#she just needs the spray before she begins to train him

[nicotinesoldier]

The Devil stares at her pack of cigarettes with big eyes . . . he thinks they're food.

"No candy, these are not candy... Hey! No candy! Here!" She unwraps a lollipop and puts it in his mouth, hiding her pack of cigarettes from his view "Eat that!"

---

@demonsfate

[luveline]

hellooo I have a request for Spencer x bombshell! reader (I'm not sure if you've done this before and if you have I apologise!!) but like they're on a case and one of them gets pretty badly hurt somehow & then the other is really worried about them & stuff and then I'm not sure (I think this could be good but not the way that I have spoken about it and so I'm very very sorry!!)

u r so awesome don’t worry!!

cw canon typical violence and injury

Everything is crisp and quiet at the precipice of the stakeout. You adjust your gun where it’s poised over the roof of an SUV away from a moving officer’s body. The negotiator adjusts the megaphone at their thigh nervously, waiting for Hotch’s go ahead. You’re all waiting for it. A hand raised, sending you in, hostage recovered, a long case coming to a short close. 

“Don’t forget your leg,” Spencer says to you under his breath. 

“Trust me, babe, I can’t forget it,” you say back, glancing quickly at him to your left. He’s facing forward, trained on the window where you’d last seen the unsub. The distance between you both and the danger is small, less than three feet of space. You and Spencer don’t have a clear shot, the agent’s behind you better equipped and better trained, but you can make do in a pinch. 

“Hurting?” he whispers. 

“Half as bad as it was yesterday.” 

“I have a bad feeling.” 

“Yeah?” You follow Hotch’s hand. The negotiation begins. You and Spencer don’t talk again. 

The unsub is sour, the victim terrified. When the screaming inside begins in earnest, the FBI rolls inside, confident in taking down the unsub, if a little worried about the victims wellbeing. You and Spencer sweep in less than ten inches away from each other, unafraid, and you don’t see the sledgehammer until it’s hitting you in the jaw, spraying blood like dark ink over Spencer’s pale cheek. 

—

“I don’t care if that’s what you recommend.” A drag of a soft touch somewhere on your skin. “Sincerely. I want a second opinion.” 

“It’s a mandibular fracture, we have a suitable follow up procedure.” 

“I understand, but I’m doing what she’d want me to do. When she wakes up, she’ll say the same thing, and so there’s no point in starting the paperwork for a procedure she won’t agree to.” 

“I doubt her cosmetic preferences will outweigh functionality.” 

It’s Spencer’s voice, Spencer’s hand on your leg. He’s reaching back to hold you as he defends you. “Respectfully, you don’t know her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She needs peace and quiet.” 

The doctor harrumphs but leaves. Quiet is restored, and for a while you doze, the only thing at your attention Spencer’s hand where it climbs. He takes your hand. You know his fingers well where they twine between yours. 

A few hours pass by in sluggish slee, the bed elevated to an uncomfortable sitting position. 

“Hey?” he asks, fingertips to the hill of your shoulder. “Are you waking up?” 

You can’t make your mouth form words. Your eyes flash open in shock.

“Hey, don’t panic. I’m sorry, I’m going to explain, but please don’t panic.” 

You wait. 

Spencer stands in a rumpled shirt, hair in his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. “Your jaw is broken, fractured, actually, pretty badly. You’ve had so much pain relief over the last few hours I’m surprised you can even open your eyes, and it’s good you’re struggling to move your mouth because it would only hurt anyways.” He claps your arm gently. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere though, okay? I’m right here.” 

That’s not what scares you; you know Spencer’s gonna stay. It’s not a question. 

Your hand strays up to your face. 

“It’s not bad,” he swears, and perhaps lies. 

“Spence,” you manage, a croak that aches and lisps at once. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning down. “Please don’t get upset.” 

You blink tearfully. You don’t remember what happened, just the flash of pain and now Spencer looking down at you like you’re wounded. He sits carefully on the side of your bed and grabs you by the waist, two hands on your sides and arms resting on your stomach, like a hug that hasn’t crept forward. 

“You won’t like the bruise,” he says apologetically. 

“Bad?” you whisper. 

“It’s all the way up to your eye. He also chipped two of your teeth… I’m so sorry, angel. It was my fault.” He thumbs your ribs. “I’ll fix everything. I already talked to your dentist, and tonight they’re coming back to talk about your plastics because the blow split your skin, okay? But you're mostly fixed already.” 

“‘M I… still pretty?” you ask. 

“Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, not half as shyly as he’d usually would. 

You cry panicked, dribbly tears. He rubs shapes into your sides and swears again that it’ll all be okay, and it’s not that you don’t believe him, it’s just that it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Had a bad feeling,” he says, wiping your tears as gently as he can before they can wet the bandaging on your jaw.

“Did you get him for me?” you ask. 

Morgan clears his throat from the doorway to announce his arrival, a coffee cup in hand, pastry bag hanging between his pinky and marriage finger. He sounds like he’s about to laugh, “Did you, lover boy?” He beams at you. “I’ve never seen him pistol whip someone before. You would’ve loved it.”

You groan in agony. Missing out on seeing that is almost as bad as breaking your jaw. 

“I’ll recreate it for you,” Spencer promises. 

“And now it’s time for him to eat,” Morgan says, putting the pastry bag on the bed, “and get some sleep. He hasn’t slept in the two days you’ve been in here.”

“I had important stuff to take care of,” he says, rubbing your side. “While you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Sleep,” you insist through your achy mouth.

Spencer’s eyes go soft and sad. “I will.”

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Five)

Summary: He couldn’t stop thinking about eating her, of tasting her sweet, soft flesh and hot blood. He wanted to devour her, but not in the way he usually did his meals. He would consume her slowly, sniff and lick every inch of her skin before gently biting down. He’d start with her wrists, feel her pulse point flutter under his tongue before severing the artery so it sprayed her honeyed blood into his mouth. He’d keep her alive for as long as possible, not wanting to be parted from her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to kill her. Maybe he could satisfy himself with just a piece of her, just his pound of flesh… Word Count: 2792 Warnings: still no smut Notes: triple asterisk (***) denotes a POV change as usual, dash asterisk dash (-*-) is a time skip but not a POV change AO3, Masterlist

Ghost and his dove left the cabin the next day, early in the morning. It took some convincing on his part, in the form of pointed groans and growls, to get Lelia to step foot outside. But they were too close to the base she came from, and the cabin had no food left. They had to keep moving, to find somewhere better.

Ghost led her to the stream he’d bathed in yesterday, and they followed it several miles south. Lelia became jumpy the second they left, but when they got to the stream, she paled dramatically and wouldn’t get within three metres of it. He found it odd, but it's not like he could have asked even if he wanted to. She didn’t complain, but he could tell how much she wanted to turn around and go back to the cabin, where there was a relatively warm bed waiting for her. He couldn’t blame her—even with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her ballet flats swapped out for a proper pair of boots they’d found in the closet, she was still shivering from the chilly autumn wind. Winter was just around the corner, and its threatening presence loomed overhead like a knife, in the cloudiness of the skies and the way her breath misted in front of her face with every puff of air.

Eventually, the stream came to an end, and Ghost collected some water in the bucket before they continued. The trees were beginning to thin out, and he hoped that meant they were nearing some sort of town. Anywhere that he could find a little more food for his dove.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The day ended before the woods did, and they were forced to stop when Lelia nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He felt guilty when he noticed just how ragged she looked—all she’d had to eat in the last few days was a can of beans, and she’d been walking nonstop since dawn. It was difficult for him to remember just how fragile humans were, especially when he’d never been a particularly delicate man himself, even when he was alive. But his dove wasn’t a trained, battle hardened operative—she was just a normal young girl, and he needed to treat her as such.

He groaned a quiet apology as he helped her set up a fire, once again handing her the matchbook to light it. She only broke one this time, which was quite the improvement. He added it to the flames as extra tinder.

“Do you sleep?” She asked him as the water boiled. He jerked his head to the left, then the right. “That must be nice. I wish I didn’t have to. Sleeping is more terrifying than being awake, most of the time.”

He’d heard her tossing and turning last night, had smelt her salty tears as she’d whimpered and begged someone named Andrew for mercy. Mercy it had sounded like she’d never gotten. He had wanted to comfort her, but he’d been certain his presence would have just made things worse. So he’d stayed outside her door and done the only thing he could to help her. Stood guard and kept her safe.

He did the same tonight. When the exhaustion finally got the better of her, despite the valiant fight she put up, he watched over her. But this time, when the nightmares came for her, there was no door separating them and hiding the terrified expression on her tear-stained face. So he moved closer, reaching out and clumsily twirling a lock of her hair around his stiff, cold fingers. He couldn’t feel the softness, but he could imagine it. Smooth like silk. Rare and desirable and beautiful, just like her. But with a hidden strength, too.

Soon enough, his dove settled down. He’d have liked to say he had something to do with it, but he knew that was just wishful thinking. Nonetheless, it took him quite a long while to finally let go of her loose, auburn curls and get back to his feet, returning to his self appointed role of her undead protector.

-*-

It took two more days to find a town.

Lelia could barely hold herself upright by the time they did, and Ghost would have offered to carry her—except that his instincts to feed were going haywire, having been denied too long, and every waft of her unique perfume made his mouth water. He’d given up on trying to wipe away his drool. It was no use. He couldn’t stop thinking about eating her, of tasting her sweet, soft flesh and hot blood. He wanted to devour her, but not in the way he usually did his meals. He would consume her slowly, sniff and lick every inch of her skin before gently biting down. He’d start with her wrists, feel her pulse point flutter under his tongue before severing the artery so it sprayed her honeyed blood in his mouth. He’d keep her alive for as long as possible, not wanting to be parted from her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to kill her. Maybe he could satisfy himself with just a piece of her, just his pound of flesh…

With a ferocious growl, Ghost suppressed the rising urge once again. He hurried Lelia into the first house they saw after clearing it, then put her in a room with a lock. He mimed the locking motion, then held out his hand, telling her to stay put. He pointed to himself, and then pointed back towards the front door, and prayed she would understand.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, sounding like she was on the edge of panic, even as she laid down on the bed, unable to stand any longer. “Where are you going? Are you— are you coming back?”

Ghost groaned pitifully, banging on the door. His dove jumped, and he nodded at her questions, but then pointed at the lock again, gesturing her over. Wide-eyed, she dragged herself out of bed, and he took several steps back as she approached. She looked at him in confusion, but he just grabbed the door and slammed it closed between them. He rattled the knob until she got the hint and locked it. This time, the groan he let out was one of approval and relief.

He fled the house and Lelia’s intoxicating scent quickly after that, retreating back into the woods to hunt. He was so hungry, so overwhelmed by the virus’s instincts, that he didn’t think he could stop himself from eating a human if he came across them. He hoped desperately that he didn’t, even though they tasted far better than the animals he usually fed on.

He was drooling at the thought, again. Fresh human… not just the scraps left by other zombies, like Lelia would have been had he not intervened. He imagined finding her torn apart, soft hair matted with blood, big brown eyes full of terror, frail limbs ripped off, empty stomach clawed open. It was horrid. It was what he would do to her if he went this long without feeding again.

He vowed then and there to never, ever let that happen.

***

Lelia startled at the knock on the door, slowly standing up from where she sat on the edge of the bed and crossing over to it.

“Simon?” She asked anxiously. “Is that you?”

A familiar sounding groan answered her, and she almost threw the door open in relief before she thought better of it. What if it was another zombie? She’d be dead, and Simon would come back to find her bloody, lifeless corpse. Possibly walking around. No, better safe than sorry.

“Knock three times, pause, and then knock twice more if it’s you,” she said. A few seconds passed, and then three slow knocks—bangs, really, Simon seemed to have trouble with his fine motor skills and so knocking was beyond him—a pause, and then two more bangs. Lelia waited a few more seconds to make sure nothing else was coming, and then she opened the door, letting out a sigh of relief as Simon’s milky eyes met hers—only to recoil in horror when she saw the fresh, red blood on his gear and around his mouth. There were bits of something Lelia was scared to know the name of stuck in his teeth, and instinctively, she took a step back. Simon did as well, giving her space and ducking his head. He almost looked… hurt? Or maybe ashamed… it was difficult to tell. She wasn't even really sure what the extent of his emotions were—did he feel the same way he could when he was alive? Or was it dulled? He was clearly capable of some feelings, otherwise there would be no reason for him to follow her around, protecting her. She still didn't understand why he did. Her best guess was pity, or maybe loneliness. Whatever it was, it kept her alive, and she was grateful.

“Did you… did you kill something?” She asked after a moment, swallowing nervously. Simon didn’t move or make a sound for a long moment, before he jerked his head up and down in a nod. His broken, bloody jaw quivered, teeth clacking against one another. Drool leaked out of his mouth, and Lelia had to fight the urge to wipe it away. It always seemed to bother Simon when he drooled, and once again, she wondered at his capacity to feel things like embarrassment or self-disgust. But she pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the question she desperately didn't want to ask but knew she had to. “Was it— human?”

Simon quickly shook his head, so quick the string of bloody drool flew off his face and landed on her jacket. Simon froze, and any doubt she had that he felt things as deeply as a human did disappeared at the utterly mortified sound he let out. It was between a groan and a gurgle, and he automatically reached for her as if to wipe it off, before realizing his gloves were covered in blood, too. His hands hovered over her chest as she blinked at the new stain on her shirt, too shocked to say anything. Just as she came to her senses and was about to assure Simon that it was alright—it was gross, yes, but so was her period, and that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle—he turned around with surprising agility for someone whose muscles were in a permanent state of rigor mortis, and fled down the stairs.

***

He’d spit on her.

He’d showed up at her door looking like a murder scene, and then he’d spit on her like the snarling, rabid animal that he was.

He had never been so horrified in his undead life. He couldn't remember if that was the case for his actual life, but he’d bet on it if Johnny were here.

“Was pretty funny, mate, ye got tae admit.”

Ghost growled at the very Scottish sounding voice in his head. Whoever this Johnny was, he was a right arse.

He went straight into the downstairs toilet, turning on the tap. No water came out, as expected. He'd still had to try.

He turned to the towels instead. They were dusty and motheaten, but that didn't bother him. He wiped his face off as best he could, and then his gear and his gloves, pulling them off and stuffing them into one of his many pockets. The end result was… not great. The blood of the deer he'd killed and eaten had already started to dry, adding another stain to his gear and leaving a rusty brown hue to his colorless skin. He tried to pick tufts of flesh and fur from in between his teeth with his blunt, blackened nails, but he somehow only made things look worse. 

“Simon?”

The sound of his dove’s soft, concerned voice floated down the hallway, and Ghost panicked, slamming the door of the toilet shut so hard it rattled on its hinges. He heard Lelia’s heartbeat jump and her footsteps pause, before starting again in his direction.

“Simon?” She repeated, knocking softly on the door. He turned away from his ghastly reflection in the dirty mirror, paralyzed. He was acting ridiculous. He was a big, strong, undead soldier. He shouldn’t be terrified of a little dove like her. And yet he was. He was so bloody afraid that she’d tell him to leave, that she couldn't stand to be near him anymore. That he’d have to go back to protecting her from the shadows, an unwanted stray dog just following her around, desperate for any scrap of affection she would show him, but denied at every turn. It sounded miserable. It was miserable, but he would do it, to keep her safe. “Simon, will you come out, please?”

Unable to deny her, Ghost slowly opened the door. She stood on the other side with a worried expression, but all he could see was the drying string of crimson saliva on her smart pink jacket. He looked away, feeling ill.

“Are you alright?”

The soft, gentle question was entirely unexpected, but it shouldn't have been. Of course his dove would worry about the rabid, blood-covered zombie that just spit on her. She was an angel. It was why he had to keep her safe, keep her alive. The world needed people like her, now more than ever.

Ghost jerked his head up and down in a nod after a moment of hesitation, and then patted his chest, right over the spot where he’d spit on hers. He let out a quiet groan of apology, unable to meet her pretty brown eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lelia said, giving him a small smile. “This outfit was ruined far before that… besides, it’s not very practical for the apocalypse. My hus— I wanted to keep myself pretty. Clinging to a bit of the old world, I suppose. But I’m not on the base anymore. And trekking through the woods for days on end in a skirt is not easy.”

Ghost noticed the slip. It had sounded like she’d been about to say husband before she’d cut herself off. His eyes flickered to her left hand, but no ring sat upon her finger. Had he misheard? And why did the idea of her being married bother him so much?

You know why.

He ignored the thought, focusing back on her words. He grunted in agreement, and made a mental note to look for some clothes that would fit her—ones that would help keep her warm in the coming months. She was far too thin—she would need multiple layers if he was going to keep her from dying of exposure in the dead of winter.

An awkward silence fell between them, and Ghost could tell his dove wanted to ask him a question. He waited her out, and just as he knew she would, she broke first.

“So you—you went out to eat?” She asked, then winced. “I mean— earlier, when you were— were acting all… frustrated. You were… hungry?”

Ghost swallowed reflexively, tasting deer meat in the back of his throat. Slowly, he nodded, trying subtly to hold his jaw in place. Lelia looked nervous again, but also determined.

“How hungry?”

Ghost looked away, ashamed. He didn’t want to think about the overwhelming desire he’d had to sink his teeth into her supple flesh, or the vivid, blood-soaked images his virus-laden mind had conjured of him doing so.

Lelia sucked in a small, sharp breath, and her voice shook slightly when she spoke again—but there was bravery in it, too. A certainty. Like she’d made up her mind and couldn’t be swayed.

“We’ll just have to make sure you stay well fed, then,” she stated simply. “Then you won’t be tempted to snack on me… right?”

Ghost didn’t know how to explain that he was always tempted to snack on her, that her scent was the most delicious thing he’d ever smelled, that he wanted to see if her blood would warm him from the inside like a good whiskey. He didn’t know how to say that despite that, he would never harm a hair on her head, not for as long as he lived. Unlived. Bloody semantics.

So instead, he just grunted in agreement. He would always be tempted, but so long as he remained satiated, he would be able to keep his instincts in check. That was what she really wanted to know.

“Good,” she replied, sounding relieved. She offered him another smile, smaller than he would’ve liked but still just as sweet. “But you’re not the only one that’s hungry. Do you think there’s any food hidden in the cabinets?”

[iluvaobesegaki4694]

FF7 Turks in a relationship

Don't ask me why I decided to write this, I was just feeling really lonely and was like what would my bots be like as a bf?

Rufus

at best I don't think he would be a good bf. why? I feel like before his father passing he more or less acted really entitled and manipulative, he probably has had a few pass relationships (his first one being the worst one and kind of making him the way he is) that messed up either because he was too pushy or just... no that's just it. I feel like though he has more negatives he definitely has a loving side, he would always buy you the most expensive gifts, and occasional dates; though you probably wont see him often since he's the boss of shinra.

Tseng

Tseng is a die heart lover boy!!! he loves spending time with you, though he doesn't show it outside. I believe he often keeps to the stern and well spoken personality, when outside but at home he's all over you, hugs are his favourite. He's mostly like this because he for the most part doesn't get time to spend with you due to always being on a mission or being at work. Though when he's around you he makes sure you have the most nutritious food, and get good exercise. When Tesng is home, I feel like he would make different types of teas for you depending on what you need, for example when you need help with your insomnia, he makes you camomile tea, and gives you a nice back massage.

Rude

he's supportive. makes sure to bring you up every day, trust me the only times you don't get a message from him in the morning, is when he's in a different time zone, and doesn't want to wake you up with his messages. At the beginning he was really hesitant to make any moves on you but grew more comfortable as time went on, I know for a fact that he loves to show you off and make sure to make you food when he is at home. For reference, he loves making spicy food, and anytime your ill, he asks Tseng for some advice on what teas you should drink to help make you feel better.

Reno

HE IS SO HAPPY! he loves you so much, be ready for many phone calls and him talking you none stop, about anything and everything, I feel like most of your calls would be silent, since he doesn't have much to talk about (since he just called you an hour ago) but he defo loves to have your presence around him. When he is home, he loves to give you deep hugs, and back massages, mostly cause of your perfume; must i add that he sprays your perfume on his jumper when he hasn't seen you for a while? When it comes to food, I don't think he likes to cook, hell when he was training to become a Turk he defo spent most of his time eating ramen noodles, and the leftovers of what rude makes. So he's so happy when you cook, or even when you two get take always, be ready for snuggles and a couple of love kisses since he loves to do movie nights at home.

Cissnei

She's a reader... why is this relevant? because you and her going on library dates, and book shopping galore. She loves to write you little poems about you or read out poems about her day, though for the most part she won't share them with anyone else; but you. in terms of work, she keeps relatively active and doesn't go on many extensions, so most of her time is spent at the office working, if she gets off early, she will meet you at your office with a cupcake, or cookie for you to eat. she likes hugs, but prefers to kiss and hold you, but the way she most shows her affection is by doing you hair, since she loves to take care of her own hair skin; so be ready for a lot of hair masks, and face masks.

OKAY BONUS

Elena

Personally, I feel as if Elena would be super shy, and closed off in a relationship, even though she is amazing I feel like she has a lot of stress due to being, mind you, ONLY 18! so i feel like homegirl defo needs her positive affirmation, when it comes to the relationship. She isn't much of a cooker, so when it comes house shores she would do the cleaning/washing meanwhile you would cook, or she would get a take away. She spends most of her time working, since she tries really hard to prover herself, and doesn't want to be overlooked due to her age and gender, so a lot of the time you would find her passed out on her laptop in YOUR hoodie. when on a mission she often tries to text you to make sure your up, and have an explanation on what she's doing as well as what your plans are for the rest of the day (bonus she has a cat that you look after when she is away). Finally, she doesn't often go on dates with you, but when she does she spends SOOOOO much money, why? because she wants to go to the fun fair, especially winter wonderland, which is her favourite! she loves the warm coco, the smell of cinnamon and most importantly looking into your eyes, if you two ever got married, she would definitely propose to you here.

BONUS: she listens to Airplane mode when she's thinking of you.

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 3

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 3763

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

IMPORTANT: Instead of the six year time jump we saw in the show, we're doing a nine-year time jump. I was in no way comfortable building toward future events with Aelinor only fifteen years old. Here is a list of current ages. Aemond: 24 Aelinor: 18 Jacaerys: 19 Lucerys: 15

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3

Nine Years Later

The citizens of Dragonstone felt the dragon before they saw it. The fishermen working at their boats, the merchants unloading their hauls from the ships, all felt the world swallowed by shadow as the sun above them was blocked out. The first time it happened, as the shadow of dragon wings passed overhead and the heat of the day was blocked, some of them had screamed that it was Balerion, returned from the dead. There had been chaos in the streets.

But now they knew better, and some of them even lifted their arms to wave at the young Princess as she flew by.

Aelinor Velaryon Targaryen laughed when she saw a few scattered expressions of fear below her, pulling hard on the handle to draw Darrax away from the shore. He’d been known to swoop down and steep the catches of unlucky fishermen, but now he was so large that he would destroy everything in his path if he tried.

“Come, Darrax,” she leaned forward to pat his neck. “Let us carry on.”

The girl was a sight to behold, and many people from the harbor and the castle both stopped their tasks to watch her and her mighty dragon turn toward the sea.

Darrax had not slown in his growing, now with a wingspan rivaled only by Vhagar and a body only slightly smaller than that of Vermithor. His obsidian scales sparkled a million shades of blue and green as the light of the sun reflected off of the waves. He was fast, carried by his large wings, and it was easy to see why the people of Dragonstone had shouted ‘monster’ the first time he flew above them.

But he was also gentle, for he had his rider to care for.

Aelinor had grown much since her childhood, though those that truly knew her would have said that she had not changed at all. She wore her hair in a long plait down her back, and it flapped behind her in the wind, a streak of brilliant silver against the sky. Her reins were modified with a single handle, so that she might be able to command Darrax with only one hand. She rarely needed to, however, as the bond between dragon and rider was so close that she could command him with just Valyrian.

“We aren’t fishing today, Darrax,” she called. “Just stretching our wings.”

The young woman had been stretching her wings more and more often as of late, as she found it suffocating to be in the presence of her parents. Her mother was pregnant with her fourth child by Prince Daemon, and while Aelinor wouldn’t mind supporting her mother in such a time, it was difficult to do so without encountering her father. He had been growing ever more persistent in his desire to train her and Darrax, and she was beginning to run out of excuses.

They swept around the west side of the island, keeping low so that they both might enjoy the spray of the sea. If anyone had asked, Aelinor would have said that she went this way so that Darrax might rest on the cliffside that faced toward the west. But Darrax did not need any such rest, and there was only one reason that she always flew west.

This day, like all the rest of them, she looked west and found the skies empty.

Aelinor sighed, too used to the disappointment for it to sting much. It had been a long nine years, with no word save what came through official messages to the Princess Rhaenyra. She knew that Aegon and Helaena had wed, and that they now had two children. She could not imagine that to be a good match, struggling to reconcile the odd and insect-obsessed Helaena with an image of motherhood. Nor was the Aegon that she remembered the type of boy who should have been a father. Aemond…there was little news of Aemond. She knew it was no fault of his own, but she still found herself hoping to hear from him, even after all these years.

Darrax let out a huff, sensing his rider’s emotions, and then he dove.

“No! NO, Darrax! No!” Aelinor’s shouts were silenced as Darrax plunged beneath the waves.

For a few moments she was weightless, and then he was splashing back to the surface, his wings causing great waves around them as he launched himself back into the sky.

Aelinor sputtered and spat out water. She was completely soaked, but she was laughing. “Darrax!” She scolded, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. “You silly creature. Let’s go home then, so I can dry off.”

Darrax pumped his wings, driving himself up and over the cliff, cutting across the island to carry them back to Dragonstone.

An hour later, Aelinor was walking through the halls of the castle. She was no longer wet, though her leathers had pasted themselves uncomfortably tight against her skin. She had undone her long braid, letting her hair fall past her hips. A bath. A bath was what she needed after that sojourn into the sea.

She reached up with her bad hand, grabbing her glove with her teeth and pulling it free. Then she carefully stretched out each of her fingers, looking forward to warm water and bath salts.

“Aelinor,” her father’s voice echoed from in front of her, the man himself stepping out from an adjoining hall.

She didn’t slow her pace. “Price Daemon.”

He didn’t protest her use of the title. He had never been one to argue trivial matters, and he couldn’t care less whether she called him Father or not. For nine years, his eldest daughter had held him at arm’s length, resentment simmering between them like oil in a pan.

He knew she didn’t like him, but he just didn’t care.

“I wish to take you flying,” he fell into step, watching as she carefully tended to her crippled hand. “So that you might learn to—”

“To what? To fly into battle? Against who, Prince Daemon?” She demanded. “My mother might feign ignorance, but anyone can see that you are preparing for something. I will not be brought into your schemes.”

“You are your mother’s daughter, and with that comes specific—”

“Correct. I am my mother’s daughter. And the daughter of the man who raised me,” she didn’t say whom you murdered, though she had been tempted more than once over the years to confront him about the murder of Ser Laenor. “My loyalty is to them, and not to you.”

Daemon let out a scoff, but fell away, and Aelinor did not look back. 

She stepped into the warmth of her bedchamber, finding the bath already full and steaming.

“What did—” A girl stepped out from behind the dressing screen. “Rhaena!”

The two girls had grown closer in the years they had lived together on Dragonstone. Though not as close as sisters, they were dear friends. Aelinor decided not to wrap her in a hug, given that she still reeked of seawater, but she beamed at her cousin.

“I thought you might need it,” Rhaena laughed. “Darrax take you for a swim again?”

Aelinor was already stripping out of her leathers. “Of course he did. He’s positively impish.”

“I wonder where he gets that from,” Rhaena rolled her eyes, watching as Aelinor practically dived into the bathtub.

“It’s so warm. Thank you, Cousin.” They had never stopped calling each other that, all too aware of the boundaries that would be ripped down if they had to acknowledge what they were — sisters. But still, since the marriage of their parents a few years ago, they had been sisters in all but name, and Aelinor was eternally grateful for the female companionship.

“Your mother said that she wished to speak to you,” Rhaena said. “It sounded important.”

Aelinor gave a slight nod, dread already pooling in her gut. She knew what this was about, as did Rhaena. It was the same topic that had been haunting the halls of Dragonstone for months, casting a pall over everything Aelinor did.

“She knows my feelings on the subject,” she finally said. “But she is my mother, and the Princess of Dragonstone besides. My feelings have little relevance.”

Rhaena passed her a cloth, and Aelinor started to scrub some of the salt from her skin. “But shouldn’t your feelings matter? After all, it’s Jace, of all people.”

Rhaena’s expression was genuine, but Aelinor could hear the question she did not ask. Rhaena was, if not in love with, certainly interested in Jace. But it had never been a secret that, to secure Jace’s own place on the throne, he would marry Aelinor. With her pure Targaryen looks, they would be able to secure the claim of any of their future children. In recent months, Rhaenyra had begun making plans in earnest. After all, both Aelinor and Jace were older than Rhaenyra had been when she first wed Ser Laenor.

Aelinor sunk lower into the bathtub, letting the water lap over her mouth and nearly to her nose. She did not want to think about these things. She did not want to imagine having children with Jace, and certainly did not want to imagine what that would mean. Her brother was nice enough, having grown out of the worst of his childhood impulses, but he was still Jace. Luc would have been more agreeable, if he weren’t still a babe in her eyes.

At least she knew Jace felt the same way. They were not suited to each other.

But they would do whatever was required to win their mother the throne.

“It could be worse,” Aelinor sighed, trying to force some levity into the situation. “I could be marrying a Lannister.”

“At least they have gold,” Rhaena smiled. “What if it were Aegon, or worse, that rogue Aemond? When traders come from King’s Landing, they say that his face is—”

“I know what the traders say,” Aelinor snapped, biting her cheek to keep from cursing aloud. “I would like to bathe alone now, Rhaena. If you please.”

It was a dismissal as plain as any, but Rhaena did not fight it. She just said her farewell, stood, and walked to the door.

She should not have let it bother her so. It had been nine long years, and the rift between their families seemed more insurmountable than ever. But there was still that tiny part of her that sprang to attention whenever she heard even a whisper of Aemond. And too often, it was cruel, malicious whispers that her family seemed to take at face value.

The door creaked open, and Aelinor groaned. Gods be damned. Couldn’t she just have one bath in peace?

“Aelinor? May I come in?”

“Of course, Mother,” Feeling no shame at her own nakedness, Aelinor did not open her eyes as she heard her mother glide into the room and take a seat at her dressing table.

“Did you have a nice flight?” Rhaenyra asked, with almost forced politeness.

Aelinor shrugged. “As good as any. But I can confirm that the sea is quite frigid this morning.”

“Then perhaps you should not be swimming in it.” Her mother laughed.

Aelinor sighed, opening her eyes and moving to rest her chin on the side of the bath tub. “Out with it, Mother. I can see that it’s bothering you.”

Say it. Say that it is finally time for me to do my duty and wed Jacaerys. 

But that was not what Rhaenyra said. “Ser Vaemond moves to challenge Lucerys’ succession to the Driftwood Throne.”

“What?” Aelinor sat back. “But it’s settled. Why is Lord Corlys allowing it?”

“He isn’t. He’s been gravely injured in the Stepstones,” Rhaenyra gave her a sad look, appearing genuinely bereaved by the injury to a man they all admired. “Baela wrote. We must make for King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’ claim before the Iron Throne.”

Aelinor’s mouth dropped open. “When?”

“We will leave tomorrow,” her mother stood. “And Aelinor?”

“Yes?” Already her mind was awhirl with everything that this might mean.

“This is…” She watched as her mother searched for the words. “We need to present a united front. We’ll be bringing our dragons, and I…I ask you to remember who your true family is.”

It was both a warning and a scolding, all wrapped up in one. 

Aelinor nodded, and stared after her mother as she left the room.

She sat there for a long time, stewing in the bathwater. There was so much to think about. On one hand, she was more than a little relieved that she was not yet formally betrothed to her brother. But on the other, there was a genuine twinge of fear. She did not want the legitimacy of her brothers challenged, and she did not want their futures left uncertain. It was a settled succession, and Ser Vaemond was risking everything by drawing it into the open.

Her mother’s ascension to the throne would be questioned if her children were declared illegitimate, and Aelinor knew she would not be immune to that. She might look more Targaryen than Jace and Luc, but it was plain to see that she was not the daughter of Ser Laenor. Gods, this could ruin everything.

But, there was one thing that stood out above all else. 

She was going back to King’s Landing.

She was going back to Aemond.

King’s Landing

“Get up!” Aemond snarled at the squire in front of him. “I thought you were here to train, not lie on your back like a whore!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, wiping mud off of his cheek. “Yes, my Prince.”

Aemond sighed. There were many young lords looking to squire for him, and so far none of them had impressed him at all. Most weren’t even worth using as training fodder. He had to give the Blackwood lad some credit — at least he hadn’t started crying yet.

“Keep your sword up,” Aemond rolled his eyes. “And maybe you’ll be able to stay upright.” It was as close as he would get to offering advice.

“Prince Aemond!” A voice called.

Aemond looked toward the walkway, seeing Ser Criston hurrying down the steps. “What is it, Cole?” He did not have much patience for his mother’s lackey, having always found Ser Criston to be a bit…well, if loyalty could be a fault, then it certainly was in Ser Criston.

Cole stopped, offering a curt nod that could perhaps pass as a bow. “Your mother The Queen bids you attend her. She is in her chambers.”

“Wonderful,” Aemond couldn’t imagine what his mother could have to say. He loved her well enough, and she him, but they never had much use for each other. She often scolded him, calling him too wild, too unruly, and yet he knew he did not get half the scoldings that his brother did. “Take care of this one.”

Ser Criston stared at the Blackwood boy in disdain, but nodded, shedding his white cloak and setting it away from the mud. 

Aemond sheathed his sword, removing his gloves and hurrying toward the stairs. His boots splashed through the dir, and he saw many curious eyes turn his way.

Only once he was inside the castle did he slow to a walk, making his way toward his mother’s chambers. He passed many groups of lords and ladies, all of whom bowed in greeting, but he did not acknowledge them. They weren’t with his time.

A group of ladies-in-waiting gathered by the stairs, meaning he would have to walk straight past them. He recognized one of them by her red hair: the Tully girl. He thought her name might have been Myria or Myra or something like that. She had been presented at court a few months prior, with it plain as day that her family was angling to make a match between the two of them.

Now, as she had when she had first seen him in the receiving hall, she did not meet his gaze, bobbing a curtsy without ever looking him in the eye. He hurried past, hearing them erupt into giggles when they thought he was out of earshot. 

It was always like that. Why shouldn’t they laugh at the maimed prince? He was practically a circus attraction. All he had to look forward to was a future married to some random lady who couldn’t look him in the eye, let alone work up the courage to speak to him. He tried not to let it bother him, after all, they weren’t worth his time.

His chambers were in the same tower as his mother’s, and he passed the closed door of his room as he knocked on her door. “Mother? You sent for me?” A maid swung open the door.

“Yes, Aemond,” his mother was seated on the sofa, his niece and nephew playing with a maid on the floor in front of her. “You can all leave us.”

Aemond stood with his hands behind his back, quirking a smile at his young niece as she was carried from the room.

“Sit, Aemond,” Alicent sighed. “We need to talk.”

“You make it sound very serious,” he dropped into the chair across from her. “How may I help.”

He swallowed nervously. Was this to be it then? Was today the day that he would be officially tied to one of the sycophants roaming around the castle? Gods, don’t let it be the Tully girl. Someone with some backbone, at least.

“I called for you because I think this is something that should be entrusted to your skills. You  know the dragon keepers better than anyone.”

That did catch his attention. “The dragon keepers? Is something wrong with the dragons?”

Alicent sighed again, and he realized suddenly that his mother looked worried. More worried than he could ever recall seeing her, except that day when he had lost his eye. Even his father’s declining health had never caused the dark circles that now surrounded her eyes, and he could see that the skin of her nails had been picked until it bled.

“The Princess Rhaenyra is coming to make a petition,” she said finally. “She brings with her all of her children, and all of their dragons. The Dragon Put must be made ready for her and her hoard, and I must prepare a feast and a ball and all the like.”

Aemond felt his mouth go dry. “Her children? All of them? It couldn’t be. It seemed almost impossible. Nine long years had passed since…since…

“All of them,” his mother confirmed. “Which is the other reason I needed to speak with you.”

More likely, it was the only reason she had asked to speak with him. Subtlety was not his mother’s strong suit, and there was no reason the dragon keepers could not be briefed through a simple message. She had wanted to speak to him about his half-sister’s family, in person, for a reason.

Alicent leaned forward. “Aelinor will be with them, Aemond. But she is not the girl you remember. It has been nearly ten years, and you must remember who she is, and who you are.”

“And who is that, mother?”

“You are the legitimate second son of the King,” Alicent said. “And she is the bastard daughter of a false heir, who has spent nine years being fed their lies and derision, far from any realm of reason. The Aelinor you knew is gone.”

Aemond tensed. “That seems….Father has settled his succession, and we should not—”

“I am not here to argue succession with you, Aemond!” His mother snapped. “I want to be sure that you understand. When they enter this hall, it must be us, and it must be them. The fate of our family may very well depend on it.”

He knew that the succession crisis was constant fodder for the King’s critics, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Blast the Seven Kingdoms, and damn the succession. He didn’t care if his half-sister or her bastards, or his own damn brother ascended the throne. He disliked them all equally. All he cared for was Aelinor.

“Besides,” his mother sat back, fanning herself weakly with her hand. “She is betrothed to Jacaerys.”

“What? Jace?” Aemond spat, unable to contain himself. “Why have I not heard of this?”

“They haven’t been to court to announce it.” Aliecent sighed. “Knowing Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, Jacaerys has almost certainly bedded her already. What better way to secure their line?”

“That Strong boy will never—”

“Watch yourself, Aemond. Please.” His mother waved him away.

He didn’t want to draw out the conversation longer than necessary, and quickly stormed from the room. His mother had certainly achieved her objective, which was reminding him why he hated Jacaerys Velaryon so deeply. His own chambers were only a few doors away, and once he was there, he flung open the window and screamed into the open air. He didn’t give a damn if everyone in the courtyard could hear him.

For nine long years, he had stared across the sea toward Dragonstone. He had requested this chamber specifically because it faced south. And for the first few years, with decreasing frequency, he had begged his mother to grant him permission to fly that way. To where Aelinor was. To…he wasn’t quite sure what he had wanted to do. But he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone.

And now they had given her to Jace. Jace did not deserve her. That Strong boy did not deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Or, did he?

It had been many years since he had seen Aelinor, and she could have changed. She could be different to how he remembered her.

And she might not…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think about that. The truth was staring him in the face, the rage settling into his bones with every seething breath he took. Jace did not deserve Aelinor, but then, neither did he. He was just the scarred second son, after all, and she should be the lady of some great house. He wasn’t jealous, he was concerned for his childhood friend, who had been treated so carelessly by her family.

Given to Jace. He cursed aloud.

Still, his gaze drifted to his writing desk, and to the small box that sat in the top drawer. It had sat there for almost eight years, waiting.

And it had all been for nothing.

[xxsksxxx]

Split Seconds

Summary:

Sometimes trouble finds Mulder—and sometimes Scully steps right into its path.

Fictober24

Fanfiction Fandom: The X-Files/ #xfiles Prompts: 4, 11 Rating: T Warnings: none Tags: angst

Notes:

This is part of my contribution to Fictober, a yearly event that celebrates writing and reading.

Since I’m not good at sticking to one prompt for each story, I’ve combined two separate ones in this story. They’re in bold if you want to seek them out specifically. You can find the list here: @fictober-event.

I once again felt like exploring the angstier side of things—this time it's more the physical aspect though. This little ficlet wouldn't exist if it wasn't for @baronessblixen who talked me off the ledge once again. 

If you want to leave likes, tags kudos or a comment—no matter if it’s an emoji or several long paragraphs, please feel free. I'd be eternally grateful!

AO3 | @today-in-fic | @xffictober24

Bells Mill Road, Maryland 12:32 pm 

Scully slowly raised her hands. The man standing in front of them held his gun firmly pointed at Mulder, his eyes darting around wildly. She felt her breathing increase and her palms begin to sweat. 

“Put your gun down,” Mulder said soothingly, turning his palms towards their opponent in a peace offering. “There's no need for shooting anyone.”

Scully watched a bead of sweat trickle down from the man’s hairline, over his temple, and down his face until it disappeared into the collar of his dirty blue shirt. She quickly appraised the man, trying to determine how much trouble they were in.

The knuckles of the man’s right hand had turned white from gripping the gun handle so tightly, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. This man was clearly nervous and agitated, Scully concluded, and she’d felt her heart rate speed up. 

Her hand reflexively closed into a fist. If Mulder so much as took a hasty breath, there was no way of telling what the armed man would do. 

Why do we always end up in unlikely situations like this, she wondered. It's not like their cases weren't unusual enough. No, even doing something as simple as stopping for gas had them involved in a stand-off with an armed robber. Sometimes she wondered if it was Mulder’s destiny to find trouble–and hers to get them out of it. 

With an internal shake of her head, she returned to their current situation, just in time to watch the man slowly inch to the left, his gun firmly trained on her partner. “Get out of my way, or you'll see who needs to be shot,” he hissed, baring his teeth in an angry snarl. 

Without taking his eyes off of them, he blindly grabbed the plastic bag filled with money and cigarettes, the gas station worker had put on the counter before crouching down behind it. Scully could just make out the top of the young man’s bright red hair above the counter. 

“No, we’re not doing that! I think I'm going to make sure that you don't get any funny ideas, hero man,” the robber spat before taking an unexpected step forward, hitting Mulder across the face with the barrel of the gun. 

Mulder’s head flew to the right, a spray of bright red blood splattering on the countertop. 

“No!” Scully shouted and grabbed Mulder’s arm, checking to see how badly he was injured. A deep cut across his lip had opened up, and Mulder was squeezing his whole fist against it, trying to stop the blood flow. His eyes were tightly closed against the pain, and Scully could feel her anger erupt inside of her like a volcano. 

She whirled around to the gunman, who was now busy cramming bottles of alcohol into the plastic bag with his left hand while keeping a watchful eye on them. 

When he noticed Scully whirling around, he raised his weapon towards her and winked. “I didn't hit your boyfriend too hard, don't worry. He’ll be fine if you behave like a good little girlfriend and keep him away from me.”

Scully could feel Mulder tense next to her and grasped his forearm to keep him still. 

The robber laughed and gave her a quick once-over. “Seems like you're feistier than I thought. Romeo here seems to follow your orders like a puppy. We could have some fun, you and me. I like it when they are wild.”

Scully didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction, and just returned his look dispassionately. 

“Ooooh. Must be my lucky day. You're really a wild one. How about I give your boyfriend a real reason to cry?” He shifted the gun’s muzzle slightly to the right and lowered it towards Mulder’s knees. 

Well, that worked out great. Scully tensed and a cold dread swept over her like an icy wave. She quickly stepped in front of Mulder and straight into the gunman’s line of fire. 

“Scully, no!” Mulder shouted. He tried to grab her arm and pull her back, but his hand only caught air. 

Scully was now standing a few feet in front of him, her arms raised slightly above her head, and her eyes were firmly locked on the man across from them. 

The robber cursed and quickly redirected his gun to her. “Get out of my way,” he growled through tightly clenched teeth. “I'm done playing with you two. Give me your money, and then I'm out of here!”

When Scully didn't move, he grabbed her raised arm forcefully and pulled her towards him. “I. Said. Give me your MONEY!” he screamed into her face. 

Scully winced as the man tightened his grip on her wrist. This situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. “All right, I'm going to reach into my coat and get my money, ok? There’s no need to get angry,” she tried to soothe him. Where are the police, she thought frantically. Surely the kid hiding behind the counter had pressed the emergency button while she and Mulder had been playing bait, right? 

She slowly reached inside her coat, but the man grabbing her other arm wasn't in the mood for slow. He pushed her hand away and pulled her coat open, frantically groping for her purse—and that's when he saw her gun attached to the back of her pants. With a surprised yelp, he quickly whipped her around and threw her on the floor, kneeling down on her back. “Why do you have a gun!? Who are you!? Are you police? Have you been following me?! You lying piece of shit!” 

Scully tried to breathe against the pain of the sharp knee pressing into her shoulder blade. Now they were really in trouble. She tried to raise her head, seeking Mulder. Just when she met his eyes, she saw his mouth open in the beginning of a scream, his eyes widened in terror.

I’m sorry, Mulder. I guess I found the trouble this time, was her last conscious thought, then the handle of the gun came down hard on the back of her head, and all she could see was darkness.

[handsonurknees]

last kiss

din djarin x gn!reader

a/n: just a little preface, i am not a star wars expert i literally watched mando because of pedro and that’s it (don’t kill me) but sorry if anything is inaccurate! also thank you for all of the love on my first post!

(i did not proofread this so i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes)

warnings: mentions of graphic injuries, angst, hurt/no comfort because i’m evil, main character death (yikes)

wc: 1.8k

“let’s go!” you hear cara yell at you, her voice hoarse from shouting over shots and the fire burning just some feet away. your eyes flickered from her and your friends to the injured mandolorian sat against the flipped booth. when she realized what you were thinking, even more panic creeped into her face. “no, no. you can’t. he’ll be okay. we need to go!” she pleads, but your eyes never leave the beskar-clad man. you hear him grunt through the voice modulator and you flinch. you can’t leave him, he can’t die not knowing how you feel.

“she’s right. go, i’ll be alright.” he offers, unconvincingly. you feel tears well up behind your eyes, fighting them back before turning back to the group.

“go. you all go and both of us will catch up. IG, give me the bacta spray, i can do this. i used to be a trained medic.” cara sighs at your attempt at a deal, but clearly worried about running out of time, she turns to the droid beside her.

“do you think the two of them can make it out alive?” she questions.

“more likely than not.” is all the bot says in response. the droid removes a vile from its arm and tosses it to you. “though i should be the one staying, i’m sure she would stay as well anyways. i can confirm her medical history., he is in good hands.” sweat pours down your back due to the warmth of the fire as cara looks at you and the mandolorian, and she realizes deep down she won’t be able to change your mind. you almost think you see a glisten in her eye and a small smile directed at you, but that’s just before she turns around and crawls through the grate as fast as possible, the child in her arms. she won’t say goodbye because this isn’t goodbye. she’ll see the two of you again in only a matter of minutes. you quickly turn to mando, hovering with worry over him.

“i didn’t know you were a medic.” he drowsily says, the effects of his injuries settling in as you begin to move with more haste.

“yes mando. you forget i had a life before i met you.” you respond, swallowing quickly as you uncap the spray. he laughs, and you smile. it’s been a while since you’ve heard him laugh, and even longer since it’s been you who made him laugh. “stay with me, alright? talk to me.” you say like routine, all of your knowledge flooding back to you from when you first learned how to deal with a patient drifting in-and-out of consciousness.

“why did you stay? i told you to go.” he asks genuinely. “i was fine here, peaceful. i’ve always thought that if i were to die i would want to die a warrior’s death.” he continues, voice wavering occasionally. your heart lurches at the idea of him knowing the really reason why you stayed. once the mist is all set up, you look at him, searching for his eyes under his visor.

“you are not dying tonight, mando. that’s why i stayed” you respond, and while it’s not technically a lie, you still feel guilty. that’s when your breath suddenly stops, realizing what you have to do next.

“w-whats wrong?” he questions your hesitation. when you look down at the bacta spray and don’t meet his eyes again, the air shifts in a way that sends shivers down your spine, even while the sweltering heat just feet away from you tickles your face.

“i have to do it to save you.” you whisper, still looking at the spray. “you won’t live much longer if we don’t do it now.” your voice getting hung up on the last word. you both know this is the last chance. part of you screams internally, baffled by how he’s even considering the possibility of not getting the spray. that part burns with white, hot, boiling rage, wondering if you were just going to give up, why did i stay for you? you don’t even ask me to stay and i did. how can you make me watch you die? but before you are able to voice any of this aloud, a gloved hand meets yours and shakily leading you the side of his helmet. “are you sure?” you ask a final time. even though every bone in your body aches to rip that helmet off the second the metal touches your fingers.

“don’t make me s-second guess myself.” he answers dryly. you just nod and carefully remove the helmet with a gentle hiss. slowly revealing the features you’ve been trying to piece together in your brain for months. in the amber glow of the room, you wish to memorize his eyes and his nose and his lips and his cheeks. but instead of studying every ridge and line in his face like you’ve always dreamed of doing, you imagine his face as one you’ve seen one million times. you don’t even flinch when big brown eyes meet yours. as soon as the helmet is off, your hands work quickly. you quickly lift the spray to his head and administer it. a breath escapes you that you hadn’t even know you were holding in. he’s okay. he’s okay is all you can think, the feeling overwhelming you so much that you don’t hear the heavy footfalls behind you, or mando’s failed attempts to shove you out of the way and shouts of ‘get down!’

‘he’s okay’ is all you can think, even when you’re shot by a stormtrooper who wasn’t killed in the shootout. luckily, by you crouched in front of the mandolorian, you blocked him from the view of the trooper. mando instinctively grabbed his blaster and shot a perfect hit into the the gap of the trooper’s armor between his neck and his head. the trooper falls limply to the ground, but all you can focus on is the pain radiating from the new hole in your back. your ears ring and something in you calls out. something that made you suddenly understand what mando meant about being peaceful with dying a warrior’s death. in a strange moment, the two of you are transported back to only moments before, but this time, with the roles reversed.

“dank farrik!” he curses, searching your eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together tightly. your knees feel weak, giving out in your current squat above the armored man. you fall flush against his chest, eliciting a hoarse cough. your hands press firmly into his chest, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. in any other situation, your mind would be completely foggy due to the proximity between you two, but somehow what you want to say is completely clear. he swallows, holding a firm hand over your wound, frantically looking around the room, despite knowing it’s far too late.

“you know, this is not how i expected this to end.” you joke weakly, woozy from the pain. the mandolorian pants, his face drowning in concern at your state. you set a hand on his face, his scruff scratching your palm pleasantly. “it’s alright. this way-“ you wince “you won’t have broken your creed. no living thing will have seen you.” you chuckle, which turns into a cough, followed by the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. he just sits speechless, words failing him. there’s so much he wishes he could say, but shock keeps his mouth shut. you feel the familiar feeling of tears for the umpteenth time that day. your thumb grazes his cheekbone, and he just watches as you fight this losing battle. sadness swells in his heart, a hurt that hasn’t hit him in years. for a person, that is. “i love you.” and you’re unsure if it’s the adrenaline or if it’s your sort of last words, but he snaps back into reality and brings his focus back to you.

“what?” he attempts to confirm, even though he heard you the first time.

“please don’t. i just-“ your tears fall down your face numbly, in steady streams. “i just need you to know that i love you. before i die. i need you to know the real reason i couldn’t leave you behind.” your words stumble out of your mouth quickly, but you know if you don’t say them now, you’ll never have the chance to. his leather covered hands move to hold on to both sides of your face, and he starts to quietly laugh. “what?” you ask, confused.

“i cannot believe that you are telling me this now. this was not supposed to go this way. everything was supposed to be different-“ he continues to dryly laugh “you weren’t supposed to die before i could even-“ he’s cut off by the startling reminder that the room around you that was once just taken up by the warmth of fire feet and feet away from you, is now engulfed in flames. smoke finally begins to fill both of your lungs and the ashes make mando’s eyes water (or at least that’s what he tells himself it is.)

“go. go now. please go find them.” he feels a weight on his shoulders, pulling him into the ground beneath him, holding him in place. he can’t leave you. you stayed for him, he has to stay for you. but his eyes flicker to the grate and how the fire is getting increasingly close to blocking his path. he knows your right, he knows he should go. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” you assure him “just don’t forget me, okay?” and he has to stop himself from guffawing. how in the world could he forget about you? he just breathes shakily, grabbing his helmet.

“i have thought of you every second while we were together, and i will think about you every second we are apart.” he admits with a sort of finality that scorches you. this is the end. in a desperate burst of energy, you slam your lips into his, reveling in every last second. you want to die with his lips being the last thing you feel. not the pain of your wound, not the pain of him leaving, just him. he kisses you back clumsily, making it obvious to you that this is his first kiss. selfishly, you hold on for just a moment longer, then letting him go, letting your hand trace his face one for time before he gets up.

“and for what it’s worth, i love you too.” he says, turning away in a way that shatters your heart. still, even while the live of your life leaves you in the flames, even while your back lets out one final wave of pain, even while taking your last breath, all you can think is;

he’s okay.

[thewillofdeez]

Mihawk vs The Seals

Summary: Every year, hundreds of seals return to Kuraigana Island to mate, including Mihawk's nemesis. His name is Neil.

Characters: Mihawk, Zoro, Perona, Neil the Seal as I imagine him in the One Piece Universe

Warnings: Some minor language, bittersweet mood. It's not crack, but it's almost crack. Crack-lite, if you will.

Note: Listen. It's extremely important to me that you know three things before you read this.

1) I haven't written anything substantial in several months. I was hoping to get The Warlord and the Revolutionary final chapters up today, but this happened instead.

2) I have been heavily on Neil the Seal TikTok.

3) This is my first day taking Adderall. I wrote this in 3.5 hours, starting with nothing more than a very vague concept. I guess that means it's working.

Take that all for what you will. Should I have published this? Maybe not. But here we are.

It was another day on Kuraigana Island for Mihawk, Zoro, and Perona. The two young pirates had been living with Mihawk for only a few months. Spring was slowly starting to reach the island, the weather beginning to warm ever so slightly. The three pirates sat down at the breakfast table, when Mihawk heard it: A loud, emotional braying sound from outside. He sighed heavily, placing his coffee cup on the table. Zoro and Perona exchanged a look.

“What,” Zoro said slowly, “The ever-loving hell was that?”

“That is the worst sound I’ve ever heard,” Perona added. “Like a vacuum cleaner sucking up a small elephant.”

“The seals are back,” Mihawk stated plainly, already feeling a headache coming on.

“The…seals?” Perona asked tentatively.

Mihawk sipped his coffee and sighed. “Every year around 300 seals come to this island to mate. For the next two weeks or so, the beach behind the castle will be their mating grounds.”

Perona’s eyes lit up, and she floated quickly to the window to look outside. A number of large, gray-ish blue seals were already beginning to gather on the beach. “EEEE they’re so cute!”

"They’re not cute,” Mihawk shot back, “They’re a menace. They’re loud, they take over the whole castle grounds, and they shit everywhere . Once they leave I have to have a company come in and rake the beach like a giant litterbox, and I have to spray down the bridge and patio every day. It’s a nightmare. A loud, smelly, destructive nightmare”

Zoro was trying not to chuckle at his mentor’s annoyance at seals of all things. “Can’t you, like, do anything about it?”

"Of course not,” Mihawk replied curtly. “They’re wild animals, I have no control over them. However, I did try slicing one up to send a message my first year here. They didn’t care. Then I just felt bad about killing it. I ate nothing but seal meat for weeks. Got a nice rug out of it though.”

Zoro laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and Mihawk narrowed his eyes. “You laugh now, Roronoa, but you won’t be when it’s 3am and you can’t sleep because there’s a seal orgy happening outside your window.” Mihawk drained his coffee cup and stood. “Both of you, come. We need to check the seal-proofing on the castle before we begin training for the day.”

“Seal-proofing?” Perona asked, floating behind him.

“Yes, I’ve boarded up several of the lower entrances because if I don’t they will get inside the castle. The last thing I want is to come downstairs to find a pile of seals sleeping in the living room. Again.”

Zoro and Perona followed Mihawk outside. Numerous seals were gathered, mostly on the beach, but some were beginning to flop their way up the paths, and some were swimming in the lake. Mihawk walked confidently through the fray, watching his step as he went. Perona eyed them cautiously. They were much larger up close, and distinctly less cute. “Mihawk,” Perona asked cautiously as one brayed loudly at her, “Are they, ya know, dangerous?”

“For someone like you, perhaps,” he replied calmly, though irritation still laced his words. “They can be quite territorial, but generally if you keep your distance and don’t bother them, they won’t bother you. I recommend flying a little higher than you normally might to avoid any trouble.” Perona immediately obeyed, floating an extra few feet off the ground.

The three made their way around the perimeter of the castle, checking various entrances to ensure Mihawk’s make-shift seal proofing was holding up, and making repairs where it wasn’t. Upon the path, a seal blocked their way. It was easily the largest Zoro and Perona had seen so far, its enormous body marred with the scars of many years in the ocean. Mihawk stood before it, narrowing his golden eyes and crossing his arms. “Hello, Neil.” The seal brayed loudly in response, flecks of saliva misting the three pirates.

Mihawk only continued to glare as he wiped his face with his sleeve. “Move,” he demanded. Neil barked in defiance, rolling over onto his back in a move Mihawk could only presume was seal for “fuck you, make me.”

“You, uh…you named the seal?” Zoro asked hesitantly, again trying to hold in his laughter to not make Mihawk any angrier than he already was.

“Yes, I’ve named several of the more annoying ones. This is Neil. He’s my nemesis. I hate him and he hates me.”

Zoro placed a hand over his mouth, turning his back to keep in his laughter, but he couldn’t do it. He let out a loud guffaw, bracing his hands on his knees as he laughed. “Neil the seal?! You gave him a rhyming name? And he’s your nemesis ?!” Neil let out a bark too, it almost sounded like laughing.

Mihawk’s face grew red. “Neil, move!” he demanded. As the seal let out a series of short, mocking barks it finally obeyed, moving off the path and towards the beach, satisfied that it had thoroughly humiliated Mihawk enough for one day. Mihawk took a deep breath and continued down the path.

“Watch your step, Zoro,” Mihawk stated as they walked, without even looking at the young man behind him. Before Zoro had a chance to ask why, he felt his boot land in something squishy.

“Ugh, dammit,” Zoro lamented, pulling his boot from the glob of seal poo Neil had left behind with a thwack .

“Haha!” Perona taunted in a sing-song voice, “You stepped in seal poo!”

Zoro grumbled, trying to wipe the bulk of the mess from his boots in the dirt. “It’s gonna be a long two weeks.”

And boy was it! Mihawk hadn’t been exaggerating about the noise. It was exceptionally loud, to the point where they were all constantly exhausted from lack of sleep. Perona even attempted to sound-proof her room by stacking her plushies in front of the windows, but despite her rather impressive collection, no amount of plushies was enough to keep the noise at bay with the room’s enormous, gothic windows.

Zoro and Mihawk’s training was often interrupted by the seals flopping along between them, paying absolutely no mind to the two men and their large, sharp swords. One day they attempted to move their training inside to the dungeons, only to find that a dozen seals had broken Mihawk’s barrier, and were now mating loudly. Between chasing the seals outside and cleaning up the mess the animals had made, they got no training done that day. As they cleaned and mopped, Mihawk could have sworn he heard Zoro grumble something about “never wanting to see a seal dick again.”

And then there was Neil. Though Zoro had laughed when Mihawk confidently declared Neil his nemesis, the giant seal did seem to find a perverse joy in tormenting Mihawk, personally. As Mihawk defiantly took his afternoon tea and daily cigarette out on the patio, despite the noise and the smell (a holdover from his younger days, and one of the few simple pleasures in his life), Neil would flop his enormous body up the stairs and honk directly at the swordsman, one time knocking over the small table and sending his teacup shattering on the ground before flopping away, letting out short, loud honks that Mihawk was positive was laughter. Perona tried her best to glue the teacup back together, but it was rather leaky and had to be discarded.

Neil also enjoyed standing directly outside of Mihawk’s window and bellowing at night, and occasionally charging directly at him. Mihawk was strong, but he wasn’t indestructible, and one thousand pounds of seal would certainly hurt him. Then of course, there were the daily “gifts” Neil left on the front doorstep. They appeared in the morning after breakfast, so Mihawk had no evidence that it was Neil, but he knew deep down that it was him.

One day, roughly two weeks from the day they began appearing on the island, the seals began leaving, their mating for the season done. Mihawk sat outside with his afternoon tea and his cigarette, not making the same mistake of placing the teacup on the table twice, lest Neil see it as an invitation. Zoro stepped outside, leaning over the bannister as the seals began slipping into the sea.

“How do you do this every year?” Zoro asked genuinely. “I’m exhausted after dealing with it once.”

Mihawk shrugged as he took a drag on his cigarette. “It’s only for two weeks out of the year. It’s annoying certainly, but it’s a small price to pay for the otherwise silence and isolation of living here.”

After a moment of silence, Mihawk chuckled, a noise Zoro rarely heard from the man. “You know, one time I was getting ready to set out to sea for a Warlord meeting. A mandatory one, another one of those ‘show up or you’ll lose your position’ things. I got to my boat and Neil was there, lying on deck, sound asleep. I tried to get him to move, but he wouldn’t.”

Zoro grinned. Mihawk so rarely told him anything about himself or his past. He was automatically intrigued, always curious to know more about his mentor, even if he’d never openly admit it. “How’d that turn out?”

Mihawk grinned right back, as if they were sharing an understanding. “I took a picture and mailed it to Sengoku. No note, just the picture. Didn’t hear a word back from him. Showed up at the next meeting like nothing happened, but Sengoku later gave me the same picture back, framed. He’d thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen: a powerful Warlord of the Sea, trapped on his private island by a giant seal.”

Zoro laughed softly. Something about the idea of the Fleet Admiral gifting one of his Warlords a ridiculous seal picture seemed absurd to him. But he’d seen the picture on the mantle, he knew it was real. Then, Mihawk spoke again. “He’s getting old.”

Zoro turned to him. “You mean Neil?”

Mihawk nodded. “I don’t know how old he is, but he looks more and more worse for wear every time I see him. I’d wager it’ll be another year or two before I don’t see him anymore. Or perhaps this will be the last time.”

Mihawk looked out in the distance, as Zoro took in the man before him. He could never be quite sure with Mihawk, but he felt that there was a certain sadness in his mentor’s voice.

“You kind of enjoy it, don’t you?” Zoro offered. “The back and forth between you and him. He keeps things interesting when there’s no one else around.”

Mihawk shrugged and put out his cigarette. “I won’t deny that I find him entertaining, even as he annoys the hell out of me. Animals are remarkable creatures. So human-like in so many ways, and yet not at the same time. I know he’s just a dumb mammal, but….”

Zoro only nodded, understanding what Mihawk was saying. He thought back to the Kung-Fu Dugongs in Alabasta, who took so strongly to Luffy after he bested them in a fight. He thought about the South Bird in Jaya that he enjoyed bothering by trying to get it to look in directions other than South. He thought of the Humandrills here on Kuraigana, who, now that he had bested them in battle once, had become some of his favorite sparring partners. And he thought of Chopper who, despite his Human-Human Fruit, was still at the end of the day, a reindeer. Animals really were remarkable.

A loud honking sound broke Zoro from his thoughts. Neil was flopping his way up the stairs, and landed at Mihawk’s feet, looking up at him. Mihawk looked down with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose you’re leaving?” Mihawk said. Neil only honked in affirmation. Mihawk nodded. “Well. Stay safe out there. You’re just about the size of a perfect snack for a Sea King. Basically a blubbery jelly bean.” Neil let out a series of those short, braying honks that sounded like laughter. He locked eyes with Mihawk for a moment before flopping his way back down the stairs. Mihawk rose and stood beside Zoro, and together they watched as Neil got in the water and, with one last look towards the castle, swam away.

Several months passed, and it was business as usual for Mihawk, Zoro, and Perona. As Mihawk and Zoro worked in the garden, beginning the process of harvesting the year’s yield, Perona floated up to them excitedly. “Guys! Come to the beach!”

“I don’t have time for a swim,” Mihawk said curtly as he plucked some tomatoes from a vine.

“Ugh, what? No! Just…just shut up and come with me!” She turned and floated away, clearly expecting the men to drop everything and follow her. Mihawk looked to Zoro, who only shrugged and rose to his feet, dropping his gloves in the dirt. Mihawk sighed and begrudgingly did the same.

The two swordsmen followed Perona, who kept looking behind to make sure they were following, though not nearly fast enough for her. And when Mihawk crested the hill and looked out at the beach below him, his eyes widened in surprise to see Neil there, honking loudly in greeting. And not just Neil - with him were six seal pups, perhaps a few months old.

Perona squealed in delight, doing flips in the air. “Aren’t they cute?!” Mihawk could only chuckle as he approached his old nemesis.

Neil brayed happily, bouncing on his flippers and pushing the small seals with his snout towards Mihawk, who crossed his arms and chuckled. “You wanted me to meet your children, huh?” Neil honked in affirmation.

Mihawk, Zoro, and Perona sat down on the beach, allowing the seal pups to approach them. He wouldn’t say it, but they were actually quite cute. “Congratulations, Neil,” Mihawk said, his lips upturning in a slight grin. “Shall I fetch you a cigar and some whiskey to celebrate?”

That loud, honking laugh again. The one Mihawk had grown so accustomed to over his time living at the castle, the one that made Mihawk confident that even if Neil couldn’t speak the language of humans, he certainly understood every word they said.

Neil watched as the pups sniffed around the humans, eventually deeming them safe enough to accept pets, and one even crawled into Zoro’s lap for a nap, as if he’d found a kindred spirit in the green-haired swordsman. Then, satisfied, Neil let out one last bray, before turning and flopping his way back into the water. Mihawk rose quickly, going after him, not even caring that the surf was covering his boots. “Neil! Stop! I’m not a babysitter! I already have two children I don’t want, I don’t need more!”

Neil only turned and looked directly at Mihawk, and in that moment, Mihawk understood: this was Neil’s last journey to Kuraigana Island. He wasn’t coming back. Whatever may have happened to the mother, Neil was leaving his pups in the care of someone he trusted. They were still too small to make it in the wild on their own, and Neil wanted to give them the best chance at survival and a safe haven to return to, just as he had been doing for so many years.

Mihawk nodded and approached Neil, who was still looking up at him with glossy, black eyes. For the first time, Mihawk noticed a cloudiness in the seal’s eyes: cataracts. For how long had Neil had this problem and Mihawk hadn’t even noticed? Could he have taken him to a veterinarian? Could he have gotten him help if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with their cat-and-mouse game? Mihawk felt a pang in his chest as he reached out and placed a calloused hand gently on Neil’s head, petting him gently.

“I’ll take care of them,” he said, trying to hide the hoarseness appearing in his voice. “As long as they’re on this island, they will be safe.” Neil blinked and honked lowly, something Mihawk could only interpret as “thank you.” And with that, Neil flopped into the sea and swam away, leaving Mihawk standing on the shore with Zoro, Perona, and the pups.

Mihawk allowed himself a minute to mourn his odd friend, then turned and walked back to where Zoro and Perona sat with the seal pups. It was clear the two younger pirates understood what had just happened, and Perona had silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

“So what now?” she asked quietly, gently stroking the seal pup before her.

Mihawk sighed, picking up one of the pups and holding it out in front of him. It looked quite like Neil, but had a smattering of light gray spots on its fur. Its glossy black eyes looked at him with curiosity and it cocked its head to the side, taking in the man before it, before immediately peeing. The swordsman could only laugh softly. This was definitely Neil’s child.

He placed the seal gently on the ground, and it happily bounced over to its siblings. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to go change my clothes. Then, I suppose, we’re going fishing. We have six new mouths to feed after all.”

Zoro and Perona smiled, Perona wiping the tears from her face. They rose and followed Mihawk, and the six seal pups flopped along cheerily behind them, ready to explore their new home.

[jacketkiszka]

Tongue Tied - Chapter One

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: (this chapter) none! <3

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

May 9th - Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina

“You’re doing it wrong again,” you sigh, your voice tinged with frustration as you watch Sam pack ice into the cup with a funnel.

“There’s no wrong way to put ice in a cup,” he retorts, still focused on his shoddy attempt at a snow cone.

“You know there is,” you reply. “If you pack it in too tight, you won’t be able to get the straw in.”

Sam looks up at you with a playful grin, but you notice the misstep only after it’s too late. You roll your eyes and turn back to the counter, muttering under your breath, “Whatever, make it harder for yourself if you want. Plus, you’re getting syrup everywhere.”

He sets the snow cone down for you to taste, naturally smearing the red syrup on the bottom of the cup all over the counter you’d just cleaned. It looks decent enough, but as you suspected, the ice is packed too tightly for the syrup to stay on top. You slide it back toward him. “They’re not as good when you pack the top like that. Hard ice doesn’t hold the syrup.”

He just shrugs off your criticism with a smug smile, seemingly not paying any mind to your assessment of his work.

Sam was the newest hire at Strange Horizons—the brightly colored beachside snow cone stand where you’d spent the last few summers. Today was only Sam’s second day in the shop, but that’s normally more than enough time to train someone in a job like this. For some reason, though, Sam was resistant to your training.

You had been working effortlessly with Sam the last few days to get him comfortable with making the snow cones. It wasn’t that hard of a task, you didn’t think,

School was finally out, but it was still early in the summer and it was pretty windy today which meant the beach wasn’t going to be very busy. You’ve been spending the free time having Sam practice making snow cones for you and showing him how to mix the syrups and refill any bottles that were running low. 

Sam’s older brother, Josh, owned the shop and was a great manager, but you couldn’t help but think he might have been a bit too generous in hiring Sam. It was clear that getting along with Sam’s stubborn personality in such a small space for the rest of the summer was going to be a challenge.

There were two other girls that worked in the shop on your days off, but they had only been there a few weeks, so fortunately for you, although you didn’t quite see it as a blessing, Josh had asked you to be the one to train Sam.

After an hour of monotonous tasks—cleaning sticky syrup bottles and listening to the same loop of kid-friendly pop music you’d heard countless times before—you catch sight of a familiar face approaching the stand.

“Hey, Winnie! The usual?” you call out.

She smiles and nods. Winnie would come to your stand every Wednesday around the same time, and she always ordered the same thing. You decide that today’s snow cone will be on the house, considering this will be Sam’s first real customer.

Turning to Sam, you offer him a nod. “Alright, thankfully this is an easy one. She just wants a medium sour apple with extra sour spray. Got it?”

Sam smiles at the girl through the window before nodding to you. You watch carefully as Sam produces what could only be described as the most perfect snow cone you’ve ever seen in your life. He diligently wipes off the cup and hands it to Winnie. She tastes the snow cone and her eyes immediately widen, like she’s never tasted anything better. As quickly as you start to feel proud of Sam, that feeling dies. It becomes glaringly obvious that Sam never needed the help to begin with, and he was only pretending to be bad at his job to push your buttons. 

Winnie walks back towards the beach happily with lime green lips and sticky hands and you let out a deep breath that you didn’t know you were holding in. Sam glances back at you, his expression mostly blank but with an unmistakable hint of satisfaction.

“What was that?” You ask, pointedly.

“A medium sour apple with extra sour spray.” He answers, as if stating the obvious.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes again—a habit that has become all too familiar in the few days you’ve known Sam.

“You know what I meant,” you say, frustration creeping into your voice. “What happened to the crunchy, dry snow cones you were making earlier?"

“So you don’t want me to be good at my job?” he smirks, the question hanging in the air as a challenge.

“I just don’t appreciate you pretending not to know how to do your job all day just to turn around and make a perfect snow cone, like you just want to waste my time.” You spat back at him, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter.

Sam looks you up and down, and for once his attitude seems genuine. “I think you’re taking this job too seriously. Who even cares about snow cones this much? Learn to live a little.”

His words had stung more than you’d like to admit, leaving you with a bitter feeling. You take a deep breath, trying to shake the anger you feel before you get too upset with him. You’re not angry at his comment, but you are pissed that he has been actively trying to get under your skin all day, and pissed that it worked.

Sam doesn’t know the reason you keep returning to Strange Horizons every year, or what makes your seemingly simple job feel so important to you. Wordlessly, you decide to step away from the counter and retreat to the back of the stand, where you take a moment to breathe.

Your thoughts drift to past summers at the Strange Horizons—long, sun-drenched days spent serving smiling customers, eating as many snow cones as you could stomach, and all of the good times you had with your coworkers-turned-friends. You think about Josh and how well he’s treated you all these years, and how you’ve tried your best to reciprocate the help for him. Most of all, you think about the reason you’re even in this town in the first place.

As you’re fiddling with a stack of napkins, trying to clear your mind, you hear the all too familiar sound of shredding ice. You peek around the mini fridge and see Sam standing at the machine, his demeanor noticeably more focused than before. He’s preparing another snow cone with a newfound precision, and it’s clear that he’s putting real effort into it.

You watch as Sam carefully scoops the ice with the funnel and presses it onto the top of the cup, ensuring it’s not packed too tightly. He pours the syrup evenly, making sure not to spill too much. It’s a stark contrast to his earlier attempts, and you can’t help but feel a bit of relief. His attention to detail is evident, and you realize he’s at least trying to take this seriously.

He finishes the snow cone, carefully wiping down the cup before setting it on the counter next to you. Sam turns to you, his expression more sincere than before. “How’s that?” he asks, his tone soft and slightly uncertain.

You take a moment to assess the snow cone. It’s perfectly done—everything is in order, from the shape of the ice to the amount of syrup. You nod, a small smile forming on your lips. “Is it cotton candy?” 

He gives a slight nod towards the cup. “You said earlier it was your favorite.”

A small, but kind gesture. Sam realized he pushed you a little too far today and this was his way of making it up to you. You take a spoonful from the baby blue ice and Sam grimaces. “I can’t believe you like cotton candy. Terrible flavor.”

And just like that, the sweet moment is over as quickly as it began. He grabs a towel to busy himself, and you smile to yourself.

Maybe working with Sam wouldn’t be so bad after all.

.

.

.

.

.

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

(Contents Summary: TW: Fake Interrogation, TW: Mild knifeplay, TW: Restraints, Playful Soap, Adorable Soap, Loving Soap, Strip tease, Tight fit, Soft Dom Soap, TW: Sexual Intercourse, Possessive Soap)

“Wait,” she moaned, feeling every care in the world suddenly begin to feel lightyears away. But she couldn’t let go completely. Not yet. “Wait, the training. The assignment.”

“I got a different kinda assignment I wanna do right now,” Soap huffed, nuzzling against her neck. “And I think you do too.”

His hands roamed her frame, taking time to explore her ample curves. It felt like they were everywhere at once. Ghosting along her arms, grabbing at her hips, cupping the swell of her breasts. And it felt so good that she never wanted to stop. But at the same time, Ana knew she’d never forgive herself if he woke up in deep trouble with Price the following morning. So did the opposite of what her body was practically screaming at her to do. She persisted.

“I want to, believe me. When you touch me like that, it's hard to even think about anything but you touching me more. But I don’t want Price mad at you because of me,” she murmured, gasping when Soap began to nibble on her earlobe. “Just bring me the list. I’ve got an idea.”

With a huff and a short laugh, Soap finally pulled himself away and went to retrieve the scattered papers. Once he returned, he quickly untied the restraints so that Ana could finally sit up and flip through the pages. But as she began to read, Soap lingered in her peripheral vision. And all the words on the page immediately turned to word salad when she saw him slowly undoing his belt.

Soap smirked when he saw her blatant stare, taking his time to put on a devilishly distracting performance. “You better hurry up, love. Because once these clothes come off, reading time is over.”

The belt slowly slipped around his waist, trailing past each loop before he let it fall to the floor. Ana bit her lip, struggling to focus on the papers in her hand. She scanned the pages as quickly as she could, not wanting to skip anything important but also not wanting to miss Soap’s alluring display.

“Okay, I think I have an idea how we can make this work,” she rushed, eyes flying through the lines of text.

“Oh? Talk fast, clock is tickin’.”

As he spoke, Soap tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it on top of his belt. Ana intended to only give him a quick glance, but she couldn’t help but stare again. The man was built like an Adonis. His arms bulged with layers of muscle, prominent veins clearly visible along their length. There was a light spray of hair across his chest, accenting the protruding definition before it tapered into his abdomen. Every breath he took made muscles she didn’t even know existed twitch and flex, each one on blatant display.

“I’m sorry,” Soap teased, not feeling sorry in the slightest. “Am I distracting you?”

Ana shook herself from her brief daze, finally finding her original train of thought again. “I-I figured out how we can complete the assignment. If you squint, it’s definitely passable. Look.”

She beckoned him over, in part to stall for time before he took anything else off. But she genuinely wanted his opinion on her clever interpretation of the training forms. Soap didn’t join her right away, though. Now that he had her full attention, he tugged the zipper of his pants down and worked his jeans down his thighs. He grinned mischievously when Ana’s eyes locked on the crotch of his boxers, not needing to see his pants hit the floor to practically drool over him. And having earned just the reaction he was hoping for, he finally swaggered over to the table. Ana’s gaze followed the gentle sway of his hips as he went, physically tearing her eyes up from his lower half when he reached her side. When their eyes finally met again, Soap was smirking down at her. He let the prominent bulge in his boxers brush against her leg, making her eyelids flutter as she gasped. But he still reached out for the papers in her trembling hands.

“So, what’s this bright idea of yours?”

Ana swallowed hard, her mind spinning in the most delicious way as she deliriously pointed down at the page. “Here, you read it. I can’t… Wow.”

“What’s the matter, doll? Something else on your mind?”

He repeated the motion, pressing himself against her and reveling in the way she fought to keep her composure. Ana didn’t respond verbally. She wasn’t sure if she could at the moment. So, instead, she pushed the papers toward him with a shake of her head and tried to look anywhere but where their bodies currently met.

“Fine,” Soap chuckled, taking the papers and beginning to rifle through them. “I’ll read it again. But what am I looking for?”

“I think we could get a little… creative with some of the interrogation tactics they list in there,” she answered, a bit breathless. “All it says is that you have to do some of the listed items and note my responses. If we word things just right, our own little assignment might fulfill this one too.”

“Sounds naughty,” Soap grinned, nodding along as he read. “I like it. Anything in particular you like on the list?”

Ana blushed, looking down at her hands as she fidgeted a bit. “Well, um, things like choking. The one on physical violence could be stretched to include… spanking. Stuff like that. And… and you could do that thing with the knife again.”

Soap looked up in surprise, but did not protest. “You liked that, did you? Got a little knife kink? I thought I had scared you too bad there. But no, you were just soaking straight through your knickers the whole time, weren’t you?”

“M-maybe.”

Soap tossed the papers back to the floor, needing no further instruction. No, he had everything he needed to make this work for both of them. And the longer he waited, the more he craved her.

“I wonder just how wet you got,” He purred against her ear, hooking a finger into the waist of her shorts. “How about you take these off and show me?”

Ana quivered as pure arousal coursed through her body, snapping her into action. Slowly easing herself off the edge of the table, she started tugging them downwards. But Soap stopped her, his eyes lighting up with a new idea.

“No, wait," he rushed, smirking mischievously. "We gotta check as many boxes as we can, right? So why not start now?”

He turned and grabbed his jeans from the floor, slipping his knife out of the pocket. When he turned back around, he let himself fall into the role of an interrogator all over again. His eyes were dark and steely. Not a hint of laughter remained in them as he stalked towards where Ana stood, twirling the sharp blade in his fingers.

He straightened his arm, pointing the tip of the blade towards her throat in a threatening pose. “I’m only gonna say this once. Strip. Now.”

The sudden change from friendly banter to full-on dominance made Ana’s breath catch in her throat. Every fiber of her being snapped to attention when he turned those fierce blue eyes on her like that. He looked dangerous and deadly as he slowly stalked towards her, like a killer closing in on their helpless prey.

She nodded quickly, and there was a slight tremor of anticipation in her hands as she tugged the waistband of her shorts down her thighs. Soap’s eyes watched the fabric fall towards the floor with a spark of raw hunger. But when Ana moved to do the same with her panties, Soap stopped her. The edge of the blade jerked towards her, pressing just hard enough against the nape of her neck to make her heart skip a beat.

"Slowly," he hissed. "And don't try anything."

There was a level of threat in his words that sent a rush of excitement down Ana's spine. His eyes held a smugness, almost like he was challenging her. Daring her to defy him in any way. As for Ana, her eyes were wide but not in fear. The way she continued to bite her lip, chest rising and falling in quick jerky movements. The way a scarlet veil crept across her face as she blushed for him. It was driving Soap wild, too. Adrenaline pumping through his veins with every beat of his heart.

He watched her undress, biting back a moan as the waist of her underwear fell past her broad hips. And when they landed between her feet, an obvious stain of fresh excitement marked where her sex had once been.

"S-should I keep going?" Ana squeaked, hesitantly gripping the hem of her tank top.

Soap’s eyes slowly rose from the pile of discarded clothes, up the length of her legs to her groin, and then gradually arrived at her face again. Raw desire colored his gaze. His arms flexed as he clenched and unclenched his hands, no longer willing to wait any longer.

"I'll take it from here," Soap huffed.

In one motion, he seized the neck of her top and shredded the fabric like tissue paper. All it took was a flick of his knife through the center of her bra to finally bare her full beauty to him.

"I should probably restrain you, tie you up good and tight," he chuckled, winding the torn top around her wrists and tying them behind her back. "That was on the list too. Can't have you getting away, now can we?"

"You won't get anything out of me," Ana shot back, smirking as she played along a bit. "You'll never make me talk."

"Oh, I'm not gonna make you talk," Soap growled, letting the knife clatter to the floor. He hoisted her back onto the table and slowly climbed on top of her. "First, I'm gonna make you whimper and moan. Make you sing for me like a little bird."

His hand gripped her thigh, tugging her leg around his waist as he spoke.

"Then, I'm gonna make you beg. Beg me to break you, to use you however I see fit. And then," he smirked, rolling her nipple between his fingers before squeezing it to emphasize his next words. "I'm gonna make you scream my fucking name."

Ana tipped her head back, unable to contain the moan his words forced out of her mouth. Her back arched up towards him, and he used the opportunity to lower his mouth to her breast. Soap’s tongue felt like fire when it touched the sensitive skin. And with his hands gripping pressing up against the curve of her back, she couldn’t escape the pleasure she felt even if she wanted to. But she didn't want to escape. She didn't want it to ever cease.

"Soap," she whimpered, gasping as he suckled her.

Ana clutched his head to her chest, burying her fingers into the soft hair of his mohawk and losing herself in the warmth of his mouth. The stubble of his facial hair tickled her skin, adding yet another layer of stimulation. She shuddered in his arms as he ensured her other breast received similar treatment. Once he was satisfied, his mouth never left her body. Instead, he began marking a searing trail of licks, nibbles, and kisses down her torso.

Eventually, Ana could feel his tongue swirl against her inner thigh as he nudged them open with his shoulders. She hissed, biting her lip and eager for him to shift just a hair towards where she craved him most. But he paused, mouth hovering over her sex. Hot air fanned out over her core with every breath he took.

Ana sat up a bit, glancing down towards him to see why he had stopped. His eyes stormed with lust as he stared up at her through his dark lashes. As she held his smoldering gaze, he slowly extended his tongue and dragged it along her delicate folds. That was all it took to send her body flailing back against the table. Ana squeezed her eyes shut, gasping needily as he lapped at her like a man gone mad with ravenous hunger. He moaned, closing his lips around the swollen bud of nerves. And the vibration shot through her whole body.

"You taste so sweet, doll," he panted, giving her clit languid tugs of suction. "God, you're a pretty sight."

Ana didn't respond. She couldn't if she wanted to. All she could do was tremble as he buried his face between her legs, her mouth frozen in a silent moan of bliss. But it didn't remain that way for long. When he thrust his tongue into her entrance, she writhed with a low moan. Her thighs shook uncontrollably, pressing in on him from either side. But he welcomed the pressure, wrapping his arms around her legs to hold them there as he eagerly explored her depths.

The tremors gradually spread to the rest of her body as the pleasure continued to build. And when her whimpers rose higher in pitch, Soap knew her undoing was just around the corner. So, he tightened his grip and continued to savor her taste.

"Come on, lass," his voice was muffled and husky. "Just let go. Let go."

With a loud cry, Ana fell into her climax. Her whole body clenched as raw pleasure flooded her senses and made reality feel like a distant memory. The only thing keeping her there was Soap’s heated moans as her release rushed into his waiting mouth. He didn't just want a taste of her. He wanted all of her. Nothing less would ever do. And as she came back down from her high, he could tell she felt the same burning need. She wanted more. She needed more.

Soap slowly moved forward, pulling her into a kiss and letting her sample her taste from his tongue. As she did, he hurriedly kicked off his boxers and finally pressed his full weight against her. Though she couldn't see from her position, she could tell he wasn't lacking in size or excitement. The girthy length of his erection pressed against her stomach. It twitched and throbbed as he deepened the kiss. And with a low groan, he gently started grinding his hips against her in search of much needed friction.

"Are you sure you’re ready for this?" he whispered, meeting her eyes again. "If you want me to stop here, I will. We've checked enough boxes for your training. And as much as I want to absolutely rail you right now, I don't wanna push."

Ana panted, tugging him against her with her legs. "I want you. Don't you dare stop."

Soap smirked, adjusting his position to line up at her entrance before settling back down on top of her. And with his face tucked against her neck, he slowly began to push. A startled gasp rang out as his head slipped past her folds, and Soap moaned in response. Both were breathless and nearly delirious as his length gradually vanished into her core, inch by inch.

"Bloody hell, you're tight," he grunted through gritted teeth. "Jesus Christ."

Ana's eyes rolled back in her head, mind going fuzzy as the fullness increased. "Oh my god. Fuck, Soap."

Finally, he bottomed out, and Ana felt his tip lodge against her cervix with a jolt. As he waited for her to adjust, he tugged against her restraints and tossed the battered fabric to the floor. As soon as her hands were free, Ana clutched his shoulders and braced herself.

"Can I-"

"Yes," Ana gasped, cutting him off. "Make me yours, please."

The simple request ignited a fire in Soap. His eyes raged with lust as he drew back and rolled his hips back into her. Ana shuddered beneath him, nails digging into his back in the most delicious way. So he did it again, gradually building his pace.

Every thrust rocked her against the table, earning a series of beautiful sounds from them both. And as he picked up speed, all Ana could do was hold on for dear life and whimper as he rammed into her. Soap usually kept his strength under strict control when it came to her. But as he began to lose his grip, his movements were almost brutal. He was losing control, and he knew it. But he also knew he couldn't stop. Not with her squeezing at him like that. Not with her looking at him like that.

From below, Ana rocked her hips with his movements. By synchronizing with him, she allowed him to press even deeper than he thought she could take. But she was taking it. Ana was clearly handling herself just fine. Her moans spiked in volume, and her whole body shivered in erratic bursts, but she didn't try to slow him down. Her legs hugged him against her just as tightly as before, if not tighter. If she had tightened her hold on him, Soap couldn't tell anymore. All the surrounding details were melting away into nothingness as he moved within her. And as far as he knew, his reality currently consisted three things: This moment, this goddess of a woman, and the mind-bending pleasure she was making him feel.

With a rasped growl, he shoved her arms off his shoulders in favor of pressing them above her head. His forehead pressed against hers as he finally let go, pounding her into the table beneath him. But Ana didn't protest. She mewled so sweetly as the intensity rose. Those doe eyes of hers were fixed on him, filled with pure need. She could take him. She could take all of him, even when he didn't hold back. And that acceptance from her was what finally pushed Soap over the edge.

"Take it," he hissed. His voice was a mixture of a demand and a request, simultaneously begging for release and commanding her to do the same. "Take my fucking cock while I make you mine. You're mine!"

His final word came out strained as Ana clenched around him. As she shuddered through her orgasm, Soap’s voice quickly morphed to a grunt of pleasure as his climax hit full force. She could feel him twitch within her, an eruption of warmth pooling in her belly as he came. Her body responded, spasms constricting her walls to greedily collect every last drop of his love. And with that, a room intended only for fear and terror now filled with sighs of bliss.

Soap gasped for breath, hovering above Ana as he slowly collected himself. His eyes danced with a level of joy Ana hadn't seen in a long time. And smirking down at her, Soap could see the very same emotion in hers.

"I'm almost tempted to take those forms and just shred em'," he laughed.

Ana scoffed, playfully swatting his arm. "What? No! You heard Price. He's gonna give you hell for that!"

"Eh, let him. I can take it. Besides, that'll mean I'll have to 'interrogate' you all over again," he grinned again, his voice dropping to a whisper as he trailed his thumb along her jawline. "And for a prize like that, I'd say it's well worth it."

[allie-writes]

By the Bootstraps

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Relationships: Rolf & Shinon Other relevant tags: Character Study Word count: 2195 Language: English Read on: AO3

Shinon sighs and pushes to his feet. He doesn’t offer Rolf a hand to pull him up, but goes to pick up his discarded bow instead. Weighing it in his hand, he considers Rolf. “I wasn’t born a master archer either, you know."

Rolf really just wants to make himself useful.

Written for @strayarrowfezine!

A podfic by @lumeha is available here!

There’s little finesse to the way Boyd’s axe chops into the training dummy.

It’s all brute force with him because he has the benefit of being big and strong, and even his cheap iron axe is a heavy weapon when compared to an arrow. Splinters of wood go flying, looking a bit like a spray of blood in the fading red sunlight.

Rolf watches his brother brutalise the dummy from his perch above the training grounds. There’s a sheen of sweat on Boyd’s face, and a big, satisfied smile on his lips. He wipes his forehead and swings his axe like it weighs nothing, then goes back to tearing into the wood again. Idly, Rolf takes a bite out of the sweet roll that Oscar had slipped him after dinner.

He isn’t jealous, per se—but his brothers are so much older than him, and stronger, and able to carry their weight around their mercenary troupe in a way that Rolf simply isn’t. If anything, he is only allowed to stay because of how well the two of them pull their weight. Even Mist, who sees equally as little combat as Rolf, manages to do more for everyone than him, what with all the laundry and mending and healing she does.

If it weren’t for Shinon’s surreptitiously teaching him archery, Rolf would not have anything to show for himself at all.

Boyd takes another swing at the dummy, right at where a person’s waist would be, and the wood finally gives. The top half goes flying, while the bottom part remains stuck on the rod it is affixed to. The wooden pseudo-torso clatters to the ground, and Boyd whoops in elation. Rolf shoves the remaining half of his roll into his mouth and jumps to his feet, praying that he might get away before his brother can notice him.

Maybe some late practice is what Rolf needs as well.

Dusk has fallen by the time Rolf returns outside, bow and quiver tucked discreetly into his side. The sound of Boyd’s irregular chopping has died down by now, replaced by the last bangs of pots and pans being stowed away in the kitchen and the cacophony of noises coming from inside the forest.

Rolf follows the song of crickets and owls and frogs into the trees, tall and pitch-black in the fading light. His feet know the way to the shooting range – the one hidden away, where Shinon takes him to practice – even as night begins to fall. The small clearing with the makeshift targets is wrapped in faint purple light and tall shadows.

It’s likely going to be too dark to see anything soon, so Rolf sets down his bow and fastens his quiver to his back. The targets fixed to the trees are still visible enough, even in the low light.

His bow feels heavy in his hand when he picks it back up, which is ridiculous. Rolf knows it to be lighter than the average iron bows everyone else uses, made with care by Shinon to account for Rolf’s lack of strength and – well, isn’t that a frustrating thought?

He pulls an arrow from his quiver and nocks it, fingers trembling. His eyes are terribly dry, and the roll from before sits heavy in his stomach. Before him, lined up ever so neatly, the targets, with all their little puncture marks from being struck by arrows so often, appear to be swaying in the shifting shadows. Rolf exhales shakily and draws back his bowstring, zeroing in on one target and taking aim.

The string snaps back into place as he lets go, and his arrow promptly burrows itself in the ground.

For a few seconds, Rolf just stands and stares at the arrow as it sticks out of the dirt. His chosen target is at least another two feet away from where it had struck the ground, like it had simply dropped out of the air before it could make it all the way to the target, and the whole thing feels a bit like a joke. Perhaps, on a better day, Rolf could have taken comfort in the fact that his aim had been pretty much perfect. But today isn’t a good day, and his stupid custom toy bow weighs nothing, and his weak little arms don’t even have enough strength in them to pull the bowstring back with the force needed to strike a target.

Rolf walks over to his arrow and yanks it out of the ground, because the head is barely damaged, and he might as well try again. His eyes sting, but he readies the arrow once more and makes sure to draw the string back as far as he can.

This time, the arrow strikes a tree trunk instead.

The thump of it rings like thunder in Rolf’s ears. Just beside the tree, the target he had been aiming for remains unpunctured.

If this were a skirmish, someone would be dead twice over by now. That is what bothers – no, terrifies – Rolf most. That, if the other mercenaries would allow him to come along on their missions, they would expect him to pull his weight, and he would fail them. That they would need to protect him and receive nothing in return. That Rolf would be nothing but dead weight to them. That someone might needlessly die for him because he wasn’t good enough.

The next arrow feels steadier in his hands than the one before. Rolf adjusts his stance and turns to a different target this time, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He readies his shot, his arms quivering with tension, and he tries, and misses again.

And again.

And again.

And—

The moss muffles the clattering as his bow hits the ground with all the force Rolf can put behind throwing it. His breathing comes ragged, and it takes all his willpower not to stomp his foot like a stupid, useless child.

Maybe this really is all he can bring to the table. Maybe he is bound to remain nothing but a petulant, unskilled liability best kept off the battlefield; an additional mouth to feed that can’t earn its keep.

He stares at his bow as it lies between blades of grass and rocks and dust—his bow, that Shinon had made specifically for him, for him to train and get better with. Shinon, who had gone out of his way to take him on as an apprentice. Shinon, who keeps training him, who must still see something in him, no matter his incompetence.

Shinon, whose bow and faith Rolf had just tossed in the dirt.

With a sigh, he picks it up, then goes to pluck his arrows from where they are lodged in everything but in his practice targets. The wind combs through the trees around him, and Rolf shudders.

And then, he heads home.

-

His evenings are spent much the same after that.

It’s the time of the year when the days are getting shorter again, and sitting out dinner is a small price to pay for an extra hour of daylight. Besides, Oscar holds back some food for Rolf to eat once he comes back, anyways; never mind that he always serves it with a concerned look and questions about Rolf’s wellbeing.

Mist, too, worries, and it feels entirely too patronising in a way that his brother’s concern doesn’t. She always gets under Rolf’s skin, so he takes to avoiding her altogether. It’s easy, seeing as Rolf is already sitting out meals.

And for all the trouble, his extra practice has yet to bear fruit.

Rolf is hopeful that the soreness in his arms and shoulder is a sign that he is finally building up some muscle. His aim has only gotten worse, but it might be temporary. After all, he can barely hold his bow without his arms shaking from the exhaustion and soreness. Earlier that day, Shinon had noticed as much during their regular training session and promptly called Rolf out on it.

It’s easy for Shinon to judge Rolf, of course. Shinon doesn’t have to worry about carrying his weight around their mercenary band. Unlikely as it seems given his natural talents, if Shinon ever started out in the same place as Rolf, it must have been so long ago that he can’t accurately remember how awful being well and truly useless feels.

His frustration makes Rolf yank back the arrow he had been readying with more force than necessary, and his shoulder gives out.

He drops his bow and arrow at once and promptly crumples to the floor.

That’s also how Shinon finds him some minutes later: kneeling in the dirt while clutching his injured shoulder, trying desperately not to cry.

“So this is where you’ve been running off to,” Shinon says, speech just this side of slurred. Rolf only sniffles in reply, refusing to look at him. Shinon sighs and steps closer. “I told you so, you know. That you’ve been overdoing things, and that you’d end up like this.”

That makes Rolf look up. “So what?” he says through his teeth.

Shinon raises his eyebrows, then frowns. “Why do I even take the time out of my day to teach you anything if you don’t bother to listen to me?”

“You don’t get it!”

“I do.”

Rolf glares at him. Shinon glares right back.

“You’ve been making an ass of yourself for a while now, Rolf. Your brothers are constantly whining about you running off instead of eating dinner. And what for? To stand around in the dark and struggle to hit a single target because you’ve been overtaxing your body?” Shinon drops to his knees. His hands come to settle on Rolf’s shoulders with measured gentleness. “And worst of all, you don’t listen to me when I tell you to lay it off to prevent something like this happening. Now let me see your shoulder.”

Reluctantly and wordlessly, Rolf does as he is told.

“Would you have kept going the second it stopped hurting?” Shinon asks as he smooths his hand over the smarting muscle. Rolf tries his hardest not to flinch.

“I… don’t know.”

Shinon lets out a noise of frustration. His touch becomes rougher for a second before he catches himself. “You pulled a muscle there. Pretty badly,” he says. His hands come to settle on top of Rolf’s shoulders again, and he levels Rolf with a glare. “If you keep going with an injury like this, who knows if your shoulder will ever be the same again. Do you understand that, Rolf?”

Numbly, Rolf nods and keeps his head down. He can’t stand to look Shinon in the eye anymore. “I just—Master Shinon, I just don’t want to disappoint you! You can’t be happy with me as a pupil, can you?”

“Not if you’re going to behave like this.”

“I mean it! I haven’t been making any progress at all! I rarely manage to hit any of my practice targets, and if I ever got into an actual fight, I would only be a burden to everyone else!”

A hush follows in the wake of Rolf’s outburst. Shinon’s face scrunches up in something akin to disgust.

“Well, good thing you’re not joining any fights then,” he says after a beat. “You are simply not ready for it.”

“And that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? I’m not carrying my weight!”

“Who said that you had to? Because that’s bull. You’re perfectly capable for a boy your age who has been practicing archery for as long as you have,” Shinon says, his face still stuck in a strange expression of distaste. “If you were a lost cause, I wouldn’t bother.”

Rolf can’t help the tear that escapes his eye at last. In the advancing darkness, Shinon doesn’t seem to notice.

“But,” Shinon goes on, “if you permanently injure yourself by practicing until your shoulders give out and your hands bleed, you will become a lost cause. And I don’t want that for you. Do you understand?”

Rolf swipes at his face with his good hand and sniffles. “Yes, Master Shinon. I just… I wish I could get better faster.”

Shinon sighs and pushes to his feet. He doesn’t offer Rolf a hand to pull him up, but goes to pick up his discarded bow instead. Weighing it in his hand, he considers Rolf. “I wasn’t born a master archer either, you know. But… well, I think I’ve trained you well enough to trust you to have my back, once I deem you battle-ready.”

Rolf’s heart jumps in his chest. “Really?” he gasps and moves to stand up, only to wince when his shoulder smarts at the movement.

Shinon smirks. “If you take the time to heal, first.���

“I promise,” he says, and crosses his heart with his uninjured hand. Another tear slips out, and he quickly wipes it away. “And… thank you.”

Shinon shrugs and fumbles for something with his free hand. A second later, he pulls out a hipflask and uncorks in one practiced movement. “Go see if they left any food for you,” is all he says.

Rolf obliges.

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Actually-Wednesday

This lovely image popped up again while I was down a tumblr rabbit hole and I remembered I’d actually already written the scene it reminded me of when @womble1 flagged it as having Estera-vibes. It’s a little way down the line plot-wise so I cut the bits that refer to the actual content of the conversation they’ve just had but I think it still works as a scene so I shall fling the words here anyway as maybe it will inspire me to get the next chronological chapter done!

Oh and the location in the story is the breakwater by the lifeboat station, in case anyone wanted to know 🤣

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The wind had picked up and the waves were beginning to splash up over the breakwater. Probably time to get back on dry land.

Estera clearly thought the same as she stood up with a purposeful air and Scott followed suit, cramming the remaining packaging into his deep coat pockets. She glanced up at him, her concern she’d ruined everything written all over her face and he raised his arms ever so slightly, an invitation she could ignore without awkwardness should she chose to. She did not so choose, and threw herself into the hug with such vigour he nearly overbalanced into the water. With minor flailing he rebalanced the both of them and rested his chin on her head as they stood there a while, tiny amongst the relentless energy of the ocean around them. The pair of gulls screeched as they wheeled and chased each other through sky overhead. Scott watched the horizon as he tried to find the right words to reassure his friend.

“I’m glad you told me. It doesn’t change anything.”

That was a lie. It changed a lot of things.

In particular it had birthed an intense new desire to seek out those responsible and systematically remove them from the face of the earth. But that wasn’t practical, even if a not insignificant part of his brain was now distracted by wondering how it could be achieved. It also wasn’t very International Rescue. He squashed the train of thought right down.

It also changed his view of Estera. He suddenly remembered sitting with John in Patricia’s office and watching him begin to finally understand some of his big brother’s experiences. He remembered the relief when he realised John didn’t think less of him, but somehow more. The last thing he’d wanted was pity… This was the same! He needed to make sure she knew… pulling back a little, he crouched slightly to look her in the eye.

“The only thing that has changed is I know a little more about you and that makes me even more impressed by your spirit and your approach to life. You’re stronger even than I realised.”

She bit her lip and smiled weakly, the drop in tension of her shoulders was noticeable. He hoped it was the same relief he still felt.

“I’m always going to think you’re great, that won’t change, ok? You don’t need to hide anything from me.”

Something undefinable flickered across her face before she dropped her head to his chest and seemed to collect herself. She pulled away and straightened her coat.

“Thank you, Scott. You are truly a good friend. You are also getting soaking wet.”

He looked down at his spray soaked coat and chuckled quietly “Seems to be a common occurrence in this town.”

“Shall we?”

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[teawithaphd]

mood — for the single-word drive!

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56845828

It wasn’t the first night G’raha has spent sitting alone by the campfire, pouring over documents long after the rest of the Ironworks crew had retired for the night.

The gnats from the lake always start buzzing in his ear around this hour, reminding him that he really should invest in some bug spray.

Is that even something they still make, now that bugs are the least of their problems when facing the aftermath of a Calamity?

When G’raha had sealed himself in the tower, he hadn’t thought of what he’d wake up to, if he would even wake at all. He had done what he was destined to, and had played his part. But there is simply no rest for the wicked, and there is much and more for him to do.

Finding a way to undo that Calamity happens to be one of them. As impossible of a feat as that seems to be.

A gust of wind blows in his direction, pushing several papers away from the pile on his lap and onto the ground.

It continues blowing against him, with no less remorse as G’raha rushes to pick the papers up. The thunder beginning to roll in advises him to turn in for the night soon before any rain follows.

But one of the papers that have landed among the stones catches his eye.

A portrait, he finds, different from the journal entries and documents he’s been digging through all night.

He may not be particularly knowledgeable in the arts, but he can tell that the piece was made in charcoal, judging from the smudges of black now on his hands.

And though the drawing is slightly faded, age has not completely erased the incredible detail the artist has put into it. There was a delicate care that was put into each and every stroke, as if the person who drew the piece was desperately trying to capture a memory he could not afford to forget. If only G’raha had spent some time training in the arts rather than pouring all his focus into his books, then mayhap he could have captured a few memories himself.

But he didn’t grab the page to wallow in regret.

A miqo’te woman stares back at him from the drawing, intensity in one shadowed gaze. Where her other eye would remain covered by an eyepatch, while dark hair falls wildly on her pale shoulders.

Perhaps if the sketch were done in color, he might take a guess at who this mysterious woman could be.

A soldier? A hero?

The intensity in her gaze tells as much, but G’raha senses a weariness from the woman in the picture as well, as if she’s fighting back at a world who’s put such a weight on her shoulders.

What could have burdened her so?

Perhaps the Calamity, but G’raha gets the feeling that there’s more to it than that. And though it is inapt for a scholar to make assumptions with no solid evidence to back it up, tis just what he thinks is the truth.

He’s reminded of the last person he saw before he sealed himself in the Tower— the look she gave him when she finally realized that there was nothing she could do to stop him. He saw a weight there that he had not noticed before, as if his loss would not be the first she’s experienced—

No, it can’t be.

He’s gone through every document the Ironworks had that could give him insight on the life she’s lived since he slept.

Twas the first thing he did when he discovered when he woke, and her inevitable end before then.

He pushes down the bitter taste that’s made its way to the back of his throat.

Despite the woman in the painting not being her, he still gets the urge to learn more of her…to learn what ails her, and to do what he was never able to do when he was far too absorbed in finding the truth of his lineage instead of helping the friend who needed him the most.

Share her burdens.

“Hey new blood, looking through that pile again—Oh, what’s this?”

G’raha was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized the Ironworks crew member who had slipped behind him.

What was his name again….Jesse, right?

“Twelve preserve, I thought I lost that one!” The hyur exclaims, “I’ve been looking for it for for weeks! Thought we lost it on our way back from Ishgard, but by some miracle it now lies in your hands.”

“What is it?” asks G’raha, now even more curious about the drawing.

Jesse beams. “Believe it or not, twas a sketch made by one Alphinaud Leveilleur of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. A royal pain in the arse that one was to get a hold of…had to pay a whole week’s ration for it. And stave off a whole hoard of hippogryphs on my way back to camp—oh, but don’t tell the chief about that!”

G’raha’s eyes widen. The Alphinaud Leveilleur? Who started the Crystal Braves and traveled so closely to Panne—

If that’s the case, then that means…

“Would you look at that—looks like there’s some writing there I hadn’t noticed till now. Can you read that?”

G’raha scans the page once again, finding the source of Jesse’s observation near the bottom of the sketch.

The charcoal there is smudged, but if he looks closely he can read something there:

Our dearest Warrior

[dindjarindiaries]

The Mandalorian Season 3 if The Mandalorian Season 2.5 Didn’t Exist

Here’s what I imagine The Mandalorian season 3 looking like if Din Djarin and Grogu didn’t appear in The Book of Boba Fett. For the sake of this creation, there’s no time gap between what we see in TBOBF and what we see in The Mandalorian season 3 (bear with me!).

DISCLAIMER: This is just for fun. I enjoyed the way the story was told in both TBOBF as well as The Mandalorian season 3.

CHAPTER 17: THE APOSTATE

It begins with Din going after Kaba Baiz. All of that remains the same, with Din using the Darksaber, injuring himself, and returning Baiz’s head on Glavis. When he gets to the covert’s location, something there—a cryptic message, an inscription, etc.—redirects him to their new hideout on the planet we see in season 3. Din’s forced to find bacta spray on Glavis for his wound on his own, making this episode even more lonely.

Din then takes the public transport to Tatooine and finds Peli to get the N-1 Starfighter. This entire sequence stays the same until Din’s test flight is over. He decides he has to go to his covert so he can ask the Armorer to make Grogu’s chainmail. He bids farewell to Peli for now and makes his way to his covert.

There, Din reveals he possesses the Darksaber, and the Armorer continues to tell him the history of it. He offers his beskar spear for her to make into armor, including Grogu’s chainmail. Paz Vizsla has still overheard much of this and when the Armorer tries to train Din with the saber, Paz challenges him. They duel, Din wins, and he’s forced to reveal that he’s removed his helmet. Then comes the episode title: Din is ruled out as an apostate.

As Din reflects on this inside the N-1, he looks at the Grogu-shaped bundle of armor and decides that visiting his son is just the kind of comfort he needs after such devastation.

CHAPTER 18: THE CHOICE

Din makes his way to Ossus and meets with R2. R2 guides him to the future sight of Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Academy before the droid shuts down. Din’s given a bench to rest on while he waits.

Meanwhile, Grogu sits and trains with Luke. He’s taught a lesson or two and is taken through a difficult yet brief flashback of his past. Luke comforts him in the aftermath.

Din awakes from his brief rest when Ahsoka alerts him. She tells Din of Luke’s plans to make the Jedi Academy and then takes him on a walk near the place where Luke and Grogu are training. He tells her that he wants to see Grogu and is set on giving him his chainmail, but Ahsoka changes his mind and insists that seeing Grogu will only make things harder for them both. Din, wanting to do what’s best for Grogu, asks that she delivers the armor and he leaves Ossus to head towards Nevarro.

Din’s stint on Nevarro is intercut with Grogu’s training. While Grogu works with Luke, Din talks with Greef Karga and rejects the offers of both a cabin and a position as marshal. He assists with the pirates and requests to have IG-11 for his mission on Mandalore. The Anzellans can’t fix IG-11 and Din sets out to get the part. He narrowly escapes Gorian Shard’s antics.

While that happens, Ahsoka gives Luke the chainmail from Din, and Luke sets both that and a lightsaber in front of Grogu. He gives Grogu a choice: take the lightsaber and become a padawan, or take the chainmail and return to the Mandalorian.

The episode ends with Din talking with Peli on Tatooine once again, though another ship joins them. Peli thinks it’s the New Republic after her (for no reason Mando, don’t sweat it), but it’s revealed to be Grogu. Din and Grogu have a sweet and emotional reunion.

CHAPTER 19: THE MINES OF MANDALORE

With Grogu having returned and R5 tagging along thanks to the lack of IG parts, Din and Grogu head to Kalevala in hopes of uniting with Bo-Katan Kryze. She’s not pleased to see them in her palace and she openly shares her distaste for Din’s people and his Way. Din asks why she’s given up her hopes of retaking Mandalore and she tells him it’s because of the saber driving away her forces. Din leaves her on her own and decides to head to Mandalore on his own, which isn’t far from Kalevala.

From here on to the end, everything from the episode of the same title is the same. Din tells Grogu how to navigate the galaxy, they land on Mandalore, Din gets in a skirmish trying to save R5, he gets captured by the cyborg, Grogu gets Bo-Katan for help, and Bo saves Din both then and in the Living Waters. It ends with Bo-Katan seeing the Mythosaur.

CHAPTER 20: THE COVERT

Din awakens after nearly drowning and tells Bo he didn’t see anything in the Waters. They leave Mandalore and find themselves getting chased by TIE Interceptors. On Kalevala, Din transfers to the N-1, and he assists Bo-Katan in defeating the TIEs. They’re too late in realizing it was a diversion for them to destroy Bo’s home.

Din leads her to the covert, where Din earns his redemption from the Armorer. Surprisingly, Bo earns the very same thing.

We go on to see Mandalorians training on the shore. Din has Grogu enter a training match with another foundling, one that he uses both his Jedi training and what he’s learned from Din to win. Just after the foundling walks away, he’s taken by the raptor, and everything that happens in “The Foundling” goes on to happen, ending with Bo telling the Armorer about the Mythosaur.

CHAPTER 21: THE PIRATE

This episode stays just as the same. There’s just a briefly added mention of Doctor Pershing by Elia Kane when she’s standing in the room with Carson Teva, something about his old lab being on Nevarro and that makes the planet untrustworthy. Best to let those pirates take care of it.

CHAPTER 22: GUNS FOR HIRE

This episode stays the same, but there’s an added mention by Din of his job on Glavis. It’s not detailed and it’s quick, but it’s some comment about how his last job didn’t go so smoothly (Kaba Baiz) and he hopes this one will make up for it. This will make the success of this job directly compare to that on Glavis and will show how Din’s work has become more efficient following his reunion with Grogu.

CHAPTER 23: THE SPIES

This episode stays exactly the same.

CHAPTER 24: THE RETURN

This episode stays the same, but at the end, Grogu has the silver shifter knob. It ties everything back to season 1.

[jackiequick]

—SpiderMan OC | Antonia ‘AJ’ Morales 🕸

— I blame @hanlueluver for creating a cool Andrew Parker ;)

Full Name: Antonia Julia Luz Morales

Nicknames: Toni, Annie, Luzia, AJ

Age: 28

Height: 5’6

Birthday: February 27th

Family:

Sister -> Rio Morales

Nephew -> Miles Morales

Brother in Law -> Jefferson Davis

Nationality: Puerto Rican 

Preference: Guys but she can always make room for a lady in her life ;)

Alliance: Spider-Women, Spider-Scale, Diamond, XS.

Power: She was given her powers after sneaking around a train station to spray paint the walls with her nephew and boyfriend at the time, being of course bitten by a spider and you know the rest ;) Her power are similar to every spider man/women however she got an added skill.

— That’s teleportation! Popping in and out of places during fights, surprising people and phase between walls when possible. It’s nothing specific or special but she believes it’s rather cool, however she doesn’t use it too often.

Weapons: Aside from powers, she still uses her gun and taser. As well as whatever is around her to fight.

Career: She refers to herself as a cop. Well mainly works at NYPD, as assistant detective and helping keeping order of filming for case studies. She’s pretty skillful with a camera and note taking.

Personality: AJ is kind, smart, strong hearted, can be very sweet, easily annoyed at time and she tends to be clumsy. But she’s a good friend to have when you need a shoulder to cry on. She is someone who doesn’t always catches onto clues too quickly, it takes her time but she’ll get there.

Side-note: She sometimes tends to run in first and ask questions later, never taking time to exactly explain something. So she needs to slow down and get her facts straight sometimes.

—//-

Her 2D animated/comic book version + style of her suit

—//-

When AJ was bitten by the accidental spider, she didn’t feel anything at first until she felt a bump on the side of her wrist later on. She didn’t think anything of it in the beginning, taking care of the bite like any other bite waiting for it to heal.

That was until she started expecting heavy headaches, dizziness and a few climbing hot flashes at work. She didn’t like it one bit, thinking she was sick or something. It felt like anything was going wrong, she couldn’t focus and even her fingers tips started sticking to the files.

Hell even the stapler got stuck

“Aye no!” She muttered to herself, sitting in her office trying to remove the papers from her fingers and throwing the stapler across the floor.

She left work that afternoon, spending two days just to herself trying to everything out. It made her head hurt. She realized her nephew left a SpiderMan comic book in her apartment, reading and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay that’s impossible! There’s only one Spider-Man, there is not such a Spider-Woman. But it all matches up…” AJ said to herself, throwing the comic book aside when she heard the doorbell.

She quickly answered it. It was her sister with her son smiling brightly saying that she needed someone to babysit Miles.

Miles sighed, “Mami! I told you already I don’t need a babysitter. I’m 13! I turn 14 in a month.”

“You’re still a child, Miles.” Rio replied with a smile, then thanking her sister.

Later on, the two spend the whole rest of the day together. Even uncle Aaron joined them, before heading off to work. She loved her family especially her nephew and her boyfriend Aaron, who just so happens to be her sister’s husband’s brother, but still. She will do anything to keep herself and themselves safe.

~~~~~~~

Some time past, AJ kept reading her nephews comic books and secretly watching Spider-Man speed across the city taking note of his every move. Her brother in law may not like Spider-Man to a certain extent but she did. She found him brave, strong, kind, funny and caring towards the people of New York.

Sadly, it hurt that she had to kept herself a secret. Her boyfriend couldn’t even know, hell he was always suspicious and wondering what was going on in her head. She tended to come home late, didn’t hear very often, studied more often than not and sensed everything around her.

One afternoon, she was walking to work with Aaron when suddenly she caught into a robbery accident downtown and quickly ran into place, as the detective she is to look into it. Her boyfriend screamed telling her not to do it, call the other police instead but she didn’t listen.

Spider-Man on was the screen protecting others and trying his best to save the day, when he thought everything was taken care of a robber swooped in and catches AJ taking her hostage. It was a crazy fight, people got hurt.

She tried to fight, smacking his face using her gun and whatever metal plate was next to her, when Spider-Man raced in to help her. She let Spider-Man save her, as she tried to drop the plate but it was stuck to her hands and her physical body popped in and out of place.

Looking over her shoulder to notice the hero glancing at her.

Once he knocked the man unconscious, it was when her fingers suddenly released and she stopped phasing. Spider-Man senses tingled having a feeling he knew what happen as he mutters, “You’re like him, uh, me..?”

“What? Oh no! I’m not. I was just…” She exclaimed trying to explain what happened.

“Your fingers uh, they stuck to the item you were holding..”

“I don’t know what’s happening, alright? I guess we are the same…”

“I can show you the ropes, if you uh, like. It’s crazy but you will get the hang of it.”

AJ half smiled at the New York hero and nodded, as Spider-Man brought her back outside safely away from the robbery.

That moment she went home, figuring out that she didn’t have to hide who she was exactly and maybe living a little different would be good. A detective during the day and turning into a vigilante at night, finding herself spending more time with Spider-Man.

Saving a few lives when possible, seeing the city take flight and keeping her cover.

AJ has met a few allies as she started fighting to save the day. Miss Siren, SliverStone, Tigress and etc.

She went as far as saving her nephew and his friend, once when there was citywide blackout and other time in the park. Miles after being saved twice, having heard the saviors voice and smiled muttering to himself, “Tia..? Cool..”

~~~~

It was all fun and games, until AJ found herself fight one of the quick villains of the week. The Prowler.

She has been watching his movements for a week, having Spider-Man bring in information if possible. She even went far as to go out as Spider-Women to scout what the hell he wanted to do. But nothing.

It sucks. The whole week felt like a downer, hell she was supposed to go on date nights and lunches but Aaron kept canceling. His exact excuses were work, friends need his help and what not. He was hiding something, but she didn’t know what.

She found herself that Saturday night, alone waiting for him to show up, until she got an entertainment report from a friend that The Prowler was out again. She ran out leaving a note for her boyfriend and strapped on her suit, rushing out to the crime scene. She didn’t having time to suit up as the vigilante, so she worn her black uniform and a mask to cover half her face due to the cold weather.

A downtown build held the man in question, as her team rushed in to search for him and hold him captive. Her and her brother in law, Jefferson Davis, run up the stairs racing to get him. SpiderMan was VERY running late.

AJ pulled together finding The Prowler in the building before her brother in law, by teleporting around. A few officers came running behind her, holding up their guns.

Hoisted her gun high to his back and yelled, “Turn around, buddy! You have two seconds to turn yourself in or i shoot!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, sweetheart…” He muttered to himself quietly, turning around to face the officer.

The two held their stance, bouncing around the room being quick on their feet. He pounded the ground, trying to scoop her up as she flipped and turned around the room, trying to swiftly take the items he had behind his back.

The fight didn’t last long, running around the stairs where fellows officers and detectives were behind held waiting for a signal but fell short, since it resulted in a fight. It got to a point where an officer shot The Prowler as AJ grabbed the items.

The items were weapon to be transferred to Oscorp.

Spider-Man showed up late to the fight, beating up the villain.

The second The Prowler hit the ground, he was starting to bleed deeply and bruised. AJ raced to detect the situation, after tossing the information to SpiderMan. She quickly unmasked The Prowler as she gasped, removing her own mask…

“No..no, no, no! Aaron!” She screamed out softly, “…why?”

“Oh baby..I’m sorry I didn’t tell you..” He replies coughing with a soft smile, placing a hand on her cheek.

“I..i saw him fight with you..that’s why you weren’t home…”

He simply nodded whispering, “…we what we love..my secrets safe with me, baby..”

“..w-what..? Oh no! Jefferson!” She yelled out to her brother in law.

Jefferson slide over in shock at the reveal, sending a glare at SpiderMan for a quick moment before hushing his brother’s worries. Quietly talking knowing he didn’t have long. The family stayed there in horrible shape of what just happened..

~~~~~

Late that night after that scene, AJ sat down at the rooftop of her building dressed in her Spider suit, whimpering and sighed. She wished she knew earlier or maybe she could’ve done something to stop it.

Spider-Man found her on the rooftop and just held her close. He told her that this life comes with mistakes, heartbreaking times and plenty of unfortunate situations. But you have to make the choice to stand up and fight.

Make the right decision to take on a new day.

Thank you for reading! Hope you like it

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @msrochelleromanofffelton @mandylove1000 @superspookyjanelle @sherloquestea @gcthvile @hanlueluver @blackheart-beauty @terry-perry @daughter-of-melpomene @meiramel @rooster-84 @blueboirick and etc

[okay-j-hannah]

Episode 3: As You Wish

Doctor Who : Multishot

Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3520

Warnings: Some narrator lines were taken from The Princess Bride - credit to that - can we guess what the next reality will be? 👀

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: A fairy tale adventure about a country girl and a loveable farm boy turned pirate who takes her through the evils of the mythical kingdom Florin and her betrothed tyrant, Prince Saxon.

Episode 2: The One Where (Y/N)’s Acting Funny

Episode 3: As You Wish {You Are Here}

Episode 4: The New Heir

(Y/N) thread the saddle strappings through the buckle. She pulled it tightly upward, the horse braying at her delicate hands. The animal was a beautiful golden chestnut color. Its presence was comforting to her in the days of adjusting to the countryside.

She never fancied herself a horseback rider, but as a character in a fictional country in Renaissance Europe, (Y/N) believed her riding skills would come to her promptly. And they did as she placed the bridle on the creature.

She found that if she didn’t question her role, everything came easily.

The problem was, if she didn’t ask questions then how was she supposed to find her way out? And more importantly, how would she get the Doctor to wake up?

Not that she didn’t enjoy her time spent with John the farm boy. He was quiet and sincere and extremely helpful. He just wasn’t her Doctor.

She could feel him staring before seeing him. Her hair, now long and wavy in this reality, was pushed aside as she spotted him leaning against a stable beam.

“Farm boy.”

He seemed pleased and eager at being addressed.

“Fetch me my saddle bag.”

He watched her with those lake water green eyes, moving fluidly to grab her supply bags. He carried them to her, whispering softly, “As you wish.”

“You’re always saying that,” she smiled, perhaps a bit off script. “Place them there.”

He slung the bags behind the saddle and went to hold the reins as she climbed onto her horse. He made sure she was sitting tight before handing the reins back.

“Have a pleasant ride, miss.”

(Y/N) looked at him with memories flooding her mind. The Doctor in a cowboy hat. The Doctor speaking horse. The Doctor falling off said horse.

It made her smile.

“But I have need of your assistance,” she said to him, “Perhaps you should take up your own horse and follow me.”

His grin was wide and innocent. With his mop of straw ridden hair falling into his eyes, he looked like an overeager schoolboy receiving a sweet.

“If it pleases you,” he said, all excited, and he went for the next stall with a horse.

(Y/N) clicked her heels and rode to outside the stables. John needn’t know there were other plans to their ride that day. (Y/N) had the hope of finding some answers while traveling the countryside. And she would need John with her if she did happen upon a way out.

A breeze whipped past her, and she was suddenly galloping down a country road. She grimaced – whatever zapped her from scene to scene clearly didn’t like where her mind was wandering.

It was even more surprising when a voice began to speak in her mind.

“Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farm boy that worked there. His name was John, but she never called him that.” The voice was older and sounded as though he was reading something.

Possibly a narrator.

“Isn’t that a wonderful beginning?”

She turned her head to see John riding his own chestnut spotted horse. He flashed her a gleaming smile and dared to match her stride.

“You think yourself a trained horseman, farm boy?”

“If not I would say all those years in the stables were a waste,” he pulled on his reins to remain side by side with her.

She shared his smile, “Then prove it.” And she dug her heels, urging her horse faster down the road. John was sprayed with flying pebbles and dust in her wake.

“As you wish,” he called out to her, flapping his reins.

“’As you wish’ was all he ever said to her.”

(Y/N) tried to ignore the narrator much like she tried to ignore the laughter of the sitcom rendition of her life. But it was hard to ignore something that was speaking in her own head.

She raced down the path, taking charge and leaping towards the valley. The wind made her feel like she was flying. It pulled laughter from her chest, free and light as the air. She fought to keep that feeling, pushing her horse harder and harder. She didn’t dare to look where John was.

She was enjoying the ride far too much.

She found a nearby grove of trees and flew for them. A flock of birds flew in a panic at being disturbed. Breath was leaving her as she laughed. Then the laughter choked into a gasp.

(Y/N) tugged on the reins so hard that the horse reared into the air, neighing and kicking its front legs. It landed with great strength, pawing at the ground nervously.

Concealed within the shade of trees was a blue box. An impossible blue box.

“The tardis,” (Y/N) whispered. Her eyes were bugging out of her head. The police box was glowing ominously in the dark, seeming to radiate how it didn’t belong.

It didn’t belong there.

She slid from her saddle, throwing the reins over a branch. The horse chewed on the bit with agitation.

(Y/N) pulled up the annoyingly long skirts of her farm dress, rustling through the leaves and underbrush as she neared the spaceship. An alarm was rising to a blaring volume in her head. It didn’t belong. The box shouldn’t be there.

The alarm in her head began to fizzle like white noise. And then miraculously…

“Hello?”

She paused, her hand outstretched towards the blue wood. That wasn’t the narrator speaking in her mind.

“Hello?” (Y/N) answered back.

The voice hesitated, “(Y/N)? (Y/N), is that you?”

“River?”

An exclamation of joy flew through her head, distracting (Y/N) from the uneasiness of seeing the tardis in a place it shouldn’t be.

“Oh, thank heavens,” River Song responded, “You have no idea how long its taken to reach you.”

“River, what is happening? Where are you?” (Y/N) put fingers to her temples, applying some pressure. It was strange having multiple voices in her head.

“Not sure,” River replied, “The tardis sent a distress signal. I’ve found you and the Doctor fast asleep. I’ve tried everything to wake you to no avail.”

(Y/N) grimaced, “Then how can I hear you now?”

“I’ve created an electric impulse sent to the center of your temporal lobe to reach your dream state.”

“So this is a dream,” (Y/N) sighed in relief.

River sounded worried, “Where is the Doctor?”

“Riding a horse.”

“That could only end in hilarity.”

“He’s also called John the farm boy. He has no idea this reality isn’t ours.”

River paused, “You’re sure about that?”

(Y/N) felt the uneasiness grow. It was as if she’d broken the law and had the police hot on her tail. She could hear the police sirens now. In a vain attempt to flee she yanked on the tardis door, but nothing happened.

“River, how do we get out of here?” The panic was evident in her voice.

“Well, first you’ve got to get the Doctor to see the truth. If he believes the dream is real he’ll want to stay. You can’t escape if you don’t want to escape.”

“All right – I’ll get the Doctor to see – then what?”

River sounded unsure, “What about a dream forces you to wake up?”

(Y/N) hummed as she struggled to think, “When it becomes a nightmare?”

“(Y/N), if I’m right – and I normally am – you’re going to need a massive shock, or a scare.”

“Like what?”

“(Y/N)… you’re going to have to…”

BANG!

(Y/N) was thrown back and slammed into a tree. Her hair strewn across her face, she saw stars blink in her vision. It took a few seconds for her sight to clear.

The tardis was gone.

Her head was silent.

“Miss?”

She groaned, brushing leaves and twigs from her hairline. Shaky, warm hands found themselves on her arms.

“Miss, are you all right?”

(Y/N) swallowed hard, “Doctor?”

“No, miss, just the farm hand unfortunately.” His voice held lightness, but she knew he was concerned, “You’re not too hurt are you?”

In her haze, scripted lines came flowing out of her, “The horse – it was frightened and threw me off.”

John winced, “How unpleasant for you.” His hand went for her head, checking for any wounds. He was being ever so gentle.

(Y/N) found that the uneasiness from moments before simply melted away. It was being replaced with an undeniable comfort. Her eyes were guided to his face.

He seemed so genuinely worried for her safety that she felt compelled to say something.

“I’m going to be all right.”

His gaze met hers. He realized he was giving too much of himself away. “Of course,” he said, cupping her cheek. “I will see to that.”

(Y/N) felt the warmth of his hand seep into her cheek. She was sure her complexion was rosy. It was not abnormal for the Doctor to be so affectionate. It was abnormal for the Doctor to be looking at her with such open…

She cleared her throat – the air becoming restricting between them, “Take me home, please.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm like the coals of a hearth. “As you wish,” he whispered.

(Y/N) felt that comfort encompass her whole body as the voice of the elderly narrator grew in her mind once more.

“That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying, ‘As you wish,’ what he meant was, ‘I love you.’”

~~~

(Y/N) sat regal at her vanity. Polished, glittering marble set with rhinestones. The chair was plush and carved with immaculate carpenter skill.

The velvet and silk of her gown was the most fine. It was a pale blue and shimmering in the dull light of candles.

She gazed at them now, following the tracks of melted wax. It was getting painful recalling her time with the real Doctor. The last adventure with molten wax that sent them into this mess.

Since audibly saying, “I’ll get the Doctor to see,” it seemed the dream made it impossible for her to see him. She was now locked away in more than one sense.

In one way, she was trapped within a castle. The rough stone walls closed in around her, voiding her of necessary air. She could hardly breathe stuck in the room. You couldn’t imagine the castle was a place of luxury – she was still a prisoner. The fires and candles did nothing to ward off the icy fingers of cold.

In another way, she was tied down. Tied down by means of a betrothal to the tyrant Prince Saxon. Harold Saxon. What a completely horrendous man. Their impending marriage was most certainly a ploy to show a connection with the people.

But it didn’t mask the villainy behind his unnerving smile.

Regardless of the damnation of her circumstance, (Y/N) was determined she should escape. She knew deep within her heart that the Doctor would save her. He could get past any godly being that was bewitching their reality.

And as the days continued, (Y/N) played her part. She remained in the castle. If the Doctor should find her, it wouldn’t help if she ran away and got lost. No, it was best to stay put. She would pretend to be the hopeless damsel as the current reality detailed.

And she would endure the mindlessness of the dictatorial Saxon.

“Darling!”

The door flew open and a small man sauntered in. He seemed all the smaller as he was swallowed in volumes of royal clothing. Capes and furs and jewels. His trinkets jingled as he held his arms up in a welcoming fashion.

The smile on his face was as fake as this fashioned reality.

“Pig,” she whispered.

He pretended not to hear, “How are we this fine morning?”

“Like you truly want to know.”

Saxon floated towards her, capes dragging on the floor. His smile was turning into a pompous smirk. “Why shouldn’t I inquire after my bride to be?” His fingers found themselves hovering at her neck.

(Y/N) sat bone straight at her chair. She peered into the mirror to see the Prince behind her, reaching for her hair. He straightened it against her back. She wanted to cut it off and burn it.

“I am not to be your bride,” she said. They were certainly lines from the script, but she found she felt truth in saying them. She wanted to.

“What gave that impression? Surely not the announcement of our engagement.” He gave a coy smile, eyeing the jewelry sitting cold on the vanity.

He leaned over and drummed his fingers into the countertop – deciding on a piece.

“I would never marry a man such as yourself.”

“Tomorrow will come as a shock then,” he sighed, choosing a crystal tiara.

“Yes, I suppose it will be for you,” she clenched her jaw. “My John will save me.”

Saxon held the tiara over her perfumed hair, matching her piercing gaze into the mirror. “I am sorry to report that he won’t be making an appearance.” He rested the crown on her head, “Darling.”

She felt the cold weight of the headpiece, felt it trinkle down her spine and solidify her resolve. “You are a horrid ruler and a horrid man. Nothing you say or do will stop the inevitable. John will come for me, and when he does, you will surely drown in your infuriating embarrassment. The most you can muster now is pitiful stalling.”

Saxon was tearing away his last straw. His fingers drummed against his leg in a rhythmic pattern. “Very well. I will leave you in your dull musings. Perhaps the time will convince you how preposterous the thought of your John is.”

He stalked off, holding his capes with jeweled fingers. The door shut behind him with a resounding echo.

(Y/N) swallowed, intaking a sharp breath. Her hand was quick as a flash, tearing the tiara from her head and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the stone and fell in crystal pieces.

“Careful, my dear.”

(Y/N) gasped, standing from her chair and knocking it over. John came from behind a lengthy tapestry. He was dressed in dark colors and his demeanor held something of mischief. But the way his eyes brightened upon seeing her…

“I’ve been through a lot to have this face – I’d prefer if it wasn’t scratched up by flying crystal.”

(Y/N) had her manicured hands over her mouth, her eyes growing glassy upon seeing him. She had lost count how many days the dream had made her stay locked in that room.

“What is it?” he said, making his way to her slowly.

“I… I’m simply surprised to see you.”

“(Y/N),” he smiled lovingly, an arm’s length away, “Did you doubt I would come to your aid?”

She matched his smile, “No,” she muttered, “Not for a second.”

“Rightly so,” he placed his hands on either side of her head, “Because I will always come for you. Whenever and whatever. You call for me and I come running.”

She sighed in his hold, whispering, “My Doctor.”

“Yes,” he replied. But then his loving gaze went slack, “Yes.”

(Y/N) realized what was being said. Her eyes widened, “Doctor?”

His hands fell from her face, “That name… you’ve called me that before.”

She wasn’t sure how much time they had, “Because that is your name.” She took a step forward and he took a step back. “Please – please try to remember.”

“Remember?” he mumbled.

“This isn’t our life, Doctor. This isn’t our world. We’ve been dreaming!”

“Dreaming?” his brow was contorted, his gaze darkening. “But I would know if I…”

(Y/N) went for him, grabbing his wrists, his shirt, “No, not if you believed. If you wanted to believe this was real. It’s easy to slip into this reality. But that doesn’t change the fact that it isn’t real.”

The Doctor jerked away from her.

And they were suddenly standing next to a bound Prince Saxon. He was tied to a bedroom chair, shouting all kinds of profanity towards the companions.

The Doctor jumped in shock, yelling, “AH! OH HO!” He pointed at the chair, “What is this?”

(Y/N)’s heart was pounding, “You noticed it! The transition!”

“Transition?” he cried, his previous façade falling away as the true Doctor became more and more visible. “Did we just make a time jump?”

“That would make sense,” she said, “I knew it would be easier to figure out with you here.”

“I say!” yelled Saxon, “This is all a ruddy business, and I would appreciate a little acknowledgement seeing as I have become the victim here.”

“Oh, shut it,” (Y/N) demanded, “Doctor, we’ve got to figure out how to get out of here. The longer we stay out of character the easier it will be for the dream to act.”

The Doctor twiddled his fingers, hunched in thought, “To act?”

“It’s the dream that zaps us between scenes. It doesn’t like us to ask questions.”

“Hello!” Saxon cried in annoyance.

The Doctor nodded, jutting his jaw to the side, “Right, right,” he grimaced, smacking his forehead, “Stupid Doctor.”

(Y/N) frowned, “How do you mean?”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he said, “You’re quite right, it won’t help us to get out if we ask questions.”

“Won’t it?”

The Doctor went to grasp her shoulders, “It’s important, very important, that we play along.”

She tried to understand, “Yes, I noticed staying in character allows us to jump to a new reality. But how does it get us to wake up?”

He licked his lips, waggling a finger in her face, “Don’t fight it. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen.”

“But Doctor…”

The scene changed. They were no longer in the castle bedroom, but in the countryside alongside two snow white horses.

The Doctor stared at the animals and then at the sky and finally at (Y/N). She kept her gaze on him the entire time.

There was the ever so slight shake of his head.

She understood, and she didn’t fight it.

“We’re free,” she stated.

The Doctor smiled easily, his eyes brightening once more, “Completely.”

They reached for each other as if they had rehearsed the scene days beforehand.

“Never let me leave your touch again,” she said quietly, “I grow cold without your warmth.”

The Doctor put a hand to her cheek; his complexion was tired. “What have I promised you since the day we came together?” His smile was crooked and sleepy, “Should the unthinkable happen and you stray from my side – I would stop at nothing to ensure your safe return to my arms.”

(Y/N) was feeling the effect of sleepiness as well, “My John,” she said as if it were unfamiliar on her tongue, “How I love you so.”

The words escaped her without thinking. They were only scripted lines after all. But the Doctor seemed to relish in hearing her say them.

“And I you, my dear.” He tried to fight off a yawn.

(Y/N) fell into his embrace atop the hill overlooking the countryside. The horses grazed nearby, and the sun set in a blaze of painted colors. It was the warmth of his arms and the warmth of the sun that lulled her off to sleep.

~~~

There was a knock at the door.

“M’lady?”

(Y/N) opened her tired eyes and let them adjust to the light. While her mind fought to wake, she spoke mechanically, “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” said the voice. The door shut and Amy was standing there. Amy in a maids uniform.

“No, it’s all right, Amelia,” she replied, spotting the curtains, “I believe I’ve slept in far too late.”

Amy nodded modestly and went to draw the heavy curtain, leaving a sheer covering over the windows to let the light in. She went into a separate room, “I’ll just draw the bath, shall I, M’lady?”

(Y/N) sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes, “I should say so. I believe meeting the new heir of Downton warrants a bath.”

They made eye contact with small, sweet smiles. Smiles that told you of the quiet friendship they shared.

“This calls for…”

“Rose oil,” they said in unison, giggling as they did so. It was her favorite scent and seeing as it was specially imported she only used it for special occasions.

“You’ll be absolutely irresistible,” Amy said.

(Y/N) sighed, flattening her sheets, “Let’s hope. A marriage to the new heir would mean we could stay here.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, M’lady, I think he’d be a daft old fool to refuse you.”

(Y/N) snickered, always admiring of her maids cheeky side, “Thank you, Amelia.”

When she left for the bathroom, (Y/N) played more roughly with the hem of her sheets. She tried to contain the running of her mind should the dream decide to jump her to the next scene.

Where was the Doctor now? Was he still lucid like she was?

The Doctor said to play along. River said to scare herself awake.

For the time being it seemed (Y/N) must fall into the character of this new reality – this new rendition of her life. She was to become Lady (Y/N) of Downton.

~~~

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