#someday y’all will understand

[agentomato]

”What could go wrong?”

What hasn’t?

[blitheringbongus]

When when OC urges get too strong you have to make a whole ass animatic for it

[peekpeej]

[minty-muse]

Well shit the gay little alchemy men are popping tonight that song that song has its grip on me

This is gay sacrificial boys in love music okay:

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

[neuroticbookworm]

Love in the Big City Part 3: Go Yeong and Gyu-ho

Last week I talked about Go Yeong’s relationship with his Umma and concluded the piece with a declaration of hope that someday, he learns to love the people in his life differently than the love he received from his Umma. Which begs the question: how exactly does one learn to love, if the framework they were presented with in their childhood turns out to be flawed, or even downright destructive?

@twig-tea has already gone over the dynamics of Go Yeong and Gyu-ho’s relationship in her excellent post. She talks about the irritants, the mundanity, the way they both clearly want the best for each other, even when they’re fighting. And @lurkingshan mentioned how the show’s depiction of Yeong and Gyu-ho’s relationship felt so real, something we rarely see on television. I’ve always been a sucker for narratives that explore the difficulties faced by a couple after they get together, so reading and watching this section of the story was a treat for me.

I want to bring attention to a moment from the show that stuck with me for days after: the scene where Go Yeong types “Unlike our dramatic start, our relationship turned out to be average, even dull” as Gyu-ho puts fresh water bottles into the refrigerator. Gyu-ho gets up, silently looks at Go Yeong for a moment, turns off the light and goes to bed.

This hit me way harder than I thought it would, because we just *saw* what Go Yeong was typing, and we saw that Gyu-ho could see his screen. It felt so representative of their relationship; Go Yeong dissecting it with his pen as Gyu-ho is waiting for him, right there, to talk to him. Alexa, play right where you left me by Taylor Swift *fetches a bottle of wine to pair with the despair*

The hardest part of watching this relationship come to an abrupt end was that we could clearly see the both of them trying. I love that we saw Yeong ask T-aras for advice after his fight with Gyu-ho at the cafe. Going to your friends for help when you don’t know where you’re fucking up in a relationship is a great idea, and I’m happy that the show created this detail. When Yeong was pissed off about their laundry becoming smelly on the drying rack, Gyu-ho found a way to solve the problem, by drying their clothes at a laundromat.

I wanna talk more about Gyu-ho because he was one of the most earnest characters I’ve encountered in fiction. In the book, we only see him from Young’s narrative perspective. I love his depiction in the show because it decouples him from Young’s lens and forces us to engage with their conflicts without Young’s voice in our head. Gyu-ho pursues Yeong after their chaotic meeting at the bar. He does not jump into bed with Yeong immediately, but also openly expresses his desire when he reminds Yeong that they are on their third date. He does not hesitate to take space in Yeong’s life, barging in to fix his curtains, dragging him out from bed for a morning walk. When Yeong tells him about Kylie, he hugs him close and cries. And then chides him for being so cavalier about it (I love him so much, can y’all tell?). When they’re living together and bickering about chores and the minutiae of life, he does not become mean about it. He makes conscious efforts to spend time together, before and during their cohabitation. He stands his ground in a fight, but also reaches out for truce after the fight runs out of steam.

[If it feels like I am putting down Yeong and his behaviors when talking about Gyu-ho, I am not. These characters are complex and real, and therefore flawed. I am simply focusing on Gyu-ho in this post because @lurkingshan already wrote a defense for my boy Yeong.]

Gyu-ho understands early on in their relationship that Yeong is not comfortable communicating his fears, pain and shame, and that he masks them with aloofness. @wen-kexing-apologist wrote about how Gyu-ho turns away when Yeong smiles at him from across the aisle when they are traveling to the airport. He sees it for what it is, a refusal to be vulnerable with him. And that’s the moment I saw where they failed in their relationship.

I think we learn to love by loving, or at the very least, trying to love another person. Trial and error. Go Yeong was more vulnerable with Gyu-ho than he had been with any of his previous partners, and yet he couldn’t let him in enough to share the reason why he could not travel to China. He couldn’t see himself worthy of comparison with Gyu-ho’s potential career and financial growth from his stint in Shanghai. And Gyu-ho felt this distance from Yeong and chose to not push him on it. He bared his heart to Yeong, but did not possess the strength to force his way in whenever Yeong put up a wall. This problem was too big for both Yeong and Gyu-ho to solve individually, and they did not learn to problem-solve together in this relationship. Gyu-ho could not find a laundromat to solve this one, so he chose to walk away.

[captainblou]

2024 FIC Roundup

A big thank you to everyone who either mentioned or tagged me 💛 @missunderstoodlyrics @eybefioro @itsscottiesstark @bellisima-writes love y’all brilliant people 💛💛

What fandom do you write in?

Good Omens 😇😈

How many words have you published in 2024?

255 363 words 😮‍💨😮‍💨 it will keep going up until Dec. 31

What is your greatest achievement this year?

Having consistently written through the year. 2023 was my comeback to writing after 15 years of nothing and I’m so happy it lasted like that. I’m seeing a tremendous amount of progress in my writing and story telling and I’m very grateful for that 💛

What are your top three fics you wrote this year?

Drive me to the moon: (complete, rated E)

At GOMENS, world-renowned sports brand and sponsor, one takes pride in endorsing the UK’s most talented athletes. On the other hand, one would like to ignore the fact that their two top of the bill, Aziraphale and Crowley, have heartily hated each other since the day they met. But what should be expected, when one knows these two? Aziraphale is a professional dancer, Crowley a rally driver. While the former switches between fierce competitions and prestigious stages, the other goes from one track to another across the world, clearing out every prize from behind the wheel of his racing car. Two beings, two worlds, two universes that everything should keep apart. But an unprecedented charity event is getting set up at GOMENS, and quickly, their own athletes will have to compete with and assist each other in turns. Two worlds, two personalities. But if they want to run for a cause that matters to the both of them, Crowley and Aziraphale are going to have to find an Arrangement. 

The Angel I knew : (WIP but 100% written, rated M)

Twenty years after his divorce and the loss of their child, Aziraphale finds his former partner and childhood sweetheart to have happily transitionned. Together they begin a healing journey. A very soft and fluffy fic despite the themes.

Richfront Valley: (WIP, rated E)

Aziraphale lives a very secluded life in Richfront Valley national park. That is until a stranger comes and turns his life upside down, their one night stand turning into the most intense three weeks of their lives.

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

I am not sure I understand that question? Every time I lose interest in one of my WIP is a pit of despair moment I guess? Because I hype myself (and my friends lol) and feel bad that I'm not able to go through with the idea??

What have you learned?

OUTLINE.

I'm still fighting myself over the "first draft doesn't need to be perfect" thing, BUT, I have learned that outlining my fics helps me write them to the end. I'm still working a lot with the flow because I need to write to keep writing, but I know where I'm going.

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

UUURGH. So, OK. I wrote a very dark Human AU that I called No Place to House our Love, where Aziraphale is a prison priest and Crowley is a convicted fellon. This resonates a lot with me, as prison was my work environment for years, and I really wanted to finish it. It's currently 30k words and on hold. I really hope to finish it someday. Sad ending. But comes from my guts, I suppose.

Did you beta any fics?

YES YES YES!!! I had the joy to help my dear friend @eybefioro polishing up a couple of their fics: Forgive me, Father, and Vavooming part2 at different stages of writing so it was a tremendous fun!!

Also currently lurking on one of @itsscottiesstark's next work and it's YUMMY.

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

Oh boy.

OK, I declared myself the official propaganda officer for @itsscottiesstark 's fic Undone it's sooooo good guys... An AU where Crowley and Aziraphale realise just in time that Adam is the real Antichrist and decide to help raise him? HELLOOO??

In your own time, by @ineffabildaddy ... What can I say... How soft can something really be??? (I had to chose between this and I'm Beginning to See the Light and oops... seems that I've mentionned both now...)

And last but not least, Take Some Pictures or Something stole my fucking heart... By His_infinitevariety (if that person is on tumblr please wave at me!!)

What ideas are percolating for next year?

SO. MANY. IDEAS. BREWING

I have a Space Race fic idea that promises to be A BIG PIECE OF WORK. Pretty much based on the Hunger Games concept, but in space, and in a race. It's still a brewing thing and will most likely be super long to write.

I am currently writing The Angel's I Knew 's prequel! So if you're in love with those two lovebirds and wonder what they were like as teenagers... It's coming your way!

I am writing a Ghost Story, with WW2 RAF Pilot Crowley!

And last but not least, @elenthyaolyenths and I are outlining a through the ages, loss memory fic that we hope to start writing soon!!!

And well... so many plot bunnies ready to be adopted, I'm opening a bloody shelter at this point. But those are the main ones.

Who do you want to thank?

So many people... damn, starting with @eybefioro, @crowleys-bentley-and-plants and @fearandhatred -- our groupchat is still so dear to my heart <3 love you guys

@itsscottiesstark -- for having me open the Nice and Accurate Network on discord and allowing me to meet with all the wonderful people on it <3 And for being just the sweetest <3

And well... My very own internet wife, my partner in crime, my faithful reader and illustrator. @elenthyaolyenths You've made this year so much more fun, I can't wait to continue brain rotting with you in 2025!

Cheers everyone, here's to 2025! To our world!

Tagging @beerok23, @pineappleonbread, @ineffabildaddy on this <3

[ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds]

Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 2 thoughts

ah, this episode! i have heard it is very scary. so i’m curious to see how creepy it can be. usually what gets me the most is body horror, at least so far. 

i’m really not a horror fan so i’m interested to see if this will push my limits or just be kinda silly. remember that evil AI in like s1 episode 8? and when it was unplugged it said “noooo, brad :(“ or something like that? yeah that one just made me giggle lol

(author's note after seeing the episode: what...)

(additional author's note: read to the end to see why i think this episode might be actually about the civil war's long-term consequences)

how far we have progressed since then! 

let us begin!!!

we open with a storm and some scary music. pretty intense for the first few seconds. oh, now someone is giving birth. it is very dark and hard to see but it appears these individuals do not look like your average fellow off the street.

GAG! slurping noises are produced as the baby emerges. birth counts as body horror btw i do NOT make the rules. EUGH the umbilical cord…

(sorry y’all pls take no offense to those who have or desire children someday... it’s just something that makes me feel dizzy to watch but i support your dreams and choices i promise 🙏)

okay, but the baby is crying so that’s usually a good sign right? like better than a quiet baby, i think.

but a bunch of people are leaving after the delivery and i thought they would stick around to do things like look at the baby and see if it is healthy and stuff. but no. they’re leaving. where are they going...

they’re digging a hole?????? WHAT DA HELL. BABY IN THE HOLE??!!!!!! while someone cries terribly. OMG the grief…

WHAT THE HELL???

what have i gotten myself into……

intro time. always gonna think about that tweet regarding scully’s glamour shot on her ID. anyway just in case you forgot the truth IS out there.

so we see some kids in a place called home, pennsylvania, and they’re playing baseball. you know how children are, with their baseball. it’s as serious to them as a senator running a reelection campaign. 

kid knocks the ball over the fence, and onto the property of “the peacocks”. the kids will NOT go get the ball, and instead find a spare. seems they prepared for this, or could maybe find a place that isn’t next to a very scary house to play ball, but i understand spacial constraints.

OH???? the kid is digging his foot in to go swing and…. BLOODY PUDDLE???? THIS MUST BE THE BABY FROM BEFORE????

he backs away as we see a tiny hand in the dirt. that poor kid omfg he must have been traumatized… and his sneakers were so bright and white…..

cutscene to mulder in the field after all the kids have fled! ah, mulder loves his baseball. in fact, he even sniffs it. he’s practicing his pitching LMAOOOO please be serious for FIVE minutes. 

scully is measuring the hole while he does all this. in fact, he is not stopping. it just keeps going while she talks about the angle of the shovel.

she makes some quip about quitting the FBI and becoming a spokesperson for the ab roller, when he SHOVES THE BALL UNDER HER NOSE and says “smell that” THIS MAN IS SUUUUUCH A WEIRDO I LOVE HIM

“it’s perfume. eau de ball” (stupid little mulder smile)

very strong juxtaposition between baby death and a daydreaming mulder, but that is the sort of thing we have come to expect from this show. he seems enchanted.

WAIT! he’s talking about his sister… “all-day pickup games out on the Vineyard” and going down to the beach… no cell phones or faxes… oh man, this baseball has him talking about his family :(

“mulder, if you had to do without a cell phone for two minutes, you’d lapse into catatonic schizophrenia” <- WELL GET HIM! it is true. he is always making calls and then abruptly hanging up.

feels weird to be smiling like a fool at my screen as these two talk about their lives after seeing the opening scene... but here we are!

“scully, you don’t know me as well as you think you do. you know my work demands that i live in a big city, but if i had to settle down, build a home, it’d be a place like this” 

OHHHHH MY GOSH

1. he has though about settling down and having a life outside of his work, and this is such a character reveal, and i know he wants like a small army of children, and

2. i just KNOW those words are gonna come back and bite him when this place is revealed to be some sort of cult

she says it would be like living in mayberry which i had to google BUT: it is the town from the andy griffith show. ah, i see. so very quaint.

someone pulls up to see them and i paused at just the right time to see that mulder’s shirt is very baggy and living up to my URL, which is good because sometimes i worry it’s a bit TOO niche, but i made it after watching 4 episodes so i’m too attached to change it now. meanwhile, scully’s coat is wonderfully sleek and it’s a fun little contrast.

this is sheriff taylor, who says this is a very small town, and there are no real suspects. mulder asks about the peacocks next door, and the sheriff goes… quiet. apparently three boys lived there, and their parents were hurt in an accident. the sheriff and his team tried to administer care to the parents, but the boys took the bodies home??? that’s. odd.

so these peacocks have no electricity, grow their own food, and… are inbred. the sheriff says they are feeble and sad, and wouldn’t have any idea what they are talking about. which just makes me think they are the prime suspects.

the sheriff is saying that he loves his town, it is quiet and peaceful, and he knew someday it would change when something terrible happened. when he saw “it” in the ground, he knew that day had come. he seems convinced it’s an outsider but also he is purposefully ignoring all the evidence in the other direction. and he wants their help, but he doesn’t want anything to change. 

(i see... this is about the terrible secrets of small towns and the wish to keep everything quiet and preserve an idyllic image rather than make meaningful change)

apparently they were recommended to help out when “the victim” was described, so mulder says that maybe they should go take a look.

and whew, when they cut to a bundle of blankets next to some cans of spam (that look like they’re partially covered to hide the branding?) it’s a lot. it's a lot to handle, for me, emotionally, but i guess that's a fairly normal reaction. the sheriff just pulled the baby right out of the fridge. we also meet a deputy named barney.

they shove poor scully in a tiny bathroom with just a sink in it to do her work, because they don’t want anyone else seeing the autopsy go down. the sheriff says they can’t do it in his office, because everyone knows he never locks his office door, and they’d start rumors. this whole small town thing is starting to seem quite oppressive.

mulder is also here in this tiny closet-like bathroom, and i can feel the claustrophobia from here. despite the lack of space, scully begins.

and she is taken aback, but not as much by the fact that it is a child but that said child “has been afflicted by every rare birth defect known to science”. mulder has his arm on the wall leaning in and watching in a way that is weird for the space.

we only see a few shots of the baby- thankfully, because i don't think i could handle seeing any more of it than we do- but it’s enough to make me go whew, shout-out to the props department for making something that looks like that, because that is how i cope with seeing things on this show that make me nearly faint

she is reciting the various things that this child has been born with, and mulder says that they can probably rule out murder, right? but scully says idk… it looks like it WAS murder, actually. dirt in the nose.

lord, they walk out after doing that and somehow don’t need to like, down some vodka or something to cope. 

“imagine all a woman’s hopes and dreams for her child, and then nature turns so cruel. what must a mother go through?” oh my gosh is scully gonna make me cry…

“apparent not much in this case, if she just threw it out in the trash”, says mulder, while they sit on a bench on he is manspreading like you would not believe. but i assume they are in a tough spot mentally so manspreading is permitted in this situation.

“i guess i was just projecting on myself”, she says, and oh my gosh does scully want kids someday…. stop i’ll cry!! i’ll cry. 

“well, just find yourself a man with a spotless genetic makeup and a really high tolerance for being second-guessed and start pumping out the little uber-Scullys” he says, rubbing her back.

and i can’t decide if this is funnier if he’s truly and deeply down terrible for her and suggesting subtly that HE could be that man, or if he’s just being a really good pal. so i’m gonna turn around both options in my head for a while and see which sticks.

“what about your family?” “hm? aside from the need for corrective lenses and a tendency to be abducted by extraterrestrials involved in an international governmental conspiracy, the mulder family passes genetic muster” (said with a celebratory flourish of his hands)

oh my gooooooosh i love them both so bad. he is SUCH a nerd. and his constant need to joke about the horrible things… even when they are approaching a serious topic, life ambitions and the desire to start a family, he has to go in there with some sarcasm to avoid getting Too Serious...

see? he has good genes. allegedly. go forth.

but he sobers up, points out that the child they had to just examine is a serious tragedy, and some likely very young parents are probably incredibly scared. but this isn’t really an FBI matter. 10 points to him for being serious for once.

she is brainstorming how such a thing could happen- “now, we all have a natural instinct to propagate” “do we?” <- ace mulder subtext i see you…

scully is convinced that the woman who gave birth to that child did it against her will, and mulder points out that kidnapping is a bureau matter… she seems determined to save someone caught in a horrible circumstance here, and i admire that about her, the sense of justice she has. she gets up to go investigate.

but he calls out: “hey scully- i never saw you as a mother before” <- OH MY GOD??? OH MY GOD. i can’t even begin to process that right now. oh my gosh it seems like he has wanted kids SO terribly… but scully never really brought the subject up, which is fine because not everyone wants kids!! but what does it say about her character if she DOES…? i am analyzing.

i hope she is happy someday with whatever she chooses. music is playing as he looks after her. do not for a second think i missed that little musical flourish and gaze combo.

so, they go to the peacock's farm. where they find a chopped off pig’s head on the steps. it doesn’t seem to bother them at all, which must be a testament to the strength of bureau training.

mulder tries to do his usual “enter first and ask questions later” thing, but scully STOPS HIM, saying there is no probable cause.

WHAT!!! for once they did NOT JUST BURST IN!!??? their random entering of places is one of my favorite running gags and for once they didn’t. oh she is serious about this one…

so they just peek inside instead…. and then they get their guns and go inside after seeing a table covered in blood. oh…. the scissors from before…. yes, bloody table = probable cause

there is blood everywhere, and the footprint from the crime scene matches the footprint in blood on the floor. AND they find a bloody shovel. well!!! we know who did it now!!! but… where are they??

it is soooo dark and creepy as they make their way through the house. and someone is WATCHING THEM THE DARK as they investigate. BLEUGH we get an extreme closeup on their eyes…….

i am spooked.

now scully is on the phone with sheriff taylor, who is describing the warrants for the arrest of the peacocks he put out, while mulder slams a TV in their hotel room, trying to get it to work. typical mulder behavior

(i bet they felt a need to incorporate some silly moments to lighten out the heavy heavy heavy content, and honestly i didn't think it would work, but for me it kinda is. don't get me wrong, it's still VERY heavy, but it's not start to finish just trauma like we got in calusari, which stands out to me as being the darkest and least fun episode in the series so far. but let mulder sniff a baseball a little and smack a TV and our agents talk about having a family and it is slightly less overwhelming in terms of tone)

and she brings up the white cadillac they found there but he says get a lot of abandoned cars. damn, who is abandoning a cadillac...

what is this sheriff hiding…?

he pulls out his gun from a locked box, and seems deeply regretful. before he puts it back in the box… hmm…

back at the peacock farm. the brothers are packing what looks like clubs into the cadillac. and i notice how silent and scary the whole thing is… no music whatsoever.

meanwhile, mulder is doing a little dance to try and get the TV working, which scully is smiling at him in a way that implies long term affection and exhaustion. i want to get those gifs and save them upon my blog forever and ever.

he’s trying to watch the knicks game, but as she heads out, he says “goodnight mom”, and she looks… uncomfortable. i mean, it’s a weird thing to say, but still. he says a lot of weird things and she doesn’t always look sort of… hmm. idk, the only phrase that comes to mind is “cut to the quick”. i WILL be analyzing that.

she tries to leave and the lock is broken, so he places a chair underneath, which might do something but like… probably not a ton.

anyway, back to the cadillac, where the brothers are pulling out while listening to music. where are they going….

sheriff taylor is up late at night, “taking one last look around before it all changes”. oh, he loves his town… but it is rotten, like mulder says. AND HIS WIFE DOESN’T LOCK THE DOOR AS THEY COME IN!!! NOOOO!

the brothers are on the move, while scully sleeps and mulder watches a fuzzy documentary on hyenas?? okay. king behavior.

but back at the sheriff’s house, he can hear the brothers approaching, and pulling into his yard. oh no…. he looks out the window and the brothers aren’t there. so did they already get in…?

he’s going for the gun, he says, and they enter his house. and he’s got a baseball bat, but where is the gun! they have clubs! like the kind the bad guys in zelda use!!! they look very very dangerous!

he hears them approach as his wife is under the bed……… and he swings his bat at the intruder, but he is barreled right over, it’s three on one, and they beat him RIGHT AS HIS WIFE SEES THE WHOLE THING FROM UNDER THE BED. and they sniff and sniff and FIND HER UNDER THERE????????

what the fuck. who came up with this…….. that song is still playing as they get in their car and leave. i'm sure the song also has some significance to the meaning of what these guys are doing but tbh i have never heard it before so it's hard to unpack.

the deputy is at the scene of the crime the next day, smoking a cigarette, hands shaking in terror. he had come over to give the sheriff a report… and found them that way.

so the owner of the cadillac was found in baltimore, she had left it behind after running out of gas. this is not a lead in the slightest.

mulder is investigating the scene while scully pulls out files from the crime lab, and it is. well, it is very bad, to put it bluntly. the crime scene is horrific. 

she says that the crime scene messed up the tests on the infant… but mulder proposes that… perhaps each of the brothers were the father? she talks about how babies are made and how that makes no sense, but he proposes that generations of inbreeding could maybe make such a mutation. but she says that isn’t possible, they’d need a female family member and there aren’t any left. hmm...

scully wants to try and trail them right now and go save whoever it was that was forced to give birth, but mulder points out that they are outnumbered and could further endanger the victim. what to do…? i don’t know the answer. 

oh! the deputy barges in and says he’ll take them up there so it’s three against three. and they have guns, which should give them the advantage. okay. shoutout to the deputy.

mulder seems suspicious however, and says his suddenly entry was a bit “too chuck bronson for me”. so yeah, i had to google that too. this chuck fellow is the guy from machine gun-kelly. and NOT that sleazy rapper one. the more you know.

scully is confused, though, because why would they kill the sheriff? he didn’t even investigate them. unless they somehow overheard them talking about issuing the arrest warrants while in their house… and they are operating under the assumption that the brothers were not in the house when they were…. but we know that someone was in hiding!!!

OH! back to the house. one of the brothers declares he is hungry. we finally get a semi-decent look at them, and they are incredibly gruesome. someone is under the bed still…. 

and when they declare that they are “ready”, they strip down. they knew this day- and change- was coming, and all they can do is be ready for it. this is our home. and this is the way it’s gonna stay. 

again, i ask, who came up with this……

the deputy and our agents are on the property, now. deputy wants to come in from the front and let them take the back. a brave thing to offer, but i am slightly suspicious of him. they have wired headsets on and bullet proof vests on, and he is going in.

so they’re approaching- scully and mulder in the field, the deputy out in front. scully is peeking through binoculars but she doesn’t see anyone inside!!! it has to be a trap!!!!

OH MY GOSH!!! just as scully tells the deputy to not go in, he opens the door and an AXE SWINGS DOWN AND CHOPS HIS HEAD OFF!!!!!

i am sorry for being suspicious of you, deputy. may you rest in peace.

mulder’s reciting his facts from the hyena documentary. they are witnessing something akin to prehistoric humanity. but he has an idea: divert them out of the house, so they don't have to deal with their traps. it is a good idea.

so they are sneaking into the pig pen, which had to be a pain to shoot. “scully, would you think less of me as a man if i told you i was kind of excited right now?” he asks as they try to get the pigs in a line to topple like dominoes or something???

“is there some secret farmer trick to getting these things moving?” “i don’t know!” lmaooo these city slickers...

they’re shoving pigs straight out the gate, and she’s trying to say some magic pig words from babe, which her nephew apparently watches all day. you know what that means...

! SCULLY LORE REVEAL ! she has a nephew!

but there are more pressing matters at hand than a lore reveal as one of the brothers emerges, falling for their piggy trap. we see them in daylight now, and it is an unsettling sight. 

as the brothers try to herd the pigs back in, the agents sneak in, with mulder picking up a giant log to poke open the door. and it is a good thing he did that, because a trap descends right on the log that surely would have beheaded him as it did the deputy if not for the log taking the axe/weapon thingy for him. thank you for your service, giant log.

they sneak in beneath the log and close the door as if nothing went down. scully is yelling to see if anyone is in the house. they’re doing a sweep in excellent coordination. mulder mumbles “oh no” and i’m scared but he just picks up a newspaper that says elvis is dead and frowns 😭 his ass cannot be serious for more than five minutes 

but something approaches!!!! they enter the bedroom and see photos of generations and generations of this family, with varying conditions. and at this moment mulder notices that someone is under the bed!!

he’s trying to say that they’re here to help, but whoever is down there is screaming, screaming at them to go away. so scully tries to move the bed, but she’s strapped to a board underneath the bed, and they pull her out and…. oh my gosh, she has no limbs, i think? it’s dark and hard to tell. they keep her under the bed..........

mulder says they’re going to get her home, but after a glance at the pictures on the wall, scully says that she already IS home. it’s mrs. peacock. the mother of the family that they thought died in the car accident!!!!!!

she is sobbing and they roll her back under the bed, with mulder having a horrific look on his face, unable to process what he just saw. 

mulder is back on the prowl to find the other brothers. and he tasks scully with trying to convince mrs. peacock that she is the only one who can get “her boys” out of here without them being hurt. a mighty task, indeed.

she walks away, and he says “scully, w-watch your step” and he’s worried about her and i want to cry. oh!! we see a trip wire……….

so scully goes back to mrs. peacock, explaining that she needs medical attention, and the agents are here to help. she says that this is their home- why leave it? she has to see if the boys are okay. 

and she lost her limbs in the accident that killed her husband. “sewed me up just like the family learned in the war of northern aggression” OH! so that is an WILD thing to say in pennsylvania. but it was at this point i thought i was putting the pieces together for an extended metaphor...

but she insists she felt no pain, and that no one in the family does. and they’re such good boys. scully points out they murdered three people, and mrs. peacock says she can tell scully has no children, but maybe someday she’ll learn the pride and the love “when you know your boy will do anything for his mother”

well i think you probably just made her swear that off forever!!! so!!!!!

the brothers see mulder in the window, and they start to run in. and as he holds one at gun point, another tries to bash in his head, so scully shoots him. but this isn’t enough to take him down! and the other one joins in on their attack, so it’s two against one tag teaming mulder!!! oh my gosh scully can you use your perfect aim???

yes, she can, but despite emptying the whole clip, they aren’t hurt!!! 

they’re running and running and dodging a whole lot of terrible blows, and scully yells out that she has the mother! she trips over the wire and one of the traps falls RIGHT into one of the brothers, seemingly finally taking him out.

she notices marks on the floor, and when they go back for mrs. peacock, they can’t find the other brother or the mother.

so they put out an APB for them, saying that in time, they’ll catch them. but he counters with “i think time already caught them, scully”

cutscene to the cadillac- where mrs. peacock says that “sherman and george were good boys”- SHERMAN? a union name? edmund, sherman, and george… 

it ends with mrs. peacock saying that there will be more peacocks, and they have to find a new home, make a new family to be proud of. she is in the trunk of the car while she says this.

okay so first thoughts: WHAT THE FUCK.

this episode definitely lived up to its horrific reputation. but i can’t figure out exactly what it is it MEANS!

beyond exploring the horrific topics of generational abuse, i feel that there is something a bit deeper going on here. i actually felt so compelled to see if i was imagining things that i went on the wikipedia page for the episode, which spoke of its themes on the american dream and the nuclear family. those themes i see for sure- how mulder was talking about settling down in a place like this, so quaint and quiet, how they started discussing their own desire for a family, and how every idyllic thought about what a family could be was upended on its head with the peacocks. that made sense to me. but...

that line- “the war of northern aggression”- was what the confederates called the american civil war to justify their rebellion. this is notable for the fact that this whole episode took place in pennsylvania, which was a union state- but somehow, they got so twisted up in their own hatred that they’re parroting the lost cause ideology over a century after the war.

the repeated motifs of “things being the way they are in a small town, in our town, in our home”- is that a symbol for the festering of post-civil war wounds? the inability for the war to make meaningful change when it came to the attitudes of the people on the losing side, who continue- even to this day- to spew their hateful ideology? the inbreeding metaphor- is that a representation of how hate begets hate begets hate, generation after generation, compounding and corrupting by the lack of intervention from outsiders who are too afraid to change “the way things are” and call out harmful behavior? and the newspaper from elvis’s death… is that another allusion to the family (or perhaps certain parts of the country) living entirely in the past, in addition to their lack of electricity and water, just stewing in their own hatred? even the name- home- reminds me of the “house divided cannot stand” rhetoric. is this talking about the rot of "back in the good ol' days" thinking?

or if not a metaphor for the country, and instead just the horror of abuse? of how people can feel that things are the way that they are, and so that makes it correct, no matter what the cost? about how warped perceptions of family can be made and shaped? and the fact that mrs. peacock went along with all of this, despite being the biggest victim of the family... is that to speak on the twisted nature of gender roles and how they are weaponized in familial abuse?

i have to clarify that i am not an expert on abuse in the slightest; i am just trying to work through the themes of what i just saw. you know how it is on this blog; i do my best to interpret the big issues, but also recognize that i can only see and comment upon so much.

i'm really, really curious to hear how you interpreted the episode, though. or how audiences have understood it in the past, or if it has ever been re-evaluated. what did the cast and crew have to say on it? i want to know.

man. this is gonna really make me ponder. i want to know. it was too purposeful to just be a “wouldn’t it be fucked up if…” sort of situation.

regardless of the terror, i actually thought this episode was pretty good. it felt cohesive, not just a sideshow of horrible things to make you feel shocked. and we learned more about our characters- their ambitions in life, the possibility of a family someday dangling over their heads, and the terror associated with everything that could go wrong. i think there is always some fear about starting a family (i wouldn't know, but i do read books and stuff), and for scully to just now vocalize her thoughts on the subject and to immediately see this case- i can only imagine what it did to her thought process.

i thought the more light-hearted elements were working at the beginning- mulder's TV dance, baseball time, the merits of their genetics, family talk- worked well at first. but by the end it was just... damn. that was a lot. maybe that is the indication of a successful episode, that it can take you along heavy subject matter with a sense of character analysis and horror, but end with just terror.

i'm not a horror fan outside of this show, so the balancing of the heavy and the humor always baffles me a little bit. i don't know how other materials do it, so i can't really say if it could have been done better or worse. i think the important part though is that they don't turn the tragedy itself into the joke. it wasn't giving "point and laugh at the horrible peacock family!" it was finding humor in other situations, that ultimately still surrendered to the sober feeling of what humanity can do.

whew. this one is definitely gonna stick with me for a while, and i’ll need like 12 hours to formulate my thoughts into something comprehensible. but, you ask, did you like the episode?

yes! while i'm not sure i'd watch it again for funsies, i thought our agents had to confront some inner demons while also learning a lot about them together and individually, which is exactly the thing i want in an episode. i think it brought them closer and they understand each other better, and i think we're getting into some real juicy parts of their relationship. i can't stop thinking about him rubbing her back- how terribly devoted they are to each other, regardless of if either of them can put that into words. those dynamics of devotion that go beyond words- it's so special to me.

and sure, i'll take the bait, and daydream about them living together... i am not above fan service in the slightest. it is me, the fan, who loves to be serviced.

but again. i'm spooked.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 28

chapter 47:

1. 😟😶 no one even got to say goodbye. i- WHAT THE HELL??? FUCKING RIDDLE

2. i’m at least happy that remus, james, and pandora can all take care of each other during the games.

3. im actually highly worried about regulus being a death eater. too worried, actually

4. “Regulus realizes it as he sits there, never moving or doing anything at all, just breathing; he isn't scared this time. Not even a bit.”

reg not being scared makes ME scared

5. “He had planned to kiss Remus' mask one last time, and kiss Remus, too.”

of COURSE it’s ALWAYS wolfstar that tips the tears over. why does THAT make me sob???

6. oh shit. it’s a maze

7. “”Come now, surely you wouldn't harm me and little Draco, would you?"

"I'm going to give you one chance to run," Sirius tells her, holding still, "and take little Draco with you."”

LMAOO they both know she’s lying out her ass

8. “It's Mavis and Velvet; they'd done exactly as they promised they would. They found weapons, found each other, and they died together. Their bodies are splayed out on the ground right beside one another, curled close in death like the lovers they were in life.”

oh shit oh shit oh shit i’m starting to cry again. i feel so bad for them, but don’t blame them in the slightest. it’s what i would have done

9. “and there's just this quiet, momentary mourning and respect for two people who loved each other and decided, together, that they would not participate in a game as cruel and sadistic as this one. They went out together, in complete control of their own fate, and they never deserved anything other than a long life full of love.”

crying HARDER. this would be the turning point in the games for me. i shit you not, i’d start teaming up and trying to break out the fucking arena

10. “And then, unprompted, Regulus' voice rings out, nearly snarling. He's addressing the sky, the audience, the Hallows in a low hiss of derision when he declares, "When you take them, you take them together, and know that it's your fault."”

i know i’m quoting this whole little section, but it’s IMPORTANT and it HURTS and everyone in that arena is being human right now instead of trying to survive. they’re all united on the front that they’re human and understand what it meant to love

11. i’m not surprised that the “first” kill of the arena was made by sirius. especially since it was to save regulus

12. WAIT YALL ARE GONNA LAUGH AT ME FOR THIS!!! sirius killed twelve people in the arena the first time. just like how he was blamed for twelve deaths in canon. i. it took me too long to make that connection yall

13. oh CHRIST i forgot that they planned to kill marlene’s parents in front of her right before she went in the arena. i’m so sorry. i want to comfort her

14. “Someday, Riddle is going to fuck with the wrong person, and they're going to slaughter him, and on that day, the whole world is going to shine just a little brighter” 👀 side eye

15. sirius has too much trust in regulus and i understand why and i see that, but BABES you’re so wrong

16. “In fact, they're all eyeing him like they're considering just killing him now so they won't have to deal with the headache he is sure to be. He's so ridiculously fond of each of them, truly.” 😶😑😶 blink blink. my dear. you need therapy

17. i- eli got in the arena and took a GODDAMN NAP- no fucking way. that’s wild y’all

18. regulus hating the rain is so me. and i’m not even exaggerating. reg hates the rain and refuses to go in it. if i get wet from the rain, the second i get indoors, i start having severe panic attacks over getting wet. i don’t blame him in the slightest.

19. y’all. people have really got to stop challenging regulus. he says that he’s gonna kill a person or stab them with a fork or brutally maim them if they kill/insult james or sirius. and every damn time, people still test him. and every time, he goes through with it. why do people not believe him?? he SAID he won’t hesitate

20. the authors notes are literally me on the previous point (19):

“regulus: i am telling you explicitly what i will physically do to you if you do This Thing

everyone else: *does it anyway and is immediately shocked when he follows through*

like??? DOES HE LOOK LIKE THE TYPE OF MAN WHO JOKES??? WHY DOES NO ONE TAKE HIM SERIOUSLY??”

😭😭😭 me fr

remember to respect zar’s wishes and fanfic laws! do not buy fics! do not repost crimson rivers on other sites. please and thank you.

[snaillock]

your relationship with bllk men as mitski songs

(kaiser, sae, oliver)

my posting has been very slow recently so to celebrate mitskis new album (and to feed into my eternal obsession for her music and lyricism by combining it with another thing im way too obsessed with), i dug up this old ass draft and finished it instead of giving y’all an actual fic

tags: gn!reader, angst(it’s mitski duh), yeah basically no fluff/comfort in here, suggestive-ish in the oliver one, me being a dork and combining two big interests of mine

michael kaiser - i don’t smoke

So if you need to be mean Be mean to me I can take it and put it inside of me If your hands need to break More than trinkets in your room You can lean on my arm As you break my heart

his career can be a lot on his shoulders at times even with the cocky and arrogant facade he puts on for the performance of each match he plays. he has a tendency to keep it all in to bask in the glory of his luxurious life.

you understand. you know he’s currently too prideful to deal with his true feelings, especially all on his own. you just want to be there to know he isn’t alone and that he can be open with you. so you sit there, giving him a listening ear as he lashes out and releases every awful word in the book towards you when everything finally becomes too much for him to bear. you wouldn’t want him to have a very public meltdown when it happens so it’s better this way. you have remind yourself to take none of it to heart because he doesn’t mean those all harsh words. he just needed an outlet for those frustrations.

you also don’t want the weight and significance of his career to separate you two. you’re already so damn lucky to be with someone like him. you want to prove that you can handle it. you know you can. you’re sure you can help him figure this all out somehow. love just takes compassion and patience, that’s all it is. just taking it one step at a time.

it’s just compassion and patience. right?

Just don't leave me alone Wondering where you are I am stronger than you give me credit for

sae itoshi - i want you

You're coming back And it's the end of the world We're starting over and I love you darlin' And I am done, dear

he swears he will make time for you someday. sure those words have been promised over and over again like a broken record but he truly does love you. however you’re starting to wonder if mutual love is truly enough to keep you two going.

the truth is his life is currently too big and important for him to take any focus away from it. the last thing he needs is a distraction. all of which he has very clear multiple times, even along with his contrastingly hopeful promises. though his tone is quite neutral, never letting his emotions seep through as if he’s programmed to do so. meanwhile you have to desperately hold yours back to not seem like an idiot.

it’s never been easy to express how you feel in front of him. you desperately wish you could but the inconsistency of your relationship that’s barely holding up renders it pointless. this over and over/back and forth thing that’s going on between you two is exhausting. it only leaves you lost and confused. you begin to wonder if staying is even worth it at all. even with the speck of hope that it could eventually work out. even if you love him.

You're in the house And I am here in the car I just need a quiet place Where I can scream how I love you

oliver aiku - eric

You like control, well, I do too Take off my clothes and watch me move You can come closer, I'll let you hurt me how you choose

you deeply crave a loving and fulfilling connection with another but unfortunately the other you desire is him. a guy who’s born to be a player and only wants to fool around with multiple people.

you know getting attached would only cause you so much unnecessary pain but your naive heart couldn’t resist him. you know that he doesn’t see you for more than what you give him at night but you were still a fool to fall for him.

enough of a fool to fall for him knowing he’s not ready to settle for one person. you could see it from how you would lovingly gaze at him while he leers at someone else behind you. you would still give yourself up to him if you could, offering anything he wanted out of you.

despite better judgment, you stay with a pained and aching heart. constantly yearning for more.

But how long, how long can we play this way? I'm tired, I'm tired of not loving you My heart, my heart wants to hold you But I know, I know, I know the rules

taglist(lemme know if you wanna be added): @userwithlotsoftime @lucas2060

[scaredshadowsswap]

Hey y’all, I’m cancer-free now, so I’m gonna try to get back into writing random headcanons again. Today, it’s SCP Personnel and the hobbies I think they’d have.

Clef

Clef seems like he’d be an annoyingly fast learner, which means his hobbies switch fast. One week he might be cooking, but as soon as he gets good at it, he’s gonna learn blindfolded axe throwing or something else until he gets good at that. He has a very wide skill set, especially in combat, but he can’t really stick with anything for very long. The only hobby he consistently has is movies. He watches movies and references them all the time, and hopefully you’ve seen the movie because the references convey important information. He’s also really well-read, and will make references to well known classics as well, but he usually saves those references for people he thinks are stupid and won’t understand them.

Kondraki

Kondraki is determined. Once he gets good at something, he wants to stick with it more and get better. Besides photography, he composes music. He played cello in high school, but doesn’t really play anything anymore and instead just writes music that he thinks would sound good. He also, on occasion, goes birdwatching. If anyone gives him shit about it, he will bash their skull in, but he finds birdwatching to be a nice thing to do, especially on a cold morning as the sun is just coming up and almost everyone is still asleep. He’ll take a cup of coffee with him and just watch the sky for a little bit before he has to go to work.

Shaw

What hobbies can an immortal have? All of them! Shaw speaks almost 50 languages, plays 11 instruments, and studied astronomy for a good 20 years. However, most of their hobbies are from earlier, when being immortal still seemed cool. Nowadays, Shaw is just majorly depressed and doesn’t have the mental energy to keep doing new stuff. Thinking all the time like that gets exhausting. One thing they still like doing, though, is hosting parties. They invite whoever they damn well please on the given day, and it never gets old. Shaw knows that these people are good friends, and someday they’ll be dead, so Shaw wants as many memories with them as he can get.

Glass

Glass sometimes feels like the Foundation Staff’s punching bag, and it sucks. His way of managing his feelings is through golf. He golfs, and he is really damn good at it too. Probably could’ve won some local competitions, if he was allowed to participate. He finds it relaxing to be outside in the fresh air, and therapeutic to swing a golf club. Unfortunately, it’s hard to get permission to leave the Site and go golfing during his weekends and off-days, so he jogs when he can. He’s said he’d like to pick up tennis, but you need an opponent, and it’d be weird to play your therapist in a game of tennis.

Iceberg

Iceberg’s hobby is explosives, but I think he likes baking. The warm oven offsets how cold he feels, so he used to just have the oven running whenever he was home. He likes sweets and desserts, so he decided that he might as well learn how to make cookies, and it took off from there. He’s good at it, but he’s also insecure about being perceived as “doing girly stuff”, so he doesn’t usually share the things he makes with people. He’ll usually drop off a birthday cake for people on their birthdays, but he’ll say he bought it at a local bakery or something.

Gears

Gears was always fascinated by calligraphy, but it took him a really long time to get good at it. He doesn’t have time to practice hobbies like that when he’s busy running the largest Site the Foundation has. He also likes cooking, and unlike his assistant, he’s very open to sharing food. He doesn’t really express contentment through words or expressions, but he will occasionally give food he made to the people he trusts. He’d be really good at baking if he tried due to his excellent precision, but he doesn’t like things that are too sweet, so he sticks to cooking.

Strelnikov

Strelnikov likes climbing trees and seeing if anyone notices him. To him, it’s a measure of stealth, and he likes to play a game and see how much he can learn about a person from at the top of a tree. People find this very creepy. He also can play the acoustic guitar, but he doesn’t know anything about music theory, he just kinda knows how the song is supposed to sound.

[lizzie-is-here]

lonely is a man without love

part vi- fault

“someday someone will bring the moon down for you in the shape of their love” - dikshasuman

summary: you, marc, and steven need to get their scales balanced. but marc’s hiding something.

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings: language, violence, past child abuse, wendy being a horrible mother, episode five in general, me projecting my adoption trauma on the reader character

a/n: this one took me a while mainly bc of how personal it gets. i felt like i could use my personal experience to help understand marc’s feelings a bit more, so i hope y’all enjoy! love you all so much 🫶🫶

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-your-cookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit @vainillasmil157 @doublevirgogirl @boofy1998 @seninjakitey @khaleesihavilliard

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Marc’s memories are definitely downers.

That’s not to say that yours are much better, between forced hysterectomies and brutal training sequences, but at least you had a few good ones.

Like late-night errand runs with Nat and ‘Lena, or cooking with Wanda. Even the chaotic braiding trains with Thor and Bucky are better than this.

You weave around the dead bodies as you watch past-Marc drag himself to a temple. Inside, he lies on the steps, pressing a gun under his chin.

Before he pulls the trigger, a familiar voice rings out.

“What a waste.”

Past-Marc freezes, calling out in the dark.

“I feel the pain inside of you.” Khonshu makes a few sounds of consideration, clearly theatrical.

The injured man whimpers. “What the hell are you?”

“I am the god Khonshu, in search of a warrior.”

“A warrior,” he chuckles. “Well, good luck with that.” More blood pools from his countless wounds.

The god never falters. “To be my hands, my eyes, my vengeance. To be my final word against the evildoers. To bind your very being to me and eradicate only the worst. Those who deserve it. Do you want death, or do you want life?”

The broken man on the steps sobs.

“I don’t know.”

Your breath stops, and you glance at Marc from the corner of your eye. He’s staring down at his past self, reliving the lowest moment of his life.

“Your mind, I feel it. Fractured. Broken. Most fascinating.”

At Khonshu’s words, you feel something shift. He talks like Dreykov did.

Insulting a person to better control them. Destroy their character. Make them unsure of themself so they lean toward the person who seems to know everything.

Then they would offer a hand.

“You are a worthy candidate to serve me during this time.”

There it is.

“In exchange for your life, do you swear to protect the travelers of the night and bring my vengeance to those who would do them harm?”

On your other side, Steven comes to the same realization that you did.

“That sneaky old vulture,” he mumbles. “He was manipulating you from the start.” You nod.

Marc scoffs. “Yeah, well, he kept us alive.”

“Marc,” you say, gesturing to the scene before you as the god repeats his question. “He was taking advantage of you.”

“Or it was just a way for me to keep being what I’ve always been. A killer.”

The Scales are slowly shifting, barely off-balance. He’s hiding something else.

Past-Marc roses to his knees, Khonshu beside him as the familiar suit wraps his body.

“Are those-“ The sounds of animals reach your ears, and the three of you bolt out the doors and back onto the ship.

“Taweret, what’s going on?” Steven asks.

“Fear is spreading in the upper world,” she says. Comets of light fall from the clouds. “Unbalanced souls are being judged or condemned to the sands before their time. Oh, this is bad. This is evil.”

“Harrow,” Marc gasps as Steven pleads with the goddess.

“You see why we have to go back?” he says.

The hippo frowns. “Even if I could send you back up there, you’d just be returning to a body with a bullet in it. You wouldn’t be able to heal.”

“But how do we free Khonshu if-“

You cut Steven off. “I have an idea. But we need to balance your Scales first.”

All three of them turn to you in confusion.

“What’s your idea?” Taweret asks. You shake your head.

“I’ll need your help. Give us a little more time!”

You sprint inside with the boys on your trail, racing through the hallways.

“Back in the house there was that bedroom that you didn’t want me to go into,” Steven chides Marc. “That’s it. That’s where we’ll go.”

“Just a second,” the other man says. “Just wait a second, just give me a second here, okay? Um, look, we don’t have to go back through it all again. We can just talk. Let’s just talk. Right here, right now. I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

Your chest aches as he grows more desperate.

“I’m just begging you, don’t make us go back there again,” Marc finishes. “It’s not worth it.”

Steven furrows his brows. “Not worth it? Marc, you’re about to lose everything. Do you understand? If we don’t get back, and Harrow succeeds, and all those people die… that’s on your head. It’ll be all your fault.”

You gently hold a hand up as Marc grows more panicked, silencing Steven. The latter casts you an apologetic glance, and you return a small smile. He was doing his best, but you know how to talk a person down.

“Marc, listen. I know whatever is back there is bad. Believe me, I don’t have to see it to know.” You hold up your hands where he can see them before gently resting them on his shoulders. “But we have to go. The other option isn’t any prettier.”

“I can’t do it, I won’t do it,” he whispers.

Breath shaking, you bite back the urge to tug him along. “Please? It’ll be okay. We’ll be right there with you.”

You blink and you’re there.

Marc still hasn’t stopped shaking, and everything about his body language is screaming that he wants to run. To bolt out the door and hide from whatever’s next.

So you take his hand, gently squeezing it as a younger version of him scrambles through the door.

The boy knocks figurines off the desk before throwing himself into the corner, breaths coming rapidly.

Behind Marc, Steven peers out.

“I don’t… this is my room,” he says. “I remember some things, but I don’t remember this.”

You flinch with Marc when hurried knocking comes from the door.

The boy in the corner whimpers.

“It’s not Mom. It’s not my mom,” he repeats to himself. You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Marc, open this door,” the woman orders. A series of loud, frantic slams follow. “Open this door right now!”

“It’s not my mom.”

The boy's eyes roll back in his head, and you wince at what comes next.

In a British accent, he begins talking about how messy the room is, how he should clean it up. He doesn’t seem to notice the pounding sound of Wendy at the door.

“Better sort it out before Mum sees it,” Steven and his younger self say together.

The older man reads a poster in the corner of the room.

“When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear.” The pain in his eyes is apparent when he turns to Marc. “You made me up.”

You’d thought the name sounded familiar. Turns out there had been an Indiana Jones-style series about Steve. Steven Grant Rogers. The name had rung a bell because the team had watched it on his birthday as a joke.

The door flies open. The clearly drunk woman grabs a belt from a hook, and your stomach drops.

“You’re gonna learn to listen,” she spits. You don’t have it in you to keep watching when she starts the assault.

“Why do you have to make me do this? You disgusting creature.”

You and Marc guide Steven out of the room as he tries to fully understand what happened.

“I wanna see what she did,” he grunts, fighting Marc’s grip.

The latter sighs. “You do not need to see that. You’re not meant to see that, that’s the whole point of you.”

The punch that Steven throws hurts Marc more mentally than physically.

“The point of me?” he asks. “What? To be your stress ball? All this time, I thought I was the original. But I’m just something that you made up.”

“You’ve got to live a happy, simple, normal life. You understand?” You stand to the side as they argue, hoping that this evens the Scales.

“But it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

“So what? What does it matter? What, you wanna remember the truth? That you had a mother that beats you? That hated you? That made your life a living hell?”

“You’re lying, you’re just trying to upset me.”

“You’ve gotten to live thinking that she loved you. That she was kind. That she’s still alive!”

You know whatever is said next won’t do you any good, so you reach for the nearest handle and slip inside.

Thankfully, the memory isn’t yours. But it seems to be exactly what Marc was talking about.

He’s standing outside of his old apartment building, wearing a yarmulke and holding a flask.

You watch as he mutters to himself, pacing and absentmindedly taking swigs of what you can now smell to be whisky.

“God, why am I even here?” he whispers. “I don’t owe her this. I don’t owe her shit.” The immediate regret on his face tells you more. “But she’s my mom,” he says, softer, sadder.

Marc treads this line for a while, rapidly oscillating between loathing the monster of a woman whose shiva is right inside and missing the mother he had before his brother’s accident. He’s like a metronome, ticking so fast you’re afraid he’ll break.

In the window, his father beckons him in. All he can manage is a solemn shake of the head.

Slowly walking away, you follow behind him. You’re not surprised when you see present Marc and Steven waiting further down the road.

Past-Marc continues to mumble to himself until he breaks down crying, falling to his knees and yanking the yarmulke off his head. He hits it to the ground a few times before the same regret from before returns. He cradles it, apologizing until all of the pain becomes too much to bear.

His eyes roll back, almost painfully so, and when he refocuses, Steven is in his place.

“What?” he yelps loudly. “Where am I?”

Your heart shatters as you watch him “call” his mother, and speak to her as he stumbles down the street, not knowing he’s walking away from her very shiva.

Finally, Marc speaks.

“This is it. Mom’s death and shiva two months ago. This is when our lives started bleeding into each other.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I just couldn’t… I couldn’t face that again. All the things I’d done…”

Steven, more determined than ever, turns to Marc.

“Marc, all those horrible things that she said to you, she was wrong. It wasn’t your fault.” The conviction in his tone makes pride well in your chest. He’s sure, without a hint of doubt.

Marc huffs. “I shouldn’t have brought him in that cave, I shouldn’t have brought him in the cave.”

“Hey. You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault,” Steven says. The softness of his words draws you in.

Marc finally nods, hugging him. But you can tell he still has lingering doubts.

“Marc, she was wrong,” you begin. “I understand how you feel, but nothing she said was true.”

Through the sea of emotions, Marc furrows his brows.

“What do you mean, ‘you understand’?” he asks. “I… I thought you didn’t know your mom.”

The words hold the tiniest bit of bitterness and doubt, but you ignore it, searching for the right thing to say without exposing your innermost hurt.

When you can’t find anything, you resolve to being completely honest. No better time to get a weight off your chest than when the fate of the world is at hand, right?

“… I don’t know her. But that’s what I mean,” you begin. “Some girls in the Red Room are stolen from their families, but so many more are abandoned. That was me.”

“You hear these stories all the time about mothers doing incredible feats for their children. Lifting cars off them, crossing war zones, hell, killing for them. And… I wasn’t even worth keeping around.”

Marc and Steven watch the way your lip trembles, how your eyes grow glassy.

“It fucks with your head. It makes you feel like something is innately wrong with you. That it’s your fault that you never received the love you want.”

You turn to both of them.

“But it’s not. It’s not your fault and it’s not mine.”

In an instant, Marc falls into your arms and holds you tight, so close, you think you feel your back pop. Steven joins in, resting his head on Marc’s shoulder.

“Сейчас все в порядке [Everything’s okay now],” you whisper. “Все в порядке, и я люблю вас обоих очень, очень сильно [It’s okay, and I love you both so, so much].”

Steven quirks an eyebrow. “What was that?”

You gesture down the street like you hadn’t just confessed. “We need to get moving. We don’t have much time left.”

All three of you run down the street, the boat reappearing in your vision.

“Taweret, what’s happening?” Steven asks.

“I’ve never seen the gates to the world above so close,” she huffs.

Marc stands next to you. “How do we open them?”

You freeze at the sad look in her eye. “I’m so sorry. Your Scales never balanced.” She turns to the three of you. “Our journey’s come to an end. I cannot stop the inevitable.”

“I was really rooting for you guys, but the unbalanced souls of the Duat must now claim yours.”

A surge of energy rushes through you. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s knowing that Wanda will kick your ass if you stay dead, but you spring into action.

“Thanos said he was inevitable too, and look where it got him,” you joke. “Listen. Taweret, if you let me temporarily become your avatar, and I return to the living world, you could heal me, correct?”

She nods. “…Yes, I’d be bending the rules a bit far from childbirth, but I could.”

“Send me back,” you plead. Turning to the boys, you glance to the sands. “Hold the souls back, and I’ll get Khonshu freed.”

Steven steps close first, looking like he has something to say but not really sure how to go about it. You know what he’s doing before he even starts talking. What you’ve been waiting for.

“Uhm, before you go, I- Well, we, kind of want to…” He blushes, stammering. With a smile, you gently pull him in.

His lips are unfairly soft. That’s the first thing you notice. He’s unsure and warm and holds you gently. Not like you’ll break, but like you’re more valuable than anything in that tomb.

“Yeah, that,” he says when you part.

Your grin makes his stomach flip, and you shoot a sidelong glance to Marc.

“Well? Gonna give me a kiss for good luck?”

This time, it’s him that tugs you in, and the difference couldn’t be more clear. The kiss is almost desperate; you can feel how long he’s been waiting in the way he pulls you ever closer with a hand on the back of your head.

The one thing both of them have in common is that they both leave you dizzy and wanting more, but there’s no time for that.

“Go,” Taweret urges. “I’ll heal you when you wake up.”

Steven brushes off the fluttery feeling and nods. “Free Khonshu-“

“-Then we’ll kick Harrow’s ass,” Marc finishes.

You smirk, face still flushed, and salute the boys.

“Copy that. Good luck.”

The souls of the dead start climbing onto the boat as you shoot your grappling hook onto the mast of the ship, taking a running start as you swing from the deck.

You circle around once before releasing the hook, hitting the sand and rolling into a crouch. Brushing off the grains, you walk towards the glowing gate.

The massive doors open as you approach, spilling golden light. You disappear in the haze.

And you don’t look in time to see Steven fall from the boat.

[duckindndads]

“

Boys I love you so much-and lord knows I have not been the best father to you and I did not have the best father and maybe I didn’t learn the stuff I need to learn to teach you how to be a man and I’m sorry.

And if we make it through this I’m gonna be better and I’m gonna be tougher on you guys cause-yknow-sometimes you just drive me crazy and it scares the shit outta me- you gotta learn to control yourselves for Pete sake —look at all this! I know you don’t understand this but someday you will And you gotta love yourselves but you gotta control yourselves too but-I don’t know what’s gonna happen in there so..

You two protect eachother and love eachother and fight for eachother no matter what and you love everyone in this world. You care for everyone in this world. You never close you heart to anybody and-

-And I don’t know if I can tell you to stop being so crazy maybe that’s just a part of who we are-it’s just a part of who we are-is we got this thing inside of us that we don’t understand..

and I’m not gonna tell you to be ashamed of it I’m not gonna tell you to hate it cause lord knows I hated it in me for so long and I fought it for so long and look where it got me but you have to love eachother and you have to love everybody..

And if anything happens in there you fight like hell for eachother.

“

Henry Oak

Dndads S1 Ep 42 “Henry’s father and the Chamber of Secrets” (aprox 42 mins)

Spoilers here for s1 and 2

Y’all I believe in Oak supremacy I am sorry but the way the way that Henry is so scared here- the way he thinks this could be the last thing he says to his sons. The way he isn’t prepared for his father and he didn’t prepare the boys as their father. The way he hid from himself and fought to jot remember for so long… the way he begs them to love the world even with it’s cruel that the twins don’t understand yet— the way that later on the twins know the world’s cruelty and destroy it to try and make a better one—the way that Sparrow has this same fear for Normal but can’t tell him to fear the world like he and his brother do???? YALL

[laughterbynight]

Possibly unpopular opinions incoming which means post it before bed, natch.

I actually think Tim in a trio would be cute. I don’t trust DC not to make it weird of course but as far as headcanons go I could see him trying that out for a bit. One partner is of course Kon. DC can fight it all they want but I do think someday (maybe when I’m 70) Tim and Kon will end up canon.

Anyway, temporary trio wise I think Tim, Kon, and maybe a new character. I have no issue with Bernard but I always feel like DC shoved him in there to cut off timkon talk so I have a hard time seeing him as anything permanent y’know? But then again that would work as a transition into timkon when the trio ends. Amicably!! I’m so not here for drama.

I’d like to see a woman in there maybe, for some balance. No not Steph. I know some fans are still really married to the idea of them but the whole manic pixie dreamgirl thing has never been my jam personally. That’s why I’m generally attracted to the batfam. I like stoics. Yes, Dick isn’t my fave either (drawing all kinds of targets on myself tonight).

I feel like figuring out sexuality is so…basic and static in comics. Like yeah they talk about it being a journey of discovery but we don’t really *see* that, they just say it.

I think I’ve seen Bart as a popular third. Idk if that’s in line with him as a character at all since I’m less familiar with him but I’m open to it. I do kinda like the idea of an Amazon about their age. I know the supe/bat/amazon thing is common ground but hey it works really good. I can’t argue with it. I like reading superwonderbat too. Sue me.

If we wanna shake things up it would be interesting if it was a male Amazon. I mean we know men aren’t allowed to stay there so they must go somewhere. I think it would be interesting to see a male character from a culture where women are in control and that’s considered normal. No hate about it just, yeah that’s how it is here. I get bored of the sausage club that is the batfamily but I’ll take it if that means an interesting third.

sidebar: I really wish Cass was in more stories and we could have more girldad Bruce moments. I feel like DC tries to do the “girlpower” thing by putting all the girls on teams together and honest to god I do not care. I wanna see Batman and his kick ass daughter and her brothers, together.

It’s almost a shame Cass was adopted bc she would fit as a good third but of course we can’t do that for obvious reasons. Maybe in an AU, but I’d be more sad if she didn’t have batdad instead.

Anyone have any ideas about a third? I’m curious. Keeping in mind they'd need to get along with Tim and Kon on some level obvs or why would any of them bother.

Edit: How do we feel about Connor? I realized the rep for Ace characters is abysmal and I think Tim and Kon would be really sweet and understanding compared to like, idk a lot of other characters in general. Tbh I think of Tim as demi but idk if DC can handle that Bi was hard enough for them. But then I think I’d want them to stay a trio too. Idk y’all is Connor around their ages I seriously can’t keep up with how DC rearranges timelines. I DO know it would probably cause Bruce and Ollie to get catty with each other around the holidays and that’s always a bonus in my book.

So many ideassssss

edit edit: wait that’s two Connors. I shouldn’t do this at 1am. That would also be funny tho.

[claire-elvisgirl]

LITTLE SISTER

Summary: You and your big sister Emily have become Elvis’ friends and now you’re on tour with him and the guys. But suddenly he realizes he sees you as something more than just a friend.

Warnings: 18+, smut, Age gap (f 18/m 35), flirting, Elvis is facing an ending marriage (not Priscilla), cheating, sex

Word cunt: 4451

Las Vegas, Elvis’ dressing room

“What do ya think y/n?” he asked looking at himself in the mirror. You went close to him and stared from his hair to his feet. He wore a two-pieces suit, black pants and a gold jacket with black boots, his hair perfectly combed. Sometimes you forgot how perfect he was. “I think you look wonderful!” you answered gently.

He smiled and pinched your cheek: “Thanks y/n. This suit is really great, but…don’t ya think the jacket it’s too flashy?”

You made him turn around for you and you waltzed around him like a vulture on a prey: “Well, the stage is dark, you need something to enhance your figure!”

“That’s a very good point baby, I knew I didn’t waste my time keepin’ ya around…ehehe!”  he joked.

“Hey!” you slapped him on his shoulder “Don’t you dare, you know? You’d be lost without me!”

You two loved to play; you pranked each other and laughed together, even for the littlest thing. You shared thoughts, memories, bad and good moments and lately you got closer and closer to each other. You were attracted to him, but he was a married man and even if his marriage wasn’t going too well, you didn’t want to be pointed as the one who broke it definitely. You held your feelings in your heart, hoping that maybe someday, things would have changed. You were still drowning in your thoughts, when he took you back to earth.

“Maybe if it was of another colour…” he mumbled.

“I think you’re perfect! And besides, it’s not what you wear that makes the show, it’s your voice!” you reassured him patting his arm.

“Well thank ya y/n, you’re always so sweet…I’m very grateful that ya are close with my family. Aaand if it wasn’t for my wife, I swear I could have a lil’ crush on ya…” he laughed and slapped gently your butt, making you gasp.

“I…I think I better go now…” you blushed.

“Sure baby…I understand. Well, if ya ever wanna hang out, sometimes, just lemme know!” he smiled and winked, then he came close to you and kissed your cheek: “See ya around!”

You ran out of his dressing room and took a deep breath. His words took you by surprise. He put on his jacket and started to get ready for the show. He looked one last time at himself in the mirror and he mumbled: “I hope she ain’t taking it seriously…I mean, I said that I would have a crush on her if I wasn’t married, but…God, I was only kiddin’…” he laughed and practiced some karate moves, then he walked up to the stage.

You ran back to your sister Emily and you told her what happened with Elvis. She widened her eyes and couldn’t believe her ears: “Wow, it seems he has a crush on you, sis. I didn’t imagine Elvis liked you, now I’m getting’ a bit jealous! I might have to take him away from you!”

You both laughed together talking about him. You agree with Emily that he could be a little hard to handle sometimes, but he was also incredibly kind and a good friend.

“He sure is cute and I like him a lot, but you know he’s married!” you sighed.

“Yeah sis, it’s the only problem here, and it’s quite a big deal, but let me tell you something, he has a bit of a reputation with girls…if you know what I mean!”

“A good or a bad one?” you laughed; but at the same time Emily’s words made you think that he could make a move on you.

“Well, you know he’s very charismatic and handsome. Maybe he won’t do anything to embarrass you, but I would be cautious sis!”

He showed up, walking through the hallway.

“Shh, he’s coming…” she hushed you.

He came up behind you and Emily: “How’s my favourite lil’ girls? Why are y’all whisperin’?”

You smiled at him: “Oh nothing, we were just tattling about you!” you and Emily looked at each other and laugh. He looked at you both with a questioning look: “Oh really? What did ya find so funny? Tell me!” he asked squeezing your arms. He seemed interested in what you said and he laughed at himself a bit.

“Don’t worry, nothing serious…now go, or you’ll be late for your show!”

Alright, alright…” he gave you and Emily a quick kiss on the cheek for good luck “Love ya both!”

He smiled and walked away getting ready for the show.

“We’ll be in the first row!” you yelled. He laughed and after a while he was on stage, performing for his fans, doing what he loved the most. He made sure everything was set up, the band prepared and the audience was all sitting He went on stage and got an amazing response from the crowd. They cheered and screamed as he walked out. He gave them a quick wave before standing in front of the microphone. Your eyes didn’t lose him for a second while he was singing and you thought he was really handsome, more than you’ve ever noticed before. He sang his first song and he noticed you watching at him almost hypnotized. He smiled and winked at you. At the end of the show, he went back in his dressing room and you followed him. You knocked on his door: “Elvis!? It’s y/n!”

He opened the door and smiled: “Y/n, come in honey!” he let you in gladly surprised “Ya need something?”

“Well, I…just wanted to congratulate I guess…it’s been an amazing show and…” you stuttered.

“Aw thank ya honey, it means a lot that ya came back just for that!” he grabbed you and gave you a quick hug “But I hope ya didn’t come just to tell me this…” he lifted your face gently. He kept hugging you as you admired his handsome face so close to you: “I…no…me and Emily were leaving and…”

He stopped you: “You’re leavin’ already? I was hopin’ ya would stay and hang out with us, but…okay…I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

He gave you a sweet kiss on your cheek as he ran his fingers through your hair. You felt his hand running down your back and down to your hips. You pulled back from him: “Well…thank you again…bye!”

As you left his dressing room you felt strange, he never made you feel that way. You found Emily and came back to your room with her. After an hour you were almost asleep and you felt someone knocking softly on your door. “What the…who could that…”

You got up from the bed and opened the door. Your jaw dropped on the floor and you covered yourself as you were wearing just a very small shirt and panties: “Elvis!? What are you doing here? Are you crazy?”

“Shh baby…I know it’s really late, but I just wanted to say goodnight and lettin’ ya know how much I appreciate our talk today. You’re really a wonderful girl…you’re really not a baby anymore…and…”

You stood there waiting for him to finish: “I…I wanted to know if ya wanted to…to hang out with me sometimes…I-I mean…just we two…without the guys…what do ya say?”

You were about to say no, without thinking too much, but his request left you speechless. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were very attracted to him, even if he was much older than you: “Look Elvis…I was going to sleep, can we…can we talk tomorrow?”

He seemed upset and disappointed: “Why tomorrow baby? Ya can’t talk right now? What the hell…sure I can wait tomorrow, sure I’m not that important, am I?! You don’t wanna go out with me, then why don’t ya just say it!?”

“Sshh…look I didn’t say no, it’s just…this is not the right moment, I don’t wanna wake Emily up…and I’m tired too…please…” you answered whispering.

“Oh yeah, right…sorry…forget about it. I mean, I have so many women to talk to…I thought we might have been a thing, but forget it, really…” he walked away pissed.

You ran after him: “No no no…wait…wait…”

He stopped and yelled: “What do ya mean ‘no wait’? Ya think I’m playin’ games? Ya know what…I ain’t got time to waste!”

He left you there in the hallway and walked away. You felt suddenly sad, as something broke inside you. Emily got up from her bed and came close to you: “Honey what’s going on? Why was he so upset?”

You got back in the room: “Forget it, you were right about him…he’s an asshole!”

You slammed the door behind you, you buried your face in your pillow and cried all your tears out.

*

Three days after…

You avoided him for the following three days and even when you met by chance, he ignored you completely. Then you decided to try to talk to him. You went to his room and you found him relaxing in his armchair. The sunlight was peeking through the window, kissing his hair, making him look incredibly beautiful; he looked like a god. You stood in front of him: “Hi…”

He didn’t even raise his eyes and you tried to talk to him again: “Please, say something…”

Silence again. A silence as heavy as a rock. You kneeled down, almost between his legs, trying to catch his eyes. You moved a hand on his knee, but you gasped as he grabbed and squeezed your wrist and looked at you with a cold stare: “You’re in a dangerous position baby!”

You jumped back scared, but he didn’t let you go: “What do ya want y/n?”

“Look…I’m sorry for how I treated you! I just wanted to say I’m sorry, I really am!”

You knew his pride would have never let him lose, not at first at least, but you had to try. He meant too much to you to lose his friendship. He didn’t say a thing, he kept looking at you with his deep blue eyes: “First ya treat me like a piece of trash and then ya came crawlin’ back?!”

“It’s not like that…I knew you were angry and I didn’t want to disturb you. You had concerts to do and you surely didn’t have time to spend with me…after all, you said so yourself, didn’t you?!”

He jumped from the chair and towered you: “Don’t ya dare to talk to me like that, girl!!!” he whispered in gritted teeth. You swallowed hard. You never saw him that angry.

“Look baby, I’m havin’ a lil’ trouble forgivin’ ya for what ya did last night, but…” his voice softened, he took you closer to him and hugged you tight: “…I’m glad ya came back!”

He held you for a very long time, as he was afraid of letting you go. You could feel the strength of his arms keeping you safe and you felt like nothing in the world could harm you. You lift your arms and hugged him back whispering: “I’m sorry…” while a tear fell from your eyes. Without breaking the hug, he caressed your hair gently and moved his lips on your neck: “It’s okay baby…the only thing that matters is that you’re here with me…I thought I’d lost ya!”

You heard him sighing deeply, almost like he was crying, but you didn’t have the courage to check if it was true. You just enjoyed the most wonderful hug of your life, while his lips explored your neck, leaving a trace of sweet little kisses all over. Then you whispered in his ear: “I’m here!”

*

The morning after, Emily got up before you and came to wake you up. You yawned and stretched in your bed and slowly you woke up, thinking again about that sweet moment with him just a day earlier. Emily shook you gently: “Rise and shine sis, I got something to show you!”

“Oh God Emily…what could be more important than breakfast now?” you answered tired.

“Check your phone princess!” she answered throwing it at you. You grabbed the phone and found a message from him. Emily smiled and teased you: “What you’re hiding? Why now he writes you in private?”

You looked at her, unsure to tell her or not what happened. But then you thought that she was your only sister and you shared everything with her, so, why not?

“Okay can you keep a secret?” you asked her “I saw him yesterday and…he’s gonna take me out…tonight!”

Emily widened her eyes: “What???”

You shut her mouth: “Sshh…I told you…it’s a secret. Please, don’t ruin everything!”

Emily stood there in disbelief: “Are you gonna go? You never know what might happen…I mean, we know him pretty well, I’m just prayin’ he doesn’t want to take advantage of you…”

You sat on the bed: “Actually I was planning to go, but…I can’t help but think he’s married…I mean, if he’s ready to cheat on his wife with me, what could stop him to cheat on me with someone else?”

Emily listened very carefully, then she headed for the door: “You only live once, sis! You would be crazy to turn him down, besides you think all these men are all that loyal? So just put on your sexy dress and heels and go make me proud! Just be careful!”

You jumped out of bed and hugged her: “Thank you! I’ll tell you all about that tomorrow. And remember, don’t let anything out of your tongue!”

“I got your back, cross my heart!” she laughed as she left the room.

You went to fix your hair and you picked up your favourite dress, the one he loved so much. You still couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

*

When you met him that night, he smiled. “I couldn’t wait to see ya baby, ya look so beautiful tonight!” and he kissed you, with a gentle touch. You were very excited, but still you wondered if you were doing the right things.

“Thank you, Elvis…you look great too!” you answered blushing. You were excited and nervous at the same time and you didn’t know how to handle all these new feelings. “You did ask me out so gently and I treated you really bad, but now I’m happy we settled everything!”

You got in his car and as he drove away, you looked at him; he was really beautiful. You felt your heart beating faster than ever and you realized that, maybe, what you felt wasn’t just a simple friendship, but you couldn’t let yourself go with him: “Look I wanna make one thing clear…before we go any further…I hope you don’t think this is a romantic date…I mean…we’re…friends, right?!”

 He smiled mischievously staring at the road ahead: “Sure…friends…”

His answer left you speechless and you kept talking: “I mean, I’m not ready for a relationship and I think I’m way too young for you!”

“Well, you’re young, but you’re not a child…and ya make me feel things I’ve never felt before. I just can’t explain it…” he smiled with passion.

“Oh please…you’re married!”

He frowns: “Oh baby…I think it’s time I tell ya something…my marriage isn’t the same anymore…and I think we both know what is happening! Please, give me a chance!”

“Oh God, this is so weird…”

You looked out of the window and your mind raced away in a thousand thoughts. You never imagined he was going through such a pain. He never showed his feelings to anybody, but in that moment, he was opening his heart to you and you saw him extremely human and vulnerable.

He spoke again: “Please…give me a chance…ya don’t have to answer now, but I want ya to know it. This isn’t a normal date, let me show ya the way I feel and then ya decide what to do!”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Baby I know you’re confused, I know it’s a lot to handle, but I promise ya won’t regret it!” he caressed your hand. The last thing you wanted was to ruin him and his career, but he was pressing on you so much and deep inside your heart you knew you loved him: “I don’t know…what if someone finds out?” you asked.

“Look, gimme one night…just one night and then ya can decide if ya want me or not. I promise ya won’t regret a thing, please!? Will ya do this f’me?” he asked sadly.

“Just one night?” you asked.

“Yeah y/n, just one night…and if ya should find out ya don’t love me…I’ll understand, or at least I’ll try to!”

You looked away from him. His eyes were pleading you, and you wanted to resist, but you couldn’t. If something would have gone wrong, it would have been very hard not to see each other again, as you were practically always together. After a while, you both realized ya didn’t have a choice, because the feelings that bonded you was too strong and you accepted his offer. One night. Just one night with him to really understand your feelings. You grabbed your phone and you texted Emily:

“I’m officially in trouble! He wants to spend the night together…I couldn’t say no!”

She took her phone and as she read your message, she widened her eyes. She texted back:

“What’s going through your mind? It was supposed to be just a dinner, why did you say yes?”

“I don’t know…I’ll go and then I’ll see what happens…I’ll text you later. Love u!”

Emily was worried about you. Things were starting to slip out of hand and she didn’t want you to get hurt or heartbroken. She tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. She couldn’t help but think that he was twice your age and she was scared to see you suffer. But you were so excited about what was happening, that she decided to give him a chance with you. She texted again:

“Okay, enjoy your night, but if he breaks your heart or if he tries something wrong, I swear I’m gonna kick his ass!”

*

After dinner, you drove back to the hotel and he walked you to his suite. He looked around to check no one was watching and then he locked the door. He got close to you and he hugged you: “Don’t be scared baby…I’m not gonna hurt ya! Now that you’re here I’m never lettin’ ya go, but first I wanna show ya a good time. I wanna make ya feel good. Can I have a kiss for a start? Pretty please?!” he asked you with puppy eyes.

You were scared to death, but your lips met after a while and the kiss became longer and deeper. You seemed to melt as he pulled you closer to him and you kept kissing until you fell on the bed. You kissed him passionately and you took it slow at first, but then you became more eager and he returned your kiss with passion. He pulled you on top of him and you moaned a little. You seemed to be losing yourselves into each other and your lips were moving faster.

“That’s it baby…let it go!” he whispered. He moaned and breathed heavily. He pulled you even closer and you felt your heart pounding like a drum. You became more intimate as he started to making you experience what real love really was. You kept kissing him on his neck making him moan louder. In that moment you felt the urge to touch him and you moved your hand underneath his shirt, caressing his chest. He was turned on and he enjoyed every second and every little touch you gave him. He wanted more, he wanted to take it further. While he breathed heavily, he touched your body too, feeling your waist, your thighs and your chest as he moved his hands all over you.

“Baby, I’m goin’ crazy…come a lil’ closer, move your hand down baby, make me feel like a real man, show me what ya can do!”

You obeyed and you moved your hand down, caressing him in his most intimate parts. You were nervous and you started very soft, but after a while, the sensation of feeling his member pulsing for you, gave you courage and you slid a hand in his pants, touching it, feeling it, hard as rock under your touch.

“Oh baby...ya can do anything ya want with me, I’m all yours…touch him, play with him…yeah…that’s it…”

After a while he grabbed your hand and removed it from his pants. He took you and he rolled you over, pinning you down on the bed: “Baby I can’t wait anymore, I love ya so much…” he whispered as he caressed your hair. He kissed you desperately on your neck and as you felt his body on you, you moaned more and more. You were enjoying his body and suddenly you felt him fully on you. You hugged him, pulling you closer to you and you whispered in his ear: “Elvis…I…I never thought I would feel this way, but…I love you…that’s what I need…that’s what I want…I need this, right now…”

He breathed loudly and groaned: “Yeah baby, I don’t know how much longer I can hold back…I wanna feel ya, kiss ya…I…I wanna take ya…now!”

He looked at you deeply and passionately with love and desire in his eyes. You looked back at him and you both knew what you want from each other now. The fire inside of you both was burning strongly and you didn’t want to control it anymore. He lifted up your shirt and you felt his hand on your skin, but it only turned you on more than ever. Then he started to kiss your chest making you gasp: “D’ya like that darlin’? Does that feel nice?”

You gulped, trying to think, but your mind was blown away. He got back to your lips and as he kissed you, his tongue slipped in your mouth. You let your hand moving over his body as you kissed him, your body pressing up against his. He pulled away for a moment and whispered: “Keep it up baby, that’s what I was talkin’ about…” he nodded in pleasure as you moaned and kissed him more passionately.

“So damn sweet…so good…keep goin’ baby…that’s it…God, you’re getting’ me so hot…” he was turned on as never before and with every second passing, he wanted you more and more. Suddenly he moved his hand down and touched you right between your legs, without taking off your clothes.

“Oh God…” you felt his hand caressing you, gently, sending shivers down your spine. It was just a matter of seconds and you were slowly undressing each other, enjoying the touch of your bodies one against the other.

He looked at you with love: “Oh God, just look at ya, you’re so perfect…” he sighed and put his hand back into your hair, looking down at you. He smiled at you and his hands moved down to play with the fabric of your panties. He moved them aside and his hands reached your core, but this time he was touching it directly, his fingers playing gently with your sensitive flesh. You moaned louder as he kept caressing you. He was gentle and delicate and you enjoyed every second of it, but suddenly he paced up and you felt two fingers sliding inside of you. His thumb started to play on your clit, gently pressing on it in circular motion. You were over the moon. You didn’t think you could ever experience such a pleasure.

“Elvis...please…don’t stop!” you begged him arching your back and moaning. He kept moving, but after a while he stopped and looked at you. He didn’t say a thing, but you knew what he wanted. Without answering, you nodded, giving him your consent to reach the next step. He took off your pants slowly and stood there for a while, staring at your white panties. You felt you heart beating faster and faster, but you were not afraid. It was excitement, pure love for him. He looked at you, almost as if he was afraid of hurting you, but when he saw your total surrender to him, his hands grabbed your panties and took them off. He took off his clothes too and he spread your legs apart. The sight of your trembling pussy, made him turned on even more and he leaned down, kissing your clit with passion and as he breathed and moaned on you, your excitement grew stronger. He climbed on top of you and as he did, you felt the tip of his hard cock pressing gently at your entrance. He stood there for a while, looking at you with eyes full of love.

“Baby, are ya…”

You hushed him with your finger on his lips. He perfectly knew it was the first time for you, but he knew you wanted it and so he did. He moved slowly, pushing himself inside of you, making you gasp as you felt his member stretching you.

“Oh God…”

“Sshh baby…I won’t hurt ya…don’t worry…”

He pulled back a bit, before shoving it in a second time. As he kept moving in and out, his pace increased, making you almost cry. You grabbed his shoulders, piercing his skin with your nails. The pain soon turned into pleasure and as he caressed your hair he whispered sweetly: “My lil’ baby…all mine…”

His words made you trembling. Just the thought of being completely his, sent you right on your edge. He thrusted again inside of you and every time he reached your g-spot, you let out a loud moan.

“I wanna make ya mine baby…mine forever…can I…?” he didn’t finish his phrase, as he felt a long wave of pleasure hurting him and before he could say something he came hard into you, filling you up. Feeling his cock releasing inside your body was the highest pleasure you ever felt in your life and after a while, the same wave hit you too, making your walls clenching around him. He enjoyed your orgasm groaning and then he fell on you exhausted, with his head resting on your chest. The room was suddenly silent. Your bodies were still wrapped around each other and the only sound that echoed around was your breaths slowing down. He kissed you with passion as he tried to catch his breath and then he held you tight.

“Well, I used to pull your pigtails

and pinch your turned-up nose,

but you’ve been a-growin’

and baby it’s been showin’

from your head down to your toes”