#remind me not to make any promises about when I post chapters ever again

[anxiouspotatorants]

But it's done. I finished the draft for the next Ariande chapter.

[dreamingofep]

Forbidden Love pt. 11 💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem! reader]

TW: cussing, angst, tension

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Hi everyone! Haven’t posted anything for this one in a bit! Sorry about that! This one only has 2 chapters left so I’ll be posting more soon. These pics make me feel like a puddle🫠Hope you like this next part.

🖤

After a week and a half of staying with him, you were quite comfortable. Without even trying, Elvis was your home. You had never felt so at peace before. Things would never be the same now. You tried just being friends with him and time and time again, it doesn’t work. You needed each other on a different level and couldn’t stay away. You weren’t sure how you two were going to pull this off, but you weren’t going to give up just because it was getting hard.

For the most part, you two hadn’t hadn’t had any roadblocks yet. You were still careful in the house and always made sure the house was empty before walking around freely. Elvis convinced Dianne to keep staying at her sister's for the next few weeks. That didn’t stop her from calling every day. It irked you how Elvis would continuously answer the phone without fail and feed into her every last whim. Nothing ever came of those empty promises he would make to her but it drove you crazy. You tried not to make an argument out of that situation. You had to remind yourself that you had him all to yourself, not her.

On the other hand, you know you need to make decisions. You needed to talk to John about a ton of things that were bothering you but you needed to start with what he was doing with all the money he was getting paid. It agitated you that he was pissing away all the money he was earning and he couldn’t even make rent.

On a quiet Friday evening, you look at the clock and see it is almost time for dinner. You change into a nicer dress, which Elvis kindly bought for you. Being around Elvis so much made you dress nicer than you ever had. He was always dressed to the nines no matter the time of day. But he didn’t want you going back to your apartment if John was going to be there. He knew John would try to make you feel bad for leaving and try to get you to stay somehow.

A quiet knock on the door makes you look up and you feel your heart flutter.

“Come in.” You say quickly as you go to the closet to put on some cute heels.

Elvis walks in looking down at the floor, looking damn good in a brown suede jacket and red scarf draped on his neck. As good as he looks, you can’t ignore how his eyes are timid and full of pain when he finally looks at you. Something is wrong. His face always lights up when he sees you.

“What’s wrong Elvis?” You ask him stopping in your tracks.

He takes a long, ragged breath before speaking,

“Dinner is ready,” he says quietly. He still won’t look at you, his eyes burning a hole in the carpet at this point. You grew wary and didn’t understand what brought on this behavior.

“Elvis, are you okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, come on,” he says quietly, opening the door for you.

You both make it to the dining room table and Elvis pulls your chair out for you. The uncomfortable silence only grew. You two didn’t normally mind silence but this was completely different. He sits at the head of the table and you are to the right of him. Both of your plates sit there steaming, not a word spoken.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” You say sharply.

“Please, eat dinner, we can talk after,” he says coldly.

“No, I can’t eat if you won’t even look at me! What’s going on?” Your mind races at what could be the problem. Your head only makes up the worst-case scenarios and it doesn’t do your nerves any good.

“Umm, well-, I really don’t want to tell you this because it’s going to hurt you but you need to know,” he says carefully.

“Okay, tell me, I can handle it,” you try to say strongly but you are too nervous.

“I did some digging… I wanted to know what John was up to and where the money I’ve been paying him was going,” he explained.

“Oh, okay, did you find out what’s going on?”

A part of you didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to hear the shady behavior he was being a part of. But if you were to end this, like you’ve been wanting to for some time, it would be best to have a clear understanding of what kind of person he’s become.

“He’s been late coming here to work pretty much every day that he’s started working for me. I don’t like that one bit. Then a few weeks ago, you came to me crying about his behavior and that really upset me. I hate seeing you like that. So I knew I needed to figure out what was going on with him too,” he says low. He looks behind his shoulder before continuing, making sure it is just you two in the room.

“Honey I-, I followed him one day when he said you called and needed him to come home right away. I knew that was bullshit because you were filming that day, not at home waiting for him,” he snarls. His tone makes the hair in your arms stand up. You could feel how much he didn’t like John in this moment. How strongly he felt for you…

“So I followed him and he was in a neighborhood in Bel Air and-,” he grabs your hand, his breathing shaky as he tries to go on, “he pulled up to this house and this woman was standing out on the porch waiting for him… I saw them kiss and-, that’s all I needed to see to understand what was going on… I’m really sorry honey.” He says as he shakes his head.

You felt numb. You weren’t sure if you should be angry, sad, annoyed, or everything in between. You knew things were not good between you two already, but the confirmation that he was doing this for God knows how long still hurt to hear. You wanted to have this blind faith in people that they can be good. John was not a part of that percentage though. He was an opportunist. Someone gave him attention when you weren’t so he clung to that attention until he was tired of it.

“Fucking bastard,” you mutter under your breath. He looks at you a little shocked, not expecting such an outburst.

“Did you know?” He asks gently.

“I always had a feeling. We stopped making time for each other and everything went downhill these last few years. I can say I’m not the least surprised,” you tell him.

“Baby I’m sorry you’ve felt like this. It’s just awful. You have no idea how hard it was to not get out of my car and beat the hell out of him for putting you through all of this,” he grits through his teeth. Your body stiffens at his tone, he had never talked this way around you and threw you by surprise. You squeezed his hand momentarily, trying to assure him you’re okay.

“You deserve better honey,” he says low. His eyes have that sensual heavy look to them, burning their way into your skin. You felt on fire and you couldn’t say anything to assure him that you’re going to be okay. It did hurt to hear your worst fears have come true so you couldn’t lie that you were completely unphased.

“It’s okay, I’ll be okay,” you say shakily.

“I’m so sorry honey,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your hand. He’s so overcome with emotion and you can see how he’s trying to make the situation better. He pulls at your hand slightly to get you closer to him. You stand up from your chair and sit on the corner of the table, looking at him with concern.

“I’ll take care of you, honey, don’t worry about a thing,” he assured you.

That’s everything you wanted to hear from him. You wanted him to take care of your every need.

“I know,” you whisper, your breath wavering.

You didn’t want to cry about it and didn’t want to think about John anymore. You wanted Elvis to distract you from real life. LA was not very forgiving and kept giving you one struggle after another.

Elvis kept looking at you like he was about to rip your clothes off and as much as you would love that, you didn’t want to do that here.

“Get me out of here,” you tremble.

His face flashes a bit of concern, “what do you mean baby?”

“Just get me out of here. I don’t want to be in LA, let’s leave for Vegas tonight,” you plead.

He nods his head and stands up, pulling you into his arms and holding you there.

“It’s okay baby, it’s going to be okay. Go pack your bag, I’ll take care of everything,” he coos, leaning down and kissing you.

You sigh into his mouth and hold onto him tighter. This was exactly what you needed. You needed his lips on you soothing all your worries away. He gets carried away easily, his hands squeezing at your hips, wanting you completely. You want to let him take care of you and have you forget about anything else that might’ve troubled you.

The sound of the front door opening scared you out of your skin and you quickly pushed yourself away from him, turning your back to whoever just walked in.

“Hey EP I-.”

You recognize that voice instantly and freeze. No no no this cannot be happening.

“Y/n?” They say.

You slowly turn around and face John, your stomach dropping looking at him. You stay silent, there was nothing to say to him. Not after how he’s treated you and not after the revelation Elvis told you tonight.

“Where have you been?” He asks you a bit coldly.

“I’ve been here,” you say stiffly.

John looks at Elvis, shocked at your admission.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Elvis has a pompous look on his face before answering and you find it amusing, “you didn’t ask,” he says flatly.

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were?” John says giving you an annoyed look.

“I didn’t feel like you would care.”

“Really!? So you just disappear for a few weeks and I don’t have the right to know where you went?!” He says raising his voice.

You were over his attitude and couldn’t be here a minute longer.

“I know you don’t love me anymore, I’ve known it for quite some time now. I don’t need to answer to someone who doesn’t care about me,” you scowl.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.

You glance over at Elvis and see he has the same smug look on his face.

“You were about to go pack your things, right honey? Why don’t you go finish that,” Elvis tells you with a smile. You glance at John and see the disgust he has on his face when he hears Elvis call you honey. To most people, it’s a harmless Southern thing. But John hated it and always has. He must have felt threatened in some way and it always stuck with him.

You thought that was a great idea Elvis proposed though. Anything to get you away from John. You could barely be in the same room as him without blowing up on him. You start to make your way to the bedroom when John starts moving in your direction.

“Woah honey, where do you think you’re going,” he snaps, grabbing your arm to still you. He grabbed you too roughly and looked down at how tight his hand was around your forearm. You pull your arm away from him and look at him shocked. You see red marks where his fingers were and it disgusts you.

“Get your hands off of me!” You snarl. You never wanted to feel his hands touch your skin ever again. It made you so angry with not knowing how long he’s had this affair and how he would still come home and touch you. Elvis is quick to act and steps between you two, his large stature blocking you easily from John.

“You need to relax, right now,” he says through his teeth.

“What’s your problem EP?! You're always so defensive when it comes to her.” He says annoyed

“You don’t need to grab her like that,” he spits back. John takes a step back from him and crosses his arms against his chest, analyzing Elvis in front of him.

“You’re awfully fond of my wife, aren’t you?” He scowls.

Elvis hums softly to himself, amused with such a question.

“I am, always have been, are you?” He questions, cocking his head as he sizes up John.

Your heart hammers away at the challenge. You didn’t think Elvis would say such a thing to John but you can tell he was just as mad as you were over this whole thing.

“Excuse me?!” John exclaims.

“It’s a pretty simple question, are you fond of your wife?” Elvis asks again, anger flowing off of him in waves.

“You’re ridiculous! How dare you question my feelings!”

“You haven’t asked anyone where she’s been! You couldn’t give a shit about anything she does!”

“I do! She’s my wife. You don’t need to defend her shitty behavior.”

Elvis chuckles, “Oh you’re one to talk,” he snaps.

Your heart drops, oh this isn’t good. You’d never think Elvis would confront John about all of this. You look over at John and see how his face lost color and he’s looking at Elvis mortified.

“I know, I know all about where you’ve been sneaking off to. So you have some audacity to yell at her for running to a friend when her husband is being a pathetic excuse of one,” Elvis snarls. John takes another step back, weak and aghast.

Elvis takes a step closer to him, not letting him cower down. “You’re done workin’ for me. I don’t want you near me either. You’re fuckin’ toxic for anyone to be around you.”

He turns around to find your frightened eyes and not sure what to do.

“Go wait in my car, we’re going,” he says sternly.

You lower your eyes and quickly go to the front door. You couldn’t look at Elvis when he was so upset. His eyes seared through you and could have killed you. You reach the door and Elvis’ voice makes your hair stand up.

“And she’s not yours, she never has been. Don’t you dare ever utter those words again.” He growls.

Shit.

You rush out to the driveway and go towards Elvis’ Cadillac. There are some of the guys standing outside with questioning looks on their faces. You grew extremely nervous and anxious with their deafening stares.

“Elvis wants to go to Vegas tonight,” you say sheepishly. They don’t move or say anything but their attention gets turned to the booming of Elvis’ voice coming from the house and the sound of thing breaking inside. He was over the edge and fuming. They don’t make a move, knowing better than to get in the way of Elvis when he’s mad.

Elvis bursts through the front door and looks beside himself.

“We’re going to Vegas tonight. Call in a plane for us,” Elvis demands. Everyone starts to scramble and you quickly get in the car. Elvis puts the key in the ignition and rushes out the gates. The radio blares on a famous LA radio station and it was one of Elvis's songs. You didn’t recognize the tune, it must have been one of his newer songs. A pang of guilt hits you when you realize it’s been well over a month and you still haven’t listened to his new album.

We’re caught in a trap

I can’t walk out

Because I love you too much baby…

Only the first few lines are played before Elvis frustratedly shuts the radio. You stay silent the whole ride to LAX. You were holding onto the door handle the whole way with how fast he was driving. You both get to the airport in record time and he opens your door for you.

A small charter jet was waiting on the tarmac for you two and Elvis led you into the cabin. The engines were roaring and the captain was waiting for Elvis’ call to take off. He sits next to you and holds your hand on his lap. You hold on as the plane starts to take off and slowly ascend into the sky.

After a few moments, you gently caress his face and make him look at you. His anger subsided and all that was left was the look of defeat. You hated seeing him like that and it was because of you in a way. You lean in and kiss his lips, savoring the moment. He sighs into your touch and he places his hand on your cheek. There wasn’t any rush with your kisses, they were just soft and tender. His hands scorched into your skin, clouding any thoughts of the consequences of doing this with him.

“Take care of me,” you whimper pulling at his scars around his neck.

He nods his head and groans at the proposal you gave him.

“Of course, you know I will,” he breathes, pulling you onto his lap.

You instantly wrap your arms around his neck and let your fingers intertwine in his soft hair. Your lips crash into his and the once soft, tender kisses you began giving him soon turned into intense, fiery, needy ones.

You felt lightheaded by the way he was kissing you and how his hands kept drifting up and down your thigh. You wanted him to make all your problems disappear and never get out of his arms. It felt like a whirlwind these last few hours and if you had found out all of that on your own, you don’t know how you would’ve handled it. But something about having Elvis back in your life made you handle things differently. It was complicated, yes, but you would never change a thing that’s happened. He was exactly what you needed.

*

Once you landed and a car picked you two from the airport, it discreetly took you to the International. Elvis was explicit that he wanted his arrival to be discrete and gain no attention. He technically wasn’t supposed to arrive for another two days so the hotel was not ready for him. You were so nervous being here with him. All you needed was one camera to take a picture of you next to Elvis and it would be all over the front pages of magazines.

You ride the elevator all the way to the penthouse and have a sigh of relief once you know you’re out of the view of an onlooker. Elvis loosely keeps his arm around your hip, making sure you aren’t going anywhere. The suite's double doors had his name on a gold plaque in black letters. He opened the door for you and you can’t believe the grandeur of the room. It screamed Elvis everywhere you looked. The heavy black curtains were open and the whole front wall was windows overlooking the loud, boisterous city. There was a piano directly in the middle of the windows and the couches were black velvet and looked plush.

You explore the suite, leaving Elvis in the front room as he makes a phone call. Every room in here was decorated with the most lavish things and you could see how they did as much as possible to accommodate Elvis. You quickly find the master suite and and sit on the edge of the bed.

The world felt heavy on your shoulders and you thought being so far from home would help but it didn’t. You can’t help but think about what was next. Would you get a lawyer and get divorce papers? How long do you stay with Elvis? Would he be willing to take your relationship to another level? There was too much swirling in your head and none of it was going to be easy. A few tears fall down your cheeks thinking of the uncertainty of your life.

And that comment Elvis man before you left the house..

She’s not yours, she never has been…

Did he always want to be with you? Or did he say that just to get under John’s skin? You wish you hadn’t heard that part because now you need it to be true and be his.

You see a shadow approach from the doorway and sniffle.

His eyes look hurt when he looks at you. He hates seeing you like this.

“Baby,” he murmurs walking to you.

You stand up when he’s in front of you to hug him. You needed to wrap your arms around him and feel that sense of safety that you do with him.

“Everything is going to be alright. You have nothing to worry about,” he reassures you.

“Thank you,” you manage to squeak out

“I’ll take care of everything and have some new clothes come in for you. We’ll figure everything out together.”

You lift your head from his chest and pull him back toward the bed.

“Can you lay with me, just for a little while?” You ask.

His lips curve into a little smile, “anything for you.”

•

•

•

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[scary-grace]

Expiation (Chapter 5) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5

You never knew, but should have guessed, that the High Kingdom’s march to war will not include everyone in it. Half the army will stay to guard the kingdom itself, as well as half the king’s council, while the king and the other half lead the army in pursuit of Warlord Kai. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to which of the councilors leave and which stay, except in one particular case: Sir Tomura’s. No one trusts Sir Tomura to guard the kingdom, and the White Death will be much needed on the battlefield – cursed wound, cursed weapons, and all.

Wound, weapons, and armor. You promised Mei you’d recommend her to Sir Tomura when it became time to repair his breastplate, but he’s so recalcitrant about having it repaired at all that you finally just threaten to take it to Mei yourself. Sir Tomura glares at you with his arms crossed over his chest, parked firmly between you and the armor stand. “If you think I’m going to let you steal my armor, you’ve lost your mind.”

“As you’ve lost yours, if you think I’ll send my Lord into battle unprotected,” you retort. You’ve grown more comfortable disagreeing with Sir Tomura when necessary, and while you refrain from commenting on his stubbornness most of the time, you won’t back down where his physical safety is concerned. “You are already vulnerable there. If you leave your breastplate unmended, it will tell your opponents exactly where to strike.”

“I doubt anyone will be able to break through my guard, and even if they could, my death would please the world more than my life,” Sir Tomura says. That crooked, mocking smile you’ve grown to hate crosses his face again. “My redemption, such as it is, can be found only in death. My life does not matter to them.”

“It matters to me,” you say, and Sir Tomura’s terrible smile fades. “And to others as well.”

The old king is particularly concerned with Sir Tomura, and Hakamada has taken some odd degree of interest. The herald, too, spends some portion of most days pestering Sir Tomura to tell the tale of how he defeated the Enemy – something he would not do if he was as terrified as the rest. King Izuku is uncomfortable with Sir Tomura’s presence, to be sure, but he cares that Sir Tomura is treated fairly. On the servants’ side, there’s you and Mei, and no one else. Mei’s concern is for his armor. Yours is for him.

Today, your concern and Mei’s overlap completely, and you suspected Sir Tomura would refuse outright – so you called for backup ahead of time. Before Sir Tomura can argue with you any further, Mei gives a perfunctory knock on the door and strides in as though she owns the place. Sir Tomura looks surprised. “Who are you?”

“Mei, the greatest blacksmith in the land.” No one has ever chastised Mei for her humility. “No damage is too great for me to repair. I’ll have that breastplate fixed better than new.”

“Is that so?” Sir Tomura gives you a look. You cringe. “Your services are not needed. It cannot be repaired, and even if it could –”

“That’s just foolish,” Mei says. She walks fearlessly up to Sir Tomura, who towers over her, and crowds him until he shifts aside, his incredulity growing with every passing second. “A cursed weapon caused this damage?”

“Aye.”

Mei inspects the armor for a moment. “Two days.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’ll be done in two days.” Mei is already lifting the breastplate from the armor stand. Sir Tomura looks as though he wants to prevent her, but has no idea how – it reminds you of watching Sir Ejirou try to rescue a hissing, spitting tomcat stuck in a tree. “The suit will be done in five. It needs fixing, too.”

“And what else do you suggest I fix,” Sir Tomura says, painfully sarcastic. “Do you intend to re-forge my horse?”

“It needs new shoes,” Mei says. Sarcasm doesn’t work on Mei. Few things do. “Anything else?”

“No.”

Mei crooks her thumb at you. “How about for her?”

You don’t need armor. You aren’t fighting. You aren’t even going – are you? You look at Sir Tomura, who’s gone from glaring at you to pointedly avoiding your gaze. “My Lord?”

“Chainmail,” Sir Tomura says to Mei, who nods. “The lightest you can manage, and whatever else that’s lightweight. How fast can that be done?”

“Five days,” Mei says again. “I’ll work on nothing else.”

You don’t think that’s a good idea – you know the smiths are assigned quotas of arrowheads and ax-blades – but it’s not your place to comment. What is your place to comment on is Sir Tomura, and the fact that he’s very obviously concealing something from you. Before you can say a word, Mei seizes your arm and hauls you into service. “Help me carry this,” she says, already lifting the armor stand. “Many thanks for your patronage. You won’t be disappointed.”

You get one last glimpse of Sir Tomura before Mei’s rapid pace forces you to speed up, lest you drop your side of the armor stand. His voice follows you out the door. “I regret this already.”

So do you, if you’re being honest. You’ve never made a situation less stressful by adding Mei to it, and the question of just why you need chainmail is occupying all your thoughts. In her corner of the smithy, Mei makes you help her pry the armor off the armor stand, and once it’s off, she throws all of it into a vat full of a filmy grey solution that looks like nothing so much as dishwater. “What is that?”

“It cleanses the armor, and neutralizes any residual magic,” Mei announces. You stare in horror. “What? I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think Sir Tomura wants his spells stripped from his armor.”

“His armor’s got no spells left. All of them went into blocking that strike,” Mei says. “I could tell when I touched it. Only shreds remain, and those must be removed before I can add new spells. Most magicians don’t know how to do it themselves. That’s probably why he thinks it can’t be repaired.”

You’re used to taking Sir Tomura’s word as truth on matters of magic, and it’s true that he’s often right – but Mei knows her craft, and you trust her with it. She sticks both hands in the vat, arranging the armor so all of it soaks evenly, then turns to you. “Are you going to give me your measurements, or do I have to take them myself?”

You give them, only for Mei to come and take them anyway. It exasperates you. “Why bother asking, then?”

“Some noble ladies lie about their measurements,” Mei says as she wraps a knotted string around your waist. “It’s not wise to lie about your chest when you’re being fitted for armor.”

Your face heats up. “I don’t care about that. And I’m not a noble lady.”

“You speak to the White Death like one.”

“So do you,” you protest.

“That’s how I speak to everyone,” Mei says. You suppose that’s true. When it comes to matters of arms and armor, Mei offers no varnishing of her opinions to anyone, noble or otherwise. “You would never speak to another knight or noble the way you speak to the White Death.”

“Because he ordered me to,” you say. Mei raises an eyebrow. “Sir Tomura ordered me to speak to him as I would speak to an equal.”

“Nobles order you to do things all the time.” Mei yanks the knotted string tight enough around your chest to make you gasp. “That doesn’t mean you do them all.”

Nobles and knights give nonsensical orders not infrequently – if they’re drunk, if they’re showing off, if they’re in an expansive frame of mind. They also give inappropriate orders, ones you feel no shame at all about refusing, and ones you warn the other servants about so they know what might be coming their way. Sir Tomura’s orders are neither nonsensical nor inappropriate, at least not to you. It hasn’t struck you as strange at all to follow them.

And following them isn’t incompatible with arguing with him, you don’t think. After all, he never told you not to.

Mei finishes measuring you, then evicts you from her corner of the smithy, and you try to remember the rest of your tasks for the day. The army will depart within the fortnight, and you’ve already confirmed that Sir Tomura will receive the same makeshift accommodations as any other knight on the campaign – a tent of his own, a cot, and a squire to serve him on the battlefield and off. But Sir Tomura’s chosen no squire, nor has anyone sought him out. You know he prefers to do things himself, that he did so before, that he and his comrades kept no servants. Still, the idea of sending him off with no assistance alarms you. Perhaps if you find someone for him –

“No,” Neito says, when you corner him in the stables as he’s grooming Aizawa’s horse. “Absolutely not.”

“No other Lord is expected to fight alone,” you say. “Sir Tomura –”

“Is the White Death, and he managed to humiliate Sir Katsuki without drawing his own sword. He does not need me.”

“He needs a squire,” you insist. “If you would but speak with him, you might find him more agreeable.”

“He does not need me,” Neito repeats. He gives you a sidelong, measured look. “He’ll have you.”

That’s the second time today someone’s alluded to your presence on the campaign. You’re beginning to think you’ve missed something. “You are mistaken. I’m not supposed to –”

“Be here? Yes.” Sir Tomura’s voice rings out from behind you, and you jump. Neito takes two steps back in shock and trips over a bucket. “There is an errand you must accompany me on, today. Your ambush with the blacksmith merely delayed it.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You help Neito to his feet, then hurry after Sir Tomura, rethinking your strategy. Perhaps Neito isn’t the right choice for Sir Tomura’s squire. You still have a fortnight to find someone.

To your surprise, Sir Tomura leads you out of Castle Ultra, down the hill toward the pastures where the knights’ and nobles’ horses spend their days. Perhaps he wants to visit his horse. You wait for him to explain the purpose of the errand, and why it requires your presence, but he remains silent long enough that you ask. “My Lord? Where are we going?”

“You must learn to ride.”

“I know how to ride,” you say.

“On what? A plough-horse still attached to the plough?” Sir Tomura says it without scorn, but you feel the sting regardless. “You must learn to ride properly if you hope to keep up.”

To keep up with what? You look up at Sir Tomura and find him once again ignoring your gaze. “My Lord – I’m not to accompany you on the campaign, am I?”

“If it were my choice, you would stay behind.” Sir Tomura picks up the pace, and you do the same, nearly stumbling on the uneven ground. “But the council is displeased with the quality of the evidence provided by their spies. Once again, they turn to those with firsthand knowledge of the borderlands, and in practice –”

“Me.” Your stomach drops fast enough to make you nauseous. “My Lord –”

“The order came from King Izuku,” Sir Tomura says. A sneer twists his mouth. “Such a good king, to endanger those who cannot fight in order to spare those who do.”

Of course you want the soldiers of the High Kingdom to be as prepared as possible for the battles they will face. Of course you owe everything to the High Kingdom for taking you in. The knowledge that this is the price you must pay for it sits firmly within you, and yet you still feel sick. “When did you plan to tell me, my Lord?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“Forgive my naïveté.” Your eyes are stinging.

“No,” Sir Tomura says sharply. “I misspoke. I hoped you knew, because I did not want to be the one to tell you. If I waited long enough, the King would have been forced to do it himself, and that damned look on your face would be his fault instead of mine.”

You must look terrible. “If my expression offends you –”

“Be silent,” Sir Tomura snaps, and you subside. “I will teach you what you need to know, beginning with this. If you wish to keep up with an army, you must learn to ride like a soldier.”

The keeper of the pastures must be expecting Sir Tomura; when the two of you arrive, he’s waiting for you with a pile of tack and a wooden practice horse. Koji speaks very little, and he stands by while Sir Tomura tersely instructs you on the proper way to saddle a horse. Once you’re able to repeat the instructions back to him, you move on to practicing on the wooden horse, and when you’ve saddled it five times without a mistake, Koji brings over a set of steps. You’ve seen knights and ladies climb them before to mount their horses.

“No,” Sir Tomura says. “Do you think we have such luxuries on a military campaign? You’ll learn from standing, as I did. Watch.”

You watch as Sir Tomura grasps the pommel of the saddle, plants one foot in the stirrup, and vaults himself into place astride the wooden horse. He makes it look easy, even if you see him grimace as the motion strains the fragile skin covering his cursed wound. He’s still grimacing as he leans down to adjust the stirrups to the proper lengths. “You secured the saddle and girth properly. If you fail to do so and attempt to mount, you’ll fall off the other side, and I cannot promise that I will not laugh at you.”

“It would be hard to resist, and I wouldn’t mind,” you say. Sir Tomura gives you an odd look. “Not when you laugh so rarely as it is.”

Sir Tomura dismounts from the other side of the wooden horse, then comes around to yours. “Show me what you observed.”

You’re so concerned about the prospect of failing to make it to the saddle that you overexert yourself, and nearly launch yourself all the way over. Sir Tomura steadies you. “Dismount from this side and try again,” he instructs. Dismounting is harder. You stumble, and he steadies you once again, interrupting you when you try to mumble an apology. “Apologizing will teach you nothing. Try again.”

You practice mounting and dismounting the wooden horse until your arms and legs are sore. Sir Tomura instructs you to remove the tack from the wooden horse and turns to Koji. “Take her to the paddock. I’ll return with Nomu.”

Nomu must be his horse. You’ve never heard him speak its name. Koji ushers you along the edge of the pastures towards a training paddock, one which contains seven or eight horses of various colors. You look to Koji, puzzled, and after a long moment, he speaks. “You will choose from these.”

“From whichever among them can stomach Nomu.” Sir Tomura’s horse moves with such silence that you didn’t notice his approach until his shadow fell across you. “Nomu’s presence, like mine, is difficult to bear.”

When you look up at Nomu, you understand. He’s pale as death, pale as Sir Tomura’s armor and his hair and the blade of his sword, and his body is laced with scars that show through his thin coat. His eyes have neither lashes nor irises nor lids; rather, they stare endlessly out, devoid of life or interest. Sir Tomura stares that way, sometimes. The only life you can see in Nomu is in the twitching of his ears, this way and that.

The rumors say that Sir Tomura feeds Nomu a diet of blood and flesh, but you smell no such thing on the horse’s breath. Seeing Nomu makes your skin crawl, and makes you sorry, all in the same moment. Sir Tomura looks down at you from his back. “Frightened?”

“No, my Lord.”

“You’ll need a horse to match your temperament, then.” Sir Tomura touches Nomu’s reins and steers him in a circle, addressing Koji as he does. “Instruct the horses within to hold. Then open the gate, and stand aside.”

Koji complies, looking as though there is nothing he’d rather do less. You step aside as well. The horses within the paddock continue to mill about, registering the open gate without running for it. At least not at first. When Sir Tomura and Nomu jump the fence into the paddock from the far side, the horses panic as one. Two jump the fence of their own accord, while the rest rattle about, colliding with the railings and each other in an effort to escape. Nomu has done nothing; Sir Tomura has him in hand. But the horses react as though each and every one of them is in mortal danger.

Koji puts his hand to his mouth and whistles sharply. Three of the remaining horses break immediately towards the sound and the open gate, and when the others realize that an escape is available, they pile through it in a single, seething mass. You can’t imagine how Koji plans to contain them, but at his word, they flee into an adjacent paddock. Within the original one, only two horses remain. There’s Nomu, standing still, staring at nothing. And on the far side of the paddock, a mud-grey horse crops lazily at the grass.

Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides and guides him closer. Still, the grey horse fails to stir. Koji comes back, red-faced and out of breath, and Sir Tomura addresses him without looking his way. “Is something wrong with this one?”

“She has always had an even temper.” Koji’s voice is barely a whisper. “It’s a good quality in a mare.”

“Then why hasn’t she been chosen as some lady’s mount?” Sir Tomura nudges Nomu closer still, and the grey horse looks up. It studies Nomu for a moment, then goes back to its meal. “It seems she would suit a magician who rides to war.”

“Most prefer a flashier mount,” Koji stammers. “She is plain.”

Sir Tomura swings down from Nomu’s back and leads Nomu closer by the reins, so close that Sir Tomura can lay a hand on the grey horse’s neck. She lifts her head at that, looks towards him. They make an odd trio there, the man and mount too monstrous to tolerate and the mare too plain to be chosen. After a long moment, Sir Tomura lifts his hand away. “She will serve,” he says, and beckons to you. “Bring the saddle.”

You’re anxious from the first, but the grey mare lives up to Koji’s description. She shows a little mischief when you attempt to tighten the girth, but you know what to look for, and you wait until she’s exhaled to tighten it. Then you haul yourself up into the saddle, on tired arms and with tired legs. Now you and Sir Tomura are seated side by side. Sir Tomura guides Nomu out of the corral with the lightest touch on the reins, and there’s nothing for you to do but mimic and follow him.

The two of you ride in silence for some time, Nomu placid under Sir Tomura’s control, the grey mare jittery under yours. “Loosen your hold on the reins,” Sir Tomura instructs. “She’s responding to your fear, not her own.”

You relax your fingers with an effort, and as Sir Tomura said, the grey mare settles down. “We’ll ride together each day until the campaign begins. You’ll be familiar with the concept, if nothing else.”

You’ve never heard of a knight training a servant to ride. There are other servants for that. “My Lord, I do not want to claim more than my share of your time. If someone else could –”

“Why?”

Your insides twist with discomfort. “It’s not right for a noble to teach a commoner.”

“Yes, because you are beneath me.” Sir Tomura’s voice drips with derision. “Many soldiers, noble and common, have died at my hands. Believe me when I tell you that they all bleed the same color. There is no difference between us but what you pretend there to be.”

You have no idea how to respond. “I will grant that the High Kingdom is less rigid in its hierarchy than others,” Sir Tomura continues. “In some kingdoms, one must be of noble birth to be knighted, or to serve on the King’s council. Here, it seems deeds matter as much as blood – but those who commit great deeds see themselves as worthier than those who do not. There is not a kingdom in this world where that is untrue.”

“I have heard that you visited many kingdoms,” you say. Sir Tomura nods without looking your way. “Why?”

“I was granted the power to destroy that which displeased me. I was displeased by a great many things.” Sir Tomura ducks his head to avoid a low-hanging branch, then straightens up. “Others shared my ideals but lacked my strength, yet made up for my weaknesses in strengths of their own.”

You’ve never heard him reference his old comrades before. You remain silent, hoping he’ll say more. “We visited many kingdoms in search of one where my comrades could live as they wished to. Where we met opposition, we destroyed it, and so was born the story of the White Death, bringer of ruin and symbol of fear.”

“Is that all?” The words fly from your mouth unbidden, and Sir Tomura looks at you at last. “You did not wish to conquer the world?”

“And do what? Shape it in my own image?” Sir Tomura shakes his head. “You cannot model a world on an empty vessel.”

You’ve heard Sir Tomura call himself many things before. His many enemy-given epithets, his own mocking titles; on rare occasions, even his own name has left his scarred lips. You’ve heard him call himself a monster, a villain, an abomination. But in all the months you’ve served him, he’s never described himself that way before.

And yet it suits. You thought on the day you met him that he looked lost, that whatever had driven him to carve a bloody path across the known world had left him for good. You remember noticing the emptiness of his gaze. An empty vessel. A vessel for what?

Sir Tomura looks away from you. He shifts in his saddle, grimacing, and grimacing worse as he ducks again to avoid another branch. You wonder if he regrets what he told you. Certainly he does not wish to say more on the subject. “When we ride to war, you will be in danger,” he says. “The same amount of danger as the rest of us will be as we travel through enemy territory. I can do nothing about that.”

“Of course, my Lord.” You see him grimace again, and you wonder if your words are so hateful to him – but then you see one hand leave the reins, twitch towards his chest. “I do not expect you to.”

“Good, because it is impossible.” Sir Tomura looks ahead. “I can, however, ensure that no additional danger comes to you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He gives you a frustrated look, as though you should know already. It’s not often that he’s angry with you for asking a question. “Forgive me.”

“It’s the warlord you fear. He will not lay a hand on you, and I will allow no plan to be made that places you within his reach.” Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides, and the horse shifts into a trot. You do the same, or try to, and all your effort shifts from trying to catch up to trying to avoid biting your tongue in half. “I protect my comrades when it’s in my power to do so. Killing an upstart alchemist is well within my abilities.”

You try to imagine that, imagine Sir Tomura drawing his sword to protect you. In the decade and more since you last saw Warlord Kai, he’s loomed large in your imagination, towering over Sir Tomura, who’s always looked more mortal than monster to you. Could Sir Tomura defeat him? You pull the grey mare to a stop. You can’t speak while trotting, and you must speak. “My Lord, I don’t want you to risk your life.”

“Because my life matters to you.” Sir Tomura guides Nomu into a half-turn to face you, and you nod. “As your life matters to me.”

You can only stare at him. You don’t know whether knights and nobles commonly express concern for the welfare of their servants, but whether they do or not, it’s the last thing you would ever expect Sir Tomura to say. You can’t imagine such words leaving the White Death’s mouth. But even when Sir Tomura was the White Death and nothing more, he had comrades, friends. Someone told you that they once heard him laugh. Sir Tomura’s comrades are gone, slain in the same battle he expected to die in. He is alone in Castle Ultra, alone in the High Kingdom — save you. You’re a poor replacement for his comrades. You can’t fight, you can barely ride, you’ve no powerful magic, and you cower in fear from the memory of a man upon whom the full force of the High Kingdom’s might is about to fall. You aren’t a person worthy of Sir Tomura’s care. You simply hold the distinction of being the only one he has.

You don’t realize you’re staring until Sir Tomura snaps at you. “If you have some ridiculous response to that statement, spit it out. We still have much to do.”

The response that leaves your mouth is perhaps the wrong one. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Sir Tomura stares at you for a moment. “Don’t thank me,” he says, and turns Nomu away, nudging him back into a trot. You can barely hear what he says next. “You started it.”

Did you? You couldn’t say for sure. You tap your heels against the grey mare’s sides and hang on for dear life as she lurches into a trot, leaving any further thought about the conversation you and Sir Tomura just had in the dust behind you.

[logansargeantsbabymom]

A Love Worth Fighting For

Bodyguard!Lando Norris x Fem!Actress!Reader

CHAPTERS 1 & 2

Genre: Forbidden Bodyguard to Lover

Warnings: Smut (Not yet), This is (MY VERSION of) a Slow Burn story!

(Should I make A Love Worth Fighting For Masterlist?)

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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Chapter 1: Y/N

I was lounging in my sprawling living room, idly flipping through scripts, when my phone buzzed. It was a message from Daniel Ricciardo, my best friend who drove for Red Bull Racing. 

Daniel: Hey, Y/N! How about coming to the Silverstone GP next weekend? It's been ages since we hung out at a race!

A smile spread across my face. I hadn’t been to a race in a while, and the idea of seeing Daniel again was enticing. Plus, I could use a break from the constant whirlwind of movie sets and press tours.

Y/N: Count me in! Can't wait to see you!

As I hit send, I glanced over at Lando, my ever-watchful bodyguard. He was stationed by the door, his eyes scanning the room with the kind of diligence that came from years of training. Lando Norris had been assigned to me after a particularly harrowing kidnapping attempt a year ago. Since then, he’d been my shadow, a constant presence in my life. His job was to keep me safe, and he took it seriously.

“We’re going to the Silverstone GP next weekend,” I announced, catching his attention.

Lando nodded, his expression unreadable. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

The rest of the week passed in a blur of preparations. I coordinated with my stylist for a race-appropriate yet chic outfit, made sure my schedule was clear, and mentally prepared for the throngs of fans and media that would undoubtedly swarm the event.

Finally, the day arrived. Lando and I boarded a private jet to England. The flight was smooth, filled with light banter and discussions about the race. Despite his professional demeanor, I’d grown to appreciate Lando’s quiet presence and dry sense of humor.

As we touched down in England, a sense of excitement buzzed through me. I was eager to see Daniel and soak in the electrifying atmosphere of the race. But as always, there was an underlying tension, a reminder of the constant vigilance required to keep me safe.

When we arrived at the track, the roar of the engines and the sea of fans were exhilarating. Daniel greeted me with a bear hug, his infectious energy lifting my spirits. 

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed. 

I laughed, returning his embrace. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Dan.”

Lando stood a few steps behind me, his eyes scanning the surroundings. I could feel his protective gaze, a silent promise that he was there to keep me safe.

The day was a whirlwind of excitement. Daniel introduced me to some of his teammates, and I soaked in the sights and sounds of the race. But as the sun began to set, a sense of unease settled over me. The crowds were growing thicker, and I could feel the weight of their stares.

Lando must have sensed my discomfort because he stepped closer, his hand gently resting on my back. “We should head back to the hotel,” he murmured.

I nodded, grateful for his presence. As we made our way through the throngs of fans, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. 

Just as we reached the exit, a group of men blocked our path, their expressions hostile. Lando immediately stepped in front of me, his posture tense and ready for a fight.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

My heart pounded in my chest as I clung to his jacket, fear creeping in. 

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted from excitement to danger, leaving me on edge as I wondered what would happen next.

Chapter 2: Y/N

The men in front of us radiated hostility, their eyes fixed on me with unsettling intensity. I could feel Lando's body tense, ready to spring into action at any moment. My heart raced, but I knew better than to panic. Lando had drilled it into me time and time again: stay calm, stay alert.

One of the men stepped forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you own the place?" he sneered.

Lando's voice was calm but firm. "Back off. We're leaving."

The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Not so fast. We just want a little chat with the princess here."

I could feel the bile rising in my throat. This was exactly the kind of situation Lando had warned me about. My fame made me a target, and there were always people looking to take advantage of that.

Lando didn't hesitate. In a swift, fluid motion, he pushed me behind him and squared off against the men. "I said, back off," he repeated, his voice like steel.

The tension in the air was palpable. I could see the men sizing Lando up, trying to decide if he was worth the trouble. It was clear that they hadn't anticipated running into someone like him.

Finally, the leader of the group seemed to come to a decision. He held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "Alright, alright. We'll leave the princess alone."

But as they turned to leave, one of them lunged at Lando, a knife glinting in his hand. Everything happened in a blur. Lando twisted out of the way, his movements precise and controlled. He grabbed the man's arm, twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground. 

The other men, seeing their comrade incapacitated, quickly backed off, muttering curses under their breath as they fled.

Lando didn't let go of the man's arm until he was sure they were gone. Then, he released him with a shove, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Go," he growled. The man scrambled to his feet and ran.

I was shaking, my heart pounding in my chest. Lando turned to me, his expression softening slightly. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. "Yes. Thank you."

He gave me a small, reassuring smile. "Let's get you back to the hotel."

As we walked away, I couldn't help but glance back at the spot where the confrontation had occurred. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, but there was something else too – a growing sense of admiration for Lando. He had risked his own safety to protect me, and he had done it without hesitation.

We reached the hotel without further incident. Lando escorted me to my room, his hand gently resting on my back. Once we were inside, he turned to me, his expression serious.

"Y/N, I need you to understand something," he said, his voice low. "My job is to protect you, no matter what. But you have to be careful too. There are always going to be people who want to take advantage of your fame."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I know, Lando. I just… I didn't think it would happen here."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It can happen anywhere. That's why I'm here."

I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. He was more than just my bodyguard. He was my protector, my confidant, and maybe, just maybe, something more.

But as I opened my mouth to say something, the words caught in my throat. This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. I had to keep my feelings in check, at least for now.

And as I lay in bed that night, the events of the day replaying in my mind, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Because one thing was certain: Lando Norris had become more than just my bodyguard. He had become an integral part of my life, and I wasn't sure how to navigate the growing feelings that stirred within me.

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HI! This is my second series, so please ALWAYS give me feedback, whether you liked the chapter or not, what you hope happens in the next chapter, what I shouldn't include in the next chapter, so on and so forth! You can comment the suggestions, DM the suggestions or you can put them in my inbox.

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[maikee-akihiro]

3 times Crowley stops the urge to kiss Azi(1+ when he doesn't)

Fandom: Good Omens

Chapter: 1/4 Next Chapter

Summary:

[Based on my Good Omens Reincarnation AU! This will be a little compilation of ficlets showcasing the different timelines where Crowley and Azi meet. The actual fanfic won't be posted yet as of now.]

Aziraphale asks Crowley for a favor, in return makes him go all PTSD for about a second.

Chapter One ✧ Cleaning with love ✧ Year 2023(Present Time)

“Why in such a hurry, angel?” the man with sunglasses asked, eyeing down the gentleman buttoning up his sleeves in a hurry.

“Oh Crowley love, don’t be down. I promise we’ll have breakfast tomorrow.” With those pleading eyes that his angel uses against him, how could he ever refuse his words? But with a sulk, he just nods. 

“By the way Crowley, can you help me at the bookshop later?” Aziraphale asked, fixing his bow tie by the mirror. Crowley just watches him do his daily routine, so serene and quiet. 

He hopes to himself that this would last

Rejuvenated by knowing they’ll hang out later, he quickly replies. “Sure, I don’t have anything scheduled today.” 

With a smile— Oh how Crowley loves his warm yet mischievous grin, he picks up his messenger bag and gives Crowley a peck as he left. 

He agreed to his simple request, it wasn’t a biggie. He can always reschedule his board meeting tomorrow. His angel always comes first. Definitely not because he was clingy. Definitely not.

He touches his cheek, still feeling the fleeting caress of his soft lips. It was a scoop of something he always craved, and now within the boundless time right now– he can enjoy it. 

“Cancel our meeting later, I had a sudden appointment.” Crowley says to the phone as he picks out a nice leather jacket.

He wonders what would be urgent that his angel needed his helping hands?

He shuts the closet doors, sprawling the jacket over the bed. “But sir, this is an annual board—”

“Cancel.” He says with finality, not leaving any room to argue. The employee on the other end sighs in resignation. 

The call ends with him victorious.

He should probably give him a raise. He notes that in his notes app.

-

Now he’s at the bookshop, holding various dusters and an apron.

“Here, take this as well.” With his signature smile, Aziraphale hands him the broom.

Scam— my angel scammed me. He thought as he arranged the clattered books, stacking them up.

And here he thought–

His thoughts were cut off when he hears a disgruntled yelp.

“Ouch!”

He’d recognise that whine anywhere.

Dropping everything in hand, he quickly runs to Aziraphale’s side with worry plastered on his face. Putting his hand to the side of his face, he questions. “What the matter, angel?” 

Aziraphale’s face winced in pain as he rubs his head, saying. “A stray book fell off.” 

Crowley looks at the assailant, and notices a lot of books weren’t placed correctly—with some barely even inserted. He also notices how slightly shaky the shelf is.

How old is this thing?

He returns his gaze to Aziraphale, who was still talking.

“The fricking spine directly hit my head—"  

But before he could even finish his sentence, it was like the books wanted to fight them because every single book on the shelf started to fall.

Without any thought, Crowley instantly shielded his angel from the books as they descended with such drama, some even pried open mid flight. 

Why are these books so heavy!? 

It hits him square on his upper back. With a grunt, he tries to flex his arms. 

One minute they were dusting the shelves and arranging books, next thing he got Aziraphale pinned between his arms, protecting him from falling books of all things.

What an unlucky day, though– at least he was here and those books didn’t topple his angel.

He realized something.

What if he didn’t came? What if he continued the board meeting? Would he find Aziraphale all bloodied up with a cracked open skull?

He didn’t even want to think about that possibility. 

He got reminded yet again of the memories, of times when he let his guard down just for a second.

That could’ve happened now if he wasn’t so absent minded!

Aziraphale, noticing him tremble, asked worriedly. “Crowley– love? Did the books hit you hard?”

He remembers the trembling face of his angel trapped underneath the rubble. He remembers the fire painfully licking his skin, remembers reaching out and clutching pul–

He felt gentle hands cradling his face. Ones so warm and affectionately sweet. Ones that he recognizes.

Snapping back to reality, he makes eye contact with his angel. He also realizes how close their faces are to each other.

“Are you back, my love?” Aziraphale asks.

Slowly, the two faces of the Aziraphale in his memories and his reality merged– reminding him that it was all past.

He stops the urge to kiss him, because right now he has unholy thoughts that he would not like to divulge in this awkward moment. 

“Yes, thanks angel.” He says– albeit blushing– as he mirrors him, caressing his face as he lets his forehead touch his.

“Thank you so much.”

[julibf]

JON WAS PROMISED TO SANSA PART 1

PS - I want to apologize for my super long post, I received a couple of messages of readers explaining that the long form of the post makes harder for some people to read all the information. I will try to do in 2 parts. This first using some of the hints from books and tv show and the second part approaching the book chapters.

So, one of my favorite theories that I have seen floating sometimes is that Jon Snow is actually The prince that was promised to Sansa. The idea is that Lyanna not only asked Ned Stark to protect Jon, but also, asked him to marry his first born daughter to her son, in order to fulfil an important prophecy and that the breaking of this promised is what led for all this pain and sorrow to fall onto House Stark. This would parallel the pact made by Doran Martell promising his older daughter to Viserys Targaryen, both men made promises to marry their daughters to Targaryen princes, yet both failed to fulfill their promises.

What if Jon and Sansa had been betrothed all their lives since their birth? What if this union is very important for the future of Westeros and the Gods are making everything possible for them to be together?  This would be a big twist in the end of the story, because the reader usually associates Ned Stark with someone who takes oaths very seriously, yet, having the hero of the story breaking an oath and disgracing himself its kind the story that George likes to write. In A GAME OF THRONES there is a lot of hints that Ned actually broke his promise to Lyanna.

**************************************

He slept and woke and slept again. He did not know which was more painful, the waking or the sleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts were worse than nightmares. (A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV)

Ned keeps on dreaming about broken promises…….

The thought of Jon filled Ned with a sense of shame, and a sorrow too deep for words. If only he could see the boy again, sit and talk with him … pain shot through his broken leg, beneath the filthy grey plaster of his cast. He winced, his fingers opening and closing helplessly. "Is this your own scheme," he gasped out at Varys, "or are you in league with Littlefinger?" (A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV)

In his lasts moments Ned is thinking of Jon and the memories of him bring immense shame and sorrow. Remember, not only he never told Jon about his mother, he also allowed the boy to join the Nights Watch without ever explain to him how truly terrible that place was. I am certain now that Ned Stark broke a very serious promise to his sister…..

The mention of dreams reminded him. "I dreamed about the crow again last night. The one with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I did. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad." "And why was that?" Luwin peered through his tube. "It was something to do about Jon, I think." The dream had been deeply disturbing, more so than any of the other crow dreams. "Hodor won't go down into the crypts."(A Game of Thrones - Bran VII)

Again, what Ned had to say to Jon was so important that he came back from the death just to tell Bran. I believe that Bran will finally remember about this dream in the last volume of the books, “A dream of Spring”.

One of my favorite moments in A CLASH OF KINGS, is the red comet that crosses the sky during the entire opening of the story. In Sansa’s first chapter she asks one of the knights of the kingsguard what does he thinks the comet purpose. Several Jonsas writers have made metas over this idea

(https://www.tumblr.com/nattyslove22/745268948796407808/what-do-you-think-it-means-she-asked-him-glory) (https://chispas-and-broken-bindings.tumblr.com/post/642883177830137856/glory-to-your-betrothed-ser-arys-answered-at)

The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him. "Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet." Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail." "King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies." (A Clash of Kings - Sansa I)

We know that Jon is the Dragon Heir, since he is the son of Rhaegar, so what if the comet was meant to him????

There are some other hints too, that looked like foreshadowing in my mind…

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?" "You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. (The Winds of Winter - Alayne I)

I have been rewatching the tv show and a couple of scenes got my attention. First we have the famous added scene of Catelyn Stark telling Talisa that she broke a promise made to the Gods. This happens on Season 3 Episode 2 (Dark Wings, Dark Words). Catelyn Stark tells about a broken promise that she made involving Jon Snow and how she believes breaking this promise brought all this pain and sorrow to House Stark.

Catelyn Stark: Many years before that, one of the boys came down with the pox. Maester Luwin said if he made it through the night, he'd liνe. But it would be a νery long night. So l sat with him all through the darkness. Listened to his ragged little breaths. His coughing, his whimpering. Talissa: Which boy? Catelyn Stark: Jon Snow. When my husband brought that baby home from the war, l couldn't bear to look at him. l didn't want to see those brown stranger's eyes staring up at me. So l prayed to the Gods, take him away. Make him die He got the pox. And l knew l was the worst woman who eνer liνed. A murderer. l'd condemned this poor, nnocent child to a horrible death all because l was jealous of his mother. A woman he didn't eνen know. So l prayed to all seνen Gods, let the boy liνe. Let him liνe and l'll loνe him. l'll be a mother to him. l'll beg my husband to giνe him a true name, to call him Stark and be done with it, to make him one of us. Talissa: And he liνed?  Catelyn Stark: And he lived…..And l couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family, it's all because l couldn't love a motherless child.

Later, in season 6 Episode 10 (The Winds of Winter) we have Jon and Sansa finally taking back the North and Winterfell together. Sansa tells Jon that she sees him as a Stark and Jon tells Sansa they need to start trusting each other, then he kisses her and remind Sansa of a promise made by Ned Stark.. (Interesting fact ton notice that after receiving this kiss from Jon, Sansa never again allows Littlefinger to kiss her again). 

Jon Snow: I'm having the lord's chamber prepared for you. Sansa Stark: Mother and Father's room? You should take it. Jon Snow: I'm not a Stark. Sansa Stark: You are to me. Jon Snow: You're the Lady of Winterfell. You deserve it. We're standing here because of you. The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in. They came because of you. You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Boltons. Sansa Stark: He did. Jon Snow: And you trust him? Sansa Stark: Only a fool would trust Littlefinger. I should have told you about him, about the Knights of the Vale. I'm sorry. Jon Snow: We need to trust each other. We can't fight a war amongst ourselves. We have so many enemies now. Sansa Stark: Jon. A raven came from the Citadel. A white raven. Winter is here. Jon Snow: (Smiling) Well, Father always promised, didn't he?

Once again, the show makes sure to connect Ned Stark with a promise, they could have use any word for this dialogue. It could have been Father always warned us, or Father always told us but they made sure to use the word promise which we know its always associated with Jon Snow and the promise Ned Stark made to his sister. So it made me wonder if we ever will found out more about Ned's promises to Lyanna.

Next is part 2, the books chapters.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life. 

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door. 

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear. 

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face. 

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message. 

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately. 

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece. 

Frank: Cross my heart. 

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap. 

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug. 

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle. 

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done? 

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family. 

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever. 

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity. 

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world. 

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass. 

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else. 

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front. 

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone. 

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort. 

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.” 

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate. 

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.” 

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?” 

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone. 

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture. 

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast. 

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.” 

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands. 

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.” 

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors. 

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold. 

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.” 

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant. 

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky. 

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs. 

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you? 

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary. 

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it. 

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started. 

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite. 

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain. 

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing. 

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him. 

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came. 

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached. 

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera. 

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities. 

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again. 

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank. 

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery. 

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back. 

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie. 

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered. 

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry. 

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out. 

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”  

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed. 

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest. 

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked. 

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry. 

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers. 

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction. 

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you. 

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?” 

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes. 

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork. 

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.” 

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–” 

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest. 

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession. 

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did. 

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it. 

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh. 

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning. 

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.” 

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.” 

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.” 

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again. 

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?” 

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin. 

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees. 

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress. 

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you. 

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again. 

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help. 

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started. 

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right. 

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks. 

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard. 

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?” 

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.” 

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.” 

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.” 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence. 

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip. 

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you. 

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.” 

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars. 

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.” 

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.” 

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.” 

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to. 

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?” 

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.” 

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin’ yourself? What do you mean?” 

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.” Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.” 

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.” 

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?” 

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you. 

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?” 

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover. 

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs. 

“You made me a lasagna?” 

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.” 

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?” 

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork. 

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it. 

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you. 

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again. 

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrix@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight@danzer8705

[celestialjellii]

Insomnia is kicking my ass, so I wanna just word vomit about Marcille, and just Dungeon Meshi as a whole.

Spoilers for the Dungeon Meshi manga, and trigger warning for mentions of Suicide.

I find myself relating to Marcille in a lot of different ways. One of these way is her relationship with her dad. Ask any of my friends and they'll confirm that my dad was one of the most important people in my life. I lost him in 2020 to cancer; I got genuinely so emotional when I saw Marcille reminiscing about her dad to the others. And how she wishes she got more time with him

These kind of stories always seem to rewonate with me because I feel like my dad was taken from me too soon as well. Marcille's facial expression in the bottom panels is an expression I'm all too familiar with making. When talking about my dad (especially with people who never got the chance to meet him) its always really bittersweet. Its great because I'm able to talk about the greatest man I've ever known, but painful too because I know I'll never be able to talk to him again, be able to cry in his shoulders, be able to turn to him for help. And it hurts.

Theres also how Marcille views death inregards to herself, and her loved ones.

This part made me genuinely cry because, in a way, I know how it feels. While its not necessarily in regards to death (I have had some harsh deaths in my life, like my dad's passing, and two friends of mine taking their own lifes) I do know how painful it can be to say goodbye to people, which is how Kui expresses Marcille's fear of death in Dunmeshi. With Marcille's long life she's going to likely outlive everyone she loves and thus have to say goodbye to them. I also have had to say goodbye to people I didn't want to: be it because of death, ending a toxic friendship,or other reasons. I also just love this part because you can see how badly everything that transpired in that chapter affected her, after bringing everyone back her first instinct was to chew them all out for being so reckless, but when ahe finally verbalizes what had happened her emotions catch her, and all she can do is fall back against the wall and begin crying.

I also just love how immediate Laios and Senshi is to comfort, and apologize to her, as well as promising that they won't put her through that again.

I remember I was texting my friend Terra and we were joking about Marcille being my favourite because she's a "silly gay elf" but my love for Marcille can be summed up with "I came for the silly gay elf mage, but I stayed for the beautifully written character who struggles with issues that I frequently find myself struggling with.

Additionally I just love how Laios and the others talk Marcille downfrom the edge after she's become the master of the dungeon, it reminds me of all the times my friends have talked me down from my own edge (I love you guys 💖)

Marcille's sexuality is another thing I resonate with. I know that Kui never explicitly states anything, but as a queer person I had a hard time reading Marcille and Falin's relationship as anyother other than romantic, like, we've all seen horny Marcille's "whoa hey!" reaction to Chimera Falin tearing her own shirt off (honestly such a valid reaction from her), but the part that really got me was how tender and loving Marcille is with Falin after she's been resurrected.

My sexuality is something I've been struggling with a lot recently. A little over a year ago my boyfriend of nearly 8 years left me, and up until recently I was identifying as bisexual. However within the past few months I've found myself caring less and less for sex, and a strong desire for the roamntic aspects of a relationship, specifically with women. So seeing Marcille look at Falin with such adoration really resonated with me; I just really love their relationship.

This series is just so amazing, and it resonated with me in so many different ways from everything I've mentioned in this post about Marcille, to things like how Laios is such an amazing allegory for living with autism, to how Senshi has helped myself get a better, healthier relationship with food. Itw just an amazing series and easily in my top 5 anime/mangas.

That is all, I'm gonna try to get some sleep now, here have a dancing Marcille as thanks for reading.

[astarionfixation]

Chapter 4 - *Fu*k Eternity if Immortality Looks Like Me*

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: Mature for Sex and CW Blood & Mentions of Death

Word count count: 3.6k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/138056932

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

*I will never learn to take the sun for granted, ever*

The warmth on his skin makes almost anything tolerable, even the fact that she looks like an overexcited child on a sugar rush, skipping from one hedge to another, enthusiastic about the simple presence of plants, some of which she seems to have only seen in books. It would be charming really if he also had a chance to break his own -fast -. Not that she had much to eat: he had to force that cookie in her pocket for later though of course, when asked why he wouldn't touch food he only had to turn on the charm, with a delightful series of excuses as to why 

"Breakfast? Oh, my dear, I find the company far more enticing than the food here. Why waste such precious moments with a plate when I can feast my eyes on you?”

And he knows that is way too melodramatic for her to still take on his empty flattery, but she still can’t help a smile and that makes him feel in charge of this… whatever this is… the fact that, for all she knows, they haven’t parted more than minutes since the previous night, and only when he had to keep the pretence that of course! She deserved her privacy whilst sinful droplets of water encompassed her body *and nothing else*.

“Let this finally be it darling, you’ve been dragging me through this greenery for hours now, whilst I can assure you I could have made both our afternoons so much more interesting”

She is too intent on examining the hundreth plant to even consider replying to his suggestive invitation *Pity*, but after a moment she speaks, still with a hint of the eagerness he has seen her show only when it comes to herb gathering so far. 

*And the thought of me when she thinks no one’s watching*

“It’s not Mugwort, it’s Life Everlasting”

The last two words shake that part of his mind which was peeking at the surface, ready to get lost in sinful thoughts about her again

*What the !?!?!?*

Surely he heard wrong, or is she testing him? His puzzled look must give that away because she continues unprompted:

“Helichrysum is also known as Life Everlasting. It will be more than enough to prepare a tonic, there is little it won’t cure”

He swallows to gain composure even if he knows how still he has kept any and every part of his body to avoid giving anything away

“True to its name then…”

“Not quite… believe me I’ve tried.”

She continues to talk about the plant as if this truly is something she cannot help

“Decoctions, Tinctures… I would replace every single drop of blood in my body with it if it served the purpose, but the promise of its name has been greatly exaggerated”

The mention of blood reminds him painfully about his own dry throat at the same moment she sighs, her fingers keep tracing the woody stem of what seems like a pretty insignificant weed to him. Yet this is a conversation he feels concerningly drawn to, much like a moth to the flame, utterly conscious of the risk it poses and yet not remotely able to keep from prodding about it.

“Eternity then, is that what your heart truly desires?”

She nods absentmindedly, still tracing the plant with the tip of her fingers

“There are so many things that I'm set to miss”

A sigh leaves her lips and her tapered fingers halt their work on the stems of the plant.

“So many people, so many connections”

She continues, and he knows he could prod now, it would be easy to poke at her thinning barrier. In a half hearted tone he will testify in courts was meant as a joke he replies

“Is that why you asked me to stay with you last night, darling?”

And she should scoff, she should laugh, she should be led astray by where he meant to drive the conversation now, because this heavy air they have come to is not safe for discussing genuine thoughts and feelings.

When her dark eyes rise from the ground to find him she's almost… smiling? But it's resigned, and it doesn't reach her eyes, which are now fixed on him

“Believe it or not Astarion, I think I see something I know in you, and considering how slowly I'm decaying daily, I can't find it in me to be haughty and spare time I could instead spend with you for a time that neither of us might have in the future”

That is unexpectedly honest coming from the girl that stood in the light of the morning sun rays, clutching a shirt to her naked bosom as if it was the most innocent thing in the world, as if she didn’t mean all of that to be just a game to make both their resolve crumble.

“I would chance everyone shares in your predicament my darling, but you seem decidedly set on this, don't you?”

He is doing his best not to linger on the fact she’s perilously dancing on the edge of confessions way more complex than the desire she harbours for him, especially considering he should know nothing about it.

“I know what it feels like… to be just about to die”

And at that, he has to pull control from every fibre of his being not to flinch. Yet she inexorably continues, as if this had become a bloody confession.

“And ever since, time has been folding over and over in my mind, taking every joy away along with a ticking out I can't unhear. It’s all I’ve been searching, studying, looking for…”

He should be worrying, he should be aware that she might very well be tracing his thoughts just like her fingers traced the nape of his neck last night

*Surely to find a weak spot to plant a dagger!*

But he can sense the trembling in her voice, a mix of anger and fear that, despite coming from a different place than his, resembles his own feelings of complete and utter impotency at the fate imposed on him.

She shakes her head slightly and her eyes close while she inhales for a long moment, and he knows she’s trying to steady herself, confirming once again how crucial to her person this is. His mind scrambles back to the fragments of writings he found in her book that would speak of this, but he already knows his silly vanity let him scan only to find his own name committed to paper once he found the first instance, intoxicatingly tempted by discovering signs of her addiction to himself.  

“But there isn’t anything… I looked” as the words leave her mouth, her gaze rises inquisitively to meet his, just as her tone ends to a slightly higher pitch.

*Is she… asking?*

Her eyes are steadily on his and he doesn’t have the time to let the silence linger on that unasked question, besides, it’s much more interesting to see what else he can persuade her to concede.

“Surely an eternal life would be valuable depending on its quality, don’t you think my darling? Otherwise you might just find yourself waking up to a nightmare that keeps repeating itself”

The moment the words leave his mouth he feels a tinge of anger directed at her because even to try and propel words from her he finds himself giving away much more than he ever planned to.

But she just smiles and shrugs, her eyes back to the little immortal plant

"Maybe I've had a comfortable and sheltered life so far, I wouldn't mind continuing it"

But he knows! He knows that’s far from true, even the little he gathered from her notes revealed unlikely similarities in the ways their choices, their bodies had become the belonging of others to play with, when praise after the beating became the only consolation she focused on, just as -many a night- he had to try and forget himself to keep going.

*Why lie now?*

“But truth is, the only immortality that awaits me is here” 

Her fingers now touch the dirt at the base of the shrub, almost digging into it and a brief flash of his own fingernails bloody and covered in dirt comes to him from the night of his own first death.

“When I die, if I’m lucky, my body will be put at rest in the ground and all that awaits me is for it to decompose, feeding the next generation of plants and trees. I just wish I could accept that…”

“How morbid of you sweetling, even I have heard more legends and myths about longevity than that, surely even potential immortality, you didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would simply accept anything imposed on them”

“That’s the thing Astarion, as an elf you have dozens of my lifetimes awaiting in front of you, and whilst even that would eventually feel scarce to me, you are afforded that time. But I can’t… I can’t change what I am”

"Don't we all want to change? Be something other than ourselves for a time, to explore who we could really be?" 

He will never get a chance as good as this one to poke and prod at the very real possibility that she might not recoil the moment she finds out about his true nature. And that's assuming she doesn't already know.

“What would you give for the chance to become an everlasting creature then?”

And he knows a vampire spawn like himself cannot turn her, but he suddenly sees how far their arrangement could go. Jumping ahead he can see how their interests could align and 

*maybe this isn’t just the last in a series of curses laid upon me*. 

Maybe she’s still so very proficient in controlling the way her emotions reflect on her face, but the traits remain placid as her fingers still absentmindedly roll the stem of the herb back and forth to the same rhythm that gives nothing away. Yet the pause was not long enough to suggest she had just come up with her answer there and then

“It would be shortsighted to give anything that I would still require to keep being the person who first needed eternity, but other than that, there’s little I wouldn’t give”

His head tilts slightly so that their eyes can meet again, because he needs to see every minuscule micro expression his next words will bring on her face

“What if all you could ever drink again was the life essence of creatures, their blood, and nothing else, but for eternity of course…”

He has barely a chance to see her eyes widen just ever so slightly, the rhythm of her breath suggesting that she’s about to answer and the fact that words would come so promptly should be a source of concern because *when would she have had time to think about that?!*...

A rustling coming from the opposite side of the glade reaches his attuned, pointed ears.

*Shit! There’s something coming!*

and before she has fully inhaled he closes the distance between them, as his lips release only one clear command whispered in her ear:

“Hide!”

With that his hand presses the centre of her chest compelling her to retreat. He knows he hasn’t been careful with his movements when in a mere few seconds he’s already at the opposite edge of the clearing and the source of the noise is now evident in the massive wild bear growling at him. There’s a vague possibility the animal might have been deprived of a few cubs when he last fed and it seems evident from the ire of it, but conversely, the delight of a meal coming to him when he usually has to scout and hunt for it almost makes him lunge. 

*how appropriate to kill two birds with just one stone*

Because he will be the hero keeping her safe whilst being the monster sated in his hunger. She’s surely hiding behind a tree by now, there’s absolutely no reason to restrain and with his bite the bear will be down in mere moments. And if need be, his dagger is on him, he can even pretend that’s what dealt the final blow should she want to verify. 

*Yes, those are all very good and valid reasons*

And possibly the saliva now reaching his fangs is the last thing he notices before his entire body dives and the bear does not even have time to react to him sinking his canines unceremoniously, pulling flesh and sinew without a care in the world. When the fountain of blood rhythmically rises from the jugular of the beast, it's already over and the bear has already fallen to the ground. He latches onto the open gash and when it hits his tongue It’s metallic and almost acidic but once down his throat it fills his stomach all the same.  He really should not have gone hungry for days. The satisfaction and exhilaration should suggest he was really at risk of attacking someone and destroying his cover, but the thick dark fluid flows down his throat and that's all that matters now. But alas, he can tell this feast is already close to the end, no matter the pull his mouth exercises on the carcass. 

With a final drag he has drained the animal and his entire upper body arches back, his eyes closing now, savouring the feeling of fullness, if only just short of satisfaction. His head thrown back as his neck extends, exposed, and he begins to feel a slight ticklishness as rivulets of blood are now making their way from his lips to his chin and jaw, past the ridge of his trachea and it’s a moment of peace if not exactly bliss, until some part of him screams preservation and he realises the dishevelment he caused.

He brings his hands to the fabric on his thighs and that’s when he realises the absolute mess he made of himself. His fingers run to his face and he can tell the blood it’s painting his features in a way that will be unequivocal to her. He would be frantically pulling at every pocket on him if the warmth of his full stomach wasn’t so naturally soothing to him, and all he can do now is just bring his fingers to his lips, sucking them and licking them clean so that no drop goes to waste. Eventually he even finds a kerchief, though…

*What a waste of silk!*

He slowly cleans the blood from his mouth with the fabric, and whilst his senses are all coming back more acutely than he could ever be gifted upon an empty stomach, there’s a languor that’s been sedated. He knows the problematics of explaining the red stains displayed on a much larger area than a blow dealt with a dagger would justify

*But I can’t give a bloody fuck right now*

His movements are dawdling and after wiping what certainly must be all the bloodshed upon him, his head lolls back, his eyes slowly open again looking upon the bear’s remains. With a measured movement he’s back on his feet and he might be feeling just a little bit more elegant, a tad bit more regal and self assured in his graceful form, standing tall.

He turns around with a delicate gracefulness to find she did follow his order: her figure almost perfectly sheltered behind a tree. The thought makes something twitch inside him

*what an obedient little thing*

A long, dark strand of hair almost covers her eyes, just not enough to conceal, and this time, for a moment, he can tell. 

He can tell that she hasn’t been able to look away, though nothing on her face delivers anything like disgust or recoil at what she’s just witnessed. No, if anything he can tell by the almost imperceptible way the tip of her pink tongue peeps through her plump, red lips. It takes less than a moment, and he might have his elvish eye to thank for it, but something in her expression now feels familiar, akin to enticement

*Eager little minx, If she had ever looked at me that way before, I would have known*

The little book would have been completely redundant because, even from a distance, it's obvious how something in her yearns for him.

And right now, he can’t blame her. Right now, as his body glides with feline gracefulness, he knows she can feast her eyes all she wants because he feels magnificent himself. The life essence is bringing back each and every sense to its apex form and the sunlight feel glorious against the smooth skin of his cheeks, and her heartbeat coupled with her slightly laboured breath is a compelling evidence to sustain every word and thought she has spent over him

+Something must have happened to Astarion, something bad enough to take away his voice, his actual voice, and left him outside looking in. And I don't know how to tell him he's not alone+

And right now the memory of her words coming back to him doesn't even bother him. In fact it's almost sweet how set upon finding his saving graces she is, so much so that she might deserve a treat.

He's just a few feet away from the tree she's still hiding behind, though her one beautiful dark eye peeking has not left him since he began stalking towards her. He gets closer, his long legs lithely gliding towards her and *she can have a show in fact*.

As he reaches the tree he extends his hand towards her so he can coax her out, his voice just like honey

“You're safe now darling, but you can show me your gratitude as you see best fit, though I might have a few suggestions I wouldn't mind indulging in”

At that she moves closer and now that she's not playing hide and seek anymore he has the visual of her increased heartbeat and laboured breath depicted on the rosiness of her cheeks that somehow spread the aroma of mulled wine and flowers even more than usual. The tug at his stomach that's usually elicited by her scent is now happening quite a few inches lower and 

*Fuck!*

Her dark eyes seem fixed on a spot just next to his mouth, and as she is now getting closer to him a new layer seems to be hidden in her bouquet, like the sweet tanginess of pomegranate? When she stops for an instant just in front of him, in that moment a flash of terror seeps through his boastful, post prandial confidence

*Shit do I still have blood on my face?? She knows! She must know and I'm fucked! She'll get the others to drive a stake through my heart and fuck waxing lyrical about eternity if immortality looks like… me*

And if that's the end, he concedes to himself to inhale deeply, to hold and commit her exquisite scent to his memory, and when her face gets closer to him 

*she must certainly be on her tiptoes now*

Her lips are pressing on his cheek, really so close to the corner of his mouth that at any point it will become debatable whether this would account for a real, proper *first* kiss.

“Thank you, Astarion”

She breathes the words on his skin and she's so up close that it now hits him, that sweet, tangy addition to her scent that reminds him of the tart, juicy seeds of a pomegranate is there for one reason.

*Because she's aroused*

At this point it seems worth considering celebrating this feast by grabbing her waist and pushing her back against the tree, fingers immersed in the softness of her thighs until her legs wrap around his hips and he can finally pin her to the tree trunk while his long fingers move deftly under her garments and

*Fuck! Why do I keep going back there!*

He swallows to keep her scent within his insides and a long, delicate finger finds one of her dark curls to wrap around and place just behind her ear so that his fingertip can brush even just for one moment against that spot that he can finally feel beating rhythmically against his digit. His eyes move to her lips, which seem just a tad bit redder after the kiss she planted on his face, as his entire hand now delves in her hair, caressing her scalp whilst his thumb is on her check and his entire hand is full of her softness, her hair *her mind underneath* and because she hasn't even put up a pretence of annoyance he pushes his luck

“Speaking of which, you were about to open up to me, weren’t you, sweet thing? Before we were so rudely interrupted”

He lets the words linger so he can measure her response and when the hand holding her head ever so slightly pulls her closer, guiding her dark eyes to meet his crimson ones again, she just lets him, so he lowers his tone and continues…

“Can you find your words for me now darling?”

And it seems like all the emotions he can read on her face pool around curiosity, enticement. Her lips tremble for a moment and she has to swallow before her sweet breath is once again hitting his senses.

“Hypothetically… if it was to be blood…”

She reaches up on her tiptoes now, her deftly hands found a way to sneak upon him again and they are now pulling at the fabric on his shoulders as she pulls herself closer so that her cheek is now brushing against his until her next words hit directly against the sensitive outer part of his pointy ear, even though it’s barely a whisper

“You just made it look extremely inviting”.

[libraryofneith]

Out of Mind - Chapter 9 (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

@hiroikegawa @evyiione @orcasoul @taz-97

*mrs weasley voice* Where HAVE you been?!!!! I know I know I'm sorry for my prolonged absence. I'm in my last year of uni, applying for post grads when all I really wanna do is write about our fav baby girl Joel Miller. If ever this happens again, which it probably will, worst luck I promise I've not abandoned you! I'm loving writing this fic and have big plans for new ones. Huge thank you to everyone who has liked and messaged me, assuring me that I have not been forgotten.

If anyone else wants to be the first to know when this fic is updated let me know and I'll add you to the taglist.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Summary: As you and Joel make the trade, your trust in him is stretched to its limits.

Warnings: [whole fic is 18+ minors DNI], it puts its age in the bio or it gets the block button, cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, attempted sexual assault, i'm going to put *** at the beginning and ending of any descriptions of sexual violence so you can avoid if necessary, Joel is still a dick, not me getting mad at him for things I made him do.

"you know I'd never let them hurt you."

"Do I?"

You

An icy wind startled you awake. The tip of your nose and cheeks had frozen where they'd been poking out of your sleeping bag in the night. You blew into your hands and tried to rub some warmth back into them, careful not to move the rest of your body or you'd wake Joel who was pressed up behind you.

You'd split the first few nights out of Boston, one of you resting while the other kept watch, but soon exposure to the elements had rendered caution impossible and you'd been forced to sleep at the same time, swaddled under both of your sleeping bags, desperate bodies clinging onto each other for warmth. Most nights you could feel Joel fighting to stay awake, body tensing up every time you started to relax until you hissed at him to quit it. Whether it was for fear of being attacked or refusal to accept any comfort from you was hard to tell.

Your body stilled as Joel shifted against you and you felt a familiar poke in your lower back. It had become something of a wake-up call recently, gently poking you awake on the rare occasions that Joel slept longer than you. It was a sensation with which you were familiar and you kept reminding yourself that it happened to a lot of people in your current situation and it didn't mean anything. Still, as a long, low moan rumbled in your ear you couldn't help but wonder which mystery woman was plaguing Joel's dreams currently. Tess? A ghostly apparition from his past? Or maybe, just maybe, you'd managed to worm your way into his sub-conscious. But you quickly scoffed at the thought. If Joel had any dreams involving you they probably involved wringing your neck.

Joel

She was in his dreams. Again. He always clutched her to him as if he already knew how she would slip away when he woke up. That was the worst part - spending his dreams coiled around her, nose in her hair, arms wrapped around her body, thrusting his hips, searching desperately for release - then waking up still embracing her but having to tear himself away, thanking whatever heartless God existed that she was such a heavy sleeper.

He pried himself away from her warmth, trying not to notice the way she immediately started shivering without him, prodding her until she woke.

"Time to get up."

"Mfff" was all the response he got.

"C'mon move your lazy ass."

"Go away."

"God, you would sleep all day if I let you. Gotta be the worst smuggler I ever seen." That got her up.

"How much further?"

"Not long, we should be able to reach em before sundown. Now remember when we're in negotiations…"

"You do the talking, I decorate the background."

"I know, Tess told me." Joel grimaced.

"What you do is try to be invisible. These folk don't play nice."

He would've much rather done this on his own but Tess insisted he needed back-up. He'd told her before that Ciara was her responsibility, not his, that she would be the only person to blame if she got hurt, but they both knew that was bullshit.

"You ready?" If she was rattled, she didn't show it, just nodded.

Unfortunately for them, Joel's estimations were exact: it was barely afternoon by the time they got to Marcus's camp. Guards frisked them at the perimeter, he noticed that one of them lingered a little longer than was necessary over her and he had to resist the urge to punch him.

"Let's go."

You

As you made your way through the camp, you had a distinct feeling of de ja vu. You hadn't encountered a group like this since before you came to Boston, after which you swore you'd never put your fate in someone else's hands again, fat lot of good that did. Now you felt like a fish swimming into a net.

This Marcus reminded you too much of Robert, except while Robert needed to hire bruisers to do his punching, this guy looked more than capable of striking his own blows. He gave a curt nod to Joel then his eyes turned to you and there was a cruel glint.

"See you've traded Tess in for a younger model." Joel cast you a furtive glance, but said nothing.

"You got what's ours?"

"We have what we promised" Joel responded, producing the collection of guns and ammo you and Tess had filched from the FEDRA base. At the time you'd been pleased to put your skills in climbing and creeping to use but now you didn't like the idea of giving this guy weapons. When you'd asked Tess what he was going to do with it, she rolled her eyes and said "Some light gardening. What do you think?"

"It's still mine till I decide otherwise." But he opened the trunk at his feet revealing a treasure trove of tea, coffee and batteries. You struggled to keep the greed off your face and you could see that Joel was doing the same.

You'd told yourself that everyone needed tools to survive and it was up to him what he used them for, not you. But now, as you looked at Marcus, you could see the faces of everyone you'd ever lost flashing before your eyes.

"It's all there" Joel said as Marcus rifled through the assortment of weaponry.

"Sure seems that way, but now I'm wondering if this is an entirely fair trade."

"It's not. We're giving you FEDRA level weapons in return for batteries n bullshit. You know as well as I do Marcus, that you're robbin' us blind."

"Might seem that way to you, all tucked away in that cosy QZ, but what's the feeling of a gun at your side compared to the feeling of a woman underneath?" Suddenly, you could feel the eyes of every man in the camp on you.

"What're you suggesting?"

"Give me n' my boys a turn with your slice and we'll walk away happy customers."

"C'mon Miller, don't be greedy. We ain't seen a woman in months."

There was a horrible silence. You couldn't hear anything but the ringing in your ears. Finally, Joel replied: "I don't share."

"Probably cos you scared em all away."

"Listen, I promise we'll give her back the same way we found her, more or less. I'll even throw in a few packs of cigarettes we got off a trespasser a while back. Been saving them for a special occasion."

The men were closing in on all sides now, like walls sealing themselves.

"How many packs?" Your stomach dropped.

"Three."

"Show me." Marcus produced the cigarettes with a flourish.

"J-Joel" you managed to stammer out.

"Shut up" Joel glared at you. "Unless you want a repeat of what happened in Austin."

Austin. That was his signal. Loosely translated, it meant trust me, even though things seem shit at the moment, I've got a plan. You have to trust me. And you did. At least, you thought you did.

Joel turned back to Marcus as you cowered behind him.

"At least lemme look at the merchandise."

Marcus beckoned him forward as you could feel his men shepherding you to their side of the camp. You felt a brush on the small of your back and you flinched, looking behind you, but all you could see was a sea of smirking faces.

You watched carefully as Joel went through the trunk. In a flash, you could see a glint of metal. Bullets. Joel must've stashed some in his coat pocket or sleeve. You glanced around, waiting for shouts of alarm or gunfire, but none came. Then Joel was looking at you, just for a second then back at Marcus, and you could see what he saw: under his jacket, a knife strapped to his belt, and a pretty hefty one. Could tear you a new one, or him.

Joel shut the trunk and stood.

"It's all here. I'll be back for her at midnight?"

"Done."

"You two boys escort our friend out of camp, I get first go."

"Right well, enjoy."

You cast one last glance over your shoulder as two huge men prodded Joel with their guns, leading him away from you, as Marcus placed a beefy hand on your shoulder and led you away from him.

*** You swallowed your tears, refusing to give this man the credit of seeing you cry, repeating to yourself, please help me to be brave, please help me to be brave.

"Alright sweetcheeks that's far enough." Bile rose in your throat as his hand forced your head down, pushing you onto your knees. You didn't want to look at him but he grabbed your chin, tilting your head up.

"This'll go a lot easier for you if you don't fight back. I'd hate to return you broken to my associate. That's just bad business."

His shout was cut off by you sticking your fist in his mouth. Teeth pierced your skin but you didn't flinch. You just grinned and said

You said nothing, just nodded and started to unbuckle his belt. You ignored his hand stroking your hair in a disgusting display of tenderness and focused on your task until it came loose. You met his eyes one last time, smiled, then stuck his knife into his groin.

Marcus groaned pitifully and collapsed. Before you could finish the job, you heard the rattling of gunfire and you took off back towards the camp where you could see Joel, having grabbed one of the men's guns, shooting his way through Marcus's men. Unfortunately one man he hadn't accounted for was sneaking up on his left side. Not his left side.

"this'll go a lot easier for you if you don't fight back", sticking the knife into his side.***

The man barrelled into him and had his hands around his throat.

"Let go asshole!" You screamed, plunging the knife into his throat before he had a chance to obey your order.

Joel stared up at you with bulging eyes as you pulled him up, then you both dove behind a crate as shots rang out all around.

"You go left, I go right."

"Real smart thinking giving these douchebags guns" you quipped, but Joel ignored you, responding:

*** You nodded, then edged to your left as Joel drew their gunfire away. It was criminally easy to put your knife through the first two guys but as you grabbed the third one and slit the blade across his throat, you felt a fist closing in your hair and yanking you back. You tried to scream for Joel but another hand clamped over your mouth. You thrashed wildly but to no avail, whoever it was had you in a complete grip. Then you were going flying, hitting the ground with a grunt and feeling your arms and legs pinned as you stared, in horror, at the face of Marcus, covered in blood but still very much alive.

"Guess you shoulda finished me when you had the chance instead of running to help your boyfriend."

"Get off me!" You yelled, turning your face away, the only part of your body you could still move.

Then a single shot tore through the air and Marcus let out a gut wrenching roar above you. Two hands appeared on his arms, ripping him off of you. You remained on the ground, gazing up at the tree tops until a familiar face came into view, tufts of grey and black beard matted with blood.

"I'm gonna enjoy this so much more." You looked around wildly. The sound of gunfire had stopped but you couldn't see Joel, just trees above you.***

"Joel." He helped you up, keeping a firm but not ungentle grip as you swayed in the breeze. The sound of a groan brought you back to reality. Marcus was squirming on the ground like a fish on dry land. A gun was pressed into your hand.

"He's all yours." Marcus whined as you approached.

"No wait, please I didn't mean it, take what you want, let me go, I'm sorry, I won't ever do it again, please…"

You steadied your hand and aimed for his forehead.

"This'll go a lot easier for you if you don't fight back" and you pulled the trigger.

"Are you hurt?" You gazed at Joel who was looking at you with concern. You threw your head back and laughed.

"Am I HURT?!" With a scream that you didn't even realise you were capable of making, you launched yourself at Joel, punching and kicking blindly, shouting "are you hurt? Are you hurt? ARE YOU HURT?"

Joel caught your fists.

"I'm sorry, it was the only thing I could think of." You kept kicking him. "I had to get their guard down and get them separated from their leader." You kicked him doubly hard in the shin. "Ow, stop, you know I'd never let them hurt you."

"Do I?" You screamed, "DO I KNOW THAT?"

Joel held your gaze as your voice echoed throughout the forest. You were suddenly, painfully aware of the death that surrounded you.

"We need to get out of here." You tore yourself away from him and started searching blindly for your pack."

Joel jumped, then followed you as you ran out of the camp.

"Ciara…"

"NOW!"

[crispyjenkins]

dha kar'ta "crispy has lost control of their life again" celebration sneak peek

am planning on starting up a wip wednesday sort of thing (maybe next week?), which will definitely be more than star wars related stuff, but i've also just exceeded a thousand hours on skyrim in less than a year and wanted to celebrate(?) (i actually hit a thousand a few days ago, but in true fixation fashion, kept playing instead of posting anything over here lmao) so here's a dha kar'ta wip 'cause jango is fighting me a little bit but new chapter soon!! i promise!!

 “As soon as Satine is unseated, the Mandalore System’s full neutrality nullifies, unless Jango chooses to reinstate it.”

  “And he’d rather die than do that,” Bosoloc pipes up helpfully.

  “Yes, and at that point, Mandalore can choose to pursue rejoining the Republic for the first time since the Kyr’am Turr’e, because New Mandalore never officially seceded to the Senate.”

  “Which Jang’alor would also rather die than do.”

  Obi-Wan acknowledges Ezovac with a nod. “The politics of sovereign states that exist within sectors technically under control of the Republic are a disaster at best, and almost no one in the Senate is willing to deal with it long enough for a planet to get the flimsiwork through.” Melidaan is a Republic planet now, but the Young didn’t always intend it to be, and Nield couldn’t read, so Obi-Wan had done a lot of that research between battles; and being on the run from Death Watch actually afforded a considerable amount of downtime during his year on Mandalore, and, well. A big part of that Obi-Wan had thought it was all information he’d need to know if Satine asked him to stay, and Obi-Wan still hasn’t quite learned how to let someone love him unless he can be useful to them.

  Actually, it’s rather convenient that he had done all this research for Mandalore specifically, if thirteen years too early — perhaps the Force was simply preparing him for this Mandalore, not Satine’s. 

  Across the mess table, Kal groans loudly and slumps his head down. “Fine, I’ll bite, kih’Alor: what’s any of that got to do with Duchess Demagolka?”

  “Theoretically,” Obi-Wan sighs again, pushing a grumbling Dha further into his mind so he can concentrate, “Mandalore does not actually have to declare itself as anything; there are plenty of planets in the outer rim that have sovereignty without officialising it with the Republic.”

  “But...?”

  “But, thanks to Satine, Mandalore is embroiled in Senate politics nine ways to Corellian Hells, and it’ll be even worse if she makes any headway with the beskar mines while we’re off fighting Vizsla. We simply can’t withdraw from those politics, not when Mandalore’s history is so entwined with the Republic’s, not unless we want to go full isolationist from the rest of the galaxy.” He glances at his other table-/councilmates, and is relieved to see they seem to be keeping up, if looking a bit exhausted by it; Obi-Wan shares the sentiment.

  Luckily, the mess is empty now with everyone returning to their increased post-battle duties, or Obi-Wan is sure they’d have had quite a few more complaints about the impromptu government lesson happening in the middle of the tent.

  Kal rubs his eyes, shaking himself before turning back to Obi-Wan, his frown as deep as ever, but at least he still seems willing to listen.

  “So, we can’t just go after the Senate’s pet Mandalorian without burning those bridges, unless we have proof she’s in league with a terrorist?”

  “Precisely. And technically, with Mandalore as a sovereign state, the Senate can’t do anything about the change in power, unless they plan to go to war with every Mandalorian in the galaxy, but proving she made the first move will give us significantly more support for instating Jango instead.”

  “I feel like my brains are coming out my ears,” Bosoloc whispers woodenly, staring down at the remains of the protein gruel on her tray. 

  “You don’t have ears,” Myles reminds her, chin in his hand, and she kicks him under the table. 

  “What I want to know,” Mij speaks for the first time, easily dodging one of Myles’ flailing arms, “is how you even know about the Kyr’am Turr’e, Obi-Wan.”

  Bosoloc turns away from tormenting Myles to add, “Yes, I was going to ask about that, because I have no idea what the Death Days are.”

-

[totaldramafan-lauri]

Make Use Of Me (chapter 1, preview)

Dec. 7 EDIT: ONCE MORE, WITH BRAVERY THIS TIME. No more chickening out. You can read this thing FOR REAL now. Sorry for being weird, and now....sorry if this wasn't worth it. XD

O-OK...here goes....

First thing's first: I am not expecting a lotta people to read this. I'm not asking people to read this. At this point, I'm making this mostly as a passion project, and if anyone enjoys it, it'll be a really cool bonus. My writing style isn't gonna be for everyone, and the characters I write aren't the most....popular characters in the CRK X Reader community, and I imagine this isn't really something a lotta fans'll be demanding more of.

This is LONG. This one chapter is 56 pages long. I am a VERY wordy writer,

So......why'm I posting this preview? Well....partially as an interest gauge for people who WOULD wanna read it, but...mostly as a motivator. As something to remind myself of whenever I get lazy. After all....I can't quit after I made the first chapter public, right? By doing that, I put myself out there...And, hey, I even tagged it, so, if by the off chance, someone did read it, I'm basically promising them more eventually.....

But, again, I'm not forcing anyone to read this.

Not only is it long, but.....This first chapter is probably my least-favorite thing I've ever written. By posting this chapter by itself, I'm testing to see if it does its job of making people wanna read the rest, cuz....right now, I'm not so sure how well it succeeds at that.....

This is the boring part of the story. It's a bunch of setup, and me jumping through hoop after hoop after hoop to just get everything started. I know setup is important and all, but....I'm already a very wordy writer, so....oof....There is some interesting stuff that happens, but it takes a while to get there.

I-I....kinda hate it, actually. The only reason I didn't scrap it is that I didn't realize I hated it until I was about halfway through it and the "good part" hadn't started yet. And I still spent a month writing the thing, so....I finished it.

I'm tagging this...as an experiment. If you wanna read this, go ahead. W-well, read my tags first, THEN go ahead. XD

All I can really say in this chapter's defense is that....I do try my best to salvage it. It's just setup, but I TRIED to make it interesting. And everything that seems like it didn't go anywhere, will later. This isn't the whole story, it's just the beginning of what's gonna be a BIG story. Anything that seems weird in this chapter, gets explored in the other chapters. This does set up a bunch of stuff that becomes important later (The friend character shows up later, the Colosseum becomes relevant later). This chapter is boring, but I tried not to make any of it pointless.

For the future: I'm aiming for five chapters. Chapters 2 and 3 will be a series of smaller vignettes that take place over the course of a few years, chapter 4 will be the climax, and chapter 5 will be something of an epilogue. After that, there will be two endings to choose from (which will make sense when we get there).

This probably won't be my favorite thing I've ever written, but it will be the most ambitious thing I've ever, and probably will ever, write. I haven't written something like this before, and it's all to flesh out this story and make it believable.

Right now, I.....I want to finish this. I'll probably still be writing this in February at the rate I'm going, but...at this point, I've put too much into it to give up on it. However, I'm STILL not completely ruling out the idea of my motivation dying before then. It COULD happen. So, what I'm planning to do is...setting a short-term goal of finishing chapter 3. After I do that, I'll post the first three chapters on AO3 together, and work on the rest. That way, even if I don't finish it, I'll at least have it over half done, and chapter 3 will end on a somewhat high note.

So, yyyyeah....Not a lotta people will read this preview. Overly wordy writing style + boring setup part of story + 56 pages long + assumed lack of interest for X Readers of this character (At least, I haven't SEEN many simps for her, m-maybe I'm wrong, I might be, I-I haven't checked any tags cuz I've been nervous, b-but it doesn't make my writing any better. In that case, this is my first time writing her so I'm trying super hard to do her justice >//////<)

I-if you wanna read this, and see if this first chapter does a good job of making you wanna read the better chapters, then...Go ahead.....

Some notes:

-This is still not the final draft. It's finalized enough for me to share, but I'm still not considering it finished. Even tho I'm working on chapter 3 right now, I STILL go back and edit this, even very recently. So, chances are, even if the story is finalized, small details and sentences are still subject to change. I know for a fact that there are still SOME placeholder bits in here that will change after I get some stuff cleared up. Recently, I even considered chopping off an entire section to make it shorter. I decided not to, but hey, it could still happen. I don't wanna waste anyone's time. The first chapter of a story, even if it's boring, is still very important, and I wanna make sure it's the best version of itself.

(A-and yes, this means that I've finished chapter 2 as well. The reason I'm not sharing it is that, unlike chapter 1, it was finished VERY recently, so I might still need to give myself time to edit it. From what I have, tho, I do like it a LOT more than chapter 1. There are some parts of chapter 2 that I'm legit proud of.)

-Even tho this first chapter is completely clean, I-I should mention that....this fic is for adults. The full version, at least. Chapters 3 and 4 are gonna contain some light N/S/F/W moments (the "fade to black" variety, so nothing explicit) and there'll be other slightly racey comments here and there. Just a heads-up. I'm gonna be uncomfy with minors reading this.

Th-that's all? I-I think that's all.......O-OK, so......h-here goes..... E-enjoy....

[alisbackalleybbq]

Puppy Love Chapter 5

I am just as surprised as you are that I actually finished Chapter 5 and that I’m posting it.  Hopefully this motivation continues.

@northern-neighbor @optimisticfestpeach​

TW:  Fire, arson, blood, language of course

“I think this is the last of it,” Tim said as he put the box he was carrying down in Charlotte’s apartment.  “Your house is officially cleaned out.”

It was a month after the preliminary hearing.  Jeff voluntarily moved out of Charlotte’s house.  Charlotte moved what she could into her apartment and put the rest in storage.  

“Thank you for all of your help, Tim.  You didn’t need to spend your day off moving boxes.”  Charlotte smiled.  

“I haven’t been able to check in with you since I got pulled into doing some undercover work so I wanted to make sure you were okay.  I know the prelim took a lot out of you.” Tim responded.

“It did but I haven’t heard from Jeff since that day.  My house is on the market and I can finally start trying to move forward.”  Charlotte plopped down on the couch.

“What are you going to do first after you sell your house?” Tim asked, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch from her.

Charlotte let out a long sigh.  “I have no idea.”

“You’re not going to look for a new place to live?”  Tim couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“What’s wrong with where I live now?”  Charlotte half-teased.

“Well, I guess…nothing if you like living with leaking plumbing and in the most unsafe building in California.”  Tim rolled his eyes.

“This building is sa–” Charlotte started.

“If you say ‘safe’ I’m going to throw up.”  Tim laughed.

“Sanitary?”  Charlotte giggled.

“Please.”  Tim shot her a look.

“Okay, okay.”  Charlotte conceded.  “It’s not the greatest.”

“I’d like to see you in a nice neighborhood, in a building with actual security guards.”  Tim looked at his feet, afraid that if he looked at her, his eyes would give away his feelings for her.

“I could move into Fort Knox and still not feel completely safe.”  Charlotte admitted.

“I really want to tell you that it’ll pass and that you will feel safe again but I don’t want to lie to you.  I can’t tell you that you’ll ever feel completely safe again.  You’ve been through a horribly traumatic event.  It’s going to take time.”  Tim laid his hand on her shoulder, locking his eyes on hers.  “But I can promise you that any time you don’t feel safe, any time you’re scared, you call me and I will be there.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte smiled.  “It  means a lot to have somebody in my corner.”

“You have Jonah, Nathan, and Lucy as well.”  Tim reminded her.

“I know and I appreciate them more than I can actually put into words.  But, they coddle me.  Which, sometimes I need.  When I need somebody to metaphorically slap me in the back of the head and tell me to buck up, you’re the one I call.”  Charlotte replied.  “It’s refreshing.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.”  Tim chuckled.

“It’s a good thing, I promise.” Charlotte assured him.  Tim’s hand was still on her shoulder.  Charlotte thought about saying something but she didn’t want him to break contact with her. 

 “I come bearing Mexican food!”  Jonah chirped as he came through the door.

“Thank God!  I’m starving.”  Tim sighed.

It was 2 am when the sound of breaking glass woke Charlotte with a start.

“Charlie,”  Jonah’s panicked voice yelled.  Charlotte got up and ran to the living room where Jonah was scrambling to get the fire extinguisher working as the curtains started to catch on fire.

“What happened?”  Charlotte asked.

“Somebody threw something through the window.”  Jonah huffed out finally getting the fire extinguisher to work.

Charlotte pulled out her phone and called 911.  The dispatcher advised Charlotte to alert her neighbors and to leave her apartment.

After Charlotte relayed that information to Jonah, he grabbed her hand and pulled her from the building, setting off the fire alarm on his way out.

“You need to call Tim.”  Jonah said once they were out on the street.

Charlotte nodded, worrying her thumbnail between her teeth.  Her finger hovered over Tim’s name in her contact list before Jonah tapped the call icon.  He rolled his eyes at her.  “It’s ringing,” he snarked.

“Charlotte?  Is everything okay?”  Tim asked, his voice full of worry and sleep.

“There was a fire in my apartment building.”  Charlotte said.

“Are you okay?” Tim was fully awake now.

“Yeah, we’re fine.  We’re just standing outside waiting for the fire trucks to get here.”  She explained before Jonah grabbed the phone from her.

“So, no, we’re not fine.  We were asleep and Jeff tried to fire bomb us.”  Jonah’s voice was shaking.

“Jonah-” Charlotte started before he cut her off by holding his index finger up to her.  

“No, Charlotte!  Don’t play this off.”  He glared at her before turning his attention back to Tim.  “Tim, I was woken up by the living room window shattering.  When I got out there, there was a clear bottle with liquid in it and a rag that had been set on fire coming from it.  It caught the curtains on fire.  We’re just fucking lucky that the bottle didn’t break.”

“I’m on my way.”  Tim said before hanging up.

Jonah handed Charlotte back her phone and huffed a breath out of his nose at her.

“What?”  Charlotte demanded.

“Why are you trying to play this off like it’s no big deal?”  Jonah asked.

“We don’t know if it was Jeff.”  Charlotte answered.

“The fuck we don’t.  Who else is going to try to fire bomb us?”  

“I don’t know, okay?”  Charlotte practically screamed in his face.  “But I don’t want to accept that we were almost killed tonight!  I need some time to process this.”

“Process faster!”  Jonah yelled at her.  He turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Charlotte called after him.

“To cool off,” he wheeled around to face her, “because I get that you  need time but this actually happened Charlotte!  And I am scared!”

“I am, too,”  she whispered to his back.

Twenty minutes later, Tim’s truck screeched to a stop behind one of the fire trucks on scene.  He flashed his badge and made his way to one of the firefighters.

“What do we have?”  Tim asked.

“Fire started on the first floor, apartment A7.  Tenant tried to extinguish the fire before we got here but these old buildings, man.  We’re lucky we got here when we did and that everybody was out of the building.  There’s significant damage.”  The firefighter replied.

“Shouldn’t the sprinklers have knocked it down some?”  Tim wanted answers then he wanted to hug Charlotte.

The firefighter rolled his eyes.  “They’re dummy sprinklers.  Put in just to pass inspection.  They don’t work.”

“How does that even pass inspection?” Tim was livid.

“Grease the right palms and it’s not hard.”  The firefighter shook his head.  “We did find what looks to be an intact Molotov cocktail in A7.  Fire investigators will be in later to gather evidence.”

“Thanks.”  Tim said and walked away, looking for Charlotte.  He found her standing off to the side of the rest of the tenants huddled on the sidewalk.  “Hey,” he said, putting his hands on her arms.  He looked at her and tears formed in her eyes.  He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“This is my fault.”  Charlotte whispered.

“No, it’s not.”  Tim said.  “It’s whoever threw that thing through your window’s fault.  And I will find out who it was.”

“Tim, we both  know who it was.”  Charlotte said, breaking the hug and wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Tim nodded solemnly.  “Yeah, we do.  And I’m going to put that bastard back behind bars for as many counts of attempted murder and arson as I can get the DA to charge.”

“He’s not going to stop.” Charlotte shook her head.  “He’s going to keep coming.”

“And I will be there every time he shows up.”  Tim vowed.  “He will not hurt you again.”  He brushed her tears away with his thumbs.  “Where’s Jonah?  Let’s get you two back to my place for the night.”

Charlotte sniffled and gestured vaguely down the block.  “He’s down there somewhere.  We got into a fight.”

“Okay,” Tim placed a kiss on her forehead.  “I’ll go get him.  Stay here.”

Charlotte nodded.  As she watched Tim walk away, she felt like he was the only one who could put an end to this nightmare.

“Jonah,” Tim called once he located Charlotte’s roommate in the crowd.  “What are you doing over here?”

“I needed some time,” Jonah sighed.  “Charlotte said we didn’t know it was Jeff and I was afraid I was going to lose it on her.  She knows it was him and I don’t understand why she’s trying to downplay this.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Tim explained.  “Sometimes it’s easier for victims to trick themselves into thinking that all this bad shit isn’t connected.  It makes them feel safer.”

“Well, now I feel like a real asshole.”  Jonah replied.  

“Let’s get you and her out of here.  You two can talk back at my place.”

Jonah nodded in agreement as he joined Tim to go get Charlotte.

“Charlotte,” Jonah called to her.  She was standing with her back to him, her left hand pressed to her left ribs.  “Let’s get out of here.  It’s late and I’m cold.”  She didn’t move.

“Charlotte,” Tim scowled at her lack of response.  He walked faster and moved around her so he could face her.

“Tim,” Charlotte whispered, the color of her face extremely pale.  

“What…” Tim put his hand on her shoulder in an effort to get her to tell him what was going on.  Then he noticed the blood that was seeping out from her fingers that were pressed to her ribs.  “I need a medic!”  Tim yelled as he placed his hand over hers.  He guided her to the ground, her back against his chest, his knees on either side of her, pressing his hand as hard as he could against her hand to try to stop the blood flow.

[steddieas-shegoes]

UPDATE

Hi everyone! Just wanted to give a little update because I haven’t been posting as regularly the last few days. I’m fine! 

Had a rough day Wednesday that bled a bit into Thursday, so I didn’t feel super inspired and was really focused on Liam’s tryouts and just being super anxious about that.

BUT HE MADE THE TEAM!!!! And I did post a fundraiser thing here if you are able to help even by just sharing, that would mean the world to me. The excitement of him making the team dulled QUICK when I saw it was $3200 just to play, not even counting equipment ahahahaha.

But I am staying positive and keeping up the excitement for Liam because this is major for him. His coach from when he first started learn to play might be his coach for the travel team and she reached out to me this morning and said that her and the two guys who oversee hockey operations were really impressed with Liam’s development and that he’s always giving everything he’s got out there and after I cried about that for 15 minutes, I decided to just suck it up and make the fundraiser even though I hate, loathe, despise asking for help of any kind, especially money.

And if anyone has any ideas for making some extra money that’s not visual art related (my stick people are fantastic, but that is the extent to which I can draw), I am all ears. 

BUT ALL THAT BEING SAID!!! I am working on chapter 10 for call me sunshine and I think, though I cannot promise, it will be posted tomorrow. I hoped to have it posted today, but I do have actual work that calls me despite how much I wish it would forget my number. 

I have started on a few more requests as well, but again, kept getting distracted with anxiety and life and work. The good news is that when I finish those, there will be 3 or 4 posted really quickly. 

My summer classes don’t start until the 16th, so I SHOULD be able to get through a good portion of the requests by then. I have about 40 in my inbox, which is sooooo many and I am sooooo excited. So if you’ve sent one, I have seen it, read it, and gotten excited about it, I promise. I would have already reached out if I couldn’t get to it or didn’t feel comfortable with it, so just keep up the patience! I am still taking them through May 7th (Sunday). I try to do it first come first serve, but I do occasionally skip one and come back to it if the inspiration isn’t quite hitting. You aren’t limited to just one either, ask @zerokrox-blog how many of theirs are sitting in my inbox or have already been written (it’s probably double digits). I have been loving your ideas and the creativity you trust me with. 

And this is just a friendly reminder that if you ever see a prompt that was sent to me and YOU want to write it, DO IT. I am not a hoarder of ideas. These ideas aren’t even mine to begin with. If someone wants to see it, they deserve to see it in many ways and many interpretations. And the same goes for expanding or writing your own version of something that I write! If I had the time to make everything I write into a 100k fic I would, but I don’t, so if someone else wants to, then please just tag me in it so I can read it!

Thank you guys for all of your kind words and encouragement, especially lately ❤️

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 22: The Christmas Wish

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 1849

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

CS Genre: 5x21 Canon Divergence (beware this one starts pretty angsty)

Notes:  This story was written for my “Christmas with Captain Swan” collection in 2020.

These last three months had been the worst, the hardest and the most painful of Emma’s life.  No contest.  She wouldn’t wish this pain on her worst enemy, not even on the worst villain they’d ever faced.

Three months ago today she’d left Killian in the Underworld after promising to go on with her life, after promising not to put her armor back on.

In the first few days, her time had been occupied with the battle against Hades.   Like with every villain they’d faced, it had taken a team effort, all of them, all of the Nevengers, as Henry liked to call them, working together to find a solution with the least collateral damage they could manage, but they’d succeeded in the end.  What was even more amazing was the fact that they’d definitively defeated Hades without losing any of the heroes (although Robin Hood had only narrowly ducked out of the way before being hit by the Olympian Crystal.)

The town had held a huge victory celebration in Granny’s after Hades’ defeat, and Emma supposed she should feel some sort of satisfaction at their victory, but all she felt was…empty.

Without Killian, it was hard to force herself to even get out of bed in the morning.  Turns out losing your true love felt a lot like having your heart pulled from your chest, only the pain never went away, never stopped, never seemed to lessen.

She tried her best for Henry’s sake, for her parents, who were clearly worried about her, for the promise she’d made Killian, but it felt like she was constantly alternating between aching sobs and white hot anger.  She tried to comfort herself with the thought that Killian had, no doubt, moved on, and that she’d join him one day when her time came, but it was cold comfort when she had to climb into her empty bed every night.

Everything reminded Emma of Killian. Everything.  Maybe one day the memories would be a comfort to her, but for now, they were like a dagger to her heart.

Emma had started going to see Dr. Hopper once a week, trying to work through her grief.  He told her she was doing well, that she was grieving in a healthy way, but if this was what healthy grieving felt like, she couldn’t imagine the dysfunctional kind.

Emma took a sip of her cocoa and looked up at the beautiful Christmas tree in the front room of the home Killian and Henry had picked out for her.  Her parents, Regina, Robin, Zelena and Henry had shown up at her doorstep this morning with the tree, all the decorations, and everything they needed to make enough Christmas cookies to feed the town.  They’d insisted on bringing her Christmas cheer and brightening up her life with the sights and smells and tastes of the season.

“I know this holiday will be hard for you, honey,” Snow said, giving her a big hug after they’d finished and everyone but her parents had left.  “I remember those first few holidays after my mom and then my dad passed.  The joy and excitement of everyone around me felt like a slap in the face.”

“How did you bear it, Mom?” Emma asked through her tears, which had started falling yet again. “I’m trying to be strong, I’m trying to go on with my life, but it feels like a part of me–a vital part–is just….gone, and I don’t even know how to function.”

Snow caressed Emma’s cheek.  “You let yourself feel what you’re feeling, and you give yourself time.  You lean on your family and let us help you.  I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to stay strong for your father and me.  If you need to cry, cry.  If you need to break down, break down.  We’ll be here to hold you, to give you whatever you need.”

She had finally broken down then, sobbing for what felt like hours in her parents’ arms, but when her emotions were spent, she had to admit she felt a little better.  It had been cathartic.

“Thanks,” Emma said, finally.  “For the tree and the cookies and everything.  It really is beautiful.”

David pulled her toward him, hugging her to him and holding the back of her head. “I’m glad you like it.  Enjoy it if you can, treasure the good memories.”

But after her parents left, it didn’t take long before the pain returned.  She’d been looking so forward to the first Christmas she and Killian would spend together as a couple.  She’d looked forward to all the firsts they’d have, looked forward to introducing him to all this realm’s traditions.  She’d looked forward to making Christmas memories and traditions of their own.

But that, all of that, had been stolen from her, from them. 

Emma looked up at the top of the tree, at the bright, shining star.  Her mom had told her that in the Enchanted Forest, they’d had a tradition of making a Christmas wish upon the star on top of the tree.  It was said that if your heart was true, your Christmas wish would be granted.

What the hell; couldn’t hurt.

“I wish–” she began, having to stop and clear her throat, will away the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again.  “I only have one wish.  I wish he was back here with me.”

She waited, but nothing happened.  She hadn’t expected it to, but somehow it still felt like a betrayal.

Emma turned from the tree, threw on her coat and nearly sprinted out the door. Suddenly her house felt stifling, the tree, the decorations, all of it was too much. She had to get out of here; had to be with him, even if “being with him” now consisted of standing before his headstone.

It was a beautiful evening, the wind calm, the snow glistening in the last rays of the sun.  He would have liked it; he’d always had a fondness for snow, though she told him she thought he was crazy for it.  She smiled through her tears as she rounded the corner and then stepped through the arches into the cemetery.  She remembered the day he’d coaxed her out in the snow with him.  She’d been miserable.  It. Was. So. Cold!  But he’d been as excited as a child, and somehow his joy had been infectious.

It had always been that way with him.  He brought her comfort and joy whenever she was with him, had since the very beginning, if she was truly honest with herself.  That’s why she’d been so cold and distant to him at first.  It scared her how much he made her feel.

She stooped down before his grave, laying a flask beside the flowers her mom had no doubt left.  “Hey, I thought you’d like this more than roses.  Thanks for the pages.  Hades…Hades he’s gone now.  It’s done, so I hope you’re in a better place.  I know I should be happy about that, but it just feels like now you’re really gone, and there’s nothing left to do but just–”

The sobs threatened to overcome her again, but with a force of will, she pushed them aside.

“I miss you.”

For long moments she remained there, looking down at the stark letters of his name etched on the headstone.  She should have something else engraved, shouldn’t she?  She should say something about what a true hero he was.  Somehow, nothing seemed appropriate.  How did you sum up how much someone meant to you, to everyone he met, in a few short words?

The twilight was quickly fading into night before Emma decided there was nothing for it but to go home.  She’d no more than turned away from the headstone, when a sudden whoosh, a rush of energy passed over her.

What the hell was that?

“Swan?”

Her heart stopped and then began pounding.  It couldn’t be….could it?

She whirled around, not daring to hope, not daring to believe, but when she was once again facing the grave the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen met her.

Killian!

She raced to him, leaped into his arms, her lips connecting to his in a desperate kiss.  Oh gods, if she was dreaming she never wanted to wake!  She’d missed him so much–the feel of his scruff against her face, the soft, silkiness of his hair through her fingers, his taste, his smell.  Him.

She pulled away, resting her forehead against his as the tears–happy tears this time–streamed from her eyes.

“How are you here?” she asked through her emotions, before surging forward, kissing his cheek, his mouth, any part of him she could reach.

He laughed joyfully.  “It was you, love, your wish,” he said in between kisses.  “For some time, Zeus has been looking for a way to reward us–all of us–for our part in defeating Hades, but until today his hands were tied.  King of Olympus though he be, there are immutable rules surrounding the Underworld.”

“Wait…what?” She asked, before diving in for more kisses.  “Never mind.  I don’t care how you’re here, I’m just glad you’re back.”

They remained standing before his empty grave, one kiss leading into another as night settled in around them and the snow began to fall.

“I am, Emma,” he said finally.  “I’m back, and I’ll never leave you again.  Never.”

She laughed, cupping his cheeks and bringing him down for yet another kiss.  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Emma took his hand, leading him back to her home–his home too, she hoped–her heart feeling so full it might burst, as he exclaimed in wonder over the Christmas tree whose lights twinkled merrily in greeting.

“I have so much to tell you; so much to show you,” she said, laughing in pure, incandescent joy, as they sat together on the couch before the tree, holding each other close.  “Killian, you’re going to love Christmas!”

He smiled down at her, before leaning down and taking her lips yet again in a long, slow, achingly deep kiss.  “I’ve no doubt I will, Swan, but for the moment I have more pressing matters on my mind.”

“Yeah?” she asked.  “Like what?”

His grin turned mischievous.  “Like moving our reunion to your bedchamber where I can properly–or rather, not-at-all-properly–show you just how much I missed you and precisely how glad I am to be home.”

She laughed, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs.

Her Christmas wish had given them a second chance, and she was determined that she wouldn’t waste a second of it.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[yannfredericks]

hey!!!!! is life after going to be updated anytime soon???? obviously no pressure or anything if u are going thru shit or decided to DNF it i so understand i just really love that fic and want to see it thru if there is a thru to see 🥲🥲

hiiiii!!! I am so so sorry, I would have posted an update on here but I honestly didn't think anyone who cared would see it! I genuinely didn't mean or expect to leave it this long, when I last updated it was a week before I week to europe for a month and then when I got home I unexpectedly and quite suddenly had to pack up and move across the country so I have been very burnt out dealing with all of that and adjusting to my new life :0 I love that you care so much and it has made my day that you messaged to follow up! I can't promise an update time or schedule, but I have no intentions of leaving it unfinished, it's just going to be much slower than I was initially anticipating :( I have been writing and have about 10k of the next chapter roughly written, plus I've had a lot more time recently to work on it so fingers crossed that it isn't too far away! There is definitely a thru to see <3 I don't think the gang would let me get away with not finishing their story

Here is a little snippet for you <3

Slowly, Albus brings his hands up to pat him on the back. He wants it to be nice so, so badly, but the dark, crawling ball of anger inside him drowns out any nice feelings with its garbled, paradoxical screams of ‘this is not enough’ and ‘this is more than you could ever hope to deserve.’ So. “I know this isn’t easy for you,” James tries again, “and I’m sorry that I somehow keep making it worse. The truth is I’m not very good at this stuff.” Albus bites back a sarcastic, ‘do you think?’ “You’ve always handled conflict much better than me.” That actually makes Albus laugh out loud. “I don’t think I’ve handled anything well since the day I was born, you can ask literally anyone.” James is smiling when he finally pulls back, but it’s too close to pity for Albus’s liking. The phantom pressure of his touch lingers exclusively to remind him of just how pathetically desperate he is for any form of physical affection and equally how repulsed that desire makes him feel. “Well, yes, okay,” James relents, “but you don’t shy away from it. You speak your mind even when—especially when—it’s hard, and maybe that isn’t always a good thing, but it’s brave as hell. You scare the fuck out of me sometimes, actually, because I know you’ll hold me accountable when I mess up. It’s intimidating. I don’t know how you do it.” “I don’t know about brave.” Albus admits. “Mostly it just bursts out of me.” He turns James’s words over in his mind, inspecting every angle and hidden meaning there. He’s never considered his hot-headed tendencies to have any upsides to them, but James talks about them with an unexpected reverence. “Still, I couldn’t do it.”