#swagger-hound

[megamindsecretlair]

I See Red

Pairing: Black Noir x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Primal dom Black Noir, Dark elements. Cursing, PIV, SMUT, fingering (fem receiving), bratty reader. Black Noir and reader is aroused by hunting/being hunted. Sorry if I missed others. No spoilers for Season 4.

Summary: You filled in for your friend, working as a server during a party featuring Vought leadership and Supes. All night, you've been playing with Black Noir. Who's hunting who when you lure him out into the garden maze? 

AO3 Link

Word count: 2,664k

A/N: WHEW, sometimes when the feral hounds get to howling, I must answer that call. My fam was in rare form tonight so I'll take it as my sign to chill out lol. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Taglist: @chaos-4baby @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @twocentuar @umber-cinders @planetblaque

God, your feet hurt. You had been working the party all night, working hard to keep Supe’s drowning in liquor and drugs and the Vought leadership blissfully in lust chasing after them. This was your last fucking party. Your friend could keep this gig. You didn’t need money that badly.

You’ll miss exploring rich mansions, though. This was the closest you’d ever get to knowing how the other half lived. They took all of this acreage for granted. It was an everyday sight to them. They looked at the lush gardens and intricate pathways and saw the money they hemorrhaged trying to keep it afloat. To impress other rich pricks who had too much money and time on their hands. You’d love to have their problems. 

You snagged a glass of champagne from the kitchen, intending to take your break out in the gardens in the back of the mansion. The lighting was softer out here, muted in such a way to give it a hazy, dreamlike look. 

The gardens out here boasted rich purples, bright pinks, and summery oranges. There were still some people out here, giggling and glasses clinking somewhere in the distance. The air was chilly, near frigid, but felt amazing on your overheated skin. 

The soft, shimmery cherry red dress you wore tickled your thick thighs as you took off your heels and padded down the stone steps towards the maze. You discarded your empty glass on the pillar at the bottom of the steps. The maze had instantly grabbed your attention as you received the “don’t fuck up” talk from the manager, Elliot. He was an ass, thought himself more important than God, but all you did was tune him out as you looked towards the maze.

You took the last step and then hopped quickly onto the grassy knoll, the ground too cold for your aching feet. You sighed as your toes squished in the grass, a light mist making your feet wet. But that was okay. The dew added to the atmosphere and if you closed your eyes, you’d swear that you stepped into another world.

The maze loomed above you, hedges taller than ten feet. Perhaps bigger. You looked behind you to check for anyone nearby. Your eyes snagged on Black Noir standing outside the doors you just exited. 

Your heart skipped a beat, drinking him in. He was so mysterious. But with an obvious, dangerous swagger like he could snap your neck in half and then carry about his day like it didn’t faze him. All night, you felt like he was watching you. All night, you dodged from room to room just to see what he’d do.

He’d stalk from room to room right after you. Sometimes you let him catch you. He’d sidle up next to you and tilt his head, never saying anything. It was his whole thing. But you wondered what his voice sounded like. Or what he looked like. He could be horrendous underneath the stretch of black across his face. 

No one with that much presence could be ugly right? You blamed your mask kink as you waited for Black Noir to zero in on you before taking off into the maze. You turned and turned, scurrying down pathways whether they lead somewhere or not. You weren’t sure how big the maze was, but that made it more exciting.

Clouds of breath escaped you as your imagination took off. You knew Black Noir was behind you somewhere. When would he catch you? What would you let him do if he did? 

You ducked down a few more pathways, nothing but the stars and moon to guide you overhead. This was nuts. This was one of the wildest things you’d ever done. But when would you ever get the chance to do this? Since this was the last party you covered for your friend, you intended to go out with a bang. 

You giggled to yourself at your wild thoughts before covering your mouth with your hand. This was a supe you were up against. You weren’t quite sure about his powers and that only added to the thrill. 

Did your red dress give you away? A twig snapped behind you and you whirled around, expecting to see Black Noir. There was nothing. Nothing but hedges surrounding you. The light hoot of an owl. A breeze ruffled your flyaway hairs, a sheen of sweat settling between your breasts and on the back of your legs. 

A rustling noise made you duck down a nearby pathway, spurned to fleeing at the prospect of being hunted by Black Noir. He was usually quiet as a church mouse. Were these sounds due to natural critters in the maze? Or was Black Noir playing with you? 

Your thighs tingled and your pussy throbbed. You thought you took enough turns, you were completely lost. You weren’t sure how he could find you in this. You controlled your breathing, stepped quietly, and you kept your eyes pricked for any sign of movement. 

You turned down one final path that led to the middle of the maze. Set in a wide square, the middle had a few benches and a fountain. There was a statue in the middle of the fountain, a young naked maiden pouring water from a giant pot in her hands. Her hair flowed down the middle of her back, inlaid with stone flowers. 

Shit like this was wasted on the rich. You could spend eternity here just cataloging all of the details on the statue. Was it Greek inspired? You stepped closer, momentarily forgetting that you were trying to entice Black Noir. 

Remembering that, you inched closer to the entrance. You looked both ways and then turned to the fountain. The water trickled and the breeze turned biting. 

You sighed. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he was tired of the chase. Maybe you played hard to get for one minute too long and Black Noir found someone more willing. You pouted and gave one final look at the fountain.

The cool smell of leather wafted to your nose as a gloved hand clamped down over your mouth. You tried screaming, but it was muffled by his hand. You struggled, fighting, clawing to get free but the solid mountain behind you was unforgiving. 

You looked up and back, into the visor of Black Noir. You still struggled, more excited than scared this time. Black Noir wrapped a large arm around your middle and yanked you from the ground. Your feet kicked, trying to connect with his legs but he was an expert. He held you far enough away where you couldn’t touch him.

Black Noir suddenly let you go. You dropped to your feet with a huff before turning around and backing away from him. Black Noir tilted his head and stalked forward. 

“Found me,” you said and smiled, holding up a hand to ward him off. 

Black Noir nodded.

“I was hoping you would,” you said. You felt silly, like you were talking to yourself. But Black Noir tilted his head again, like he was questioning your statement. You bit your lip, not answering him. 

You really wanted to hear his voice. But then again, half the fun would be gone. Once you knew who was underneath, it’d ruin the mystery and the intrigue. You backed away all the way to the fountain. The edge of the fountain hit the back of your thighs and you stopped. No more room. 

Not unless you wanted to try running around him. You looked past him and Black Noir stepped into your line of sight. You giggled. “Not gonna let me get away again?” You asked.

Black Noir shook his head. 

“How will you get me to stay?” You asked.

Black Noir cracked his neck, rolling it, before stepping to the side in a wide stance, somehow making himself look bigger. More intimidating. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, thumping harshly in your veins. 

You feinted to the left and Black Noir jerked to the side. You giggled, doing the same thing on your right and Black Noir cut off your escape. You grinned as you pretended to run to the right, turning at the last minute, and dodging Noir’s outstretched hands. You did it! You were free!

That feeling was short-lived as Noir scooped you up by your middle, lifting you and walking backwards until you were right back where you started. He dropped you at the edge of the fountain, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanked you back.

The moan escaped you way too fast. You wanted to be coy. Wanted to drag this out and be a smoking hot target. Instead, you were just too damn needy. 

Noir put his face close to yours. Not a word. He nudged your exposed neck with his nose while his free hand ghosted across your chest. You stuck your boobs out, wanting him to do more than this. 

He ignored you, moving his hand to grab a handful of your tummy and squeeze. You moaned again, rubbing your backside against his front. 

Noir moved his hand to lift up your dress, cupping your mound and squeezing. “Fuck!” You moaned out. No mercy. He squeezed to the point of pain, savoring your cries, before rubbing your pussy over your panties. 

“More, more, please,” you cried out. 

Noir pushed your panties down your legs, only giving you enough slack on your hair to let you kick them off. Your skin was on fire. Blood boiling. Pussy throbbing. 

Noir pushed you forward and the palms of your hands stung from the rough stone of the fountain. Your breaths came out in shuddering waves as you were bent over the railing. Noir kept his hold on your hair while you heard his zipper ripping through the night air. 

Noir breathed harshly. A sound! It should not thrill you this much to get a hint of a sound out of him, but fuck. This was going to fuel your fantasies for months. Possibly even years. 

Noir gasped as he removed his glove. You couldn’t see his hand. It was too dark. But you did feel as he moved his fingers through your dripping folds. You moaned, legs giving out. Noir pulled your hair until you stood up straighter and you cried out. 

He wasn’t pulling hard enough to do any real damage. Just a little sting. Just enough force to show you that he was in control. 

Noir continued to play with your pussy, rubbing his fingers around your clit and inside your entrance. You leaked all over him, creating a neat little river that began to leak down your legs. 

Noir pulled your hair. “Oh god, feels so good. So good. So damn good,” you chattered, not sure what you were saying and not truly giving a fuck. This was the most fun you’d ever had during sex. You wished that you could freeze this moment. Or expand it, stretch time as long as you need to in order to experience this for as long as possible. 

You were racing towards an orgasm in no time, screaming into the night like a wild banshee. Who cared who was around at the moment? They were all getting their rocks off, it was only fitting that you did as well. 

Noir continued to finger you, continued pumping his long, thick fingers inside and drawing out another orgasm. 

“Please, please,” you whimpered, not sure what you were begging for. Each orgasm was too quick, too short. Not enough, not nearly enough. You rubbed onto Noir like a purring cat, rubbed your ass against his armor clad groin. 

Another harsh gasp from him. He pushed you forward until you were fully bent over the fountain. He grabbed your hip and pulled you against him. He worked his pants down low enough, slapping a big dick against your wet pussy.

The wet slapping sounds were loud. You had so much slick dripping out of you. He rubbed his dick back and forth, getting the tip wet with your juices. “Fuck me, fuck me,” you begged. Enough with the teasing. You felt ready to jump out of your skin. You were needy. And feral. 

Noir’s hold on your hair tightened as he slapped your ass hard enough to make you hiss with pain. You shook with raw need, pussy clenching around open air. He smacked you again for good measure and you moaned, sticking your ass out.

“I’m sorry, I’ll behave,” you whimpered.

Noir continued with coating his dick in your juices before finally breaching your entrance. He stopped short of entering you fully, waiting. For what you weren’t sure. You pushed against him with a deep groan, pushed your ass backwards in an attempt to slip him inside. 

It wasn’t until you stopped, until you grew still enough, that Noir slammed inside in one savage thrust. “Oh god!” You screamed, legs shaking on his dick. He was so big, a delicious stretch spearing you. 

He drew back until just the tip was inside and then slammed back in. He continued this savage push and pull, driving you insane. You couldn’t pay attention to the rhythm he tried to set. It only felt like not enough. 

You tried to slam him back faster, trying to get that lethal recoil going. Noir stopped and yanked your head back far enough to earn him a cry. You bit your lip and looked at him with a sweet smile. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” you said. 

Noir hovered over your back, using his size to cage you in. He nudged your neck with his nose, shuddering breaths quiet in your ear. You moaned as he slid back in, increasing his strokes, hitting a spot deep inside.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! That’s my spot! Right there!” You moaned and cried. He hit a spot so deep you started to see stars. 

Noir obliged you, hitting that spot over and over until you were an incoherent mess, dribbling, and mumbling as a powerful orgasm ripped through you. The edges of your vision turned blurry, as you surrendered to the ecstasy. 

As you came down, Noir’s hold didn’t lessen as he snapped his hips against yours. Soft, panting grunts in your ear that made your pussy clench onto him tighter, hold him in deeper. He let out a muffled groan and finally spilled himself inside you.

His hot, pulsing cum squelched as it mixed with your own essence. He continued snapping his hips like he couldn’t help it. Like he couldn’t stop. You gripped onto his warm thigh, throwing that ass right back on him so you could milk him for every drop. 

Your panting breaths were louder than his as he softened. He pulled out and adjusted himself. You remained faced forward to allow him time to zip himself back up. When you heard the zipper go back up, you dared a glance behind you.

He was right back to the stoic, monolith of a man as he stared in your direction. “Fuck, that was amazing,” you giggled, feeling drunk just off the strength of his fucking. You had enough moonlight to spot your red lace panties on the ground.

Noir was faster, snatching it before your fingers could close around the cloth. You grinned at Noir as he put a finger against his mask and tucked your panties into his pocket. 

“You really gonna leave me here like this?” You asked. 

Noir nodded slowly. “Asshole,” you smirked. 

You walked around him and Noir followed the movement, twisting his body all the way around. You backed away, heading for the entrance. You were thoroughly tired, legs aching, but still, you found that you wanted more. The night was still young-ish.

You blew a kiss at Noir. “Catch me if you can,” you sang as you danced out of the maze, picking up speed when you heard Noir scramble after you.

There will be more! The Secret Black Noir Files

[novaursa]

Flames in the West

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: for better or worse

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The day of Aegon’s second nameday dawned with the bright promise of revelry and spectacle. The sprawling woods outside the king’s hunting pavilion were alive with the sounds of horns, the bark of hounds, and the murmur of lords and ladies dressed in their finery. You stood at the edge of the gathering with Ser Gwayne Hightower, your reluctant escort for the day, though his easy demeanor made him bearable company.

Your sister, Rhaenyra, had stalked off toward her horse earlier, muttering darkly about the endless flattery and sycophancy that came with these events. You suspected she wouldn’t stay long before riding off into the woods on her own—leaving you to observe the spectacle.

It was then that you noticed him: Lord Jason Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as he approached Rhaenyra with a swagger that could rival a peacock. His crimson-and-gold doublet was immaculate, embroidered with lions rampant that caught the light with every movement. Even from a distance, you could see the self-assured smirk on his face as he stepped into your sister’s path.

“Is he…?” you murmured, your lips curving in a bemused smile.

“About to make a fool of himself?” Gwayne supplied with a smirk of his own. “Most certainly.”

You leaned forward slightly, ears straining to catch the words exchanged between them. Jason was in the midst of an elaborate speech about Casterly Rock, the grandeur of the West, and how “a future queen deserves a home as magnificent as her station.” Rhaenyra’s expression shifted from polite disinterest to outright disdain.

“I have no need for Casterly Rock, my lord,” she said icily, cutting through his rehearsed charm. “And even less need for a husband chosen for his wealth.”

Jason faltered, but only briefly. “But surely, Princess, you would consider—”

“No.” Rhaenyra’s reply was final, leaving Jason standing there, stunned, as she brushed past him and disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you remarked loudly enough for Jason to hear, “Well, that was a rather pathetic display for the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Jason turned on his heel, his eyes narrowing as they landed on you. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his voice tight with indignation.

“Oh, don’t mind her, my lord,” Gwayne interjected, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “She’s just an avid observer of courtly theatrics.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting Jason’s glare with a smirk. “If you’re going to woo a dragon, my lord, you might consider bringing more than your… oversized ego.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—amusement, perhaps? “And what would you suggest, Princess? Shall I compose a sonnet or slay a dragon for her favor?”

“Considering you’ve already wounded her ears with your drivel, a heroic feat might be a welcome change,” you shot back.

Gwayne chuckled openly now, clearly enjoying the exchange. Jason, however, took a step closer, his broad shoulders squared and his gaze unwavering. “I’ll have you know, Princess, that I am perfectly capable of charming anyone I set my sights on.”

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Anyone, you say? And yet here you are, rejected by one sister and attempting to defend your honor to the other. Perhaps you should aim lower, my lord. The kennel master’s daughter might appreciate your… charms.”

Jason laughed, the sound surprising you with its warmth. “Ah, so you’ve claws as sharp as your sister’s tongue. Tell me, do all Targaryen women delight in tormenting men, or is it just the two of you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Gwayne stepped in, raising a hand. “My lord, if you value your pride, I suggest you retreat now. She’s only warming up.”

Jason gave Gwayne a pointed look but then turned back to you, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I enjoy the challenge.”

Before you could muster a retort, Gwayne gently took your arm. “Come, Princess. Let’s leave the lion to lick his wounds.”

As the two of you walked away, Gwayne leaned in conspiratorially. “You do realize he enjoyed every moment of that, don’t you?”

You glanced over your shoulder to see Jason watching you, his smile still lingering. “If that’s what he considers enjoyable,” you muttered, shaking your head, “the man must lead a very dull life.”

“And yet,” Gwayne said, grinning, “he’s still watching you.”

You refused to turn around again, though the faintest blush colored your cheeks. “Perhaps he’s hoping for another lesson in humility.”

“Or perhaps,” Gwayne said, his voice teasing, “he’s already planning his next move.”

The thought unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

The royal pavilion was an elaborate affair of black-and-red drapery, with King Viserys seated at its heart, a goblet of wine in one hand and a faint scowl on his face. He leaned back in his chair, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. Around him, lords and attendants bustled, speaking in low tones or presenting trifles meant to curry favor.

Lord Jason Lannister strode in with the kind of confidence that only a man from the richest house in Westeros could muster. His polished boots clicked against the floorboards as he carried a gleaming spear in both hands, its shaft carved from rare duskwood and tipped with gold. The weapon practically gleamed with opulence.

“Your Grace,” Jason began, bowing low as he approached. “A small token to commemorate Prince Aegon’s nameday and the hunt. Forged in the Golden Gallery by the finest smiths of the Rock.”

Viserys straightened slightly, his eyes appraising the craftsmanship of the spear. It was magnificent, he had to admit, and he gave a slow nod of approval. “Impressive work, Lord Jason. My son will no doubt treasure it—assuming he doesn’t poke someone’s eye out first.”

A ripple of polite laughter passed through the tent, but Jason’s expression remained serious. He placed the spear on a stand near the king, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Your Grace, if I may, there is another matter I wish to discuss.”

Viserys’s groan was barely concealed. “If this is about my daughter Rhaenyra, I’ll save us both the trouble and tell you what I’ve told every other lord who’s come sniffing around her skirts: she will choose when the time comes. Until then, my answer is no.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard, before recovering with a polite smile. “Ah, Your Grace, I fear there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not here to petition for the hand of Princess Rhaenyra.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Lord Lyonel Strong, who stood quietly by his side. “You’re not?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“No, Your Grace,” Jason clarified, a flicker of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. “My petition concerns your younger daughter, Princess Y/N.”

There was a beat of stunned silence in the pavilion. Viserys froze mid-sip of his wine, his goblet hovering in the air as if he hadn’t heard correctly. Beside him, Lyonel’s bushy brows climbed so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

“My… youngest daughter?” Viserys repeated slowly, as though Jason had just declared his intention to marry a dragon.

Jason nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Grace. Princess Y/N.”

Viserys blinked, leaning forward in his chair. “Are you certain? Because if memory serves, my youngest daughter stood beside her sister not two hours ago, calling you”—he paused, as though recalling the exact phrasing—“ah yes, an ‘overdressed peacock with the wit of a trout.’”

A murmur of stifled laughter rippled through the pavilion, and even Lyonel coughed into his hand to mask a grin. Jason, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

“She did, Your Grace,” Jason admitted, his expression resolute. “And yet, I find myself more determined than ever.”

Viserys stared at him, utterly baffled. “Are you a glutton for punishment, Lord Jason? Because I can assure you, my youngest daughter is no more likely to flatter your ego than her sister.”

Jason offered a crooked smile, his usual bravado tinged with surprising sincerity. “It is not flattery I seek, Your Grace. Your younger daughter possesses a sharp wit and a keen mind, traits I’ve come to admire. I am quite serious in my intentions.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely toward Lyonel. “Do you hear this, Lord Strong? The man brings me a spear, not for Rhaenyra, not even for Aegon, but to chase after a girl who just insulted him to his face.”

Lyonel cleared his throat, his expression carefully neutral. “It is… bold, Your Grace.”

“Bold is one word for it,” Viserys muttered, shaking his head. “Mad, perhaps, is another.”

Jason, undeterred, stepped forward. “I am prepared to prove my worth, Your Grace. If the princess wishes to insult me again, I will accept it gladly. But my resolve will not waver.”

Viserys rubbed his temples, sighing deeply. “You are either the bravest or the most foolish man in Westeros, Lord Jason.”

“Perhaps both, Your Grace,” Jason replied with a self-deprecating chuckle.

The king exchanged another look with Lyonel, who shrugged as if to say, Well, stranger things have happened. Finally, Viserys waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll not stop you from trying, but don’t come crying to me when she brands you an imbecile and sends you packing.”

Jason bowed low, his grin returning. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, I am up to the challenge.”

As Jason left the tent, Lyonel turned to Viserys with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think he’ll survive?”

Viserys snorted into his wine. “If he does, it’ll be a miracle. Or perhaps I’ll need to have Maesters on hand for the bruises to his pride.”

The day was alive with the energy of the hunt: the baying of hounds, the sharp trill of horns, and the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor. The air was crisp and carried the faint smell of pine and damp earth. You strode alongside your father, King Viserys, as you always did during royal hunts, clad in a practical riding outfit that allowed for movement but still bore the Targaryen sigil embroidered on your chest. A bow was slung over your shoulder, and you carried yourself with ease, ignoring the glances from the courtiers trailing behind.

Ahead of you, Viserys chatted animatedly with Otto Hightower, who appeared more interested in keeping pace than engaging in the conversation. Behind you, Lord Jason Lannister loomed, his usual swagger muted as he kept his eyes firmly on you.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Jason began, his tone overly polite as he fell into step beside you, “but I must say, it’s unusual for a lady—let alone a princess—to partake in something as… rough as a hunt.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Unusual, perhaps, to someone who knows only boring ladies.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by your quick retort, but he recovered swiftly. “I wouldn’t call them boring, Princess. Simply more… traditional.”

You snorted, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Traditional? You mean they sit around embroidering lions and gossiping about who wore the finest gown at the last feast?”

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “I assure you, Lord Jason, I would rather face a charging boar than suffer through another discussion about the texture of Dornish silks.”

Ahead of you, Viserys glanced over his shoulder, clearly enjoying the exchange. “You’ve done it now, Lord Jason,” he called back, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve given her an opening.”

Otto smirked faintly but said nothing, his sharp eyes flicking between you and the Lannister lord. Jason cleared his throat, determined to press on. “I only meant that it’s rare to find a princess with such… unconventional tastes.”

“Unconventional?” you echoed, your tone laced with mock offense. “Is it unconventional to enjoy the thrill of a hunt, or are you implying that princesses should stick to sipping wine and giggling behind fans?”

Jason hesitated, visibly choosing his words with care. “I would never suggest such a thing. Only that—well, most ladies of your station prefer less hazardous pastimes.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a smirk played on your lips. “Ah, so you think me incapable of handling the hazards? Shall I remind you, my lord, that I have participated in hunts since I was a child? Or would you like a demonstration?”

Jason’s lips twitched into a smile, despite himself. “I’ve no doubt of your skill, Princess. But surely there are better ways to spend one’s time?”

“Better than this?” you asked, gesturing to the sprawling woods around you. “And what would you suggest, Lord Jason? Lounging in a gilded hall while you regale me with tales of Casterly Rock’s grandeur?”

Viserys let out a bark of laughter, clapping Otto on the shoulder. “I told you, Otto. She’s got her mother’s fire. Poor lad doesn’t stand a chance.”

Otto hummed thoughtfully, his amusement plain. “It seems the Lannisters are as persistent as they are wealthy.”

Jason straightened, clearly aware of the audience but unwilling to back down. “Perhaps persistence is exactly what’s needed to win a Targaryen’s favor.”

You tilted your head, feigning contemplation. “Perhaps. Though persistence without substance is just a louder way to waste my time.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the hunters nearby, and even Viserys shook his head in mock pity. Jason, to his credit, took the jibe in stride, his smile unwavering. “Then perhaps you’d allow me to prove my substance, Princess.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your smirk growing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll try, my lord. Whether you succeed is another matter.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the horns blew again, signaling the sighting of prey. Viserys raised his hand to quiet the group, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Enough banter, you two. Let’s see if we can bring down something worthy of my son’s feast.”

As the group moved forward, Jason lingered just a step behind you. “You’ve a sharp tongue, Princess,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “I quite like it.”

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “Careful, my lord,” you said lightly. “You might cut yourself.”

Jason laughed softly, shaking his head, and fell silent. For now.

The feasting tent was alive with laughter, clinking goblets, and the aroma of roasted meats. Lords and ladies were seated in clusters, exchanging pleasantries and gossip as the servants flitted about, filling cups and replenishing platters. At the table reserved for House Lannister, Lord Jason Lannister had finally taken his seat next to his twin brother, Tyland, who had arrived earlier and was already halfway through his goblet of wine.

Jason dropped into his chair with a theatrical sigh, grabbing his goblet and draining half of it in one go. Tyland arched an eyebrow at his brother, clearly intrigued.

“Well, you look like you’ve fought a battle,” Tyland observed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “I take it your courtship of the youngest princess didn’t go as planned?”

Jason straightened in his seat, brushing imaginary dust from his doublet. “It went fine. Better than fine, actually. Remarkably well.”

Tyland snorted, taking another sip of wine. “Is that so? Because the way I heard it, she called you something along the lines of…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. “Ah yes, an ‘overgrown lion cub with more mane than brains.’”

Jason paused mid-drink, lowering his goblet as he mulled that over. “Did she actually say that?”

Tyland’s smirk widened. “Word travels fast, dear brother. You’re the talk of the hunt.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, she’s sharp-tongued, but it’s all part of the charm.”

Tyland gave him a long, incredulous look. “The charm? Jason, she’s insulted you three times today. Once in front of the king.”

Jason leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, a slow grin spreading across his face. “And wasn’t it magnificent?”

Tyland nearly choked on his wine. “Magnificent? Have you gone mad? Most men would’ve turned tail after the first barb.”

Jason shrugged, his grin not faltering. “Most men don’t have the spine for a real challenge. But the princess? She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Clever, bold, utterly fearless.”

Tyland tilted his head, studying his brother as though he were a foreign creature. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? You sound like a lovesick minstrel.”

Jason laughed, gesturing for a servant to refill his goblet. “I’ve never been better, Tyland. And mark my words, I’m not giving up.”

Tyland sighed, rubbing his temples as though the very idea gave him a headache. “Jason, you do realize she’s as likely to throw that goblet at your head as she is to accept your advances?”

Jason grinned, raising his refilled goblet. “Then I’ll duck and try again.”

Tyland let out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, Tyland. I’m in love.”

Tyland stared at him for a moment, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You’ve spent all of one day bickering with her, and you’re calling it love?”

Jason shrugged again, completely unbothered. “It’s the beginning of something. I can feel it.”

Tyland sighed, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “To your perseverance, brother. And to the princess’s patience—she’ll need it.”

Jason clinked his goblet against Tyland’s with a laugh, his mind already racing with plans for his next move. Tyland, meanwhile, settled back into his seat, muttering under his breath, “Overgrown lion cub indeed.”

The royal hunt had concluded in success—or what could loosely be called success. King Viserys had driven his spear into a fine stag, though the beast was brown, not the white hart they had hoped for. Still, the king’s mood was jovial as the procession returned to camp, the deer tied to a cart and the hounds trotting proudly alongside.

You dismounted from your horse, smoothing your riding attire and dusting off your gloves. The camp bustled with activity, and you were eager to slip away and check on your sister, who had yet to return. But as you turned to leave, you were intercepted by none other than Jason Lannister.

“Princess,” he began, his tone as smooth as polished gold, “a moment of your time.”

You sighed inwardly but forced a polite smile. “Lord Jason. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jason fell into step beside you as you walked toward the campfires, his confident grin firmly in place. “I merely wished to offer my congratulations on the hunt. Though, truth be told, I suspect you would’ve done just as well, had you been given the chance.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, unsure whether to interpret his words as flattery or a subtle dig. “A kind sentiment, my lord, though I doubt the stag would agree.”

Jason chuckled, unperturbed. “No doubt. But, Princess, I must say, there’s something quite striking about a woman who defies convention. It’s… refreshing.”

“Refreshing,” you echoed, your voice dry. “Like a cold bath in the middle of winter.”

He grinned at your sarcasm. “Exactly. Though I imagine even the coldest waters would be warmed by your presence.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him with an arched brow. “Lord Jason, is there a point to this conversation, or are you simply practicing your flowery speeches?”

Jason hesitated for only a fraction of a second before recovering, his grin widening. “Perhaps both. But more importantly, I wanted to speak to you about my earlier… proposal.”

You opened your mouth to respond—no doubt with a scathing remark—but the sound of hoofbeats interrupted you. Turning toward the commotion, you spotted Rhaenyra riding into camp, her white hair streaked with mud and blood, and a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Behind her rode Ser Criston Cole, his expression impassive but his armor smeared with evidence of their kill. A massive boar was strapped across the back of their horse, its tusks gleaming in the fading light.

“Excuse me, my lord,” you said quickly, seizing the opportunity to escape. “I must go and greet my sister.”

Jason stepped in front of you, holding up a hand. “Wait. Just a moment longer.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Lord Jason, whatever it is, make it quick.”

He straightened, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. “I understand you may think me arrogant—or, as you so eloquently put it earlier, an ‘overgrown lion cub.’ But I am sincere in my intentions, Princess. Casterly Rock is a grand place, a fitting home for a woman as remarkable as yourself. All I ask is that you reconsider.”

You stared at him, caught between exasperation and surprise. “You truly don’t give up, do you?”

Jason smiled, the hint of a boyish charm breaking through his usual bravado. “Never.”

Letting out a long breath, you gave a small shrug. “Fine. I’ll reconsider.”

Jason blinked, as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, sidestepping him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak with my sister before she starts skinning that boar.”

Jason remained frozen for a moment, processing your words. Then, realization dawned on his face, and his grin returned in full force. “You said yes.”

You turned back briefly, giving him a flat look. “I said I’d reconsider, Lord Jason. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

But Jason was already beaming, his chest puffed out like a victorious knight. “Still, it’s progress.”

Shaking your head, you hurried toward Rhaenyra, who was dismounting her horse with Ser Criston’s help. As you approached, you could hear Jason’s triumphant declaration behind you:

“Tyland! She didn’t call me an insult this time!”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at you, her lips twitching in amusement. “What was that about?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the question. “Nothing worth discussing. Now, tell me—how does one kill a boar and look like they’ve wrestled a dragon in the process?”

Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Perhaps I’ll teach you one day—assuming you survive Lord Lannister���s wooing.”

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

The end of the celebrations marked a flurry of activity in the royal camp. Servants bustled about, packing away tents and preparing carriages, while lords and ladies exchanged pleasantries before departing for their respective holds. You stood near your father’s retinue, helping to secure the last of your belongings while your sister Rhaenyra leaned casually against her horse, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she remarked, her tone laced with amusement.

“I’ve had a long few days,” you replied, brushing dust from your gloves.

“Hmm,” she mused, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain lion, would it?”

You shot her a warning glance, but before you could reply, the subject of her teasing appeared. Jason Lannister strode across the camp, his crimson-and-gold cloak billowing dramatically behind him, his golden mane practically glowing in the morning light. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of a bard’s tale, which only made his approach all the more exasperating.

“Princess,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the bustle. “A word, if you please.”

Rhaenyra straightened, her smirk widening. “This should be entertaining,” she murmured, stepping back to watch.

You turned to face him, sighing softly. “Lord Jason, if this is about—”

“Your answer,” he interrupted, his grin as confident as ever. “The celebrations are over, and I must know where we stand.”

Before you could respond, King Viserys appeared, his crown slightly askew as he cradled a goblet of wine. Behind him, Queen Alicent stood holding Prince Aegon, her expression carefully neutral, though her eyes flicked curiously between you and Jason.

“Jason,” Viserys said, his tone weary but good-natured. “Still lingering, are you?”

Jason bowed deeply. “Your Grace. Forgive my persistence, but I wished to speak with the princess before her departure.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Jason. “Ah. This again.”

He turned to you, rubbing his temples as though the matter was giving him a headache. “Well, daughter? What’s your answer? I leave the choice to you.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on you. Rhaenyra looked thoroughly entertained, while Alicent’s expression betrayed nothing. Jason, of course, was grinning like a boy about to win a prize.

Finally, you let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I suppose… I’ll accept.”

Jason’s grin widened, though he looked momentarily stunned, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone almost resigned. “If only to stop your endless pestering.”

Rhaenyra laughed outright, covering her mouth with her hand as Viserys gave you a long, bemused look. “Well,” he muttered, scratching his beard. “Congratulations, I suppose.”

Jason straightened, clearly taking this as a full endorsement. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, the princess will be treated like a queen at Casterly Rock.”

Viserys glanced at you again, his expression skeptical. “Let’s hope she doesn’t regret it.”

Jason turned back to you, his grin still firmly in place. “You won’t regret this, Princess. I’ll ensure you have everything you could ever want.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Including peace and quiet?”

Jason laughed, utterly undeterred. “If that’s what you desire, then yes.”

Viserys groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days bickering, at least do it somewhere I don’t have to hear it.”

Rhaenyra, still chuckling, mounted her horse and gave you a sly look. “Safe travels, sister. And do try not to murder him before you reach Casterly Rock.”

You shot her a glare but couldn’t suppress a small smile. As Jason turned to escort you toward your own horse, you muttered under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Jason, ever the optimist, leaned in with a grin. “The adventure of a lifetime, Princess.”

And with that, the two of you joined the departing procession, your father still muttering behind you, “The Seven save us all.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

"Are there discounts for multiple x-rays?"

Prompt: Wrath | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Minor Injuries, Talk of Sex | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): None | Tags: Corroded Coffin On the Road, Pussy Hound Gareth, Bar Fight

"There's a reason sex comes first in sex, drugs and rock & roll," Gareth says, standing at the sink, shaving.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Hard. This kid. He's gonna be the death of Eddie.

"Just wrap it up, Casanova. We definitely don't want little versions of you running around."

Gareth pulls a strip of condoms from his vest pocket, letting them swing before tossing them on the vanity, "Got it covered."

"Great. Now just remember to actually cover your dick, and you'll be good."

"A guy gets a little case of chlamydia one time, and you never let him live it down," Gareth whines, and Eddie laughs.

This is a ridiculous life they're leading. Nobody should be chasing after Gareth, with stars and lust in their eyes. It's absurd. This is a goofy kid that basically needed a booster seat to even play his drums when Eddie first met him.

Now, he's an adult. Still short though. And while they're not famous, they are on the road together. Eddie never imagined they'd even get this far.

"Just be careful. If you do anything to put this tour at risk, Goodie will kill you."

"He can try," Gareth says, and oh, he has, Eddie is well aware. He's had a front-row seat for years as those two have gone round and round since the day they met. 

Eddie meets Gareth's eyes in the mirror, "Be in the van in ten. Or you're gonna have to troll the motel bar."

Gareth bobbles his head, like he's heard him, and Eddie finishes getting dressed himself for a night off and out.

The bar they land at is smoky and dark, and Eddie settles into a booth next across from Jeff and Goodie as Gareth swaggers off. Eddie turns, stretching out, leaning against the wall, beer in hand. Gareth could just hang with them tonight, but it's like he's afraid all the pussy in the world will dry up if he stops chasing it for one evening.

And the next time Eddie sees Gareth, he's perched on a barstool, facing out towards the room, not the bar, legs spread wide. 

Eddie nods his head towards him, and Jeff and Goodie both look.

"Like that's gonna wor-" Goodie starts to say, but it's like he's fucking catnip, and there's already a girl leaning against the bar beside him, acting like she's not paying attention to Gareth, but definitely is. It's baffling. 

Eddie laughs.

"I hate him," Goodie says, as Gareth puts his hand on her waist as she talks to him, up close and personal.

There's a commotion across the bar, and Eddie scoots to the edge of the booth, leaning out to look.

Oh, hell no.

"Oh shit, it's Gareth," Eddie says, and he's moving, out and upwards from the slick vinyl, trying to get there before Gareth gets punched in the face for a second time.

Eddie slides in between what he assumes is a pissed off boyfriend and Gareth. He gets shoved around a little, and he plants his feet, but the guy is fucking huge. He pushes Eddie out of the way, knocking him clean off his feet, and this asshole is absolutely gonna cold cock Gareth again while he's distracted, trying to get his nose to stop bleeding.

Eddie pops back up, but Goodie has already stepped in between Gareth and the guy that's determined to knock Gareth's lights out. 

"I don't think so," Goodie says.

"He's a fucking dickhead," the guy snaps, grabbing at Goodie's shoulder, trying to push through him. It doesn't work.

"Agreed," Goodie says, "but he's my fucking dickhead. So back the fuck off, or I'll lay your ass out."

Eddie thinks that's a stretch. He's never even seen Goodie throw a punch.

But this is their chance to escape, and Eddie grabs Gareth by the arm, squeezing as he pulls him through the people that have gathered to watch the disturbance. 

And Eddie doesn't stop until they're out the front door, down the street, and then he's shoving Gareth in the back of the van.

Eddie reaches up and presses on the overhead dome light, and looks to see how bad it is. It's not great, and Eddie's sure it's broken. 

"It's broken, ain't it?" Gareth asks, his voice thick and weird, since he isn't breathing out of his nose.

"I'd say so," Eddie answers, "I think-"

And then the front doors are being yanked open, Jeff barreling into the driver's seat, demanding, "Keys!"

Eddie fishes them out of his pocket, and then they are peeling away from the curb, the van rattling and jerking as Jeff puts the pedal to the metal. 

"My fucking hand!" Goodie yells over the road noise, and Eddie looks up to see that he's holding it in his other hand. "I'm gonna kill you, Gare!"

"What'd I do?!" Gareth screams, like he's totally innocent, and Eddie pushes him back into the captain's chair. They aren't gonna start a fight with each other on top of it. "She approached me! I didn't know she had a big, dumb boyfriend!"

And unfortunately, Eddie thinks that's true. 

But Eddie still wedges himself between Gareth and the wrath of Goodie, and grabs both headrests, "Did you finally hit someone and I fucking missed it?!"

Jeff is cackling as he puts distance between them all and the bar where they are surely never welcome to return.

"Fuck yes, he did," Jeff answers, "wasn't pretty, but did the job pretty damn good!"

"I think I broke my hand," Goodie huffs, and Eddie reaches forward, making Goodie show him. Makes him flex, and watches as Goodie winces. If Goodie's complaining, it's bad. Fuck. Goodie'd rather die than go to the doctor.

Eddie doesn't know if it's broken or not, but if two of the four of them probably need x-rays, the night has not gone to plan.

Eddie whips around and looks at Gareth, "Can you maybe keep it in your pants for a while after this? Goddamn."

And Gareth makes a noise of disgust as he leans his head back, holding fast food napkins to his face. Eddie cups his cheek, and gently takes the napkins away. Even with the swelling that is starting to really ramp up, it's definitely crooked. 

"Are there discounts for multiple x-rays?" Eddie asks, and Jeff laughs. 

Gareth whines, and Eddie puts the napkins back under his nostrils.

"I'm looking for hospital signs," Jeff says, and Eddie puts his hand on Gareth's knee. They've had bar fights before, but never anything that ended up this way. Fucking hell. 

"I can't have a fucking broken hand, how am I gonna play?" Goodie snaps from the front seat, like that's gonna make his hand any less fucked up. 

Eddie doesn't know. They'll figure it out. They always do.

X-rays done, Eddie and Jeff regroup outside the automatic hospital doors. Passing a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, between them.

"Boxer's fracture. Three to six weeks," Jeff says, relaying the diagnosis from Goodie's imaging.

"Broken nose. Three to six weeks," Eddie echoes, and they both laugh. 

"Well, at least they're on the same page for once," Jeff says.

"What now?"

A broken nose they could play through, but a hand? Not likely. 

"You could play the bass," Jeff suggests, and yeah, Eddie could. 

"We'll get Goodie a tambourine," Eddie teases.

"No, a cow bell," Jeff counters.

And they both laugh. Yeah, that wouldn't go over well.

"Mama Jones is gonna shit when she gets Gareth's insurance statement," Eddie says.

"Gareth better call home," Jeff says.

"Or we could all just go home," Eddie suggests. Because he's not sure they have the money to stay on the road, unable to play at their full capacity, for weeks.

Jeff sighs, but says, "Yeah. Just a little break."

"In Goodie's hand," Eddie snarks, because honestly, what a fucking ridiculous night.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[renova-writes]

lost in the pages. part 1

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1,350

warnings: none

a/n: I haven't written in forever so please forgive me. I'm trying to get back into it and I started this fit a while ago so I figured I'd finally post the first few chapters of it! I hope you like it!

masterlist

You had your nose fully engrossed in your book, ignoring the lunch you had set out to eat on the table next to you. You had been itching to read your latest story- a crime thriller- all morning, making the minutes agonizing, and once you finally took your lunch break the book was the first thing you thought about. 

Just as the story started to pick up, your coworker David ran into the break room. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, Betty needs you up at the front. Some guy showed up all serious and she had to take a meeting with him.” 

“What about you? I’m on lunch right now. Why can’t you get the front desk?”

“I got story time in five minutes. Unless you want to read ‘Cat In The Hat’?”

“No, thanks. I’ll take the front.” Children stressed you out, the way they could never sit still and pay attention. You were grateful for David and his endless patience.

The library you worked at in downtown Manhattan saw a fair amount of traffic. Unfortunately, everyone always seemed to come in right after you took your lunch break. There was a decent amount of books for one of New York’s oldest private libraries and only three full time employees. Betty, the head librarian, was about sixty years old and a kind old soul. She had been a librarian at this branch her entire life and defended her books with such ferocity that she had been given the nickname ‘the book witch’ by the snot-nosed little kids that mixed up the shelving in the children’s section and ‘old hag’ by the meaner ones . You swore that you saw her hit a teenager over the head with a book when he and his friends were eating in the library. David was an oddball. He was technically in charge of the technology, but the branch had only a handful of computers and, for the most part, relied on paper records to keep track of its books. In the two years you had been working with David, you never once saw him read a book unless he had to. He was a character, to say the least. 

You had been working at the library for the past two and a half years. Growing up you loved to read and went to college at NYU, studying Classic Literature before graduating a year early and deciding to get your degree in Master’s in Library and Information Science and become a librarian. You found your job to be incredibly rewarding but also very stressful. You liked helping people find new books and seeing them get excited about books. However, you were constantly hounded by mounds of paperwork and phone calls and constant organization. During your first week, you had made the mistake of re-organizing the disheveled back room and had apparently done such a good job that Betty decided to put you in charge of all things ‘organized’ and gave you control of the library’s extensive records. You assumed that you had managed it fairly well. Housing thousands of books and newspaper records whilst still using the Dewey Decimal system, it had been a nightmare to digitize everything. The project had occupied a few months of your time but at the end of it, nobody complained and all files were straightforward and easy to find. It was all smooth sailing. 

While sitting at the front desk that afternoon you longed for the book that you were forced to abandon in the break room. Your felt stomach start to complain about the ignored lunch and you were about to go back to grab your sandwich during a rare dead-period when Betty walked over with someone.

 The man next to Betty had messy dark brown hair and a neatly shaped goatee. He wore an old Black Sabbath t-shirt and shaded sunglasses and walked with such confidence and swagger that he was easily recognizable. Tony freaking Stark. 

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ you wondered to yourself. 

“Ah, Mr. Stark, this is who I was talking about. She’s the best librarian and archivist I have ever worked with.” Betty smiled through her rectangle glasses. 

“Thank you,” you beamed, slightly flustered by the compliment, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. All my prayers have been answered. You are really going to save my ass.” 

Though you had heard that Stark had a unique and slightly confusing way of talking, you were not expecting this. How could you help him? He was a genius. “How exactly am I going to do that, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony. I have a slight problem that I could use your help with.” He began, “Back when we were just starting out a few years ago, after the New York alien invasion disaster, we were supposed to log everything and do debriefs and paperwork and all that stuff but we didn’t exactly know what to do with all of it so it kind of all just got piled up in filing cabinets and boxes. That wasn’t that big of a problem but now we’re supposed to share our records with the UN and they’re a disaster. None of us have any idea how to do it- not that we have time to- so that’s where you come in.” 

“So you want me to organize it all for you?” 

“All of it, by March 26th.” Your eyes widened. That was only three weeks away. Who knows how bad it was? Still, it was Tony Stark and he would probably be willing to pay pretty well. 

“Just as long as Betty and David will be able to manage without me-” you began, but Betty interrupted your only excuse. 

“We’ll be fine, dear.” She smiled, and you could tell that she was trying to encourage you to take the job. The library would survive despite the massive increase in work that she and David would have to endure. 

You looked from her to Stark, who was leaning against the desk and smiling also, then back to Betty. You felt bad about leaving Betty and the library but the opportunity to work with Stark was too alluring. “Okay, okay. I’m in.”

“Okay great! That was easier than I thought it would be.” Tony said, clapping his hands and standing up straight. “I’ll see you at 9 tomorrow, Happy will give you more info, here’s my card,” his mouth was moving faster than you expected and words were being thrown out that you didn’t understand. Who was Happy? Did he want to meet you at the Avenger’s Tower? Before you had even realized what you just got yourself into, Tony Stark was out the door.

You breathed out, muttering a curse word that you hoped Betty didn’t hear. You stood up from the desk and she walked over to you. Clasping her hands around yours she smiled again, “Congratulations, I am so proud of you, dear.” 

“No fucking way, Tony Stark wants you to come organize the Avenger’s records!?” David asked for the millionth time while the two of you were sorting the book returns. 

“I swear to god, David, it was him.” You were starting to get annoyed. David seemed more excited about your job than you were. “I have no idea how bad it is. I only have three weeks to get everything in order.”

“Oh, shit, you might be screwed then. How long did it take for you to get this branch in order?”

“Two, three months. But I also had other stuff to do, it wasn’t like my main job.” 

“You’re gonna be fine. You’re smart and capable and it can’t be that bad. Plus just remember how much he’s probably gonna pay you.” 

“Yeah,” you began but a buzz in your pocket distracted you. You pulled it out to find a text from an unknown number “Hey, I bet this is him with the info, I’ll be right back.” 

This is Happy. 

Avengers tower, 9 o’clock, front entrance. 

Don’t be late. I will meet you in the lobby. 

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: It's time to collect a debt

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 4 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been

Time whisked by faster than a hound chasing a rabbit through tall grass. A week had already slipped through Kate's fingers since she first became a part of the camp. Initially planning just a brief stay, she found herself relishing the comforting routine it offered. There was always a warm fire to gather around, a hearty meal to share, and the camaraderie of her newfound friends. But amidst the stability, a yearning for adventure tugged at her heartstrings, urging her to break free from the confines of camp, even if only for a day.

Arthur's comings and goings became a familiar rhythm in the camp's bustling routine. Rarely catching more than a glimpse of him before he vanished on another errand for Dutch, Kate couldn't help but miss his presence. She admired his unwavering dedication to the gang's needs, even if it meant sacrificing his own rest and relaxation. The man seemed to be perpetually on the move, always ready to answer the call of duty, no matter the hour.

Determined to bridge the gap, Kate promised herself to lend a hand the next time Arthur returned to camp, as long as it didn't involve any unsavory activities like killing folk. Meanwhile, she found solace in the company of her fellow campmates. Abigail, Tilly, and Mary-Beth had become her trusted confidantes, bonding over laundry duties and exchanging juicy tidbits of camp gossip. Kate couldn't help but chuckle at the wealth of information she'd amassed about John, courtesy of Abigail's candid revelations. She could probably write a book with how much dirt she had on him. 

Kate also found companionship in the likes of Sadie and Lenny, often engaging in games of poker or dominos to while away the hours. Karen and Molly remained enigmatic figures, preferring to keep to themselves, though Kate respected their need for privacy, understanding the complexities of the situation, and Molly’s relationship with Dutch. 

Despite their infrequent interactions, Kate held out hope for a chance to connect with Charles, intrigued by the silent strength he exuded. Perhaps a shared hunt would provide the opportunity for meaningful conversation. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The girls were gathered around the makeshift wooden table, indulging in a lunch of meat and cheese when Micah swaggered over, looking for trouble as usual. Kate had endured the displeasure of conversing with Micah only twice in the past week, and neither encounter had been pleasant. She noticed his penchant for making inappropriate comments, particularly targeting the other girls. When he wasn't being lewd, he took pleasure in needling the other gang members, especially Lenny, Javier, and sometimes even Arthur. Kate knew Arthur would have put him in his place if Dutch hadn't always conveniently intervened. She fought the urge to punch his greasy face when he made a jab about Arthur's weight, as if he were one to talk. After all, Arthur deserved to eat his fill for all the hard work he put in. Micah was always stirring the pot, and today seemed to be no different.

“Which one of you ladies wants to feed me my lunch?” He said smugly, resting both hands on his gun belt and standing uncomfortably close. The girls chose to ignore him. 

“Is this how you treat the men who provide for you?” He exclaimed with annoyance. 

Kate kept her head down and continued to eat as she spoke, as if Micah were less than an ant, “What exactly have you provided for us Micah? I’ve never seen you bring in food, or money for the matter. You leave and come back with nothing.” 

Micah scoffed and sauntered to stand behind Kate, trying to intimidate her, “I provide information sweetheart, I risk my life out there getting leads for jobs.”

She laughed quietly and shook her head, “you poor thing ,” she mused, “I’ll keep you in my prayers.” The other girls giggled at her comment. 

Micah stepped closer to her back, she could almost feel the gut of his belly against her hair, “watch your mouth woman.” He threatened. 

Kate sighed and leaned her chin against her palm, bored with the conversation, “or what Micah?” She said with an eye-roll. 

She heard him take a deep breath, or rather felt it, as he threw personal space at the wind at this point. He bent down to her ear and said lowly, “maybe I should take you to my cot, and fuck that attitude out of you whore .” He growled.  

Kate dropped her fork and whipped her elbow around, turning her whole body with force. Micah yelped as her elbow met his nose with a soft wet crunch, bright red blood dripping through his fingers as he looked up between his brows in anger. She had wanted to do that since the day she met him, fed up with how he talks to the women of the camp. This act was for the girls. 

“You dont have a dick to fuck me with Micah. You’re a lousy fucken’ excuse for a man,” she declared standing tall, “talk to me like that again and I’ll make sure I’m holding my knife when I swing next time.” 

The other members watched in stunned silence as Dutch emerged from his tent, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Enough of that!" he shouted, his gravelly tone signaling an end to the confrontation.

Micah spat at Kate’s feet and walked away, still trying to stem the blood pouring from his nose. She couldn't help but smirk at the sight – it was definitely broken. Sometime during the commotion, Arthur returned to camp, entering from the tree line as Micah left. She nodded in greeting as he approached.

Before she could walk over to him, Dutch intercepted her, clearly annoyed that their squabble had disturbed him. “Kate, my dear friend,” he said in a brusque tone, “why don't you find some work outside of camp today? Hm? Go make yourself useful.” He patted her shoulder.

Kate furrowed her brows at his insinuation. How was this her fault? Micah had clearly started it; he was always stirring up trouble and never finishing it.

“Arthur!” Dutch called out to the approaching cowboy. “Take Kate with you today. On, whatever it is you’re doing.” He waved them off, sounding like a parent trying to pass on their troublesome child to someone else.

Arthur approached with a shrug, “uh, sure. But I just got back-”

“Herr Morgan!” interrupted a voice, causing Arthur to visibly sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The list of chores never seemed to end, and Arthur was always the one sent to handle them.

“Strauss,” Arthur acknowledged with a tired voice, turning around to greet the wiry old German.

“How is the debt collecting coming along? Have you collected from that fella Downes?” Strauss inquired.

“No…I have not,” Arthur answered flatly. 

“Well, as you know, Mister Morgan, we lent him quite a sum, and it seems he has little intention of paying it back,” Strauss explained as he followed Arthur, who was trying to grab a meal for himself after working all day. “You have not seen him yet, I take it?” 

Kate stood back, observing the conversation unfold, patiently waiting to talk to Arthur. He was clearly irritated by Strauss’ interruption but tried to maintain politeness as he continued the conversation. “I-I’m sorry, Strauss. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’ll go give him a gentle reminder.” 

“Not so gentle,” the German corrected. “I don't like his kind. They think they are superior. Please take care of this right away.” With that, Strauss made his exit. Kate knew he wasn't trying to be rude or demanding; it was just another task that, for some reason, Arthur was deemed best suited to handle.

As Arthur finished speaking with Strauss, he turned back to Kate with a tired yet apologetic expression. "Sorry ‘bout that. Looks like Dutch has volunteered us for another errand," he said with a weary smile. 

Kate grinned in response, unfazed by the prospect of more work, though she had sympathy for the man, he was clearly exhausted. "No worries, Arthur. I'm always up for the adventure," she replied casually, “wanna saddle up after you finish eating?” 

"Sounds perfect," Arthur nodded appreciatively, carrying his plate back to the table. The other girls had already cleaned up and returned to their tasks.

“That was a nice swing you pulled on Micah,” Arthur remarked between spoonfuls of stew, “ ‘bout time someone made that asshole bleed. Just wish I could’a done it sooner.”  

“I certainly enjoyed it,” Kate admitted with a smirk, “I hate the way he talks to everyone.” 

"Yeah, me too," Arthur agreed, his tone filled with frustration,  pushing the contents of the leftover stew around with his spoon. "I don't know why Dutch insists on keepin’ him around," he added, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard.

Kate leaned against the table, her gaze following Micah's path. "He ain't good for nothing aside from causing trouble," she remarked, her voice firm.

Arthur brought the bowl to his lips and drained the last of his stew and stood up, determination in his eyes. "I'd give anything to watch that shit-stain hang," he declared as they headed towards their horses.

Kate nodded in agreement. "Amen to that."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The Downes ranch was a short ride west, Arthur taking the lead as Kate rode beside him. Lorena whinnied with excitement at the chance to stretch her legs and run again. 

“How did things go with Mary?” Kate inquired, breaking the comfortable silence. She had been wanting to discuss it with him but hadn't found the opportunity amidst their busy lives.

“It went alright, I guess,” Arthur began, maintaining a steady trot as he settled into the saddle. “Saved her little brother from some crazy cult,” he added with a huff.

“A cult? Good Lord, I hope it wasn't those bastards with the pointy white hoods,” she exclaimed, a hint of concern in her voice. 

Arthur chuckled. “Nah, nothing that serious. They called themselves Chelonians, followers of the turtle or something,” he explained, shaking his head with amusement. “Hell if I know, they seemed like they were ready to jump off the cliff when I found them.” 

“Yikes, poor kid probably just looking for some kind of purpose in his life,” she remarked with sympathy. 

“Yup, ain't we all,” Arthur agreed, scanning the horizon before turning to Kate, “you a religious woman?” he asked curiously. 

Kate pondered the question for a moment before responding, “Sorta,” she shrugged, “I used to be, I was raised catholic. My mother was pretty involved in the Vatican before she came here, so she carried a lot of those beliefs with her.” 

“Pardon my ignorance, but um, what's a vatican?” 

Kate smiled at his question, “it’s a city, in Rome,” she answered, “s’posed to be the Center of Christianity.” 

Arthur’s eyes lit up with interest, “Rome? I thought you said you was from Boston?”

She couldn't help but laugh, “I am, my mother was from Rome,” she clarified, “anyways, after she died the whole religion thing didn't really stick. Although sometimes I still find myself prayin’, just don’t know to who.” 

Arthur nodded at her answer, taking in the new information. Kate spoke up again and reciprocated his question, “are you a religious man?” 

He shook his head firmly, “nah, I don't believe in nothin’.” 

“Oh c’mon, you gotta believe in something. What do you make of this mess we call life?” Kate teased, trying to prompt a more serious answer from him. 

He sighed, “I believe everything must happen for a reason, otherwise, what's the point of it all?” 

“Well that’s much better than nothing” she said with a smile, “but I bet that belief will drive ya crazy too,” she thought about her next question for a moment before finally asking it, “what do you make of death?” 

Arthur kept his gaze forward as they trotted, seemingly avoiding the question. After a moment, he spoke up again, his voice sounding small. “I don’t know anything ‘bout that either.”

Kate exhaled softly. “If I remember correctly, that agent, Milton, said you were wanted for murder,” she paused, “who’d ya kill?” She knew she was probably pushing her luck, but if he didn’t want to answer she wouldn’t pry. 

Arthur shot her a look from under the brim of his hat. “Damn, woman, you sure are forward, ain’t you?” His lips twitched in a small smile.

Kate shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just asking!” she said defensively. “You’re an interesting man, Arthur. The first time we met, you were robbing a stagecoach, telling me you're a railway worker. Next thing I know, I see you again, and suddenly you got a $5000 bounty on your head. Forgive a woman for asking.” She laughed.

He laughed and shook his head, “I’m afraid that's a story for another time friend,” he said, nudging his mare's side and picking up the pace, “c’mon it ain't far now, I’ll race ya.” He added, changing the subject. 

Arthur wasn’t afraid to admit he had killed people; he knew she would have left the gang a while ago had she felt she was in danger. But he worried about what she would think of him when he told her the whole truth. He felt like a fool; he wasn't pretending to be innocent, but he liked what he had with her. It was easy, it was natural, and he feared when she knew the truth, she would think differently of him, think less of him.

Kate yipped, and Lorena sprang into action, beginning their race along the final stretch to the ranch. As they rode, Arthur pulled on his reins ever so slightly, letting Kate take the lead. He watched as she whooped and hollered, riding past with a grin plastered on her face.

A heavy cloud settled over him; this wasn't just some silly horse race with a pretty lady. They were riding to collect a debt, a debt that needed to be repaid because his gang needed money. And money was what got them into this mess in the first place. If things had gone differently in Blackwater, they wouldn't even be here. Arthur shook his head at the memory, suddenly reminded of his situation. He’s a wanted man, an outlaw; he’s here on a job, and he would make damn sure it got done.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate admired the small ranch as they hitched their horses to a fence post out front. It was a cozy house with a neat garden, and sprawling plains for grazing animals. "Not a bad spot to make a living," she thought.

A woman sat on the porch swing, sewing something in her lap, while a young boy tended to the chickens nearby. In the garden, a man was busy with his vegetables. Arthur marched toward the man, presumably Mr. Downes, prompting Kate to quicken her pace to catch up.

"Thomas Downes!" Arthur's voice boomed, startling Kate. His tone was starkly different from how he usually spoke. She realized he was putting on a show of strength. Annoyed that he hadn't planned their approach together, she followed behind him.

“Thomas Downes!” He repeated, “you owe me money!” As Arthur swung open the garden gate with force, dirt kicked up into the air. 

Mr. Downes stood up, hands raised defensively, clutching a rake to his chest as if it were his shield against the impending confrontation, “oh, no-no I-I’m.” His voice trembled. 

Arthur approached him with heavy steps, each one more intimidating than the last, “c'mere you maggot,” he spat. With a swift motion, he ripped the rake from Mr. Downes' grasp, leaving Kate stunned into silence.  

"Please, sir, I-I have family, please," Mr. Downes pleaded, backing up against the opposite fence post. Kate followed them into the garden, her heart racing with unease as she witnessed Arthur's actions.  

As Arthur swung his fist into the man’s face, Kate gasped in horror. At the same moment, Mrs. Downes came running from the porch, her voice filled with desperation. "He’s not well! Please, mister, he’s not well!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with fear. She was about to join them in the garden when her son held her back, silently signaling that it was better for his father to bear the brunt of the punishment. Kate’s mouth tasted like vinegar, this was wrong. 

“You think I give a shit about your family?” Arthur spat, his voice dripping with contempt.  

“Why does it have to come to this?” Mr. Downes cried, shielding himself from Arthur's blows. “Please! Be reasonable!”  

“We ain't a charity, Mr. Downes,” Arthur lowered himself to the man's level, his tone softening slightly. “Believe me, I didn’t want this either,” he added quietly, his regret palpable.

With a forceful grip, he grabbed Mr. Downes by his collar and shoved him against the post, the impact enough to break one of his ribs.  

“That's enough, Arthur!” Kate roared, stepping closer, her eyes blazing with anger.

“I-I don't have the money,” Mr. Downes panted, struggling to catch his breath.  

Arthur looked around at the scene, his frustration evident. “Then sell your wife,” he spat out, his voice laced with malice, “sell your house, I don't care!” He raised a fist and stopped when he heard the familiar click of a revolver. 

He turned around to see Kate, pointing her gun at him, the expression on her face made his heart sink. There was no need for him to tell her the truth now, she saw everything she needed to see already. 

“I said, that’s enough,” she repeated, her voice firm. “Put him down.” Arthur released Mr. Downes, who collapsed to his knees, coughing up blood. His wife rushed to his side, her face etched with concern.

“You gonna shoot me?” Arthur's voice was filled with bitterness. “Shoot me and take the $5000? Huh? That's your plan,” he continued, growing more agitated with each passing moment. “Well, get on with it!” he shouted.

“How much does he owe you?” Kate's voice cut through the tension, devoid of emotion.

Arthur lowered his hands, “what?”

“How much does he owe you?” she repeated, her tone impatient.

“$20,” Arthur answered reluctantly.  

Kate holstered her weapon and pulled a wad of cash from her satchel, she counted out twenty bills and grabbed Arthur’s hand, shoving the money into his palm. 

“Here, no sense in killin’ a man over $20,” she turned to the family, “Mrs. Downes, I suggest you take that man to a doctor. I heard you say he was unwell, and he probably has a broken rib or two now.” 

Arthur stared at the money in his hand, his thoughts swirling like a storm. He wanted to hurl it to the ground and watch it burn.

The family lifted Mr. Downes and made their way to the wagon, “th-thank you,” she said, fear still evident in her voice. 

Kate watched them depart, her gaze lingering until the sounds of the wagon faded into the distance. Turning to Arthur, who stood before her like a statue carved from stone.

“What the fuck was that?” she scolded, her tone sharp like a whip.

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it, grappling for words like a fish out of water.

“You don't even have a reason do you? Beatin’ on a sick man like that? For $20?” Kate’s voice rose with each question.

As the seconds passed by Arthur felt embarrassment creep up his spine, his shame quickly manifesting into anger. “We ain’t a charity,” he finally muttered, repeating what he had said to Mr. Downes. His voice barely above a whisper, struggling to maintain his composure.

“So you resort to killing him,” she remarked, her voice tinged with disappointment as she observed his expression.

“I’m an outlaw Kate, I shoot first, ask questions later,” he spat. 

“Yeah well that's a dumb fucken philosophy,” she retorted sharply , “you’re sure as shit an outlaw. But you ain’t a fucking monster Arthur. That man was sick , he had no way of defending himself. Strauss could’ve waited for his money.” She finished, striding towards her mare. The sense of disillusionment weighed heavy in her heart. She had glimpsed Arthur's tough exterior when they first met at Emerald Ranch, but she never imagined it would lead to this. It made her stomach churn.

“If you don't like the way we do things then you can leave,” Arthur's voice came from behind her, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Kate stopped in her tracks, why does this hurt so much? She’d known them for only a week, but the thought of leaving filled her with dread. It wasn't just the familiar and simple daily tasks of cooking and cleaning that anchored her to the camp; it was the friendships she had forged. They were the closest thing she had to a family in a decade.

She drew in a shaky breath and regained her composure, not turning to face him yet, “do you ever stop and think about what all this senseless killing will turn you into?” Before he could answer she finished for him, turning to meet his gaze, “When you kill an innocent, you become a little less of a man and little more of an animal.”

Without missing a beat Arthur had his answer, “then what you’re looking at ain’t human.” He sauntered over to Kate with slow purposeful steps. His anger was still present, but as he drew closer she saw the look in his eyes. They looked dead, and devoid of color. The sun was setting behind the mountains to the north, and a frigid wind brought in dark heavy clouds. As if the sky was a reflection of the turmoil in his heart. Darkness covered him like a blanket of shame. A heavy, suffocating blanket just waiting to bury the truth. 

“My hands are so stained with blood,” he began, his voice wavering, “that I can’t even remember the face of the first innocent I killed,” he drew in a breath and looked at his boots, “that ain’t something you can change.” 

The wind picked up, carrying tiny bullets of rainwater that tickled against her face. She watched him, and her heart panged. She wasn’t ready to tell him, and perhaps she’ll never get the chance to. But she related to the outlaw, more than she ever anticipated. Her mind raced, bringing back memories of faceless bodies and blood stained skin. Kate pushed the memory down, swallowing it like a spoon of molasses. 

“I don’t intend to change that,” her voice, sounding like a whisper against the heavy wind. 

“Then what do you intend Kate,” his voice sounded coarse, like his throat was thick, “why does a woman like you hang around a bunch of outlaws?” 

Now it was Kate's turn to gape like a fish, she still didn't understand herself why she chose to stay. She wanted to think of them as family but she knew it was absurd, and most of the gang probably wouldn't feel the same way. 

Arthur waited for her answer. “It’s better than being alone,” she finally said, thunder rumbled in around them like a giant beating a drum. “And I like them, they're good people.” She added feeling like an idiot for having no real reason for her to stay. 

Arthur sighed and shook his head, turning to leave. 

And suddenly, she realized the answer was walking away ,“and, I like you.” 

When his eyes met hers, they were pleading, like it pained him to speak to her. “Then you’re a fool Kate. There ain’t nothing to like about me. I’m a bad man, and I ain’t gonna change.” He spoke as if he were reciting a poem he had memorized, the words flowing with such ease one would think he was trained, no , he was raised to believe it was true. 

“I can’t escape this life. I don’t know how to live any other way,” he sounded like a small child. 

“I don’t believe that Arthur,” Kate knew there was good in him, she’d seen it. And she considered herself to be a living testament that it’s not too late to change. She wanted to shout at him, to embrace him, to beat his chest and tell him to pick himself up and break the cycle . 

Instead, she stood silently as Arthur shook his head once more, walked over to his horse, and left her at the ranch. Without a word. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The journey back felt like a whirlwind, the cold rain pelting down relentlessly, soaking Kate to the bone.  She looked up to the familiar sound of a rowdy piano and drunken laughter, and was surprised to see herself outside the Valentine saloon. Having not paid much attention to her ride, her mind racing with thoughts, almost all of them about Arthur.

“Guess I should take the hint huh?” Kate chuckled wearily to Lorena, patting the mare's neck as she dismounted. She tied her under a small awning, sheltering from the downpour while she went in for a drink. 

As she knocked the mud off her boots, a familiar voice called her name. She turned to see Charles waving from the nearby gun shop. In the dim light, his silhouette was unmistakable as he jogged over to meet her.

“I thought I recognized you riding in,” he greeted. “This storm’s a real beast. What brings you out here?” concern evident in his voice.

Kate contemplated her response. It's a long story, is what she wanted to say. “I could ask you the same,” she replied with a faint smile.

“I was just getting some supplies for hunting,” Charles explained, gesturing to the rain. “Planned on leaving tonight, but it seems I'm stuck here for now.” 

“Bummer,” Kate remarked, her exhaustion seeping through her words. She craved a neat glass of whiskey to warm her aching bones. 

Charles narrowed his eyes, sensing her distress. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. 

She looked down at her boots and sighed, no sense in lying to him. It was clear she was upset. And she had been looking to talk to Charles more anyway. 

“Honestly,” she huffed, “no, I’m not. Arthur and I collected a debt today and Arthur was just-” she trailed, unsure what to say. Charles was his friend, and she didn’t want to bad mouth him. 

Understanding washed over Charles's face as he nodded sympathetically. “Arthur was being Arthur,” he murmured.

Kate bit her lip, “yeah.” Her disappointment deepened as she realized she had Arthur all wrong. 

“Let me buy you a drink,” Charles suggested, holding the saloon doors open with a warm smile.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

In a secluded corner upstairs, Kate slouched in a rickety chair, whiskey warming her insides. Charles, equally deep in his cups, listened attentively as she recounted the events at the Downes ranch.

“And then he told me I shoot first, ask questions later ,” she mimicked in Arthurs familiar southern drawl, “it's barbaric!” 

He chucked taking a swig of his drink, “that’s a dumb fucken philosophy,” he agreed.

Kate laughed as she slammed her glass on the table, “that's exactly what I said!”

They both laughed together over the coincidence, Kate’s heart felt lighter. It felt good to vent to someone, someone other than the girls. Not that she didn’t love them, but Charles was refreshing, he was new, and he was close to Arthur. She felt safe knowing that Charles saw a different side of him too. 

His laughter quieted and went back to his usual deep comforting tone, “I’m sorry Kate, Arthur is,” he hesitated, searching for the right answer, “a complicated man.” 

“I can see that,” she said quietly, her face still hot from a mix of whiskey and laughter. 

“The man has a heart of gold,” he added, “but it's buried deep beneath his outlaw code.” 

Kate didn’t understand, Charles was part of the same gang, but even he disapproved of his code, “I don’t get it,” she began, the words seemingly harder to pronounce, “you’s an outlaw too.”

Charles shook his head, his gaze steady, “I am, and I’ve had my moments, I’ll admit,” he lifted a hand as if he were swearing on a Bible, “but I don’t hurt innocent people.” Kate said nothing, choosing to stare at the water stains on the wooden table, her drunken vision making them twist shape. 

He leaned in closer, “there’s a good man within him Kate. But he is wrestling with a giant, and the giant wins. Time, and time again.” 

She thought she mumbled something along the lines of I know what that is like but the words barely came out. A heavy tiredness taking over, the alcohol bringing her down like a vessel struck in water. Kate heard a chuckle from Charles, in the next moment he was under her arm and leading her to a room. 

“Stay here tonight, get some sleep on an actual bed,” he urged softly. Kate made no protest as her head sank into the feathered pillow. Her body melted into the sheets. 

“I’ll be leaving in the morning,” he murmured from the doorway, “you should come hunting with me.” Kate tried to say yes, but all that came out was a hum, like a cicada quieting its song as darkness descended.

[thetaoofzoe]

‘It Was Fun to Be Wanted by Someone Like Elvis Presley’: An Interview With Darlene Love

The gifted singer reflects on Elvis’s collaborative presence and his relationship to gospel music

by MICHAEL MUSTO August 7, 2018

The swaggering real-life Jeff Koons statue named Elvis Presley is hot again. Eugene Jarecki’s June-released documentary The King involves a road trip taken in Elvis’s old Rolls to survey his impact on the culture and determine that the American dream the singer represented is officially dead. (But oh, when it lasted!) Even darker is the film’s exploration of Presley’s appropriation of African-American culture, covering songs like “Hound Dog” — originally a non-hit for the brilliant Big Mama Thornton — and making them rock and sell. For singers like Thornton, the American dream never existed.

Enter powerhouse singer Darlene Love, who is represented on another new project, Where No One Stands Alone, a fourteen-track compilation of Elvis’s gospel work due out August 10 on RCA/Legacy. The L.A.-born minister’s daughter started singing in the church choir at ten, on the road to being scooped up by producer Phil Spector to belt hits like “He’s a Rebel,” “Today I Met The Boy I’m Gonna Marry,” and “Christmas (Baby,Please Come Home).” The lead voice of such groups as the Blossoms and Bob B. Soxx & the Blue Jeans, Love ended up working as a maid in the Eighties, but when she heard one of her old hits on the radio while she was scrubbing, it inspired her to get back into performing full-time. Her appearance in the Oscar-winning 2013 documentary 20 Feet From Stardom was memorable, especially when it addressed the way Spector promised her a solo career, but gave other singers credit for her work.

I recently talked to Darlene about her backup singing for Elvis, and how she feels about the King’s relationship to the music he both co-opted and celebrated.

Hi, Darlene. What is some of the gospel work you did with Elvis?

There is “Let Us Pray,” the one from the movie we did with Elvis, Change of Habit. That was his last film.

It was in 1969, with Elvis as a doctor and Mary Tyler Moore as a nun.

We, the Blossoms, are in the first scene. And we were in his 1968 comeback special [Singer Presents … ELVIS].

His new gospel compilation album should be quite interesting.

They [recently] had me do some fill-ins, what we call ad libs, throughout the album to make it sound more gospel. I haven’t heard it yet. Hopefully it’s a wonderful thing.

Elvis went to church and listened to gospel singers to soak up what they did, right? 

Even today, it’s more mixed than it was in the Fifties and Sixties. Whites and blacks didn’t go to church together back then. What Elvis told me he would do — we had night service on Sunday night when we did what we called “praise songs.” A lot of them were songs he loved, what we called “hymn songs.”

We didn’t have air conditioners. We had pushup windows, with a little rope. Elvis said he would stand outside the church rather than going in, because they didn’t think black and white should be in the same churches together. He said he would listen through the windows. It gave him such a thrill. It’s a big difference between the way blacks sang gospel and the way whites sang gospel.

Do you feel he was dedicated to the music or he was just taking it for himself? 

I found out years later, when we were doing the comeback special, that his mother’s favorite music was gospel. He would always sing gospel around her. I think if he could have had a big career in gospel music, that’s where he would have been. But you can always make more money off secular hits. Elvis had 10 or 15,000 people come to his shows to see him. Today, they have mega churches that hold 25,000, but back then, you were doing great if you had 500 people.

I bet they have air conditioning now.

Oh, lord, yes. [Laughs] I lived in Texas for five years as a young kid with my father, and it was so hot we couldn’t even breathe. There was no air conditioning in church or the house. What a difference it makes to have a cool ensemble. You still sweat because of the energy, but back then, we were soaking wet, when we sang in church.

I love gospel music. If I had a calling — meaning from the Lord — just to sing gospel, I would have, but the secular music got to more people. I bet a lot of secular singers like Sam Cooke and Aretha Franklin felt the same way. They never paid us no money. “Do it unto the Lord.” “OK.” [Laughs] We would drive to the gigs and they’d give you an offering — gas money. They were hardly giving us a whole lot of money. But it was worth it, every penny of it. It was a wonderful experience singing gospel.

But was Elvis appropriating the music, or that’s just the way it was?

That’s just the way it was. A lot of people think a white person is copying the black person. He just loved the music and he was singing it the way he felt. He sang “Hound Dog” completely different than Mama Thornton. [Elvis’s version was rock, whereas Thornton’s was blues.] Even today, they take secular music and put it in gospel, and vice versa. You know, Elvis won three Grammys, and they were all for gospel records. 

What were your experiences like with Elvis?

One time, Elvis decided we’d all go to the movies. He bought this theater out that night.

What did you watch — Change of Habit?

Don’t even ask me. I don’t remember. [Laughs] We had a lot of free time when we were recording and when we were making the movie. That’s when the Blossoms and myself got a chance to know the gospel side of Elvis. He’d want to know the songs we knew. He’d get his guitar and say, “You know this song?” “Yes, we grew up on it.” He’d say, “Let’s do it.”

Was he funny or serious?

He was funny and he was serious sometimes. If he didn’t think he was doing great, he’d say, “Hey, girls, how’m I doing?” He was very, very funny. I call it that “country funny.” He would do his moves in the studio the way he was gonna do them onstage. It made it easy to be around him, but sometimes it was not easy because his bodyguards were keeping people from him. He wanted to be with the Blossoms, where he could pull out his guitar. We’d say, “We think you’d better go. You’re gonna get us in trouble.” We’d never forget, because he’d be giving us his personal time.

You’d just be hanging out and singing?

Yes! Whatever song he knew — “Amazing Grace” or “River of Jordan” or “Heaven Is a Wonderful Place” or “Sweet Hour of Prayer.” We called them hymns of the church. There was another one called “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior.” The Blossoms were known for their harmony. We’d harmonize with him. There’s something we had with Elvis that others didn’t have. It was fun to be wanted by someone like Elvis Presley.

He had tremendous respect for you.

Yes, he did. That was great. I always say he left us way too soon. He is where I plan to go one day, so I’ll see him again.

You were all rather young and great-looking. Was there any sexual tension in the air? 

There was. It could have been. But I was too scared to do anything.

You fool! [Laughs] Kidding. You wanted to keep it professional.

And I definitely did. Something about dating someone you’re working for, it takes away from that. “I know he’s never gonna look at me the same after this.” [Laughs] He’d start playing with me. He’d tap you on the shoulder or do a hip shake, and me and Elvis knew what that meant.

Flirting?

Yeah, I think so, and I think it showed his human side. I wasn’t bad-looking — and I was thin, too. [Laughs] He wanted to take out time and be around us. The reason we sang on his ’68 comeback special is he was the one that insisted that the Blossoms sing in the music section of the show.

So Elvis treated you better than Phil Spector did?

Oh my God, I’d say so.

That’s an easy one.

That’s a real easy one. Phil took advantage of me and my talent. With Elvis, he wanted us to work, and we got paid well. It wasn’t like Phil Spector cracking the whip and us running around!

[mrstsung]

Omfg these shang tsung pics be sending me

Cw: mini vent in there. Srry bout that.

Especially this last one. Omfg the face and reaction is how i feel about mk12/mk1

* (and personal vent here but the fact people just seems to me,never liked or truly appreciated shang until he was turned way younger and it pisses me off and grosses me out that people are obsessed with alan lees shang tsung's appearance,yet don't appreciate shang tsung as a character truly. Like honey i find shang hot young or old,but especially that dilf look,and love his complex character as well,we are not the fucking same,like i feel so much more can be done with his character yet people are too damn scaredy cat on it to do it properly. Also plz be normal about mr.alan lee,he doesn't deserve to be hounded by horny fangirls/guys like that,plz be normal about his shang tsung at least try to. He has amazing talent,he's a cool dude it seems,but damn man. Chill. I could say the same for Mr.Tagawa, tho that man has earned his dues and deserves rest and respect. I dunno man i just feel nobody truly loves the character and if they cant love him at his dilf and gilf look. Then they don't deserve him young,scholarly, and college guy age. Also it concerns me they gotta make everyone so young. It's disturbing. More so cuz there's no natural facelines or wrinkles or anything. It feel fake and airbrushed. Mk12/mk1 is so gross on the faces to me. Mk11 felt like fucking real people because they actually used face models. And it was better. Because maybe it's me but when they go freehand,it feels fake,wonky,and grossly dated and it's supposed to be a "new" game? Like i dunno maybe it's just me. But there's no shame in using actual references. But they dont wanna pay them and they wanna use them without giving them body autonomy. That's the problem. And that's where this becomes an issue. If they learned,they'd actually give the characters face lines and not make them so young and babyfaced and maybe im tired of games having people look like they are going thru a midlife crisis? I just feel mk11 didn't deserve the hate it got. And i am guilty i admit for harsh judgment. And i apologize. But i never knew the mk12/mk1 game was gonna be THAT bad. But it did,and it is,and for that i gotta say on a final note. Fuck 12.) *

But mk11 shang tsung,mk11 aftermath especially. His facial expressions are priceless.

And i feel it needs to be talked about more the charisma shang has in mk11. (Again not saying he never had it. He does. But nobody does sassy,rizz worthy,bad guy swagger lioe cary hiroyuki tagawa. Im sorry.)

[isthlsfate]

⌞ 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⌝

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: elvis presley/austin!elvis x black!reader, angst, fluff, sexual content (mdni), cursing, the colonel, racism, mentions of pregnancy, hints at ab*rtion, slightly possessive!elvis, inaccurate timeline, LONG

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the air is thick with anticipation, the heat of the summer night pressing down as you stand among the sea of people at russwood park.

though divided by skin color, the crowd hums with excitement. your heart thuds in your chest as you wait, eyes fixed on the stage.

you’ve seen him in pictures, on tv, but nothing could have prepared you for this—the moment when elvis presley takes the stage.

the lights dim, and a surge of screams erupts around you as he steps out, all swagger and confidence.

his black suit glints under the spotlights, the red tie around his neck standing out, and the world seems to tilt slightly as he steps up to the microphone.

your heart pounds in your ears as the crowd, like you, waits eagerly for his next move.

“there’s been a lot of talk about the new elvis…and you know, that other guy.”

elvis raises and wiggles his pinky, his smirk sending ripples through the audience, a mix of awe and wild adoration.

he mockingly croons ‘hound dog’, the familiar rhythm thrumming through you, but it’s when he begins to sing ‘trouble’ that something shifts.

the air becomes charged, electric. his voice drips with rebellion, teasing the crowd.

and then it happens.

his eyes meet yours.

for a brief, fleeting second, the rest of the world falls away. it’s just you and him, the connection sharp and undeniable.

you freeze, heat rushing to your face. elvis presley is looking at you, singling you out in a crowd of thousands.

your breath catches in your throat as he holds your gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he continues with the song.

but the crowd is wild, feeding off his energy, and as he moves across the stage, things start to spiral.

the excitement turns into chaos—people pushing, screaming, climbing over barriers.

the authorities had warned about this, about how his performances stirred up too much passion, too much rebellion. and now you’re seeing it, living it.

the crowd surges, and for a moment, you’re swept up in it, struggling to stay on your feet.

you flinch as officers start swinging their batons at your side of the crowd.

before you can process what’s happening, a strong hand grabs your wrist. you look up, startled, and there he is—elvis—pulling you through the madness, past the screaming fans and the frenzy.

his grip is firm but gentle, and you follow him without question, heart pounding in your chest.

he leads you out of the roar of the crowd, toward a waiting car—a sleek black cadillac gleaming. without thinking, you climb into the backseat beside him, your pulse racing, every sense heightened.

the door slams shut, and suddenly, it’s quiet. the chaos outside seems distant, unreal.

he turns to you, his face inches away. his eyes, even more captivating up close, hold a mix of concern and amusement.

“you alright, honey?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, laced with that unmistakable southern drawl.

you nod, breathless, still trying to make sense of everything.

“i think so.” you manage to say, your voice shaking.

he chuckles softly, a sound that sends warmth through you.

“didn’t mean to drag you into all that. crowds can get a little wild.” his smile is softer now, but no less mesmerizing.

before you can respond, you notice camera flashes through the car window—photographers capturing every second of this surreal moment.

panic flickers across your face.

what will they say? what will they write about this?

elvis seems to sense your worry. he leans back, running a hand through his sweaty hair with a sigh.

“looks like you’re part of the story now.” he says with a crooked grin. “tomorrow, they’ll be writin’ about this in every paper.”

you swallow, the weight of the situation sinking in.

“what’s going to happen now?”

he glances at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“well, can’t just send you back out there after all that.” he pauses, his smile widening, “guess you’ll have to come to graceland with me. lay low until this all blows over.”

you can hardly believe what you’re hearing, your pulse racing as the car pulls away from the chaos of the park. the idea of staying at graceland—with him—seems unreal, but there’s something thrilling about it too.

the way he looks at you, the way your heart races every time he smiles, makes you wonder if this could be the start of something more than just a crazy night.

as the car winds through the quiet streets, you steal a glance at him. you’re caught in his orbit now, and there’s no escaping it.

*

the days at graceland blur together, a strange blend of quiet moments and stolen glances.

elvis is busier than you’d imagined, always rehearsing, meeting with people, planning his next moves. but in between, you find yourself growing closer to him, sharing moments that feel like they’re just yours—ones that the outside world, with all its frenzy, could never touch.

it’s been months since that night at russwood park, and the tabloids are still buzzing. the colonel, elvis’s manager, has made it clear that you’re to stay out of sight until things die down.

every time you ask when you’ll be able to leave, he gives you the same answer: ”soon, honey. it’s just for your own good."

you can tell that it’s as much for elvis’s image as it is for your safety.

at first, it was strange—being hidden away in the vast mansion, moving through rooms you never imagined you’d see.

you spent hours by yourself, wondering how your life had taken such a surreal turn. but then, elvis started coming around more, seeking you out.

you’d share late-night talks in the kitchen over peanut butter and banana sandwiches, or he’d take you out on long drives when the world outside was asleep, just the two of you, the radio playing softly as he hummed along to the songs.

it’s in these quiet moments that you see the real elvis—not the larger-than-life figure the world knows, but the man behind the fame.

he’s funny, warm, and surprisingly thoughtful. he asks about your life, your dreams, and listens intently when you talk, like your words matter.

one evening, you’re both sitting in the backyard, the air warm and heavy with the scent of magnolias.

the sun is setting, casting a soft glow over the lawn.

elvis leans back in his chair, guitar resting on his knee, strumming lazily as he hums a tune under his breath.

you sit across from him, watching the way the fading light plays off his face.

“you know,” he says after a long stretch of comfortable silence, “it’s been real nice having you around. didn’t think i’d be saying that when all this craziness started.”

he glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

you feel your heart skip a beat at his words.

“i didn’t either.” you admit with a soft laugh. “it’s been... unexpected, but i’ve liked being here. with you.”

he stops strumming for a moment, his gaze holding yours.

“you’re different.” he says quietly, his voice almost thoughtful. “everyone always wants somethin’ from me. but you… i don’t know, you’re just you. and i like that.”

a warmth spreads through you, but before you can respond, the sound of footsteps interrupts the moment. the colonel appears, his expression unreadable.

he’s been watching you both closely these past few days, more than ever.

“elvis.” he says, his tone all business. “we need to talk. press is still stirring things up. we need to keep everything locked down for a bit longer.”

elvis sighs, glancing at you before turning to face him.

“what’re they sayin’ now?”

“more speculation. they don’t know who she is yet, but it’s getting harder to keep her out of the papers. we need to be careful.” his eyes flicker to you for a moment, and then back to elvis. “we don’t need any distractions right now.”

you feel a strange mix of guilt and frustration at being labeled a distraction, but elvis speaks before you can say anything.

“she’s not a distraction.” he says firmly, his voice calm but resolute. “i ain’t gonna hide her away forever, colonel.”

the colonel’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push back. he just gives a curt nod.

“i’ll give you two some time. but think about the bigger picture, son.” with that, he turns and walks back inside, leaving you and elvis alone again.

elvis leans back in his chair, shaking his head.

“man, he don’t know when to quit.”

you glance over at him, unsure of what to say.

“i don’t want to cause trouble for you, elvis. maybe it’s better if i leave, soon as the press moves on.”

he looks at you, his expression softening.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere.” his voice is low, but there’s no hesitation in it. “not unless you want to. i don’t care what the colonel says or what the papers write. i want you here. with me.”

your heart flutters at his words, the sincerity in his voice settling deep within you. the colonel may be trying to keep you hidden, but in this moment, it’s clear that elvis doesn’t want you anywhere else.

and maybe—just maybe—you don’t want to be anywhere else either.

the night stretches on, the weight of the colonel’s words still hanging in the air. elvis watches you, a softness returns to his expression, cutting through the tension.

he stands up from his chair and walks over, sitting down next to you, close enough that your knees brush.

the warmth of him sends a shiver up your spine.

“i don’t want you hidin’ in the shadows.” he says, his voice softer now. “i’ve been thinkin’ about it. i can’t just keep you a secret, no matter what the colonel or anyone else says.”

you bite your lip, searching his face for some hint of hesitation.

“but… the press, elvis. they’re already stirring things up without even knowing who i am. if they find out—”

“i don’t care.” he cuts you off, his voice firmer now, but not unkind. his hand reaches out, fingers gently brushing you face. “i’ve never been one to follow the rules. not when it comes to somethin’ that matters.”

your heart races at the intensity in his eyes.

you’ve seen that look before—on stage, when he’s in full command of the crowd—but here, it’s just for you. you can feel the walls you’ve built around your heart start to crumble.

“elvis…” you start, but your voice falters, the words lost as he leans in closer.

“i don’t want to play pretend.” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. “not with you. you’re the one thing that feels real in all this madness.”

the space between you closes as his lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s waiting for permission. you respond without thinking, leaning into him, your lips meeting his in a soft, tender kiss that makes everything else disappear.

the world fades away, leaving only the feel of his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his body pressed lightly against yours.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"i’ve been wantin’ to do that for a while now." he whispers, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“i was hoping you would.” you chuckle softly, still trying to steady your breathing.

his thumb traces your jawline, his voice lower, more serious now.

“i’ve fallen for you, darlin’. i don’t know when it happened exactly, but i know it’s real. and i ain’t about to let anyone—fans, the press, or even the colonel—take you away from me."

the confession sends a flood of warmth through you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

“i feel the same, elvis. i’m falling for you too.”

the moment feels raw, vulnerable.

for the first time since that wild night at russwood park, everything is out in the open.

you can see the tension leave his shoulders, a kind of relief washing over him.

he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“then it’s settled. we’ll tell the world. i don’t care what they think. you’re mine, and i want everyone to know.”

you lean into him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“you sure about that? it’s going to be a lot.”

“i’m sure.” he replies, no hesitation in his voice. “we’ll face it together.”

*

the announcement is everywhere.

headlines scream about elvis’s new romance, and the world reacts exactly the way you expected it to.

some fans are thrilled for him, but many aren’t. and then there are the tabloids, picking apart every detail of your life. your face is plastered across magazines, the headlines growing more vicious as the days pass.

‘who is the woman stealing elvis’s heart?’ one headline reads. but it’s the ones that call attention to your race that sting the most. ‘elvis’s secret black lover exposed!’ ‘elvis defies segregation with new flame!’

the implications are clear, and they aren’t kind.

the first time you see the hateful comments, you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. but when you show elvis, his reaction is immediate and fierce.

he tosses the magazine across the room, his eyes dark with anger.

“let ‘em talk.” he growls, pacing the living room. “they don’t know a damn thing about us. they’re just tryin’ to stir up trouble.”

you nod, but the sting is still there.

"it’s just… hard, you know? seeing it like that. i don’t want to be the reason people come after you. we’ve only been together a few months.”

he stops pacing and comes over to you, his hands gripping your arms gently but firmly.

"listen to me. i don’t care what anyone says, alright? i love you, and if they can’t handle that, it’s their problem, not ours." his voice softens, his forehead resting against yours. “you’re everything to me. don’t ever think you’re causing trouble. i’d fight the whole damn world for you if I had to.”

his protectiveness only grows as the press continues to dig into your life, and though it should feel suffocating, you find comfort in it.

he’s always by your side now—his arm draped around your shoulders in public, his hand holding yours tightly as if to ward off the world’s cruelty.

one night, as the two of you sit together on the couch, elvis speaks quietly, almost as if to himself.

"sometimes i think about how things might’ve been easier if i’d just kept quiet… but then i look at you, and i know i couldn’t have done it. i couldn’t have kept us hidden. you’re worth all of this. you always will be."

you smile softly, resting your head on his shoulder.

“i don’t care what the world says, elvis. as long as i’ve got you, i’m fine.”

his arms tighten around you, and you feel the weight of his devotion in every touch, every look.

the tabloids may hate you, some of the fans might too, but here in this moment, in his arms, none of that matters. elvis’s love is fierce, unyielding, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

*

the fairytale could only last so long.

you grew weary of constantly monitoring your every move and enduring the harsh words people threw at you.

as elvis grew busier, you felt increasingly alone. the colonel kept sending him from one place to another, and elvis, so absorbed in his image, seemed to have forgotten about you.

now, you sit on the bed, gazing off into the distance, tears welling in your eyes.

the room is dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow that does nothing to ease the tension hanging thick in the air.

elvis stands by the window, his silhouette framed by the heavy drapes, arms crossed over his chest. he’s wearing one of his sleek suits, the collar slightly open, but tonight the usual charm in his stance feels distant, almost cold.

"you really think that?" his voice is sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"i don’t know what to think anymore, elvis. it feels like i’m just... part of the show. like i’m just another move to piss off the colonel."

he spins around, eyes narrowing.

“the colonel? this ain't got nothing to do with him, and you know it."

your heart pounds in your chest, frustration mixing with a sadness you can’t quite shake.

"doesn’t it? everything you do seems to revolve around him! i’m just here for the ride, right? someone to throw in his face when he gets too controlling, another way to rebel!"

elvis steps closer, his gaze intense, his jaw set tight.

"you think i’d do that to you? to us?"

you meet his stare, refusing to back down.

"sometimes i wonder if 'us' even exists. or if i’m just caught in the middle of your war with him."

he looks away for a moment, running a hand through his dark hair, visibly frustrated.

“quit talkin’ crazy. it ain't like that."

"then what is it like?" your voice cracks despite yourself. "because it feels like i’m just another way for you to prove something—to him, to yourself. but i’m not a game piece, elvis. i’m a person."

his eyes meet yours again, softer this time but still defensive.

"you ain't no game piece. you’re more than that, more than all of this. don’t you see? you’re the only thing that makes sense in this whole damn circus."

you take a shaky breath, trying to push through the confusion and hurt.

“then why does it feel like i’m the one always getting caught in the crossfire?"

elvis moves toward you, his hands reaching out, but you step back, needing the space. his face falters slightly, his usual confidence dimming.

"i’m tryin’, darlin’. i really am. but this life... it’s complicated."

you nod slowly, the ache in your chest growing heavier as tears begin to fall.

"yeah, i know. but i need to know that you’re with me because of me, not because of some twisted need to defy him. otherwise, what’s the point? why don’t i just leave?”

elvis's eyes darken at your words, and something in him snaps. his voice erupts in a furious yell.

"like hell you’ll leave!" he slams his hand down, sending his belongings crashing off the dresser. "how dare you! i’m with you because i love you, not to prove a point. do you have any idea how much you mean to me? i’m not lettin’ you walk away."

his sudden outburst leaves you trembling, feeling small as you cower on the edge of his bed. you’d never seen this side of him before; you hadn’t even had an argument until now.

elvis’s anger quickly fades as he sees the fear in your eyes.

his expression softens, and he drops to his knees in front of you, his hands reaching out in a desperate plea.

“i’m sorry.” he says, his voice trembling with regret. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you. i’m just... so afraid of losin’ you. please, don’t be afraid of me. i love you, and i’m not tryin’ to hurt you. i’ll do anythin’ to make this right.”

you watch him, the raw honesty in his voice softening the edge of your sadness.

"i just want to believe that. to believe that what we have is real and not just another way to stick it to the colonel."

elvis takes a deep breath, his tear struck eyes searching yours.

"i get it. i really do. and i promise you, honey, it’s real. if you can give me a chance, i’ll show you."

you consider his words, the weight of the argument still heavy but slightly relieved.

"please, don’t make me regret it."

he nods, a look of genuine relief crossing his face as he thumbs away your tears.

“i won’t. i swear."

you lean in, your lips meeting his in a gentle kiss that quickly deepens into something more urgent. elvis responds with the same hunger, having craved your touch far longer than he’d ever admit.

in one swift motion, he pushes you onto the bed, his body hovering just above yours as your kiss turns wild, a mess of lips and teeth.

a soft moan escapes you when you feel his hips press against yours. instinctively, your hands find their way to his scalp, fingers tangling in his hair.

you pull away just enough to speak, lips still grazing his as you whisper.

“show me you mean it.”

elvis’s gaze softens with adoration, like you’ve hung the stars just for him.

clothes are discarded in a rush, the cool silk sheets brushing against your skin, amplifying every sensation.

you’re wrapped in each other—breathless gasps, whispered ‘i love you’s and the soft creak of the bed filling the room.

one deep thrust from elvis has your back arching off the bed, a sound of pleasure escaping your lips.

he smirks, unable to hide his satisfaction, seeing you unravel beneath him, because of him.

your moans spur him on, his breathing heavy as he nears his breaking point.

leaning close, he whispers into your ear.

“let go for me, baby.” he presses a tender kiss just below it.

your eyes flutter open, wanting to memorize the moment, unashamed and fully present.

“i love you.” you whimper, the pleasure building inside you, ready to burst.

his hips stutter as he loses control, the vulnerability in his expression—the furrowed brow, parted lips—sending you over the edge with him.

he kisses you softly once more before collapsing beside you, pulling you into his arms.

your head rests against his chest, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

“i love you, darlin’. don’t ever doubt that.”

you hum in response, the weight of sleep quickly pulling you under.

*

things were finally getting better, much to your relief. elvis was more attentive—bringing you along whenever possible, planning quiet nights for just the two of you, and always reassuring you with his love.

but as always, life had a way of reminding you it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

your hands tremble as you sit on the examination bed, the doctor speaking words that don’t quite register.

the ringing in your ears drowns everything out.

a hand suddenly grips your shoulder, and you flinch. the colonel stands beside you, his gaze cold and unforgiving.

“do you understand what the doctor’s telling you?” he asks, his voice sharp.

you nod, though your mind feels sluggish, still struggling to process.

all you wanted was for elvis to be here with you, but the memory of how today unfolded sends a wave of nausea through you.

sitting alone in the kitchen, the queasiness hitting hard, barely making it to the bathroom before breakfast came back up.

the colonel had found you there, immediately sneering and dragging you to the doctor to confirm his suspicions.

“elvis is not to hear a word of this.” the colonel instructs the doctor, slipping him money.

“w-what’s going to happen?” you stammer, finally finding your voice. both men turn to look at you, as if they’d forgotten your presence.

the colonel lets out a dry chuckle.

“you’ll return tomorrow for a small procedure, then we’ll take you home like nothing ever happened.”

your heart races, dread flooding your veins as you realize what he means.

“no, no. you can’t do that. elvis would never forgive you.”

“that’s why he won’t find out, right?” he raises an eyebrow, daring you to defy him.

“you’re despicable!” you shout, jumping off the bed, rushing toward the door.

the colonel grabs your arm, his grip tight and unyielding.

you can see it in his eyes—he’ll never respect you, never care about your relationship with elvis. since the moment you entered his life eight months ago, you’ve been nothing but an obstacle to the colonel’s ambitions.

“if you care about him, you’ll do what’s necessary.”

you scoff, yanking your arm from his grasp, bolting out to the car.

when you get home, relief washes over you at the sight of elvis in the music room, absentmindedly playing the piano.

“there you are, honey.” he calls out, a warm smile on his face. “i was wonderin’ where you went. i got a lot done today—wrote some songs i think you’ll love—“

his words stop abruptly as he hears your soft, broken sob.

his head snaps up, and he’s on his feet in an instant, rushing to catch you as you struggle to hold it together.

his heart pounds as he pulls you into his chest, cradling you gently, one hand stroking your head, the other wrapped around your waist.

elvis guides you to the couch, sitting you down carefully. his eyes search your face for any sign of what’s wrong, but he can’t piece it together.

“talk to me, baby.” he pleads softly.

“the colonel... i’m preg—he won’t let me keep it—i’m scared.” you manage to choke out between hiccupping sobs.

“whoa, whoa, slow down, honey. i can’t understand.” he says gently, thumbing away the tears that streak your cheeks.

you take a shaky breath, your lips trembling.

“i’m pregnant.” you finally whisper. you watch elvis’s face light up with excitement, but before he can react, you continue, “the colonel set up an appointment for tomorrow. he says it’s what’s best for your career. says a child will ruin your image.”

silence hangs in the air as you try to make sense of the expression on elvis’s face.

by now, you’ve seen every side of him, but this look is unfamiliar, unreadable.

before you can say anything more, the door swings open. the man you despise strolls in, wearing that same cocky grin.

you don’t have time to react as elvis lunges at him, rage burning in his eyes.

sonny and red burst into the room, grabbing elvis by the arms, barely managing to hold him back.

"you piece of shit! don’t you ever talk to her again, you hear me? don’t come near her!"

you’d seen elvis angry before, but this was different—this was a fury you hadn’t known he was capable of.

spit flies from his mouth as he hurls insults at the colonel, his face flushed red with rage, arms flailing wildly as he struggles to break free from sonny and red’s grip.

"calm down, son. i’m only looking out for your best interests."

elvis lets out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, utterly disgusted by the man standing before him.

"she," he gestures to you, "is my best interest. my only interest. i oughta shoot you in your fat, goddamn face."

"elvis aaron presley!" you scold, unable to let the situation escalate any further. you wouldn’t let him stoop to the colonel’s level.

elvis stops fighting against red and sonny’s hold, running a hand over his face in frustration, but they stay between him and the colonel, just in case.

he shoots one last venomous look at the man.

"you’re fired."

you can feel the weight of the colonel’s icy glare on you, but you turn away as elvis grabs your hand, leading you upstairs without another word.

"see him out.” he calls to his men, receiving a firm "yes, boss" in response.

when you reach the bedroom, a heavy silence fills the air.

elvis goes straight to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. he emerges a moment later, sighing deeply as he sits beside you on the bed.

"i’m sorry—"

"don’t you dare." he interrupts, his voice breaking in a way that startles you. you looked up to see him on the verge of tears, his usual composure cracking.

gently, you cup his chin, guiding his face toward yours, and that’s all it takes for him to break completely.

your heart aches at the sound of his sobs, and you pull him close, shushing him softly as you fight back your own tears.

"i feel like i failed you.” he cries, his voice shaking. "i trusted him, ignored all the shit he pulled, and it nearly cost me our child."

you wipe his tears away, pressing a tender kiss to his trembling lips.

"it’s not your fault, baby. he was supposed to look out for you, but he only cares about himself. you didn’t see it, but that doesn’t mean i blame you."

he nods, resting his forehead against yours, his breathing still uneven but slowing down.

"you’re never leaving my side again." he whispers, the rawness in his voice making it a promise.

you smile softly.

"i wouldn’t want it any other way."

*

years have passed since that heated night, and now, elvis’s career has soared to new heights, all without the shadow of the colonel.

the once tumultuous whirlwind of fame has settled into a thriving, creative journey.

filming movies and releasing hit songs, elvis’s name shines brighter than ever, and he’s made sure to include you and your little family every step of the way.

as you sit on a sunny afternoon, watching your six-year-old daughter play with the same carefree joy you’ve seen in elvis countless times, you can’t help but reflect on how far you’ve come.

elvis, now in his late twenties, is equally captivated by his role as a father and husband, balancing his incredible career with precious moments spent with you both.

you find yourself reminiscing about the fateful night that started it all.

it was a chance encounter, so ordinary at the time, but one that blossomed into this extraordinary life.

sitting together with elvis, you share a quiet smile. the memories of how you met, the ups and downs, and the journey that brought you here are now woven into the fabric of your life.

it’s a testament to the fact that sometimes, the most unexpected beginnings can lead to the most wonderful endings.

with elvis by your side, and your daughter’s laughter filling the air, you know that every step of the journey has been worth it.

___

taglist: @dhimpson @powerofelvis @ab4eva @crash-and-cure

i hope it’s okay that i’ve tagged you all, you’re just some of my favorite blogs that come to mind! if you’d like to be removed or if anyone would like to be added, please let me know <3

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

Yvonne Elliman (1951-) solo Songs: "If I Can't Have You," "I Don't Know How to Love Him" Propaganda: see visual

Big Mama Thornton (1926-1984) solo Songs: "Hound Dog," "Ball and Chain" Propaganda: "known for her swagger and larger-than-life presence, big mama thornton was a blues and r&b singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist who was a key figure in the lineage of rock & roll. a self-taught musician, she started touring as a teenager and was quickly dubbed "the new bessie smith". to quote the rock & roll hall of fame: "Thornton’s live performances were legendary. Standing just as tall – if not towering over – the men with whom she shared the stage, Thornton not only sang harder than her male contemporaries, she reportedly also outperformed and outdrank them nightly." inspired by seeing her perform, songwriting duo jerry lieber and mike stoller wrote "hound dog" for her which became a hit, topping the r&b charts for seven weeks and selling over half a million copies (three years later it became an even bigger hit for some guy named elvis). she also wrote the song "ball and chain" which janis joplin covered and popularized in the 60s."

Visual Propaganda for Yvonne Elliman:

Visual Propaganda for Big Mama Thornton:

[lostinlewis]

Miami....

Rating: M

Words: 3336

Miami, it held so much potential. A place that was blessed with heat more often than not, a place filled with the best food, the best parties, and a culture quite unlike another. Miami was supposed to be the chance for you both to let loose for a week, it was supposed to be where the months of hard work, the weeks apart as he raced across the world whilst you stayed home, all paid off. This was the week that granted you both enough time, and privacy, to really enjoy your relationship. That fell to the wayside a few hours after arrival. 

The sun rays burned into your skin as you walked through the paddock alone, for the first time ever. You were very aware that should anyone spot you, Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend, alone and having arrived before he did, you would be hounded with a thousand questions. You thanked all of the Gods for how ridiculously crowded the paddock was today, normally you would have struggled with a crowd this size, but today it allowed you to blend in, to disappear amongst the sea of other overdressed people, as you headed straight for general hospitality, rather than your usual Mercedes suite. 

You were almost there, your destination and hiding place for the day was within your eye line now but all at once you felt the atmosphere of the paddock change and you knew what that meant. First there was a silence that fell, you often thought of it as an awestruck pause in the world, a moment when the crowds forgot their conversations and all turned to look at the usual culprit. Then there was the sudden excitement that hit all at once, where the once muted crowd of spectators, both fan and photographer alike, chattered with enthusiasm. Lewis had arrived. 

Fuck. 

You cursed the fact he had arrived early, well early by his standards anyway, you cursed the fact you hadn’t yet arrived at your hiding spot and quickly you looked around you for shelter. There was not one single part of you that wanted him to notice you, but every single part of you wanted to see him. 

Stood in the entrance of the Ferrari hospitality suite, you peeked down the paddock to where the crowds had gathered, unable to see him at first due to his not so tall frame, but when you did, it quite literally took your breath away. 

Double fuck. 

Lewis always looked good, in fact in all of the many months you had been together you had never seen him look anything but impossibly good looking at all times, but today…today he had outdone even himself. 

He sauntered through the paddock, the swagger of his walk was laced with the knowledge of how undeniably good he looked. Dressed in a tracksuit of which it was mainly red but for a few smaller grey sections, from a distance it looked pretty normal for him but you knew better, you could see those tattoos for which you had traced with your tongue many a time, he had his Adonis like body on full display to the world and you knew the next few minutes were about to be a torture like no other.

You looked down at your dress and shook your head, Law Roach had done it once again, had you been with Lewis as planned, you would have matched perfectly with his outfit. You couldn’t deny the fact that today’s looks were the kind that fans would fawn over for months, even years, to come. Thanks to Lewis, everyone was being denied that opportunity. 

Photographers fell over each other, and themselves, as they raced after him to get the perfect picture as he made his way directly to the Mercedes garage. The ten minutes it took between Lewis arriving at a paddock and Lewis reaching the Mercedes garage every race weekend played out exactly the same. The photographers all knew the fans would go wild for a picture of him, but especially for a picture of him looking like that. Sometimes you would beat them to it, on a race weekend of which you thought he looked exceptionally good, you would take a candid photo of him for your Instagram story, before even arriving at the track. It was your little way to give the fans a little something of what they wanted, Lewis just being Lewis, something you were one of the few who ever got to see that. 

You thought you were hidden enough out of sight, you thought it impossible for him to spot you, but you were wrong. As he walked past the Ferrari suite, he waited until he was directly in front of you to turn towards you, his walking pace having slowed quite considerably but he never stopped completely. No one else would notice him stare, he was subtle, but his gaze was anything but. His eyes trailed from your own, slowly drawing down your whole body, his smirk growing with intensity as he took you in fully. 

You were fairly certain you had not breathed the whole time in which he scanned you, Lewis’ attention often did that to you. Whilst he looked, it gave you the chance to look at him, to really look at him. There was not one single flaw on the man, his hair braided to perfection, his skin flawless, his body something most men dreamt of, he was incredible, both inside and out, yet all you could focus on was the not quite tight enough tied drawstrings that just about held up his pants. Within seconds, your mind wandered to how easy it would be for you to untie them, to pull the drawstrings apart, and get to the part of him you could never resist.  

He was yours, your boyfriend, the unequivocal love of your life. Nothing about Miami was fair, not the argument you had the first day you arrived, not the fact that he had been kept from you all weekend, and definitely not the fact that he would now be walking around all day with you absent from your usual spot by his side. You didn’t take your eyes off of him as he moved past you, and into the Mercedes garage. You couldn’t deny it, he looked good but more importantly, more heartbreaking, he looked single. Did he think he was single? Was he single? Nothing about the last 48 hours answered that uneasy question. 

The bottom of a Mojito glass was the perfect place to drown your sorrows, that’s why you had so quickly moved onto your second, and then third, hoping to make it through the day as numb as possible. You were tired of feeling, you were exhausted by the question of Lewis being single pummelling you from the inside out. You were about to order your fourth when your phone screen lit up on the table next to where your glass sat, ‘Lewis’.

‘Is it bothering you yet?’ 

‘What?’

‘The fact that I look this good today. You could be with me in this room right now, taking what is yours, yet you’re sitting three cocktails deep in general hospitality.’ 

You looked around you to see if he was there, how did he know exactly what you were doing? But of course he wasn’t, he just had security sat a few tables away to watch over you. Even when you were fighting, his priority was your safety. 

‘I want you here, with me.’

A message that tugged at your heartstrings until your aggravation took hold once more. A message that before this weekend, you would have swooned over for hours, now felt empty, like something he just said when he was overcome with desire, not love. 

‘Maybe those girls will appreciate the way you look in my absence.’ 

Lewis didn’t reply after your last message, you knew he wouldn’t. It was a fly away comment that triggered this fight, your longest and most serious to date, a comment in remembrance with his friend as he recalled a New Years Eve he had spent right here in Miami a few years ago. At first you were barely even paying attention to the conversation they were having, you were used to them reminiscing about the memories they shared, it wasn’t until you heard the enthusiasm in his voice as he recounted a private party they had back in his hotel room, that you really began to listen. 

You weren’t ignorant to the fact he was very liberal with his dick before you, you knew that before you even went on your first date and it didn’t bother you, much. You had never been the jealous type, never been one to obsess over your partners talking to or about anyone else, yet hearing him retell a night, minus the gritty details for your benefit, was a whole different matter. His voice was filled with excitement, but worst of all, it sounded like he missed it, like he missed being single, and it ate away at you from the moment you heard it. 

There was a coldness about you for the rest of that night, and for a while he didn’t seem to notice, but the moment he did, he didn’t stop asking you what was wrong, right up until you exploded at him when you were finally alone together. 

“Babe, what is your problem tonight?” The frustration in his voice was clear as you brushed him away when he went in to kiss you. 

“You really want to know? It was that story, those girls...” 

Lewis rolled his eyes and left you where you stood, to throw himself down on the end of the bed in frustration. 

“Am I supposed to never speak about life before you? Babe, you knew when you met me that I had a past.” 

“It’s not your past, Lewis, it’s the way you tell it. You miss it, you miss being single, and it shows.” 

“You’re being ridiculous right now. We’ve been in Miami only a few hours and already you’re ruining it.” 

“I’m ruining it? Fine. I’ll make your time here real easy for you.” 

That was the last thing you said before you left. You left the room, you left him, and now it had been two days since you last spoke, before that little text exchange that was. Sure, he had attempted to reach out to you a few times. Missed calls late at night, when you knew he was avoiding sleep, but you never once called him back, you had nothing to say to him anyway.

You watched both FP3 and qualifying from a foreign place, amongst the guests that had paid extortionate amounts to be there, yet none of them really seemed to pay attention to the actual motor racing and instead spent their time taking selfies and getting incredibly drunk. You paid attention though, you watched him struggle with his god awful car, your stomach engulfed in the usual nervous butterflies as you willed him to just make it through safely. 

‘Congrats on P6, good job.’

The intention behind your message to Lewis was not to initiate conversation, more to congratulate him after the hardest start to a season he had had in such a long time, yet you couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he didn’t respond. What did you want from him? You weren't sure. 

On what must have been the hundredth check of your phone to see if you had missed his notification, there was a knock on your hotel room door. You were trying your best to ignore it, nothing good ever came from an unexpected knock at night, but the person was persistent, the knocks got louder until you had no choice but to answer it.

“What are you-“

Before you even had a chance to finish your sentence, Lewis walked past you and into your room. 

“As you won’t come to me, I thought I would come to you.” The distance between you both grew smaller as he made his way towards you. “You looked beautiful today, that dress…it was all I could think about.” 

“Lewis…I-“ 

Your words interrupted once more as he stood only inches from you now, stroking his fingers down the side of your face whilst he stared into your eyes. He was touching you, studying you, as if this was the first time he ever had; you were as nervous as you were the first time you were alone with him, too. 

“You really think I would even look at someone else when I have you?” His finger brushed over your pursed lips, his eyes following its direction. “Your jealousy is sweet but completely unnecessary, you’re all I think about, you’re all I need…”

With his words not quite hitting the way he wanted them to, his other hand reached for yours and placed it on the part of him that would show you. 

“This is what you do to me, do you feel how fast it’s beating?” You didn’t pull away, instead the elevated beat of his heart was quite endearing. “And this…”

Lewis moved your hand down his body until you felt your favourite part of him, swollen and hungry for you. 

“I’ve been hard since I saw you in the paddock earlier today. Do you understand now?” 

You nodded your head rather unconvincingly, you wanted to believe, you really did, but a small speck of doubt lingered within you. 

“Baby, you are all I think about, you are more than I could ever hope for in a woman, you are-“

You interrupted his sentence this time, you threw yourself at him as if drawn to him by a magnetic field, you kissed him. 

For a while you stayed in the same position, your lips joined, your body so close against his you could feel his heartbeat with the same rapidness as before, your closed fists rested against his chest. 

Lewis placed both hands on either side of your face as he pulled away from you, not wanting to break complete contact, as he looked at you once more. 

“Let me show you.”

You gasped as Lewis bent down and picked you up in one quick scoop. Your thighs crashed against his huge biceps and your ankles locked together behind his back. It was only a few steps to the bedroom, but for those few steps you took in as much of him as possible. 

His eyelashes enviably long, fluttered with vigour as he fought back the urge to take you on the floor right then and there. His lips tinged with the colour of your lipstick, were swollen from the intensity of your kisses. His smell, a musk combined with his natural scent, played to your attraction to him. Nothing attracted you quite like his smell did, you quite often laid on him post workout, just to smell the scent you loved the most. 

Sometimes Lewis would throw you down on the bed with little care, so desperate he was to be inside of you, but not tonight; tonight he laid you down as if you were the most delicate flower before he climbed on top of you. 

It was unclear who made the move, it was unclear which one of you stripped the other first, but in between an entanglement of kisses, you found yourselves bare but for the body of the other. 

He rose up on his hands placed either side of your head, his gaze unable to break from yours as you felt him press into you. Your lips parted with a gasp as he stretched you, his with a soft groan. You had both felt this moment a thousand times before, the first thrust, but it never failed to surprise you both with how good it felt. 

Lewis thrust in and out of you slowly at first, his eyes still locked on you as he watched your face contort with the pleasure every stroke gave you. It didn’t take long for him to fall into a rhythm he always favoured, with your legs hooked over his shoulders, he stroked you deeper now, with a quicker pace.

“Take it, beautiful, take all of it…it’s yours, only yours.” 

Faster now, with strokes that seemed to hit you deeper each time. He knew it wouldn’t be much longer for you now, he could feel your orgasm teeter near the surface before you even knew it was there. He was so attuned to your body, so perfectly able to provide exactly what you needed, at times you were adamant his dick was quite literally made to fit you. 

Your nails drew along his broad back as your breathing laboured to a halt, your orgasm was so close now, his was too. He groaned louder, his stride almost broken by every contraction of your walls, every whimper that escaped your lips. He was trying his hardest to hold on, to wait for you to ride your high out for as long as possible, he always did, but right now it was impossible. 

His own explosion hit with a sloppiness quite unlike him, the moment he felt your finish, he let out a curse word as if he wasn’t expecting it and then thrust deep inside you, releasing everything he had as he moaned out to you in appreciation. 

“Thank you, Baby. Thank you, thank you…” 

Lewis didn’t move, he didn’t climb off of you to roll over and recover, nor did he immediately rush to clean himself up; he stayed with you, he stayed inside of you, he always did. With the little energy he had left in him, he soothed you to sleep underneath him with the softest kisses, whilst he thrust ever so gently inside of you, desperate to feel the tightness of your walls around him for as long as possible. 

“What are you doing?” You were awoken by the sounds of Lewis shuffling around the room, placing your clothes inside the bags you had taken with you. 

“Packing your things, you’re coming back with me.” 

“Can this not wait until tomorrow? I’m tired, come back to bed. Please.” 

Checking your phone, you realised it was 2:30am, a ludicrous time for Lewis to be packing your things. 

“Ange will be coming to get me early in the morning for our run, I need to be in my room when she does.” 

“Fine, I’ll come by when you’re back then.” 

“No babe, you don’t understand.” Lewis sat on the edge of the bed where you lay. “I want to come back to you, curled up in bed, just like now. I want to climb in beside you, still sweaty from my run, and lay with you for the few short hours before I race.”

“That’s sweet, but can I not just sleep for a little while longer?”

“They are the moments I cherish most, you know? Not the parties, not the sex, those little moments.” He leant forward to kiss you. “My job is so dangerous that us laying together in bed before a race might be one of the last things I ever do.”

“Lewis, don’t talk like that…”

“No, you need to know. You need to know that if it happens, if I’ve spent my last few hours curled up with you in bed, just existing together, then I couldn’t think of a better way to spend them.” 

You both knew it would have been wiser to take ten minutes to head back to his room before you found yourself making love once more, but neither one of you could wait. There was never a moment with more serenity than when you were laid with Lewis on top of you, inside of you, gently rocking just enough to please you both and if you were completely honest, it was that moment that rid you of any lingering speck of jealousy. Lewis loved you, you could feel it with every stroke. 

[loveandlegacy]

also ok i think having a mural of jinx and vander together is an interesting choice that feels sort of ominous because of what is probably about to happen with vander. like in that mural they are both framed very hopefully, vander in life was "the hound of the underground" which has a kind of swaggering-leader vibe to it but warwick is "the uncaged wrath of zaun". if that's what's to become of one of jinx's father figures what does that mural imply about the disjuncture between jinx the symbol and jinx the person in the eyes of the people of zaun

[landwriter]

2!

Hounds of Love by The Futureheads. Oh! What a gem!! I first loved this song when I was a wee bab and rediscovered it this past summer. It, along with all my top songs, was on a summer driving playlist which is why it is so insanely high haha. There's a sort of lovely pastoral wildness to this and I think that suits our lads so well.

An outdoorsy AU with competence kink out the wazoo, where Dream is a bird specialist at a wildlife rehabilitative centre, who becomes a minor TikTok celebrity (much to his enormous apathy) when the centre starts doing interpretive meet-birds events and the internet falls in love with this dour hottie who only smiles when he's talking about birds (Matthew, naturally, runs the account). Hob is a hunter - bow, mostly - who is regrettably very on TikTok, very on all social media - he hates the term but he is unquestionably an 'influencer'. He just likes sharing his knowledge and passion, alright? And the gear sponsorships are nice.

He sees Dream, and sees, mostly, a really great collab opportunity, so he messages him, and Dream (who is Matthew, and just shouted HOB FUCKING GADLING? IN MY DMs? at his phone when he got the message, immediately sets up a meeting at the centre. Then he breaks the news to Dream, specifically when Dream is holding Jessamy, so he can't be murdered.)

Dream, of course, expects Hob to be some like, swaggering font of red-blooded machismo talking points, and suspects Hob is only popular because he looks like an advertisement in Outdoor Living. (Matthew showed him pictures.) He disregards Matthew, who says Hob is actually super cool, because Matthew has terrible taste and would be the first to admit it. But his interest is piqued when Lucienne also knows who Hob is. It turns out Hob is deeply involved in nature and wildlife conservancy. Gives talks at schools. Gets involved with land protection initiatives. Teaches orienteering to youth. But everyone seems to expect him to hate Hob, which he would find faintly insulting except that he also expects himself to hate Hob. He doesn't. Not that much. Even when he shows up in a plaid shirt that is made of 'technical' fabric, because he's smart and excited to talk to Dream about birds, has an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of falconry, and most importantly, Jessamy takes to him immediately.

They run into each other again at a renaissance fair, another thing Dream hates but has been strong-armed into doing, and so they are both dressed in very silly clothes when it happens: the first time Hob watches Dream demonstrate falconry, the first time Dream watches Hob use a longbow made from a yew tree he fell himself, the first time they go from a wary sort of respect for one another to a wanting.

Dream, who has a recurring fantasy about running away from it all, listens to Hob tell tracking stories and thinks, If I went into the woods, you would find me. But he doesn't want to run from Hob - except sometimes, when he sees Hob chew on his lip consideringly before giving a thoughtful answer about the guiding industry, or when Hob grins wildly at the crowd after his archery demonstration, and most of all, when Hob phones him out of the blue one day - he doesn't text, he phones - sounding a little breathless with excitement, and asks Dream if he wants to come with him for a week in the mountains, on "probably a wild goose chase" and promises "all sorts of birds if nothing else." (Hob had meant to only share the news with Dream. Fuck, he thinks. I am so fucked.)

He says yes, for the birds, of course, and tells Matthew the next time he's at the centre.

"So what's the wild goose chase?" asks Matthew.

Dream plumbs his memory of the phone call and says, "Hob told me he received a bighorn sheep tag." Matthew gapes at him.

"Holy shit," says Matthew. "He's in love with you."

"He is certainly not."

"Uh, no, respectfully boss, he 'certainly' is. Lucienne!" he shouts, "Hob invited Dream to come out on his Dall sheep tag. What the fuck, right?"

Lucienne comes in and raises her eyebrows. "Oh dear," she says. She's smiling.

"What," says Dream. "It's a sheep. I don't understand."

Lucienne and Matthew exchange a glance.

"Him. I cannot believe Hob chose him," says Matthew.

"Love works in mysterious ways," says Lucienne.

"I am right here," says Dream.

Matthew turns to him, "Have fun in Alberta," he says.

this would ft. nights of wild stars, rugged terrain, type ii fun, sexual tension around a campfire, homoerotic form checks, tent sharing, dream glassing beautiful birds with hob's $3000 binoculars while hob stares at him in abject adoration, dream watching hob strip off his clothes and jump into an alpine lake, and refusing to join him out of pretended prudishness when it's really because he's suddenly so hard it hurts, camp coffee, confessions about themselves instead of confessions about their feelings for each other, sore muscles for a VARIETY of reasons, and lots of allegories about wildness and taming and running away from things, and SO MUCH COMPETENCE KINK, friends. so much. i would probably write it like - act one them leading their separate lives, their desires and aches etc., act two - meetcute and circling one another, act three - The Trip. this one has a very happy ending i can tell

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which character parallel is your favorite?

Dany and Cersei: art by @bardsansa (1, 2)

Tyrion and Bloodraven: art by @cosmiart (1, 2)

Dany and Cersei

Hounded By Prophecy

The sun's son. A shiver went through her. "Shadows and whispers." What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun's son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? "Beware the perfumed seneschal." That she remembered. "Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day."

ADWD, Daenerys VII

“Your Grace,” the Tyroshi murmured, bowing low, “I see you are as lovely as the tales. Even beyond the narrow sea we have heard of your great beauty, and the grief that tears your gentle heart. No man can restore your brave young son to you, but it is my hope I can at least offer you some balm for your pain.” He laid his hand upon his chest. “I bring you justice. I bring you the head of your valonqar.” The old Valyrian word sent a chill through her, though it also gave her a tingle of hope. “The Imp is no longer my brother, if he ever was,” she declared. “Nor will I say his name. It was a proud name once, before he dishonored it.”

AFFC, Cersei VIII

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Tyrion and Bloodraven

Reviled Hands

“His Grace is but a boy. In the streets, it is said that he has evil councillors. The queen has never been known as a friend to the commons, nor is Lord Varys called the Spider out of love … but it is you they blame most. Your sister and the eunuch were here when times were better under King Robert, but you were not. They say that you’ve filled the city with swaggering sellswords and unwashed savages, brutes who take what they want and follow no laws but their own. They say you exiled Janos Slynt because you found him too bluff and honest for your liking. They say you threw wise and gentle Pycelle into the dungeons when he dared raise his voice against you. Some even claim that you mean to seize the Iron Throne for your own.” “Yes, and I am a monster besides, hideous and misshapen, never forget that.” His hand coiled into a fist. “I’ve heard enough. We both have work to attend to. Leave me.”

ACOK, Tyrion IX

“The singers can go on about their hammer and their anvil, ser, but it was the kinslayer who turned the tide with a white arrow and a black spell. He rules us now as well, make no mistake. King Aerys is his creature. It would not surprise me to learn that Bloodraven had ensorcelled His Grace, to bend him to his will. Small wonder we are cursed.” Ser Eustace shook his head, and lapsed into a brooding silence. Dunk wondered how much Egg had overheard, but there was no way to ask him. How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? he thought.

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: The Sworn Sword

[dballzposting]

I honestly think that Vegeta & Goten could be summer fun buddies & that they could hang out.

This idea is a few months old hold on ....

Okay So it goes like this: EOZ Goten needs to get a job (his mother is hounding him to get a job) but he doesnt want his work to get in the way of his Trunks time so what he does is that he begs and begs and begs and begs Bulma to hire him as a Poolboy at Capsule Corp. And she doesnt think that they need another poolboy and so then Goten quickly goes home to Mt. Pauzu and gathers up a bunch of leaves and he brings them to Capsule Corp and throws them in the pools and he’s like “see look at the MESS.. you could really use some extra muscle.”

So Bulma humours him and hires him and now Goten has a summer job of cleaning out the pools at Capsule Corp! And he gets to wear a really fun outfit that he really likes (seen below)

^ No one told him that he has to wear this by the way. To be abundantly clear no one told him he has to wear this. Trunks always reminds him that he doesnt have to wear this but every time Goten is like “no i like wearing it it’s my favorite part of the job.”

I don’t even know where he got it ... I think he stole it off of a skeleton that he found in the closet where they keep the poolboy tools.

Anyway. Vegeta finds this all very annoying. He is trying to relax by the pool and read a newspaper and he has to deal with that blasted second Kakarot son running about cleaning the pools and humming a jolly tune. God forbid his own son is present and then the two numbskulls play in the pool together and cause a ruckus.

But here’s the deal. And I’m not sure exactly on the details but eventually, over time, Vegeta and Goten get to chatting. Maybe Vegeta is growing increasingly annoyed so he decides to leave and go Anywhere But Here lest he die of lethal idiocy radiation, and the chipper Son Goten is like “Hey Mr Vegeta Sir where are you going? I was just about to go inside and make virgin margaritas and bring them out.” It’s just Goten and Vegeta out there and this comment makes no sense to Vegeta.

And so he’s like “Where do you think I’m going? To train. I can’t be wasting time out here like this.” and Goten makes some comment about how relaxing in the sun is vital for vitality and Vegeta makes some comment about how lounging about and growing soft seems to be the only thing that this next generation wants to be doing. And Goten concedes a bit, is sheepish but unhurt, and admits that it has been a hot minute since he’s gotten some good training in. And Vegeta, by obligation of his virtues, and with a bit of snark, offers to (or rather demands that) he and Goten spar for a bit.

Vegeta knows better than to have his guard down with Kakarot but the spawn of Kakarot seems like a different story. He’s wary but largely unbothered. He’s not expecting much and he does not receive much. Goten is 100% truthful when he says that he’s gonna be rusty and that he’s always been one step behind Trunks.

But Vegeta’s motivation is as follows: it’s been too long for comfort since Trunks expressed interest in fighting and training. And whenever they do train, it seems like Trunks is just doing what Vegeta wants him to do, to fulfill expectation, and there’s no sauce or swagger or latent skill or even any interest. He stands up again not becasue of deep-rooted pride, but because of embarrassment or a learned behavior that mimics pride. And he’s not that good at it. Vegeta has honestly given up on Trunks. Trunks kind of sucks. He’s pinning all of his hopes onto Bra. She’s gotta be better and so far he has seen promise with her. 

Vegeta does want to have hope for the next generation and he is doing what he can to prepare them. But he’s given up on Trunks and has just been focusing on himself lately because it’s less depressing than being disappointed in his son.

So he is interested in scoping out this son of Kakarot, because the other Kakarot son has given up fighting, and good god there’s gotta be SOME Saiyan pride out there. 

Vegeta is expecting to be disappointed, but if he is then that’ll justify the way that he’s given up on his own son, and he can recommit all of his efforts toward Bra with fresh conviction.

So he and Goten are having a go in the gravity chamber and it’s about what you’d expect.

But even though Goten is losing hard right now he doesn’t lose his optimism. He’s resilient, he’s springy; he’s a wee bashful at sucking so much but he’s not fueled by embarrassment, he’s fueled by interest and engagement and general enjoyment for life. There’s no emotional armoring, repression, or control; he’s just out here living life ..

This of course aggravates Vegeta because it reminds him of Kakarot. I don’t know if Vegeta views this way of being as a source of strength, or just a manifestation of personality, so I don’t know if he respects this or not.

To be honest, he rightfully lowers his guard. 

But to be honest, Goten is a quick-learner and is adapting fast. It’s natural since he’s so open to life and go-with-the-flow; he can observe and adapt completely in the moment. That’s I think a significant strength of Goku (a health of character) that Goten inherits.

Not sure on the details but I think that there IS a point where Goten catches Vegeta off-guard and does something cool - he lands a hit, or he dodges something, or he pulls out a creative moveset that Vegeta never considered, or he just improves substantially in the past 40 minutes. Something that would not have been possible without Goten’s charm, creativity, and adventurous spirit. Something that Trunks never could have done, that boy follows the rules too much. Goten thinks outside of the box. He does something that makes you go, damn, this kid is outta sight!

And you know what? I don’t think that Vegeta realizes just how much he’s given up on the next generation until his hope is restored, in that split-second moment when split-second actions were taken that forced Vegeta to reconcile with his split-second disadvantage. You know, like it was an actual fight against somebody worth their salt.

I think in that moment, Vegeta sees the glory of potential, and he himself is rejuvenated with not just hope but passion. He’s sort of been on the down-low lately. Walking around in his old man clothes and his Bill Murray swag. Taking it easy you know. (seen below)

Suddenly, it’s like he has a reason to come out of this exile. It’s like all the world’s a battlefield again. Never lower your guard, there’s always going to be somebody else-!

That’s just what the House of Kakarot does - they inspire and motivate people by their sheer exuberance and effort. Son Goten of course isn’t on any level comparable to Goku, but he brings hope to the getting-to-be-washed-up Vegeta.  

So, it’s like. Hey kid. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and we do this again, yeah? <- It’s that sort of thing.

So. My point is that Goten & Vegeta see each other a lot this summer.

It starts with just the training obviously. And it gets to be excessive. Trunks wants to hang out and Goten has to be like “Sorry! I promised your dad that I would be right in when I was finished with this pool” and Trunks is like “What business do you always have with my dad all of a sudden.....” and Goten is like “We’re just training is all man - what, are you jealous? You’re free to join I’m sure, the more the merrier” but Trunks is like no....... it’s fine .......... if he wanted me there then he would have explicitly commanded me to be there ....... it’s cool ........ go on without me ....... sighhh ..........

So they just train but Goten is so charming and fun that he keeps naturally trying to engage Vegeta in conversation and Vegeta will either not respond or respond in his pithy and laconic way and that’s good enough for Goten to just keep trying.

Vegeta is definitely a “show, don’t tell” kind of guy, but if repeatedly prompted, he could talk about his thoughts on techniques and styles. And that turns into he and Goten walking around the city having casual conversations. And it’s the most normalest thing in the world becasue Vegeta has been on Earth long enough that he feels comfortable blending in and walking in the city and carrying a conversation, and Goten is comfortable with everyone, and even though Goten is taller than Vegeta now, they’ve still known each other since Goten was a baby, so it literally feels so normal. You don’t think that Vegeta walking around Metro West wearing khakis and an orange shirt would be normal but I’m telling you that against all odds, it is.

Goten points at construction and is like “hey they’re building updog over there.”

“They’re building what.”

“...Updog. They’re building a lot of updog over there.”

“......”

“............um. Well anyway. Hm. D’you wanna hear a joke about gaslighting?”

“About what?”

“Gaslighting.”

“Lighting gas?” 

“No, gaslighting.”

“Is that burning fuel?”

“....No it’s- .. it’s a term.”

“For fuel-burning.”

“.........Okay........”

And they get slushies and just walk around the city. At some point Vegeta may notice that he is sitting and drinking a slushie while letting Son Goten explain to him the difference between a crocodile and an alligator, and you would think that this would strike him as strange, but again, it just is what it is. 

Things just go on like this for a while. One day Vegeta is barking orders at him in the gravity chamber and Goten has the nerve to interrupt and ask: “When you call me ‘son,’ is that, like, just a word you’re calling me, or is it becasue that’s my name?”

and Vegeta doesnt say anything and Goten continues with “I mean it’s cool if you’re just calling me ‘son’ like ‘kid’ or ‘boy’ or something, or like, i mean, y-you can call me that honestly i’m cool with it like you’re a father-esque figure to me in a sense like it’s fine .. You’re trunks’s dad and he’s my BFF and i’m always over here and that’s fine if you call me that like i always refer to you with respectful language so if you refer to me with appropriate diminutives then I think that that’s fine but i’m just wondering if that’s what it is becasue im not trying to make assumptions here but you’re like a dad guy to me close enough and im cool with it like it makes sense but im not trying to be presumptious-” 

and eventually Vegeta just interrupts his ramble with “Son. Pay attention.” And they resume the training session

Another scenario is the one where ... they bond so much that .... Vegeta thinks that Goten is capable and worthy of learning the Gallick Gun.

They’re sitting up there on top of the capsule corp building at end-of-summer dusk , cracking open beers, and Vegeta is like “Hey kid. Wanna learn the Gallick Gun?”

It’s of course an ... honor. Goten doesnt know what to make of it. He doesnt know if he could be so bold as to accept the offer. “You... You haven’t even taught TRUNKS the Gallick Gun-!”

“Oh I’ve TRIED, I’ve TRIED to teach that boy the Gallick Gun but he just won’t take to it! He doesnt have the spirit! He doesn’t have the discipline!”

Meanwhile. Trunks is in a pool somewhere. Alone. Bitter. His BFF and his father have been hanging out without him. Neither want anything to do with him. Goten has been hanging out with Vegeta so much that he’s been neglecting his poolboy duties - and Trunks pushes the leaves around in the water with disgust. Honestly, he doesnt remember there ever being that many leaves in these pools growing up. Where did they all come from anyway? 

And then Trunks looks closer at these leaves, and he starts to recognize them, one by one, as the leaves that he and Goten used to frollick in as kids in the forests of Mt Paouzu. Son of a bitch. 

But Goten isn’t even cleaning the leaves he’s planted for job security because he’s found better things to do, evidently. 

This all ends when Trunks grows so frustrated, jealous, and hurt that he confronts Goten or Vegeta about this, and it immediately turns into a fight. Maybe he found out that Goten was gonna learn the Gallick Gun and that was the last straw for him.

So he has this fight that is fueled by incredible rage, and no matter the outcome of this fight, Vegeta is able to recognize that Trunks is fighting with more spirit and authenticity than he’s seen out of him in a long time. There is a pride that demands compensation for a besmirched heart. Vegeta also sees a lot of room for improvement, and he has a lot of thoughts on Trunks’s imperfect techniques.

They walk away discussing this, father and son, and Goten is left standing all alone amidst the filthy capsule corp pools.

He’s cool with it and comes back the next day when the sun is up to clean the pools properly, and Vegeta and Trunks spend some real time training. 

The end...........

[smolwritingchick]

Forced To Believe Chapter 52- He Kept His Word

Chapter Summary: Left alone because of her teammates getting ambushed, Morgan tries to fend for herself against Rosa, the Outlaws and Kane.

Words: 5,000+

------

During Raw, Ryback and Axel were in the ring with Los Matadores. As soon as the match gets underway, the crowd begins to cheer loudly and stands up when they see The Shield and Morgan walking through the crowd and stopping at the barricade. 

"Uh oh, guys," King said. 

"Oh look out, look who's here," Cole said as Morgan smirked at Axel and put her hands on her hips while The Shield gave Ryback and Axel dirty looks. "Look who's here guys. Morgan, Ambrose, Rollins, and Reigns, The Shield. They did not forget what happened last week." 

All of a sudden, Axel gets trapped in a roll up pin and loses the match for his team. 

"This doesn't end well," JBL said. 

Morgan jumps over the barricade and slowly walks to the end of the ramp while Axel and Ryback are distracted by The Shield surrounding the ring. She watches as The Shield gets on the apron while Ryback and Axel are back to back. 

"This is gonna be justice, The Shield's way." Cole looked on. 

Axel goes after Roman but gets his ankles grabbed by him and is pulled out of the ring. Roman throws him to the barricade while Ambrose and Seth beat Ryback out of the ring. Morgan gets on the apron and watches as Roman spears Ryback as the crowd cheers. 

He roared and the crowd roared with him while Dean yelled "You wanna mess with us!?" 

The Shield hit Ryback the triple powerbomb. 

"Wait, they're not done," King said as The Shield held Ryback down while Morgan got on the top rope.

"And Morgan adding more insult to injury as she goes for a moonsault!" Cole exclaimed as she performed the move.

"This is what happens. Don't mess with the hounds." The Outspoken Diva said as she high fived her teammates. 

"What goes around, comes around," King said as The Shield's theme came on. 

"I guess it does," JBL said while The Shield did their pose.

Morgan tweets 'Learned your lesson? #DontMessWithUs'

--------

"Hey guys." Triple H greeted backstage with Stephanie in their office as the camera shifted over to Morgan and The Shield.

"Look we know you saw what happened on Friday night, between us, Kane, and the New Age Outlaws. So...where were you man?" Seth asked.

"Seeing how Kane represents The Authority, and the New Age Outlaws are your old buddies, we were just kinda wonderin' where we stand," Dean mentioned. 

"You were wondering what? What's going on between Kane, the Outlaws, Rosa, and you, that's between you and them, all right?" Triple H said while Morgan didn't look so convinced. 

"If it's vengeance that you guys are looking for, then how about we give you a match tonight? The Real Americans versus The Shield. Okay, then we can all sit down together and discuss this. Okay?" Stephanie asked. 

"Yeah...we will. Believe that." Roman said.

--------

The Real Americans walk down the ramp but Dean and Seth roll out the ring and start going after him before the match starts. Roman stands at ringside with Morgan while Ambrose rolls Cesaro into the ring.

"And here we go, match underway," Cole said as the commentators started to talk about what happened earlier tonight. 

Seth and Dean continue to take control of the Real Americans with frequent tags until Cesaro distracts Dean and Swagger takes advantage. Cesaro starts to take control with uppercuts while the crowd chants 'We The People'. Morgan starts to look concerned when Cesaro puts Dean in a headlock. 

"Come on, Ambrose! Come on, Ambrose!" Seth yelled. 

"Don't sleep on me, now! Wake up!" Morgan banged on the mat. "Come on, Dean!" 

Roman banged on the mat once. "Come on! Come on!" 

Dean starts to get up and breaks the hold but gets taken down again while Jack gets tagged in. Jack goes for another big splash but Ambrose counters and kicks Cesaro in the head. 

"Stay back!" He yelled and got on the top rope to hit Jack with a springboard elbow. 

Seth starts to get hyped and has his hand out for a tag. 

"Common! Reach! Reach!" Seth yelled but Cesaro dropkicked him off the apron.

"Son of a b­-" Morgan yelled but got grabbed by Roman. 

"Don't worry, we got this." He reassured.

Meanwhile, Cesaro gives Dean the big swing 20 times and goes for the pin but Seth breaks it up and starts unloading on him until the ref breaks it up. Dean gets on the apron and gets hit out of the ring. Swagger and Cesaro grab him by the arms and legs and swing him on the barricade while Morgan cringes at the sight. 

"You two are gonna get it!" she snapped as she walked over to them with Seth and Roman. 

Later on, Dean continues to be taken control of by the Real Americans. Dean rolls out the ring, still feeling the effects of the Real Americans' double team move. Morgan walks near him but the ref stops her because of Zeb. 

"Hey! Hey ref! Get that Philly girl out of here! She's harassing me! All you Philly folks are the same! Get out of here you witch!" Zeb yelled. 

"Really?!" Morgan yelled and reluctantly backed up because of the ref. 

Jack gets out of the ring and cockily laughs at her as she shoots him a dirty look. 

"You stay away from here!" Zeb continued to yell at her. 

She rolls her eyes and decides to "respect" her elders while Jack throws Dean back in the ring, Cesaro gets tagged in and continues the control again. 

"Come on!" She shouted and started banging on the mat while the crowd chanted 'Let's go Shield!' 

Dean catches Cesaro in a roll up but Cesaro escapes it and quickly kicks him in the stomach while Dean groans.

 "Huh!? Let's go Shield, huh?" Cesaro shouted and slapped him in the face. 

"Wow," JBL said. 

"Ow. Dean Ambrose," King said and chuckled as Dean started to laugh.

"You've really done it now." Morgan began to grin once Cesaro slapped him again. 

Dean slapped the mat. "Come on!" He yelled and started slapping himself in the face. "Is that the best you got!?" 

Roman started smiling out of amusement as he looked at Morgan. She was grinning at Ambrose and she looked very attracted to his crazy side. She loved his crazy, unpredictable behavior. 

"Are you drooling?" Roman teased.

"No!" she blurted out and pulled herself together.

"Sure...I see you grinning." He chuckled. 

'Denial...' He thought. 

"Ambrose wants more. I told you Ambrose is whacked out. He's a lunatic fringe." Cole said as Dean got slapped again. 

Dean starts to gain momentum but Cesaro kicks him all the way to the ropes. He leans back and comes back to hit him with a large lariat as the crowd cheers. 

"Yeah!" Morgan grinned and jumped up as the crowd got excited 

"Come on! Come on!" Seth yelled as he paced on the apron.

The crowd explodes once Seth and Jack get in the ring. Seth quickly picks up the pace and starts to hit Jack with kicks, chops, and fists. He then drops Jack with a one leg dropkick. 

"Yeah!" He yelled and went to the corner across from Jack. He put his hand over his heart. "Believe in The Shield!" He shouted before hitting him with a splash and bouncing his head off the second turnbuckle. 

Cesaro gets in the ring but gets launched over the top rope by Seth because of his feet. 

"That was incredible," JBL said. 

Seth hits Cesaro with a suicide dive after he clotheslines Jack out of the ring. Cesaro lands in the crowd while Seth takes out Jack with a big dive. They chant 'Holy shit' while Rollins rolls Jack back into the ring. 

Morgan grins and raises her hand up as Rollins gives her a high five before getting on the apron. He hits Jack with a flying knee and goes for the pin but Cesaro breaks it up. Dean gets in the ring and starts unloading on him but gets thrown out of the ring by Cesaro. Seth clotheslines Cesaro out of the ring but gets caught in the Patriot Lock.

He gets the ropes and Jack grabs both of his ankles and sets him up. Seth lands on his feet and kicks him on the head. He hits Jack with the Peace of Mind and pins him for the win. 

"The winners of this match, the team of Dean Ambrose & Seth Rollins," Justin announced but then Cesaro hit Rollins from behind. 

"And Cesaro from behind," Cole looked on as he threw him out of the ring.

Morgan gets on the top rope and tries to go for a crossbody but Cesaro catches her in his arms. As soon as he turns around, Roman runs and hits him with the Superman Punch, making her drop on top of Cesaro. 

"You all right?" Roman asked as he helped her up.

"Yeah, thanks." She replied with a smile.

Cesaro slides out of the ring and gets speared by Reigns as Morgan, Rollins, and Ambrose regroup at ringside. 

"I got an idea!" Dean shouted and took off the cover on the announce table while Rollins took out the monitors. 

"Oh~ shit, son!" Roman yelled while Morgan smirked in amusement. 

Dean grabs Cesaro while Roman roars once again as they deliver the triple powerbomb on him off the table. They get back in the ring and taunt the crowd while Morgan high fives her teammates. 

"Well, the message has been sent," King said. 

The Shield and Morgan put their fists out but their celebration is cut short once Kane's fire explosion comes on the stage. He, the Outlaws, and Rosa walk out in business suits. 

"As Director of Operations...I'd like to inform you that you have been assigned to a match at WrestleMania against the New Age Outlaws, Rosa, and me. At WrestleMania, we are going to annihilate you. Believe that." Kane announced. 

Morgan grabbed a mic and chuckled. "I believe I have a surprise for you. I'm sure she will be very happy to see you guys, again. So believe that!"

The crowd cheered loudly, understanding what Morgan was implying as Kane and the New Age Outlaws glanced at each other with worry.

"Well, Kane made a big announcement but so did Morgan. Do you really think she is going to be at WrestleMania?" King asked. 

"We'll have to find out," Cole said. "I for one am very excited to see if she will return to be in Morgan's corner,"

"Agreed! The Shield versus the Suits! Haha, I love it." JBL added. 

---------

On Smackdown, The Shield walk through the crowd to a loud reception. Morgan walks in front of her teammates and tags some hands before jumping over the barricade. 

"The following is a tag team contest set for one fall, introducing first, being accompanied by Morgan and Roman Reigns, at the combined weight of 442 pounds, representing The Shield, The United States Champion, Dean Ambrose along with Seth Rollins!" Lilian announced. 

Morgan heads to ringside while 3MB makes their entrance. They shoot her dirty looks while she smirks and waves at them. 

"Looks like 3MB and Morgan still got grudges against each other." JBL chuckled. 

"Well, she did eliminate them at the Royal Rumble and Jinder tried to hit her with a guitar that night," Cole informed. 

'Ding Ding Ding' 

Seth starts the match with Jinder. They lock up and Seth hits him with a one leg dropkick. Later, 3MB manages to take control and Drew hits Seth with a suplex. 

"F...you..." Morgan muttered as Drew pointed to her & Roman, pelvic thrusting. 

Roman stands there with an indifferent look on his face while Dean doesn't look too happy about Drew's actions. 

Morgan walks around the ring and Heath & Jinder give her dirty looks as she grins at them. She waves as they start to march up to her. All of a sudden, Ambrose gets in front of her and gives them a death glare as the crowd cheers. 

"Here we go." JBL looked on. "Ambrose, not letting them touch her,"

"Don't even think about it," Dean growled with venom as they backed off. 

Morgan heads back to her original spot while Dean gets back on the apron. Drew taunts the crowd and tries to prevent Seth from tagging in Dean but fails. Dean hits Drew with a quick clothesline and hits Jinder off the apron. He starts unloading on Drew and hits him with a knee to the stomach after he throws him to the ropes. 

At the end of the match, Ambrose hits Drew with a lariat and hits him with the Dirty Deeds to he win the match for his team. Seth, Morgan, and Roman get in the ring and congratulate him on the win. 

"Nice." Roman complimented but Kane's theme came on as he, Rosa, and the Outlaws walked out in business suits.

"Kane, and the corporate Outlaws and corporate Rosa," Cole said. 

"They look great. Especially Rosa. Very beautiful." JBL complimented. 

"Congratulations. What you just did to 3MB, is exactly what we're going to do to you, at WrestleMania. But we're gonna do it like men. We are not going to ambush you like you do to your next opponents." Kane revealed Ryback and Axel as they walk down the ring. 

Morgan shakes her head while Kane grins. The match starts while Dean catches Axel in an arm trap crosslegged STF while Rosa, Kane, and the NAO continue to watch on. She puts her hands over her mouth as soon as she sees Axel hit Dean on the back of the head, making him fall face first off the apron. Ryback and Axel start to take advantage and hit him with double team moves. 

The Outspoken Diva starts banging on the mat to motivate the crowd to cheer for Dean while Ryback sets him up in the air for a suplex. Dean counters with a DDT and starts to crawl over for a tag. He finally tags in Rollins as the crowd cheers. Seth picks up the pace, doing his signature moves but gets thrown onto the apron by Axel. He evades Axel's attack and catches him with a kick to the head. Ryback tries to trip him but Seth jumps out of the way and kicks him in the face. 

Ambrose runs on the steps and jumps off, landing on Ryback, and unloading on him. Seth throws Axel out of the ring and hits Ryback and Axel with a dive as the crowd gets excited. Roman and Morgan grin while Seth throws Axel in the ring. He goes for a dive off the apron but Axel kicks him in the stomach. He tries to put Rollins away but he counters and hits him with the Peace of Mind to pin him for the win. 

"Yeah!" Morgan cheered and slid into the ring to celebrate with her three partners. 

Rosa, Kane and the New Age Outlaws look annoyed and Seth decides to hit Ryback with a suicide dive out the ring. 

"And look at Rollins, putting icing on the cake, as he stares up the ramp, at Kane, Rosa, and the Outlaws." Cole looked on. 

Dean throws Ryback back in the ring and Roman hits Ryback with a Superman punch as he gets hyped. Morgan motions her partners to pick Ryback up and she strikes him down with a spinning kick to the face. He slowly gets up to his knees but gets hit with the triple powerbomb. 

"Good night Ryback!" JBL announced. 

The Outspoken Diva turns to her Wrestlemania opponents and curtsies. "You're done! Finished!"

Morgan tweets 'There is #NoEscape at WrestleMania. Especially when 'She' comes. You will regret everything you've done. #ItsOver #YouAreFinished' 

-------

Backstage, Morgan was near the makeup area with Naomi. 

"How are you feeling?" Naomi asked as the crowd gave them a loud reception. 

"I'm doing all right. I'm still not a hundred percent but I should be okay next week." Morgan replied with a warm smile. 

"Girl, are you sure she is going to be at WrestleMania?" 

"Yep! She is going to have my back. I can't wait,"

"Morgan!" Nikki yelled, rushing over to her with Brie.

"Whoa, what's going on?" she asked.

"It's Dean-" Nikki began. 

"It's not just him, it's The Shield!" Brie corrected her sister. 

"What about them?" Morgan asked. 

"They got ambushed by Kane and the New Age Outlaws. They're at the trainer's-wait!" Nikki exclaimed but gave up once Morgan sprinted to the trainer's room. 

With the camera following her, she ran around backstage and stopped once she saw Kane. 

"You! You son of a­-" She began but the New Age Outlaws stood in front of Kane, blocking her way. 

"Don't think so, sweetheart." Road Dogg smirked.

"Well, if it isn't Morgan Lopez. Just the woman I was looking for. You're going to be in a no Disqualification match against Rosa. Tonight." Kane announced. 

"What? No. Why would you put me in a match? You know I'm not 100 percent!" She complained.

"Does it look like I care? Now get ready...now. Unless you want to be fired," He ordered and walked away with the Outlaws who had smug looks on their faces. 

Morgan rolled her eyes and continued to run to the trainer's room. She barged in and saw Ambrose lying down on the examination table. As soon as she saw him, beaten up, her heart began to ache. 

"Dean!" She rushed over to his side. He grunted and sat up. "Dean! Are you okay!?" 

He smirked. "Heh. Shouldn't I be asking you that?" 

"Never mind me."

"You care too much..."

"Well I'm sorry­-" 

"Don't be. I like it. I think it's cute to see you so concerned about me." 

"How can you be trying to charm me when you've just gotten ambushed?!" 

"Because I know the Outlaws and Kane are going to get their asses kicked." 

"Speaking of Kane...He's forcing me into a no DQ match. I don't think I can-" She began but he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. 

"Do not say you can't. Don't ever say that again, do you hear me?" He said in a serious tone. "You can do it. I got a bad feeling Kane and the Outlaws are gonna get involved since it's a no DQ but The Shield will always have your back. Don't worry. No matter what, I won't let them take advantage of you, got it? I just need you to hold on for the first few minutes of the match until Seth, Roman and I can get ourselves together." 

She let out a breath. "Okay." 

"Go get ready."

"All right." She headed for the door.

"Morgan." He called out and she turned around. "I'll come for you. I promise." 

She nodded a few times. "...I trust you." 

Dean smirked at her words. Maybe this was a sign that he could finally prove to her that he would keep his word and gain her trust back.

"And forget about us, why don't you?" Seth chuckled as he was sitting on a chair, next to Roman who was also sitting on a chair. They had ice packs on their heads. 

"Sorry guys." She chuckled. "Wait, where did you­-" 

"Didn't even notice us in here, did you?" Roman asked with an amused smile. 

"Wow. I guess I didn't. Sorry, Dean was the first one I saw." She shrugged. 

Roman and Seth glanced at each other with smirks and looked back at her. "Okay." 

After she left, Ambrose retorted, "You guys like to ruin the moment, don't you?"

"Common man, don't get mad." Seth chuckled.

"Did you know she was drooling all over you during your match with the Real Americans? She couldn't stop grinning at you. She still has a soft spot for you, after all this time." Roman added.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"And let's not forget about you, man. You obviously stare at her all the time." Seth pointed at him. 

"And always come to her aid. Like tonight with 3MB." Roman said. 

"Look, if you guys truly love each other, I'm sure you two will find a way to work it out," Seth reassured. "I know she still cares about you. Did you see the concerned look on her face? Hell, she didn't even notice us in the here. She just saw you. She still cares. A lot. Show her you still care too by keeping your promise and having her back, tonight. Gain that trust back by keeping your word. Now, let's get ourselves together so we can kick their asses and keep Morgan safe,"

Ambrose nodded at his words, feeling good about tonight.

------

In the ring, Morgan walks out with a grin as the crowd cheers loudly. She twirls around and does her taunt before running in the ring. She gets on the turnbuckle to do her taunt again before jumping off and exhaling. 

"Morgan looks a little concerned," JBL observed. 

"Yeah, I'm sure she's still shaken up about what happened earlier. I just hope this is a one on one match." Cole said as Rosa and Morgan were surrounding each other in the ring as the bell rang. "And here we go. A no disqualification match." 

They lock up and Morgan hits Rosa with a few arm drags before throwing her to the turnbuckle. She runs towards her but Rosa moves out of the way while Morgan hits the turnbuckle and falls down. Rosa goes for the pin but Morgan kicks out at two. The Latina slides out of the ring and starts to look under the ring for a weapon.

"Uh oh. Rosa with the chair." Cole said as Morgan slid out of the ring.

Rosa goes to whack Morgan in the face with the chair she found but she ducks and kicks the chair, making it hit Rosa in the face as the crowd cheers. She throws her back in the ring and grabs a kendo stick as the crowd starts chanting ECW.

"Bringing the weapons in early," JBL said as Morgan got back in the ring. 

She starts hitting Rosa with the stick as she tries to escape the hits. Rosa crawls over to a turnbuckle and tries to beg for mercy but drags Morgan down, making her hit her head on the middle turnbuckle. She grabs the kendo stick and puts it on Morgan's neck, putting her in a submission. 

"This is dangerous for these women!" JBL added.

"These two want to kill each other!" Cole shouted.

Morgan fights back and hits Rosa with a swinging neckbreaker, while Rosa rolls out of the ring. She gets on the apron and goes for a diving clothesline but Rosa moves out the way. 

"Just in the nick of time!" Cole exclaimed. "You think Rosa has Morgan's number? She has been improving in the ring these past few months. I heard she's working on a new finisher just to do on Morgan for WrestleMania." 

"She has been improving. Every time Morgan tries to gain momentum, Rosa stops her. Maybe she does have her number. Morgan isn't thinking straight. Her teammates got ambushed and with Rosa's mind games and taunting in her head, who knows what's going to happen." JBL replied. 

Rosa finds two tables and sets the two, next to each other at ringside and gets another one to put in the ring. She sets up the third one a few feet from the turnbuckle and gets back out of the ring to get a ladder. 

"Look at all these weapons. What is Rosa up to?" Cole asked. 

"I don't know but it's gonna be good." JBL chuckled as Rosa set up the ladder behind the table in the ring.

Morgan gets back in the ring and Rosa puts her on the table. She starts climbing on the ladder as the crowd starts to get excited.

"This is going to get interesting." JBL looked on.

"That's a long way down," Cole said but luckily Morgan got off the table while some of the crowd was disappointed that no one had fallen through a table, yet.

Morgan grabs Rosa by the leg and pulls her down. She hits her with a roundhouse kick before dragging her to a chair that is in the middle of the ring. She hits Rosa with the backfire onto the chair and is about to go for the pin but sees the Outlaws and Kane walk out.

"Oh no." Cole groaned as the crowd booed.

"It is a no DQ match," JBL reminded.

Morgan decides to go for the pin but Billy runs to the ring and breaks it up as the crowd boos. 

Morgan gets on her hands and knees and sighs loudly. 

"I knew it...I friggin knew it..." She retorted. 

She gets up but gets grabbed by the Outlaws. Rosa is given a kendo stick and hits Morgan with it before the Outlaws drop her. Morgan rolls out the ring and holds her left arm. 

"How long is a few minutes, Dean?" Morgan mumbled before getting her left arm forced on a steel step by the guys. 

"This is not good," Cole said with concern. 

Rosa slides out of the ring and smirks at Morgan before getting a steel chair. Morgan glances at the chair before exhaling, anticipating the worst. 

'This is gonna hurt...' She thought before a loud smack echoed around the arena as Rosa hit her arm with the chair, making her yell out in pain. 

"You can't do the backfire now, huh? You can't do the Morganizer or breakdown anymore huh!?" Rosa yelled. 

"How does it feel?" Road Dogg taunted.  

"It hurts, doesn't it? This is your punishment. Just repent and we'll end it!" Kane shouted. 

Morgan scoffed. "How about you kiss my ass!" She spat as the crowd cheered. 

"Wrong answer." Kane glared at her and nodded at Rosa. 

Rosa hits her arm again as Morgan groans and puts her head down. She gets thrown in the ring with the 4 of them getting in, too.

"Your boys aren't coming to save you. We gave them another beating in the trainer's room just as you came out for your match. You're all alone, Morgan," Kane revealed, making her glare at him.

"Now the 4 on 1 assault," Cole complained as Morgan got on her hands and knees after Rosa hit her back with the chair. 

Kane punches her down and she slowly gets back on her knees. 

"Is that all you got?! You hit like a bitch..." Morgan retorted and fell back down. "It's gonna take a lot more to break me down! I'm not backing down to anybody! You wanna hit me? You wanna hit me till you're satisfied and happy? Go right ahead but I'm gonna get back up!" 

"I got you right where I want you. You're not gonna make it to WrestleMania! No one is gonna save you!" Rosa yelled and slapped her in the face once Morgan got back up on her feet. "Come on, Morgan, unleash that so called frustration!" 

The Outspoken Diva makes a loud, aggravated sound as she tries to lunge at Rosa but fails because the Outlaws continue to have a strong grip on her. Moments later, she finally breaks free and hits the Outlaws with a double low blow as the crowd cheers. 

"Morgan trying to gain some momentum!" Cole said as the Outlaws rolled out of the ring. 

She manages to stand up and ducks Kane's clothesline. She gets on the top rope and hits him with a dropkick as he falls out of the ring. Morgan looks up to see Rosa climbing the ladder and she decides to climb up the ladder, too. 

"This is dangerous!" Cole warned as both divas started to hit each other. 

"This is a long way down!" JBL exclaimed as Morgan positioned Rosa for a suplex but then Rosa managed to escape.

All of a sudden, Rosa pushes her and Morgan falls on the table, in the ring. Morgan could hear the deafening 'Ohs' from the crowd while Rosa grinned in satisfaction and started to laugh. 

"Morgan fell on the table! She got pushed by Rosa and Rosa is loving it!" Cole yelled as the crowd started the deafening Holy Shit chants. 

Morgan remains motionless while The Outlaws and Kane grin at each other. 

"How does it feel, little girl?" Road Dogg taunted. 

"Morgan may be broken in half!" JBL exclaimed as the ref checked on her. 

"That's it! She's out!" The ref yelled and motioned for a few refs and a WWE Doctor to come to the ring as they came with a stretcher. 

"This match may be over," Cole said as the crowd began to boo. 

The ref was about to stop the match but Kane got in his face and ordered him to continue. 

"She's hurt!" The ref shouted. "She can't continue!" 

"I don't care! I'm the boss! She's not hurt to my satisfaction!" Kane shouted back as Morgan got put onto a stretcher, at ringside. 

"We're going to take you to the back." One ref said to her.

 "No..." Morgan mumbled, feeling a little groggy as she tried to sit up. 

"Morgan, we need to take you to the back." The doctor said. 

"No. I want to continue this match. Don't stop the match." She said more clearly. 

She was in pain but she had to finish this match. Win or lose. One table wasn't going to break her down. She wasn't going to lose a match by knockout. She'll have to be pinned or submitted if she loses a match. 

Rosa gets off the ladder and walks up to Kane. She whispers an idea in his ear which makes him smirk. They slide out of the ring and grab a chair. The Outlaws scare the refs and Doctor away from Morgan while Kane puts a chair in between Morgan's neck. 

"Are you kidding me!? They really want her out of action!" Cole exclaimed as Rosa got on the top rope while Kane and the Outlaws held her down as she tried to escape. "Don't do this! You'll break her neck!" 

'Sierra' 

'Hotel' 

'India' 

'Echo' 

'Lima' 

'Delta' 

'Shield'

Morgan sighed out of relief. 

'He kept his word...' She thought as the crowd exploded in cheers. 

"The Shield isn't gonna let this happen. Now it's time for justice!" JBL stated. 

The Shield rushes down the steps while the refs take the chair off Morgan's neck. 

"There is going to be hell to pay at WrestleMania. They're really pushing buttons now." Cole said as the Outlaws and Kane looked alert. 

As soon as Roman jumps over the barricade, he goes right after Kane while Seth and Dean go after the Outlaws. Once Dean punches Billy down, he rushes to Morgan's aid. She slowly sits up and gets off the stretcher. She sighs as she wraps her arms around his neck while he wraps his arms around her waist to help her up. She felt safe in his arms, just like she always does. 

"Morgan and her toughness. She's still going through this match." JBL said. 

"You came for me." She managed to say and hugged him tighter. 

"Told you I would." He smirked. She released him and held her lower back and he frowned. "I'm sorry." 

"For what?"

"You suffered a lot. I'm sorry we couldn't save you sooner,"

"Heh, don't apologize. You came for me, that's all that matters." She looked at the broken table and glared at it. "Ugh...She pushed me onto a table...I'm gonna friggin' hurt her. That bitch..." 

"Heh, take a breather." He said and she nodded and slid back in the ring while Rosa was catching her breath, sitting on the bottom turnbuckle. 

"Looks like the ladies are taking a breather while the guys get down and dirty," JBL looked on. 

Morgan exhaled. Things were even now. But with her arm a little banged up, will she be able to do one of her finishers? 

"Guess I have to compromise," she said to herself.

[offsidekineticist]

If Theo has any thoughts to share💎💎💎

Oh, yes, Theo has thoughts. I feel kinda bad because I think this says more about Theo than it does about Sia...but I think, unless Sia went out of his way to be vulnerable, this is probably what Theo would think of him.

Sia is really great at...well...everything. I mean, we both use art to make our companions stronger, but I just yell at them and make them angry. He actually inspires people with his music. And he adapted to being crusade commander with such grace - he stepped into the role so smoothly, you know it never even crossed Galfrey's mind to send him a passive aggressive letter implying all his troops died because he was a showboating glory-hound. I mean, of course not - he's a good Knight-Commander, just by being himself. He didn't have to become someone or something else to do the job. He was already enough.

And he knows it, too! He's got this confidence - this swagger. Like, he walks into a room, and all eyes are on him, and he knows it. And he just eats it up! It doesn't throw him off or anything cuz he's Sia. Of course all eyes are on him. And then stuff goes wrong, and he just rolls with it and improvises and...it works! Somehow! Because he's Sia!

But....yeah. He...he's great, and...I mean...he does a lot of things that are kind of like what I do, so...it's really easy to tell he's really good at it. Like...really good at it. Yeah. And I....yeah. Yeah, Sia's great. Even if he is Andoren.