#my flights is draw and be scared shitless

[tommys-wings]

I. I forgor to colour the flower on my previous fanart 💀💀💀💀

[creativeartgal]

So I had a dumb thought

Ok so like a week ago I drew my mc with a demon form cause of the description for the new obey me game. Well I decided to give her wings and I now have this scenario stuck in my head. The description says we're disguised as a demon, meaning the wings aren't real? Ok now picture this

Lisa (my mc/self insert) and the brothers are going somewhere when they mentioned flying to said location. This would cause Lisa to start panicking. If she ain't a demon then there is no way she can fly. How the hell is she gonna explain that she can't fly. Probably going to get found out that their not a demon.

Or alternatively let's say because it's magic she can use the wings to fly (probably not well but it'll get the job done). She would still panic. Why? She has a fear of heights. Like jumping down more than 2ft is enough to put in the fear of death or bodily harm. As an example one time for my birthday I went to event center and tried to do the gravity ropes over the arcade(website says 20ft up) with my friend and I could not take a step forward scared the rope was gonna brake and I would die so I took the walk of shame down. (My friend that was behind me said I went pale). So even if flight is a possibility there is no way in hell she's going to try. Even if she did she'd freak out pretty fast then fall down.

I imagine how this situation ends up is Lisa saying that she injured her wing some how and says she'll just walk with the non winged brothers and meet them there. Only for them to mention that they were going to be given a lift by those with wings. in the end one unlucky demon (I'm gonna pick Mammon) ends up carrying her all the while Lisa is scared shitless begging screaming to be put down and most likely flailing her limbs or digging her nails into them

Honestly I wanna draw this out when I get free time. Have 3 artworks due for class at the moment lol

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 11 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

Holding my cell-phone in front of me, I descend into the dark.

Rian Halloran's light has already vanished and my own barely penetrates a few meters into the tunnel's gloom.

"Halloran?" I call.

A dull and quickly fading echo is the only reply.

At the bottom of the steps, I hesitate.

An icy draft, like a ghastly exhalation, flows from the tunnel's mouth, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and decay.

Though now shielded, my senses remain slightly raw from the reading and I pause for a breath as I consider my next move.

Do I a) follow a mysterious man I just met into a dark tunnel that leads who-the-fuck-knows-where or b) call my werewolf boyfriend and wait for help?

Hissing a few choice expletives under my breath, I decide that, before I do something incredibly stupid, I should at least send Dane a text telling him where, exactly, I've gone but when I open my messages again, I discover there's no signal.

I'm not a complete idiot, so I turn back towards the stairs, intending to return to the surface and send a text from there.

I've only taken two steps when Halloran's voice, garbled by echoes, reaches my ears.

All I can discern is my name and the urgency in his tone.

Swearing under my breath, I waver.

Then Halloran calls again and this time I catch the word 'help' among the mangled sounds.

"Fucking wonderful," I whisper to myself as I turn back towards the tunnel.

"If you get murdered down here, it's your own damn fault, Julian. No wonder Dane doesn't let you do things."

Heart in my throat, I step into the gloom.

Closely set bricks of rough black stone form the tunnel's sides, which curve inward to meet in an arch overhead.

Crumbled mortar litters the floor and the space is so narrow that a large man would brush his shoulders on either wall and Dane would have to duck his head.

Several meters in, the tunnel connects to another passageway at right angles and I pause to consider this new choice.

A slight noise on my right, like the rustle of dry leaves or the whisper of breath, draws me in that direction but I've hardly taken a step when another echo carrying traces of my name calls to me from the left.

With a shudder, I turn and follow it.

Soon I discover that every dozen paces the tunnel turns either right or left and before long I've lost all sense of direction.

With each step, the hazards of underground places rise unbidden to my mind, pockets of deadly gas, the risk of collapse, getting lost or trapped without a light, to say nothing of less natural dangers.

I've just about psyched myself out to where my own shadow will scare me shitless if I look at it wrong, when I round a corner and come face-to-face with Halloran, coming back the other way.

We both startle and I fall back and hit the damp brick wall with a half-stifled shriek.

"Julian. Lord Almighty, are you all right?" he asks, reaching to steady me.

Hand pressed to my chest, I manage to gasp a reply.

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes, yes. I found something I need your help with, is all. Wasn't sure you'd heard me in this damned maze, so I was on my way back."

"What is it?"

He nods back down the tunnel and beckons.

"Come and see. It's not far."

He leads the way and my nerves settle a little as I follow him.

"What the hell is this place?" I ask as we turn another corner and the floor dips and rises once more.

"I'm no local historian but I'd guess it's original to the town," Halloran says.

"Probably built by the railway workers who founded the place in the late nineteenth century. Look..."

He points to the side, where another opening leads to a short passage ending in a flight of stairs.

"Just like the ones in Lagrange's shop. There are more like that, further on. I'd say the tunnel connects to all the buildings on this block."

"Why?"

"To get around unseen, most likely. It's perfect for smuggling contraband or attending clandestine meetings or just for your average Joe to visit the brothel without it making the morning gossip rounds."

He keeps his voice low and I do the same.

I also notice that he's drawn his gun and carries in what Dane calls a 'low ready' position, angled at the ground.

"What's the gun for?" I whisper.

He glances at me over his shoulder.

"Shooting things. I thought all you Americans knew that much."

"Is it safe to shoot down here? What if the bullet ricochets or ignites a cloud of gas or something?"

He snorts.

"You've been watching too many films. It's just a precaution. I heard some noises earlier. Probably just rats but best be safe than sorry."

We proceed in silence for several minutes and I count two more short, branching passageways ending in stairs.

I also note a few places where the walls have been patched and the arched ceiling reinforced with curved strips of steel.

"Someone's kept the place up," I remark quietly.

"Aye and put it to good use as well, I wager."

"The thief?"

Halloran lifts a shoulder in a slight shrug.

"Maybe. It would explain how he's been able to break into so many places without so much as tripping an alarm. Ah, here we are."

He stops and gestures at a section of wall.

The bricks are a slightly different shade and set in a more regular pattern.

Tracing the outline of an upright rectangle roughly the size of a small door, he says...

"There's no mortar here... just the bricks stacked in rows."

"And how the fuck did you notice that?" I ask, my suspicion returning in full.

Either failing to notice or choosing to ignore my tone, he keeps his attention on the wall.

"There's a slight breeze... a change in the air. Don't you feel it?"

Now that he points it out, I detect a thread of colder air among the prevailing dank draft, carrying a strange mineral scent and another, unpleasantly sweet odor.

"Another tunnel?" I ask.

"Maybe... something that's been blocked off at the very least. That's why I need the help. I can't move the bricks while holding my light and gun and I wasn't quite willing to give up either on my own."

"Can we just knock it down?" I ask, giving the wall an experimental shove.

It doesn't budge and Halloran shakes his head.

"We don't know what's on the other side and even without mortar, gravity and friction are holding it in place well enough. Here... start at the top."

I do as he says and quickly find a brick I can move.

Setting it aside, I shine my light through the hole and discover a black void on the other side.

My flash illuminates a low, sloping ceiling of rough stone but not much else.

Halloran has a look as well and then we work quickly to pull out more bricks.

Within ten minutes, we have a neat pile stacked to one side.

Grit covers my skin, dust hangs in the air and I sneeze more than once before we finish.

[wizkiddx]

this deleted itself but the req was for an ill reader who likes to try and carry on even if they feeling shit and tom noticing I think?!?

Summary:  you take start to feel a bit shit  at toms family barbecue and get caught out and taken care of

///////////

It should've be lovely, an evening in the rare but much appreciated British summer sun in Dom and Nikki’s garden. Everyone was there; all the Holland boys; both sets of Tom’s grandparents; Haz and his long time girlfriend Lucie. It was a reunion of sorts, although no one had been away working, you’d somehow all timed your individual holidays simultaneously. You and Tom to Australia; Sam and Harry to south-east Asia; Paddy, Dom and Nikki to Sweden. Having all returned in the space of a week, everyone was catching up, involving great British barbecues (which are always a little disappointing) and a fair amount of booze.

You were sat on the garden furniture with Tessa (Tom’s grandma), Nikki and Lucie. Very much a ‘girl power’ meeting if ever there was - which in a family full of boys was often needed just to keep the peace. Everything about the evening was lovely… except perhaps your body. God knows why, because you rarely got ill - having not had a day off work in two years. As much as you’d been trying to push away the slow creeping feeling for a couple of hours - it was now getting impossible to ignore. The slightly unsettled feeling in your stomach had you fidgeting in the wooden chair constantly, trying to ease it by shifting positions... to no avail.

“Y/n… Y/n?” Looking up to see three pairs of beady eyes trained on you, you faked a smile, looking over to Nikki who had been calling your name. “Tess was asking how long the flight back was?” “Oh sorry, was miles away!” You tried to cover, shifting once again, this time pressing a hand to your lower abdomen in the hope that’d distract you as you turned slightly to make eye contact with Tessa. “And I think 11 hours ish.” The girls all pulled a grimacing face in sympathy, to which you chuckled at. “No no honestly cos Tom spoiled me completely so we were in the fancy seats, I honestly was spark out of it the whole time!”

It was enough of a response for the girls to all nod, carrying on the conversation as you, now not the main focus, rubbed your pulsing temple with your other hand - in the hope to relieve some of the building pressure. Clearly, though, you weren’t a subtle as you thought - since Lucie got your attention by bumping your shoulder and leaning in closely. “Come to the loo with me?” It sounded like a question, though it very much wasn’t - the stern look in her eye enough to scare you into agreeing. With a word to Nikki and Tess, you both stood up and made your way to the inside, not stopping until you were locked into the thankfully spacious downstairs loo - the brunette eyeing you intently. “You look like shit.” “Thanks Luc, that’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.” You sighed, sitting on top of the closed lidded loo heavily. “What’s up?” Her tone was harsh and to the point, but secretly there was a look of worry in her eyes. She was one of your best mates but sometimes could also scare you shitless. “I think I’m just tired, it’s my stomach and my head, I’ll be fine.”

Lucie didn't really seem to believe you, but respected your stubbornness and after providing you with two paracetamol capsules from her bag, she let you off - both going back into the garden, where, by now Sam was plating up the slightly charred burgers.

Naturally, you’d sat next to Tom, who had pulled your chairs right next to each other - so that his leg was pressed up against yours, his arm pulled around your shoulder. That was just Tom, away from the prying eyes of the public and media, he really was an affectionate person. He just liked to feel you there. God knows how long you all sat in those same positions, but it was long enough for the sun to set. In fact, you most definitely weren’t the person to ask, because at some point, unbeknownst to you, you’d zoned out. Nobody had noticed, under the cover of the low sunset light, until Tom felt your head briefly fall against his shoulder before it shot up once again - your eyes blinking heavily.

He frowned at the sight, seeing you huddle your arms across your body, which was bizarre due to the unbelievable hot weather in London. Yes, it might have shifted into nighttime, but it was still at least 24 degrees. So as his Dad had the entire table captivated recounting some long and complex tale of his touring days, Tom took the opportunity to squeeze your shoulder - grabbing your attention.

“You alright love?” In response you just hummed, eyes shifting up to him after a little delay - similar to how your reflexes became stunted with alcohol, though Tom suddenly realised you’d barely had more than half the glass of beer he’d poured you when you’d both arrived. “ I’said are you okay?” “Yeh… yeh I’m fine.” You forced a small tight lipped smile, whilst Tom took his arm that was round his shoulder to rest on the crown of your head before slowly stroking down your hair. “Sure? You seem a little out of it?” He pushed, still in a whisper so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “Maybe just tired.” Flat out lying, you shifted back into the backrest of the chair a little more making his hand accidentally land on your forehead rather than your hairline. He didn't move it though, instead sitting and swivelling in his chair, pressing the other side of his hand to the skin as well. “You’re burning up Y/n/n” he spoke a little louder - eyes full of concern as he looked you up and down. “No I’m a bit cold if anythin-“

That was when Nikki, from across the other side of the table got involved. She’d obviously been silently observing the two of you, now feeling the need to send you both home. “Oh, we forgot dessert! Tom, Y/n would you mind helping me bring it out?” Thank god for Nikki, for finding a cover story and stopping everyone's eyes on you. Because for someone dating, three years deep, an A-lister - you hated any sort of attention, even from those closest to you. Especially sympathy, you had absolutely no time at all for that.

Leading you into the kitchen with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, Tom waited till the door was shut before turning to you.- claiming you were boiling and looked not so great. “I’m just a bit cold if I can borrow one of sam’s jumpers then-“ “Love, please go home.” Nikki interrupted as she wormed past Tom to put her own hand on your forehead too. “You’ve got the chills and you’ve not been normal all day. Am I right or am I right?” She was the worst to argue against. That was completely due to the fact she was always right. With a defeated nod from you, she clicked her tongue, pushing you to sit down on one of the barstools. “Tom go get a jumper from Sam’s room and order a taxi, I would drive but we’ve all been drinking.” “I can just go back by myself T, you don’t get to see your grandparents a lot and -“ “I love you but please please shut up.” Having rounded the back of your chair he pressed his lips to your temples as confirmation before scurrying off to the back of the house.

“You know he doesn’t mind at all? My son never was at my beckon call like he is with you.” There was a little smile teasing the corner of her lips as Nikki placed a glass of water in front of you, as though instructing you to take small sips. “I just feel bad, he’s always telling me how he regrets not spending more time with all of you and… well I’ve had him to myself for the fortnight in South Africa.” “Your just as much a part of the family as me or his grandparents are okay? Now when you get home..”

Nikki switched the tone to then list off all manners of ways that you needed to look after yourself once back, which she then repeated as soon as Tom returned with a black hoodie that you gratefully pulled over your head.

//////////////

By the time you got home, you were feeling so incredibly shit you weren’t even considering keeping up your brave face. Tom had wordlessly led you up the path to your shared home, unlocking the door and telling you to go straight to bed.

Perhaps he was so concerned because in the whole three years together he’d never ever seen you ill. Yes, the odd headache or whatever, as well as the occasional morning after the night before when you’d opted for a ‘tactical chunder’ to try and protect your modesty. But other than that, you were always the one being sympathetic to him. When he was tired, both emotionally and mentally from work; when he hurt his knee and was on forced bed rest for a couple of days ( which turns out to be the hardest time for you too, dealing with the whiny and fidgety boy man).

He came up a couple of minutes later, by which point you’d already pulled joggers on and wrapped yourself as tightly in the duvet as physically possible. If felt so bloody cold your teeth were actually chattering as you curled up into the smallest ball possible. In his hands was a small tray, carrying a steaming mug; a collection of all the different pill packets you kept in the medicine cabinet (as Tom himself had no idea which one was right so decided to use them all); a hot water bottle and what looked like a damp towel, all scrunched up.

No matter how shitty you felt you had a smile at how sweet and doting Tom was being... and as much as you hated the sympathy - if it was always given by a ripped and beautiful brunette with the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen… well just maybe you could get used to it. After snatching the hotwater bottle up immediately, then letting Tom fuss over you in every which way he wanted you gave in, losing the ability to entertain his puppy energy.

“Can we just go to sleep please?” You whined, which Tom nodded to - quickly getting changed and ready before joining you in bed.

As soon as he felt the way the bed was practically vibrating with the chills you were suffering from, he pulled you up into his chest. Now you had both your own personal heater and a hot water bottle to try and warm you up. “You wake me up if you need anything kay?”

Pressing a kiss into the crown of your head, which was nestled between his shoulder and neck. “Promise me ‘kay?” Him needing the reinforcement caused you to arch back up, looking deep into his brown eyes with the warm glow of his bedside table lamp. “You’re too good to me Tommy.” He tutted at that, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

“Oh no” He whispered exclaimed, making you immediately ask him what in response. “I think this fever is making you go all delusional love.” You quirked your head, causing him to continue with a cheeky grin. “Well for one, nothing would be too good for you darling and two…. When the hell have you ever called me ‘Tommy’” With him chuckling at his own joke, you rolled your eyes at his cheekiness, firmly planting your head back on his shoulder as if to shut him up. “Alright, I’ll let you off just this once cos your all feverish… get some sleep love.” “Thankyou Tommy.” “Shh love.”

And that’s how you fell asleep, finally finding a bit of warmth in Tom’s arms.

Safe to say he very much didn’t sleep so well. Yes, you felt cold - but Tom was bloody boiling. Still he didn't move because if you were comfortable, his discomfort didn’t matter. It was also a physical impossibility for him to relax until he felt (yes, technically not the most scientific way) your fever coming down. Every five minutes or so he’d gently press the back of his hand to your forehead. This boy was so whipped for you... but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~~feedback is really really appreciated~~~~

taglist for tom: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol @marvelsbitch8

[cowboy-turtle]

Abandon Ship

Part of CT's Halloween Spooktacular

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Alien AU Din Djarin x f!Reader

Words: 3k

Tags: Smut: rough sex, fingering, slight dom vibes, a brief tease of anal; horror: blood, violence, gore, offscreen death

A/N: What better way to mark my 500th post on this blog than to release my first ever Din piece (aka I'm scared shitless to post this lol) Many thanks to @arahxdjarin for reading this through!

Masterlist | Taglist

“Mesh’la,” Din’s voice crackles over the commlink, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

You’re alone, surveilling the empty corridors of the ship you’ve just boarded, the distress signal that drew you here still going off. No other ship had responded to the call, a sign to Din that you shouldn’t engage, but you couldn’t turn away from people who needed help. When no one onboard answered your transmissions and you felt compelled to board and search, his resigned sigh was his only response as he followed you to the landing dock.

It didn’t take long for you to get separated in this much larger vessel, it’d practically been a floating, empty city in comparison to the Razor Crest when you pulled into its gravitational force. When you enter into the maze of hallways, you’re so focused on finding signs of life you hadn’t realized his had disappeared from beside you, his disembodied voice bringing your attention back to him.

“Pretty,” he directs to you over the comms he placed in your ear before boarding, “come back to me.”

“Let’s try and meet up at the control center,” you rationalize, “we can cover more ground split up.”

The chambers echo with your footsteps, the red emergency lights strobing your vision until one of you can find the control room to turn it off.

It’s like he can tell anytime you start to grow uneasy, checking in on you sporadically to ask what you’re seeing. You don’t find anyone in the bunkroom, blankets still unmade and clothes scattered about like a crew had just occupied this space this morning. Double doors slide open to the cafeteria, and you’re describing to him how gross the gruel looks on the abandoned trays when you almost slip. You stumble back, gripping onto a table’s edge as you look down.

“What is it?” Din asks.

“It’s…”

Blood. A messy trail of it streaks down the length of the metallic floor and out into another hallway, looking almost black in the red flashing light.

Din sighs over the comms. “What sector are you in?”

“I, I don’t know. I’m in the cafeteria.”

“Send me your coordinates.” Your shaking fingers press the buttons on your wrist and you hear him receive it on the other end.

“Stay there.” Then the line cuts off.

You feel exposed out in the open of this large mess hall, your curiosity taking over as you disobey his orders. You slowly follow the trail out into the hall and around a corner until you stop.

Because just down the passageway, half-hidden behind a column, is the end of a hulking...something.

Its massive hind legs are crouched down low, brown exoskeleton shining with each pulse of red light. It almost reminds you of the roaches you saw scurrying under your feet in the last cantina you’d visited, except blown up a hundred times and given giant fucking limbs to run on.

You can vaguely tell it’s eating, the sounds of it wet and almost stringy. It’s like how massiffs sound as they eat when the Tuskens throw them raw meat, sharp teeth ripping and shredding into the flesh. Something moves under the creature and your eyes draw downward.

A leg, a human leg dressed in an orange flight suit, that twitches under the crouched monster was very much attached to its current meal. You step backwards in horror, the squeak of your boot sliding against the blood trail making the beast stop, the sounds of it eating paused as you stand frozen in terror just down the hall.

You hear the clicking of more than one pair of teeth, the large scales of its shell shifting up as it begins to rise on its back legs. Its spinal tail swishes across the floor, painting an arc of scarlet, and a loud, terrifying hiss pierces your ears and sends a shiver down your spine.

It launches forwards, its terrible claws ripping open the air vents and the screech of crumpling metal rings down the now empty passage until everything becomes deathly silent.

You take off running in the opposite direction, Din’s voice coming back over the commlink.

“You okay? I’m almost there.”

You’re too afraid to answer in case that thing is still listening, trying to run back to the docking bay and into the safety of the Crest. But in your panicked state these corridors begin to look unfamiliar, backtracked steps only bringing you into an entirely new part of the ship.

“Mesh’la,” Din’s voice becomes clipped, “do you copy?” He’s never one to show panic, but you can tell his anger is edged with it.

The whir of a doorway opening stops you behind a wall. You wait for something to mark its presence, the telltale security of his heavy boots on the metal floor or the terrifying scrape of this thing’s nails scratching along it. When nothing further comes you count your breaths, giving up at twenty when the hallway remains quiet.

You walk through the open door and stop just inside, captivated by the sight before you. It’s almost peaceful, inviting, like this could be the only place on the ship where you’re safe. If you were of a clearer mind you could’ve guessed it might be a calming agent in the unspecified fog that lingers across the floor, but in your relief of feeling protected you step through the room to let it envelope you, entranced. It’s…a nursery.

But not a regular nursery. There are no cribs, only beds shoved up against the wall to make space in the center of the large circular room. Littered across the floor are pods. No, eggs, upon closer inspection, something moving inside one when you walk past it. You’re so focused on stepping over the vines that curl out from each that you don’t notice one peeling open behind you, the sac curling at the top into four petals. You turn, some organic mass moving just inside the freshly-opened egg.

There’s a sudden, low screech and the thing goes flying at you, the last moment before you shut your eyes filled with its terrible, spindly fingers reaching out towards your face.

Then heat whips across you, the roar of a flame shooting out somewhere just to the right of your back. You open your eyes to see the burnt creature shriveling up on the floor, the last of the fire dying from Din’s flamethrower. The black glass of his visor watches the thing die, then slowly addresses you.

“Get behind me.”

You don’t have time to follow his order when another one flies out at you, slamming into Din’s helmet hard and forcing him to stumble back. He shouts, grabbing at it as it squeezes around him, trying to break through. He finally rips it off and throws it to the ground, reaching for the blaster on his hip holster and shooting it twice for good measure.

The smoke from the blasts curls out from its dead carcass between you. “Get behind me. Now.” You scurry over without a second thought, Din handing you a blindfold usually reserved for other activities. “And put this on your mouth. They’re going after your face.”

You unfurl the ripped cloth until it resembles more of a bandana, wrapping it around your nose and mouth, welder’s goggles fastening over your eyes. More eggs begin to move around you and you cling to Din’s cape as he curses under his breath, looking down to press a few buttons on his vambrace. He directs his arm out, the hiss of whistling birds launching around the room as they meet their final destination on each bulbous sac. The resulting explosions spatter you in their gore, sticky clear mucus mixed with the bits and pieces of their burning flesh. The smell is downright horrendous, gagging as you press the cloth to your mouth for reprieve.

The hull is silent save for the crackle of small flames on some of the destroyed eggs, until you hear the pounding scramble of a monster on all four legs coming towards you in the air vents.

“What is that?” Din asks.

You reach for his arm, tugging him away. “Let’s not find out.”

With Din’s tracking skills you’re back to the Crest in no time, the comforting hiss of the gangplank closing you in as you rush to check on Grogu. He’s still asleep inside his floating pram, ear twitching slightly from some faraway dream. You tuck him in tighter, relieved your family is safe and together again. You feel Din’s presence behind you, a gloved hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder in what you think is reassurance.

But his tone reads cold, angered. “Cockpit. Now.” He stalks away without another word, cape swishing up the ladder as he ascends.

You follow, head hung low, knowing he has every right to be mad at you. It’d been your idea in the first place to board that ship, and then you just had to separate from him and almost get both of you killed.

He’s setting coordinates for the next destination when you come up. Once you’re safely at lightspeed he stands, your stomach dropping as he looms over you. He backs you up into the console, turning you around so that all you can focus on is the light streaking across glass and the harsh dig of metal against your hips, his body pressing heavily into yours from behind. It's almost like you’re being patted down, the way his fingers glide across your clothed body as his feet kick your legs apart.

“I told you to stay with me.”

“I know,” your voice shakes. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t check in with me on comms.”

Guilt claws at your throat. “I was being stupid, it won’t—“

“Do I need to teach you how to follow directions?”

It’s the way he says it, voice dropping to a low octave that his vocoder registers even deeper, sending a tingle straight through your cunt. He grips the edge of your pants, rubbing the fabric.

“Answer me.”

You close your eyes, swallowing. “Yes.”

He rucks your pants down to your knees in one fluid motion, peeling against your skin still wet from the egg plasma. You feel something in front of your face and open your eyes, Din presenting a gloved finger to you.

“Bite.”

The smoky aftertaste of blaster powder presses against your teeth as they sink around the tip. He pulls his hand out, leather pressed between your lips as you purse them to keep hold of the glove. His other hand smooths across your jaw, pulling it out and setting it down in front of you.

“Din,” you breathe, another apology on your lips when he grinds up against your bare pussy, your words dying on your tongue at how hard he is. You hear the feral groan deep in his chest and whimper.

He gets like this, especially after hunts. Needy and aggressive, sweaty, sometimes bloodied, muscles tense with adrenaline as he throws you onto the bed, your legs opening so he can take his pent-up energy out on you. You suppose this is the same as that, hot blood coursing through him with the exhilaration of still being alive, making his cock twitch against the swell of your ass.

He needs to fuck away the horrors, fuck away the hunt, to shed the parts of himself that grow violent under his armor until all that’s left is Din. Your Din.

It’s this urgency that you feel in the firm slide of his bare, trigger-calloused fingers, dipping down between your legs. He groans low and deep, spreading your pussy lips apart to tease against your growing arousal.

“You like putting yourself in danger, mesh’la?”

“N-no,” is all you can manage as he plays with your clit between his skilled fingers.

“You like disobeying me?”

“No. Din,” you draw his name out in a plea, leaning forward on the console in invitation. “Please. Punish me.”

Your request catches him off guard, hitched breath almost indiscernible as his helmet tilts down to watch how you greedily accept two thick fingers into your enveloping cunt. He pops them out just as quickly and you whine, head dipping between your shoulders.

“Then open up for me,” he commands.

You struggle to spread your legs even wider for him in the narrow space he’s offering as you hear the zipper of his suit come undone. He presses thick and long through the cleft of your ass, sliding along the skin as he shifts his hips lower. The head teases against the tight rim of muscle and you tense.

He chuckles darkly. “Would you let me?”

“Fuck.” You’re about to nod when you feel him notch at your entrance instead, lips spreading to accommodate the fat head of his cock. He splits you open on his girth as you moan and shudder beneath him. It’s a tight squeeze trying to get all of him to fit, but he grows impatient and rears his hips back, burying into you in one sharp snap. You cry out, scrambling to hold onto something as he grips your hips roughly, anchoring you in place as he sets a punishing pace fucking you into the hard steel of the dashboard. The edge of his thigh plates pummel against the flesh of your ass, beating you into submission, cold metal in contrast to the searing heft of his length impaling you.

He grunts, reaching to grip your shoulder and pull you towards him. He holds you up so tightly against him, hips pistoning into you, arms wrapping around your torso and shoulders, the hard Beskar of his chest plate digging between your shoulder blades. He knows you so intimately, inside and out, angling his lower half to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out his name in a sob.

You reach to grasp the back of his neck, fingers sliding underneath his helmet to pull on the strands of hair you know curl at the nape of his neck. He moans, using the newly exposed arch of your chest to slide his gloved hand under your shirt, the rough leather pinching and rolling your nipple. His naked hand presses firmly against the front of your mound, fingers crooking harshly into your peak. The onslaught of unbearable pleasure has you quaking in his rigid arms, jolts wracking through your body in anticipation of your orgasm.

His helmet knocks against your ear, voice barely audible over the wet slap of his balls hitting your thighs.

“Will you show me you’re good with directions now?”

You gasp, scalp scraping against metal as you nod.

“Yeah? Good.” He fucks into you faster, holding you to him harder when you start bearing down on him. “Then cum for me, mesh’la. Cum for me now.”

His name rips from your throat as your climax slams through you, seizing up around him as his responding groan filters through your conscience. It’s unforgiving, the way it seems like you can’t come down, like he knows exactly how to prolong it until it becomes almost painful. You claw at his hands, bucking your hips wildly against him as the drag of his cock sends your arousal dripping down your thighs.

“Where?” he asks urgently in a broken voice reserved only for you.

“Mouth,” you can barely get out, knees buckling as he pulls out of you and jerks you around, shoving you to the floor to kneel in front of him. His hand cradles the back of your head to save it from the sharp edge of the control panel, the other fisting himself once, twice before slipping into the open invitation of your mouth. Your lips form around the fat head just as he spills across your tongue, his moan splintering into a stuttered gasp for air at your pretty eyes batting up at him. His hips jerk and shake under your hands brushing up his thighs, licking around his softening cock as you moan at the taste of your combined flavors coating your tongue. You slowly pop off of him, a string of saliva connecting you until you lick across your bottom lip, collecting any remainders of him to swallow.

He hooks his hands under your arms and pulls you up, crushing you back to him as his helmet dips to press against your forehead, heaving breath slowing back to normal. He presses his exposed hand to your cheek after a while and you hum, leaning into it.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

After a hot shower and another check on a slumbering Grogu, you’re crawled into the crammed sleeping bunk with Din, leg hooked around his waist as you snuggle in closer. The hull is pitch black, a necessity so he can sleep with the comfort of having his helmet off. You love these moments, being able to card your fingers through his shower-damp hair, tracing the mountains and valleys of his face in your own special way of seeing it. He only gets this vulnerable with you and the kid, the only layer between you that of the soft fabric of his sleeping gear.

“Don’t do that again,” his sleepy voice whispers, an edge of a warning. You smile to yourself, rubbing his chest teasingly.

“I don’t know, maybe I should wander from you more often if that’s what happens after.”

He grunts, grabbing your hand and pushing you onto your back to climb on top of you. You laugh against his lips as his hand smooths up under your nightgown.

And that’s when you hear it. Something between a screech and a roar, the metal vent right above the bed groaning under heavy weight as something inside it moves.

You freeze. “What is that?”

The air vent right above you starts to creak, the terrible sound of metal ripping as something claws its way out.

“I think,” Din whispers in the pitch darkness, “whatever was there followed us back.”

--

Taglist: @1800-fight-me @microsoftcraint @thisgirl-knm @arahxdjarin @triggerhappyflygirl @phandoz @queen0fchaos @sunnshineeexoxo @mrsudontknowme @rosethornxs @wyofabdoms @mandosmistress @kissasith @cmc1014 @morenhoe @anaaaispunk

[notsuchasecret]

FIRST TRICK OR TREAT OF THE YEAR WOOOOO! SeiSou, please!

FIRST TRICK OR TREAT OF THE YEARRRRRRRRRRR!

Come trick or treating in my inbox! Leave a "Trick or Treat" and a character or ship in an ask, and I'll treat you to some autumn-themed fluff or trick you with some twisted spooky aus!

Treat

Seijuurou was not too proud to admit that he got scared sometimes. Having grown up with Momo and Isuzu, he was difficult to startle, and having been the captain of an elite swimming team with Matsuoka Rin as one of its top athletes, he was difficult to intimidate. But still, when there came a rustle and a creak, the near-silent tap of footsteps picking their way across the floor, none of that meant that Seijuurou was not huddled under his blanket, eyes open as wide as they could go, fists clenched in the sheets in terror.

“Mikoshiba.”

It was not dignity that kept Seijuurou from squeaking in terror, nor was it any sort of common sense. It was fear alone, his fight-or-flight instincts completely abandoning him as he froze in place. Then the more rational centers of his brain processed the whisper, recognized who it had come from, and told his body to relax.

“Yamazaki?” he breathed. Squinting in the dark was enough to show that, sure enough, that was Sousuke peering over the rail of the bunk bed that Seijuurou had so lovingly kicked his little brother out of for the night. “Fuck, you scared me,” Seijuurou laughed.

“Move over,” Sousuke said. His voice was quiet, but it held no room for argument.

“What?”

“Move. Over.”

Seijuurou said nothing more, simply shuffled backwards until he was against the wall. Sousuke clambered up the ladder, wedging himself in the tight space left over. He pawed at Seijuurou’s hip until he could get a grip on the blanket and draw it over himself.

“Not that I’m not pleased to have company,” Seijuurou drawled, almost forgetting to keep his voice down, “but what are you doing?”

“What does it look like, Mikoshiba? I’m cuddling with you.”

“Okay. Why.”

Sousuke huffed, rolling his eyes. He threw an arm across Seijuurou’s waist and shuffled them both until they were in a more comfortable position, pressed entirely up against one another. Seijuurou’s head fit rather nicely in the crook of Sousuke’s good shoulder, if he did say so himself.

“That stupid story Hazuki told,” Sousuke muttered. Seijuurou blanked for a moment, trying to figure out what the everloving fuck Souske was talking about.

“You’re cuddling with me… because of a ghost story?”

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t scared shitless, too,” Sousuke muttered.

“Point taken.”

“Will you two shut up?” hissed a voice from the lower bunk, followed by a kick to the mattress. Seijuurou rolled his eyes, tugging Sousuke closer to cut off any retort he might have thrown in Rin’s direction.

“We’ll get him back tomorrow,” Seijuurou promised as quietly as he could. “For now, stay here. Safety in numbers. And height. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Sousuke agreed. Another kick had Seijuurou chuckling, and then they both fell silent.

As much as Seijuurou wanted to enjoy this, the warmth and the closeness of it all, well. The fact was, Seijuurou had been scared. And now, wrapped up in Sousuke’s arms like he was, the feeling of safety and comfort had his eyelids drooping. And when Sousuke brought a hand up to rest at the curve of his neck, his fingertips soothing at Seijuurou’s hairline, there wasn’t much to be done. He drifted off to sleep, all thoughts of ghosts and spiders and whatever other horrors Nagisa could come up with long forgotten, left to the night to be forgotten with the dawn.

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Unpopular opinion?? (And it rly shouldn't be but oh WELL). I wish there was a better understanding that writing an evil character does not equal condoning what they're doing. AND there needs to be more of a space/acceptance for ppl who want risque G/t without being lumped into the hardcore fetish side. I think it goes back to other unpopular opinions you've received-- that fearplay artists/writers are shamed for creating things other than fluff. I'm a grown woman who loves horror and sexiness and I put plenty of warning on my stories when necessary. Readers steering clear of what they don't want to read is great!! That's what the warnings are for. But when I'm SHAMED for writing darker/more adult themes?? Ngl it hurts. I'm fragile 😭

[slides over on my couch and pats the seat next to me so u can join me]

A villain is just that, a VILLAIN. They're not SUPPOSED to be likable, you're not SUPPOSED to agree with their morals, you should WANT to root for their downfall, or feel the same emotions as the hero because that's ultimately who you should be connected with!! Life can't be all rainbows and sunshine, you need to add a little bit of flavor in there, ya know. And don't sit there and tell me that if a giant showed up RIGHT NOW you'd be so calm and cool and collected, smooth talking them to be wrapped around your finger. You'd be scared shitless, your fight or flight would be in overdrive, you wouldn't trust that bastard immediately upon them being like "hi how are ya (:"

Also I'm a lesbian who created a hot cat MILF if I want to draw her doing the spilts in booty shorts I should be damn allowed to because 1) she's literally my character and 2) this ain't about you this is all for ME

[gayenerd]

Interview with Billie for the Kerrang Yearbook. Sounds like this took place around 2000-2001?

Hello Billie Joe. A bit pissed at the Kerrang Awards weren't you? "I was drinking with Papa Roach the night before. Everybody went to see The Cult in Brixton. All the American bands like Papa Roach and Queens Of The Stone Age were there. I felt terrible when I got out of bed to go to the Kerrang Awards." Who ended up worse off - you or Coby Dick? "Sometimes Coby can't even hold it together when he's sober! He's super-hyper all the time. You have to say, 'Coby, turn it off for 2 minutes - I'm in my bunk!' Then he'll turn it off and you can get into a decent conversation." You experienced some difficulty in getting off the stage after accepting your Kerrang Award. "Award's shows freak me out - I'm so scared shitless of those things so I end up doing stupid things. I never theought I'd ever win an award for playing music. Watching all our videos being shown up on the screen, I just looked at Mike and Tre and said. 'Does this mean we're old now?' I can be such a self-conscious freak. I just don't know how to be cool." What's the healthiest thing you've done this year? "I like to keep myself fit. I run, I skateboard, and i'll hit the weights every other day. You reach a certain age when you've gotta start looking out for yourself. I'm staring down the barrel of 30, you know? My dad really let himself fall to @#%$ and I don't want to end up like that. Theres a preconcieved idea about musicians and punk musicians in particular that we have to self-destruct, and I can't buy into that. I like to breathe. Like like it when my heart beats - Its a really cool thing." Have you cut down on your drinking recently? "When i'm on tour I drink all day long with the guys. There's nothing else to do. But i've been at homea while. There are many, many moods to Billie Joe. There's drunk me and theres not-drunk me." What have you learned about being a father during the past year? "You learn new things every day as your kids' characters and personalities are building. Joey is 6 now, he's not a baby at all, he's a little boy. And Jacob, who's 3, is a maniac. The one rule I have is that I never expose them to television." What have you learned about Tre and Mike this past year? "Wow (long pause). I learned that Mike is a Bob Dylan fan, which was kind of suprising. I'm not the biggest fan but I definately appreciate Bob Dylan. And Tre is becoming really fluent in Spanish. His wife is Nicaraguan." What color has your hair been this year? "I shaved my head when I got off the road. Its been black. I haven't really been changing it. When the boy groups started dyeing their hair, I had to stop." Any fashion tips you'd care to pass on to Kerrang readers? "I've been wearing the same pants since High School! Never been into the Versace thing." Best punk rock song you've heard this year? "Last Nite by The Strokes. They're not really a punk band, but those guys have a really cool outlook and a good sensibility about how they present themselves. All the rap rock metal bands have lost that rock'n'roll element, and i'm just a sucker for good rock'n'roll music." What song has been stuck in your head this year, even though you hate it? "Smooth Criminal by Alien Ant Farm. It was bad when Michael Jackson sang it, but it's even worse second time around! Y'know, I think Michael Jackson should join Slipknot. His face looks so bizarre now, its like he's wearing a mask." Are Slipknot still the scariest dudes in rock? "In about a year from now, if they're still as popular as they are now, they'll be as American as apple pie. That's sort of what happened to Marilyn Manson. When he came out he was really scary looking, like 'Jesus Christ! This guy is a maniac!' But now its, 'Oh, theres Marilyn, mowing the lawn, no big deal.' I like Manson, but it's funny how the most normal people end up being the most threatening, and the people who are scariest at first end up kinda normal. That's the dissapointing thing about shock value. Neil Young is more threatening than Slipknot just because he's smarter and has more of an opinion." How much fun did you have on tour in 2001? "It's really exciting at first because you're in different places every day, but after a while i'd rather be home. I get into really long conversations with my wife, I talk to my kids a lot, I'll write little notes and draw pictures for them and fax them to the house. Our sets are getting longer, sometimes we'll play up to three hours, and its because there is no rock'n'roll lifestyle for me other than that. I'm a devoted husband and a devoted father, and so all that decadent bullshit is not my thing. You start to wonder, 'Is this the life for me?' But then I get home and I dont know what the @#%$ to do with myself because i'm not playing music. People have looked at us and gone, 'Obviously these guys have no place to go after the gig because they're still on stage!'" Where were you on September 11? "I was on West Coast time, so it was really early in the morning for me. I saw the towers fall, and it felt like the world was gonna end. What amazes me is that Tony Blair is almost heading the coalition by himself! Does he realise what he's getting his country into? This is @#%$ serious! There's been a lot of shocking words used: the 'crusade against terrorism'. The las thing you say to someone from the Middle East is the word 'crusade'." After September 11, do you share America's renewed sense of patriotism? "No way. I can't really see myself as a patriot. I don't see what happened in New York as an act of war, it's an act of terrorism. Every country has had to deal with terrorism in some form, and this is the first time America has ever seen it and they dont know what to do, so everyone is clinging to these war slogans. All the flags is people's cars and homes - it just seems kind of gross to me." Has American learnt from the tragedy? "I hope some good stuff comes out of this. People have become so self-absorbed and dedicated to their careers. I'm not a person to wave a flag for family values or anything like that, but there comes a time when your relationships and your family is the most important thing, not whether you're making $100,000 every year. Thats what I hope comes out of it - that people realise the important things in life." Six Of The Best Best Friend: " Valium. Lots of plane flights, man. Valium only lasts four hours, so if you're on an 11 hour flight take two and a half." Best advice: "Put your head between your knees if you think you are gonna pass out." Best Ass: "Tre Cool. Not only because he has one, but because he is one." Personal Best: The pinnacle moment for me this year, musically, was playing Reading. It was a great show. There's so many bands nowadays who can't play live, but to actually do it and have people singing along and getting something sentimental out of it at the same time, thats rare, and we achieved that at Reading." Best Night Out: "The furst night I went out after september 11. I really went for it. American has these feelings of its days being numbered. It's like a country that has just got cancer, but the cancer's in remission. A lot of people are doing all the things they've always talked about doing. I hadn't partied really hard in a while, so that's what I did. I went to a couple of bars with Mike and Tre and our producer. We got loud and had a good time." Best Buy: " My cellphone. The ring tone is just a goofy tune. And it vibrates well in my pocket."

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Overworked Prompt fill for @haunted-by-catholic-guilt​ @celosiaa​ for the bingo

SEND ME SOME MORE PROMPTS IF YOU LIKE!!!!!!

It’s evening.  At least Martin thinks it is.  He’s rather lost track.  Time stopped making sense for him a while ago.  Had it really only been this morning when he was in his office, doing an endless stream of meaningless paperwork? 

Weeks and weeks and weeks and months and months and months of small meaningless tasks.  

He really hadn’t thought about it until now.  Is it really that much work to fill out a single form?  It shouldn’t be.  It isn’t.  But the sheer number of them… that’s what makes it drudgery.  Makes minutes and hours stretch beyond all logical comprehension.  Not to mention the endless intrusions of Peter Lukas.  

No.  Not thinking about that.  He’s …dead?  Right?  

Martin isn’t sure.  In the Lonely… out of the Lonely.  Everything a blur.  A cold, miserable, sandy blur.  And all he wants to do is sleep, but apparently that isn’t happening.  His brain is still trying to catalogue the endless, meaningless tasks he is leaving behind.  Still trying to run the budget and the expenses, and the personal reports that have been sliding over his desk for months.  

Paperwork heavy on the brain… heavy on the body.  Especially when that body has nothing to look forward to at his empty flat with its empty fridge and its empty bed.  

He is very tired.  

He can’t shake the feeling that this is a vaguely unsettling dream that he will wake up from in that cold and empty bed and search for breakfast in that empty fridge (because breakfast is the most important meal of the day, some distant parental voice tells him every morning even though the thought often turns his stomach) and hurry out of his empty flat for his empty office and that infernal ticking clock.  Measuring out every word he types.  Every breath he draws.  Every paper he signs.  Every spreadsheet he makes.  Every thought of Jon that he carefully does not think.  

‘For all the compasses in the world, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure.’  

Had he heard Jon say that once?  A quote from a play that Jon liked.  Hadn’t he read it to impress Jon, once upon a time?  A lifetime ago?  A death-time ago?  Three deaths ago?  

“‘For all the compasses in the world, there's only one direction, and time is its only measure.’”  He says it out loud, this time.  The first words to drop from his still frozen lips after leaving that Forsaken place.  Was?  Was that a joke?  

Jon’s head shoots up.  His eyes are wide and locked on Martin’s.  (Not that that is new, Martin keeps catching him staring.  Even as he tears around the archives gathering clothes and and statements and toiletries.  (Has Jon really just been living here?)  “Was that… that was… did you?”  

Martin blinks at him.  It might be his exhaustion making whatever Jon is trying to say incomprehensible, or it might be Jon’s exhaustion, for that matter.  

“That was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,” Jon eventually stutters out, looking dumbstruck, half of a jumper that Martin thought he had lost sticking half out of a very battered backpack.  “You read it?”

Martin doesn’t have the energy for more words.  He nods.  

“I didn’t know you read it!”  Jon has perked up considerably.  “I read it in primary school, maybe a bit dark for a child, but my grandmother just bought me what was inexpensive… I was actually in it in uni….”

Martin would very much like to be paying attention to what had to be one of the most verbal and sharing Jon moments he has been witness to, but he’s very tired and it just sounds like white noise and he’s still thinking about that ticking clock floors above and an office he won’t go back to and paperwork that will never be finished and a half finished granola bar he had in his drawer for emergencies.  He could get his phone charger and laptop, in fact Jon probably already had… but ….but all that work.  All that he has done and all that he hasn’t… it’s all there.  And it’s going to stay there.  And Martin very much has not accepted that he doesn’t need to finish it.  Because he has been told every day in every email that he needs to finish it.  That there is a never ending stream of work that he can never catch up with that he can never overtake.  So he stayed long hours, turning himself into quite the hypocrite.  And Jon is still talking, his too-tiny form slightly revitalized with his excitement and nervous energy as he continues to pack.  

They are in a car.  Daisy’s, Martin thinks.  And Jon is still talking.  Possibly still about the play?  Possibly not.  Martin can’t tell.  He thinks he just heard Jon mention something about Scotland being a conspiracy of cartographers?  Is that right?  

Martin barely feels like he is there.  Is he tangible?  Or no… that isn’t what he is wondering.  He feels TOO tangible.  Too heavy but still not solid.  Like he is a wavering stack of signatures and numbers instead of a person.  Just a vehicle for meaningless work.  A thought that makes him dead tired.  What is he without that structure, those spreadsheets.  He has lost himself in the lines and fine print.  And he doesn’t know what is left.  Half fog.  Half paperwork.  All gritty eyed, and salty haired, and bone-weary.  

Jon has stopped talking.  He is… a passible driver.  Passible at best.  Having run himself out of things to say, the exhaustion is creeping back in.  His hands shake slightly on the wheel and they still have to stop by Martin’s sad, empty flat before they can leave London and make the terribly long drive to wherever it is they are going.  And Martin doesn’t have it in him to drive, and even if he did, he really really shouldn’t.  An ex boyfriend had tried to teach him once.  Once when he thought maybe he could drive a cab and maybe that would bring in enough money to fill his stomach, but that relationship didn’t last, and Martin was still scared shitless of driving anywhere but an empty suburb going 32 km/h or less.  

He curls around himself, trying to ward off the guilt that starts to gnaw at him then.  Jon shouldn’t have to drive the whole way.  Jon is exhausted.  And they don’t even have time to spend the night somewhere.  At least… that’s what Martin managed to get from the conversation with Basira that he… had technically been physically present for.  

No.  No.  No.  He’s fine.  He can pack.  He will Not make Jon do that for him.  Jon is clearly shaking.  Jon can take a shower and have a nap on his sofa (or his bed a little part of his brain says, leading to a dangerous heat in his cheeks) while Martin packs.  He can pack his own clothes.

 But they are at his flat now.  And Martin can hardly drag himself out of the car and up the two flights of stairs (broken lift).  His head is swimming and his limbs are heavy.  He sits heavily on the couch to gather himself, and Jon is already rushing around riffling through his things, stuffing jumpers and boxers and binders and socks and tea into a duffle bag that has seen better days.  He can’t bring himself to be embarrassed.  He wishes he could help.  

Then there is tea in his hands.  Made completely wrong, but Martin appreciates the effort.  and there are their bags at his feet and Jon is next to him.  There is no distance between them, and Jon leans into his side and Martin finds himself holding back tears.  Or failing to hold back tears.  In any case, he is tired and his face is wet and Jon is shaking slightly against his side and he can’t tell if this is the worst he has ever felt or the happiest he has ever been.  Perhaps both at once.  

Jon is easing him to his feet, nudging him towards the shower so he can wash the sea-salt from his eyelashes and hair.  

Martin is in his shower.

Martin is divested of binder and in an overlarge hoodie.  Hair wet but not salty.  He can’t help trying to picture Jon in that jumper.  Even large on Martin, Jon would be swallowed whole by it.  Jon is in his shower.  In his (Martin’s) less empty flat.  But his flat is hollowed out and gutted.  Jon asked him about 20 times if he would be alright on his own while separated by running water and water vapor and a door.  Martin had nodded each of those times.  Clinging to the sounds of Jon singing softly through the door.  

Martin gets the feeling that Jon is doing that just to ground him and Martin can’t say that he minds.  He wish Jon doesn’t need to, but he is grateful.  

He is coming down from a panic attack, and Jon is done in the shower but has yet to return.  Martin feels like he has been hard reset.  He is curled up on his couch.  The last of his possessions have been packed.  He isn’t going back to work.  He can rest.  Well… soon.  He can rest in the car.  He can rest in Scotland.  They both can, with any luck.  

Jon is coming out of his washroom, drying his hair and in another jumper Martin thought he lost months ago.  

Jon is in front of him, hovering and looking like he isn’t sure if he is allowed to touch.  Martin reaches out and grasps his fluttering hands.  And Jon sinks to the floor in front of him.  

They are in the car.  Martin is dozing against the window on the passenger side.  Jon is behind the wheel.  They are holding hands.  

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 4: Commitment

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3900

Rating: PG-13 (brief language)

Summary: Two and a half hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Drake paced along the gravel at the side of the road, glancing over at Riley frequently. She was hunched into the back of the town car, the back door left open as she used the back seat as a makeshift changing table. 

He felt sick to his stomach. Everything was going wrong. He was surprised he hadn’t thrown up, to be honest. Olivia’s warning made everything ten times more real. And things had already felt pretty damn real.

They were a dozen or so kilometers into Greece, but he wanted to go back to Cordonia. Getting charged with treason… the thought was so upsetting. And yeah, he wanted to be there to support Liam through this crisis, too. If they all worked together, they could stop the coup and stop the threat of Bridget being taken from them at the same time. But Riley didn’t want to hear any discussion of turning around and returning from Greece. The second he’d mentioned needing to make a decision after Olivia had hung up the phone, she’d gotten defensive. Raised her voice. Told him he never should have come along if he was just going to change his mind, because her plan was final.

They hadn’t been screaming or anything, but they’d both gotten loud enough to wake Bridget, and she’d started doing enough screaming for their entire family. She was hungry, antsy, and probably a bit crabby from sensing their frustration with each other. After several minutes of her wailing, Ray had pulled over to the side of the road and rolled down the privacy divider. He’d offered to walk into the nearest town, which was only about a kilometer away, to pick up a couple of bottles of water so that they could prepare Bridget some formula, as well as some dinner for the three adults. Drake suspected he also was trying to give them some privacy as they discussed next steps. He had to have heard Riley and him getting louder with each other. It’s not like the divider was completely soundproof.

But instead of having the conversation they needed to have, Riley was essentially giving him the silent treatment at this point. She’d taken Bridget from him when he ducked behind some bushes to relieve himself, and since he’d returned, she hadn’t said a word to him. He was at a loss as to how to handle it. He knew she was panicking. He knew she was terrified. He knew she was just focused on keeping Bridget safe. But she wasn’t thinking clearly. And if he couldn’t make her see that, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

After a few moments, Riley scooped up Bridget, tucking her against her hip as she stood up, stretching her back and twisting her neck from side to side. Drake knew he had to broach the topic again.

“Look, Riley, I know you-”

“Drake, I do not want to hear this. I told you already - Bridget and I are not setting foot on Cordonian soil until we have confirmation that no one is scheming to take her.”

Drake ran a hand over his face as he let out a massive sigh. He’d never struggled this much to get through to her before. Even in those early days, when most of their conversations were all snark without any underlying friendship or affection, he’d always felt like she was at least willing to hear him out, even if she’d thought his warnings had been over dramatic. It’s weird how he was now the one arguing the opposite position, trying to convince her to put her faith in at least some of the Cordonian nobility.

“Riley, can you at least explain to me why Olivia’s plan is something you won’t even consider?”

She shot him an annoyed glare and rolled her eyes, but then she said, “If Barthelemy takes over Cordonia, Olivia is not going to be able to protect us. How can you not understand this?”

“Olivia will still be the Duchess of Lythikos, no matter who is acting as monarch. If she wants to offer us amnesty there, that is well within her capabilities.”

“But how do we know that she will be allowed to keep that title? Don’t Cordonian monarchs have the power to strip nobles of their titles if there is suspected criminal activity?”

“What are you talking about? How is Olivia a criminal?”

“I’m pretty sure aiding and abetting traitors and kidnappers is a fucking crime, Drake.”

“But Riley, we’re only going to be charged with those crimes if we flee the country. Or I guess if they figure out we fled the country at this point. If we go back now-”

“Yeah, I’m sure Barthelemy will just accept us keeping physical custody of Bridget if we go hang out in Lythikos. No way we can get charged with kidnapping her there if he decides he wants to take her and we say “no,” because being on Cordonian soil will magically protect us.”

Drake paused, rubbing the back of his neck. She had a point there. If, god forbid, Barthelemy’s plan was successful and he was able to get himself named king-regent, the issuing of treason charges for the two of them would probably be a matter of when, not if. As long as they insisted on keeping Bridget with them, which was obviously not up for debate, they likely would be charged and named as enemies of the state whether they were in Cordonia or in Greece. 

“Okay, let’s say there’s no way to prevent us being named traitors. I still think it’s worth considering that if we stay in Lythikos, we have a support system. We have a roof over our heads. We have food and clothing and money. We have friends who will help us. We don’t get anything like that if we stay in Greece.”

Riley shot him a look that was so withering, he wished he could crawl out of his skin. “And how do we guarantee that Barthelemy won’t freeze Olivia’s accounts and strip her of her title unless she turns us, known traitors and criminals, into his custody?”

“Again, she’s a duchess and head of one the the five major noble houses. Why are you so convinced that he would be able to have so much control over her legally guaranteed powers?”

“Because of what happened with Godfrey when we confronted him about Eleanor’s death.”

“He wasn’t just accused, Riley. We know he killed Liam’s mom.”

“But he wasn’t found guilty or anything. The king’s accusation was enough, right?”

Drake frowned and tried to remember the details of how things worked. He’d never bothered to pay that much attention to the intricacies of the nobility’s power structure during his schooling. After all, it was never going to matter to him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure the reigning monarch can strip any noble of their title for any reason. The noble in question can challenge it if they gain the support of the majority of the major houses, if I remember things correctly.”

“That makes it even worse, Drake! Are you telling me that Barthelemy, if he’s acting as king, could just strip Olivia of her title simply for not supporting him?”

He shook his head. “No, that would be unlikely. The Nevrakises can trace their lineage back past the birth of Cordonia. They are the longest standing major house, and they have made sure their family is well protected by the law. I can’t see Olivia losing her title.”

“But you can’t promise that she’s safe!”

Drake wanted to roll his eyes. The thought of anyone attempting to take Olivia’s title from her and walking away without serious bodily injury was laughable. But he knew that Riley was dangerously close to spiraling into a panicked mess again. So he tried to keep things steady.

“Riley, do you picture Olivia just sitting back and letting someone take Lythikos from her? I am sure her title is safe. Like I said, there are a lot of bylaws and exceptions that protect the Nevrakis family. Besides, a no-confidence vote in Liam is going to draw criticism from a decent amount of the people. He’s not an unpopular king. If Barthelemy removes a monarch and a duchess from a major house in quick succession, he’s going to risk a citizen uprising. Particularly in Lythikos.”

“But that won’t happen instantly, Drake. And Barthelemy could spin this, make Olivia look like she’s a traitor.”

“The citizens of Lythikos won’t buy that.”

“So what? Our plan is to count on a civil war where the citizens of Lythikos are willing to fight for Olivia’s right to shelter us? That seems like a far worse plan than just hiding out in a different country.”

Drake tried to suppress a sigh as he shook his head. “I think you are getting way ahead of yourself, here. We have no reason to believe Olivia will lose her title.”

“And again, I’m telling you that’s optimistic bullshit. Unless I just hallucinated Liam stripping Godfrey, a member of another major house, of all of his Cordonian titles when he was accused of a crime. Guess I got confused while I was almost dying while having to deliver a baby with almost no medical attention in a frickin’ palace bedroom.” Riley sank down on the side of the back seat, a hint of exhaustion noticeable behind the fire in her gaze.

Drake didn’t like to think about those hours before Bridget was born. He’d been scared shitless, trying to keep it together as it seemed more and more likely that there would be no medical care and that Riley or his child… or both might die as a result. They were some of the darkest hours of his life. He’d honestly had no recollection of slamming Bradshaw against the wall when Olivia had mentioned it hours later, everything just a giant blur of fear and anger and desperation, all without wanting to make things worse for Riley by letting her see how stressed he was.

But then Dr. Ramirez was there and in the blink of an eye, Bridget was crying in his arms, and Dr. Ramirez was acting like Riley was out of the woods. The earlier fears and struggles seemed so inconsequential as they held their daughter close. Saw her face. Wrapped her up and held her tight. And maybe naively, Drake had assumed with everything Riley had physically been through during her labor and delivery, that she’d kind of forgotten how dicey it had been since everything turned out okay. But hearing her now, it was clear she carried a lot of pain and fear from that time, even if she never had mentioned it before.

“Riley…” he started, crouching down in front of her, bracing himself on the open car door as he gently placed a hand on her knee, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault,” she said with a little shrug.

Drake nodded, “Still, you should have never been in that position.”

“We should have never been in that position, Drake. Maybe you’re just blinded to how fucking bizarre this all is, because it’s all you’ve ever known, but half the things that have happened since I’ve been here are insane. And while delivering her in a palace under lockdown was one of the scarier ones, it isn’t the only time I’ve been in a position that I shouldn’t have had to handle.”

He knew she was right. Assassination attempts, photographers paid to catch her in her underwear, marriage alliances. All of it was kind of bullshit. But they’d always gotten through things together. He didn’t understand why this time she wanted to run and refused to face the problem head on. He didn’t know what to say, so he just gave her knee a squeeze he hoped was comforting and pushed himself up to standing, leaning against the side of the car next to her.

Riley bit her lip, bouncing Bridget on her lap. Bridget was getting crankier. Drake could see it clearly. They’d given her some of her rice puffs, the only snack they had in the diaper bag, which had helped placate her a little, but she was still obviously hungry. Add to the fact that she had been confined to their arms for hours, and it seemed like she was teetering on the edge of a total meltdown. She wanted to be set down, to crawl around and explore. She had no patience for being on the lam.

“Do you want me to take her?” Drake asked, holding out his arms, but Riley shook her head.

“No, I’ve got her.” Her arms tightened slightly around Bridget as she responded.

Drake frowned. Part of him was scared that if he pushed Riley any further right now, she might just bolt. But a bigger part of him knew that if they didn’t address this, that it was only going to get worse. And if they decided to stay in Greece, they were only going to have each other. Not trusting each other fully wasn’t an option.

“You don’t trust me with her.”

Riley swallowed slowly before glancing up and looking at Drake. He hadn’t exactly phrased his statement like a question, but Riley treated it as one anyway. “You’re oversimplifying things. It’s not that straight forward.”

He just shook his head, pushing off the car and resuming his earlier pacing. “It is, Riley. If you can’t answer ‘yes’ to that, well then you obviously don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you with her,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, “If you want to, you can hold her.”

Drake let out a sigh. “I’m not trying to turn this into a power struggle over who gets to keep her in their arms. That’s not… You’re acting like you’re the only parent here. You’ve decidedly unilaterally that our child has to leave the country. And that’s not fair.”

“You want to know what’s not fair, Drake?” Her voice was high pitched and fragile sounding, but her words were sharp and clear. This wasn’t her panicked ramblings of a couple of hours ago. This was a speech she’d held in her heart for a long time. “What isn’t fair is that your best friend showed up on our honeymoon, asking us for a wildly inappropriate favor with a heavy dose of guilt thrown on the side. What isn’t fair is that you agreed to it before even speaking to me about it. What isn’t fair is that if I hadn’t agreed to it, I would have been the bitch who rejected a guy when he was down on one knee and then forbid the guy I married, his best friend in the whole world, from helping him out.”

“Riley… I-” Drake wanted to try and soothe her, to acknowledge how much rougher everything had been than he could have envisioned when Liam showed up, solemn and resigned, with his request on that beach. But Riley wasn’t done.

“You called it an honor, Drake. That was how you phrased it. Tell me, was it an honor watching the press hound me for months, wanting to know every detail about my body? Was it an honor having to fend off two foreign powers who wanted some archaic marriage alliance with your unborn child? Was it an honor to feel backed into the corner and agreeing to one of those alliances to save my life? To save Bridget’s life? Was it an honor dragging her to balls and galas and events when she wasn’t even vaccinated yet? Because as I see it, this whole scheme has brought our family nothing but struggles and stress and sadness.”

“Of course all that shit sucked! But you don’t get to sit there and act like you are not complicit in almost every part of it. You agreed to it. You don’t get to blame me forever for a choice we both made.” Drake knew his phrasing was harsh, but it wasn’t fair for her to act like he’d forced her to do anything. If she had given him a firm “no” back then, that would have been that.

“You’re right - I should have fought you on this earlier. But I’m not going to just continue to roll along with it when it keeps hurting my child over and over again. So, I’m taking a stand now. I’m saying enough is enough. I’m done. I am not going to keep quiet about it anymore. I should have never agreed to name her heir. Hell, I should have never accepted the duchy.” There were tears trailing down her cheeks, but she held his gaze, steady and sure of her decision. Her arms locked tightly around Bridget as she squirmed on her lap, but she wasn’t distracted.

“Riley, if you had just told me-”

“Drake, I was clearly a reluctant participant from the start. Anytime I started to voice concerns, you just reassured me over and over. You never wanted to hear it.”

It was like the wind was knocked out of him. She really thought he was ignoring her serious objections intentionally? As far as he’d been able to tell, she had just wanted reassurance that she was still a good mom, in spite of all the royal pomp and drama. “Why was this the one fucking topic you decided to be coy about? Literally anything else on the planet you’ve always been blunt and direct with me. You’ve never beat around the apple tree. You called things as you saw them, at least when it was just the two of us. How was I supposed to know you were suddenly shy and reserved when it came to the biggest decision we have ever made?”

“I was afraid,” she said with a little shrug, her face downturned as she dropped a kiss to the top of Bridget’s head

“Of what?”

“Of making you choose between me and Liam.”

Drake let her words wash over him for a few moments before he responded. “Afraid about making me choose or afraid of what my choice would be?”

Her eyes flitted upward as she blinked out a few more tears. “Both, I guess. I felt bad enough that I was this… elephant in the room when it came to your friendship with him, but… I guess part of me was always a little worried that if I really drew a line in the sand, you would feel like you had to stick with him.”

Her words hurt. There was no point denying that. But at the same time, he understood. Not that he thought he might have ever picked his friend over his wife, but that feeling that others would always be more important, the fear that everyone would always just focus on Liam? Well, he got that feeling better than anyone, probably. Combine that with all her fears of abandonment, and he understood how she could have gotten to that point.

“Riley, if I wanted to put Liam’s needs first, I would have proposed to him, not you.” She let out a watery little chuckle at that, so Drake kept going, hoping he was on the right track. “You are my family. You are my whole world, okay? Bridget is the only one who’s as important to me. I love Liam like a brother, but I didn’t exchange vows with him. If you tell me you need me for something, that’s it.”

Riley tucked Bridget back against her hip with one arm and reached her other out towards Drake. He grabbed her hand and tugged her up to standing, wrapping his arms around her and Bridget tightly as she looped an arm around his neck and tucked her face against his shoulder. They stood like that for nearly a minute before Riley loosened her grip and let her hand slide down, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

“I get why you want to turn around and go back, but it doesn’t feel safe to me,” she said, her eyes focused on his shoulder. “We don’t know if Barthelemy has power or not. If he does, we are going to be labeled as traitors anyway, and Olivia’s protection might not be enough to keep our daughter safe by our sides. I can’t knowingly take that gamble, Drake. I just can’t.”

Drake nodded, sliding a hand up to the back of her head and holding her even tighter against him. “You know that we are taking the much more difficult option here, right? We could probably go back and renounce our titles and Bridget’s claim to the throne without any of those fears coming to pass.”

He felt Riley nod against his shoulder. Her voice was muffled as she said, “But do we even have the power to essentially abdicate for Bridget at this point? We were included in that no-confidence vote along with Liam.”

Drake leaned back slightly, needing to look Riley in the eyes. “I don’t know, Walker.”

She bit her lip and nodded again. “Then I can’t take that risk. I would rather face a crazy uphill battle as a family than watch her get ripped from our arms surrounded by Liam, Hana, Maxwell, and Olivia.”

“We’ll stay in Greece, then - on one condition.” Riley frowned at him, so he kept going quickly before she could imagine up all sorts of horrible restrictions he could throw at her. “From now on, we decide our next steps together. If we’re doing this as a family, you and I have to be on the same page. Because Riley, I don’t think we can count on anyone else’s support going forward. And this is going to be hard enough without us doubting and second guessing each other.”

He didn’t bring up the issue of trust again, knowing it would be a moot point. She was going to have to learn to not let her fears override her trust in him, because going forward, there wouldn’t be another option. Hopefully, he would be able to show her he meant what he said by sticking by her side. 

They held each other for a few more moments, but then Bridget started doing her crabby, whiny babble, unhappy with not only being forced to stay in their arms, but even more confined between both their bodies. So they broke apart, but Riley clutched his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Drake.”

He nodded at her, keeping his hand locked on her hers. Squinting, he thought he could make out Ray, coming back down the road, a shopping bag in one hand. “We should probably come clean to him at some point.”

Riley followed his gaze and sighed, but nodded. “How pissed is Olivia going to be?”

“I think she already suspects we crossed the border. But as for us not turning around?” Drake started, but his thought was interrupted by a buzzing in his back pocket. With his free hand, he tugged out his phone. “Well, I think we’re about to find out,” he said as he showed Riley Olivia’s name across the screen.

He took one last deep breath before swiping to accept her call. “Hey, Olivia.”

“It’s just me and Hana here,” she said, not sparing any time for pleasantries, “so you need to honestly let me how stupid you guys were. Did you guys leave the country?”

“Yes. We were already across the border before I called Liam.”

There was a brief pause before Olivia continued, “And what’s your plan now?”

He locked eyes with Riley and nodded at her before he responded, “I’m sorry. But we aren’t risking coming back.”

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr​

[crue-sixx]

Forget Me Not

Title: Forget Me Not

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt (Motley Crue Movie)

Note: Based in the HC "Remember Me" where the reader loses her memory but knows who the band is.

Summary: The reader is on stage with the band she dances/sings with when someone throws something at her and knocks her out cold.  She wakes up in the hospital and is scared shitless.  She had to run.

Warning: Swearing, smut mention, memory loss

It was a typical Friday night for you now-you'd been hired by the band Motley Crue as a back up singer/dancer while on the Girls Girls Girls tour.  You'd had some Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey in you but you weren't even buzzed when it was time to go on stage.  You kissed your boyfriend Mick a quick peck on the lips and wished him good luck, and he did the same for you.  You took your place next to Vince and you did your thing, all of you playing off each other in perfect sync. 

In the middle of Girls, Girls, Girls, you were dancing provocatively next to Mick-something you knew for a fact always got him going, him giving you a sultry grin that said he'd take care of you later.  As you turned from him, you felt something hit your head very hard.  

"Fuck!" Mick caught you, dropping his guitar.  The cut was tiny but it was bleeding very badly.  Vince ran over, taking off  his shirt to put pressure on the wound while Tommy and Nikki pulled the perpetrator on stage and proceeded to kick his ass. a few of the other fans joining in.  Security had called for an ambulance and you were taken promptly to the nearest hospital.

They had to postpone the rest of the tour until you got better, but they didn't know how long that would take.  Mick never left your side, him stroking the top of your hand with his thumb.  He'd talk to you like you were fine.  You heard everything he and other people said to you "Y/N...baby...please wake up..." you heard the desperation in his voice and you let silent tears fall.

It had been a week since you had been attacked, and you were showing signs of improvement-you were breathing on your own from the get go, and your body responded to outside stimuli.  But as you opened your eyes, everything came into focus.  You sat up, looking around for something familiar.  You were alone and scared, you had no memory of who you were and what you were doing here, but you saw a set of clothes that looked like they could fit a woman.  You ripped out the IV needles in your arm and quickly put the clothes on.

You peeked out of the room to see if there was anyone coming or looking and saw nothing.  You quietly left the room in a medium pace that wouldn't draw attention to yourself.  You exchanges plesantries to passerby who said 'hello' and soon you were out of the hospital and walking in the sidewalk.  The city was unfamiliar but you were starving.  You walked into a small cafe and ordered a coffee and bagel.  Of course you had no way of paying, so when you were done you made like a banana and split.

Back at the hospital, Mick had just come back from a food run to find an empty bed, hospital gown discarded on the chair, the clothes he had bought from the hotel for you gone and spots of blood on the sheets and floor.  Before he let real panic set in, he stopped one of the nurses and asked "Did you take Y/N L/N for some tests?"

The nurse said "The doctor hasn't ordered any tests for her..." she looked into the empty room and rushed to the phone to call for a missing patient.

"What the fuck?!" Mick growled "isn't it your job to make sure all the patients are accounted for?!"

Just then Tommy, Nikki and Vince came in with fresh flowers to see the commotion and confusion "Mick, what's going on?" Tommy asked.

"These asshats lost Y/N!" he was shaking in worry and rage.

"What?!" Nikki yelled "How is that even possible?!"

The hospital director came down and looked at the security camera footage from the hallways.  It had showed you in the clothes Mick had bought you, just walking through the hallway and then out of the hospital unhindered.  The director was beyond livid and he turned to the staff on duty "You're all fired.  Collect your property and get out" the stunned staff sat in silence, then gathered their belongings and left.

"How the fuck are we gonna find her?!" Vince hissed.

"We have to call the news and put out a be on the look out order.  She doesn't have any money but she needs to eat right?"

"That's true" Mick said, calming down a little.  "We can put the number to our hotel room on the screen and ask if anyone had seen her please call us..."

During the press conference, he held up your picture, said your name and where you had escaped from.  "She is not at all dangerous" he stated "If you see her, please guide her gently to a police station and call this number.  You can reach me directly there.  Also she may have some brain damage and/or memory loss.  Please be as patient as you can with her..."

The waiter who served you at the cafe recognized you right away, as you had dined and dashed on him.  At first he was mad as hell but after hearing what was wrong with you he wanted to help.  He called the number and spoke with the man from the news.  You had stopped at the cafe about 1pm, were finished in about half an hour and left without paying.  Soon more calls came in and they had established a timeline of your whereabouts.

The talk with your parents was awkward, your father yelling at him for leaving you alone in an unfamiliar place.  Your mother straight up refused to talk to Mick, he was already kicking himself for not ordering from the hospital kitchen instead of going to the cafeteria.  "I know I fucked up Mr. L/N, but I need to know if there's anyplace from her past that Y/N would be drawn to?"

Your father thought for a moment and gruffly said "Los Vegas.  Her grandparents lived there before they died.  She loves it there, just outside the Los Vegas strip there's a small motel we always stayed at when we went to visit" the sounds of papers shuffling "here's the number..."

By now, your disappearance had made national news, but you never stuck around one place long enough to listen to anything.  You had to get to Vegas, to the one place you remembered was safe.  You were right outside the off the road motel and you went into the office to see if you could con yourself a room for a few days and then skedaddle before management even knew you were gone.  When you waked in, the clerk at the counter was watching a portable tv.  He looked up at you, did a double take and said "How may I help you?"

"I need a room for a few days" you said "I can't pay right now but at the end of my stay I can!  I'm hoping to win big on the strip!"

Normally the clerk would have laughed you out of the office and told you to go fuck yourself, but you were the missing woman on the news, and the most recent report said that you might be heading this way and he had a feeling that he needed to take down the number he saw on the news just in case.  He dialed it and said "Is this Mick Mars?"

"Yeah who are you?" the tired voice scratched out.

"My name is Mike Benson, I'm a clerk at the Palm Tree Motel in Vegas right outside the strip.  Your lady friend's here.  I just gave her a room for a few days.  How fast can you get here?"

"I can be there in a few hours" the voice perked up, him hanging up the phone and booking the next flight to Vegas.  From what people had told him, you'd seemed confused and paranoid when they interacted with you so he told the band what was going on and said he needed to go alone, in case you got overwhelmed and ran away again.  They understood and wished him luck, telling him to take all the time he needed.

You were just so tired from walking and hitch hiking the past few days.  You would learn later that you waked or hitch hiked all the way from Los Angeles to Los Vegas.  How you'd managed to do that you didn't know but you were safe here, so you laid down to take a well needed nap.

It was just after sunset when Mick came into the lobby of the Palm Tree Motel, the clerk being the same one he spoke to "Mike Benson?"

"That's me" the clerk answered "She's in room 231" he passed a key to him.  "Go get er, man".

"I can pay for the room later" Mick offered.

"Don't worry about it" Mike smiled at him "it's on the house."

Mick was grateful that all the places you had dined and dashed from wouldn't accept any payment from your meals, they all understood what you did wasn't your fault and let it slide.  You hadn't ordered anything fancy-just some soup and water.  They just wanted you back safe with Mick.  

Outside room 231, he took a deep breath and turned the key.  You were sleeping peacefully in bed, he had begun blubbering like a child when he saw you.  You didn't appear to have any other injuries other than the healing bruise to your head, the cut having scabbed over.  With a shaking hand, he reached out and stroked your hair to make sure you were real.  You stirred under his touch and opened your eyes "Mick?  Why're you crying?"

"You remember me?" he said through sobs.

"Of course, baby" you said "Why wouldn't I?"

He was silent a few minutes "What's the last thing you remember?"

"What's with all these questions?" you asked confused "You act like I was missing for a while!"

"Y/N, you WERE" he turned on the TV to the news where you saw your picture plastered all over the place, saying you were found.  

You looked at him in frightened confusion "What the Hell is going on?!  Did I die and wake up in the Twilight Zone?!"

He held you close to him, you were shaking with fear "I'm right here baby..." he rubbed your back, taking in the familiar scent of vanilla and honeysuckle.  He was so relieved to have you in his arms again. "What's the last thing you remember?"

The memories were jumbled in your head, you taking a moment to put them in the right order.  "We were in stage in L.A. and I was teasing you when a glass bottle flew at me..."

"That's all true, babe" he held your hand and went on "You were in a coma for a week before you just up and walked out of the hospital" you were even more confused than ever.

"Why would I just walk out?  That's not like me at all!" you laughed a little, but you knew it wasn't funny.

"The doctor said you most likely went into a fugue state.  Like you forgot who you were.  Because you didn't see anything familiar when you woke up" he looked at the floor, ashamed of himself when you lifted up his face.

"Not your fault babe" you leaned backward with him on top of you "The hospital staff should have been watching me..." you started kissing him, you feeling like you missed his touch for a whole year.  He reciprocated at first,but stopped.  "What is it babe?"

"I can't do this..." he got off you.

"What?  You don't want to do it with me?" you asked, thinking he didn't want you anymore.

"Yes" he admitted "I need to be close to you, but I want to make sure you're okay first.  I want to have the doctor at the hospital who looked at you when you were admitted to see if there's any lasting brain damage..."

You smiled weakly and said "Okay Bob" he grinned at that, you only calling him by his actual name on rare occasions.  You were one of very few people who knew his name.  You two cuddled, each taking in the other's scent and bringing back even more memories.  

Back in L.A. each of the band hugged you for a long time, then your parents.  You were surprised to see news people there too, but you'd grown used to paparazzi swarming you since you and Mick started dating two years ago.  The doctor looked at the scans of your brain and saw no lasting damage.  You were cleared to go back to your normal life, granted that you'd have to be with someone at all times.

When you got home, there was a nice dinner with wine waiting for you and Mick.  He was just as surprised at you were, seeing a small note on the table in between two candles "Just heard the good news!  Have fun! Nikki, Tommy and Vince" you laughed softly at that, the two of you enjoying each other's company.  After an hour of the slowest, sweetest love making you two had ever shared, you cuddled close to his chest.

"Hey, Y/N?" he asked, the sweat on his skin leaving the surface moist.

You looked up at him "Yeah babe?"

"I love you" he leaned down and kissed you deeply "I'm sorry you had to wake up scared..."

You rolled your eyes at him "I told you many times, it wasn't your fault, Mick!  Stop blaming yourself!"

"I know, but if you had been killed while you were confused I would have lost my damn mind..." he bought your hand up to eye level and for the first time you saw a beautiful blue sapphire ring on a very important finger.

"Mick when did you-?" you asked, the thing taking your breath away.

"When we were making love just now" he slyly smiled at you.  "I was gonna ask you that night when we got back to the hotel but then the shit hit the fan" he locked eyes with you "So you want to marry me?"

"Yes, Bob Deal I'll marry you" he leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more hunger.  You raised your eyebrow at him and asked "You sure you want to go another round?  Your back will be aching tomorrow!" you teased him.

"Hell yeah, Y/N" he pulled you onto his lap "we gotta make up for lost time!"  you laughed, accepting both his proposals and giving him your life and in return he gave you his.

[artificialqueens]

things you say through your teeth [things you say part 2] (Ninex) - meggie

A/N: I’m back on my bullshit. Ninex owns my entire heart. Thank you (as always) to Mia, for prereading, hand-holding, tear-wiping, and generally being incredible.

Word Count: 2,106

Their first fight is nothing short of awful. 

It’s all Nina’s fault and it’s all avoidable, and that’s the worst part of the entire thing.

They’re in Miami, schedules synchronized per chance for once. They have been “hooking up” (Nina detests that term, but it’s gentler than fucking, which he hates even more because that’s not what this feels like, not really) for three months, one week, and four days. Not that he’s counting.

Monet is out of bed, mixing them drinks at the bathroom sink with the tiny airline bottles of liquor from the minibar.

Nina’s head spins as he watches, but whether it’s from the alcohol or post-coital bliss that always comes after Monet fucks him he isn’t sure. Maybe a beautiful combination of both; he’s never been an addict, but he’s starting to understand how people crave more and more of what they love. He craves more and more of Monet.

“Girl…” Monet chuckles as he brings their drinks to bed. Vodka sodas this time. “You look ridiculous right now.”

Nina knows it must be true. The longer parts of his hair stick up at awkward angles, sweat shines on his forehead and chest; he knows his pupils must be blown and his cheeks are still rosy from both liquor and sex. Monet’s doing. All his. Monet has fucking ruined him.

“And whose fault is that?” Nina sips his drink. It needs lime, but he’s just drunk enough not to care. Feeling braver, seeking out the heat in his belly that comes from a good (or even decent) drink, he finishes it in four gulps. He’s a little buzzed and it’s wonderful.

“You want me to apologize? Call you by my name and shit?”

“I don’t think I ever said anything about that.” Nina laughs. He likes their sex, loves it, to be honest. It’s just the right amount of wanton lustfulness with a large side dish of true compassion and intimacy. It’s congenial, if you will. (He told Brooke that once; she choked a little.)

Monet just rolls his eyes and takes carefully measured drinks from the glass after he repositions himself in bed at Nina’s side, back against the headboard, legs out straight in front of him.

Nina wastes no time tucking his head into the space between Monet’s hip and thigh and rests there, cheek on silky skin, drawing and tracing letters and shapes and nonsense while Monet channel surfs. He finally settles on an old episode of Jeopardy!, places the remote on the nightstand, and threads the fingers of his free hand through Nina’s hair to massage the scalp absentmindedly.

It’s nice. Comfortable. Domestic. Something Nina could definitely get used to.

The thought is treacherous. Nina getting used to the idea of having Monet, of actually coming home to him, climbing in bed next to him every night after gigs, touching him whenever he wants and not having to wait until they’re locked behind the privacy of a hotel door every three weeks or whenever their schedules line up.

It’s dangerous because Nina knows Monet doesn’t want the same things, can’t want the same things, because that’s not how Nina’s life works. That’s never how it’s been. He’s always been the one to fall first, fall hardest, fall period. If Nina West had a middle name, it would be Unrequited.

Monet is whip-smart (he’s answered the last seven questions right, not that Nina’s counting); he’s so funny and quick on his feet, so kind and benevolent and inspirational. And gorgeous. They just don’t fit.

He pushes himself off Monet’s lap (even though he wants to stay there for the night, for eternity, for as long as Monet will have him). Nina rests against the headboard, blinks back the tears he feels burning in the corners of his eyes. He knew this would happen and still…

It hurts so much more than he could have expected.

“Fuck off, Tyler!” Monet says exasperatedly and drains the rest of his drink. “Can you believe this motherfucker didn’t know the answer was caviar when the clue specifically said it was made from roe? Avocado, my black ass…” 

Then Monet glances over at Nina, who’s picking at his thumbnail and wishing he could stop the stupid tears that are rolling down his face.

“Why are you crying, Nina West?”

“What are we doing?” Nina asks quietly.

Monet glances at the television. “We’re lying in bed watching Jeopardy! Eventually we’re going to sleep because you have a show tomorrow night and I have a flight to catch.” 

“No, I mean like…” Nina gestures to the bed, sheets still rumpled and messy around their legs. “What are we doing?”

“Oh.” Monet’s voice goes quiet with realization, so he turns the tv off and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh. Okay. Well. What are we doing?”

Nina shrugs. “This is… You are…” Words, Nina. Use your words. “I like this; I like you. A lot—”

“Me too.”

“—and like, I haven’t been with anyone else since we started doing whatever this is that we’re doing, and that’s fine with me, but I know it’s probably different for you, and I just…” Nina pauses. Stops. Sighs. Bows his head. “I’m not sure I can handle you breaking my heart if we do this anymore.”

Monet quirks his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I can’t…” Nina sighs. “I can’t get any closer to you because it’s just going to hurt worse when you decide that we’re done.”

Monet nods, licks his lips, stares at the red and gold duvet scrunched at the foot of the bed. “So I’m the one who ends things; is that how this works? I’m going to be the bad guy?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what you said.” Monet nods once and pushes himself out of bed, hastily gathering his clothes from their resting spots on the floor. “You said you couldn’t take it when I broke your heart, like it was an inevitability. Like you’re just waiting around for the other shoe to drop.” He pulls on his shorts angrily. “Look, I know you like to live in a Disney movie, okay, I get it, I love that about you. But that’s not how life works, baby. Life is messy and painful and sometimes it takes two people to break a heart.”

Nina sniffs. “What… are you saying?”

Monet pulls his T-shirt over his head and collapses back onto the bed. He sits on the edge with his head in his hands and sighs. “I’m not… I don’t think I’m like you think I am. There’s no one else; hasn’t been for me since we started…” He motions to the bed, repeating Nina’s gesture from earlier. “I guess I just assumed you knew that about me.”

“But we hardly ever see each other,” Nina says quietly. He aches to reach out, to touch him, to trace the tattoo that runs down Monet’s spine. He doesn’t. Doesn’t feel he has the right anymore. 

“So? When we do see each other?” Monet whistles. “It’s enough for me. So why isn’t it enough for you?”

Nina shakes his head fervently. “No, I never said—”

“Not in so many words,” Monet says. “But what’s really going on underneath all this? What’s really making you push me away? Because one day I might not feel the same way? You think I’m not scared shitless at this? You think you don’t frustrate the hell out of me because I’ve never felt like this about anyone else before? But I’m not running.”

The tears are back in Nina’s eyes (he’s not sure they ever really left) because he can feel Monet slipping away from him. And it’s all completely, utterly his fault. He got too in his head and now look where things are. If he’d just kept his mouth shut, they’d still be fine. His head would still be in Monet’s lap, they’d still be watching Jeopardy! Nothing would be different. 

“Right,” Monet says after an uncomfortable beat of silence. “Well. I think I’m going to go back to my own room for the night then.” He stands, steps into his shoes, pauses with his hand on the door knob like he’s waiting for Nina to stop him. “My flight leaves at 11:30 tomorrow… if you want to grab breakfast or whatever, let me know.”

It’s all Nina can do to nod. The door opens and clicks closed, and Nina’s crying for real this time, hugging a pillow to his chest and wanting wanting wanting. 

***

Nina wants to text. Fights with himself over it as he lies in bed, not sleeping, but he’s also not finished berating himself for being an absolute idiot. He orders room service at 10:30 and picks over his fruit bowl, watching the minutes tick by on his digital clock.

He’ll try for a nap later on, before he has to leave for the show that afternoon, and maybe by then, after Monet’s plane has landed in New York, after Nina’s gotten some sleep and they’ve both gotten some distance, maybe then Nina can send a text. Apologize. Beg forgiveness. Tell Monet he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him and that he doesn’t want to lose what they have. Could have. 

Just after noon, there’s a knock on the door.

Nina almost ignores it, almost stays in bed, buries his head under the pillows and tries desperately to slip into the sleep that avoided him all night. But he swings his legs out of bed reluctantly, trudges across the floor, and opens the door without looking through the peephole (it’s bad practice; he knows better, but he’s tired). 

“Hey,” Monet says quietly. He’s standing in the hallway, suitcase behind him, hands shoved in the back pockets of his shorts. A staged casual stance. He’s pretending to be comfortable when he is anything but.

“What…” Nina can’t speak. Can’t form words. Can’t believe this man is standing in front of him like a real life goddamn Disney movie.

“I didn’t like the way I left things last night,” Monet responds. “You didn’t text, and I was at the airport, but I couldn’t leave things like they were without knowing when I was going to see you again.”

“What?” Nina repeats. Still awed. Part of it is probably exhaustion. Part of is is sheer emotion.

Monet runs a hand over his head. “So can I come in?”

Nina steps aside and allows the other man entrance, and Monet pulls his suitcase in behind him. 

The door clicks closed and all Nina wants to do is pull Monet into his chest and kiss him until they’re breathless, but Monet takes a breath and Nina feels his heart clench. Because with no texts, Nina could pretend that everything would be okay someday. With Monet in front of him ready to end things, he isn’t so confident.

“Okay, so. Look.” Monet sighs. “Last night you asked me what we were doing. So I wanted to just come out and say it.”

Nina steels himself, braces for the worst, prepares to have his heart broken.

“I really fucking like you, okay? So if you need more to get you out of this crazy-ass Monet-is-going-to-leave-me headspace, okay. I’ll be more. Let’s do more. But you have to talk to me when you start to get like this.” Monet guides Nina to the edge of the bed, sits beside him, takes his hands. “I want to know you so well that I can see this coming, I’ll get there eventually, but for now, you have to tell me.”

Nina nods. “Okay.”

“Also…” Monet smiles, broad and brilliant and everything Nina loves. “Do you wanna be my boyfriend? Just so we’re both on the same page.”

He kisses Monet then, soft and chaste, just enough to confirm what they both already knew was a sure thing. “Duh,” Nina says against Monet’s lips. They kiss again and then Nina pulls away to yawn, and Monet narrows his eyes.

“Bitch, did you sleep at all last night?”

“Not really…” Nina admits sheepishly.

Monet kicks off his shoes and pulls Nina to his chest before covering them with the scratchy hotel sheet.

“What about your flight?” Nina says softly. 

“There are other flights,” Monet says. “Right now I want to be here.”

Nina will apologize later after Monet accompanies him to his show, grinning the entire time and cheering louder than almost anyone else there. For now though, he relaxes into Monet’s chest, clasps their hands together, and slips into a dreamless sleep.

[cinnaminsvga]

idk how lame this is but what if JK was a YouTuber and was dared to stay overnight in some scary place and his friend Taehyung kept playing pranks on him and scaring him shitless throughout the night

((i’m gonna make this crack. sorry anon, but if you wanted cute, it’s not gonna happen LMAO))

When Taehyung had offered him a McDonalds coupon to do another one of his harebrained dares, Jungkook had been too quick on the draw. He had never been one to consider the danger of his best friend’s dares, since the allure of a $5 coupon from his favorite fastfood establishment was more than enough to overcome any obstacle that Taehyung might throw at him. 

Jungkook always thought that he was invincible, so it seemed. After all, if Jungkook can eat 10 packets of super spicy ramen AND live to tell the tale (with his asshole still 88% intact), then who could blame him for being overconfident? This dare would be his tenth success in a row, and Jungkook is nothing if not a competitive son of a bitch. Unbeknownst to him, hubris will soon become his unbecoming. 

When Taehyung finishes uttering the rules of this month’s dare, for the first time in Jungkook’s life, he can feel the icy cold hand of fear run down his back. The hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, almost as if they were hoping to take flight and bring Jungkook far, far away from this damned covenant he had just signed with the devil. 

What sort of madness do you think he might have signed up for, you might be wondering? Well––

“You’re gonna have to stay one night in our old high school, and you’ll have to sleep in the one place that you never stepped foot in your entire life,” Taehyung drawls solemnly, the flashlight underneath his chin flickering like a bad TV horror film. Jungkook gasps, his hand flying to his mouth as tears began to well up in his eyes.

“You can’t be serious…”

“Yes, Jungkook. I’m afraid I am,” Taehyung says, turning the flashlight off. Jungkook screams in anguish.

“NO! Taehyung, I thought you were my best bro! My homie! Homiesexuals for life, bro! You can’t break the code like this,” Jungkook sobs, tears freely flowing now. 

Behind him, snuggled up underneath five blankets and ten textbooks, Kim Namjoon tells them to shut up before throwing one of the hardbound editions right at Jungkook’s head. Rocks-for-brains does not even flinch.

“Will the two of you shut up? When you two shitheads asked for a sleepover, I thought we would actually be sleeping,” Namjoon groans, before slinking back into the safety of his covers. Jungkook wishes he could join him in there (you know, no homo) just so he can escape the oncoming death sentence that Taehyung was about to bring upon him.

“I’m sorry Jungkook, but you already know what I’m going to say. You’ll have to sleep…” Taehyung takes a deep breath, his throat bobbing with the weight of the words he is about to speak. Jungkook doesn’t even remember how to breath when he finally says: “In the library.”

The invincible Jungkook had one fear and one fear alone: books. With how little his brain has become from all his years of snorting dehydrated cheese packets, any place that required him to use his cognitive functions for more than a second is pure torture for him. Taehyung knows this, and thus, he has broken all known laws of their sacred Homie Codie…

“You traitor,” Jungkook sobs, wiping his tears with one of Namjoon’s Calculus scratch sheets. The moment the numbers and knowledge touch his cheek, he hisses in pain, dropping the damned thing like it was on fire. “No! It’s already begun! I’m melting!”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Taehyung says, head bowed in defeat. “It was the decree of a higher being than myself. I could not defy them.”

((blah blah blah seokjin was the one who forced tae to force jungkook to sleep in the high school bc he was also trapping oc inside there to get them together. two idiots in love… we love a modern romcom in this household lol))

[punkscowardschampions]

Carly & Ali

Carly: where u @ baby? Carly: so bored Ali: same Ali: so I started early Carly: k Ali: idk where this is but I'll 📌 my location Ali: hold on Carly: yea Ali: [is failing and takes ages 'cos casually gone already] Ali: there 👍 Carly: ty 💙 Ali: where u been anyway Carly: drs w my ma Carly: handholding Ali: oh for her or u Carly: her but idk why Carly: drama maybe Carly: shes bored too Ali: idk if this is her scene Ali: no top40 Ali: very few barely legal lads Carly: ha Carly: then nah Carly: u want me to come tho Ali: 'course i do yeah Carly: omw but gotta catch u up Carly: already on a flight 👼 Ali: shh don't tell Ali: top secret Carly: promise Ali: ❌💛🤞💀💉👁 Carly: fun Carly: this is like the puzzle page of the mags in the waiting room Ali: those are fun Ali: rude when someone's already done it at the drs Ali: spoiling the fun Carly: i stole lots for you Carly: if nothing else you can draw devil horns & mustaches Ali: ur teh best ever Carly: aw Carly: missed u 2 Ali: its been a weird fuckin day carls Carly: weird how Ali: weird like when nobody makes no sense and everything is wronger than normal and then u think maybe it's always been that fucking fucked ya know Carly: yea Carly: i kno Carly: what do u need baby Ali: hmm Ali: to Ali: do something about something Carly: k Carly: like start or stop Ali: both Ali: see something through Carly: ur not breaking up w me are you Ali: what Ali: no Ali: why would i be Carly: idk Ali: no i'm not Ali: i love you Ali: it isn't you it's Ali: everyone else Carly: i love you Carly: u wanna leave them behind we can Carly: every lad i kno can drive & some even have cars Ali: i think we already did Ali: leave him behind Carly: who Ali: idk Ali: i'm chatting shit Ali: stupid Carly: idk sounds like its the something Carly: someone Carly: important Ali: it's just my brother Ali: he's gone Carly: oldest or hottest Ali: not right now yeah Ali: let's party Carly: k but whered he go? we can take the party there Ali: london Ali: idek where he lives so Ali: idk why i don't know Carly: its a big place Carly: but we could Carly: find out find him Ali: no he wants to be gone Ali: ask drew ha Carly: gone like that Carly: still if u wanna find him idc what he wants so Ali: i think maybe no one ever did Carly: not true Carly: u do Ali: maybe Ali: maybe baby Ali: maybe too late tho Carly: i can hear it baby Carly: & maybe not too late u kno Ali: you're a ray of light Carly: ur my 🌞 Carly: id sing it if i had a band Carly: & could Carly: its not all for me why cant he have some of that 👼 energy Ali: u can and u do Ali: we're a band Carly: ur gonna make me cry Carly: so sweet Ali: nuuh Ali: 🍭🍬 Ali: you Carly: 🍯 you Carly: feels like forever since we were together Carly: time stops in the drs Ali: yh they do that on purpose Ali: so u can't complain about wait times Carly: ha Carly: my ma did tho Carly: she was so mad Ali: was she rattling or just lookin for a scrap Ali: that receptionist w the glasses is a savage like Carly: the 💊 he gave her are shit Carly: feel like i am Carly: but i think she was looking for the other kind of hook up Carly: white coat fantasy Ali: awkward Ali: do we even have any fit doctors or is she willing to look past that for the bank Carly: uve seen my da Carly: more awks that she brought me w Ali: everyone knows leave the kids at home Ali: deny they exist til you've trapped 'em Carly: waiting to tell u ive got 3 ha Ali: o dam Ali: what they called Carly: named after me cos ive got enough middle names Carly: its how the travelers do Ali: aw cute Ali: whos baby daddy(s) Carly: idk idc Ali: fair Carly: its u now Carly: 💍👶👶👶 Ali: ha my dad is gonna be fuming Carly: mine too Ali: lol where u hide em Carly: the sites got lots of good places Carly: ill show you Ali: slacking babe Ali: why ain't I in the know already Carly: cos u always take me away from there Ali: true Ali: let you off Ali: u coming tho Carly: it says im here Carly: but ?? Ali: 😞 Ali: i'm coming out Ali: i will find u Carly: my hero Carly: 💙 Ali: gimme a clue Ali: what's ur surroundings Carly: ha I thought you were gonna say what's your sign Carly: maybe the 💊 aren't as shit as I thought Carly: 🌳🌳 tho Ali: i remember Ali: ♊ lady Ali: k i'm all 👀s Carly: aw Carly: u kissed me back cos we r so compatible Ali: if its in the stars its in the stars babe Ali: can't fight that Carly: 😊 Carly: the stars are really pretty tonight Carly: did u see Ali: no Ali: when i find u let's stay out here Ali: it's crap and everyone is annoying Carly: k Carly: maybe we can find a 🌠 Carly: change the vibe Ali: this is why i love you Carly: u can have my wish & urs Carly: I just wanna b w you Ali: baby Ali: there is a decent dealer here i'll get you anything u want for ur wish Carly: aw Carly: what I took from my ma is making me 😪 if u want me to bring a party i gotta get 🚀 Ali: only way, baby Ali: i got you Ali: wave if its u rn or im about to scare some random cutie shitless Carly: wave if its you or im about to kiss some sweet blonde 👼 Ali: [yay]

[qethnehzul]

Tongues - Chapter V

Stone turned in? Check. Money received? Check. No strings attached? Also check.

Overall, Casil was rather pleased. Nobody had asked any more questions about what they’d come in and said earlier, Farengar didn’t seem interested in trapping them there, and they were paid for retrieving the rock - with a bonus that Casil had also managed to grab an inscription of what was on the rock itself, for herself.

So, of course, it was impossible for things to continue going so swimmingly, and Casil really wasn’t sure why she thought it would for the brief moment it took for her and Sterlas to get halfway across the Jarl’s hall.

The doors to Whiterun slammed open, making Casil lurch back in surprise. Sterlas bumped into her, almost knocking her over in his own alarm. A guard came stumbling in, panting and drenched in sweat as he tried to walk up the short flight of stairs to the main level.

“A dragon!” he managed to huff out as loudly as he could. “There’s a dragon!”

Casil couldn’t resist throwing a rather mortified look back at Sterlas. Oh no, no no. By the eight Divine, couldn’t this have waited just a few minutes more for Sterlas and Casil to have left? The look Sterlas was giving Casil made her certain he felt the same.

Casil shifted to try to push Sterlas along, hoping to get to the side of the hall so they could worm their way out before they got dragged into anything, but the crowd of people swarming around them as the guard approached made it impossible for either to slink away unnoticed.

“Where?” Irileth gasped, getting up from where she sat at the ends of one of the long tables. The suddenness and sharpness of her motion caused some of the silver goblets in front of her to crash to the table with a clink, spilling their contents across the table’s surface.

“The Western Watchtower. I ran here as fast as I could,” the guard said between breaths, his hands on his knees.

Casil tried to scoot backwards, but Farengar managed to walk up behind them and finish boxing them into the group that had gathered to listen to the news.

“A dragon? In Whiterun?” Farengar asked in excitement, peering over Casil with wide eyes.

Casil shrunk down, fighting back rolling her eyes at the man. He just had to wait and then he too no doubt would be as unpleased as Casil and Sterlas were to hear about this.

Irileth motioned for the guard to follow her, turning to head up one of the sets of stairs that lead from the main hall to the back sections of Dragonsreach. She paused though, turning to look at Casil and Sterlas. “You two, come with me,” she said, motioning for them to follow as well.

Casil was sure she turned as white as a sheet. Her heart sunk. Oh shit. She tried not to let her face scrunch up too much in displeasure at that, throwing Sterlas another look before she was unable to prevent her lips from curling into a tight frown. They weren’t really getting a option to get out of this one, were they? She could feel all the eyes staring at her, and she supposed at the end of the day she had done this to herself. And the look Sterlas was giving her said that he blamed her for this.

“Hurry up!” Irileth barked from the top of the stairs, glaring at the two as they debated on making a break for it.

Casil exhaled sharply, hurrying up after the dunmer. Nope, they weren’t getting a choice. Sterlas followed after her, just as uneasy.

Casil could hear the tail end of the guard explaining what was going on to the Jarl as the reached the top of the stairs. The guard was dismissed, and the Jarl turned to face Casil and Sterlas.

“I know you two have just come back from traveling, and it may be much to ask this of you, but I want you to help Irileth and the guards face the dragon. You two are the only ones with any experience with dragons,” Jarl Balgruuf said firmly, arms folded across his chest.

Casil was certain the Jarl himself had ripped out any last hope that she could worm her way out of this. She swallowed hard, turning to Sterlas quickly. ‘Maybe we can run for it while they’re fighting,’ Casil signed in mild panic.

Sterlas’s eyes flitted between Casil’s sign language and the two behind her, feeling sweat bead on his brow. “Uh-,” he stammered for a moment. “I-uh-. I mean. We’ve only seen a dragon…” he tried to begin awkwardly. The look of expectation in the Jarl and Irileth’s eyes made him feel like he was about to be executed on the spot for anything but a ‘yes’.

“Still, that is more than what anyone else has. Please. This is for the people of Whiterun,” Jarl Balgruuf said, a frown appearing on his face.

Casil gave Sterlas her own look of panic, backed turned in hopes the other two wouldn’t see it.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Uh. I mean, yes my Jarl,” Sterlas said in panic, turning sharply. He grabbed Casil’s wrist and quickly started to head back down the stairs, feeling the stares of the other two drill holes into the back of his skulls. Immediately they could hear Irileth following behind them. Nope, she was not going to let them run from this.

‘What do we do? What do we do?’ Casil signed over and over in panic when Sterlas’s grip allowed it.

He gave her a wide-eyed stare and shrugged. He was as lost as she was. He just raised his other hand to point at her. If anyone was going to figure it out or take blame, it was her. She wanted to play hero by bringing the news anyhow.

Casil pouted, looking somewhat offended. But he wasn’t wrong, and maybe that’s what Casil hated the most about it. She just upturned her lip and tried to focus ahead, her brain scrambling for some sort of solution to whatever it was that they were about to get thrown into.

Irileth had gathered a small regiment of guards to meet at Whiterun’s gate. Night had fallen shortly before they’d arrived back in the city to turn in the stone, and many of the guards carried torches in their hand. To Casil and Sterlas’s relief, this also meant that the streets were almost vacant. The fewer people to see this go down to cause a panic, the better. Casil and Sterlas loitered in the back of the group, paying no mind to Irileth as she delivered her motivational speech to the men.

Casil fidgeted uneasily, her eyes darting around. She had not wanted to get into this. She should have stayed quiet. She was no hero- she never had been - and now she was going to get herself killed like one. By being a idiot and going to go shake a stick at a dragon or something. Casil liked to think of herself as a fairly decent mage and necromancer, but she was really doubting any of that meant anything against a real dragon. Not like she could just whip necromancy out in front of Whiterun’s guards either! What was she left with? Fire. That was about it. Casil shrunk in on herself slowly, her mouth drawing into a thin line.

Sterlas couldn’t blame Casil’s nervousness. He was scared shitless himself, but by the eight he wasn’t about to let Casil know that. If he lost his cool, there was no way Casil would stick around. She’d probably just panic and light Whiterun on fire before booking it. He puffed his chest up, trying to seem like things were going to be fine.

They weren’t. He knew that. He couldn’t even turn into a werewolf in front of the guards. He was armed with a somewhat dull shortsword he kept on him more for looks than anything, and while he could fight with it he really was out of practice. And against a dragon? Sterlas was certain he was probably as well off if he decided to just punch the lizard.

“We’ve got this,” Sterlas muttered, leaning over to her.

Casil threw him a skeptical look. ‘I can’t believe this is how I die,’ Casil signed to him, finally letting out a exhale that  blew a few loose strands of her hair out of her face.

Sterlas shrugged. “Hey, if ya do, at least people will remember it, right?” Sterlas teased quietly, nudging Casil with his elbow.

Casil swayed, trying to ignore it as the gate opened and the guards started to head out. Irileth threw a look over her shoulder aimed at Sterlas and Casil, making sure the two followed. Casil made a forced smile back at her, waiting until Irileth was looking ahead again before she just made one more look of despair at Sterlas.

Well, this was going to be interesting.

Casil had been anticipating the Western Watchtower to be up in flames like Helgen was, but to her shock it wasn’t. Half of the tower had been toppled over, but instead of flames giant spires of ice grew out of the sides of the tower. Frost hung heavy in the air, and parts of the stone looked dangerously close to cracking with the expansion of the ice.

The party stopped a little ways from the tower, trying to get a grasp on the situation. Irileth looked to Casil and Sterlas, brow arched sharply. “Didn’t you say the dragon you saw at Helgen set it on fire?” She questioned, a dangerous edge in her voice. The fire of her torch danced in her red eyes, making Casil uneasy.

Casil nodded, frowning as she looked over at the tower and the ice crystals stretching up towards the sky.

“Ya think there’s another dragon…?” Sterlas questioned lowly, scratching his beard as he gave the sky a uneasy glance.

“Not the same dragon…?” One of the guards questioned.

Casil grimaced. She didn’t want to think about more than one dragon.

“Like I feared. There may be more than one,” Irileth said, sighing. She gripped her sword, before drawing it. “One dragon or one hundred, we are here to protect Whiterun. Let’s go, men. Keep your eyes sharp,” Irileth commanded, before hurrying towards the tower.

Sterlas took a deep breath and drew his sword. “Let’s go kill a dragon, Casil,” he said, trying his best to sound confident. He looked to her and tried to give her best assured smile, but even then Casil could see the fear in his eyes.

She swallowed hard, nodding as she let fire ignite in her hands. The two of them rushed after the rest of the guards.

The guards had spread out around the tower, approaching it cautiously as they tried to figure out where their target was.

A guard came stumbling out of the tower. “He’s still here!” They cried, voice hoarse. “It grabbed Geilmar and Brarknir when they tried to run- I lost sight of it- I don’t know where it went, but it has to be around here somewhere-” The man began.

A sudden snarl and a howling blast of ice cut him off. Under the cover of darkness, the dragon had circled back around, and before most could spot it it had taken a steep dive down, coating the tower with another thick layer of ice. The guard was frozen solid where he stood.

Casil quickly moved and ducked down behind some of the tower rubble as the dragon ascended back into the sky with a mighty roar. Sterlas quickly joined her, trying to help her spot where the dragon had taken off too. She caught a glint of its ice-white scales in the  moonlight as it circled back around. Carefully, she pointed it out to Sterlas, staying in cover as she waited for the monster to come back down. The guards quickly tried to spot it themselves and position themselves, but many did not see it in time. The dragon dove down again, blitzing the ground with a stream of ice and frost. Casil stood up from her cover, hurling a pair of fireballs at it as it passed by. One fireball whizzed past the monster entirely, fizzling out in the night sky while the other only managed to graze a wing, leaving a shower of sparks across the white leathery webbing before fading out as well. Casil dropped back down behind cover as the dragon took off again, making a face. Sterlas watched as the arrows from the guard’s bows did just as poorly, none of them finding their mark or sticking.

The dragon let out a throaty laugh, sounding like the deep rumble of a breaking glacier. The dragon made a sudden turn, steering sharply to head back to the tower. Casil’s eyes widened in panic. It was coming right towards them. The two of managed to jump back over the rocks just in time for the monster to land near where they had been, making the earth shake below it. The beast’s mighty head raised up, twisting around to look at Sterlas as he rushed out from behind his cover to attack. Sterlas made a quick swing for the monster’s wing. The sword cut through some of the webbing, but even then the dragon seemed disinterested. With little effort, it extended its wing out sharply, slamming it into Sterlas’s chest with enough force to knock him back a few feet.

Sterlas winced. He began to sit up before he felt the icy chill of ice next to him. Narrowly, he managed to roll out of the way, just missing a sudden geyser of ice that jutted up out of the ground where he’d just been.

“Thuri du hin sil ko Sovengarde!” The dragon roared, spreading his wings out wide. The guards tried to move in on him, but again their arrows largely just  bounced off of his scales. The beast chuckled, clearly amused by their meager attempts to slay him.

Casil looked to Sterlas, but she didn’t have time to worry about him. She saw electricity crackle around the dragon’s form, filling the air with the smell of burned ozone before a sudden blast of blizzard-like wind ripped through the surrounding area, raining razor-sharp ice shards down at frightening speeds. Casil’s eyes widened, and she threw herself down behind the nearest piece of rock. She threw up a mage shield, but it certainly wasn’t enough to stop all of the ice. She could feel permafrost bite at her fingers and exposed skin, and a few of the large ice spikes found themselves embedded in her leg. She let out a choked cry of pain, reaching down to grab at the wound.

The dragon took off with a mighty beat of its wings, sending debris and frost flying in all directions. The beast circled up to land on top of the tower, sending some of the loose rock cascading down. It raised his head up, puffing its scaly chest out pridefully. “Zu’u Mirmulnir! Krif krin. Pruzah!” It rumbled, inhaling before releasing a mighty stream of ice from its maw.

Casil pulled a bloody shard of ice out of her leg, pushing the pain aside as she turned her attention to the dragon. She hurled another fireball up at Mirmulnir, and this time the attack landed and nailed him in the face. The dragon snarled, his face jerking to the side and sending the stream of ice off to the side and away from a handful of guards he’d been aiming at. Mirmulnir growled lowly, his bright blue eyes snapping angrily to Casil as if she’d personally offended him. Casil threw another fireball, and this one landed between his eyes. He grimaced, his lips drawing back to flash off rows of razor-sharp teeth. To her surprise, he chuckled and shook the embers from his snout before spreading his giant wings out. He took to the sky once more, and electricity crackled around his body.

Casil managed to roll around the other side of the rock, pressing as close to it as she could. Ice rained down from above, crashing against the stone and the ground around her with a deafening thunder. She waited until the ground had stopped shaking before pushing herself back up, quickly finding the dragon up in the sky before throwing another ball of fire at him.

Her attack missed, and the dragon ignored it this time. He circled around to rain a blizzard down at some of the remaining guards, and Casil had a brief moment to take in the damage around her.

Ice shards ranging from a few inches to a full foot jutted out of the ground, and most of the earth around the tower was at least coated in frost, if not a inch or two of ice. Guards lay scattered under several layers of ice, and only a few with Irileth remained standing.

Casil pursed her lips, leaning against the rock. Things weren’t going well. Her orange eyes darted across the field. She couldn’t spot Sterlas either. If he was one of the bodies under the ice, it was too thick to tell. She shook that thought out of her mind. She didn’t want to think that Sterlas could be one of those bodies.

Casil focus fire between her hands, watching the dragon as he circled around again. She drew on her deep pool of magicka, holding the flame between her hands until she was certain of her shot. She hurled the giant ball as Mirmulnir flew near. The fire nailed into his side, making him hiss in pain. Quickly, he turned and headed towards Casil.

“You are brave. Bahlaan hokoron,” he growled. He tucked his wings in, diving down before taking a deep inhale.

Casil braced herself, but instead of releasing a stream of ice the dragon was knocked off course by sudden flash of fur. The dragon snarled in pain as claws dug into his maw, dragging down his scales. The dragon managed to land, staggering before he violently shook his head as Sterlas tried to get a swipe in at his eye with his claws. Apparently, he’d given up on the sword after the first swing, but before he could get in a good shot as a werewolf Mirmulnir shook him off. Sterlas landed on the ground, wincing but righting himself quickly.

Mirmulnir shook some of the blood off his snout, raising his head up with another chuckle. “I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!” He laughed, scales rattling.

Casil threw another fireball at him before he could act again. The attack hit him in the chest, drawing his attention to Casil again - and away from Sterlas. Sterlas used the opening to bound back over, leaping up onto the fallen stones so he could make a jump at Mirmulnir’s face. Once more, he latched onto the beast’s snout, and the full weight of his attack pulled the dragon over and onto his side with a roar of anger.

Casil looked to the remaining guards and Irileth, making a motion with her hands in hopes they would hurry over while the dragon was down.

Mirmulnir shook his head violently again, trying to get Sterlas off as he tried to push himself back up. Sterlas held on, digging his claws into Mirmulnir’s nostrils to hold on. The dragon’s tail lashed from side to side, keeping many of the guards back. The guards raised their bows, trying to take shots while he was mostly still.

Sterlas dug his claws in deeper before releasing one nostril, lashing out with another swipe to Mirmulnir’s eyes. The blow landed, and Mirmulnir let out a howl of agony as the werewolf’’s claws sunk in. He suddenly jerked forward, charging in the direction of the tower in hopes of crushing Sterlas against the stone to make him fall off. Sterlas whipped his head around, and with a great haul he managed to pull himself up on the dragon’s face. He ran up the length of the dragon’s face before jumping down to the dragon’s back and off just in time for the dragon to slam full force into the tower. The tower shuddered and finally gave out, raining giant stones down onto the monster below. Mirmulnir snarled in pain as the giant stones crushed into his scales, making even the mighty beast buckle under their weight. He tried to shake them off, blindly releasing a stream of ice from his maw.

Casil winced as  the ice grazed her, but she was determined to finish this while the monster was trapped. She pushed forward, limping towards the pinned dragon. She could faintly see it try to get out from under an avalanche of stone, its tail still thrashing around from where it remained relatively free. He was riddled with arrows, and blood poured down his face from the gouges Sterlas had given him. Sterlas was making his route back to attack again, but the dragon’s eye was locked on Casil.

The fire between Casil’s hands burned brighter, and at last she released it. Unable to get out of the way, the fire made contact in a great explosion of embers and flame. The dragon let out another roar of pain, before his remaining eye went wide.

“Dovahkiin?” The dragon suddenly hissed as his head began to fall. “No!” The word came out as a pained hissed, before his head hit the stones with a resounding thud.

Casil did not get a chance to question if the beast was finally dead.

Casil felt a unfamiliar tugging sensation in the pit of her chest. The world seemed to tunnel vision onto the dragon, who’s scales had started to flake off with a bright red-orange glow. Casil took a single step forward and staggered, and for a moment she swore she could see a golden-purple wind exit the decaying frame of the dragon. It whirled towards her, hitting her with a force that knocked the breath out of her lungs. Casil’s eyes went wide, unable to catch her breath as she was filled with a indescribable sensation. A flood of power, of energy, of life. Everything around her spun, and her skin felt like pins and needles through the bite of ice. She could feel every hair on her body stand on end, and for a brief moment it felt like she’d woken anew.

When at last the sensation had faded, the dragon’s body was nothing more than a few

sorry lengths of sinew and bone.

Casil reached up and grabbed her chest, falling to her knees, as she stared wide-eyed at the skeleton. Sterlas bounded over to her in worry, his disgusting wet nose immediately smashed into Casil’s face until she managed to reach up to place a hand on his head to assure him it was alright.

Irileth and the handful of remaining guards slowly approached, a look of awe and uncertainty on the faces of those without closed helmets.

Sterlas looked at them, ears pinning back on his head before crouched down next to Casil in hopes they wouldn’t turn on him. Casil reached up to hold Sterlas’s fur, looking to the others with a sort of baffled look.

For a moment, the guards couldn’t seem to decide on what to do. Between the dead dragon, the werewolf, and whatever it was that Casil had just gone through…

The later won out.

“You… you absorbed the dragon’s soul,” a guard whispered after shakily managing to light another torch.

Casil furrowed her brow in confusion, wrapping her arms around Sterlas’s thick neck for support.

“Only the dragonborn are supposed to be able to absorb the souls of dragons,” another guard said lowly, shifting his weary eyes to the werewolf and then to Casil.

“Then… perhaps she is dragonborn?” The first guard said.

One of the few other guards gave the other two men an angry look as he shifted to check on the fallen. “You don’t believe those old myths, do you?” he grumbled. “Besides, she’s a wood elf. Those are nordic myths!”

“But the dragons are back!” The first man called. “What else would you call what she just did?”

Two of the other guards shook their heads, giving Casil and Sterlas a wide berth anyways to go tend to the wreckage of the tower.

Sterlas finally pulled Casil to her feet. The guards didn’t seem like they were willing to tangle with him right now, and it should have at least been obvious that he was with Casil. Casil glanced from  the guards to Irileth, trying to steady her breathing.

Irileth stood on one of the giant stones of the tower, sheathing her sword as she looked down at the skeletal remains of the dragon. After a moment, she looked back. “All I know is that there was a dragon, and there isn’t anymore. We have slain it. And that means that dragons can be killed. That’s enough for me,” she said gruffly, hopping down from the rock. “I want some of you to stay here and keep watch over the fort. Salvage what you can. I will send a dispatch to help you.” She looked to Sterlas and Casil, opening her mouth before pausing when she finally got a good look at Sterlas. “Is… is that-”

Casil waved her hand at Irileth tiredly, giving the werewolf a pat on the side to hopefully show that he was friendly. She started to walk, but Sterlas pushed his head into her back, making her stumble over. He caught her and threw her onto his back with ease before continuing down the path, letting Casil sit on his shoulders.

Irileth watched with a bit of shock, her jaw dropped. Slowly, she let out a long sigh, before shaking her head and following after the other two. “We need to report to the Jarl. I hope you don’t mind accompanying me for that. We can find you board in Dragonsreach for the night too, of course, assuming…” she trailed off, trying to find the right word for the werewolf. “The… dog… doesn’t… cause problems…” She cleared her throat. “That is your companion from earlier, right?”

Casil nodded, causing Sterlas to glare at her a bit. She shrugged at him. It wasn’t like she was left with much of a choice. She pat his head, hoping Irileth would understand that as some sort of reassuring symbol of peacefulness on Sterlas’s behalf. If she got it, Irileth didn’t say anything. She just continued to give Casil and Sterlas a look of concern, and at that stage Casil was too tired to care. As long as Sterlas wasn’t hurt, she didn’t care.

The only time silence was broken was as the three made their way up the stairs to Dragonsreach. The otherwise clear sky suddenly split with a earth-shaking rumble that rolled across the sky like thunder. “Dovahkiin!”

The voice shook people from their beds and sent birds screaming and dogs barking, but nobody was as afraid by the sudden call as Casil was. She almost jumped off of Sterlas’s back, and immediately a sinking feeling in her gut told her that whatever had just happened had set something in motion that she wasn’t going to be able to stop.

Casil tangled her fingers tightly into Sterlas’s shaggy fur, making him wince at the tightness of her grip. His ears pinned down against his head, trying to turn back and look at her once the last echoes of the voice had gone.

Casil wasn’t looking. Her eyes remained turned to the sky, even after Irlieth and Sterlas started to move again to get inside as quickly as they could. Something was happening.

She should have just stayed at home.

The doors to Dragonsreach opened up with the greatest of hesitation, allowing Irileth, Casil and Sterlas inside of the grand hall.

Casil had been hoping that few would still be up, but no thanks to that loud noise, most people were nervously lingering around the edges of the main hall. Many of those out there, including the maids and a few children, were in their nightgowns, clearly having just awoken. People pressed back into their rooms as Sterlas passed by, and she could here amazed and horrified whispering of children from the balcony above. She glanced up at the two young children, possibly the Jarl’s own, who were peering out from between the balcony bars. They shrunk back when Casil’s gaze fell on them, looking a tad frightened.

The Jarl stiffened as the three approached, and the guards on either side of the Jarl put their hands on their weaponry.

Irileth waved the guards down, giving Sterlas one more uneasy glance before she walked up and knelt down in front of the Jarl. Sterlas stopped behind her, leaning over so Casil could slide off of his back.

“Is… is it dead?” Jarl Balgruuf asked, tense.

‘No, it’s alive and we just ran back here. Of course it’s dead,’ Casil signed, feeling a little snappy with her exhaustion.

“Yes, it is. The watchtower is mostly destroyed and will need to be rebuilt, but the dragon was slain. Its bones lay in the tower ruins. I left the guards who survived to begin cleaning, and sent more to relieve them and assist with the efforts already,” Irileth said, before standing up.

Sterlas shook himself off before his body contorted inhumanly, his bones cracking and resettling as he returned back to his human form. The children on the balcony squealed, pattering back to their rooms at the sight. Sterlas couldn’t help but chuckle before he stretched, making his whole body creak just a bit more. “Let’s not make fightin’ those a habit, Casil,” he said, pushing his dreads back into place. “I’m gonna be feelin’ it for weeks.”

Jarl Balgruuf slowly relaxed back into his seat once Sterlas had returned back to his normal form, albeit he looked a tad disturbed by the whole transformation and realization that the man was a werewolf. “What happened?” He questioned, clearly interested.

Irileth glanced to Casil, seeing if she wanted to explain.

Well, if she was apparently the resident dragon expert… Casil lifted her hands, a bit sluggish with exhaustion, but she was willing to explain.

“It was hiding in the night sky. It attacked with ice, and not fire like the first one we encountered. Casil says it spoke some stuff in the dragon language, but she doesn’t know all of the words. She wants to translate ‘em later. Says its name sounded like it was… uh…” Sterlas began before he trailed off, squinting at her as she spelled out his name.

Casil glared at him, slowing her hand motions down for him to read.

“Mal… no.. Mir… Mirmulnir. Look Casil, I don’t speak none of that crazy dragon shit alright? I ain’t got any idea how that shit’s spelled,” he whined in defense.

Casil rolled her eyes and continued.

“Uh- we slayed it by crushin’ it under the tower. Some weird stuff happened after it died though. The guards said they think she might be uh… dragonborn? Something like that. When we killed the dragon, it just crumbled to a skeleton and somethin’ jumped from the dragon into her.”

Whispers immediately erupted from the bystanders in the hall, making Casil stop and look around in unease. People talking about myths, people saying it was crazy talk, people scalding the children for still being up. The steward started to get into a argument with one of the guards next to Jarl Balgruuf, and he quickly stopped the discussion.

“Enough. It doesn’t matter if they are or are  not the dragonborn,” Jarl Balgruuf said shortly, making the hall hush down again.

Casil flinched and scooted a bit closer to Sterlas, feeling relieved for once that she had someone else with her that she trusted. If she’d been alone like she used to be, she’d have felt too exposed.

Jarl Balgruuf paused, looking Casil over for a moment. The look made Casil shifted her weight, feeling like he was expecting something out of her. “If you are the dragonborn though, it would explain why the Greybeards called.”

Casil’s lips pursed tightly. The Greybeards. She’d heard of them before in her travels through Skyrim, but she’d never investigated them or paid them any mind. But she knew enough about them to know that the implications of this weren’t good.

“You should answer their calling, if you truly believe it was for you. No doubt their call is of great importance,” Jarl Balgruuf said with a firm nod. “Now, onto the matter of what we do know.” He got to his feet. “Without your help, I doubt we would have known about the dragon in time and, perhaps, we would not have been able to kill it either. For that, I thank you on behalf of all of Whiterun. The hold is in your debt for your heroism,” he said, nodding his head. “It is a great honor to have you at our sides. Now, I am sure you are exhausted.” He motioned to one of the maids still working around the hall. “See to it that these two have the proper room for the night. They deserve the best rest they can get,” he said, nodding his head to Casil and Sterlas before turning to walk up the stairs in the back of the room. “Now, if you would excuse me. I need to attend to other matters now.”

Irileth turned and nodded to Casil and Sterlas before following after Jarl Balgruuf, a few others who seemed to have stayed up to await the news following in tow as well.

Casil looked up to Sterlas with a soft sigh. Sterlas glanced at her, before shooting her a grin. They’d made it through, hadn’t they?

[onhowtobecrazy]

Take a break | A/R one-shot

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica

Pairing: Laura Roslin & Bill Adama

Rating: T

Timeline: Unfinished Business, Season 3

A/N. So... my first time writing in this fandom. Yes, I’m scared shitless. Also, it’s all @thisisamadhouse‘s fault. This is probably one of the fluffiest stuff I’ve written in my life (enjoy it while it lasts, can’t make any promises for the next story, it’s BSG after all).

The Moustache.

.

She couldn’t tell who had started it.

All she knew was that, one moment her head was resting on his shoulder, deliciously swimming in the lingering effects of weed, senseless and sensible words about life and death pouring out of her mouth, and the next, the world was upside down and she was melting in Bill’s embrace, drowning in languid kisses That seemed to go on forever.

She tore herself away from his mouth to take a much needed breath, licking her lips in slow consideration of what had just happened, that drew a groan out of Bill. She smiled, and gently raked her fingers through Bill’s hair, her body sizzling with delight and disbelief as he began to gently map her face with his mouth, breathing words of desire into her ear, carrying on his thorough exploration down the arched column of her neck.

An involuntary burst of giggles bloomed in her chest as the hair of his moustache tickled the most sensitive skin there.

She felt him smile against her, which didn’t help her current predicament.

“I missed that sound.”

She hummed in response, and moaned when he nipped delicately at the juncture between her neck and shoulder, her hips bucking against his as reflex.

“This one's new.”

She chuckled, slid her fingers under his chin and tilted his head up to meet his teasing eyes.

“You're silly.”

“Says the President who decided to get high on pot.”

“Former President. And I don’t recall the Admiral saying no.”

He smirked. “I guess we’re both terrible role models.”

She agreed with an indulgent nod. “We should be ashamed.”

They laughed until they found each other’s lips again, hands wandering and exploring the other's body, Bill slowly undoing the knot of the red wrap hugging her chest and underlying her breasts, quickly reaching for their soft weight on his palms.

She was the one to attack his neck this time as he started stroking her over her camisole, short moans bubbling in her throat like hiccups whenever his fingers brushed across her nipples.

He gently pinched one hard peak and grunted in appreciation when she reacted with a loud gasp and a firm pressure of her chest against his hands.

“Laundry day?” Bill asked with mischief in his voice as his fingers slipped under the thin fabric of her camisole over the bare skin of her belly and breasts.

“Rebellious streak,” she answered in a sigh, eyes half-closed over the sensation of his hands finally feeling her up, just as rough and calloused as she'd imagined (and she had, on occasions) but his touch tender and precise, all military meticulousness.

“Braless and growing weed? I think I’ve just uncovered the President’s wild side…”

She didn’t bother correcting him on the title, this time, too focused on helping him rid her of her top, baring herself to his eyes with determined efficiency.

He paused, then, and she shivered as his ardent gaze swept over her in long waves, more startling than the cold night breeze sliding over her skin.

She didn't know if it was him; the weed; this night under the stars unlike any others; but her nerves were on fire, her body starved, her senses lit with anticipation and arousal.

He breathed her name in reverence as his hand trailed between her breasts, his eyes lifting up to hers briefly, as if to check that what he was about to do was okay.

She gave him an encouraging smile, her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down, and a stiff and cold nipple was sucked into the warmth of his mouth.

Laughter spilled from her lips instantly, and he let go just enough to look at her, eyebrows raised in question.

“Your moustache,” she explained breathlessly.

A noise that was halfway between a whimper and a mewl left her lips when he flashed her a grin she could only qualify as evil and went back to work, switching between her breasts and teasing her with the thick hair on his upper lip until she was a writhing mess of moans and giggles.

“Deep breath, Roslin,” he told her, serious and dry, as if giving instructions to one of his pilots, and she slapped the back of his head.

“I’m… trying!”

He moved down her belly and she cursed him, breathing as deep and as loud as she could as he went past her navel.

She gasped when he gave a playful bite to her hip, and groaned barely coherent words of praise as his hands reached under her long skirt, pulling it up to mid-thigh so he could reach between her legs, stroking her through panties that were becoming increasingly damp.

He stopped his teasing as her breathless cries of need became louder and louder (not that she cared if they were heard, everybody else was too busy frakking on the side as well to pay them any mind), and lowered himself back next to her, cupping her cheek, stroking back the wild hair sticking to her lips, and guiding her face to meet his eyes.

He waited until she understood his silent question, and met his mouth in a deep, wet, lingering kiss.

“I want this,” she breathed against him, and he nodded.

He slid back down between her legs, pulling up her skirt over her belly and decisively ridding her of her underwear, that he carefully stored into the back pocket of his pants.

From any other man she could have taken this as a harmless, but slightly obnoxious act of male pride, but she knew Bill’s neatness far exceeded her own and he was only making sure she'd be able to find it later rather than uselessly fumbling for it in the dark.

She couldn't help an endeared chuckle at this touching but slightly ridiculous attention, and he smiled back, spreading her legs further apart and running his fingers along her inner thighs.

The combination of the roughness in his skin and the carefulness of his touch was maddening. She closed her eyes, her body tense with anticipation as he slowly moved on her, his hot breath tracing the path to the point where she was slick and hot and throbbing…

Then she felt hair brushing the crease between her thigh and hip and she lost it.

“Can't you take this a bit seriously, Laura?”

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, her body shaking helplessly, hands covering her face in embarrassment, missing the gleeful look on Bill's face that belied his mock-tern voice.

He gathered her into his arms and brought one of her hands to his lips, lovingly kissing her knuckles while he waited for the fit to subside.

“You did that on purpose,” she eventually muttered against his chest, and he gave her shoulder an apologetic kiss.

“I really like your laugh.”

“And I really like to come,” she deadpanned, drawing a deep belly laugh out of him.

She brushed the back of her hand along that stark curve of his jaw, eyes narrowing in thorough scrutiny of his face and the offending occupant over his mouth. “I'm sorry, but that bush on your lip is gonna have to go.”

He smiled, tilting his head to nibble and lick gently at her fingers as they kept their slow caress on the lower part of his face. “I think I can convince you to give it another chance.”

He sucked one finger into his mouth until she snapped and pushed him on his back to start her own exploration of his body.  

They kissed and writhed and reached for each other in the dark until they were both as burning and dying as the last wisps of smoke in their lungs, as the hydrogen-fueled stars searing into the night, and when he carefully lowered her down on the sandbags again and settled back between her legs, the coarse hair of his upper lip drawing, this time, unexpected delights out of her complying body, her laughter was one of wonder. Maybe she’d let him keep the moustache, after all.

She sighed under the tease of his tongue and allowed herself to relax, to ride the waves of pleasure coaxed out of her by Bill's talented mouth and fingers until there was no ground, no sky, just the solid feel of him, taking her on a flight.