#pray that God will move somehow. and that I can speak in spite of my fear.

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

.

[thepete77]

I went to church, followed all the rules, read the bible, prayed, went to studies throughout the week, listened to and watched Christian media, and was still isolated. The only reason I went anywhere was because I hung out with the means group that was socially interactive. This was before smart phones came out and tracphones were still the basic flip model. I would go through three months with a new tracphone, and nobody would even ask if I even had a phone or number from all the groups I went to, and so nobody called me at all, going three months without a phone call even and no invitations anywhere, and I felt the spite and hatred when I showed up, when nobody would even address me. Total cold shoulder. The worship music was great, the messages had good points, and I was searching for god to help and fix things to be right. Their is a sense of relief about Christian worship, a totally different hopeful attitude, but the days continued with no contact for years on end. I had ingrained this behavior of attendence to church so much that I had a sense of fear to even break away when I recognized how negative people were and how ignored I was. I asked about getting involved with singing on worship, and realized it's a whole different picture. The messages are a script, the words are media lyrics, and a trend of a Christian cycle. They put together the notes, the write their messages out, speak over the pulpit and te organization and groups are more like a business front.. The stories are scripted out, and its all a facade. They're very selective of socializing at the worship team and pastoral team, and its a total facade.

As I look back on things with this life restructure going on in my life at this time, the best thing for me to do is walk a totally fulfilled lifestyle, and enjoy it and move on. So when I see social media elements of the inspirational worship music and people saying to trust god with all your heart, and search for his kingdom and all this will be added unto you, and the whole praise god nonsense, I know for a fact from experience that it turns into just another week by week process as a standard, totally and completely the same, because those statements are false, and its all scripted media.

If I can help people the best way that I can, it is to advocate against the false sham of Christianity to save people the wasted time and resources to be involved with the Christian life of any sort, don't let your head get fucked over thinking things will magically work somehow. They won't.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 || dark!jan (the edukators/die fetten Jahre sind vorbei) x reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 | in scoping out his next target, jan hadn't realised that you wouldn't be joining your family on their next vacation; in choosing to stay home, you hadn't realised what you were in for.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 | 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 | smut (noncon, with fingering and penetrative sex), innocence kink, virginity loss/first time, brief exhibitionism, degradation, daddy kink, spitting (in mouth and on pussy), breaking and entering/home invasion, touch of misogyny kink, slight objectification kink (petnames like babydoll/dolly being 99% of this), slight bleeding (from sex specifically), death mention (no threats, just the fear of threats if that makes sense?)

𝗔/𝗡 | you don't need to have seen the movie to understand this fic, as long as you know that jan and his friends break into rich people's houses as part of their anti-capitalist rebellion. note that the vast majority of dialogue is written in english for simplicity, but that these conversations would actually take place fully in german.

this is a DARK fic, if you hit 'keep reading' I don't wanna hear you upset about content listed clearly in the warnings section

It’s probably normal to hear a bump in the night, to wake up and be a little freaked out, but to ultimately just stay in bed and not do anything about it. At first you were sure you were sure it was nothing, though your gut told you otherwise; then, as you heard more and more you spent quite some time convincing yourself that it was just pipes creaking or the foundation settling. But the thing about pipes and foundations is they don’t speak German.

“Hier entlang, hier entlang,” someone whispered, and footsteps shifted all along the lower floor.

Maybe you were still asleep, and this was just a strange dream, a terrifying dream. You pulled the blanket up over your head and prayed to wake up, but the denial turned to terror when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

You jumped out of bed, but it was too late to go out your bedroom door— you could hear them walking and whispering outside. Your bathroom had a small window, but even if you managed to fit through it you’d be on the second story with no way to ropel down. Maybe in your mind you could be some daring adventurer with the perfect plan to escape, or with the skills to defend yourself with something random you could grab, but you knew better than to really think you could do anything but hide.

As the footsteps and voices got louder, your eyes frantically searched the room and finally landed on the large upright dresser— maybe it was a little obvious, but it had a handy little feature that made it lock from the inside. It had come in handy for a decade of hide-and-seek, and now it would hopefully serve you one last time.

With not a second to spare, you ran over and grabbed the golden handles, swinging the doors open but being careful to shut them quietly after you’d stepped inside and made room for yourself among the coats and dresses. You searched for the lock in the pitch darkness, only able to find it because it was right above the keyhole that glowed from the dim light outside. Just as you turned the knob and heard the metal lock slide inside the wooden door, you heard your bedroom door open.

Someone walked around your room briefly, you even heard them pick something up and set it down— probably your bedside lamp, based on where it was coming from, but you obviously couldn’t be sure and frankly didn’t care that much. Footsteps approached the dresser and you saw the keyhole light up as a flashlight passed over it.

“Let’s take all the clothes and put them in the fireplace,” a voice in the room announced. “We won’t actually light the fireplace, but it sends a message.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to keep quiet when the doors shook briefly from an attempt to open them.

“Fuck, it’s locked.”

“Here, you go on to the next room, I’ll pick it,” a second voice decided, and you heard more footsteps as someone else approached the armoire. “Look how fancy the dresser is, they’ve probably got furs in here too— god knows people living in a house like this can’t miss an opportunity to destroy the environment.”

You heard something jiggle inside the keyhole, a clicking noise that went on for just a few moments before you heard the metal slide inside the wood again and the doors slowly opened.

A man, dressed in black and holding a flashlight in his gloved hands, stared at you from behind a mask that left only his brown eyes visible. You both stood still, staring at each other, until he did exactly the last thing you expected: he lifted the mask up to his forehead and showed you his face.

He was a lot younger than you would’ve expected, though he had the scruffy beard of a guy trying to look older; his teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled at you, and when he raised a brow while he gave you a quick look-over, you noticed the way they almost connected in the middle.

Under his gaze, you suddenly felt very aware of how little your lacy, baby pink nightgown protected you from the chilling night air.

"Well, what's this?" he asked coyly as he watched you shiver. "Guess these capitalist pigs left one of their little piglets behind." He put on a cooing sort of voice as he addressed you directly: "Did mummy and daddy leave you all alone while they went on holiday?"

He stepped closer even as you tried to shrink away, examining you carefully.

“Get out of there, silly, what are you hiding for? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured, not that you found it especially comforting. When you didn’t step out of your own accord, he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you forward; he slammed the dresser doors behind you, and you whimpered in fear as he pinned you down against them by each arm. "Shh, hey, don't worry— I'm here to take care of you, you can call me daddy instead until your heartless banker father gets back. Go ahead, tell me what's wrong."

"I—"

"Ah ah," he tutted with a mix of bemusement and disappointment, "I already told you how to address me."

You shuddered but finally responded, "Daddy, I'm scared."

He gave you a demeaning little pout, but you continued.

"Some men broke in and I'm alone and… and I don't know if they want to hurt me."

"No, baby, they don't want to hurt you," he promised with a gentle smile, but it turned horrifically sinister as he leaned in to add with a whisper: "but we will if we have to."

You swallowed thickly, your gut twisting when you felt him breathe out against your neck.

"So you're gonna be a good girl, right?"

You nodded quickly, turning away when he leaned in closer, looking down at you with darkened eyes and running the fingers of his black gloves over the neckline of your pyjamas.

“You were just waiting for me, huh? All tucked in in your cute little nightgown, dressed up like a doll,” he grinned. “I bet you want daddy to play with you, hm?”

He laughed cruelly when you shook your head, fighting harder to get away again as he squeezed your arms tight enough to leave marks where his fingers had been.

“Wanna play, little dolly?” he continued, pressing his body into yours and roughly shoving his leg between your thighs. “I know you do… c'mon and give me a kiss," he requested.

“N-no,” you stammered, but he grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand and forced you to look ahead, slamming his lips onto yours and ignoring your muffled protests. When he pinched your side you gasped instinctively, and he shoved his tongue inside your mouth roughly— but that only lasted for a moment, before you found renewed strength and managed to shove him back. It wasn’t far enough to free yourself, but enough to get a break from the oppressive kiss.

“Aw, don’t be mean,” he pouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. “You said you’d be good for me, remember?”

“Just stop, please,” you whined, gasping before you could stop yourself when he rubbed his thigh up against you— hitting right on your clit which throbbed in spite of everything. Somehow the fear made you more sensitive, or at least something had because you’d never felt quite like this before.

“See? You’re all worked up,” he explained, “I’m gonna help you.”

This time when he leaned in he started to kiss and suck at your neck instead, starting right beneath your ear and moving down slowly until his tongue laved over the crook where your shoulder began. As much as you hated it, it made arousal pulse between your legs where his thigh continued to push hard on you.

When he moved even closer, you could feel his erection against your hip; you didn’t even realise that you’d let out a gasp until you felt him smile against your neck. “Oh, babydoll… you want daddy’s cock inside you, I can tell.”

“N-no, I don’t— just stop,” you begged.

“If only it were so easy, to just ask someone to stop,” he mused. “You know how many times we asked people like your father to stop before they fucked us? You know how far that gets us? You don’t just get to ask nicely, you have to fight for it…”

He chuckled as you writhed in his embrace.

“But you’re too weak to fight, poor thing.”

"Please, I'm not a part of whatever you’re talking about,” you tried to explain, “I don't know much about what Papa does at work—"

"That's your problem, baby, you're blissfully ignorant! Not all of us have that luxury. But the good news is, I'm here to educate you." He pushed up even closer to you, speaking lowly right into your ear with rage starting to bubble up in his voice. "Your father is a piece of scum who feeds on the working class and then robs them blind. You live like this, unquestioningly, and the rest of Germany suffers. Stuck-up bitch like you wouldn't even notice me if you saw me on the street, would you? Wouldn't even give me the time of day, but now you're at my mercy. That’s what you people need to learn: that you’re not gonna be on top forever.”

Suddenly you felt his hand cup your sex through your nightgown, and you choked on your gasp. “No—!” you started to shout, but his right hand covered your mouth as the left hastily pulled your pyjamas up and reached under them.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grunted as he reached between your kicking legs and slid quickly up your thigh. “Mm, bet you’re hiding a pretty little cunt under this nightgown— hold still, baby, you’re gonna like this.”

Finally maneuvring his way into your panties, he abruptly shoved two gloved fingers inside of you, watching closely as you scrunched your face up tight in discomfort. He thrusted and twisted them around for a bit, carelessly stretching you open as you tried desperately to squirm away; it stung a bit, and the leather of the gloves was cool and awkwardly firm against your walls. For some reason, when he dropped his free hand from your face, you didn’t try to scream again— maybe because you knew no one who cared could hear you— and you just panted heavily instead.

As quickly as he’d pushed them in he pulled them out, bringing the glove up to his mouth to take it off with his teeth with a little growl before rubbing his bare hand over your pussy again. You whimpered when he slid his fingers inside you again, this time feeling the texture of his skin as he curled the pads of his fingers right against your spot. “Yeah?” he mumbled his taunt around the leather between his teeth before spitting the glove out onto the floor. “Fuck, so warm… you’re so wet already, dolly, has nobody been giving this pussy any attention?”

He stopped moving his fingers inside you to pull out and give your clit a few slaps, licking his lips when you cried out from the sharp sensation.

“Huh?” he reminded you to answer when you never gave a response.

“N-no,” you shook your head, finally, and he smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Yeah? You’re not a virgin, are you?”

You only looked down at the floor, blinking a few times as you focused on the teal carpet, and heard him laugh darkly.

“Oh, dolly, I might break you,” he warned roughly as he pushed your gown up to your waist, ignoring your sobbed pleas for him to stop. “We don’t usually take anything from the people we visit, but if I take your virginity maybe your people will finally get the message.”

“Please— you don’t have to do that,” you stammered, rushing through whatever you could think of to make him change his mind, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can have whatever you want, if I call them they can send you money—”

“You aren’t even fucking listening to me, we don’t want your expensive bullshit and we don’t want your dirty fucking money!” he corrected sternly, clutching your sleeves tighter and shaking you slightly with the intensity of his movements. “We just want you to be afraid, because the revolution is coming.”

But you were afraid of something much more imminent than a revolution.

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded, though you couldn’t do much else considering he was already roughly tossing you onto it, climbing on top of you and pinning you down when you started to crawl back instinctively. With his legs resting on yours and keeping you (somewhat) still, he only needed one hand to grab your shoulders while the other rushed to open his jeans.

Your eyes got a little wide when you saw his cock— before that, it was almost like some part of you didn’t really think he’d go through with his, but now you could see clearly that he was hard and ready… and big enough to make you question how that thing was even supposed to fit inside you.

He tore through your panties like they were paper; he lifted and spread your legs as he sat between them and, much to your humiliation, just stared down at your pussy for a moment. You’d never felt so exposed and it made you feel worse than ever. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he announced smugly, “can’t wait to see it all stretched out and covered in my come— I’m gonna ruin you, babydoll.”

You weakly struggled as he held your hips down with one hand and haphazardly stroked his cock a few times with the other, rubbing himself over your opening before pulling his hips back to spit right onto your clit. After spreading the improvised lubrication around with his head for a moment, he pushed down on it with his thumb to line up with your hole and, without any further warning, slid inside in one motion.

You bit down on your lip hard, and even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the sting; it felt like he was ripping you open, not to mention going so deep that you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned loudly, head falling back for a moment as he started to thrust into you. “Fuck, I can tell you’re a virgin— it must be hurting you, huh?”

But the question was a bit redundant, since tears had already begun to stream down your temples and your fingers were clutching tightly onto the sheets beneath you; if they were any less expensive, they probably would’ve ripped.

“Maybe a little pain will be good for you,” he decided with a smirk, “I think a spoiled brat like you has been spared the rod a few too many times.”

It was definitely more than a ‘little’ pain, and it only seemed to sting more each time he pulled back and pushed in again— he wasn’t going very fast, yet, so that was one thing you could almost be thankful for. That said, he wasn’t very gentle either.

He hastily reached up under your nightgown to grope your breasts, quickly moving from one to the other as he squeezed them just a bit too hard. “You like how daddy plays with your tits, don’t you?” he grunted. “Say, ‘yes daddy.’”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you mumbled awkwardly; maybe being embarrassed to say that was superfluous considering everything else happening right now, but your face got warmer regardless.

A whimper almost caught in your throat when he pinched your hardened nipples, but it broke through when he seemingly-randomly gave a spank to your inner thigh.

He looked down at where your bodies were joined, where he was stretching you out with steady pumps of his cock that filled you to the brim, before reaching up to quickly pull his black sweater off over his head— a t-shirt underneath came off with it as his chest was exposed. He wasn’t unreasonably pale but he clearly wasn’t the type to get a ton of sun, and he had a thin scattering of dirty-blonde hair over some of it. It was sort of embarrassing, now, seeing how thin he was and yet he was still so much stronger than you.

"You're getting so wet, babydoll, look— you're making a mess on these expensive sheets," he grinned. And he wasn't lying; the sting of the stretch had slowly faded, replaced with a friction you actually couldn't help but enjoy. Each time he moved, he seemed to slide right over a spot that made you tighten up your legs so they wouldn't shake.

But, apparently, there was still plenty left that he could do to hurt you.

You cried out, so louder it echoed across the room, when he suddenly thrust into you hard and deep, hitting the very end of you as your body involuntarily jolted— he clapped his hand down over your mouth instantly, muffling your cries to near-silence as he set a punishingly fast pace out of nowhere. You couldn’t turn your head when you heard your bedroom door open, but you could glance to the side and see another burglar appear in the doorway, staring forward at the scene in front of him.

A new sense of shame burned inside you for being seen in such a way; oddly, it came with guilt, too, as if you were doing something wrong yourself, when really it was just something wrong being done to you. The man on top of you didn’t seem to feel much of either, though: he didn’t even slow down.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked his partner, face still hidden but his voice a mixture of bewildered and disgusted. "This isn't how we roll."

"Fuck off, I'm almost done," your attacker scoffed. You tried to use the distraction to fight him again— you swung your arms to try to scratch his face or push him away, but without even hesitating he simply stopped covering your mouth to pin your wrists at either side of your head.

"Is this really what you think the revolution is about?" the man in the door sneered. "Or does that even matter to you when you think you might get some ass? Jesus, I always knew you were a creep but this is…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you should take a turn with her, might fix your attitude," the man on top of you suggested. "She's real tight— trust me, you'll feel better."

"I promise that raping that girl isn't gonna make me feel better, Jan," he frowned.

"Fine, then just go so I can finish and I'll meet you guys in the yard," Jan— apparently that was his name— instructed.

"Don't go," you begged the man in the door, seeing the concern on his face— you could tell he wanted to stop Jan, maybe if you asked him to, he would.

"Shut up, bitch," Jan growled, correcting you with a slap to the face.

The man in the doorway just shook his head and sighed, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind him. You cried harder, more sure than ever that Jan was right when he said you were at his mercy; and he didn’t seem to have much.

He fucked you rough and fast, recklessly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for yours. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that you didn’t feel any pleasure, though… it was building, in fact, sort of like when you touched yourself but so much stronger, and deeper, and threatening to overflow at any moment. “Oh fuck, you’re close,” he noticed with a tilted grin, “you love it so fucking much, huh? Wanna cream on daddy’s cock?”

You shook your head but he slapped you again, spinning your face to the side as he held both your wrists above your head in one hand and gripped your jaw with the other.

“Stop lying,” he growled, “I can feel it, I can feel your cunt getting tighter… you’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, aren’t you, babydoll? God, what a nasty fucking whore you are…”

He held your face to look straight ahead, up at where he hovered above you and bared his teeth in a snarl, before forcing your mouth open and spitting into it. You grimaced and tried even harder to squirm away but he quickly clamped his hand down over your nose and mouth so you couldn’t try to spit it back out again.

“C’mon, swallow it,” he instructed roughly, voice a bit strained from the force it took to hold you down. You could hardly breathe with his hand this way, and when you tilted your head back to try to get away from it, you accidentally swallowed his spit with a disgusted, muffled grunt. “There you go, good girl,” he purred as he watched your throat bob a bit involuntarily, “that’s it, I know you wanna come— say it! Say ‘daddy I wanna come.’”

He let go of your mouth and slapped you again before you even had a chance to hesitate. “D-daddy,” you whined, “I… I—”

“It’s not that fucking hard,” he hissed, “just say it, you dumb fucking slut!”

One more slap was apparently all you needed to just choke it out: “I wanna come, daddy!” you cried, back starting to arch as the pressure of holding back your release became too much to bear.

“Then fucking come,” he demanded, “come for me, baby, right fucking now.”

You tried to hold out just a moment longer, just to spite him, just so you wouldn’t obey him so easily… but it only took one rough thrust right into the end of you to make it all spill over. You came with a sob, shaking and jerking beneath him for a moment before a warmth spread through you; it started right where he filled you and spread everywhere until your mind was all foggy and your fingers started to go numb— or maybe that was just because of him pinning you down at the wrists.

Much to your disgust, you could hear how wet you had become with every stroke inside you, a sickening squelching noise that made him laugh as your face tingled with numbness and burned with shame all at once. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he praised, “naughty little dolly, making a mess on daddy’s cock with that dirty fucking cunt of yours… I’m gonna cover it in my come, are you ready, baby? Ask daddy to come on your pussy, don’t make me hit you again.”

“Daddy, please,” you mumbled quietly, “come on my pussy…”

“I can’t hear you, babydoll, you need to speak up,” he mocked.

And you were just so exhausted and overwhelmed and his thrusts inside your sensitive walls were starting to get painful again— that was why you really meant it when you sobbed through your begging: “Please, daddy, come on my pussy!”

With one more panted moan he pulled out and only had to give his cock one blur of a stroke before white, warm come began to paint over your sore opening, your swollen clit, your bruised inner thighs. “Fuuucckkk…” he groaned under his breath as he watched himself coat you, and you caught a tinge of pink from your blood on his cock and hand as he slowed down to a stop. "Sheiße," he sighed, letting go of your wrists to sit up and close his eyes for a moment before looking down again at where you were limp and splayed out on your bed beneath him. “See? I’m getting reckless, I really shouldn’t be leaving evidence…”

Even without that, you knew his name and face, but apparently he was focusing on the copious amounts of DNA he’d just left on you.

“I suppose it won’t be a problem, because you’re not going to tell anyone,” he posited, leaning down slightly to hover over you as you swallowed around the rock that had suddenly formed in your throat. “You know how I know you won’t?”

You weakly shook your head, already terrified to imagine what the answer to that question was going to be. Of course, your first assumption was that he was going to kill you, or threaten to do so if you involved the police. He knew where you lived, he could threaten your family, too: the thought made your skin crawl as he leaned down further to whisper right against your ear as you instinctively turned your face away from him.

“Because if you tell someone that I raped you,” he finally continued, “then you’ll also have to tell them that you liked it.”

Speaking right against your ear, it took him no effort at all to stick his tongue out and lick you right on it, making you squeal with fear and disgust.

He quickly hopped off the bed and recollected himself, stuffing his softening and blood-stained cock back into his pants before gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. "Your folks won't be home for two more nights, right? I should come visit you again," he winked when he spared a glance at you. “Now get some rest, baby, you deserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the front door behind me when we leave… wouldn’t want anybody unsavory getting in, now would we?”

[reidyoulikeabook]

Ever Since New York

Ship: Aaron Hotchner x BAU! GN ! Reader

Warnings: Coma, injury, mentions of a character death (Kate Joyner), angst but with a not-so-angsty ending.

Word count: 1k

Request: 'Could you do a songfic with ever since new york with any CM character.'

A/N: I hope this is okay! I got some inspiration from the lyrics so I made this Hotch x Reader, I hope that's alright! :) i didn't tag anyone on my tagslist because i wasn't sure who would want to be tagged!

Aaron wasn’t one for prayer. Not really, he might engage out of politeness. He was never one to dismiss the beliefs of others. But he’d never found much purchase in it himself.

Not until New York.

Not until the bombing that had killed Kate Joyner. Not until the bombing that left him almost deaf in his right ear. Not until the bombing that left you in an induced coma, for going on two months now.

No.

Ever since New York, he’d been praying in spite of the fact he never had before. Knelt by your bedside. He held your hand, clasping it as tight as he could while being mindful of all the wires and tubing. He pressed your joined hands against his forehead, allowing the tears to drip down onto you. As if with his prayers, his begging to a God he didn’t entirely believe in, the water could become holy, healing.

Any minute that wasn’t spent on a case, or with Jack, he was at your bedside. The guilt he felt when he was anywhere else, save perhaps reading a bedtime story with his son, ate him alive.

You’d been transferred to a hospital in Virginia after two weeks, once you were stable. The rest of the team came by too. More often than not, there was some freshly baked good next to your bedside. Penelope didn’t want you to wake up hungry, she said.

Privately, Aaron knew that it was borne purely out of a desire to be useful somehow. The BAU had been better fed this past two months than ever before.

“When will ____ wake up?" Penelope had asked the first time she’d visited.

“We’re not sure,” The doctor had pulled a face, almost wincing.

Aaron knew the prognosis wasn’t good. He was a profiler, and it was easy to see through the doctor’s bullshit even if he didn’t necessarily understand all the medical jargon. His voice cracked terribly, six weeks in, when he had the conversation with Reid.

“Tell me something,” He said, looking at the man perched on the other side of your bed, “What are the chances of waking up after this long?”

“The brain activity is a good indication. They might be able to hear us Hotch.”

Hotch looked away from him, choosing to stare at the ground. The tightness of his jaw made him look irritaited, but they both knew it was a ploy to hold back the tears that threatened the corner of his eyes, “Just tell me the statistics Reid.”

He didn’t mean to be unkind.

Spencer’s voice was softer when he spoke again, “There was no brain damage during the accident. There's no distinct signs of brain damage now. It was an induced coma, so it's different. The longer it goes on the less likely it is they'll make a full recovery. Most severe comas last 5 weeks. The likelihood of waking up after that is 10-25%. But it's only been six weeks Hotch, there's still a good chance. The statistics aren't always right."

"Thank you," He nodded, pressing his lips together firmly.

They might be able to hear you

Choose your words carefully Aaron

There's nothing you can say to fix this

No antidote

Spencer had told him that. That, while it was likely you could hear, it was unlikely anything specific he said could wake you up.

He could try.

He started to talk to you much more after that. Telling you tales about Jack and all the things he'd gotten up to in school. There'd been a class party which had ended in a small mutiny: half the kids had ganged up to steal the cake. While Jack hadn't been a part of the mutiny, he was found under the desk eating a stolen slice with his friend Ben. Aaron laughed when he told it, shaking his head affectionately, "I was just like that as a kid. Always doing things I shouldn't. Maybe you wouldn't believe that now. I think I'm too hard these days."

It was easy. It had always been easy to say things like that to you. It should have been even easier now that he didn't have to profile your response. It wasn't.

***

He didn't need Reid to tell him it'd been 2 months, 1 week, and 3 days when he got the call from the hospital.

"Hotchner."

He was listed as your next of kin. It made sense, given your relationship, his proximity to you at work, how close he lived to you.

"I'll be right there."

His feet carried him out of his office quicker than he could process, the bullpen was a blur and it was only when he felt a tug at his elbow that he turned around. Emily. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took him in, realisation washing over her. She pursed her lips.

"Is it?"

"Awake. I don't know how they are yet. They wouldn't say."

If she caught the way his voice quavered at the last syllable, she was kind enough not to mention it, "Do you want-"

He shook his head, "I need to go alone."

***

The doctor is stood by the door when he gets there. His hands wrapped tight around the clipboard, knuckles basically white. He stares into your room with a glazed over look behind his eyes. He's young, Hotch figures. He can't be used to delivering bad news.

The walk up the corridor seems to go in slow motion once he processes the last part. He can't be used to delivering bad news. His body feels like it's made of glass. Like the verbal confirmation of what he knows in the pit of his stomach might shatter his entire being.

"Agent Hotchner," A different doctor, speaking from behind him, taps on his shoulder, "Agent Hotchner, we moved Agent ____ from this ward."

He turns around, squinting, deciding it's quicker to ask the question than trust his profiling instincts right now, "What does that mean?"

The doctor smiles, "It means ____'s awake. Responsive. On the rehabilitation ward. It's going to be a long road of recovery but the important thing is their brain function appears to be completely unaltered. They were asking for you."

He'd forgotten what it was like to breathe. The weight that's been sat on his chest for 2 months, 1 week and 3 days, the weight he had become so accustomed to, has finally lifted. He takes his first proper breath in 2 months, and allows the doctor to lead him towards the correct ward. He even cracks a smile at one of his terrible jokes. The world has always seemed funnier with you in it.

***

You're propped up when he barrels into the room. Your face lights up into the most beautiful smile, your arms cautiously opening. He darts towards you, stopping himself at the last moment to embrace you gently. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

Your voice is scratchy when you speak, "Don't be. I looked awful. It gave me some time to have a nurse do something with my hair."

You flash a conspiratorial grin at the nurse, Debbie, stood helping the man opposite you out of bed. She returns it fondly, before turning back to her responsibility.

"Are you? Are you feeling okay?"

You nod, "I feel as well as I'm going to right now, I think, all things considered. More now that you're here."

"I missed you so much."

"Tell me something I don't already know. You barely left since New York."

"You could hear me?"

"Sometimes. I think. Was there.." Your voice trails off, your face pinching as you try to remember, "Was there some kind of cake mutiny at Jack's school? Or was that one of the crazy dreams I had?"

He barks out a laugh, "Yes. I told you about that."

"I think I remember. I love you so much."

"I love you too. So much."

His eyes are streaming again, but with relief this time. His silent messages of God are ones of thanks. And when the tears drop onto your forehead, it feels fitting to think of them as holy. Because here you are, squirming to get a better look at him.

Healed. The way he'd been praying for, ever since New York.

[newmih]

“I never thought I'd be so happy to find you”

Newt x reader female! minho x reader (friends)

Bonne lecture! 

Y/N had been a runner for some time. However, she was still blaming herself for somehow forcing Minho's hand to become one.  It was tiring, dangerous and as if that wasn't enough, she was away from Newt all day long.  

Granted, they weren't dating, but who could blame her for finding the blonde attractive. Probably Gally... While she was in her thoughts, a noise woke her up: "Beep... Beep... Beep...". Her watch had just sounded 6:45 pm. It took Y/N a few seconds to realize the seriousness of the situation. The doors would close in a little more than 10 minutes.  She then began to accelerate the step. She didn't want to get stuck and have to spend a night inside the labyrinth when no one had managed to come back, finally in one piece.  They had all been killed by grievers . At the mere thought of them, a shiver ran down her back, due to her disgust and fear of monsters but also a sign of a bad omen.

There were only three corridors left to reach the exit when Y/N heard a noise. One of the most horrible sounds a runner has to hear while inside the walls. The doors were already starting to close. She started to run even faster, but because of a root that was lying around, she stumbled, lost her balance and fell. Still with the same eagerness, she got up. No time to insult her, she would do it another day. She finally got there, the last straight line, she put all the strength she had left.

"Y/N!!! Come on you gotta hurry! -Fucking Y/N we can't lose you!" The shouts of his friends encouraged him to continue.

When she finally arrived at the doors, the opening was already too narrow. If she was going to die, Y/N would rather do it fighting than being crushed. The last thing she saw between the doors was Newt's tearful face. It was the first time she'd seen him cry and she prayed it wouldn't be the last, though she much preferred it when he laughed.

The young woman sat down on the ground, tired from her run, and closed her eyes. She didn't open them again when she heard a scream from a non-human thing or when she heard metallic footsteps. She only opened them again when she heard someone shouting her name. She stood there in silence until she heard that cry again.

"Y/N! I don't know if you can hear me but if you can hear me run! Run and don't look back! And don't forget, run or die! "

Minho was always there to reassure her. The glader got up with difficulty and walked, she walked until she lost it. Suddenly, her shoe remained stuck to the ground and in spite of all the force that she put there, she did not succeed in removing it. She wondered then about the origin of what could stick her like that and had her answer by hearing another scream. Much more powerful and strong than the last time. It was getting closer. When she finally heard it in the next hallway, she tried to find a hiding place by looking around. Walls, walls, vines and more walls surrounded her. Her gaze returned to the vines and an idea crossed her mind. It was enough that she hid behind it while waiting for the griever to pass. She tried again to untie her shoe but it was a waste of time. Only one choice was offered to her now, well two: either she remained there and died, or she removed her foot of her shoe and had a little more chances to leave. After reflection, the second option was the best. However, as soon as she removed her foot from her boot, she realized that this was also a very bad idea. She retched violently because of the smell. But there was no time to vomit, she rushed to her hiding place and entered just as the monster was passing by in the hallway.From where she was, she saw its paws passing in front of her.

She had to find a better hiding place and for that, she had to get out of there.  She took her courage in both hands and got up. She approached her shoe and pulled with all her strength. She fell on her buttocks but managed to get it off. She was about to burst with joy when she felt a liquid running down her hair. She looked up to see a clawed man between the walls. She stood up in a panic and ran to escape the beast that was already on her tail. As she turned to the right, she tried to put her shoe back on, which she was still holding in her hand. Bad idea, she fell back on the ground and took the opportunity to put her shoes on.

When she finished, and stood up, she realized that she could only use a dead end because a second  griever had joined the chase. She tried not to show her fear. This was what the creators wanted so she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. The creatures had slowed their steps as if to taunt her. Trying everything, she began to climb the wall. The ivy burned her hands, but she kept going anyway. The wall was actually a low wall and she reached the top faster than she thought possible.  

Y/N then prayed that the griever could not climb the walls, but apparently his prayers were not heard as the first one began to follow her. When she saw this, she turned around and despite her fatigue ran until she almost fell. She was now in front of an abyss and could not turn back. She could already see her life passing by when an idea came to her mind. Taking what little courage she had left, she turned to her attackers and shouted: "Hey, you grey scrap heap! Come over here if you're looking for me!"

And as if they had a conscience and had heard the young woman's call, they moved so fast that Y/N was at first surprised and then a smile settled on her face. Before one of them could touch her, she threw herself to the side, burning a rib as she passed. They had no time to brake and fell. She dragged herself to the edge to see their bodies turning into dots and then disappearing from her sight.

Finally, she turned on her back with a grimace and rested at last. After a few minutes of silence, she shouted a cry of joy. She had succeeded. The sun was starting to rise and she was still alive.

                                                     ...

Y/N may have managed to survive the night, but she was terribly tired. Only fear had kept her going until now. Yet she still had to find her way back. She was hungry, she felt dirty, she was hurt and she needed to hear his voice. She started walking again, dragging her feet.  She didn't even know what she was doing, she was completely lost. She had gone through the labyrinth in length and breadth, it had almost no secret for her. She kept on going anyway, the terror of having to spend a night inside again pushed her to continue.

She didn't know how long she had been looking for the glade, but it seemed like hours. Y/N was beginning to lose hope that she would ever find her way out when she recognized the root that had caused her to fall the day before. She breathed a sigh of relief, thanked the heavens and then, true to her promise, pointed her fingers at the plant. She shouted all sorts of insults for having made her spend the night in the labyrinth. She was so concentrated on her task that she did not hear the footsteps behind her.

"Y/N?"

The young woman was startled and turned around quickly to find Minho a few steps away from her. She ran towards him and jumped into his arms, so happy was she to find her friend.

"My god! You're fucking alive! You're still alive! You did it! We thought we would never see you again! How did you do? -I ran like you shouted at me last night. Thank you because I think I would have died without your wise counsel. Although you didn't exactly make me feel better.

He smiled and put her back down on the floor.

"Come on, let's get back to the glade. We definitely need to break the news to the others."

Y/N followed him without answering but suddenly she collapsed to the ground. Tiredness got the better of her and the knowledge that everything would be all right for her finished her off. Minho's worried face appeared above her and without her having to say a word, he stooped down and took her in his arms.  

The rest of the way went on without a word. Y/N had fallen asleep. Once they arrived at the glade, the Asian went directly to the infirmary, ignoring the questions of the other gladers.

[...]

When Y/N finally woke up, she found a blond man drooling on her hand. She thought the scene was cute and wanted to stay there and watch him for a while longer, but he finally woke up. The young woman saw at first a gleam of incomprehension passing in the glance of Newt then he made a grimace while rubbing his face. This one took advantage of it to wipe discreetly the hands on the sheet.

He finally looked her in the eye and asked:

"How do you feel? -Like someone who just spent a night awake. You know the grievers aren't so bad, I could almost adopt one, almost.  "

The desperate look that her friend gave her was understandable. By dint of hanging out with Minho, he had ended up rubbing off on her. The blond repeated his question with a more serious and worried tone. Then Y/N decided to tell him the truth.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to be back on the block." Then taking courage she added: "To find you."

His last sentence took Newt unprepared and he turned into a fish. His head made her laugh which caused him a violent coughing fit. Pulling himself together quickly, he brought a glass of water to the young woman.

"You must have caught a cold or something. It gets cold at night in the maze." He paused and Y/N thought for a moment that he was going to dodge the conversation that was to take place. "I'm glad to have you back too. The truth is, I don' t know if I would have survived losing you."

This time, it was Y/N's turn to be speechless. She would never have believed that Newt cared so much about her. Newt continued to speak without noticing that the girl he loved had come closer to him. After having understood that nobody was immortal and that death could touch anyone at any time, he had decided to confess everything to the one of his heart.

"... I saw you and I thought you were beautiful right away. I wanted to get closer to you but Minho was already there. You became very close very quickly so I thought... I thought you were dating. Because you are both my friends, I didn't dare to tell you.  It would have been really horrible of me to..." His tirade was cut off by a pair of soft lips on hers. Surprised at first, he didn't respond immediately, but eventually, he let go.

The two finally broke apart due to the lack of air and Newt rested his forehead on Y/N's. They smiled at each other. They smiled at each other. The silence was comfortable, no one needed to talk, that was it. They loved each other and they would never let go.

[confessionsofcalling]

If you're hurting:

I'm waving my arms from a distance, beckoning you close - I'm here because I have truth to share, and sorries to say.

If you're hurting, come towards me and sit at my table, you'll be welcomed and loved, passed a mug, and encouraged to share, to listen, to be known anew.

I'm sorry for the way the church has hurt you. 

Beloved, I'm sorry that it’s carried the same book as me and told you it says you're broken. I'm sorry that it’s flipped to a page, shoved it into your face, and damned you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry a thousand times. I'm sorry it’s told you that your pride is somehow sinful, that the rainbow that makes you feel at home was somehow stolen - it wasn't, God placed it in the sky to show He's forever faithful, that faithfulness includes you, it always has. It doesn’t need it back, because it was never taken. My friend, share this meal with me, let us put the world to rights.

Beloved, I'm sorry that you were told your struggles weren't holy, I'm sorry that it told you that it was some moral failing, that you hadn't prayed enough, that you haven't believed enough. I'm sorry that your tears and wounds were seen as doubts when really, you know a lot more about faith in a valley than it ever will. I'm sorry that it didn't look at Jesus on the cross in all His lament and bloodshed and pain and then look to you and see some resemblance, I'm sorry it saw you hurting and did nothing. I cannot express to you how happy I am that you're sitting across from me, still fighting, I know you might not be able to see it, but He's sitting next to you as well, and He's prouder than words can say. Thank you, for not giving up on us - I'd understand if you did.

Beloved, I'm sorry it told you your body was something to be ashamed of. I'm sorry it told you to hide away, that somehow your very being was dangerous and that every move you made in confidence was wrong, that it was in any way an invitation to violation. You and I both know God didn't create anyone for that. I'm sorry it convinced you that your only use was to be used unless you walked and talked and dressed and lived a certain way. I'm sorry that when you came to it screaming it told you it was your fault. Your being is dangerous, but not in the way it thinks. You're dangerous because you challenge the status quo, because you walk in such confidence and beauty it's so clear that you bring out the God-colours of the world. Thank you for holding my hand and making me see that a body is a holy resting place for God and that they should shine and shout and be decorated in every-which-way in order to scream that they're alive and thriving. Thank you for being here, let's be survivors together.

Beloved, I'm sorry it told you to be quiet. I’m sorry it saw your signs and your words and your desperation and it told you that's not how it works. I'm sorry it told you that God didn't like your pickets, that somehow because of the quantity of your melanin or the contents of your DNA you were less loved. I'm sorry it built statues of a white man and worshipped the stone when worship should have started on the streets with banners, arms linked. I'm sorry that it worshipped an idol instead of seeing your pain and walking alongside you. I’m sorry it neglected the footsteps of God amid your protests and chose to tell you that your petitions weren't the will of God. May I stand by you, use my privilege to amplify, I won't steal the spotlight; I'll point it at you and learn to unlearn all its spite and try my best to walk in a new light.

Beloved, I'm sorry it told you that you weren't welcome, that your struggles made you less worthy, that when God called His children chosen that you weren't on His list. I'm sorry that when you were on the floor, on the street, in the dirt it didn't stop to ask you if you needed help, that it crossed the road and left you. I'm sorry that it didn't reach out, I'm sorry that it didn't go with you to get help, that it didn't see the hope in recovery and instead decided that you weren't someone it wanted on its pews. Thank you for fighting the demons that told you addiction is where you would stay. Thank you for telling me your story and letting me see a slice of you that God has already covered in bandages but that I know is still raw, that I know may not be gone yet, but that doesn’t disqualify you. Thank you for standing up and speaking of His redemption and telling people that you are not broken, not dirty, not wrong, that you are wonderfully and complexly human and that God stood by you. You are living proof of the strength of the human condition, thank you for teaching me how to be brave.

Thank you all, the messy and the complicated and the afraid beloved children of God that are sitting around my table listening to my heartfelt apologies, but I have a few more. I'm sorry you didn’t hear it sooner, and that you may lack an apology from the majority of the people that have hurt you. I’m sorry for my part in the pain. I invite you to remember how we have been washed clean, and so I invite you to remember that the compassion of God transcends our understanding and so let me ask you to pray for the church with me, that we may remain part of this body and fight the good fight. That two or three gathered in His name may become many living out the greatest commandment.

If you're hurting, thank you for still being here, thank you for everything, thank you for being my family, thank you for being His family, thank you, a thousand times - let's be who He made us to be, let's be the change, let's do the work because we're loved, because everyone is loved, no boarders and no walls.

Your mess is a holy mess, as is mine, your message is worth hearing, let me hold your hand and go with you into a new hope characterised by reckless compassion, overwhelming love, and with a God who dines with an explosion of colourfully and divinely chaotic people, and calls them friends.

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn Pt.2 Ch.13

A/N - Just in case you forgot what kind of a King Ivar is... Previous Chapter 12 here. Thanks for reading. 

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith   Words - 1,900      

Warnings - Angst, human sacrifice, death, did I mention angst.

The weeks dragged on and Aethelswith continued to deteriorate; her weakening body struggling to fight the attacks of the illness, with the hours of reprieve few and fleeting. In those moments when she would stir or wake, the peace was short-lived, the violent toils of the unknown affliction pulling her back and holding her down.

After just one night of struggling to care for her, Ivar buckled, allowing the old healer and one assistant back in and limiting the number of thralls. And, despite Ida and Freydis working and moving her limbs each morning and night, Aethelswith's skin-and-bone body had begun to atrophy, her flesh and the whites of her eyes showing a tinge of yellow.

Her sight was entirely gone and, in those moments, when she could be roused, she woke confused and panicked, crying for Ivar, begging him to stop some brightness she said was burning her eyes. Attempting to soothe and comfort, he would hold her close, whisper that he was there, that she was brave and strong, and how much he loved her. He would try and coax her, with the help of Ida, to take sips of water or honeyed milk but in spite of her body wilting away, any scarce amount she could take in was instantly rejected.

The early autumn weather was not yet cold, but charcoal was kept smoldering in the fireplace to help mask the smell of her failing system, and the days and nights spent in bed left open sores on her backside. The unspoken question flashed in the sideways glances of everyone but Ivar, all shaken, wondering how much more their sweet queen could suffer. But somehow, she held on.

After months of the same agony, news of her dire condition spread through the city, reaching villages beyond. People braced for word, feeling as if their own fate was somehow tied to the survival of the king's beloved. At dawn, each day, flowers, small gifts and various tokens of affection were collected from outside the doors of the permanently closed hall. It was all the villagers and merchants could do to express their worry and hopes for her recovery.

In addition to cooking and running the kitchen, Birgit, had stepped in to oversee the slaves and manage the hall. She would rush out early and collect the gifts, hiding them from Ivar, afraid he would see them as offerings of condolences.

Only a select few were permitted in their chambre aside from Ida and Birgit, occasionally Freydis, Hvitserk and a couple of favored thralls. Nana and Gussr would sit at her bedside, often for hours and Brana would read from books, brush her hair and help with the washing down of her body.

Shielding his brother from the pull of duty, Hvitserk took on the training of the army and, with the help of Loni, tended to the city and trade disputes, while Ruud oversaw the ongoing wall construction.

Life in the city had changed; the streets were quiet, and people moved cautiously, tense with the anticipation of what was to come. A fog of sadness had settled around the hall, suffocating and dangerous. The thralls would scurry through the corridors, fearful of catching the king's eye, his wrath sharp below his strained, brittle, exhaustion. Few hours in his day were spent away from Aethelswith and when he did enter the hall, he would sit at a table alone, avoiding the throne chairs entirely.

On the rare night that he would emerge, leaving Ida at her side, he would drink himself into a stupor and smash anything he could reach. On more than one occasion, he'd use the walls of the hall as a target for his axes, inevitably being dragged back to his bed by his brother.

Taking a chair in the corner, Hvitserk would sit and stay close, watching as Ivar screamed at Aethelswith's fragile, sleeping form. In his tirades, he would demand that she wake-up and shout that she was not permitted to ever leave him. He would weep and sob, kiss her hands and stroke her tied back hair, promise to love her how she deserved, swearing off his selfishness and cruelty forever. He would shout and curse the Gods, pray and plead for Odin to spare her, but with no change, no signs, not a single mark of improvement, the killings began.

It started with goats, and various animals, so great in number it depleted their winter stores. He then ordered every farmer in Kattegat to hand over an offering for sacrifice. It escalated to horses and before long Ivar was fixated on sourcing rare, exotic animals brought in on boats from far away lands, all in hopes of appeasing the Gods.

With no results, his desperation grew and he began to offer the blood of slaves. It was a sacrificial massacre and a chill could be felt through what was now called the red city. The slaver's boats continued to sail in, the traders rubbing their greedy hands together knowing the enamoured king would take the whole lot, dickering little on price. People were afraid, the neighbouring kingdoms on alert and all questioned the soundness of Ivar's unraveling mind.

Not a single person tracked the grave situation closer than Harald Finehair. The ambitious king with a vested interest in the city had personally experienced the enchantment of Aethelswith. Further, he had witnessed the grip of Ivar's devotion. The order had been made that any news coming from the city, any update on her or the king's diminishing capacity was to be brought to him with haste. Harald could not help but wonder without Aethelswith at Ivar's side, tempering his madness and bolstering his nerve, how quickly would his stronghold on the throne crumble? How quickly would war begin and kingdoms fall if Ivar found her in the arms of another?

----

Entering the room, Ivar halted at the sight of an unfamiliar woman speaking to Ida in a hushed tone. Standing off to one side of the bed, the two had their heads together in discussion. They appeared similar in age but unlike Ida's plain face and white hair tucked back in a bun, this woman wore her grey hair down, and her wrinkled eyes were lined crudely with coal. Around her neck hung necklaces beaded with the vertebrae of small animals and her green woven wrap, still around her shoulders, told Ivar she had only just arrived.

"Who is this?" he snapped, his tone demanding. Glancing over to Aethelswith, he saw that she was still under the veil of sleep, her lips mumbling in some inaudible trance.

"This is Tarin," Ida answered, her voice sounding reserved. "She has traveled here from Vestfold to help care for Lady Aethelswith."

"No," Ivar whispered still staring at Aethelswith, watching her eyes dart side to side under her closed lids. Shaking his head, he looked back to the women. Lifting his brows, he repeated, "No."

Stepping around to face him, Tarin opened her mouth to speak.

"No!" he barked, "and I will not be questioned."

Looking down at her clutched hands, Ida said nothing.

"King Ivar," Tarin spoke up, "I have been the healer in King Harald's city for many years, longer than you have been alive. King Harald only wants..."

"Harald wants to spy and I will NOT have strangers caring for my wife."

"And you!" Ivar looked at Ida, her face lifting to meet his glare. "You know better than this."

"King Ivar, Tarin was explaining a technique that may help loosen the hold of the sickness."

Ivar's eyes flicked back to Tarin.

Clearing her throat, the strange woman nodded to Ivar. "A deep cut is made in the fleshy part of the foot and blood drained to..."

"You want to bleed her?" he narrowed his eyes. "You want to open the bottoms of her feet and bleed her?" his face hardened. "I will fucking bleed you! he screamed.

The eyes of both women flashed wide.

"Get out! Both of you! No one touches her anymore. No one. GET OUT!"

"Ivar?" Aethelswith's frail voice called from the bed, her eyes cracking open and searching the ceiling above that she could not see.

As the two healers raced past and out the door, he moved in her direction. "I am here. Everything is fine."

----

Responding to the two abrupt knocks, Brana opened the front door of her modest home, startled to see Ivar standing on the chunk of wood used as her front step.

His eyes were round with apprehension and she froze, calming the fear that flared inside, telling herself if something had happened, it would not be Ivar at her door with the news.

"Can I enter?" he asked, his gaze not wavering.

"Of course," she snapped into action. "My apologies, of course. Please come in." Standing to the side, she pushed the door wide, glancing up to the street where Loni waited with the chariot. The two exchanged a look and he answered her unspoken question with the lift of his shoulders, he did not know why they were there.

Standing, at the centre of the room, Ivar waited as she rushed toward her table, pulling out a chair for him. "Please sit. I will get you something to drink. Are you hungry?"

"No, nothing for me. I will not be long."

Standing at the opposite side of the table, she paused giving him time to settle. Lowering himself into the chair, he jerked his head for her to take the seat across.

The air felt strained and it occurred to her, as they sat facing each other, just how entwined their lives had been for nearly eight years. She had been one of the only witnesses to his struggles and triumphs and him finding love, all from the sidelines of his brutal world. And there they were now, bound by tragedy of the most intimate kind, placing them for the first time at the same table.

Closing his eyes, he slowly exhaled, Brana not missing how the helplessness had aged him. Looking down at his hand, his thumb traced a groove in the grain of the wood, and he cleared his throat as if to prepare.

"We are the two people that Aethelswith loves the most. Gussr and Nana too but they are old and seeing her as she is..." he sighed with exhaustion, "it is killing him."

Saying nothing, Brana nodded with understanding.

"I released you from service but would you come back and help care for her... full time. I will have a room made up in the hall for you and Loni to use as your own. I...just..," looking away, he shook his head as if he had lost the words. Taking another deep breath, it felt to Brana he was mustering the strength to continue. "Will you help me care for her?" His eyes met hers again. "I will no longer allow slaves and strange healers to touch her. Just us, the people who love her and know her heart. My beautiful Aethelswith is dying, Brana. I know this and it will be any day. Help me, help her die."

The tears broke on either side of the table, running hot down their cheeks and both lowered their eyes knowing the pain in the other's face would pitch them over the edge.

"It would be my honour, King Ivar," she whispered in a shaky voice.

"Brana," he said, their eyes meeting, shining with emotion, "it's just Ivar."

.

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[yandere-romanticaa]

Hello, if you're open! (If not ignore this) but I see your a fellow Hakuryuu lover as well! If you do scenarios, (if not, headcanons are fine) can you do one with yandere!Hakuryuu who's s/o escapes him during the kou civil war (to both escape his madness but also because she was pregnant with his child) and Hakuryuu is pissed and devastated and never stops looking for her. After the timeskip he finally finds her hiding in Kina with his baby son when he, Aladdin, stay there? Thanks!

Anon, I had this EXACT same idea for a while now! So thank you for requesting this, it made me so happy! Also, spoilers for the Magi manga, Kou Civil War arc. And sorry if this wasn't very good, I really tried lmao.

♡ Ren Hakuryuu ♡

It was a full moon tonight, and the 4th Emperor of the Kou Empire, Ren Hakuryuu, was looking out one of the many windows, lost deep within his enraged thoughts. A part of him knew that it was bound to happen, a part of his knew that (y/n) would try to escape. Only Judal and a couple of others knew of (y/n)'s disappearance but other then that it was all carefully hidden. The people of the empire simply could not know that the Empress had ran off to God knows where, the morale was already so low. Oh how Hakuryuu missed her, words could not express that feeling. How he longed for the warmth of her embrace and the sweetness of her voice was maddening, so much so that he could bearly concentrate on anything. It didn't help that his beloved wife was feeling rather ill before dissapearing, and the thought of her being pregnant only gave him more determination to find her. Yes, he missed her dearly but she needed to be punished. She needs to know that she cannot act like this, that Hakuryuu is just doing this to protect her! He sent countless scouts and soldiers out all over the empire and beyond, but his efforts always turned out to be fruitless. (y/n) was almost like a ghost, not a single trace was left of her. It greatly angered him but, Hakuryuu had to give her the credit of cleaning up her tracks like this. He can only imagine how stressful it felt and just how catious she had to be. I mean, almost anyone would be able to recoginse the Empress herself, no?

Whatever the case may be, Hakuryuu never gave up, he couldn't give up. He was going to find (y/n) no matter the cost. He was willing to bend this cursed world upside down if it meant that she would be his once again.

Alas, Hakuryuu had no idea just how many diffirent surprises the future had in store for him.

♡♡♡

Months have passed, and thanks to Sinbad, Hakuryuu was now one of the worlds top three most wanted terrorists. The other two were Nerva Julius, the former heir of the Reim Empire and the current king of the kingdom of Kina, Takeruhiko Yamato. All three of them had refused to give up their metal vessels to Sinbad and the Seven Seas Alliance and because of that they were branded by many as dangerous criminals. All three of them though took refuge somewhere else, and their whereabouts were unknown to the world.

It was strange how the kingdom of Kina dissapeared so suddenly. It was a small island country in the middle of the great ocean but now it was just gone. No one knew that kingdom was now hidden in the Dark continent, in one piece and with two of the "terrorists" residing there. Hakuryuu trained with Yamato every single day, in a vain attempt to keep his mind occupied. Ever since he defected from the throne his search for his wife came to a halt and this devistated Hakuryuu to no end. He would often dream her and what would their future look like if they were still together. Her sweet scent and soft skin plauged his mind for hours on end, and whenever Hakuryuu opened his eyes he was always reminded by the cold wind that he was indeed alone.

Alone...

God he hated this feeling. This constant feeling of sadness, shame, regret, emptiness fury. It was getting to him, he was just at a complete loss.

"...(y/n) my darling, just.... Where are you..."

Leaving the warmth of his bed, Hakuryuu exited the castle for a little late night stroll. The only thing that could be heard was the soft stream of a nearby river and a few smal animals here and there. He tilted his head towards the sky and was met with a sight that should have been bautiful, that should have brought him joy, if not a little wonder even. But Hakuryuu felt nothing. The glimmering stars were like another reminder of how much he had lost in such a short time. It felt as though the world was mocking him, reminding him of his past mistakes and failures. For a short while he had it all, he truly did. He had his empire, he had Judal, he had (y/n)... But now?

He had nothing.

Should he even contiune on with his life? What even is the point of living if the world has made its point crystal clear, that there is no place for him in it? Truth be told, the only reason he was alive right now was to just spite the world. Deep down he was still clinging to that small ray of hope that one day he could see (y/n) once again. Just to see her smile, to hear her voice, anything!

He stood on the dirt path, so lost in his own dark mind that he failed to see a little boy running up towards him. Hearing the soft footsteps, Hakuryuu turned around and was met with a sight that shook him to the core. Looking down he saw a little boy, no older then three, but he was almost identical as Hakuryuu. It was like staring in to a small mirror! They had the same face and hair, but what Hakuryuu took special note of were his (e/c) eyes. They were so familliar-!!! Furrowing his brow, Hakuryuu violently shook his head. He... He really was going crazy wasn't he...? He was just imagining things, he had to be! His blue eyes were glued to the little boy and all sorts of thoughts ran through his broken mind. Hope was slowly bubbling up in his chest once he finally realized that he could speak once again. But before he could, he heard someone yell.

"Daiju, there you are! Sweetie, you can't just run off in-!!"

Time itself felt as though it came to a halt the moment those (e/c) eyes locked in to Hakuryuu's. Hakuryuu was almost shaking, not fully realizing that this was real. Slowly, he tilted his head and looked at the boy once more. The little boy, Daiju, seemed to be confused but he still smiled none the less. Hakuryuu put the two and two together and the thought came to him.

This was his son.

(y/n) was right in front of him.

Was this real? Was any of this real?! Did he somehow die in his sleep?! Or was this a dream!!? Without even thinking, Hakuryuu quickly took ahold of (y/n)'s arm. It was just like how he remembered it, so soft and delicate... His breathing was ragged and uneven, his his grip far thighter then it ever was. How badly (y/n) wanted to scream at that moment. She needed to get out of here, she needed to hide her son, his son-!

She trembled and whimpered as Hakuryuu lightly twisted her wrist. He pushed her on to the ground and covered her mouth with one of his hands. Daiju shouted in the background, wanting Hakuryuu to just "get off his mommy!" His gaze was intense, angry, loving... Salty tears escaped those (e/c) that he loved so much as he dipped his head near her neck. He lightly sniffed her neck, fully englufing (y/n)'s intoxicating smell. He had no clue just how much he craved her, just how badly he would lose control once her found her. Nothing prepared Hakuryuu for this, but he sure as Hell wasn't going to let her go. Daiju's face was covered in tears as he lightly punched Hakuryuu's back in a desparate attempt to help his mother. Hakuryuu turned his gaze towards his son, his eyes slightly softening in the process. A small smile framed his face as he stared at the little boy, his boy, who in return was terrified beyond belief. (y/n) trashed beneath Hakuryuu but no matter what she did it was no good. He was strong, much more strong then he was the last time they were together.

Hakuryuu once again turned his attention towards (y/n), only this time with a look that could kill. His slim fingers lightly traced her neck, almost like a warning. She dared not to move as she now knew just how screwed she was. She thought that she was finally free, and even though the pregnancy caught her off guard, she still deeply cared for her son, even if he still was this monsters son.

Even so, his eyes shined with such determination that (y/n) shook with complete and utter fear. The air around her became thick as she felt as though she could no longer breathe. And with Hakuryuu right on top of her, she really could not. She prayed and prayed for mercy but no one heard her, and no one was ever going to hear her. They were finally back together and Hakuryuu had never felt so happy in his entire life.

[peachyteabuck]

hungry for me, sequel to“survive the summer”

summary: a commission of a second installment of survive the summer, for @myhoneybeeheart

pairing: thor odinson x reader

words: 4,009

trigger warnings: praise kink, dubcon, mentions of arranged marriage, taking of virginity, degradation, oral (f recieving), shame associated with religious upbringing, light edging

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Somewhere – somewhere you know exists but also doubt is real – somewhere between right in front of you and a million miles away, you hear Thor calling out to you. You have to make a sizable effort to parse his words from the roaring of blood in your ears and haze of pleasure clouding your thoughts. You can hear him, barely, and can sense him - as if you were stuck in the bottom of an iced-over lake, if you were buried six feet under, if you were lost in a cave. Sometimes when you bathe you dunk yourself under the freezing water to quiet out all the noise, making all your siblings’ voices and animals’ screams sound garbled and, blessedly, muted.

Now, despite you being on dry land and nowhere near a body of water large enough to drown yourself in, it sounds the same – the beacon from a lighthouse, the beckoning home, the call to attention. It all sounds the same to you.

“Baby,” Thor coos above you. His voice is thick and savory like warmed molasses and pours into you just as smooth. Somehow you can feel it on you – flowing between your breasts and onto your stomach and pooling in your abdomen. It’s warm and creamy and gooey and makes you feel sunlit and beautiful and you could only stay in this feeling forever…“Come back, baby, come back to me. Come back so I can see that pretty face of yours.”

You don’t, can’t, say anything because now his giant cock is filling you and all you want to do is cry from the mind-numbing satisfaction and your whole body is on fire and also over ice and is it humid? You wonder if it’s humid because your whole body is covered in sweat and you feel like you’re suffocating and you’re gasping for air because the air is too tense to breathe. It’s when he slaps you lightly, grabs your chin and makes you look at him that you finally are able to think somewhat-rationally, logically, concisely…well, rationally, logically, and concisely enough to piece together whatever the man is saying along with the appropriate response.

“You good, love?” he asks. Somehow, you find enough energy and muscle control to nod. It’s faint and feeble as a last breath, but Thor sees, comprehends it nonetheless. He kisses at your temple before speaking again, nosing at your hairline afterward. The gesture is comforting, reassuring; especially given what he says next. “Good, ‘cause I’m just getting started.”

It’s enough to make you gasp out, grab at him as if that would tether you to some vague definition of reality. You whine as he pulls back from you, growling at you to stay put, to remain in your highly vulnerable position. Maybe out of fear, maybe out of anticipation, maybe out of a mixture of both – you accede.

Thor falls to his knees on the hardwood floor, hitting the worn circles laid there by years of begging for forgiveness with a heavy thud. It distracts you, knocks you off guard enough that the man can grab you by the ankles and drag you closer to him without so much as a protest. Before you could register what was happening, Thor’s gotten you folded in half – legs bent and pressed to your chest with one forearm pressed into the notches of your knees to keep you there.

You’re confused, eyebrows furrowed as you attempt to find your bearings on a situation so foreign to you Thor might as well be speaking a different language. “What are y-“

You’re soon interrupted by your whole body melting as his flat tongue presses to the crest of your center. You relax easily, body becoming lax quick as a snap. “Oh! Oh, Oh my God, I’m-“

The art of language, of coherent language, seems to wash away as you collapse fully onto the bed. If you had control over your muscles, if your brain would regain its rightful possession over your skin and bones maybe you’d pull at Thor’s hair, scratch his back, grip the sheets. Nothing of the sort is under your current ability, and you find yourself covering your face with flat, pliant hands. What you’re covering yourself from is not important – maybe you’re terrified your eyes will open and you’ll have to face the hand-painted portrait of your Father. Maybe worse, you’d have to face the man between your legs, the almighty whose stubble scratches at the stretch marks between your legs and whose mouth drinks at the most vulnerable part of you.

One of his thick fingers presses into you with ease, obscene slick sounds filling your bedroom.

“Oh God,” you moan just above a whisper. You’re sure you look possessed now – eyes rolled to the back of your head and mouth banging open and body moving on its own accord. “God, don’t stop!”

You can feel Thor smile into the skin of your sopping cunt, his tongue tracing your lips before slipping another finger into and pressing just so – each twitch of his fingers making nearly making you black out from how overwhelming good it feels.

It’s not long before your skin is hot and tight and you’re about to burst, and you can feel your entire body wrapping around a tight coil laid atop a hot frying pan and you just…you just need…you just-

You nearly kill Thor when he pulls away, his fingers receding away from that perfect spot inside of you. It hurts, it physically hurts and if you weren’t pissed as an ox you’d beg for him to continue.

With hair wild and cheeks red you sit up and grab Thor’s face with both your hands, your palms becoming wet with your slick.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” you hiss. You feel like a sopping wet cat who’s been dunked into a river by a hellbent child. With his shit-eating grin, the resemblance is uncanny. God, you want to hit him to hard the SMACK! is heard by the next town over.

“Just gettin’ you ready, love,” he says – syrupy drawl both beautiful and antagonizing. Whatever way he means it, you press your thighs together to trap his hand there. Thor makes no move to remove it, just smiling and glowing and looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Ready for what,” you say through grit teeth. You search his eyes (and the rest of his face, for that matter) for answers, for explanation. All you see is fire in his eyes and his bottom lip stuck between his teeth and him looking you up and down like a man planning on where to shoot a deer stuck in a bear trap and before you know it, Thor is on top of you and his cock is stuffing you full and you’re digging your nails into his back.

When your sisters and cousins would whisper and giggle about seasonal farmhands who bathed naked far up the river, who blushed when you complimented them and leaned against the rickety fences when they spoke, you thought that would be the kind of guy you’d lose such an important part of you to. You thought you’d wake up one day to find yourself promised to some boy who was skinny and sun-burnt and did as she told him and worked in the field.

This feels the exact opposite of the man above you, the man inside you. Large and sun-kissed and charismatic – he reminds you of a wild stallion, muscly and free and vicious and unstoppable and untamed and a challenge. You admire him the same way, are enchanted by him and his undomesticated, ruthless ways which are foreign and fierce to you and you’re simply breathless.

Thor stretches your legs up to your chest and soon you’re wailing, trying to grab at the worn quilt you’ve had since you were a child for a lifeline, a reminder you have control over some of your body, something.

“Oh,” you cry. You find yourself at a loss for words, the art of speech lost in favor of grunting and moaning and barely-intelligible “yes”s and “please”s and “don’t stop”s. Your legs are wrapped tightly around Thor’s waist, keeping him close; even if your legs were spread, though, it’s not as if Thor would want to pull away. It’s not as if the only thing tying him to you is the increasingly-weak hold on him, as if the only anchor is your nails leaving red, angry crescent-shaped indentations all over his back, shoulders, ass, sides. Just as your hands map each inch of his skin, his mouth does the same for yours – he pants, hot and open-mouthed, into equally-feverish uncharted territory. He tastes you, tastes the sweet-salty sweat that run over scars reminiscent of years of farm work.

Each time his teeth, tongue, lips so much as brush the gnarled skin the memories come flooding back, reminders of a life now considered “past.” The scenes from a life you no long recognize coat the pleasure, the present; they play behind your eyes as you feel yourself falling thousands of feet below.

His chin nudges the long one above your breasts you’ve had since you were a child and you were proving to your father you could be an archer – turns out the arrow was much sharper than you could have imagined.

He brushes your hair to the side and exposes a small, curled thing behind your ear – earned from a fight with a hawk that had broken its wing. Your father shot it, cooked it, and you knew that was the poor animal’s fate. Nonetheless, you stepped too close and scared the thing to pieces.

He bites at the one on your shoulder – the one you got when you were nicked by a sharpened stick on a trail ride. You were young and dumb as the stick was long and pointed. Ma says the only thing that kept you alive for the duration of the ride back was pure spite and adrenaline, a similar concoction to what flows through your veins now.

If you were a different woman, a woman with a strong will and even stronger arms, you’d push him away and repent for a chance at the old life you had planned for yourself. You’d throw him out of your house and fall to your knees and pray until your family found you there – lips and pads of your knees bleeding. You’d force him back onto the horse he rode in on and fall into hysterics until he left you by your lonesome to deal with this (whatever this may be) by yourself. You’d push him off and remind him you’re not what he wants – that you’re more than a cheap lay. (Of course, you’d let him in eventually – if he pushed and prodded at you hard enough. You’d let him mount you like he is now…just maybe after a ring and a dress and him knowing that you’re going to be with him until the end of time.)

Unfortunately, you are not that woman. You are weak, lost to the pleasure of him slamming in and out of you so hard you’re sure he’s leaving bruises on your inner thighs, ones that will last for days; lost to the feeling of his rough, wet thumb pressing at the crest of your center and making you wail. You’re absolutely drowning in it, and you have no intention of fighting to find land.

“Jesus fuck,” he hisses as you clench around him (an act you will play coy about when he asks you later, but do not comment on now). “This pussy is mine until the end of days, you get that? Do you understand me? I’m never giving you up.”

You groan out, unable to form something silly as speech. Like before, he grabs your face with the unoccupied big, calloused hand and forces your hooded eyes to meet his dilated pupils. Unlike before, tears stain your face. You’ve wept this hard before – when your favorite heifer died, when you realized your sister were so much prettier than you, when you got pecked in the side by a temperamental, murderous chicken. You’ve never, though, ever screeched and caterwauled and literally wept from pleasure.

(Your lips feel dryer by the second. You have a sneaking suspicious as to why.)

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” Thor snarls. His words are punctuated with thrusts, each one deeper and harder than the last. Surely you won’t walk away from this unharmed. No human was built to withstand such forces, to withstand this man. You feel like a poorly-built prairie house during tornado season - threatening to be reduced to bits any second. “Tell me who owns this beautiful pussy of yours.”

“Ah!” you scream so loud you’re sure the angels can hear you.  “Oh, God Thor, this pussy is yours.”

You can feel his wicked, satisfied smile against your shoulder, his teeth scraping at the skin there. “Say it again,” he tells you, so quiet you barely hear. Like some test or a prayer or a demand. “I want to hear it again.”

(In truth, he wants to hear you say it forever – but once more, for now, will do.)

The spool of thick thread weaves itself tighter and tights inside of you, and when you go to grab at the bedsheets once more you can hear the familiar sound of cotton sheets, ripping. “My pussy is yours, Thor!”

It’s then that the reel collapses in on itself – like the universe in the beginning. Is there a set of planets springing to life inside of you? Is the white-hot you see as you gasp for air a second set of heavens being born? You understand the Book so much better now, now understand why He had to rest; you feel as if you could sleep for a million years when you finally spiral down to Earth.

Thor, obviously, does not feel the same way. He does not pull from you, does not leave you lying motionless, heaving, desperate for cool air in your lungs and on your skin. Rather, he laughs – deep and pitted in his chest.

The bastard.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says between kisses laid upon your jaw. They’re hot, heavy, hard – sometimes you can feel his teeth scrape there. You wonder if he means to mark you so – determined to make an example of you and have you choose the dangerous fate of either parading around or shutting yourself in; or does he does this with no thought at all, barges into isolated women’s homes and shows them the greatest gratification known to man or God. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

You bear your teeth when he pulls back and meets your eyes again. It takes all your minimal willpower not to moan again, given that he hasn’t stopped fucking in and out of you. “Has anyone ever told you they wanted to punch you in the fucking face?”

He laughs again, same as before. “You’ve got a dirty mouth for such a clean woman,” he smirks as he pulls from you and flips you over with ease (your heart flutters – literally flutters, when your chest hits the sheets), knees bracketing you in. “Or, can I call you that no longer?”

Before you can snap back with a retort, he’s got you pulled to your knees by your hair – the follicles bunched in his large fist. You gasp loudly – the searing, sharp pain traveling up the backs of your legs, your spine, your scalp. It hurts, but it also feels so good.

Thor ignores you.

You remain there, tucked into Thor as he ravages you. One arm keeps you upright and tight against his muscular chest, slung across your stomach and tucked into your side so he can feel each bated breath – the other makes quick, small circles over the most sensitive part of you.

“Scream for me,” he whispers into your ear. “Let the whole world hear how good I make you feel.”

You follow his bellowed command, choked whimpers now shouts and cries and shrieks. In any other moment in any other time you’d be embarrassed, like before when you’d cover your mouth to stifle the sounds so no one could hear. Now, though, with no shawl or nighttime or cloak or hand to conceal you from the man you can’t look in the eyes.  

The hand around your stomach moves to the wall in front of you for balance, and you can feel his hot breath as his jaw hangs open.

You’re too far gone, now, to notice him grabbing at your hair again and pressing your cheek into the sheets. You scream each him his hips meet yours, his moans nearly as loud as yours.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “God, you’re so wet. Oh shit!”

He pulls out, blessedly, finishing himself with his hand while the other presses into your lower back. It keeps you there, floating in and out of consciousness but staying near-lifeless on the bed. The shirt he was wearing before – you recognize it from the column of buttons – cleans you off, the thick cotton soothing against your skin.

It’s not long before Thor joins you on the bed, collapsing from exhaustion just as you have. It’s hours before you wake up again, the pitch blackness outside meaning there’s nothing to distract yourself from the reality of the state of your life.

If your world hadn’t been shattered before, you are currently watching it go down in flames. You’ve never seen a barn being burned to the ground, but if you were stuck inside, it’d probably feel like this – you’d probably also be clutching the quilt that’s been haphazardly thrown over you but not Thor, grasping at the sun-bleached fabric as it will save you from destruction.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the ceiling and no one in particular. You still avoid looking at that damned portrait, keeping its aged frame in your periphery. You treat the man currently invading your precious personal space the same way.

Thor laughs next to you, deep in his chest. If you didn’t want to hit him then… “Should I be offended?”

You sigh, still avoiding his gaze. You can feel it burning into you like the sun on a bare back in the middle of July – you fear, if he looks at you too long, that you’ll be burned with his mark for the rest of time. You pull the quilt closer to you, hugging it to your body. “Not everything is about you.”

“I’d agree. Maybe not everything, but this,” Thor taps a few times between your eyebrows where your forehead has wrinkled. “Definitely is.”

He’s confident, so frustratingly confident and radiant and if your life wasn’t falling apart you would fuck him again – without hesitation. If you weren’t reconstructing a path you had mapped the day you understood what “future” meant for you, you’d force him down on the bed and do what you thought your wedding night would look like. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, to realize that you have been dethroned of the future you’d thought, you’d assumed you’d have.

You’re not a geographer, a cartographer, a topographer; you’re just a woman. A very horny woman, who is currently undergoing a crisis.

Thor moves closer to you, wrapped one of his massive arms around your bare waist and shifts so that his massive body weighs you onto the bed and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Love, what are you so worried about? Someone like you shouldn’t have worries like that running through the pretty little head of yours.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Where do you even begin with him? “What am I worried about? I don’t know, probably the fact that I have to marry you now,” you sigh, eyes screwed shut in hopes you’ll open to find yourself in another bed, in another home, in another life. “That’s pretty fucking terrifying.”

Thor laughs breathily – unfazed. “One, you’re very rude. Has anyone ever told you that? It’s no wonder your father treats you in such a way. It’s a mystery no one else treats you that way. Maybe I should treat you a lesson, huh? Should I treat you to be nicer to the people who treat you nice as I?” he trails off for a minute or two, eyeing you up and down. When you make no move towards him, he continues. “Two, why do you have to marry me?”

You ignore his insolence, attempting to stick to the matter at hand. You fear if you veer off topic for even a moment, he’ll use that opening to pin back onto the bed and then this will be delayed even worse than it currently is and then this conversation will have to happen with even more of a threat of your family coming home before you can handle this yourself and…What were you talking about again? Right. Roping this man into marriage. No big deal. “You just took my purity, of course I have to marry you.”

It’s Thor’s turn to scoff. “That’s not how the world works, baby.”

“It’s how my world works, baby,” You bite back. If you were a snake, you’re sure the last word would’ve been coupled with the spraying of poison all over your companion’s skin. Knowing Thor, though, he’d walk away healthier than ever despite two precise puncture wounds.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, the smile that plays on his lips coloring his words as well. “Oh, really? Why can’t I just walk out of here and pretend none of this ever happened? Why can’t I move onto the next woman, and the next woman, and the next woman. You think I can’t just find a thousand other yous to fill my bed, huh? Why do you think you’re so special?”

You’re sitting up now, covering yourself as Thor lays there bare. He reminds you of a barn cat in the sun, eyes closed and muscles relaxed and tail flicking lazily; if you touched him, you bet his skin would be warmed – if you scratched behind his ears or under his chin, you bet he’d purr. Unlike your barn cat, though, you refuse to leave him be as he enjoys his leisure.  “Why do you think I’d just let you leave? Why do you think you can find another woman, let alone a thousand women even close to me? Sure, leave if you want to, but don’t think you won’t be crawling back to me the second you try and find me in someone who ain’t me. Nuh-uh, you’ll find yourself here, in the dirt, at my feet.”

There’s a long, thick silence that settles over the both of you as Thor sits up, too. His face is playful, but still look in your eyes for any ounce of insincerity. He finds none. “You’re a little spitfire, you know that? Feral little thing, you are.”

You leave the bed, wrapping yourself in a robe you find rumbled under the bed. You don’t know if it’s to protect yourself from the immodesty of walking around naked as the day you were born, or if you’re hoping covering up to prove to Thor you’re not just some hussy. As if whatever in Hell just went down doesn’t disprove whatever notions of modesty you’re hoping to project. Either way, it busies your hands and keeps your eyes from him. “Of course.” You don’t speak again until you’re at the doorway, back facing him with head turned to the side just so. Who’s the cat now? “Do you?”

You walk away after that, leaving to find food or water or maybe a gun. Thor neither knows nor cares. Either way, he allows his body to fall back onto the bed with a thud and listens to your footsteps padding on the floor. Once you’re out of earshot, he sighs deep and happy.  “I sure do, babygirl. I sure do.”

[gvbejvmes]

Task: Love Song Drabble

Title: #1 Crush Rating: Varies. Let’s go with R to be safe Characters: Mostly just Gabriel James-Michaels and Jonathan James-Michaels Pairings: Gabe/Johnny, vague Johnny/Joan Warnings: References child abuse, assault, murder, suicidal ideation Summary: To be a part of you 'cause I believe in you. Song Inspiration: #1 Crush by Garbage Notes: Behold my latest insanity. 12 drabblettes based on different lyrics from #1 Crush. These are not interconnected. And each section stands alone.

I would die for you

It’s not very often that Gabe goes to the courthouse. With all the time he spent in and out of court it’s put a bad taste in his mouth. Sometimes though, when it’s been a tough trial, he’ll meet Johnny and drag him off to dinner. This case was particularly bad, and he isn’t entirely surprised that the steps surrounding the courthouse are packed. There’s media coverage, protestors, and people just trying to figure out what’s going on. It’s absolute chaos and for a moment he thinks about maybe waiting until his husband makes it to the car. He doesn’t though.

He finds his husband easily enough, and his security detail lets him through. It’s when he’s standing next to Johnny that he sees what’s going to happen. There was a gap in security. Something that was missed among the crowd of people.  If it wasn’t for the way the muzzle caught the reflection of the late afternoon sun he wouldn’t have noticed. All he knows is that it makes perfect sense to step in front of the bullet intended for his husband.

Pure madness erupts around him. There’s screaming and just so much noise. The only thing Gabe really has the ability to process is that the front of his shirt is soaked in blood. Somehow he winds up on the ground of the courthouse steps, his head cradled in his husband’s lap. Everything becomes white noise, and all he can focus on in Johnny trying to talk to him. He has no idea what he’s trying to tell him, but it’s nice just being able to see his face as the world fades away.

I’ve been dying just to feel you by my side; to know that you’re mine.

Gabe can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter. He just needs to make it until Mr. Michaels gets there. He’s not an idiot. He knows that he’s not going to survive. At this point he’s too far gone. It had been an ambush. The shiv had hit him just right and, well, an inmate dying in prison wasn’t an unusual tale.

The people around him keep trying to tell him that it’ll be okay if he passes before Mr. Michaels gets there, but it won’t be. He needs to see his lawyer one last time. It’s the only thing he can say; it’s the only thing he can think about. They’re trying to make him comfortable in the prison infirmary and all he wants is to see his lawyer one last time.

He didn’t get to tell him before, and now it’s almost too late. He needs to say it before he passes; he doesn’t want to be a ghost. He can’t die until Mr. Michaels knows he’s in love with him. It’s the only thing he needs to do; he feels it in his bones. 

And when his lawyer flies into the room, looking wild and not like himself, it’s with his last breath that Gabe says, “God, I love the fuck out of you.” Vaguely he can hear Mr. Michaels screaming his name, but that’s okay. It just means that he heard his last words.

I will cry for you.

This is his routine: he gets up, makes a cup of tea, lets the dogs outside and makes breakfast. Some days he drags himself into the shower; most days he doesn’t. He dresses in a sweatshirt that still faintly smells like his husband, and walks to the cemetery. He’s not supposed to be a widower. At least not at his age. He’s not even pushing fifty, and he’s alone. The kids say he still has plenty of life ahead of him yet, but they don’t understand it. Not really. He doesn’t have a life without Johnny in it.

The dirt is still fresh and there’s no headstone yet. There’s always flowers there, but he doesn’t know where they come from. They could be from one of the kids or they could be from one of his coworkers or friends. He’s never asked, but they’re always there, and they’re always fresh. He’s not the only one who has been visiting his husband’s grave.

He sits there for hours. Sometimes he sketches the scenery around him. It really is a pretty cemetery. Most of the time he cries for a love that was taken from him too soon. He never remembers how he gets home, but he always wakes up in his own bed, an empty bottle of whiskey next to him. And then he starts the cycle all over.

I will pray for you

He’s sitting in the ‘chapel’ of the hospital. It’s really just a small room labeled ‘chapel.’ It feels like any of the other waiting rooms. The only difference is that this room has pictures representing the different religions, and the lighting is turned down low. He’s sitting in what he supposes is supposed to be the Christian side. There’s a picture of who he assumes is Jesus and one of those kneelers he’s always seen in Catholic churches. He kneels down gingerly.

“Me and you.” And he feels stupid as hell for praying, but Johnny was in surgery, and the doctor didn’t sound very optimistic about his husband’s outcome. “We’ve never gotten along. Mom believes in you, but you never gave me a reason. I used to think that if you were real you would have saved me from my dad. Now, I don’t know what I think.” He closes his eyes. “Give me a reason to believe in you. Save him. I’ll never want anything else from you. I promise. Just save him. Please.”

I will sell my soul for something pure and true; someone like you.

It’s a no-brainer. Five years of happiness with his husband or watch as his husband slowly withered away from cancer. He doesn’t know if he can handle watching him die. At least this way they can have five good years. It’s probably a chicken shit thing to do, but Gabe thinks it’s practical. This is the best option for both of them to be happy and healthy.

That’s what brings him to the crossroads. And when the demon appears, he doesn’t hesitate to seal the deal with a kiss. He never saw himself as the type of person who would sell his soul, but everything has its time and place. And saving his husband’s life? His soul is the least he can pay.

See your face every place that I walk in.

The first time he sees the blue-eyed guy, Gabe walks into a trash can. He’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. He tries to catch up with him, but he walks so quickly that Gabe loses sight of him. It’s such a huge college campus, and he already knows he’s not in any of his classes. He has no hope of seeing him again, except… he sees him over and over again. And every damn time he sees him, he can’t keep up with his fast-walking ass. 

He sees him in the dining hall, but by the time Gabe makes his way over to where he is: he’s already gone. One time he sees him in his residence hall at the end of the hallway, but slips into a room before he can reach him. He swore he saw him in the library once, but he got distracted by Velvet and when he looked up again, he was gone. One time when he was sneaking out of a sorority house, he saw him as he slid off the roof. 

The guy moved so fucking fast that he was never able to catch up with him, and then one day fate intervened. He was looking for a seat in the dining hall, and there he was! Immediately he sat down across from him. “Why the fuck do walk so fast?” He asked in greeting.

Obviously startled, the other guy looked up at him. “What?” And he was just staring at him.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for like a month.” 

He blinked at him. “Why?” And he didn’t look like he believed Gabe.

“Because you’re hot as fuck.” Gabe enjoyed the way the other man’s face flushed. “And being able to talk to you is the fucking highlight of my day.”

I will burn for you.

He can’t see; tears are blurring his vision but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s heartbroken as stares into the bonfire. This was supposed to be it. This was supposed to be his final relationship. This was the man he was supposed to grow old with, and yet the love of his life was having a kid with someone else.

It’s enough to break him. Johnny had tried to explain what happened, but he couldn’t listen to him. He just needed to get the fuck away from him, which was what led him here to the fire. Everything Johnny had ever given to him, every picture, every letter, every stolen sweatshirt - he’s throwing all of them into the fire. He doesn’t want any memory of this man. If he wants to have a baby with someone else, then he doesn’t need Gabe in his life.

And it’s that thought that has him putting his hand into the fire. If he’s burning everything that’s Johnny’s, he might as well burn himself, too. Not that he makes it far. He barely feels the stingy heat when suddenly a pair of strong and familiar arms pull him away from the fire and into his chest. 

Vaguely he can hear Johnny ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but all Gabe can manage is: “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He thrashes against his (ex?)boyfriend, trying to get away from him so he can throw himself into the fire like the dramatic bitch he can be.

And still, Johnny holds onto him as he screams and cries until he can’t speak any more. Somehow they both wind up on the ground, Gabe in Johnny’s lap. His face is buried in the crook of his neck, and someone must have called the cops on them because he can hear the sound of sirens. And the thing is he’s absolutely furious with him, and yet he knows that in spite of everything, he’s still stupid in love with him.

Feel pain for you.

“Where is he?” Gabriel ignores the question and instead focuses on being anywhere but his current situation. As terrible as it was to think about, his childhood had prepared him for this moment. 

He didn’t need training to know how to withstand torture. His whole life had been leading up to this moment. He sure as hell doesn’t know who these guys are, but he knows two things. One, his dad could give these guys lessons on true torture. And two, it didn’t matter what they did. There was no way he was giving up Johnny’s location. He’d rather die than give him up.

I will lie for you.

He doesn’t know why he does it. All he knows is that this guy looks really uncomfortable. A blonde woman seems to be trying to chat him up, but he is not into it. And the woman? She was definitely not understanding the word no. So, Gabe walked through the crowded bar, up to the man, and kissed him in greeting. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m late. Who’s your friend?” 

The man just looked at him not in disgust, but in surprise and a little bit of wonder. The woman suddenly looked embarrassed as all hell. “Oh my God. You’re gay. I am so sorry.” And with that she scurried away, off to find her next victim.

“Sorry about that.” He tried, but the other man was still just looking at him. It was like he was trying to figure him out. It’s that look that has Gabe tagging on. “I shoulda bought you a drink first. Can I buy you a drink?”

A smile slid onto the stranger’s face. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

I can steal for you

Gabe is nervous as fuck as Johnny opens the gift he got him. He knew it was something the other boy wanted. That wasn’t what he was worried about. He was more worried about what reaction he was going to get when his boyfriend saw what it was, and realized just what Gabe had done to get it for him. 

And sure, enough, Johnny likes it. It’s a leather braided bracelet with silver wound throughout. And it was expensive as hell. His boyfriend had looked at it in a store at the mall, but when he saw the price tag he’d put it back. They were fresh out of college. They could barely afford beer let alone an expensive birthday gift.

“Did you sell a painting?” And Gabe’s face must have given away how he had gotten it because suddenly Johnny looked disappointed. “Briel, you didn’t.” And he’s shaking his head. “I can’t keep this. You know that.”

He nodded. “But tonight, let’s just pretend that you can. Okay?”

His boyfriend kissed him softly. “Okay.”

I would die for you.

They’re walking down the street. It’s late at night, and they probably should have taken a cab, but the weather is mild and they felt like walking. 

He hears the car before he sees it, but he’s so detached from his past life that he’s not prepared for what happens next. He hears: “Yo, James! This is for Lefty.” 

And then there’s bullets everywhere. As the car peels away, he’s able to process what happened. He’s on the ground and Johnny is on top of him. He’d jumped in front of him when the gun was pulled 

“Jay?” And he’s shaking his husband but there’s no response. There’s a hell of a lot of blood, but no response. “JAY!”

I'd do time for you.

“I’m going to New York next week.” 

Sitting on this side of the glass partition was a little weird. Gabe had wanted to talk to his husband in the private visitation room, but there wasn’t an accessible path of travel from the visitors' side. It had been a month since Gabe was beaten and assaulted within an inch of his life, but he still couldn’t walk for long distances. He was a free man, but his freedom had cost his husband his. At one point Gabe’s heart had stopped, and Johnny had… reacted. The people involved in Gabe’s attack were now all dead, allegedly due to a hit his lawyer husband had put out. Which meant that for the second time during the length of their marriage one of them was going on trial for murder. 

“My doctor has finally cleared me to fly.”

Johnny didn’t say anything, he was too busy studying Gabe. Every time he came to visit, it was like he was drinking the sight of Gabe in. The first time he visited, he offered to get their marriage annulled since he was going to be in prison indefinitely. He’d shut that down real quick. It wasn’t like being separated by bars was anything new; this was fine - for now. 

Since then, he’d taken to studying Gabe as though he was visually checking that his wounds were finally healing. Mostly he seemed to get stuck on his ear more so than his wheelchair, most likely because the wheelchair was only temporary. He’d never get full function of his right leg back and he’d always have to wear a brace to support his left hand (his motor function was never coming back there), but his ear was what Johnny always fixated on. He’d never get his hearing back in his left ear, and his cauliflower ear was permanent. 

“Baby, are you even listening to me?” Gabe asked with a wry smile. “The guards feel bad for me so they let me stay longer than they’re supposed to, but they’re eventually going to wheel me out.”

His husband at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry.” And then he blinked as Gabe’s sentence hit him. “I’m sorry, did you say you’re going to New York? Why?”

Gabe grinned at him. “Because your mother is a terrifying human.” He admitted. “She doesn’t like the idea of me living alone while you’re here. She thinks the doctors are better in New York, and she thinks I’ll be safer living with her and your dad. She’s almost giddy. I’m actually really terrified of her, but she said this will also give me a chance to get a home all set up for us so that when you’re out all you have to do is come home.”

Johnny just stared at him. “You’re moving in with my parents.” He sounded like he was in total disbelief, but there was also something else in his voice he couldn’t quite place. It was… relief? “I’m going to have to give you a list of places my mother isn’t allowed to take you to. They’re places I want to show you.”

He couldn’t help but to nod. “You’re not mad that I’m leaving? She thinks I should stay out there until the trial, and I won’t be able to visit you and-” His husband put his hand against the glass. It was enough to distract Gabe, who pressed his own hand against his husband’s.

“It’s like she said. You’ll be safer there. And it’s only temporary.”

Gabe grinned. “Don’t worry. I still know a few guards that owe me favors. I’ll send you naked pictures.” 

A laugh was startled out of his husband. “Briel…”

[severalspoons]

“Wolfwood Mood” quotes

To be updated as I find more.

God may judge you, but His sins outnumber your own. --  @afabbaeddel

“Cynic, n. A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.” ― Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary

“That's one of the remarkable things about life. It's never so bad that it can't get worse.” ― Bill Watterson

“An encouraged person will eventually get his drive from encouragement; he becomes more dependent. A person that never really receives encouragement learns to move out of spite; he becomes more independent.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy

They're going to have to glue you back together, IN HELL! -- Demoman in Team Fortress 2

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” ― Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.”- Epictetus

“When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.” ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms 

I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me. --Fallout New Vegas NPC

“We all have strength enough to endure the misfortunes of others.” ― Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Man can get used to anything, the scoundrel. --Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“And what's strange, what would be marvelous, is not that God should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“The soul is healed by being with children.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Killing myself was a matter of such indifference to me that I felt like waiting for a moment when it would make some difference.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Dream Of A Ridiculous Man

“Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will follow you.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“The whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano key.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

“One man doesn't believe in god at all, while the other believes in him so thoroughly that he prays as he murders men!” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

“Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist.” ― George Carlin

“Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.” ― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” ― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

“You only live twice: Once when you are born And once when you look death in the face” ― Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice 

“There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.” ― Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“Better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees.” ― Jean Paul Sartre 

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“There is no reality except in action.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism

“Life—the way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.” ― Joseph Brodsky

“mankind is resilient: the atrocities that horrified us a week ago become acceptable tomorrow.” ― Joseph Heller

“Do you know what it means to be a survivor? It means that not only do you have to live through things, you have to live with them as well. The second part is much harder and sometimes it takes the rest of your life to learn how to do it. But at least you have the rest of your life…” ― Josephine Angelini, Firewalker

“Someone has to be stoic, for the sake of, in spite of, and in the face of all those who are, not. Someone, has to be serious. Someone has to choose to forgo choice, so that there is an option left for others to consider. Everyone can't be, someone.” ― Justin K. McFarlane Beau

“Loving someone always requires you to not love others.” ― Koushun Takami, Battle Royale

“Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man's soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it.” ― Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption

“We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they have broken you, but you are a sharper weapon because of it. And it is time to strike.” ― Laura Sebastian, Ash Princess 

“People are petty, spiteful creatures. What they can't use, hurt, steal, or control, they'll usually destroy.” ― Lorna Reid, Darkwalkers

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” ― Lucius Annaeus Seneca

“If someone puts their hands on you make sure they never put their hands on anybody else again.” ― Malcom X

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.” ― Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

“Does anything in nature despair except man? An animal with a foot caught in a trap does not seem to despair. It is too busy trying to survive. It is all closed in, to a kind of still, intense waiting. Is this a key? Keep busy with survival.” ― May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude 

"You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." ― Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

--Maya Angelou

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

--Maya Angelou  

“Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.” ― Melina Marchetta, Finnikin of the Rock

“Show me somebody who is always smiling, always cheerful, always optimistic, and I will show you somebody who hasn't the faintest idea what the heck is really going on.” ― Mike Royko

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.” ― Rabindranath Tagore, Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore

“Survival," I said softly. "It's selfish, and it's dark, and we've always been a species willing to do anything to satisfy our needs.  ― Rachel Caine, Total Eclipse

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson  

“To have endured horrors, to have seen the worst of humanity and have your life made unrecognizable by it, to come out of all that honorable and brave— that was magical.” ― Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

“We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.” ― Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave  

“I judge you unfortunate because you have never lived through misfortune. You have passed through life without an opponent—no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you.” – Seneca

I will fight you in Hell upon a mound of bones. -- @shitmygaywifesays

“As long as there’s two people left on the planet, someone is gonna want someone dead.” -- Sniper, Team Fortress 2

"If God had wanted you to live, he would not have created me!” -- Soldier, Team Fortress 2

babies cry because they are alive and that is the saddest thing to be. — spencer madsen (@spencermadsen) December 15, 2011

Do you think God stays in heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He’s created? --Spykids 2nd movie

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side.  Or you don't.” -- Stephen King, The Stand

“The only thing that matters in the end is your own survival. It's what humans and cockroaches are best at.” ― Susan Ee, World After

If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn’t as cynical as real life. --Terry Pratchett, Guards, Guards!

“I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are good people and bad people. You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.” ― Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards! 

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." -- Theodore Roosevelt 

I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. --Unknown

if you stay alive for no other reason at all, please do it for spite. -- Unknown

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. -- Unknown Tumblr post

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” ― William Goldman, The Princess Bride 

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

...I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL— wint ( @dril ) May 22, 2012

#Yes I will put Shakespeare side by side with Dril #fight me

[rainandhotchocolate]

One Life Stand - Part 5 (Finale)

A/N - Hello it is here! The final part! Just a pre-warning, it gets a liiiiil smutty towards the end there… just in case you’re reading on the bus ;) I hope you enjoy!

“Marlene!” Y/N banged on the door of her house, “I need to talk to you!”

“Yes, hello?” Marlene laughed at Y/N slightly harangued expression. Y/N had been working up the courage to head over all-day and had taken to drinking a beer, or two, to see if that might increase the chances of being able to harass one of her best friends. 

“Sorry, I may have had a couple of drinks before coming over here” Y/N grinned sheepishly.

“It’s 12pm” Marlene raised an eyebrow at her.

“May had needed some liquid courage”

“To see me?” Marlene laughed at her, but Y/N’s expression remained extremely uncomfortable. I am the worst human in history. 

“I need to ask you a question” Y/N felt sick, she had never wanted to hurt her but didn’t quite think that would cover her sleeping with Marlene’s long-term crush.

“Is this about Sirius?” Marlene sighed and indicated for her to come inside. It somehow made it worse that Marlene already knew, Y/N head was racing. How did she know? Dear god was I so drunk the other night that I kissed him in front of her? I am literally the worst friend alive Jesus Christ almighty.

“Are you alive in there?”

Y/N pulled herself out of her spiral.

“Sorry yes, yes um… how did you-?”

“When he took you home” Marlene sat down on her couch, smiling up at her, “he wouldn’t do that for just anybody.”

“Oh” was all Y/N managed, avoiding Marlene’s gaze and staring at the floor.

“Look at me, will you? I’m not mad ok.” 

“What? I mean I would understand if you were, I am so so sorry I hope you know that I wasn’t- “ Y/N stepped towards her, sitting across from Marlene and looking at her closely.

“Ok, please stop!” Marlene was still laughing at her but sighed when Y/N stared at her, extremely confused, “look, I never had a crush on Sirius, not really.”

“But you- “

“Please just let me finish ok, this is important.” Y/N nodded watching Marlene as she began to tap her nails on the coffee table, “This isn’t exactly something I wanted to share on a whim. I… look I never meant to lie to you guys”

“Ok…? Is everything ok?”

“Yes, I just…” Marlene took in a gulp of air, “You really like Sirius, don’t you?”

“I mean I-“Marlene looked at her pointedly and Y/N sighed, “Yes, I’m sorry”

“Y/N, I’m a lesbian,” Marlene finally blurted out and she stopped moving, facing Y/N head-on. Y/N said nothing, but froze, staring at her. This was not what she expected to hear. 

“Please say something” Marlene watched her nervously, and Y/N moved closer to her, grabbing one of her hands.

“Marlene, thank you for telling me, I’m so sorry if I pushed you at all” Y/N paused, wanting desperately to say the right thing, “I hope you know that I’m here for you with this kind of stuff.”

“No, I know, I’ve been wanting to for a while I just, I’d told you about Sirius and when Lily messaged me that night, I didn’t want her hearing about well… that I wasn’t with a guy.” Marlene looked a little apologetic, “I had a feeling that you might come asking me about it ever since you bailed on my party, Sirius wouldn’t stop glaring at anyone who tried to speak to him”

“Yeah he can be a bit of a sour puss” Y/N laughed, still holding onto Marlene’s hand. 

“Yes he can, I mean men, in general, are a bit sour for me” Marlene winked at Y/N, squeezing her hand and letting go, “Can you not tell Lily or anything? I’d rather tell her myself.”  

“Of course! I wouldn’t dream of sharing this with anyone,” Marlene smiled gratefully at her, before turning back on her normal mischievous grin, “Now please leave and get a hard-on with Sirius. Remus said he hasn’t left his house in two days, it’s becoming pitiful. 

“Yeah ok, can do” Y/N pulled her into a hug, “I am genuinely sorry if I forced this for you.”

“Just get going, don’t let this awkward interaction stop you from going over to Sirius’”                                            

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N pressed the buzzer down hard, stumbling a little on the steps leading up to Sirius’ apartment block.

“What?” Sirius’ voice sounded irritated at someone interrupting his evening, but Y/N continued with her drunken plan regardless.

“It’s Y/N, you have to let me in, I need to talk to you”

“It’s really not a good time”

“Please, 5 minutes” Y/N begged at the soundbox, feeling a little stupid when she realised, he couldn’t see her. There was a pause where Y/N could feel herself sobering up to her stupidity before she heard the click that meant the door had been unlocked.

“5 minutes” Sirius’ voice came back again, but Y/N had already pushed open the door and was rushing towards his apartment. Sirius already had the door open and was blocking her from walking inside. He narrowed his eyes at her, Y/N grinning ecstatically with bright red cheeks.

“Are you drunk?”

“A little” Y/N mimed a little with her fingers. Sirius huffed at her, and Y/N caught a strong whiff of whiskey coming from his breath, “And you’re one to talk, did you drink a bottle before I got here?”

“Haven’t had the best of weeks” Sirius’ jaw tightened, and he continued to glare at her, obviously determined to seem as pissed off as possible.

“Not really the best way to get through a rough time”

“You’re one to talk! I tell you I need space and you get pissed and turn up at my apartment?” Sirius’ got louder, letting Y/N get under his skin, “I don’t need to be explaining myself to you anyway, you’re not my girlfriend.” 

Y/N, choosing to ignore the spite in his voice, continued to press him. 

“Please, can you just let me in?”

“I’m sorry, you’re here to have me discuss more about this. We’ve had this fight, Y/N, maybe I wasn’t clear enough for you if you want me at all in your life, I need some space.”

“But I don’t want space, I w-”

“This isn’t about what you want! For Christ’s sake, Y/N, we’ve been doing what you want for months now and it hasn’t exactly gone to plan now has it?” Sirius was yelling now, feeling extremely frustrated at the girl standing in front of him, “I’m not going to take it out on you that you don’t feel the same way about me ok? But that doesn’t mean I can just pretend that we are happy-go-lucky best pals. Look, can you please go?”

He tried to look calmer and moved the door slightly to close her out.

“No! Can you listen to me for one second? We haven’t had this fight, you never told me what you wanted!”

“You were clear with what you wanted, so it didn’t really matter did it?”

“Yes, it does, you absolute idiot, I wanted more as well, I want more” Y/N gripped onto his arm as he began to turn away and froze, not looking at her.

“Are you kidding me?” Sirius said quietly, his eyes closing and other hand reaching for his temple, “You are actually ridiculous, you know that?”

“Excuse me?” Y/N let go of his arm, shocked.

“You tell me, again and again, you want nothing more, you leave in the middle of the night just so you don’t wake up at my house – but of course, the moment I mention that I wanted something more you’ve suddenly changed your mind?” Sirius was laughing now, in a slightly creepy way that made Y/N a little nervous that he had finally cracked, “You just want what you can’t have don’t you? I don’t have time for you to be figuring out your own problems on me.”

Y/N took this moment of insanity to slip passed him and into the apartment, resulting in Sirius groaning loudly and rolling his eyes.

“Y/N-“

“No, you will listen to me, I am so SO sorry that I ever confused you with the way I acted, and I completely get where you are coming from but you have to believe me, I always wanted more, I just got worried about Marlene and then when I heard you slept with her-“

“I didn’t!” Sirius interrupted but Y/N waved him away.

“I know! I know, but you have no idea how jealous I felt when I heard that”

“So, you tell me to go after her? What a smart and logical plan”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t an idiot as well” Y/N smiled up at him and Sirius couldn’t help but bark a laugh in agreeance.

“I just, I get that you believe that… I just don’t know if I do” Y/N felt like he had slapped her, her stomach flipping over and over.

“Please, what can I do?” Y/N looked up at him, pleadingly, praying that there was something that would make him believe that all the stupid things she’d done were nothing but that, stupid things. Sirius stepped closer to her, and for a moment she couldn’t help but look at his lips, so close to hers, but Sirius merely opened the door behind him.

“I just need you to leave, ok?” He said quietly, not looking at her in the eye. Y/N could feel the alcohol she had so copiously drunk earlier in the evening clouding every logical synapse in her brain as she decided on potentially the dumbest plan she’d had that day. Grabbing the back of his head with one hand and his waist with the other, she kissed him.

He didn’t move at first, clearly a little shocked, but Y/N heard him mumble fuck as she pushed him into the door, closing it and pressing herself up against him and suddenly his tongue was flicking itself into her mouth. She moaned a little as their tongues touched and he grabbed the side of her waist, pulling her closer to him and edging his hand down to her ass, grabbing it roughly.

Breathing heavily, Sirius spun them suddenly so that Y/N was against the door and placed both hands on her ass so he could lift her legs up and around his waist, using the door to keep her in place. She ran her hands through his hair and began kissing down his neck and collarbone, sucking lightly every time he moaned.

“You might want to tighten your grip around my waist” he whispered into her ear, sending a small shiver down her spine as he pushed her harder up against the door and pulled her upwards so she was able to grip her thighs tightly. He let one hand go from her ass, moving it up toward her inner thigh. She gasped as she felt his fingers make their way between her legs and slink their way under her skirt and towards her underwear. Sirius watched her closely, smirking every time he felt her breathing hitch before he moved his thumb underneath the soft material and over her clitoris and Y/N couldn’t help but grab onto the edge of the bookcase standing next to her.

“Fuck, you are so wet” Sirius murmured, leaning in and kissing down her collarbone as she moaned at his touch.

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time today I’ve thought about this” Y/N gasped in response, grinning as he bit his lip and continued to move his thumb lightly across her vulva. Suddenly he moved his fingers downward and pushed his index finger into her vagina.

“Sirius” She moaned, closing her eyes and letting herself move up and down slightly with his touch, “I want more”

Sirius slipped in a second finger, moving them in slight circles as he pumped them inside her, loving watching her writhe whilst wrapped around him, letting him feel every time she bucked her hips so she could feel more of him. He watched her breasts bounce, her head lightly hitting the door frame as he moved harder into her, loving how easy it was for him to get her to lose control.

Y/N could feel herself begin to drip onto his fingers, her brain wanting nothing more than to orgasm into him. She reached and grabbed the back of his head, pulling it in towards her lips.

“I want you to fuck me” She whispered, “please”

Sirius growled, but said nothing, pulling himself out of her and wrapping his arms once again around her waist. He paused for a moment, watching her catch her breath and stare back at him, waiting for Sirius to make the next move. Then, he pulled her away from the door and towards the nearest surface he could find, his kitchen bench, lying her across it. Y/N, however, sat up and used her legs to pull her pelvis against his. She kept her eyes on his as she reached down and unbuckled his belt slowly, enjoying Sirius’ face become more and more desperate as she took her time to pull down his jeans and reveal his very hard dick.

He stepped out of them, and bit his lip again, looking up at Y/N sitting on his counter, skirt hitched up around her waist and nipples now showing through her shirt. He raised an eyebrow, sliding his hands underneath her shirt, groaning as he felt nothing but her skin, her breasts bare and heaving.

“Didn’t think to put on a bra this morning?” he said, massaging her breasts roughly as she arched her back.

“Thought you might need some extra persuading”

“That’s a bit of a dangerous game to play” His eyes trailing down her body, her shirt now pulled up so just the edge of her breasts were showing as she lay back onto the counter again. There was something about only some of them showing that made his heart pound harder. Y/N grinned slyly at him.

“Might need to punish me then”

That was all Sirius needed to pull down her underwear and bring her hips up against his, pushing his dick deep into her. They both moaned together, Sirius leaning over the counter to push himself harder into her, Y/N using the edge of the counter to hold herself into him, gripping her thighs tightly around his hips once more.

“You feel so damned good, Y/N” Sirius moaned to her, transfixed by her body moving underneath him, breasts moving up and down from her shirt, her head pushed back onto the counter.

“You know I think about this all the time” Y/N looked up at him, watching for his reaction, “About you pushing me up against things, pushing yourself harder and harder into me”

“Fuck, Y/N” He growled at her, gripping tighter onto her body so he could control their movements further.

“Sometimes it’s all I can think about” She gasped as he pushed himself harder into her vagina, moving his hands towards her inner thigh, “How wet you make me, how much I want to feel you cum whilst on top of me”

He groaned loudly, moving his thumb further down her legs so he could press it once again onto her clitoris. She gasped, arching her back and pelvis up into him as he massaged her clitoris softly, building her orgasm into her stomach.

“Sirius, oh my god” She gasped again, her head going into overdrive as he stimulated both areas. He lifted her up so that she was sitting upright, being half held up by Sirius and half leaning on the countertop. He pulled her hair back roughly, revealing her neck so he could suck onto the corner of her shoulder.

“You think I don’t think about it?” He murmured into her shoulder blades, feeling Y/N’s heavy breathing underneath him, “About how good it feels to be inside you, watching you writhe because of me, hearing you moan my name”

Y/N moaned loudly at his words, making him smile cheekily at her, and move faster, wanting to hear her moan louder as the head of his penis pushed its way into her repeatedly. Y/N’s legs began to shake as she closed her eyes, concentrating on the pleasure that was getting stronger and stronger as Sirius pushed himself inside her. Sirius pulled her body closer against his, wanting to feel her shake.

“I want to hear you,” He said to her, lifting one of his hands underneath her shirt and placing his finger on her right breast, flicking her nipple lightly as she began to moan louder. Sirius’ breathing hitched alongside hers.

“Sirius” Y/N eyes rolled back into her head as she orgasmed, throwing her head back, “Fuck, yes”

“Yes, cum for me Y/N” Sirius growled, continuing to push in and out of Y/N as she rode out her orgasm until Sirius moaned loudly and pushed himself deeply into Y/N as he came inside her.

“Christ Y/N” Sirius gasped, leaning his body over hers, pulling out carefully.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin giddily at him, pulling down her skirt and hopping off the counter.

“I might take a shower if that’s ok?” Y/N asked him, still breathing a little heavily, her legs shaking.

“Sure, go for it”

“Feel free to join me… if you want,” Y/N watched him closely, holding out her hand cautiously. He took it, leading her into the bathroom. They were silent as they undressed, Sirius turning on the shower and stepping in, Y/N following him. It was probably the first time that she was with him and she felt genuinely naked. Sirius watched her as she unconsciously covered herself with her arms when she stepped under the water.

“You’re beautiful you know that” Sirius murmured into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around where hers were. Y/N couldn’t help but thank every god that she wasn’t facing him as her cheeks had begun to burn.

“I know that it might take some time to trust me, I get that you think I’m not really in this. But I am, I promise.”

“I’m sure you can prove your love” Sirius joked, laughing at her and Y/N elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“I’ll do my best” Y/N turned around to face him, smiling widely. He looked down at her, trailing a finger along her collarbone.

“I do, love you, you know” He said quietly, still watching her.

“Why do you think I came over?”

“So not just for sex?”

“I mean that was just a fun bonus, you know” Y/N grinned again, winking at him. He pulled her back into his chest, letting the water run over them.

“I love you too” Y/N whispered into his chest.

Taglist: 

@averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana @avengersassemblee @maraudersandco @sly-vixen-up2nogood @katbernoulli @sirius-lysad @evyiione 

Series Taglist: @minerva26love​  @katbernoulli   @aikeia @gollyderek @greatwombatblaze  @songforhema @laue-bb @brokenhearted-littlegirl  @avengersassemblee   @gemofthegalaxy   @ruefulposts  @dude-whatawave   @itsilvermorny    @cosmetology-and-poetry    @broadwaytrash101   @blackpinkdolan

[ijustwant2write]

Obsessed-Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader

(GIF credit to @whenimaunicorn)

Summary: requested by @walkxthexmoon: ‘Hey love:) could you maybe write an imagine with ivar being obsessed with you and fighting every man that comes near you off?! I would understand if you don’t want to write it. I hope you have an amazing day:)’

Characters: Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: jealousy, obsessiveness, mention of violence and injury, mention of weapons, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Strolling through the town used to be a lovely way to spend my afternoons. Sometimes I would stop by each stall to chat to the people of Kattegat, both wanting to keep up my appearance and to connect with the people; my family were wealthy, we were one of the well known names amongst the people, and thankfully, all for good reason. I may have not been royalty, but I was the closest thing to it compared to everyone else. However, there had been jokes and rumours that that may change.

Although we were supposed to stay close with the royals, I had only had a full conversation with the family twice, once when I was much younger and the other only a year ago. I was forced to speak with the princes on both occasions, but since then I had only seen them in passing. However, they were now back from a raiding, all coming back looking like real men. Everyone noticed it, and apparently one of them had noticed me.

Ivar, easily the scariest of them all, had suddenly taken an interest in me. When they returned, a huge feast had taken place and of course everyone had attended. This brought the third time I had spoken to the Ragnarsson’s, Ivar the most surprisingly. I had enjoyed the conversation, but what came after startled me slightly. Men somehow stopped speaking to me, even getting within standing distance. It had confused me at first. I was a friend to all, and (I hoped) that I never gave off the wrong impression to anyone; however, it all seemed to occur after that particular feast.

“(Y/N)! I have not seen you out here for weeks!” a merchant called out to me as I bravely walked through the market.

“Well, I think we all know why.” I sighed.

“I’m not going to say anything.”

“No, that’s probably a good idea.”

“Should you not take it as a form of flattery?” he asked as he rearranged his items.

“Not when he’s fighting any man that comes near me. I worry for those poor souls.”

“Have you spoken to him about this?”

“I tried once. He didn’t take it very well.”

As he was about to speak, his eyes locked onto something to the right of us. I followed his gaze, slightly upset when I saw it was Ivar. Sadly smiling at the merchant, I quickly moved away from his stall, hoping that Ivar would not see it in the wrong way. I knew he had spotted me, so there was no point in trying to leave. I waited patiently for him to walk to me, using his crutches like he always did now instead of crawling through the mud.

I bowed my head to him.“Ivar, it’s nice to see you today.”

“He was not bothering you was he?”

I tried not to roll my eyes.“No, it was just a friendly chat.”

“Good, good.” we walked beside each other, and I could see how people moved out of the way for us.“You have not been here for a while, I missed your presence.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

He smiled to himself, seeming proud of his compliment."So why is it that I have not seen you?"

"Ivar," I was about to take a risk with my words,"you know why?"

He darkly chuckled."Because I protect you from men who lust after you?"

"Because you scare away men who come near me."

He stopped walking, turning his head towards me."They shouldn't be looking at you the way they do."

"But not all of them do Ivar! It tarnishes my reputation, something which I must uphold for the sake of my family."

“How can you say that? I am looking after you.”

“I understand your view on this, but men like that merchant back there are simply having a conversation with me. Though it seems nowadays that no one will speak to me.”

“I speak to you.”

I groaned, shaking my head at him. He knew he was winding me up and he was enjoying it. I wasn’t going to get through to him any time soon, and as frustrating as that was I just had to give up before things got messy.

“All I’m saying is I would prefer it if you weren’t so....so-”

“Hm?” He waited for the word, an eyebrow raised at me.

“So intimidating.”

“Intimidating? That’s not the word I would use.” he started to walk again before I stopped him, my hand on his upper arm.

“Ivar, please, I’m practically begging you! Just don’t hurt anyone.”

His eyes were on my hand, and he snarled before looking away.“I will try my best.”

He then walked away, I watched as practically no one looked at him. I felt slightly bad for him, I knew his actions weren’t supposed to upset me, but there was no way he could continue with this behaviour. Men would suddenly waltz the streets with bruises and deep cuts, even broken noses; everyone knew what happened to them, especially since they would have been seen with me just the day before.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Just beyond the edge of the forest, I stood with my bow and arrow, practicing a few shots during the peaceful afternoon. It was a beautiful day; the weather was perfect, the atmosphere was calm and no one had disturbed me...yet.

I heard someone approaching from behind me. Their steps were too casual for them to be a threat. Looking over my shoulder (with an arrow prepared just in case), I felt slight relief when I saw Arne (a close neighbour) approaching, his own weapons strapped to him. He seemed to be in a happy mood, smiling at me from far away.

“Arne, what brings you here?” I asked.

“The same as you.” he finally reached me, setting down his axe.“Getting some practice in whilst the weather is on our side.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping your family on the farm?” I found myself looking around, heart beating quickly at the thought of Ivar showing up.

“Well, I should, but this is more important.” Arne caught onto my paranoia and chuckled.“Relax, he’s not here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m a tracker, a skilled fighter, I know when someone’s following me.”

“Still, we must be careful.”

“He doesn’t have claim on you, not yet anyway.”

“Yet? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He picked up his axe, throwing it up and down with one hand.“I hardly doubt he’s going to put this much effort into keeping men away from you and not have you as a wife.”

“What if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

I was too shocked to reply.

“One, your family will agree straight away, and two, I’ve seen the way you look at him. You may hate his little game he plays but whenever you’re with him, you look much too invested.”

“Well....I mean, he’s an interesting person.”

“Interesting, that’s one way to look at him.”

“Arne.”

“I think you two would look good together. He’s calmer with you, everyone seems more relaxed when you’re around him.”

I thought about his words, the weight of them suddenly dawning on me.

His tone was softer.“I don’t mean any offence-”

“Perhaps it would be better to just keep your mouth shut.” Ivar’s voice rang out, startling us both. 

Behind us was Ivar, how he had sneaked up on us was a mystery. My heart beat was racing, hoping he heard none of the conversation. Arne didn’t deserve any punishment, though neither did any other man. Instinctively I moved towards Ivar, almost like a barricade between him and Arne. All of us had weapons, the two men both bearing axes, both as equally skilled as each other. Ivar’s glare didn’t falter as I spoke.

“Ivar, please we spoke of this.” I quietly reminded him.

“Yes, but he has been running his mouth, spiteful words escaping them!” Ivar snapped.

“No, he hasn’t. He was...just voicing his concern.”

“Concern? Why should he be concerned? I would never harm you.”

“I know, I know. Look, nothing has been done here. Don’t hurt him.”

“I said I would try-”

“Well try harder!”

His eyes widened at my outburst.

“Ivar, if you don’t stop this nonsense then I will never speak to you again. You think this will make me fall for you, that I’ll somehow be flattered by what you’re doing. Well it’s not. I don’t want to be the reason as to why you end up killing an innocent man.”

I too was surprised by my rant, my raised voice making our surroundings seem quieter as I stopped. Ivar and I held an intense stare at each other, neither one of us backing down. He huffed, a deep frown set on his face as he slumped away, his crutches digging into the ground harshly to release some anger. Oh gods, what had I done? I had pissed off the most reckless prince of Kattegat, a man who never held back or thought about the consequences before taking action. Arne and I watched Ivar, only relaxing when he disappeared from sight.

“What have I done?” I whined, wondering if I was taking a risk by going after him.

“He won’t do anything to you.” Arne tried to console me.

“You don’t know that. Ivar isn’t stable, you’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

“(Y/N), go home. Don’t worry, he’s just pissed off because you stood up to him.”

“What about you? Should you walk with me? In case he’s still there or-”

“(Y/N), I’ll be fine. I can protect myself.

My body was filled with tension, my mind swirling with horrible things that Ivar could do to me or anyone else. I didn’t mean to anger him, I just didn’t want a friend hurt. My family noticed, and when I explained they too tried to calm me down. As we sat down for dinner, trying to take my mind off the events of the day, there was a knock at the door. Our thrall immediately went to answer, though we heard a deep voice commanding her to fetch me. My father and I went to the door, he demanded to know why I was needed at such a late hour.

“Prince Ivar wishes to see your daughter.” the guard explained.

We shared a glance, and my father knew I had to go. Although I believed that Ivar wasn’t going to hurt me, there was a doubt in my mind. I didn’t let that show, reassuring my family that I would be safe. As the thrall wrapped a cloak around me, I silently prayed to the Gods, hoping that the worst he would do is viciously yell at me. The guards walked either side of me, holding torches to guide us through the dark. Thankfully no one was out to see this happening, avoiding the gossip that could circle around town. They made sure I walked quickly, almost shoving me into the Great Hall where Ivar sat on one of the thrones. No one spoke as we walked to him, his hand waving dismissively at the guards, leaving us alone.

“I am sorry to drag you away from your home so late. Have you eaten?” he asked casually.

I nodded.“No need to apologise my prince. And yes, I have, thank you.”

“Good, I would not want to make a bad impression on your family.”

Why was he so calm?

“Of course you haven’t. If you don’t mind me asking, why am I here so late?”

He looked like he was struggling to keep eye contact with me, his lips slightly pursed before speaking.“I wanted to apologise for earlier.”

What?

An apology from Ivar?

“I got angry at you and your friend for no reason, and when I saw how upset you were I regretted it.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Sorry, thank you for the apology. I...I’m just-”

“Shocked? I do have a heart (Y/N).”

“I know you do.”

He sighed.“Come closer.”

I took a few steps forward, standing at the bottom of the small stairs in front of the thrones. He reached his hand out to me, gesturing for me to come even closer. I held onto it, hitching up my dress to climb the stairs. Now stood directly in front of him, his hand still in mine, my heart was beating fast once again, but not because I was scared.

“You must realise, I was only ever loved by one woman, my mother. And although she doted on me, I have never known how to reciprocate that love. I only know of violence and anger. That’s why I have been fighting off those men, to somehow show that...that I care for you, that no other man should have you.”

“Ivar, I...I’m also sorry for shouting at you. I didn’t realise that this was how you were showing affection.”

“I understand if you want to run away from me right this second, never speak to me again.” he turned angry, his hand slipping from mine until I snatched it back. 

“Ivar, there has been times where...where I was truly thankful for your actions. There has been some men which were too close for my liking or thought they could do whatever they wanted to me. But this doesn’t justify what you did to others.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I just need to understand a little better. Why did you fight them off?”

“Have you seen me? I’m a cripple! They already have the upper hand. They’re also not monsters, they aren’t feared by everyone they know.”

“I don’t fear you.”

“You should.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You are so much more than you think you are. Do you really think I would be here right now, that I would take even a slight interest in you if I thought those things?”

His sad eyes looked deep into mine.“Do you really mean those things?”

“Of course. I’m not condoning your behaviour, but what I’m suggesting is that we start over. Do this properly.”

“Do what?”

“C-courting? Is that what you wanted?”

He smiled, a breathy laugh escaping his lips.“That’s all I wanted since the day I first met you.”

He gently kissed the back of my hand, and I almost melted at the sight. He was dangerous, unpredictable and terrifying; though there was a side to him that no one saw. He wanted to express his love, his happier side, but didn’t know how to do so, seeing as he wasn’t brought up the happiest of homes. But I was going to change that, make him into a loved leader when it was his time, change the perspective of him from his people. It would take some time, though I was sure that this was the first step of many.

[indigosandviolets]

Quest of the Purple Hearts

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x OC x George Luz

Word Count: 3,386

Summary: The battle of Carentan ensues. Andrew finally gets his Purple Hearts and practices his aim. Luz’s birthday is celebrated on the edge of bad news.

TW: Gore (someone gets shot and a bullet gets removed)

Part Seven of We Happy Few

D-Day + 6

Carentan, France

The outside of Carentan made it look like a ghost town. And by ghost town, Andrew meant a literal ghost town. It was strange — Andrew had expected to hear some sort of German gunfire, maybe some nonsense being yelled, but there was nothing. Just the squeaks of window shutters as they blew in the wind.

So, of course it made sense when Andrew’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Welsh and Luz get fired at and the two men with them go down. He held onto his M-1 and helmet as he accidentally knocked into Shifty as they all dove into the ditches on the side of the road.

“Shit, where did they come from?” Andrew said, not really looking for the question to be answered. The gunfire only made his heart sink deeper into his stomach as he prayed that Luz was okay.

The order to go around wasn’t one that Andrew wanted to hear, but he moved with Shifty and two other men up and out. As they crossed into the town, one man went down in front of him and Andrew had no choice but to move around him. He had been shot in the head. No way he was coming back.

Even though it would have bothered Andrew to do that just a few days ago, he couldn’t be bothered by it now. It was war, and if he was going to fight, he had to do it right. That included leaving dead men for dead.

Andrew ducked into the little chicken coop with Shifty as the gunfire rained down on them. The other man went across the road, hugging the side of the wall. He threw a grenade into the storefront beside him before he was shot.

“Shit, Shifty, where the hell are those krauts?” Andrew asked, fumbling for the mirror in his pocket. He dropped it, causing it to smash into a million little pieces. “Shit!”

Shifty has no choice but to reach around the entrance of the coop, shooting at the building in front of them. The gunfire soon stopped from the building.

“Shifty, Marin, you two okay?” Lipton called out.

“Yes, sir!” They both replied at the same time.

“We gotta take that warehouse! Shifty, Marin, hammer those windows!”

Andrew was not as good of a shot as Shifty was, what with Andrew only being a PFC and Shifty being a hell of a sniper, but they managed to get through the kraut gunfire.

“Shit, Shifty, you’re-“ Andrew started before it started again.

Though it seemed to rain bullets, one gunshot came a little too close to home for Andrew. He felt the searing hot pain as he collapsed into the wall behind him. This time, the pain didn’t subside as quickly as it first had. In fact, it only seemed to linger and burn. “Fuck!” He cried out, grabbing at his arm, which felt like it was on fire.

“Marin, were you hit?” Shifty asked, pulling Andrew away from the gunfire. Andrew nodded quickly. “Where?”

“My arm, fuck, this shit fucking hurts,” Andrew says, gritting his teeth. “Get the fucking— medic!”

“Medic!” Shifty called out, but no response. He kept calling, but it seemed like no one was hearing him. So, Andrew did the next best thing.

“Get the instaclot, fuck,” Andrew instructed, doing his best to tear open the hole in his jacket. The blood-stained fabric burned as it touched Andrew’s open wound, but he kept going as Shifty poured the white power on his arm. “Where’s the medic? Medic! Medic!”

Shifty did his best at wrapping up Andrew’s arm as he cried out for a medic. The blood had begun to stop, but it still continued to spread over his jacket as the red liquid on the surface started to get sopped up. Once Shifty was done, Andrew bared his teeth as he got back up, though Shifty’s hands were on his shoulders.

“Marin, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not letting a kraut bullet keep me down, Shifty.”

“But the medic-“

“Fuck the medic!” Andrew said, readjusting his M-1. “He hasn’t come, and you’re not fighting alone, I’m not letting that happen.” He had been shot above his elbow on his right arm, otherwise known as the one he needed to shoot his gun. “We’re here to shoot kraut’s, and dammit, I’m gonna shoot a fucking kraut!”

Andrew’s words came just in time as the gunfire started back up. He and Shifty took aim at the building, firing until it stopped firing back, which didn’t actually take too long. IN all, the capture of Carentan for the American Army didn’t take as long as Andrew had expected. Andrew’s shots were a bit lopsided, but they got the job done.

“Never seen a guy shoot with a fucked up arm,” Shifty says, looking back to Andrew. “You think you hit any of ‘em?”

“I sure hope so,” Andrew replied, letting his M-1 hang on its strap as he put his left hand up to his arm. “Plus, I don’t think anyone with a fucked arm can shoot in general, Shifty.”

-

Eventually, everything had cleared, and Shifty gave Andrew a personal escort to Doc Roe.

“Why didn’t ya call out for a medic?” Roe asked, undoing the wrapping that Shifty had put on Andrew. “If I had any idea you’d been hit we would’ve pulled you outta there.”

“I did, Shifty too,” Andrew told him, voice strained, wincing as Roe’s hands touched the bloody flesh. “Mr. Luck-o-the-Irish never showed up.”

Roe sighed. “You’re so damn lucky it doesn’t look that deep, Marin,” Roe tells him. “Otherwise I’d be sending your ass back to Aldbourne right now.”

“Can we even get there?” Andrew’s teeth ground against each other as Roe started clearing away the blood. “Jesus fuck,” Andrew says as Roe sticks his finger into the wound, feeling for the bullet. Andrew can sense where it is, but he doesn’t know exactly where, so he must stick to the prodding of Doc Roe. “It feels deep as hell.”

“Deeper than Winters’, that’s for sure,” Roe says, getting his pliers and a metal bowl. “Christ, Marin, how did you keep fighting?”

Andrew’s about to speak before Roe goes in, feeling for the bullet. “Fuck, Doc, I think I had to,” Andrew strains. He sucks in a deep breath, which his chest protests against, making him immediately let it go. Roe notices this and quickly but carefully pulls out the bullet.

“Marin, you okay?” Roe says as he wipes away more of the blood. “You look like you can’t breathe.”

Andrew shakes his head. “No, no, it’s fine,” Andrew quickly says.

“You look like you broke a rib or somethin’,” Roe tells him.

Andrew, deciding that Roe’s explanation was the best thing for him to go with, nods. “Childhood accident,” Andrew lies, trying to think of a story he had heard from someone that would be believable enough for Roe. “My brother and I were climbing up a tree and I fell. It never healed quite right, as you can see.”

Roe, hesitatingly, nodded. “Alright.”

“Hey, Doc, am I allowed to keep on, uh, fighting with the rest of the men?”

“Are you kids in’ me? Not with that arm. Hell, even if I let you, you’d still be a shit shot with it.”

“Not according to Shifty,” Andrew says. “I mean, I was a little cock-eyed with it but I wasn’t too bad.” He looked over at the bullet in the metal bowl. Wincing, he leaned over, picking it up with his left hand. “I wasn’t letting this little shit stop me from fighting, Doc.”

“You could’ve lost your arm, Marin.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you could have,” Roe tells him, patching up the last of the blood. “You’re gonna need a sling.”

Andrew groaned. “What the hell am I supposed to do with a sling?”

“Do you want me to send you back to Aldbourne?”

Andrew sighed, shaking his head. “No, Doc.”

“Then shut your trap and wear it,” Roe tells him before finding a long piece of cloth and fashioning Andrew a sling as Andrew placed the kraut bullet into his pocket. Souvenir. “Consider yourself lucky I’m not sending you home immediately.”

Andrew nodded, moving his fingers slightly as the sling was tightened. He felt completely useless. Sure, he wasn’t going home right away, but what the hell was he supposed to do while they all were stuck here? Attempt to shoot at Germans with only one arm? Maybe he could use his sidearm and his left hand, but he wouldn’t be that good of a shot.

As he exited the medic station, Andrew looked around, trying to find someone to talk to so he could get his mind off his damn arm.

Then, out of the blue, came Luz.

“Luz?” Andrew said, and for a moment Luz didn’t respond. “Luz!”

Luz turned his head, and his face regained that beaming smile before his eyes landed on Andrew’s arm. Andrew walked over and Luz met him in the middle.

“Christ, Luz, I thought you and Welsh were goners,” Andrew says as he wraps his good arm around Luz. Luz is careful not to get too close to Andrew’s sling.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Luz replies, looking at Andrew’s arm. “Don’t tell me you’re missing another part of your body.”

“Nope, just the ear,” Andrew tells him. “Kraut got me when I was with Shifty. This little shit,” Andrew pauses, taking out the bullet he had pocketed, “Did the deed.”

Andrew handed the bullet over to Luz. “Why in the name of God did you keep it?”

“Spite, I guess.”

“Andrew, what are you supposed to do with it?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Luz stops, holding the bullet in the palm of his hand. “Christ, Andrew.”

“What?”

“You’re really working towards that Purple Heart, aren’t ya?”

Andrew chuckled. “That’s two right there, isn’t it?”

Luz looked around before pulling Andrew off to the side. Not a soul watching, no one could hear them.

“Can’t believe you called me an idiot even though you’re the one who got shot, Andrew.”

“Hey-”

“Twice! You got hot twice, and somehow I’m the idiot.”

Andrew sighed, frustrated. He couldn’t think of anything good to come back at Luz with. Luz, noticing this, laughed and smiled.

“It’s okay, Andrew,” Luz says, placing his hand on Andrew’s cheek. “You get so worked up when you’re injured.”

“Typing me, are we?”

“Oh, just a little.”

Luz placed a kiss against Andrew’s forehead before placing one on his lips. Andrew had no idea how much he had missed the touch of the older man. Speaking of older, Andrew thought for a moment as he pulled away.

“Hey Luz?”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t your birthday comin’ up soon?”

Luz paused. “Shit, I guess you’re right.”

“It’s the 20th, right?”

“Every year.”

Andrew sighed. “We’re probably gonna be here on your birthday. That sucks.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“I could’ve been shot.”

Andrew playfully hit Luz with his good hand. “Not funny.”

“C’mon, it was! Just a little bit, at least.”

Andrew shook his head, chuckling. “It still sucks you’ve got to be here on your birthday.”

Luz wraps his arm around Andrew’s good shoulder, standing beside him. “Just get me a good pack of smokes and some alcohol when we get back, alright?” Luz says, placing a kiss on Andrew's forehead.

“I’ll get you two, how ‘bout that?”

That just made Luz kiss him on the lips. “Thatta boy.”

-

Aldbourne, England

The overall Battle of Carentan took seven days to complete. It took almost a month since his initial injury for Andrew to get his Purple Hearts back in Aldbourne, accompanied by a brief stint in the hospital so Roe could take out Andrew’s stitches. With all the pictures being taken of everyone receiving their medals, it felt more like a show to Andrew. It all felt staged, almost as if they were injured on purpose, in order for the American Military to say, “Look at what your boys have sacrificed for you! Buy War Bonds to get them home!”

Andrew didn’t clip the medals to his jacket. Instead, he shoved them in his pocket, walking around the base in Aldbourne. He could hear Malarkey’s and Moore’s cheering from the motorcycle they had commandeered. It made him smile. It gave life to the dullness of the cloudy day. He kept his hands in his pockets, moving over the smooth metal of his Purple Hearts. Then, he felt a round object.

He pulled out the Kraut bullet, smooth a clean. The blood on it must’ve rubbed off on the inside pocket of his jacket. Andrew held it up to his face, rolling it in his fingers. The bullet was cold compared to the once-hot blood that it had shed. A little bullet in the arm had completely ruined Andrew in Carentan. It made him unable to fight like he wanted to, like he needed to.

Little German shit, Andrew thought. Makin’ me look bad. What’s wrong with you?

Andrew shoves the little bullet back into his pocket, hearing the metal clink against the Purple Hearts. So damn worried over gettin’ ‘em, and I don’t even care. Fantastic.

Andrew found himself a nice field by the house he was quartered in. It wasn’t too big, but it had a flat stump on it. He got a few bottles from the trash, placed them on the stump, and stepped back. Then, he got out his sidearm.

Target practice.

He tried with his left arm, the arm Roe had told him to mainly stick to for the next week,and missed the first few shots. “Fuck,” Andrew said, switching to his right arm. It was sore, far more sore than he wanted it to be by this point but he couldn’t complain. It wasn’t like he lost the damn thing.

Andrew took in a deep breath, aimed, and fired. The shattering glass gave him the okay to fire again, and again, until he had hit every bottle.

“You’ve still got it,” A voice says from behind him. Andrew turns to see Liebgott.

“You say that like I’m an old man,” Andrew replies, putting away the sidearm. “I never lost it, anyway. It was just put out of commission for a little while.”

“Damn, all three bottles. I’d hate to see the fucker you killed before you got your arm fucked up.”

Andrew chuckled a bit, pausing. Though he wasn’t as good as a shot as Shifty, he did have a killer aim, those two krauts from D-Day could attest to that. The only difference is that Shifty hit his mark every time, Andrew just got damn near close to it.

“Don’t say shit like that, Lieb,” Andrew jokes. “You might just get me promoted.”

“Who says that’s a bad thing?” Liebgott asks, stepping closer to Andrew. “I think a man with a little more cash to spare isn’t that bad of a thing to have.”

Andrew laughed. “Oh yeah?”

“It always helps, you know, sell an image.”

“Who’re you tryin’ to sell my image to, Lieb?”

Liebgott wraps his arms around Andrew’s waist before speaking again. “Anyone I damn well please, if that’s alright with you.”

“Course it is,” Andrew says before kissing Liebgott. As he does so, Andrew can taste that little bit of tobacco lingering on Lieb’s tongue.

Tobacco.

Cigarettes?

Shit!

Andrew pulls away before Liebgott can start to get into the kiss. “Fuck, I forgot.”

“What, what’s wrong?”

“Luz’s birthday,” Andrew tells him. “It’s his twenty-third, and I promised him two packs of smokes and some good liquor.”

Liebgott shakes his head. “Thinkin’ bout everyone, aren’t ya? How’re you gonna get his shit now?”

You’ve got no idea, Lieb.

“I put the smokes and liquor back in my foot locker, they’re safe,” Andrew tells him, stepping back and flattening out his jacket. “I might see if I can get something from the family I’m quartered with — maybe Mrs. Irene made something special.”

“Damn, you’re going all out,” Liebgott says. “I hope I get the same treatment for my special day.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “How long have I got to plan for that? Almost a year?”

“That’s right.”

“Then quit worrying about whether or not it’s gonna be as good.”

-

Mrs. Irene had, in fact, made some sweet rolls that morning. She had made quite a few of them, so she wasn’t too upset to part with two for a few dollars.

Andrew cursed himself for having nothing to wrap his gifts with, so he carried the Lucky Strikes and booze (Andrew had nicked it back in Carentan and according to Webster it was brandy) in an ammo box and kept the rolls wrapped in a gingham cloth he had borrowed from Mrs. Irene.

Andrew walked into the makeshift pub of the base as Smokey was recounting what he called ‘The Night of the Bayonet’. Andrew didn’t really care. He had heard the story from Liebgott a few hours after it happened. He had heard it happen from the foxhole that Roe made him stay in. He then heard it from Martin, who had heard it from his foxhole. Within the month, Andrew had heard it almost a million times.

Before Andrew could reach Luz, though, came the word from Lip.

“Couple of announcements to make, men. First — Listen up. First, the training exercise scheduled for 2200 has been cancelled."

A few cheers. Andrew could’ve sworn he heard Muck.

"Secondly. All passes are hereby revoked,” Lipton announces, and the room falls silent. It’s dead quiet. Andrew can feel his heart beat in the back of his head. We're heading back to France, so pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys. Anyone who has not made out a will, go to the supply office. Trucks depart from Membury at 0700. As you were."

It was hard to go back to as they were, Andrew could sense it. He felt in every step he took as he spotted Luz.

“Hey, Marin,” Guarnere says. “This here’s Heffron, he’s from Philly.”

“I could tell,” Andrew says.

“Really?” Heffron says. “Where are you from?”

“Fulton.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that. Is it in Germantown?”

“Illinois actually.”

“What’s with the box, Marin?” Guarnere asks, reaching for it, but Andrew pulls it away.

“Not for you! It’s for Luz!” Andrew says, walking over to sit down beside the man, who was now grinning. “Happy Birthday, George.”

George? When the hell do you call him George?

“Christ, Luz, didn’t know it was your birthday,” Guarnere says.

“It’s not,” Luz replies as Andrew hands him the box. “We were stuck in France.” As Luz finishes his sentence, he opens up the box. The first thing he pulls out is the brandy. “Asbach Uralt,” Luz reads in a phony German accent. “Ori- fuck, Andrew, don’t give me shit I can’t read.”

Andrew laughed. “According to Webster, it’s brandy, and he can speak German a hell of a lot better than us.”

Luz then pulls out the Lucky Strikes, then the sweet rolls. Guarnere makes a grab for them but Luz picks it up and away.

“Hey, Andrew spent a good deal of money on these, and they ain’t for you!” Luz states before turning to Andrew. “How much was it?”

“Couple of tupines.”

“Andrew spent his own tupines and they’re not for you!”

Andrew laughed as Luz opened up one of the packs of smokes, giving one to Andrew, then Heffron, then Guarnere. As Andrew lit up his cigarette, he raised his zippo in the air.

“George Luz, you may be my best and closest friend that I have ever had. You, always amaze me with your impressions and every time I got down, you managed to pull me right back up, despite everything going on around us. I know you didn’t have a good birthday on its actual day, but I hope that this will make up for it,” Andrew says, in a toast-like voice. He’s never given a toast before, and there’s no drink in his hand, so he’s not exactly sure how it works. “To George Luz, and the many impressions he may bring!”

-

tag list: @alienoresimagines @fromcrossroadstoking @ghostyroses

[pb1138]

Beautiful Beyond Words

Zevran x my warden Missella Surana. 

Fluff, mostly. Has an injury depiction. And a tango. Missella thinks about how beautiful Zevran is, and how that beauty has been to his advantage. (This story was WHOLLY inspired by this post.   I mean, just look at it. Look at how fucking beautiful this is.) 

He’s just so… pretty. Even when they’re meant to be focusing on something, even in the middle of battle, she’ll catch a glance of him and just… melt.

If you were to ask her why she’d spared his life, Missella might’ve said something like, “He’s a trained assassin. He fights well.” But no. For not the first time, she suspects, Zevran Arainai lives because of his beauty.

She looked down upon the last of her attackers and sighed. “What a mess,” she grumbled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a few specks of brilliant red settled starkly in her white hair and groaned. “Great!” Spinning on her heel to return to her companions, she threw her hands up in exasperation. “I’m going to need another bath.”

Alistair looked as if he were going to make some witty or semi-flirtatious joke, but with a quick glower from her, he thought better of it.

“Hey, their leader’s still kickin’.”

Missella and Alistair moved towards Oghren’s voice and were joined by Leliana, her purse noticeably fatter against her hip. Alistair stepped protectively by Missella’s side, his hand upon his sword. “What should we do with him?”

It would make sense to kill him. Obviously, this hadn’t been just a robbery gone wrong. This had been intentional, directed specifically at them, but… Looking down at him, down at his face, she had to swallow and suppress the urge to shiver. The way the sun was shining down through the trees, it illuminated his strong jawline, made his hair glow like sunlight against the waves of Lake Calenhad on a warm summer day. Clearing her throat, she shook her head and gestured vaguely down at him. “Just uh. Just tie him up.” Silently, she prayed the others could not hear the way her voice wavered just the tiniest bit, but she did not let it do so again. “We need answers. This wasn’t a chance meeting, I just know it.”

And as Oghren and Leliana set about taking rope from the nearby carts, she avoided the confused and almost accusatory look that Alistair was giving her. He had obviously not totally bought her semi-lie, but if he suspected the reason she stayed her hand was simply because the attacker was inordinately beautiful, she could not say. “Call for me when he wakes,” she muttered before setting off to find water to clean herself up.

Everything about him exudes beauty and sex. His hands, calloused through years of fighting and hard work, still move with the fluid ease and gentility of a painter, his long fingers nimble and gentle. His shoulders, scarred from endless fights, flexes and rolls and bends in such a prominent way that it is as though he’d been chiseled from a block of marble, strong and steady and stunning. His thighs, thick with a lifetime of muscle, still carry him as though he were a dancer, fast and fleeting and fluid. Even his voice in the most stressful of situations is still as beautiful as if Andraste were speaking through him.

It had been hard to keep her hands away from him at first, the offer having of course been made. Zevran is nothing if not a flirt, but she’d not trusted him, not then. Though the touch of a man had long since become a memory for her, and though she could think of having met no more singularly attractive person in her entire life, Missella would not submit to his charms only to be murdered as she slept naked beside him. But Maker did he make it difficult to say no.

It had been the most hellish of days when Missella learned she could trust this Antivan god, the most hard-hitting and devastating of any of their trials.

The day weighed heavily upon her shoulders. She was tired to the bone, every inch of her aching, but what hurt the worst was her heart. So many of her friends, her family, nearly every person she’d known for over 10 years of her life. Dead. Or worse.

She thought back to Cullen’s broken cries, the crazed way he looked at them, the spiteful way he spoke to her. Though they’d not been lovers, his crush upon her had been flattering (and a source of great amusement to both her and her friend Alena.) Given time, though, Missella could’ve considered it, could’ve seen him as someone she might carry a relationship with. But now? The look in his eye, the pure and utter fear… Even if he were to somehow recover from this ordeal, he would forever be changed, and her heart ached for that. He’d been such a sweet thing, so fresh in the world that just a glance from her could bring a blush to his cheeks. That man was gone, now. Gone, too, all but about 20 mages, many of them children.

She stared down at her hands, could still see the blood upon them, and for not the first time that day, she felt the tears stinging at her eyes. She’d killed so many of them herself. Her friends, people she’d spoke to every day, people she shared her life with. And she’d killed them.

So lost was she in her lamentations that she did not hear the footsteps softly approaching. She jumped as a weight settled over her shoulder, and as she turned to look, a lump rose in her throat. Zevran was settling beside her upon the log, his honey eyes focused on the flames. The blanket he had set upon her shoulders was soft and warm, and only when she pulled it tighter about her did she realize she’d been shivering. They said nothing for a long while, just sitting in companionable silence, and she thought back to the Fade, to their dreams. Alistair’s sister, his pure happiness to be with her, it made her heart ache knowing that he’d never be able to have that now that they know the type of person Goldanna was. Wynne’s nightmare, weeping over the corpses of her students, her friends, and it was one Missella suspected she will share in the future. And Zevran’s. Casting a glance at him, at his supple skin glowing like amber in the firelight, at his honey eyes half hidden by his wheat-colored hair, she had to wonder how much he has endured, how much worse the reality was from what she’d seen in his dreams.

Alistair walked past and dropped a log in the fire, startling her out of her thoughts, but thankfully he left as quickly as he’d come. She could feel Zevran’s warmth against her thigh, and without thinking, she scooted a little closer to him so that they were almost touching. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, smooth like velvet, and filled with concern. “What happened was…” He shook his head slightly and looked down at his hands. “I am sorry, Warden. I… I cannot imagine how you must feel.”

“Missella,” she whispered.

His head turned towards her, his eyes searching her face. “Perdón?”

She cleared her throat, the tears trapped in her eyes finally spilling out. “Please. Missella. It’s… It’s all I have left.” Her voice cracked with the final word, and her fists clenched tight enough that she could feel her nails cut her palm.

After a long moment, he slowly and carefully reached over and placed his hand over both of hers. “Missella,” he repeated gently.

And his touch that burns like fire was the final straw, the last drop of water against the dam, and her tears came hot and thick. Without thinking, she turned into him, pushed her way into his arms. Once his surprise had passed, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his cheek resting upon her head.

And it was there, wrapped in his arms so strong and warm, that somewhere betwixt her sobs, Missella decided that this man is one whom she can trust unconditionally.

Still, even with her acceptance that Zevran would not harm her, she put him off, denied his advances. Wynne had spoken with her, tried to make her see that she is a Warden now, one of the only two remaining Wardens in all of Ferelden, and that her duties should come first. It is painful advice, but advice that Missella took to heart, thankfully before anything had formed between Zevran and her. Though Missella is good at keeping emotional distances when necessary, she had had a feeling that Zevran was… different from her former lovers. No, that’s not right. She’s different now. The Missella from the Circle was just a child, young and stupid and impressionable. The three people whom she’d bedded before in her life had been purely out of physical urgency, just means to a pleasurable end, and the day after it was done, everyone was back to business as usual. Only one of the three had been a repeated instance, but even then it was still just sex, nothing more. She’d not even really liked the girl, not on any personal sort of level, just thought her pretty and skilled.

But Zevran. Missella can feel it, can feel her impending doom. She looks at him too often, sighs too frequently to herself when he does something particularly endearing or attractive. She does not look at him and think only about how good it must feel to have him between her thighs, how many uses he can find for his nimble fingers, how delicious his ethereal face must look in the thralls of ecstasy, how his silky smooth voice must sound as he whispers her name into her ear from behind. No, these are not the only things she ponders. She also wonders what it must feel like to fall asleep nested in his arms, to hold his hand on a leisurely stroll through the marketplace, feel his soft tresses slip between her fingers as she braids his hair back out of his face.

These are the thoughts that frighten her, that make her want to keep her distance. But Maker is it difficult. He’s so charming and lovely in all that he does. The other day, she observed as he poured himself tea and realized a smile had taken hold of her face. Everything he does, from lacing up his boots to cutting his food to striking down enemies, he does it with so much grace and beauty that it distracts her. Like a moth to a flame, she is drawn to him at camp every night, just to talk and nothing more. She likes to hear of his life, of everything he has accomplished. His stories make her wonder how her life might’ve been different if she’d not been born a mage, if she’d perhaps been born Dalish or even just into an alienage. Would she have flourished without the restraints of the Circle walls? Or would she have fallen prey to the inherent racism that runs rampant throughout the world?

So enchanting are his tales that she recalls them in the village of Haven, when she finds a pair of unusually pungent leather boots, she recalls his fondness of the smell of leather and offers them to him. He is pleased, and she blushes when he immediately drops to the ground to strip his current boots off and replace them with her gift. Even in the depths of the forest, his tales echo strongly enough that when she comes across a pair of gloves with strange embroidery upon them, she offers them to him. Dalish, she thinks, and he’s nearly overtaken with emotion. At these, he pulls her into a tight hug and kisses her cheek in thanks, and it’s all she can think about for the next three days, the softness of his lips against her skin.

It is not until a month later, nearly six months to the day that Zevran had joined their merry band of misfits, that she finally says yes to him.

Injured. Of all the stupid, asinine, completely avoidable states of being to be in, she finds herself injured. To make it more insulting, it’s not even a bad injury, just a persistent one. In all her years at the Circle, she’d been lauded for her healing abilities, but even with her spells and poultices and even with Wynne’s attempt at help, the wound would not close. They both of them decided it must have been made with some sort of enchantment they could not perceive, but Wynne suggested that their abilities may have prevented it from spreading.

Whatever the rate, Missella could not make the trip back to Redcliffe from Haven at anything even close to an acceptable rate. With no wagons traveling upon this road and no wayward adventurers with horses to bargain for, Missella had come to a decision: Alistair would travel ahead with the ashes and everyone except Shale and Zevran. At his refusal, she’d glowered at him, put on her sternest voice, and hissed, “Alistair Theirin you put me in charge here so you will do as I say. Arl Eamon’s health is far more important than this stupid leg. Now do as I say and hop to it.”

Grumbling, he listened, and their company set off ahead of them, ashes in hand, and Missella and her own smaller group trudged along at a snail’s pace. It took them nearly an entire extra week, even after Shale had gotten frustrated and insisted on carrying her when she could not continue. Though, in truth, she did not mind the company. She and Shale had become good friends these past few weeks, and of course Zevran’s company is and always has been far from unpleasant. In the three weeks it took to return to Redcliffe, Missella was hesitant to say their friendship had grown. Every night he helped tend her wound, washed her leg and bound it with fresh bandages, always with delicate, sweeping touches and dashing smiles that made her heart flutter. Several times upon this journey he suggested “sharing” a tent, “Purely to save the trouble of setting both up, of course. Practicality is key, my dear Warden,” he’d purr at her.

Saying no to these (very respectful) advances was growing increasingly difficult. The final time, she’d nearly given up, might’ve if Shale hadn’t come clambering through the underbrush, two large water foul in hand and a rather proud and triumphant grin plastered on their stony face.

Their return to Redcliffe was met rather unexpectedly. There was a carriage sat just outside the city along the road, a bored looking human slumped against it, looking to be dozed off. As he heard their approach, he tipped his broad hat up then clambered to his feet. “It’s you! The Warden! Oh, I’d just about given up.”

Zevran moved to stand in front of her, his arm stretched protectively across her. “And who might you be, my friend?” Missella tried not to let this gesture make her heart flutter, but it most definitely did.

The man blinked in surprise then smiled genuinely and took his hat off. “Errol, ser. Lord Eamon has sent me to wait by the roadside every day for your arrival at Ser Alistair’s behest.”

Missella chuckled slightly and gently set her hand against Zevran’s arm. “It’s one man, Zev. I dare say we’ll survive if it’s a trap.”

He looked as though he wanted to give some witty retort, but it was washed away with a sweeping and concerned glance over her body, his eyes lingering upon her leg which had bled through the wrappings. He seemed to be weighing the risks in his mind, and she understood. A kidnapping would not be without the realm of possibilities, and given her inability to run away, perhaps his caution was beneficial. He turned his gaze to the hills of the city, back to her, then back at the human. He relented, dropping his arm. “You’re the boss, Boss.”

She chuckled and hobbled her way over to the cart and let Zevran help her up. Errol looked at Shale, opened his mouth a few times, nervously wrung his hat in his hands. “Oh, relax,” Shale grumbled. “I’ll walk.”

Missella smiled gently at her friend reached over to pat their shoulder. “Sorry, Shale.”

Shale’s gaze softened as they looked back upon her, but they tuttered and just pushed on ahead. Errol scrambled to take his seat at the head of the wagon. Missella, for the millionth time that day, reached her hand over her wound and tried once again to heal it in vain. She could feel Zevran’s eyes upon her, could almost sense his concern though he kept it to himself. If she were to look at him now, she might cave, let him see her exhaustion and pain and melt into his arms. So, she stared at the road drifting away as the cart moved and forced herself to think of anything but the way Zevran’s eyes kept flicking over to her.

Alistair and Wynne were waiting in the courtyard of Redcliffe Castle when the cart pulled up, and Missella couldn’t help but smile at their concern. Zevran was quick to hop out of the cart, and he and Alistair came to help her down to the ground. Wynne moved over and put her hand on her shoulder, a healing spell flooding through her body but doing nothing except slightly alleviating her pain. “We were beginning to worry,” she said.

Missella gave a playful scoff and put her hand to her chest. “What, that I’d come to my senses and run off? Nah, you lot won’t be rid of me that easily,” she teased.

Wynne rolled her eyes but Alistair beamed from ear to ear as he took Missella’s packs from her and settled them upon his back. “See, Wynne, what’d I tell you? Like a barnacle, she is.”

Missella snorted and gently patted Wynne’s hand away. Her mood turning serious, she gestured towards the castle and started limping towards the stairs, using her staff as a walking stick. “How fairs Eamon?”

Alistair beamed brilliantly, and Missella couldn’t help the warm tickle of affection that pulled her lips into a gentle smile. “He’s fully recovered. The ravens have been flying in and out of here like crazy taking the news with them. He’s anxious to meet you,” he adds with a teasing smile.

Missella nodded more to herself than anything. “Good. I’m glad the ashes helped.” She began climbing the stairs, but it was evident to them all how deeply painful it was, her leg unwilling to hold her weight after the fifth. Just when she was about to growl in frustration, her legs were swept out from under her and, with a squeal, she was lifted easily into a pair of strong arms and held against a warm chest. Blushing furiously, she looked up at Zevran and stammered. “I-Hey! L-Let me down!”

Zevran just tuttered and adjusted her weight before he began climbing the stairs. “So I can let you injure yourself further and spend the next three hours trying to climb these stairs? I think not.” Though his tone was exasperated, he held a soft smile on his lips.

With a huff, Missella looked over his shoulder towards Alistair for help, but the blasted man was just smirking at her. Thankfully—and a little ruefully—her discomfort did not have to last long before Zevran had reached the top of the stairs and gently lowered her back to the ground. Leaning against her staff, she righted her skirts and glowered at him before mumbling a quiet, “Thanks.”

Zevran gave her a smirk that made her heart flutter and a warmth stir in the pit of her stomach before he ever so gently brushed his hand along her arm, leaving electricity in his wake. “It is always a pleasure to hold such a lovely woman in my arms,” he purred, his accent purposefully thick.

Maker’s breath. She swallowed hard and pushed on, hoping she wasn’t blushing as deeply as she thought (she was.) Zevran moved to hold the doors for her, and Alistair moved to take lead. A gaggle of servants stood ready to take their packs from them, and she thanked each of them with a warm smile. Alistair escorted her to the main hall where the Lady Isolde stood beside an older man with a grey beard, and standing in front of them was—“First Enchanter?” Missella’s face broke out in an almost painful grin, and in her excitement she moved to rush to his side but hissed as her leg denied her. Zevran was beside her side in an instant, offering her his arm to lean against, which she reluctantly took.

First Enchanter Irving turned at her voice and smiled gently. “I wish I could say you are looking well, my child, but it is not in my nature to lie.”

Zevran helped her over towards the humans as Alistair moved towards the man now standing near Isolde. Irving took her into his arms in a warm hug before pulling back at arm’s length to look her over. “It pleases me endlessly to see you mostly still in one piece, my dear.”

She smiled up at him, her ears lifting in response to his affection. Irving had ever been like a father to her, as much as he could’ve been in the Circle. She’d been worried about him since they’d liberated the Circle, worried what the Templars might’ve done to him for ‘letting’ the uprising happen, but he seemed well enough. Older, worn down by the loss of so many of his charges, but well enough. “Me, too, ser,” she breathed.

Alistair cleared his throat and gestured from the other man towards her. “My Lord Eamon, may I present my fellow Grey Warden, Missella Surana.”

Missella stepped back from Irving and pressed her fist to her chest, bowing her head in greeting. “Lord Eamon, I’m pleased to see you’ve recovered.”

“No thanks to you, I’ve heard.” As she lifted her head to look back up at him, she found herself taken into a firm hug, and she squeaked in response. His voice wavered a little as he said, “Thank you. If not for you, my son would still be… Thank you.”

She smiled awkwardly and tucked her hair behind her ear as he stepped back from her, his hands resting upon her shoulders affectionately. “It was my pleasure, my lord,” she said nervously.

Lord Eamon beamed down at her. With a gentle squeeze, he looked over at Zevran who was hovering nearby. “You two must be exhausted. Please, rest. I’ll order food and drink to be delivered to your rooms immediately.” With that, he nodded pointily at a servant who scurried off to do his bidding and released Missella. “If you’re feeling up to it later, we intend to host a feast here in the castle, to thank you for all you’ve done for my family and my city.”

She blushed slightly but nodded. “I look forward to it, ser.”

Irving put his hand upon her arm and smiled down at her in a paternal way that crinkled at his eyes. “I will be with you shortly to see what we can do about your leg, hmm?”

Missella nearly sighed at the prospect of being patched up at last. She nodded eagerly. “Maker, yes, please.”

He chuckled gently and dropped his hand from her arm. Alistair moved to show them the way to their chambers. He paused nervously outside a door and rubbed the back of his neck. “The rooms are… er… Well, they’re on the second floor.”

Missella pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed in exasperation. “Of course they are.” She shoved her staff into Alistair’s hands and looked pointedly at Zevran who was grinning far too smugly for her liking. “Shall we, then?”

With the same ease as before, he swept her into his arms, but this time she didn’t squeak. Rather, she put her arm about his shoulders to help leverage her weight against him, and Alistair pushed on ahead. Rather than set her down at the head of the stairs like she’d expected, he just hefted her higher in his arms and gave her a dazzling smile that her breath hitch, and for a moment she forgot why she was irked. Alistair opened the door to one room and gestured inside. “This is you, Missella. Zevran, you’re across the hall.”

Zevran grinned lazily as he carried Missella over towards the bed. “I do so love being near the lovelier of the two wardens.”

Missella rolled her eyes to hide her blush as he set her ever so gently upon her bed, and it did not escape her notice how his fingers drew along her arm. Alistair cleared his throat and leaned her staff against the bed, giving Zevran a look as he did. “There’s um, there’s a water basin just over there if you want to wash up. I’ll come by later, see how you’re feeling, alright?”

She smiled up at Alistair and patted his arm. “Alright. Thank you, Alistair.”

After a blush dusted his cheeks, he cleared his throat and stepped out of the room. Zevran gave her a sly grin and purred, “You don’t want help washing up, do you?”

Missella snorted and waved him off. “No, I don’t. Go on now, leave me be.”

He pouted as he walked backwards out of the room. “The beautiful ones are always the cruelest.”

Once she was alone, she let out a deep sigh and patted her cheeks willing her blush away. She washed herself and put on a clean dress she found in the dresser, then laid down to get in a nap. There was a knock on her door not much later, but she got enough sleep to feel a little refreshed. Calling out a quick, “Come in,” she pushed herself to her feet and leaned against a bedpost, smoothing out her dress.

Irving stepped into the room then and cast a cursory glance about. With a gentle smile, he nodded at her. “You’re looking much better, my child.”

She chuckled and gestured for him to come in further. “If this looks better, I shudder to think how bad I looked before.”

He just gave her a smile and dragged a chair over to the bed. “Let’s take a look at that leg, hmm?” With a nod, she settled on the edge of the bed as he sat down, and she placed her leg in his lap. He tsked as he observed the wound. “You always did like to go above and beyond, didn’t you?” he grumbled.

“Well, how else was I supposed to keep you on your toes?”

He chuckled at that as magic began to flow from his hands, the familiarity of it bringing a touch of nostalgia to her, comforted her like when she’d fallen down the stairs and broken her ankle, like when she’d taken seriously ill after eating a piece of shellfish, like the hug he gave her just before she was taken away by Duncan. She thought back to her life in the Circle, to how relatively happy she’d been. To think, if she’d never told Irving about Jowan’s plan, she wouldn’t have been made to help him, wouldn’t have been sent away. Maybe, if she’d been there, she might’ve been able to stop Uldred… If Alena and Anders hadn’t taken their chance to escape the same time Jowan was, Alena’s penchant for sniffing out secrets and gossip might’ve given them the advantage they needed, might’ve prevented so much unnecessary death, might’ve saved her home.

Irving looked up at her and sighed gently, halting in his movements. “It does not do well to dwell on the past, my dear.” He reached up and brushed away a tear she didn’t know had fallen. “Our paths in life are as rivers. We can alter the way, but eventually they all lead to sea.”

Missella sniffled and rubbed her eyes. “I know, I know.” She took his hand in hers and sighed. “Things were much simpler a year ago, weren’t they?”

Irving nodded in agreement and gently eased his hand back so he could get back to healing her. “It does seem like only yesterday you were brought to my office for the first time.” Though he kept his face free of emotions, his voice wavered just the tiniest bit. He shook his head, indicating the end of the conversation, and sighed. “This is one stubborn enchantment, my dear,” he grumbled.

“Mm,” she hummed. After a moment of silence, she looked up at him and tilted her head. “Why are you here, Irving? In Redcliffe, I mean.”

“Oh, Eamon asked me to come. He’ll be assisting in the repairs at Kinloch. And that boy, Alistair, he said you would need a healer.” He smiled gently. “I’m glad that he’s still taking care of you.”

“Me, too. I don’t know where I’d be without him. Without any of them, really.”

His wise eyes searched hers for a minute. “And that elf? The one upon whose arm you were leaning?”

She must’ve blushed because he grew a smirk. “I—I have no idea to what you are referring, First Enchanter,” she mumbled weakly.

His shoulders shook with gentle laughter, and the upswing in his mood made his magic tickle a little. “My dear girl, I am nearly 100 years old. I know infatuation when I see it. And you always have been and still remain a terrible liar.”

She swallowed thickly, turned her head to avoid the risk of her blush deepening. “Nothing can happen anyways. Even Wynne agrees.”

At that, Irving’s smirk melted off his face and his brows knit together. “And why ever not?”

“Because my duty is to end this Blight by whatever means necessary. If I were to become involved with Zevran, if feelings were to form…” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “If it came down to it, Irving, if I had to choose between saving a man I love and ending the Blight… No.” She shook her head, her conviction renewed. “I cannot allow it.”

The magic from Irving’s hands receded, and he lightly slapped the freshly healed skin of her leg, making her hiss and draw it back. “Have I taught you nothing, child?”

“Ser?”

“In all our time together, did I never once import upon you the strength of love and affection?” He was huffy, now, leaning back in his chair to look at her. “Love is not nor has it ever been a weakness, child. Quite the contrary, out in the real world, love can be a great source of strength. Denying yourself happiness won’t make you any more or less strong when it comes to the end, and when your own life hangs in such precarious balance, are you really satisfied not taking every chance you have at joy?”

Missella blinked then and looked down at her hands as she pondered his words. “But… Wynne—”

Irving sighed. “Wynne and I are dear friends, and I admire her a great deal, but ever has she been staunch and rigid in her beliefs that we mages have duties beyond ourselves. And though there can be some truth to that idea, but it is not for everyone.” He reached over and clasped her hand between both of his, his tired eyes crinkling with a smile. “My dear Missella. Now that you’re no longer under my care, I can admit that I’ve considered you a daughter for many years now.” Ever so gently, he patted her hand and looked down at it. “And like any father, I want to see you happy. This path you’ve been sent down is a difficult one. You should take any chance you can to find joy.”

The tears that had been building in her eyes as he spoke spilled over. “I… Thank you, Irving.” She clasped her hand over his and squeezed it earnestly.

He stood, then, and sighed. “It is time for me to leave you, my child.”

With a trembling sigh of her own, she nodded and rose to her feet as well. The pain in her leg had almost entirely gone, just a dull ache left in its place. “I understand. Have a safe journey back, and thank you again. For everything.”

He left her then, and with another sigh, she plopped back down on her bed and rolled over Irving’s words in her mind. At some point, she drifted off back to sleep, and when the knock on the door woke her up again, the sun was beginning to set through the window. Alistair stepped into the room and knocked once more on the door. “Missella, are you awake?”

She lifted her hand and yawned. “Mm.”

He chuckled slightly and stepped closer but stopped a respectful distance away. “How’s your leg?”

“Much better. Oh, and, thank you, Al. For sending for Irving. It… It was nice to see him again.”

“Of course, Missella. Hey, the feast is about to begin. Are you feeling up to coming down?”

“Mm. Give me a minute to get presentable.” She heaved herself off the bed and limped about the room, washing her face and maneuvering her hair into a passable braid. Once she was done, she turned to Alistair and gestured at herself. “Is this good enough? I don’t know how fancy to be.”

He gave her a warm, eye-twinkling smile and nodded. “You’re always a vision, Missella.”

She snorted and pulled her staff to her side to lean on it. “And you’re full of shit, Alistair.” With a softer smile, she nodded towards the door. “Let’s go, then. I’m starving.”

They made their way down to the first floor carefully. Though Missella’s leg was healed on the surface, the pain had begun to creep back a bit. She insisted on taking the stairs on her own, grumbling something about being an “independent woman,” and she nearly cheered when she hit the bottom. As they pushed through the door into the hallway, they were met with the sound of music drifting lazily through the air, and a ball of excitement began to grow in Missella’s gut. She’d never been to a feast before, and from the sounds of laughter, she dared to say it sounded rather like a party. Not far down the hall, Shale stood, staring at a potted plant as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Missella grinned and hobbled a little faster over to her friend. “Shale! You’re here!”

Shale looked indignantly down at her. “As if I had anywhere better to be?”

Missella just smiled and patted their forearm. “I’m glad to see you, too. Are you going to come into the feast?”

“To what end? To watch 50 flesh sacks stuff their holes? No, thank you.”

Missella rolled her eyes and patted their arm again before turning back to join Alistair who was paused just outside the doors. He gently took her arm and lowered his voice. “Um. I suppose I should warn you. Eamon is probably going to uh… make quite a few toasts to you.”

She blinked. “Me? Why?”

He just stared at her a moment and shook his head. “Maker, Missella. Because of all you’ve done, not just for him but for Ferelden.”

She snorted. “But that wasn’t just me. It was all of us.”

“Oh, please. We’d be nothing without you. You know that.” He silenced her with an upheld hand. “Just. Be prepared, alright? It might get a little embarrassing.”

“After the past few months, embarrassing sounds like a fresh breath of air.”

Alistair just sighed, nodded, and opened the door for her.

As soon as she stepped into the grand room—which had been decked from head to toe with decorations and candles, each table filled with townspeople, many of whom she recognized—the band stopped playing and all eyes were on her. She faltered a moment but straightened up and smiled graciously around the room. Eamon rose from his seat and crossed around the table to greet her in the middle of the room, both his hands clasped over hers. “You are feeling better, I hope?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, ser.”

He beamed from ear to ear. “Wonderful, wonderful.” Glancing around the room, he cleared his throat and announced, “Friends, may I present our guest of honor, the woman who saved not just my own life, but the lives of my family, and the lives of nearly everyone in this room.”

Applause exploded around the room, and a servant appeared at Eamon’s side, carrying a serving plate with wine goblets upon it. Eamon handed one to Missella, then Alistair, then turned on his heel in one rotation about the room. The whole room rose to its feet, and quieted down enough for Eamon to call, “For the Warden!”

The townsfolk echoed his call, bringing a blush to Missella’s cheeks, but she met the raised glass with her own and drank deeply from it. Eamon ushered her over to the long table where many of her friends were seated. She nodded towards Isolde and Bann Teagan before smiling at her friends. She reached her chair, and just as she moved to reach for it, a hand brushed hers aside, and Zevran’s grinning face tilted into her view. “Please, my dear, allow me,” he purred.

She had to remember how to breathe, he looked so dashing. He was dressed in a puffy white shirt tucked into tight black pants. Through the fabric of his shirt, she could see the outline of his tattoos, and she had to force herself not to stare, but his face was washed clean and refreshed with sleep, and he’d washed his hair and pulled it back into a soft ponytail. Clearing her throat, she mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” and settled into the chair, and the hall sat down with her. The music began again, and conversation began to flow freely as Zevran settled into the chair on the other side of Alistair.

The food was incredible and plentiful. She felt a bit guilty that she ate as little as she did, but the past few weeks on the road hadn’t afforded her the opportunity to stretch her stomach much. Though, by the time she finished, the doors to the great hall had been opened, and the band had moved out there for people to stand and talk. Some, she’d noticed, had taken this as an opportunity to dance. Wynne had eventually asked Alistair to “indulge an old woman” and practically hauled him off by his ear to join her upon the dance floor, which left the chair between Missella and Zevran empty. To make matters worse, Eamon and Teagan were engaged in some fairly intense discussion concerning topics about which Missella knew nothing, so she tried to distract herself by people watching. She recognized some of these people from the last time she was in Redcliffe, during the attack. The blacksmith and his daughter sat at a far table, and once they locked eyes, they raised a glass to her which rose a blush along her cheeks, and she smiled in recognition. Murdock and Tomas were sat at another table, their own heads butted together in what looked like a rather frustrating discussion, and here and there she’d recognize someone else. Idly, she wondered about her friend Alena, if she would know anyone here tonight, and the thought of her and her unknown demise drew a shadow over Missella’s heart. It must have shown upon her face, too, because there was a heavy sigh as a body settled into the seat next to hers, and a familiar tan hand moved to refill her wine glass. “You know,” Zevran drawled, “For attending a banquet in your honor, you certainly do not seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Missella swallowed hard and brought the glass to her lips for an excuse to think of something to say. Unfortunately, this was her fourth glass of wine since coming downstairs, and her mind was beginning to swim. “I’m just, uh… Tired.” Maker, Missella, really? Tired? That’s the best you can do? she hissed to herself.

Zevran chuckled, and she could feel his amber eyes searching her face. “Come now, my dear warden, of all the lies you’ve ever told, that is by far the worst.”

She sighed and rested her elbow upon the table, her chin in her hand as she looked over to him. Thankfully for the wine, her cheeks were not able to darken anymore, because he looked otherworldly beautiful. He sat mirrored her, his chin in his hand as well, and he was looking upon her with what was at first a sly expression, but upon second glance she could see the softness of his eyes, the wide, open expression in his brow that did not exactly match the smirk he wore. She must’ve been staring too long because his smirk only grew wider, and she forced herself to avert her eyes. “Fine, fine. Honestly, I’m just…” She sighed again. “Seeing Irving brought back a lot of feelings.”

“Oh.” His voice was reservedly surprised, the tone of it bringing her to look back at him. The smirk had fallen from his lips, and his brow had knit together just a smidge in concern. A soft hand touched her shoulder, the thumb brushing a piece of hair back. “Are you alright?”

For all her efforts, she could not hide the way tears welled in her eyes, but just as he opened his mouth to say something else, she nodded, pushing the sudden rush of emotions back down. “I will be.” It was the truth, at least. Whatever was causing this bout of emotion would soon pass, replaced with the impending severity of the Blight. But, for now, she hesitated to speak anymore of the present beyond the faintest of truths: “Between seeing Irving and being here in Redcliffe, I’m mostly worried about my friend Alena.”

“The one who you helped escape?”

She nodded in affirmation, mildly touched he’d remembered. It had been months now since she’d told him the tale of how she’d been made to help Jowan escape and as a consequence helped Anders and their friend Alena escape. The girl was spunky and sly, but she had never been an overly talented mage, and even with Anders to protect her, Missella doubted her ability to survive in this harsh world. But, Missella could feel Zevran’s eyes upon her, so she shook thoughts of her naïve friend from her mind and turned a gentle smile towards her dashing rogue companion. “I apologize. I hardly doubt the shadows of my mind weigh heavily upon you.”

Zevran quirked a brow at that and frowned. His hand slipped from her shoulder to grip hers, the moment his skin touching hers sending a shock through her arm though she kept her face from showing it. “My dear Warden,” he started, his words careful and formulated. “In these past few months, I have felt a connection form between us, no? I consider you a dear and beloved friend. And all that weighs heavily on your mind also weighs on me.”

She had to turn her head to hide the quick misting of tears that once again crossed her eyes. She disguised the movement by taking a sip of wine, but when she looked back at him, she knew he wasn’t fooled. Clearing her throat, she squeezed his hand and smiled. “Thank you, Zevran. That means… It means a lot.”

The grin he sent her way was nothing short of dazzling. His teeth even glinted in the light, for Andraste’s sake. He brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers before his ear twitched. “Ahh, listen! That is an Antivan dance! Please, my friend, won’t you join me?”

Missella blinked owlishly and stammered for a reply, struggling to think of even a single reason to say no when Irving’s words drifted back to mind. “I… Yes. Yes, Zevran, I think that sounds marvelous.”

Any surprise that Zevran felt, he kept coolly under wraps as he stood, her hand in his. She could feel more than a few pairs of eyes on them as he swept her into the next room, letting her lean on him in place of her staff. A handful of dancers saw them enter and scooted off to the side to watch as Zevran guided Missella to the center of the room, and the band stopped playing when Zevran waved a hand to them. He swung her easily into his arm, her hand clasped in his which he held up and out. Though Missella had had no occasion to learn to dance either in the Circle or out in the real world, the faith she had in Zevran’s worldly abilities allowed her to keep an easy smile on her face, not even a hint of fear for what was to come in her mind. Zevran nodded over her head to the band and flashed her another brilliant grin as the music started up again and he took his place offset to her right a bit.

Missella has always been able to pride herself on at least one fact:  she is a fast learner. Particularly fast, if the material is something of interest and the teacher attractive. Another fact about Missella is that she has often been described as “graceful.” These are her two saving graces in this moment.

The dance began slowly. Zevran helps her, not just with his hand firm against the small of her back which helped steady her and hold her off her bad leg, but in that he muttered a soft, “One, two, three, one two three,” to help her catch the time signature of the dance as he guided her back for two measures, his feet bouncing instead of moving on the second beat of each measure, and her limp was all but forgotten in the way he moved her. Then, he dragged her easily into a turn on the third three, the movement catching Missella by surprise. He chuckled at her soft squeak. Casually, he leaned them to the side for a beat before spinning them to face the opposite direction. With perhaps more drama than necessary, he toed them three steps down, in time with the beat, his golden eyes never leaving hers. She squealed when, on the second three, his leg found its way under her knee and knocked it from under her while he pressed forward on the hand holding hers. She was caught easily by the hand on her back, not actually having dropped far at all, and she couldn’t help but giggle. He let her dangle there for half a beat before languidly pulling her back up to him, his leg still between hers. He used this new position to walk around her, pivoting her on one foot so that she was spinning, his face close enough that she could feel his heat.

“Zevran,” she breathed.

“Yes, mi amor?” he whispered back, pivoting on his own foot to step across her and back again.

She wanted to tell him how she felt, to let him know that his flirtations had not gone unnoticed, that she wanted desperately to reciprocate them, to ask him to kiss her, but her courage was not strong enough. She cast her eyes about the room for something else to say instead, and only managed a weak, “Everyone is staring.” And it was true, at least. They were now the only couple still dancing, everyone else moving to the side to watch. Even a few people from the dining room had come to watch from the doorway.

It was evident from the tone of his chuckle that he did not believe that was what she wanted to say, but he did not ask her true intentions. Instead, he just leaned his head closer, enough that his breath tickled her ear when he whispered, “Then let us give them something to look at, no?”

Before she could ask him what he meant, she was thrust away from him, held only by his hand as he stretched away from her. In her daze, she caught sight of Alistair whose face was set hard with jealousy. As quickly as she’d been spun away, Zevran tugged her hand and pulled her back into him, his arm held around her possessively as he cast a pointed look in Alistair’s direction, one that admittedly send a warm shiver down Missella’s spine. Over the next measure, Zevran dragged Missella away from Zevran and raised their hands over her head to spin her in place, slowly, walking around her as if to show her off to the room and claim her as his all at once. The song was coming to an end; she could hear it in the cadences with which the phrases were ending. Zevran stopped her on a third beat and stepped in to hold her, repeating the very first set of steps he made when the song began, the music following his steps to slow until, like before, he swept her leg from under her and caught her in a dip, this one far lower, and she could feel his breath ghosting across her chest.

Applause broke out across the room, and Zevran pulled her back to standing, a breathless, knee-wobbling grin stretched across his face. Perhaps she was light-headed, the wine and the dancing making her dizzy, or perhaps it was the thrill of the moment, but she could take it no longer. In one smooth movement, her arm hooked behind his neck, and she stretched on her toes to press her lips against his. In the blink of an eye, Zevran tensed in surprise, untensed, and pulled her closer to him, his hand moving to hold her cheek delicately, as if she were made of glass. As she breathed in the smell of him, tasted him, felt him in her arms, she knew she’d been a fool to deny him as long as she had. She broke the kiss and laid her forehead against his shoulder, panting. “Ask me again, Zevran.”

It took him a moment, but once he did, he placed a teasing nip to the point of her ear and moved his mouth to whisper just loud enough for her to hear, “Would you like to come to bed with me?”

She nearly moaned, her entire resolve dashed out the window. “Yes. Maker, Zevran, yes,” she whined, and to pontificate her impatience, she nipped the open skin beneath his collar.

With a flourish befitting only Zevran Arainai, he swept her up into his arms and beamed down at her, undoubtedly flexing around her. “My wish is your command, mi amor.” And Missella could not bring herself to be embarrassed when she realized the entire castle was still watching as Zevran carried her to the stairs to the second floor.

“Mi amor?”

Missella blinks, startled out of her reverie. “Mm?” she says, rubbing her face as if to brush her exhaustion away.

“Where did you go?”

The teasing tone in his voice piques her curiosity. She turns to look at him, and for hardly the first time, she is stricken breathless at the sight of him. He rests against a log, a leg drawn up towards his chest, his elbow rested upon that, a hand resting in his hair. His shirt hangs open and loose about his arms, the hint of a tattoo visible along his ribs. His hair is braided back on one side, so she can see the piercings in his ears, and his entire silhouette is illuminated by the warmth of the fire, the glow reflected in his inviting and contemplative eyes. Swallowing, she mirrors his pose and throws a lazy grin his way.

And for hardly the first time, Missella finds herself too lost in admiration to think of what to say. He’s just so… pretty. One might almost say that Zevran Arainai is beautiful beyond words.

[saint-patrice]

torey krug for @bigbruinsenergy !

life:made 😎 nah fr, thank you for this request my friend!! i was very excited to do one for torey, he’s quite the character and i love him A Lot

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m happy to take requests if there’s a particular player you’d like to see! see this page (i don’t think it works on mobile because tumblr is a burning shitpile, sorry) for details, and a list of ones i’ve done so far :) i have quite a few requests rn, but feel free to keep em coming!

he may be short, but he is powerful!! or in the words of the bruins’ twitter account, “torey krug: angry”. an unforgettable moment from this season, torey was really living every bruins fan’s dream of completely and aggressively flattening a blues player in this moment. and i salute him for it

here he is, in all his glory, laughing his ass off at the entire new jersey bench. he’s honestly such a little bastard and that’s precisely why i love him. he’s full of love for his teammates and nothing but spite for everyone else. it’s very sexy of him, really 

baby krug!!!! isn’t she just the cutest, she’s so tiny 😭 the baby pictures have been just about the only thing making offseason bearable thus far

it must be a cruel god we have for him to put a 5′9 man (or 3 of them...) on a team with someone an entire foot taller than him. but it makes for great content so honestly, who’s complaining. this has the precise energy of a young girl playing dress-up with her mom’s clothes. it’s undeniable

the effort he has to go to... oh my god. he truly is a short king

i know brad and torey are always at each other’s throats on twitter but this... this is straight up murder, holy shit. “we just use your tongue to resurface the ice” - even i felt that. is brad okay?? i mean these tweets are old but still, that’s gotta leave a lasting wound on a man’s psyche. let it be known that torey krug takes no prisoners

just a father, lovingly cradling his tiny son

look at this dapper man!! while i very much appreciate the ‘peaky bruins’ winter classic outfits, some of them look kinda odd (please see: zdeno chara, 19th century plague doctor). but i think kreauty’s is really nice!! a good all-grey look, with that red tie to brigten it up. and i think his shirt is pale blue rather than white?? i like it. he suits the cap too. looks like a man i’d buy a new fountain pen and perhaps a pocket watch from

(gif via @pavszacha​) pray tell, why do we have the prettiest team? and what colour are his eyes?? green? brown? grey? who knows, but i love them a lot

he’s wearing brad’s stuff.

i would like to draw your attention to the shirt torey is wearing. no, you are not hallucinating. yes, his shirt says “mcavoy: i’m lovin’ him”. i need to know where to purchase this because it’s the only thing i want to wear for the rest of my life. additionally, it is a proven fact that no one loves the boston bruins more than the boston bruins. for real

the reason he’s so angry is that he’s short, and therefore closer to hell. however, i have adopted “i’m punching him then” as a frequently used phrase in my daily life, i must admit. it’s pretty good

i would now like to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for a small collection of gifs of mr torey krug winking:

(gifs via @bradmarchrad​, @noeldozer​, and @kureally​) regularly scheduled programming will now resume

what’s a kiss between two 5′9 hockey guys?

this entire thing is comedy gold tbh. nhl 2003 for playstation. (my turtles). graduated from DARE. chicken and rice. iconic. i did get emo looking at ‘pro hockey player’ though like,, he really did that. he’s out there living his dreams. i am proud. and i’m sure there’s plenty of time for architecture after he retires too

he also has meme potential!! this is excellent because it applies to so many of life’s situations. particularly applicable to just about everything sweeney has done so far this free agency, but we won’t get into that

based on his reaction, you’d assume that the refs have just called a bad penalty or something (although not that they ever would), but no. he has in fact just scored a goal. $100 to anyone who is able to figure out why he is so displeased with this fact

...don’t speak to me or my son ever again

oooh take a look at these marvelous boys! extremely beautiful. black shirts are underrated imo, still as ~classy and refined~ as a plain white shirt, but it spices things up a little. poll: is torey krug a stylish legend? yes or yes

backes is just trying to celebrate the goal when along comes torey, resident nuisance. why is he like This

he has somehow perfectly mastered the skill of looking 14 and 40 at the same time, and it weirds me out a bit. i’ll just say he’s Timeless and move on

going to see a football game with the boys 💪🏻💪🏻 i cannot help but note the mild irony of torey in a gronk jersey - i would like a photo of the two of them together. also, this was posted here with the caption “brave of torey to post a picture where he looks like that next to three guys who look like that” and like torey, my man, i’m so sorry but i have to agree. the hat gives him a very non-threatening gnomish vibe. i’m sorry but it’s the truth

i have never in my life seen someone look so pleased with a simple fistbump. but you do you, man - whatever makes you happy. it’s also very deliberately delivered. it leaves me slightly confused overall. come to think of it, i don’t think i’ve ever seen a normal, well-executed fistbump on the bench, bruins or otherwise. hockey players are strange creatures

more tiny baby krug!!! she is so little oh gosh. adorable

a visual representation of all of bruins tumblr marvelling at patrice. me too, torey. me too.

TOREY !!!!! yet another murder, someone restrain this man before he can do any more damage oh my god

oof what a photo, i love this. and yet again, torey krug: angry. but we wouldn’t want him any other way. i love u, scorey krug!

bonus!

(gif via @marchnds​) i know this isn’t of torey, but i would be completely remiss to not include this gif of brad losing his shit after saying that torey looks like danny devito

 thank you for the request, i hope you enjoy!! 💕