#perfect nightgown of my childhood dreams

[stokerbaby2013]

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Three: Subtle Dreaming

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

Chapter track: Rainbow - The Temple of the King - Algal the Bard

It has been... a rough couple weeks. But I'm back! Hope you enjoy! Your comments and questions mean the world! Special thanks to all you lovely rebloggers! I'm still trying to figure out how to respond without essentially reposting half a dozen times, but I see you, you make my week!

Subtle Dreaming

A knock on the door disturbed her work. It was an hour past midnight, when all but the youngest servants and ardent lovers had retired to their beds with heads full of dreams, a time a wandering mice and cat’s work.

But she wasn’t surprised, even less when she opened the door of her windowless chamber to find a young lady in her nightdress, wrapped in a shawl with wary hope in her eyes and a candle in her hand. Alis Everard. The youngest of a large family, and the only child still unmarried – and a child she was, barely thirteen, and of all the reasons the bard hated the king of Meiren, summoning such young suitors for his Endless guest might be the greatest. Her face hadn’t quite lost childhood’s rounded cheeks, and the seams on her nightgown had recently been let out after a growth spurt.

“I see your father is impatient,” the bard said. Wrapped in her own shawl over her own nightgown, she felt more than ever the noble’s equal. After such a long life, she understood better than most how little rank protected one from life and how much a peasant’s child was like a queen’s. She was the girl’s elder by far, but she’d been young once, and what youth didn’t go sneaking down corridors in the dark during their first trip to court?

“He bid me seek your counsel. May I come in?”

Stepping back, she ushered the girl into her sparse little room. “Of course.”

Once the girl was through, she moved to close the door, but a slippered foot darted through the gap to block it. “Not so quicky!”

The foot neatly kicked the door back open as the bard released it, and a young woman – who was, at least, properly a woman – swept by in a dressing gown of satin and a riot of chestnut curls. “I enjoy midnight jaunts, but not being spied on one.”

The bard did her very best not to smile, but failed entirely. She knew this late guest as well. Eilwyn Alder. The third generation in her family the bard had befriended, and she sat next to little Alis on the bed with the casual grace of someone entitled to it.

“My grandmother sent me for your thoughts, though I’m sure she’ll collect them for herself tomorrow. But I am a dutiful granddaughter, so here I am.” She blinked doe eyes as the door finally fell shut, poised and perfect coquettish grace. “So, what news? Or will I lose my beauty sleep for nothing?”

Pulling out a stool from beneath her tiny desk, the bard said, “I haven’t spent an hour in his presence, and I’ve had a long ride, so forgive me if I haven’t yet taken the full measure of the king’s guest and his schemes.”

Alis wriggled on the bed, twisting her hands up in her shawl. Her eyes bounced between shadows, looking for threats like the Dream Lord’s nightmares might crawl out of the walls to exact vengeance for some imagined slight. Not that they couldn’t, but the bard assumed Lord Morpheus had better things to do with his time than torment one overwrought teenager who didn’t want to marry him.

“What if he eats his bride on the wedding night? Like the Lindworm?”

Eilwyn scoffed, and the bard donned a gentle smile, even if she couldn’t keep the laugher from her voice.

“He’s Endless, not a dragon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means you’d be better off with a dragon.”

The child curled into the corner of the bed, sinking into the blankets with her shawl swallowing the lower half of her face. Looking for comfort where her companions’ mirth had failed. The bard reached over to pat her knee, taking the opportunity to change the subject. “Honestly dragons aren’t so bad. One of my patrons is a dragon, you know. I was attending my yearly visit to his lair when your great, worried, noble parents called for me.”

A whisper of a promised story lured Alis’s eyes away from visions of doom. She glanced at Eilwyn, like she’d confirm the tale. The older girl gladly took up the role of expert.

“Everyone knows that,” she sniffed.

“Is it…” Alis mulled over the idea, confusing herself with her own bevy of questions. “Is it a… nice dragon?”

“These days he is. But he wasn’t always.”

The hook snared Alis’s attention, and her posture softened, though she didn’t leave the corner of the little bed. In fact, she made herself more comfortable, settling like a kitten, and a stab of rage that anyone thought this little girl ought to be considered as a wife seared through the gathering strands of the bard’s story.

She took a blanket and settled it over the child as she began to speak, shielding her from a king’s machinations, a world too big for little hands, and prying eyes.

.O.O.O.

Dream of the Endless retired to the chambers the King set aside for his use, though he had little use for them at all. He would not sleep. He had no intention of entertaining in the parlor, or writing missives at the richly appointed desk. There was no book on the shelves he did not already possess, and he left the food prepared for him to grow cold and stale on the table.

He did sip the wine, and in the darkest hours he found his amusement in wandered the sleeping minds of the castle. Boredom drove him. Cruelty, even. Vengeance called for the king to atone for his wounded pride, and the decade since the human’s error only gave Dream time to image new and wondrous torments. He wanted to watch the king’s schemes crumble in the dread nightmares prowling the would-be suitors’ dreams. He enjoyed the seeds of hate planted in parents’ hearts, the doubt in subjects who’d been nothing but loyal until this gathering.

The king’s story would be a horror, a kind of tragedy that left wounds in his lands and subjects the turn of generations would not heal. These seven days would be the fuse, a prologue to terror and loss. A lesson none would soon forget, lest they bring such punishment on their own loves.

He drifted, savoring the fears he would shape to his own ends. Until words snared his attention. A half-heard tale of a dragon spinning through recent memories of a soft touch and a smile in the face of inescapable dread.

He found a young mind loosely tethered to the Dreaming, caught in the tides running between the conscious and subconscious, where words and images of the Waking cast strange reflections in the fading thoughts before sleep. She led him to a plain, simple room deep in the castle. A place for high-ranking members of staff, perhaps. Utilitarian and uninspiring. Not a place this noble child belonged. But she was not alone, and as she dozed, Dream borrowed her senses.

Voices. One he recognized. The bard the king so detested. He knew her as he knew all dreamers, and he sensed his sister’s touch upon her.

She spoke of him.

“He’s the Prince of Stories. A bride market is beneath him. This is how political unions for picky lords looking for pretty faces are arranged, not how one of the most powerful creatures to ever live seeks a partner,” the bard said.

She was not wrong, of course. The story weaver spied the loose strings in the tale, the ragged ends that did not match, though she had yet to understand the pattern he wove.

“Whatever he wants, it isn’t love or a warm body in his bed. There’s something else. I just have to figure out if that something is a danger to any of you.”

So, loyalty did grow in the king’s court. Just not to the monarch. Dream felt the peace the bard’s presence brought the dreamer half-snared in her sleep. A quiet, sure thing. The confidence children had in oak trees their parents and grandparents climbed when they were young.

The other voice in the room did not speak as a child. This one was old enough for caution, and it worried for the old oak as well as those who sheltered beneath.

“To us, I should think.”

Did the bard not fear him? Had she stood outside as the storyteller for so long she’d forgotten she could be part of them as well?

“Whatever happens, dear, I’ll survive it.” Her only worry was for those she perceived as in her care. The children of children she’d watched grow. A touch carried through the dreamer’s skin and into their subconscious, a kind voice leading her back to the Waking. “It isn’t time to sleep yet. You must return to your room…”

The fragile link collapsed, and the bridge between the servants’ quarters and the noble guest room dissolved.

Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, sat in his darkened chambers in the court of a damned king, and thought as he sipped from his wine that he would enjoy seeing the bard at work. He must amuse himself for seven days, after all, until the time of the agreement ran out, and she was a surprising creature.

The most surprising he’d seen in some time.

[novaae]

heavens and oceans

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[Bumizumi, TLOK]

The heavens and the oceans were very much alike, Bumi learnt in his years of service. Both of them endless, dark voids that nobody could study, not the best waterbender in both poles or the only remaining two airbenders. Both of them holding so much mystery and intrigue that he could tire of thinking about them.

And so, when Izumi informs him that she’s never studied the stars the way he has, or travelled by water more than once a decade, he can only recoil in very real and not at all exaggerated shock.

“Isn’t this stuff taught in school?” He asks, once he recovers from the shock and saunters over to the window, his palms pressed flat against the windowsill as he leans out. A waning moon, and the stars in full view. Perfect. He turns back to look at Izumi, and the freezing breeze of the night travels though his bones.

“Not really. We focused on more theoretical subjects. And a better focus on the new history syllabus.” She replies, staring at him curiously from the bed. She’s only dressed in a sheer nightgown, but Bumi’s far too focused on other things to appreciate how she looks. That’s a first.

Bumi glances at the night-sky again, and then his hands move of their own accord, and he quickly takes off his coat, walks over to where his girlfriend sits, and he quickly wraps it around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “Get your slippers, we’re going to the roof. And don’t take off my coat.”

“I won’t.” She says, and then they’re out of his bedroom, and he takes the lead, because Izumi wouldn’t know where the small staircase to the roof right above his bedroom is. He goes up first, footsteps firm with years of practice in his childhood and adolescence. Izumi makes it up after him, and then sneezes.

“Bumi, we could have seen this from the window. Why did you drag me all the way here?” She huffs as she pushes herself up and stumbles right into his arms. The waves from Yue Bay crash into the island, and Bumi’s heart skips a beat. Or two.

“No, no, trust me.” He insists, his breath leaving his body when he looks at Izumi properly. Her grey hair looks silver in the moonlight, and his coat droops off her, except the color somehow suits her. That frown, which means he should get to work soon. Her beautiful eyes, that seem to soften for nobody but him. Him, because she loves him. Him, because while Yue and La know what she sees in him, she sees something.

“You haven’t seen the stars till you’ve seen it right where you can listen to the ocean.”

She looks unimpressed, but then settles down right next to him anyway. Nestled into him, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, and squeezes tightly, as if making sure this isn’t a dream. “Now, can I interest you in a quick lesson about the night sky?”

Izumi stays silent for a moment before she points at something a little too bright for tonight. It’s almost easy to miss, and Bumi squints at it.

“You got any idea what that is?”

He racks his brain. North Star, Tian Yue, Ullaktut….. nothing quite strikes the bill. He would have stayed silent for quite a minutes if Izumi tapping his temple didn’t reel him back into the world of the living.

“Nope. Not that one. Your teacher’s stumped.”

“You’re not my teacher.” She scoffs, and then accidentally hits the top of her head with his chin. They both pay it no heed. “That’s the comet.”

“Sozin’s comet?”

“We call it Nian Dao, but you’re right.”

“Oh.”

Izumi has just opened her mouth when there’s a shout from the ground. Izumi jolts, and he bumps his head right against a tile. Now that’s going to hurt for a while.

“Who’s there? Get down this instant, or I won’t hesitate to call Master Tenzin!”

Bumi sighs deeply, cursing the man in his head before he yells back. “It’s me, Bumi! No need to call my brother.”

“Sorry sir! The White Lotus has just been more alarmed lately!” The voice sounds rather apologetic.

“Sorry about that.” Bumi mutters to Izumi, who’s busy getting up. There’s snow stuck to her ass and he snorts.

“I think we should get back to the bedroom. We can continue this later.”

Bumi rolls his eyes before following her. “I guess. You promise?”

“I do.” She replies, and Bumi grumbles a little more till they finally get into bed.

That night, he dreams of the stars, and of Izumi next to him.

[oddaodd]

· I Don't Go In For Sweets ·

Request: by a lovely anon "set after the events of season 3. Tommy can't handle the company, he's still grieving and he has to be there for Charlie so Polly tells him she knows a girl from a good family to get married He ends up agreeing (aunt Pol can be very persuasive) but even though he's married, this new girl isn't considered as a wife. He doesn't really make any effort but his "wife" understands, he's a widowed father who lost his first wife only a year ago. However since they are...in this, she wants to make her time as enjoyable as possible for the both of them and for Charlie too. But no matter what Tommy makes it a point of honor to not let her in, to not let her replace Grace so he ignores her, he works more, tries to spend as little as possible in the house. Reader stays patient, it will be alright and Charlie is making her quite busy anyway. One night, Tommy comes home completely drunk and maybe a bit high too, he can't even make it to his office. Thankfully Reader is still awake, she takes care of him and Tommy just...melts at how gentle Reader is, he may be able to keep his distant while sober but it's much harder in his state. He admits to her how he's been feeling and all. Ever since that night, something changed, Tommy feels some comfort, some solace being around her, she accepts him wholly, even his flaws, the bad side of his business and she tries to provide some sort of safe place for when it gets too hard." (I edited the request because it was very long, but I kept all essential parts in there)

Author’s note: I loved loved loved writing this and it ended up being SUPER long, but I’m very happy with how it turned out. As always, I hope you like it and have the loveliest of days!

Warnings: season 3 SPOILERS sort of, but not really, still read at your own risk. Arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drugs, angst.

·

“Thomas, you may not be able to see it, but you’re breaking apart” Polly spoke with a sigh as she lit a cigarette after everyone was dismissed from a family meeting.

Everyone had left Tommy’s office in arrow house rather gaily after receiving their fair compensations for partaking in the whole Russian ordeal, all except Polly, who remained where she sat, wishing for a word with her nephew

Tommy merely scoffed at her concern before lighting his own cigarette and taking a puff “I’ll be alright”

“And Charlie?” Pol pressed knowing Tommy’s mourning was not only affecting him, but Charlie as well. “What about him?”

“He’s fine” He said before turning around to look through the window, ignoring his Aunt’s heavy stare.

“You take too much after your mother” she sighed half angry half sad “she too loved pretending everything was alright and I don’t need to remind you where that lead her”

Tommy sighed deeply, he knew he could fool anyone. Anyone but Polly. “We’ll manage”

“Consider my offer” Polly said standing up and making her way to the door “Y/n is a good girl from a good family” she persuaded before leaving the room.

Tommy sighed at his Aunt’s words, he wasn’t ready to get married again even when he knew the woman he would be marrying was a nice one. He felt like he was spitting on Grace’s grave and he hated himself for even considering the prospect, but he knew a mother figure would be good for Charlie.

He spent the rest of the day pondering about Polly’s suggestion and remembering his own childhood in the shadow of the absent tortured presence that his mother had been. It didn’t take him long to decide he didn’t want that for Charlie, so that same night he phoned Polly.

“I’ll do it” was all he said before hanging up. There was no need for more words, Polly would know exactly what he meant.

Exactly a week later, Tom was standing in the altar of a church that was significantly smaller than the one from his first wedding. The fact that everything about this wedding was so obscenely different from his first did soothe his guilt a bit. And as he stood there he couldn’t keep his mind from traveling to the days leading up to his wedding to Grace. She had made sure everything was perfect and had made an effort to invite every single relative she could think of. She remembered her rambling on an on about fabrics, insisting that everything ought to be perfect when he in all honestly couldn’t care less, he just wanted to marry her.

All his thoughts vanished away with a poof when Y/n came into sight. And what a sight she was. She had insisted on doing her own makeup and on pinning flowers to her hair to compliment her headpiece and her elegant, yet simple white dress flowed almost mystically as her father gave her away. She had never imagined she would be marrying someone she didn’t know, but she wanted to look her best for getting married is not something people do everyday.

When she stood in the altar, she offered her to be husband a smile which he did not return, instead turning his attention to the priest before them. She mirrored his actions, her heart beating violently under her chest as the priest began speaking.

It all felt like a blur, she could swear it had only been a second since her father had given her away and yet, the priest had already uttered the dreaded “you may now kiss the bride”

Tommy barely brushed his lips against hers and soon the sound of everyone clapping invaded her ears. They had a small party afterwards in Y/n’s former house. Her parents had invited pretty much all of their acquaintances while tommy had only invited his close relatives.

When night fell Tommy was more than ready to leave “Are you ready to go?” was one of the few sentences he uttered to his now wife that night.

She again offered him a smile before saying “yeah just let me say goodbye”

The drive to arrow house was tense, although Y/n didn’t know Thomas very well she would tell he was unhappy. She wondered about what to say to him, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough and soon enough they were pulling over in front of Tommy’s stately home.

“Charlie must already be asleep, but I'll introduce you tomorrow” he said opening Y/n’s door for her.

“It’s alright” she said looking at him, not quite knowing what to do next.

“Your parents sent some of your belongings, I've already asked the maids to take them up to your-our room” he said

“Thank you, Thomas” she smiled as she walked into the big house not yet feeling close enough to him to call him Tommy.

His name falling from her lips caused an echo of bittersweet emotions to stir inside him but he masked it perfectly well as she introduced Y/n to the maids that went to the door to take their coats.

“Frances here will show you the way to the room” he said after having made introductions.

“This way, Mrs” Frances politely said.

Y/n began following her but stopped when she didn’t hear Tommy’s footsteps behind her own.

“Are you not coming?” she asked turning to look at him.

“Maybe in a bit” was all he said before he walked away down one of the many spacious hallways of the house.

After Y/n made herself comfortable in the room and changed into her nightgown she took the time to peek around the room like one always does when one is a strange place. After familiarizing herself with it she laid down in the big bed. She was nervous, she knew what happened on wedding nights. A small chuckle stopped at her lips when she recalled the stories her close already married girlfriends told her. If she hadn’t married a complete stranger she too would be looking forward to it.

Her thoughts ended up luring her to sleep after a while despite her nerves and the night went by in a ridiculously fast flash. The next morning she woke up alone and after getting ready she made her way downstairs. Tommy and Charlie were already in the dining room when she entered it.

“good morning” she said

Charlie immediately turned his attention to her, his eyes widening while his dad merely glanced at her while he muttered a “Good morning “ of his own.

Y/n sat down next to Tommy while he cleared his throat “charles, this is Y/n. We got married yesterday so she’ll be living with us from now on”

Charlie merely nodded in understanding before playing around with his food.

A tense air flooded breakfast until Tommy stood up, having barely touched his food and spoke turning to look at Y/n “I have to go now, if you need anything feel free to ask Frances”

“Alright” Y/n replied feeling a bit disappointed, she would love to get to know him, but she already knew it was going to be difficult.

“I have to go too” Charlie announced in a timid voice, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts. Despite her disappointment she understood, maybe he was just shy and his dad just reticent. They had lost a wife and a mother after all.

The first few days after that, Charlie avoided her nearly as much as his father did and Y/n remained in lonely patience until one night Charlie’s cries interrupted her focus on the book that she had just bought. She rushed to his room and called out his name as she entered not knowing if the boy would be comfortable with her or not.

“What is it?” she asked worried as she knelt by his bed.

“I miss my mum” the boy confessed looking at her with teary eyes as he clutched his blanket.

Y/n felt her heart give a small ache at his confession and in an attempt to comfort him she spoke “She’s not really gone, you know?”

“She’s dead” the boy sobbed.

“but people who die, don’t leave us. Not really anyhow” she said hesitantly rubbing his arm. “just because we cant see them doesn’t mean they are not here”

“I miss seeing her” he continued.

“Oh but you can still see her”

“how”

“before you go to bed just think about her, then she’ll visit you in your dreams” Y/n spoke as if she was telling a fairy tale.

“really?” the boy’s eyes widened.

“really” Y/n confirmed “But you have to think really really hard”

“I’ll try” Charlie said having calmed down a bit.

“very well” Y/n said as she stood up, but Charlie’s voice stopped her.

“can you stay till I fall asleep?”

After that night, Charlie hardly left Y/n’s side and she felt much better with his company for she was sure if he wasn’t there keeping her on her toes all day she would fall into a depressive chasm induced by her husband’s absence.

On the rare moments he was home she tried to strike up conversation with him over breakfast or late at night when he came home and she was burdened by insomnia. But Tommy only humored her with a few short responses before excusing himself or turning to face the other side of the bed.

It wasn’t only the fact that he avoided her as much as he could, but he also made it a priority to exclude her at all times. She was never invited into family meetings or night’s at The Garrison so she thought it was a miracle when tommy didn’t oppose to her planning Charlie’s birthday party.

She invited only Tommy’s family which instantly warmed up to her, noticing what a good influence she was and Polly wanted to slap Thomas for the way he had been acting throughout his marriage to Y/n. Almost feeling guilty for getting her into this mess.

When the party ended Tommy shut himself in his office like he often did when he was at home and though he had never given Y/n a reason to believe she was welcome in there of all places, she found herself allowing herself in after putting Charlie to bed.

Tommy looked up as she entered and let out a sigh before turning his attention back to some papers he had been reading.

“I noticed you didn’t have any” she commented not letting his sigh deflate her as she laid a plate with a slice of homemade chocolate cake on his desk. “it’s really good if I may say so myself” she mused sitting down in a chair opposite to his as she dug in with a fork in her own slice.

“I don’t go in for sweets” he stated.

“Not even chocolate?” Y/n tried, but tommy didn’t answer, instead he just shook his head.

“I still think you should try it, it’s not overly sweet, and…”

“is there anything you need?” he interrupted bluntly a bit harsher than he would’ve liked.

His tone caught her off guard and when she couldn’t come up with an answer tommy again turned his attention back to his papers.

“I wish you could let me in” She softly confessed after a few tense seconds.

“Well I wish we hadn’t married but I guess things don’t always go the way we want them to go”

Tommy knew he had crossed a line by the silence that again settled into the room. He looked up at Y/n with her parted lips and misty eyes. They exchanged glances for a second but instead of allowing him to see her like that any longer, she stood up setting her plate on his desk and walked away, only allowing a few tears to drop by when she was out of the room and his sight.

After that she stopped trying to get closer to him. He still loved his late wife and she understood, people in grief never mean what they say after all, but his words stung nonetheless.

She stopped trying to wait for him at night to see if he had gotten home alright and during breakfast she only uttered polite good mornings.

One night however, Y/n was yanked out of a peaceful sleep by a loud crash. She was on her feet in no time and after checking into Charlie’s room to see if he was alright she cautiously ventured downstairs. A few incoherent mumbles filled her ears before her husband came into sight, fumbling with his coat to get it off.

“need help?” she asked earning his attention.

“I’m fine” he said finally taking it off but as he went to take a step to begin walking the floor under him moved and he lost his balance, his knees crashing loudly against the wooden floor.

Y/n offered him a hand and helped him up. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands were shaky, consequence of the snow, no doubt. “let’s get you upstairs”

“I can do it on me own” he slurred letting go of her hand.

“stop being so stubborn” she derided, snaking one of her arms around his waist as she helped him upstairs.

Y/n helped him into bed, tookoff his shoes and went to the bathroom to fetch a small towel and some cold water.

She dampened the towel with the cold water before dabing it gently on Tommy’s forehead. His eyes never leaving her face as she did so, making her grow a bit nervous. She continued, trying her best to ignore it until she felt his hand softly caressing her cheek.

“You are beautiful” he rasped.

“Stop it, Thomas” she said feeling her cheeks grow red when she felt a bit sad that he had to be completely drunk to compliment her.

Even in his drunken state he seemed to notice he was making her uncomfortable so he held his tongue until Y/n laid in bed next to him after turning on the lights.

“I’m sorry” he interrupted the silence “For the way I’ve been acting” the whiskey and cocaine making him more vulnerable and open “I guess I was afraid that if I let you in then she would disappear”

He didn’t expect her to answer, but then her voice came in a soft exhausted tone“ I don’t intend to replace her. You don’t need to act all defensive and secretive. Even if it’s not what you wanted, we are married.”

“I Know” was all he said.

Y/n expected him to withdraw more from her after showing himself that vulnerable to her that night but she was wrong. He began arriving home earlier, sometimes even asking if he could come along on the walks she and Charlie so much adored going on. And Y/n finally felt her marriage was going somewhere maybe it wasn’t based on love yet, but it was something.

One day she was at the stables while Charlie was taking a nap. She had always adored horses.

“I didn’t know you liked horses” came Tommy’s smooth voice causing her to jump.

“You never asked” she smiled petting a black horse as he walked closer to her.

“We could go out for a ride, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind letting you borrow his horse” Tommy offered as he too began to pet the horse, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s for a brief second.

“I’d love to, but I am afraid I don’t know how to ride, Tommy” she said, panicking for a second after having called him that. But she rested assured as soon as he spoke again.

“Well that can be fixed” he said opening the door of the stall and guiding the horse outside.

“You mean now?” Y/n asked with a laugh.

“Got something better to do?” he asked walking out of the stable with the horse. Y/n observed tommy as he prepared the horse. She had never seen him so gentle and calm before and she only realized she had been staring when Tommy directed his attention to her to ask her if she was ready.

“I think so” she said going to stand next to the horse wondering how the hell to climb up. But before she had any more time to think she felt Tommy’s hands on her waist giving her a push that allowed her to pull herself up on the animal. It was a good thing she had chosen to wear slacks that day, she thought.

“Goodness this is high” she said nervously looking down at Tommy when he began guiding the horse to move in a slow walk.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall” he promised repressing a mirthful tone at her nervousness.

He guided the horse with her around the property in the crisp evening air and Y/n allowed herself to relax with every step the horse took. Tommy’s presence made her feel safe and protected and she found it increasingly harder to look away from his figure. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him.

When the sky began turning soft shades of purple and orange the pair returned to the stables. When the time came from Y/n to come down from the horse, tommy helped her again. Y/n began to love the feeling of him touching her and when her feet touched the ground in front of Thomas, he didn’t remove his hands from her waist right away and instead fixed his blue eyes on her, not wanting to stop looking at her.

She too fixed her eyes on Tommy as she felt a silent gasp in the base of her throat. That was the way she would’ve liked him to look at her on their wedding day. Tommy then leaned in, almost as if he were asking for permission before he tenderly pressed his lips to Y/n’s.

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz @slytherinicequeen @lilymurphy03

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | Chapter Five

Chapter Five

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Summary: (fluff only) weekly Saturday reading only they are joined by an extra 15 lost boys, not just Spencer

Warnings (adding as they happen): fluff, hurt/comfort, depressed spencer, reader has a daughter, falling in love, strangers to lovers, library smut, oral (female receiving) lots and lots of fluff

word count: 3K

from the beginning <3

He woke up Saturday morning to the sound of a bunch of voices coming from beyond the walls of his room. Only it wasn’t his room, it was the room he slept in when he stayed with Y/N and Amoreena, he hasn’t left since he arrived on Thursday and he had no plan to either.

They still hadn’t told her about their relationship, not wanting her to come crawling into bed with her mom in the morning to find Spencer there too. She wasn’t ready to explain to Amoreena what it meant for Spencer to be in her bed, how they were in love and that she might need to learn how to knock before entering.

So he slept in the spare room, completely contently because he knew she was only on the other side of the wall, instead of 30 minutes away like she would be when he slept at his own apartment.

It had been a week since he saw them reading in the park, and now they were his family. It was incredibly fast, anyone who heard the news would say so. But that’s how his life worked, he blew through everything incredibly fast, it only made sense for him to skip every step in the book and become a stepdad overnight.

He woke up then, missing Y/N and Amoreena as he thought about the last week. Finally getting dressed and peaking outside, through the crack in the blinds, to see what was going on on the farm.

There were a bunch of men in the field with the cows dropping new cattle off in a big truck as a bunch of children ran around the yard. Y/N wasn’t kidding when she said her 7 siblings had produced 15 cousins for Amoreena to play with. Children all between the ages of toddler and 7-years-old, screaming while they ran after Rufus and the cats, it was a pure dopamine rush to witness.

He found Y/N in the living room, a book in one hand and a coffee in the other, “good morning cutie, all the ruckus on the farm wake you up?” She did her best fake southern accent as she smiled at him. Beautiful as ever in the early morning sunshine.

He nodded with a yawn, sitting beside her and snuggling into her shoulder. She placed her mug in his hands so she could wrap an arm around him and pull him in closer, letting him take a sip of coffee and become a real person again.

He noticed she was reading a book he had never seen before, reading the pages and not know the words. It was a first for him.

“What’s that one about?”

Y/N closed it to let him look at the cover. It was a hand-bound book, wrapped in green fabric that was at least 30 years old and in well-loved condition. The gold lettering reading Amoreena, along with a pressed gold rose and the author's name. He had never heard of it before.

“My grandma was an aspiring writer and the reason I love books so much, her name was Peggy and she had a dream once about a wonderful little girl named Amoreena and the magical life she created for herself. She wrote it all down and my grandpa had it typed and bound for her, she was so proud of this book,” Y/N gushed, smiling as she held it to her chest softly, thinking of all the memories Spencer didn’t know yet.

“Really?” Spencer couldn’t help but smile at her.

She nodded softly, “she loved Elton John, so much so that when my sister Ashley came out she threw her a party. Almost all those kids out there are Ashley's, by the way, she went down the adoption and foster root after I did IVF.”

She pointed out the front window at all the people gathered on her land, “Ben and Dylan dropped their kids off too while they help dad and Evan with the farm. Those are my brothers in case you didn’t know their names yet, there’s also Carver and Francis but they don’t live as close.”

Her little life was just so perfect, “did they want to come with us to read this afternoon? We need some lost boys.”

“They’d love that, are you sure you can handle 16 kids between the two of us?” she smiled, pure love spreading through her body as she held him.

“They’re not so different from psychopaths right?” He teased, watching her settle against him even more as they enjoyed their Saturday together.

“What else can you tell me about your grandma?” He snuggled into her more as he asked, wanting to know as much about her happiness as possible.

“She was always listening to music, she loved Elton's song Amoreena the most. It was the song she played for the majority of my childhood. It only made sense for me to name my little miracle Amoreena too, cause I wouldn’t have her unless nanny suggested I have a baby.”

“I would have loved to meet her.”

Y/N’s smile changed then, “she would have loved you and your big mind.”

“My mom wants to meet you and Amoreena,” he announces softly, he hasn’t really told her anything about his family yet.

“What’s she like?”

“She has schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s and she lives in a care home in DC right now, I try and see her when I can but she has her own schedule so I have to fit around when she’s having a good day,” it was hard to explain it to most people, but not to her. He didn’t feel any shame or fear in introducing them. Y/N was the most loving human, and Amoreena was just the same.

“When is she free next?” A simple question that made him feel incredibly giddy.

“Tuesday from 3-5,” he snuggled in closer to her as she wraps her arm around him.

“We’ll pick Amoreena up from school after work and take her over,” Y/N agreed, their lives intertwining like they were always meant to.

Like she was the ivy on his old cottage, she took him in and made him her own, wrapping herself all around him and never letting him go again.

He basically finishes her coffee while she holds him on the couch. The sound of the kids outside making them laugh every once in a while, dogs barking and cows mooing, the farm was alive and roaring while they enjoyed each other's company.

“Did you bring your costume for the reading today?”

He sat right up then, looking at her like she lost her mind, “of course I did, I wouldn’t have Penelope spend a week tracking down a Captain Hook costume just to forget it.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, “you didn’t?!”

He simply nodded with a cheeky grin, “come on Tinker Bell, everyone knows she had a thing for Hook.”

“Who didn’t? He was the first and last bad boy I was interested in, I typically go more for Milo’s and Ariel’s; full of adventure and always learning something new,” Y/N teased him.

“Mhm, I always had a thing for Aladdin and Belle in search of far off lands and happy endings,” he mused, making her smile just as much as he was, “but for real it was between Hook and Wendy for my costume,” he made her laugh again, wanting to hear it for the rest of time.

“You still can, I have a blue nightgown you can borrow,” it was so easy for them to flirt, it fit into their conversation so simply it felt like they had been together forever.

He couldn’t help leaning in to kiss her, resting her back against the couch softly as she held onto him. He loved kissing her, she tasted like coffee and happiness every single time. She made the cutest sounds when they would make out like she was surprised by it or she wasn’t used to it at all.

She made him feel like he was young again like he was 21 and in love for the first time. All his trauma disappeared and that Spencer who used to stare back at him in the mirror was gone now. That guy packed his bags and left the farm to never be seen again.

Good fucking riddance is all he had to say.

He was happy, he enjoyed being happy and he was going to stay happy. It was the only goal he had going forward, and as long as he was in her embrace, surround by the laugher of her child and family, he knew it would be possible.

Amoreena came running inside then, finding the two of them making out on the couch before they could part from each other.

“Ewww!” She cried, jumping on top of the two of them and knocking the wind out of Spencer.

“Get off,” Y/N tried to speak as she was crushed by the two of them. “Mom down!”

Spencer picks Amoreena up then, taking her away from the couch and spinning her around like she’s an airplane. She cheers and cheers and doesn’t want him to put her down because it’s so fun. The next thing he knows he’s being dragged outside to twirl all the kids around like they’re Peter Pan, flying through the air on their way to Neverland.

He’s surrounded by giggles and tickles fights, he’s tackled down against the dirt as a herd of tiny children dog pilled him. Laughing until he cried, feeling more joy than humanly possible and then Y/N’s telling them all to get ready to he’d to the park.

Coming down the stairs in a pirate costume to a bunch of screaming kids was an experience and a half. Spencer couldn’t believe how happy it made them all to imagine Captain Hook had broken into the house and Amoreena, or Peter Pan as she corrected him, chased him outside with all the lost boys.

He took a moment to learn all their names, all 15 of them, however, unlike the cats, they had relatively normal people names.

Kate, Cade, Jet, Lauren, Cassie, Sara, Evan, Benny, Olivia, Jessie, Owen, Maddie, Gwen, August, and Parker, were the cutest little family of cousins. some looked like Amoreena, some looked like their own mothers, a handful of them were adopted out of the country, they were the most perfect cast of lost boys.

He's never had any cousins, no pets, no siblings. His life never felt lonely until he realized what he missed out on.

“Dad,” Amoreena whispered as she tugged on his shirt lightly, “look!”

She pointed towards the house where Y/N was standing. When she said she was going as Tinker Bell he really didn’t think she meant looking exactly like Julia Roberts at the end of Hook.

She looked magical in her beautiful white dress, curly hair with the most perfectly placed flowers and flawless wings wrapped around her shoulders. She was a vision standing on the porch, waiting for him to pick his jaw up off the floor and compliment her.

“Tink,” the words are more like air, soft and barely there.

“Is Captain Hook being nice? Or should we take him to the pond and let the Alligators deal with him?” Y/N teased, marching down the stairs and poking Spencer's chest.

“Ouch,” he teased her, holding his hand over his heart to make her feel bad.

But she didn’t, “some Pirate you are,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him before taking Amoreena’s hand and running off down the trail towards the main house, everyone following her lead.

Nanny packed enough snacks for all 16 kids, and a little extra just in case. Spencer slipped the lunch box over his shoulder and they made their way towards the adventure. Y/N pulling a wagon just in case the littlest ones didn’t want to walk anymore. It was spectacular.

Y/N stopped then, pretending to stand like an army man turning around abruptly to look at the troop. “Lost boys, are we ready?”

“Yes, Tinker Bell!” They cheered back.

“On my lead, 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4,” she marched, bringing her knees up high as they all followed her down the path. “We’re following the leader, the leader, the leader,” she began to sing.

Spencer was in awe, his heart felt like it was going to explode as he watched everyone follow her. Singing along as they marched their tiny little butts down to the park.

“We’re following the leader wherever she may go!” Amoreena yelled the lyrics back, leading the pack as Peter Pan should.

“Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee day Tee dum, tee dee, it's part of the game we play Tee dum, tee dee, the words are easy to say Just a teedle ee dum, a teedle ee do tee day

Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee dum We're one for all, and all of us out for fun We march in line and follow the other one With a teedle ee do, a teedle ee do tee dum”

It was like magic, they all knew the words and they sang the whole way down the path. Every verse and then repeating it. Not a single kid strayed from the path, no one complained about sore feet or hot backs, they loved their Aunty Y/N and so did Spencer.

“We’re off on an adventure, adventure, adventure,” Y/N changed the words, making him smile as she brought happiness into the world. “We’re off on an adventure to read out in the sun! Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee day…”

Every single time he thought she had given him the best day of his life, she manages to outdo herself.

—

They barely listened to the story, it was a disaster of epic proportions but they tried. 15 kids is a lot to handle as an ex FBI agent and a librarian, they had lunch and instead ran around the field playing lost boys instead. It was still an amazing afternoon.

He was going to be covered in bruises the next morning. He had been kicked, poked, trampled, jumped on, the whole 9 yards. They were the most energetic bunch in the whole world, and then they came home to ice cream.

“Y/N,” Spencer finally pulled her aside when all the kids were preoccupied with their cold snack after a hot day.

“Yes, cutie?” It was a nickname that was sticking, much like pretty boy, and he didn’t mind it at all.

“We’re going to need more than 2 songs tonight to get her to go to bed,” he teased, stepping into that step-dad role with ease.

She couldn’t stop smiling at him, wrapping him up in her arms gently so he didn’t crush her fairy wings. “We’ll take her swimming, that’ll tire her out instead. Are you lookin’ for some alone time?”

“I love her dearly, but I can’t kiss you as much when she’s around,” he whispered before pecking her quickly and hearing the group of lost boys pretend to be sick.

“Just because he’s my dad doesn’t mean you have to be gross like your mom and dad, mom,” Amoreena’s smart mouth making them both shake their heads and laugh.

“What would you do if I did this?” Y/N teased before dipping Spencer back like a princess and kissing him, he stuck his foot out in shock as she held him there.

“Ewww!!” All the kids yelled as she returned him to his feet.

“Or this?” Y/N pulled him into another kiss, her leg popping like Princess Mia’s in the princess diaries.

Amoreena and her cousins were all screaming then, laughing at how gross their aunt and her new boyfriend were being. Used to it clearly, their grandparents were just as in love and watching from the porch as they held each other on the swing.

“I love you,” Spencer announced, loud enough for all to hear without a care in the world.

“You better,” she smiled. “I love you too, cutie,” she added before kissing him one last time.

His life felt perfectly complete.

Y/N’s brothers were incredibly kind just like her. He learned that Ashley was the oldest with 5 kids and her wife Susie, then Ben who was 46 and his wife Shannon, they had 3 kids. Dylan and Laurie had 4 and Even, her twin brother had 3.

Turns out her mom had 2 sets of twins back to back, 7 children and only 5 pregnancies. It felt crazy for him to think about having that many people in his life for his whole life, he wouldn’t have known what to do with anyone more than just his mother growing up.

Spencer helped Bob with the barbecue, they made burgers and hotdogs for all 16 of the children while they continued to run through the fields. They had enough energy to last them 5 straight days of chaos. It was amazing.

Y/N and Spencer managed to wander off while all the kids ate, sitting under a tree with their dinner so they could finally have some time alone together.

She was beautiful, sitting in the afternoon amber glow as she tried to keep her hair from blowing in her face. Tucking the strands behind her ears so she could eat her dinner in peace before spencer handed her the hair tie on his wrist. Then she got ketchup on her cheek, seemingly on purpose as she smiled at him and laughing as Spencer wiped it off with his thumb. He was so in love he felt stupid, smiling at her like he’s never seen another person before, absolutely enamoured.

“Derek and his wife wanted to come over tomorrow and have his son meet Amoreena if that’s okay?”

Her face lit up, “his son is the one named after you right? Not your godson?”

He nodded with yet another smile, his lips were going to fall off at this point. “Yeah, he’s the sweetest little guy, Hank’s never been to a farm before.”

“You tell them our gates are always own to new minds and pure hearts,” she smiled. “That’s what nanny used to say.”

He leans in and kisses her then, resting his forehead against hers as she held his cheek in her free hand, smiling ever so softly as she stared into his eyes, they didn’t need words, he knew she loved him too. A week of pure bliss had passed within the blink of an eye, and they still had forever to go.

Taglist: @shemarmooresfedora @spookyspence @spencers-dria @manuosorioh @reidsfish @mochionly (send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list, I don't always see every reply! i love you guys thank you so much for reading)

[mrs-cavill-wife]

Forbidden Witch (3/?)

Pairing: Charles Brandon x Female Reader (Cassandra of Boudicca)

Warning: Fantasy. Language. Forbidden Love. Tell me if I miss something.

Author's Note: Yay, our sorceress is back! I'm so so so sorry for taking so long to back to this Fanfic. I've been sick, my mind got "blocked" and stuff but I'm back to it and sorry if this one is short. yes, I decided she'll have purple eyes. Hope you guys enjoy it, if you do, like, reblog and/or comment. I'm all ears to feedback.

Tag List: @lexyvaldez26 @thereisa8ella @natura1phenomenon @mrsavery @number1chonie @themanfromu @littlefreya @legendarywizarddetective @lovingbearherringhairdo @zealoushound @deangal-101 @everydaymultifandom @rmtndew @summersong69 @jgtfvhsg @tellingyouastory @sillyrabbit81 @nuggsmum @pussyverson @oh-for-fic-sake @foodieforthoughts @fanficlover91 @r-t-doll @its--fandom--darling @poledancingdinos @hlkwrites

Cassandra's POV

Soft knocks woke me up from my messy dreams. I blinked my eyes a few times getting used to the light. I sat up in bed and stretched my body looking around a little confused. Sometimes I have dreams so messed up that I forget where I really am, but within seconds, everything was fresh in my memory. Days ago, I saved a child, a boy, who was swimming in a river in the middle of the night. On the way back to his house, I found out that he is a prince, from the kingdom of Aluma, and since then, out of gratitude, I have been here, in a beautiful large and comfortable room, in the castle.

"Come in"

I got out of bed and Lady Juliette entered my room, just like every morning. I should have stayed only one day, two at the most, but the hospitality, the politeness, the ambient, the treatment of the King and Queen, the happiness of that little runaway, I couldn't refuse to stay any longer.

I smiled at Juliette, watching her open the curtains and the huge windows that looked out onto a beautiful balcony. Then she approached the bed and I stood up as she bowed slightly.

"Good morning, Lady Cassandra. did you sleep well?"

I tilted my face playfully looking at her with mock disapproval and she smiled shyly.

"Oh Juliette, I've told you that we don't need cordiality. How long have i been here? A few weeks, probably months, we're confidants, already friends and I have no title."

She's still shy and started to make my bed and I helped her with the pillows.

"I know, my la.. Cassandra.. It's the orders, I'm just a lady-in-waiting, a helper, I must respect whoever is above me."

I got closer to her after we make the bed and held one of her hands.

"I'm not above anyone else, we're equal inside and I consider you my friend and I want you to act as such, do we agree?"

When I arrived, I was a little unsure, but in front of so many good people, I had nothing to fear. And to make things better, Juliette and I got closer over time. I never had great friends, I guess I never really cared. Since from my childhood in Boudicca, to Aretuza and then to whatever path fate takes me, it's always been me and Atlas, but at the moment, I'm very happy to have someone, who really responds when I speak, at least with words, and not neighs. Juliette smiled happily and went to the bathroom to prepare my bath.

I went to the balcony, the view was just incredible, the birds sang, the sun shone and burned against my skin, on the horizon, I could see part of the Kingdom, the village, but in the distance, mountains. I took a deep breath, basking in the morning scent, eyes hooded, just concentrating on the sounds, until Juliette informed me that the bath was ready.

As soon as I walked in, she left so I could take off my nightgown. We're friends but I still don't feel good about exposing myself like that.

After a relaxing bath with warm water, rose petals and sparkling foam. I put on a robe and found a tray on my bed with my breakfast. It had fruit, bread and juice. Normally, the king and queen would like me to join them at the dinner table, but today was different.

"The kitchen is quite busy, the king is having an old friend today. He is very excited, asked them to prepare the best dishes."

A couple of days ago, I heard some buzz in the hallways. A friend of the king was coming to visit him and it seemed he was creating a commotion around the servants. Maybe it's my imagination, but the ladies looked as fervent as a pan of boiling oil. At a dinner, the king said he would love to introduce me to one of his great friends, I just nodded.

That same night, the queen visited me in my room with a woman. A middle-aged seamstress, a few strands of gray, the queen said she was one of her favorite seamstresses and the most sought after in the kingdom and among her royal friends. She asked the woman and me to talk, and agree on nice clothes for me. I had been wearing dresses loaned to the queen for a while and she knew I didn't feel very comfortable so she contacted her seamstress.

Since today is a big day for the king, I had several options above my bed, my hair was already done with a simple braid. Time passed and I couldn't make up my mind. Juliette was nervous about my lateness, soon the king's friend would be there. For some reason, I felt more indecisive than ever, I almost didn't recognize myself.

But after so much choosing, he manages to make a decision. I looked in the mirror, admiring my necklace and my dress.

"Not that bad"

I walked downstairs with Juliette behind me on our way to the throne room. Madeline played with her son's blond strands while King Alexander chatted with some guards. The castle was cheerful, everyone seemed to want to give the guest the best reception.

As soon as she was seen by little Eric, he smiled and ran to me. I bent down a little and we hugged. Eric and I have bonded, he's an amazing kid with a thirst for adventure.

"Oh dear, look at you"

The queen approached me, looking me up and down and smiling as if I were blood of her blood. Her cheerful voice caught the attention of her husband, who approached, he took my hand and twirled me around making me feel a little shy.

"Cassandra, with all due respect, you look beautiful today."

Madeline and Juliette both chuckled softly at my blush, which also made the queen elbow her husband lightly, scolding him playfully.

Noises echoed in the distance, some voices, horses and carriages

The big door opened, one of the servants reported that the duke had arrived. The king released him, taking his queen's hand on his arm and inviting me to meet his friend at the castle entrance. I walked behind the royal couple with the little prince beside me, chattering about something I didn't hear, my hands sweating with every step I took.

When we arrived at the entrance, I could see two carriages. One loaded with suitcases, so I assumed the guest was in the other. The door of the second carriage opened and a man was the first to exit and suddenly, it was like everything had frozen around me.

The birds stopped singing, the wind got warmer, the sun didn't burn my skin, which was now chilled, my feet felt numb and my heart didn't slosh with blood. A brief deja vu flooded my mind, the memory of my imagination, every detail I imagined came alive and was right in front of me.

Tall man, defined body, strong, noble, fair skin, blue eyes.. like the sky in a spring morning, dark short hair like the night, lips that held perfect white tooth.. I am dreaming or..?

"Charles"

The king shouted happy. The handsome man bowed to the king but quickly the two of them ignored the formalities and embraced.

"How long?"

Charles. It's a good name. And his voice.. only two words left his mouth but that sound, it was like i heard a fire, hot, warming my frozen heart... but with some air of danger, like an unexpected fire that leaves you anchored. He complimented the queen and her son then took back his attention to the king that respectfully, put his hand on my back, approaching me to your friend.

"Charles, I want you to meet someone."

Alexander talked and Charles approached, finally he noticing me and our eyes crossed.

"That's Cassandra of Boudicca, the sorceress."

Charles eyes got wided while showed his beautiful smile, he delicately held my hand and softy pecked my knuckles without taking his eyes from my face.

"My lady."

He said directly at me and I could feel the air leaving my lungs.

"I am Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk"

I bent slightly, still looking at the being that came from my dreams.

"Wow daddy, she has purple eyes"

My body woke up to reality with a sweet childish voice. I looked down and beside Charles, there was a little girl, blue and curious eyes just like her father..

Wait a minute? Father? Did she really say.. daddy?

"Yes darlin, but it's not polite to look at people like that and point."

A beautiful young woman exits the carriage and stands beside Charles and the little girl, bowing towards the King and Queen.

"I've never met a sorceress before. It's a pleasure to meet you, Cassandra, and I'm sorry for my little curious daughter behavior"

Daughter..? So she and Charles..?

"I am Phoebe, Duchess of Suffolk, Charles wife and MacKenzie's mother."

Yes, they are..

A few seconds ago, I found myself in some kind of.. dream? and now, it felt like the beginning of a nightmare. It's actually quite real, just like the shiny ring on her finger.

Charles Brandon POV

As soon as I arrived, I was greeted by the king and his wife, and their little son. I greeted them, I missed them, Aluma, the castle, the memories at each place.

After the greetings, Alexander wanted to introduce me to someone I hadn't noticed at first. A beautiful woman, with a gorgeous dress, braid hair, her aura was mysterious, especially with those bright lavender color eyes, her expression looked frozen. I was able to confirm that that wasn't just what was cold, as soon as I touched her delicate hand, I felt her fingers tremble, her palm was sweaty.

I cordially kissed her knuckles with my eyes still locked on her colorful eyes, I never saw something so pretty, so magical. Magic could be the right word to describe her, after all, she is a sorceress.

"This wonderful young lady saved our Eric."

Madeline said and my cheeks burned instantly. Charles laughed and ruffled the boy's hair.

"Still getting in trouble, Eric? You need to stop running away."

The king and I had a brief conversation, until Alexander invited us inside. We both decided to go riding, to remember the old days in battle. So I went up to mine and Phoebe's room to get ready as soon as the servants told us the bags were already there. We went upstairs and left Mackenzie and Eric running together.

Cassandra's POV

As soon as the King and Charles were getting ready to ride, I excused myself from the Queen and went to my room, without running, but walking as fast as I could.

I walked into my room and slammed the door, then leaning my back against it and laying my head back as my breathing was uneven.

How was someone I imagined, now, here? Face to face. There are many people with these features, but everything about it seemed so perfect, like when it turns a short story into a play, bringing people and events to life. He was a dream, but a dream I couldn't dream.

I jumped in fright feeling them knock on the door. I took a few deep breaths, trying not to look crazy, tried to look decent and slowly opened the door to find one of the servants.

"Yes?"

"My lady Cassandra. Your Majesty requests your presence in the stables. He would like you to join him and the duke to ride."

Oh great.. I don't think it would be polite to deny it so I nodded my head smiling a little uncomfortably.

"Tell him I'll be there in a few"

The servant bowed and left. I closed the door again and ran my hands through my face.

I'm not feeling myself anymore, feels like this man has awakened something in me, something difficult to control and I think I'll have to learn because I can't seem to get away from him and these confused sensations.

[honeypirate]

for 420 event!!

Date ideia - 5

Reality - 6

Kakashi x fem!reader + stargazing + royalty au

Event Masterlist

I really really enjoyed this thank you for requesting and supporting me!

Your gown flowed in the slight night breeze as you stood on your balcony, waiting for the sign.

From your room you could see a clearing in the distance, just behind the forest, you watched and waited until you saw a match light in the middle of that field. you felt nerves start to flutter through your veins as you slipped off your shoes, your nightgown fluttering against your legs as you climb down the ivy wall beside your balcony.

Your toes hit each rung with practiced certainty, your hands clinging to the wooden trellis underneath the ivy, a smile tugging at your lips as you hop the last few feet to the soft grass.

You gather your skirt as you run along the side of the castle towards the forest in the distance, your smile growing wider as you run faster the moment you get to the forest edge.

You stop when you reach the clearing, the flowers lit up by the bright moon as they blow in the breeze, but what you were looking at wasn’t the flowers.

It was the silver haired man standing in the middle.

“Princess” he says with a smile in his voice as you make your way to him, chest heaving from the run.

“None of that. Tonight we’re just Kakashi and y/n. Two childhood friends. Not royal, not anything, just us.”

He takes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand sending tingles through your arm directly to your fluttering heart. “I like that.” he says softly, his smile still evident in his voice.

He takes a pack off his back that you didn’t even notice and he pulls out a blanket and some fruit, cheese, and bread he had prepared earlier then pulled out a bottle of wine and wiggled his eyebrows making you laugh softly.

“I still can’t believe you’re back” you whisper as you lean your head on his shoulder. He’s been gone for years, having moved away as a kid when his father had the opportunity to become a knight in another kingdom. Since you recently became an adult, your father was looking for a better, more trustworthy, guard for you since the one you had was caught stealing from your jewelry. When his name came up in council you immediately nodded, knowing he was perfect for the job and oh how you had missed your childhood friend.

“I know. It’s been a month and it still seems surreal to be a knight in my childhood kingdom. Guarding the princess I used to crush on” you rock your shoulder into his playfully “not tonight remember” you say and he laughs “Tonight we’re just us” he says and you nod “just us” you say firmly and take a drink from the bottle.

After a few moments of silence, just watching the stars together, you place your hand on his knee and lay your head on his shoulder again.

“I had a crush on you too. I’m pretty sure you’re the first boy I ever loved” you whisper softly as a light breeze makes your hair blow into him, tickling his neck.

“I loved you too” he says back, voice laced with vulnerability “and now?” You ask and turn to look up at him

“I love you now. But I-“ you smile and cup his cheek “what did I say?” You say with a smirk and he feels his cheeks warm “just us” he whispers and you nod “just us and the love we share” you whisper and he sighs, pressing his lips to yours.

You hum and bury your fingers into his soft hair as he pulls you into his lap, years of training making him stronger than you assumed he was. You gasp as you grip his shoulders, him pulling you his chest and having you straddle his lap as his tongue licks your upper lip making you chuckle. His left hand holds your hip and his right cups your cheek and guides you as he kisses you with years of reserved and hidden feelings.

You pull his hair at the nape of his neck and he moans as you pull back and look down at him, smiling softly. Taking in his sweet eyes and the way his smirking lips are swollen and red. You cup his cheeks and brush them softly, feeling the heat against your chilly fingertips and smiling as he closes his eyes to relish the feeling.

You place soft kisses against his chin, slowly peppering them up his cheek and across his nose before kissing his forehead and then placing a soft peck on his lips.

He hums softly, a happy sound you wish you could hear every day and for a moment you close your eyes, pressing your forehead to his, as you let yourself imagine a life with him.

“I wish-” your voice breaks and you squeeze your eyes harder shut. “Shh shh it’s okay” he whispers and runs his fingers up and down your spine slowly “I know. Believe me, I know. Me too”

The bell from the church in the distance chimes signalling that it was 6am “shit” you whisper “i didnt realize it was morning already” he brushes your hair behind your shoulder and smiles but it doesnt reach his eyes which were filled with longing and sadness. “If i never have the ability to say it again. I love you. I always will love you” you feel tears well up in your eyes as you press your lips to his one final time before climbing from his lap and dusting off your skirt.

You walk away from him with a heavy heart but stop a few steps away and turn back “i’ll always love you Kakashi” you whisper and he meets your eye before nodding once “goodbye, princess”

You sneak your way back into your room as the sun begins to rise, your heart heavy. You lay in bed, trying and failing to sleep for two hours before your ladies came to wake you up.

After dressing and getting ready for the day you exit your room to be met with Knight Kakashi, your guard, your secret love, but the one you can’t have.

“Good morning Princess” he says with a bow and you nod your head at him, feeling your cheeks heat a little “good morning Sir Kakashi” you say and continue walking, him falling in step just behind you.

Maybe, one day, you could meet him in the clearing again. Maybe, the future will turn out in your favor. For now though, you could only keep the dream in your heart.

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

Subject of Sin - Part 1.

Incubus Shigaraki x Nun reader; NSFW

Warnings: noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, possessive behavior, desecration of religion, monsterfucking.

Word count: 2,520 

A/N: A huge thank you to @shigamothki-vs-the-lamp for beta’ing and inspiring me to finish this fic! 

Your innocent forays into temptation and sin catch the attention of a demon.

Part 1| Part 2

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‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‎‎‎“He sleeps inside my soul ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎And sometimes wakes up in the night ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎And plays with my dreams.” ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎— Fernando Pessoa

Demons lurk within our minds, not in the crevices of forgotten places. If the darkness ebbs and flows, it is merely a reflection of our innermost desires — a manifestation of sin that refuses to be held at bay any longer.

You kept Father’s teachings close to heart and steadfastly studied the scripture. It was the only hope you had to cling to, having been hidden away at a monastery since childhood. Life was kind and peaceful, and you spent your days deep in prayer and tending to the ill and destitute alongside your sisters.

And yet, one way or another, something began to stir within you. It crept up on you throughout the years in the form of innocent temptations — a yearning to explore the local village for just a while longer, exhilaration after allowing a baker to slip a sweet roll into your satchel as thanks for helping his daughter, despite knowing you were not allowed to accept gifts from others, unrecognizable melancholy as you stared out into the sea of rolling hills on a crisp autumn day and admired the endless blue sky — so many little temptations that doused the bright flames of your spirituality and allowed the darkness to spread.

It was difficult to notice the change. Even when you found yourself restless and cursing the pain shooting up your knees as you knelt before a pew, you quelled your inner conflict with prayer and fasting. But adulthood brought about new challenges. The cracks within your restless spirit had spread like ivy and primed you for your first mistake.

Your day started like any other. Winter ensnared the grounds of the monastery in blankets of glimmering snow and stinging winds that proved difficult to overcome. The villagers were kind enough to send provisions to the monastery, ferried up the winding hills of gnarled oaks by a gentleman who you had seen many times. He was handsome and friendly, his inky windswept hair plastered across his forehead and cheeks nearly as red as his eyes. Father had the pleasure of speaking to him more often than not, but you still attempted to catch a glimpse of the man under the pretense of unloading the cart. Your heart always stirred at the sight of his warm smile.

You should not have entertained your silly whimsies. You should not have gone to bed with impure thoughts after a hasty Hail Mary, staring into the flames of the hearth as you huddled beneath your blanket and slipped a hand between your quivering thighs, watching the glowing red and orange hues of burning cracks within the firewood and remembering those beautiful eyes. The experience was so humiliating that you hurried out of bed in the dead of night and ran straight to the church, letting the sharp pain of cold snow against your bare feet guide you ever further towards your only chance of salvation.

The imposing silence of the church did little to soothe your nerves. Towering walls of barren stone and creaking wooden pillars surrounded you, devoid of hospitality in the dead of night. You took a few meek steps towards the altar. Unable to meet the solemn gaze of your savior, you scurried off to find Father’s private quarters instead. Your loud knocking had clearly startled the man into wakefulness. The poor priest looked just as frazzled as you felt, and you made sure to apologize profusely for your rude behavior as you dragged him to the confessional with tears streaming down your face.

Father had been so deathly silent while you told him about your infatuation with the villager that you were certain he would scold you good and proper. But no, he had been as compassionate as he always was, offering words of comfort and forgiveness.

That should have been the end of it. You did not see the villager for days after your shameful act. The mundane tasks of everyday life kept you busy. So busy, in fact, that you managed to work yourself to the brink of exhaustion one day, and you fell asleep in the alcove of the library like some kind of child.

You did not remember dreaming. Consciousness trailed on the edge of a feeling that stirred you from slumber — a barely-there touch brushing along your bottom lip, followed by a short puff of cold air that fanned across your face and startled you awake. The candle beside you innocently flickered and waved in greeting, and the shadows around you mockingly mirrored its dance.

This game of ethereal cat and mouse continued for weeks. Every so often you would feel lingering sensations trailing along your face whenever you let your mind wander, growing only bolder once you removed your constricting habit within the sanctity of your bedroom. With your hair freed from its confines as you brushed through the soft strands, sometimes you imagined a hand trailing after the brush with each downstroke. It reminded you of how your Mother Superior combed her fingers through your hair to prevent tangled knots from hurting you.

All of this, you could attribute to your imagination … until the sharp divide between fiction and reality steadily grew muddled.

A particularly strange encounter occurred one evening. You opened your small window and pensively stared out into the snowy landscape, a singular thought daring to escape your wicked mouth, where none but God could listen to your act of rebellion.

“I want to be out there,” you had whispered solemnly.

A breeze rolled through in answer, and you marveled at how the air caressed your cheeks and smoothed unruly strands of hair away from your face.

It had felt so tender and comforting. You froze in shock for only a moment before something spurred you to hurriedly close the window and hide yourself in bed.

If only it had been that easy — the following night proved to be more tempting than the last. You were woken up by a tingling sensation on your lips, and a new feeling altogether.

Something firmly cupped your breast through your nightgown. Or could it simply be your blanket tightened around you from thrashing in your sleep?

Your nipple hardened into a stiff peak, begging to be played with. You kept your eyes firmly shut and blushed at your wanton display, modesty briefly overtaking your lustful urges. Yet try as you might, you could not resist bringing your fingers ever downward. Your nightgown had ridden up to your hips, and as the blanket caressed the sensitized skin of your inner thighs and tightened around your breast, you buried your face in your pillow and gently eased a finger through your slick folds.

Your efforts were clumsy and inexperienced. It was utterly frustrating, your hips canting upward to try to find the right angle and failing miserably at it. Your brows furrowed in anger and concentration, and in your delirious frenzy to reach your peak, you found yourself arching your back into that strange grasp on your breast. A gentle swipe along your hardened nipple elicited a breathy gasp, and the feeling of fingers carding through the hair at your temple made you whimper and tilt your head in search for more.

Something slid along the back of your hand and coaxed it into a new position. Your mouth opened in a wordless cry as you finally hit a perfect spot deep within you. The tingling sensation tickled your lips again, and for some odd reason, you felt compelled to stick your tongue out just a little bit, your breath hitching as something soft and warm glided along the wet muscle.

It should have knocked all sense back into you. It nearly did, if not for your cunt pulsing around your fingers as you moaned and chased the aftershocks of heady pleasure with each roll of your hips. Liquid exhaustion flooded your body, urging you to slump back in relaxation. You had just enough energy to carefully remove your sticky hand from beneath your sheet and lay it on the edge of the bed before sleep overtook you. In the morning, you would find your fingers mysteriously clean.

You kept that night a secret. Overcome with shame and disgust, you could not bring yourself to admit to Father that you had broken your vows once again and strayed from his guidance.

“None will know, and therefore it never happened,” you angrily muttered to yourself as you strutted through the snowy grounds of the garden and tightened your wool cloak around you for warmth. “My sanctity is worth more than my foolish pleasure.” A stray rock caused you to nearly trip, and you had to suck in a deep breath to keep yourself from losing your calm.

The more you distanced yourself from the truth, the more you were drawn into the darkness. You kept your secrets safely guarded, playing the part of a devout sister while your aching loneliness was soothed by the balm of an unseen force that played with your senses.

Sometimes you imagined a glimmer of shifting light at the edge of your periphery, but you dared not look. Not ever. The gentle caresses were more than enough to satiate your desires.

Or so you told yourself.

A winter storm was in full effect tonight. Not a soul dared to prance around the cold corridors, which meant you had no chance of being interrupted by a wayward young initiate or an unruly sister with a penchant for late-night gossiping. You were freshly washed and warmed by the fire, your unbound hair fanned out across your pillow and your nightgown scandalously discarded over the back of your chair.

For the first time in your life, you did not bend the knee to pray before rest. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you stared at the golden cross hammered above your doorway, its edges aglow from the light of the fireplace.

“God forgive me,” you quietly uttered, and closed your eyes to banish the cross from your sight.

For a while, all you could hear was the sound of howling wind and crackling fire. You were half-tempted to begin all by yourself, but you had learned to be patient. Your visitor always made itself known when you were tethering on the precipice of sleep. Perhaps the delirium that followed exhaustion played tricks on you. Perhaps that had been the culprit all along.

Either way, you wanted it.

And so you let yourself slip free from anticipation and restlessness, the tension in your muscles dissipating as your breathing gradually slowed and you could no longer hear the wind or fire. All you knew was peace. All you perceived was stillness.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. Something felt different tonight.

You were overcome by the sensation of falling, and your body jerked lightly in response. It roused you from the precipice of slumber, and in your hazy confusion, you had enough common sense to keep your eyes closed. Ever so patient, you waited for what would come next, despite the goosebumps forming on your skin that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the feeling of being watched.

A light weight pressed down onto your chest, as though a kitten had curled up there. You focused on your breathing and parted your lips, allowing your soft sighs to slip through. It always liked when you did that. Your mouth tingled a bit. You slowly licked along your bottom lip, and the weight on your chest became incrementally heavier.

A pulse of wetness gushed out of your cunt in anticipation. You rubbed your thighs together for friction and accidentally bunched your bedsheet at your feet, making it slither down your body to expose your breasts. The cold air caused your nipples to harden, and an even colder puff tickled one nipple before an altogether unique sensation followed — soft and textured, like a velvet ribbon, gliding around the stiff bud and ending its journey with a teasing flick.

You moaned quietly as you gripped the sheets beneath you. This time, something sighed against your mouth, trailing along your tongue and all the way to the back of your throat. Before you could make sense of the new experience, a firmer pressure settled over your lips, far more solid and real than any tantalizing tingle had ever felt.

You were delirious with need. Completely and utterly lost to your impulses, and you hadn’t even touched yourself yet.

Something was kissing you, and you were too far gone to consider the implications. Nevermind that you were in a compromising situation and forsaking your vows to the Lord.

Right now, all that mattered was how rough that touch felt against your lips, how slowly it guided your mouth into a deep kiss that smothered your whimpers and gently sucked at your lips with a lewd wet sound. Velvet glided along your tongue, twining like a serpent and licking every crevice of your mouth. It was overpowering, toe-curling, intoxicating. You were swept away by the myriad of sensations, moaning as your nipple was twisted and pinched, and the hair at your temple was lovingly, tenderly brushed through.

Familiar. You knew that touch. You craved it, and you wanted more. No one had ever made you feel like this before. No one ever would, not within these sacred halls.

What if —

What if you dared to look? Just this once, what if you stepped out from the protective embrace of your religion and just …

As though reading your mind, the firm pressure on your mouth disappeared. You opened your eyes, and forgot to breathe.

God help you.

Scarlet eyes. Redder than blood, oh so familiar in their beauty, yet entirely devoid of life. They burned like hellfire, slashed through by slitted pupils that honed in on you with an unyielding stare.

And the skin. You had never seen anything like it on a living creature, this sickly gray shade among numerous cracks and scars that marred the entity’s torso and face. Your gaze trailed over the strange markings around those serpentine eyes, your stomach churning uneasily as your worst suspicions were confirmed — the striated grooves winded and merged into the graceful arch of a pair of horns that curled back into sharp tapered ends.

You were consorting with a demon.

He looked corrupted, as though his very essence carved its demonic aura into his flesh. In a moment of bewildered hysteria, you honed in on the scars etched into his face, briefly noting that he had a mole just below the corner of his mouth, of all things —

The demon readjusted his position, comfortably resting his weight on top of you as his arms caged your head and his hands cradled your face. His fingers carded through your hair in a mockery of affection, and he smiled at you, all sharp teeth and cracked lips.

You wanted to throw him off of you. You wanted to kick and scream and beg the Lord for forgiveness and protection.

You were frozen in place instead.

[blossom--of--snow]

So it turns out I owe @love-letters-x-cardigan-sweaters a Lucien and Jean prompt from forever ago! Here’s #45: “Tell me a secret.”

“Tell me a secret.” Lucien’s murmur broke the silence of their suite, and Jean’s eyes fluttered open. The warmth wafting from the fireplace and the rhythm of his fingertips, skimming up and down her ribs, had lulled her into a light sleep. Both sleeping and waking in this manner was a luxurious habit she’d fallen into by the third night of their honeymoon, and after three weeks abroad, she’d finally stopped berating herself for it. Years of waking with the sun took more than a little persuasion from her husband, and she was quickly learning how much he loved to persuade her.

“A secret?” she whispered. Sometimes when she woke, speaking felt dangerous, as if too much volume could wake her from the dream that had become her life.

Lucien hummed, tracing the underside of her breast with his thumb. Maybe he shared her irrational fears, the way they shared everything now.

Smiling softly and allowing her eyes to close, Jean sighed. “I love it when you touch me.”

With a nudge from Lucien’s forefinger, the sheet settled below her breasts. “That’s not a secret.”

Jean shivered and rolled onto her stomach, obscuring her chest but allowing the sheet to sink lower on her back. “I didn’t say I’d tell you one.”

Lucien’s laughter rumbled against her skin as he kissed his way down her exposed back. “What can I do to make you change your mind?”

A nibble on her shoulder blade left Jean stifling a gasp. “Tell me one first.”

Her response must have given him pause, for his lips stuttered over the vertebrae at the deepest curve of her back. “Only fair.” The warmth of his breath sent a ripple of goosebumps across her back. Though she knew she would, the thought of eventually growing accustomed to this intimacy seemed impossible now, when everything felt so decadent and delicious and daring.

“I caught you dancing in the living room to that Bobby Lee number.” At first, Jean hadn’t the faintest idea what he meant, but she knew he’d keep talking. “You were dusting, though I can’t imagine it was very effective because you were more focused on the beat.”

For all Jean’s efforts at staying quiet, her laughter filled the room. “It’s still much better as a duet, I think.”

Lucien flopped down next to her with a grin. “You couldn’t tell that day.”

When her husband stared at her expectantly, Jean sighed, resigned to her promise. They knew more about one another than most newlywed couples do, but most of her past remains a mystery to him. Her childhood, her love for Christopher, her devastating loss of a girl she’d named Veronica, her dedication to her boys, working for her father—none of it seemed appropriate to share right now, in bed with him after making love in the playful way she’d nearly forgotten before their marriage.

“I almost came down to your room one night,” she said finally. “I put on a beautiful nightgown and did my hair and put on lipstick—” She shook her head and averted her gaze.

“What stopped you?” “Rose caught me on my way down. I felt silly and went to confession the next morning.”

Lucien brushed a few curls out of her eyes and when she met his gaze, she found him looking at her in the way she loved most, like he’d just found another part of her to love and to cherish.

“You’re not silly. You’re perfect, and you would have been if you had come downstairs anyway.”

Waving him off, Jean snuggled closer to him, burying her face into his chest. Lucien welcomed her, and in his embrace, she felt herself drifting off, but not before she heard him whisper, “I love you and all your secrets.”

[fuckspn]

hey! do u have any song recs or a playlist for ur dream supernatural soundtrack with American folk/ dark country

[i didn’t mean to make this into a playlist but this answer got very long and i realized it would be more considerate to do so so here it is]

HELLO AMAZING QUESTION I WAS RAISED ON FOLK MUSIC

anyway i don't care about genres so don't @ me about whether or not these are all "technically" folk but here's laura fuckspn's top 13 supernatural-adjacent folk traxx (some of which already appeared on my dream amv songs playlist but who cares):

eliza gilkyson's cover of "is it like today" by world party. MASSIVE tmwwbk vibes. i can't even select particularly relevant lyrics because the whole song is so fitting

"bible belt" by dry the river. fellas are you ever forced to step in for your absent, alcoholic parents and raise your younger sibling(s) while mourning the youth that was robbed from you and silently wishing you could just leave? dean winchester can relate

"milk and honey" by eliza gilkyson. another biblical banger. a deeply tragic season 15 vibe for when the characters realize that every part of their lives was orchestrated for them, there is no free will, and the happy ending they thought they were grasping towards was an illusion. alternately another killer tmwwbk soundtrack option

“me and the devil” by soap&skin. not only is this a loose cover of “me and the devil blues” by robert johnson, who in supernatural canon was killed by hellhounds, but it’s so fucking SPOOKY it would make any major dramatic moment that much cooler. bonus points if it’s put in a context where john, chuck, dean, or sam is actually the devil being talked about in the song.

"helplessness blues" by fleet foxes. the tension between the easy comfort of being an obedient cog in the machine and the fear that rebelling would only expose the fact that you're not unique and special enough to survive outside the machine!! the inability to escape the machine and the uncertainty of whether you even want to!! THE team free will dilemma! also just saying if cas had an orchard he'd work til he's sore and dean would wait tables and soon run the store

"think about you" by eliza gilkyson. it's literally a song about driving around the country, stopping in small towns and shitty diners and sketchy inns, thinking about your lover who isn't with you. deancas anthem

"tear down the house" by the avett brothers. if i think for more than 3 seconds about the fact that dean actually has memories of having a home and a family and a normal childhood and then losing all of that i will Scream. play this over any Winchester Family Feelings scene for instant death

“heavy” by birdtalker. ngl this one’s completely hypothetical because it would only apply to a scenario where team free will dealt with their issues and practiced any amount of self-reflection

"paradise hotel" by eliza gilkyson. aimlessly hoping for paradise while going through the motions, an eternal play being put on by an unknown puppetmaster, illuminated by the neon lights of a hotel sign. could fit virtually anywhere in the show from season 4 onwards

“rocks and water” by deb talan. i still haven’t seen an episode with resurrected mary but this strikes me as a MASSIVE mary song. it should 100% have played over mary hunting and fucking and killing and generally being everything but the perfect angelic mother in the white nightgown.

“jews for jesus blues” by clem snide. literally season 4 dean! now that he’s saved he wishes he was damned!! i absolutely love when upbeat-sounding melodies are contrasted with dark situations/lyrics and the idea of this jangly alt-country song playing over dean killing demons and undergoing an agonizing existential crisis fucks severely

"the man from god knows where, pt. 1” by tom russell. the lyrics on this one may not be super specifically fitting to the show because, like basically all tom russell songs, it’s a ballad, but are you really gonna tell me supernatural couldn’t have used a song about a revenant wandering the country calling upon dead immigrant ancestors to rise from their graves and tell their stories?? you could write an entire episode around getting to use this song and it would SLAP

“highway” by eliza gilkyson. i’m about to start chuck won truthing here but HOLY SHIT imagine this song as cas’ pov of the finale. being forced to watch the people you love die at the hands of god himself while you are trapped and unable to intervene. again, happy melody+fucked-up situation is my absolute jam

+ bonus because it’s a ludicrously sappy idea but “sanctuary” by eliza gilkyson plus canon deancas would kill me on the spot. though my trust is gone and my faith not near, in love’s sanctuary thou art with me!!!!!!

+ one more bonus because the lyrics don’t really work but still the final scene of supernatural literally should have been a dialogue-free montage of all the characters’ peaceful domestic lives set to “the wind” by cat stevens

idk how many of these would actually work as a show soundtrack because i’m not a video editor but whatever the point is folk music—

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Fantasies, dreams and desires, ideas of normalcy and fears of difference. A slightly queer reading of 15x14

Mrs Butters is a delightful character who is built to parallel so many things in the show. She occupies perfectly the semantic sphere that the narrative has crafted around Dean’s desires; also, you know, cake.

We could talk for days about the significance of food and drink in Supernatural. One of the biggest themes that run through the entire show is hunger (or thirst) and food is very often a symbol for an emotional need of sorts. Supernatural draws a lot folklore, and human stories have always used symbologies that put together food, desire, love, sex, family, goodness and darkness and all those human experiences.

We have discussed the shit out of every instance of food in the show, analyzed parallels to other stories and fairytales, scrutinized queer-codings and subtexts, got called nasty names by impolite people accusing us of saying that a slice of baked good means Dean likes sitting on dicks. So, yeah, I’m not gonna start explaining everything from the beginning. Let’s jump to the parallels.

- The comfort food. Motherhood, hugs, and the past that can never return: the ideal of childhood and the 50s fantasy

We’ve already talked about how Mrs Butters functions as a parallel to Mary and a symbol of the ideal motherhood that both Mary and Dean struggled with. In Dark Side Of The Moon, we see a memory from Dean’s childhood, where we learn that Mary would cut off the crusts off his sandwiches. Mrs Butters also says that she cut the crusts off, establishing a direct parallel to Dean’s ideal of childhood and child-parent relationship. Or, we should say, as both Mary’s and Dean’s ideals of a child-parent relationship, because we know that Mary set up her life with John and the kids as an elaborate “scene” according to her idea-slash-fantasy of the perfect safe life.

She strugged with that, because her ideal life could never match with reality - she had loose ends from hunting to deal with, she at some level liked having those loose ends to deal with because as much as she hated the hunting life and craved for safety and “normalcy” that was still something she was in her element doing, probably more than the perfect housewife role. Of course when she came back she attempted to recreate the scene but quickly discovered that it was impossible and dropped all attempts to do so, embracing the opposite, or at least what she perceived as the opposite (having a pretty dualistic view of hunting life-domestic life where they cannot be reconciled).

Dean, on the other hand, started out with a similar dualistic view, figuring that he’d always belong to the hunting world and could never have the domestic, “normal” thing at all, embracing his “freakness” as opposed to the concept of normalcy represented by civilians, by the middle class, by the suburbs, by the apple pie, white fence life (insert heavy queer subtext here). And yet there was always an ambiguity with him (again, he’s never one-or-the-other, he’s always both), because, while on the surface he embraces this rebellious, devil-may-care persona, that’s not quite what he is as a full individual. He grew up essentially a housewife from a very early age, has a very caregiving personality, and thrives in taking care of others.

Dean is both Mrs Butters and Mary, where the difference between him and Mary is that Mary couldn’t (didn’t have the time, support, resources?) reconcile parts of her that Dean instead was able to (and in fact recently helped her with: before dying, she’d reached a pretty healthy balance of living her own life as a hunter and having a warm relationship with her sons, at least as healthy as it can get in that kind of circumstances).

Another important parallel to Dark Side Of The Moon, borrowed by Scoobynatural, is the nightgown that feels like being wrapped in hugs: we are reminded of Dean’s “I wuv hugz” from when he was a kid, a symbol for his early life of affection and safety that he lost with his mother. Childhood hugs, comfort food, loving gestures like cutting off the crusts are all symbols of a past that cannot return.

On a level, from a “coming-of-age story” perspective, childhood, with its innocence and perception that adults will always keep us safe, is obviously something that everyone needs to accept as something that belongs to the past and cannot return, to embrace instead the responsibilities and risks of adulthood in a healthy way. In a sense, Dean needs to go through all these steps - acknowledging that his mother was a flawed person, that in fact both of his parents were flawed people who made mistakes but he can forgive them for his own sake in order to be able to let go of trauma and carry on... - to become a healthy adult able to be a good parent to his own child.

(There’s also the cholesterol thing - Mrs Butters chastizes Dean for his diet, but we know that there’s a depth to Dean’s diet, not only his extreme appreciation of food due to experiencing food scarcity and insecurity as a child, but also the memory of his mother’s comfort food, such as the “Winchester surprise”, a monstrosity of meat and cheese. While the “meat man” persona would appear on the surface as a sterotypical masculinity thing, it has layers, in a typical Dean fashion... not coincidentally, in the latest episode he calls himself the meat man while wearing an apron that we’re told he’s very fond of, painting him, again, in a mixture of different meanings, masculinity and femininity, fatherhood and motherhood, devil-may-care attitude and caregiver attitude.)

On another level, a more political level, there’s the 50s fantasy element. We all know the significance of the idealization of the post-war period as the “good ol’ times” in American culture, and it’s an ideal that Mary definitely drew from when she built her perfect life with her family. Mrs Butters represents this in a very literal way, being literally from 1958 when she “froze” herself, and acts as a very stereotyped governess for a bunch of men that feel like they are above housework, what is considered women’s work. Dean initially comments “how progressive”, knowing exactly how bullshit these conversative ideals are, but then appreciates the comforts of the perfect caretaker.

In fact, Dean’s “giving in” to the comforts of a governess makes me think of that famous feminist manifesto “I want a wife” by Judy Syfers... because housework is very much Dean’s work in the bunker. It’s interesting that Mrs Butters immediately comments negatively on the cleanness of the bunker and their clothes: we know that Dean cleans and washes, and, while it’s likely that he cannot keep everything super perfect like a governess would because he’s busy doing many other things, it’s a way Mrs Butters uses to establish roles that she knows and is comfortable with. She is used to being the one who does “feminine” work while the Men of Letters have absolutely zero skills in that regard, and doesn’t really even stop to question if that’s the case with the men in front of her.

Anyway, let’s go back to the 50s fantasy. The show has repeatedly made commentaries on the vacuity of it. Peace Of Mind is the most obvious instance, but there’s plenty of subtext in the show that deals with that typically American aspect. Just like the childhood aspect, the narrative tells us that the “good ol’ times” are also an idealized thing that cannot return (if it ever existed, because Dean’s childhood was built on a fantasy, and the “good ol’ times” are also a fantasy, because the real 50s were horrible for anyone who didn’t swim in privilege). Mrs Butters cannot stay, the 50s fantasy-slash-childhood fantasy cannot last, and Dean embraces his role as an adult-slash-modern housemaker. Blah blah gender, blah blah cake. (Yeah, sorry, but you can fill in the blanks.)

- The contaminated drink. Poison and weakness from the forbidden sexual desire to the forbidden family domesticity

Aaaand now the second branch of parallels that Mrs Butters pinged on my radar, which sends us in an even more queer-subtext-heavy territory. We’re going to talk about the smoothies and the tomato juice. Yes, I know, the smoothies are given to Jack, not Dean, but symbolically Dean and Jack share the same semantic area; both are given a magically conjured drink, and both end up locked away waiting to be killed. For this analysis, they basically overlap.

Let’s start with the tomato juice. I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Dean is given something that visually reminds of the blood the vampires drink. The tomato juice is a stand-in for blood, and blood in relation to vampirism has a long history of subtext in the show that connects to sexuality, sex, sexual fears and contamination. While vampires are not necessarily always invested of those meanings every single time they appear in the three-hundred-whatever episodes of the show, their main symbology is connected to sex and sexual fears, as vampires do in modern western literature, after all.

You’re probably going to think, wait, what? What has Mrs Butters got to do with sexual fears? Yeah, I know, it sounds weird, but hear me out.

The tomato juice - a stand-in for blood, with a vampire reference - parallels Mrs Butters (who represents trauma, remember) to 6x05 Live Free Or TwiHard. Sexual assault, blood, contamination via the poisoning liquid.

Next to the tomato juice there’s the smoothie. It’s a poison in disguise, a contaminated drink that makes Jack weak. We have, in fact, a pattern of Dean being given contaminated drinks that place him under another’s power. Not just the vampire’s blood, but also Jeremy from 3x10 Dream A Little Dream Of Me, who offers Dean a beer through which he connects him to his dreams. There’s Nick the siren from 4x14 Sex And Violence, who contaminates Dean through the flask. The venom in the siren’s saliva parallels straight to the gorgon Noah in 14x14 Ouroboros, and I don’t have to start explaining what all those things represent, right? (I have written posts about these things, it would be nice if tumblr didn’t suck and showed them to me when I go look for them.)

(Oh, there’s also Crowley’s human blood addiction, which is not, as one might expect, a parallel to Sam’s demon blood addition, but Dean’s First Blade/Mark Of Cain issue, and the First Blade/Mark Of Cain arc is all imbued by the queer subtext of the Dean-Crowley-Castiel triangle.)

Basically, Mrs Butters is inserted in a history of queer subtext, although it appears as obvious that Mrs Butters hardly represents homosexual desire, unless we go a pretty stretchy route of her occupying Cas’ space in the Dean-Sam-Cas-Jack family (I mean, that’s true, but it’s not simply that). It is also true that Mrs Butters represents Cuthbert Sinclair, and here the radar pings, because Cuthbert Sinclair is totally inside the pattern! He wanted to make Dean part of his collection just like the vampire in 6x05 wanted to make Dean part of his pack, with supernatural means of exorting control over Dean and heavy heavy rapey tones. (I know we don’t like to talk about this, but the show does play with incest subtext, John mirrors are often rapey.)

So, we have all this semantic area of poison, weakness and submission to external control painted in overtones of sexual assault and sexual fears especially in relation to homosexual desire. (I am NOT linking homosexual desire to sexual assult, nor the show is, it’s a wide and volatile semantic area where the common denominator is fear, fear of being hurt FOR being different sexually, it’s about vulnerability because of being different. It’s a horror narrative, guys, remember, queer fear is a recurrent theme in the genre. Dracula was about the horror of what happened to Oscar Wilde, we’re running in circles.)

Now, what kind of fear is explored in 15x14? Well, the episode is about the fear of losing family. The plot is about Dean’s feelings towards Jack after he killed Mary. Dean doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to lose Cas soon also because of Jack. Mary and Cas are both very noisy absences in the episode, and we know that Dean is going to suffer something horrific again that will shatter his family again. This goes past the fears regarding forbidden sexual desire: we’re in the territory of forbidden familial desire, so to speak, Dean’s craving for a domestic peace with his family.

Jack is both the culmination of Dean’s process of family-building, as the son figure of the family, and the element of destruction of that family-building. Not a coincidence Jack’s birthday was referenced, as Jack’s birth coincided with Cas’ death and Mary’s supposed death or at least separation. Now Jack has supposedly killed Mary (or is it a inter-universe separation again? @drsilverfish​’s theory always pops up, and we keep getting reminded of other universes - the telescope is broken...) and we know that Cas’ ultimate death hangs above us.

We’re always running in a spiral, Dean’s relationship with Mary, Dean’s relationship with Cas, Dean’s relationship with motherhood and gender roles, Dean’s relationship with sexuality. There’s a big picture of mirrors in the semantic area of fantasies, idealizations, desires and dreams. I hope I managed to make this post make sense, but I’m always open to requests of clarification or elaboration. Thanks for reading!

[im-pretending-imthere-already]

by the warm current

As kids, my sister and I spent our summers near the river, often falling on our long garments. Our knees scraped and bruised by the sharp rocks that lay beside the strong, warm stream. The hot days rushed by as we spent our hours playing under the hot, blinding sun. If my sister adored anything, it was birds. Often we spent our days searching for them in the scorching heat of the summer, looking for all the wings that have been neatly crafted, threaded into shape. Our collection of feathers of all colours were kept safe, hidden to preserve their infinite beauty, kept in a wooden rustic box under our bed. The box neatly tucked away between the sheets that were perfectly stored by mother. One grim evening, one of my older siblings had found our box hidden between the worn out blankets, that night we were forced into womanhood, our childhood was stripped away from us. Our summers were no longer warm, our knees left with scars.

What is it to truly be a woman? A question I still struggle with. Reverend Michael often referred to womanhood as preparing to serve God by serving your husband, which we spent the following years doing, leaving our ambitions and dreams of independence behind. Our personalities were to be crushed under the high expectations of becoming nothing other than slaves which men used. Our days were spent caring for our younger siblings who occupied our time dirtying the floors we just scrubbed. Our womanhood, reduced to becoming mothers and leaving our aspirations for our sons. Too tall, too confident, too short, too skinny, too immodest, too fat, too lanky, too talkative, too hairy, too loud, too aggressive, our existence is nothing more than a checklist for men to choose from. Growing up, I admired adulthood. I admired the idea of growing up to serve my husband, the idea of dressing modestly and spending my time cleaning, to become a woman. But as I grew into that woman, I began despising it.

My teenage years were regulated by the women of the church who made it their mission to crush my dreams, my life was to be sacrificed for god. Waking up to the screaming children of the church who demanded breakfast, my days were the same every single day. After the tedious mornings of cooking, cleaning and caring tirelessly, we met the citrus trees sprinkled with the soft dew on their delicate leaves in the community garden as we planned to prepare our annual lemon pie. Every year we were to prepare a feast full of food, including our lemon pie as the dessert for the mating party. This glamorous party was only a facade, a sweet glaze over a dark oppressive, controlled, and abusive future. This year was different, however, as I was becoming a woman of age, all day I had been thinking about what was to come, the life I was forced to have, pushed into a designated role my whole life. This is it, this is the dream of the church, this is what my life was to be, what my family had planned, what the reverend had envisioned.

That day I realised I couldn't do this, after seeing all the women blatantly eyed by the men of the church, scanned from bottom to up, graded as if they were a gift to be expected, a helpless little kitten to be chosen from a shelter or rescued from a basket left on the road. My older sister stood beside me, we glared at each other exchanging the same thoughts. Our life was more than this, our dreams were not to be forgotten, hidden in the blankets of our mind. I had heard about a couple of people who had escaped before, I didn't know how to but we had to get out. That night I decided to do the unthinkable, I had to make a plan, I had to take action, I had to escape this cage and fly away.

Reverend Michael was my father however he was never a typical father, more like a shepherd grazing his sheep, controlling us to become nothing more than slaves for his sick fantasies. He slept in the cabin house beside ours, but I knew he was going to arrive late today due to the ceremony, like every year before. It was the perfect time as if the universe aligned for our freedom. In my nightgown, I slid out as my sister was fast asleep. The night was dark, the air thick and foggy, the moon barely lit watching over me as I ran barefoot, in my white gown to the reverend's cabin. I knew where to look, under the vase he kept his spare key, which I used to unlock his door. I walk in knowing exactly where to find what I'm looking for, his diary, kept in the last drawer of his desk conveniently hidden in between his bibles. I flick through the delicate pages looking for something useful when I stumble across the gold mine. It wrote the name of a woman named "Angela Zachery" and her cabin number''14", suspected of breaking out "Mary Williams". I quickly close the book, return his diary precisely into its spot and leave the same way I entered, leaving no trace behind me.

The coming night my mind was occupied with one thought, cabin 14. I couldn't just leave, I had to make sure it was clear. It took a couple of nights which felt like forever but eventually, I got there. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Friday night, everyone had got to their cabins early after a hard day of work and the daily evening lecture was longer than usual. The pathways were empty, the road clear. I made my way, a little more professional than the night of the ceremony, in my brown dress and handwoven cardigan that wrapped its threads around my shoulders supporting me through my journey. If I was found by any person or even if "Angela" was a scam I would end up 6 feet deep into the ground before sunrise. I took the chance walking across the church to his cabin, no one was around, no one to be seen spying. I knocked on the door anticipating the worst, painting the images of my death. My life dissolving into nothing more than a forgotten story in the depths of my memories, an old story tale kept at the back of a dusty bookshelf. The door opened ever so slightly as I felt the fear shake through my body. She grabbed me inside so hard I stumbled inside falling to my knees in front of her as he shut the door aggressively. I introduced myself and explained my story and she sat there listening. Her eyes stared at me aggressively yet with a shadow of love. Her agreement brought me feelings, flushing my skin, red. Independence, freedom, individuality, expression, life. All books that she dusted alive within an instant. My dreams of independence and freedom rushed back through my bones to the crevices of my every thought. It was scheduled for Thursday night.

The night before the escape was probably one of the hardest and most important nights of my life, I was breaking the cage and finally getting the opportunity to fly, but the thought of leaving everything and everyone I knew terrified me. I wasn't to ever clean after my siblings, but I wasn't ever going to see them again. I wasn't going to have to make lemon pie for the church, but I wasn't going to celebrate with all my family ever again. Laying in my bed I couldn't get my eyes to shut as I laid there staring at the ceiling. The only support holding me together was the sheets I laid in and the light breathing of my sister beside me.

My bags packed, my thoughts collected, my breathing stable. This was it, this was my freedom. I get to leave and not look back. It was starting to get dark, the last evening to spend in this hell of a place. The trees rustling in the wind and air smelling of wood fire. I had kissed each of my younger siblings goodbye, hoping I would remain alive in their memories. My sister spent that evening reading, which we did often. An outlet we used to let our imagination roam free to live the lives we wish we had. As we put our coats on we stared at each other with fear, the sun had set and the sky was so empty reflecting the withdrawal we were to be hit with. We looked at each other and left, never to set foot in the cabin ever again.

Angela has sent some, waiting for us. He had a car organized outside the fence, we just had to make it outside. In the dark night, we threw our long dress off and climbed the fence gripping the holes with all our strength, looking back I could see Angela in the distance leaving. Climbing faster and faster, our bodies shaking with fear, our hearts anticipating our freedom. Hand over hand, foot over foot, we rose higher and higher. It felt like forever until we reached the top, then at the tip I stared into my sister's eyes when I heard a bang! My soul left my body for a moment from the fear as I saw my sister's body growing limp, her back falling into the fence becoming one with it. I stared into the sky for a moment, knowing I was targeted, I had no time. I had to leave my sister behind, running my way down the fence. I felt the wind brushing my cheeks, the heat irritating my skin. As I reached the last few steps I fell onto the floor, my vision blurring into two. There was no option but to get up, leaving my sister hanging on the fence and running into the truck.

As fast as my life gained sweetness it got bitter again. I stayed in a home with many people, I had food and clothing. But life without my sister was hard, the image of her murder remaining drilled into my head. I saw the soul leave her body, I saw her life end. I often wonder how different things would have turned out if I never left, if I was caught, if we moved a metre to the right if we left on Friday?

My favourite place grew to become the beach, reminding me of the warm river my sister and I loved ever so dearly, connecting our dreams to every nook of the world. As I sit here today, on the warm sand, I often find myself looking beside me to find my sister's spirit constantly gifting me with feathers. Today I have the privilege of sitting on this beach, feeling the wind through my hair, the cool breeze on my shoulders and my sister's feathers can be forever stored, kept safe and loved, not to be a secret but to be a memory of resilience.

-F.A

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Will-o’-the-Wisps

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 3 | Chapter 4 - Will-o’-the-wisps | Chap 5 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - kidnapping, possessiveness, stalking, angst

Author’s note: I’m back b*tches! And oh, what a delight it was to write this chapter. Enchanted objects in an abandoned old castle? Ugh. Such fun childhood fantastical memories this brought back. I hope you’ll enjoy!

PS. Do you readers find the scenes descriptive enough? I understand that when fantasy comes into play, things can get a little confusing, so...just want to know what you guys and gals think :)

Word count: 2.862

Reading music: Peter Gundry - The White Witch

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

‘OH I wonder If she’ll want some tea!’ The teacup squealed, tipping excitedly on his saucer, making the porcelain ring.

‘Shhhhh!’ His mother, a teapot, hissed. With her painted eyes she studied the sleeping form on the grand bed, an ocean of blankets and pillows carefully placed around the pale faced girl, scratches evilly scattered about her ivory skin. Oh, what sleeping beauty.

The quiet broke again as the teacup continued; ‘But what if she doesn’t like our..-’

‘SHHHH!’ His mother warned, eyes glaring. ‘Quiet son.’ She tutted.

‘Mppff. I bet you a minute of my time that she wont wake up for another hour!’ The grandfather clock groaned, rolling cog shaped eyes at the excited china.  

‘Ha! Which is why she is blinking her eyes, hmm?’ The feather duster chuckled, leaning over the tea cup and tea pot, who were settled on a copper platter on the nightstand. A perfect place to watch the young woman sleep.

‘SHHH Plumette. Everyone. Quiet. NOW!’ The teapot warned, her voice getting a touch too loud, porcelain screeching as she turned to give a glaring look at the chuckling duster called Plumette.

It was then, finally, that two brown eyes slowly cracked open, the sleeping beauty awakening from her slumber. Long lashes fluttered open and closed, like the wings of a butterfly, eyebrows frowning at the tepid light that seeped from the candles, the waxen sticks casting a soft glow over the richly decorated room.

‘Wwh..’ Belle groaned, her whole body thrumming with a dull pain, her hands pushing off unfamiliar blankets. From an unfamiliar bed..showing an..unfamiliar..nightgown..and..she widened her sleep fogged eyes, blinking a few more times before realising she was indeed not at home.

Was she at the Le Comte mansion? She swallowed a low whimper as a painful jolt shot through her leg, her ankle terribly tender from her..

Her…

Wait. The forest. The..the..chase..The..

She looked around, quickly taking in her surroundings. A large room, midnight blue curtains hanging from a heavy oak four-poster bed. Gold-finished candelabras. Yes, it had to be the Le Comtes. Who else would own such luxuries? Such..

Her eyes fell on the platter with teacup and teapot, ready for serving. She couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. Silly as it was, she could indeed use a soothing cup of tea. Both for her nerves, her dry throat and the dull pain that prickled through her body.

With a delicate hand she picked up the teapot and turned it out to pour some tea. But, no matter how far she tipped the pot, no tea would come. Frowning she placed the teapot back on the copper platter, opening the lid to find that indeed no tea was filling its porcelain hull.

‘See mom..she wants tea.’ The cup whispered.

Belle blinked, thinking she had just hallucinated that. A talking teacup? HA! Wouldn’t that be..

*BLINK BLINK*

The painted eyes of the teapot moved, giving a warning glare at the little teacup.

And that is when Belle became truly startled, a silent gasp stuck on her lips as she put down the pot and hastily scrambled to the other side of the bed.

‘Oh..oh my..’ She hiccuped, blinking a few more times. Perhaps she was just dreaming. Yes. She was dreaming. None of this was real. None of this was..

‘Hoo-ha-die-hey. I see time has flown when you were away.’ The grandfather clock chimed, watching Belle with what seemed like two cog-shaped eyes.

A talking clock? 

‘A..h...AHHHH..AAAAAAHHH.’ Belle cried in growing horror, eyes darting to find more and more objects springing to life, her feet moving out of bed, but not making it far before she collapsed, her ankle buckling before she could make it even halfway through the room.

WHAT WAS ALL THIS? Talking furniture?! What kind of sick dream was this? Where..where was she? Clambering back to her hands and knees - forgoing another attempt at running - she crawled with hasted speed towards the door.

‘Ohh…’ Plumette pouted, looking at the teapot and her son, the three of them giving each other disconcerted looks. ‘Well..that didn’t go quite as expected.’ She whispered, watching the young woman open the door before quickly crawling out to the hallway.

‘Hmmpfff.’ The clock gruntled. ‘And now what?’

‘Well…’ Mother teapot sighed dramatically. ‘I guess we’ll just have to hope we didn’t startle her too much..especially with dinner cooked and all.’

--

Half crawling, half walking, Belle wandered through the long halls. It quickly became clear that these halls could hardly belong to the Le Comte estate. It was all too large, too..old. In fact it looked near ancient, dust collecting wherever the eye landed. Huge worn tapestries, portraits of unfamiliar people, huge candelabras, the wax of a hundred candles solidified on their brass arms. It felt..spooky. And, pinching her arm nervously, the slow realisation hit Belle that this might not be a dream at all.

Her neck hair rose at the eerie feeling of being watched, but whenever she looked around there was nothing.

Were there perhaps more of those enchanted objects? What had that been anyways? A speaking cup and teapot? A ..darn..clock?! Plume?! What was happening?!

Gritting her teeth she used a wall to clamber up to full height, her ankle screaming in agony. And with that came another realisation; she couldn’t leave. Not like this. She could not even walk, let alone escape. Because, let’s be honest, it was more than likely that this situation required escaping from. Whining quietly, her sleeping gown covered body shivering in the evening cold, she halted her attempts to walk.

No. She couldn’t leave like this.

She needed clothes. Yes, clothes. Warmth. Okay. She needed to find her dress. That was all. Then at least she wouldn’t die of hypothermia.

Awkwardly wobbling, stumbling and crawling back to the room she had left minutes earlier, she hesitantly opened the door, finding that almost all objects had now moved. The clock stood in the middle of the room, the teacup and pot were having a fierce discussion on the windowsill and a feather duster was swivelling around the room like she was attached to an invisible string.

Noticing Belle had returned, they all halted their activities, turning towards the wide-eyed woman.

‘Eh...ha..h-hello.’ Belle stuttered, keeping the door cracked open just ever so slightly, afraid that the strange objects would lunge at her.

The teapot was first to respond, her porcelain snout curling up in excitement. ‘OH! Hello dear. I am SO PROFOUNDLY SORRY..I mean..we have not had ..guests around here for…’

‘Centuries.’ The clock hummed, agreeing.

‘AYE! But we can make you tea!’ The tiny cup boasted with excitement, his painted little mouth smiling.

‘Oh..eh...no no.’ Belle closed the door again, too confused by what was happening.

Was she going mad?

Taking another few hesitant breaths, the hallway’s cold licking through the thin cotton of her white nightgown, she managed to calm herself again. Whatever the hell was going on here wasn’t her problem. All she needed to do was stick to her plan. Enchanted objects or not. She needed her clothes and shoes. And then she’d leave. Yes.

Carefully opening the door again she looked back inside, all objects watching her with quiet curiosity.

‘I eh..Just need my clothes.’ She cleared her throat, eyes flitting about the room but not finding her blue dress anywhere.

‘OH! Yes of course dear. Clothes.’ The plumeau swiveled closer, the tip of her handle seemingly pointing at a large wardrobe. ‘We have plenty of those! Though your dress has unfortunately not quite survived your travels.’ She sighed. ‘Such shame. I do like that light shade o’ blue!’

‘Oh.’ Belle swallowed as the plumeau moved even closer.

‘Well then dear! Do come in. We won’t bite, promise.’ The plumeau exclaimed with feathery delight. ‘My name’s Plumette by the way. What’s yours?’

Belle slowly opened the door a touch wider, her body leaning into the door frame as she kept a close eye on all the strange, talking objects. ‘Eh..I’m..Belle.’

‘Delightful!’ The wardrobe sang, swishing open her ornate doors, her voice close to that of an opera singer. Belle froze in place, surprised to find that yet another piece of furniture was possessed with life.

‘Come, come. Before you are late for dinner.’ The grandmaster clock said, waddling with surprising ease to the opposing wall, making space for Belle to enter. And so Belle did, heartbeat racing in her chest, and hands reaching for the walls to support her as she awkwardly stumbled into the room. 

Dinner? 

The room quieted as she entered, all scared that they might startle her again. It was the wardrobe who spoke again after a few loaded seconds, her voice much more quiet, but still sing-song like. ‘Dear, dear. I have for you..a dress of red..or perhaps then..blue?’ Two dresses were pushed out of her fully packed innards, beautiful luxurious fabrics swiveling out along with a little cloud of dust that made Belle cough.

Belle quickly swallowed her cough and nodded, reaching a hesitant hand inside to pick out the blue dress - of course blue - and pulled it from its hanger. It was surprisingly light, the fabric smooth like the most expensive silk, the bodice embellished with small embroidered roses. ‘Tis beautiful.’ Belle whispered, awkwardly stepping back when Plumette swivelled closer again.

‘Oh.. oh... I don’t mean to frighten you dear Belle. But eh..’ She cleared her wooden throat. ‘You may require some..assistance?’

Belle frowned. She had no time for foolish things like stays and petticoats. Looking back at the wardrobe she saw a drawer slide open, presenting fine silk stockings, various stays, ribbons.

‘Oh there’s..no need. I..eh.’

‘We insist!’ The wardrobe exclaimed, using her magical drawer to practically fling a pair of stockings at Belle. Belle caught them and noticed a chair now carefully walking closer.

‘Milady.’ He squeaked, making Belle blush somewhat. ‘Oh eh..eh..okay..thank you.’ She blinked, feeling the edge of the seat pressing into the back of her legs, her hands gripping for the arm rests as she sat down.

And so the objects helped her out, the mood slowly calming and Belle letting out a few surprised chuckles, the animated furniture indeed being quite comely and friendly.

--

In fact they were so friendly that they managed to convince her to at least stay and eat the dinner they had cooked. A feast, truly, offering her the most succulent of meats, a brothy stew and a glass of fine red wine to wash it all down. Belle couldn’t believe her eyes as the meal was presented to her at the long end of the dark wooden dining table, a napkin magically folding over her lap.

She smiled, unsure of what to say, her stomach growling at the sight of such food. Of meat. 

It had been months since she last had a truly proper meal. With the on-going drought food had been scarce and rationing meant little more than watery soup with herbs. 

And meat? Oh meat she hadn’t eaten in forever, since it was a type of food that was reserved for the rich and wealthy, which her and her father were most definitely not.

..her father. Oh no!

Her breath caught in her throat at the idea that she was here, wherever that was, and her father was all alone. How could she? She should..she should leave! Getting up and placing the napkin back on the edge of the table she shook her head.

‘I’m..I’m so sorry. I can’t accept your hospitality. I must go!’ She breathed, pushing back the chair and wishing to step away, but sinking back through her sore ankle quite instantaneously. Howling with frustration, tears welling up in her brown eyes, she reached out her hands to clamber back up and try again. ‘I need to go.’ She whimpered, launching herself at a nearby wall but once more not managing to reach before her ankle caved in. By this point the pain was so terrible that she couldn’t help but despair.

She couldn’t leave. Not like this.

Taking a few more shivery breaths as the furniture around her blinked with compassion, Belle sat down on the rug, exhausted tears running down her cheeks.

Now what to do?

‘I need to go home.’ Belle sniffled.

‘Dare I propose something, sweet lady.’ A high footed candle holder hopped off the table, bowing before her and making the little flames on his candles flicker. ‘Lumiere, pleasure to meet you.’ He said in a thick french accent, a ridge just beneath his arms turning up in what was best described as a smile.

‘Hello.’ Belle sniffled, sitting up and taking another shivery breath.

‘Now. Looks like your poor foot could use some rest. And, as it so happens. We HAVE cooked you a fine dinner on our Master’s request. So if you please..’ - ‘Master?’ Belle interrupted, another ripple of unease creeping up her spine.

It was then she started to piece the puzzle together. Large, absolutely huge building, ancient furniture, seemingly abandoned? Was this..was this the monster’s lair?

‘Oh yes! Our Master. He’s somewhat uneasy being around people. BUT! No worries. He is more than glad to have you as his guest.’

‘Guest..hmm..? Where is your Master anyways?’ Belle asked, unsure of what to make of all this.

‘Oh, ha..!’ Lumiere swallowed back an awkward laugh. ‘I fear he is indisposed at this moment.’

‘Indisposed?’

‘Yes-yes.. But not to worry, not to worry! Now!! Let us feast!’ He exclaimed, waving his golden arms with such excitement that the candles at either side went out.

Belle couldn’t help but feel a tickle of mirth in the back of her throat as the poor candle holder awkwardly put his flames back on, both arms bending to the middle to use the still a-lit candle there. ‘Mmppologies. Tcan be a bit exciting.’ He muttered shyly.

That is when Belle let out a soft chuckle.  ‘You really have not had many guests here, hmm?’

‘Oui. It is not often that people come to visit our enchanted home!’

‘I see.’ Belle nodded, wiping away the remains of her tears, the despair in her heart quieted for a moment.

Perhaps Lumiere was right. She could at least stay for dinner and give her feet a moment to rest. Because, honestly, like this she wouldn’t even make it to the front door.

And, well, a nice meal made the bargain even easier. 

Belle accepted the service of a chair that walked back around her, and with a few sighs and groans she was seated down on its cushions.

Now, here was to hoping that this Master of theirs was indeed friendly enough to let her stay here for the moment being. 

For stories of his kind were gruesome indeed.

--

Not much later, her belly for the first time in months properly filled with a meal so delicious she couldn’t stop licking her fingers, the next offer from the furniture to at least stay the night was easily accepted - she figured that she could lock the door of her guest room and thus give her feet one more good rest before heading back home. 

With a yawn and a comfortable sigh, Belle sank back into the luscious pillows and blankets of the four-poster bed, her eyes drooping closed before she could even think of worrying about her father and her whereabouts.

The monster’s lair? Well, so far no monster had shown.

--

‘Belle...Be-elle...Come hither..come!’ The little light beckoned, luring her further into the dark of the forest, the night sky sparkling with a thousand stars above her head.

Her ankle did not hurt, her skin was unmarred and her heart fluttered with excitement as she eagerly followed the curious little light.

“And doth, Venus cried out: ‘I pray thee, my dear child Cupid, by the motherly bond of love, by the sweet wounds of thy piercing darts, revenge the injury which is done to thy mother, by the false and disobedient beauty of a mortal maiden, and I pray that she may fall in love with the most miserable creature living. The most poor, the most crooked, and the most vile, that there may be none found in all the world of like wretchedness.’ When she had spoken these words, she embraced and kissed her son, sending him off to fulfil her wish.”

Was that..her own voice? She blinked and wandered even closer, finding a light spot in a forest lair, a girl so very much like her sitting there on a log, reading from Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche. Just like she enjoyed doing when summer was abound and the birds flew high in the sky.

Watching from the shadows of the forest thicket, she saw the will-o-the-wisps now spreading out wider, revealing more of the surroundings of her reading spot. The mice and squirrels that were watching with fascination. The birds that had quieted their song. And ..

A dark figure, hiding at the very opposite side of where she was standing, his large physique hidden beneath a long cape, the only thing to be recognised being his face.

That face.

The face she had seen that night of the fire.

--

Agonised seemed his face as he watched her dreaming.

The door she had locked to keep monsters like him out had not managed to keep him away, his gleaming eyes now watching her from the foot end of the bed. Too curious was the Master for this strange guest in his bed. Too long had it been since he had last lain eyes on such tender flesh.

A woman.

And all he could feel was agony, the memories of a life long past catching up like it had been only yesterday when all had come to pass. When a woman so much alike Belle had lain in that bed.

Oh..how he could still hear her terrified cries, the walls even now still echoing the pain.

Clutching his hands before him he felt a strange wetness run down his cheek. Not rain. Not sweat. But salt-beaded regret.

--

Chap 5 >

--

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[champagne-bucky]

Prescription For... (Just a Touch)

Summary: Steve learns the basics.

Warnings: pre-serum Steve x reader, crude language, masturbation (male and female), dirty thoughts

Notes: Soooo this is kinda late (by like a month or two) but this is kinda my thank you for 1,000 on Tumblr!!! Thank you all so so so much for your support and love towards me and my writings!! Enjoy!!

After Bucky’s interesting visit with Old Man Rogers, he had to go back for more. He honestly did not believe a word his older best friend spoke to him. Was he going senile? Maybe he was lying? Or, maybe he was telling the truth…

“Back for more?” The older gentleman chuckled at the impromptu visit from his childhood friend.

“I just gotta know, are you pulling my leg? Because if you are that was a pretty fucking good gag, Steve,” no matter how many times Steve told Bucky about her, Bucky really thought the old captain was lying to him.

“I assure you, it was all real,” Steve smirked at Bucky and Bucky was a little squeamish at that.

“So, then what else happened between you and her? Did you visit her while you returned the stone? Did you ever keep in touch with her like you did with Peggy? C’mon Steve don’t leave me hanging,” Steve chuckled at his friend.

“All in due time, Buck. Head home now, I’ve gotta take my meds and head to bed,” Bucky gave Steve a hug and pat on the back.

“I’ll be back,” Bucky called out.

“You always do,” Steve responded.

—

Later that night, Steve laid in his bed and dreamed of his woman. The woman before the shield, before the title, before his name. He dreamed of her.

*flashback*

“So, Rogers, them boys been giving you trouble for a while now, huh?” She sat across from the nervous young man while sipping on her drink.

“Just the usual stuff. This always happens to me, ya know,” he responds as he plays with the collar of his shirt.

“You don’t listen to those boys. All they are is scared little boys who got no business picking on a guy like you,” Steve scoffed at that.

“Then why do they always come after me?”

“Depends, your pal Bucky out of town or something?” It did dawn on Steve that whenever Bucky wasn’t around he did get picked on a lot more.

“I don’t like the way they spoke to you today. Sayin’ that you and your momma are,” she shuddered in disgust, “are like that. I find it charming that a man can be that close with his momma,” Steve blushed at that. All his life people would tease and taunt him for being a momma’s boy. Bucky was the same with his mother. However, when there’s a guy as big and buff as he is the guys don’t pick on you as much.

“They’re probably just jealous cause they can’t find any lady around her to screw around with. Probably touch their you know what’s to a peach and imagine a lady attached,” Steve choked on his drink. He never heard a woman speak such vulgarity.

“What?” She looked at him curiously.

“Ya know,” she started doing the motion of a closed fist going up and down.

Steve furrowed his brows in confusion. What was she doing?

“Oh, Oh my gosh! You’ve never…” she trailed off as she looked at Steve’s expression. Poor Steve started to blush out of embarrassment.

“No, no, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. Didn’t you ever learn what that was,” she tried her best to not be crude, but she knew it wasn’t gonna work.

“I’m not following,” poor boy.

“Steve,” she let out a little chuckle, “I’m talking about masterbating. You’ve never heard about that before?” Steve choked back his shocked expression as she whispered the last part.

Of courses he’s heard of that word before. He remembers how his momma sat him down one day and told him that good boys don’t do dirty things like touch their privates. She scarred poor Steve at such a young age about the evils of self pleasure.

“I-I have, I just thought I w-wasn’t supposed to d-do it,” Steve was entirely red at this point.

“Oh, Stevie. My poor poor boy you’re mistaken’,” she shook her head and placed a hand over his. “There’s nothing wrong with touching yourself,” she had confidence that Steve had never seen before, not even in Bucky. “It’s a good thing, a really good thing. It’ll prepare you for later,” she winked as Steve’s eyes blew as wide as the moon.

He forgot about the offer she had made. Oh god, just knowing that made him feel ashamed of himself, he didn’t know anything about masterbating let alone sex. He’s a fraud!

“H-How do I-I do it,” he was looking everywhere except her face.

She smirked and began to tell him the rundown. Steve was baffled by how all this worked. He didn’t know how his mother would feel about this if she ever caught him. Oh god, what if she caught him, Steve thought.

“Listen, just try it, there’s no need to rush or overthink it. However in the event that you do do it,” she smirked and played with the hair at the nape of his neck, “let me know every little detail,” she winked and gave Steve a kiss on the cheek as she left the little diner they were in.

-

Steve had been nervous all throughout the night when he returned home. Every time his mother asked him a question he would start to get nervous. Thinking that he was starting to come down with something, she abruptly sent him to bed, alone with his thoughts.

Now flash forward to Steve in his room, laid out on his bed, stripped down to nothing but a pair of boxers and his pale little chest heaving up and down in the moonlight. He stared up at the ceiling as he thought. What should turn him on? He laid there for what felt like hours, only it was mere minutes, before his mind wandered back to her.

Did she do this too? Did she lay down in her bed every night and do dirty things to make her feel better? Did she tug her nightgown up to her hips and play down there until she felt euphoric? Would she not wear her undergarments to bed, maybe discard them so they wouldn't feel so dirty?

Oh, so this is how you start, huh? Steve felt himself get harder at the thought of her doing that. Her sweet little nightgown resting above her belly button, undergarments taken neatly off her heating body as her sweet little center starts to slick. She’s featherlight with her touches, she hisses when she applies pressure to her sweet and sensitive breasts.

Quiet moans escape past her beautiful lips as she rubs her thighs together for some relief. That’s not enough to quench the increasingly burning fire. Her one hand leaves its place, pulling and pinching the dusty pink nipple that is way past its usual sensitivity limit.

It’s wet down there, so wet. She feels a light sheen of sweat gloss over her perfect skin. Her fingers make hasty work as she plays, pulls, and rubs the sensitive little nub. Her moans start to get too loud, she has to put her other hand over her mouth to silence them. She fails quickly as she slips a finger in her center, then two. It’s mind blowing, the sweet and slick core pulsing at every rapid movement. No room for teasing tonight, she has to be quick before anyone hears her.

Three fingers, she’s never done this before. It feels so good. Her back arches off the bed ever so slightly out of pleasure. She’s going faster now, so fast she hears little noises coming from down there. It’s so hot. So hot that she can’t take the amount of pleasure anymore. She lets go and it's an amazing feeling. Her bed sheets are soaked as well as her thighs. She’s heavy breathing now as she scrambles to get up.

Her legs are shaking with every movement as she strips her sheets and wipes herself down. The air feels nice and cool against her burning skin. She needed this tonight and she’s glad it happened.

Finally, she changes her sheet and lays back in bed. All cool and rested thinking about the skinny boy who visits her father's pharmacy every day.

-

Steve is sitting up now, hand around his painfully aching cock. He’s pumping up and down so fast. The precum spilling out the top was enough to coat his big shaft. He’s holding back his grunts with clenched teeth.

It feels good, it’s so good that he needs to stop himself a few times so the pleasure doesn’t end early. He’s starting to make sweet sounds on his glistening member too. His other hand is making a tight grip on the edge of his mattress. He can’t hold on for long, he’s gotta do it.

He lets go. The mess ends up on his chest and dribbles down his abdomen. He’s coated in his own sheen of sweat and he is breathless.

Steve couldn't believe what had just happened. He feels a mix of shame, but not as much as he feels the missing fulfillment of pleasure. This sweet delicacy should’ve been a part of his life way earlier. Screw it, he wants to do it a second time, third time, so many times, but he knows he can’t. He needs some sleep since this activity drained him of all his energy.

He sleeps like a baby for the first time in years. He’s cooled down and feels less stressed. Steve can’t wait to do it again.

-

Her phone rings a numerous number of times. Her mother yells for her to come near as she says a young gentleman is asking for her. She trudges towards the phone and smirks as she hears her soon to be lover's voice telling her that the deed has been done.

“So you ready to learn more, Rogers?”

[ariddletobesolved]

Days We Spend Under the Sun (Ten - End)

Written for @helsa-summer-event ❤

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Romance, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Whump

Rating: T

Summary: Summer is not her favourite season, but a certain Admiral from the neighbouring kingdom is going to change that.

Brace yourself for a long arse chapter, and maybe a little cheesy (idk). This is the last chapter of this AU (feeling emotional already, lmao). Sorry it took a while, I've been dealing with several things, but here I am. I won't write too much notes, as I've prepared another post just for that. Thanks for reading and supporting this AU. Enjoy!

Prompt 7: Free

—

Chapter Ten

"I don't know if I can do this."

Hans sighed as he put down the small box on the wooden table, pushing it closer to the queen's direction.

From her seat behind the desk, Anna gave him a look. She raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

The former prince pinched the bridge of his nose, before turning to face the queen.

"I don't think she'll say yes." He replied, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood up straight. "We haven't been courting for that long, and the past we shared—"

"Yes, yes, I'm aware." Anna calmly interjected. Her hands were in her lap, eyes darting from the box towards him. "But you seemed so eager and determined a week ago, what changes?"

His jaw clenched, for the vivid memory of his dream last night came crashing at him, flooding his senses. It had been two months since the last time the nightmare occurred, about him, standing in the pool of blood on the slowly melting fjord, gazing at a pair of dull blue eyes that stared back at him. Elsa was dead, and he would become king like he wanted. The ice beneath him thawed, and he fell into the cold water. That was when he woke up, gasping for air, only to see Elsa, alive and murmuring sweet nothings to his ear. Realising that it was all just a dream, he pulled Elsa into his embrace, muttering how sorry he was.

It was a vision of what could've been, had he succeeded in ending the Eternal Winter by going for the source of magic. Even after years of punishment and redemption, the guilt was still there, eating him alive. Had it not been for Elsa's comfort, Hans wouldn't have known how to keep going.

"Hans?"

"I was a monster." He gulped. "Maybe I still am, knowing that some people still don't trust me. And for that, I know I'm not worthy of your sister's love, or anyone else's."

"You were." Anna grabbed the small box and a roll of parchment, then getting up from her chair. "Hans, you'd wronged me. I won't sugarcoat it. You left me to die in that room, you deceived me, and you were out to kill my sister. I admit, I took great pleasure when I punched you in the face."

The whole time, Hans didn't even flinch. He knew what he had done wrong, he was aware of that, and he would forever regret it.

"So I've noticed, even after all those dark months, some people still refused to look you in the eye, not wanting to acknowledge you as a person." She walked over and stopped before the tall redhead. "I did that too when you first came here after years. Elsa was the one insisting to lock you up, but I didn't see the point. There was something different about you."

When a roll of parchment was offered to him, Hans frowned. "Why are you doing this, Anna?"

"As much as I'm doing this for Elsa, I also believe you're not the same person who came to Arendelle with an ambition to become king." Anna spoke, her gaze showed kindness. "I can see that now, and it's not only because you won us war.

"That Prince Hans of The Southern Isles, who had a miserable childhood, dying to prove himself to his father and twelve older brothers, who attempted to marry into the throne to become king and was willing to commit a murder to fulfil such an ambition, was a failure. He wasn't born evil, yet he had failed to stop himself from being blinded by ambitions, and his tragic past doesn't excuse what he did." She paused, thrusting the roll onto his grasp. "But the man standing before me right now is not him. I trust you understand what I mean, Vice Admiral." Anna smiled as she mentioned his new title.

There was a beat, before Hans asked in disbelief, "They approved?" He unrolled it and began to read its content, green eyes were scanning the words over and over again. 

"It was a long discussion with Captain Larsson, but apparently, some people already accept you as one of us, even Admiral Goran." She was relieved and worried at the same time. She knew Hans doubted himself, at least she had heard Elsa mentioned it to her a couple of times, but she also knew that the two of them—Elsa and Hans were madly in love with each other. All they needed was a little push. 

"Hans," Anna called, and immediately, his attention was on her.

"Thank you so much! I don't know what to say, this is," Hans beamed, "does Elsa know?"

"Not yet." The strawberry blonde smiled. "I figured you'll be the one telling her, as planned."

Realisation began to sink in and he pressed his lips in a tight line. "Right."

"You're doubting yourself, aren't you?" The queen studied him closely. "I see how you look at my sister, and how she looks back at you. I know Elsa, and I've never seen her being this happy—different kind of happy. You might not notice it, but she is glowing whenever she is with you. She cares about you, and I know you care about her, a lot, I may add."

"Do you really think so?"

Anna rolled her eyes in a playful manner. "I know so!" She pressed the small box gently on his hand, and gave him a little push. "Now go and propose to my sister. You already have my blessing, and that means you have one less thing to worry about."

The gesture from his, hopefully, future sister in law brought a smile on his face. Hans glanced at her, feeling grateful for her kindness. He firmly held the box in his right hand. The queen was no longer that naive little princess, who would marry a man she just met because she was desperate for love. She had grown into a compassionate and caring Queen of Arendelle, whose prosperous reign was equal to her predecessor, her sister. Whether it was motherhood or her kind nature, he didn't know.

"Thank you, Anna." Hans didn't know if hugging the queen was the best move, so he went to shake her hand. But Anna, sensing his hesitation, pulled him in a quick hug.

"No, thank Elsa." She said, holding him by his shoulders. "I might be the one who opened the door, but she was the one who let you in."

The former prince nodded. The sisters' kindness was obviously contagious, and it was a part of several reasons why he wanted to change for the better.

"But," Anna said, her tone turned dramatically, "if you hurt my sister, I won't hesitate to punch you in the face, again, and I'll make sure that your nose wouldn't be the only thing that's broken." 

Hans gulped. Of course he knew better than causing the Snow Queen any pain. He nodded.

"Now, go!" Anna smiled, pushing him towards the door. "You have a date to attend. Also, it's a perfect place for a date in this castle, so might as well, not spoil it."

"Okay, okay."

"Oh, and Hans?" Just when he was about to close the door, she added, "welcome to the family."

—

Hans couldn't stop smiling. A sudden surge of confidence boosted through him, as he made his way towards Elsa's room. With a ring in his pocket, a bouquet of her favourite flowers and a new dress for her in his grasp, he began to think of how their day would proceed. If Anna was right, and Elsa said yes, Hans would be the luckiest man alive, he knew that for sure. Standing before the wooden door, he composed himself. As he turned the bronze handle, he heard voices talking.

"Oh, I don't know what he is planning, but I heard him talking to Anna about dresses and flowers." It was Olaf. "I hope he is not planning something bad."

Hans was frozen on the spot. Did the snowman think that he had a bad intention towards Elsa? He knew Olaf was probably not making any sense, but it was enough to make him think of the worst.

Elsa chuckled. "Olaf, why would he plan something bad with dresses and flowers? It sounds like something romantic, but I can be wrong."

It was a relief, but gone was the confidence he brought along as the next question came up.

"You said he had a nightmare, Elsa, what was that about?"

There was a silence, thick and hostile, from where he was standing. Doubts began to cloud his mind, as he wondered what she might be thinking. Not wanting to wait any longer, he pushed the door open. 

Her beautiful smile was the first thing that greeted him. Still dressed in her nightgown, Elsa looked radiant, as she sat on the bed with a breakfast tray in her lap. Olaf beamed and waved at him.

"I wish they would allow me to join you for breakfast, since I'm feeling much better now." Elsa sighed when she saw him walk over. "What do you have there?"

Hans flashed her a smile, settling the neatly folded dress over the chair nearby and put the flowers in her grasp, before leaning in to kiss her lips.

"Presents." He let out, sitting on the bed next to her.

Olaf nudged her, "See? I told you!" The snowman then collected her tray, before getting back on his feet. "I think I'll leave you both to it. See you later!"

Once the bedroom door was closed, Hans put his hand on her thigh and squeezed it lightly. At the gesture, she let out a giggle, before shoving his hand off. "Hans, no!" She smiled gently, cradling the bouquet close to her chest. "Thank you." Fondly, Elsa admired the bouquet, inhaling the familiar scent. "It's lovely."

"I'm actually planning something for the both of us." He stated, tucking her loose blonde strands behind her ear.

Eagerly, her blue eyes widened with interest. "Really, what is it? Are we going to go sailing?"

Sailing was his previous plan, indeed, but since Elsa was only recovering from her fever, Hans decided that they should stay in. He didn't wish to cause her any more harm than he already did, although the rising temperature wasn't exactly his doing. Besides, if Elsa said yes to a lifetime with him, it means that they would sail forever in holy matrimony.

"You'll see," was all his reply.

—

Moments later, Elsa and Hans were standing on the balcony at the back of the castle, facing the perfect view of the open sea. Anna was right, Hans thought, it was a perfect place for a date. A table for two was set up, with cakes, a teapot, two cups, and some boxes of chocolate were served on the table. A bouquet of heathers was placed in the middle.

Elsa could recall how many times she would go there in between meetings when she was queen, just to allow herself to think. She loved the view, the blueness of the ocean, and the gentle caress of the wind, they offered her comfort. It was rather quiet, even during the day, but at least she wasn't alone this time.

Hans held her close from behind, one hand was holding the railing, and the other was around her torso. His mind wandered back to the conversation he had with Anna. He would never forget her generosity in giving him the chance to prove himself that he was capable of growth—the chance not everyone would grant him. She allowed him to stay in Arendelle, to serve in the navy, so he could be close to the love of his life, despite the dark past they shared. Then he began to think of Elsa's silence when the topic about his nightmare was brought up.

"You're quiet." Elsa stirred in his embrace and turned to face him. "What are you thinking about?"

"Things." He said, before letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Elsa, I shouldn't have ruined it for you. We can have some tea and chocolates."

Hans was about to move to the table, when Elsa stopped him. "You didn't ruin anything at all. I was only wondering why you were quiet." She paused, eyes were never leaving his. "Would you like to talk about what's troubling you?"

"What makes you think it's troubling me?" It was a little defensive on his part.

Elsa frowned. "Your reaction right now is what." She blinked. "Is it your nightmare?"

She wondered what made him act so defensive. The past few days, Elsa noticed how he had been acting strange, and she was under the impression that he was hiding something, but what? That couldn't have had anything to do with the recurring nightmare, could it?

"Hans?"

Ignoring her, the redhead let go of her hand, before turning around. He pulled out a box from his pocket, admiring the diamond ring inside. Oh, how he wished everything was easier for him.

"You've been hiding something." It was loud and clear in his ear. "What is it?"

"Nothing." He muttered, still with his back facing her. Putting the box back into his pocket, Hans looked back.

Thoughts were running through her head, and some of them weren't pretty. "Are you doubting us?" 

"It's not that." Hans shook his head. The frown on his face deepened.

Elsa, growing frustrated as the second passed, looked away. Her cheeks were flushing as anger began to build up. "I can't believe you don't even trust me, especially with whatever it is you're hiding."

"It's not that simple, Elsa." He took a deep breath, rubbing his face in an equal frustration. "You don't understand."

"Then make me!" Elsa pressed, taking a step closer. 

Her fingertips were cold, as she tried to contain her powers from exploding. She breathed heavily, the storm in her chest was raging, but there was something in his emerald eyes—remorseful and sincere—as she held his gaze. Closing her eyes, Elsa tried to calm her mind. Anger was never a solution, and one of them should hold their ground if they wanted to carry on with the conversation. Perhaps what he needed was comfort.

"Hans," The former queen called, after another minute passed with silence. She looked up, staring at him with her blue eyes, while holding one hand out. "Come here."

When Hans took her hand, Elsa immediately pulled him into an embrace. She wounded her arms around his torso, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Gently, he returned the gesture and pressed a kiss on her temple. Nothing could top the feeling of holding each other close, getting lost in the comfort.

Closing his eyes, Hans breathed in her scent. Maybe asking her wouldn't hurt, he thought, and he shouldn't be selfish if he wanted to take their relationship one step ahead. And with a determination, he let out, "Kaere."

A beat.

"Yes?"

He took a deep breath, still holding her hand. "I need to tell you something."

Taking one step back, his knee bended slightly, and Elsa tried to stifle a gasp. Is he going to propose? She thought, is this what he has been hiding from me? Her pulse quickened, anticipating what was about to come. Elsa didn't see that coming, but for some reason, she was glad.

The former queen was no fool, and she frowned when she saw him stand up straight. She put two and two together, and realised that he had been doubting his own self. She knew about his nightmare, and how remorseful he had been. To see him looking unsure brought a pang on her chest. She couldn't wait any longer.

"Marry me." Elsa blurted out.

Stunned. Her words got him frozen on the spot. Hans stood there, dumbfounded. Marry me. Those words echoed in his mind, and he had to blink to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Did she just—

"Hans?" She whispered, taking a step closer to cradle his head. "Are you—

But before she could continue, Hans captured her lips with his. Gone was the hesitation, the doubts that had been haunting him, as he got lost in the passion. Her lips were firmly pressed against his, as if she tried to give him a proper reassurance. He held her close by the waist, as he deepened the kiss, savouring the taste of her tongue, before they pulled away.

"Is that a yes?" She asked breathlessly, smiling ear to ear, pressing her forehead against his.

"Kaere," Hans couldn't contain the joy. He let go of her waist, and held her hand. With a surge of confidence, he got down on one knee. "Allow me to do it properly."

He pulled out the small diamond ring and held it up. 

"Elsa," he began, "I know I'm not worthy of your love," seeing the look of disapproval on her face, Hans gave her hand a gentle tug, "hear me out, please?"

"Okay." Her heart swelled inside her ribcage, and warmth overflowing in her body. She nodded.

"I know I'm not worthy of your love," he repeated, "forgiveness, even a second chance. What I've done in the past is unforgivable, and I'm accepting that.

"But you, Elsa, you have given me the chance to get to know you, and I'm grateful for that. Anna, Kristoff, Olaf, and you are the kindest people I know. You have shown me kindness, and for that, I'm forever grateful. I love you, min Kaere, and nothing will ever change that. I've never felt this way before, and you don't know how hard it was to deny it. Because loving you feels so right, but also wrong at the same time. Our union is frowned upon because of our past, but we've proved them wrong."

"Hans," she gasped. Her eyes were glassy with tears at his confession.

"I have nothing grand to offer, and I may be pushing my luck, but," he paused, looking at her with sincerity, "Elisabeth," he gently said, taking her by surprise at her given name. "Will you marry me?"

Her vision got blurry with tears as she stood there. It was too much for her, the love and joy that she felt was overwhelming, but in a good way.

"Yes." She nodded furiously. "God, yes!"

He slid the ring on her finger, and got up to pull her into his arms. He spun her around, burying his face in the crook of her neck. There were sparks in his chest when he heard her giggles, and realisation began to sink in. They're engaged.

"I love you." He put her down, so they were standing face to face. One hand cradled her head, with his thumb rubbing her cheek gently. "I love you so much."

Elsa smiled, giving into his touch. "And I love you too, so very much." She covered his hand with hers, as she pressed a gentle kiss on the heel of his palm. "Don't ever doubt yourself, okay? You are worthy."

Hans nodded slowly. "Forgive me."

"It's okay." Elsa nuzzled his nose. "There's nothing to forgive."

"There's also another thing." He began.

Elsa tilted her head with interest. "Yes?"

"I'm staying." Hans smiled. "This time for good."

"Hans, what?" With her mouth agape, she gazed into his emerald eyes, searching for any hint of mischief, and when she couldn't find any, she blinked. "I don't understand."

He led her to a chair nearby, and helped her sit, before seating himself next to her. Taking her hand in his, Hans pressed his lips over the knuckles.

"So, I might have asked Anna a favour just about last week. I was applying for a vacant spot in the Arendellian Navy."

It did not take her long to guess. "The Vice Admiral?"

The redhead nodded. "Yes."

"And you got it?" This time, she was smiling.

"I did."

Elsa didn't know what to say. The news was another thing she didn't expect to hear, and it seemed as if her day couldn't get any better.

"It's," the former queen paused, "wonderful! I'm so happy for you, truly."

She cupped his face and showered him with kisses, from his forehead to his temple, then his nose, and down to his lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Elsa settled on his lap. She nuzzled the crook of his neck as he held her close.

"I'm so glad to have you home, Hans." She murmured.

"Home?"

Elsa nodded, looking up to him, fondly. "You're here now with me. We are home."

Home. He liked the ring of it. Elsa had been his safe haven, and then she was his home. In the end, things were working out just fine, and they were both alright.

"Thank you, Elsa."

"Hmm?" She eyed the new accessory on her ring finger with a smile, before darting her attention back to him. "For what?"

Hans felt his heart swell. He pressed another kiss on her temple. "For letting me in, and giving me a second chance." And he would be forever grateful for that.

Quietly, Elsa settled back in his embrace. Her blue eyes were gazing far ahead at the open sea. Once in a while, she stole glances at the symbol of their union, and she realised that the past few days they spent under the sun were leading up to that very moment. How their story went as the time passed, she would treasure that, and despite the rocky path they had to take to get there, Elsa regretted nothing.

Suddenly the future didn't seem to be uncertain. Hans is staying, and we're getting married, Elsa told herself. That steadiness, something to hold onto, was all she needed. And forever with him, she couldn't wait to spend.

END.

[silverinia]

I came for Baranski, I stayed for Baranski - a quick Christmas On The Square review someone* actually asked for

(* thank you, anon)

Disclaimer: I am in no way a professional of any sorts when it comes to film and I'm not a journalist either. The last movie review I've written was probably for a school assignment in eighth grade. I didn't do research for this and I've watched the movie exactly one time, so this is just for fun.

It was a Sunday, Sunday the 22nd of November, nearing the end of the train wreck of a year that is 2020. I woke up on an air mattress around seven am, my head aching, my throat itching with pyrosis and light nausea, it was still dark outside behind the closed blinds in front of the windows, when I slowly realised where I was, one of my best girlfriends sleeping next to me in her bed. I had crashed at her place after a warm, fuzzy evening of mulled wine, tacky Christmas movies I would never watch alone (Christmas Chronicles and Holiday Calendar, which I quite honestly didn't enjoy at all, but the company made it fun anyway), doing our nails, wearing the fun kind of face masks for a change and smoking too many cigarettes, as the soft pain in my head informed me right now. She woke up an hour later and the morning went by with coffee and reheated pizza for breakfast, when we decided to watch another movie and I realised that it was THE Sunday I'd been waiting for through Zoom interviews and Dolly Parton twitter memes and the infamous wig gate that will be briefly discussed in the following, and so we clicked on the small icon in the Netflix menu that said "Christmas On The Square".

And oh boy, was it a ride.

To start off, I should mention that I have a hard time watching most modern day American Christmas movies, as I noticed quite vividly again when I watched the two aforementioned Netflix productions last night. The character development is always foreseeable to say the least, the plot lines are plain clichés hunting each other like they're the kids in The Hunger Games, and the writing is generally so bad that you can join the actors in reciting the entire scripts on your first watch. I watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas once a year while I'm gift wrapping and pause every fifteen minutes to shamelessly stare at forties Christine Baranski (I think we should all turn away from the birth of Jesus and instead count our years based on Christine Baranski's date of birth) in flamboyant nightgowns and short Christmas themed dresses, looking so fabulous that every interpreter of Santa Baby ever could only dream of it, I watch Love Actually at least five times a year to lust over Hugh Grant, cry with Emma Thompson and miss Alan Rickman, I enjoy Bridget Jones, which I would definitely consider a Christmas movie, and that's it. That's my yearly Christmas time entertainment routine and I can barely tolerate anything beyond, because I'm still traumatised from the time when I was around five years old and on a holiday family visit where had to sit through National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, the dumbest movie I have ever seen (my apologies if you like it but also, who hurt you?), with my cousins. I hated it. I hated every minute of it. And it scarred me for life.

But this was a Christine Baranski movie, I knew she was going to play the lead and so I was pretty much as excited about this as I could. And the fact that Dolly Parton wrote the whole thing didn't hurt either. As I said earlier to my friend I was watching it with, I have the pop cultural taste of a fifty year old gay man, a quality I am most proud of, and this simply ticked off all my boxes.

I expected something similar to a Mamma Mia experience that wouldn't cause me to crave packing my bags, give Covid the finger and run off to Greece. Light-hearted entertainment, easy to stomach, uplifting music and so little plot that the simplicity feels like a creative choice. That's what my pained, hungover brain knew it could cope with and that's not what I got.

The movie started and I was immediately in the zone. I saw Christine Baranski's name in the front credits (an experience that never fails to make me scream "Yass Queen" at the screen, regardless of where I am and who I'm with, as if I'm the sobering result that pops out of the package when you order Jonathan Van Ness on Wish), the setting was wonderfully corny (I grew up watching Gilmore Girls once a week, so give me warm fairy lights and a gazebo and I'm perfectly happy) and as my friend wondered whether Dolly Parton, in her exaggerated homeless attire that didn't make her look shabby at all, was green-screened into the setting because she stood out so much (which she was because the background dancers were dancing in slow motion, but to be fair, we were probably still a little too drunk to notice that from the start) and I told her I thought that it was just the natural glow someone who's Dolly Parton simply carries with them everywhere they go, I was happy. This was the movie I was prepared for. A movie in which the most problematic thing would be stereotypical characters and the wig they hid Christine's real, flawlessly handmade by God herself hair under.

And then, around five minutes in, Christine Baranski's childhood love interest was revealed as she pressed her perfect pointy nose against the window of his shop and sang about her unrequited love.

And suddenly, things started taking turns at a pace I was still way too sleep-deprived for.

Suddenly, in the middle of my general amazement at seeing Christine Baranski do literally anything and laughing loud at her impeccable comedic delivery, there were unresolved daddy issues, hanging prominently at the wall in her marvellously designed house (she literally says "Daddy" at one point and I couldn't help but think that only someone with her vocal skills could keep from making it sound cringe-worthily kinky). One moment, I was clutching my chest above my heart while she was bonding with little bartender Violet and munching on pretzels while downing some whiskey in that elegant way only Christine Baranski can bond with ten year olds who had it rough, eat pretzels and down whiskey, and the next she felt responsible for said girl's mother's death (which she kinda was too, but I'm not the boss of her). I was still busy making fun of how the very annoyingly, but when you're snacking on pizza with extra cheese at nine in the morning also highly funny, slow talking pastor's name was Christian, and suddenly there was a cancer scare.

It was a lot, a hasty sprint from major issue to major issue with a hint of comedic relief every now and then, and it didn't get any less until the very, rather poorly resolved, end.

The entire, constant up and down was followed by the movie's peak of suspense, the near death of precious Violet, something I couldn't even get too invested in because I was still so busy worrying about Christine's MRT results (I was truly fucking worried), not to mention that I hadn't even started to really process the sudden revelation of the love child and how it had affected her character's actions until this point. Was her constant tendency of pushing people away, as we've seen most clearly with her angel in training assistant who's name I cannot recall right now, the result of her broken trust in her father who practically ripped her son away from her after she had just given birth to him? Was it a result of her never getting the closure she needed with plaid flannel wearing Carl she was clearly still in love with? Maybe both? And what of the many issues was it that made her so incredibly shaken up when Violet blamed herself for her mother's death? Was it 'just' due to the fact that the closed pharmacy was on her, or was there more to it? Was it because she had grown up without a mother herself? Or did I miss a major piece of information because I was momentarily distracted, dumbfoundedly staring at Christine's very blue eyes? No time to ponder on that, little Silverinia, because here comes unconscious Violet in an ambulance, WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO!

I'm not going to go in depth about what plot lines I thought were especially carelessly handled and why, real standouts were the sudden forgiveness towards her father who had still acted like a shitty asshole even though he might have had his reasons, because giving the baby up for adoption just wasn't his choice to make, and the fact that I kind of didn't buy how quickly Regina managed to forgive herself, especially for Violet's mother's passing, considering how deeply her tall, slim, dare I say angelic and entrancing figure was buried beneath the weight of all her issues. It felt rushed and incomplete, but that's as detailed as it gets because my major point is something else.

I think this movie made the great mistake of trying to be more than your average, flat, happy ending Christmas movie. I think no one involved thought it was possible to make it a big hit if the only real plot would've been great Dolly Parton music, fun ensemble dance choreographies, Christine Baranski's outstanding acting skills, fun settings and costumes and a redemption arch with as little plot as it could possibly take to make Christine likable to those who aren't already lost forever in the rabbit hole of being obsessed with her (poor fuckers, can't relate). They didn't notice that with the legends that were involved, they could've easily gone the Mamma Mia way. And I think that's why they tried to include heavier plot lines than most creators would've chosen, experiencing loss at an early age, struggling to find closure, dealing with sickness, teenage pregnancy, parents forcing their choices on their children when they affect their childrens' lives first, adoption, and the fear of losing your kid.

It was a lot and I don't want to say that it didn't work because my friend was crying, like, pretty hard and I questioned my entire existence all through the movie in not the worst way, and I did enjoy it a lot while watching. The "grief is love with nowhere to go" line was a real standout, for example, where the attempt of complexity DID work. It positively gave me fleabag season two, "I don't know what to do with it now, with all the love I have for her." - "I'll take it. It sounds lovely. You have to give it to me." feels, and that's about the biggest praise I can come up with. BUT (and this is written in capital letters because it's the big but) I'm also totally convinced that I wouldn't have enjoyed it if they hadn't cast Christine Baranski for the lead role. In my humble opinion, the hasty, not really at all resolved plot of this movie only worked because Christine Baranski is just a fantastic actress. She quirks a mocking eyebrow and you laugh. She parts her perfectly painted red lips and you immediately hang on them because you don't want to miss a single breath she, a literal goddess, graces us mere peasants of people with. She smiles and you're happy. She laughs and even while she's still laughing, you can't wait to hear her do it again. Her eyes fill with tears and you feel goosebumps on your arms, her voice slightly trembles, a breath hitches in her throat and you feel your heart shattering to pieces. As Chuck Lorre once said, this woman could read you the phone book and you would end up laughing tears because she just gets the job done. She knows what she's doing, she's an absolute pro in her game, and it doesn't matter, not even a little bit, what she's working with, because the work she eventually delivers with it is always at a minimum of 200%. I forced my friend to watch this movie with me because I adore this woman, and I felt for this movie because I felt for her. It wasn't the plot that sadly brutally overestimated itself, it wasn't the songs that I obviously enjoyed, nor the comedic elements that truly made me laugh a lot, it was all her. I came for Baranski, and I stayed for Baranski. This woman can do anything. She can even look graceful in a terrible wig job.

(side note / unpopular opinion: I actually didn't think the wig was all too bad. It wasn't good, actually far from good, but for me, nothing can match the awful wig game of Mamma Mia 2. I loathed that wig, I absolutely cannot stand it. So this didn't feel all that terrible. It definitely wasn't the most problematic part about the movie.)

I enjoyed watching this. It was a nice distraction from all the bullshit in the world. Watching it today was the first thing this year that actually brought me something close to excitement about the holiday season, even though everything will be very different and probably not quite as jolly this year. But it just gave me good vibes and as someone who did not watch this as a film reviewer, that's the biggest part of what leads me to enjoy a movie.

Will I watch this again? For sure. Will I enjoy it when I'm not hungover, having freshly done nails and munching delicious pizza for breakfast? Probably not as much, but it'll still have Christine Baranski in it. Would I recommend watching this? If you share my obsession with Queen B, one hundo. If you don't, probably not.