#please tell me if this is good i cannot tell i wrote this while drunk

[lazarusrisingx]

okay the oneshot actually turned into the first chapter of yandere!dawnbreaker! zayne im not gonna lie (im drunk and i get really into weiting like this, sue me)

its also 9 google doc pages long on size 11 font so idk if ill need to post the chapter in mulriple parts pr not but hold on yall im posting it!!

i had to delete the beginning of it because im qay better at writing when im drunk and yall do NOT deserve rhe dog shit i wrote as the oneshot LMAO.

[princesseusminki]

Homeless | Park Seonghwa

Chapter one.

I wrote this fanfic based on a manhwa that got me inspired because it was full of angst, and Im sucker for that genre. Anyway leave like and follow my page ♡

Walking on the way home from my barely enough survived convenient part-time job when there he was, i saw him crouching on the steep cold road outside the front terrace house gate. Is this man a lunatic? Who would sit outside in this kind of weather? On top of that, it looks like a grown fully capable adult man. He probably drunk so I partake my way into the house and suddenly he looks at me, ew creep. But what caught me was his eyes looking helpless and distraught. Guilt creeped me in, "Sir are you alright? It's cold out here", Yeah no darn kidding. "don't think it's good idea sitting here", While fought to compel my friendly tone asking him. And looking above the sky. It's 25th December today. Speck of snows hindered on the sky. Lovely.

Next things, I realised he collapsed hardly on the road. Oh lord, you got to be kidding me. I just got back from my deranged work. Obviously I couldn't leave him outside in this state before i decided to drag him inside and put him on my bed. Im not a sick pervert. Lord, how many days does he being in this situation? Ragged, unwashed and dirty.

I helped remove his clothes before he catch any flu from this weather. Then, the bruises and scratches caught onto my sight. What did this man do? *cough* *cough* wait he's awake. "water..." huh what is it I cannot hear him speaks clearly. "Water...." He wants water. So i grab a glass of water immediately and helped him get up before pass on the glass. He chugged the water rapidly. "Sir do you live nearby here ? Apologise for intruding your privacy but I had to remove your clothes earlier and could not help but realised there are...." I stopped myself ahead before continuing "bruises everywhere". He didn't look shocked nor surprised. "Let me stay here" I looked at him confused and slightly annoyed. "Look I only helped you here because it was out of human decency and not expecting something else, you're a grown man—". "I am male escort" That still doesn't explain why he got it ? Im confused here. "Please..." he looked at me pleadingly and exhausted. "I'll help you around with the house chores, I won't be a burden.." His eyes glistening with tears. What possibly had he endured all this time? "Fine, but tell me your name"

"Seonghwa, Park Seonghwa"

[oumaheroes]

Congrats for the 1000 followers! :D You and your fics are such a blessing to this fandom

If I'm not mistaken, one of your answers said about the brit bros getting drunk and ends up in Wales' garden but Wales himself nowhere to be seen? O.o My mind went to that news about a drunk Welshman swimming across the hoover dam (I know it happened in the U.S but still) and your answer makes me very curious. Where he disappeared to? To the comfort of his own room or is he outside doing God-knows-what? I need some answers, please.

Thank you so much, @notnobleone! And I did say that, you're right! They go out drinking, Ireland ends up passed out in Wales' garden bushes, England's missing his shoes or something sat stupid on the doorstep, and Scotland's been trying to drunkenly unpick the door all night long. And Wales, the homeowner?

Wales is nowhere to be seen

And you know what? I spent hours looking for that post to link this to and I CANNOT find it; your memory is incredible! I don't even know how far back I wrote that!

Here are the answers you seek, just for you and your lovely brain ❤️

----------------------

Jail Break

Wales emerged into the Police Station waiting room behind a very stern looking young constable, overdressed for the weather in a long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans. The constable looked away when Wales tried to smile at him in thanks, his mouth a disapproving hard line before he began to read him his exit procedure.

Wales was mostly presentable looking from his brief stay in the cells, despite wearing only last night’s clothes, and the only real sign that anything was amiss was that he was alarmingly more rumpled that Belgium had had reason to see him in years- hair all angles, dark circles under his eyes, and a curious amount mud around his hems.

He smiled at her once he caught her eye, giving her a small nod, ‘Hello, Marie.’

‘Rhys.’ Belgium smiled to the constable as Wales came closer and motioned with her arm towards the door, ‘After you.’

‘No forms to fill out?’

‘Already done.’

‘You’re a treasure.’

Belgium smiled, ‘I know.’

Outside, Wales blinking gritty eyes in the bright midday sunshine, Belgium took the arm he offered her and began to lead him forwards through to the centre of Brussels.

‘I’m so sorry about this.’

‘Don’t be.’ She squeezed his arm, ‘Was exciting. I’ve not been woken up by a call from the police in a good few decades.’

‘Francis?’

‘Lars.’

Wales raised his eyebrows but didn’t enquire further, ‘Were you asleep?’

‘Most people are at six in the morning.’

‘Six.' Wales rubbed his eyes, ‘Lord. I don’t even remember twelve in the morning. I'm surprised I remembered your land-line number.'

'You didn't. The police picked you up stumbling about outside the train station. You told them my name and I'm known enough by a few authority figures for them to make the connection.'

Wales held a hand over his eyes and sighed something in Welsh that sounded offensive. 'I won't ask you to keep that between us; it's too good not to share.'

Belgium watched him run his tongue across his lips, looking sheepish and uncomfortable, for long enough to make the early wake up worth it, and then took pity on him. She dug about in her handbag and handed him a fresh bottle of water. ‘Here.’

‘Ta.’ He took a long drink. 'You'd think I'd learn by now not to mix hops and grapes.'

‘I wanted to come and get you earlier,' Belgium told him, 'but there was some hassle with border control. They were a bit concerned that you’d managed to get through border control without a passport and it took a while to get them to drop it.’

Wales capped the bottle and shook his head helplessly. ‘I can’t tell you how. Didn't even have one when out.’

‘Yes, I thought that. Why would you ever carry a one at all.'

They fell silent as they came to a crowded crossing. The press of human bodies that close was a bit too warm even for Belgium in her summer dress and sunhat. She could only imagine how Wales felt, dressed for a presumably Welsh summer evening and legs stuck in thick denim.

‘Where are we going?’ Wales asked as they began moving again, across the road and then down a cobbled side street further into the heart of the historical part of town.

‘Home.’

‘Oh no,’ Wales looked horrified, ‘No love, you don’t have to do that. I’ll take myself home; get out of your hair.’

‘No offense, but you do need a bath-‘ Wales winced, ‘and I’d rather you leave my lands in decent condition, at least. Despite the inelegant arrival.’

Wales laughed awkwardly, ‘That’s fair enough.’

‘So, come on then.’ Belgium tugged his arm again, ‘Tell me. Consider it payment,’ she said as Wales made a face, ‘For breaking you out of jail.’

‘Like a hoodlum.’

‘Like a hoodlum.’

Wales let out a breath of air, ‘I do wish I could tell you. I’m not sure what happened, honestly. We were-‘

‘-out in Cardiff?’

‘Bristol.’

‘Oh.’

‘We all took trains there; none of us could have driven home again, of course. I remember being in a pub and then-‘ Wales waved a hand, ‘bit and pieces in between. I remember the train seats, oddly enough, because they looked like the material of one of Alisdair’s shirts, you know those really ugly ones that he has-‘

‘Oh I love those. The terrible retro 80’s ones.’

‘Hideous things, absolute disgrace. But anyway, I remember the chairs, and I remember being at a station. I think Patrick was there, or maybe all of them were...’

He trailed off, thoughtful, ‘Actually, now that I think about it, I think Patrick put me on the train. He told me the platform and was there when I went through the gate, at least. How the fuck I didn’t realise I was going to London, I’ll never know. Then the Eurostar? Maybe night ferry? I would have had to have got the Tube to get that line, somehow, and I couldn’t have been in any fit state to-‘

He stopped, cheeks pinking.

‘Why were you in Bristol?’ Belgium asked, taking pity on him.

‘Arthur’s turn to pick the place we went. Bastard chose the nearest city to my house though, presumably knowing that I’d host rather than us needing to get a hotel or travel far back again.’

‘I’m surprised you let him.’

‘He said London’s too expensive.’

‘Still.’

Wales shrugged, ‘It is too expensive.’

Down another street, the smell of chocolate shops with their wide open doors and windows making the heavy air sickly. Wales took another sip of water. ‘So, Bristol it was.'

'And they just left you alone.'

'I'm starting to think it was more a planned abandonment.'

It took Belgium a considerable amount determination not to show her amusement openly. 'I'm sure they didn't know you'd end up in Brussels.'

'No,' Wales acknowledged gracefully with a rueful smile, 'That little mess is all my own.'

'I'd say safely making your way through several different transport methods and customs to illegally slip into the European Union is a decent achievement. I really hope you remember how you did it, the government won't like that gap sitting about.'

'I'm very sure I couldn't have done it any way other than by being far too drunk for sense. And maybe with a dash of fraternal vendetta.'

Belgium laughed, 'Well. Lucky you because now you can spend your day here with me instead of waking up with them.'

'Lucky me too,' Wales patted his pocket with a grin, 'Because I've still got my house keys with me.'

---------------

AN: This fic was written in honour of the many Brits who get drunk and end up wandering about in Europe with no memory of how they got there, like Switzerland, Spain, the Netherlands, France... it's common

[wonderlandleighleigh]

ok that ending of the gg ficlet is cruel, just plain cruel. the insatiable monster in me is begging you for more of this timeline. but only if you want to of course. could be from Midge/Lenny pov maybe?

I mean, we're taking our time to get there, but here's a second part.

Emily demands her party, and so Rory lets her have it, helping to choose the invitations and the cake, and the chocolate gift boxes. 

“Are there friends you’d like to invite?” Emily asks her granddaughter. 

“Lane, for sure, and Paris,” Rory tells her. “And Jess is in town for a little while, and things have been friendly. I’d like him to come. And Midge and Lenny, and Sookie and Jackson, and Miss Patty, and Babbette and Morey-” 

“Rory, we cannot invite your entire town,” Emily agonizes. 

Rory frowns. “That’s not the entire town. Just our close friends. Please, Grandma? If I’m going to celebrate, I’d really like for them all to be here.” 

Emily sighs and caves. “Oh…alright. But you tell Mr. Schneider that he has to behave properly.” 

“Define properly,” Rory quips quickly. “He’s going to ask.” 

“No nudity. A profanity to a minimum. A barest amount of ‘eat the rich’ jokes he can manage.” 

“I’ll let him know,” Rory grins.

***** 

Lenny sighs heavily over his cup of coffee at the diner. “Oh, alright. I will make one, and only one, eat the rich joke,” he promises. “And I will refrain from dropping trou. But I make no promises on my swear words. They’re mine. I have a very deep and loving relationship with them.”

Midge pouts. “I didn’t get a warning?” 

“Apparently because you’re from the Upper West Side, you have better manners,” Lorelai jokes. “Lenny’s from Long Island, he’s unpredictable.” 

“I got drunk and flashed my tits at an entire coffeehouse full of strangers!” Midge laments. “What does a girl have to do to get notorious?!” 

“Don’t say tits,” Jess agonizes. 

“Tits,” Midge responds automatically. 

“Stop saying tits,” Luke orders.

“TITS!” Midge shouts, startling some of the other diner patrons. 

“She’s only gonna get louder the more you complain,” Rory grins, looking at Jess. “I know it’s a lot to ask because it’s my grandparents’ house, but…I’d really love for you to come to this party. Maybe you could…I don’t know. Be my date or something.” She pauses. “My friend date.” 

Jess shrugs. “I don’t own a suit.” 

“Oh, I can fix that,” Midge grins.

Rory grins at Jess sheepishly. “Please?” 

He takes a breath and nods. “Okay. Yeah. Friend date. Sure.” 

Rory beams and turns back to her breakfast. Her mother gives her a curious look, and Rory shrugs. 

*****

“So Jess, huh?” Lorelai asks as they walk into the house after breakfast. “You and Jess.” 

“Friend date.” 

“Rory…” 

Rory huffs out a breath and turns to her mother. “Do you ever just - miss someone? Despite all the crazy, bad things that happened with them. Have you ever just…missed their company?” 

Lorelai nods. “I have. I know that feeling. I’m just worried…he was such a mess…” 

“Well, he’s cleaned things up,” Rory shrugs. “Wrote a book. Steady job at a small press. He and Luke are in a good place. I just- miss my friend.” 

“And maybe a little more?” Lorelai asks sympathetically. 

“Even if I did, the breakup with Logan was too recent,” Rory tells her with an awkward shrug. “But maybe someday. Maybe someday we’ll both be in the same place in our lives. But for now…friends.” 

Lorelai nods. “Okay. Friends. Jess is your friend date.” 

*****

“She could have taken Lane as her friend date,” Lorelai complains after Rory goes back to school. She’s sitting at Midge’s kitchen table as the older woman makes dinner. “Or…Paris. Anybody.” 

Midge smiles at Lorelai understandingly. “They’ve always had a connection. You’re just gonna have to leave it alone.” 

“I know. And I promised Luke I’d be nice to Jess, so I will. I just - he hurt her before.” 

“So did Dean,” Midge shrugs. “And Logan was an idiot. Out of all of the shitty boys she’s been with Jess is the one whose reasons were at least understandable…a byproduct of some really scary life things going on. He never meant to hurt Rory. He was a scared, confused, lonely little kid.”

Lorelai stays quiet. “I’m being too hard on him. I was too hard on him before.” 

Midge shrugs. “He’s not that scared, confused, lonely kid anymore. Now, he’s Rory’s friend who wrote a book and has a steady job and an apartment in Pittsburgh, who’s here visiting family, and is going to go to Rory’s birthday party and probably provide color commentary. Maybe get her a nice gift. Eat a little cake.” 

Lorelai grins a little. “You’re right. He’s grown. He’s worked on things. I shouldn’t worry so much. Luke trusts him, so should I.” 

“Exactly. Your boyfriend’s a paranoid mess. If he trusts someone, I think it’s going to be okay.” 

Lorelai laughs.

***** 

A successful shopping trip is held at the mall, where everyone picks out new outfits for the party, and Lenny somehow talks his way into paying for everyone’s purchases. Even Luke’s, though Lorelai insists on paying for everyone’s food court meal afterwards. 

“Why are food court fries so good?” Lane ponders as she eats them.

“Because you couldn’t eat them at your mom’s house,” Jess reminds her. 

“Oh…yeah, you’re right.” 

“So, Luke and I are driving up,” Lorelai strategizes. 

“And I’m driving myself and Jess and Lane,” Rory says.

“Lenny and I are driving separately,” Midge adds. “And Babbette and Morey are taking Miss Patty. And Sookie and Jackson are going separately so they can relieve the babysitter early.” 

“Do not forget to check your trunks for Kirk,” Luke reminds them all. “He’s been threatening to stowaway.” 

“That kid is a nut,” Lenny comments. “I appreciate him so fucking much.” 

Everyone at the table laughs, and keeps eating.

***** 

Rory beams at Jess, gently adjusting his tie. “Not bad, Mariano.” 

“You’re no slouch yourself, Gilmore,” he responds, grinning. “You ready for all of this?” 

“Not at all,” Rory admits as they sit out on Lorelai’s front porch, waiting for everyone else. “My grandmother’s parties are intense, and now that I’m single again, they’ve probably invited every eligible Yaleman they can get their hands on.” 

“They got the auction block set up?” Jess jokes. “Gonna toss you to whoever has the biggest trust fund?” 

“I would not be shocked,” Rory says. “They mean well. They want me to be happy. But I think at this point, our definitions of happiness are really different.” 

“What does that look like for you these days?” Jess asks curiously. 

She shrugs. “Doing well in my last couple of years in school…landing a first post-graduation job at a good paper or news outlet. Spending time with family…eventually finding my person.” 

“Sounds nice,” Jess tells her sincerely. 

“What about you?” Rory asks, tilting her head at him. “I know it was hard for you to picture happiness when we were together…” 

Jess takes a breath, thinking that over. “I think - I think I’m in a good place. The book is done and doing okay. I really like my job. I’ve fixed things with Luke, and things with my mom are…they’re what they are, you know? They’ll never be great, but they’re okay.” 

“I’m really glad,” Rory smiles at him. “I’m so glad you’re doing so well now.” 

“Thanks.” 

Rory pauses for a moment, before speaking again. “What about-” 

“Time to go!” Lorelai cries as she bursts out the door. “Let’s go so we can come back!” 

Jess grins at Rory understandingly, and everyone heads out.

***** 

The party isn’t exactly as Rory expects. There are certainly all of the people she remembers from the DAR, and her grandfather’s business friends, but there is a distinct lack of Yale boys skulking around, looking for opportunities to win her favor.

All but one.

Rory whips around and looks at her grandmother, shocked. “Grandma. You didn’t.” 

“I thought it would give the two of you a chance to talk things over,” Emily tells her helplessly.

Logan walks up to her, looking sheepish. “I want that. I want to talk.” 

“I don’t want to,” Rory snaps. 

“Rory-” 

“I’m here with someone,” Rory tells him. “And we’re going to get a drink.” 

“Rory, come on, don’t do this,” Logan pleads. “I jumped the gun, I messed up.” 

“And how many girls did you jump into bed with after you jumped the gun?” Rory asks scathingly. 

He shuts up. 

“Drinks?” Jess offers. 

Rory nods, and they walk away. 

***** 

“Logan,” Lenny greets as he orders a scotch from the bartender later on in the night. 

“Mr. Schneider,” Logan responds awkwardly. 

“Thinking of going home, maybe?” Lenny asks. 

“Not until I get to talk to Rory,” Logan snaps. 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

“Yeah, well…she’ll want to hear what I have to say.” 

“Sure, kid. Whatever.” 

Logan huffs. “God - you’re not her family. You’re not her grandfather, why do you care so much about what she does? Her real grandparents want us to get back together, this has nothing to do with you.” 

Lenny sips his drink and nods towards the doors out to the back terrace. “Let’s take a walk.” 

And they do, quietly stepping outside together, Lenny closing the doors behind them. 

“You know, when you become a dad, there’s this thing that happens,” Lenny explains. “There’s a whole other set of instincts that kick into gear. You’d do anything for your kids. Walk on hot coals, get hit by a bus, you just…do. For your family. But the other weird thing that happens, is that it extends to the people you become close with, too. It’s not just your own flesh and blood. It’s the people you care about around you. They become family. Unless your family is as self-obsessed and insular as yours is.” 

Logan looks away, a little shame-faced. 

“I met Rory in 1986. She was two, and her mother was too young to be a mother,” Lenny goes on. “Midge and I saw this little girl, with her own little girl, struggling to make ends meet. Living in a fucking potting shed, because the very thought of coming back to this awful place was too much for her. So we helped. We babysat. We fed them. We looked after these two little girls who had almost nobody, because it was the right thing to do. We didn’t get anything out of it except the gratitude and friendship of two nice people. When Lorelai saved enough money for a down-payment on a house, I cosigned. When Rory’s father would blow through town and make a fucking mess of things, Midge and I helped Lorelai pick up the pieces. I love those girls like they are my own children. So yes, I care. And Midge cares. We care what happens to them. Where their lives go. If they’re safe and happy. That’s what parents and grandparents do. And you, young man, are on my permanent shitlist for the way you’ve treated Rory through all of this. Breaking up with her for bullshit reasons, treating her poorly. Unacceptable. Now get out of my sight, looking at you is fucking exhausting.” 

Logan glowers at him, and walks away, while Lenny heads back inside.

***** 

Rory does what she can to make the best of a stressful situation. Her grandmother made her a signature pink drink, and watching Jess take a sip of the pink, glittery concoction is almost worth the price of admission. 

“Wow, that’s terrible,” Jess laughs, making Rory laugh too. 

He hands it off to Lane, who has no problem finishing it off and goes for another. 

Rory herself nurses a martini (gin, up with olives, just like Midge, who is also sticking close by), and chats with people around the party, doing her best to be polite and pleasant. This is her party, after all. Or her grandmother’s party that she threw for her. Again.

Seeing the likes of Morey and Babette and Miss Patty milling about is surreal, but good. Fun. Her mother tells of their Vegas trip, loudly, and Rory’s grandmother looks mostly mortified by their adventures. 

Rory can’t help a smile, and then turns to Jess. “Air?” 

He nods, gesturing for her to lead the way. 

They step out onto the seemingly empty terrace and Rory settles into a chair, while Jess takes the one next to her. 

“I was thinking a lot about the things Logan said to me when we broke up,” Rory tells him. “About how Midge and Lenny are these…connections that I kept secret from him.” 

Jess wrinkles his nose in annoyed confusion. 

“Right?” Rory scoffs, before sighing. “I was kind of…thinking about what he said. Reevaluating that relationship.” 

“What for?” Jess asks. 

“Because I was worried he was right,” Rory admits. “But…I keep coming back to this memory I have. I was four, and we were still living at the Independence. And it was the first time my dad came to visit us. Mom had to work, so she…left me with him. It was strange. He didn’t really seem to know what to do with me. I was too little to do a lot of stuff, and he just…floundered. And then he left me sitting on a bench in the park.” 

Jess looks surprised. “He just left? Like…left left?” 

Rory nods. “He did. He said ‘daddy’s gotta go, sweetie,’ and he…got up and he left me there. He didn’t even take me back to the Inn, because he didn’t want to face my mom. He was so freaked out. He was my age. Literally, I turned twenty-one last week, and he was twenty-one when it happened, and I cannot imagine being a parent.” 

“So what happened?” Jess asks. 

“I sat there for forty-five minutes, and I realized that I was just by myself,” Rory tells him. “And I was so sad. I wasn’t even scared. Not really. I was just heartbroken that my dad had left me all alone. And I remember thinking that nothing would ever be okay, ever again, because I was four, and sad.” She shrugs and grins a little. “And Lenny walked up, and he scooped me up off the bench, and he dried my tears and he said ‘there, there, darling, you’re not alone.’ And he took me back to the Inn, and we sat in the dining room and ate soup, and sandwiches, and he talked to Mom for a few minutes, and then he took me back to their house, and we watched the Price is Right, and I remember falling asleep, and when I woke up, he had wrapped a big, soft blanket around me, and I could hear Midge puttering around, making dinner for us in the kitchen, and I knew things would be okay then.” 

Jess nods, gazing at her. “I always kind of wondered if things would have been different for me if Midge and Lenny were around when I was little. To help pick up Liz’s slack. But I’m grateful to have them now, and back when I was so fucked up, you know? It meant a lot to have them around when I needed them. And it doesn’t matter what kinda money they have, or fame or whatever the hell, you know? They were there for me. Are here for me.” 

“Exactly,” Rory agrees. She smiles at him fondly. “I’m really glad we’re talking again.” 

Jess grins back. “Me, too.” He pauses for a moment. “So…I kind of…got you a birthday gift.” 

Rory smiles, delighted. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

He shrugs and pulls a small box from the messenger bag he’s been carrying around all night, handing it over.

Rory grins and rips the plain paper off of it and looks it over curiously. “What is this?” she asks as she pulls out a home-burned CD. 

Jess shrugs. “It’s uh…it’s all the songs that I listened to while I was writing the book. I thought you’d appreciate the soundtrack, since you bought a copy…” 

Rory beams. “Yes, I would. Thanks.” 

He nods, and grins, but it falls. “You uh…you’ve got company.” 

She turns and sighs softly as Logan wanders up.

“I’m gonna go find Luke, see if he tried some of your signature drink,” Jess says, making a hasty exit back into the house. 

Rory watches him go and sighs softly, looking up at Logan, who slowly takes Jess’s place in the seat next to her. 

“How much did you hear?” she asks. 

“All of it,” he tells her. He sighs softly. “I think…I think maybe we’re too different. I thought we were so alike. I really did, Rory. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. But…listening to you talk about all of this, I realize that I don’t understand you at all.” 

“I’m not actually hard to understand,” Rory points out. “But something tells me you don’t want to try much.” 

“I just- I don’t have the experiences you have,” Logan tells her. “Lenny’s right. My family is insular…self-obsessed. I’m not equipped for the kind of family you have. The kind of family you have outside of Richard and Emily. Them, I understand, but your mom and Luke and…and everyone else in your hometown circle, I just…” he shrugs. “I’m at a loss.” 

Rory nods slowly. “And you don’t want to try to get it.” 

The unspoken part of that sentence - ‘just like you don’t want to try to live without your family’s funds’ - hangs in the air between them. 

“Bye, Rory,” Logan says softly, getting to his feet. 

Rory sighs softly and nods again. “Bye, Logan.” 

She watches him walk away, and sits back, holding Jess's CD to her chest. 

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

Last bit of quotes from Amy Poehler’s 2014 book Yes Please, which is lovely and I miss the place the world was when she wrote it:

“Please don’t drive drunk, okay? Seriously. It’s so fucked up. But by all means, walk drunk. That looks hilarious. Everyone loves to watch someone act like they are trying to make it to safety during a hurricane”.

“Sometimes the best thing to hear is not, “don’t worry, it’s going to be okay”. It’s actually, “tell me about it! The whole world is going to explode and I haven’t slept for weeks. Now let me tell you about my specific fear of small boats and big businesses!”

“I had a friend who told her adolescent son that he was allergic to pot, and if he tried it, he would break out in hives. This lasted for a while until one of his friends gently suggested maybe she had made that up. His whole world was blown. He came to her, asking, “Did you make that up? How could you? And she said, “Of course I did. Let me make you a BLT”.

“We wear pajamas, because going outside at night in your pajamas feels like breaking out of jail”.

“I went to a psychic before he was born and she told me I was having “another big boy. He wants to be called Abel”.

“People are very bad and very good. A little love goes a long way”.

The Dalai Lama says, “I think technology has really increased human ability. But technology cannot produce compassion”. Man that’s good. That’s why he’s the Big Lama”.

[itslottiehere]

you’re no good alone (h.s) — part 3

hello beautiful people 🤍 it’s here. you’re no good alone part three is finally yours. i still can’t believe someone other than me — and occasionally, one of my friends — is reading what i’ve wrote. i cannot thank you enough. i hope you enjoyed this little journey, i really do. i do have to say that when i wrote part one, i thought it was going to end there; but i’m happy to have written three parts. so, again, thank you so much for all your support. i’ve never thought i’d get more than 5 notes on my stories, and i would’ve died happy. but more than 300? not even in my wildest dreams. you’re unbelievable. thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 

so, it’s all yours. enjoy 🤍 and please let me know what you think about this, or if you have any other suggestions for other stories!

tw: angst, little swearing, mention of alcohol

word count: 3.1k

part 1 | part 2 | masterlist | let me know what u think here

—

was he so high that he imagined this? he took only a couple of pills, not too many. he couldn’t be that out of his mind from just that. so, that meant that he didn’t dream about her voice coming through the speaker.

she realised she called him H, so she forced herself not to call him that again. they weren’t in that place anymore.

“Harry? are you there?”

yeah, definitely not a dream.

what was he going to say now? what was he supposed to say to the woman he loved? 

loved? what? he loves her. present tense. 

on the other side of the line, she was sat up, her back against the headboard, knees close to her chest, a hand playing with her lip. she took so many of his mannerisms, one being this one. 

“angel, you’re going to break your lip if you keep pulling on it like that.”

“H, you know how i get when i study. i’m anxious, drink embarrassing amounts of coffee and play with my lip till it bleeds. that last one is your fault, actually.”

“what? how’s that my fault!”

“you do it all the time and i picked it up!”

“not my fault you’re so obsessed with my lips, lovie. if you didn’t keep staring, you wouldn’t have picked it up.”

“oh, fuck off. i have to study.”

“nope, not before i get my kiss.”

“you’re such a child.”

she had to kiss him exactly 14 times before he let her study. fourteen. 

the silence on the other side of the line gave her time to reminisce about the past, and she stopped playing with her bottom lip before actually hurting herself. 

but that silence wasn’t comfortable, it was full of unanswered questions, the first one being, why the hell did he call her up?

this is what his mind was shouting at him right now. why did you call her if you didn’t even know what the fuck to tell her? you moron. now she is going to be anxious, you know how she gets. why are you doing this to her? why? 

he managed to make his two remaining brain cells work and finally opened his mouth.

“uhm, hi- yeah, i’m- i’m here.”

and now what? what was she supposed to say to him? was she supposed to tell him she knew he was drunk? 

“listen, i’m drunk right now and i don’t want to keep you up, i know it’s late.”

okay, now she didn’t have to worry about that.

“and i don’t want to have the conversation i wanted to have while i’m like this, so i just wanted to ask you if we could see each other one of these days, and just talk. i’m back in london now.”

she very well knew that. it was impossible when social media basically followed his every move. she knew he was back in london, and she was terrified about possibly running into him, especially with the way she looked. she looked tired, and any amount of concealer couldn’t hide her under eyes, or the greyish colour her face had taken. it looked like they sucked the life out of her.

now, it was her turn to talk, she remembered.

“uhm..”

oh god, she was going to turn him down, wasn’t she? she had every reason. he couldn’t even muster up the courage to call her up when he was sober. no, of course he had to be drunk to finally grow a pair. (she always said the saying actually had to be “to grow a pair of ovaries”). he would chuckle at the memory, if he wasn’t waiting for the last part of her answer like his life depended on it.

as if that was far from the truth.

“you don’t have to say yes. i know this came all out of the blue and you weren’t expecting this so if-“

she interrupted him, because even if all her brain was shouting was a huge “no”, her heart was saying the exact opposite. and, as always, she listened to the latter.

“no harry, it’s okay. i think we could do that.”

he never felt more sober in his life. she said yes. she agreed to see him. him, harry. 

as said, he hated hearing his full name from her mouth, but that would do now. he would take any words she would say to him, good or bad. 

“that’s- that’s great. would you like to go to the little coffee shop, at the corner of your street? say, sunday?”

they both knew that he didn’t pick that place and that day randomly. they always went there on sundays, whenever he was home. at first, no matter what he had to do, sundays were for them and just them. they would walk down the street, hand in hand, get into the little shop and get breakfast. he’d always get pancakes, eggs and black coffee; she’d order whatever pastry was the specialty of the week and a cappuccino. 

“this doesn’t taste as good as the ones i drank in italy” she’d always say, but she still ordered it every time because she missed those times she studied abroad. 

but then, he was busy with tour, and the album, and the meetings and they didn’t even have that little tradition anymore. this was one of the many things that piled up and made her choose to break up. 

“uhm, yeah, that sounds okay. say around 10?”

“that’s perfect. see you sunday.”

——

sunday couldn’t come soon enough for harry. he was giddy — anxious, yes — but mostly giddy. he couldn’t wait to see her face.

and then there was her, who was already dreading sunday. if she wasn’t sleeping that much before, imagine now that she was going to see him in a matter of hours. 

she almost bailed on him, thought about texting him some lame apology around a thousand times, but she knew he deserved a bit more than that. if she didn’t want to see him anymore after today, she’d tell him to his face.

so, she put on a nice sweater, a pair of jeans, her converse, tried to cover up her exhaustion as well as she could with makeup, and she was out the door. 

the walk to the little place took her 8 minutes max, and when she arrived at the corner, she saw him sitting at their usual table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, and a nice cappuccino and what she thinks is the pastry of the week. 

she took a deep breath and went in. now or never.

he was practically shaking in his chair, knee bouncing and eyes frantically looking around for her. was she going to come? he’d understand if she didn’t. he knows this was going to be hard for her, for the both of them. two months without seeing each other seemed like a lifetime to him. would she feel the same way?

the door of the little coffee shop opened, and the tiny bell rang when it closed again. there she was.

it was like someone punched him in the chest, he couldn’t breathe properly. she was so incredibly beautiful, maybe not in the most obvious way, it’s just something about her that made everyone who looked at her feel safe. she looked amazing. but he didn’t miss the look in her eyes, or better, the lack there of. there was no light, the spark he saw in them when she looked at the carnival lights on their first date. they were dull, and he immediately understood that he was the cause of it. that made him feel sick.

she spotted him and gave him a small smile, that didn’t reach her eyes. he looked good, as if there was a time he didn’t. even when he was sick and feverish, he was still the most beautiful human being walking on planet earth. 

he had a little stubble now, he couldn’t grow a full beard, and she knew he hated it sometimes. 

“i’m a grown up man! i should be able to grow a full beard!”

“H, you know not everyone can, right? and that’s perfectly fine. you look good in any way. maybe not the big moustache though.”

“well, mitch can! why can’t - hey! what’s wrong with my moustache?”

she approached the table, and he stood up to greet her. were they supposed to hug? shake hands? they settled on standing in front of each other, rather awkwardly, just saying hi, and sitting down at their table.

they both couldn’t believe how am hard it was making conversation now, it never used to be. not even when they first met. 

“uhm, so, how’ve you been?”

he wanted to smack himself. how have you been, really? for someone whose job depends on having a way with words, this was really bad. he could clearly see her dark under eyes, meaning she hadn’t been sleeping a lot. he wished he could say they were all because of the late nights study sessions, but he knew that was far from the truth. 

“i’ve been.. okay, i guess. just studying.”

and crying about you. about us. missing who i was before, wondering when i lost myself. 

“i knew you had your last exam on wednesday, latin lit, right?”

“yeah, yeah i did. can’t believe you remember.”

how could he ever forget? how could he forget anything about her?

“well, i guess i talked your ear off with that even months ago, huh?” she added, chuckling a little bit. he did too.

she took a sip of her cappuccino, and then returned the question:

“and how are you?”

how was he? right now, he was on cloud nine: he couldn’t believe she was actually here in front of him. but at the same time, it didn’t feel like before. it just wasn’t the same as it was. 

“i’m okay, been writing a lot lately.”

that was the truth, he was writing a lot, just incredibly sad songs that couldn’t be put on the album. whether because they are way too intimate, or because they make people want to throw themselves off a bridge.

yeah, “okay” may not be the best way to describe how he was feeling.

“oh, well, that’s good.” she answered.

and then they were both quiet. nothing about this silence was comfortable, and they couldn’t understand when it became so weird between them.

was this a mistake? she thought. why did she come here? what was she hoping for? why does it feel like it’s hard to breathe? why does it feel like they are strangers? why does she feel like her heart is breaking all over again? she couldn’t take it anymore. 

“i-i’m sorry harry, i, i can’t do this.” she whispered, feeling like there was no oxygen around her. she started getting up, gathering her things and leaving a few pounds on the table.

“what? no, please, just sit and we can-“

“no, harry, i can’t do this. it’s just too much. i’m sorry.”

she ran towards the door, leaving as fast as she could, getting away from him.

and again, he was frozen in his spot. he was letting her go, again. was he really gonna let this happen? 

fuck, no. not this time.

he ran out of the coffee shop, turned on the street and found her figure basically running towards her apartment. he ran after her, and when he finally reached her, he put his hand on her forearm.

“please, stop. you can curse me out, hit me, do whatever you want, but i can’t let you get away. not again.”

she turned around to look at him, and he saw her eyes filled with tears. this was going to kill him. 

“i don’t know what to tell you, harry, i-“

“please, please for the love of god, stop calling me that.” he told her, wincing at his full name from her mouth.

oh right, she forgot he hated that.

“you don’t have to call me any pet names of course or anything, you can call me every name in the book, but stop calling me by my full name.”

“alright. still, this doesn’t change the fact that i don’t know what to tell you.”

“then why don’t i talk?” he said, and without letting her reply, he resumed. 

“i know it sounds cliché, but i have to say this to you: i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry, you have no idea. there’s not one day — hell, there’s not one second — i haven’t regretted not coming after you that night.” he looked straight into her eyes, and she couldn’t maintain eye contact, his gaze too piercing. so, she shifted her gaze to the ground. he noticed. but kept going.

“i was an idiot, and god knows i still am, but i’m not stupid enough to let you go again. not now, not ever.” he put his hands on her cheeks and turned her face up, because he needed to look at her for everything he wants to say. she closed her eyes, she still couldn’t look at him.

“i have been miserable these last two months. and i don’t want to sound like an asshole, but i know you’ve felt the same way, i can see it all over your face. i hate that. i hate that i made you feel even a hundredth of what i felt like.” she opened her eyes and looked at him, tears threatening to spill. his breath hitched: even if her eyes are still the most beautiful sight, right now they weren’t the same ones that used to look at him so full of sentiment.

“i hate seeing how dull your eyes are, i hate how i killed the spark you used to have in them. i hate it. i hate that i had to be far away from you, and i hate that i found the courage to talk to you only when i was drunk.” his eyes welled up with tears, but he tried to keep them at bay.

“i hate that i love you and i wasn’t able to show it properly.”

she was at a loss of words. there it was, everything she wanted to hear for the last two months.

“i- uh. thank you, for saying all this. but please, do not put all the blame on yourself. our relationship ended because of the both of us. so, it’s my turn now.” 

“no, you don’t have to, real-“

“no, i have to. i apologise for not being supportive enough, at times. i knew you wanted me there at some concerts and i didn’t come because i had to uni and stuff. i’m not apologising for putting my future first, but i’m sorry for not supporting you enough, especially when i knew that these moments were special and important for you. i was selfish, and i’ll always be sorry for that. it wasn’t right.” she took a deep breath.

“i’m sorry i didn’t reach out, because i should’ve known that you’d end up drinking. maybe not to you directly, but maybe to mitch or the band, just to know how you were doing. i’ve heard the stories about your previous breakups from your friends, and i knew that that was your coping mechanism. i think i tried to make myself believe that you were doing fine without me. i really hoped you were. i still hope you’re going to be.”

his face fell. what did she just say? why was she talking about the future as if she wasn’t going to be in it?

“what? what do you mean ‘i hope you’re going to be’?”

“i mean, i hope that you’ll be able to move forward someday, and find someone who’s there for you, all the time.” she looked at him, furrowing her brows. why was he so surprised?

“you’re unbelievable.” he looked away, chuckling wryly, his hands dropping from her face.

“excuse me?”

“how do you think i’m ever going to be able to move on from you? every single fucking song i write is about you! everything i do, i do it because of you, for you. there’s no one else. the one, the other half of the apple, my soulmate, whatever you want to call it. you’re it for me.”

“Har-“ she caught herself before slipping up again. “when i decided to meet up with you, i didn’t think that was going to change anything. at the end of the day, don’t we have the same problems as before? you’re all over the place, and i’m here. we haven’t actually resolved anything, we just apologised to each other, nothing has-“

she couldn’t finish her speech, because suddenly his lips were on hers. 

and god, did she miss the feeling.

that kiss felt like going home. 

harry couldn’t believe he went two months without this, without her.

she felt like she finally started breathing, like she was in an apnea for the last two months. 

this kiss was soft, like they were afraid they’d break each other, like whatever was between them was so delicate that they were utterly terrified of destroying it; but still hungry, they couldn’t get enough. for two months they deprived themselves of this, and harry was sure he wouldn’t let that happen ever again.

after they were out of breath, they pulled apart, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

“that was, uhm- that was good.” she said, a bit lightheaded.

“yeah, it was.” he chuckled lightly.

“but..”

“no ‘but’. please.”

“okay, uhm, however..”

“that’s just a fancy ‘but’, you smartass.” 

she chuckled at that, and he felt like every single flower in the world bloomed at the sound of her laugh. he wants to hear this sound for the rest of his days.

“we do need to talk about everything. if we don’t, things won’t change and we will end up in the same place as before. and if we want this — us — to work, then we need to-“

he kissed her again.

“i’m trying to talk here, can you-“

and again.

“just give me a min-“

and again.

“oh for pete’s sake, H, let me talk!”

she called him H. he couldn’t help but smirk, that soon became a full smile, his bunny teeth in full display. 

“what are you smiling about?”

“nothing, angel. just looking at you. go on.”

—

soooo, here it is! i wasn’t planning on a happy ending, i have to be honest, but i couldn’t break your heart anymore! i’m so glad i had the chance to share this story with you all 🤍 thank you, all the love to you all x

@thiyaabs @harryspirate @whipthemcurls @fragile-skin-and-bones @fulla02 @giveyourheartabreak-xx @hopelessyellowlover @behindmygreyeyes

[ichigoromi]

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩 | 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 | 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

I'm up for another Sakusa angst... Yay?

I guess, I hope you guys enjoy reading?

I'm sorry if I made you cry...

All characters are aged up!

Sakusa Kiyoomi

It has been exactly 11 months, 11 days, and 11 hours since you two have decided to end the relationship.

The break was inevitable. You were studying in the States, and he is a professional athlete who has little to no time to visit you.

No matter how much you want to fix the relationship, it was beyond repair.

You started to count the days that you two have broken up for as a way to cope, but it was unhealthy for you, mentally.

Sure, your studies were going better after the breakup, but you ended up drinking till your wasted in your tiny apartment.

Seeing how happy he was on his social media platform makes you wonder if you were the one who caused the break-up after all.

Even though you two agree mutually to the breakup, it was harder on you.

You lost so much weight, and your complexion was too pale to be considered healthy.

Roll in the best friends; they practically filled your fridge and made sure you were eating your three meals.

After you gained back to a healthy weight, they took you out for a makeover trip and got you a closet makeover as well.

You got back into your school life and leaned on your friends for support, but how could you ever forget the good memories that you made with Sakusa as well.

Your friends helped you pack any momento or gifts that he gave you into a box and send it back to him since you two have broken up and as a proper closure for you two.

But there was just one thing that you can't bear to part with, his personal hoodie that he first gave you when you two started going out in high school.

Your friends had a hard time trying to persuade you to part with it but gave in to you.

Inside the box, you included a letter address to him, your one last letter to him.

It goes likes this...

Dear Mimi or Kiyoomi,

This would probably be the last time that I address you like that. I know we have decided to end our relationship, and it's all my fault even though you said it's no one's fault. I'm going to return these because these were the gifts that you gave me. You can burn or throw them away; it's all up to you. The break-up was rough, but thanks to it, I grew a lot from it. I know you recently got a new girlfriend, good for you, you look genuinely happy with her, guess I held on to you too long? I'm sorry for breaking the promise first. I'm sorry for breaking your heart; I'm sorry that I cannot be there for you. Thank you for the wonderful memories that you left me. I never stop loving you and will always be there for you.

With love,

Your first.

You wiped away the tears and signed off and place it on top of everything, and prepared to mail it.

For the first time after your break up, you felt some kind of relief.

After you mailed it out, you and your friends went for some good old Korean barbeque and tons of alcohol.

You were so drunk that your friends carried you home, and all of them stayed in your apartment, in case something happens to you.

You posted some pictures of you having a good time with your friends and knocked out from the huge amount of drinks you had.

He thought he would live his life as normal after the breakup, but he couldn't.

Everything just was not the same. The routine that he has built around you, he has to change it.

You were not in his life anymore.

Atsumu tried to cheer him up by setting him up with some of his friends, and sure they had good personalities, but they were just not you.

After months of trying to date, he finally met the one.

He was finally able to smile and be back to the normal him.

His team was relieved that he was not in his depressed state and living well.

Atsumu and Bokuto still keep in close contact with you, following you on their social media platforms.

When they thought he was not listening, he could listen to them calling you and face timing.

Based on Atsumu and Bokuto's reaction, he can tell that you are doing good.

He knows that your graduation was in a few weeks and you would continue to further your studies there.

Bokuto and Atsumu, along with some of your high school friends, were going to fly to the States to attend your graduation.

He wants to go to, but he has a new person in his life now.

A few days later, he received a box from your address.

He went to open the box in his dorm room, and it was the gifts and the letters you two exchanged since high school.

When he read the letter that you wrote him, he broke down.

You were his first love, the very first person that he made friends with, the very first person that made his heart skip, and the very one that made him the person that he is today.

It was bad. The feelings that he thought was once gone came back again.

He never stops loving you, and he will continue to love you as long as he can.

He needed some time away from dating and some time to heal.

The last gift he could give you was something that would last till you guys meet next time.

Graduation came faster than you expected, and finally, you graduate successfully after going through all those obstacles. Your family and friends from Japan are here to celebrate this joyous event with you.

You took pictures with everyone, chatted with a few of your fellow graduates, and managed to make some new connections.

"Oh my god, why is her campus so big? Did we made it in time?"

"Of course not! What did ya think?!"

Your two favourite people are here too.

"Tsumu! Bokkun!"

You waved them over, and they were carrying a bouquet of flowers and a bunch of gifts.

They threw their arms around you and pulls you into their embrace, and it was heartwarming and suffocating. Imagine getting bear-hugged by two professional volleyball players.

"L-let me go!" You managed to squeeze out a call for help, and they immediately let you go.

"This gift, open when you are alone."

It was a small bag, but you could not help but wonder who gave you that gift.

- - -

After getting lunch with your family and friends, you went back to your apartment alone to start packing up for your new journey.

You were going to move to Korea for your Master's program. Most of your close friends knew about this and hook you up with their close contacts in Korea so that you would have some form of support in a foreign country.

While packing, you remember the gift that Bokuto and Atsumu told you to open when you are alone.

You grab it, and it was a letter and a blue velvet ring box.

Immediately you recognised the handwriting. That neat and clean handwriting would belong to none other than Sakusa himself.

Congratulations on your graduation.

I have received your mail, and there's so much that I want to say. I apologise for not making it to your graduation, but those two idiots are there to represent me. After receiving that box from you and that letter, I immediately broke up with her. I realised that my feelings for her were not genuine, and I was just using her as a rebound, and I break things off because I don't want to hurt her further.

I'll wait for you. I know this may sound far-fetched, but will you marry me?

I don't expect any replies, but please accept the ring if you agree to marry me.

If you reject me, you can return the ring to Atsumu.

I'll be waiting,

Sakusa Kiyoomi

This man...even he is at the other part of the world, he still manages to make your heart skip. You open the box and inside one of the most dazzling rings you have laid your eyes on.

And you recognise it.

It was a Harry Winston.

You used to joke to him in high school that you want it to be a Harry Winston ring when he proposed.

Now, it's not a joke. You slid the ring onto your left hand, and it fits perfectly.

You dialled the number that you know it like it's the back of your hand.

"You idiot, do you still love me after all this time? What's with the proposal? It's s-so lame." You sniffled over the phone.

"Really? Does that mean you are not taking me back? In high school, you said that you were going to kick my ass if I break up with you. You wanted a proposal with a Harry Winston, right?" Hearing his voice, you broke down.

"I-I m-missed y-you so much! Why do you still have so much effect on me? You bad man!" You wailed into the phone and hear his deep chuckles.

"Oh my, you became more of a baby after we broke up. Do you want to see me now?"

"What? You mean facetime?"

"No, come to the park near your apartment building."

You grabbed your coat and rushed out of your building. There's no way he is here. No way. How could it be...

And he was there. With his arms wide open and a small smile on his handsome face.

"H-how? I-What? You idiot!" You threw yourself into his embrace, and he wraps his arms around you, and you sobbing in his chest.

"I flew in, of course. I got the timing right." He cups your face gently to make you look up to him. Then he saw the ring on your left hand and kisses you on the lips.

You shut your eyes and savours the kiss that was needed after being apart for so long.

"Sakusa Kiyoomi, you are one crazy man." You shook your head and kiss his lips again.

"Yeah, I'm crazy for you." He kisses you again for a long time.

I can't end it with a sad ending; I'm sorry to you guys if you wanted a sad ending. I'm crazy for soft Sakusa.

I love him.

I hope you guys enjoy reading this!

Thank you for reading!

Stay safe and take care!

With love,

Rosalie🍓

[thearvariblues]

A Man of Easy Virtues

Just another ‘I’m so sorry but I couldn’t resist’ fics I wrote instead of, you know, doing the important things I should be doing.

This time it’s based on @likecastle‘s post about the kind of pants Jaskier should be wearing (and isn’t wearing, obviously) in the show and all the fanfics.

Warning for almost underage slutty bard (don’t worry, though, he’s eighteen, so definitely not a kid) and no Geralt in sight.

And yes, there will definitely be a part 2.

*

“You don’t understand,” Jaskier sighs and looks down at the tiny, fat tailor in front of him. “I just need a pair of pants that stays up without a hundred tiny ribbons.”

“They aren’t ribbons, young man,” the tailor says. “They are actually called–”

“I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t want them anywhere near me.”

“How would your pants stay up, then?” the tailor frowns.

“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”

The tailor sighs and lifts his hands to fix Jaskier’s partially unbuttoned doublet.

“Young man. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Jaskier mutters.

“Eighteen,” the man repeats. “Are you aware, young man, that what you’re asking for is very inappropriate?”

“But very practical. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into appropriate clothes when you’re in a hurry?”

“There are things you cannot hurry up, young man. This is one of them.”

“Have you ever tried telling that to an angry cuckold?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier bites his lower lip. “Could you at least consider–”

“No.”

“I will pay you double–”

“Still no. There,” the man smiles, straightening Jaskier’s collar. “Much better now. Your chemise is meant to be hidden. You wouldn’t want people to think that you are a man of easy virtues, would you?”

“Oh, no,” Jaskier mutters. “That would be horrible…”

*

“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier moans as a pair of eager hands slip into his doublet. “Please.”

“Mhmh,” his lover’s deep voice answers, impatiently tugging at Jaskier’s chemise. “More skin. Right fucking now.”

“I actually don’t think,” Jaskier murmurs between the kisses, “that it will be possible to… Oh, yes.”

The hands slip lower and try to get into Jaskier’s pants. They don’t succeed. The man – the Witcher, for fuck’s sake – growls.

Which is fair, Jaskier assumes, because while the young student’s fingers are roaming freely over the scarred torso and firm buttocks, Jaskier is still fully clothed. And it is going to take forever before he’s naked.

“Drowner’s shrunken ball sack,” the Witcher swears, tugging at one of the points holding Jaskier’s clothes together. “I’d sooner get into a noonwraith’s rotting cunt than your asshole!”

“Yeah, it’s a little complicated, but if you let go for a little while–”

“Oh, fuck off,” the man grunts and before Jaskier even blinks, there’s a long knife in the man’s hand. And before Jaskier manages to open his mouth to protest, the man makes short work of all the points and unceremoniously throws Jaskier onto the bed, grinning.

“Well, fuck me,” Jaskier whispers, feeling his blood rush straight to his crotch (well, at least the tiny amount of blood that wasn’t there already).

“That’s the plan,” the man nods, cutting Jaskier’s chemise open. “The name’s Lambert, in case you forgot. Because I expect you to scream it until your voice is fucking raw.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier purrs.

The Witcher smiles.

“Good boy.”

*

“Melitele’s tits!” Jaskier swears, staring at his pants in disbelief.

Lambert lifts his head from the pillow and raises an eyebrow.

“Problem?” he asks.

“There is, actually. You completely ruined them!” Jaskier growls and throws his currently useless pants at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to get back home?”

“Oh, come on. I was careful not to cut anything but those motherfucking tiny ribbons. It’s not the end of the world. What do you need them for, anyway? I mean apart from driving potential lovers insane with lust.”

“Well, for nothing important. Just holding the fucking thing up,” Jaskier sighs and puts on his doublet, which is his only piece of clothing that’s intact. He’s slowly coming to terms with walking home with his ass bare. Again. Third time this week.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Lambert frowns. “Shit. Sorry, I guess. Would you like my spare pair?”

“Does it have the points, or did you cut them off when you urgently needed to take a shit?” Jaskier smirks.

“I honestly don’t know what the fuck are you even talking about.” Lambert gets up and after a few seconds of rummaging through his bag he pulls out a pair of worn-out leather pants and throws them to Jaskier. “Here. Take them. Guess what. They stay up on their own.”

“They… do?” Jaskier whispers, his eyes going comically wide.

“Honey, when werewolves attack your camp while your Cat Witcher boyfriend is balls-deep in your ass, you don’t have time to tie some fucking ribbons.”

“Cat Witcher…” Jaskier blinks.

As if on cue, the room’s door open and a lean, long-haired blond man rushes in, slams the door closed behind him and starts dragging a large chest in front of it.

“Oh, you’re done. Good,” he says to Lambert. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Aiden, I swear by Vesemir’s flaccid cock…” Lambert groans. “What did I ask you – no, beg you not to do tonight?!”

“I swear I didn’t cheat this time!” the man says, leaning with his full weight against the chest just as someone starts to bang on the door. “It’s not my fault I’m so fucking good at gwent, is it?”

“Good at gwent my ass. I could beat you drunk if you didn’t have another whole pack stuffed into your sleeves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lambert. It’s not a whole pack. Just like… twenty cards or something, usually.” The man grins at Jaskier. The doorknob rattles. “Hey, Lambert’s fuck of the day. I’d suggest you start getting dressed.”

“Just how many did you manage to piss off this time?” Lambert asks, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Not many. I could deal with them in a matter of seconds, but you always say your brother doesn’t like it when Witchers murder innocent citizens.”

“You mean my brother the fucking Butcher of Blaviken?” Lambert laughs.

Jaskier looks up from fastening his (well, Lambert’s) pants and gapes at the two Witchers.

“Your brother,” he whispers. “Your brother is Geralt of–”

“Not now,” Lambert says. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Tell me, Jaskier, have you ever jumped out of a window before?”

“Four times just this week. Mostly to escape jealous husbands. A jealous wife, in one case.”

“Good,” Aiden nods, letting go of the chest supporting the door and grabbing his bag. “Let’s jump.”

*

The tiny, fat tailor is staring at the pair of worn-out black leather pants laid out in front of him with polite disgust.

“Not possible,” he says for the fifth time.

“Let’s be absolutely clear here,” Jaskier smiles and his voice holds just a hint of a promise of some very unpleasant things that could hypothetically happen to the tiny man. “Do you know my name?”

“No, young man, and I wouldn’t care even if you were–”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” Jaskier says calmly.

“Oh,” the man replies and he suddenly seems even smaller than before.

“I am willing to pay you twice your usual fee–”

“Sir, what you’re requiring is outrageous–”

“Three times.”

“I couldn’t possibly sully the name of my shop with such an immodest–”

“Four times your usual fee, and an opportunity to start a fashion revolution.”

The man closes his eyes and nods slowly.

“Four times my usual fee. You can keep the revolution. It’s not as if you can find another man willing to wear something so scandalous…”

*

In a month, almost every young man in Oxenfurt (and several young women) wears the same model of pants Jaskier does. It’s much more comfortable, and also much easier to get into if you happen to get caught naked in a bed you shouldn’t be in, making it an instant hit among the students.

When Jaskier jumps, completely dressed, out of yet another window, this time running from a father whose two sons he just fucked into the bed, he thinks that he definitely has to thank Lambert and Aiden properly the next time he sees them.

Or any other Witcher he meets until then.

They basically saved his life, didn’t they?

[dreamkidddream]

Hello! Congrats!! Well deserved omg! Could you write the quote number 8 for Kunikida please? This man deserves so much more love! (but if it's already taken, then quote number 5) Take care! <3

Thank you!!! I hope you’re staying safe and doing well ☺️ Kunikida deserves so much more love than he gets and I will forever stand by that (there will be NO Kunikida slander here 😤😤) and this was so cute. Reader is gender neutral!

TW: small spicy/suggestive mention, but it’s nothing graphic or extreme (literally just one small mention of undressing, but nothing graphic)

Prompt: “Is that my shirt?” with Kunikida!

You cannot remember anything from last night.

Okay maybe you’re exaggerating just a bit, but you can’t remember the whole night. You remember celebrating a case well done at the agency, having more than just a few drinks, and then the night became blurry after that.

So waking up in a room that isn’t yours, in a bed that isn’t yours, just about gave you a heart attack. But, you didn’t wake up next to someone, and you still had your same clothes on, so you felt somewhat relieved. You weren’t handcuffed, and you still had all of your limbs intact, and the room wasn’t a dungeon or someone’s basement, so that was a plus sign.

The room looked rather plain, not much hanging on the walls and only having the bare necessities in there. You can see a nightstand, a decent sized TV, along with a bookcase filled with different sized novels and textbooks. When you did get up (really when your head stopped spinning) to take a closer look, you could also see...notebooks?

You picked one up, really focusing on it, and now that you’re up close, these look like the ones that Kunikida use-

Oh no.

Oh nonononono-

This is Kunkida’s room? You’re at his place?! Oh, you could just pass out right now, and you would have crawled back in bed and go back to sleep if it was your bed and not his! Oh, this is just mortifying-

A knock on the door resounded in the room

“(Y/N)? Are you awake yet?”

You choked on your spit, and dropped the notebook, the thud echoing in the room. Damnit!

You heard him sigh through the door, just picturing the irritation growing on his face. “I’m assuming that you are. Well make yourself decent and come out. We have some things that we need to discuss.”

You wanted to bang your head on the wall, but you know that it would just prolong confronting him (and make your headache worse). You couldn’t hide in there forever, but after catching a huge stain of whatever on your shirt, you would feel even more embarrassing going out there with it on (not to mention that you look and feel absolutely filthy, you wanted a shower more than anything!). So, you just so happened to fall upon a black dress shirt that was neatly folded on the nightstand next to you, you took the initiative and changed into it.

Did Kunikida purposely leave that out for you? You assumed so, you know how organized the man is, and it wouldn’t make sense why he would just leave it out if he didn’t. You won’t lie, the action made your heart flutter (even more than it already does when you’re around him), and you felt a little giddy knowing that you could wear one of his shirts, despite under the current circumstances.

You still had your bottoms on, which were left unscathed and clean somehow, and you took a breath.

You couldn’t hide forever, and with that, you opened the door.

—-

The first thing your eyes landed on was Kunikida already dressed, furiously writing in his notebook, glasses perched on top of his head, pacing back and forth while mumbling to himself. You took the time to scan his apartment, being just as plain as him room but still having a type of charm to it (a charm that only Kunikida can have). It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he froze. He snapped his head up at you, and you just mentally prepared yourself for getting chewed out.

“Well, glad to see that you’re finally up. Have a seat”, he lead you to sit at his kitchen table, him pulling a chair out for you and taking a seat across. “How’s your head?”

“Oh it’s...fine?”

“Are you sure?”

Okay, he’s not fussing at you yet, which is a good sign. The tension that you felt in your body slowly started to ease away, your shoulders being relaxed again.

“Yeah. If anything, my throat’s a little dry-”

“Because I would think after acting like a reckless party animal with no self control would leave your head anything but fine.”

Oop, you spoke too soon.

“Do you have any idea to how you acted last night?! In front of the President no less!”

“Erm, uh-”

“I would expect this from morons like Dazai but not from you! Not to mention how much you could have been put in danger if I wasn’t there!”

While he’s disciplining you like a parent would to a young child, you just pretty much sit there and take it. You somewhat deserve it, you probably messed up his schedule that he meticulously wrote in his notebook. So you’ll listen, but at the same time, you could only take your stomach growling so much, and you wouldn’t mind having at least a glass of water-

“And another thing! What if you would have gotten alcohol poisoning?! You’re old enough to control- wait.” He leaned closer, his green-gray eyes glistening in the sun rays peeking through his blinds.

“Is-is that my shirt?”

“Huh? Oh...yeah?”

His eyes widened, then he went quiet. He promptly leaned back into his seat and coughed in his hand, which is conveniently trying to cover the red dying his face (and failing).

“Just-just be careful next time. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

Whatever thought he had stopped at the tip of his tongue, and he got up from the table, leaving you somewhat confused. Maybe you weren’t suppose to wear the shirt like you thought...

So you got up too, and starting making your way back into his room to your discarded shirt. “Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll change back into my-”

“N-NO! I mean- don’t worry about it. I-I don’t mind. I know your clothes aren’t clean, and I’ll take you home after so that you can get properly changed.”

You didn’t believe him. He couldn’t even look you in the eyes, how can you? Even looking at him from over here, you can see how red his ears are. But, maybe he wasn’t used to this? Your heart would be racing too if the roles were reversed. While handling a drunk Kunikida made you chuckle, you really appreciated his efforts. He dealt with all your antics while you were drunk, gave you his own bed to sleep in while he bunked on his own couch, and now he’s even cooking you breakfast. And he didn’t have to do any of that!

This man is a keeper, you swear.

So you have to repay him back somehow, and you will. You hugged him from behind before he could say anything, and gave him a peck on his cheek (or that’s what you were aiming for, but ended up kissing behind his ear).

“Thank you, Kunikida”, your voice was muffled from hiding your face in his back, but the message still got across. “I really do mean it. Thanks.”

He practically short circuited, words jumbling together to form some type of “you’re welcome”. Stepping back, you gave him a smile and offered to help with breakfast, which lead him to sending you to the bathroom to clean up a little more (which you reasoned was to help get himself together and not look like a bumbling fool in front of you).

Kunikida watched you walk from the corner of his eyes, hiding his own smile from you.

Bonus:

“So, how come you didn’t just take me home? I can’t imagine how annoying I probably was last night. Scratch that, I can”, you chewed on pancakes, happy that your stomach and throat were finally satisfied.

“Well, I did, but you left your keys at the agency, and thought we were playing ‘I Spy’ when I kept asking you where the spare was when we got to your apartment.”

“Oh...yikes. Well, thanks for letting me crash here, and letting me borrow your shirt. It’s really comfy too!”

He cleared his throat, “It’s not a problem. Just be more responsible next time you’re drinking, I’m not your personal babysitter you know!”

You just laughed and nodded your head, cheeks full of food.

Kunikida didn’t lie, you really did leave your keys at the office, but he didn’t have it in him to tell you that he was fine with that. He didn’t feel okay leaving you by yourself at all last night. You didn’t stay in a bad part of town necessarily, but what if he left and you forgot to lock the door, and someone walked in behind him? Not to mention the killer hangover you would have to face when you woke up.

He remembers that you always say that you trust him with your life, so he took you to his place, fed you some food, washed your face, and laid you on his bed (all the while you acted like a clingy kid, refusing to let him go the whole time).

He took out his shirt with the intent to change, but decided against it. He didn’t want you to wake up and think you got taken advantage of, that he’s some kind of creep!

Plus, he only wanted to undress you when you two are actually together and reach that point in your relationship, not while you’re in this state, even if it’s to do something as innocent as changing your dirty shirt.

So he just tossed it aside, tucked you in, and admired you from the door once everything was done. Sleeping on the couch wasn’t very ideal, but he’s fine with it if it means that you’ll be safe and comfortable in his bed.

He would do anything for you, and while he may complain, if it means that you’re safe and happy, then he’ll make sure that it gets done.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

You wrote your opinions on the Order of the Phoenix, what about the Death Eaters? That's another way of saying Lucius, Bellatrix, and anybody else. I honestly feel that we're running out of HP characters for you to write your opinion and reasoning about, so yeah~

We honestly are. When people start asking me questions about Harry’s nameless and faceless classmates I feel like we’re scraping the bottom of my barrel of Harry Potter opinions.

Though, that said, this is still a very large ask if you want me to analyze very Death Eater ever or even the Death Eaters as a whole (which is worthy of its own post).

So, we’ll compromise, and I’ll just look at the two you name dropped.

Lucius Malfoy

To me, Lucius is by far one of the more intelligent Death Eaters. He’s the guy who makes them almost look classy. I say almost, because Lucius is still a racist domestic terrorist and as the series goes on Tom gleefully drags him into being less classy by the minute (his house becomes a POW camp and housing for the dregs of society, Lucius just sobs, trying to be thankful he’s somehow still alive).

Lucius is rich, sophisticated, and is probably the most politically powerful man in the country. He has a beautiful wife he has... a son (sorry Draco, but you do not live up to your father) the guy has it all.

Which makes it very surprising that he got dragged into this mess. But you see, Lucius is paying for that tragedy we call youth.

Also, as a caveat, I’m about to headcanon hard and will not bother to get into the details of why I think x, y, or z in this post.

Ten years prior to the start of canon, Lucius is a very young man, probably very charismatic, certainly believes he’s intelligent and probably gets decent grades, but nonetheless the kind of stupid you see in men ages 15-25.

He’s likely chafing under his aging father’s strict guidance, knows he’s not going to be Lord Malfoy for years yet, wants to get out there, prove himself, and make a difference for his country. More importantly for Lucius, there’s this hip, exciting, new thing that all his cousins and friends are getting into called “The Death Eaters” (yes, I don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis/Death Eaters 1.0 ever happened, I think it’s ridiculous that fandom and JKR does, I could go into why but not in this post). 

The Death Eaters are led by the single handedly most beautiful, charismatic, man in Britain. (Yes, I headcanon Tom’s still blindingly attractive at this stage, because it makes much more sense to me but we’re not getting into that here.) A mysterious man by the name of Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin’s long lost heir, who has come to resurrect the wizarding world’s true heritage and purge the land of the muggle stain. (Yes, I do believe that no one, not even Lucius who is later given the diary, knew who Tom really was. I believe Regulus’ had only the vaguest idea, informed mostly by Tom’s use of Kreacher to place the locket.) This is the most exciting thing to have ever happened, the rallies probably consist of rich kids drunk out of their minds and maybe even high on a little wizard cocaine, and Lucius is down for it precisely because his father says “Lucius, this is stupid, please don’t embarrass the family.” WELL LUCIUS IS GOING TO EMBARRASS THE FAMILY, DAD! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!

And for a while, it looks like Lucius made the right choice. Things are happening, they’re actually going out and killing the mudbloods! Unlike Regulus, Lucius never has that “wait a minute” moment as he realizes that Voldemort’s actually far more efficiently eliminating pureblood families and sowing dissention in what was once a unanimous force among the Wizengamot (the other pureblood lords aren’t necessarily pro muggleborn, per se, but they get a bit queasy at the thought of blowing them up or Merlin forbid actually blowing up their own public venues wizards use). 

And then October 31st, 1981 happens, and it all comes crashing down. Lucius has to desperately lie his ass off, having only the flimsiest lie to rely on, has to hand out a shit ton of bribes, and manages to squeeze his way out of being imprisoned in Azkaban. 

I’m sure Abraxas looked at his son, with his tattoo on his arm that makes him another man’s slave, at the utter destruction of the Black family, and just shook his head going, “Clean up your mess, Dumbass Son”

And Lucius does to the best of his ability. While some will always suspect him of being a Death Eater, while some know it, he’s able to climb very high in influence in their ridiculously tiny community. Granted, I do think he messed up, and could never for example run for minister given everything (if Crouch can’t rerun then Lucius certainly can’t). He also shows us that in some ways he is not above the law, he’s very afraid his house will be searched without warrant in The Chamber of Secrets, and this is in part why he dumps Tom Riddle’s diary off onto Ginny.

However, he wields total control of the Prophet, has a seat on the Wizengamot, has the ear of the current Minister, is on the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, and has his hands in pretty much every pie he can.

I imagine during this period Lucius grows up. He brushes the indiscretions of his youth under the carpet, gleefully leaving it all behind him, and the only real friend he maintains contact with from that period is Severus, the least zealot like of all of them. (Crabbe and Goyle Sr aren’t friends, they’re minions). 

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a racist slime bag, and I don’t think he really regrets the domestic terrorism. He just regrets nearly getting caught and putting his entire family’s security on the line. He witnessed first hand what happened to the Blacks.

And then the worst thing happens: Tom Riddle rises from the dead. He rises, impossibly, from the dead when Lucius has his own hand caught in the cookie jar.

Lucius has been living a life of luxury and influence while his great master, the man he had pledged everything to, was dead. Worse, Lucius took what was described as a treasured item to be protected at all costs, and not only threw it away but sent it to Hogwarts where it caused massive havoc and was ultimately destroyed. 

And Lucius, I imagine, no longer wants to serve a master.

But he has no choice. And so begins Lucius’ descent into misery and hell as he’s given an increasing set of impossible, horrific, tasks in punishment that involve him watching as his wife and son are put through hell.

I believe Tom holds a special place in his cold, black, passive aggressive heart for Lucius Malfoy.

First, Tom makes Lucius’ house his headquarters. Oh, Lucius, you have a very nice, very large, estate? Why don’t you host your beloved, mad, cousin, her equally mad husband and brother-in-law? Oh, Bellatrix threatened to cut off your ear? Well, she’s just so passionate! 

Second, Lucius is told to go get the prophecy. Well, this is easier said than done. He nearly succeeds but then it all turns into the world’s largest clusterfuck that ends in two notable things. First, the prophecy is lost forever, shattered. Second, the government admits that Voldemort is truly resurrected. Both of these things are very bad in Tom’s book. And the blame can easily be put on Lucius’ head.

In response to this, Draco is now given an impossible task that Draco is too stupid to realize is designed to cause him (and his family) as much misery as possible. Draco is to assassinate Dumbledore. 

Likely, Tom was already informed by Snape that Dumbledore was dying. The blackened hand was too obvious a tell coming from too obvious a source for the pair to have hid it. I think trying to hide such information would have immediately blown Snape’s cover. So, Tom knows the man is dying, and doesn’t see fit to tell Draco this.

Instead, he tells Draco, “Kill Dumbledore as soon as possible or I deliver you to Fenrir Grayback.” Draco, however, is young and stupid, so he honestly thinks he is doing this to restore the family honor, earn glory for himself and for the cause, and is expected to do this entirely by himself. As a result, when Narcissa begs Snape to aid Draco, Draco blows them both off and only accepts help from Bellatrix because HE CAN DO THIS ON HIS OWN! DRACO IS A MAN.

This, of course, doesn’t work out either. Draco doesn’t deliver the killing blow, Snape does, but Tom decides to give him a pass.

Instead he moves on to his next plan which is making the Malfoy manor his torture chamber and POW camp. Even Draco, at this point, realizes this all kind of sucks. 

And then Voldemort finally dies a second time, and I’m sure Lucius just stares numbly at his malformed corpse, wondering if it will really take this time.

So that’s Lucius for you, paying always for his mistakes, and pretending he’s just as much of a nutcase as Bellatrix to fit in.

Bellatrix LeStrange

God, compared to the novel that is Lucius’ ridiculous life, I really don’t have much to say about her because I feel like there’s not much too her.

Bellatrix reminds me a lot of the Manson family, she gives off those same vibes. Point being, I think even before Azkaban (while Azkaban certainly didn’t help), she was insane and a little too worshipful of Voldemort.

I guess I can start there, I don’t think Bellamort is a thing, at all. 

Tom may have, probably did, have sex with her before he died but afterwards? In that body? Forget about it.

That said, I’m sure Bellatrix both wanted to have sex and is convinced she did have sex to produce whatever the hell Delphi even is. It just wasn’t with Tom, and probably was Rodolphous with a Halloween mask on his face as they got a little too into role play.

And there we go, I suppose, I can’t take Bellatrix seriously. You often see her portrayed as sexy femme fatale Death Eater, the most competent of all of them, if a bit of a sadist.

Oh she might be a very good duelist but she’s... Bellatrix.

She prances around in corsets, shrieking madly, and just what part of that is supposed to be femme fatale? I literally cannot take her seriously on any level. When I even try to write her seriously, in very serious stories, I end up with lines like the following:

"My lord, if there's anything you need… Anything from me, specifically, as a woman…" 

- Bright Eyes

That was my best attempt. That was the best I could come up with. It’s still something that belongs in a comedy.

So, I don’t think Tom really corrupted her. I think without Voldemort she still probably would have been blowing up Diagon Alley, just in a much less organized manner.

Even in canon she does ridiculous things. For example, Bellatrix, frankly, could have easily avoided prison.

For weeks after the dark lord fell neither she, her husband, Barty, nor her brother-in-law were arrested. Bellatrix in grief and utter disbelief that the dark lord could ever do something so mortal as die, said “remember that other house our lord mentioned, THEY MIGHT HAVE INFORMATION, LET’S GO MURDER THE LONGBOTTOMS!” They torture and kidnap Frank, demanding he tell them where their master is, THEY KNOW HE KNOWS. He doesn’t know. They go too far and torture the man into being a vegetable. “Shit, GET THE WIFE!” They go get the wife, do the same thing, with the same results.

They now have no information on the dark lord, two well regarded aurors tortured into brain damage, and are quickly caught and brought before the court with absolutely no “I was imperiused” excuse they can give out. 

How am I supposed to take her in any way seriously?

I mean, to end your life killed in a duel with Molly Weasley. That just says it all.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.04

10/23/2020

Strong Arms and Honest Kisses

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 3,636

Warnings: failed relationships, talks of lonliness, angst, FLUFF, complicated relationships

A/N: This one is a little shorter than my chapters recently. Part of this is because this felt like a complete chapter but I also did a lot of rewriting with this one. I wrote half of it, then deleted it. Then wrote it again. Then deleted it. I finally got a good flow going and this is the one I liked the most. I hope y’all like it too. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please do not REPOST my stories on any other sites or blogs.

REBLOGS are always welcome and appreciated!

The walk back to your room is awkward.

Full of fluttering hesitant energy.

There’s a new electricity between your body and Thor’s as he walks beside you, heavy feet falling slowly, with forethought.

He has his hands behind his back, feeling the need to keep them to himself after what happened in the garden.

You appreciate the space.

“That was my first kiss.” You admit, hating the silence between you because it feels like both of you want to say so much but are unwilling to speak first.

“Oh,” Thor laments, his gaze wavering. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” You rush to reassure him, shrugging a shoulder as you look straight once more. “I-I mean, you wanted a maiden, right? A virgin?”

When you look at him, he’s blushing, his cheeks a soft pink underneath that hay colored beard.

It’s cute and you feel a surge of warmth for him fill your chest.

“That wasn’t necessarily what I wanted.” He clarifies.

“Oh…” Your turn to lament. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, a flurry of worries come rushing forward. You don’t have any experience. None. Zero. Tonight has been the most action you’ve ever seen in your life.

No one has ever held your hand.

No one has ever been so caring and sweet.

No one has definitely ever kissed you.

No one has ever proposed.

You have no experience to offer Thor, as a wife, will you be able to satisfy him?

He’s a literal God. He’s really, super old, and has probably slept with lots of women…or…beings? Aliens?

How are you going to live up to that?

“I just…I’ve never even really liked anyone, so I never was with anyone, and I’m sorry-” You fret, stopping to look up at him.

He places his hands over yours, stopping your fidgeting.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He whispers gently.

You meet his blue eye and it’s just as soft as his voice.

“We can talk about that part of our marriage later. Let’s take this one day at a time.”

“But I-I don’t know what to do with that. I mean, I kinda know but I don’t know. I don’t want to-I��m kinda scared of-”

Thor’s blush returns and your own neck is suddenly burning.

That previously terrifying image of Thor prying your legs open that you’d imagined back at home replays itself in your mind, this time the fear is not for the man himself but the act in general.

Thor’s hands finding the side of your neck interrupt your vocal vomit.

With you silenced, he traces the lines of your shoulders, the length of your arms before he takes hold of your elbows over your cloak which is keeping them warm.

“We have time, cherub.” The pet name comes out of nowhere and sounds so strange but good and you’re not sure you know how to breathe anymore. “Time to worry about many things later. Tonight, let’s just enjoy this agreement to try.”

With a lick to your lips, you nod, shutting your eyes as you’re overwhelmed by not only the pleasure that stupid pet name has given you but also his hands still wrapped around your elbows.

“Thank you for telling me.” Thor whispers, pulling you a little closer. “These are things that are good to know. I will be sure to make preparations for us.”

“Preparations?” You nearly squeak.

“Things to make it easier for you. But as I said,” his ears grow nice and red too, now. “We have plenty of time to think about that later. Almost three days!”

You scoff, “That’s not a lot of time, Thor.”

“No,” he chuckles. “I suppose you’re right.”

“This is happening so fast.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. That’s my fault. I’ve been putting this choice off for so long that now that I’ve made it, they want me to follow through quickly.” Thor takes a step back, reaching down to take your hand.

You eagerly hold his hand back, grateful for the comfort it gives you but also you really like holding his hand, you realize.

“Let’s get you to bed. Even though Hilde was completely drunk, she’ll still wake up early enough to make you hate her.” He pulls you along, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze every few steps.

“Thor?”

“Hm?” He asks, not sparing you a glance.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” Your own eyes are glued to his hand around yours.

You seriously like the way his hand looks around yours. Why are you letting yourself fall this hard? It’s not right. It’s not fair. To you. To him.

“Do what?” He asks, genuinely confused.

“This.” You give your hand a shake, the two of you rounding the corner to the hall where your room is.

He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the door. He twists the knob and pulls it open, stepping in with you before turning to close it.

Swallowing hard, you try not to lose your breath again. There’s a pressure in your chest that you know is coming from the way he shut that door.

He turns, strutting towards you as he keeps hold of your hand. You take several steps back until your legs hit the edge of your bed forcing you to sit.

For a moment you think he might move over you, just like that image in your head. Instead he sits down beside you.

“Can I be honest with you about something?” He asks, pulling your hand over onto his lap.

“I hope so.” You relax, waiting patiently as he takes a deep breath.

“I haven’t seen Jane in almost three months.” He explains. “She’s been secluded in an installation in the middle of nowhere. In Wyoming? And I’ve been so busy here…this is the same struggle we always have. I cannot get away because of my own duties now much more formal and inescapable as King. And Jane’s work has always been the most important thing to her.

“I knew that when we agreed to try again but I was hoping that we might both take some time to prioritize our relationship. Jane was the first person I met when I was sent here. She was kind and patient. She was brilliant. Smartest person I’ve ever met. Smarter than Stark and Banner, don’t tell them I told you that.” He smiles. “But it’s that very brain that keeps her focus elsewhere. And I don’t begrudge her that passion. It’s one of the reasons I fell for her.

“But we don’t seem to be able to make it work.”

Hearing him praise her so much, love her so openly dries your throat and you can’t swallow to push past the lump there to speak. So, you say nothing.

“This,” Thor pulls your hand up a little, readjusting and holding it more securely. “This feels good.”

That helps.

“But you wish it was her?” You wonder.

Thor goes silent, averting his eyes to his hand around yours.

“Not anymore.” He sighs. “Until tonight, I would have said yes. I would have given anything for you to be Jane. To marry the woman I love? How could I not want that? It’s what I’ve always hoped for.”

You feel disappointment pull your body down, shoulders slumped, head falling so that you don’t have to look at him anymore.

You feel strong fingers take hold of your chin, gently tilting your head back until you can meet his electric blue eye.

“When I met you, I was surprised. I’d met with woman, after woman, after woman, after woman-”

“Alright, I get it.” You frown.

Thor stops to laugh but then nods, “Sorry. I only mean that every woman I met, all the other princesses and duchesses and ladies once related to direct royal families were kind but there was something calculating about the way they spoke. They were careful with the things they said and I didn’t feel like I was really getting to know them.”

“But with me?”

“With you, I-it was like recognizing someone that I’d known my whole life. You sat there, terrified but unable to keep from speaking your mind. You were honest about not wanting to marry for anything but love and I understood how you felt. I’d made up my mind not to choose you then. I didn’t want to take from you what was being taken from me, but I-the more I thought about marrying one of those women…I told myself I would let you find someone you could be with, even as my wife.

“We’d keep it secret. You could be with them and I would give you your privacy and let you live that life while protecting it for you.” He sighs. “Then you came here, and dinner brought me hope. I didn’t think that you could ever want to feel any other way for me than that disappointment I saw cross your face when I asked you to marry me and live your life with me without feeling loved.”

“Neither did I.” You confess, words coming out in a rush. “I hated you when I came here. I hated my family for being related to royalty. I hated that I was suddenly being asked to think about shit that I honestly, didn’t even care about! And then I met you and you were nice and confused and you asked me that stupid fucking question about my ideal marriage and I had no one else to picture so I pictured you and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Thor smiles, “If I’m honest, that’s also what drew me to you. To be fair though, I didn’t ask any of the other women that question, but it was clear without them having to say so that they were after the prestige that comes with being a human Queen of Asgard.”

“But I know that you still love her.” You continue, ignoring the sweet smile he’s giving you because your mind will not stop fretting. “I know that you’d much rather have it be Jane so, I’m only saying that you don’t have to force yourself to hold my hand or show me affection when you don’t feel it.”

Thor sighs heavily, a huff as he takes hold of your head with both massive hands and pulls you towards him to meet his lips.

This time your surprise only lasts a second before you squeeze your eyes shut and pucker your lips back against his.

You can feel his body shake and you tear your eyes open, searching for what’s making him laugh but find him watching you.

He pulls back, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“Relax. There’s no need to be nervous.” He whispers, deep. It settles in your chest cavity and you really like the sound of his voice.

“I’ve never kissed before.” You remind him. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Kissing is easy.” Thor tells you. “Just pucker your lips,”

You do as he asks, self-conscious but eager to feel that kiss again.

“Then let me do the rest.” He pulls you back to him and your eyes shut as his lips meet yours.

It’s only a peck. A held one. Until Thor’s hands guide your head to the right as he tilts his to the left and suddenly his lips are overlapping your own. They’re hot, wet, and his breath tickles.

You jump as the tip of his tongue rolls along the seam of your mouth and without making the choice to do it, you open for him and he delves in slowly. Your body is suddenly humming, your mind overcome, and it all feels like a dream.

He inhales as he kisses you, tongue swirling around your own and you don’t know what to do so you reach out to grip the edge of his armor around his chest, hands fisted around the leather while he leads you in this dizzy dance.

He tilts your head the other way, breaking the kiss to take a breath giving you a second to gasp, but then he’s back on you, smothering your whimper of surprise with his lips.

As he presses against yours again, he dives in with more excitement, mouth open, tongue tasting.

You’re trembling, legs shaking with nerves as your hands hold on harder.

As he pulls away, lips smacking quietly, he caresses your cheeks again, letting you come down from your high.

He waits patiently until your eyes open, searching wildly to see what you might find in his.

All you find is his own searching, his own curiosity.

“Um…” You mumble, voice barely audible.

“If you let me in,” He says, his breath washing over your lips again making the past few minutes replay in vivid color. “I will open for you. I think we can do this right. I want to do this right. Will you do this with me?”

Your hands are shaking around his arm, still reeling from that kiss. Holy shit.

“I already said yes.” You point out.

“Say it again.” Thor pleads, scooting closer.

You’re almost completely pulled against his chest, hands squished between your bodies.

“This is happening so fast.” You gasp, confused but happy.

“It has to.” He nods. “I want it to.”

“But how do I know it’s real?” You wonder, and to answer you, Thor crushes you against his chest, head dipping until he meets your lips again.

“It’s real.” He says, tilting your head again, coaxing your mouth open.

You respond more eagerly this time, letting your tongue swirl around his to meet it in its frenzy. Your heart pounds with excitement. This is new and you can understand why people like it. You’ve wondered in passing what it would feel like when you saw it happen in films and shows, taking the books you’d read as gospel for what it feels like but they pale in comparison to the reality.

It’s a haze of pleasure. Foggy but the emotions sharp. It’s also possessive. It feels like yours now. This with Thor can never belong to anyone else. The very thought of it being felt by someone else breaks your heart and also boils your blood.

It makes you bolder, pulling him closer where you have hold of him.

“Let me in.” Thor whispers against your lips, giving you one small final peck. “It’s real for me, I swear to you.”

Can you trust him?

Everything he’s said so far makes sense. His disillusionment with his relationship with Jane is not fake. You were able to hear the sadness in his voice, the acceptance when he explained what was happening with her.

“If you can try to love me, I will try to love you.” He whispers, reaching down with his thumb to trace the shape of your lower lip.

You shut your eyes, seduced by his touch.

“You’re not playing fair,” You sigh. “This is coercion.”

Opening your eyes, you find Thor smiling, and you wonder if this is what he looks like when he likes someone. Is this him smitten?

You don’t think so.

You can’t wrap your mind around him being anything but tolerant of you. He’d been so vocal about loving Jane that you can’t see how only meeting with you twice might override that, even if they are currently struggling.

“I already told you yes! Brunnhilde was right about you.”

“And I want to hear you say it again. For good measure.” He traces the line of your jaw, cup your chin from beneath once he reaches it. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you’ll try with me. We’ll do everything in our power and devote ourselves to each other. You’ll love me and I will love you.”

His words give your stomach flutters and the way he’s holding your chin makes it so that you can’t look away to clear your head.

So, you nod. “I will love you, Thor. We’ll make this work. As long as you never touch me unless you really want to. I don’t want you to force it. I want it to be real.”

Desperately, you want it. Now more than ever.

“Deal.” Thor says, then wraps one arm around your shoulders and meets your lips again.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wake with a gasp, reaching around for something though you don’t know what. No one had slept with you.

The bed is rightfully empty. As you sit up, you remember every little detail of last night. The words that were spoken, the declarations made, the kisses.

Oh, fuck, the kisses!

You lay back down, heart pounding while you urge yourself to think of every single shift of Thor’s lips against your own.

They’d been so hot, and wet once he’d French kissed you. His tongue had been thick and smooth in its movements. Skilled though you don’t know what you’d compare it to in order to know that for sure.

His arms had been huge and strangely safe. Wrapped up around you, he’d been a powerhouse of heat and strength, lulling you into a calm you’ve never felt before.

Reaching up to scratch your forehead, a small shine catches your eye, and you find your engagement ring, dazzling you with its beauty and the memory of Thor on one knee.

For a moment you’re almost sure that you’ll wake up and all of this will be a dream. A good dream that you had no idea you could ever have wanted.

Then a knock on your door makes you jump, and you sit up again.

Through the door marches Brunnhilde with the swagger of a soldier heading into battle, her clothes relaxed however, plain jeans, a red sweater, and heavy work boots.

“Good!” She smiles at you, “You’re awake! Estrid, bring in Her Highness’s breakfast and set aside one of the other dresses His Majesty bought for her.”

“I’m wearing another uncomfortable dress?” Your sorrow is clear and Brunnhilde smiles at you, her eyes flitting towards your ring. “So, that’s what they were up to.”

You follow her gaze and take a long look at your ring, “Who?”

“Loki and Thor.” Estrid moves past Brunnhilde, heading towards the desk at the far side of the room and places it there before she hurries to the armoire to sift through the dresses. “They’d disappeared a few days ago, went shopping or so they said. I didn’t believe them but clearly, they told me the truth. Just didn’t think they were shopping for a ring. It’s pretty.”

“It’s a lotus flower.” You tell her, throwing your blankets back and sliding to the edge of the bed. “He said he didn’t know that I liked flowers but was happy that I did since I’d like the ring more.”

“He said that?” She wonders, grabbing your robe from the vanity seat then offering it to you.

Taking it, you slip it on and tie it loosely around your waist. The smell of the food pulls you to the desk and you sit, immediately picking apart the eggs and toast.

“Mm.” You nod. “He did. He also said that he really wants to try. He’s willing to really give us a shot.”

Brunnhilde sits on the end of your bed, watching you eat with the space between her eyes puckered.

“Then he’s chosen to give her up finally.” Brunnhilde realizes, surprise painting her tone.

You look at her, intrigued by her own surprise.

“Is that weird?”

“No. Not weird, just unlikely. I never thought he’d really give up on Jane. They were so in love in the beginning when we first arrived. They were always together. Slowly they saw each other less and less, but his devotion never wavered.” She explains.

This doesn’t make you feel good. In fact, hearing about how deep their love was—is—unsettles you.

Fork still in your mouth, you watch her, mind racing.

“Eat up, Your Highness.” Brunnhilde says, rising. “Get dressed and meet me in the main hall. We have to go into town for your wedding dress fitting.”

As she moves for the door and Estrid crosses the room to your bed to lay out a stunning navy dress that looks way too formal for a dress fitting, you turn in your seat, hands grasping the back as you twist to follow her.

“Is Thor awake?”

“Yes.” Brunnhilde nods. “He left about half an hour ago for Wyoming to go see Jane, I assume to break things off with her.”

“Oh,” You shrink, fears you didn’t know you could have choking you.

What if he sees her and realizes he loves her too much to let her go? What if she changes her mind and decides that watching him marry someone else is unbearable? She decides to marry him and then he comes back to tell you that she’s agreed to be Queen and he no longer needs you?

Last night had only cemented your growing feelings for Thor and there is no way you can ever go back to before those kisses.

“He’ll be back tonight.” Brunnhilde assures you, but it only drives you crazier.

Why does he need until tonight?

Why so long? How many kisses will he give her? How many hugs will she take?

You shouldn’t begrudge him this goodbye. You should accept that with it will come with tears and affection that you already see as yours. You don’t want her to have it but it’s not yours yet. It’s intended for you, but right now Thor’s love is still hers.

This God of Thunder has absolutely wrecked you and it’s clear to you that you can never go back to your little home without him. You can never live a life where his arms are not around you.

You’re absolutely fucked.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sweetest of Exiles - One

Summary: When Oberyn Martell travels to Essos for exile, he found more than he anticipated when he first lays eyes on Pero Tovar, his brother-in-arms in the Second Sons mercenary company. While Pero is a bit resistant to his Oberyn’s overt charms at first, the Prince always gets what he wants. When the Second Sons are hired to rescue a wealthy merchant’s daughter, Oberyn learns there is much more to the grumpy sellsword. And Oberyn doesn’t mind sharing–especially when the merchant’s daughter smiles at him like that.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Pero Tovar, (past) Pero Tovar x F!Reader (No Y/N), future--it is a surprise.

Rating for this chapter: T for mentions of blood, guts and gore...magic. My overuse of italics. 

Word Count: 5k

A/N: I wrote most of this drunk (or buzzed). I am still riding my red wine high so I almost apologize for the nonsense. If you have any questions about the ASOIAF lore/geography that I’m mentioning, please send me an ask or a DM! I’m always happy to ramble about this series.

(thank you to my love, @starlight-starwrites for the absolutely gorgeous banner. I love you.)

Or read on Ao3 here!

CHAPTER ONE: The Mercenary

Oberyn had always wondered what he looked like when fucking someone. He had looking glasses set up in one of his lover’s rooms so he could try to catch a glimpse himself. But his unrelenting need to keep his partners satisfied always won out over his curiosity.

But then the gods seemed to have a sense of humor when they sent him away from Dorne after he might-have-killed Edgar Yronwood. The Citadel and Oldtown had entertained him for a moment but it soon bored him and he set off across the Narrow Sea to Essos. While the Second Sons mercenary company welcomed him and his sword arm, his eyes were firmly trained on the man toward the back of the company with the scar down his face.

His face.

And well, his time away from Dorne just became much more interesting.

**

It had taken almost an entire year of not-at-all subtle flirting and propositions and nearly losing their lives time and time again before Pero found himself tumbling into the Prince of Dorne’s bed. The Prince was definitely persistent, Pero would never admit that his charms—his annoying charms—had worn him down instead of Pero’s selfish desire for release while the company was too far away from any sort of willing woman and his hand just wasn’t cutting it. But the Prince had been attentive—willing to let Pero wrap his scarred and rough hand around his throat when he was pressing him into the threadbare bedroll in the quiet corner of camp.

The prince felt good—and he knew how to make Pero feel good.

It was infuriating—he wanted to strangle he smug smirk right off the prince’s face but he knew that the Prince was only capable of enjoying when someone’s hand was around his throat. But he had to admit that he had finally found a true friend (and not just release) with the man who looked strangely like him.

It had been nearly two decades since he could speak with someone as openly as he did when he was alone with the prince in their tent.

But his mind still drifted—to years ago. To his life before finding coin in the service of the Second Sons.

“You make the moon shine brighter, Pero.”

It was childish of him, stupid, to still think of her all these years later. Surely she had forgotten him. They had just been children—he had just been a third-born son of a disgraced lord from Valysar and she had been… she had been everything.

“You are pensive, Tovar.” The prince’s voice cut through his reverie.

He had thought the prince asleep—spent from a long day’s ride and a quick, near-desperate fuck as soon as their shared tent was erected. “It is dark, princeling. You cannot see me.”

Oberyn chuckled. “I know your brooding silences from your angry quiet.”

“You think a great deal of yourself, don’t you?” He grumbled, rolling his eyes despite the dark.

“I believe you think a great deal of me, as well.”

Pero sighed.

“Tell me what weighs on your mind.”

“Nothing that concerns you. Go to sleep.”

Oberyn laughed. “I will find out what has you brooding.”

“Do not hold your breath, princeling.”

He only laughed.

Pero was not sure when they had both fallen asleep but they were both woken by a frantic yell outside their tent. The prince’s knife glinted in the dimming moonlight and Pero had never let his hand leave the hilt of one of his smaller swords as they charged outside. They expected an ambush—a retaliation from the Tyroshi they had just pushed back on behalf of Lys—but instead, they found a disheveled man, bloodied and bruised and desperately limping toward their camp, frantically waving his hands above his head, shouting something in the Myrish bastard Valyrian dialect.

Pero sheathed his blade as he finally started to realize what the man was babbling. “Calm yourself, man.” Pero said, stepping in front of Oberyn.

The man nearly collapsed as he reached them, big, brown eyes shining in the moonlight. “They took her. They took her—I barely escaped.” He continued to jabber and Pero mostly listened—having heard desperate pleas from hundreds of men and women over the years of his service in the mercenary company—the man’s story consisted of being surrounded on the road to Myr by a group of religious zealots. The story was not an unfamiliar one. The Free Cities were known to erupt with pockets of violence; the causes ranged from trade disputes, claims to land, religion, and everything in between.

Pero had heard it all.

But then the man opened his mouth, blood drying on his chin, and said, “but they took her—they wanted her.” And a name pushed by the man’s bruised lips—a name he hadn’t heard in years.

Before he could stop himself, Pero reached out and grabbed the man by the collar of his tunic and hauled him to his unsteady feet. “Tell me where.”

**

The captains deliberated for only a few short moments before refusing to take the charge.

The fact that the woman was Qohorik had negated the fact that the Myrish magistrate who had fought his way to their camp had promised a princess’ ransom and promised that her father, a prominent merchant, would double it for her safe return. The Second Sons had been humiliated generations ago at Qohor and had not taken any bounties or contracts from the city or its inhabitants since then.

The Second Sons gave the magistrate—Orestes, his name was—some water and a bit of feed for his exhausted horse and then told him to leave. They would not go.

And Pero was an angry man. He had wrath in his blood since he was a boy, tempered only with bouts of relief and quiet. But this had sent him into a near rage with how flippant they captains had been when they had delivered their decision. Of course, he had not mentioned that the woman Orestes had pleaded to be rescued had been…her. Or how he knew her. Attachments like that were frowned upon, even by mercenaries. Soft hearts made easy targets.

But as the sun set the next day, Pero knew what he had to do. Even if he was alone. He packed his bare essentials, mostly worried about his sack of coin and weapons, and then pushed out of the tent-

-only to be met with the smirking face of the princeling. “Come, I have a surprise for you.”

“I do not have time for this.”

“Yes, you do,” Oberyn said with a broadening smirk as he turned away, leading Pero further away from camp as the moon continued her climb up into the inky sky. And why was Pero following him? He had to leave. He had to find that stupid magistrate. He had to-

There were about two dozen Second Sons, including one of the company’s healers, waiting at the tree line with their packs and mounts. Oberyn’s smirk reached its peak as he winked over his shoulder at Pero who only scowled in return. The Magistrate—Orestes—was standing with them, looking more than a little out of place with his rumpled fine clothes, now stained with dirt and blood. But he offered a tentative tilt of his head when Pero stepped up to the group with Oberyn.

“What did you do?” Pero hissed.

“I formed my own mercenary company,” Oberyn replied with a roll of his shoulders. “I know you are brighter than this, Tovar.”

If possible, his lips formed an even thinner line.

“Do not pout. We are going to save the damsel and get paid.” There was a cheer from the small band of men—both Tovar and Orestes were the only ones who did not seem to enjoy it. But soon they were on their way, each step taking them further away from the strange safety of the Second Sons and into the wilds of Essos.

**

Orestes, Pero found, was fond of speaking to anyone who would listen. His voice was pleasing but Pero preferred the quiet in most instances. But, he supposed it was necessary to learn just how he had ended up fleeing to the Second Sons in a desperate plea for help.

Orestes and his companion had been traveling from Qohor to Myr—and Pero tried very hard to not grind his teeth every time Orestes referred to her as ‘my lady’—to allow her to see more of Essos and to return Orestes to Myr after his year-long residency to Qohor that had been in the name of strengthening trade routes and agreements.

(“But, of course, I found myself more entranced by the city and its people than my fellow magistrates’ mandates that I was told to quickly solidify.” He sighed, the sound only a lovelorn man could make and Pero could not stop the grinding of his teeth at that.)

But on the road between Volantis and Myr, a group of heavily armed, religious zealots had slaughtered their small band of traveling companions and guards and took her and Orestes captive in a plot to gain the knowledge her father was keeping secret.

Her father, Lord Ollo, had been one of the famed smiths in Qohor who still knew the secrets of re-forging Valyrian Steel. The famed metal had become a treasure since the Doom and those who could work with the fickle and strong metal were regarded as lords and wielded their power like nobility, too. Travelers from all across Essos sought him out for new weapons, armor, and the occasional piece of jewelry from bits of Valyrian Steel and he had gained a reputation for being excessively secretive but the best at his trade. His wife was a noble woman and had raised his status with their marriage while providing her with the lifestyle on par with princesses.

But Pero knew all of this. He had seen it firsthand. He had supped with him and felt his lady-wife’s fingers tug at his boyishly poorly cropped hair with a fond smile. He knew that their home, an imposing fortress deep in the Forest of Qohor, always smelled of fire and metal and drying flowers.

It smelled…like home.

Well, it had. For a time. A long time ago.

And Orestes never needed to know that—never needed to know that the only reason he had a small band of mercenaries at his call was because the Prince knew that the woman, whose name he could not even say aloud, meant something to Pero.

For all his pride and well-earned arrogance, Oberyn was a good man, Pero had to admit. (He would never actually say this to Oberyn, his ego was big enough without the extra fodder.) And he would have to find a way to repay the prince-who-had-everything in some fashion. Pero’s pride would not allow this kindness to be left unpaid.

Orestes went on to explain that the zealots thought attaining the knowledge of Valyrian Steel would allow them the proper way of sacrificing in order to satiate the supposed blood lust of some old, stupidly named god. They hoped to trade her for Lord Ollo’s knowledge.

“But you seem to know my lady,” Orestes said, turning in his saddle to look Pero straight in the face. “Do you?”

“Is she your lady?” Pero asked in return, ignoring Orestes’ question and how his stomach turned at the thought of her being alone with a group of men as delusional as the band of zealots. Thankfully, they were nearing where Orestes said he had been held captive—less than two days’ ride from their camp but they had set their horses upon the trail with haste, cutting time from their journey.

Orestes’ answering smile was small. “No. But I am blessed to know her and I will never forgive myself for leaving her behind.”

“But she told you to, didn’t she? Told you to run and not look back.” The words were out of his mouth before he could bite them back and his ever-present scowl deepened.

“You do know her. Indeed, she told me to run as soon as I was able. But not to Myr—she told me to run west.” He paused and shook his head and Pero barely caught the confusion coloring the Magistrate’s features. “I had thought the prince was jesting when he said you knew her. I am in your debt, it seems.”

“Just pay the fee you promised.”

“Of course! I would not dream of-”

“Good.” Pero dug his heels into his horse’s side and urged the animal into a faster trot. “You will keep your head, then.” Orestes said something else but Pero had already galloped away to Oberyn’s side at the front of the group. “What have you said to the magistrate?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

“Do not lie to me, princeling.” Pero scarcely noticed the men behind them slow their horses’ pace to give them room. Their relationship—if it could even be called that—was an open secret to most in the Second Sons and some of those who followed Oberyn into this new company were also willing to indulge themselves in each other’s bedrolls if the time called for it.

Oberyn only laughed. “I did not know that your obvious reaction to a lady’s name was a secret needing to be kept.”

“What else have you told him?”

“Nothing. Just as you have told me nothing. But I have still called the men who were loyal to me and the promised coin to save this woman you have kept like a secret.” Oberyn arched an eyebrow, a look Pero knew meant Oberyn was daring him to argue. “She will be safe. The Magistrate will be on his way and our pockets will be filled.” Oberyn’s dark eyes sparkled in the growing sunlight. “And I shall meet this lady of yours. She must be a sight to behold to warrant such attention.”

“She…” The words died on his tongue. How would he even try to describe her? How childish would he sound to a prince for harboring such affections for his childhood love after all this time? “She warrants much more than any man could ever give. Including the Magistrate.”

Oberyn huffed but a smile tugged at his lips. “We are nearly there, Tovar. You can make the polite introductions.”

**

Night had just started to fall, painting the sky a violent shade of orange, when Orestes had announced that the ruined castle was just over the next hill.

Pero felt his chest tighten for a moment, a shot of adrenaline he had not felt as strongly since he was a new recruit to the Second Sons facing a small horde of Dothraki.

They crested the hill and Pero saw the broken remains of a once-grand castle. A single window was lit with the dim light of a candle just as the sun disappeared behind the stone, making it look like it had absorbed the red light and bathed in an inky black.

Defense of the castle was nearly impossible with its location and the small band of mercenaries quickly surrounded it, ready to drive inside when suddenly….the door, large and rusted, opened and a single man rushed out, screaming something in what Pero thought to be Old Ghiscari and covered in…blood.

Pero turned to look at Oberyn who seemed to be waffling between amusement and confusion at the sight. He waved a hand, silently commanding two men to secure the fleeing zealot—quietly, if possible.

“It is too quiet,” Pero said as he turned back to the castle after watching the screaming man be brought to his knees and a dirty rag shoved between his lips.

Oberyn agreed. “Surely a band of zealots would make more noise. I’ve been told they’re fond of chanting.” The prince slid closer to the ruined castle, staying hidden behind the rolling hill and scattered boulders for cover.

Pero watched him move, knowing the prince had an innate talent for hearing the smallest noises—whether it be from a rabbit or a sneaking assassin, and would trust whatever his judgement was.

“If anyone is left, they are not moving.”

Pero nodded, ignoring the umpteenth time his chest clenched, and signaled for the rest of their band of men to press forward. Step by step, they neared the castle and spread out to find different entrances. Orestes stumbled in the loose dirt to stay near Pero and Oberyn and Pero grimaced when Oberyn nudged him in the side, silently telling him to allow it—at least for the time being.

Closer and closer, they crept until they Pero was able to curl his hand around the edge of the door and peel it open just enough for him and Oberyn to slip inside. Orestes tripped over a loose stone as he followed.

And Oberyn had been right.

The castle was quiet. Unnaturally so.

The grip on his swords tightened as the small group pushed further into the dark ruins. Torches were scattered and burning out in their holds on the wall, casting even more shadows against the crumbling stone. He heard the soft footfalls of his fellow mercenaries coming in through the east and west entrances but it gave him little comfort. They were alone.

Alone.

His next step made a splash and he looked down to see the toe of his boot submerged in a dark puddle. He reached out and grabbed a torch from the wall and let the dying flames shine near the floor.

It was blood.

He raise the torch just enough to light the end of the hall and sighed.

“How interesting,” Oberyn said as he glanced over his shoulder.

Blood pooled between the broken stone and drip-drip-dripped from some unseen source to puddle in the corner. Bodies were crumpled along the path and Pero turned to pin Orestes with a look. “These men were the ones who slaughtered your guards and took you captive?”

Orestes looked down at a body and seemed to bite back a gulp. “Yes.”

“It looks like they put up quite a fight.”

“It looks like they were ripped open,” Pero corrected before pressing forward. “What did this? Did they do this to each other?”

“I’ve never seen a group more cohesive than them,” Orestes said. “They never contradicted each other or spoke out of turn. They had a singular mentality, it seemed. I would not believe they turned on each other.”

“Men turn on each other all the time,” Oberyn said. “Even without cause.”

They continued forward, Pero leading. He was not sure where they were going, but he knew—instinctively—that he needed to keep moving. If another person or creature had found the castle before they did, what hope did she have? Would he find her like this, too? Reduced to a bloody corpse? Would that be the last chance he would have to see her?

But they walked on, further into the dark, catching glimpses of the rising moon in the half-collapsed windows until they turned and saw the outline of a door, lit by a dim, orange light. Without a care, Pero pushed forward, hilt of his sword still in his hand as he pushed the door open and his grip faltered.

For the first time in nearly two decades, Pero let his swords fall from his grasp.

In the corner of the small room, huddled near a solitary candle, was a woman. Not just a woman—her.

Chains wrapped around her ankles and wrists and angry, deep cuts spanned the length of her legs and arms and her fine dress had been reduced to rags. He barely registered Oberyn calling for the healer as he stepped to her side and quickly knelt down. The locks on the chains were easily undone and his roughened hands carefully prodded at the broken skin.

“Pero,” she whispered, the name sliding by her chapped lips. Her head sagged and Pero moved just enough to let her forehead rest against his shoulder. “You’re here…” her voice was rough and raspy, like she had been screaming for hours. And perhaps she had.

“I’m here.”

The healer came in, arms filled with supplies, while more than a few of their company stuck their heads into the room to see their charge. Oberyn quickly moved them back and shut the door—Pero would thank him for it later.

“Look at me. Look at me, Petal,” Pero said as the healer tutted as he looked over her wounds before uncorking a bit of firewine.

Her unfocused eyes slid to him as the healer set to work. A cry broke her chapped lips as the firewine started to spill across her legs.

Pero reached out and kept her head still, gaze on him, as the healer continued. “Just me, Petal. I am here.”

“Pe-Pero.” The name was stilted on her tongue. “Please—it hurts-” a scream tore its way out of her throat but Pero held her steady even as his chest clenched.

“I know. But it will be over soon.”

Tears gathered in her eyes and slid down her dirty cheeks as her hands shot out to grab at his armor; he could feel the heat of her touch sliding and blooming warmth through his thick tunic. But he kept her focused on him even as the healer muttered about needing more wrappings.

“I’m here, Petal. I’m here.”

**

“This is my fault,” Orestes whispered.

The company had settled into the ruins as a camp for the night, finding the rooms (where there wasn’t blood or any bodies) more comfortable than the outside ground. Pero, Oberyn, and Orestes were the last three to retire from the roaring fire they had made in the remnants of the great hall.

Pero agreed but kept that to himself. “How?”

“We travelled by Myr weeks ago. But I could not bear to part from my lady’s side—I convinced her, selfishly, to let me take her to see Volantis, Lys, Tyrosh. She had marveled at everything Norvos and Braavos had offered—even Lorath had made her wonder like a child. I wanted to give her more of that, to show her all I could.”

“And then you were set upon by zealots. Probably followed you from Dagger Lake.”

Orestes shook his head. “Our party never neared that pirate hive. The closest we came to it was when she insisted on seeing Valysar. That little town of no consequence.”

Oberyn, only briefly, touched Pero’s back and he knew the prince meant it as a comfort at the mention of Pero’s former home. Orestes did not notice it.

“But she was adamant and refused to tell anyone why. But she all but disappeared for an entire day once we arrived and would not speak of her adventures—the little box she had procured never left her side and was never opened.”

Pero almost smiled at that. She had not changed—in that respect, at least.

Orestes yawned and stood from the rickety chair. “I must retire for the night. Please alert me if my lady calls for me.”

Oberyn hummed an agreement while Pero felt his face curl into a sneer as the magistrate left the hall.

“He certainly holds a candle for his lady, does he not?” Oberyn mused as soon as Orestes was out of earshot.

“She did not ask for him once,” Pero said before reaching forward to grab the jug of terrible wine left on the table and took a large gulp.

“But she’s asked for you? Hm?” Oberyn asked, snatching the jug from him. “And you’ve yet to introduce me. I am almost insulted.”

“She needs rest, princeling.” He had made sure she was comfortable in one of the largest rooms and was happy to find that her trunks, filled with her belongings, were still intact and made sure she received them before he had let her rest for the night, making sure to let the rest of the company know that she was not to be disturbed.

“I’m sure she does.” He took a drink. “But she has also been trapped, alone, with men who meant her harm for nearly a week. You were the first friendly face she saw—do not think that I misheard her. She called for you. Pero.”

“You could walk in there now and she would not be able to tell the difference.”

Oberyn tutted and Pero stole the jug back. “I believe she would.”

Pero nearly startled when Oberyn reached out and grasped his wrist, keeping him from draining the rest of the wine. His grip was firm but gentle and a hold Pero knew well. “I thought people in Essos were more willing to indulge themselves in matters of the heart and flesh. Do not be stupid.”

And somehow…that worked. Pero slipped into her room and found her sitting on the small bed, wrapped legs atop the thin blankets and a book on her lap. In the warm candlelight, she looked almost healthy. Like she was not covered in healing salve and he didn’t know there were long, angry cuts hidden by wrappings and her thin nightgown.

She looked…so much like the girl he had left behind decades ago.

Pero remembered Lady Daeryssa smiling down at her daughter, flowers twisted into her braids.

“You are special, my star. Like me.”

“Like you, Mama?”

Daeryssa nodded and grabbed the small, blue rose she had Pero fetch just that morning and pressed her thumb against one of its thorns until blood bloomed on her skin and started to trickle down her skin. Her face was serene and Pero could not look away. Her bloodied fingers pulled the petals from the rose and she carefully pressed them against her daughter’s forehead, sticking them to her skin with blood. Words he didn’t understand slipped by her lips as she pressed another petal and then another to her daughter’s face until she stripped the flower bare.

“You will be magnificent, my star. Your trials will be hard but you will always rise above.”

“Come in,” she said, setting her book aside.

Pero did as he was told and blindly set his hands in hers as she reached out for him, letting her tug him onto the edge of her bed. “How are you?”

“I will heal.” She smiled as if nothing had caused her pain and his chest hurt. “I brought you something.” She leaned back just enough to retrieve a small box from the mess of blankets.

The box was nothing spectacular, made from a polished dark wood with a simple latch and did not weigh more than his dagger. “How did you know we would see each other again?” He asked.

She only smiled and pressed the small box further into his grip. “Open it.”

And he could not tell her no. He unfastened the latch and felt his face crumple as he looked inside. His mother’s handwriting, still beautiful and tilted, drew his eye first. He grabbed the thin bit of parchment and unfurled it.

My dear boy- I love you more than words can say. You have saved us.

The rest of the letter was filled with anecdotes, telling Pero how the coin he had sent back home kept their family afloat and settled his father’s debts, allowing his mother and brothers to stay home and retain their titles and livelihoods. He had saved them. His mother had written it at least three times in her short letter.

But I still wish I witnessed you grow into the man you are today. Come home. You are always welcome.

He quickly let the letter curl in on itself again and shoved it back in the box, knowing she was watching him, face serene and almost unreadable. He reached into the box again and let his fingers brush against something cold and smooth. A shuddering breath pushed its way out of his lung as he pulled out a small, carved wooden wolf that fit in his palm. He raised it up to press the well-worn wood against his lips, just once, before placing it gently back into the box.

“You met my family.”

“I did,” she said. “They were very kind.” She paused. “And they smile so often. I almost didn’t believe you were related to them.”

He huffed. “You never let me have a moments’ peace, Petal.”

“You were the only peace I knew as a child,” she responded.

Pero sat with her for hours under their tree after her mother had disappeared and the petals remained on her face, only falling one by one after the sun had set, leaving little bloody thumbprints across her skin. He tried to press them back onto her skin without success, and she only giggled at his attempts, leaning into each of his touches and letting him try and try again.

She collected all the petals as they fell and Pero had given up on trying to re-stick them.

“What are you doing?”

“Practice.” He watched her reach out and scratch her palm against the broken bark of the tree, slicing open her palm in a single movement.

He squawked and moved to grab her hand but she curled her fingers into a fist, crushing the petals against her bloodied palm. She took a single, long breath through her nose and then unclenched her fist. The petals rose from her bloodied hand and floated up into the air as if pulled by invisible strings. They swirled around the pair before, with another long breath, she let them fly away, disappearing into the thick of the forest.

She laughed then, a light sound that had blood rushing to his cheeks for a reason he could not explain or pinpoint at that moment. All he could mutter as she looked at him, eyes twinkling and a giggle still on her lips was…”petal.”

“Why did you leave?” She asked as he tucked the small box away into his tunic.

Pero froze. “I had to.”

A/N: please let me know what you think! I hope you guys like this! there will be three chapters. 

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made.  I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years.  We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends.  It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media.  I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs!  When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’  We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her.  I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones.  Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it?  You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable.  Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was.  What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her.  Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible).  Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative.  I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).  

Really, RivkaT?  A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy.  I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either.  It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued.  I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does.   Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic.  Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”  And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

[imnotwolverine]

Wolfie’s Fic Recs | Mission Impossible AU Fics

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE AU FICS - Our favourite bad guy has won over our hearts and our panties. And it’s only natural we feed our fantasy with some Alternate Universe fics, right? 

Author’s note: All below fics have clear ties to either pre-, during or post-Mission Impossible timelines. If you’re looking for ye good ol’ super smuttiness without too much plot you can visit my The Grand Library of Kink Fic Rec list. ❤️

Pre Mission Impossible 

A drunk Bachelorette party in Paris takes an Unexpected turn when one insecure girl literally falls head over Louboutin heels for a man who is most definitely not just another security guard. [Miniseries. NSFW] By @nuggsmum

Good Girl was my first long thriller piece and it was just as exciting to write as I hope it is for you to read. A young woman starts as an escort to pay school bills. But after meeting one curious customer, she finds herself dragged down into a world of mobsters and New York big city crime. [Multichap. NSFW] 

“Next time you cool yourself down by splashing cold water in your face… wear a bra.” -- Wise words August, wise words. This sexy multichap follows Orchid as she finds August is more than just a CIA colleague to share the sheets with. Losing Control by @writingforhenry​ [Multichap. NSFW] 

I adored this heavenly fic by @killjoy-assbutt-1112. It transcends earthly love rather beautifully, and even as I was re-reading it for this fic rec list I felt the tears well in my eyes. So you’re warned; bring tissues. There Cannot Be Peace [Long fic. NSFW - graphic]

Going from motivation to mission, let’s use The New Order by @littlefreya as a smutty little bridge to events during MI: Fallout. In this fic you learn about the one August left behind while he was tearing the world apart. And boy..is that woman a feisty one. [Miniseries. NSFW]

During Mission Impossible 

Indulging in the spy versus spy trope for a bit I wrote my shortest multi-chapter yet: A Devil’s Duet, starring ballerina Anna who cross-plays our grumpy mustachio man, August. [Miniseries. NSFW]

Falling helicopters, quarrelling spies and then there’s you, caught somewhere in the middle of it all. @thecavillchronicles​‘ fic tells a tale of broken bones, wounded hearts and ..Rebirth. [Long fic] 

August sure has a weird concept of how he should Protect You. This fic by @buckysgoldenheart gives you possessive, but also slightly dorky August. And then there’s also some Scotland-getaway smut. You hungry for some moustached mountain-man yet? 

Post Mission Impossible 

Ingvild is a cold eyed killer. But so is he. Together they walk The Way To Hell, by @littlefreya​. If you’re into murder babies and lots of icy cold snow forests with some dubcon smut: this is a must read - I mean it. [Multichap. NSFW] 

Find August, save August, kill Ethan - how hard can it be? Quite hard apparently, and it’s a good thing The Apostles are a team, including Ayami, Mr. Instant Coffee and let’s not forget about those brilliant looking explosions. This fic read like a movie and I absolutely recommend it to all MI lovers out here. Ethan Hunt Must Die by @thetaoofzoe​ [Long fic. NSFW] 

'Target - August Walker. Find and Take Alive.’ The Hand And The Hammer by @thetaoofzoe follows you as you struggle to decide why exactly you’re chasing August. For your employer..or for yourself? [Long fic. NSFW] 

You give one night to August to keep Ethan safe, but August is determined to have more. Devil’s Bargain by @navybrat817​ is perhaps a bit on the fantastically smutty side of AU follow-ups to Mission Impossible, but alas, let us indulge! [NSFW] 

A bruised, broken and lost August slowly retraces his life before the fall, in The Specter by @its--fandom--darling​. Get ready for soft!August. [Miniseries] 

John, a.k.a. August, decides to lay low after his failed mission to take down Ethan Hunt and the world. But UK suburbs and holding on to a girlfriend proves challenging when said girlfriend has an even hotter daughter. Get ready for some American Beauty vibes in Lust by @toomanystoriessolittletime​ [Long fic. NSFW]

--

If you have any good recommendations that fit in this list, please add in the comments or reblog! ❤️( Fan art by me 😊) Have a good weekend my lovely ones!

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, jealous!vincenzo, Jealousy

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @trynatalktou FOR BEING THE BEST BETA I COULD’VE ASKED FOR. THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO HER!

Summary: Time stops, or so it seems. Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea.

listen to this spotify playlist while reading if you want to suffer

Cha-young doesn’t dream that night; she barely sleeps 5 hours before she finds herself knocking on Vincenzo’s door at 6 am. She can’t help it, being in a room just underneath his, so close after all those years apart. Yet, she doesn’t want to show him mercy. She’s here to torment him, the way his absence had tormented her for years. Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe she probably shouldn’t seek him out first, or at all. 

In reality, Cha-young knows damn well that she’s trying to find an excuse to be with him, not that she would ever admit it to anyone. 

So there she is, pounding on his door at 6 in the morning. He stands there, wearing one of his expensive pyjama sets, dark circles sitting under his eyes. She can’t quite tell if she’d woken him up or if he hadn’t slept yet.

“Did you even love me?”, she greets him. Good morning is overrated anyway. 

He sighs, letting her through. “You know that.” 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore, Vincenzo.”

She stops in her tracks, the world suddenly spinning around her. He’s standing behind her, a mere arm length away. She’s stuck in his gravitational pull, a planet orbiting around its sun. The sharp sensation of her nails digging into her palms is enough to get her moving. She sits on the couch, the same one she’d sat in just a few hours ago. 

“I did. I do.” He clears his throat, looking away. “Love you, I mean.” 

She nibbles on her lower lip, trying (and failing miserably) to ignore his use of the present tense. He loves her, still. She shakes her head. 

“Well, you seemed to be living well without me.”, her expression turns sour. Was it love to hope he’d grieved her loss as much as she had grieved his? 

Vincenzo finally settles in the chair facing her, running a hand through his hair. “There was a point where I wasn’t sure… I wasn’t sure if I would make it.” He winces. “During that time, my only salvation was knowing each day brought me closer to death.” He looks at her, gaze so intense it pierces right through her heart. 

She scoffs, “And I’m the dramatic one, huh?” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and suddenly they’re back where they first started, complicit smiles and knowing looks - them against the world. 

“Coffee?” he asks, eager to keep up the pleasant atmosphere. There’s still a lot that needs to be said, but she relaxes her shoulders, welcoming the lighter turn their conversation is taking. 

“Yes, please.” 

He busies himself with the instant coffee, that same yellow brand he’d gotten hooked up on while they worked together. “So what have you been up to, exactly?” 

“Jipuragi Law Firm just opened a new office in Busan, things are going well. It’s nice, we get to help people who need it. Probably not as exciting as being in a mafia war or whatever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he gives her a cup of coffee and sits down next to her on the couch. There’s a safe distance between them, but there’s no point trying to shush the deafening beat of her heart. “Your father would be proud of you, Cha-young-ah.”

“You think?”, she sips on her coffee. She looks up from her mug, only to find him examining her face. His lips curl in a soft grin, and Cha-young thinks that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if she kissed it. 

The loud ringtone startles her out of the daydream, and she’s not sure if she’s supposed to be annoyed or thankful. She picks up the phone. “Mmh. Okay. See you soon,” she drags out the last word, using the endearing tone she reserved for those closest to her. Mr. Kwon, her assistant, was asking her to eat breakfast with the team. 

“I have to go.”, she tells him, getting up from the couch. 

He takes her mug from her, “I didn’t realise you were here with someone.” 

She hears it loud and clear, in the way he fakes nonchalance and keeps his voice cautious. He’s asking her if she’s with someone and part of her wants to reassure him that No. There is no one else beside you. But then she thinks of the countless times where she’d cried herself to sleep, memories of them echoing into her mind and his absence carving a hole into her heart, and she can’t help herself. He had wounded her fatally and it was her turn to injure him. 

“Mmh.”, she’s not lying, technically. She’s there with someone, with people actually, just not in the way he means. 

Time stops, or so it seems.Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea. 

The empty mug drops to the ground and the spell is broken. Brought back to life, Vincenzo collects the shattered pieces of the cup, and of his heart, too. “Is he a good person?”. Unlike me, he means. 

Cha-young has to remind herself that he deserves this, that this is his fault. “Mmh”, she repeats. “He is.” 

He’s back to the coffee station, his back to her. “I’m happy for you.”, his voice is tight. 

“Thank you.”, she’s almost at the door when she stops. “Maybe...Maybe we could be friends.”

He turns around, finally facing her. The distance between them, from one side of the room to the other, feels insurmountable. 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent. Is it possible for them to be anything else other than a tragic ending? 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent for a while. Would it ever be possible for them to be anything other than a tragic ending? 

She finally settles on a simple, “See you around.” An open ending, then. 

She’s cursing herself out the moment she leaves the room. What was she thinking? Cha-young had just lied to Vincenzo about being on holiday with her imaginary boyfriend. No, she corrects herself, she had simply misled him and he should’ve known better. 

She could picture it already; his aggravating smirk, raised eyebrows and insufferable “Oh, is that so?”, after she’d have to inevitably come clean. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive. Vincenzo would figure out her motivations the moment she’d admit to the lie; she wanted to see him jealous, to make him think she was doing better without him, that she was over him. He would see through the façade she had worked hard to maintain. 

Flushing at the thought of the colossal humiliation she would suffer, Cha-young scolds herself. Focus. This was a war that she needed to win. Like a general preparing for battle, she squares her shoulders and summons her most loyal soldier.

“Hey, it’s me. I have a favour to ask. Can you be my boyfriend for the next two weeks?” 

<>

At 37 years old, Kwon Ji-hwan considered himself to be a resilient man with a good head on his shoulders. In the four years he has been working for Ms. Hong, carrying out tasks outside of his job description was far from rare. Those included, but were certainly not limited to: picking her up after she’d drunk too much, infiltrating a yoga class to seduce a corrupt official’s wife, impersonating a law enforcement officer and hijacking an ambulance. In Ms. Hong’s vocabulary, a “favour” almost always meant something illegal. Despite her… methods, Ji-hwan enjoyed working for her greatly. The hours might have been long but the satisfaction of winning against the odds of powerful corporations made up for it. Also, the pay was really good. Still, as used to her antics as he was, he would’ve never expected her to ask something so absurd of him. 

Sitting there, in Ms. Hong’s hotel room (which, by the way, was way nicer than the regular ones she’d gotten for her employees), Ji-hwan cannot believe what he’s hearing. 

“Let me get this right,” he says, adjusting his glasses with his index finger. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend in front of your ex, who you’re obviously still in love with even though it’s been FIVE years—” 

“Yah!” 

“—because you want to make him jealous. Did I miss anything?” 

“That pretty much covers it.”, his boss replies, not even bothering to look ashamed. He looks at her, shaking his head. “So, will you do it?” 

He sighs, “What did this guy do to you for you to be so hung up on him after all this time?” 

He was not expecting the sorrow on her face as she answered, “He was there for me during the worst times of my life. We went through hell and back for each other. And then, one day, he left without saying anything.” 

“Wait, just like that? He didn’t even break up with you?” Ji-hwan raises his eyebrows. 

“Nope”, she accentuates the ‘P’. “He simply wrote ‘Live well.’ on a napkin and I never heard of him again. Until now.”

He scratches the top of his head, “What a fucking jerk.” She laughs, it’s rare to hear Ji-hwan swear. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m in.”

“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She’s doing her little victory dance now, shaking her hips in the least graceful way possible. Like every time his boss convinces him to blur the line of what is morally acceptable, Ji-hwan is regretting this already.

“If I said no, you would have threatened to fire me anyway.” 

“You know it.”

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

hey you guys, here is a little something i’ve been working on! it’s going to be quite long so apologies, but i am going to eventually post it on wattpad too! enjoy!

(this piece revolves around thomastair, but is NOT thomastair only. they are going to be the main theme, but i don’t like writing pieces only on a ship. also it’s gonna be good anyways bc it has drunk and pining charles at one point)

A NOTE: i realised there is a problem. if i wrote the entire thing in a tumblr post, it will be far too long. but it also isn’t long enough for a work. i have decided i will upload in different parts. please let me know if after reading this you are still interested! if not, that’s fine and i’ll probably post it to wattpad lol. but i haven’t written in a while now and i am scared it’s not as good lol. anyways here u go

enjoy!

desc: in which christopher decides that everyone needs a pick me up after recent events, and concludes that the best way to do so is to hold a talent show at the institute. what could possibly happen?

———————————

Alastair scrunched up yet another ball of paper and threw it atop the ever increasing pile beside his desk. He had been trying for days- no, weeks now, to write a letter to Thomas. Despite feeling that he did the right thing in walking away, he could not scratch the feeling that he had hurt him. He wanted at least to apologise, and to let him know he believed it was the best decision for them both.

But was it? Alastair could not lie to himself. He did not feel as good as he thought he would. I’m doing this for his sake, he thought. He is more important to me than I will ever be to myself.

“So, what do you think?”

Alastair looked up. He’d almost forgotten about the ‘Talent Show’ Christopher Lightwood was arranging at the Institute. He was actually considering turning up to prove the point that he was not going to accept Matthew’s ill treatment of him, but he had little energy and currently could not be bothered to waste time on him. He knew that Cordelia was going. She and Lucie had chosen to audition together. They were going to act out a scene from ‘The Beautiful Cordelia’, with Lucie as Cordelia and his sister as one of her many lovers Lucie provided her with.

She was wearing his clothes.

“I think you look utterly mad. In a pleasant way, of course.” It was true. Cordelia looked amazing in his clothes. Not as good as he did, but a close second.

“Thank you, oh cheerful brother of mine. Are you quite alright? There is a rather large pile of paper beside you. Not to mention you look as if your eyes have cried the tears of the earth’s oceans,” she replied. There was the usual sibling tone of mockery in her voice, but also a tone of genuine concern. Alastair looked at himself in the window and realised Cordelia was right; he must have been crying, though he had no recollection of doing so.

“I am fine. Go and have fun. You deserve to, after this gargantuan mess.”

“Alastair, I am not stupid. I know when you are hurting. And what’s that on your desk?” she asked. Before he could stop her, Cordelia had made her way across the room and grabbed the piece of paper sitting in front of him. Alastair had not realised it, but he had written a few of his earlier thoughts on the page.

Cordelia frowned as she read out loud, “‘He is more important to me than I will ever be to myself.’ Alastair, I swear on all of the angels if this is about Ch-“

“It isn’t! It isn’t. I...well I suppose it’s just thoughts. Feelings.”

Cordelia was not having it. “If it’s not about him, who is it about?”

“Well, if you want a clue, his friend is the reason I cannot be at all bothered to attend tonight.”

Cordelia thought, and there was a long pause. She furrowed her brow. She seemed to be remembering something. “It’s not...is it Thomas?”

Alastair closed his eyes, as if the name pained him. “How did you guess?”

Cordelia had to admit; she wasn’t entirely sure. But a few observations she’d made over the past months had made her think. She remembered the time on the bridge when Thomas refused to show his tattoo- until Alastair had asked to see it. The time at Anna’s, when she had asked everyone what names they would want and Thomas had quietly admitted he would want only one, never saying who.

The time she and her brother had been speaking with Charles, only for her to notice Thomas had been staring at them.

“I don’t know. Sisterly instincts, I suppose. Do you want to tell me about it? Actually, no, hold on. I will not give you the option. You bottle up far too much, Alastair. Please, pray tell me, what this is about?”

Alastair sat for a moment, unsure where to start. “You remember the day, don’t you? When I defended Thomas in the Sanctuary? It starts long before that; but I fear if I tell it all you may miss out on your night. I had said that I followed him because you were fond of him. That was...” He trailed off. The words were not leaving his mouth. Cordelia smiled sympathetically. “It was only part of the truth. I came to find that I myself was indeed...quite fond of him. And I was afraid that if he went out alone with a murderer on the loose, something would happen. I couldn’t bear the thought of it being my fault; I have done enough damage. When I saw him being arrested I panicked and did the only rational thing I could think of.”

Cordelia raised her eyebrow. “Follow him the whole way to the Sanctuary risking getting caught by the Inquisitor, then further increase your risk of getting caught by sneaking into the Institute and hiding until you were needed?”

“What can I say?” her brother replied, seeming distant. “You do...odd things, when you care about someone.”

“Alastair, you risked your own safety doing what you did as well. I do not know what on earth I would do if something had happened to you without my knowledge.”

“My dear Layla. When one’s heart is so encompassed with love for another, rationality is quite frankly defenestrated.”

“What exactly does ‘defenestrated’ mean?”

“Thrown out the window,” Alastair replied, matter-of-factly. Cordelia moved towards the door of his room, realising she had to leave soon. “I only want to ask one more question. Is Thomas aware of your feelings for him?”

Alastair laughed to himself. “Quite. In fact, in the Sanctuary, I discovered that being held in confinement with someone who is as handsome as he is kind can result in interesting outcomes.”

Cordelia mocked a gasp. “Alastair Esfandiyār Carstairs, did you spend that whole night-“

“Ah ah! An honourable man does not kiss and tell.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “YOU KI-“

“Fine! Quieten down, lest mother is given a heart attack! Look, what happened is staying between us only. But I can tell you this; we did have a long conversation, in which he told me that he liked men. He also told me how he had figured that out; turns out that it was essentially me. I was quite shocked, because I thought he was referring to our school days when he mentioned feelings for me. I was, however, promptly proven wrong, shall we say.”

Cordelia’s face burst into a grin, before she sensed there was something else to the story. “Wait. What happened? What did you tell him?”

“You must understand, Layla, I really do care for him. But his friends- they hate me. Matthew cannot even be in the same room as me without hurling an insult. I cannot be with him; it is too complicated. I do not want to break that poor boy’s heart again, not after the Academy. I told him what I just told you, though I fear my last statement may have been too late. The letter you have in your hand and the paper you see on the floor are all my attempts at an apology. I just...walked away. Left him there. If only I had the chance to apologise to Matthew, this could have been different. But he will not accept it. He will not stop hounding me with comments, and I feel as though I can never stop being fifteen years old. I know I deserve better, but it can be tiring to fight when all your life you’ve been at war with yourself.”

Cordelia made a decision in that moment. She looked at Alastair and observed the similarities in how he and Thomas had been acting. Thomas looked a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, only to have one twice as heavy dropped on again. Alastair seemed even more quiet than usual. “You are coming with me. I don’t care when you turn up, you are turning up. I will ensure there is a piano nearby so that you can demonstrate your own incredible talent. If Matthew makes a jab at you, I will take care of it. If these rules are not met, you will be cut to pieces with Cortana. See you there,” she said, concluding her speech and leaving. Alastair watched as she left the house. He felt inspired by what she had said. He realised something within himself, too.

I cannot run from my past, but I cannot be forced to stay in it either. I am worth more than that.

And I’ll take any opportunity possible to make sure Matthew knows I refuse to take it anymore.