you’d jumped back into things too soon. Especially without a real declaration and a real commitment to, well, commitment, it seemed way too likely you’d just end up heartbroken again. 

“What do you want?” you asked, still keeping your hands to yourself. 

Sam sat up more and wrapped his arms around your middle. He rested his head against your chest and sighed, but didn’t answer–not with words, anyway. You knew what that hug, what that hold on you, meant. You could remember like it was yesterday the first time Sam hugged you like that.

“I was such a fucking idiot,” Sam said, breaking the silence. He pressed his face into your sternum and groaned. “I am such a fucking idiot. I wanted you to come back to me so bad. Why would I have ever expected you to do that?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders in return. “Why would you expect that?”

One of the many troubles you were now experiencing was how you knew sleeping with Sam right away wouldn’t be fair to yourself. It’d be like rewarding bad behavior, you thought. But you wanted to–that was never an issue. There had never been a moment with him where you hadn’t wanted to do but, more than that, there had also never been a moment where you’d felt even mildly uncomfortable with him. From the beginning, despite his chaotic, fiery and slightly unpredictable nature, you flowed into him easily, like a steady river.

With a sigh, you moved off him and sat up against the headboard. Sam followed, sitting next to you without touching. “You still haven’t told me what you want,” you reminded him as you glanced at your dresser across the room. Inside the top drawer, the photos of you and him and you and the boys that once hung above the TV and all over your fridge were trapped, hidden beneath socks and underwear. 

It was against his nature to not be touching you–you knew it was probably taking a considerable amount of willpower to curb that–so when Sam leaned against your shoulder, you stayed put. 

“I wanna be together again,” he told you, and the words sounded sincere. “I should have never ended things. I never should have stopped talking to you. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

You were inclined to agree, but you kept that thought to yourself. 

“You came back…and came back to me,” you began while Sam leaned more of his weight on you. “But it doesn’t really feel like it.” At that, you felt him shift away, almost not touching again. But not quite–his knee was still just barely pressed into your thigh. 

“Why not?”

You hadn’t completely realized it until you said it, but it felt so painfully true as the words came out of you: “I feel like I don’t really know you anymore, Sam. The last time we spoke, you were telling me it was over. You were dumping me for–for what? I still don’t get it. Maybe I never will. All it seemed like to me was that you just didn’t love me. Like you never did.” You turned your head, not even wanting to see a glimpse of him. “I’ve had to try and swallow that epiphany all this time. And all this time, not only did I feel like you never loved me, but you never spoke a single word to me to try and correct that.”

Silence returned, heavy and confounding, for a long minute, maybe even two. Then Sam said, “Fuck.” You physically felt more than you actually watched him get off the bed, but you looked right at him when he was standing on the other side of it. “You think you don’t know me anymore, Y/N. You don’t love me anymore.”

That wasn’t true, but you weren’t opposed to him thinking that for a little while. Who the hell was Sam to just waltz up to your door out of the blue, to step right back into your home and your life as if he’d never left after all the shit he’d said to you? After he tore your heart right out of your chest, threw it to the ground and stepped on it? He could sit with some heartache himself, you thought, for a little while. You’d had enough for a lifetime.

Still sitting on your bed, you watched him in silence–instead of actually leaving, he stepped over to your desk chair and ran his hands down the cardigan that was lying over the back of it. Like he was waiting for something, because he also knew what he said wasn’t true. 

Your hand found the warmth his body had left behind on the sheets and you definitively, without a shadow of a doubt, knew that you really couldn’t ever let him go again. 

“Don’t go,” you said, standing up and moving to meet him at the chair, standing behind him. You laid one hand over his. “I do love you, Sammy. I never stopped.” Before he could reply, you went on, resting your cheek on his shoulder: “Even though you’re selfish and stupid and infuriating. Even though you don’t deserve it. I can’t help it.” You closed your eyes and rubbed your nose into the fabric of his shirt before you added, “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, turning his hand over so he could lace your fingers together. “I know that.”

Despite craving any words from him for so long, you wanted something else now. You wanted Sam’s skin under your hands, his kisses back on your neck–as you both fumbled to get your clothes off, writhing on the bed, you got those wishes. And now that Sam knew he had you, his kisses were a little softer, a little slower as he straddled you; now that you knew you had him, you felt like you could breathe again. Your fingers danced easily over his skin, from the subtle slope of his shoulders down to his warm chest; he let out a soft little huff when your hands squeezed his sides, then used one to press against his belly, your thumb lingering right at the waistband of his briefs.

“We really can wait, Y/N,” Sam reminded you when you slipped your hand beneath the cotton. “If you think that’d be better.”

“I don’t wanna wait. I’m sick of waiting.” You arched your back, trying to get more of Sam’s weight on top of you. A confession, one that you’d been shamefully keeping all to yourself, rolled out next: “I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”

“No way,” Sam said, sounding both smug and in disbelief. He smiled a little while his own fingers roamed, making their way down between your legs. “Does everything still work correctly?”

His ticklish touch along your inner thigh made you giggle and tremble a bit. “As far as I know.” You looked down, watching his fingers slide down the center of your panties. When Sam didn’t confess on his own, you felt inclined to pry–against your better judgment: “What about you?”

Sam wrapped his free hand around yours, encouraging you to keep touching him–he was as hot and as hard as ever. “Feel for yourself,” he said, making your hand wrap more firmly around his length.

Your cheeks were blazing hot. “Seriously,” you insisted, keeping your hand still. “What about you?”

He planted his hands on your hips. “Just a few. Probably less than you’d expect, honestly.” He leaned down, bringing his face close to yours, his hair hanging down like a curtain. “I realized fairly quickly that no one made me feel like you did and I didn’t want to keep trying.”

“Oh really?” you replied, sounding more haughty and jealous than you’d intended. But Sam always unraveled you so easily, without even trying–it was no different now. You were honestly surprised you hadn’t burst into tears at some point since he’d shown up. 

“Yes, really, Y/N. What do you want me to do to prove how much I missed you? Want me to sing all your accolades and beg for forgiveness?”

You scoffed. “Yes, actually.”

Sam didn’t even look surprised. He smiled and leaned back, his hair falling back over his tanned shoulders, and shimmied down to sit between your thighs instead of on top of you. “Fine. I can do that.” He cocked his head to the side while his fingers tapped your thighs, looking you over. You were already almost naked but his gaze was lingering and penetrating over every part of your body, making you uncomfortable–what did all those other girls look like? Did he try to find ones that looked like you, or the opposite? Did he miss your personal brand of warmth and softness as much as you’d missed his? 

His hands reached out and quickly you were freed from your bra, it being cast aside to fall to the floor, and your underwear too. Your body tensed up instinctively, feeling far too exposed in front of the boy who’d destroyed your heart so easily, but then Sam stood up just long enough to match your nakedness.

He settled back down between your legs, draping his body over yours so he could meet your lips again. The kiss was deep and slow–no tongue, just his impossibly soft, sweet lips on yours while one of his hands cradled the side of your face and the other swept through your hair.

“Don’t get me wrong–I missed this,” Sam told you, pulling back. He looked down as his hands smoothed down your shoulders to gently squeeze your breasts. “But I really just missed being with you. I missed talking with you–you’re always so good at calling me out on my bullshit.” He laughed a little and your heart began to race harder–Sam was always more natural and skilled with physical action to express his feelings than words. The fact that he was letting his thoughts flow freely from his lips, speaking of love instead of destruction, made you wonder yet again if you were just in a dream. 

“I missed your voice. I missed you singing in the car,” he went on, lowering himself–he began to press kisses to your neck and chest as the rest of the words emptied out of him: “I missed the smell of your perfume on my clothes and your lipstick on my mouth.” You brought your hands to his head, finally feeling like you could move again, and let your fingers glide through his hair. “I missed hearing you laugh, especially when I was the one who made you laugh. All the noise from the crowds every night–” He shook his head with his face pressed against your sternum. “I always wanted to somehow hear your voice in all of that. I kept wondering if you’d surprise me by showing up at one night. But that was very selfish, wishful thinking.” 

He looked up into your eyes. “This is just the first step. But if you keep going with me, I swear that I’ll never let you go again.”

You let that declaration hang in the air for a moment before you asked, “Really, Sam?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Yes, Y/N. I won’t go anywhere unless you want me to.”

Traitorously, the tears returned. They swelled big and hot in your eyes and you turned your head away, bringing one hand up to try and wipe them away as if Sam might not notice, which was impossible. You felt his whole body stiffen, like he didn’t know what to do–you didn’t either. But then, a second later, his arms were around your shoulders, holding you up against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, just letting you cry.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Sam said softly. 

“I just wish you’d never left in the first place,” you said, the words strangled with the attempt to suffocate your sobs. 

“Me too, baby. Me fucking too.”

All the times you’d cried since he left, you’d just wished Sam was still the one to hold you. Now you had just that–shocking and destabilizing, he was really there, and when the tears wouldn’t stop, you became desperate just for some relief from the ocean of emotion that you needed to break free from.

“Please say something funny,” you pleaded, sniffing, embarrassed that your tears were soaking his hair and his skin now.

Sam laughed. “Okay. Hmm…the last time we played Houston, I got so drunk after the show that I went to the wrong hotel room. I kept trying my key card in the door, wondering why the fuck it wasn’t opening, and eventually after me making such a racket out there, the person staying in the room opened the door.” He pet your hair and your shoulder blades and you found your tears slowing, your chest feeling more open. “And instead of just like, recognizing it wasn’t my room, I started arguing with them because I was so wasted I still really thought it was my room.”

That little story did make you laugh–the crying was traded for giggles, then louder, open-mouthed laughs. “God, Sam. What’s wrong with you?” you asked, hugging him tighter.

“So much. But you already knew that.”

Your laughter was contagious for Sam; all the laughter turned into silly, giggly kisses and then, when your skin was warm from love and not fear and your heart felt whole for the first time in a long time, Sam was all over you once more.

“Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he panted with his mouth pressed just below your ear. His breath and saliva had made your skin and hair there wet–you didn’t care. You were both sweaty already, with Sam thrusting even and deep inside of you, his hips pounding against yours, and your hands all over him to keep him as close as possible. 

He felt amazing too. Not just the way he was fucking you–or really, as cheesy as it sounded in your head, making love to you–but his entire body. His whole essence. From his hair to his chiseled cheeks, the slightly scratchy beard, his warm chest with the fast-beating heart beneath and all of the silken, golden skin on yours, his beautiful body back in your arms, Sam was amazing. 

One particularly dense thrust against your tight walls made you gasp and dig your nails into his back. Sam groaned and sank his teeth into your neck, growling, “Fuck yeah, baby. Mark me up. I’m all yours.”

The sharpness of his teeth was brief–he resumed soft kisses to your neck then your mouth, capturing your moans and signs with his lips and tongue. You’d been on your back with your eyes closed moaning and sighing about him countless times since he’d left, but could never capture even a fraction of the real thing in those fantasies. When you would come, his name would crescendo from your throat like another sob, and when you’d open your eyes, you found yourself more alone than ever.

This time, when you came, his name didn’t sound like a desperate, aching plea–it sounded light and free even to your own ears, and when Sam kissed you right after the sound echoed through your bedroom, you could feel his smile on your lips. 

You hooked your fingers in his hair and held him against you while the movement of his hips actually slowed instead of sped up. Confused, you opened your eyes and turned your head to break away from his lips, to look at him instead. 

Flush-faced with his eyes bright, Sam smiled again and brought his hand to the crown of your head, his thumb stroking your forehead, his fingers curling into your hair. “That’s good,” he said, voice as soft as the summer breeze whisking through your open windows. “I wanted to look at you too.”

“I can’t believe I really am,” you said a little breathlessly, the last few aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through you. “After all this time.”

Sam smiled and worked up to his previous pace, never taking his eyes off yours; when he let out a huff and bit his lip, you pulled him down to do that yourself–your lips captured his in fierce kisses that you hoped wordlessly translated into “you’re mine forever,” your hands gripped his body like you’d never let go, and you squeezed yourself around his cock to make him whimper, then whimper your name in return as the muscles in his thighs fluttered and he let his whole weight drop on top of you.

Thankfully, he really didn’t weigh all that much. You hugged him, the two of you just breathing together, recovering from the confusion and madness and anguish to, as you now knew, steadily blossom together like the backyard garden you’d tended to in his absence. There was so much to catch up on, you thought while you stroked his hair and he stroked your skin, and so much to look forward to. 

Later, when the sun had almost completely dipped behind the trees and the stars were beginning to sparkle overhead, the two of you sat in the backyard, hands clasped together.

“How long are you going to be back home for?” you asked. That question had never bothered you before the breakup but now, you felt a little edginess as you asked it. You were now sure Sam meant everything that he said, that you two were as solid as ever, but simply knowing he’d be on the road again for however long after he’d finally come back to you made your heart feel heavy. 

“Tour starts up again in a month,” he told you, catching your gaze in the last little lingering bit of the warm sunset. “I was hoping I’d be here until then.” He brought his hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “If you still want that.”

A month. It wasn’t enough, because nothing with Sam was ever enough, but you silently vowed to yourself to make every second of it count more than it ever had before.

“I want infinity with you, Sam,” you told him, unable to help the smile that broke out on your face as he smiled with a lot of glee and just a little of that familiar smugness. “Always have, always will.” 

---

Tagging: @kissingsun @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @milojames16 @mindastreamofcolours @brokebellsgvf @wetkleenex-gvf @itsafullmoon @heckingfrick @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere

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[brucewaynehater101]

AU: Alfred Pennyworth

TW: death, suicide mention, murder

Alfred is an extremely talented former SIS agent who used to use his theater performances as an alias for undercover work. After the death of his father, he follows the man's wishes to become a butler for the Wayne family. He prides himself on his decorum, trained skills for being a butler, and his weapons handling. His ability to rear a child was... lacking, but Alfred learned how to balance his responsibilities as guardian and employee.

If a few threats to Bruce growing up suddenly disappeared or stopped, surely Alfred would have no knowledge of why. He'd thank the spirits of Martha and Thomas Wayne for their intervention since the butler was too busy with [task] to have been the one to have dealt with it.

Alfred is pained by Bruce's decision to don a bat suit, but he, for the most part, doesn't interfere. He allows Bruce to throw himself into danger despite how it pains Alfred to watch that.

Then Master Bruce brings home a kid from the circus.

To say Alfred was nervous about Master Dick joining the Master Bruce on the streets was an understatement. Still, it was not Alfred's place to interfere.

Then Master Bruce brings home another young lad.

Master Jason joins his family in their fight against crime.

Then they lose him.

Alfred's grief and his refusal to lose his son are the only reasons he doesn't assemble his favored Remington and eradicate the moster who took his grandson. As much as it pained the older gentleman, Bruce needed Alfred to refrain. The butler could not add the dilemma of a family member murdering someone to the younger man's shoulders.

This time, when a young lad wears bright colors to save Gotham, it is not at the behest of Master Bruce. In fact, for the first handful of months, Master Tim continues in spite of Master Bruce's discouragement. This is what saves his son from the suicidal path he was keen on taking.

Alfred, once the family finally seemed to be on the mend, often contemplates whether it's time to finally put the clown down for good. Scared of rocking the boat too much, Alfred once again refrains.

Then Master Jason returns.

It's pure chaos for a bit as the family tries to navigate all of the pain they've caused each other and the tension of their circumstances. It's certainly not an easy task, particularly due to the constant upheavals. The continuous change of people in their life (those who arrive, those who return, and those who leave forever) certainly don't help. Even though the situation is not ideal, Alfred welcomes the new children of Wayne Manor.

Then Alfred loses his son.

The older man will admit he doesn't handle the situation as well as he should have. He knew, after rough patrols and missions, that it was a possibility that his son would leave before him. Still, a part of Alfred had always denied its plausibility. Surely, after the deaths of Martha and Thomas, the world would not be cruel enough to force Alfred to bury his son.

It was.

The remaining family fell into despair, clashed, and then splintered to differing corners of the world. Alfred could only hold onto two of his grandchildren. It was an adjustment, but they managed.

Then Master Tim, in a whirlwind of his own making, brought Bruce back to Alfred once more.

This is where Alfred's restraint crumbles. With all of his family home once more, the older man swears to maintain this status no matter what Master Bruce has to say about his methods.

It's been decades since Alfred was the renowned spy with a penchant for trouble. He maintained some of his contacts but otherwise faded to obscurity. His reputation, or at least his code name, is still whispered by newer and older recruits. He was terrifying, and his success rate was impossible. There's a reason he had to fight for his retirement and that the Royal family holds him in high regard.

Alfred may not be as spry as he once was, but every single limb of his will snap before any member of his family is taken again.

The older man is ready to strike the next threat that appears. While he lies in wait, he'll continue doting on his charges.

Or, I want more Alfred characterization of John Wick and Kingsman combined

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 10

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Ten: King of the Narrow Sea

The battle proved to be one worthy of songs. Daemon fought alongside the Velaryons armed with nothing but his wits and beloved Dark Sister. He was beautiful in the prickling heat - glowing with Valryian prowess. 

“You intend to use my dragon, my prince?” Laenor shifted uncomfortably, but it was a plan that would happen nonetheless. “I was sent here to end the war, and end the war I will do.” the prince responded coldly, his mind somewhere else. He worried about his Saera - how scared she must be. 

—

Daemon was vengeful - easy to anger and slow to forgive. He sits atop the small boat - rowing in small circles, seeing the island on the horizon. He rowed his boat in a steady rhythm - mind placed upon the people he was fighting this war for; Saera, his baby niece and one true love. Viserys, his brother who didn’t believe him and Aemma - his sister. 

The Triarchy will know no god - none other than him and the inferno he was about to bring. He smiles, hearing his dragon roar in the distance. The Stranger knows him by name - the Father prays for his death, and the Smith tries to mend the bonds he’s broken. The Seven were afraid of him. 

He could see the muddied ground and yellow sand in-front of him. Death was the only thing in his mind. He takes the Dark Sister - wobbling as he adjusted to gravity - he fantasizes the look of blood on his blonde hair, bodies limp around him while he brings honor to the realm. 

“I’ve come to surrender,” he screams, waiting for a few seconds to scan his surroundings - they were cautious, he had to give that to them. He places the Dark Sister on his palms, kneeling in he surrender. The Crabfeeder comes out, and starts walking towards him with a smug grin. 

He could feel the man’s body standing hovering over him, watching him with the thought of victory. Daemon lowers his head, feeling uneasy at the look of a Greyscaled man. The Crabfeeder reaches for his darling sword, and hell breaks loose - like a swift horse, the prince leaps - slicing the man in half. 

Wounds and bruises went from blue, red and black - but Daemon could only see red. Red like the blood that would flow like the rivers. Red like the massacre he’ll bring unto those that threaten to defeat him. 

The man was dead. He knew that. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. 

His hands hold unto his sword tightly - even tighter than before. He impales the man with his dark sister, smiling to himself. To his allies, his existence was a sigh of relief - but to his enemies it was a warning. This was the dragon that they needed to be scared of. The madness that was warned. 

Daemon always got what he wanted. 

His baby niece wasn’t an exception. 

—

“Prince Daemon has reclaimed the Stepstones.” Larys announced while sitting beside his future sister. He was a cautious little thing - always glancing to his side in order to see the reactions of other people. He’s good at manipulation - at contorting his fellow nobles into following his cause - but Saera was a tough shell to crack. She never seemed to care about anything other than her and her uncle. Saera’s ears perked up at the sound of Daemon’s victory.

“Really?” she turned her body towards him - prompting him to elaborate upon his announcement. “He is crowned as King of the Narrow Sea - he will return here tonight.” Larys added with a tilt of brow. He’s found the Princess’ weakness - and he will exploit it greatly. 

“He is a wonderful knight, don’t you think? He’s ended a war without the help of the King - it is surely an impressive feat.” he complimented, still staring at her face and waiting for a reaction. Her purple eyes light up - like she was the one being complimented. “Truly - the King should hold a feast in his honor.” she smiled, thinking about his return. 

His warm embrace - his smug stare, and pink lips. 

She missed him. 

“He’s wonderful isn’t he?” he paused. 

“Of course.” she answered frankly.

“Everyone adores and loves him,” his eyes twinkled. 

“He is a prince, my lord.” she nodded.

“ - some more than others.” he settled on that thought, and her cheeks turned scarlet at the notion. Her gaze trails away from the view and into Larys Strong. “What are you insinuating, my lord?” she inquires, feigning innocence. 

She wasn’t ashamed of having rumors swirling around about them - but she didn’t want it used against her. She loved him - and didn’t want that used to another’s gain. “A little bird has told me about a rumor.” he hummed, moving his body closer to hers. “I pray that the rumor is maintained a rumor.” her eyes narrowed, trying to analyze his every move. 

Her uncle warned him about enemies - that they would try to manipulate her, but she needed to be strong. She needed to be his strong little girl. 

“You don’t even know the rumor yet, my princess.” Larys chuckled, taking a bite of his lemon cake. “Then, pray tell.” she took a deep breath - preparing an alibi that would convince the toughest of men. “I will need something in return,” his eyes darkened anticipating her begging. 

Instead, she scoffs loudly - mocking him. 

“I’ve changed my mind, Lord Larys. I am in no need of your little birds - I inform you that this conversation will reach the ears of your sweet brother.” she lifted herself off the chair, dusting her gown with annoyance. “- and perhaps next time, you will do a greater job in attempting to sway me to your whim.” she rolled her eyes, walking away from him - leaving Larys in shock. 

The lords of this realm undersold the Princess’ wit. 

Saera wasn’t a loss - there were still other vulnerable nobles at court. Larys leans on his chair - eyes trailing to the shadow of Alicent’s figure. 

She will make do. 

—

Saera mumbles strings of Valyrian curses. 

She wanted to kill Larys for trying to manipulate her. Did he really think that she was that stupid? It insulted her - unnerved her that they all believed that she was dumb. “Cunts.” she cursed while searching for her room. 

She wanted to stay there forever - so that she’ll never see another person again. She was just about to enter the West Wing, but Lancel Hightower pulled her to the side. “Princess.” the man tightened his grip on her forearm. 

“Lord Hightower?” her eyebrows bumped into each other. “Is there anything that requires my attention?” she asked and he let her forearm go. “I’m afraid that your wedding with Ser Harwin will happen today, as the nobles who will attend your father’s wedding have already arrived.” Lancel announced and her heart dropped to her stomach. 

“They can wait, my lord.” she rolled her eyes, attempting to walk away but a guard stopped her. “Your father told me that you’d be saying that. You do not have a choice, my princess. None but to follow the grace of our kind king. The wedding will pull through today.” The man takes a deep breath, turning his body to the direction of the Great Hall - Saera has no choice but to follow him. 

“Can we not wait for my uncle? He’s a few hours away. It is important to me that he attends.” she reasoned, and the man kept walking. Lancel smirked, satisfied with the descent of his enemy. 

He stops walking - not speaking to command the full attention of the Princess. 

“He will be there for the bedding ceremony.” he retorted, before walking once more. Lancel was happy - if it was ever possible for a man like him to feel that emotion. He’s content with the idea of his enemy’s lover falling into the wrong hands - the hands that wouldn’t be able to love her properly. 

next chapter>>

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[oblivions-dawn]

𝐕𝐢𝐠𝐝𝐢𝐬; 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐡𝐤𝐢𝐢𝐧

─[✦]─ ❝ɪғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ . . . ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴏ ʙᴇ ɪᴛ.❞ ─[✦]─

Age: 25-28 Pronouns : She/Her Gender: Female Sexuality: Lesbian Height: 6'1 Birthsign: The Serpent Race: Nord [Skaal] Class: Stealth Archer/Shieldless Swordsman Alliances: Dawnguard Family: Thoromir - Father [deceased], Anske - Mother [deceased] Love Interest: Serana Volkihar

For lore and extras, please peruse under the cut below!

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞;

A harsh blizzard had struck the island of Solstheim. Through the night and into the early hours of the morning, a woman named Anske gave birth to a girl with hair like fire. Her husband, Thoromir, could only watch as the woman he loved succumbed to death’s embrace; she had lost too much blood, and nothing could be done to save her. Heartbroken, Thoromir took his surviving daughter, and set sail for Skyrim. It wasn’t long before his small boat was caught in a terrible sea storm and blown off course. He eventually arrived on the coast of the mainland somewhere between Dawnstar and Solitude. Satisfied with the beautiful winter landscape that surrounded him, he built a small log cabin for himself and his daughter, who he named Vigdis. For ten long years, Thoromir raised his daughter there. He taught her how to hunt, to skin, to cook, to craft, to mend, to shoot, to fight. Vigdis didn’t smile or laugh often, but when she did, it filled her father with joy. She was truly happy. One night, while Vigdis was preparing dinner, her father brought a fatally wounded Imperial man into their home. The stranger bled profusely from his wounds, yet Vigdis and her father did their best to save him. However, after countless hours, the man stilled. Her father pronounced him dead but was too exhausted to bury the body. He assured Vigdis that the cold would keep his stench away, and that they would move him in the morning. Yet, when Vigdis woke, her father had been torn to pieces. The stranger had transformed into a vampire during the night and, in his bloodlust, had murdered him. The vampire tried to kill Vigdis—but she briefly awakened her dragon blood and shouted at him. She fell unconscious, and the vampire left her there to rot. For days, Vigdis sat beside her father’s corpse, afraid and alone. She was eventually discovered by bandits, who quickly learned that, although young, she was skilled, and showed promising potential. They took her in and treated her as one of their own. Over the next decade, Vigdis became numb to human emotions. Driven by rage, she honed herself into a ruthless and merciless bandit, slaughtering countless innocents. She buried her ghosts and demons, and earned herself an infamous reputation amongst the bandits for her methods. Word of the formation of vampire hunters called the Dawnguard eventually caught her attention. Memories she had forgotten breathed with new life—and a thirst for vengeance grasped her heart. She left the bandits behind and travelled to Fort Dawnguard, intent on becoming a vampire hunter. She didn’t care about the blood that drenched her hands, or who she had to kill to get her way; she had vowed to find her father’s murderer, and she would have her revenge, no matter the consequences. It is through them that Vigdis meets Serana, a vampire with a mysterious purpose and complicated history. Blood fails to tear them apart; like thread, it ties them together.

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬;

✹ Vigdis is the main protagonist of my AO3 fanfiction series, The Threads of Blood. Petrichor is complete; the sequel, Breathless, is ongoing. ✹ She's covered in scars from battles. The most prominent ones are the ones on her jaw and neck, which she gained from her struggle with the vampire that killed her father. ✹ She's left-handed. ✹ Her torso is long and she's flat-chested. She also has an aquiline nose and broad, square shoulders. She's lean yet toned. ✹ She draws her own maps and mends all of her items by hand. She also tends to her own wounds. ✹ Vigdis can read only a little bit and doesn't currently know how to write, although her handwriting is very stiff and scratchy. She's very good at sketching hands and faces. ✹ Neither of her parents were redheaded--in fact, both of them had dark hair and blue/green eyes. ✹ Her Stalhrim dagger was crafted by her father, whilst her sword was her mother's dowry gift. Vigdis constructed her own bow and typically makes her own arrows. ✹ Vigdis is among that few whose body rejects the vampire disease, and therefore, contracting it is a death sentence. ✹ Vigdis' flower crown is woven with snowberries, deathbells, and gleamblossoms. ✹ Her eyes are larimar/ice-blue. ✹ Vigdis was the first original Skyrim character. She precedes Shatha, the next creation, by several years. ✹ Vigdis' dragon name is Vuahfomaar; dawn, hunter, frost, terror.

For art and other shenanigans of Vigdis, feel free to browse the Virana Art tag on my blog! For information on other OCs, you can find them under Senu's Skyrim OCs! Finally, as I am first and foremost a fanfiction writer, you can read snippets from my fanfiction or WIP pieces for other Skyrim OCs and stories via the Senu's Writing tag!

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Summer Fling Part 9/10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Summary - Reader has landed a research job at a marine biology lab in Portugal. She is, therefore, staying with her sister and her sister's Portuguese boyfriend for the summer holidays. There she meets Ruben Dias who is on vacation with his friends after the 2024 Euros. However, the two meet under the circumstances in which Ruben believes that Reader is a prostitute.

Enjoy ☀️

The winds were rough just off the coast. The ocean waves caught Gavin's boat in a turbulent storm drifting you further and further away from land.

"Where are you taking me?" You held onto the railings on the upper deck, watching Gavin steer his yacht right into the epicenter of approaching gray clouds.

"Gibraltar!" He shouted over the sound of  waves slapping against the side of the yacht, whipping it side to side. "I'll take us as far as the mediterranean islands. Ever heard of Malta? I'm sure you'll love it there."

"You'll never get away with this!"

"You're damn right I won't, I just fucking shot a man." He laughed.

"Then why are you doing this?" I thought you were a marine biologist?"

"I am. But darling let me tell ya, it doesn't pay as good as my other passions."

"You mean pimping out girl's to rich men?"

Gavin shook his head, a sly grin on his lips as he stepped away from the wheel of the boat. You held onto the railings but backed off as he approached you.

"I should have known who you were when I first met you. You and your sister share the same gullible face. She came to me willingly, you know. Asking me for a job that would grant her stay in Portugal. You on the other hand would rather count fish at the zoo than let a man treat you for a night."

"A man maybe, but not you…"

He smiled, playing with the strap around his waist. The strap that carried his gun. "I was like you once. Young and naive, committed to my research in hopes of making the world a better place. Here is a newsflash for ya sweetheart, the world is a fucked up place and no matter how hard you try to get the bad guys to stop doing bad things, the bad guys always win. Especially those with pockets full of money."

"So that's it, you just decided to join them, become a bad guy yourself?"

He held out his arms, "I'm doing fairly well, aren't I? And trust me, I'm doing more for marine life than any of those stuck up scientists in the universities you praise. All they do is count seaweed samples while I'm out here doing the real heavy lifting.

"You mean taking advantage of young girls for your own benefit."

"For the ocean's benefit!" He shouted.

You lost your footing for a second, gripping your bubbling stomach. The rocking of the boat did nothing to mend your  rising seasickness.

"Do you know how much time and money I've put into developing the marine station? Sure, the university gave me the permit to build it. However, I'm the one funding every piece of equipment that allows the students to perform diligent research, practical research that doesn't just end up on a chart in some ecology majors powerpoint presentation. I'm trying to change the world Y/N and I really thought you would appreciate that. Perhaps even help me collect the funding like your sister does." Gavin reached out, caressing your trembling cheeks, his thumb tracing your lips. "You would've been my favorite out of all the girls."

You hunched forward, throwing up your last meal, which appeared to be milk and cornflakes. Gavin jumped out of the way not to stain his shoes. "For fucks sake." 

He grabbed you by the arm, leading you downstairs into one of the suits. You fought him at first but let him get you out of your stained clothes. You were handed a towel to wipe your mouth while Gavin stood back, watching you with a predatory gaze, his hand reaching down to unzip his pants.

"No, wait."

He grinned, a cold grin that sent a shiver down your spine. It faltered however, with the sound of a drumming engine heard overhead.

"Fucking coastgards."

"Help, help. I'm down here. Help!"

"You shut your fucking mouth."

You winced. Gavin lunged forwards, slapping you across the face. He then drew his weapon, pressing the gun against the back of your neck. "One word." He gritted, pushing you out of the suit. 

You came around the corner, expecting to come face to face with the local coast guards. However…

"Y/N!"

"Ruben!"

His eyes narrowed at the sight of Gavin, standing behind you with a gun to your back.

"Y/N are you alright—"

"Ah, ah, another step and she dies."

"Hey man." Ruben threw his hands up. "We don't want any trouble, the police are already on their way."

"We?"

Spotted in the corner of your eye, something came rushing towards you.

"Argh!" Gavin went down, hands covering his face.

"That's for Diogo." Maki threw the hammer she held aside, grabbing Gavin's gun that had slid away from him. He lay squirming in pain, blood gushing out from the wound in his head. "And this…" Maki stood over him, angling the gun. "...This is for my sister."

"Maki, no!" You rushed to stop her. "Don't do it. He's not worth it."

"He shot Diogo." She said, the gun trembling in her hand.

"Please." You pleaded. "I don't want to lose you. If you kill him, I will."

She fought herself, her finger hovering over the trigger. 

"Please, Maki, don't do it."

Tears streamed down her face as she lowered the gun. You took it away, handing it to Ruben for safe keeping, pulling your sister into your arms.

"I'm so sorry." She cried. "This is all my fault. I'm so fucking sorry."

"I know. I'm sorry too."

The sirens from the police boats approached in the distance. What could have been had come to an end. You were safe. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

[lost-girl-2021]

Hello there mate!

Can I please request more Adopted!Spider Human AU hc?

I really enjoyed the first part you write btw!

It's hella amazing!

Thanks so much! Here're some random ass ideas I had last night, lol. (Also, because I legit forgot that I decided this, he's twelve).

Back to the whole 'confrontation on the sinking boat thing', I think that it would be one of the hardest moments of Spider's life. Because, he has this family— a father —who raised him his entire life. Taught him to hunt, watched his first steps, kept track of his height. They'd done everything for him. Beyond a few wayward thoughts when it came to genetics, he'd barely even thought about his birth father before he was taken.

With Quaritch (and the recoms), he was treated differently. Sure, he still slept next to his birth father at night and the man prepared all of his MRE's using the little water-activated heater so Spider didn't burn himself. And he wasn't allowed any weapons, because he was still technically a prisoner.

But, he wasn't babied. With the Sully's, he was always the little brother, the fragile child. Everyone got worried when he got the tiniest scrapes or bruises. Anytime he climbed the big trees to get fruit like his siblings, someone was waiting at the bottom with a nervously lashing tail. It didn't matter how many times he proved he was capable, he was treated like he was Tuk's age, even though he was already twelve. At twelve, Neteyam was allowed to go into the forest by himself until sunset every day. Spider was barely allowed to use a knife (after an incident with almost losing a thumb).

He loved his family, but it was nice to be treated like he was capable. Sometimes, he was scared that he'd never be treated like an adult in the clan, since he'd be unable to bond with an Ikran, unable to prove he'd become a man.

It was kind of like a Na'vi equivalent of summer camp, at first. When they were making their way through the forest, away from the RDA and the mean general (and the truth). When they got their Ikrans, Spider watched it with a jealous pang. And then, he was sat in front of Quaritch, flying through the air.

And all he could think about was his mama. Taking him for long flights, just the two of them, whenever Spider was feeling down. When he had a nightmare that night, he woke up crying. Because, all he wanted was to be squished between his parents, safe and warm.

I think that after the whole village burnings, Spider would probably feel even worse. Because, he had started to actually believe Quaritch when he said he didn't want to hurt anyone, that he wouldn't hurt Spider.

In this version, Quaritch works to try and mend the sudden rift (caused by him being a complete asshole and trying to mass murder and shit). He lets Spider watch old Earth cartoons on his tablet until the battery is completely drained, he gives him candy for dinner (more than once) and even goes so far as to let Spider play in the sand of one of the empty beaches they fly past.

And, because Spider is twelve, it kind of works for a while. Until the next awful thing, the Tulkun hunt. This time, Quaritch actually makes an effort to keep Spider oblivious to it all. He lets Spider stay up late the night before they go hunting, then leaves him to sleep in. Of course, Spider wakes up and goes looking for someone he knows and finds his way above ground just as the chaos starts.

He sees two of his siblings and a Metkayina girl cuffed to the railing, sees Quaritch as the one leading the charge. I think instead of a casual conversation, Lo'ak would probably flip out. In this, that's not his friend, that's his younger brother,

"Spider? Spider! Are you hurt?" Lo'ak screamed, thrashing around even pinned to the ground.

Was Spider hurt? "I'm fine, bro. What— "

He tried to take a step forward, but two human soldiers grabbed him as Quaritch waved a hand. "Take him to the bridge."

"No, no— Lo'ak!" He yelped, straining as he was lifted up by the duo, dragged up the stairs.

Blah, blah, blah

Instead of Neteyam and Lo'ak rescuing Spider, they leave with out him. Ik they normally wouldn't, so maybe Neteyam did get shot, or Lo'ak did, just not fatally. So, they had to leave. The Sully family (minus Spider) meet up again and Lo'ak tells Jake that Spider's on board the ship.

Cue Neytiri and Jake going all 'crazy fight scene' intense and leaving to rescue Spider from the sinking ship. Neytiri goes one way, Jake goes the other, because they have no clue where he could be and limited time to search.

Jake ends up tracking down Spider just as Quaritch finds him too. This is where we get that little scene I wrote before, Imma clip it in rn and then add onto it.

“Spider, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, just take a breath.” Dad soothed, reaching towards him. Spider had missed his dad so much, had missed his voice and his hugs and—

“He said you lied.” Spider cried, all of the confusion of the past few months rushing to the surface. “He— he said Paz was a part of the RDA. That you killed her! He . . . he said he’s my real dad.”

“I’m your dad. I’m the one who taught you to walk and hunt and fish— “

“Because I never got the chance!” Quaritch shouted from Spider’s other side. Both of them were a mere arms length away, but neither made a move. “Your mother never got the chance.”

“Spider, we can talk about everything tomorrow, I promise. But, ‘Teyam’s hurt and your Mama needs you— I need you. You need to come home.”

“You left me.” He whimpered. “You left the forest.”

“We were always going to come for you— “

“They didn’t.” Quaritch snapped. “I was the one who protected you from the general. I was the one who took care of you— “

“He stole you. Tuk and your mama haven’t stopped crying since that day.” He insisted. "Your brother have been making you new arrows and we brought all of your things with. Norm and Max have barely even slept, they've been searching nonstop."

"I— " Spider blinked away tears, cheeks itchy and hot. "I don't know what to do."

"Come with me, Spider. We— we can ride the Ikrans as much as you want and you can have your own tablet— whatever you want, son."

"Baby, Spider-baby, come to me. Come to Dad, please." Dad's voice was gruff, but his eyes were wide the same way they were when Spider broke his arm two years ago. He was scared.

He lunged towards his dad, latching onto his leg. Quaritch roared behind them and suddenly his mama was there, pulling him from Dad and into the water. She pressed on the back of his head, making him hide his masked face in her shoulder as she latched onto a sea creature he had only seen in passing. She was whispering a million things in his ear, but none of it was loud enough to drown out the fighting behind them.

Spider is taken to safety, reunites (properly) with his siblings and meets Tsireya, who Lo'ak swears he does not like when Spider asks him later. And it's so good to be back with his family that it takes him a couple days to realize that Quaritch is dead. That his dad killed his father.