#task 5: with a bitter look

[being-addie]

Morning Routines

We're all looking at those Instagram influencers who somehow manage to wake up at 5 am, do meditation, journal, do a 15-step Korean skincare routine, and go to the gym. And then they make a green smoothie and avocado toast, get dressed in a Chanel outfit and then sit at their fancy desk with a vanilla latte and a croissant.

This is not realistic. You probably already know that, but it likely won't stop you from trying to change your routine bit by bit to look a little like theirs. That didn't stop me, at least.

But now I've come to realise that no matter how much I try, I'll never be able to have a routine like the ones I see online. Because it doesn't exist. It's all curated for aesthetic appeal and generates a sense of false productivity in the watcher's brain. We feel motivated looking at those videos and never get around to changing our own life because we're too busy living vicariously through our phones.

Here's some things you should add to your morning routine, not to be fancy, but to feel better. This is coming from someone who's tried the unrealistic routines, and I now incorporate all of these into my routine. You can skip or add things according to your schedule.

S-T-R-E-T-C-H: Do your body a favour and loosen up your muscles. Nothing better than having a good stretch that wakes your body up.

Drink water: Before you put anything in your system, drink water. Not coffee, not tea. Plain warm water. And I don't mean lemon water. Some people might not agree, but lemon water strips your teeth of the enamel. It also is acidic, so all that bullshit they talk about it being "alkaline and pH balancing" is nonsense. Warm water is the way to go.

Make your bed: A clean bed should be the first thing you do after you wake up. At the end of the day, you'll thank yourself because it will be clean, and fresh and you can fall into bed immediately.

Hygiene: Wash your face to get rid of crusty eyes and sleep. Do a basic skincare routine (cleanser, moisturizer) so you'll feel fresher. Brush your teeth and hair.

Move your body: It doesn't matter what you do, even if it's for 15 minutes. Go for a walk, do a Zumba workout, or squeeze in a HIIT session. You can find lots of tutorials on YouTube (Caroline Girvan, growingannanas, Chloe Ting). Either way, working out will help you feel more motivated and happier. It's the endorphins.

Clean yourself: Set aside some time for showering, slathering on lotion, and doing your (real) skincare and makeup routine. Pick an outfit that makes you feel good about yourself.

Eat something: ALWAYS make some food. Your body has been famished for hours on end, give it some fuel. Make a healthy breakfast, or prep one the night before. If you don't get very hungry in the mornings, have a banana, and pack a mid-morning snack beforehand so you don't reach for chips.

Do 3 things: Make a to-do list of everything you need to do today. Don't overwhelm yourself. Then, knock off 3 easy tasks from the list that you can do quickly. You'll be filled with a sense of motivation, and it'll be easier for you to complete your list. It can be chores, it could be some assigned reading. Just get it done.

Gratitude or prayer: You don't need to sit for 15 minutes to practice gratitude. You can think of things your thankful for on the way to school or work or practice deep breathing/say a small prayer on the subway or bus. You don't HAVE to do it, but it definitely makes you realise how much you have in life and appreciate it more.

Kindness: Start your day with kindness. Compliment your barista, smile at the old lady on the street, pet the stray cat. There's so much love in the world, and you have so much love inside you, and it's beautiful to be a part of it.

No longer will I be stuck in a rut. I cannot be confined to being a bitter, unhealthy person when I know there's a smiling, healthy, happy version of me in the future. Deep breaths. You'll get there babe.

<3

[clitorphosis]

AMATO AMAR PERDONA

notes: the title is taken from The Divine Comedy, Canto 5(second circle) of Inferno. Initially this was an idea I wanted to include in my other fanfiction, so I guess this can be considered as a bonus.

Priest Leon S. Kennedy x female reader | 18+ MDNI. smut, female reader, light religious themes, Leon is a priest, blowjob, blasphemy kink, improper use of confessional booth, snowball kiss, semi public sex.

tags: @sprawberry

After years of fighting B.O.W, he finally sets on something calm, helping and saving people without risking his own life, but as time passes by, a bitter realization hits Leon harder than he expected; that not everyone was born for this. Maybe it is adrenaline addiction or without noticing he had found comfort in his misery at that time, but he is grateful that the routine incorporated easily into one’s life as deeds accumulate, overshadowing any thoughts about changing his life again and he didn’t have any other way other than focusing on the work.

The church is old and is not located in the best place, which tends to have windy weather. He suspected those are reasons why the building doesn’t have a lot of visitors, not like people are deeply religious nowadays either. Sometimes it feels like walls are thinner than paper, the wind brushes and whispers sweet, quiet nothings, barely audible to human ears while Leon prepares for his tasks or just lollygags during his free time. It has been said that airy currents can bring many unwanted things; pebbles, the leaves during the autumn season and the smells that disclose people’s secrets. He could never have expected it to bring a woman into his life, making it more colorful than any light arrays coming from the glass-stained windows in his church. From a small spark, a Great flame has risen.

The only thing he needed to do was to help you with your husband’s funeral, but he fucked this up. Really fucked up all this, his mind was repeating multiple times that it was his job to console you, he should have put down your little advances, but he couldn’t, deep down the urge to delve into something prohibited was stronger. The conflict between his morality and passion had died down in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Your appearance was like a quick bullet going through his routine and destroying it, adding the thrill that consumed the guilt he was supposed to feel. Little touches of your fingers, while no one is looking, quickly have moved to more intimate encounters, indulging in each other’s body on the altar, under the eyes of Jesus.

Some days, even the confessional booth was filled with your voice, telling him your desires and how much you want him to fuck your brains out of your head, to make you a dumb slut in front of the son of God and there has never been a trace of shame in your words. A long time ago he deduced a devil would sound like you; with a sweet-sweet intonation describing, in the holy place and not trying to hide all details, how his cock would fill nicely your pussy. Leon’s mind didn’t help much in those cases either. It has always vividly recalled how good your moans echo against the walls of the church. Either there is no need to imagine anything he hasn’t already done in this building, every cranny has heard and the All-seeing eye has witnessed you indulging in the temptation of each other’s body. The gentle love transforms into a deadly sin, but it is better to suffer in hell together, than alone.

His cock was already hard, tucked out, stroking it with his hand while his blue eyes are set on your knelt state. He tugs your hair, pulling you closer to his aching length, pushing it against your lips. They almost envelop its head, the soft and plush skin of them on it, he keeps tracing and brushing his tip, smearing a little bit of his already leaking precum but not letting you go any further. Almost all day passed without even a light touch which is too much for him, a man like him can have a quick good time, and teasing himself was a bad decision.

“Daddy Kennedy, that’s not polite to make a lady wait” Your tongue peeks out to lick away the bitter substance on your lips, teeth bite down slightly on the lower skin after tongue retreated. His grip on your hair tightened, cracking out a smile and pushing your head closer now.

“It is ‘Father Kennedy’” his correction leaves his mouth quickly, leading to a light slap on your lips with his cock as a silent command to open your mouth. “and I still didn’t hear any holy words from this mouth”

You loll out the tongue, feeling him dragging his leaking head against the exposed wet surface, smearing and filling your tastebuds with the bitterness of his precum, which makes more saliva pool in your mouth. The man in front of you not only teases himself but you too.

“What do we say?” He inquires breathlessly, his blue orbs almost shining from intensity and heat in the dimly lightened booth. He slaps his cock on your tongue inducing a soft wet sound to escape when it connects with the flesh.

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and corrupted your man.” Your eyes keep the contact with Leon’s as the prayer leaves your mouth quickly, something you have already repeated a billion times and he is already familiar with those words, not his first time to hear from one’s lips and it wouldn’t be the last time. This is so boring in the end, repenting feverly about something you can’t help but spit on. So why not alter it? Punishment is much more tempting than forgiveness. Your lips ghost on his aching cock, movements of your tongue brush more against the tip, flicking ‘accidentally’ at it and leaving him to covet for more. “Alas, I don’t detest all my sins cause the pain of hell is more alluring than the pleasures of heaven”

“Do I need to teach you everything?” Leon’s voice breaks the silence with a rough tone after you alter the prayer. You wish he would strike you, but he doesn’t. His attention shifts, watching a string of saliva dripping along his flesh from the tip of your tongue. Your eyes are on his face, meeting his gaze and not wavering. “Don’t you have any shame in that body of yours? Carrying on your whoring so openly in front of me” There is a silence, but even with the lack of his order you can grasp what he wants right now; the grip on your hair lessens, letting you be more free in your actions. “But be not afraid, my dove, this don’t disgust me, I am here to absolve you from your sins”

You don’t need to be ordered around to know what he implies. His body shudders when your lips embrace his cock in the wet and warm sensations around him, your hand slides down with your mouth along the length until you reach the base. Leon doesn’t notice how his own palm returns its grip on your hair, his hips buck up pushing you deeper to get more from your mouth already. A greedy bastard you would call him. Deep inside guilt tries to crawl out, but your mouth around him let this bullshit disappear and focus on how your tongue flicks against the head, playing with the sensitive spot under the tip, while your hand keeps pumping along the flesh, spreading the dripping saliva with every stroke. The acolyte corrupted by a widow, he should be drowning in guilt and beg for forgiveness of the Lord, but the sight of you in between his legs reminds him that God can’t give a blowjob in the confessional booth, maybe is that what’s tempting.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned, my last confession was a year ago” Leon’s ears catch another woman’s voice, pulling him out of overflowing pleasure. This can’t be you, your mouth is busy with his cock and for a brief moment, he felt his blood hitch in his veins, at this hour usually there are no visitors, but seems this isn’t your lucky day. Your head halts its movements, keeping his cock in your warm and wet mouth, looking at him with a clear surprise. An idea sparkles in your mind, and you try to move more, to push his buttons and see him struggle cause of your doings, but his hand prevents this by giving a quick tap on the back of your head; ‘Don’t move’. A quiet sob before a trembling voice speaks up again. “I accuse myself of adultery, I have been eyeing and lusting for the man who isn’t my husband, God, I-…I am so sorry”

O the irony of the situation having someone confess the sin of lust while you are kneeling in between his legs. His hand grips harder your hair to tilt your head better so the tip rubs against the soft and velvet of your cheek, stretching it and he can feel your drool roll down, staining his pants. Leon takes a brief peek at the shadowed figure in the grilled window, trying to recollect himself. Shaky breath leaves his lips, listening to a woman’s words fill the space, his blue eyes dart down to your messy frame; trying to swallow your saliva. Leon can’t keep still himself, his hips start rolling into your mouth, enjoying the wetness of your tongue brushing along his sliding length. The pleasure makes it too hard to stay still, making him greedier for more. Your tongue flicks on his tip every time his cock moves back and forth slowly, leading his head rests against the wooden wall behind him, his half-lidded gaze keeps eye contact with you.

“Have you given into the temptation?” Leon asks. His voice feels so sensual to your ears, but they aren’t addressed to you. The poor woman whispers something, but you don’t catch her words cause your attention is mostly on the dick in your mouth.

His cock slides further, the tip rubs against the back of the throat provoking it to squeeze and tighten around him nicely and you try not to gag, not to sink too deep but your efforts are useless. His grip holds you well as he pushes you lower, highlighting his control over you right now. Drool drips more, its excess gathering at the corners of your mouth. There can be heard some noises coming from you, sending pleasant vibrations over every nerve of his body, but those wet sounds get muffled by his own heavy voice and shaky voice, trying to control it and not to get caught. This wouldn’t do anything good for his reputation.

“I can hear you rue your sin… my child, so…” he swallows hard, pausing to admire your messy state; eyes are watered, some tears roll down and your cheeks are stained with mascara, your face starts to get redder and the lack of oxygen makes you feel lightheaded, holding your breath to not mess with your gag reflex. “God is… All-forgiving..” Another heavy sigh leaves his mouth, trying to control his voice and not to groan as you swallow the excess saliva, provoking another jolt of pleasure running through his body. The warmth and how you struggle made him almost choke on the moan and forget what he was saying. If not for that lady, he would be already face fucking you without any obstacles. He swallows hard again, his tone is lower now, but there is an audible shakiness. “Repent your sins and pray to be shielded” A pause, staring at you with a darkened and burned gaze. “By the temptation of the devil… my child“

He knows well who is the devil here. His voice almost breaks in a high-pitched tone at the end of the sentence, when he rolled his hips into you, again to grind his tip into the back of your throat, his leaking tip from precum fills your taste buds again and you swallow some of the salivas, making tight walls clench around him, almost begging to cum. Personally, Leon doesn’t have the patience to keep that visitor any longer here, it gets much harder to keep his voice steady and right now his own pleasure is much more important than one’s problem. And he is nothing but a man. Hearing a mumble of prayer on the other side of the booth. His grip lessens on your hair, giving you control of your movements. You pull back, letting air to reach your lungs finally. Your lips create a strand of saliva between his dick and your glistening and swollen lips, inhaling greedily for air, while his mouth is covered by palm, trying to not groan which threatens to crawl out from his lips cause of the messy sight in front of him. His struggle is like an addiction, you can’t stay away from him right now, your lips return to pepper his cock with kisses, making him twitch in the hot air of narrow space and you sink down with your mouth, sucking on the tip while hand returns to pump his length, watching him struggling not to moan. Too bad he got lucky, the other voice ceased to exist, leaving him with you.

“That’s how you pray, sweet dove” Leon teases, the corners of his lip tugging up into a smirk. You hum, sending another wave of pleasure. Another flick and he feels his balls tighten, his cock throbbing in your mouth and his fingers return to your hair, taking control of your movements back into his hands. “Such a good little thing, fuck…” Leon mumbles, feeling beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He chases the rising pleasure in his body, his hips bucking to meet your face. Deepening thrusts, his head grinds against your throat. Another low moan escapes his lips. “Sucking so well, God made you for this, right?”

All he can see is your messy face, sloppily taking him so well, Leon is so focused on you and your mouth, his orgasm approaches quicker than he expected. His body shudders and with the last thrust his cock throbs for the last time and spurts out a load of cum, filling your mouth. His legs feel numb, and with a heavy gaze he is watching your mouth fill with his fluid so well. Leon’s mind is still under the influence of his orgasm and the post-nut clarity doesn’t hit him, so he doesn’t register how you get up so quickly, your hand lays on his stubbled cheek to pull him into a kiss. Mouth opened kiss. Your tongue doesn’t shy to intrude into his mouth, sloppily kissing him and passing the warm, slightly sticky, and salty substance into his mouth. His own cum. His taste. It fills his mouth and a moan crawls out against your lips. He pulled you tightly against his body, kissing you back harder, tongue probing and sliding against each other, playing and mixing his cum with your salivas. His Adam’s apple bobs and he swallowed it, the devil cocktail, feeling hot underneath his collar. Leon pulls back from a kiss, a string of fluids connects your lips, and if there was more time, he would fuck you on some of the wooden pews or better, on the altar. Alas, all he can do right now is to reach for your mouth to trace along the swollen and wet flesh of your lower lip. Not like his are better right now, he can still taste himself on the tip of his tongue.

“The god has freed you from your sins” he whispers, still panting heavily and his gaze is intently observing you with a deep, burning desire.

“Amen, Father” you respond.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Sheer Irony

(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)

—

Time written- 5:58 p.m

Titans!Jason Todd/fem!reader angst/fluff (TW: Suicide Mention/Attempt)

—

A faint breeze blows along your cheeks as you open the door, eyes glazing over a broad horizon full of dreary skies and rooftops. You find who you’re looking for standing ontop of a metallic platform framing along the edge of the building, his downturned head peering down at the dense, vacant streets below.

A long, harsh, catastrophic drop with just the wrong step.

Confusion rattled your mind when you wondered exactly what the hell was going on, never seeing such a trifling event happen in the common area. Millions of questions followed once you heard the screaming.

A million more followed suit when you walked in on the hostile environment, the air thick with static tension.

“You people are insane!” He had cried out by the second you entered the room, surprised to find a short crowd of people against him. Friends, colleagues, all glaring at him with accusations you didn’t fully hear.

“I’d rather be with Deathstroke than you assholes,” Jason states with an emotional quiver in his tone, growing more detectable towards the end of his words. “You think everything’s my fault.”

“Jason?” You call out to him, seeing his head lightly peek over his shoulder. Whether he heard you or not, he knew you arrived once the door was slammed shut behind you due to the wind.

“What do you want?” He asks with understandable bitterness wrapped up in a solemn tone, as if you were a stranger he could’ve cared less about.

Technically, you and Jason were colleagues for a long time, but never really reached the category of friends.

He was an obnoxious, painfully reckless Robin, but he was good. You were good, training yourself to set your differences aside to put the tasks at hand. You provided data, not violence.

The task now was to set those barriers of yours down with intentions to knock on his.

“To talk.” You reply, not wanting to approach further than you had to, but a huge part of you wanted to go further.

“Look. I don’t wanna hear any more bullshit—“

“Not about that,” you insist. “Just to talk, that’s all.”

To talk, to buy time. Anything.

Waves of guilt coursed through your veins for him, for his safety. The strong winds could easily sweep him off his feet if he allowed it, the tension in his braced legs preventing him from slipping off the ledge he stood on for now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jason states, his lungs burning with reach trembling breath he took. “The others think you’re crazy following me out here.”

“I don’t care what they think,” was your response, rooftop gravel crunching underneath your shoe as you took a slow step forward. “I don’t want you to be alone out here. That’s what matters.”

“Why?” He questions, refusing to turn around and face you with full disbelief on his face. “You hate me. You can’t stand me every time I’m around. No one can.”

“That’s not true,” you shake your head, slowly getting yourself to take another step forward. About four feet of distance remained between you and Jason, your mind cluttered with ideas on how to get him

“Jason, I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Jason mutters, not believing you for a good second. You understood that he wouldn’t trust anyone after what you witnessed. You didn’t want to be on that side.

The steel frames were tall enough for you to hop up yourself, but the height was unnerving.

He remained quiet, pondering his rancid emotions running nonstop in his head. He felt himself nothing but poison; black pitch that stuck to everyone who so much as touched him, costing their skin like a cancer until it killed them.

That’s what was happening now, wasn’t it? Everyone was hating him, blaming him for things he didn’t understand. Now, here you were, coming up to add onto the pile. He assumed that on the spot. Why else were you here?

Bracing your hands along the beam, you push yourself up on it, fighting back your fear of heights to put yourself into this vulnerable position. Thinking slowly, you ponder over what else you could do, thinking over in your mind.

“Wanna sit?” You say, hoping he’d take the hand that offered such an innocent suggestion. “Talking is easier to do when sitting.”

To show this, you move into a sitting position beside him, feeling a little less tense on your concerns for falling. Jason doesn’t take the bait at first, only wondering as to why you were still even trying with him.

“You don’t need to be here,” he reverberates, but you weren’t going to have it.

“Neither do you,” you glanced up at him, seeing his attention fully focused on you, sitting beside him as of the ledge was just an every day public park bench.

Reluctantly, he shifts his position, leaving you to thank the Gods. With Jason sitting, you had much better control and opportunity to catch him, with the roof behind you to break both your fall.

“Do you want the truth?” You hesitantly ask, wondering if that’s what he needed. Someone who didn’t follow the others, who didn’t view him as a scapegoat to their problems, just because the unintentional category he fell into without realizing.

Just a glance of his bruised face in your direction after staring ahead for so long gave you the sign, smoothing your sweaty palms over thighs.

“You can be… obnoxious sometimes,” you proceed, slowly making the decision to proceed. “But not dark, or annoying, or… Look. I don’t get why they accused you on the spot. I really don’t.”

Silence continued to rattle his physique. His shifting head slowly peering downwards after hearing your words. His heartbeat began drumming in his head, his lungs burning with an irritated sting, his throat going dry.

“I might not like how you are, Jason,” you blatantly confess, “But I tolerate you enough to understand that you didn’t deserve this.”

There it was. Catching him off guard by cold facts, only to soothe the blow with truth. Your truth, the truth that should matter.

Not everyone was against him.

A part of him appreciates it, but at the same time, he grew irritated at your persistence to tell him what he already knew. It only made his feelings for you that much harder to understand.

He was supposed to not like you.

You were smart, yes. You popped one liners when you helped relay information to the Titans, read books and kept journals by yourself during your free time, and listened to music when you were in desperate need of relief after plenty of audible overstimulation.

The way you had your hair styled on different days, your persistence of spraying perfume on yourself before going to bed.

You weren’t loud, you weren’t overtly quiet. You respected business and boundaries, despite your job to hack and defy the purpose of them behind a computer screen.

He hated how unique yet simple you were. No one would suspect you of your talents, balancing your double life with little to mo effort.

“You don’t deserve this, Jason,” you say in order to remind him, watching his calloused fingers slowly flexing in his lap, signifying his various difficult emotions. You’d say it as many times as you needed to, to ram it into his every day thoughts.

“I don’t hate you,” you shake your head, peering at his battered, slowly healing face. “And… maybe I don’t entirely hate just how annoying you are. Sometimes, it makes things fun on a boring night.”

The corner of his busted lip rose in a faint, subtle smile. That made an interesting amount of sense. Maybe he was the type to irritate you on purpose, especially during his much earlier days.

His much earlier, flirtier Robin days.

“How annoying?”

Maybe, just maybe, being his friend didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

“Horribly,” you instantly reply as it became your turn to smile. “I mean it. Every day I wake up and dread what stupid thing you’d say next. What could you possibly say today for me to cringe at.”

If the both of you weren’t sitting on the edge of a building, Jason would have half a heart to nudge you with his shoulder. But, he knew your fear of heights.

“You think of me?”

“It’s hard not to, Jay.”

—

“Did I miss a party?” You announce as you enter the dark, gloomy hallway, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of two tall men talking to one another. A pile of unconscious bodies explaining their rigorous treatments just moments before you arrived.

“You missed the fun,” Jason chides, an amused smirk quickly growing on his face. The first full bodied smile Tim had seen on Jason since they met.

“A little earlier, you coulda joined in on your kickass computer skills.”

“Oh, ha ha,” you say, catching sight of Jason’s said laptop abandoned on the ground, bits of broken glass hinting at an unsalvageable screen. “Looks like someone beat me to it already.”

“It’s you.” Tim’s voice makes your head raise, giving the man a smile as you take in his Robin uniform.

“It’s me,” you reply, feeling a nostalgic flutter in your chest upon seeing that uniform worn by someone new. “I see Dick passed on the torch. How’s it feel?”

“He’s learning fast,” Jason gestures with a raised finger before pointing towards the bodies. “Very fast.”

“I see that.”

Ever since you had made the choice to step back from your position with the Titans a while back, life had gotten more chaotic in very unexpected ways.

You changed; in heart, in mind, in maturity.

You’ve grieved your best friend’s death, silently took pleasure in violent justice in the deaths of those who’ve betrayed and harmed your colleagues. You grieved once more when masks were unveiled, and even aided the wrong crowds for a while.

At your age, you’ve seen it all, you’ve learned from other peoples mistakes, as well as your own. You hated it, but accepted the lessons learned. As off as that sounds, that’s the best way you could describe it.

You kept in touch with Dick when he needed the help from the ‘attractive computer geek,’ so you were at least aware of what was going on. Hearing it all from Tim’s perspective brought back the times when you used to work alongside a particular ex-Robin, who remained standing close to your side during all topics of discussion.

“I got to meet the great Red Hood,” you watched with a smile a few steps up on the staircase as Tim prods Jason’s chest in a friendly manner, causing a flare in his ego as he chuckles in response.

“Don’t forget her,” Jason gestures his head up towards you, Tim’s eyes catching the faint flush in your cheeks.

“Poor girl’s kept us from running around with our heads cut off for years.”

“Always gotta respect the tech workers,” Tim agrees with a nod, making you scoff in amusement. “At least you didn’t call me ‘customer support’. That’s Grayson’s favorite.”

You said you were leaving when Tim was considerate to offer you a ride, but you brush off that you had your own, intending to head out for a date in two hours.

But, you weren’t.

The Titans, old or new, didn’t need to know all your secrets, regardless if cracking them was your specialty.

“You gave him your bike?” You ask once he gets off the phone with said old bird, approaching him as he gazed up at a clear board with various equations scrawled on the surface.

“Just sits there getting dust in the corner. I trust him to take care of it.” Jason sips at his dark drink once more before trailing off to the side, setting the bottle down.

“Still on for tomorrow night?” Jason asks, watching smile form on your face. The date. It was kinda true.

“Of course. Just came by to get my lipgloss.” You smirk, raising up your cherry flavored lip product you had to fetch from under his bed where it had rolled. “Forgot it here last night, remember?”

“How could I ever.” Jason replies with a lowered rumble, recalling all the memories of the night prior, involving getting sticky, glittery cherry gloss along his lips, leaving remnants of it smeared on his neck after a very short, sexually tense conversation.

“Kinda thought you’d wear a scarf when you showed up,” he teases as he approached, amused at your eye roll.

“I don’t do scarves, Todd,” you state, feeling it harder to fight off a smile. Your hands ease off your hips to settle across Jason’s broad shoulders.

“Whatever you say, shortcake.”

By now, you should take up a job at being a makeup counter girl, especially considering how well you managed to cover up your hickies over the span of many, many months.

Your nose lightly brushes with his, his lips merely missing yours on purpose, planting a single kiss on the corner of your mouth before holding you closer, your hips smugly fitting into his hands.

You were a breath of fresh, rainstorm air after a dark storm, your perfume clinging to his clothes for days.

“Was thinkin’,” he murmurs. “We’d try to reenact last night for our date night.”

“Hmm, with a different flavor?”

“You taste a lot better without it.”

You giggle, settling your hands along his back to keep secure in this comforting embrace.

“You think of me like that?” The words softly leave your lips.

He smiles down at you, his eyes full of warmth and comfort in your presence, cradling your right cheek after fixing a bit of your hair. He can’t help but shift attention to your pretty lips; perfect petal soft skin that displayed the prettiest of smiles to his god awful humor.

“It’s hard not to, babe.”

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 6

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited… Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Simon was struggling for the days following his return. You could tell that he was trying his best not to be a stick in the mud.

He’d been spending an awful lot of time in his shed, and you’d seen two new furniture additions to the house since his return.

You’d tried to pull him out of his head, getting him to bake bread with you in the kitchen, but despite his outward smile you could tell he was drowning.

It all came to a head while you and Moonbeam were sitting on the carpet in front of the Christmas tree.

Simon came to stand in front of you, a somber look on his face, and your smile faltered.

“Do you wanna talk?” You asked softly, patting the space beside you. You noted the large, orange envelope in his hands, and the duffel bag on his shoulder, and you tilted your head questioningly. Surely he wasn’t going on a mission. You hoped Price had the good sense not to send him out right now.

“I did something wrong,” he began. “I…I fucked up y/n.” Your jaw went slack, and you stood to your feet. “I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep lying to you.”

He held out the duffel bag, and you accepted it with a wary gaze, setting it on the coffee table beside you.

You opened it slowly, the zipper catching a few times, and tried not to wince at the smell of his sweaty gear.

He just stared at you, this most agonized expression you’d ever seen in his eyes. “Simon,” you began as you emptied out the contents of the bag, but you froze when your fingers met hard plastic.

You pulled the object out, staring into the familiar faceplate sewn into a balaclava. You held your breath for a moment, eyes flicking between him and the mask.

There was no Tommy. No Lieutenant Ghost. Only Simon Ghost Riley. Your husband.

“You…you were him. This whole time?” You asked, standing up at him. It made sense. Simon Riley was dead. He was a Ghost.

“I’m sorry. M’ so sorry. I just wanted to help, and you were begging me to do something, I didn’t know what else to do-“

“You lied to me,” you whispered, eyes narrowing at him. You’d always known that he’d married you out of pity, that he’d felt somehow responsible for your position, but you didn’t realize it was because he was there. “Why would you do that? Am…am I a joke to you? You hated me-“

“No,” he said firmly. “I loved you, I loved you for a long time.”

“Then why didn’t you say that? Why lead me to believe that you were two different people! You made me feel worthless that day in the mess, why would you do that?”

Simon flinched as you raised your voice. “I…I was wrong to do that. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me from what, Simon?” You seethed.

He gulped. “From…Ghost.”

You punched the bridge of your nose. “What does that even mean?”

“Ghost isn’t a good person. He hurts people. He’s a stone-cold killer. He’s the worst part of me. You wouldn’t have been able to love Ghost,” his voice wavered, and you closed your eyes, biting your lip.

“I already loved Ghost,” you whispered, not daring to open your eyes. “You didn’t need to lie to me, Simon.”

He had tears in his eyes when you opened your own, and there was a bitter frown on his face. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I fucked this up. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he shook his head.

You frowned deeply, crossing your arms over your chest. Ghost was your husband. You had married Ghost, and he’d lied to you about it. “You always do this,” you mumbled angrily. “I spent three years working my ass off on that task force, and you sidelined me the entire fucking time, and now you’re telling me you loved me, but you wanted nothing to do with me, so you just…became a different person? A version of you that didn’t even exist anymore?”

Simon was silent for a moment, before a choked sob left his lips. “I didn’t think there was anything good left in me until you came along,” he began. Your eyes softened slightly at his words. “For the first time in a long time I felt like Simon wasn’t completely gone, and I thought maybe you could bring him back but…Simon isn’t strong enough to deal with all the shit that Ghost does. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better for you.”

He held out the envelope, and you accepted it with a wary glance at his tear stained face.

The deed to the property, the keys to the truck, and a substantial amount of cash sat nestled inside. “Simon?” You asked in a warning tone.

“You didn’t sign up for this. You married Simon, not Ghost, and I…I can’t be just Simon for you.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “Oh hell no, you are not getting out of this that easily.”

He tilted his head at you in pure confusion, and you resisted the urge to slap him. “I don’t want your fucking house, or your car, or your money! I want you to fix this!” You seethed.

“I-I’m trying-“

“No. You made a mistake and you’re trying to run away from it because you’re afraid I won’t accept you if you’re not perfect! Get over yourself, Simon! I’m not perfect! I lied to my parents about my job, which sure as hell isn’t as bad as this mess, but it still wasn’t right.”

“You don’t want me to leave?” He asked softly, and you took a deep breath.

“No.”

“But you’re angry with me.”

“Fucking furious,” you agreed.

“I…don’t understand.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Simon. I just need you to be willing to stand beside me.”

You set his farewell package on the table, and took his hand in yours.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

“You can start by telling me how the hell you got into this Ghost mess, and then you can promise me you’re never gonna lie to me again,” you demanded.

Simon’s eyes locked with your own, and he felt his breath catch. There was a fire blazing in your eyes, and he realized that you, for as fragile and small as you were, you were nothing like his mother. You were strong, and resilient. You were powerful in your own, special way. And you were giving him a second chance.

“I’m so sorry,” he began. “I’m so, so sorry, y/n.” I did a terrible thing, I tricked you, and I never should have done that.”

You nodded in agreement, settling your hands on his shoulders. You were angry with him, and hurt by what he’d done, but you still loved him, and despite his actions, you didn’t doubt that he loved you. It was a sobering thought. The mighty Ghost, on his knees begging for a woman’s forgiveness.

“I was just a kid when I joined the army, I had to get out of my mum and dad’s house, he did awful things to us that I have no business making someone as good as you listen to,” he said. “My brother became an addict, and I had to leave for a while to get him straight. He got married, had a kid, and things were fine so I went back in, started doin’ private work, and then shit hit the fan. I was held hostage for months, and when I finally made it out they hunted me down…” he trailed off, his breathing going ragged as he recounted the events.

“They found your family,” you finished, gently stroking wet cheeks. He looked up at you in surprise, and you bit your lip. “I read the obituaries,” you explained.

“You knew?” He asked in disbelief, and you nodded. “And you didn’t figure it out?”

You frowned, looking at your feet as you were unable to meet his gaze. “I thought Tommy was Ghost,” you admitted, and Simon’s shoulders tensed beneath your fingers. You could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t like the thought of that one bit.

“Simon,” you said softly, bringing his attention back to you. “Promise me you’ll never lie to me,”

“I swear on my mum’s grave,” he rasped as you cupped his cheeks.

“Promise me you’re not gonna try to be someone you’re not.”

His lower lip twitched and his jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I promise.”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you pulled him against your chest as you buried your nose in his dirty blonde hair.

“They buried me alive,” he said all of a sudden, and you blinked in confusion.

“What?” You asked in horror.

“They buried me with another man’s body and I dug out with his jaw bone. That’s why they call me Ghost.”

You stared at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw, before blinking away your momentary lapse. “Is that why you don’t like sleeping under the blanket?” You asked.

He nodded like a scolded child and you let out a long sigh, squeezing him tightly. You were going to get this man into therapy if it was the last thing you did.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “I don’t deserve this.”

“That’s not how love works, Simon,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “And I’m still pretty mad at you,” you grumbled.

“I’ll take it,” he murmured against your shoulder. “Y/n,” he said softly, standing to his full height. “You can’t tell anyone who I am. Not your family or your friends-“

“I get it. It’s between you and me,” you said, and he nodded.

“You and me.”

AN: it’s not done yet I promise, plenty more to come~ you all thought she was gonna find out on her own~ SIKE~ the guilt was just gonna eat him alive until it broke him. You’ve been cordially invited to cry.

Tag list: Thanks for your support you guys!

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[icallhimjoey]

AAHH my favorite bitch back at it again! This will be a 5 chapter fic, correct? Because we best make him the FILTHIEST of martinis that makes him drop to his knees and kiss the floor we spill drinks on walk on. He better recognize we are more than just cute 😤😤😤

well, best we can do is TRY, isn't it? And that is, if Martin will let us... Wordcount: 3.7K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Surprise, surprise. Look who's back again. For the, what, fifth time this week, is it?”

“That’s... that’s no way to speak to a customer.”

You let your mouth smile so hard, it made your sarcastic eyes disappear entirely.

“What can I get you?”

“Oh, that’s all right, I think...” Joe started, and Martin reached to place a drink down on the bar where Joe would usually sit. Joe pointed at it for you to see, like you were dumb to even suggest you had to take his order. “I’ve already got one waiting. But thank you. Next time.”

Disrespectful idiot.

You didn’t like Joe.

You did. You liked Joe a lot. But you didn't like him, you know?

It had been a few weeks of this now, and the comments had become more and more biting. Always said with smiles – ones that didn’t reach your eyes, nor his. Never mean or actually bitter, but there was definitely a “you suck at this job you stupid cow” vibe coming from him, and a “you come here too often you sad sack of shit” vibe coming from you.

It made Martin bite away sly smirks and swallow his obvious laughter when he witnessed you interact with each other.

You just didn’t like how Joe seemed to act like he was above you in this bar, even though he didn’t even work there. Only vaguely knew the manager. Came in a couple nights a week, mostly by himself because he didn’t have any friends.

You didn’t know if that was true, but who the fuck spends hours in a bar by himself if they have actual friends to hang out with, you know? Man was a loner. A real loser.

Shame he looked so good. And shame that it always made your heart beat faster when you saw him walk in every couple of days. You’d tell it, fucking knock it off with the palpitations, I don’t have time for this shit, he called us inadequate, you stupid bitch.

Cute too, sure. He had called you cute as well. It was why he made you blush just by looking at you.

But he’d wished Martin good luck with that one and he obviously had meant you. So you didn’t like Joe. Even though you did. And even though he’d been right.

Because Martin really did need good luck with this one, you thought, mentally pointing a fat thumb at yourself. Martin hadn’t called you inadequate to your face, yet, but… the message was clear.

No one else got told to just go sit and to closely watch what he did. See how he made drinks. Learn from what you could observe. 

Martin had said it all politely, but had grabbed onto you by the shoulders and steered you around the bar without any hesitation. Gestured at the barstools there and… you were a little dumbfounded at first. 

“Just... so I just sit…? And watch?”  

“It’s a little too busy to have so many bodies behind the bar.” 

You were in everyone’s way a lot, is what he meant.

James had shoved you aside more than once and had dropped a bottle of sticky syrup when he bumped into you. Somehow that was your fault. You’d been standing in a spot you weren’t meant to be standing, because apparently you had to by now be able to anticipate his every next step all night long.  

You sat down closest to Martin’s station.  

Decided if you were going to be tasked to watch and learn, you might as well watch and learn from the best.  

It had been three days since you’d been called cute by a stranger and three days of trying to mix the perfect dirty martini.  

And it really shouldn’t be so difficult. You knew the steps. You knew what went into the glass. You could do everything exactly the same as Martin would do it, but somehow, you thought it always didn’t come out right.  

Martin said yours was good. Had tasted the dirty martini you’d mixed before opening just to show him you knew exactly how now, and he’d said, “Yea. Good. So that’s one drink down.”  

Only thirteen more to master from the current menu.  

And then whatever other random off menu drinks people would ask for. Like frozen cocktails that weren’t on the menu. But there was blender behind the bar, and people would go, “I see you have a blender, can I have this drink, but have it frozen, please?” and Chloé would tell them, of course! And then would have you try your hand at it. 

You weren’t sure if she was giving you the orders she knew you were going to fuck up just to mess with you.  

But you were kind of fucking everything up, off menu or not, so, probably not. It was likely more an issue of incapability on your end than a malicious thing on hers.  

Martin made you sit and watch him, and after a little while, he passed you a little notepad and a pen. It was weird to have someone rest their head on two stacked fists on the bar all night. Taking notes made it look like you were actually doing something. So Martin started giving instructions on what he was doing whenever he could, whenever he felt he had the time to do so, to give you things to write down.  

He didn’t have a lot of time to do so, though, so you just started writing down what you saw. Wrote down ingredients. Step by step instructions. Utensils and glassware used. 

You had to be quick though. 

Martin was fast.  

You had to keep eyes on his hands and hope that what you were writing down was still readable after.  

In your focus, you hadn’t noticed that someone sat down next to you. 

Someone who now had to sit at the long end of the bar, cringe, eyeroll, so very annoying, because you so happened to have taken the seat he’d usually occupy.  

Joe sat down and sort of watched you for a little bit. Looked at what you were doing. Puzzled together why you weren’t behind the bar doing your job, or trying to do so at least, and instead hogged his favourite seat.

He saw how you didn’t break eye-contact with Martin’s hands and chuckled to himself when he saw your handwriting.

There was no way you’d be able to decipher that. Didn’t even look like you were writing down words.

He looked on as your pen slipped off the paper and left a mark on the bar. 

“Careful, that’s the end of the note right there,” Joe said, condescending, too late to actually be helpful.  

You rubbed at it with a finger and quickly got your eyes back on Martin. 

You’d missed a step. 

Shit.  

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to pay attention because,” you paused, wrote down what Martin did with some lemon zest.  

“Because…” Joe egged you on. 

“Because apparently, I can’t mix my cocktails right.”  

“Oh,” you heard next to you as you watched Martin finish the drink, followed by, “So, you’re aware?” 

Hm?

What the fuck? 

You frowned as you looked down at your note and tried to process if what you just heard had been right. Then you slowly looked up, eyes first, then your head followed, and, oh no, this was the guy.

There wasn’t even time to think of a smart comeback quick enough, because the realization immediately made you move onto different things.

“Dirty martini!” you exclaimed, eyes wide, and you immediately got up. Well. You tried to immediately get up. The barstool scraped against the floor loudly, but it didn’t move back far enough, and you got caught between the chair and the bar and it made your tits land on the edge awkwardly before you turned and let your feet find the floor properly.

The whole scuffle of it made the little smile on his face break into an actual laugh.

“Careful,” Joe laughed as he hovered a hand near you that did nothing, all pretend helpful.

But the second you were off the seat, you got instructions to get back on.

“Sit back down.” Martin said, eyes not even on you, and it was stupid how quick you climbed back onto the seat again. It was also stupid how you were legitimately proud of yourself for succeeding at something Martin asked of you.

“This one’s for Joe,” Martin said as he placed the drink he’d just finished right in front of this guy. Joe, you’d just learnt. “But you can get him a dirty martini next if he’ll have one.”

Martin looked at you like you were a child, eyebrows raised up high on his forehead, and then when he turned to Joe, he broke into a grin. It felt like it was a smile that made fun of you a little, but then he said, “Let me know what you think, I need to sort the Christmas menu.” and you hadn’t even considered the menu changing soon.

Fuck.

That meant there were more drinks you were going to have to learn how to make. Things with seasonal ingredients. Things that were more festive. Things that included fire maybe, and you weren’t ready to light yourself on fire. You weren’t ready to see the horrified reflection of your hairdresser in the mirror as you explained that it was just an accident, and could she please fix it because you had a big New Year’s Eve party to attend soon?

 You didn’t get to make Joe his dirty martini that night.

Or the next time he came in.

Or the time after that.

Instead, you got to listen to him wince, hiss and then laugh when you dropped a full tray of drinks over yourself before you could even step around the bar to bring them over to the right table.

Instead, you got to see him hide a giggle when you held a bit of orange peel the wrong way when you squeezed it over a drink, spraying the juice right into your eyes.

Instead, you got to see how he seemed playfully impressed when you bit back at a comment Chloé made about you needing to get out of the way after she bumped her hip into you, and you’d said that it wasn’t your fault she had a fat arse.

When you looked at him though, he’d pretended to be absolutely scandalized. Like he was on her side for it. Like he was about to go, "Are you just going to take that, Chlo?" and egg this on.

When he didn't see you look, you'd seen him smile softly to himself and, you know what, he could actually piss off for real, who did he think he even was in the first place?

You’d apologized to Chloé immediately after, terrified Chloé would be offended, mortified you’d started an actual fight, but you’d seen a flicker of joy across her face, and you had felt comfortable enough to show a little of a smile in return. Felt like the first little bit of acceptance, of you speaking her language, and all it took was a little gas to the fire.

Instead of getting to make Joe a dirty martini, Martin made you do a million other things. He had you take peoples orders, had you learn how to close the bar to make opening easy and efficient the next day, had you prep ingredients the correct way, and had you do mundane shit like cleaning floors, tables, toilets, et cetera, et cetera.

You basically got to do anything but make drinks.

And Joe was the type of person to give you tips from where he was sat. Unwelcome shit. Things like, “Missed a spot here,” when you would wipe down the bar, or, “That table has been waiting for ages,” when you were just about to go over to take their order.

But Joe was a guest, and you were meant to be friendly and polite.

So you’d smile your most inauthentic smile and would tell him thanks in your flattest voice.

It always made him laugh.

Which, in turn, always made Martin smile.

Weird how that worked.

“Good evening,” you’d tell Joe when you’d see him walk in, all exaggerated faux politeness which he easily accepted from you. Before he’d even be able to go and sit down, before the coat was even off, you’d raise your pen to your pad and would ask, “What can I get you?”

And Joe’d just smile, like he couldn’t help the grin, and then he’d nod his head down, scrunch up his nose and point towards the bar before walking over to where he always sat. Where he’d take his coat off and reveal he was wearing a shirt with the first three buttons undone, sometimes even four, showing off literal cleavage. You didn’t need to get him anything. He’d get whatever Martin was already loudly shaking in his shaker.

It felt a little like you were put on the bench. By Martin. By Joe. Like you got to be a part of the football team, but didn’t actually get to play at all.

Didn’t get to take Joe’s order.

Didn’t get to make any drinks.

After a few shifts like that, James took pity on you, and when Martin left him in charge for the rest of the night, he’d given you an order to make.

Fuck yes.

Excellent.

And Joe was there, too!

Maybe if you did this right, James wouldn’t bat an eye if you just started on a dirty martini after, to slide over to Joe and to do what Martin always did. Ask him what he thought of it. Ask him to give a lengthy review which you knew was going to be nice words only, topped off by the satisfaction you’d get from him expecting the worst and then tasting the best.

You wanted to see that face. Feel it in your bones.

The Simon-Cowell-watching-Susan-Boyle-for-the-first-time face.

But then you didn’t do it right, did you?

You poured all liquids into the cocktail shaker and closed it properly, like you’d been shown how, but, you weren’t meant to put all liquids into the shaker, were you?

You were meant to keep the carbonated drink to the side and add that directly to the glass after you’d mixed the rest of it.

You only shook it twice.

Maybe three good, violent times, to really get the ice to rattle.

The cocktail shaker exploded in your hands.

You gasped as the cold drink hit your front, and stood there, frozen as the drink dripped down your face.

You saw Joe very slowly reach and wipe underneath his eye with his middle finger as he rapidly blinked, like a little drop had made it onto his face.

There was no way any of that had gotten onto him, but the fact that he pretended that it did was just as infuriating as it was embarrassing.

James and Chloé stood there frozen also, until James reached for a dishtowel and hit you in the face with it.

“I think maybe Frank needs help,” he had then said after you’d finished cleaning, and were sent upstairs to join Frank by the door.

Not the worst job.

Frank was nice, didn’t mind a break from playing solitaire on his phone for a chat, but... joining Frank by the entrance was the bar equivalent of being put on time out, and Frank knew it too.

When he saw you come into view as you dragged your feet up the stairs to where he was sat, he smiled and said, “What’d you do this time?”

You plonked onto the barstool next to him in the small little hallway and sighed as you leant back against the wall.

“Put fizzy drink into a shaker.”

You bonked your head against the wall behind you, once, twice, three times.

“Shook it.”

Frank huffed a laugh, said, “Nice.” and got back to his game on his phone.

“When do you think I'll get fired?” you asked jokingly.

“Hmm, a week, give or take.” Frank answered, eyes on his phone, and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Nice.”

As the night came to a close, you saw people out along with Frank. Opened the door for them. Wished them a lovely rest of their night.

Just when you thought you might as well go down to help James and Chloé with closing, the both of them came up the stairs, talking, laughing, both in their coats already.

“Hey, what’s...” you faltered, confused. There was no way they’d actually finished already.

“We’ve done most, you’ll be fine finishing up, yea?” Chloé asked. It wasn’t a question for you to answer though. She was already standing outside when James tried to give you some last instructions.

“Use the key in the cash register, leave it in the letterbox after locking up.”

You just looked at him. Blinked a few times, because, were you allowed to do this on your own? Would Martin be okay with you closing the place by yourself?

“You got this!” James smiled, and you knew it was just that he was happy to be fucking off early for once.

When the heavy door fell shut behind them, you stared at it a second before you huffed a humourless laugh.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I still got half an hour on my clock,” Frank said after checking. “Do you need any help?”

You considered it for a moment.

“That's kind of you, but... I actually don’t, thanks.”

You didn’t.

Martin had practically let you close on your own before. He’d just been sat at the bar whilst you worked around him, big grey folder opened and pen in hand, doing whatever admin needed doing.

“Join them. Have a... somewhat early night.”

It was late.

“You sure? Can’t place blame with me for anything if I’m not around.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

You said goodbye to Frank, closed the door behind him and sighed.

Fine.

This was fine. You could close by yourself. Lock up by yourself. You’d be there for opening the next day anyway, so if you were to leave anything undone, you’d be able to pick up where you left off, stepping on your own toes, no one else’s.

You made your way back down the stairs.

Around the corner. 

Past the toilets.

Down the dark hallway. 

Into the bar, where... there was loud music playing. Loud music.

When you stepped inside, you were fully expecting to be alone but then realised: you'd not said goodbye to Joe yet.

And there he was.

Behind the bar.

Hands near the sound system, like he was trying to figure out how to use it. The song skipped to the next one, and Joe clapped his hands together once before he held both arms out wide as he spun around.

Teeth bitten into his lip, he made eye-contact with you near the entrance and... danced. Did a stupid hip and shoulder shake to the beat before he clapped in his hands again.

You frowned, loudly shouted, “Guests aren’t allowed behind the bar!” as you made you way over.

Joe completely ignored you. Got really into his old-man-at-wedding dance as he lipsynced along, all playful, all goofy.

When you were close enough, he grabbed a wet dishcloth and was about to throw it over. He waited for you to hold you hands up, to get ready to catch it, but you just said, “Yea, great, the tables probably still need doing, thanks.” as you slapped him on the shoulder, passing behind him to get to work behind the bar.

Not before you changed the song to something you liked, asserting power over Joe, because you worked here. Not Joe.

He could treat this place like a second home all he wanted.

You were closing the bar, so you got to choose the music.

And you expected to turn back around and see Joe get into his coat, dishcloth abandoned on the side.

You expected an overdone smile, a snarky comment, a mocking smile with narrowed eyes as he’d insincerely wish you good luck.

You expected to have to go and look to see if Joe paid for this drinks.

You expected he probably hadn’t, because by now you’d clocked in on this weird agreement Martin and Joe had, but you were going to make him pay regardless.

What you weren’t expecting was to turn back around and to see Joe bent over a table, hips wiggling as he wiped it down, focussing on a seemingly extra sticky bit, mouth pouted and brow furrowed.

Oh shit.

You didn’t like how that worked something in the pit of your stomach.

You also didn’t like how you watched Joe clean a few tables and then saw him catch you staring.

You snapped out of it and pretended you dropped something, just so you could duck down behind the bar for a second.

When you got back up, Joe had moved on to do more tables, and you were glad that he ignored the staring. He could’ve absolutely made a sassy comment to embarrass you, but he’d chosen peace over violence tonight, so it seemed.

Dirty martini.

Yes.

A filthy one.

You could make him a dirty martini as a silent thank you, because there was not a chance you were going to say those words aloud.

Just make one and then leave it out on the bar for him to find as you cleaned up behind the bar so you could pretend you didn’t even care if he liked it or not. Be all casual about it.

But then Joe looked up at you again, and a small smile grew into a wider one and there was no way he wasn’t going to slag you off for something, so you abandoned all plans and just... went for it. Asked him in an almost challenging way, no smile to be detected, with eyebrows slightly raised,

“Dirty martini?”

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

[sserajeans]

you are in love | 52. the christmas fair pt. 2 (written)

it took the group of 12 about an hour to finish all the food they bought, trying a dish from almost every stall in the fair. from boxes of chicken and pizza to plates of corndogs and cups of drinks, the table was a mess once they were done.

deciding to play a lengthy game of rock, paper, scissors to determine the unlucky one responsible for cleaning up, leehan ended up victim after wonyoung gaslit him into thinking she did rock when he did scissors (she initially formed paper).

"can we at least watch the fireworks through the ferris wheel?" leehan sighed and started with his own trash, stuffing everything in a plastic bag.

"wouldn't it be cute to watch it together though?" jiwoo suggested as she scrolled through her pinterest feed and found cute couple pictures to recreate when the fireworks show would start.

"we can watch the first round together by the fences, then those who wants to catch it on the wheel can go?" yunjin suggested after pondering for a minute, handing leehan both her and kazuha's garbage.

"sounds cool!" y/n exclaimed as she helped danielle with an unusually large pile of garbage that the two gathered while waiting for leehan to reach their side.

"thanks guys..." leehan muttered and huffed before dumping the now overflowing trash bag into the nearest garbage can.

everyone around the table laughed at leehan's continued bitterness of having to be in charge of the garbage, despite being finished with the task. wonyoung handed him a wet wipe as minji took a candid photo and drew a garbage bag with flies around the boy. that was going to be one hell of a birthday post.

"we still got about 45 minutes before the show starts... so... games section?" kazuha asked with a knowing tone that came with a pinch of excitement.

the rest of the table cheered and nodded long as they pulled out maps of the fairgrounds, huddling up together to figure out an efficient route that would allow them to spend time together while hitting all the activity stalls they each wanted to do. (minji’s idea, and she was quite frankly, very good at it.)

to put their 45 minute activity extravaganza in summary, hanni is a good shot with a pellet gun which scared the shit out of minji, y/n could be a fisherman as an alternative career choice (while leehan cried beside her to have mercy on the fish), wonyoung can throw darts like a mad woman, and kazuha’s eyes are extremely sharp chasing around ping pong balls under cups.

“fireworks show in a minute!” yunjin announced, leading the rest of the group by the edge of the fairgrounds bounded by metal fencing to overlook the rest of the town.

“wait i’ll catch up in a bit!” y/n yelled back, doing her best to aim 5 individual sandbags into the holes in a tilted wooden board. she was oddly determined to win the stall’s grand prize, a bunny plushie that she told danielle looked “extra adorable” and that she “must win it no matter what.”

“y/n, you can win it later! come on it just struck 9:00!” danielle nagged the lee, who almost ignored her in suit of determination if it weren’t for the brief “just one more!” y/n muttered before landing the winning throw right after.

the stall’s employee handed y/n the bunny plushie, her eyes tired after entertaining the hundredth customer. the two girls raced for the metal fences where everyone else was waiting with their eyes fixed on the sky, expecting the fireworks any minute.

and just as lee y/n stumbled in front of the metal fences, the first firework shot to the sky, bursting in colors of red, orange, and yellow.

her face froze in awe at the marveling shades of colors painting the night sky, their chosen viewpoint provided near zero obstructions to block the view, so the city lights combined with the fireworks was one of the most truly beautiful sights to remember. they’d capture it in camera if any device did it justice.

this view, accompanied by her heart racing as she tried to catch her breath, created a surreal experience for y/n.

the show was scheduled to go on for another 10 minutes, so once the initial shock settled in, y/n came to the rest of her senses, and felt something warm. a soft and warm something that grazed her right hand.

if it were up to her physical instinct, she would’ve grabbed it in desperation, given the 1 degree weather they were in that caused her hands to go ice cold. but it’d be awkward, obviously, because she knew danielle was on her left since they ran there together, and she was in too much of a rush to notice who was on her right.

allowing curiosity to get to the best of her, she turned to her right, eyes locking with the damned ones she was avoiding the whole night.

of course, it was hanni, who already was looking at her before she took a glance. for almost half a minute they stared and stared, eyes never leaving the other’s.

you know what people say? how eyes are windows to the soul?

hanni’s windows were glossy, an almost clear reflection of the red heart-shaped firework shone on her brown orbs. her eyes were windows to a soul bearing what felt like the weight of losing the world. vulnerability. a look of longing.

y/n’s windows were foggy, like a translucent glass pane filled from the condensation brought by the contrast of cold and warm weather. like the emotions she's felt the past few weeks. cold, a freezing cold, but also a warmth, a comforting warmth.

to hanni pham, she was beginning to realize in that moment that lee y/n was the world. the world she felt the weight of losing. but, to hanni pham, lee y/n was also the sun. the sun in which she revolves around.

it was the perfect description. y/n, her sun.

how could she live without her sun?

the earth without the sun would lose direction, light, and warmth.

the earth needs the sun, the way hanni pham needs lee y/n. and she’d never forgive herself for how stupid and selfish she had to be, and for how far things had to come, just for her to realize that.

to realize that she may love her best friends like family, but there would always be something more for lee y/n.

did she really, finally say that in her head?

that she loves lee y/n. and that she always has. finally putting a name to the unfamiliar and bewitching pull her childhood best friend had on her.

the intimate moment felt like hours for the two, stuck in their own world, their own universe with a completely different construct of time from reality.

but remember how the eyes were windows to the soul? windows that carry all emotion and thought?

it was very clear. one could look into them and see what was going on. any outsider could.

outsiders including their friends around them.

y/n felt a tug on her shoulder.

"y/n! gyuvin and leehan are gonna ditch us for the wheel!" wonyoung exclaimed, pointing at the two boys racing to take advantage of the almost non-existent queue.

"wait wha- okay but what about dan-"

"hey you're not the only one who's friends with her, you know!" jiwoo, who had overheard y/n's hesitance to leave danielle and struggle to reply, gave y/n a side eye as danielle let out a soft laugh, her eyes forming crescents with the warmest smile known to mankind.

"it's fine, y/n." she said, giving her date, a slight push towards wonyoung's direction. "i'll be fine."

"OKAY! you got the green light! now y/n use your swimmer legs and RUN! are you actually gonna let the boys win??"

masterlist. next.

taglist: @yyeonmis @lostamoeba @jisooftme @yoontoonwhs @awkwardtoafault @lcv3lies @limbforalimb @kaypanaq @manooffline @kimsgayness @justme-idle @mightymyo @sewiouslyz @txtbrainrot @li0ilthecxnt @captivq @paranoxic @sofakingwoso @pandafuriosa60 @haerinkisser @lesleepyyy @haechansbbg @rosiehrs @jiwoneiric @blue4hour @bzeus28 @keiji-jin

[itshobogizmo]

As of chapter 5, what are the cast's opinions on cross?

Ooo a fun one!

Firstly, I’m not going to do Horror, because I’m actively working on 5.5, which is in Horror’s POV, and will give inside on his opinion so far anyway.

Nightmare: Cross is an overachiever with standards set far to high, but his performance and precision are unmatched.

He needs to kick the lying habit, Nightmare isn’t sure how many he’s actually caught however. He lets the one about sleeping slide, the delicious savory flavors that crept from his subject was addicting.

There’s something about the OVERWRITES he needs to discuss.

Killer: Cross is a stupid little bitch baby who like lying like a dumb liar, he’s lied about all of them to their boss, and Killer thinks it’s stupid.

Also, Nightmare is taking a liking to Cross, and Killers soul squeezes with bitter jealousy. So what if he wasn’t as fast as Cross is when doing tasks, and Cross didn’t have outbreaks at all like he did. So what if Dust got manhandled like nothing while Killer struggled to get the maniac pinned half the time. So what if Dust liked it and is starting to like Cross and not Killer anymore.

And it’s sooooo fucking aggravating when he does his best to get under Cross’s metaphorical skin, and the guy doesn’t even seem to fucking notice. Brushes Killer off, like, he’s nothing.

But this time he did it!!! He got Cross to react.

But it was boring.

With no real enjoyment.

Probably because of the weird look in his eye at the door. Then answered quiet. Killer doesn’t like quiet, quiet is fucking terrible. Why would Cross want to go into it?..

Dust: Cross could throw him any time. Anywhere. Preferably in another fight. But not with this sickly, crazed and depraved version of Cross.

He began silently following the skeleton through the week, both because he had been put on survey duty and because he wanted to make sure Cross was… a safety risk … that’s what he and paps were telling himself anyways.

Fast, focused, intelligent, driven, a god damned powerhouse with incredible reflex’s. That’s what Cross is supposed to be. Not this exhausted angry crazed thing.

There’s that twitch in Cross’s eye, the flicker to the side of Dust’s hoodie and his eye light seems to roam over Dust’s face in a wiggly but precise manner. Following something, all the way back to meet Dust’s stare.

So, much to Killers shock and later displeasure, he let Cross go. Dust knows that look in Cross’s eyes, he knows what Cross was seeing was real. As real as papyrus was to him. He’s going to have to check his own skull over again, just to make sure it wasn’t a new real thing for him to.

No use in letting Cross panic.

He’s kinda hot when he’s mad and crazed. He needs to find out the schedule to see where to admire stalk him for the day.

He wants to fight Cross again, both of their magic out, see who has more power.

[tmntartblock]

TMNT LEOSAGI AU:

FIND ME IN THE FUTURE

Chapter 1/???

WARNINGS: BL00D, VIOLENCE

Introduction post:

CHAPTER 1: Everything changes

It had been a rough couple of months. Even though Shredder had been finally defeated, his little minions kept showing up. Leo was tired, always trying to keep up with their schemes but it was starting to get overwhelming. He spent countless nights planning strategies for every possible scenario, setting up his little ponds of everyone that Mikey had so kindly made for him. 

One late evening, as Leo was trying to come up a plan to invade an old storage house, Usagi appeared. Leo felt his heart filling up with warmth and the ponds dropped from his hands immediately as he went to hug his boyfriend that had been in his strict military realm for months. It was impossible to know when Usagi came to visit - sometimes it was only weeks, sometimes half a year. 

Usually it made Leo happy to see Usagi. Usagi made him feel at ease and he could focus on something else other than his responsibilities. But when Usagi appeared from a shiny blue portal, holding a little sack and tears in his eyes, the ease was nowhere to be found. 

“I am not going back”, Usagi said, voice trembling as he threw his belongings in the corner. 

“What do you mean?” Leo asked as he put his hand on Usagi’s shoulder. Usagi didn’t answer but hugged him, so tightly he could barely breathe. Leo felt Usagi’s body shaking so he held on as long as was needed. 

Usagi only started to talk when they went to bed. Leo sneaked some snacks for them from the kitchen and luckily nobody asked questions since everybody was already used to Leo spending days in solitude. 

“What happened?” Leo finally dared to ask. 

Usagi stared at his hands for a while. He didn’t touch the food Leo had brought.

“I… I had enough”, he said finally. Leo stared at him, eyes wide. They had been talking about it for years. Usagi hated the army and everything it represented. But he had vowed to his mother to keep his realm safe. It was about honor and Leo understood it too well.

“We don’t have to talk about it now”, Leo said. “Let’s talk with master Splinter in the morning. It won’t be a problem for you to stay here.”

Usagi smiled a little and gave him a quick kiss.

“Thank you, Leonardo-chan.” 

First days Leo felt happiness. Usagi was free. He was here, with him. But the inner struggle of leaving his home planet just seemed to eat Usagi’s mind, snickering in his consciousness. Usagi thought Leo couldn’t notice, but of course he did. Every time Leo asked what had happened, Usagi quickly redirected the focus on something else so Leo decided to leave it at that.

Leo could feel Usagi’s mind wonder. He could feel the distance growing every day between them. He wanted to  demand the answer but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had to focus on the tasks at hand - bringing down the rest of the Foot. As long as Usagi was physically safe near him, it could wait.

After some weeks, Leo’s plan had been formed and they had taken into all precautions. If the current leader of the New York’s Foot clan was in the warehouse like she was suppose to, it was going to be a hard hit for them. 

“Guys”, Leo said and looked at his brothers, Casey, April and Usagi. “It’s been a rough couple of months-”

“When was the last time it really wasn’t?” Mikey asked blantly, staring at the plan at hand. Leo sighed and Raph slapped Mikey on the back of his head.

“Hm? It was a genuine question.”

“If I recall correctly, about… 5 years ago”, Donnie said, defining his last piece of tech for the attack. “It was that one morning before the mouser attack.”

“I don’t need a reminder how shitty our lives have been, thanks Don”, Raph said. “Go on with your great speech, oh fearless leader.”

“You kinda killed the mood for that already”, Leo said trying to not sound bitter. He knew his brothers listened to him when it was necessary but any extra words went over their heads as they lost interest. “I hope everyone knows their positions.”

That night, Leo, Mikey, Raph and Casey were on top of the warehouse, waiting for Usagi to get the thermal camera to its position. 

“This waiting thing is always so boring. Why we just didn’t get here when the big boss arrives”, Mikey said, snacking on his popcorn that Leo had specifically told him not to bring.

“Because, Mikey, we don’t know when the big boss arrives.”

“But why not arrive later then?”

“We cannot let her get too comfortable. Surprise is our advantage. Like always.”

“Wait, what the shell is Usagi doing, Leo?” Raph said, interrupting them from their banter.

Leo went quickly back to the window and saw the shadow of Usagi wandering on the floor.

“Why is he not coming back up?” Raph said and looked at Leo, who felt the cold rushing through him. Leo saw Usagi stopping and waving at the darkness. What-

Foot ninja.

Leo didn’t hesitate. He broke the glass and jump through, landing on the boxes under him and then jumped on the floor. He drew his katana and put it on the ninja’s neck.

“One wrong move and you are dead.”

Leo knew he needed to pay attention to the enemy but he could not help himself but stare at Usagi who just stood there, doing nothing, staring with his big brown eyes, being impossible to read. 

“Leo! Watch out!” Raph yelled from the above and suddenly the whole warehouse was overflowing with ninjas. Others jumped in to help them. The whole plan had failed miserably but why- what- 

He was surrounded. He saw a blade coming from one direction that he had to block and then dodge the other one coming from his side. He air-kicked two other people before he could flee to clearer soil. He had been preparing for a fight but not like this. 

“Leo! Watch out!” He heard Mikey yelling somewhere above and moved just in time to not get crushed by huge containers that Mikey had been able to push to fall. This whole time Leo tried to catch a glimpse of Usagi.

The doors of the warehouse exploded open. Donnie and April had gotten the message that something had went wrong.

Then, in all the hassle, Leo saw something that made his heart drop.

Usagi, talking with the enemy. What was happening? What was Usagi doing? When Usagi shook the hand of the ninja, Leo realized.

Usagi had betrayed them. 

No. No he couldn’t. Usagi could never.

But he was the one who didn’t follow the plan. He didn’t draw his katana because he didn’t have to. It was all on ambush to get them all killed. But why? How could Usagi do this? It couldn’t be. He couldn’t. 

Leo’s mind was racing, he tried to make sense of all this. Was this the reason Usagi had been acting distant? How long he had known? Was this some long run plan of years trying to get him and his brothers?

Leo felt sick to his stomach. Time seemed as it had stopped. He stared at the man he had so wholeheartedly loved for years, betray him, just like that. He got snapped back to the reality by the cold blade cutting through his arm, sending sharp pain through his body.

Leo knew he was badly hurt. He could feel the blood flooding from his arm but the only pain he could feel was from his heart as he stared at Usagi. Usagi had stopped to look at him as he laid on the floor. If it wasn’t for Raph Leo would have been dead by now.

“Usagi, please” Leo cried and tried to get up from the ground as the blood smeared everywhere. “Usagi don’t do this.”

He knew it was pointless to plead but he couldn’t help himself. Usagi stepped into the portal and just like that, he was gone. Mikey and Donnie helped Leo back on his feet. His focus was gone, the attacks that were once easy to dodge, suddenly could reach him. 

Usagi’s betrayal made everything blurry for him. Others it filled with clarity – destroy Foot, get Leo out of there alive. Raph’s rage could be felt through the whole battlefield, and no one got spared. The current leader didn’t get a chance. She was destroyed.

The rest of the ninjas fled when the leader was killed. Leo felt the adrenaline fading with his consciousness. It took all of Leo’s power to not pass out on the way home but it was mainly due to his brothers’ annoyance that kept him conscious. 

“Leo! Stay awake or I’m gonna use your katanas to spread butter!” Mikey yelled and slapped him once more. 

When they got back home and all the injuries were taken care of, Leo could only sit and stare into an abyss. His heart was pounding heavily and all he could hear was the blood flowing through his ears. Images of Usagi filled his mind, the anger in his eyes when he last took a look at him. 

“How are you feeling, bro?” Mikey asked quietly and sat next to him. Leo wanted to smack Mikey but he’s arm was hurting.

“What do you expect, dimwit”, Raph said and scooched between them. Donnie followed and sat on the armrest. 

“We are here for you, Leo”, Donnie said and tapped gently on his head.

“Yeah. If that traitor bunny shows up again he’s gonna be a goner after that”, Raph said in a serious note. “Nobody messes with my brother’s heart without a consequence.”

| next chapter

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 5 - Preparations and impressive second impressions

Since I've accepted this train isn't apparently stopping, I promise at some point this week I'll try to learn how to format things so everything looks better~

Kyle attempted to pry the specifics of what happened in the prison from you on your way back to the estate, badgering you incessantly until you waved him off with the excuse that you needed a chance to sit down for a minute with a hot cup of tea and just breathe. Today had been filled with far more excitement for you than normal and you needed a break from it all to decompress after committing an act of thievery and lying through your teeth to break a man out of jail.

You slipped inside your father's old study upon your return and remained there for some minutes, scrawling out words only to crumple them up in frustration when they wouldn't come out right. Eventually you were satisfied with your task, handing off a few marked envelopes once finished to a passing servant to have them sent out through the post. With any luck the contents inside would assure that you wouldn't eventually end up in the same place you'd just come from for your deception.

Surprisingly Kyle did not bother you for the rest of the day, having parted ways at the bottom of the stairs to 'begin preparations' for this wild endeavor. You also suspected by how quickly he skittered away from you that part of it had something to do with the fact that it was a convenient way for your cousin to avoid bodily harm for failing to mention not only knowing the man you'd just met but also the explicit details of his 'extenuating circumstances' as well. He knew you most likely wouldn't have agreed to it just based off the latter, but after all was said and done it at least gave you some slight comfort to know the ruffian in question wasn't a complete unknown.

That being said, you weren't quite ready to acknowledge the idea that part of you was bitter at the fact Kyle hadn't felt like he could be honest with you either.

It took your cousin a few days to get everything in place for your departure, certain arrangements needing to be made regarding the procurement of supplies, travel tickets, and the handling of affairs here while you were gone. It hadn't really occurred to you just how much needed to be arranged for a plan like this - though to be fair this wasn't exactly your idea in the first place. You may have been the one to bring the artifact up in casual conversation, but he was the one dragging you along as always on this little adventure. Let him fuss over the details. Your area of expertise was within the city itself.

You also knew he would never say anything to you outloud, but you'd be surprised if he hadn't also left instructions for what to do should the worst happen and neither one of you returned. You might have lived a comfortably sheltered life up until this point, but that didn't mean you were naive enough to not realize the foolish dangers you were putting yourselves in either.

Kyle was a decorated war veteran and a man you could implicitly trust with your protection, his comrade just as fearsome if the stories weren't grossly overembellished. That didn't mean the three of you were invincible...

Still, what were the odds that the one person who could lead you to the lost City of the Dead just so happened to be him?

There were a handful of men that your cousin talked about often in years past, but MacTavish's name had come up in conversation far more frequently than the rest. Sure it was obvious that the two of them induced troublemaking tendencies within each other, but it wasn't all mischief and hijinks that he spoke of. There was an honest account of bravery in Kyle's recollections. For as uncouth as he made the man out to be at times, you couldn't deny having previously felt a sense of comfort when letters arrived home from distant battlefields of hard fought victories with John at his side. You'd trusted him enough to to look after your cousin back then.

But how well did Kyle really know this man now? It had been some years since the two of them would've served together, an awful long time for a person to change. How did he know that John was going to be the same soldier that once pushed him out of the way of enemy fire and took a bullet in the side meant for your cousin's heart? He obviously wasn't employed in his His Majesty's service anymore. Did he leave with a medal on his chest or was he dishonorably discharged? His previous incarceration suggested towards the latter, certainly not doing him any favors to earn your confidence in any case.

You were putting an awful lot of faith in this man. Let's just hope by the end of this that you wouldn't be proven wrong.

The servants helped you gather up your belongings the morning of your departure while your lady's maid got you situated, meeting your cousin at the car with a look that said he wasn't quite out of the dog house yet but that there were more pressing thoughts on your mind.

There was a nervous excitement bubbling in the pit of your stomach; you'd never done anything like this before. All travels with your family in the past tended to only go between Cairo and London and only for special occasions. This would be the first place you've gone to that was wholly and completely unfamiliar. Uncharted territory in every sense of the word.

The pier was crowded but not overly so, full of bustling tourists and merchants hauling in their wares. You stuck close to Kyle, your arm looped through his as he guided you down the docks towards the boat he chartered for you upriver. You'd kept your eye out for your third companion, the pessimist in you doubting he would even show. Why risk his life on a foolhardy endeavor when he'd just been granted his freedom?

"You trust my judgement so little you think I'd employ a man to help us who I thought wasn't up to it?" Kyle grinned down at you, amusement clear in his tone as he guided you out of the way of a fisherman passing by.

"Well I don't know." You replied in gentle exasperation, sidestepping a shipment of barrels smelling pungently of oil. "You obviously have more experience with him than I do, but I'm just saying: have you even minutely considered the possibility that we're about to board a vessel headed to a place neither of us knows the destination of and the one man who does isn't on it?"

"Relax, dolly. MacTavish is good for his word. No need to go gettin' hysterical on me now."

How could he be so at ease about this when you're just trying not to jump out of your skin in anxiousness?

"I hardly think expressing concern for the well-being of our expedition warrants the term hysterical. Or have you forgotten the part where your blessed happy reunion took place with one of you two wearing shackles? He's a criminal, Kyle."

The look your cousin gave you at the implication was one of mild disappointment at your faithlessness. "He's no crook, dolly. And frankly you best be gettin' past that part if we're to spend the next few days with him. Can't go on this voyage without him whether you object to the man or not."

You resisted the urge to pout at the reminder in his words that you did in fact need John for this entire undertaking. It still wasn't fair how Kyle could make you feel like a petulant child even if you thought you were being perfectly reasonable. Didn't mean you weren't going to grumble about it though.

"Can he at least stay in the cargo hold with the horses? Would certainly fit right in with them considering his lack of personal hygiene and barbaric nature."

"Ye wouldn't happen ta be talkin' 'bout me there, would ya lass?"

A surprised squeak left your mouth at the sudden interruption of a voice chiming in behind you, spinning on your heel and almost losing your balance if not for a steadying hand belonging to your cousin on your shoulder. Your face burned from being caught off guard so gracelessly, raising your eyes to view the owner of such a familiar accent and–

Oh.

Oh my.

This was not the same man you met not two days past. This man was... was....

Good lord.

Gone was the ruffian you first spotted behind the bars of the prison courtyard. The sweat and grime had been washed away to reveal fresh tanned skin dressed in fitted khaki; the subtle spice of cologne a welcome change to your senses that had the peculiar effect of blanketing the edges of your mind with a thin layer of warm fuzzy haze. His once fluffy beard was shaved down to a dark layer of stubble showcasing an attractive jawline and expectant smirk.

His hair... you could safely say in all your years you'd never seen a man with hair shorn on the sides leaving a thick stripe down the middle. You hadn't spent much time back in the UK, but perhaps it was a style more common the further you went up north?

And why on god's green earth did such a style have to look so unusually pleasing on him? Bizarre to be sure, but oddly appropriate.

If it wasn't for the familiar sparkle in those vibrant ocean blue eyes of his you'd have been sure you were looking at a different man entirely. This was the MacTavish your cousin spoke so reverently of in days of yore?

"Dolly here was just saying she thinks you'd fit in better company with the livestock rather than up on deck with the rest of polite society."

If you had the ability to speak you would have admonished your cousin for throwing you under the carriage like that. Alas your brain was still trying to comprehend the vision in front of you so at odds with your previous perceptions.

"Was she now?" The sleeves of his jacket strained against his arms as he crossed them over his chest, raising his eyebrows in a manner that suggested interest rather than insult. "Ye think me a brute there, hen?"

Your clever mind could not devise a way to talk itself out of this scenario, having the decency to at least look embarrassed at being caught while averting your gaze to one of the buttons on his white dress shirt instead.

"I apologize for my discourteous assessment of you, Mr. MacTavish. You did not exactly garner the best of first impressions."

"Hmmm. Ah might be a bit of an animal, lass, but one who's been well trained at least."

His gaze flicked down below your waist, shaking his head at what he discovered.

"Garrick, mate. Lettin' a lady carry 'er own bags?" He clicked his tongue in playful chastisement, reaching down to relieve you of the heavy burden with his own rucksack tossed over his shoulder, warm calloused fingers brushing against yours as he transferred your luggage to his hold instead. You refused to acknowledge the way your heart flutters at the gesture.

You stand there in mild shock as John skirts past you and climbs the ramp leading up to the vessel, flashing his ticket at one of the crew members onboard before disappearing inside with a confident swagger.

Kyle delights in your stunned silence, leaning down into your space to gloat over your being caught so impossibly off guard. "Positively barbarous, isn't he dolly?"

The accompanying thwack on his chest and subsequent grunt of pain relieve some of the pent up tension you have as you follow along after your third companion, adding an unexpected variable to what should have been for all intents and purposes a relaxing boat ride up the Nile. The hard part would come once you reached the desired port and began the true struggle through the desert. For now, you just had to survive being in present company for a few days until you could turn your focus on the real challenge and prove yourself useful.

So why did you feel like you were in even more trouble now than when you began?

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]

[aphroditesmoon]

I saw you were looking for lotr requests, could you maybe do enemies to lovers with either Aragorn x reader or Legolas x reader? Thanks! :)

shrike

aragorn x fem!reader

summary: aragorn confronts you of your reckless ways and you wonder if his anger is coming from irritation or simply a place of worry.

warnings: ranger!reader, angst(at first?), mentions of nudity(not nsfw), hurt/comfort.

a/n: since you gave me options I decide to do aragorn, hope it's to your liking<3

°°°

Aragorn hisses through his teeth as the bitter cold finally starts to affect him after three daya of patrol.

His annoyance however, wasn't just directed at the weather. You had left 5 days ago to make sure the further away forest in south of Ithillien were clear of any orcs.

And unsurprisingly, you still had not return.

He had not even see glimpses of you nor any footsteps to follow since he started his patrol. Though some would say all that was just another sign of your capabilities as a ranger, he knew better.

When dusk had finally reach, Aragorn, with a defeated sigh decided to return to the small abandoned hut deep in the woods, marked by the dunedains as a safe house whilst it being unknown to other folks.

His stomach growled but he ignored his hinger as he started attending to his horse, cleaning it and making sure it's fed first before him.

As his fingers comb through it's mane, the birds screamed along the skies, alerting him of a presence. And by the loud sound of hooves getting nearer, his heart was relieved and at once he leaves his horse and turns towards you.

The thumping of the horse came to a half when met with Aragorn. Hands folding together againts his chest, the ranger was ready to launch into a long detailed lecture, but as the sight of you slumped on the horse, hands trembling as you hold on to the reins, he could only mutter a mouthful of elvish curse before rushing to your side and easily pulling you down into his arms.

You were not passed out, of course not. For if you were, you wouldn't be struggling againts his hold, determined to attempt a walk inside the hut.

After finally getting inside with his help, you shoved him off of you, walking in large shaky steps towards dinner table.

"No dinner?" You slurred as you fell right on the chair.

You felt Aragorn's gaze burn through your back but could barely care. "Oh, I thought you would've been in charge of that, seeing you were gone for almost a week, the least you could do was steal a chicken for me, you know."

You didn't have to turn around to know he was being sarcastic, one of his weirdly attractive scowls probably plastered on his face.

"There were orcs when I got there, now there aren't. I got the job done and that's all that matters, so I'd appreciate less yelling and more cooking." You responded casually, unaffected by his anger.

Aragorn had moved from across the door to your side in a split second, fingers holding you up by your chin to meet his eyes. "That is not all that matters you impetuous rodent." He grits out, voice low yet every word felt like a shout.

You ripped his hand of you face, hating how much of a child he's making you feel, immediately turning away from him.

"That is all that matters to me. Not you nor your opinion of how I complete my tasks." You hands were still shaking, but now of anger, not from tiredness. "I hate you." You remember to add. He says nothing, eyes unwaveringly glaring at you.

"You know-" you started, feeling defensive of yourself.

"I've fought multiple group of orcs with nothing more than a sword and a bow, and for every punch to the ground I receive, I've always managed to get back up." He lets out a short humourless laugh at your prideful statement.

"And what if one day you don't? What if one day you're slammed to the ground and couldn't find it in yourself to be revived from the cold grounds of earth?" You note on the softness of his tone, even still, as stern as ever.

"Then, I'll pray for the dirts of the earth to close itself around me and let myself remain there, where I belong." Oh how he hated to hear those words. It wasn't the first time you've said something along the lines.

You were so stubborn in everything you do, was it so hard for you let someone else make the call for once.

the silence after your last sentence was almost peaceful, too long for your liking however.

Aragorn then, ended the excruciatingly long quietness with a loud and tired sigh, embarked from the deep of his chest.

"I'll start skinning the chicken, if you could start boiling some water for it before you take a bath." He concluded.

You gave him a nod before gently getting up to do as you're asked.

Once the water was ready for him to boil the chicken, you make your way to the river not far from where you're residing. Sliding into the warm water, your eyes closes at the cleansing feeling of the water against your skin. Orc blood was so hard to be removed off, but this was a start.

You flinch as you rubbed some water againts your stomach, where a terribly bandaged wound was forgotten to be there. Strengthening yourself, you ignore the sharp pain throbbing where the water hits and finish off cleansing yourself.

You ducked your head under the water for one last time, water splashing about as you rise up from it's depth.

Basking in the light of night stars, you shake off the dripping water from your hair and body before turning around to climb off of the river.

As your eyes falls to the clean clothes instead of your dirty ones by the side of the river, it does not fail to notice the shadow of strider, walking inside the hut as soon as your head turned.

The ranger says nothing as you enter the hut a few me minutes later, but the elephant in the room remained, that is of how you're currently wearing his clothes.

He gives you plate of chicken and you muttered to him a small thank you before diving in.

As good as it was for an unseasoned chicken, the urge to make jests of his cooking has arose in your chest. You never did enjoy a quiet meal time. "Perhaps some spices next time, hm?"

He glares at you.

"This isn't your mother's house, we make do with what we have." You rolled your eyes dramatically, making sure he saw it. That was your aragorn, so serious all the time, like an old tired father of ten.

"My mother is dead so I'd have to make do if I was at her house anyways." You spoke quitely, still heard in his ears. This time it was he who rolled his eyes. childish rodent. his annoyingly aggravating rat.

Finishing the rest of the meal in a more comfortable silence, the tension on his shoulder and frowning face seeming to lessen.

You helped him with the dishes before going out to attend to your horse, feeding it and brushing it's mane before leaving it with a goodnight kiss on it's nose.

Expecting Aragorn to already be asleep, instead you're met with him awaiting you on the dining table with bandages and medicine rolled on the table. You stand by the door, staring at his preparation in suprise.

"Come on then you stubborn rabbit, that wrapping is awful, it'll fall open once you start jumping around again." He chided.

His voice broke the trance you were in as you obediently walked towards him, letting his expertise to bandage your wound properly.

You'd argue you could do it yourself, but even lone rangers need a helping hand sometimes.

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 5 ~ Decisions

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 1

✧ Word Count : 4k

In this chapter ~ After the camp was attacked by a large group of walkers, the next day didn't seem to be any easier. Every member was forced to clear out all the dead bodies that surrounded the space, before finding out the devastating news that someone had been bit during all the chaos the night before. But, Rick seemed to have a plan. One that would make or break everything.

The night was long and dreadful as I didn't get a wink of sleep, none at all. I couldn't stop thinking about the amount of tragedy and death that came haunting the camp, seemingly out of the blue. How an innocent life was taken, I found I was affected greater than I ever thought I could be. I hardly knew her, yet the scene was just as heartbreaking. All this thinking was making my headache grow, but I couldn't do anything about it other than push through the pain. Though not even that stopped my spiraling thoughts. Isolating myself from others for the longest time made me somewhat forget what it was like to lose them. But the reminder, I learned was harsh and bitter.

The group didn't waste any time as we collectively started to clean up the walker bodies in complete silence as the sun came up into a new day. I was working efficiently, taking my knife to stab through their skulls to ensure they were dead, before carrying them toward the giant pile we had made. Though it didn't sound like much, the action mixed with the beating sun only made the task more exhausting than I anticipated. But it wasn't long before a familiar face came by to help me.

The rugged man appeared beside me to follow my lead, a pickaxe as his weapon of choice, bringing it down aggressively on every other body that I missed. He didn't say a word to me as we worked side by side, though nodded politely my way in greeting the moment he caught my eye. His actions threw me off, but I wasn't about to complain. If I was being honest I kind of liked that he didn't talk much because I didn't either, and I wasn't really in the mood to have an awkward conversation right about now. Unlike the discussion I overheard from just a few feet behind me, looking up as I caught onto their voices.

"She's just been sitting there all night," Lori said, looking towards Andrea who was still holding Amy close to her, numb to the world around her as nothing else seemed to matter.

"Did she get any sleep?" Shane asked.

"Would you?" Rick countered back, his worry only increasing the longer he stared at her, "I'll go talk to her." he offered.

I followed him with my eyes as he slowly approached her with the intention to not only try and talk to her, but gently break the news that we would have to move Amy one way or another. She still hadn't turned, but it was only a matter of time before she did, leaving the others worried that she would attack Andrea if we didn't put her down soon. In my mind I thought we should just leave her the hell alone. She needed to mourn the death that had hit her so suddenly. It was far from anyone else's business.

But the moment she heard Rick walking closer from behind, she didn't hesitate to pull out her gun and aim it right at his head before he could take another step. My body tensed a little when I watched how escalated the interaction became, the look in her eyes made me question if she was actually going to do it.

"I know how safety works." she snapped.

Rick simply raised his hands in surrender, not saying a word as he backed off slowly. She then hesitantly lowered the weapon and turned around back to her sister, instant tears streaming down her face once more. I couldn't take my eyes off of her for a moment as I felt the sorrow and guilt resurface, my eyes stinging slightly the longer I let my mind linger. But I quickly pulled myself together. The last thing I needed was these people seeing me emotional, especially over something that I couldn't control.

"Ya alright?" a voice spoke from beside me.

I turned to see Daryl looking at me with an expression on his face that I couldn't quite read. This man confused me, going back and forth between his cold and distant behavior to then speaking to me with gentleness, truly never knowing his next move. And it was especially frustrating when I couldn't tell what he was thinking. What his intention was whenever he opened his mouth. It annoyed me slightly.

"I'm fine." I brushed off, looking back down as I crouched low to stab another corpse in the head.

A few moments of silence passed as I felt him staring at me, before he questioned me again, "Ya sure? Looks like...Ed beat ya pretty bad." he said, his voice dropping drastically.

I sighed, "Really, it's nothing. Just a few scrapes and a busted head, I'm sure I'll live to see another day."

He scoffed at my sarcasm, "Ya shouldn't be out here workin in the heat if ya have a concussion." 

I shrugged, "I want to help..." I said simply.

He studied me for another moment or two before slowly nodding in understanding, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. I only needed to know the man for a few seconds to know that if he was the one with a head injury, he would be right out here in the heat helping as well. Which is why I assumed he kept his mouth shut in the first place.

After the unnecessary distraction, I continued scoping around for any other bodies that I'd missed, stopping dead in my tracks when my eyes landed on one corpse in particular. At first it was hard to decipher through all the blood covering the entirety of his face, but his beaten state almost instantly gave him away. It was Ed. The sight threw me off for a second and a part of me wanted to laugh at the karma that slapped him in the face, but a quiet voice coming from the other side of me made me stop myself.

"Let me do it." Carol pleaded, in a voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to look at her with a softened expression and I almost declined without a second thought. She didn't have to do this; she shouldn't have to do this.

She saw I was about to protest and quickly shook her head, "Please...he's my husband."

I slowly nodded seeing her persistence, slightly backing away while Daryl handed her his pickaxe from beside me. We watched as she hesitated for a moment, holding the weapon over her shoulder as she looked down at him sadly, before swinging down harshly with a loud crack. For a moment I thought she would stop there, but that first swing only woke something inside of her as she began hitting him over and over again, more anger and rage coming out of her with each slam of the blade. It surprised me, but it didn't at the same time. I mean this was the man who beat her constantly, who made her feel worthless and weak for God only knows how long, leaving her building everything up inside.

She eventually came to a stop as his head was completely smashed in, her breathing heavy as she collected herself again and kept her remaining composure. She turned back towards us with a barely noticeable smile, handing the weapon back to Daryl as she muttered a small "Thanks." before walking back off to find her daughter.

Once she was nearly out of sight, I looked at Daryl with concern in my eyes, his expression seemingly mirrored my own. But there was something different about the gaze he held, something telling me that his worry wasn't for the grieving widow.

But before I had a chance to dwell on it further, Jacqui's loud yell cut through the air like a sharp knife and brought everyone's attention to her as she screamed. "A walker got him! A walker bit Jim!"

My heart stilled upon hearing her panic, none of us hesitating as we all ran over to the man who was now holding a shovel to protect himself from us. His eyes were filled with fear as everyone began to slowly crowd around him at an exaggerating pace, sweat beating down on his pale skin from the scorching hot sun and the nerves of us all finding out his secret.

"Show it to us." Daryl demanded with a pointed finger.

But Jim didn't budge, still holding onto the shovel and swinging it around to try and get us away from him. That's when T-Dog quickly snuck up behind him and held his arms back, the shovel falling out of his grasp with a clatter. I then saw my opportunity and made my way forward, lifting his shirt to see the deep teeth indents on the side of his body.

"I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay." he kept repeating, almost convincing himself more than anyone else as we all saw the bloody mark left behind.

A certain sadness fell over the group, already knowing that he wasn't going to make it, yet another person was practically dead before our very eyes. Jaqui didn't waste any more time as she ushered him away from our prying eyes, letting him sit down towards the RV to get him out of the baking sun while getting him some water drink. Everyone else just seemed to form around in a small circle away from him, talking about his fate and how there wasn't a lot of time left to discuss to begin with.

"I say we put a pickaxe in Jim, and the dead girl and be done with it." Daryl stated bluntly as he slung the heavy weapon over his shoulder.

"This isn't right," Rick protested, "Jim, he's...he's a human being."

"Not for long." Daryl responded, glancing over at the man with narrowed eyes.

Shane's gaze couldn't help but snap back towards the man every few seconds as he let out a scoff, "Would you want us to do that if it was you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Daryl simply responded "And I'd thank ya while ya did it."

In a way, he did have a point. I hated to think that or give him credit for being so harsh, but there truly was no other way to look at it now. There was no hope for either of them. Hell, Amy was already dead, and it was only a matter of time before she came back with Andrea sitting just inches away. And the last thing any of us needed right now was to have to put someone else down because she couldn't fully let her go.

"Well, what about the CDC? I heard that they were working on a cure." Rick stated.

Shane responded, "Yeah I heard that too, I heard a lot of things before the world went to hell." he said with a roll of his eyes.

"What if the CDC is still up and running?" he continued.

"Man, that is a stretch right there." Shane said.

"Well, think about, it I think it's our best shot, shelter, protection, food-"

"Look, we all want those things, I do too, okay?" Shane interrupted him, "But I think we should head towards Fort Benning."

Lori huffed, "That's about a hundred miles in the opposite direction." 

"But it's away from the hot spot." Shane replied.

Rick sighed, "Look, the CDC might be Jim's only chance." he whispered, trying to not let the unstable man hear his words.

I mindlessly listened to all their different suggestions before my eyes caught sight of Daryl slowly turning to stare at Jim, practically envisioning the idea forming in his mind. He made eye contact with me once he felt my stare and I lightly shook my head, telling him no. To not start something he couldn't finish. But he didn't listen to my warning.

"Man, someone just needs ta take care of the damn problem!" he yelled before rushing over to put an end to this. But it couldn't happen. Not now while everyone was so on edge with something they didn't understand.

I quickly rushed past him to plant myself in front of Jim without even thinking, while Rick raced to catch up and held his gun to the back of Daryl's head, loading a bullet in the chamber. When Daryl saw my face align with his, his grip on the weapon faltered, but only for a moment as he clearly didn't expect me to put myself in such a situation. But I wasn't about to let this man get murdered, even if he already was a dead man.

"We don't kill the living." Rick spoke lowly, enunciating every word.

Daryl's eyes narrowed as he slowly looked back towards him, the gun now placed between his eyes, "S' funny...coming from a man who just put a gun ta my head." he replied snarkily.

But regardless he saw Rick clearly wasn't budging, scoffing as he dropped the pickaxe and stormed off towards the woods to have another little tantrum by himself. Rick looked over at me gratefully as he placed his weapon back, clearly apricating someone else being on his side. But to me it wasn't about that. It was just about right and wrong. And clearly the idea of blatantly killing someone like that was wrong in my eyes. Maybe because a part of me felt for him, not even being able to imagine how terrifying it was just waiting around for death to eventually sink its teeth into you.   

Today had turned into quite a depressing one that just seemed endless, constantly being reminded of what we lost in just minutes with every glance you took around this place. It was a hot mess, everything bloody and disgusting from the horror scene. But it only seemed to get worse as everyone around the area heard a single loud gunshot ring out amongst the silence, looking back quickly to see Andrea sobbing all over again. Amy's now dead and lifeless body laid in her arms, and for me it became almost too much to handle as her cries were only growing louder.

I looked over to see Glenn standing beside me, gently nudging his arm as I nodded my head awkwardly, "Hey, uh...I'm going to go...look for Daryl." I said briefly, anything to get away from this camp for a little while.

He nodded, though gave me somewhat of a look of sympathy as he placed a hand on my shoulder, "Good luck." he said.

I huffed and wormed myself out of his hold before walking away from him, though a part of me took his words seriously. In the back of my mind I knew there was a chance I would get scolded by the hothead of a man just like the last time I had approached him like this. But I would be lying if I said a part of me didn't want to make sure he was okay. He had stormed off fast, disappearing for longer than I thought he would, though no one else seemed to really notice but me.

My feet moved just down the dirt road and a little ways through the trees before I finally spotted him sitting down in the grass, his hunched over frame facing away from me. I slowly walked through the parted forest until I was lingering just behind him, silently questioning what I should do now that I'd spotted him. Though eventually I found the courage to sit down next to him, keeping a safe distance between us as he definitely wasn't the warm and cuddly type. 

He jumped slightly at my sudden quiet presence as he clearly wasn't expecting anyone else out here but him, but I simply ignored it. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I didn't say a word as I sat there thinking, looking out into the distance just like he once was.

Though now I could feel him staring at me out of the corner of my eye, probably trying to figure out what the hell possessed me to come out here, though I found I wasn't going to acknowledge it. But the silence was apparently growing too uncomfortable for him as he squirmed, opening his mouth as if to clear the air while I sat there completely unbothered.

"Aren't ya gonna say anything?" he asked, his tone annoyed and harsh.

My head turned to look at him, "No..." I shrugged, "Just wanted to make sure you were okay." I spoke honestly, my tongue moving faster than my brain could even register.

He looked taken aback for a second, his eyes studying me intensely as they narrowed, his mind being completely closed off as I couldn't decipher what he was thinking. "Why?" he asked sharply.

With the way he asked in such a defensive tone, it was almost as if he thought I was lying to him. But I wasn't. Though we didn't know each other well enough to know the other's deepest darkest secret, that didn't mean I didn't care. At least a little.

"Because...you've been looking out for me, figured I'd do the same."

I could tell the simplicity of my response surprised him a bit, clearly not expecting such an act from me let alone anyone at all. He grunted dismissively in response before turning to look straight in front of him, avoiding my eyes and seemingly not having anything else to say. It was somewhat of a shock to me that I was actually somewhat enjoying his quiet presence. It seemed as though it was a mutual agreement that we didn't need to speak to each other in order to fill the silence. I didn't hate it, not at all. Some might've said it was...nice.

As the hours passed, darkness now covered the entirety of the sky like a thick blanket. We had buried and burned all the remaining bodies and finally came to the decision we would make the trip to the CDC in order to try and help Jim. I silently knew it was a lost cause, but I didn't see any point in arguing since it seemed settled no matter what anyone said. Rick was persistent about it and wasn't willing to give up on him so easily, when in reality there was nothing we could do.

I sat up tall against the RV with my notebook in hand, sketching the scene in front of me as the group sat around the glowing fire. My eyes lifted up and down as to not miss a single detail, getting everyone perfectly in their image as they quietly talked, the energy dwindling down as the minutes passed.

To me it was coming along nicely as I stopped for a moment to admire it, only to find that there was someone missing from the picture. I looked back up and scanned the area to see if I could find him among the others, but I couldn't spot him anywhere from what I could see. But the man himself then made his presence known as he sat beside me, glancing over just in time to see Glenn peering over my shoulder to see what I was drawing. I tilted the page a bit to show him what I had accomplished, seeing a huge smile break out onto his face.

"That's so good...I don't think I've met anyone who could draw like that." he admired, "Hey, do you think you could do a portrait of me?" he asked excitedly like a giddy child.

I chuckled, "Maybe some other time but yeah, yeah I think I could draw you"

My answer seemed to satisfy him for the time being, continuing to chat with him for a little while, listening to him ramble while I finished perfecting the drawing. I glanced back up again to get some finishing touches when my eyes landed on Daryl who was sitting quietly to himself, the furthest away from everyone else on a tree stump. For once I had caught him out of his element, getting the briefest chance to look at him without feeling like I was burning under his gaze. He didn't look miserable, but yet slightly uncomfortable lingering around the fire with everyone, clearly not that much of a people person.

For a split second I actually saw him without a glare permanently plastered on his face, thinking silently to myself that he was actually quite attractive as I gazed at him in this new light. But I didn't dare let myself ponder over it too much and quickly shook it off, blaming it on the fact that I hadn't gotten laid in a very long time and diverted my eyes away before he had a chance to notice. Though I couldn't help but find him in the group of people every time I looked back up, as if my eyes were somehow drawn to him suddenly.

But again, I managed to force the thought out of my mind. Clearing my throat awkwardly as I finished up the drawing, I finally flashed it to Glenn who instantly approved, unaware of the things I was thinking just moments ago.

"Awesome." he admired, "You know, I should get you a real sketchbook. Maybe some new art supplies or something, I can keep an eye out on my next run." he suggested as he looked over the details.

But I quickly brushed it off, "Oh no, it's okay. That's not nearly as important as...I don't know, food?"

"You sure? Not even some paint." he tried to wager.

I nodded as I closed the notebook, "Trust me, I already have everything I need." I assured, "Thanks though."

"...If you say so." he responded, but judging by his tone, I could tell he was going to be on the lookout anyway no matter how much I protested.

By the time our conversation died down, everyone else seemed to be dispersing back toward their tents for the night as the fire slowly began to dim. We all silently knew just how early of a morning we had ahead of us and wanted to get some rest before it grew too late. I followed their lead as I gathered the rest of my things, wishing Glenn a goodnight before heading off towards the forest as if it was a routine at this point.

However, I was just nearly past the tree line when a voice stopped me. "Where ya going?"

Daryl's deep, gravelly voice echoed through my ears as I slowly turned to face him, trying to hide my curiosity as to why he stopped me. "To sleep..." I said simply, "I've been doing it since I got here." 

He scoffed, "You ain't sleepin in the damn woods, there's room in the RV." 

I visibly seemed to cringe even at the thought, "Nah too crowded, I like the quiet better anyway." I brushed off before turning around to head back.

But his voice stopped me again, "Wait, uh..."

I glanced back again, nodding for him to continue as I looked at him expectantly. Now, I could've been hallucinating, my mind fooling me completely, but I could've sworn his cheeks got a little red while he tried to find his next words as if they got stuck in the back of his throat.

"There's uh...room in my tent if ya want." he offered shyly.

Wow...I never thought I would see the day where Daryl Dixon got embarrassed, and I had only known him for about three days. He couldn't even meet my eyes while he asked, his gaze staring straight towards the ground instead.

"Wait...were you asking me to stay in your tent, or that rock down there?" I gestured with a small smirk.

His eyes shot up to send me a glare, but before he could open his mouth to say anything snarky, I quickly accepted, "That'd be really nice...thank you." I spoke genuinely, sending him a small smile before heading to the direction of his tent.

I didn't hear him follow behind me until I was just at the entrance of the space that he and his brother used to share. I hesitantly stepped inside, not knowing exactly which side to go towards as I didn't want to take up his space, waiting for him to direct me. But when he walked in, he didn't say a word. He just laid down on the right side with his back facing me as if he couldn't look me in the eye let alone speak another word.

I didn't think too much of it and laid down on the left side and closed my eyes to try and get some sleep. Trying to ignore the smile creeping onto my face at the kind gesture.

~ Thanks for reading!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 14 thoughts

okay, i didn’t watch an episode yesterday. so the thought of being reunited encourages me. although i’m still a bit bitter about the last episode, i guess considering it some sort of cosmic “opposite day” makes it more palatable. still. new episode!! 

well. new to ME, at least!

and it mentioned gargoyles in the description?? the stone fellows? i actually think gargoyles are cool as hell. some of them look wretched on purpose- which i am less fond of- but others are very cute.

but i’m unaware of them possessing any sort of life or supernatural capability beyond being funky little guys. and to me, they don’t look like creatures who have a craving for blood. perhaps mulder knows something i do not…

we open on a naked man. he’s quite beautiful. posing for some art students. good way to make some decent money, if you’re comfortable doing such a thing.

a guy in the corner is drawing furiously and trembling. but he’s drawing a spoooooky creature and not the handsome man we see on the screen!

AUGH he sliced his finger and IS DRAWING with the BLOOD?? no ma’am. no ma’am. 

the trembling blood artist is rushing out and running into people. and we see a gargoyle on top of the building he is leaving!!! an ominous sign? or a nice little guy?

handsome model man is getting in a car in a back alley. we hear a thunk. oh no. i see where this is going…. someone in a mask jumps on him

the artist wakes up. his name is john. and the FBI bursts in, mulder included! john bites someone who is arresting him!! yowch!

his room is full of very spooky drawings, covering the walls and everything. all gargoyle looking creatures. hey, maybe he’s goth??? you thought about that?? maybe he streams the cocteau twins and doodles some creatures... can’t a guy have hobbies?

not defending the killing of people. just the freaky drawings.

some guy takes a picture off of the wall, then he finds john's artist knife thingy and it’s covered in blood. the question is: is it his own? because we did see him slice that finger.

mulder's office time. so this john is an immigrant from uzbekistan, but he spent almost a decade in an insane asylum.

SCULLY IN RED!!! SHE IS SO BEAUTIFUL. WOW! 

she says this guy killed at least 7 people. and apparently he claimed to be possessed, which is a thing that lots of killers do to distance themselves from their crimes. seems plausible to me.

skinner name drop!!!!!!!! he was the one that put them on this case. good to know he’s still around, tasking them with things. 

(it seems i have grown fond of skinner, despite our tumultuous time together. i am sure my feelings towards him will continue to fluctuate)

so john has been in custody for 5 days, BUT yesterday, another killing took place with the same signature face gashes. who did it!!

off to da prison. scully asks john why he isn’t using his bed. and it is because john is drawing on the floor. also the light hurts his eyes, but i think that would make sense if you were stuck in a dark room for many days.

he says that this creature he’s drawing was the one who killed those men and everyone knows his name. perhaps the devil, mulder suggests? no no, says john. it. scully’s like “well it’s fingerprints weren’t on the murder weapon; yours were” gag him a little…

but john calls them both fools. rude! 

scully asks if that is what happened yesterday- that it attacked again, and killed another victim in the same fashion- and john starts really freaking out because that means “it found somebody new”. so if it keeps jumping from guy to guy, i’m not sure we can ever really stop this thing short of an exorcism. if it really exists, that is.

the agents get called out by bill, who was the dude taking the drawings off the walls at the crime scene and who found the knife. he’s being mean to mulder, asking him if it was aliens. hmm. not sure i’m supposed to like his guy. 

but scully knows who he is, and says it’s an honor to meet him; he's famous for his FBI work. he asks if she also thinks it’s spirits, and she says no, and bill says well that’s strange company you keep. a shameless dig right in front of the man they speak of!

mulder looks sad more than angry, and says that no one would ever guess how mean-spirited bill is. and yes! maybe he can write a good book but damn, he’s being a jerk!

bill is offended by the possession theory because he worked on that case for three years and blah blah blah. doesn’t explain the second murder. bill claims that both murderers were acting alone. um okay?? that doesn’t make sense because then how would they have the same markings…

mulder is pissed at this guy and i don’t blame him. bill says john draws the gargoyles to keep the evil spirit away, mulder points out that is what they have been used for in the past, which pisses bill off further. scully is watching all of this like wtf. and he’s with some other dude who is staring at scully in a manner i don’t care for. we later learn that this second man is named greg.

mulder says bill has always hated him because mulder never worshiped him back when they worked together, even if everyone else did. ohhh, mulder says that to bill, catching a monster meant becoming one yourself. that’s juicy. i wonder what he means by that. 

(author's note: WE LEARN WHAT HE MEANS BY THAT!)

so now they’re at the crime scene, covered in gargoyle drawings. shoutout to props design. 

a cat jumps out and yells at scully!!! she is scared and i would be too! mulder says “it’s just a cat” like that makes it’s sudden appearance less terrifying, and she sighs and says she thought it was a picture coming to life. there’s a bit of a laugh in there, like she realizes how ridiculous that sounds.

mulder gets on his knees, peeks under the bed, and tries to call to the kitty LMAOOO AWWWWW but it sneaks away through a hole in the wall. they realize it’s hollow and it’s actually a door! 

scully still seems scared to go in there, asks to wait until there’s more light, and he pulls out a tiny flashlight lmaoooo 

meow kitty. and inside the door are horrific gargoyles sculpted out of clay. 

MULDER WIPES HIS FINGER ON THE CLAY AND LICKS IT? HUH??? then be starts digging in there. AND BLEH!! bodies. inside the clay!!!

he craves the minerals of clay i guess...?

he put the flashlight in his mouth so he couldn’t talk, and she kept yelling for him to tell her what the hell was going on in there, which he was not doing. too busy ruining some art that contains people to communicate what was in his line of sight, i suppose. but no explanation on the licking.

some guy is working in a glass studio when he is being approached. use the molten glass for self defense! but alas, something growls and grabs him. 

so now glass guy is in the hospital and greg is here. she tells him they found 5 bodies in the studio, all dismembered and with gashes on the face like this guy, the glass artist.

greg says that he thinks bill went to skinner and REQUESTED mulder on this case. and that bill tells him “mulder stories” after a few beers, about how he’s some kind of genius. HELLO? the vibes are weird here. why is he telling her this....?

and the victim in the hospital bed is gagging or gurgling a bit so the doctor asks them to please leave. i can imagine this would be distressing.

mulder is a library!! a big, nice library. reading about gargoyles, apparently named after a french dragon!! he’s flipping through old books and it looks like he has blood on his shoulder, which makes me concerned about his hands and therefore the condition of said books. he’s monologung about the nature of the human soul and taking notes. okay, a researcher! “is this the monster called madness?” <- how poetic!

AWWWW he falls asleep on the books. WAIT STOP :((( why is this so cute… he was working too hard again smh!

bill scares him!!! and wakes him up!! RUDE! i thought it was going to be scully and it would be sweet but it’s this loser. he’s asking what mulder is looking for, and he admits he isn’t sure yet. 

and bill is back on his yelling at people bullshit, saying mulder is wasting his time, that john is only doing all this gargoyle art because he is insane. and he is MEAN!! he tells mulder that he’s disappointed in him and he comes back with a “well, i wouldn’t want to disappoint you by not disappointing you”<- ooohhhh get his ass.

why is he here at this library anyway? it seems unprofessional and stalker-adjacent. bill leaves with some more parting bullying and mulder seems really upset honestly. he looks out the window and sees A GARGOYLE! they're haunting him!

scully at the door to his place. she lets herself in. she’s so pretty. but where is he?

oh. he has covered his place with gargoyle art. so that is not a promising sign… did he steal it??? or is this his own work? 

we then see him back at the crime scene, staring at the same drawing that is in his house. so does he possess a copy machine, or a photographic memory and a secret talent for drawing? or did someone break into his place and target HIM?

why is he back at the scene of the crime? pacing about. what is going through your mind, strange man. why is he touching the art. while there are voices whispering. HUH?? MULDER POSSESSION ARC??? 

now HE’S sculpting stuff?? okayyyy artist!! at 3 in the morning. at a crime scene. he’s SLEEPING in john’s bed??

but he wakes up!! to a creepy gargoyle looking creature standing over him!! he grabs his gun and starts running. climbing ladders n stuff. but then he loses him. 

NO! the creepy guy jumps out and slashes at mulder. and then knocks him into a big pile of something soft. very lucky.

scully is with mulder now, he’s getting bandaged up, and she’s telling him how scared she was. “you turned your phone off? why do you even bother carrying it?” <- lmaooo

he claims he was “working” in john's studio at 3 am, and scully is NOT happy because she hasn’t heard from him in 2 days, which is a concerning amount of time to be apart for them!

he’s insisting that whatever it is, it’s real. and she says she knows about his “new wallpaper”, and that bill is “testing” him. with some sort of psychological torment? yeah, seems in character. 

he leaves without telling her where he’s going and she is NOT happy. she marches up to bill. and starts asking what the hell he’s doing to mulder. bill says he wants to finish the case and to “let mulder do what he needs to do” because she won’t be able to stop him.

HELLO? the man is going off the deep end. his best friend (who is a doctor) is going to be trying to help him. that’s an unstoppable force (mulder's desire to finish his quest) meeting an immovable object (scully's need to keep him safe and healthy).

fuck you, bill you’re really making me upset. because you’re making scully upset. and fuck your little henchman greg watching all this. 

but she notices a razor stuck in a car nearby. wait, do you think this henchman greg is the killer?

she finds the handle underneath the same car….

mulder is back at the jail, talking to john. asking why “it let him live”. he’s asking john to help him get deeper, to help him find it.

OH! he punched john when his answers weren't helpful. his mouth is full of blood. john says that only it can find him, and maybe it already has. 

MULDER POSSESSION ARC!!??? or is it an exploration into the evils people can be driven to out of desperation and a quest for answers?

scully took the razor and handle she found to the lab for analysis and she’s putting on some sunglasses to look at stuff. okaaaayy. 

AND THEY ARE MULDER’S PRINTS ON THE KNIFE!!! she is shocked. she has to excuse herself. 

she’s going to the archives and someone gives her a box. she just gets on the floor and starts looking through it. no time to bring it to a table, we need answers NOW. it’s the evidence box from the crime scene, and that knife from evidence is missing. 

and skinner wants to see her right away!!! what is going on?? she looks soooo scared. 

but she looks good. 

anyway, skinner asks if the knife she found could be the same as the one from the crime scene, and also, how is mulder doing? well, i would say, not good. she says she’s not worried about him, but he can tell she’s lying, because he says “off the record, so am i” no :( what did they do to him?!

mulder is back at the crime scene again? looking at the clay gargoyles. 

WHAT IS GOING ON... THERE ARE ONLY TEN MINUTES LEFT. HOW IS THIS GONNA GET WRAPPED UP?

that CREATURE ATTACKS HIM AGAIN!!! and he sees bill and the other guy greg there???

but it’s just a dream. okay, well i was fooled. guess i’m gullible. he’s actually sleeping at his apartment on that damn couch again. once again asking for mutual aid funds to buy him a mattress. 

anyway, he wakes up covered in sweat and surrounded by gargoyle drawings all over his walls. clearly a very healthy man /s

now he’s getting up and leaving his apartment. creepy music is playing as he goes back to the crime scene. to do more searching. now he’s looking at the gargoyles IN REAL LIFE. and the music is getting more intense.

the cat is licking some blood on the floor!!!! he follows it to a hand??? but whose….. 

greg calls scully, and leaves a message saying to call her back. but we hear his phone ringing at the crime scene when scully calls it! so where is he? well, i have a guess. mulder picks up greg's phone.

she asks about the prints on the knife, and he says he wanted “to see what it felt like in my hand” which is deeply suspicious!!! you’re scaring me!!!

she says mulder needs to stay EXACTLY where he is, and that she will be there in a few minutes so they can “work this thing out together, okay?” and MAN she is a good friend!! she will wake up in the middle of the night to find you losing sanity at a crime scene after you stole a murder weapon, and she’s gonna do what it takes to help you out. he says “yeah” and hangs up. he seems unappreciative.

he’s looking at a sculpture with great intensity. it looks very wet. and then he DIGS INTO IT AGAIN and finds ANOTHER FELLOW IN THERE. is it GREG??? it IS!

mulder hears a noise behind him and its bill. he’s adding two and two together- or possibly being delusional- and saying that greg knew it was bill who did the killing, so bill killed him. and bill’s hands ARE covered in clay. bill seems really confused. mulder has him at gunpoint.

mulder says that bill imagined everything john (the killer) did as he got deeper and deeper into his profiling over the three years it took to solve the case. and when he caught john, it wasn’t enough. by then bill had become the monster like he always said to! and he brought mulder in on the case for subconscious help!

scully rolls up and pulls her gun out. because let’s be honest, it’s not looking great for mulder. he asks her to put the light away- also suspicious- but tells him to explain. and then bill shoves her down. mulder helps her up and says “it’s him”.

next thing you know, they’re searching on the roof. i’m scared someone will fall over the edge. 

everything is very tense. and then the gargoyle grabs mulder again. we hear a gun go off! scully screams "mulder!!" and she runs over. 

he shot bill! right under the roof gargoyle!

now bill is in jail and screaming about “not doing it”. 

mulder wrap up time. “if a man’s character is his fight, this fight [against evil] is not a choice but a calling” <- ooooh okay banger line. gonna have to think on exactly what it means but it sure does SOUND cool.

closeup on gargoyle drawn in blood on the wall, presumably by the jailed bill. while mulder talks about looking into the laughing face of of madness.

hmm. initial thoughts: hmm.

this episode was used to dive into mulder’s psyche. to examine his past and also his fragility. he throws so much of himself into a case, that he almost loses who he is. 

but it also could have been the influence of an evil gargoyle... so: ??? 

i think that, in general, sanity is a frail thing. and we see how delicate it is, how people who are capable of evil can manipulate and terrorize. if you assume that mulder wasn’t in any sort of actual demon possession, it’s scarier, seeing how people can lose themselves. if you go with the interpretation that there was no real demon at all, and the urge to do evil came from bill’s year’s long quest to catch the killer, then that proves the point even further. in that interpretation, the result is very scully-esque, how the real horrors of life are the unpredictably of fellow man. and we could see how terrifying it was to her, how scared she was of him disappearing, not communicating, covering his walls with scary drawings (that we never really got answers on if he drew himself?), how the way he acted started changing, and she was losing touch with the person she knew so well because of how he was being manipulated. how she was going to do anything, from confront bill to track him down at 3 am at a crime scene to try and keep him safe.

i think mulder wanted to prove himself to bill, and so he pushed himself as hard as he did. he seemed really hurt by his lack of approval, which probably stems from mulder’s reputation for getting results, even if others consider his approach unorthodox. 

but then why would mulder cover his place with those drawings?? and why did he want to feel the knife in his hand? was it because he wanted to see how the killer felt before doing something so awful? if so, why now? there have been tons of cases before in which he could have held a murder weapon and pondered its use on taking a life. was it his glance into the history of gargoyles that got him all contemplative on the human nature and what evil is and if it can be resisted, or if it is something that is inside of you and unavailable? was he tempting himself to prove if he could resist it?

i’m a bit puzzled. i guess you can take a bunch of approaches here on who really did the killing- bill and john, or a force of evil- and why. and whichever read you take will characterize the themes of the episode very differently. please share what you thought; i’m curious on if there was a popularly accepted interpretation or one that the creators intended us to get, or if the ambiguity was intentional. i feel like i'll be gnawing at this one in my mind for a bit, trying to reach whatever it was saying.

it was very tense, but overall a pretty good episode. things i liked the best: mulder pssting a cat, worried scully, angry scully yelling at bill for messing with mulder’s head, an apartment entrance (she still has the key to his place <3), mulder falling asleep in a library after going on a quest for gargoyle facts (art history nerd? library nerd? you decide), scully in a red suit, scully telling mulder very firmly to stay still so she can come get him and they can figure whatever situation he is in out together, brief scully sunglasses moment.

wouldn't it be funny if they both got pets from a case? if that cat wasn't feral, he could have adopted it. taken it around for walks on a cat harness. a lovely thought!

[whumped-by-glitter]

Chapter 1, Part 5: "You Passed"

⚠️ CW: Institutionalized Slavery, Dehumanization, Food Whump, Poisons, Starvation, Degrading Self-Talk, ANGST..... Please let me know if I missed anything.

As always, thank you @3-2-whump for beta reading. You're the real MVP for sifting through all of my run-ons and the endless back and forth of ideas... Thanks for the feedback and ideas to @aloafofbreadwithanxiety and @generic-whumperz as well!

Story Under The Cut

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The Mutt stayed back a moment, still savoring those two small words. Once he evened himself, he too walked out of the room. He had an hour with no specific orders. The dog already knew what he was going to do with it.

He snuck past the living area, making sure not to be seen by Balor. This wasn’t too much of a task though, Balor was dense, and Dog was quiet.

He had plenty of practice from that time his master accidentally left him on orders of complete silence for almost a year. For almost a year, any time he so much as stepped too hard the bands would tear into him. Ever since then he’s been hyper aware of every sound he made.

Easy as sugar tree bake, he was past. He first went to the kitchens and grabbed mostly fruits and raw vegetables. Those would probably go unnoticed and be the easiest to explain if they didn’t.

Dog didn’t even need to look for Boy. The boy was in the back kitchen washing dishes. The gut-wrenching realization hit him, as a flash of anger had to be tamped down. They put the starved child to work in the kitchen.

The mongrel took hold of Boy’s wrist and led him downstairs, down the marble staircase to the wine cellar.

“Eat,” he urged, shoving the food at him.

“But won’t we………”

Dog cut Boy off, “I’ll take full responsibility, just eat, please.”

“T-thank you.” Boy slid down the wall, too exhausted to argue and scarfed down the meager meal. “You’re not going to have lunch?”

Dog’s stomach churned, food would probably help the poisons, but his master hadn’t said he could. “No, Master needs me back in an hour, I don’t want to feel weighted down,” he replied smoothly.

Boy nibbled at a carrot as the dog felt him analyzing him, “What is it he is always pulling you away for anyway? You have been holed up in that room for hours this morning.”

“You know better than to ask,” the Mutt replied. He changed the subject quickly, “You should come up with a hair style this evening, you could use a haircut.” The others didn’t need to know about the poisons, he especially wanted to protect Boy from the truth. A truth Boy himself narrowly missed. He pushed down the bitter memories of his 10-year-old self with the 3-year-old version of the kid in front of him.

Boy paused for a moment then agreed, “It is getting long, isn’t it?” He played a bit with the short braid the dog hastily put it up in this morning.

Dog nodded, “Mmmhmm, I’ll ask master for some scissors and a razor later. Now eat, and seriously, don’t worry about the consequences, I’ve got it covered.”

“I’m eating, I’m eating,” the boy chuckled a bit.

The sound filled the dog’s chest with warmth. He didn’t fully understand it, but it felt nice. He wanted to always protect that warm sound, since the first day he heard it all those years ago. Dog patted his cheek a bit before putting his mask of void back on to go back upstairs. He wouldn’t want to mess up and act like something other than a tool in front of his master. The thought came forward somewhat more resentful than expected.

The dog reentered the familiar room and was instantly hit with the smell of food. His stomach growled loudly, but he pushed the hunger pain away and sat in his usual seat. His posture was rigid as he slowed his breathing to prevent extra movement, he rested his arms on the metal plates, ready to be restrained, should his master desire it.

He kept his gaze on the floor, analyzing the familiar tiles in front of him. The faded blue green stone caught the afternoon light from the window, making them glimmer a bit. When he looked carefully, he could occasionally see the small fossils of snails and tiny crustaceans long dead. He vaguely wondered, as always, what their life may have been like before they became trapped in stone. ‘Was it happier life than my own?’

The door opened loudly, startling him. The sound snapped the dog’s attention back to the present. His master strode in, placing a table in front of him once again. He inwardly flinched; this meant more poison. ‘Probably’ he thought glumly, answering his own question about the snail.

His master sat a tiny portion of food in front of him. “Eat it.” He said simply.

The mutt complied, slowly, thoughtfully holding it in his mouth. He knew better than to wolf the food down by now, no matter how hungry he might be. A flavor arose from the bit of casserole, a flavor that did not quite belong, proving his instincts correct. It was slightly bitter, maybe a little sour? That could be the cream though. It was barely there against the other flavors of the casserole. There was also a slight musty taste to it, that was the giveaway.

“Lim,” he said measuredly, keeping his tone neutral. Lim was a root, similar to a potato, which made it easy to hide in a dish such as this. “Lim is a slow acting poison. It has to be fed to the victim over days or weeks. By the time it’s noticed there is no way to treat it.”

This went on dish after dish. Some were mixed with several poisons in one dish. The end was in sight when another potato dish was sat in front of him. He tested, he instantly found the Lim, but he continued to hold it in his mouth, careful not to assume that’s the only poison in it. Soon his tongue started going numb, there was another poison.

“Lim and Caecus,” he announced, voice shaking slightly. Poison resistance did not mean he had complete immunity; he was fast reaching his limit.

His mast still said nothing. Nothing…. He deeply wanted was praise…. The poisons hurt, he felt like he swallowed knives and needles…. Yet another dish was sat in front of him, a dessert. Finally, it was almost over….

He bit into sample of cherry bar. It was tart, as expected with cherry, but there was a sourer tone to it. There was an exceptionally sour smell emanating from it as well. “Balla wood berry.”

His master added the dish to the stack on the tray and walked out without saying a word. The dog choked back the sick feeling building inside of him. He knew this was the only food he was going to get today and was desperately trying to keep it down. His master also usually punished him for getting sick after taking poisons, he wanted so bad to be good. He badly wanted his master’s approval; it would make the sick feeling much better.

Finally, his master came back in. The dog clinched his jaw with nerves, barely containing a flinch as he listened to his master’s footsteps cross the room to him. He found himself holding his breath as he walked in the front of him.

“Mutt…” his master passed, as if looking for the words, “You passed. You have correctly identified all of the poisons, even under stress.”

His master sounded pleased, his master has never sounded so pleased… the dog’s eyes began to water involuntarily, getting touched with the ring was just part of the test. He wasn’t bad after all!

“Good boy, I’m proud of you.” His master patted his cheek with a gloved hand, “as a reward I’ll let you go back to your quarters early.”

The mutt began to tear up, he’d never in his life had ever been told someone was proud of him, let alone his master. This was well beyond the praise he had hoped for. He completely forgot about being sick. The emotions welled up inside of him, threatening to overflow. He decided he would ask for the hair cutting supplies later and stood, immediately dropped to his knees in a reverent bow.

“T-thank you Master,” he replied, pushing his voice to be as flat as possible.

His master did not respond, instead the Tallisian turned and walked out of the room, leaving the Mutt alone.

When his master was out of ear shot, he let himself overflow. “This slave, this mutt, he was good!!!!” he yelled as loud as his ruined throat let him. “He made Master PROUD!! PROUD, Master was PROUD!” he sobbed, it was so surreal to hear those words. He just sat on the floor sobbing. Something strange happened, his lips stretched, his face felt weird…. Was this what a smile felt like? He sat on the floor of his master’s office, grinning and sobbing like a fool. He didn’t usually talk in the third person when he was alone, but it just felt right. He was finally a useful tool. He had made his master PROUD.

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[sweetmariihs2]

🪄Cedric The Sorcerer headcanons 🔮💫

*it's a big post and the headcanons are pretty diverse*

I lost half of this post because Tumblr didn't save it, then I rewrote it and even continued to write a little more, but again Tumblr deleted everything and returned to the first version of the post. I spent from midnight until 5:40 am writing this and I simply lost the text. I rewrote everything again :) I literally cried out of frustration, the post was almost done

I found some parts in my cell phone "área the transferência" (that thing when you copy a text and the last things you copied remain there), I tried to organize it and rewrite everything that I lost, but I still feel like there's something missing.

Edit: I fixed some grammar errors. I know there's more, but I couldn't find it. English is not my main language!!

Cedric's unhealthy habits (before Sofia entering the castle and after) and how he deals with his insomnia

I don't know if this counts as headcanon since it's practically canon, but I believe that Cedric is not very healthy, he has a very unbalanced sleep schedule, he doesn't eat well and he doesn't exercise. The things he does most all day are preparing spells and potions, and reading.

I think a lot about what pre-Sofia Cedric was like. I think his habits were even worse, and he was even more bitter and antisocial. He had a terrible posture and was always tired and moody, had dark circles due to lack of sleep. I also believe that there moments quite constantly where his vision would go dark and he would suddenly become weak. He always seemed sick and pale, quiet, and when he interacted he made mistakes in front of everyone and everyone saw him as an idiot, weird-looking guy. Sofia brought him some motivation (getting the amulet of Avalor) and that's why he seemed more active and minimally healthier after she arrived. Maybe before he was just very tired and was hopeless of gaining the recognition of the people in the castle, but after finding a chance in the amulet, he became more motivated and active.

He stays up all night reading and making potions (even Wormwood sleeps more than him), only to leave his tower in the morning to get breakfast trying to act invisible, so that no one sees his presence there, and so they don't ask him to do anything he doesn't want to do.

For context: I believe that breakfasts at the castle are like hotel breakfasts, a room full of food where everyone can take what they want and leave without having to pay anything at all. This goes for all meals and the royal family has their own dining room, because of course, they are the royal family.

I imagine both pre-sofia and during-sofia Cedric staying up all night reading and passing his time, only to go get his breakfast early in the morning (he hasn't eaten since about 10 hours ago, and his last snack was a jam sandwich) and having to face everyone in the castle together in the same hall walking everywhere, trying to act as unremarkable as possible, to prevent anyone from bothering him (it's very easy to notice him, he's the only one who wears a black robe and walks like that. no one just cares enough to notice him there). And then Baileywick appears full of information and orders sent directly by the king, while Cedric rolls his eyes and replies exhausted that he will do it (his attempt to hide failed).

I can imagine him (mostly pre-Sofia Cedric) going to the kitchen at night to get some snacks, and he knows he won't go to breakfast in the morning because something humiliating happened to him at his last meal and he refuses to face all those people publicly again.

Pre-Sofia Cedric constantly forgot to eat because of his work and when he did eat, it was never healthy food. He was hungry and starting to feel weird because his last meal was 10 hours ago? He's gonna get just a piece of apple pie.

Pre-Sofia Cedric didn't had the energy to do his own tasks, let alone useless favors for James and Amber or entertain the king's parties. Today he can do this easily, as he is a little healthier (and more motivated) but before it was a sacrifice. What always kept him busy were the tasks he set out to do himself, such as reading magic books he hadn't yet specialized in, making potions he hadn't yet made to add them to his collection (if he ever needs them). As I said, today he does that easily, because his health is a lot better, and he can balance it with his other tasks and practicing his hobbies or taking care of himself, even spending time with Sofia.

Pre-Sofia Cedric definitely deals with insomnia (till this day) and the vast majority of the time he doesn't sleep through the night, to the extent that many in the castle are already aware that Cedric is a night owl and is always awake, no matter how late it is. This is why he sometimes takes naps in the afternoon, but this only happens when he is so exhausted that his eyes can barely stay open, sleeping for 1h30 only to stay awake for another 22h without breaks. Now that his habits are a little less unhealthy than before (they're still bad) he sleeps maybe 3-4 hours per night. But he still need to take naps during the day and yes some nights he doesn't sleep at all, it's just not as often as before.

I think that during the nights when he can't sleep he stares at the moon from his window, or goes out of his tower to take a walk in the garden, or even in the castle. There's something so comforting in staying up late. During the day there's people everywhere, conversations happening, events where someone needs his help. During the night everything is silent and he can have his own moment, there's no people to disapprove him or order him to do something he doesn't want to do. Cedric is definitely a night person.

There's a book that I like that I won't give too many details about, but there's a character who simply doesn't sleep at night and the entire staff from the establishment is used to it. She is a patient in a mental hospital, all the patients are sleeping, and she just stays in the living room, because everyone has already accepted that she doesn't sleep, that's a fact. She spends her time reading, smoking, painting her nails, sometimes talking to the nurses. I imagine the dynamic is similar, but the difference is that Cedric is a little more antisocial. Everyone knows that he doesn't sleep and they couldn't care less about it.

(Cedric fanfiction dating a maid he met during the nights he was walking through the castle because he couldn't sleep???? Hell yes. Late night talks in that giant castle, everything is silent besides the echo of their voices in the halls and their footsteps, knowing that unlike the day, the night is very calm and they can rest in peace, without worrying about obligations. Talking in whispers 👀 silent kisses omg)

I can totally imagine him encountering Sofia at late night just walking in the castle, and he's just like "Sofia? Why are you awake?" Because he's usually the only person who stays up that late (except for some guards and maids). And then she tells him she can't sleep so that's why she's not in her room. They spend some time talking to eachother about how everything is being so overwhelming recently.

He doesn't know how to deal with his new life, now that everyone seems to praise him as a good sorcerer and that he saved Sofia's life. He loves the fact that he's finally being recognized, but it's just something he's not used to. Sometimes when people are telling him about how amazing his spells are, or the King tells someone about how good is his royal sorcerer, or his new fame on the kingdom. He was treated badly so many times that everything seems so unreal. It makes him wonder if he really deserves everything that is happening, or if people are really telling the truth. (And I say this based in my own experience, that feeling is so real)

What if some citizen girls are screaming his name in royal parades or when he goes to the village? He has a fanclub now???? People want to date HIM??? And he just smiles and waves because he just doesn't know how to react to all of this, and the girls starts to scream out of happiness or some of them pass out and he goes "Oh no... my bad.. i'm sorry :(". Even younger girls that are really too young for him, that's certanly something he wasn't expecting to happen. Baileywick makes fun of him saying that he's such a heartbraker now, Cedric rolls his eyes.

Hey that looks like a good one shot prompt (after his redemption arc), a witch who admires him a lot because of what she heard about him finally gets the chance to live in the castle (because of other circunstances), and now she has the chance to meet Cedric. And Cedric is surprised by how she treats him like he was some kind of hero, because only he knows the humiliations he went through.

Pre-Sofia Cedric usually watched the balls from the window of his tower instead of participating with them. He didn't felt welcomed, and even if he was indeed there, people would just stare at him like he's some kind of ghost or a disgrace and his night would be terrible. He was invited, obviously, all the castle's employees are, but he would never fit in there. He felt sad, excluded at some point, alone- but all his sadness turned into bitterness as he watched all those royals, riches and other employees of the castle having fun and partying, like he was supposed to do. Cedric would only make a fool out of himself if he ever thought about stepping there, and he didn't needed to! He didn't wanted to go anyways! Or at least that's what he told himself...

Cedric's love life (+how he views love and his past experiences)

I actually made a headcanons post about who his first love may be: Queen Lorelei. That's not a really popular headcanon but I'm not the first person to talk about it, and once you read about the subject you'll see that it's actually a pretty nice headcanon, so give it a try.

Cedric doesn't believe in "true love", "love at first sight", "true love kiss" (until it's his turn to experience that). Well he does, because there's magic about it, there are many stories of princesses that just had their happy ending because of a true love kiss and everything, there are many spells and curses where love is involved. But he thinks romantic people are so naive, they live for love like there's nothing else in their lives that it's better to do. He has work to be done, you know? People say "mimimi true love" and he just slightly rolls his eyes and huffs (when deep inside he wish he was one of these people. Oh to have someone to love). But when he's in love he's lovesick and can't think about anything else just like those he found irritating. Such hypocrite.

But when he suffers a love frustration (like that one with Sasha) he realizes again that love is irritating and his previous thoughts return. But deep inside he knows that they're not true, he's just bitter because he's single.

HE'S BISEXUAL !!1!1!1!!1!111!1!1!!!!1!!!!1!1

But he doesn't know that this actually has a name so it's more like, he just experiences his feelings and just know that they're feelings, that's all

I believe that during most of his life he only had girl crushes, and it didn't happened that often because he wasn't used to be really focused on anyone. These girls crushes happened when he was a kid to when he was a teenager. But during his young-adult years he started to notice that sometimes he found some masculine traits atractive. At first he was really confused by that, because he thought he liked only woman, but apparently no. Nowadays he already understands how he feels and just treats it normally.

He doesn't like to talk about his love life (he gets nervous sharing such intimate information about himself with people)(and he is single which makes the situation even worse, being in his 30s without someone) and then everyone assumes that he only likes women, and that he's naturally a bachelor because it is what it is. No one is interested in a weird old guy like him. (I am)

Imagine a group of maids talking to eachother in the kitchen while doing their tasks and mentioning "what about that royal sorcerer? he's always lonely. I don't think he has a lover or something, or else we would know" and the other one mentions "he's too scary to get along with anyone. not exactly scary, but he's weird, very slender, always crawling around. I highly doubt any lady would want to have anything to do with him."

(Bonus points if someone put a similar scene in that Cedric x maid character fic, and our protagonist is just silently infiltrated among them knowing that she was kissing him last night, and she responds to them "don't be so hard on him, he's not that bad. he is actually very polite." And the rest of the maids just react like "hmmmm very polite sure girl what else do you have to tell us? Are you hiding something? Do you know something that we don't?")

Cedric doesn't talk much about his romantic interests, implying to everyone else that he doesn't care (which is true), but it's also because he gets nervous about sharing this information. That's why the few people who silently wonder about it just assume that he just likes woman, because he never tells anyone about being interested neither in woman neither in man. And he also avoids talking about it because needs to admit out loud that he is a 3_ year old man and that he's single, and he doesn't want to put himself through this humiliation. The best thing to do is worry about his spells, he's too busy to talk or to think about that. (Deep inside wishing he had someone)

He's like that single uncle for Sofia. You know, a variation from the "cats aunt" and instead he's the "spells uncle". Absolutely no bitches, but his shelf is full of potions and books. Single uncle Cedric!!!!!!!!! (He hates it)

I think he had many crushes in his life but never really had the oportunity to date someone, or this person wasn't interested, or he was too dedicated in his studies. Imagine a younger him in his teenage days (or even in his childhood) really liking someone but too embarassed to say anything. Or when he goes to the person he tries to start a conversation but then his mentor just goes like "no we don't have time for this, you need to train now" and pulls him to practice his spells again. He never had the chance to date anyone, and even if he said something to the person, this person probably would make fun of him because of his reputation in the school.

That makes me wonder if he ever had any past lovers or if he didn't even had the oportunity because everyone saw him as a loser. Teenage Cedric occupies my mind longer than I'd like to admit

I think that the idea of him having past lovers is nice, but at the same time it doesn't fit very well for some reason? Imagine him talking to Sofia "Oh... ___.... she was my first love... I wonder how her life is going today" after she asked "Mr Cedric have you ever loved someone?"

Actually I think he would say first "Sofia, what kind of question is that? Um.. I don't know, I mean... there was a person, but it was a long time ago... her name was ___...."

I never told you guys but I write fanfiction too (top 10 useless facts) and I never wrote for Cedric

I have a big question for you rn: do you guys think he's a virgin? 👀 I think it makes sense actually

His way of flirting is compliments and acts of service. He would never, in the first option at least, directly show interest with phrases like "are you single?", "you're really cute." He would be extremely gentlemanly, he would offer the way for his romantic interest to pass, he would open doors, pull out chairs, offer his arm for his "lover" to hold. Everything would be very subtle, as he wouldn't hit on their romantic interest, but instead would be extremely polite, interested in their company, things that would make them say "Oh, thank you so much, you're such a gentleman" and he would just blush and smile. And he would absolutely say "We are courting", rather than any other word. He would ask their permission to start treating it like this, something like "Can I court you from now on? I understand if you don't want to."

It's easy to make him flustered since he has no romantic experience. Even a simple question about his love life can make him nervous. And if it's a crush who's responding to his light flirtations he becomes very giggly. Even a small crush can have him in their hands.

He certainly has a thing for confident woman (they can make him stutter and feel nervous pretty easily). You know those woman who have that strong feminine energy? His legs get all wobbly.

But he likes delicate girls too. He just needs to assume a different role in the supposed relationship they would have, and his treatment would be more responsible and more chivalrous.

In my opinion, his tastes are the exact opposites. He likes feminine woman, the most confident and mature ones (like Sascha) and the most delicate and sweet ones. But for men he likes very masculine men, who are more than himself, like strong guys, or even, in not so extreme cases, just someone who's similar to him but who has a more confident and mature attitude, that knows what he's doing. Because Cedric constantly feels like he doesn't know, that he's very insecure, so when he sees someone attractive and confident, he gets all nervous and giggly, and offers his services.

I think he would like chancellor Esteban from Elena Of Avalor tbh. Guys like him

Oh my god

Cedric's academic life and his young years

What reputation you may ask? I think he always was like this, being nervous and making mistakes. During that episode where him and Sofia go to Hexley Hall, nobody seems surprised by his failures. Not even in "The Day Of The Sorcerers" episode. Everyone is too familiarized with him being a failure and I think he was bullied in school because of that (most specifically when he was a teenager)

Was he always shy and insecure in front of everyone, or he was dedicated to his studies and when people said "hey let's do something together?" He responded with "I can't, I need to study" and this person just said "omg you're always studying, you have no life don't you?"

"I need to study so I can get better and better everyday", just like he said in his song during the episode "Substitute Cedric"

He can't concentrate if there's too much noise. Imagine him doing a test and he just can't read the paper because there's someone behind him banging their wand on the table and this makes him fail the test. "Ok class, we're going to have a practice test this time, Cedric please turn this feather into glass" and when he was about to make it someone made a bad comment about expecting him not being able to do the spell and because of that he turns the feather into mud, and everybody laughs. People in the school know him as a failure too because this kind of thing always happened.

I found this on pinterest:

That's why if one day he confess his feelings for someone at school this person would laugh at him, and maybe that's why he never did. Or he did and that exact thing happened, so he never did it again.

He was a bookworm. Loved to sneak out of the dorm at night to read books in the library, whether they were magic books to complement his studies, or just story books. He has spent whole nights and evenings there. He does this till this day, like I said before.

Cedric's teenage years in Hexley Hall with the rest of the sorcerers (Greylock, Grimtrix,+) just makes me think about Dead Poets Society. Same vibes 🫶

Let's pretend that Hexley Hall is an institute for a moment. Maybe they also sneak out in the middle of the night to do meetings or studying and walking through the dark halls of the school in the middle of the night all alone. Idk going to the library. Maybe the school staff was really strict with studies during the day and during the night they were strict with bedtime. Maybe some popular students such as Grimtrix and other ppl (also girls) spread the secret news during the whole day saying that there would be a party at night in some specific place on the school grounds where everyone (or just some selected people) should secretly escape from the dormitories. Maybe Greylock leaned on Cedric's shoulders asking if he was going to the party and Cedric complained saying he had more important things to do like studying and sleeping, but when Cedric was alone in the dormitory at night and realized he was lonely he decided to give it a chance. There is something interesting about stories of students at institutes sneaking out of their dormitories at night to escape the strictness of school and have some fun. It would be something interesting to see.

Random Cedric Headcanons

He likes wine, but he doesn't drink it too often. I have a post about his relationship with alcohol here.

I think he doesn't like to be drunk. He doesn't like to think that he can do something that embarrasses him or that he's out of his mind, he prefers to have everything under control. It doesn't happen very often either.

He hate the smell of smoke and cigarettes. He finds cigarrettes disgusting.

He likes tea.

His favorite fruits are berries and he likes them better in sweets.

He doesn't know how to cook.

Cedric has a sweet tooth, he loves chocolate, cake, everything that's sweet.

Cedric enjoys gardening. He just doesn't do it because of his busy schedule, but he has a good knowledge of plants so that he can make his potions, and he goes out with Wormwood to get ingredients to make them. This happens in one episode, actually. Wormwood also needs to know about plants so that he can help him find the ones he want. Maybe he knows because of all the years he's been by Cedric's side.

I believe Cedric got Wormwood while studying at Hexley Hall. I'm not sure how their bond happened, but I believe they've been together since Cedric was around 11-14 years old. Wormwood has been alive all these years because he is a raven especially for wizards/mages/sorcerers, or a spell was placed on him when Cedric was young so that he would stay by Cedric's side while he was still alive. But I think that makes an exception for unnatural causes like accidents for example, he can still die. I believe that this "conditional immortality" spell must have been done by one of Cedric's mentors or superiors at Hexley Hall, and I believe that all of the sorcerers' animals that pass through there need to go through the same spell. I also believe that it may be mandatory for each student to have their own animal, a little similar to the owl system in HP.

This would explain all those animals on the Hexley Hall episode, and why they are making a meeting after "long years of not seeing eachother". How would they be alive since Cedric's school years?They all speak in a tone that implies they have been with their owners since their school days, and the fact that each one belongs to a sorcerer makes me believe that it is obligatory to have an animal. Maybe they're important for specific spells? Studies? Assistants?

He wouldn't feel remorse for killing someone evil. If that person was absolutely disgusting and was a threat to his loved ones, he's not going to spend his whole life blaming himself for having killed someone. Even though he never really intended to kill and tried to resolve things as peacefully as possible, and that this person gave him no choice. He would never kill someone as a first option, though. He prefers to avoid doing it so.

He can takes things personally pretty easily, and because he's used to people saying harsh things to him, even the smallest comment can make him offended, because he's always expecting people to view him badly.

I believe the royal sorcerer is swapped at the same time the king is swapped as well. When the throne is passed to the next generation, the sorcerer also needs to be replaced by the next one. When Cedric's exchange came he was in his 20s, and Goodwyn was so worried because his son was a disaster. He panicked because Cedric would only put his family through an embarrassment with the royal family and the next king (Roland). Goodwyn kept citing to Cedric all the rules he had to know, telling his son to be careful, avoid doing as many spells as possible, and generally panicking. Cedric would just roll his eyes and respond "I know", "okay, dad", "I know". Winifred however brushed aside his bangs and kissed his forehead, saying "you'll make a great royal sorcerer, Ceddykins, I believe in you", which made him more confident and happy.

The sorcerer exchange ceremony takes place after the king's coronation. He also had to wear a ceremonial outfit, which involved a cape and a wizard hat.

He embarrassed himself in front of everyone because it was his first public appearance and it made him very nervous, so he took on the role of royal sorcerer with everyone in the castle and village already seeing him as an idiot. Perhaps during the ceremony it was necessary for him to cast a spell, maybe to follow some specific tradition or just to demonstrate his skills to the people, and Goodwyn covered his eyes and turned away, saying "for Merlin's sake, I don't even want to see this" while Winifred stroked his arm and tried to convince him to watch Cedric's spell. Cedric noticed this and that made his confidence get even worse. Goodwyn has spent every week since the sorcerer switch was announced in pure terror and anxiety, always expecting the worst at every moment.

Roland never saw Cedric as a very powerful sorcerer, so he never believed in his potential since the beginning, and that didn't change after Cedric became the royal sorcerer.

Cedric's hair is stained because of the spell that damaged Cordelia's hair. "Ah but that's obvious", yes, I know, but I believe this happened specifically because he accidentally spilled a few drops of the potion on himself. I actually have a post where I talk about this in more detail.

He absolutely never swears. But instead he says funny words, like the classic "Merlin's mushrooms" or this long and wonderful list I found on the internet.

He was born premature and was so small, everyone thought he wouldn't survive, but here he is now

I believe that they have "bath houses" in the castle for the employees (not the royal family, each one of them has their own bathroom) but Cedric is not a big fan of being naked in front of everyone, mostly because he's not comfortable with the people in the castle, in general. So he has his own "bathtub" (it looks like a wooden barrel but bigger and shorter) and he takes his bath alone in his tower. Well, him and Wormwood. Wormwood is absolutely disgusted by the sight but he's used to it since they grew up together. It's like "okay" for him to be in Cedric's side when he's inside the bathtub, but when he gets out, Wormwood avoids interacting or looking at him because "blerrggrg" (it's funny)

Goodwyn's parents were always treating him as the prodigy he was, so when Cordelia was born she also happened to be a prodigy and he treats her as such. But Cedric wasn't, he was a slow learner (or, using better words, a normal person) and Goodwyn didn't understand how to deal with children like that. He always demanded more from Cedric than he could do, as his sister learned quickly and was generally more praised by the family.

Cedric told Sofia EVERYTHING he did to her after his redemption. They had a long conversation, he said everything, about the sea monster being him, about the sleep spell, trying to take her amulet, literally everything. He cried in the process but he said that he wanted to tell her anyway, because he was truly sorry. Sofia felt sad and betrayed during the whole conversation but Cedric assured her that he was telling her because he didn't want to keep secrets and to prove that he was truly sorry. He promised that she was his best friend and that he could never do anything like that to her again. She understood him, respected him, and said everything was fine, but she would need a moment to digest. After that, Cedric continued to treat her well and prove himself so that there would be no more doubts.

Sometimes, in some situations when there is a bad person, Cedric gets angry with that person and plans revenge, or makes a plan against the person, to teach them a lesson. Sofia interrupts him, calling his name and saying that they already had a conversation about this, and he promised he would stop. Cedric grumbles and says it won't be anything too cruel.

He has medium size nails, squared oval shape because his nails are too detailed in the show and it makes sense. They didn't needed to detail his damn nails but they did, and they are actually a little longer than his finger, you can see that his nail doesn't exactly follow the shape of his finger. THEY PURPOSELY DETAILED HIS NAILS ON THE 3D MODEL I CAN'T (but unfortunately they are nowhere to be seen during "my evil dreams" which makes me kinda sad)

He definitely has gray/white hair mixed in his dark brown hair due to stress, age and unhealthy habits. His bangs were pure white when he got them, but after some time it started to turn gray. Some of his natural gray hair that comes with his age/stress are mixed in the white, so overall the color got a little darker (greyish) as he got older. We love a gray-haired man.

Tall, skinny and has a long nose- has big feet idgaf about beauty standards slay king

Cedric absolutely loves to be praised. At any circunstance, any place, he will give 100% of his attention to someone who's praising him, and he will keep trying to do more impressive stuff so that he can get more praises. Poor guy it's too underappreciated. At this point it's not even a headcanon anymore

Cedric shaves his beard every week. His a 39 year old guy, he has facial hair c'mon. I believe he has a patchy beard which is another reason for him to never let it grow. And like my friend @majoresca said, he probably never lets his beard grow because he doesn't want to look like his father, not even the tiniest bit

Not me accidentaly posting this before I finished

I'm sure I'll want to add more headcanons over time, but when I edit a post after it's been reblogged by someone, that edit doesn't appear on the person's profile, but the previous version does. So I'm going to make a link to the post available on my blog, who knows, maybe the updates will appear on the link! (I've never done this before, I want to prove my theory. If it works, pls tell me).

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Wednesdays mean a new chapter of Wídfara and Guthláf!

Part 5 of 8, in which Wíd gets a glimpse of what it’s like to lose Guthláf, and it helps him make a big decision. Thank you to the small but mighty crew who support this story—I deeply appreciate all of you!

Catch up on previous parts here: One. Two. Three. Four.

Wídfara was back in the stables again early the next morning, having spent the hours since his confrontation with Guthláf in tortured sleeplessness. Maybe we just shouldn’t be together. His own words echoed in his ears, so foolish and so hasty. He wanted nothing more than to take them back, to undo everything about the night before. And yet, he wasn’t sure there was any better outcome.

If he did as Guthláf wanted, he was sentencing himself to a life lived in abject fear of a tragedy he felt certain was coming. But if he managed to impose his will on Guthláf instead, their relationship would be forever poisoned by the acrid taste of resentment. Even worse, he ran the risk that the Guthláf who remained would no longer be the same man Wídfara had fallen in love with, that some irreplaceable part of him might die along with his discarded dreams. No matter what he did, he seemed destined to lose Guthláf somehow, and his aching sorrow was mixed with a heavy dose of grievance toward a world that was giving him only impossible choices. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he needed to talk to Guthláf again. Things couldn’t end as they had last night.

As more men arrived to prepare for the day, Wídfara withdrew into himself, taking up menial tasks – changing out bedding, refilling feeders, polishing tack – to keep his hands busy while his mind struggled to work out his thoughts. Ordinarily, these simple barn chores would be his novice’s work, but Freogan seemed to intuit from just a glance at his face that this was not an ordinary day. He gave Wídfara a wide berth and posted himself a short distance down the aisle, where he could quietly discourage others from unnecessary disruptions.

Even Freogan’s dutiful attentions, though, could not stop the eventual inquiries that came when Guthláf’s continuing absence began to draw notice in the stable. Several of the senior men of the éored came to Cypren’s stall to ask Wídfara if he had yet seen his friend that morning, and he was forced to shrug off those inquiries, feigning ignorance as to Guthláf’s doings since leaving the tavern. But amidst his bitter sadness and confusion, a chord of worry now also sounded in the back of his mind. Guthláf was never late and rarely alone, and yet now he seemed to be both at once. Wídfara couldn’t help but worry about what this unusual behavior might mean.

It wasn’t until an hour after the start of training that Guthláf finally appeared, and his arrival did nothing to assuage Wídfara’s concerns. He had never seen Guthláf as he looked that morning — dark circles under his eyes, pale, listless and with none of his usual spark or good-natured easiness. He walked slowly and with an awkward remove from his surroundings, as though his body was present but his spirit was elsewhere. He ignored the teasing innuendo of friends about overindulgence in either drink or women, and he silently accepted a reprimand for tardiness from Déorwine before mounting his horse and taking his place in the ranks. But while others soon went back to business as usual, it remained painfully obvious to Wídfara that Guthláf was not alright. His riding was sloppy, he was frequently out of position, and his reactions to the movements of others were delayed.

Widfara watched him carefully from the periphery of his vision, one eye always on Guthláf even as he followed commands and executed his own drills. When they lined up to practice defensive tactics, with some riders occupying the roles of hypothetical enemies, Wídfara could see right away that Guthláf was out of position again, leaving himself dangerously exposed. Elfhelm saw it, too, and called out for an adjustment as the drill began, but it was too late – Herubrand, in one of the enemy positions, easily knocked Guthláf from his saddle, and his helmet, poorly secured, slid off as well. Far closer than he should have been to the adjoining paddock fence, his head struck a wooden rail with a sickening crack on his way to the ground.

All organized action came to an immediate halt as men rushed toward Guthláf from all directions, but no one got there faster than Wídfara, who was off his horse and across the open distance before much closer men had even been able to dismount. He skidded to his knees at Guthláf’s side and felt his own heart stop at the sight of a halo of bright red blood quickly pooling in the dirt behind Guthláf’s head.

“Guthláf? Can you hear me?” He patted Guthláf’s cheek a few times, but his eyes remained closed and he didn’t stir even as Syndrigan nosed heavily at his shoulder. With trembling fingers, Wídfara reached down to check his pulse and let out a shuddering sigh of relief when he found a faint but steady beat.

“Get on his horse, Wídfara. Now.” Elfhelm had elbowed his way into the tight circle that had formed around Guthláf’s crumpled body and taken in the circumstances in a quick glance.

“What?” Wídfara looked up, wild eyed at the thought of being sent away from Guthláf in this moment.

“Get in the saddle and we’ll hand him up to you. You’ll get over to the healers much faster by horse than trying to carry him yourself.”

Wídfara jumped up and pulled himself onto Syndrigan’s back. She stomped a foot and shook her head in agitation at bearing an unfamiliar rider but calmed as soon as Herubrand, Elfhelm and a few others lifted Guthláf up and set him in front of Wídfara, his limp body leaned back onto Wídfara’s chest and shoulder. He clasped an arm across Guthláf’s middle, gave Syndrigan a nudge and rode off to the healers as fast as she would carry them. A horn was sounded behind him, the notice to the healers of an incoming injury, and by the time he arrived at the right building, several men waited out front, ready to carry Guthláf inside.

The next hours were the longest and most desperate Wídfara had ever known. The healers whisked Guthláf away from him before he could protest, and they blocked him from entering the room where they worked to treat the injury. Once again, Wídfara found himself standing in a hallway, listening to the appalling sounds of distress drift out to him from behind a closed door. Groaning and vomiting as Guthláf regained consciousness. Raised, urgent voices speaking short, barked commands. Cries of pain. He paced a dogged path back and forth in front of the room, certain that he would wear a groove into the stone floor if he was kept outside much longer, and his entire body thrummed with frantic energy, the charged sting of panic. He clung to the very edge of his sanity and felt even that slipping from his grasp when, at last, the door opened and a woman in a bloodstained apron emerged. Wídfara nearly tackled her in his fervor to hear news.

“There is a break in his skull,” the woman said, “but it’s a relatively clean break. The external wound is now sewn closed and we are satisfied that there will be no critical swelling. He needs a lot of rest, but the bone should heal on its own over the next few weeks. You can go in, but he’s been heavily dosed for his pain and won’t wake up for several hours.”

The sudden easing of Wídfara’s fevered anxiety was so strong that he almost lost his balance, and he slumped back against the wall for support. “Thank you,” he managed to rasp out. “Will you please send an update to Marshal Elfhelm as soon as you can?”

“Of course. And someone will be back to check on him regularly.”

Wídfara let himself into the room as the remaining healers went out, and he looked down at Guthláf’s still, fragile form, sleeping curled on his side with drying, rust-colored blood matted through the back of his hair. Out of sight of others at last, he finally allowed himself to cry, the tears that had brimmed his lashes for hours now spilling at last down his cheeks. Through those tears, he took a clean cloth left by a water basin in the corner and tenderly washed away as much smeared blood as he could from Guthláf’s face, throat and hands. When he was finished, he sat quietly in a chair at the side of the bed and gratefully studied all the little signs of life he could discern – the slow rise and fall of Guthláf’s chest, the minute movements of his eyes behind his closed eyelids, the faint pulsing in a vein at his temple as his heart did its work.

Minutes slipped by, and then hours, and Wídfara sat silently, interrupted only by the woman in the apron, who came in every hour to briefly check on Guthláf’s condition.

When it began to grow dark outside, Wídfara rose to light a lamp, and just as he sat back down again, Guthláf stirred at last. His eyes slowly opened, unfocused and with the black of his pupils so large that the light blue surrounding them was almost entirely obscured. The eyes searched around, disoriented, but when they landed on Wídfara, they stayed there.

“What time is it?” The question came out as a hoarse whisper, the words slightly slurred.

“It’s getting late,” answered Wídfara. “But that doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere else you need to be.”

Guthláf’s eyes traveled from Wídfara’s face down to his chest and shoulders, where his shirt was soaked in blood from the ride to the healers. “Did someone hurt you? Whose blood is that?”

“It’s yours,” he said gently. “There’s been an accident. But don’t worry. You’re alright now. You’re going to be alright.” Tears flooded back to his eyes, and he choked down a sob.

One of Guthláf’s hands slid across the bed and grasped Wídfara’s, the grip weak but determined. Wídfara held onto it tightly, so desperately grateful for the gesture that in that moment he didn’t even care if the healer walked back in to discover them this way. He held Guthláf’s hand as his eyes drifted closed again and for long minutes after, but just as he decided that Guthláf had fallen back to sleep, his eyes fluttered open once more.

“Wíd?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, too. I should have said that yesterday, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m the one who is sorry.” Wídfara raised Guthláf’s hand and pressed it quickly to his lips. “We can talk about it all later, but now you need to rest. I’ll still be right here when you wake up.”

Wídfara was there when Guthláf next woke, but he wasn’t able to maintain his hold on the seat by the bed for long. As they always did when there was a major injury or illness, the éored posted a rotation of men to Guthláf’s sick room, each taking six hour shifts to either watch over him while he rested or, as his strength returned and his head cleared, to keep him company while still confined to bed. After the blur of that first evening, Wídfara had been forced to yield to procedure, allowing Brunloc to take his place early the next morning. What’s more, the presence now of others forced him to stifle any excess emotion or expression that might expose to others the true depth of his feelings. As a result, the most he could manage over the week that Guthláf was in the healers’ care was to drop by for short visits, always in the company of the many others who lined up for the chance to sit with a beloved friend.

The weight of their fight in the stable still sat between them, unresolved. Every hint of Wídfara’s anger and resentment had washed away cleanly in the flood of his panic and then relief after the accident, but his fears were as potent as ever, if not even further heightened now. His frustration at being unable to address them was tempered only by his relief at Guthláf’s continuing improvement, which allowed him to maintain a basic semblance of calm as he went about his daily routines – attending to duties, adding regularly to the pile of small offerings to Béma that sprang up outside of Guthláf’s room, and taking care of Slaga, Guthláf’s dog.

It wasn’t until Guthláf was finally released back to the barracks for another few weeks of general rest and recovery that the opportunity to be alone again returned. On the day of his release, Wídfara went to the central market, buying up all of Guthláf’s favorite things – plums and honey sweets and walnuts and spice cake and anything else he could find that would bring a smile to Guthláf’s face and show him how much he was loved, fight or no fight. It was far more than he could have afforded on his own, but the old women at the market stalls always doted on Guthláf when he came by each weekend and they loaded Wídfara with extras when they found out who he was shopping for.

He stopped off on his way back to pick up Slaga and headed eagerly to Guthláf’s room. He arrived at the door just as Guthláf himself came slowly down the hall from the communal baths, a towel around his waist and a steadying hand on the wall. The sight of him filled Wídfara’s heart with both warm relief and the sharp bite of concern.

“Should you be walking around by yourself?” Wídfara shifted the bag in his arms so that he could put a supporting hand under Guthláf’s elbow.

“Maybe not, but after a solid week trapped in that bed and not even able to take a piss without three people watching, it was nice to get washed on my own for a change.”

“Oh.” A sudden nervousness gripped Wídfara. Maybe it had been presumptuous of him to assume that Guthláf would be ready to talk to him now or would even want to. “I can just drop this off if you’d rather be alone for a while…”

Guthláf glanced quickly around the empty hallway before moving his hand from the wall to Wídfara’s arm. “No. I’ve missed you, and I want you to stay.” He eyed the bag in Wídfara’s other arm and smiled. “And I’m not just saying that because you’ve brought gifts.”

They went inside and Guthláf spent a few happy minutes fussing over Slaga, who was positively vibrating with joy to be back in the crook of his arm, and sorting through the bounty Wídfara had brought him. He tasted a little of everything as he pulled each item from the bag with a delighted exclamation, and he insisted that Wídfara share in his own gift, giving him generous portions of all the best treats. Wídfara was grateful to see that both Guthláf’s appetite and manner seemed normal, though his movements remained slow and hesitant.

After receiving many profuse thanks, Wídfara held Guthláf’s arm again as he stepped gingerly into his trousers, tossing the towel to a corner of the room. Before he picked up a shirt, though, he gestured to his hair and the brush that sat on a small table beside his bed.

“Could you help me with this, too, Wíd? I can’t see the back of my own head, and I don’t want to snag my stitches.”

“Of course.”

Guthláf carefully lowered himself to the ground, sitting between Wídfara’s knees, and leaned back with a sigh as Slaga curled up contentedly in his lap. Wídfara raised the brush to begin his work, but his hand faltered at the first sight of the many small loops of thread that cut across the back of Guthláf’s skull and the inky black bruising, easily visible through the light blonde of his hair, that still spread all across his head and down his neck, where it slowly faded first into dark purple, then blue and finally a greenish-yellow. The sense of calm that Wídfara had worked so hard to maintain over the past week dissolved in an instant, and every word he had planned to say vanished from his mind just as quickly, leaving behind only the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat.

When he heard Wídfara’s breath hitch, Guthláf reached back to squeeze his leg. “It’s alright. It’s not as bad as I’m sure it looks, and it feels better every day. In a few weeks time, it’ll be fine, and everything will be back to normal again.”

Back to normal. His words were meant to be comforting, but they terrified Wídfara instead. Because he wasn’t sure that he saw a way back to normal. If Guthláf could really put all this behind him – wait for his physical wounds to heal and then just move on – what would happen if Wídfara simply couldn’t? How could they ever be together if Guthláf moved steadily forward and Wídfara languished where he was, an eternal prisoner of his own dread? He dropped the brush to his lap and covered his face with his hand. “But how?” The words came out with a pleading tone that embarrassed him, but he was helpless to control it. “Every time I close my eyes, I see your head hit that rail and my heart is in my throat all over again. I’m not sure that terror will ever leave me, and the idea of maybe living through that again each time you’re out there with the banner, where you’ll be defenseless and exposed and targeted…I can’t face it.”

Guthláf set Slaga aside and hoisted himself up to sit next to Wídfara on the bed. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, pulling Wídfara’s hand from his face to look into his eyes. “I really am. And I understand how you feel. I worry about you, too, you know. That’s what happens when you love someone. Your own happiness gets tied up in their well being, and that’s always going to be risky. Because we don’t get any say in how much time we have with anyone else.”

His hand trailed absently across the scars on his chest, and after a moment’s silence, he looked back to Wídfara with a sad smile. “Trust me on this, Wíd. You can run yourself ragged trying to change the past or control the future. You can even force me out of achieving my dream if you really want to. But sometimes a candle is going to catch on a bedsheet in a neighbor’s house on a windy night, and no amount of fear or precaution will stop everything you’ve ever known and loved from going up in flames. So you’ve just got to make use of the time you’re given before anything like that happens. Enjoy what you have while you have it, and don’t let regrets or worries take it away from you any earlier than necessary.”

Wídfara heard the wisdom of those words, coming from one much better acquainted with tragedy, and he was humbled, as always, to contemplate the strength that Guthláf needed to live his life with optimism and spirit despite that tragedy. But Wídfara had never been tested that way and still doubted that a similar strength was in him. “I…I don’t know if I can.”

Guthláf squeezed his hand. “I’m asking you to try. And I know that’s no small thing, but I wouldn’t ask it of you if I thought you couldn’t do it. You’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for, and I promise that I’ll do what I can to help. And if it turns out that you never can bear it, then…I don’t know. I guess we’ll deal with that when it comes. But I need you to try first. Please. For me.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Wídfara’s, once, twice and then a third time before Wídfara caught hold of him and didn’t let go.

Whatever dark uncertainties plagued him, the one thing he knew to be true was that this was where he wanted to be. In Guthláf’s arms again, he felt his defenses and objections begin to relent, thinning like river ice in the first sun of spring and then giving way entirely under its spreading warmth. If he had to swallow his fears for his heart to get what it wanted — to get this — then he would try his hardest. He couldn’t just walk away from everything that was good in his life. If the last week had made anything clear to him, it was that the only thing worse than losing Guthláf later would be to lose him now.

“I will,” he said. “I’ll try for you. For us.”

Guthláf answered by kissing him again, and Wídfara fairly melted into the embrace, savoring every element – the pleasing roughness of his beard, the warmth of his breath, the scent of his skin. All the things he had missed so desperately since everything had first gone wrong.

He would have been content for that kiss to last forever, but he didn’t want to overtax his patient and so he lay back on the bed with Guthláf beside him. For a time they talked of other things, seeking respite from the high emotions of recent days by gingerly turning instead to the lightness of gossip Guthláf had picked up from those who sat at his sick bed or a recounting of how many pairs of Wídfara’s boot laces Slaga had chewed through while staying with him. Eventually Guthláf, still easily tired from even small exertions, began to show his fatigue, and Wídfara encouraged him to sleep. When he had drifted off, a cheek resting comfortably on Wídfara’s chest, Wídfara kissed his forehead and lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling in aimless thought.

From the hallway, he could hear the faint voices of men, friends being summoned or someone’s whereabouts sought. It reminded Wídfara of his youth in the plains, when his cousins would call to him and to each other from their places at far ends of the herd. Back when his life was basic and uncomplicated, and everything he feared was just the standard fare of childhood. The low rumble of thunder in the dark. The shadowy specter of a wolf prowling around in his dreams.

Back then, his mother would sit by him in the night, hold his hand and tell him to find one small thing to focus on very hard, something that brought him peace and calm. No matter how often his mind tried to veer back to the storm or the nightmare, he was to return it again and again to the small thing and think only of that. And he would listen carefully to his mother’s slow, even breathing, counting each inhalation, changing the pace of his own breaths until they matched hers, resting a hand on his chest so that he felt the movements in sync with the sound. And soon, inevitably, his fear would begin to recede and he would find himself able to return to rest.

He set a hand on his chest again now, just next to Guthláf, and he concentrated on their breathing. How it sounded. How it felt, both in the rise and fall of his own ribs and in the warmth of Guthláf’s exhalations on his hand. How it looked when the whiskers of Guthláf’s beard fluttered slightly as air left his nose. He counted breaths and brought his mind back to the count each and every time it slipped to darker matters. And many long minutes and many hundreds of breaths later, he eventually closed his eyes and drifted into uneasy, dreamless sleep.

Guthláf’s first months as banner bearer passed in relative quiet as he finished his healing and the éored was confined to exercises and training, there being no other need for them at the time. Even so, Guthláf was happy in a way that Wídfara had never seen before. Pride poured out of him when he returned to service, and he greeted each opportunity to practice and drill as one who had been given an unexpected but precious gift. It couldn’t cure Wídfara’s misgivings and dread, but it did help him to see the joy and fulfillment that his endurance allowed. And for his part, Guthláf did all that he could to show Wídfara his loving appreciation for the sacrifices he knew were being made on his behalf, for Wídfara to give up his peace of mind in support of Guthláf’s dreams and ideals that far surpassed any of the modest ambitions Wídfara had for himself.

They held onto a tenuous calm, and Wídfara slowly grew accustomed to the presence of his fears. They were never gone, but they receded into the background, as constant yet indistinct as the sound of the surf to those who live by the sea. But his ability to withstand the present was one thing. It remained uncertain what would happen when the first call for relief brought those fears racing back to the forefront and sent them off to battle with Guthláf in his new role.

That call eventually came from the West-mark, where the need for extra assistance was becoming increasingly common as forces of Isengard grew bolder and more aggressive toward the Rohirrim. Of the éoreds in the city, Elfhelm chose to send the king’s to keep their skills sharp after a period of inactivity, and the order went out around midday for a departure first thing in the morning. Guthláf’s eyes had gone right to Wídfara when the announcement was made, but the busy press of preparations kept them from a moment alone until long after the sun had gone down and the rest of the garrison was settled for sleep.

In those small hours of the night, Wídfara was stretched out on his side, a hand on his chest and counting his breaths, when Guthláf quietly slipped in. Without a word, he lay down alongside Wídfara and pulled him back into his arms. A tall man himself, with broad shoulders and a solid build, it wasn’t easy to make Wídfara feel small, nor was that a sensation he necessarily enjoyed. But held in Guthláf’s long, strong limbs and pressed tightly into the niche made by his body, he surrendered to the feeling and let himself be wholly enveloped.

“Are you alright?” Guthláf whispered the words, his lips so close to the soft, curving edge of Wídfara’s ear that he felt each one.

“I’m trying,” he answered. And Guthláf kissed his ear, pulled him even tighter, and held him that way all night, until the morning bells called the éored to its muster point and they left for battle.

In the next chapter, Wíd sees Guthláf carry the banner for the first time with surprising results. Click to part 6!

@emmanuellececchi @hobbitwrangler @dreambigdreamz @konartiste @sotwk

Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit

[jolalibrary]

may i ask what made ghost fall in love with helen and vice versa? even better if they have had history together.. they're just so intriguing, feel like real adults

it’s easier to do this ask as more of a story—but not in the usual sense. just because I always feel these go on when I try to explain my thought process.

simon ghost riley x reader!helen

an: it’s 5:45am, forgive typos. I’m sick and I can’t sleep. it’s more fluff from ghost which means there’s like a rough edge to the fluff.

++

he fell in love with her without realising he had done.

ghost was aware he felt something because of the hole she left in his life when he pushed her away the first time, all those years ago.

back when he was younger, and she had seen less. their fight still loops occasionally around his head. fractured images of her face as each word landed and cut her. then, she transferred to escape him.

he realised then he felt something more for her than he led originally thought, but he couldn’t find her to tell her. his bitter words and her silence being the last thing the two of them had shared. so, he buried it, similar to how he tried to forget her.

for as good as he was tactically, he wasn’t good at shutting the helen in his mind away. evidenced by the fact when price asked if he knew someone who would fit the role of medic for the task force—her name came to his tongue before his mind even thought it. 

he’d later learn she had been on price’s radar for a while. the captain having realised something may have happened, and him feeling he should ask in his own way. the prick.

“you might’ve convinced the others, simon, but I know there’s a man under that mask. and while ghosts don’t get hurt, men do.”

and then, like that, she was back. distant. but back.

at first he tried to be her friend. battled with himself to do so. because it would be easier, for both of them.

but he failed. one of the very few missions he did fail—and the only one he’ll be forever glad he did. because fuckin’ hell, helen is something else. the way she looks at him, the way she touches him, the way her tight little cunt fits him so perfectly. more so, the way he doesn’t hate her falling asleep on his chest—actually rather fucking liking it.

because it means he got her back, in the odd way he had her before. the way he never appreciated then, but would do now. no labels. no real confirmation. just him having her, her having him.

this time, though, when possible, he want to be around her—aware at any moment it could be ripped from them both. he likes the feeling of her fingers on his forearms, on his neck. likes the fact she doesn’t bow to him, will stand all straight-spined and tell him to go fuck himself.

he doesn’t realise how deep he is until he almost breaks a recruits fingers when he overhears him mumble about the ‘nice doc’s arse’. and the only reason he didn’t fully snap them was because he knew the recruit would have to go to her—and he wasn’t about to let that happen. wasn’t about to give her ammo against him, because the evidence of his feelings would have been imprinted into the man’s bones.

all of it had snuck up on him. all his feelings concocting and mixing—brewing something beautiful and disastrous—because bad things happened to those he loved, to those he cared for. his head telling him to run all over again, to push her away. but this time, his heart protested, it burned a hole in his chest that kept him awake. because no, he’s not doing this again. he’s not fucking it up.

even if he’s gotten too close.

he’s plagued with horrid thoughts, failing to fight them off. thoughts such as him being a reason she’ll get taken—that he could even have her killed just for being around him. she’ll get hurt—if not by others because of him, but by him. there’s even a high chance those pretty fucking eyes would slowly, over time, hate him, because good things didn’t happen to him.

they wilted until all of the joy and light was stolen from them. the proof being the nightmares he was still plagued with, the memories, the image of his family burned into his mind.

he couldn’t sleep, and gave up trying, choosing to wander aimlessly. unsure where he was going, just letting his feet take him. he’s unsure how long he does walk, but he only stops when until he reaches the mess and realises she’s here too, alone, not sleeping.

even without meaning to, he finds himself in front of her. the two of them like magnets. and it’s the way she looks up, her eyes softening slowly, lip curling into a hybrid smile and smirk—he’s realised she only does for him.

there’s bags under her eyes as he moves closer, watching her fingers brush stray hair behind her ear as she lowers the cutlery. it’s then that he realises he’s in love with her.

not because she’s radiant and beautiful—even on little sleep after having a bad day. not because she admittedly does have a nice arse, and her body fits against his perfectly.

but because his thoughts stop. she stops the worry, the dread. she silences it. she doesn’t heal him, or even try to—something she’s always clear on with him, she likes all of him, flaws, demons and past included. but, while she doesn’t heal him, she does gently give him a break from his demons, the same way she always gently (literally) stitches him back up.

“hey… you good?”

her hand pushing the plate towards him as he sits opposite her, allowing his shoulders to sink from his ears.

“am now, helen.”