#ofc there's different levels of tracing and there are kinds of acceptable tracing

[francy-sketches]

Hiiii uh I am not an artist and I’m wondering what tracing and referencing is?

I'm just gonna explain this with pictures bc it's easier lol.

so basically: this is tracing (going over a picture line for line, usually not really understanding what you're drawing which can lead to some uh. interesting looking results)

vs referencing (using a picture as. well reference for your own art) excuse the shitty drawing lol but you get the idea

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Fifteen ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3995

Warnings: None

A/n It may be late on Monday (10:51pm to be exact) but it’s still Monday! Happy reading :)

I find little rest.

My night is plagued by worries over Cosima’s state and Rumil’s ominous—and ridiculous—warning.

Around five in the morning, I can bear it no longer and throw myself from bed, showering and dressing quickly. Before I know it, I’m on the second floor, rounding a corner that will take me down the hallway that leads to Cosima’s room.

Her door is ajar.

Despite the early hour, I hear animated voices coming from inside — it seems Baranor is visiting, just as he promised. Upon hearing Cosima’s laugh, I breathe a sigh of relief. She sounds much better than she did yesterday.

With a new relaxation in my shoulders, I hover in the doorframe, knocking on the wood while I wait for permission to enter. Cosima’s eyes—surprised but alert—meet mine and she smiles warmly. I feel my lips return the gesture automatically.

“Ah, good morning, Haldir,” Baranor welcomes. “I came to check on Cosima before my shift and, to my surprise, she was already wide awake.”

Cosima giggles guiltily. “I’ve been up since three. I guess when you fall asleep when it’s still light out, that’s to be expected. Haldir, you can come in.” She waves me in and I cross the distance between the doorway and the foot of her bed. I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, and examine her face more closely. The brightness has returned to her eyes, color once again tints her cheeks, and there’s not a trace of pain in her features.

Thank goodness. “You are feeling better?”

Her smile softens and she looks down at the blanket before meeting my eyes again. “I am. I’m sorry I scared you.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I’m thankful I was there. And I’m even more thankful that you’re better now.” I tilt my head in Baranor’s direction. His frightening words from last night have not left my mind. “She is better?”

He hesitates only a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to send a searing path of anxiety through my chest.

“Yes. Her symptoms from last night are gone.”

I raise my chin, fighting the urge to more visibly react. Baranor has noticed something’s still wrong with her fæ, then. But there’s no reason to worry Cosima with this — yet.

But if Elrond can’t fix it…

I attempt to push that thought from my mind. There will be something to be done. She will get better.

I turn back to Cosima. “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head then rolls her eyes, presumably at my disapproving look.

Thankful for the task to redirect my nervous energy, I push myself towards the door. “I will return shortly with food. Baranor?”

He takes the hint and wordlessly follows me out, pausing at the door to smile at Cosima in farewell. As soon as we are clear of the hallway and her human hearing, I turn on Baranor.

“What?”

He sighs. “No, come with me. Elrond will want to hear this, too.”

I quicken my pace to follow him through the estate, but my frustration spikes. “Is it so bad that you cannot tell me now?”

He huffs, avoiding my eyes. “It is not ‘bad,’ per se — it’s just a new development. Elrond might be able to help us understand. There’s no point in leaving him out of the discussion.”

Thanks to our pace, we arrive in the archway into Elrond’s study in a matter of minutes. He stands, seeming unsurprised by our presence.

“What did you learn, Baranor?”

Baranor exhales heavily and meets Elrond near his desk. I follow on his heels, anxious for some answers.

“Her fæ is better than when I checked on it after the orc ambush,” he begins.

I crush down the temptation to hope. If it were that simple, Baranor would have told me immediately.

“But it is different,” he continues. “Many of the previous injuries are in various states of healing — some scarred, the smaller tears are nearly invisible now. But, well, there’s a new tear that wasn’t present before.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Her fæ shouldn’t have a new injury.

Elrond levels us with a steady look. “But the other wounds are healing?”

“Yes, like I said, she is making progress,” Baranor allows, “but something has caused another deep cut — the edges are serrated, almost like it was slashed with a knife.”

“Hm.” Elrond frowns. He turns his thoughtful eyes to me. “Baranor mentioned you were with Cosima when she became ill? What happened leading up to that?”

I blink, trying to follow Elrond’s reasoning for changing the topic. “We were talking normally. I was telling her of a personal memory, one from my childhood, and her health took a turn.”

Elrond purses his lips. “Interesting…I had a meeting with her human companion yesterday, Alexander, and he mentioned a similar experience. He’s noticed that any gain in memory is often accompanied by an ache in his head. What we previously attributed to a head injury might actually be related to something else. Is it possible Cosima remembered something and did not mention it?”

“It is possible,” I allow, though I wish I could deny it. If what Elrond is suggesting is true, then every time Cosima remembers something, she runs the risk of suffering through horrible pain…the thought makes me feel ill.

“On the other hand,” Elrond continues, “perhaps that very restoration in memory is an indication of healing. I think it is quite possible the fæ injuries, the return of their memories, and the headaches are all somehow related. There is still much to learn…But overall, they are both making progress,” Elrond declares, expression settling into one of serene neutrality. “I will spend time with both Cosima and Alexander and attempt to help them find their way to more memories and address any side effects that may produce. Baranor and I will monitor their fæs and see if the healing continues or if new wounds arise. That will help us gather more information and then we can proceed with a more knowledgeable plan.”

I feel my jaw tighten. “And if the memories cause new wounds to appear?”

A note of pity entered Elrond’s eyes, and I am momentarily taken aback. Pity for Cosima and Alexander…or pity for me?

“I will do all that I can. Though, I suspect your Lady will have more wisdom on this subject than I.”

I bow my head in acknowledgement of his commitment, though I agree. If anyone can help, it will be Lady Galadriel.

Baranor darts his eyes in my direction. “Should we tell them?”

Elrond shakes his head. “I would prefer to do so, if you do not mind. I expect it will lessen their anxiety if we can begin what I hope is treatment immediately after I alert them to the issue.”

Fair point. I square my shoulders. “Understood, thank you both. Please alert me if there is any change.”

Both agree to my request and I leave them to their discussion, seeking out the kitchens so I can procure food for Cosima and myself.

I try not to dwell on what Baranor’s discovery could mean. Cosima seems to be healing, but with this new wound and the possibility of more in the future…will it be enough? Can her already fragile fæ handle all this damage?

Eru above, I pray so.

When I return to Cosima’s room, I find her in a rose-colored tunic and dark leggings, her long, wavy hair damp from a shower. She smiles brightly, taking one of the plates from my hands.

“Thank you! Want to sit?”

I accept her offer and sit opposite her in the small seating area, resting my plate on the coffee table that lies between us. I try to study her inconspicuously. She looks fine. Kind, dark eyes alternate between meeting mine and looking at her plate. The shorter pieces of her hair near her face brush against the arch of her neck as she shifts in her seat, stretching forward to reach her glass of water. She has a small freckle below the left edge of her bottom lip. I’ve never noticed it before.

Amused chuckles disrupt my inspection.

I blink, my eyes leaving her mouth to meet her gaze. “What?”

“You’re staring at me, stop it,” she laughs, fiddling with her hair.

I narrow my eyes. Oops. “You’re sitting right across from me, what else is there to do but stare at you?”

She rolls her eyes, though it’s clear she’s only teasing me. “I guess I have no choice but to stare back.” She makes a big show of resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, setting an unwavering gaze upon my face.

I raise an eyebrow. “You know it is my job to watch? I spend days in the trees watching for movement or something out of place. This is not a competition you can win.”

“Oh yeah?” She quirks an eyebrow of her own. “Watch me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

She purses her lips and my eyes are once again drawn to that little freckle that somehow escaped notice for so long. Her lips twitch in amusement and my eyes follow their curve.

I tear my gaze away. Clearing my throat, I reach for my water. Cosima leans back into the couch, popping a blueberry into her mouth. “Ha!”

“Yes, congratulations,” I mutter, throat going dry despite the water.

She furrows her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yes, of course.” I turn my attention back to my food. “Are you feeling well enough to begin training today?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yep, as long as today still works for you.”

“It does. I am meeting with my brothers to formulate a plan for Elrond’s guard, but I should be done by this evening. Can I come by then?”

With a smile, she agrees. We pass the remainder of breakfast easily. I keep a tight reign on my “staring” as she called it. There’s no reason to do that.

{***}

“What are you going to teach her, exactly?” Rumil lengthens his stride to keep up with me.

I look at him from the corner of my eye. “The basics.”

“Would you like my assistance? I could join you.”

He hasn’t let his misguided notion from last night drop. I quicken my pace. “No, thank you. If you want to help with something though, you could convene with Glorfindel and get the name of every member of Elrond’s guard.” There. That should keep him distracted tonight.

Rumil huffs, evidently displeased with my request, but doesn’t argue. “Alright.”

He sidesteps to enter the hall to our room but I continue, taking the stairs that will lead me to Cosima’s room. Rumil gives me a look but says nothing, keeping to his path.

I knock on the closed door — humans are so funny with their distrust of others to respect their privacy — and Cosima quickly opens it, welcoming me in with a smile. She shuts the door behind me.

“I pushed the furniture back to give us more space.” She gestures to a corner of her room where the plushy seats and wooden table are gathered near the wall.

I nod. “That’s good, thank you. And you feel alright?”

Her smile softens. “Yes, I promise.”

“Good,” I exhale. With that reassurance, I can get down to business. “If you could stand here.” I direct her to a spot in the middle of the room. “And move your feet a bit wider than hip width apart, like this.” I show her, and she mirrors the stance. “A little wider.” I step forward and nudge her right foot with my own, showing her how far I want it to move. “Now bring your dominant foot back a little. And lean forward slightly at your hips.” She follows the instructions, hinging forward as directed. “Like that, good,” I approve. “Now this is known as your fighting stance.” Cosima looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain. “It is not realistic to be able to keep this during a fight, but it should be your default, something you can get to automatically. A fighting stance allows you stability to keep from falling and gives you an anchor if you need power to wield a weapon. As a general rule, you should always attempt to attack or defend from this position.” She nods seriously.

Before she has a chance to register the movement, I shove her shoulder. Predictably, she stumbles backwards, arms flailing in an attempt to catch herself. Before she can fall, I grip her forearms, pulling her forward and steadying her.

With my hands still locked around her arms, I pause.

Were I training one of my wardens, I would have let them fall — why didn’t I let her fall? I should have. It’s an important lesson — if you don’t do something perfectly, you could get hurt.

I glance between Cosima—who looks at me with narrowed and confused eyes—and the stone of the floor. The foundation of the bedroom is solid rock, she could be seriously injured if she collided with it. An elf would be able to fall unscathed, but a human…

“What?”

Cosima’s voice brings me back to the present. My hands are still gripping her arms.

I quickly release her. “Nothing, just thinking.” Before she can investigate further, I hurry to move on. “Your stance should be solid enough to allow you to be immoveable. I should be able to push you and you stay upright. Now that you’re expecting it, let’s try again.”

It takes a few attempts, but eventually, Cosima learns how to hold tension in her core and ground her feet so it’s more difficult to push her over. Of course, if I really used my full strength, she wouldn’t stand a chance, but there’s no need to discourage her this early. And, by the amused twinkle in her eyes, she already knows.

Once her stance is satisfactory, we move on to blocking. I step back, taking a moment to analyze. She’s shorter than me, smaller than me, which automatically gives me an advantage. I have thousands of years of experience while she has about half an hour’s worth. Again, advantage me. She relies too much on her dominant side — if I struck at her unguarded left, I could knock the wind out of her and then, while she’s distracted, pull a weapon and strike a fatal blow between her ribs.

I’m surprised by the resistance that rises within me. My mind shouts that I am not going to do those things, that I would never cause her harm. The thought of striking her or hurting her is unthinkable, repulsive. And all the while she looks up at me with trusting, curious eyes, not at all thinking that I’m currently running through a list of different ways to kill her.

I take a deep breath. This is just training. In order to better train someone, you have to get into the mindset of their opponent so you can plan for and strengthen weak spots.

I try again to study her analytically, distantly, as I have done countless times before with countless others, but the emotions still cause my gut to tighten every time I identify yet another weakness I could exploit.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to push past the mental block and continue. She is leaving her left side unguarded. I start there.

Like most inexperienced fighters, she sees my slowed-down strike coming towards her left and grips my wrist with both of her hands, stopping my progress. I raise an eyebrow, easily pulling my arm back and her with it, sidestepping as she pitches towards the ground. I catch her before she can make contact, wrapping an arm around her waist and immediately releasing her once she’s righted. If you ever take this outside, let her fall then, I remind myself.

She looks up at me, wide eyes blinking rapidly.

I clear my throat. “If someone is attempting to hit you, don’t grab their arm to try and stop them — they can use that to their advantage, as I just did. Instead, you want to use your stance—remember to stay on the balls of your feet—to move out of the way before they can hit you. If you move quickly enough, your opponent is likely to stumble forward since they expected to make contact but now have nothing to stop their momentum. Ideally, you will spin or maneuver so you end up at favorable angle and counterstrike while your opponent is disoriented. Let’s try that.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet and nods, resetting her stance. I raise my arm once more, slowing down my movement so she has time to plan. Just before my fist makes contact with the curve of her waist, she sidesteps, twisting so she ends up behind me. I smile, guessing her next move. I’m not surprised when she pushes firmly between my shoulder blades and, for her benefit, I stumble forward. When I turn around, she’s grinning broadly. The smile doesn’t leave my face, either.

“Good,” I approve, turning to face her so that we’re reset. “Do it again.”

We practice variants of this strategy for a long time, speeding up or slowing down as her progress dictates. I teach her how to effectively duck, to use her stature to her advantage, how to quicken her pace so she stays out of her opponent’s reach.

I lurch forward to grab her, but she spins away at the last second, emerging at my right. As my fingers brush her side for the millionth time, I begin to worry. Does she notice how much I’m touching her? She hasn’t said anything, but she’s certainly not making as much contact with me as I am with her.

That’s because you are mainly on the offense, it’s your job to get close. In hand-to-hand, you cannot strike from a distance, I remind myself. And her job is to try and avoid you. Besides, I continue, allowing her a blow to my shoulder before lightly pushing her in an attempt to throw her balance, this is just normal training. I’m following the same protocol I would with anyone else I train.

Cosima ducks from my outstretched arm and attempts to sidestep, but I switch tactics and block her path. I wrap my arms around her and lift her over my shoulder, her surprised yelp ringing through the room. As soon as my point is made, I set her back on the ground.

She huffs. “You didn’t tell me you were changing it up.”

I give her a dubious look. “Yes, an orc is likely to announce its plan of attack. Forgive me.”

“Oh, all right.” She rolls her eyes. “So what do I do?”

I feel my gaze intensify, wanting desperately to communicate how important this is. “If someone gets their arms around you, they have complete control of you — in the case of someone as inexperienced as yourself, it’s over. Do not let them get their arms around you. Duck out of the way if you can, try to kick them and throw off their balance, elbow them, attempt to get behind them, whatever you need to do. Just don’t let them grab you.”

She nods seriously.

I hope she is never in a position where she will have to use any of this training. The trip home will be dangerous, yes, and obviously I would rather her have the training just in case, but I have no plans of leaving her to her own devices. No, I intend to keep her by my side as often as I can, and when I cannot, I will entrust her care to one of my brothers. She will never have to fight for her life by herself. And once we are in the heavily guarded borders of Lothlórien, which I myself am responsible for securing, she will be well away from danger.

But still, it is important for her to learn…just in case. At any rate, it will hopefully help her feel better about the second pass through the mountains. I know she still suffers from some anxiety due to her attack.

I repeat my movement from before, slower this time. She sees my arms coming and extends her leg, pressing her shoe against my shin.

I drop my arms. “What was that?”

“A kick.”

“You barely tapped me.”

She huffs, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I roll my eyes. “You could not hurt me.”

Her mouth drops open. “Rude!”

“It’s a fact.” I narrow my eyes, trying to determine if she’s taken real offense. I think not — there’s a teasing lift to the edges of her lips. So, I continue. “I’ve been a soldier for milennia, one tiny kick from a human woman is not going to send me to the ground in pain.”

Her gaze hardens. She shifts her weight. I crouch in time to wrap my hand around her ankle, stopping her attempt to kick me. I look up at her, unimpressed. An ellon with a day of experience could have seen that coming from a hundred miles away.

She grumbles and bends her knee, shoving it in the direction of my chest as her hands come to press against my shoulders. Before she can make contact, I release her ankle and stand, gripping her elbow and whirling her around. She stumbles, disoriented from the unexpected movement, and I lock one arm across her stomach, the other around her shoulders.

She freezes.

The silence of the room rings in my ears.

“Good instincts,” I mutter, my chest nearly brushing against her back. I stand stiffly, incredibly conscious of that tiny sliver of space. If either of us took even the slightest step…“But I guessed your intention and now I have you in my arms.”

Her breath quickens.

Perhaps I’ve pushed her human stamina too far for one day.

I pull my arms away from her and step back, giving her space to turn around. She does so slowly, swallowing and blinking up at me, looking a little dazed. Guilt creeps into my stomach. She was nearly sick last night, I should have taken it easier today. It is probably time for her to rest.

I clasp my hands behind my back. “I will show you how to avoid that position the next time we meet.”

She brushes a stray strand of hair out of her face. It’s in that peculiar style again — a bun, she called it, and I note with surprise that she still uses the hair tie I gave her on the road here. “Okay, sounds good. I uh, have a lesson tomorrow night with Baranor and Alex.”

I nod. “I can come the day after?”

“Good, yeah, that works.” She avoids my gaze. “Thanks.”

I furrow my eyebrows, examining her closer. She doesn’t look ill like she did yesterday. “Are you feeling alright? Did the headache return?”

“Oh, no.” She smiles and waves away my concern. “I think I’m just hungry and tired — I woke up too early.”

Good, she’s not sick, then. I nod. “Understandable. Do you want to go down to dinner?”

“Uh, I think I’ll have it sent up, actually. I want to study before my lesson tomorrow.”

Ah. I take a step in the direction of the door. “I will leave you to it, then. Enjoy your night.”

“You too,” she calls back. “And thanks again.” A much more natural smile graces her lips then, drawing my attention once again to that curious little freckle. My mind begins to drift, remembering the feeling of her in my arms, closer than she’s ever been before. The desire to hold her again makes itself known.

I practically bolt from the room.

A/n RIP Haldir’s sanity, honestly. Thanks for reading!! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my absolute DAY! 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[jocazep]

In The Whole Wide Train | Chapter 9

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader 

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

Author’s notes: Smut in this chapter! My first smut so please be gentle LOL.

Taglist: Now Closed

Series Masterlist

Chapter Nine - Washing Up

“Do you know if we got any soap for trading?” Edgar asked Curtis as they stood outside Gilliam’s quarters, waiting for Jo to finish her meeting with Gilliam. Around them, the dimly lit tail-section buzzed on with ordinary routines and shenanigans.

“Why? Are you taking after Jo’s habit?”

“Oh, oh no... Just, I thought it’d be nice to give her a welcome gift...” Edgar’s voice traced off.

Curtis scratched his head through the beanie. “Yeah check with the back lot, I think the going rate is three protein blocks for a half-bar.”

“That’s stiff man. I only have a third of a block. What’d ya reckon I can get for that?”

The rhythmic clicking of the train cut through Curtis’ reverie. He focused his eyes back to the present. They had won. Mason was still locked in his chock hold, Grey had more or less subdued Franco Sr, and Franco Jr. had dropped the knife from his hand.

But as Curtis took in the brutal consequences of the victory, his eyes found you hunched over Edgar who was lying prostrate on his back. You had both your hands on Edgar’s side, desperately trying to stop the bleeding with pressure. But foamy blood was gushing out, staining your hands, your face, and your clothes in an alarming scarlet.

Curtis didn’t need to look at Edgar to know that there was no saving him. He knew he had to carry the heavy burden of Edgar’s life on his shoulders the moment he chose to go after Mason. But you...you still hadn’t accepted it.

Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you whisper to Edgar as you tightened his overcoat around the wound and began to perform CPR.

“Stay with me, Edgar, stay with me. It’s ok. It’s ok.”

You thought back to Doris. To Timmy. To Andrew. To Yuna. But you pushed all thoughts from your mind but one--he’s not dying on your watch.

Curtis could hear your voice breaking, and it was all he could do to keep himself from wrapping you in his arms. But he looked back at the section in the wake of battle, and gritting his teeth, walked on to tend to the latest POWs.

You were running on autopilot. Pumping Edgar’s chest and breathing into his mouth, as if doing so would transport some of your life force into him. It wasn’t until Gilliam ambled up next to you, and placed his hand on your blood-drenched hands, that your brain began to process it all.

Your hands stopped, still quivering. You held your breath as well, forcing the visceral pain down with the pocket of air in your lungs. You were scared that if you breathed out, you would break and there would be no putting you back together. And you couldn’t afford that.

But there was nothing to say. His own hand trembling, Gilliam took your hand and guided you to close Edgar’s lifeless eyes. Sometime later, Curtis finished chaining up the POWs, and stumbled back to you and Edgar. A thump as his knees hit the floor next to you, his mind equally numb with pain. Taking heavy breaths, he pulls off his beanie, a last salute to his closest friend.

“Survivors, wash yourselves,” Gilliam’s voice came out strained, and raspy as usual, but it jolted you back to the present. As Curtis gulped back tears, he watched you stagger to your feet, hand and face caked in dry blood.

“The water supply section. Wash away the blood.“

The hours flew by as you lost yourself in cleaning and treating the wounded revolters, letting the rush of triage flood your mind and drown out the whatever pain, guilt, and self-doubt marinating inside your head.

Meanwhile, Curtis found himself chaining Mason to a water pipe in the furnace room, his rage slowly finding its way back after the grief and pain started wearing off.

“It’s Wilford you want, not me!” Mason was practically another person the minute she felt steel against her skin.

“Call him, see if he’ll come save you.“ Curtis heard himself say. It was a different kind of rage within him, calmer, surer, more deliberate, “We’ll rip you into pieces, he still won’t come?”

“He won’t leave his engine.”

“Well we control the water. We turn that off, he’ll have to come.”

“Turn off the water? Well you’ll only be condemning your own people. The water comes from front.” Mason’s eyes glimmered, finding a last shred of hope in the information she possessed.

“The nose of the train, it breaks up the snow and ice, and turns it into water!”

Curtis felt his confidence slipping. As Mason droned on about the front of the train being an elephant’s trunk, he turned to Tanya and whispered, “get Jo.“

When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the furnace room, you saw Curtis holding a knife to Mason’s neck.

“Curtis!” You rushed over and placed your hand on the blade, afraid that Curtis might kill Mason in the heat of fury.

“You keep his name out of your mouth, or you can fucking die.” Curtis was almost too angry to hear you.

“Curtis! Stop it!” Your hand pulled on the blade harder.

Mason’s eyes shifted from Curtis to you, regarding you and turned back to Curtis.

“Just as hot blooded as they say you are.”

You felt Curtis’ hand waver as he took in Mason’s remark, and slowly drew the knife from his grasp.

“Yes, we know you well, mister Curtis Everett. And you, Jo--”

You level the blade back to Mason’s neck.

“I can help you! I can help you! Wilford is not coming, you’ll have to go to the front, and I can take you! I can guarantee you safe passage!”

“You would betray your benevolent Wilford?“ You stared down at Mason, who held your gaze for a beat. A silent negotiation taking place between the two of you.

“I know the train. I know things you don’t.”

“Why the fuck would we trust you?” Curtis interjected. He still thought this was about the revolt.

“Because I want to live.”

You were dumbfounded by the sheer cheek of her. Was this really the same Mason that you knew before all this started?

The room was equally quiet. Who doesn’t want to live?

---

Night fell soon after. Things quieted down as both revolters and the invisible front-sectioners retired for the night.

Curtis and Gilliam arranged for patrols to guard the water section, and joined the revolters in the section that hours ago was an inferno of blood and fire. They were discussing whether to push ahead when Curtis realized that you were missing.

“Have you seen Jo?”

Gilliam shrugged, “I suppose she’s still in the water section, tending to the wounded. She’s taken it quite hard, after Edgar.”

Curtis found you sitting next to Edgar in the water section, hugging your knees close to your chest. You thought after all that you’ve been through, you would be too tired to feel, but you were wrong. You were feeling all right. There was a throbbing pain running along your right side, but you no longer cared.

You were too busy hating yourself. You hated yourself for not being able to save Edgar. You hated yourself for letting Mason talk you into sparing her life. You hated yourself for doing the math and deciding to put a wall around your grief instead of dealing with it. You hated that your eyes were completely dry.

“Hey...” Curtis squatted down next to you, his voice low and careful.

You turned your head from Curtis, and pushed yourself up. “I’m fine. I just need to, uh..., check on Bertie, he’s wounded pretty bad--”

“Jo.” Curtis caught up with you, his broad shoulders blocking your escape route. For the first time since the fight, he had a good look at you, and quickly realized that your clothes were covered in blood stains, some scarlet, others turning brown.

“Curtis, seriously I’ve gotta--”

“It’s OK. I’m here.”

You look up at him. “What?”

“I’m here.” Curtis wrapped his arms around you, and rested his chin on your head. “It’s OK.” His voice reverberated through his chest, slowly thawing the fragile barrier you put up. But it somehow felt safer, warmer, and you closed your eyes.

And the tears finally came.

When you were eventually all cried out, Curtis cupped your head in his hand, and murmured, “Let’s get you washed up.”

You nodded against his chest, and let him lead you towards the showers. The communal space was empty as everyone else had taken their wash already. After showing you how the water worked, Curtis left to wait outside, but soon a pained gasp from you sent him running back in.

“What is it?” Curtis found you mid-motion, trying to remove your blood-soaked coat.

“I think I cracked a rib...I can’t lift my right arm...”

No further explanation was needed. “Turn around.”

You did, and Curtis peeled off the coat, the water running in the shower the only sound echoing within the otherwise empty space.

Your silk shirt was next. What am I doing? You thought to yourself, but caught in the trance, you unbuttoned the front, and Curtis gingerly slid it off you, revealing the fading bruise from the guard’s rifle butt that now seemed a million years ago.

“Does it still hurt?” His voice was raspy and made you very self-conscious in your underwear and jeans.

“Not as bad as it did before.” You replied, keeping your voice as you could manage, fully aware of the tension between you.

Curtis shifted his eyes to your jeans. “Can you...”

You tried reaching down, but the blinding pain pierced into your right side, making you gasp as your legs wobbled. Curtis stepped up behind you, catching you by the arms and steadied the two of you, now standing unsustainably close to each other.

The room was getting foggy with the hot water running. You could hear Curtis swallow before he spoke, “Careful.” His breath swept past the back of your very naked neck, sending your stomach into knots.

He lifted his hands away from your arms to hover near your hips, but not quite touching you. You could feel the warmth radiating from his hands as you ached for more of his touch.

There was nothing Curtis wanted more than to pull these pants off of you and run his hands over every inch of your body. But he waited, his hands determined not to touch you until you gave a signal of what you wanted.

“What?” You willed yourself not to turn around.

“Are you sure about this?”

There was no reply. Instead, you took Curtis’s right hand in yours, and guided him to pop open the button on your jeans. That was all the signal Curtis needed. His warm hands ran down your hips, pulling your soiled jeans down, his fingers grazing your skin all the way down to your ankles.

You could feel the tension pooling at your core as you lifted one foot out of your crumpled jeans, and with the other foot, flicked them aside.

Curtis felt his hardness increasing as he straightened himself up half way, and traced his fingers lightly around the faded bruise on your back. You gasped out of surprise and pleasure as you felt his fingers trace upwards along your spine, ending up on your shoulder, where they were replaced by his lips.

You tilted your head, feeling the friction of his beard along the crook of your neck, light moans escaping your mouth, your uninjured arm reaching up to push off his beanie and run your fingers along his buzzed hair. Curtis’s hands were equally busy, flinging off his coat into a pile of grey and black on the floor.

You turned around to watch as he finally discarded his many layers of old sweaters and shirts, his muscled chest heaving, his toned arms pulling off his pants, and oh god--that bulge in his boxers. It was positively throbbing as you laid eyes on it.

“Hello.” You couldn’t help the wise-ass inside you as you took one step. Then another, and another, slowly closing the distance, watching Curtis’ eyes grow darker with lust, feeling your own heart pounding until you were close enough to notice the tiny specks of gold scattered in his sea-grey eyes.

Curtis reached down, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his arms wrapped around your figure, pressing you close to his body, his cock hard against you. You turn into putty in his arms, hanging on by your left arm hooked around his neck as your right arm roamed his stomach, exploring his abs by drawing circles around, making his erectness pulse inside the thin fabric. But as you reached down, Curtis stopped you.

“Not yet, baby.“

One hand holding you tight by the waist, and the other one cupped on your left breast, he walked the two of you towards the shower, until your back made contact with the moist wall of tiles. The coolness of the tiles, in stark contrast with the warmth from Curtis made for a strange yet wonderful sensation. Thank god for the running water, or your wetness would be quite noticeable as it soaked through your panties.

Curtis broke off the kiss, and trailed his lips down, past your heaving breasts, down your stomach, before resting his face between your legs.

“What are you--Ooooooh Curtis...” Your voice echoed loudly in the shower room as he ran his thumb across your core, pressing it into your clit. You look down to see the most imperceptible smile on his face as he slid your underwear off and lifted your right leg onto his shoulder.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his tongue met your dripping pussy, lapping up your juices as he sucked, sending you waves of ecstasy as his tongue explored your core.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Curtis all but commanded. And you were eager to comply as your hips rocked in tandem with his strokes, moans of pleasure tumbling out of your mouth as Curtis added his fingers to his attack, rubbing and pushing your sensitive lips. Your walls tightened as you felt Curtis’s tongue enter, and your hands flailed for balance as your knees buckled at the new high, before Curtis snaked his free arm up, grabbing your breast and steadying you against the moist tiles while his tongue and finger worked together to send your juices flowing.

“Curtis I’m gonna come--“

“You like that, baby?” he hummed into you. You nodded and squirmed as you felt your climax approaching, pressing your hips into his face.

“Yes, Curtis, just like that, I’m gonna come---” The wave of high washed over your entire body, your hips shaking and your pussy clenching as Curtis quickening his pace through your climax.

It was all you could do not to collapse as you came down from your orgasm. Curtis stood up, and you grabbed his face to catch his mouth in a sloppy wet kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as the running water soaked both of you, washing away your fatigue. As the two of you entwined, you pushed off his boxers,  and took in his girth. There’s nothing you wanted more than for it to fill you and make you come again.

“Fuck, Jo.” Curtis breathed out as you finally took his shaft into your hands, stroking it despite of its hardness. You tried to bend down and return the favor, but the sharp pain in your side screamed in protest.

“It’s OK, it’s OK baby,” Curtis helped you back up, and stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his right hand cupping your breast, and his left raising two fingers near your mouth, “Just suck on these for me.“

You held out your tongue, slobbering his fingers in your mouth before sucking and pulling away with a faint pop.

“That’s so hot,” Curtis whispered against your ear as his right thumb played with your hardened nipple, and his shaft rubbed against your wetness, making you moan and squirm in his hold.

“Are you ready?” Curtis lined the head of his cock at your entrance. You nodded, your entire body yearning for him to be inside you.

And what a sensation that was. Both of you groaned as Curtis’s cock pushed inside you. Curtis could feel your walls tight and warm around his cock, jerking him off. The strokes were slow and deliberate at first, each one going deep into you from behind, making you call out Curtis’s name in pleasure. The water, mixed with your juices, mixed with Curtis’s precum, ran down your legs as the rhythmic echoes filled the room.

Soon you felt the coil in your stomach building as Curtis picked up the pace, sending ripples in your body as he pounded into you. Mesmerized by the moaning figure in front of him, Curtis felt your pussy tighten around him, and gritted his teeth in concentration. It’s been a while, a long while since he’s had any sex, so he’s really sensitive, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get this right. He wrapped one arm around, capturing your clit between two fingers, while his other arm held you closer to him.

“Oh go--You’re gonna make me come if you keep--“ You all but cried out as he rubbed your clit, his lips latching onto your ears and neck, his cock drilling into you.

“Come with me, baby.“ Curtis’s breathing became labored as well, as his own pleasure began to crescendo. He walked the two of you into the tiled wall, your back arched, your breast against the wetness, your hips clasped in Curtis’s hands.

“Like that, just like that, Curtis.” You felt your pussy twitching as his wet cock slid in and out of you, quicker and quicker, each stroke hitting your sweet spot. Curtis laid his head on your shoulder, his own moaning mixing with yours as you  pushed your left hand against the wall for balance.

“Baby I’m close.“ He entwined his fingers with yours, his right hand returning to your swollen clit as he picked up the speed “I want to you come with me. Can you come with me?”

“Yes...Yes! Curtis, yes!“ You feel waves of pleasure shooting through you as he buried his face in your neck, his dick stretching your walls, his fingers taking your clit to the limit. You could hold on no longer--your legs started shaking, your pussy clenched down on his cock, and your entire body shook as the orgasm came crashing down on you, taking Curtis right over the limit as well.

As his cock twitched inside you, he caught your lips and kissed you deeply, both of you catching your breath. The warm water raining down on you as you lingered on this fading ecstasy, trying to make it last before returning to the cruel world beyond.

---

After you eventually did the actual washing up and got dressed again--Curtis had to go back to the Protein Block section to borrow Paul’s clothes again, since your own clothes were practically soaked in blood--the two of you tiptoed back to your sleeping spots.

Lying on his coat, with your head cushioned on his chest, Curtis remembered snippets of his conversation with Gilliam: “It’s much better to hold a woman with two arms, don’t you think?” But this really wasn't just any woman, was it. This was you. He looked down at you and held you tighter. You didn't look up--she must have drifted off, Curtis thought as he buried his nose in your hair and stole a quick kiss.

You, however, were quite awake. After Curtis's breath evened, and his heartbeat slowed down, you looked up at the sleeping man, tracing his long-lashed-eyes, his well-defined nose, and his soft-pillow lips with your gaze. An entirely different conversation was haunting you:

“When the time comes, don’t let anyone stand in your way, not the tail-sectioners, not Gilliam, not even Mason. You’ve gotta learn to make some difficult decisions, my child,” Wilford looked at you with his piercing blue eyes, “for one day this train will be yours to run.”

Taglist: @torntaltos @emmalbg @ajosieface 

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Wonderland

Summary: John might be an assassin but he wasn’t a cheater. That’s why when he spotted Josephine the first time at the antique flea market, he stepped back immediately, when he saw her wedding ring. But was she really married?

Pairing: John Wick / OFC

Words: 2.486

Warnings: smut

A/N: Because it somehow feels weird not to post something on thursday (I know the Christmas thingys are there but I finished them a while ago so it doesn’t feel like it) here is a new John Wick One Shot for you lots.

It had been a while since John had the time to hunt for some old books. He was trying to cut back his work for the high table but that was easier said than done. His last contract had taken him to Russia, and he had to postpone some of his customers at his other business. Bookbinding and restoring from old books. Something about it made him reach a relaxation level he didn’t know was even possible.

But now he was off for the rest of the year with nothing on his plate but the 5 books he had to finish. Still, he hadn’t found the edition of “Alice in Wonderland” he was supposed to bind.

 Searching for a unique book was how he had found the antique flea market just outside of New York. It was a chilly but sunny day.  Unintentionally his eyes searched for his favourite booth, which always was next to the frozen yoghurt stand in the summer. But now during the winter there was a stand with hot beverages next to it.

 John had been coming here for at least 4 years. He had been searching for one book when he first came, but ended buying six old books, because he had been running out of questions to ask Josephine. It had been her first time at the flea market too. Having moved here only a couple of months ago to live in the house her father had lived in, before he died. She had gotten the house and an impressive amount of books. Three garages, a basement and an attic full of books to be exact.

“Safe to say, my father loved books.” She had joked as she had talked to John the first time he had visited the booth.

John came back to the flea market every month from that day on.

 “What got you into bookbinding John?” Josephine, or Josie for friends, had asked him once. They were sitting on a bench at the frozen yoghurt stand, enjoying the sun shining on their faces. It had been early spring and as soon as the first traces of sunlight fought themselves through the clouds Josie had insisted on inviting John for a frozen yoghurt.

That was also the first time he saw the ring on her ringfinger. He had been coming here today with the intention of finally asking her out. He never had even thought of her being married.

“It was a hobby first but it seems like I did something right because people came actually looking for me after I made my first books.”

“What kind of books are you restoring?” Josie had asked, as she crossed her legs turning her body towards John.

“Everything really.”

“That’s very informative, Thank you John.” Josie had joked before she had put a spoon full of frozen yoghurt in her mouth. He caught himself starring at her lips, before he faked a cough and laughed.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” Josie had smiled.

 It had been a good 3 months since he had last been here. He saw that she was busy talking to a customer, so he kept himself busy, looking through the different books she had with her today. She was wearing a royal blue coat and a yellow scarf. Josie saw him from the corner of her eyes and gave him a tiny smile as she was packing the books for the man she had been talking too.

She hadn’t seen John in a couple months and had been worried that something had happened to him. Even with knowing him for so many years they had never exchanged phone numbers. Which she found odd, but didn’t ask further questions. She knew where he lived though. And she might have driven by the house a couple times in the last weeks to always find it laying in the dark.

 “John, you’re back!” She smiled at him, when the customer left.

“That almost sounded like you missed me.” John joked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Me?” She asked hiding a grin. She did miss him. There was no one in her life she really could talk too about everything. Somehow seeing John once every month became the highlight of the month.

“Yes, you Josie.” John grinned at her as he saw the blush creeping to her cheeks, her brown eyes watching him.

“Well the next time you go MIA it would be nice if you can give some kind of heads up.” She said walking around the table to stand next to him.

“Because I’d like to think that somehow we became friends over the last years and I was kinda worried something happened to you, when you just disappeared.” She bit her lip as she confessed that to him, looking up into his soft brown eyes.

“I… I didn’t...” John began, his brows furrowed.

“It wasn’t my intention to worry you, I’m sorry.” And John couldn’t help himself, as his hand came up, his fingers brushing over her cheek.  Closing her eyes only for a moment, as she felt his fingertips on her cheek she sighed and opened her eyes.

“Apology accepted.” She winked. “What you been up to these last months?” She asked.

“Travelling for work.”

“Oh?” She asked.

“Yeah. But now I’m back and I’m searching for an early edition of Alice in Wonderland to restore.”

“I might be able to help you with that.” Josie grinned.

“Really?” John kept looking over the books spread out on the table in front of him.

“Oh not here. I have them in the basement of my house. I keep all the early editions I have found in the many books from my Dad there.”

“You have more?” John asked.

“Oh, Honey. You have no idea.” Josie chuckled, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Can you bring it next month?” John asked.

“What about you come by say...” She looked at her watch. “7 pm? I could make us some dinner?”

John was surprised by her invitation. That wasn't anything he had prepared for. He glanced from her eyes down at her hands, seeing the ring on her finger. Josie followed his eyes to her hand.

“John?” She asked.

“Would your husband be okay with you bringing strange men by?”  John asked hesitantly. Josie narrowed her eyes.

“Husband? Wha...?” She began as she looked down at her hand again. Her Grandmothers wedding ring... And suddenly it all clicked. All the times he disappeared when she thought they were getting closer. He thought she was married.

Stepping closer to him she bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

“I'm not married John.” She said, a little smile on her face. She pulled the ring of her finger and reached for his hand to lay it on his palm.

“See? It says For the love of my life, 04.04.1966. It's my grandmothers wedding ring. It just felt right to wear it on the finger it's supposed to be worn at. It's also a very resourceful weapon to fight of creeps.” Smiling she sucked her lip in. John took the ring from his palm, reading the words.

“So you're not...?” He asked, not finishing the sentence. She shook her head.

“And you and me could...?” John continued and she grinned as she nodded her head. Chuckling he shook his head.

“You are the only creep I wouldn't fight.” Josie chuckled with him.

“Wait... Creep?” He put his arm around her waist, pulling her to his chest.

“A very handsome creep.” She clarified.

“Is that so?” He pursed his lips, his hand on the side of her neck, his thump running over her lip. Josie suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time, as she felt John's thump on her lip.

“Keep wearing that ring.” John said quietly before his lips captured her in a deep kiss. Josie was very thankful for his arm around her. Her arms sneaking under his opened coat to hold on to his back, as she parted her lips for him. She sighed as she felt his tongue exploring hers.

A cough behind her let her jump, making John laugh. Turning her head, she blushed at the grinning woman with a book in her hand.

“7 pm.” She said looking up at John. Grinning he nodded before he kissed her quickly once more and let her go back to work.

 John found himself outside of her house at exactly 7 pm, knocking on her door, a bottle of wine in his hand. For some reason he was nervous. He still couldn't believe that Josie hadn't been married. All this time they could have been together, but thanks to him not having the guts to ask her...

His train of thought was interrupted when she opened the door, a black cat on her arm. Her hair was braided on one side, her face tilted upwards to look at him.

“John.” She smiled, patting the cats head who looked also at John.

“I brought Wine.” John said, returning her smile and couldn't help himself as he leaned down to kiss her softly. She could get used to this. Carefully setting her cat Henry down to the ground, he fled immediately inside the house, she crossed her arms behind his neck, deepening the kiss. She felt his hands on her waist as he carefully picked her up, just so he could walk in and close the door behind him, making her giggle.

“John...” She groaned as one of his hands sneaked under her shirt, caressing the skin on her back.

“Hm?” He asked, kissing her jaw.

“I cooked dinner...” She said hoarsely, biting her lip as he sucked on her earlobe.

“And?” John hummed, his nose brushing against her cheek.

“I'm hungry.” She swallowed, trying to control her breathing. She tilted her head to the side to look in his eyes.

“Then let's eat.” He smirked, kissing her again before he left her standing in the hallway, walking in the direction he supposed the kitchen to be.

 “I have never seen so many rarities in one place.” John whispered amazed as he looked through the shelves. The walls in the basement were covered by big, dark wood bookshelves with endless amounts of books in them. A ledge in front of the shelves made it easier to set a book down, once you had found one. After dinner Josie had wanted him to show the basement with the rare books. She had already searched for the three editions of Alice in Wonderland she knew her father had. Standing with her glass of red wine, leaning with her hip on the ledge of the shelves she watched John look through the books. She didn't know if it was the alcohol, John or the books but she didn't want to wait anymore.

Setting her wine glass down, she saw John's eyes shifting to her, as she pulled on the belt of her wrap dress. John put the book back into the shelf he just pulled it out of and turned around to Josie. Slowly she let her hands wander up to the fabric covering her chest to pull it down. John watched her with hungry eyes, as she slowly stepped toward him, her dress hanging around her like a robe. There was little to no fabric covering her breasts.

Josie wasn't even able to take two steps towards him, before she found herself pressed with her back to the bookshelf, John's lips on hers. One of his hand buried in her hair to keep her face close to his, she felt his other hand running down her waist, down to her thigh, pulling it up to bring it around his waist. She gasped when he began to roll his hips against hers.

“John...” She moaned, biting her lip, as he kissed her jaw, her collarbone, the top of her breast.

“Yes?” He groaned, his tongue teasing her nipple through the fabric of her bra.

“Fuck...” She cursed, her head falling back against the books behind her. The hand that had been on her thigh now wandering up her inner thigh ever so slightly brushing over her wet panties. She heard him chuckle. Her hands coming to both sides of his face she pulled him up to look at him.

“Fuck me, John.” She whispered and kissed him hard. He leaned down to pull down her panties, while she hastily opened the belt of his pants, pulling the zipper down. Pulling her up, so she was sitting on the ledge he shoved his pants and boxers down. She felt his fingers teasingly running through her folds, making her moan out loud when he rubbed her clit.

“So wet for me.” He groaned into her ear as he replaced his fingers teasing her, with the tip of his cock. Quickly she opened the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin on hers. She felt the muscles on his back tense when he finally and slowly pushed into her. Moaning she threw her head back. His lips were on her neck as he slowly buried himself completely in her. Giving her time to get used to his size he stilled, kissing up her neck to her jaw. When she began to roll her hips he kissed her hard and began to move. Her legs crossed behind his waist she met his movements, moaning his name.

John reached for one of her hands pushing it above her head to hold it there, as he thrusted harder. The sound of hard breathing and skin slapping on skin filled the room, making them both even more aroused. Bringing his other hand between their bodies he began to rub circles on her clit.

“Yes...” She moaned, biting her lip. John looked at her. A blissful smile on her face as he felt her clench around him, moaning out his name, while he fucked her through her orgasm.

Josie still felt her legs tingling from the aftermath of her orgasm when John's thrusts became heavier.

“Come inside me babe.” She whispered against his ear and he growled as he buried himself deep and spilled inside of her. Sighing she kissed his head as he tried to steady his breathing.

“That was...” She began.

“Yeah.” John said and they both chuckled. His lips found hers in a loving kiss, before he pulled out and helped her carefully stand on her feet.

She felt their joined arousal slowly running down her thighs.

“I don't know about you...” She began as she crossed her arms around his neck.

“But I'm in the mood for a long soak in my bathtub.”

John nodded and picked her up, making her shriek.

“You don't even know where my bathroom is.” She giggled.

“I will figure it out.” John grinned and kissed her as he carried her up the stairs.

Taglist:

@meetmeinthematinee / @hisdeadwife​ / @fanficsrusz​  / @ladyreapermc / @theolsdalova

[thedeviltohisangel]

I Bet Her Mama Never Told Her Why//Michael Langdon x OFC

Tummy Riding .xx

Smut Warning

set in the same universe as “Before Anyone Knew” which can be found at the link in my bio!

a user on ao3 requested more of this pairing and @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning submitted the tummy riding idea and honestly...we all know why.

let me know if you guys would like more of them!

Clara watched intently as the snow fell from the sky in circles, like ballerinas twirling, and gripped her mug of coffee tighter in the hopes it would warm her freshly out of bed hands. She had been delighted to see the snow out her bedroom window that morning, containing her squeal so Michael could sleep in, running to grab her fleece robe and get a better view from her living room.

“What’s going on? Why weren’t you in bed when I woke up?” She turned to see Michael, his tummy exposed from his t-shirt riding up as he scratched the back of his head with a yawn.

“It’s snowing! I wanted to watch it for a little bit before making breakfast.” Clara held her arm out towards him, Michael taking her hand slowly as she pulled him next to her. “See how magical? Everything gets quieter when snow falls.” He wasn’t watching the snow. He was watching her.

“I could make it snow for you whenever you want, you know.” His arms wrapped around her waist as he moved to stand behind her, his nose nuzzling against her throat.

“I know. There’s just something magical about the universe doing it for you.”

“I’m hungry.” His tongue snaked out to lick gently at her neck. She shivered under his touch and turned her head so her lips could meet his. They fit together like a key in a lock, her lips always unlocking some desire and passion deep within him. Michael had trouble controlling his urges when it came to Clara. Something about her awoke a beast inside of him and there was nothing that either of them could do to tuck it back away once it reared its horny head.

“You’re a big boy. I think you can make breakfast yourself.” He couldn’t stop the childish groan that then fell from his mouth.

“But, Clara, you do it exactly the way I like.” Michael clenched his hands into fists at his side. She also had the perfect ratio of nutella to peanut butter on his toast. The perfect level of crispiness on his bacon. None of the apple slices she gave him were soft or brown.

“Then how about we do it together so you can learn?” That was a compromise he could accept. She held his hand as they walked into the kitchen, starting with preheating the toaster oven for the toast. “Now, you turn the heat on after the bacon is in the pan so that way all the fat comes out of it and makes it extra crispy.” Michael nodded and gently peeled enough bacon strips from the package for the both of them and laid them in a neat line in the pan, making sure none of them overlapped.

“Do you want me to make you another cup of coffee?” He had moved over to the Keurig, learning how to use that a long time ago when he had wanted to surprise Clara with a treat in bed before she woke up. Also because he had learned you could make hot chocolate in it.

“No thank you. I need to drink more water, my skin’s been so dry.”

“I think your skin is always soft, Clara. Like velvet.” Her skin had brought him so much comfort in the time he had known her. There was always a way for him to be touching her and he always found it. Sexual or not, he had begun to require her natural warmth in order to feel at ease.

“You’re too kind to me. It hurts even more now when other people are vaguely mean cause you’ve given me such a high bar of expectations,” she said as she pulled a few slices of bread from the bag to place in the toaster.

“People are mean to you? Who’s mean to you?” Michael was beginning to feel his blood boil. How dare anyone make Clara feel less than the absolutely perfect angel that she was. How dare the universe betray this beautiful creature in such a way. “No one will ever be mean to you again, Clara, I promise.”

“Deep breaths, Michael, you’re getting warm again.” Whenever Michael got angry the room always seemed to raise more than a few degrees. It was a concern to Clara that he seemed to be losing control more frequently. There was only ever one thing that could bring him back from the brink of anger oblivion. “Go lie down in bed. Naked.” The darkness in his eyes was no longer angry but lustful.

“Clara…” He didn’t want her to be teasing him with what she was offering. Once the idea was implanted in his head, there was no way he could shake it.

“If you don’t listen to me, then you don’t get it.” A look of horror flashed before his eyes as he was hurt that she would deny him his simplest pleasure. When her face showed no signs that she was kidding, he jogged back into his bedroom. He pulled the comforter so it was lying flat on the bed, shedding his clothes and making sure to put them in the hamper before lying on his back on top of it. With his eyes closed, he swallowed thickly in an attempt to steady his heart rate. He always got to taste her when she got into a mood like this. It was all he ever craved in life. The taste of Clara, the woman he loved.

Michael resisted his urge to sit up when she walked in the room. Somewhere along the way she had lost her robe and her sleep clothes, joining him in being naked. His eyes followed her movements like a hawk. He didn’t want to miss a single sway of her hips or a single goosebump popping up on her skin in the cold air of their room. “You’re so pretty,” she whispered as she traced her fingertip along the contours of his face. He leaned into her touch like a mewling cat.

“Thank you,” he whispered back.

“Do you know what one of my favorite parts of you is, Michael?” In his head he was listing all the different things he had ever said she loved about him or had complimented. But he couldn’t think of an instance where she had used the word ‘favorite.’ So he shook his head. “This.” Her finger then traced around his belly button, relishing in the soft skin of his tummy. She loved that Michael was soft in the middle. It was beautiful in contrast to his cheekbones that seemed as they could cut glass. It was the perfect place to rest her head after a long day or rest her hands when Michael had eaten too much and needed a little rub.

“My tummy?” he asked with a look of confusion on his face. She nodded before swinging her leg over his waist so she was straddling the spot in question. Her hips began to roll gently, slowly working up a glistening shine on her pussy and the trail it left on Michael’s skin. He let out a sigh as he cast his eyes downward to watch her actions. His hands rested softly on her thighs, mouth watering as her clit slowly became more visible to him with every swipe of her hips. “Love looking at you like this,” he hummed as his tongue came out to wet his lips.

“Every part of you always feels so good against me, Michael, like you were made to bring me pleasure.” His chest puffed out a little at her compliment.

“I was. My father sent you to me for that reason. You are the final piece to my puzzle.” She moaned at his words. Clara had never known much about Satan or the prophecy of his son until Michael had sat her down and told her. And the way he looked at her, she had believed him. She did believe him. Nothing else could possibly explain the snow falling from the ceiling into his palms. Nothing else could possibly explain the way he cleaned up her spilled coffee with just a wave of his hand. But it didn’t explain why he looked like an angel. Why he looked at her with the softest, most heavenly expression she had ever seen.

Her torso tilted forward slightly so her hands could rest against his chest. The new angle allowed her to hit that tension-building spot with more pressure and regularity. Her mouth fell open with a gasp and as Michael began to feel the trembling in her thighs, he gently began to guide her hips with his hands. “Going to cum for me? Cum so hard I feel it on my skin for days?”

“Yeah,” Clara replied breathlessly as she used his guidance to start rutting against his stomach faster and faster, angling downwards to find that sweet spot to push her over the edge. “Oh God, Michael,” she whined. She was like a cat in heat, furiously looking for the relief of friction as she began to lose control of her own body. Seeing this as an opportunity to help her along, Michael slid a singular finger between her cheeks to gently trace her other hole, Clara falling forward at the act. A high-pitched squeal fell from her lips as every muscle in her body tightened then released. Her orgasmic tremors continued to wave through the muscles of her legs, her hips jolting back with a hiss as her exposed and sensitive clit rubbed against Michael’s arousal slicked stomach.

“Prettiest little thing in the whole world,” he mumbled into her hair as she nuzzled her nose against his neck.

“Should be enough there for you to have a taste.” He had been too focused on the beauty of orgasm that he had forgotten the entire point of this endeavor. Humming with satisfaction, Michael ran his hand along the wet skin and wrapped his lips around as many fingers as he could in order to coat every inch of his tongue with her essence.

“Thank you,” he breathed with a deep sigh of relief, his fingers dipping back down for a second helping. With her head rested on his chest it was almost as if she could hear the gears of his body slowing down to a relaxed hum as if her cum was the oil to keep his machine running smoothly.

“I’d do anything for you, Michael.” Just as he would for her. He had warned her many times that there might come a day when she was forced to pick a side, forced to watch him do something horrible or forced to step aside and let him fight. Clara had already decided within herself that she would always choose Michael. No matter what that entailed. But for now, she was content with loving him and taking care of him. The way a Queen does for her King.

Tags:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme

@aveiangdon

@langdvn

@langdonslove

[amandaoftherosemire]

Sing For Me - Chapter Thirty-seven

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X OFC (Sasha)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC Sasha, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, OFC Zoe, OFC Kat, OFC Maddie, Princess Shuri

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2400

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst.

Summary: Sasha tries to wake up. Kat has a chance to talk to Zoe.

A/N: Not consistent with Marvel canon. The first chapter of Sing For Me went up at the end of February 2018. I’m trying to get the story completed by that anniversary. To that end, the next chapter is almost finished and should be up within a few days. I never intended for this to become a novel, but here we are. If you’re still reading, I love you.

Banner by @hellzzzbelle

Sing For Me Masterlist

Chapter Thirty-six here

Chapter Thirty-seven

Sasha had no idea how long she'd been hacking away at vines and branches when she finally broke through. All she knew was that she was hot, sweaty, and exhausted. The dress she'd started in was torn near to shreds, thanks to the rapiers disguised as thorns lining the pythons masquerading as briars. Between that and the time she'd taken to cut the skirt as short as possible to give her more freedom of movement, not to mention tearing off the sleeves, she was almost nude. Her bare skin no longer pristine, she was covered mostly in head to toe scratches and welts.

What fabric was left kept changing from blue to pink, however. She figured the afterlife was either weirdly symbolic or her hallucinations were weirdly straightforward. As she wiped at the sweat on her forehead, she couldn't help but wonder at the sharpness and realism of the experience.

With a final burst of energy, and profanity, along with a few more swings of the now filthy and green-stained blade, she slashed through the last few branches that stood between her and freedom. Laughing with not a little relief, she stumbled on bare feet and legs into a wholly unfamiliar forest.

The laugh dying on her lips, she looked around in stunned and furious disbelief. "Son of a goddamn motherfucking piece of fucking garbage bitch! What's this fucking bullshit supposed to mean?" As she muttered further obscenities, she hefted the sword over her shoulder and took off into the forest.

Kat was looking down at the serene façade that cloaked Sasha as she ignored the debate that raged around her when she felt a small hand on her arm. She turned her head to look at Zoe and smiled gently.

She had a lot of complicated feelings regarding her half-sisters.

Katya had hated Sasha with a vicious and bitter envy. The eldest of Alexandra’s daughters had been given everything, a family, a life, a choice. The others were left with nothing but neglect and pain and, at least in Katya's case, utter subjugation. Knowing Sasha was not to blame for the agonies she'd endured had made no difference when she'd looked into her sister's eyes and found no more recognition than when she'd looked into her mother's.

That lack of recognition had allowed Katya to hold on to the resentment long enough to complete her mission. Using her version of their talent to manipulate Sasha into seeing her only as a romantic rival helped to keep that hate and resentment solid. Those hatefully familiar eyes had felt like wasp stings on her skin, watching her with hostility and distrust. It hadn’t been difficult to maintain an answering hostility.

Once Katya had been able to drop the manipulation and show something more closely resembling her true self to Sasha, however, she’d been shocked by the change. Rather than feeling like needles, the sensation of Sasha’s regard became like gentle, teasing nudges. As Sasha’s captivity had dragged on, the more charming Katya had found her.

Not that Sasha was charming in her captivity, far from it. As a matter of fact, she was a raging bitch the vast majority of the time and she only got worse the longer she remained under Valentin’s thumb. Katya had loved every fucking second of it.

Every clench of Valentin's jaw, every snarl that curled his lip, every flush of rage that stained his aristocratic cheekbones, once daily terrors, became sources of dark triumph under Sasha's influence. Even when he took his anger at Sasha's defiance out on her, Katya internally did an entire cheerleading routine every single time she heard her tell the tyrant no.

By the time Valentin had given her the mission to kidnap Zoe, she had seen him defied so many times in so many ways, she’d seriously considered doing so herself for the first time in over a decade. Though her courage had ultimately failed her, escape had started to seem not just possible, but necessary once Valentin had collected the set.

Because despite what she had wanted to believe, the younger Alexandra did not resemble their mother in anything but eye color. Aware they were being monitored, and thus unable to speak freely, they'd nonetheless developed a form of communication no less powerful for all it was silent.

One day a few weeks in, while guarding Sasha as she waited for Valentin to arrive with new torments, Katie was comforted, if only for a moment, that she was no longer alone in this nightmare when Sasha surprised a laugh out of her.

Sasha had been psyching herself up for the showdown with Val by complaining loudly and with her usual plethora of colorful profanity of her disappointment in her archnemesis. Not that he wasn’t evil, just broadly drawn, she assured with astringent condescension. It was just that she had hoped for a higher caliber of villain. That’s all.

That moment, able to laugh at the man who’d made her a slave, to tear him down and see him as human and thus vulnerable, was a seed planted in her mind.

Immediately following that feeling of comfort, the gratitude at no longer being alone, was a wave of guilt stronger than any she’d felt before. No one deserved this hell, let alone anyone decent, and her sister was a fucking decent human being. In Katie’s world, decency was a rarity more precious than diamonds.

That may have been part of why she had been so astonished to feel an answering sensation of compassion from Sasha in response to that wave of guilt. Her power was concerned with perception. She had the ability to not only see herself through the eyes of others, she could also manipulate how they saw her. Neither Sasha nor Wanda used their powers on Karen because she had manipulated their perceptions so that they saw her as utterly harmless.

Katya had felt Sasha's contempt. Katie felt her kindness. Kat was going to pay the debt.

As for Zoe, she couldn’t really explain it, but Kat had had a soft spot since the day they met for the little girl who now spoke quietly inside her mind.

They'll be at this all day. Kat was fascinated by Zoe's mental voice. It was an astoundingly unusual sensation to have thoughts form inside her mind to which she felt no connection. They can't agree on an acceptable level of safety for me. Bucky has the final say while Sasha's out, but he'll argue it to death with Nat and Steve first.

How do you think it'll go? Kat was entirely uncertain as to how this worked so she tried to think more loudly in response.

Nat'll say yes. Zoe’s face was still a little swollen and stained with the tears she’d shed as Sasha lay dying, but a fierce little smile played at the corners of her mouth. Steve will say it's too dangerous. An indulgent eye roll at that. If you can convince Bucky it’s safe enough, he’ll probably let me try.

Zoe’s palm skimmed down Kat’s arm to trace the gold lines that shimmered softly under her tattoo. The phoenix was fresh, the colors vibrant, the tail feathers covering the back of the hand and curling over the webbing between thumb and forefinger to her palm. The gold lines wove through and were several degrees warmer where they rested lightly on their still lost sister. Rather than the condemnation Kat expected, Zoe’s face held open curiosity and understanding under the conspiratorial smirk. Do you really need my help, or did you just want to talk to me?

Kat stifled a laugh and pushed out a little more power to keep the others’ attention away from their silent interaction. She didn't want to admit it, but she now needed this for more reason than just the care to keep secrets safe. She needed to know that she had ultimately done more good than harm in abducting her little sister at Valentin's direction, if for no other reason than that she’d brought Zoe and Sasha together. She smiled gently. I think I need your help, but I might be able to do it myself. I also want to talk to you.

What do you need? As she asked, Zoe tilted her head to rest it lightly against Kat’s arm in a gesture of affection and support. Zoe could hear the mutter of Kat’s worry, fear, and guilt and hoped to ease whatever she could.

Kat was stunned by the simplicity of the response, the trust it took to offer so openly. Her throat tightened as both grief and gratitude tangled inside her. Though she mourned their inevitable estrangement, she was nevertheless grateful for the chance to see Zoe assured, compassionate, and unafraid.

Even more confident that Zoe would have the answers she sought, Kat rushed to ask the most important question. I need to know how far I can trust King T’challa and Princess Shuri.

Kat was not disappointed. Rather than answering immediately, Zoe seemed to mull it over before her response slowly sounded in Kat’s mind. It depends. With what?

Kat scanned those in the room to see if anyone was paying attention to them. She pushed out a little more power, determined to finish this conversation. The gold lines warmed slightly, and Zoe’s mouth spread in a conspiratorial smile as she looked up at her sister, her quick brain putting the pieces together.

Kat shrugged a little and looked sheepish. I have all the data on Morozov's vibranium project. It could help the princess heal Sasha, but it could also be used to rebuild his weapon if someone had access to enough vibranium.

Sasha trusted them with what’s left of the weapon, even the intact part. Zoe’s face had fallen into serious lines, her memory of being strapped into the ghastly machine one of her most horrific and pernicious nightmares.

Okay. Kat took in that information slowly, already feeling better about what she'd revealed to Her Highness. Judging by the speed with which Shuri worked at a table along the opposite wall, Kat had already given the scientist more than enough information. Still… But what do you think?

Zoe turned a confused and slightly concerned expression on Kat, the mutters of Kat’s worry beginning to infect her. Kat responded with the truth, not sure she knew how to sugarcoat it even if she thought she should. The chair wasn’t made only for Sasha. Me in the chair caused fear. Sasha caused pain. What do you think you could do?

Zoe’s eyes widened and Kat could tell this was the first time anyone had considered the possibility. That alone made her feel better about trusting these people with the source of her worst nightmares.

Valentin had made Katya do terrible things.

Kat watched her little sister’s gaze turn inward and grieved a little at the entirely too adult expression on the child’s face. She wondered if Sasha also felt torn between the need to shield Zoe versus the reality of her ability to do so.

Zoe’s face was set and determined when she looked back to Kat. Shuri is smart and decent. I’d trust her with it, and I’d trust the King to protect it. Kat fought the urge to laugh out loud at the look of sly amusement Zoe shot her as the next words appeared her mind. And yes, Sasha worries about that all the time.

Kat didn’t quite suppress the snort. Good to know. Especially as the princess already has the scent. As she thought the last, she tilted her head in Shuri’s direction. Zoe’s eyes followed to find the princess already had the image of something that looked like a necklace spinning in the air in front of her. It was clear she was on a roll.

Zoe turned back to Kat, her face a study in confusion. Kat shrugged. I couldn’t let Sasha die when I knew how to save her. Maddie’s attention skimmed over her skin, leaving both comfort and exhilaration in its wake. She glanced up to meet her beloved’s warm whiskey eyes. She could never distract her Mads for long. I owe her everything.

So… what are we waiting for?

Kat turned to meet her sister’s gaze once more and couldn’t help but notice a definite tendency towards recklessness. Cooler heads to prevail?

You sound like you think there are cooler heads in this room. Zoe’s expression had become downright smug in her amusement.

Kat thought about it for approximately three seconds before giving in. She recognized an iron will when she saw one as she lived with it. There was no stopping Maddie when she put her mind to something. All that could be done was to either minimize the damage or mitigate the danger. Everything she’d seen or heard of her younger sister told her she’d found another of her kind.

Keep your palm on my tattoo and put your other hand on Bucky’s arm. DO NOT let go. I’m going to both boost and buffer. The vibranium is going to shield you so you don’t get dragged under again. You’re the conduit, though, so you need to reach out and call her back.

So casually Bucky barely glanced at her as her hand made contact with his metal arm, Zoe moved to stand between where Bucky stood at Sasha’s head with his hand on her neck, and where Kat stood at Sasha’s arm, holding her hand. She moved in the ways she’d been taught to avoid drawing attention, not that she’d needed to worry. Between the intensity of the argument raging around them and Kat’s talent working at almost full power to shield them from the attention of the others, no one in the room was giving them even the least thought. How?

How did Sasha wake you after the explosion?

Zoe thought back to that moment, when she heard Sasha calling her, promising she was safe. For the first time in her life, she’d trusted wholeheartedly and had started the ascent. It had felt like swimming up through molasses, or clawing through cotton, and she’d had to sink back down and rest a few times, but she’d been willing to try because of that voice drawing her on. She called for me. I heard her and climbed out.

Same channel. Only you’re doing the calling now.

Chapter Thirty-eight here

Taglist:

@marvel-lucy @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @lovely-geek @wantingtobekorra @diinofayce @ashesandfire @suz-123 @theresaskankinmyboot @ddysis @caplansteverogers @getbuckylucky @california-grown @rnr1274 @capandbuck @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @magellan-88 @mizzzpink @curiositywillbethedeathofmee @colie87 @bibliophile1773 @henrietteoaks @hellzzzbelle @same--old-shit @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @rishlo @eyesfixedonthesun22

[sammyspreadyourwings]

Hi i sure as hell have time to read all the world building and story planning you have for the supernatural au. Those are my absolute favorite aus!!

Nonnie! You are on my favorite Anon list! I love anyone that wants me to ramble about my writing.

Ask me questions

This is just the world build and not the plot which is forming(?). Time for you all to experience what I call the Blender of Worlds and Words. I never know what to do, so I just to an overview where you can kind of see what plot I may do, but it gives you a better taste of the world as a whole without the microscope lens of story.

Power structures

Humans and Supernaturals know about each other, however, they have sets of different laws governing them

E.G murder is illegal for humans but for Vampires, they can kill so long as it was for feeding/self-defense

Tax evasion is illegal for everyone

Werewolves laws are more stringent 

Despite the governments being equal, there is a societal imbalance between everyone

Humans are middle ground, but there are other supernaturals that consider themselves better than humans

These are the types that can pass as humans but they’re not because ~reasons~

Between Vampires and humans (this would be easier if I had a graph

WAIT I CAN MAKE ONE

Okay, so now that that’s present

The more “human” you are the higher Society thinks of you

Werewolves are the lowest because they lose their humanity, whereas Mermaids only take on the qualities of animals

There are some who try to argue against this system

The Supernaturals

Vampires

 Prefer to be called Trueblooded if that, otherwise Vampire is acceptable

Do not call them leech, blood-sucker, demon, etc.

They are treated like royalty p much by everyone because they’ve established themselves as the best, regardless of how bad your blood line is

Classifications

Truebloods are Vampires that can directly trace their founders to the First

There’s about 15 Trueblood families

They’re the council of Vampires

Typically, they’re on the Supernatural governing committee

Mostly they’re in equal standing, but they’re all vying for top spot.

These are born Vampires, even if the offspring should be between a Vampire and Human 

It’s a no-no, and typically the offspring will be killed

Bloodlines

This is dependent on how you can trace your sire’s line

Mostly for those turned

Bloodlines are founded originally by Truebloods

The more prestigious the bloodline, the higher rank you are

E.G if you’re from Vlad’s line you’re just under a Trueblood

If turned by a Trueblood then you’re the start of your bloodline

Newborns

1-340 years of age is a Newborn

Babies

They don’t get the protection of their bloodline completely until they’re adolescent

Newborns are the easiest and most frequently killed

Or die b/c they don’t understand their new limits/powers

Abilities

General

Immortality

Truebloods age until they’re 25

Halfers or Dampheirs age until they’re 35 if they’re half human

Blood drinking

heals

enhances abilities

sustains

Sidenote

Different things happen to a Vampire if they drink from another Super

E.G Werewolf blood will poison them where as blood of Fae creatures get them drunk

Heightened Eyesight // Night Vision

Super Speed // Super Strength

Trueblood (From most common to least)

Charm

Increases Attraction

Telepathy

Thought influencing

Empathy

Emotion Control

Sunwalking

Immune to the Sun

Oracle

Future sight

Roger

A trueblood

Sunwalker // Charmer

Really hates Vampire politics

He doesn’t care about the hierarchy shit

Except when he sees poor treatment then he gets heated

Mostly he wants to drum

Dryads

Nature sprits who use music to influence the world

Do not call them sirens

Their music is so enchanting to others that it draws them in seemingly against their will (the person influenced doesn’t though)

Classification

Music Dryads

Muses

Have been called the Muses in the past

They have the best music out of the Dryad race

Nature

Most Common

They sing to make trees grow

9/10 they’re hippies

Fire

Destructive but also Regrowth

Water

Most likely to be called a Siren

Which is why they’re so lowly thought of by the other Dryads

They have accidentally lured sailors to their deaths

Abilities

General

Luring Voice

Charm aura

People are naturally drawn to them

Perfect Pitch

Immortality (they can shift their forms)

Music Dryads

Empathetic Voice

Can make you feel the motion the dryad wants you to

Background track

You always here music around them

Freddie

Music Dryad

While typically Dryads are neutral to humans and care little about the hierarchy in general, Freddie wanted to experience it

He’s like I’m going to start a band!!

He’s mastered control of his aura and charm so that he passes mostly as a human

You can always here a piano when you’re near him

Its v distracting when the band first forms

Humans

Literally, that’s all

Most of them respect the hierarchy and don’t try to involve themselves in Supernatural politics

There are some that are prejudice against all Supernaturals however

The most extreme are Hunters

They’re an unofficial form of Law Enforcement

They tend to kill Supernaturals that are “getting out of hand and a danger”

Mostly Newborns b/c they’re easy + do cause a lot of damage

Wolf’s Head

Specialize in hunting Werewolves because they consider them to be the biggest menace to society

They’re the worst of the supernaturals

Wolves playing to be humans

John

An open-mind human

Doesn’t believe that anyone is inherently better, but doesn’t understand it

That is until he has to figure it out living with Three Supers

What was I thinking?

And he decides that he wants to try and change some of it

Werewolves

Preferred to be called Lykans or Lycanthropes (and now that we’re here, that’s what I’m referring to them as from here on out b/c I was only doing it for understanding)

Werewolves, beasts, mutts etc are hugely offensive

Ofc most people don’t care because they’re so low ranking

In some countries, they aren’t allowed within a city

In others, they can’t work with certain groups or at all

Some require Lykans to wear collars to designate their status

Many have heavy laws and regulation to protect others

“No Beasts Allowed” establishments are common

There are some that won’t allow a Lykan on a seat

Britain's Work Laws

4 days prior to the turn, and 3 days after, have to be taken off unpaid

I could have specified the week of the full moon but

Some business require more

More progressive business give half pay

Classifications

Blood of Romulus

They can trace themselves to the First Lykan, which was First King of Rome Romulus

He got cursed b/c he killed his brother

They’re only higher ranked because most of their turns are by choice

Only 3-4 times a year are they influenced by the full moon

Can shift at any given time

Born Lykans

Those with the blood of Romulus will always have the form of a wolf no matter how far removed

Turned Ones

Otherwise known as the more offensive term Cursed Ones

They’ve been bitten by a half-formed Lykan and thus have become one

Oh shit explanation

Typically a full moon transformation is slow, which means that a Lykan will be half-man half-wolf longer, and that’s when Lycanthropy is easiest to pass

About 40% chance of taking at full shift

About 2% while not shifted at all

Abilities

General

Heightened Senses

All the time if BoR

Super Strenght // Super Speed

Wolf form

Enhanced Healing

Blood of Romulus

Controlled Wolf form

Immortality Ritual

Limited shifting

Pack bonds between non Lykans

Pairbonds are a thing

The bonds let them know where their bonded are on a subconscious level

Also their condition and emotion

Most people don’t want to be packed bonded because it drops their status to that of a Lykan in the eyes of society

Blood Hunt

If they bite someone mostly to completely shifted they can track that person

Brian

Blood of Romulus

He’s rarely in his wolf form

Uncontrolled turns 1-2 times a year

It does tend to ruin his mental health // mood

Very much aware of the hierarchy

There is a specific group dedicated to exterminating his kind

He’s very careful to not draw attention to the fact that he’s a supernatural, much less a Lykan

If anyone cares enough they can look it up in the registry

[huntershelper25]

Path of the Chosen: Ch 1

PotC: Chapter 1

Summary: Brooke is a 21 year old girl who’s life is flipped upside down when she receives a phone call from someone she hasn’t heard from in years. This phone call leads to events that cause her to get sucked back into the lives of two young men whom she hasn’t spoken to in years. Her life is never the same. Along the way she learns a secret about herself that not even her father had known. She is forced to face her destiny. Which path will she choose: duty or family?

A/N: I suck at summaries. I started writing this fic YEARS ago. It was posted here on Tumblr, but I have made some edits recently and have decided to repost it. This requires some introduction. I had a thought one day of what the show would look like if there was a female character that was brought in that actually stuck around for longer than a season or two. And because the thought wouldn’t go away this story and Brooke were born. I had a lot of good feedback the last time I posted this years ago so I decided to repost it for my new followers with some edits.

Disclaimer: There is a LOT of direct quotes and scenes from the show. I do not own any of it. I only claim the character of Brooke and how she fits into the story. All else is credited to the writers and copyright holders of the show Supernatural

Warning: There is some rated MA smut thrown in randomly for the first 5 chapters as flashbacks to establish timeline, character building, and relationships, but after that the smut dies off.  Also, let’s just assume condoms are implied. They aren’t mentioned, but let’s assume they are used.

Word Count: 4487

Pairings (through entire story): Dean/Brooke (OFC), Sam/Brooke (OFC)

Chapter One

The straps on her wrists cut deeper as she writhed in agony. The man she had grown to call her uncle dragged the blade of his knife across her skin for what she felt was the millionth time. The dim candlelight revealed his son, who wasn't much older than twenty-two, waiting in the corner behind him with fear in his eyes and indecision etched all over his face. She didn’t blame John for what he was doing; all signs pointed to one conclusion. He was doing what he thought he had to. After all, she had led them straight into an ambush and had almost gotten them all killed.

          “Dad…” the boy in the corner whispered cautiously as John wiped the blood from his knife and dipped it into a large plastic jug of holy water.

.           “Dean, either help or get out!”

Dean gave her a pleading look. She shook her head. He closed his eyes in defeat, walked out of the room, and slammed the back door as he left the house.

Strapped to the chair and unable to defend herself, she watched as John walked towards her, his face a picture of disgust and anger. “Now that we’re alone, let’s get this show officially on the road.”

She could have sworn she saw a twisted look of remorse and apology flash across his face just as he brought the blade down across her left cheek.

Brooke awakened with a start, sweat covering her body and soaking her shirt. She sighed in relief when she realized she was still in her motel room, safe and alone. She slowly stood and walked the three feet to the bathroom. It had been five years since that long December night in Illinois, but she could still feel that blade slide across her skin.

As she walked across the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to give herself a good once over. Long, chestnut wavy locks all in a jumble from tossing and turning -- emerald green eyes above dark circles and bags from too many long nights; to the outside world, she was pretty, but the job had really taken its toll. Her small-breasted, twenty-two-year-old body was lean and strong, but all she saw were the scars. The faint lines that adorned her body were a reminder of her way of life, yet they were nothing compared to the pink scar on her left cheek that still haunted her. She lifted her hand and began tracing it from her left temple, following it dangerously close to her eye and down across her cheek, ending just before her bottom lip. Her mind flashed back to that moment -- the moment John’s blade slid across her face. The moment her father had burst into the room, saving her from further interrogation. The moment her family fell apart. She shook off the memory as she peeled off her tank and panties and slipped into the shower.

After Brooke had showered, dressed, and expertly concealed her scar with drug store makeup, she tossed her things into her duffel and walked out the door. With her job here complete, she was to return home to Minnesota. She knew her father was off somewhere in Ohio on a case, but it was their rule to return to base when they finished a job. She had been working cases on her own for only a few months now. It was nice to finally be out on her own but going home was always something she looked forward to. She tossed her duffel in the back seat of her ’69 Camaro, also known as the love of her life, and headed to the office to check out.

“Well, Miss Strandferd, did you enjoy your stay with us?” the wiry middle-aged manager asked, as she handed him her room key. She just smiled. “It’s all on your card. Will you be needing a receipt?” He had barely uttered the word “receipt” before she was out the door.

She slid into her car, popped open the glove box, and extracted a small black bag. She cursed as its contents spilled all over the passenger seat. There were credit cards and IDs of many different types, all containing various names from Baker to Marks to Young, none of which were hers. She quickly collected each piece of plastic and shoved them back in the bag along with Amy Strandferd’s credit card.  She sometimes felt guilty using fake IDs and cards that weren’t hers, but this life didn’t have a pay check. That was the life, and she accepted that a long time ago. She tossed the black bag back in the glove box next to her 9mm, revved the engine, and was on her way.

As Brooke drove along, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Another job well done, another family that can sleep soundly once again. She didn’t get paid and it required breaking hundreds of laws, but knowing she'd made a difference in someone else’s life made it all worth it to her. As per the rules she picked up her cell and dialed her father’s number to check in. It went straight to voicemail, so she left a quick message telling him she would be back at base in just under a day’s drive.

After a few hours on the road, her mind wandered back to the dream that had awoken her, the memory of the night she hadn’t thought of in years. Her father and John had worked together off and on for years starting when she was just twelve. Their way of life doesn’t allow for much in the department of relationships, on any level, but her father and John were thick as thieves. Whenever one needed help on a job, the other was right there to back them up. But that night… the night her father had trusted John to take her out on a hunt, the night she almost got them all killed, was the night that all fell apart. When her father walked into the house and saw her tied to a chair with John standing over her gripping a bloody knife, it was all over.

Her father pulled out his pistol, pointed it at John, and demanded that he drop the knife and step away from her. John tried to reason with her father and explain his actions. “You’ve seen it, she’s not herself! Something is wrong with her! She’s not your daughter!” Her father replied by putting a bullet in John’s shoulder, sending him to the floor.

The sound of the gun going off brought Dean running back into the house. She watched him take in the scene of her father standing over his with a gun in his face. His eyes flashed to hers, looking for her to give him his next move, but it was all over, there was nothing left that could be done. Her inability to deal, her inability to handle what the two of them had done had broken her family apart.

“Get out of this house, don’t call me again. I never want to see your face ever again. If I ever see you or your sons,” he pulled the hammer back, “I swear to God.”

That was the last time she ever saw any of them. Sam, who was just shy of a year older than her, had left for college two months prior and (as far as she knew) was unaware any of this ever went down. No one had really talked to him since he’d left. It was kind of a sore subject for John and Dean, and as she understood it, they parted on bad terms. Thinking back though, it did seem a bit melodramatic to allow herself to undergo torture, so everything was kept a secret from their fathers, her’s in particular. But she knew her father, they couldn’t have said anything.

Dean was supposed to have been looking out for her, and if her father knew what went down…

She knew John wouldn’t hurt her too badly, she could take it, but what her father would have done to Dean would have been much worse. Her father was a kind, loving man, but family was something he held sacred, and if anyone put his family in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate to put them down.

She smiled in spite of herself. Even with the way they all parted, the secrets, the drama, they were still part of her family. John may have tied her to that chair and cut her up pretty good, but he was still like an uncle to her, despite it all. John was the one who taught her how to work on cars and even helped her get started on the Camaro. She learned more from John and those boys in those five years than she had from her own father her entire life.

Brooke and the boys had their own unique relationships. She could talk to Sam on the phone for hours about everything – he hated this life and always wanted out, but she always managed to convince him that at the end of the day, it was all worth it. She liked Sam, they had a great rapport and were always there for each other. She was just never comfortable with him in person. She couldn’t really explain it, she just got an uneasy feeling whenever he was around. She told Dean once, but that only started jokes about she and Sam having crushes on each other. When Sam left for school, he stopped calling and stopped taking her calls. He completely cut himself off. At first, she was angry, but she learned to understand that you have to cut all ties and contacts in order to really get out. She missed him sometimes.

Brooke’s relationship with Dean, who was nearly five years her senior, was a bit different. She’d admit she idolized him a little bit, even if he had the tendency to be a jerk sometimes. Having grown up in this life he had become an amazing hunter and learned to adapt to situations quickly. He knew what it took to get the job done, which for him included using his good looks and charm to his advantage. Dean was the one who taught her how to fire a gun when she was thirteen; he even gave her the gun that she kept in her glove box. Dean was the “Keeper of Sam” as she liked to call him, since he'd watched out for Sam ever since they were little.  When Sam left, that need to protect someone seemed to transfer to her. She’d found him more annoying than her father at times. She had a lot of fond memories from those five years though, and knowing it was her mistake that led to the end made her heart ache.

Dean blamed himself for the lot of it, of course. Two days after her father had chased them away, she got a voicemail from Dean apologizing for everything “It’s me. I just…God… I promised I would always have your back and I let you down. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe I wasn’t thinking, but I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I should’ve...” He began to sniffle as he continued. “I should’ve stopped my dad, I should’ve just stepped in and ended it, but you had asked me not to say anything, so I didn’t, But God, Brooke, I should have! And I’m sorry. It’s all my fau-“ and the message cut out. That was the first time she had ever heard him come even remotely close to crying. That was Dean though -- always shouldering the responsibility. She had tried to call him back, but his number had been disconnected. She saved it though, because it was the last time, she would ever hear from him. She listened to it so many times she lost count but deleted it a year later when she decided she needed to move on.

So now it was just Brooke and her dad, since her mom had died when she was just a baby. Her dad kept the details pretty much to himself, but he told her when she was eight, after much crying and pleading.  Something had killed her, and he was determined to find what it was, and that was why he was hardly ever home. That was something over which he and John bonded. John had lost his wife to something as well and had a vendetta to find the thing that did it. It was John who convinced her father that keeping her in the dark and not teaching her to defend herself would come to no good. Little by little her father allowed John, an ex-marine, to teach her hand to hand combat. She also pretended not to know how to use a gun when her father decided to teach her a month after Dean already had. She wanted to help, she wanted to be useful. She knew, just as John had explained, that she was a liability if she was kept in the dark, rendered useless. So, she learned, and she learned as much as she could as quickly as she could.

She hadn’t thought about those boys in a long time. The sound of her cell brought her back to the present and she let out a little laugh as she fished it from her jeans pocket. She noticed the sun had begun to set as she glanced at the caller ID. She didn’t recognize it, but fellow hunters were always changing their numbers.

“Hello?”

“Brooke?” Her heart stopped. It had been five years, but she would know that voice anywhere.

“John?”

“Yeah it’s me. Where are you?” There was a hint of concern in his voice.

“On I-90, just outside Winona.”

“Pull over.”

“John, I told Dad I would be home by nightfall, I can’t just-“

“Just pull over.” The sense of urgency in his voice had her concerned.

As she pulled the car over to the shoulder a terrible thought crossed her mind. One of the boys was dead. It had to be, why else would he break the silence after five years? Her mind began to race, trying to figure out which one it could be, how it could have happened, mixed with reminders to stay calm and wait for an explanation. She killed the ignition and prepared herself for the bad news.

“Parked. What’s going on, John?”

“Don’t go home.”

“What do you mean, ‘Don’t go home’?”

“Go West on 90 until you hit Sioux Falls.”

“You want me to go by Bobby’s? Is there a job he needs help with? I mean, I’ll help. Dad’s in Ohio on a case, so I just gotta tell him I won’t be home as planned.”

“NO! Don’t call your dad. They can’t know where you are.”

“Who’s ‘they’, John? What’s going on?”

John sighed and a sick feeling settled in her stomach. He wasn’t calling about the boys.

“Dad’s not in Ohio anymore, is he?”

“No. Caleb called me yesterday to tell me Pastor Mike was killed and that your father was on his way to help investigate.”

She remained silent, waiting for the inevitable.

“They’re gone, Brooke, Caleb and your dad.  I’m so sorry.” He paused for her reaction; all he received was more silence. She couldn’t process what he had said. She heard it, but her brain refused to connect the dots. “This demon we’ve been chasing...it’s going after everyone we’ve ever worked with, and when I found out about your dad, I had to be sure you were okay.”

Her mind began to reel. Her father was gone, killed by this demon that John was after, killed because John was after it, killed because they had been friends. Her father was gone. She was all alone.

“Brooke, you there?”

She had to collect herself. Yes, her father was gone. Yes, she was all on her own now, but if what John was saying was true, she may be in danger. She had to compartmentalize and focus. A skill she was forced to master at a young age.

“Yeah, John, I’m here. So... Bobby’s?”

          There were very few hunters that didn’t know Bobby Singer. He had become a staple in the community with his knowledge of the supernatural and his ability to uncover any information that one would need. If there was anywhere that Brooke would be safe from this demon, it was with Bobby. It had been a little over a year since she had seen the crotchety old man. She hated dropping all this on his door step after such a long hiatus, but she didn’t think she had a choice.

          She took a long look at the decrepit old house on the right as she rolled past broken down, rusting cars that filled his lot, a reminder of the life he led before he started hunting. He used to run a salvage yard – still did on the side, as a matter of fact. But just like all hunters, once you got into this life, it consumed you.

          She parked her car behind the house, got out, and looked around. She saw the shop a few hundred yards away where she’d done some work on her Camaro years ago. This was also where she and her father had gotten into their first real fight.  She was just a week shy of eighteen and he was getting ready to head out on a job with John, leaving Dean and Brooke at Bobby’s. She had gotten wind of what she believed to be a potential haunting of a house in a town not too far away, something small, something easy, and she wanted to see if she could help this family out.

          “Absolutely not and that’s final.”

          “But Dad, it’s just a simple haunting, nothing major.” She said as she pulled a sawed off out of the trunk of her Camaro and placed it in a duffel.

          “I said no,” her father had said taking the duffel out of her hands and tossing it into the trunk.

          “I’m nearly eighteen, I’ve been hunting for nearly six years, this is child’s play compared to some of the hunts we’ve done.”

          “I don’t care how long we’ve been at this and what kinds of things we have hunted, you are not doing this job alone.” He shut the trunk with force and turned his back to her to walk away in an attempt to end the conversation.

          “Then I’ll have Dean come with me. He’s done jobs like this on his own before it’ll be like a milk run for him,” she stepped in front of him cutting off his path to the exit. She was determined to go on this job. She was an adult now and she felt she needed to start proving she was truly useful. This wasn’t the first time her father had dropped her at Bobby’s to go on a hunt without her. Ever since she could remember he was ditching her here and there if he could. She always got the feeling that he didn’t fully trust her as a partner. She knew it wasn’t just out of protectiveness because when she was on a hunt with him, he was always more concerned with getting the job done than her getting hurt.

          “Absolutely not!” He startled her with how quickly and loudly he responded that time, “I don’t care how many hunts he’s done on his own, you sure as hell are not taking him with you.”

          “So, does that mean I can go on my own?” She knew she was being overly hopeful, but a girl had to try.

          “NO!” He pushed her aside and pulled open the door, “and if I even HEAR of you THINKING about going on this hunt, alone or not, I swear to God, Brooke,” he gave her a glare to rival all glares before walking out the door.

          She was so furious with her father that that night she snuck out of the house. When she opened the door to the shop, she was almost surprised to find Dean leaning against her car.

          “I figured you couldn’t let this one lie,” he said with a smirk as she popped the trunk to take quick inventory of her stash.

          She had collected quite the arsenal over the years. Any time they had come across a new weapon she would find a way to fit it into her hideaway that John had helped her fit under the fabric in the trunk, mirrored after the one in his own car.

          “I also figured that since this would be your first case without the old man that you might like some back up,” he had added when she had remained silent.

          “Thanks, but I think I can handle this on my own.” She was too angry with her father and too determined to prove herself that she didn’t want to deal with his annoying commentary at the moment.

          “Did you completely read the file Bobby had on this?” He pulled a folded manila folder out of his back pocket and opened it, “apparently the family has been to the hospital a few times already for ‘unexplained injuries’,” he glanced up from the folder to take note of any recognition on her face. When he found none he continued, “So I kinda think that this spirit isn’t too happy about something and probably won’t like a stranger popping off salt rounds at it, but if you think you can handle a pissed off spirit on your first time out solo than be my guest.” He folded the folder up and crossed his arms as he leaned against the car.

          He was right. If this spirit was hurting the family, it was definitely pissed off about something and the last thing she needed was to be tossed around a room and have her ass handed to her with no one to back her up. She knew that she could count on Dean not to snitch on her, but she also could count on him having a tiny bitch fit for leaving him behind.  Besides, she could always trust Dean to have her back, he hadn’t failed her yet.

          “Fine,” she couldn’t help but smile when he raised his eyebrows and got this look like he was a five-year-old who was just told he was going to Disneyland, “but we’re not listening to classic rock the entire way.” The look of glee was replaced with that of sheer disappointment.

          She closed her eyes remembering that job. If she had just listened to her father, she never would have been tied to that chair all those years ago, there wouldn’t have been the huge falling out and maybe, just maybe, her father would still be alive.

She turned to the house and walked up the steps. The back door opened just as her feet hit the top step and from inside the house emerged Bobby himself. He stopped short when he spotted her.

“Hiya, Bobby.”

“Hey,” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “Sorry to hear about your daddy, kiddo,” he said as he stepped back.

“Thanks.” She stared at the ground. ��Bobby,” she sighed, “I need a huge favor.”

“Anything, why don’t you come on in?”

As she entered the house she was hit with the familiar smell of Old Spice and whiskey – the smells of Bobby.  His home was an old farm house that had gone to the dogs. On every surface were books upon books, all dealing with the supernatural. In between the books were randomly placed bottles of whiskey, some empty, some on their way to being empty. She took a seat on the old musty couch among even more books.

“What can I do ya for?” Bobby said, all business-like as he sat on the edge of his desk.

“I need a place to hide out.” No point in beating around the bush.

“Hide out? You think whatever it was that got your dad is after you?”

“I don’t know if it is or not, but John thinks it might be and-“

“John Winchester?”

“Yeah, he said this demon he’s after is ganking all the people he’s ever worked with and told me to hide out here.”

Bobby stood up, removed his ball cap, ran his fingers through what little hair was left, and sighed. As he replaced the ball cap he said, “Sure. I can put you up for a bit, or until John figures this shit out, the idjit.”

“Thanks, Bobby. And you know I don’t expect this to be rent free, I’ll help you out with anything you need while I’m here.”

“Damn straight you will,” he said with a smile.

Bobby was a crotchety old man who spoke his mind, was tough as nails, and one of the best hunters she’d ever met, but he’d always treated her like one of his own. She’d even once heard him say to her father, “I think of her as my daughter too, Chris. I’m not about to see anything happen to her either.”

She tossed her duffel on the bed in the spare room, flopped down, and stared at the ceiling. She tried to think of anything else except her father being gone. She tried to think about the noise her car had begun to make on the way here and what that could possibly be. She tried to think about her most recent case. She tried to think about sleeping. But no matter how hard she tried she kept hearing John’s voice telling her that her father was dead.

She felt a tear break free and it was all over.

Everyone she had ever cared for was gone. She cursed her life and cursed her father for ever bringing her into this. It was nothing but death. Every time she got close to anyone, they were ripped from her, either by death or by the sheer messed up realities of her world. She was quick to remember that it had been John who convinced her father, who had wanted her to remain clueless, that he should bring her in to this. John… if they had never met John none of this would have happened. Her father would still be alive. If John wasn’t so reckless that damned demon would never have gone after her father, would never have left her alone in this horrible place. She vowed that she would get out of this life, start an honest, regular life, but not until she found the demon that had killed her father and sent it back to Hell

[lafaiette]

I read the promp "Scarlet showing Solas a hidden place in Skyhold or somewhere else that she loves, or ofc the other way around with Solas! hope it works for you"... what about Scarlet showing Solas a place in skyhold she just discovered and Solas is like "awesome" but he secretly knows about it because its his castle (maybe it was his room???), he almost lets it slip

Thank you for this prompt, Anon, it’s so cute!

“The workers found a new room today! Want to go see it with me?”

Even though many months have passed since their arrival in Skyhold, thesoldiers and the workers repairing the fortress still discover new passages,forgotten corridors, and even small rooms hidden behind a wall or in the dusty,deep shadows of the stronghold.

Scarlet helps them when she can, prompted by her own curiosity andthirst for knowledge. She read the reports about the incredibly old age of thisplace, the secrets it holds, the mysteries and various references surroundingit and she’s fascinated by them.

Whenever her duties allow her, she likes to explore more of their newhome, always asking Solas to accompany her. And he always accepts, happy to seeher happy and eager to see if they can discover something dating back to theoriginal Skyhold, the one he lived in ages ago.

He knows it would be pretty much impossible – too much time has passed,too many people and cultures have walked over these stones -, but nostalgia isa cruel feeling and he wishes to find traces of his old castle with Scarlet athis side.

The room the workers found today is near the foundations, right next tothe prison cells. It’s more a decaying nook than a true room, so narrow anddark as it is, but the ruined shelves and the small table stuck in a cornerindicate that it was used for something, probably to study far from noise andother people.

Something stirs in Solas’ mind and he hums, looking around with pensiveeyes. The stones of the walls and ceiling are very old, different from the ones in the upper levels of thestronghold, and he’s sure he has been here before, in a so distant past.

“Look, vhenan!” Scarlet gasps,leaning down to pick up a frail-looking page from the ground. The papercrinkles under her delicate touch, but Solas senses magic coming off it and itdoesn’t turn to dust.

“The ink has faded.” she sighs, but her cheerfulness soon returns. “ButI’m glad the page is still intact! I wonder how old it is.”

“Very old.” he confirms, squeezing her hand. “But a preserving spell wascast on it, so…”

And that’s when he remembers.Yes, he remembers it, now. This was actually his secret study, a safe, privatespace where he could read in peace when things in the fortress became too loud,too busy, too hectic for him to study and relax there. He only came to thishidden room when he was absolutely sure he wasn’t needed by his men andrefugees – it might not look comfortable, but to him it was a sort oflifesaver, when his mind and psyche just couldn’t take the enormity of hisresponsibilities anymore.

“I wonder what it was used for.” Scarlet mumbles, looking at the pagesscattered on the ground and the empty shelves. “It was definitely used to study,but study what?”

She gasps, turning to him with wide eyes and an excited smile.

“Maybe blood magic? Or some kind of magic related to the Fade?”

“Probably something simpler.” Solas chuckles before he can stop himself.“I would say short novels and stories to rest the mind a bit.”

“Uh?” Scarlet looks at him with big, surprised golden eyes. The room isso small they have been hugging each other for the whole time, holding theirhands and turning around with difficulty only when necessary.

“Why do you think that?” she asks, looking at the pages on the flooragain, wondering if she missed some kind of detail that led him to believethat. Solas blushes and clears his throat, holding her closer and brushing dustaway from her red hair.

“Just a feeling, I suppose. This place is secluded and far from living quarters,but it is too small to perform complex magical experiments.” He fidgets withthe collar of her shirt, hoping his embarrassed blush isn’t too well visible.“I believe it was simply used as a private room of sort.”

“I think you’re right.” she agrees, smiling at him, then at the wallsaround them. Her excitement comes back swiftly and she even bounces on her feeta little. “Oh! Do you think whoever used this room might have hidden somethinghere? We did find a merchant’s old diary in one of the rooms of the garden,remember?”

“It’s true, yes.” He knows he didn’t leave anything personal here - henever wrote a diary to begin with -, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Scarletand ruin her cheerful, bright mood. They will look for things he very muchdoubts are there but looking for them will make her happy and even if theywon’t find anything, he knows she will feel rewarded and satisfied after athroughout research.

He kisses her, making her giggle and blush, and says: “Why don’t we searchfor loose stones or secret doors, vhenan?”

“That would be awesome!” She beams at him and as she explores the roomwith her hands, imagining what kind of person might have stayed here, readingwhat she imagines to be wonderful, ancient poems, he starts to see the roomunder a different light – no more a closed self-made prison to stay alone, buta precious space to share with her, where much more interesting books can beread together while resting in each other’s arms.

He smiles and helps her with her research, kissing her face wheneverthey get close to each other, and even though they find nothing like theyexpected, her eyes are shining with joy and her smile is wide and joyous, somuch he feels his heart beat ten times faster.

He sits on the old chair and takes her in his arms, ensuring she’scomfortable on his lap. They stay there for a long time, cuddling and listeningto the roaring waterfall just outside the walls, witness to their love andadoration for each other.