#soup query

[revivisection]

TRICK OR TREAT 👻 also seizing this opportunity to say I adore Cosmas and your art!!

THANKS ^_^ and for that…

YOU GET: homoeroticism

[bookwyrminspiration]

Wait are there fat elves? Or is it a lotr terminally skinny thing? It's been so long since I read kotlc that I cannot remember any descriptions

Cuz like. If they're just bones they wouldn't have much nutritional value but if they can have fat and muscle they may be more nutrient dense than a human

So basically like. Is it standardized (eg 6ft 200lb elf vs 6ft 200lb human) or random elf vs random human

Supposedly there are fat elves, though we have yet to actually meet any.

At Alvar's trial, Shannon describes the Vacker family as having, "every hair color, skin color, feature shape, and body type" (Flashback 17). It's not elaborated on further or brought up again.

Anyway, my thought was standardizing the comparison. Do elves inherently have some beneficial extra vitamins and minerals in them, something humans don't have? Would a human be able to eat an elf without the complications preventing us from safely eating another human? Many such queries

[legiterallylunar]

not to lifepost but actually being a quaker is so good for the soup guys

[bad-science]

I would like to have my circulatory system or nerves system [or both] stolen

Mmmmmmm spag hetti………

[consequently-cryptic]

Idk if you're still looking for Elliott headcannons but you know Elliott eats terribly before marriage. He doesn't have a kitchen you know he's eating like a collage student: take out and pot noodles.

To some extent, I can def see it! But I also think he does what he can to get some more nutritious foods. Most of what he eats is soups or things that involve broth since it's easy to make. That and he'll cook whatever fish he caught to cook over a fire, it's just the bones he finds troublesome.

But it's also a question of "should I eat this?" Or "should I sell this to just buy food?" Because he can't save something like a fish for hours, he doesn't have a freezer to keep it from going bad so it's why he sticks to store-bought stuff and soups. That goes for any food and not just fish, most fridge-kept foods he just can't have unless he plans to eat it all in one day.

I beg y'all to cook this man decent meals when he moves in!

[icannotreadcursive]

Here let’s see if I start a fight:

[lightseoul]

you're losing me

synopsis. bakugou proposes to you. you give him an unexpected response.

cw. gn!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged up (28 yrs old), some cussing

word count. 2.5k words

“Where is everybody?”

You ask as you look around the barren restaurant, which, on most days, is jampacked with high-profile customers. How Bakugou was able to get you both a table is beyond you.

“Don’t mind ‘em,” he says before dipping down to finish the rest of his soup. “They’re just a bunch of extras anyway.”

You merely hum in response.

A moment passes with the both of you finishing your appetizers when a question dawns on you.

“By the way,” you start, “what’s the occasion, Kats?”

At that, he frowns. “What, you’re saying I can’t treat my partner whenever I feel like it?”

You snort. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that we don’t usually opt for extremely overpriced restaurants.”

You gesture to your evening gown and his suit. “We don’t usually dress up either.”

“Yeah, well. Just go with it, okay?”

You stare at him for a beat before deciding to let it go.

“Okay.”

You’re down to the last bite of your dessert when Bakugou clears his throat. You look up, only to be met with the familiar expression of nervousness decorating his features.

It’s how he looked at you back when he first asked you out three years ago.

“You alright?” you ask.

He nods, “Peachy. Just need to tell you something.”

Almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace. You brace yourself for bad news.

“What is it?”

At your query, Bakugou suddenly stands up and circles your table, stopping right in front of you.

And before you could even comprehend what’s happening, he’s already on one knee, holding a small velvet box.

“Y/N.”

At the mention of your name, your heart doubles up its pace.

He continues, but your head is pulsing and your ears throbbing so loudly that you can barely make out the speech he’s currently giving you. You feel lightheaded, as well as the tears welling up in your eyes, clouding your vision.

He sounds uncharacteristically shy when he finally says, “Will you marry me?”

That’s the last thing you hear before you black out.

You’re met with a blinding white light when you come to.

You strain to sit up in order to look around, the movement causing Bakugou, who is on a stool beside your bed, to stir awake.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Take it easy.”

Robbed of all words, you nod, taking heed and slowly lifting yourself up into a seated position.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“The nearest hospital from the restaurant,” he explains. “You fainted.”

“Seriously?”

He nods, face stern. “Thankfully I was able to catch you before your head could hit the ground. We just need to run a few more tests before you get cleared for discharge.”

And with that, the elephant in the room remains as evident as ever.

“Look, Kats,” you start, “about earlier—”

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he cuts you off. “Come on, let’s get you ready for discharge.”

You barely catch him before he goes to work the next day.

Bakugou’s not a morning person—you found out about that a week into dating him when you noticed how curt his messages were in the mornings—yet he’s now up at 6:24 AM, darting in and out of the rooms in your shared apartment, getting ready for the day.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s rushing to leave.

“You’re awake,” you say lamely as you enter the living room.

He grunts in response, attention directed to the duffel bag he always brings to the office on patrol days.

You want to ask him why he’s up this early, but ultimately decide against it. Instead, you say: “Did you pack your lunch already?”

“Yeah,” he gestures to his bag, “It’s in here.”

“Okay.”

You stand awkwardly by the door as you watch him zip his bag and adjust his civilian clothes that would be swapped in for his winter costume later.

He then walks up to you and presses a kiss on your forehead—so tentatively it makes you ache.

Since when did he get so hesitant with you?

“I’ll go then,” he announces.

And before you know it, the front door shuts, his perfume leaving a nostalgic fragrance in its trail.

Only then do you realize that I love you’s were not exchanged.

The days after are unremarkably the same.

He’s been getting up extra early so that by the time you wake up, he’s already on his way to the agency.

On top of that, he’s starting to work overtime now, too.

Lately, he’s been arriving home as late as almost midnight.

You try to wait up for him—you really do—but with your own work to get to the following mornings, you just couldn’t sustain that arrangement.

And so you rarely see him.

But to your relief, despite everything that’s gone wrong with Bakugou since the night he proposed, you still fall on the same bed at the end of the day.

Albeit his back is turned against you. Still, you’re grateful. There’s a certain comfort that blankets you whenever you’re near Bakugou, and that hasn’t changed one bit.

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you mirror him, your back now facing his.

Which is why you don’t notice it until you hear a gasp.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at Bakugou, who’s now sitting upright, chest heaving.

Quickly, you rouse yourself, facing him. “What’s wrong?”

He inhales deeply as his eyes dart towards you, beads of sweat now decorating his forehead.

“Nightmare,” he croaks.

At that, you grab his ice-cold hands, squeezing them in yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A beat passes before he reluctantly shakes his head. “It’s just the usual.”

The usual. Being held hostage by that monster, getting kidnapped, being responsible for All Might’s—

“It doesn’t matter if it’s new or not,” you retort, squeezing his hands again in an attempt to anchor him to reality. “I’m here to listen, alright?”

Bakugou hesitates for a second before nodding, a pained expression written across his face.

He starts to lean in closer, probably to drop his head at the crook of your neck like he usually does when plagued with nightmares, before hesitating and leaning back.

“Okay.”

The next morning, you wake up not only to an empty bed, but an empty house.

Still half asleep, you trudge your way toward the kitchen, where a bento box is sitting on the island. On top of it is a sticky note that reads:

Going out w the guys after shift. Don’t wait up.

Your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to see Bakugou for the day.

Still, maybe he needs this night out.

You wouldn’t want to spend time with the person who rejected you either.

With a heavy heart, you get ready for the day yourself.

Work is the least of your concerns this morning, but you figure you have to go. You could use some distraction to take your mind off your crumbling relationship.

You’re in your bed reading that non-fiction you’ve been putting off for a while now when your phone rings.

You reach for your phone, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Kirishima’s caller ID.

Huh.

You press the green button after a few seconds of letting it ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N!” a cheery voice greets you. “This is Kirishima.”

“Hey, Ei,” you start, weirdly nervous. “How are you and the rest of the squad?”

“Actually, that’s why I called you. Can you pick Bakugou up? He’s so drunk.”

Your Katsuki? Drunk?

For some reason, the idea of talking to a drunk Bakugou, who also happens to be the bluntest version of himself, elicits an unpleasant feeling in your gut.

“Really?” you ask, voice small. “How much did he drink?”

“Not a lot, but the alcohol percentage of the ones he downed are pretty high.”

When you don’t respond for a while, he pipes up with: “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Kirishima sounds unsure when he asks, “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yes, Ei.” No, Ei. I inadvertently rejected his marriage proposal.

“Okay, that’s good to hear,” he starts. “It’s just that he barely mentioned you when he was still sober—which is a rare occurrence, if you only knew. He only started calling for you when he was three glasses in.”

Despite yourself, your stomach flips in delight. He’s still thinking about me, you think to yourself.

“Anyway, as I was saying, are you good to fetch him?”

“Yes,” you stand up and grab for your keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

You’re situating the car in your designated parking space when Bakugou finally stirs awake.

Once you’re parked, you turn off the engine before you reach over the console to unfasten his seatbelt. Yours follows shortly after.

You look at him, whose eyes are still closed.

“We’re here, Kats.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes shoot open and he examines his environment, alarmed. Once he catches sight of you, though, he visibly relaxes.

Only to straighten up in his seat, stiff and unable to look you in the eye.

“You didn’t have to, uh,” he stammers, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. “Get me. You didn’t have to get me.”

You shoot him a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, eyes trained on your car’s windshield.

A moment passes before he speaks again.

“My mom made me do it, you know.”

You stare at his side profile. “Made you do what?”

“Propose to you.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head, almost in disagreement. “The old hag really wants me to get married. I told her we didn’t have to get married because we’re happy the way things are and that shit is just for formality. Told me I’d be missing out on you wearing a wedding dress.”

You snort, “That’s what convinced you to ask me?”

He grins. “Nah. I just realized I wanted to get married if it was to you.”

Before you can even react, Bakugou shifts in his seat, breaking eye contact.

“It was stupid of me, though.”

Your stomach drops in anticipatory dread. “Stupid of you to what?”

He chuckles, although he seems anything but happy. “Was stupid of me to think someone like you would say yes to someone like me.

“I—” he stutters, “I wouldn’t marry me either.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs, “Just…who the fuck do I think am, proposing to you? I was a horrible person who fucked things up so many times growing up. Maybe this is karma biting me back in the ass.”

“Katsuki.”

“You can do way be—”

“Katsuki!”

He jerks his head to face you, bewildered and eyes glassy.

You reach over the console to hold his scarred hand, staring him down.

“Look at me.”

He does so.

“You’re not that person anymore, alright?” You squeeze his hand, “Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Under the intensity of your gaze, Bakugou can only nod in affirmation before you engulf him in your first hug in what feels like weeks.

“Come on,” you say when you finally part, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Bakugou sleeps like a baby by your side that night. Meanwhile, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

He thinks you don’t want to marry him.

Your heart aches at the very thought of him grappling with the most false of all statements.

You want to marry him, you really do, but all your fears suddenly rose to the surface and enveloped you the second he went on one knee.

And that’s what you’re planning to confess to him tonight.

You wait, wrapped in the thickest jacket you own, seated on the bench for Bakugou to come. You left him a note alongside his bento box earlier this morning—a note that says to meet you at the indicated address.

Lost in your thoughts and in your internal monologue, you startle when somebody sits next to you.

You look to your right, only to see Bakugou in his thickest jacket, a gray beanie covering his ash blonde locks, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Do you remember this place?” you ask, voice quiet.

He scoffs, “Of course I do, dumbass.”

At that, you chuckle. “This is where we had our first date.”

He grunts in agreement. He doesn’t say anything after that.

A few seconds pass before he finally pipes up with: “So why did you bring me here?”

Your heart’s pace quickens at the query.

You gulp, although your voice still ends up shaky. “I wanted to apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

You shake your head, “You don’t understand.”

He chuckles, that same one that translates to anything but happiness. “I think I do. You don’t want to marry me, I get it.”

“No,” you say, voice louder. “I want to marry you.”

At your admission, Bakugou turns to look you in the eye. The hopeful expression on his face is staggering, you want to curl up into a ball and cry. “What?”

“I said,” you repeat, “I want to marry you.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Then why have you been acting like you don’t?”

At his question, you can’t help but clench your eyes closed. This is too much, you think to yourself, but you owe Bakugou the truth.

“I’m just scared, Kats. Truly. I—” you stammer, “I just can’t shake off the fear of losing you one day. And I know your capabilities and I know how hard you work. Just that—I don’t know. The fear of seeing you killed one day is paralyzing.”

Bakugou reaches out to you, and you let him wipe away the tears that are now falling down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, too,” he offers. “But I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, “I’m more scared of not being with you.”

At his confession, you can’t help but smile. “I think that’s how I feel, too.”

You rest your head on Bakugou’s shoulder, your hand in his. You stay like that for a few minutes before you pull away and turn to regard him again.

“Can we start over?” you ask, “I want to propose to you soon.”

Bakugou smirks, nothing but elation on his face. He takes your other hand and squeezes it.

“Not if I propose to you first.”

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik @beabe19

as always, reblogs, comments, and tags are appreciated <3

[simdertalia]

🌺🎍 ACNH Harmonious Set: Part 2 🎍🌺

💗 Sims 4, Base game compatible besides 2 items (ourdoor retreat & get together for hearth & dance floor). 55 items. Many extra swatches added by me. Items with only 1 swatch are not pictured in the swatch previews.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

You can raise & lower items with 0 and 9 on your keyboard.

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

I hope you enjoy! ☺️ Download below, all in a zip file or pick & choose!

I hope you enjoy!

Set contains: -Another Wall Hook | 5 swatches | 104 poly -Asian Screen | 5 swatches | 2280 poly -Asian Wall Shelf | 5 swatches | 2612 poly -Bamboo Bench | 3 swatches | 1968 poly  -Bamboo Nightstand | 3 swatches | 1094 poly -Bamboo Seat | 3 swatches | 1094 poly -Bird Bath | 12 swatches | 1194 poly -Bonbori (2 items, short and tall versions. Lights up in the dark) | 5 swatches each | 1226 poly each -Dharma Decor | 10 swatches | 1124 poly -Dharma Flower Pot | 12 swatches | 2116 poly -Dresser | 6 swatches | 1662 poly -Framed Art Decor | 24 swatches | 52 poly -Go Board | 1 swatch | 1190 poly -Hinaningyo (lanterns light up in the dark) | 1 swatch | 4802 poly -Japanese Coffee Table | 6 swatches | 1208 poly -Japanese Hearth: Functional (requires Outdoor Retreat) | 2 swatches for fish color | 3042 poly -Japanese Kettle (steams) | 8 swatches | 1200 poly -Japanese Lantern (lights up in the dark) | 33 swatches | 824 poly -Jars Glow Moss 1-5 (5 items in different shapes & sizes, glows in the dark) | 21 swatches each | 810 poly each -Make-Up Brushes | 17 swatches | 1730 poly -Maneki-neko Flower Pot | 8 swatches | 1396 poly -Miso Soup (steam & no steam versions) | 5 swatches each | 196 poly each -Mochi Pestle | 14 swatches | 1194 poly -Pagoda Statue | 5 swatches | 2702 poly -Sakura Blossom Lantern (2 items, small and tall, lights up in the dark) | 2 swatches each | 1238 poly each -Sakura Dance Floor | 1 swatch | 2 poly -Sakura Petals | 4 swatches | 633 poly -Sakura Purse (wall) | 7 swatch | 736 poly -Sakura Wall Clock | 7 swatches | 876 poly -Sakura Alarm Clock | 7 swatches | 952 poly -Salad | 3 swatches | 238 poly -Shoulder Bag (wall) | 25 swatches | 782 poly -Spring Rolls | 3 swatches for plate | 328 poly -Stone Arch: functional (marriage altar) | 5 swatches | 2102 poly -Torii | 5 swatches | 1976 poly -Vanity Anti-Dust Cloche | 8 swatches | 964 poly -Vase | 1 swatch | 812 poly -Vines 1-3 (3 items of different vine plant combinations) | 7 swatches each | 783, 741, & 720 poly -Vine Chair (the actual chair one) | 7 swatches | 1313 poly -Vine Lamp (lights up in the dark) | 5 swatcesh | 1238 poly -Vine Purse (wall) | 7 swatches | 810 poly -Vine Seat (the plant one) | 5 swatches for pot | 1032 poly -Vine Wall Hook | 5 swatches | 312 poly -Wall Flag | 4 swatches | 1203 poly -Wooden Make-Up Mirror | 12 swatches | 298 poly -Woven Trivet (slotted for tea kettle) | 11 swatch | 482 poly

Type “ACNH harmonious 2” into the search query in build mode to find  quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on September 1st, 2024 💗 Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my CC is early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness):

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet

Harmonious Set 1

-Potted Palm CC & Plumeria Blooms -Sakura Branch in Vase CC -Altar Cloth CC

The rest of my CC

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Love Sucks V. The Sickness

Vampire!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

He’s just a gloomy, little guy.

The Masterlist 🩸

Steve couldn’t get sick.

You knew that. He knew that. Steve knew that you knew that. The information had come after a long conversation underneath the warm sheets in your bed, hands clasped together between chests, noses almost touching, talking about how Steve had died.

How he hadn’t felt pain since, not unless he was hungry. He whispered about forgetting what it felt like to feel sickly, to have a stuffy nose when winter drew in, how the sting of sunburn felt on his skin in the summer. At first, you envied your boyfriend, longed for the immortality, the immunity. But living came with so many feelings and not all were good, not all were nice. But god, to feel meant that you were alive, right?

It’s why, when you came home from work one day to find Steve curled in your bed like a cat, you humoured him.

The vampire was pale, like always, a summer tan from who knows when faded and old, his hair unsettled and floppy, his eyes tired and red rimmed. He wasn’t too hungry, he’d just fed a few nights before but his fangs were out, two white tips peeking out his mouth. He was frowning, grumpy looking, nose wrinkled.

“Hey, handsome. S’wrong?” You crossed to your window, still open from the when Steve had shimmied it up and crawled in.

“I’m sick,” Steve coughed feebly, a fake sounding thing that didn’t really itch at the back of his throat but you cooed all the same. “I think I have the flu.”

You suppressed a smile, moving to crawl onto the bed with him. You didn’t tell him he couldn’t get sick, you didn’t like to remind the boy of his undead state - it didn’t seem polite. So you cooed again and sought him out under you duvet and pillows, threading your fingers through his hair as he stretched towards you, head seeking out your lap.

“You are?” You queried, voice filled with just as much concern as it would if Steve really was ill. “Baby. Can I get you anything?” You bit back another grin. “Soup? Medicine? A hot water bottle?”

‘Baby.’ Something inside Steve’s empty chest throbbed and ached. He felt warm.

You both knew Steve didn’t eat any real food, nothing solid anyway. He said pizza tasted like sand and anything too crunchy hurt his fangs so he lived off of coffee and he stole your ice cream in the summer. You also knew medicine wouldn’t do a thing for him, but the thought meant more than the reality.

When he pouted and nodded morosely, mumbling requests for a hot water bottle you fetched one and slid it under your sheets with him, relenting all too quickly when he pulled you in with it. He was cold, as usual, no fever to be found in his skin but you curled around him like you were willing him better, hiding your smile in his neck and pretending you didn’t see his grin either.

So you stayed like that until the sun set and the October chill leaked into your bedroom, until your stomach growled and Steve relented and released you from his arms. He pouted as you picked at some cheese fries, lingering in your kitchen like a ghost, waiting for you to be free once again, hands all for him instead of dinner.

“I’m sick,” he claimed again, forlorn, sniffling. “You gotta make me feel better.”

[dilf-din]

Two Favors — a Joel Miller story

Rating: G

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for girl dad Joel!

WC: 1250

For @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno coffee house challenge prompt: farmer’s market

Fridays were hectic enough without fighting your way to the farmer’s market before it closed. Your best friend called at lunch to remind you of your dinner and pumpkin carving plans, which had slipped your mind in the middle of your quarterly fight with the shipping department to fill out their dang PO’s correctly. During your weeklong task of flagging down half a dozen different employees who didn’t care half as much as you did what parts belonged to what project, you completely forgot about your annual fall soup party.

The sun was already fading in the sky by the time you pulled into the parking lot. Loose gravel crunched under your boots and the wind was blowing the stray strands of your hair, getting them stuck in what was left of your chapstick application on the freeway a few minutes ago.

The farmer’s market was a community hit year round, but especially in the fall. Local bakers had trays stacked high with apple cider donuts, sourdough with thick crust and intricate carvings, and mini pies bursting with every fruit you could imagine rimmed with buttery crust and thick sugar crystals.

Your mouth watered just thinking about all the goodies, or, whatever would be left at this hour at least. Dusk meant just a few more minutes before the shops that weren’t already cleaned out for the day would be heading home to their families.

With your arms piled high with squash and corn, you lucked out grabbing the last loaf of bread from your favorite stand. A final lightbulb went off when you remembered the pumpkin carving portion of the evening, and you saw one round, orange beauty waiting just near the back corner of the tent that shaded the parking lot stalls from the Texas winds.

You fished a five dollar bill out of your cardigan pocket and shuffled across the pavement to grab the last gourd, smiling at the middle aged woman who took the cash and wished you a good evening.

You pulled out your phone to shoot a message to your friend, letting her know your ETA, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“I’m sorry darlin’, it looks like they’re all out.”

Joel Miller, widowed neighbor, business owner, and girl dad extraordinaire. You had moved a few houses down from him in the spring when your job transferred you a thousand miles away from the cul-de-sac you grew up in.

Joel was always friendly, the kind of neighbor who would take your trash cans back up to your garage on cold days. He always smiled and nodded on the rare mornings he left late enough to see you climbing into your own car. You always pegged him as shy, but friendly.

Beside him came a small dejected voice, “But we’re supposed to carve a pumpkin toniiiiight.”

Sarah looked downcast, a grumpy frown the likes of which you had never seen before turned her lips completely upside down as she scraped the toe of her already scuffed sneaker against the ground. She had a pair of purple fairy wings strapped on over her puffy jacket, and her curls were extra voluminous from sitting on top of her thick outer layers.

Joel knelt to eye level with her, sincerity in his voice as he responded, “I know, but they’re all out baby. We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“It’s because you always work late,” she grumbled.

From the corner of your eye, you could tell how much that hurt him. You rounded the stack of hay bales you had been occluded behind, and hoped he could forgive you for cutting in.

“Did I hear someone was looking for a pumpkin?” you queried, your voice colored with a mischievous smile.

“Me! Me! Me!” Sarah exclaimed, reaching her hands out.

“Well, I just happen to have this extra one lying around,” you said slowly, “Do you think you could take it off my hands?”

Sarah’s frown turned into a smile of equal radiance, and she hopped in glee.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Joel stood from his crouched position. He had watched the whole interaction with a look on his face akin to the one the grinch the day his heart grew three sizes.

“Don’t even try to talk me out it,” you warned, raising one eyebrow in mock seriousness.

“I know better’n to talk you out of anything,” he smiled shyly.

“At least let me pay ya for it?” he fished a worn leather wallet from his pocket and started thumbing through bills.

“Keep it. Better yet, get her some of that apple cake,” you pointed towards the front with your free hand, shifting your bags in your arms to adjust for the space the pumpkin freed up.

“Let me carry those to your car,” he opened his arms, desperate to compensate for your kindness somehow.

“Thank you Mr. Miller,” you smiled, as he scooped the paper bags out of your grasp.

He whistled a simple three note tune and called, “Sarah, time to go.”

She scrambled back to his side from where she had wandered to talk to one of the other vendors.

“Truck’s unlocked,” he instructed the girl as she swung the heavy door open with one hand, being careful not to drop the pumpkin tucked under her arm.

“I’ll be right back”, he called, but she was too busy strapping the pumpkin carefully under a seatbelt to care.

His arm brushed against yours as you crossed the small parking lot to your sensible sedan. You popped open the trunk, and Joel carefully nestled the bags into the back, next to a box of clothes you had been meaning to drop off at the thrift store.

“So chivalrous,” you teased, as he closed the truck for you.

“I really appreciate you being kind to her.”

“It’s just a pumpkin,” you shrugged it off.

“She had a really bad week, so it’s more’n just a pumpkin. Just, thank you,” he said sincerely, with a smile that allowed you a peek into the weary eyes of a single dad trying his best.

You reached out and squeezed his bicep through his jacket, “I was happy to do it, really. I’m making soup tonight. Can I bring you a bowl tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll owe you twice,” he countered, leaning against the side of your car casually, his hands shoved deep in his jean pockets. You suddenly became aware of how close you two were standing.

A chill ran down your spine, and you hoped you could play it off as the wind kicking up.

“I like coffee. And dinner,” you toyed the line, “And my gutters could use cleaning,” you threw in for good measure.

“How about I bring you one of those pumpkin lattes and clean your gutters on Sunday?”

“Where I’m from, that’s a marriage proposal, Mr. Miller,” you said in mock surprise.

He laughed loudly and shook his head, “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t even had your soup yet.”

“Oh, everyone who tries my soup wants to marry me. Consider your battleship sunk.”

He laughed again and opened your door for you and stepped aside so you could climb into the driver’s seat.

“Guess I gotta go ring shopping,” he leaned in with a low voice and a wink before closing your door and shooting up a hand in a wave.

You waved back, but inside you were dying to tell your friend that you had a date with hot dad neighbor. Hopefully that would make up for the fact that you were now turning up pumpkin-less.

[revivisection]

TRICK N TREAT!!!!!!!!

YOU GET: the medicine drug

[bookwyrminspiration]

ok but can we consider the possibility of Keefe having what is effectively Schrödinger's abs? When only he can see them, he's in a quantum superposition of having visible abs and no abs at all. But that's why Sophie doesn't have a comment about his physique because when she looks at it, there's no visible abs (or abdominal system.)

I would therefore like to argue that the Elvin community is also split about Keefe's abs. This is because upon uncovering them, some may see his abs (which are very visible, as we've established elves have a lot of abs) but others see nothing.

This is also a nightmare for Fitz, who still has to puppeteer Keefe for his lack of abdominal muscles. The two of them are the only ones who know the truth.

Okay hang on I'm trying to follow here. So you're saying Keefe has no abdominal muscles (he's soup, which Fitz is puppeting, as earlier established). But some people see very visible abs when looking at him. Is that like. a genetic mutation? some elves mutated specifically to see abs that Keefe does not have? and this is also a topic of debate in the lost cities?

Where do the imaginary abs come from--are Keefe and Fitz faking abs as he's being puppeted to try and throw people off the trail? Is Keefe drawing them on? Ah, but that doesn't account for some seeing it and others not

Well, that's assuming one person can see and another can't at the same time--like they both look at the same time and see different things. What if he only sometimes draws abs on to distract from his souped condition, and the whole debate is just between people who saw him on different days (some when he'd drawn them, some when he hadn't bothered).

Forget what the Neverseen are up to, Fitz and Keefe are running the con of the millennia here

[natalieironside]

Now that Google has ceased to function as a search engine, and the results of queries elsewhere are still full of procedurally-generated nonsense articles, and the well has been poisoned by an infinite chain of pop authors and history podcasters repeating each other and citing each other's lies, and the whole Internet from soup to nuts is being enclosed and partitioned with archive sites in particular under scrutiny and attack, I feel real real good about my decision to keep lugging around my reference library.

[kisscara]

Hey hey~! Can I perhaps request a light angst about reader getting really sick(not to the point where it’s fatal) but ends up coughing a lot and scara/wanderer gets scared because of what happened with the kid in his third betrayal??

(´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)♡

promise me? [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, fatui!scaramouche

a/n: HURRAY an angsty req to get myself fired up and i hope you like this anonnie :3

scaramouche idly stands outside of the bedroom door. he looks down at the bowl of soup in his hands. his heart makes little tugs of pain each time he hears you cough and endless thoughts run through his mind as he recalls the way he lost someone else in the exact same way.

but you wouldn't. you'd never. all you've ever been to him is loving and understanding. surely, there's no way that you'll leave him so abruptly. then again, that's the way he thought with them. scaramouche hesitates before using one hand to push the door open. he enters the room with his eyes fixated on your figure.

"oh, scara, i told you that you didn't have to stay back today. aren't you-" you stop short to cough before continuing with a strained voice, "aren't you busy?" scaramouche mutters, "are you an idiot? i'm not leaving you home alone in this state." he sets down the bowl onto the drawer by the bed and sits with you.

you notice the way he avoids looking into your eyes as he slowly mixes the soup with a spoon. "i'll be okay, scara. you know me and my immune system." you make a futile attempt at comforting him. scaramouche lightly scoffs, "i never said i was worried."

you sink in your spot with a pout. "liar." at that, he finally looks up to meet your gaze but you turn your head the other way with your eyes closed. scaramouche huffs as he tries to feed you the soup, "don't be difficult, (name)." you lie down on the bed, eyes still closed, and you slip under the blankets.

"i'm not looking at you 'til you believe me." you say, voice muffled by the sheets. scaramouche deadpans, "c'mon, i do believe you. i... i'm not worried about anything, okay? worrying's for weaklings such as you." he puts the bowl back onto the drawer and pulls the blanket off, only to find nothing.

scaramouche looks around and notices your head of (color) hair at the side of the bed. he gets onto the mattress and peers to where you were sitting on the floor. "i don't like it when you think like that, scara." you murmur, picking at your nails. he joins you on the floor. "think like what?"

you finally look at him and your soft gaze is one full of sorrow. "like i'm going to leave you." scaramouche gulps at your words and looks away, only to be stopped by your hand gently cupping his cheek to face you. "i love you and you know that, or do you?" you query.

he tightly holds your hand holding his face, "i do! i do know that, i just..." scaramouche's eyes scan yours for anything. 'say something, please.' he's begging and tears blur his vision. you wipe a falling tear, "if you know i love you, then why can't you put your full trust in me?"

you sniffle as your own tears peek at the corner of your eyes, "it hurts me to know that you think i'll leave you in the blink of an eye." scaramouche shakes his head and his vulnerable side comes out into the light. "no, no, it's... i don't want you to end up like him." there's parts where his voice cuts off and you sigh.

"i promise you," you push your lips against his and whisper, "i won't leave you but you have to promise me that you'll do the same and that you'll trust me from now on." scaramouche falls silent. you tear up even more, "promise me, kunikuzushi." he wavers before holding your face in his hands. "i promise, (name)."

you thinly exhale, "thank you." scaramouche gives you one last kiss of reassurance. "i promise." he plants kisses all over your face and neck before returning to your lips. you laugh and hold him back by his shoulders, "dear, you're going to get sick." scaramouche mumbles, "i can't get sick so,"

he wraps your waist in his arms, "let's stay together just a little while longer." you bury your face in his neck, "okay." you pull away and get back onto the bed, "now, are you still going to feed me?" you smile as he sits by you. "yes, now come here. i'm going back to work tomorrow, so you better be well by the morning."

you sit on his lap and he holds a spoonful of the soup in front of your mouth. you carefully sip it as to not spill any and burn your tongue from the heat, no less. scaramouche is bound to get another spoonful but you stop him by hugging his torso. "i feel better already."

scaramouche's pupils dilate.

he rolls his eyes, "that's not going to work on me. i know you hate ginger soup but you have to take this." you whine, "but seriously, it tastes bad..." scaramouche tsks, "do you want to stay sick forever?" you look at him and grin, "yeah. so then, you'll stay home everyday and take care of me!"

scaramouche places a hand on your head, "no. finish eating or i'll make you take medicine instead." you panic and sit up, "but that's not fair! i had one spoon, that should be enough!" scaramouche squints at you, "a spoon of soup is not the same thing as a spoon of medicine."

you grip fistfuls of your hair in frustration, "i thought the fatui were stupid!" scaramouche scoffs, "not me, because i chose you." you pause and sputter out in a laugh, "you're so corny." he gets out of the bed, "medicine it is."

© kisscara

[asa-do-your-thing]

The rainbow trout

Robb Stark x Frey Reader 18 + MINORS DNI WC: 5,1k Warnings: forced marriage, mentions death, alcohol, dubcon, angst

You knew you weren't his first choice. You also knew what would happen, should Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, not accept your hand, so you did everything in your power to convince him to marry anyone of your female relatives. You sent him coded messages, diguised yourself and warned his pregnant lady... You did everything in your might to persuade him.

That was why it hurt you even more that when he came to the Twins and told you all to stand in a big semi circle ordered by your ages - you stood almost at the farthest end, having only just flowered - and he walked over to your aunts and older cousins, all past the ages of five and twenty. Everything within you itched to call out to him - King of the North, 'tis I who saved you!

But Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was a man known for his honor and duty. He gave each woman a polite nod, exchanged pleasantries and, with a hint of discomfort in his eyes, moved along the line. You watched him as he went from your eldest aunt, Lady Amarei, a stout woman with greying hair and a face that had lost the battle with age long ago; to your cousin Alyx, then onto Waldene and Wylda - all older than you by several years and already mothers to their own broods, though you supposed it was pleasing for him to see their fertility.

The air in the Great Hall was thick with expectation as the Young Wolf made his way down the line of eligible Frey women. The flickering light from the hundreds of candles gave an ethereal glow to the scene, casting dancing shadows along stone walls adorned with the ancient heraldry of House Frey. The wheels of your father's great wooden chair creaked as he shifted his weight, watching his potential son-in-law examine his flock.

As Robb Stark drew closer to you, your heart pounded in your chest. Despite your best efforts to maintain decorum, your hands were clammy against the lush fabric of your dress. When he finally stood before you, his azure eyes met yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. His face was unreadable; he made no comments about your youth or offered any compliments as he had done for some of your relatives.

He nodded once before moving on to your younger sister - a girl who barely even knew how to keep her hair out of her soup bowl - and then carried on down the line. You could feel the disappointment welling up and looked up in amazement when he went back up to his previous spot. He... knew what would happen should he not accept any one of them? What was he doing?

Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, turned back to look you in the eyes. His gaze caught yours in a strange dance, akin to two foxes circling one another before withdrawing. He thanked your father, Lord Walder, for his hospitality and the introduction to his lovely daughters and nieces. His voice echoed along the stone hall, each word punctuated by silence from the gathered Freys.

"Before I proceed," he announced, raising an eyebrow as if he had just been struck by a sudden thought, "I would like to ask a question about a small rainbow trout." The hall fell silent.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The 'rainbow trout'. The code you had used so many times in your letters to him. You had used it as a symbol of danger, warning him of impending peril. And now he was using it back at you.

The question Robb asked was incredibly mundane in its nature for anyone else. Yet behind those words, there lay a hidden realm of understanding known only to Robb and yourself; its context spread across a plethora of secret letters exchanged between you two under various pseudonyms over the years. The audience stared at him blankly while your mind raced to pick up the hidden message in his query.

Just then, your innocent little sister nudged you and whispered in your ear right below a breath. "Has King Robb gone coo-coo?" You could hardly suppress the laughter that bubbled within you at her naive words. She didn’t understand what was passing between Robb and yourself and for that, you were both relieved and eternally grateful.

"No dear one," you whispered back, patting her small hand. " he's simply curious about our streams."

A hushed murmur passed through the crowd as they tried to comprehend the Young Wolf’s peculiar question. Lord Walder, from his high seat, let out a puff of irritation. "Is this a jest, Stark?" he asked gruffly.

The Young Wolf looked at him, his eyes hardening. "Not at all," he replied sternly. "In fact, it is rather important."

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor and felt your heart flutter with anticipation. Robb turned his gaze back to you, the hardness softening once more into a look filled with intent and secret understanding.

"Your rainbow trout seems quite interesting." The Young Wolf finally spoke in his clear voice, echoing through the hall, carrying a message for you alone amongst the throng of confused onlookers. His words were enigmatic and carried an underlying layer of significance that no one but you could decipher.

The corners of your lips curled into an involuntary smile as you met his gaze and nodded subtly. You understood what he was trying to say, what he had so bravely alluded to in front of all your family members.

"And what would such a trout want?" asked Lord Walder impatiently. His sharp gaze pierced through Robb Stark who merely smirked and shrugged lightly.

"That’s for the trout to know," replied the Young Wolf cryptically. Before anyone could question further, he bowed courteously towards Lord Walder and then swept an arm towards you in an elegant gesture. "Perhaps your young lady there can provide me an answer?"

"Walderette?", your father croaked out and raised an eyebrow.

A big rumble went through the hall and you blushed up to your roots, not used to being stared at. This was pressure and you needed to handle it quickly and well - so well that your old, disgusting flea of a father would forget about this instance.

"Yes, Father?" You responded, managing to keep your voice steady, despite the thudding of your heart. Your eyes slipped towards Robb who looked at you encouragingly.

Your father huffed, "You'll entertain The Young Wolf's humor about our trout?"

"Of course, Father," you replied softly, your gaze locked with Robb's. An understanding passed between you two, an assurance that somehow he would make things right.

You then cleared your throat and addressed the hall in a voice far more confident than you felt. "Rainbow trout," you began, glancing at Robb who nodded subtly as if urging you to go on. "Is a delicacy in our rivers. It’s versatile and can thrive in different environments. It can be elusive yet it can be caught if one is patient and diligent."

The room was quiet as everyone watched you curiously. Your father squinted his eyes at you while your younger sister nervously bobbed up and down on her feet. He didn't dare suspect anything, or else your fate would be just the same - being slit open by your family.

"It is very good when smoked and lasts long, and it is easy to transport. It goes well with pickles-"

Lord Walder raised his hand and shrugged. "Yes, Wald... Walderette your name was, right? Rainbow trout is good." He looked at Robb, who gave him a relatively neutral look. "And you are sure you want... her? I have girls with prettier faces, bigger tits and that talk less nonesense."

Robb didn’t flinch under Lord Walder’s crude remarks. Instead, his gaze seemed only to harden, a touch of steel flashing in his eyes as he coolly met the old lord's gaze. "Aye," he said, holding your gaze again with a softness that contrasted sharply with the icy tone he had used for Walder.

"I'm sure." His blue eyes glittered with certainty and warmth. Your heart fluttered, nearly missing a beat at his declaration. To have him, Robb Stark, The Young Wolf, choose you in front of everyone felt as surreal as it was exciting.

Lord Walder grumbled something incoherent under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his high seat. His gaze oscillated between you and Robb before finally settling on the young king with a grudging acceptance. He sighed heavily and grunted out a curt, “Very well.”

A murmur rippled through the hall, turning into excited whispers that echoed around the stone walls. This was unprecedented; a Frey girl chosen to be betrothed to the King in the North!

Your sisters looked at you with wide eyes, surprise and envy coloring their expressions. You could almost feel their piercing stares burrowing into your back, but you didn’t care. Robb had chosen you. And even though this was part of a grand scheme that remained secret from most, an indescribable joy surged within you at being chosen by him.

Robb then leaned slightly towards you, his voice barely audible above the hushed chatter. "I hope I picked the right trout," he murmured to you, a glint of worry in his eyes.

"There is only the one, my King," you reassured him with a small smile and breathed out once everyone went back to their seats - even the women, which gave you the greatest hope of there not being a massacre tonight. "Though if I find out anything that will hurt you or your... uh, friend, I will give you a signal and lots of likeminded trouts will help."

Robb nodded, his gaze fixed on yours. His eyes were the color of a stormy sky - deep, chilling, and deadly if challenged. Without breaking the eye contact, he whispered back, "I am looking forward to seeing what a school of like-minded trouts can do, thoug I hope I shall never feel the need to see them."

A hush fell over the room as Lord Walder straightened in his chair and clapped his hands together sharply. "Enough of these fish conversations," he barked, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It's time to sit down for the feast. You're to be wed! My grandson shall be a King!"

As the guests began to shuffle towards their seats, you took Robb's arm and led him to the high table alongside Lord Walder and his newest wife. The woman, who was no more than a year older than you, was beautiful in a fragile kind of way. Her honey-coloured hair was bound up intricately with tiny pearls gleaming in between her locks. She shot you an encouraging smile as you both took your seats.

Throughout the feast that ensued, she would lean towards you from time to time, whispering coded words in your ear between bites of her meal or sips of her wine. "Remember," she once whispered casually as she spread some butter on her bread, "the pickles are of a dangerously spicy sort."

"Just the pickles?" You asked just as casually, keeping your gaze focused on your own plate.

She nodded subtly in response before turning her attention back to her own meal.

The night wore on with laughter and merriment filling the air beneath the vaulted ceilings of the hall. Everyone seemed at ease - even Robb appeared more relaxed now. However, underneath the surface, you were still fully ready to run. Your father was everything, but a honest man and nothing could fully guarantee your safety.

As the feast came to a close, Lord Walder rose to his feet with all the grace of a prowling cat despite his advanced years. "May I have your attention!" he bellowed, effectively silencing the chatter throughout the hall. He nodded his approval at the sudden quiet before turning his steely gaze towards you and Robb.

"It seems to me," he began, his voice carrying an uncanny edge that made the hair on your neck stand up. "That we're forgetting one important detail of this evening."

His gaze intensified as he continued, "These two lovebirds are yet to be wed!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. You felt Robb stiffen beside you, but your father's newest wife pressed a reassuring hand on your arm. It was, after all, part of their ploy.

A frail old septon shuffled forward from among the crowd. The wrinkles on his face gathered into deep crevices as he smiled warmly at you and Robb. He held out a red silken ribbon - your symbol of unity in this farce of a marriage.

You found yourself whispering vows under his quiet instruction, your voice choked by anticipation and fear while Robb's steady and firm words only added another layer to your pounding heart.

"And now," Walder announced gleefully once you'd both spoken your vows. "Seal it with a kiss."

Robb hesitated for a moment before leaning in, his warm lips brushing against yours in a chaste but lingering kiss. The hall erupted in cheers, and for a fleeting moment, it felt real - like true love had finally found your side, yet you knew that this'd be a farce. But then again, what would a loveless marriage be against dozens of dead innocents?

"Take the lovers away! Undress them!", croaked Walder and grinned implishly as a mass of Frey girls came and picked Robb up. Silencing his prostest with the smallest of nods, you, in turn let yourself be carried by some Stark men.

The crowd of Stark men was like a sea of shadows, each figure blurred into the next by the dim candlelight. The soft murmur of their voices was punctuated by the occasional chuckle or whisper as they carried you away through a labyrinth of stone corridors. The cold, rough-hewn stones beneath your feet were a stark contrast to the warmth and merriment of the feasting hall. The ancient walls echoed with tales of grandeur and battle, each echo ringing in your ears as an ominous forewarning.

With each step, you felt your heart drumming wildly in your chest - this was unchartered territory, a dance with danger and uncertainty. You stole a glance at the jumbled mass of Frey girls disappearing with Robb into another corridor, his eyes locked onto yours for an infinitesimal second before he was swallowed by the throng.

You were ushered up a winding staircase, its spiralling steps leading you to a chamber high above the ground. The door creaked open to reveal a room bathed in soft moonlight. It wasn't chained and barred like the dungeons you'd feared, but rather adorned with silken tapestries depicting intricate hunting scenes.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you entered. The room felt strangely comforting with its high vaulted ceiling and large canopy bed draped in furs. A lone window overlooked rolling meadows bathed in silver moonlight, their serene beauty belying the uncertainty that lay ahead.

The Stark men began to undress you, their roughened hands deft yet respectful on your garments. Your heart pounded in your chest like a wild bird trapped in a cage and only stopped once Robb came into the room, dressed only in a sheet that was held up by your giggling sisters. He quickly excused his men and gave the girls the same, stern look.

"Good night, little fish!", "Have fun!" and "Make sure that you'll make a king tonight!" were their parting words as the filed out, giggling.

The heavy door shut behind them with a reverberating thud that echoed in the silence of the chamber. The echo faded, leaving only your heartbeat to fill the quiet space. You turned to face Robb, his striking blue eyes filled with an uncertainty that mirrored your own. The bronze-toned light of the hearth danced across his features and played in his hair, casting him somewhat divine in your sight.

His broad shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy sigh that seemed to shake the very air around you both. The silence hung between you two like a tangible veil as he slowly approached you.

"We needn't…" he began, his voice gravelly and low – softer than you'd ever heard it. Suddenly, all of his kingly stature seemed to melt away, leaving behind only a boy burdened by expectations.

"I know," you quickly cut in, eager to relieve him of his discomfort. "I could just…" You trailed off, suddenly aware of the crude absurdity of your plan. But you pressed on, forcing out the words as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "... just scratch myself open…"

Robb's gaze flickered downward before snapping back up to meet yours, a horrified look crossing his face.

"I mean... people just want some proof… or else... or else there will be talk... we could pretend…” You stumbled over your words, unable to keep eye contact with him anymore.

A moment passed where only the crackling flames dared break the silence. Then Robb let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly before he met your gaze again.

"You remind me why I chose you for this alliance," he said with a warmth in his voice that took you by surprise, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. "You're willing to hurt yourself just to protect our farce, and the people we're sworn to protect."

His thumb swept across your cheekbone, drawing a shiver from you. There was honesty in his eyes - a rarity in this world of duplicity and deceit - and it was startling.

"You don't need to do that," Robb continued, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile. "We'll find another way. A better way." He let his hand drop, but the warmth lingered on your skin, spreading like wildfire through your body.

"Robb…" You began, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No need for formalities," he said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. "We're married now, remember?"

He was attempting light-hearted banter – an attempt to alleviate the tension hanging thick between you two, and it was surprisingly endearing. Still though, unease crept back into your heart. After all, what other way could there be?

"But they will expect…" You started again.

"We'll be careful," he interrupted once more. "And we'll be smart. Let them think what they will."

A knock resounded at the door then – a single, harsh rap that echoed in the chamber and made both of you jump.

"Shall I pour the wine?" A thin voice floated in through the heavy oak door, belonging to an old servant woman probably sent by Lord Walder himself to see their progress.

"Yes," Robb called back after sharing an understanding glance with you.

The Lady came in and hobbled her way towards a small table, filling two cups with a cheap red wine, one that smelled more like a tincture than a lovely Dornish Red. To add to that, she set down a small dish of pickles. "If you do not manage to do your duties tonight, your Lady sends this dish to bring you back to your senses.

You began to panic slightly and nodded at her, doing your best to mime an innocent. Walking over to the small table, you dismissed her and quickly gave Robb his glass. As soon as the Lady went away again, you stripped and gulped down the beastly drink, positioning yourself on the bed like a bitch in heat.

Robb, for his part, wore a look of sheer surprise as he followed your unceremonious actions with wide eyes. He took a deep breath, setting his own glass down on the table beside him before he turned back to you. His cheeks were flushed a delicate pink - a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion - and he looked almost boyish under the soft candlelight.

"Please," he started, his voice rough in the quiet of the room, "You don't need to do this. Not like this." His gaze was steady and honest as it met yours, and his words tugged at your heartstrings.

But your mind was filled with vivid images of Lady Catelyn's tear-stained face and Rob's pregnant girlfriend - their lives hanging by the thinnest of threads because of you. You swallowed hard, pushing away the comforting warmth of his words. "We can't risk it Robb," you insisted. Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his mop of auburn hair. But he made no move to stop you from lying back against the bed – your back cold against the rough fabric beneath you. He looked at you then – really looked at you – taking in your determined expression and your trembling hands.

For a moment, all was silent in the room - save for the crackling flames.

Then, without another word, he began to disrobe himself with an air of solemnity that felt too heavy for the occasion. He moved carefully, meticulously even, stopping momentarily to kick away his modesty sheet before he joined you on the bed.

"Lie on your back, Walderette. I needn't take you like an animal," he whispered solemnly as he made sure to keep his eyes on your face.

His voice was low and gentle, a tender lullaby whispered in the quiet of the night. It was an unexpected sweetness that only made your heart hurt with more force, your guilt gnawing away at you like a starved beast. But you nodded, complying with his request and shifting position, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

A silence descended upon the room as he settled down beside you, his broad form dwarfing yours. His muscled arms propped him up as he leaned over you, his gaze never wavering from your face. You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as you felt the cool touch of his hands against the bare skin of your sides.

He stayed silent as his hands began to wander, their slow and deliberate movements adding an excruciating tension to the silence. He explored without hurry; his fingers ghosting over every rise and fall of your body as if committing it to memory.

You could feel the heat radiating off him – a feverish warmth that made goosebumps rise on your skin. Any other night, under any other circumstances, the feeling would've sent pleasing shivers down your spine.

"I…" you choked out, opening your eyes to find Robb hovering over you. His body pressed against yours in an almost comforting manner but it did nothing to dampen the guilt-ridden fear gnawing at your insides. "I… don't know what I'm doing," you admitted softly.

Robb's eyes darkened slightly at your confession but he gave you a small smile nonetheless. "It's alright," he whispered back reassuringly. "Neither do I, really. I've never... had to... take someone."

You blushed and gave him a shy smile. "I am not completely against it. Just... do whatever needs to be done and if we will not manage to create an heir, I am sure we will be able to do this... everything, under better circumtances."

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes met yours, the steady gaze filled with an equal measure of fear and determination.

"Yes," you answered just as softly, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you knew there was no other option. The lives of those you cared for were at stake. This was a small price to pay for their safety.

Robb nodded, his face a solemn mask. His eyes held yours, a lingering connection in the quiet room. He moved closer, laying his body against yours in a slow, deliberate manner. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the rapid beats of his heart echoing your own.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, and you complied without question. His lips found yours then, a tender kiss that tasted of wine and apprehension. His lips moved against yours gently, coaxing you into a rhythm that was as haunting as it was comforting.

His hands moved up your sides, skimming past the sensitive skin of your torso to rest at the sides of your face. He pulled back slightly from the kiss, his breath warm against your cheek as he began to whisper words meant only for you. They were soft promises of safety and care; sweet nothings that melted your worries away like morning fog under the sun's rays.

In spite of the circumstances, the tension in the room dissipated at his gentle ministrations. Your body relaxed under his touch, fear and uncertainty replaced with a sense of security.

Then he was moving again, inch by agonizing inch. The heat of him was all-encompassing now; a comforting weight pressing down on you with each passing moment. You let out a gasp when he finally pushed forward – a soft sound drowned out by the crackling fire and rustle of fabric.

It was not painful nor pleasurable - merely an odd discomfort that became more bearable as Robb began to move with slow rhythm, whispering soothing words into your ear. His hands never left your body – one rested on the small of your back, the other cradling your face. His thumb stroked your cheekbone in small circles, drawing out a soothing pattern that almost lulled you into a trance.

The room had become warmer, or maybe it was just the heat radiating from Robb — every inch of his bare skin touching yours, filling your senses with his presence. You clung to him, hands clenched on his broad shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as he moved with quiet determination. You kept your eyes closed, taking in every sensation, every small sound he made as time stretched thin between each heartbeat.

He smelled of wood smoke and winter air. A hint of the strong drink you both had shared still lingered on his breath mixed with the warm scent of his skin. Each breath he drew was a low sigh against your ear, a soft symphony playing under the rustle of linen and crackle of fire.

His movements remained slow and deliberate — no rush, no urgency. He was careful with you, maintaining a rhythm that was mindful and tender. His touch was gentle but firm, holding you close yet giving you space to breathe. His lips found your forehead once more, pressing a soft kiss there.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly once again, pulling back slightly to look at you. His voice was barely audible over the slow rhythm of his body and your combined breaths.

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes held an intense mixture of concern and uncertainty, but also a strange form of peace, as if in this moment he had found some sense of purpose.

"I... am," you answered truthfully – Your body was tingling from the strange experience but there was no pain or discomfort anymore - only an odd sense of warmth... and maybe even something akin to contentment.

His gaze held yours, his expression softening at your words. A sigh of relief escaped him as he lowered his lips to meet yours again. His kiss was languid, unhurried, a complete contradiction to the rapid beating of your hearts.

He whispered your name between soft kisses and gentle touches, turning it into a sweet lullaby that danced with the crackling flames in the hearth.

Gradually, your world shrunk until it was made up of Robb alone—the rhythm of his breaths matching your own, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and his whispered words filling the silence. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly; seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours as you lost yourself in him.

When he finally pulled back after depositing his hot spend in you, it was slow and deliberate. You felt a pang of loss as the warmth of his body disappeared only to be replaced by the cool air of the room. His fingers lingered on your skin for a moment longer before he moved them away too. He didn’t look at you as he rolled onto his side, putting some distance between you two.

It was understandable, you thought to yourself. His true love was outside, in th tents, worrying about her lover, the father of her babe.

For a long while, there was only silence in the room. You could still hear the faint sounds of Robb's steady breathing and feel his warmth beside you, but there was a sense of melancholy in the air that you couldn’t ignore.

The embers from the fire were slowly dying out and you knew that dawn was approaching; still, neither of you made any attempt to speak or move.

Eventually, Robb broke the silence, "I'm sorry..." His voice was barely audible over the dying embers. He turned towards you again, worry etched on his face, quickly wrapping the towel around himself.

"I don't know why I did that... I shouldn't have..."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret. You turned your gaze to him, seeing the anguish painted across his face. The light from the dying fire cast a soft glow on his features, emphasizing the shadows of guilt etched deep within his eyes.

"It's okay..." you whispered, laying a hand gently on his arm. "It was necessary."

But even as the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. You were both trapped in a situation neither of you wanted to be in. Each decision made out of obligation, not desire. It was a cruel reality, one that seemed determined to tear you both apart.

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment or pain. When he found none, he let out a sigh, heavy with relief.

"I wish things were different," he said after a long silence, his voice barely audible over the crackling embers. "I wish we could choose our own paths."

You chewed your lower lip, contemplating his words. You knew what he meant. Your lives were dictated by forces beyond your control-- duty, responsibility and a looming war that threatened everything you held dear.

"We can't change what's already happened," you said quietly, meeting his gaze. "All we can do is move forward and make the best of what we have."

He nodded at your words although his expression remained pained. He reached out to take your hand into his own larger one and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, getting up and handing you your dress.

"No, thank you, my King," you said with a small smile. "Let us leave this horrid place."

[nana-71926]

Author's Notes: Aaand here's the next chapter. Brian is a riddle that Roger is determined to get to the bottom of. Enjoy! XD

Excerpt:

May 1865

“It’s getting late,” Roger said, slowly rising from his seat, “and I am keeping you from your rest. I hope you have been sleeping well lately, my friend?”

He was pleased to see color flood Brian’s wan cheeks. “Very well, thank you,” Brian replied, reluctantly leading the way through the narrow passageway to the door. “I’ve been having good dreams lately.”

Roger smiled as Brian looked away, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “That is good. You ought to rest as much as you can to get your strength back.”

Brian’s answering smile gave way to a look of consternation as he opened the front door. “Oh,” he said at the thick, swirling fog. “Oh, no.”

“No matter,” said Roger bracingly. “It’s just a slight mist which will lift in no time. I can find my way home.”

“It’s as thick as pea soup,” Brian protested, dismayed. “You can’t go out there. There might be wolves, or…or something worse.”

Roger would have laughed at the thought of something worse than he, lurking in the dark.

“Stay,” pressed Brian, the urgency of the situation lending him some eloquence. “Stay the night. Here. With me.”

“Are you sure?” Roger queried, brow furrowed. “I do not want to be a bother—”

“You are no bother,” said Brian quickly, growing bolder under Roger’s gaze. “Stay with me.”

Roger gave him his small, sharp smile and said graciously, “Alright. If you insist.”

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