#that’s the boy he’s taken care of for more than a decade now

[storytellerdannie]

I love when they take a trip down memory lane phil is locked in watching dan’s reactions, looking at him from the corner of his eye, making sure he’s enjoying the reminiscing and focusing on the positive. He’s looking after the man sitting next to him, but also the boy in the screen. Phil welcomes every version of dan with fondness and love that we will never be able to rival.

[josephquinnswhore]

Little bird - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel is a merciless hunter for sport, seeking many anew victim when he comes across you. who changes everything.

word count: 3.8k

content warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONSUMING. joel is basically a psycho? he kills for sport, control freak, stalking, murder, dubcon, age gap, power dynamic, manipulation, gaslighting, forceful face fucking, reader spews on Joel’s cock, blood play, forced proximity, m orgasm, fingering, m and f oral receiving, f orgasm, pet names such as; little bird, birdie, princess, daddy.

Joel had adapted to the outbreak effortlessly, without thought, like a bird jumping from its nest, like instinct. It is in his nature alike to theirs, to adapt through the conditions to ensure survival for their species without second thought for consequence. Even after what had happened to his daughter.

The instance of her unnecessary death had sent Joel spiral into this mindset, serial killing and torture. Not even out of necessity, supplies, he just found a sense of control in the act.

He is constantly covered in blood, his hands, neck and clothes all had stains on them. But he found comfort in the act of squeezing his large hands around someone’s frail neck, seeing the light fade from their eyes.

Paired travellers were his preference. The men always tried to be heroes, and Joel found it amusing that they always thought they’d beat him in battle, underestimating Joel's pent up rage and obsession for control. His strength is unmatched—survival skill and pure animalistic rage is channelled with each plea for mercy.

He’d seen many people around him change, good hearted folk who had clawed so far deep into the instinctual rage of strength and determination within themselves. Just so they had what it takes to survive this world.

But Joel—this darkness was raging inside of him before the outbreak, before any real need to access this side for survival had even come into play. With decades of experience, he had become skilled at stalking, especially. Observing.

Often he had thoughts about doing bad things to women and men that he acted out on. He couldn’t find a goddamn ounce of sympathy within himself as he hunted people, stalking his next victims through every state and terrain.

It was sport for Joel, a comfort as he realises that everyone’s life is in his hands, that he gets to decide who lives and dies. That he remained victorious. Too brutal and savage for anyone to defeat.

Notoriously good at what he did, he had more blood on his hands than probably anyone, finding the stalking as exhilarating as the kill.

It had never been anything more than that, until now.

Until he had seen you, two days prior.

He had taken one glance at you, and his feet of their own accord, had started trailing you. Following from a distance as the memorises the size and depth of your footprints in the snow. Since then, he’d been listening in on the two of you bickering about how lost you were, namely you—terrified about where you were, and where you were going.

Walking through the thick snowfall of the mountains, carrying that overloaded bag that made your shoulders sag. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d see your face crumble in pain as you try to adjust the straps of the bag, or beg the young man you traveled with to put some items into his own bag to take some weight off your shoulders.

Watching every interaction between you and this man from the past two days, he could conclude that he was your boyfriend. He hated this boy, the way he walked ahead of you, made you keep first watch after a gruelling day of travelling.

You don’t argue or seem to mind which Joel concedes is a product of this being a constant for you.

He gathers that more than likely, you didn’t understand how you were being taken advantage of. That this boy didn’t care about you, not the way he did.

The thought infuriated him, sending a rush of heat through his body as he clutched onto the falling bark of a tree he had hidden behind, observing you through the forest, the only thing that separates you from him, is a small clearance of flat ground to your small, makeshift camp.

A natural formation of a cave like structure made of rock. All you had to keep you warm was a freying sleeping bag and the arms of the boy wrapped around you.

Joel thinks about all the ways he’d take care of you. Giving you his thick, insulated winter coat, lighting a fire for you in his cabin. Keeping watch the entire evening so you could rest your fragile body.

The more he thinks, the more he fuels his own obsession. He wonders what your skin feels like under his own sinful ones, wonders what your cries would sound like, if you’d give into him or run.

For the first time in years, he doesn’t want to kill, he doesn’t plan on wrapping his thick hands around your neck to crush your oesophagus. He doesn’t think about reaching for his sharpened hunting blade and driving it to the hilt into the soft, warm flesh of your neck.

No, you were different. So pretty, so mistreated. He had to take care of you. Bring you into his warm hands like an injured bird in need of delicate care.

You’re exhausted beyond belief. The old boots you wear are barely holding together, even with the duct tape you’d wrapped around the collapsing soul, and even that was wearing off the front of the shoe.

You know you can’t risk sliding them off for a moment to dig your fingers into your heels to relieve the ache, in fear of infected, or people.

It’s not ideal to stop here, in the middle of the snowfall, freezing your asses off. You’re so lost, and afraid.

There’s a sense of bitterness rising inside of you as you watch your boyfriend sleep, you love him, with each beat of your heart… but you needed to sleep too. If only.

Hours pass of you staring into the clearance of trees and snow, of nothing. Not a bird, not a wisp of wind. The lack of anything happening only fuelled the burning in your dried eyes, lulling them to close, just for a moment.

You don’t know that you’d fallen asleep, standing upright against the tree you were keeping watch from until you’re awoken by a blood curdling scream.

Shaking you out of your slumber, you turn to see your boyfriend is gone from the makeshift camp.

A sense of dread buries itself deep into your skin.

“No.. fuck.. no! Jacob!” You cry out, ignoring the ache in your feet as you run back the way you heard the scream. Holding your handgun in front of you cautiously, there’s another scream.

But it sounds like it’s encircling you. Surrounding you from every direction.

“Jacob!” You scream back, tears welling your eyes.

This was your fault.

A spec of blood catches your eye, like a trail of a clue leading you to a horrific mystery. But you follow, urging yourself to run as you come to see your boyfriends body tied to a lonesome tree in front of a small nearby cabin.

“Jacob… Jacob it’s me,” your voice cracks, tossing your gun down onto the snow as you reach for the tightly knotted ropes that had him restrained against the tree. Jacob’s voice is muffled by a rope fastened into his mouth, keeping his head upright against the tree.

Despite his desperate attempts to warn you of the looming predator behind you.. it’s hopeless.

The blood has created a small pool around him, seeping into the snow. “I’m gonna help you okay? I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

A sound behind you makes your fingers freeze in place around the rope, the familiar sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back—ready to fire.

Frantically, you look to the ground and realise that your gun is no longer where you’d tossed it. The only evidence of it was a deep imprint in the snow.

A deep, southern voice carries strong through the short distance between you, sending a nauseating shiver down your spine. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

You raise your hands above your head, kneeling on the ground, eyeing your boyfriend with tears in your eyes, mouthing to him with a tremble of your jutted bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“Turn around.” The deep voice instructs.

Obeying, you turn your body towards your captor, on your knees with your hands still in a surrendering gesture. Eyes stuck on his shoes that were in much better condition than your own, practically new looking.

The cool metal of your own gun traces the shape of your chin, lifting your face upward to meet the gaze of an older man. His dark brown eyes shift as he takes in every feature of your face, committing every detail to memory.

You’re even prettier up close.

“Please don’t do this, I .. we don’t have anything to give. We’re starving as it is and our supplies are worn.” The plea goes ignored, but you’re desperate.

“I’ll do anything, just help Jacob, don’t let him die like this,” you beg, fat tears rolling down past your waterline.

So pretty when you cry. Those bright, big eyes begging him to help you. It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Oh? You’ll do anything will you?” Darkly, he chuckles. “Remember this promise, little bird.”

The man holds your gun in his hand and grabs at you, one hand grasping the back of your head and bringing it flush to his crotch, rubbing your soft face over the hard bludge of his cock.

A breathy moan escapes him at how you protest, the palms of your hands against his thighs attempt to push him away.

“Tss. Maybe you don’t care about your little boyfriend after all, do you?” He scolded you.

A dry sob slips past your cracked lips, seeming to give up against the harsh grip of the man. A twisted rumble from within his chest vibrates against your palms splayed on his jeans.

“Unbutton my jeans and take out my cock,” the older man sneers, in a means to humiliate you.

Your cold, trembling fingers work at the tight button, and it pops open with a sense of release as his stomach slightly overhangs the right fitting denim. The zipper is freezing—but you manage to keep your fingers pinched around the small zip enough to pull his jeans down to expose him.

More tears fall down your face as you fail to accept what was happening.

“Tell me you want this cock, little bird.”

At your silence, the man redirects the barrel of your gun to your boyfriend. “You think I won’t fucking shoot him again?”

With his booming, threatening promise of violence against Jacob, you utter nonsense.

“I want your cock,” voice cracked thickly as you force the words out.

The man growls in approval, bringing the gun back to you, tracing the barrel of the weapon against your lips in a tantalising threat.

“If you try anything, including biting.. I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out princess.” The utterance through gritted teeth sends your blood cold.

He had no intention of actually killing you, but the way you were trembling beneath him was a good sign you believed it.

“Now be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick cock,” he hums, forcing the thick, blunt tip through your parted lips.

It burns, how far his cock has stretched your lips wide open, the intrusion so far deep into your mouth makes you gag around him, but that doesn’t deter him at all. Pushing further into your mouth, down the back of your throat.

“Fuck little bird, knew your mouth would take me perfectly.”

Tears, snot and saliva all accumulate at the base of his cock, urging his hand to force you closer to him. Holding his cock down your throat, legs trembling beneath him at the feel of you struggling, gagging against him and the palms of your hands frantically trying to push him out of your mouth so that you could breathe.

He pulls halfway out of you, and with that a small amount of bile from your throat coats his cock. Your mouth was so perfect, warm and stretched out for him. Taking him so well. Nothing deters this man from taking exactly what he’d dreamt of you these past two days.

The constant reminder of the gun pressed against your temple was forcing you to endure this. It would save Jacob, it would ensure survival for the two of you.

It hurts, the way he’s fucking himself into your throat relentlessly. The pace is brutal and each growl makes your stomach feel sick.

The worst part is that your body is reacting to this, the slick between your legs is gathering and becoming incredibly uncomfortable.

“Gonna swallow my cum, birdie, fuck.. can feel my cock down your throat.” He can see the thickness down your throat too, swollen full of him. He cums with a strangled groan, the sight of his cock twitching down your throat sent him over the edge.

“Such a good girl, ain’cha?”

You’re completely fucked out. Eyes blown wide and red from the tears you shed. He pulls his cock out of your mouth to trace the outline of your plump lips.

“Please let us go now,” the hoarse request is met with a twisted cackle.

The man stuffs his hard cock into his jeans, the outline of it is impossible to ignore as you look up at him with a pleading gaze.

You had done everything he’d asked, and perfectly too.

Which is why he had to do this.

“Sorry, birdie. But I can’t let you go now.”

He brings your gun upward to Jacob and pulls the trigger. Five pounds of pressure against the trigger causes your boyfriend's head to fall limp against the tree, a gaping, bleeding hole in the middle of his forehead.

“No!” Your voice cracks as a guttural scream tears through the air.

No part of your body is listening as you will it to move, for your legs to carry you to stand and run, but they’re numb from being knelt on the icy ground so long.

The man shoves you onto the soft, snow. Your head is right beside your lifeless boyfriend’s body. “Jacob.. Jacob please,” you beseech, hoping that he’d somehow be able to save you.

Your arms are flailing against his chest as he crawls on top of you, the weak attempt gains a thick hand down the front of your cargo pants, and a hot growl against your lips.

“Maybe I don’t need to clip your wings after all, birdie, seems this pretty fucking pussy is already wet. Don’t pretend to fight me, princess. She wants this.” Without warning, one thick finger pushes inside of your weeping cunny, before pulling it out.

A protesting whine rolls off your tongue as he removes his finger, before you could stop yourself. He sucks your juices off the digit. And his eyes darken.

“Been thinkin’ bout how this sweet pussy would taste, knew it would be perfect.”

The older man sticks the same finger that had just been inside you, into one of Jacob’s stomach wounds, coating his finger in the warm, red blood.

He thrives off the mortified expression that causes your face to scrunch up, wiggling as he brings the bloody finger down to your lips, forcing it into your mouth.

But as he retreats his finger past your lips it’s now stained red, albeit clean. But you reject it, gagging against the metallic taste, spitting the blood onto the snow in a messy spatter, some of it sticking to your cheek and chin.

“You’re sick!” A crooked smile stretches the man’s lips at your accusation.

“No, no little bird. This is exactly what you need. A real man to protect you, so that this..” he gestures to your boyfriend. “Doesn’t happen to you, I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

The condescending tone is lost on you as the griping reality of fear ensnares you.

Your throat aches at your attempt to swallow the saliva in your throat, bobbing thickly. The small notion of you shaking your head appeases him greatly.

“I’ll take care of you. All I ask is that you don’t run, or I will clip your wings, understand me little bird?”

A second nod seals your fate.

“Believe me when I say you made the right choice, you were comin’ with me either way.”

Turns out that the small, wooden cabin belonged to this man. He had kept his large hand on the small of your back the entire time he showed you around. His homestead was fully furnished with food, supplies, furniture, even toilet paper.

“This is where you’ll sleep.” He opens a door, and there’s no windows, just a bed. Accompanied by a giant lock on the outside of the door.

He wouldn’t need to clip your wings, if he could cage you in.

“Sit down,” he orders, and you obey, still in shock as your brain tries to swallow the past hour of events whole, not allowing you to process it.

The wooden stool creaks, and he silently fills a bucket of warm water and sits across from you on a chair at the dining table.

Delicately scrunching a small cloth in his hands to wipe the dried blood off of your face, he leans in toward you, an almost soft expression plastered as he concentrates.

“If you’re good f’me we’ll give that friend of yours ‘o proper burial. Would you like that?”

The sweetness of his voice lured you in, to stare into his deep brown eyes, to take in the concerned shape of his pinched brows.

“I.. I would like that.”

He hums, you were learning quickly. Once he’s happy with your face being cleaned, he stands, picking up the aluminium bucket by the handle and pouring it down the sink. Clunking as he sets it back on the floor.

“Let’s go bury him then.” Before he changes his mind.

The snow was too thick for Joel to penetrate the soil with his shovel, so he had just cleared a foot of snow and tossed the young man into it, burying him under the frost, stacking a few rocks on top of the unmarked, unnamed grave.

He’s impressed and grateful you don’t run away though the process. That would implicate some serious issues and more importantly, require some kind of punishment.

Joel was willing to do anything to train you, to ensure that you never ran from him. In that regard, since you did stay, he felt he would reward you.

His bed is warm, the duvet is thick and the smell of him brings a sense of security to you for some reason, despite all that had happened.

“When you appease me, as you have today. I’ll reward you.” He coos, gently lying you down onto his soft bed, crawling between your legs, hastily shuffling your pants down your legs.

His face is directly between your thighs, and he parts them softly.

“I can smell how badly you need me, little bird.” He groans, pressing hot, open mouthed kissed to your inner thighs, slowly, agonisingly closer to your core.

He’s surprised when you impatiently nudge the back of his head closer to you. “That’s my girl.”

The curve of his nose rubs against your swollen clit, his tongue darting upward and into your pussy with a newfound passion.

He growls against you, the notion sends a vibration through you, and you let out a soft whimper. Thick hands ground themselves in your hips, dragging you downward in the bed so his face could delve deeper into your hole.

The wet muscle is skilled in it’s explorative ministrations, licking a long stripe from your core to your swollen clit.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get some attention too.” The promise he utters to your neglected clit is fufilled as he clamps his mouth around the bundle of nerves and sucks on you, the pressure causes a suction that feels electric.

Your fingers stiffen as they grasp onto his unruly curls. Coaxing him for more, more more more.

And he gives—the tip of his tongue skilfully, slowly working you closer and closer to the edge you’d never been brought to before.

Your thighs instinctively clamp shut around his head, keeping him buried there, not wanting him to stop.

“Please, please, please need more,” your unintelligible begging implores him to double down on his ministrations.

He can feel that you’re going to burst against him, slowly, and slowly he was winding the burning hot coil inside of you, the pressure was becoming unbearable as your thighs quake and tenable at his command.

Two of his thick fingers are swallowed by your constricting cunt, clamping down as you cry out at the intense sensation. His fingers expertly work you, pumping deep inside of you, calloused fingertips hitting the spongey flesh inside of your slick hole.

“Fucking.. need you..” you’re slurring your words, and he’s convinced that your hole would swallow him if you pushed him far enough between your legs. He could feel how greedily your pussy was swallowing his fingers. Desperate for release.

In an act of desperation, you begin to forcibly rut your pussy against his face as you raise your hips, tiring of his pace not being quiet enough to give you what you needed.

“Please.. please I want to cum.. gonna cum..”

At the increase of friction, and him allowing you to use his face your orgasm comes crashing over you. Your pussy constricts around his fingers as he works you at a slower pace through your climax.

A delicious string of babbling moans and praise roll past your lips.

Thighs jittering with a delicious tremble as they finally relax from their tight vice around his head.

“Thank you.. thank you..” the faint, inarticulate cry was all he needed for him to grin against your pussy.

You’re left heaving, and he’s mesmerised by the way your chest rises and falls at his performance. It’s something he has become enticed with—seeing you alive. Breathing.

It’s unusual for him, admiring the life within you when he was so used to taking it.

And now, as he pulls away from your pussy, lying beside you in his bed. Your body in his arms.. he knew he’d made the right choice to keep your life.

“You did so well f’me little bird.” The praise falls on your ringing ears, but all that’s returned is a vulnerable whine.

Not bothering to correct him after a moment of silence, you can’t help the words that feel petulant to ask. “Who are you?”

“Joel. And this—is your new home.” He croons into your tangled hair.

All for a moment, in the blissful ecstasy you forget how you ended up here.

[helaintoloki]

I am just so obsessed with the idea of Five and Reader's domestic life (without all those doomsday shite) 🫠 so please, if you can, I'd love to read something related to that 🙏🏻

a/n: hi anon sorry for the wait ! i just started the fall semester and haven’t had much time to write but i hope you enjoy this little slice of life -esque fic

warning: basically pure fluff

The dance hall is nearly empty save for the elderly couple rocking back and forth in each other’s arms in front of the stage where the big band plays their last song of the night. Tired busboys and cleanup crew members clear away the tables and sweep up any mess to prepare for the next day of business. Despite the evening coming to a close, you’re in no hurry to leave Five’s arms as he delicately twirls you around the dance floor to one of his favorite songs.

“Ready to call it a night?” He asks with a careful smile after watching your eyes nearly flutter shut for a third time. He knows you well enough to detect when you’ve reached the point of exhaustion, but he also knows you’re not one to ever admit this out of your own volition.

“Tired already, old man?” You counter playfully, but you don’t protest as he begins to lead you off the dance floor and out the doors to your car. Your feet are killing you and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed, and Five is fully aware of your current internal dialogue. He helps you into the car and even slips off your heels for you before taking his place behind the wheel.

“This was nice,” he admits in a soft voice, glancing over at you in the passenger’s seat. Your head is pressed against the cool glass of the window as you watch the city streets pass by, and you let out a gentle hum in response to his comment.

“It’s nice we get to do normal couple things now,” you agree thoughtfully. “No assignments to complete, no world-ending apocalyptic threats to stop, no timelines to fix. Just us getting another chance to relive our twenties again in a world where the moon is still intact.”

“I’m sorry about all that,” Five relents with a tired sigh. If not for him you probably never would have been wrapped up in all that mess in the first place, and he feels partly responsible for the chaotic nature your life had taken on the last few decades.

“Hey,” you call gently, prompting the boy to glance over at your sincere gaze and soft smile, “I wouldn’t change it for the world, you know that. I literally had the chance to, but I decided against it.”

“Don’t remind me,” he scoffs quietly at the memory. The Handler had cornered you once with an enticing deal- a chance to return to your own time in exchange for Five’s whereabouts and his plans to stop the end of the world. She mistakenly underestimated your loyalty to the time traveler, and you had gifted her with a solid right hook in response to her offer. That all felt so long ago to you both now.

The headlights of the car drown your front yard in artificial light as Five finally pulls into the driveway of your humble home. After everything had been set back to normal and the Cleanse had been stopped, you both decided to move out into the suburbs and purchased a lovely little fixer upper in a quiet neighborhood where almost nothing seemed to happen. It was exactly the fresh start you needed, and every time you stepped over the threshold through the front door you felt your heart fill with warmth all over again just like it had the first time Five had carried you inside.

“I think we should get a dog,” you voice aloud for no particular reason as you flip on the lights and shut the door behind you. The house is cozily warm despite your absence, and already you can feel the eagerness rising within you at the thought of crawling into bed.

“A dog?” Five repeats with a raised brow as he hangs his coat on the wall and sets your heels upon the shoe rack next to his own.

“After married people get a house they usually start having kids, or they get a dog,” you explain with a casual wave of your hand as you walk through the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a glass of water. “I think we should get a dog.”

“Not a kid?” Five teases as his fingers playfully poke into your side. You jump at the feeling, and he uses the distraction as an opportunity to steal your glass from you so that he may take a hearty gulp of water before you can protest.

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. At least, I’m not. I can hardly handle babysitting Grace and the twins as it is.”

“To be fair, they take after their parents,” Five reminds you with a sarcastic chuckle before handing you your freshly refilled glass of water. “I think our kids would stand a better chance.”

“A Hargreeves child with a y/l/n as their mother?” You retort with a pointed look and uneasy smile. “Not likely. I’d like to remain chaos free for at least another few years before we get to that.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he relents with a sigh before wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve had enough chaos to last us a lifetime. The kids can wait.”

“So we’re getting a dog?”

“We’ll get a dog,” Five chuckles with a careful nod as he presses his lips to your cheek.

“Can we name him Mr. Pennycrumb?”

“Mr. Pennycrumb?” Your husband retorts skeptically, pulling away to analyze your facial features in search of any falsehood or mirth. “Where’d you come up with that?”

“I read it in a comic book once,” you offer with a simple shrug as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. Despite how much time he’s spent with you, you still always find a way to surprise him when he least expects it. It’s one of the many things he loves about you, and it’s why your relationship has remained so strong after all this time. It’s hard to reach a stalemate when you’re always keeping him on his toes.

“Of course, what was I thinking,” Five hums thoughtfully as he pulls away from your figure and sets your now empty cup in the sink. “Mr. Pennycrumb it is.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and turns to leave for the bedroom, but your melodious call of his name has him stopping dead in his tracks. You move forward to loosen his tie for him, an adoring smile on your face as you peer up at him through your lashes and quietly voice, “I love you.”

He grins, his gaze soft with a look that is only reserved for you as he presses his lips to your forehead and gifts you a tender hearted kiss. What he ever did to be lucky enough to have someone like you, he’ll never know, but what he does know is that he’ll gladly spend the rest of his time on this earth making you happy with the life you’ve built together.

“I love you too,” he utters reverently before pulling you into his arms once more for another kiss.

[utterlyazriel]

ain't you my baby?

word count: 4k ish pairing: din djarin x reader a/n: [old timey radio voice] interrupting your regular schedule of bat boy to bring you [does jazz hands] yet another man that could kill u! i will apologise for not updating wtssf and instead giving this but i do not control the brain worms <3 hopefully this is still tasty for sum of y'all ! title from NFWMB by hozier

synopsis: Din gives you an unexpected gift. A dagger crafted with beskar, a fine weapon, a courting gift. You misunderstand. It doesn't take long for you to catch back on. inspired by a convo with my beloved @djarinova

By now, the constant hum and rattle of the Razor Crest around you was nearly unnoticeable.

You travel enough light-years with one stubborn screw in your cot, almost always returning to the spacecraft with one injury or another, and eventually the low lull becomes something more familiar.

Almost, if you'd let yourself admit it, a comfort.

Sleep is funny on the Crest. You'd been a light sleeper for most your life and it had saved your skin more time than you cared to count. Yet, it was the simple knowledge that a Mandalorian roamed in the cockpit above that allowed sleep to drag you deeper than usual.

It had taken months to let your guard down, to realise there wasn't going to be blade buried in your gut as you slumbered defencelessly. In the safety of his company, for the first time in decades, you dream when you sleep.

He hates having to wake you, only doing so if it's absolutely necessary. It's always with the lightest of touches, the leather of his gloves pressing softly against your shoulder, your name murmured and diluted through the modulator of his helmet.

Despite his gentleness, it never stops you from jarring awake.

You shudder awake with a violent twitch, pressing up on your elbow in a split second, prepared to move. You're stopped from moving further by Din's hand on your shoulder. He's knelt beside your cot, visor fixed on you.

You're on a new planet. The foreign atmosphere gives that away in an instant, the chalky taste in your mouth and the swarming heat on your skin. Your jack-rabbiting heart calms a bit.

"Din?"

You know he's only waking you because he must. The momentary calm banishes again as you push yourself up again. Din lets you this time, his gloved hand retreating to his side.

"It's not an emergency." He says, knowing your train of thought already. He tilts his head slightly, gesturing towards the ramp door. "I need to leave the ship. I didn't want you to wake and..."

Your trailing gaze darts back to his visor quickly, swallowing as you fill in the end of his sentence. Din doesn't finish it, but his shoulders readjust in a minuscule motion.

"I'm getting supplies. Watch the kid. Please."

You're nodding before he's finished his sentence. The sleep in your system is already dissipated and you push up, shifting onto your feet and trapping your pained hiss behind gritted teeth as Din rises to his full height.

There's a beep from his valance as he punches a button then a soft hiss as the pressure changes, the ramp door beginning to lower.

It's habit to watch the sliver of the outside grow, the new terrain stretching out before you as the mouth of the ship opens. As expected, a seemingly endless spread of sand greets you. You wrinkle your nose.

Din hadn't indulged the reason or destination of this particular trip. You hadn't asked. A deep slice in your thigh courtesy of a vibroblade and a mouthy Twi'lek had kept you off your feet and eager to rest.

The slice had been by pure luck—or so you thought.

But Din's silence following the patch up in the ship, his quietness suddenly uncanny, left you beginning to wonder if he was questioning your ability to fight. Weighing up your ability to defend.

And if those things were up for debate, certainly so was your position on his ship.

It had just been passed 3 years, almost six cycles if you counted how time passed on your home planet, since you had joined his crusade. Your job had one very simple, very crucial objective.

An objective that was now babbling at your feet, tiny claws reaching out for you.

"Hey, you," You say, reaching down to scoop Grogu up into your arms. He reaches his arms up as he does, making a happy gurgle as you tuck him against your hip.

His round, dark eyes peer up at you, his big ears twitching mischievously and you couldn't help but smile. You turn so he could see the stretch of desert and are surprised to find Din still in the mouth of the ship. He's turned back, his dark visor giving away nothing of his expression.

It's then you get the feeling once more; you're being evaluated. Your usefulness being weighed up. You shift beneath the weight of his gaze, unmoving but still not speaking.

"Did you forget something?" You ask, just to break the silence.

Din finally shifts, his helmet giving a small shake in answer. He doesn't speak, just stares another moment, before he's turning, his cape catching the wind as he strolls down the ramp.

You watch him go, heart in your throat, pondering with an ache of melancholy if your time on the Crest was coming to a close.

Another burbling noise from the little green monster in your arm tugs your attention away. You look down, smile already pulling at your mouth at his clawed hand reaching for you.

"At least I know you still like me," You murmur, letting his cling to one of your fingers. "You wouldn't fire me, would you?"

Grogu makes a noise of agreement, gripping your finger tight. Then he opens his little mouth and tries to direct your finger into it, the clearest declaration of his hunger he can give.

You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the ship, mentally tallying up your list of things to do.

—

By the time of Din's return, the sun has dipped low in the sky and the dunes glow a scorching orange in its rays.

You see him coming in the horizon, the only figure out on the desolate landscape. You wonder, for not the first time, if he's burning up beneath all his armour. He never seems to use the fresher to cool off like you do.

It's as he reaches the ship, his footsteps heavier than usual and betraying his tiredness, do you realise he's returned with a bag. Your eyes glue to in instinctively but you bite your tongue and swallow the burning question of what the contents of the bag is.

"Get what you need?" You ask instead, hands laying flat on your knees, avoiding the bandage on your thigh.

You're knelt besides the ship wall, sitting on your feet, one of the panels hanging haphazardly by a single screw and a box of tools beside you.

There's a function for cooler air on the Crest but it's been busted since a gnarly shoot up leaving the atmosphere of Coruscant months ago. You've been trying to fix it for weeks, each time with no avail.

Today is no different.

“You haven’t fixed it.” Din says candidly, instead of answering your question.

That suddenly familiar worry of your usefulness shirks up within you.

“Yet.” you counter, aiming for optimistic. It’s impossible to tell what the immovable expression of Din’s helmet means. “It’s not the same problem as I started with, at least.”

After a moment, he gives a short nod as if he understands — which is mean because there isn’t a single thing you can think of that Din Djarin is bad at. Besides talking to Jawas, of course.

He passes you and you force yourself to keep facing forward, even as you long to trail his broad figure. You squint at the tangle of wires within the panel and sigh. It’s feeling pretty fruitless. You were hardly a mechanic to begin with and—

A loud clatter beside you makes you startle, something heavy dropping into your toolbox.

You jump back and after a quick second, realise that it’s Din who had dropped something purposefully. Trying to calm your racing pulse, you lean forward and peer in.

“This might help.” He says.

You blink down at the new tool he’s given you. It’s the one spanner size that’s missing from your toolbox.

The last one had been lost when you lobbed it at an intruder’s head in a blind panic. Not your proudest moment— even if it did distract the guy enough for Din to put him down.

You swallow your heart in your throat. “Thank you.”

You don’t hear him retreat but the part of you that fizzles like a freshly born star when he’s near dims, a giveaway to his movements. You curl your fingers the new tool and try to tell if this a good sign or not.

Behind you, Din clears his throat.

You peer over your shoulder, your brows knitting together — it’s not often he calls your attention so forwardly, much preferring to stand and wait, staring long enough til you notice and flush.

He’s still standing in the hull, one hand curled around and holding the bag he returned with. You twist fully, letting him know he’s got your attention.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. You stare, waiting patiently and try not to let your eyes roam—especially after the last comment he made when he absolutely caught you staring at the broadness of his shoulders, eyes drinking in the cut of his figure.

You’d be a terrible criminal, cyra’rika.

What’s that supposed to mean? You had retorted, flustering just a bit.

He had turned and fixed you with a tilt of his helmet that meant he was likely smirking underneath it.

You have shifty eyes.

Your face had glowed fiercely at the reminder that just because you couldn’t see his eyes, that didn’t mean he couldn’t see yours.

Across from you in the Crest now, Din coughs awkwardly.

“I,” He starts. One of his hands clenches, the leather crinkling as he does. “I have something. For you.”

Surprise piques up inside you, fiery and delighted. It warms your stomach and there’s no fighting the smile that pulls at your mouth even if you wanted to.

Gifts from a bounty hunter are few and far between and he’d already replaced the spanner. Your bounty hunter in particular doesn't like to spend his credits unwisely.

Even less commonly does he acknowledge that something is a gift—but you've learned to love the quiet hum he gives you when you thank him for something.

"Oh?"

He shifts his weight ever so slightly, the most obvious indication that he's nervous.

You sit up a little straighter. The anxiety from earlier pools in quickly.

He gives a tiny, almost inaudible huff and then, instead of reaching into the bag, he pushes back his cape and reaches back. His skilled hand unclips something sheathed at his waist. He drops the bag and steps forward, his hand outstretched.

You hold your breath without realising.

It's... a dagger, you realise.

A very beautiful blade by all standards. As you press up to your knees, rising to get a closer look, the details of its intricacy begin to call out to you.

The hilt is twined in a delicate, leathery fabric, not yet moulded to any hand. The pommel holds a promise of a shimmer as though it's embedded with a mineral. And the blade itself... A darker metal curls through the lighter one that encases it, like smoke on a sunlit sky.

It's expert craftsmanship, with a precise balance of two metals — and if you stare a moment too long, you swear the darker one matches the hue of Din's armour. His beskar armour.

"Will you accept it?"

It's with the gravel of Din's voice do you realise you haven't moved. You haven't reached out for it, haven't even blinked since he offered it out to you. You exhale, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded.

It's elegant beyond words. It's too much.

Too much for you, too much as a... a... What was it?

A gift? A reminder of your sole duty on the Crest? Of what you nearly failed at during your last mission together? The wound on your thigh seems to throb painfully as if in response.

He's never got you a gift that's anything less than helpful.

"I," You breath, finally tearing your eyes off the dagger and looking up at the visor fixed on you. "Din, I—"

Your gaze drops back to the blade in his hands. This time, you're certain it's beskar twined within the steel.

"It's very beautiful but..." I'm not worthy of beskar. "I couldn't, it's— it's too much. I can't accept it, Din."

The words come out clumsily and you wonder if in your attempt at being polite, you've gone too far in the other direction and offended him. You wring your hand against your thigh, pressing your knuckles into your wound. The pain dances along your nerves, a welcome distraction as you force yourself to meet his gaze.

The hum of the ship fills the space between you and like almost always, you have no idea how to read his silence.

"I understand."

And then he's stepping back, resheathing the blade into its holster in one fluid motion. He does it so quickly you don't see the tremble in his wrist, his hand just a touch unsteady. Above you both, there's a beep in the cockpit.

This time, you do manage to clock his body language, well aware of the way his guard has suddenly been wrenched up and the anxiety in your veins quickens with a sinister twist. Oh stars. You've definitely made it worse. You should've just accepted the dagger.

He turns and wordlessly heads towards the ladder to the cockpit and you watch him desperately, a dozen words caught in your mouth and none of them the right ones to say aloud.

"I—"

Din pauses, one gloved hand on the rung of the ladder, facing forward. He gives you a moment to speak. Your mouth dries.

When it's clear you aren't going to, you catch the slight sigh he gives, his shoulders dropping an inch.

"Grogu will miss you."

What?

You don't even get a moment to consider what he’s said or to digest the implications before he’s climbing the ladder, deft and quick. By the time you’re on your feet, the swish of his cape is disappearing into the hatch on the ceiling.

You stare at it a moment, all your unsaid words suddenly transforming into confusion. Your mouth opens then closes, your hands held out in front of you in evident bewilderment.

“What—” You begin as you take the rungs twice as fast, following Din’s path up to the cockpit. “—is that supposed to mean?”

You’re halfway up when The Crest suddenly lurches to the side with a rumble, the powering of engines thrumming beneath your feet and you stumble to catch your balance. Below you, you hear the familiar hiss of the ramp closing.

Stars, what is he doing? He hasn’t been this eager to leave a planet since a bounty back on Hoth.

“Where are we going?” You ask, forgoing your unanswered question. You shift forward as the Crest continues to rise with a powerful whirling sound.

Casting an eye at the passenger seat, you’re relieved to find it already occupied by your favourite green friend. Grogu coos in your direction at the sight of you and despite the situation, you can’t help but smile.

“I can take you wherever you wish to go.” Din’s flat response has your smile fading, your head whipping around to face him.

But he doesn’t take his focus off the control in front of him for a moment, stoic and silent as he continues to initiate takeoff. The Crest rises higher, the sandy ground of the planet out the window growing smaller and smaller.

Wherever you wish to go?

Does he— does he think you want to leave?

Your head spins in a tizzy as you try to clue together how the hell he had come to that conclusion. The Crest rocks as it breaks through the atmosphere and you stumble again, struggling to keep your balance.

For whatever reason he’s thinking it, he’s wrong.

Action finally possesses you. You surge forward and slam your hand onto the console, killing the power to the thrusters.

The ship stalls with a loud droning noise, coming to a shuddering stop before it begins to float in the darkness of space. The only light is the glowing orange of the planet and stars beyond the glass.

“Why do you think I want to leave all of a sudden?” You demand hotly.

For a moment, you think Din will continue the silent treatment that he’s all but mastered. His helmet, visor gazing out through the windshield, doesn’t move — until he tilts his head toward you slightly. He sighs quietly.

“I don’t imagine after…” He waves a hand idly and you scan his figure intensely, searching for what he could possibly be referring to.

After…?

It suddenly seems quite obvious.

Even if you had no idea what it had meant to Din, clearly this has to do to you turning down his gift.

“Din,” you say very quietly.

His helmet turns another inch, his chin tilted up to show he’s listening.

You swallow and it feels like your heart in is your throat, burning and bursting all at once. But you have to ask.

“What did the dagger mean?”

Now he averts his gaze, his helmet dipping as he mumbles something, nothing, his voice almost too low for his modulator pick up, a gift, but in the gravel of his murmuring, you hear one unmissable word: courting.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a… courting gift.

A dagger blended with beskar, given as a courting gift from a Mandalorian. It meant you- and him — the hope you had been harvesting, the hope of something more blooming between you two, it had not been unrequited.

Your mind casts back to the exact phrasing as you turned what you believed to simply be a gift too prized for you— it’s too much, I can’t accept.

Maker. No wonder he thought you wanted to leave.

Whatever is crossing your face must be the opposite of subtle because as you grapple to find a response to that, Din’s head tilts back up.

“You didn’t know.”

There's a tiny wobble of relief in his voice.

“No,” You breathe. Blinking hard, suddenly you feel a bit wild because Din all but proposes to you but doesn’t even think to check if you knew the depth of what he was offering? Of the real question behind his gift?

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t know, Din.”

Silence lulls between you, charged and heavy. Even without seeing his face, you know Din must be squirming beneath his helmet — his intentions, his feelings, out in the open and you still staring at him speechless.

You manage to find your voice.

“May I see it once more?”

The request comes out softer than you intend, your courage suddenly quivering in your chest. You will it to rise, to embolden you. Din had been brave — now it's your turn.

Without a word, he shifts and reaches back to release it from its sheathe on his waist. For a split second you see it, the hesitation in his hand.

Then he's holding it out, balancing in his open and trusting palm, held out for you. The thickness in your throat grows.

You swallow tightly and grip your courage, searching within you for that warm, safe feeling that beats like a drum, Din, Din, Din. You seize it tightly.

Eyes fixed on the blade, you ask quietly, "Would you... offer it to me again?"

It's impossible to draw your eyes up, too nervous to see yourself reflected in the darkness of his visor.

"Yes."

Your heart becomes a supernova.

"Will you?" You whisper, finally daring to look up at him.

Your protector, your partner, the man who showed you the softness of his heart and asked for nothing in return. "Will you offer it to me again?"

The subtle motions of Din are something you've come to learn with the years you've spent at his side. Now, staring up at you, the inclination of his armour gives away his surprise.

Then he's rising to his feet only to step before you and sink down, brought to his knees before you. His hand remains steady, the offering held out, and this time the meaning of it cannot be misconstrued in any way.

"Cyare," He murmurs — and it's beloved, it's please, it's don't part from my side for as long as you'll have me.

Something within you trembles and your bottom lip quivers in emotion and then you're moving without thinking, sagging until you're on your knees too.

Equal heights, each of you in a position of devotion, facing toward each other.

Hand reaching out, you clasp your fingers around the hilt of the dagger and say thickly, "I accept."

There's a ragged exhale through the modulator of Din's helmet. He shifts, moving to strip the gloves from his hands and the sight of so much skin from him is enough to make you falter. But there's barely time to recover your stolen breath before his bare hand curls around yours, far larger, the dagger gripped in both of your hands.

His skin pressed against yours burns like starlight. You stutter out a breath, your smile coming so easily at the sight of your joined hands.

Din's other hand raises up and pauses momentarily, halting as if he's unsure if he's allowed before it settles gently on your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his skin and hear another sharp inhale through the modulator.

"I—" He begins, quickly cutting himself off. His thumb on your cheeks begins to wander, soothing over your skin lightly. He urges you forward and you bow your head, forehead pressing to the cool beskar of his armour.

"Thank you."

"You're thanking me?" You chuckle wetly, emotion clinging to your words. His thumb on your face traces another soft circle and you shudder beneath the loving touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“You could have been clearer." You chastise lightly, though your evident joy means your words don't have any real bite.

“I offered you beskar, cyra’ika,” He murmurs, voice warm and full of love. His thumbs draws another delicate circle. “How much clearer could I be?”

His point makes you laugh, eyes opening and seeing your own reflection in his visor. "I don't know," You say, averting your eyes down to your still intertwined hands. You squeeze your hand and feel him echo the motion. Your heart sings.

"Use your words?" You suggest with a cheeky smile, well aware that words were not a strong suit of your Mandalorian.

Din sighs, a faux long suffering one, and the mere familiarity of it makes your heart ache in the best way.

The worries of earlier bubble up within you, the reminder of why you had been so sure the dagger had some other meaning.

“I,” You begin, pulling back lightly and casting your gaze towards Grogu, who had been suspiciously silent as if knowing the significance of the moment before him. “I wasn’t thinking about the beskar, I was being stupid.”

With your free hand, you cover Din’s hand with yours, hiding your face away, which suddenly feels a little warmer. The nudge of your hand against his does nothing to alleviate the glow.

“I thought it was, like,” You mutter quietly, embarrassed. “You were saying I wasn’t doing my job well enough or— or something and I started worrying you were gonna…”

You can’t even finish the sentence with how foolish you feel.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?” Din asks, his voice dubious and warm. Like the mere thought of that is so far from believable that it’s amusing to him.

“Shut up,” you groan, eyes closing as if it can save your from your further flustering.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.” You murmur.

His hand in yours tightens, the other on your face coaxing you out of hiding with the gentlest of nudges.

"Never. As long as you want it, I want you with me." He says and in his voice you hear nothing but utter devotion. "Close your eyes."

You follow his command without hesitation, darkness cloaking your vision and you feel his hands retract from yours. The dagger remains in your palm, still cradled in your fingers. Then, there's the tell-tale hiss of his helmet and you inhale sharply.

"Cyare," He says and this time, it's with all the richness and roughness of his natural voice.

The timbre of his voice is like gunpowder sprinkled across your soul and when his hand finds the curve of your cheek once more, it's set alight.

"May I?" He asks. You can feel the soft heat of his breath fan across your lips and feel your heart quiver in response, bursting forward, as if trying to reach him. His thumb soothes across your cheek, full of wanting.

Your nod would be imperceptible if it was anyone other than Din — if his gaze wasn't trained on your face, drinking the details like a starved man, finally with uncloaked eyes.

He moves forward, presses his mouth against yours, and finds home.

[darkshrimpemotions]

Sometimes I remember everything season 5 gave us and I lose my mind all over again. Like:

Nandor thinking he forgot Guillermo’s birthday so he makes everyone go to dinner to celebrate and then buys Guillermo something he said he wanted to surprise him.

Nandor being extremely jealous of Guillermo’s time and attention.

More Nandor dick lore: not only has Guillermo seen it and given it his stamp of approval, re-designed it, and is all Nandor can think about when he uses it...Guillermo has also now circumcised it. 💀

Nandor going to space to impress Guillermo because he's jealous of all the time he's spending with Laszlo.

Nandor and Guillermo walking home together after the Pride Parade to find their housemates in the midst of an orgy, and Nandor inviting Guillermo to join.

Guillermo being a dad again.

Guillermo saying he loves Nandor the most.

Nandor once again trying to goad Guillermo into defending his importance to Nandor and being visibly taken aback and disappointed when Guillermo doesn't bite.

Nandor being all smitten and dreamy-eyed as he describes Guillermo slaughtering a theatre full of vampires for him like it's a fond memory.

Nandor begging the Baron to show mercy to Guillermo.

Nandor clutching at one of Guillermo’s sweaters like a security blanket and looking distraught at the thought of losing him.

Nandor falling to his knees, holding Guillermo's head so gently in his lap, stroking his hair, crying when he thought he was dead, and arguing that Guillermo was more than just a familiar to him.

Nandor staring sadly out his window wishing Guillermo well, thinking he's lost him forever.

Nandor's face and the way he says Guillermo’s name when Guillermo pops out of his coffin.

The fact that when Guillermo was in danger he ran to the safest place he knew, and it was NANDOR'S COFFIN.

Nandor having a card Guillermo gave him over a decade ago memorized word for word, proving once and for all that he has ALWAYS cared more for Guillermo than is considered seemly for a vampire, even from the very beginning.

Nandor declaring he knows Guillermo better than anyone.

Nandor calling Guillermo "good boy."

The tears in Guillermo’s eyes when he confesses what he did to Nandor, and how afraid he was of hurting him.

Nandor's look of absolute heartbreak when Guillermo confesses that he asked someone else to turn him.

The implications of "you could have asked me!" in the context of the fact that Guillermo hadn't actually brought up his turning to Nandor at all between 3x10 and 5x01 (the implication being if he HAD asked again, Nandor would have done it).

Guillermo finally admitting that being a vampire had become more about being closer to his found family than about vampirism itself for him.

Nandor knowing all along how to get Guillermo to come to him but not using it until he had decided not to kill him.

Nandor forgiving Guillermo for something considered utterly unforgivable, accepting what is considered a massive humiliation, and getting over it for Guillermo’s sake.

Yerno Nandor looking at Guillermo’s baby pictures with his mother-in-law.

Nandor putting his life in Guillermo’s hands and speaking to him in Farsi.

Guillermo instinctively hypnotizing his own mother to protect Nandor.

Nandor inviting Guillermo home with him and declaring he will live with them all as an equal.

Nandor knowing immediately why Guillermo wasn't a vampire, and how to fix it (implying he HAS thought of turning him).

Nandor being so excited at Guillermo’s transformation, quite literally happier than we've ever seen him.

Nandor looking out for Guillermo after his transformation and knowing something was wrong, then revealing he has always feared Guillermo would not thrive as a vampire (essentially reframing his whole attitude toward turning Guillermo all this time).

Nandor giving Guillermo a choice and another chance, creating a whole ceremony for him because he DOES know Guillermo, all while looking sad the entire time and utterly devastated when Guillermo chooses not to remain a vampire.

Nandor breaking the only real taboo for vampires in front of half a dozen witnesses for Guillermo’s sake.

Basically just...absolute confirmation that Nandor loves Guillermo back and has always cared about him.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Hii ! I wanted to ask if you could do more yandere gangster.

A/N: here's a ramble that is similar to so many other fics/imagines but its ALL I CAN THINK OF RN...

CW: kidnapping, yandere themes, murder, illicit substances mentioned, weaponry, some suggestive thots, general dark content shtuff.

Gangster! Yan who’s the right hand man to one of your city’s oldest gangs, the bosses family operating it since the prohibition era. Their main source of income back then was smuggling alcohol to different speakeasies and clubs, now mostly dabbling in the occasional shipment of opioids or small arms that they can get their hands on. Your gangster! Yan doesn’t handle that side of business, though. He’s been tasked to oversee deals, and the protection of the boss and whatever sweet treat he has on his arm for the evening.

When a ‘project’ goes haywire, he’s there to settle things. When someone needs to be taken care of, he oversees it while his boys do what they need to. And when there’s a witness to a particularly unsavory part of business, he personally sees to shutting them up. 

That’s why he didn’t have a choice but to watch you, to learn your morning routine and stare intensely when you perused the grocery isles indecisively. The boss put him up to it, to dispose of every flaw in their seamless operations; countless times he entered your backdoor, breaking the lock you had just replaced due to his previous endeavor, watching you curl up in warm white sheets and smush your face against your pillow. Standing outside wasn’t an option anymore, his shadow from the window disturbed you, and it blocked the trickle of moonlight on your dewey skin. 

Even with the small pistol in his hidden coat pocket, the crowbar he ued to pry the door open, the compulsion to rid you of what you had seen to appease his leader could not overtake the complete desire to rub his face into your chest, to have your thighs wrapped around his head like a sea of warmth, needing that earthy scent of your skin that somehow calmed his screaming heart to completely surround him. 

What drew him to you was how alone you had been-- at home, at the scene of the crime, when you were out and about. Who would miss you? Who was there to take care of you? What would be the purpose to killing you? You hadn’t even gone to the police yet, despite the millions of questionable asks you submitted to reddit and looked up online for what to do after seeing a man’s murder. 

The roughly edged gangster found it endearingly cute, so foreign to the life he had led. You had no way of stopping him if he completed what he was supposed to, no one to turn to if you suddenly found yourselves at the hands of a shady group of men who used you as a drug mule. 

Gangster! Yan knew the kind of underlings his boss employed, easy men on probation or past druggies who wouldn’t think for a minute to stop from gobbling you up on the side of the street if you just so happened to walk down the wrong alley. Seeing as you had stupidly yet to make a distinct change your route after witnessing his gangs work, it could happen any day now. 

He couldn’t let you fall prey to the men he didn’t have a leash on, nor let you continue to live in such suffocating solitude with that neutral look on your face forever. Even if it was only filled with fear from now on, from him-- he’d give you a better life than what you lived.

It was too easy to take you, too easy to drag you to his car, too easy to put you in the decent condo he had been paying for the past decade and barely came home to. Now, he had just realized, he’d have a real reason to come back home. He couldn’t just sleep the night away in shitty bars just to wake up to the next day of work. He had to take care of you, feed you, make sure you bathed. 

Gangster! Yan was almost as surprised when he gave you the cold shoulder, heartlessly teasing you for your stupidity in walking down a known drug-trade neighborhood, for not having realized that he had stalked  you every. single. Day. as you were blind to his heavy, broad shadow of scars and grimaces.

You were so quietly willing to appease him, to scoot to his lap when he demanded it with a threatening hand over his pocket, pretending as if the empty space was a weapon. “Please don’t kill me” you asked neverendingly, every meek breath expecting a slap or a shove off. But the criminal held onto you tighter, hating the reminder that you weren’t a willing pet. 

Even when your eyes faded back with ecstasy, your arms thrown around his shoulders with a grip that only a lover could offer, he saw the flinch you gave when he bent down to kiss you. 

Even with his harsh spats that he throws at you for your mistakes, his belittlement, you are his comfort doll when he’s deal with hardships for the day. When the horrible things he’s done starts to get to him and the alcohol doesn’t drown it out,  or when one of his drop-offs go to shit, you’re the one he bee-lines for for to rant to, to make you stroke him and nod at how hard he’s worked. But his possessiveness is soul-crushing. His grip is painful when he holds you at night, his kisses rough against your mouth with his chain-smoker breath and chapped lips that haven’t been touched in ages.

But with you, he’s learned to take better care of himself. He already has you, wants you in every way, but he needs you to want him, to need him. So, coming home to shower, geling his hair back like he did as a young rookie, shaving his 5 o’clock shadow, he’s made himself into the perfect, respectable man-- or wannabe bad boy. But no amount of grooming could change your perception of the blood stained gangster that kept you in a cage before you were trustworthy enough to be chained to the bed. 

“I’ve killed for you, who else could say that?” 

“Been thinkin’ bout you all day, waiting here for me. Came home as fast as I could so you wouldn’t be lonely. A nobody like you can’t be left to your own devices for too long.”

“Won’t let no other fucker get a hold of you, you’re mine-- through and through. I’ll kill us both before something seperates us.

[munsons-hellfire]

Forever Together 1 | Poly!Bat Boys

SUMMARY: You didn't think you'd find a mate, let alone three mates. Over the course of the decades it snaps for them first, then snaps for you one at a time until the worst possible thing could every happen. With truths revealed you can finally have the happiness you had always deserved.

PAIRINGS: Bat Boys x Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: Wing clipping (mentioned at the beginning in detail, and mentioned somewhat through out the one shot), mentions of cheating (reader's mother), mentions of abuse (reader's father and brothers), angst, fluff, no smut.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Firstly I feel as though in some parts they might be rushed. I didn't entirely follow the books except for the ending of the third one and I did change the plot line as the bat boys are reader's mate. Feyre has a different mate, and if you'd like more to this story Nesta would be mated to someone else. I have more ideas for this storyline in particular, so let me know if you'd like to see more. Anyway I hope you enjoy.

WORD COUNT: 6.2K Words

Pain. Pain was all you could feel. Blood was what you could smell. Laughter coming from your father and brothers is all you could hear. You didn’t know how you had reached this point. You were leaving for Velaris to see the males you considered family more than your own family. You had your bags in hand and were getting ready to take off when they had attacked you. Your brothers had tackled you down to the ground and held onto you while your father took your wings and clipped them from your body.

You didn’t know you could feel so much pain like you did as they were being cut off. They had taken away the most important thing in your life, and they had all laughed while they did it. They didn’t give you a reason they just did. After taking your wings this disappeared and left you on the outskirts of their camp to die. Moans of pain left your throat as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Your back was on fire, as rain droplets hit the open wounds. Your wet hair covered your face, and your body was covered in mud with bruises forming around your wrist and on your knees.

You rested your forehead against the ground as you continued to cry at the loss of your wings. You knew that Rhys, Cass, and Az were probably worried when you hadn’t showed up. They were your best friends and had been since you had met them before Rhysand had become High Lord. You were lucky to find them when you did, they had given you a second chance to have a family that cared about you. Morrigan had easily become one of your closest friends. Amren didn’t warm up to you at first but she eventually pulled around.

Rhysand had asked that you permanently move to Velaris with them, you had agreed simply because you were afraid of losing your wings. You just wished you had left sooner when the offer left his lips. Now they were gone and you would never be able to feel the wind in your hair as you flew through the sky. You’d never be able to feel the freedom it gave you anymore. It was taken from you, and those males you had called father and brothers had taken from you. Azriel had been flying back to Velaris after a mission when Rhys had spoken to him.

“Y/N hasn’t shown up. Can you find her and bring her home?” Rhys asked the Shadowsinger.

“I’ll bring her home, Rhys.” Azriel adjusted course and headed towards Illyria, towards your camp.

When Azriel changed his course a wave of pain rushed through him and he almost crashed into a tree. He could feel your panic, and he was certain that Rhysand and Cassian could feel it too. Maybe that was why Rhys had spoken to him and asked to look for you. When he got closer he could smell your blood. He knew what had happened almost instantly. He regretted not fighting harder to bring you home weeks ago. The male collapsed to his knees beside you, his scarred hand reaching out to you and moving your wet away from your face.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” He questioned, moving to feel for a pulse.

You didn’t answer, but he sighed when he felt a pulse. It was weak but there. His shadows were just as panicked as he was. Very gently Azriel picked you up from the mud and held onto your body. Azriel called to Rhysand as he moved with his shadows. When he arrived in Velaris he took off to the House of Wind. When he landed outside the house they were all waiting. Fear had been etched into each of their faces as they all took you in. The blood had somewhat clotted but in some areas it was still gliding down your back. Mor took in your state, your face pale from the bloodloss.

“What happened?” Was all the female had managed to get out. Anger had made its way onto Rhysand and Cassian’s face as they stared at them.

“I don’t know. I think she was attacked, they clipped her wings.” Azriel explained, a sob ran through your throat at the words that left his mouth. You clung onto Azriel tighter. But it wasn’t enough, you felt yourself slipping, the voices around you growing distant. Everything disappeared, you were alone in complete darkness. But one thing remained that you held onto, a golden string that tied you to three males.

Cassian was pacing the hallway, Rhys and Azriel sat next to each other watching the male. Mor and Amren sat in the living room, waiting. Madja and a few other healers were in the room working on your back. Cassian stopped moving when your screams ripped through his ears. It pained him to not be in there with you.

“Do you know who did it?” Cassian finally asked, closing his eyes fighting the urge to run into the room to be with you.

“No.” Azriel’s jaw clenched. “Though I have a feeling her family was responsible. Something happened for them to act the way that they did. Attacking her at night when she’s set to leave knowing she’d never return.” Azriel added.

“I want the entire family brought to Hewn City and locked up until we can figure out what to do with them. I don’t care who did this, they will pay for taking away the one thing that meant the most to her.” Rhysand ordered sharing a look with his Spymaster and his General.

“I can go get them right now and lock them up until we’re ready to talk to them.” Azriel said, though he didn’t want to leave you. Hearing your screams of agony was killing him just as much as it had been Rhys and Cass. He needed something to distract him until Madja and the other healers had done what they could. Rhys gave a simple nod of his head.

Before Azriel could leave another scream escaped your lips, he allowed a shadow to leave him and stay in the room with you. The shadowsinger watched as it slipped under the door. It found a spot on your neck, helping you cool down. With that Azriel disappeared moving into the shadows to find the ones that had taken your wings for their own sick game. Though he had no doubt in his mind that your father was getting ready to place them on the mantle in your home as a prize.

“We can’t tell her about the bond, not now anyway.” Cassian mumbled as he sat down next to his High Lord.

Rhysand turned, his violet eyes searching hazel eyes. The mating bond had snapped for them all at once a few weeks ago when they were with you. They had shown up to the war camp and taken you to the cabin where Mor and Amren already were. It had been such a fun time for you and all of them. To be able to spend free time without the fear of your father looming over you. You were completely wasted alongside Mor, the two of you dancing and singing not a car in the world. And as the three males stared up at you with your arms wrapped around Mor laughter falling from your lips that golden string connected the three males to you and to each other.

The confusion was clear as day when it happened, and you were completely oblivious to it. In the coming days after discovering the bond the three males had managed to work through what they felt, they were better now because of it. But they wanted you to know, they didn’t want to force the bond, but keeping it from you would only anger you so they agreed to tell you when you had come home to them. Rhysand reached out for Cassian’s hand and held it tightly in his.

“We’ll tell her after she gets through this. She’s going to need all of us, Mor and Amren included.” Cassian gave a nod of his head. The affection that each male received from each other since the bond had snapped was still very new, however it was a welcome surprise. Finally the doors opened and Madja stepped out. Her eyes landed on the High Lord and the General.

“How is she?” Cassian was the first to ask the question, needing to break the silence both between them and in his mind.

“She’ll pull through. Though she’ll be in pain for a few days, it’s best for her to rest while the scars heal. She’s also asking for you two and the spymaster.” Madja explained, looking between the two males.

“Az, get back here now.” Rhysand’s words were firm but an order. Luckily he had your parents and brothers locked in cells in Hewn City. They would most likely be waiting a few days in the cells.

“I’m on my way.” Was all he said.

Rhysand watched Madja and the other healers disappear, leaving them in the hallway. He could hear Madja talking to Mor and Amren, most likely explaining what she had explained to Rhysand and Cassian. The two males finally walked in, the door closed behind them. You were in the center of the bed, laying on your stomach. Your eyes were closed, sweat was falling down your forehead. Bandages covered your back where your wings had once been. They moved closer to the bed but stopped.

Azriel appeared in the corner of the room, his shadows surrounding him, talking to him, “safe”. They’d said, and you were and you would be from now on. Finally you opened your eyes and stared at the three males that stood before you. Sorrow rested in their eyes as they continued to stare at you. They could feel your pain through the bond, feel how much it  was killing you to not feel them on your back anymore. These next few months were going to be hell but you were thankful to have these three males by your side.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

Rhysand stood in a dark room with Cassian and Azriel behind him. The High Lord was staring down at your father. He had talked to your mother and brothers but none of them had said an ounce of anything. A few days after you had gotten enough sleep and had healed somewhat Rhys had brought up the topic of what to do with your family. You had given the decision to the male considering you could never look at any of them again. So here they were trying to get to the bottom of why your wings had been completely clipped from your body.

“Why did you do it?” Rhys’ voice was powerful as the question swam around the dark room.

The male glared at Rhysand, then his eyes fell onto Cassian and Azriel. Finally after hours of asking the same question the male snapped and shared his true intentions behind your wing clipping.

“Because she is a bastard child, never should she have been born. But who was I to deny my wife another babe? I should’ve seen it though. She looks nothing like me.” His voice was cold and his eyes were dark. This information that he had discovered was something the three males needed to know without realizing it.

“What are you talking about?” Cassian urged, taking a step forward but still holding his ground behind Rhysand.

“The female that you consider a friend, she isn’t my daughter. She belongs to that High Lord in the Day Court. According to my wife she had gotten pregnant when she went to visit some friends in the Day Court.” The male paused clenching his fist as he thought about it. “I should’ve picked up on it sooner.”

Azriel and Cassian had shocked expressions on their faces as the words ran through their pointed ears. They quickly put on a neutral mask to hide the shock.

“You’re saying that Y/N is the princess of Helion?” Rhysand asked, trying not to let his voice falter.

“Unfortunately.”

“Why did you take her wings from her?” Azriel asked.

“She didn’t deserve those wings. She didn’t deserve to have any trace of those wings. That female got what was coming to her. I only wished I had ended her life that night instead of taking her wings from her.” He seethed, staring at the males.

Rhysand leaned forward and lifted his hand to the male’s head and slammed it into the table, breaking his nose. “You took away the only thing that meant everything to her you damned bastard.” Cassian and Azriel were quick to pull their High Lord from the male and out of the room. When they were no longer in the room the two males let go of Rhysand. They stared at him intently as his emotions flew down the bridge between them.

“What are we going to do with them?” Cassian was the first to break the silence between them.

“They’ll stay locked up. And we’re telling Y/N everything. She deserves to know the truth about her father, about who he actually is. But not today. Let her rest today. We’ll tell her in a few days.” Cassian and Azriel gave a nod to Rhysand.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

They had done just that, allowing you to take in the new information of who your real father was. You had taken the news better than they thought you would. Somewhere deep down you had always known that the male that raised you wasn’t your father. And now there was a chance for you to have a relationship with your biological father. In the days since you had started your recovery they had decided to keep the mating bond from you just until you had healed back to full strength.

It would see that fate would have other plans for the four of you. A few days after your recovery had started Rhysand had left for a party. He had received an invite from Amarantha herself. You had tried to get Rhys to stay with you and the others, you needed him more than ever (though you still weren’t sure why). But his duty as High Lord rose above, he promised you, Cassian, and Azriel that he’d be back before they knew it. He made it clear to Cassian and Azriel that they’d discuss the mating bond with you when he got back as he no longer could keep it hidden and honestly neither could they.

When Rhys had been locked up Under the Mountain and you all had been locked in, Velaris, not able to leave. Things changed. The bond had snapped into place for you with only one of them. It had snapped one day when you were out on the roof training with Cassian, he had knocked you down and held you down to the mats staring into your eyes. The wind had been knocked right out of you when you looked back up at the General. That was when it all came out to you, the truth. Azriel stood near the two of you.

“How long?” You asked, still staring at Cassian.

“We’ve known since the Cabin. It snapped for the three of us at the same time when you were dancing with Mor in the living room by the fire.” Cassian explained as he moved back from you allowing you room to breathe and process the information.

“You’ve all known I was your mate since before my wings were taken and you didn’t say anything?” You looked between Cassian and Azriel, you still only felt the bond between you and Cassian but it was strong. They both gave a small nod.

“We were going to tell you that night, the night I found you in the rain bleeding, crying out at the loss of your wings. But you were so broken, and having found out that Helion was your father we couldn’t tell you. We all felt that it was too much stress to have you under and we didn’t want to put you under the pressure of the mating bond. Rhys said we would tell you when he came home from the party but now who knows what’ll happen.” Azriel said.

You could see the pain in both of their eyes and while you were missing Rhys more than anything right now. You could see just how much they missed Rhys because they had felt the bond snap for them, they were connected to each other and it was only now that one of them had snapped for you. It was just Cassian and not Azriel and Rhysand. Your heart ached just thinking about it. About when the bond would snap for you. But right now you need time to clear your head.

“I need time to process this.” You breathed out, dropping your head into your hands. “I only felt the bond between Cass and I snap.” You paused looking up at Az. “I don’t doubt that all three of you are my mates, that we are mates for each other. I will admit that the Cauldron had blessed us with this mating bond. But I know that you and Rhys will snap for me when the time is right. But for now I need time to process.”

“You will have it, we’ll give you as much time as you need.” Cassian exhaled.

“We’ll wait however long it takes.” Azriel added.

Later that day you had found yourself in the kitchen making dinner for everyone. Mor and Amren were in the living room with Cassian and Azriel. You had found that cooking had helped you find some semblance of peace. It cleared your mind and allowed you to think properly. What you hadn’t expected was to feel the return of something you had missed for so long. You stopped what you were doing walking into the living room and staring towards the door.

Mor noticed you first, she stood from the couch and walked over to you. She grasped a hold of your hand as tears started to fall from your face. Rhysand stood there near the front door, a male behind him. Rhys’ eyes were panicked as he looked for each mate. Mor finally turned to see what you had been looking at.

“Rhys.” You breathed out. Cassian and Azriel had already been staring at their mate. You felt the tug of the bond through Cassian, his happiness flowing through it. You left Mor’s side and ran to him, colliding into his body and hugging him tightly. He hesitated hugging you back, something you, Cassian and Azriel had picked up on. But then your thoughts washed away when he hugged you back. Then you took in the male that stood behind Rhys, when you pulled away from him he noticed the confused look on his face.

“This is Ryder, he is my friend. Feyre is his mate, the one who saved all of us. He was kicked out of his court because he attended the party with his High Lord.” Rhysand started to explain.

“It was more like I went against the wishes of Beron. I couldn’t stand the male anymore.” He said, looking at the ones that stared at him.

“Welcome, I was just finishing setting dinner out, please join us.” You said softly. Rhys found his heart skipping a beat at your kindness towards someone you had just met. You walked away from them, Mor followed behind to help bring the food out. When you disappeared, and Ryder walked with Amren over to the table, Rhysand's eyes found Cassian and Azriel staring at him.

“We have a lot to discuss but not tonight.” Rhysand said, the two gave a nod of understanding.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

In the months since Rhys had been freed a war had been looming over everyone’s heads. Feyre Archeron had after a few months had officially joined the Night Court leaving Tamlin behind. Things were changing and you could feel it. But then it happened, you were on the ground near Rhysand tears spilling out of your eyes. Cassian and Azriel were both hurt and the Feyre’s sister’s had been forced into the Cauldron.

But you couldn’t focus on anything else, not when the bond for you and Azriel had finally snapped into place. You were now tied to Cassian and Azriel, but now you might lose both of them. A sob escaped your lips. You looked up as the Hybern king walked towards you. He pushed Rhysand out of the way and grabbed a hold of your chin lifting it towards his face.

“What a surprise? Mated to three males, but only two have snapped into place. Two of whom might die.” His words ran around the room and shock fell onto some faces.

“You don’t know anything, bastard.” You spat, choosing at that moment to put yourself together. This had been why Rhys had made you High Lady. He knew that you had known about the mating bond and while you had fully accepted it you had still been waiting for it to snap between you and Azriel and you and Rhysand. The High Lord knew you would make a wonderful High Lady as his equal.

“Don’t I?” He taunted. “Your wings were taken from you because your father discovered that you were the princess of the High Lord over in Day Court. You're mated to three males. You little shining star are easy to read. Your face gives away everything, and so does your father.” Your heart stopped beating as you looked at the male that still held onto your chin.

“What are you talking about?” The confusion was evident in your voice.

“Well someone let go of your brothers and parents when Rhysand was trapped in the Mountain. And let's just say they joined my army. Though I can’t say the same for your mother. She put up a fight but it was easy for my niece and nephew to squash her brain like it was nothing. She was given a worthless death.”

“No.” Was all you could manage to say. You could feel something running through your body but nothing could escape. You just kneeled there not believing that your mother had been taken from this world. The Hybern King had been hoping that some of your power from your true father might escape at the mention of your mothers death but nothing happened.

“I guess your mother wasn’t important. Maybe I should kill the shadowsinger. Or how about the general since he was the first to snap for you. Maybe he’d be the one to bring forth your power.”

You moved your hand behind your back as you lifted your face glaring at the male before you. Rhysand, Feyre and Ryder watched and pulled a small dagger out of hiding. Slowly you stood from the floor to better match up to him.

“You will not lay a hand on any of my mates because if you do, I will make sure you die a slow and painful death.” As those words left your mouth you pulled your hand back and managed to throw the blade into the male’s chest. He roared back in pain and it had been enough of a scene for everyone to make it out. Rhysand wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you with him.

Your eyes found Feyre and she gave a nod to you. This plan had been exactly what the three of you had discussed. Minus the injuries to Cassian and Azriel. Upon winnowing back to Velaris you collapsed to the ground finally breaking at the loss of your mother. You couldn’t do it in front of them, you know they were in the shadows watching. And you couldn’t give them that satisfaction. Rhys wrapped himself around you and held tightly as you sobbed into his chest.

“She’s gone.” She whispered, another sob leaving your mouth.

Rhys didn’t say anything, he just held onto you while the others made themselves useful making sure Madja was helping Cassian and Azriel. You pulled back and looked into Rhys’ violet eyes.

“I know the war is coming. I can’t lose any of you, I won’t allow it to happen.” Your lower lip quivered.

“Nothing will happen.” But you and Rhys knew that it was inevitable. That someone would die.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

You stood next to your father, Helion. He had come to see you before the battle started. As he looked at you, he could see the glimpse of your mother on your face.

“Did you love her?” You asked, staring into his golden eyes.

“Your mother was one of my many lovers when she’d come to visit my Court. But she held a special place in my heart. And even though she’s no longer here with us there’s a piece of her in you.”

Helion paused as you processed his words. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood not far off from you and Helion. They could hear the conversation between you two.

“When this is over I’d like to get to know my daughter more. Only if you are okay with that, my little sunshine.” A smile graced your lips as you stared at the make you’d be happy to call your father.

“I’d be happy to do that. I’d like to get to know my real father. I’d like to know what I could’ve had with you in your Court.”

“As my first born you would be High Lady when I step down.”

“No.” The word was stern as it came out of your mouth. You couldn’t take that duty over not only because you were already High Lady of the Night Court, but because you knew Helion had a son as well. You had been told by Feyre and Ryder that Lucien was in fact the prince of the Day Court, that meant that you had a half brother. “I am already High Lady and I do not plan to step down from that position for a long time.”

“Very well.” Helion looked back at the three males that were -almost- your mates. “Do they treat you well?”

You turned to follow his gaze, the males looked away pretending to do something, to act like they weren’t listening in on your conversation when you knew very well that they were. You released a laugh, it had caught their pointed ears and the three males gazed back over to you. The love was ever so clear in each of their eyes, and while the bond might not have snapped for you with Rhys yet; but you knew one thing for certain. You were going to accept the bond with all three of them. You turned back to Helion as he placed his amber eyes on you.

“Even before I knew that we were mates I knew that I had loved each of them for different reasons. And to know that we are mates had heightened that love. I’d go out onto that battlefield and die for them if it meant a better tomorrow and I knew that they’d do the same for me. I may have lost my wings but one way or another they saved me in every way they could.”

“That’s wonderful news my little sunshine. I may not have been part of your life, I wish I could’ve been because I would’ve taken you and your mother away before they ever took your wings from you.”

“I wouldn’t change any of the things that have happened to me. I may not have liked them at the time it happened and what happened with my wings, it was painful to go through but I pulled through. I wish Rhys had been there for my recovery but he was going through worse at the time and so were you. I have learned to move through my trauma and it is because of my mates that I have healed.”

The three males behind you had the biggest smiles on their lips as you explained all of this to your father. “Maybe when you come over to the Day Court to visit we can figure out if you have my shape-shifting ability, if you do then you might be able to shift Illyrian wings onto your back once more and fly through the sky again.”

Your heart beat fast against your chest, it felt like it was going to break through at the mention of it. Cassian stepped forward, joining in on the conversation.

“She could do that?” He asked, his hazel eyes switching to Helion then back to you.

“It’s possible. If Feyre has the ability to shift Illyrian wings on her back then I have no doubt that Y/N could too.” Your knees were going to buckle, you could feel it so you made quick movement and pulled your father into a hug. The first of many for sure. He was shocked at first but eventually he hugged you back. “Now I must go ready my army. I’ll see you out there.”

You watched silently as your father winnowed away, you turned towards the three males. They came over to you gathering around in a circle. You grabbed a hold of Rhys hand, and Cassian’s hand. Azriel stood across from you holding onto Cassian’s and Rhys as well. You looked at each of them taking in this moment before your friends would join.

“I love you all, and I need you to know that before this battle. If one of us doesn’t make it…” You closed your eyes trying to hold back your tears. “I couldn’t go onto that battlefield not admitting to you all that I love you. Regardless of the mating bond not yet snapping for me and Rhys, I love you.”

“We love you too, darling Y/N.” Rhys said, squeezing your hand tightly. You smiled at him as the others joined in the circle and more words were spoken.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

The battle had raged on, you were separated from Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian. Blood, mud, and grim covered your body and you knew you’d need a bath after this was over. The bond was over the place causing you to panic. You could feel strings tying you to three males, tying you to Azriel, Cassian, and finally Rhysand. A little laugh left your mouth as you threw your sword into one of the Hybern men.

But it didn’t last, something was wrong you could feel it. You knew Cassian had been injured, Rhys had told you via thoughts. But this was Rhys, you could feel something wrong. Especially when his voice came in through your mind and sure enough Cassian and Azriel as well, he was using the bond between the four of you.

“I love you all.” He whispered in your minds. “I love you, more than anything.”

Helion was suddenly next to you, arms wrapping around you he winnowed to where Rhys had been with Feyre. You let go of your father running over to your mate sliding down on your knees.

“He offered his power to allow me to repair the Cauldron.” Feyre’s voice was running through your ears but you couldn’t hear it because you couldn’t feel Rhys, seconds later Az and Cass were there. Tears in their eyes as they looked down at their dead mate.

“No. No. No. Rhys, come back to me, come back to us. Please, we can’t lose you.” You cried out pulling the male into your body. You couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t feel him through the bond, couldn't feel a heartbeat. He was gone, and this was the worst feeling in the world for you, for Azriel, and for Cassian. The two were on their knees watching you cry over Rhys. Tarquin and Helion kneeled down next to you.

“He’s gone, Y/N.” Helion said first, a sob followed after the words left his mouth. You looked at the two High Lord’s as they stared at you.

“No.” You said, shaking your head, tears falling down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Tarquin spoke.

You looked back at Rhysand as those words broke you. You screamed at the top of your lungs, as loud as you could. Power flowed through your body, it lit up covering every inch of you as you screamed for the loss of a mate. Tarquin and Helion backed away from you, the power pushed out of your body and turned into an orb shooting to the sky before bursting into a firework. You rested your forehead on his. Finally Azriel moved over to you, as did Cassian despite his injury. The two tried to pull you from Rhysand so they could hold onto you but you refused.

“Bring him back.” You shouted, looking at the lords around you. This was not ending, this was not meant to be the ending he got. Not when you had finally felt the bond between you and Rhysand. Not when the four of you could finally be happy together after so long. The High Lords didn’t say anything, you could only feel their gazes on you. “Bring him back. You did it for Feyre, you can do it for him.”

“She was human.” Helion said, looking down at you. He could see the heartbreak over your entire face. Over your mates faces as well. “It is not the same─”

“I don’t care. Do it. I can’t lose him, I won’t. Please, father.” You looked up at him, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. Helion felt his heart squeeze tightly at the new title. It had been something he never imagined could be possible until this moment.

Your eyes found Feyre, you didn’t need to say anything to understand what she would do to help you, Cassian and Azriel get your mate back. Tarquin stepped forward, eyes on you.

“For what he gave,” Tarquin whispered. “Today and for many years before.” You watched as a seed of light appeared in Tarquin’s palm. More tears escaped from your eyes rolling down your cheeks as you watched the light fall down into Rhys’ throat vanishing into his skin. One by one the High Lords started to offer up a seed of light repeating what Tarquin had done. You heard Feyre talking but were trying to feel out the bond for Rhys to listen in.

When Tamlin came up she begged for you, the two of you had become best of friends over the last few months and while she couldn’t understand the loss of a mate because Ryder was right next to her he understood the pain of almost losing a mate. Feyre couldn’t let you go through that pain. You glanced at Tamlin as he dropped the seed of light into Rhys’ mouth.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“Take care of her.” Tamlin said, as he looked back at Feyre while Ryder held onto her.

“I will.” You placed your head on his chest, closing your eyes, waiting. Cassian and Azriel kept their eyes trained on Rhysand also waiting. In fact everyone had been waiting. But you could feel it, the thud of the bond growing brighter and brighter for the four of you. You glanced at Az and Cass to see the same reaction on their faces. Then you felt it, the graze of his hand on your back. A soft touch and something you never wanted to let go of.

Then Rhys groaned, “If we’re all here, either things went very, very wrong or very right.” Cassian released a broken laugh, he and Azriel placed a hand on top of your hand that was connected to Rhys’. You didn’t let Rhys go, nor did you open your eyes to look at him. You breathed him in as you felt his heart beat against his chest, against your ear. The tears still streamed down your face, but were falling onto his leathers. “You lot will be pleased to know… My power remains my own. No thieving here.”

“You do know how to make an entrance,” Helion started. “Or should I say exit.” That earned a glare from you, your eyes had opened and you had looked up at your father.

“You’re horrible.” Viviane snapped. “That’s not even remotely funny.”

“I meant no harm by it.” Helion paused and became serious as he looked down at the three males that would soon become his son-in-laws once they were mated to his daughter. “Do not hurt her like that again. And that goes for you Shadowsinger, and you General.” The three males gave a nod to your father. Finally Rhysand called your name, for the first time since he had come back you looked at him.

“I’m here, my loves.” He said as he looked at the three of you. His violet eyes lingered on you.

“Good, I don’t want to see what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come back.” Cassian whispered.

“So, does this mean we can finally accept the mating bond?” Rhys asked, a smirk on his lips as he continued to switch at who he was looking at. You looked at Azriel who gave a nod, then at Cassian who did the same. Finally you looked back at Rhys.

“If it means we get forever together then I can’t wait to accept the mating bond. I don’t wish to live in a world where none of you exist. And I don’t wish to live another day without being able to call you mine forever.” You smiled at them, the smile never leaving your lips even as you returned back home.

Part 2

[thoushallnotfall]

Walkin' After Midnight

Masterlist

Pairing: Marko x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Note: *finger guns* Ehhhhh...so it’s been a minute. How ya’ll been? So completely ignoring that’s it’s been...a long time, here’s another of my ‘imagine the boys in a decade prior to the 80s’ fics--and we’re moving right along to the 50s!

I started this...a very long time ago, and then I didn’t like it so I just left it in my WIPs with like 15 other ideas/half-written fics/updates. I still don’t love it, but upon further reflection I don’t totally hate it--and it was already started so I didn’t have to work as hard to finish it, so there’s that.

That being said, I'm kind of interested in writing a part 2, so we'll see...taking babysteps here.

(I’m really having to dig deep for these gifs)

Every kid from Santa Carla grew up knowing two things: Don’t go out after dark if you ever want to make it home, and stay away from the greasers who hung around the boardwalk.

It never really occurred to you that those two things could be related.

Unlike a lot of the teenagers in Santa Carla, who’d run there with nowhere else to go, you’d lived there all your life. You’d never left the city, and the older you got the more you doubted you ever would. Your dad had been killed in Vietnam, and your mom was around so little you half expected one day she’d just stop coming back home at all. You may not be one of the runaways, but you were still alone in Santa Carla.

Still, you were young; and while you knew you’d have to find a way to live on your own sooner or later, you decided to try and enjoy what little youth you had left. One day you’d have to grow up and start providing for yourself somehow, but for now you just wanted to live your life to the fullest before that all got taken away.

With that in mind, you’d taken to going to plenty of the dances and social events in town. You didn’t have a curfew, and no one was around to care about where you were, but even so you tried not to be out too late after dark. That’s always when the people went missing--and they never came back.

That’s why it was the first rule of Santa Carla: Don’t go out after dark.

The official numbers were never right, given how many of the people who disappeared were runaways, but the amount of missing people in Santa Carla had always been unusually high. The only thing they knew for sure was that they always seemed to vanish at night.

The prevalent theory among many of the local teens was aliens. They came out with their flying saucers and abducted unsuspecting people in the night. Others were more practical--they just thought there was a really good serial killer in town.

It could be anyone! They’d say.

But people have always gone missing in Santa Carla--is he an old man, still killing people in his 70s? Someone else would question.

Okay, so a family of serial killers! They’d say back.

Personally, you had no idea who or what was making people disappear. You only cared about surviving it, and the best way to do that was stay in at night.

Then, there was the second rule of Santa Carla: Stay away from the greasers.

There was a particularly nasty group of punks who usually hung around the Boardwalk at night. No one knew who they were--probably just another group of runaways--but people had grown to know they were trouble. A gang of greasers who didn’t care about the law and would sooner gut a man than say hello. That’s what people said about them, anyway.

So imagine your surprise when you broke both rules in a single night.

--

The night in question started out well enough. You and a friend had gone to the beach in the afternoon, and spent most of the day there. At one point, the two of you had attracted the attention of some boys--who ended up spending the day with you.

So when the sun got low and it was time to leave, your friend decided to accept the invitation from the boys to go get some dinner at the local diner. You however, weren’t as excited about the prospect. Not only did you not want to be out too late, you frankly just weren’t that interested in any of them. Your friend tried to get you to change your mind, but you held firm.

And so it was that your friend headed off with the guys. At least she brought you into town so you wouldn’t have so far to walk to get home. And while you weren’t jazzed about walking home alone you figured you could make it back quick enough that it’d be okay. Unfortunately, it was nearly dark before you even made it back to town--and well into the night by the time you walked past the Boardwalk.

You tried to hurry your way through the crowded streets of tourists and late-night couples walking hand in hand without any trouble. But of course that's exactly what you find.

"Hey there pretty lady, going my way?" A big guy in a varsity sweater asks. He looked like a jock--maybe home from college? You didn't know him, and you certainly didn't want to.

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry." You say, hoping to sidestep him and continue on your way. He moves to stand in front of you.

"Aw, don't be like that doll." He says, looming over you. "I just want to get to know you."

"Well I'm not interested." You say, trying to push past him. He grabs your wrist, squeezing so tight it makes you wince in pain.

"Not so fast girlie--we ain't done talking yet." He says, pulling you back.

Oh God, this is it. He's a part of that serial killer family and you're about to get murdered.

Your frantic thoughts are interrupted as the creep let's you go. He screams as he looks to his other side. You follow his gaze and see a greaser with blonde, curly hair standing next to him--the jock's wrist in his hand. He squeezes it tighter and the jock falls to one knee, yelling in pain.

"Don't like it so much on the receiving end, do yah punk?" The boy says, squeezing even tighter. Despite being smaller than the other boy, the greaser was still clearly stronger.

"What the hell man? Let me go!" The jock begs.

"You want me to let you go?" The greaser smirks. "Alright." He lets the guy go, before quickly using his now free hand to punch him square in the face. The boy falls back, holding his bloody, broken face in his hands. The greaser grabs the bleeding boy by the collar and pulls him up, smiling at him. "Now beat it before I decide to get serious." He says, dropping his collar. The boy scrambles up and runs off, disappearing down an allyway.

You watch him run off, stunned by what had just happened.

"You okay?" The blonde asks, having turned his attention to you. You practically jump out of your shoes.

"What? Oh." You look down at your wrist. "Yeah, it's fine--I mean, um, I'm fine." You stumble through before looking back up at him. "Thank you."

"No problem. Punks like that deserve a good beating." He says, before he smirks. "And I couldn't let him hurt a pretty thing like you, now could I?"

Uh oh, you may have just gone out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"So what's your deal anyway? You know it's not safe walking around alone at night, right?" He asks, ignoring your apprehensive look.

"We'll um," You hesitated, unsure of how much you should say about yourself. "I was out with a friend, but she had other plans. She drove, so..."

"So now you're stuck walking back. I get you." He says. "Pretty uncool of your friend, ditching you like that. But hey, I'll make sure you get home safe."

"What?" You nearly shout. "Um, no really that's not necessary. I'm fine now, so--"

"No way. I already told you--you're way too cute to be out here on your own." He says, cutting off your attempt to protest. "My bike's nearby, let's go."

"I would really hate to put you out," you try once more to worm our way out of the situation, but he wasn't having it.

He smirks, "I offered didn't I? Don't worry about it." He grabs your hand and all but drags you down the block.

Soon enough, you arrive at a parking lot, and he leads you towards a row of four motorcycles lined up in the corner. He lets you go, moving to the bike at the end and throwing his leg over to sit. He looks at you, holding out his hand. You were pretty sure you couldn't get away from him even if you tried, so you took a deep breath and accepted his outstretched hand. He helps you onto the back of the bike, smirking as gravity slide you down towards him.

"So princess, were are we going?" he asks, tilting his head back to look at you sitting behind him. You hesitated giving him your address, but at this point if he wanted to do something nefarious he didn't need to take you home first.

You were in too deep now.

You tell him, and he nods, "Yeah, I know the place." He starts the bike, giving you one last smirk as he revves the engine, "Better hold on tight."

Your arms instinctively wrap around his waist as the bike shoots forward. You gripped him tightly, you head resting on his back. You squeezed your eyes shut, fear coursing through you as your heartbeat raced. As much as you knew you should watch where you were heading, you were too scared to open your eyes. He was going fast--very fast--and with each bump and turn, you were sure you would crash and that would be the end of it.

But the two of you didn't crash, and before you knew it the bike slowed to a stop. You dared to open an eye, and saw you sat in front of your house. A little run down and a bit worse for wear, but still yours. You sat up, shocked you had not only survived the ride, but that he had actually brought you home.

"This it?" he asked like he already knew the answer. You turned to him,

"Oh, um--yes, it is."

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," he commented absently, and you felt your shoulders tense.

"Oh, my parents are here--they just go to bed early," you lied. Something told you he knew you weren't telling him the truth, but he didn't say anything.

You hoped off the bike, smoothing the wrinkles from your skirt out of habit. You took a step towards your door, then stopped. You turned, looking back at the smirking, curly-haired boy sitting lazily on his bike.

"Thank you again. For bringing me home, and for helping me with that guy earlier, " you were still scared of him, but he had helped you. It would be bad manners not to at least thank him for his help.

He laughs, the moonlight catching his blue eyes as he stared back at you.

"Anytime, princess," he replies. He started his bike, glancing back up at you, "I'm Marko, by the way."

"Oh, I'm y/n." You had certainly not planned to tell him your name, but at this point could it really hurt?

"Well, I'll see you around, y/n," he says, his smile wide and mischievous. Before you could say anything more, he rode off down the quiet street, disappearing into the darkness.

[crowleysgirl56]

The vast majority of people who work on a show are paid upfront for their labour

They don't get paid dependent on how successful a show is

They also don't do work that doesn't get paid- if they are working on a show that gets cancelled, they get paid for the work they did

All this 'stream GO for the hard workers behind the scenes' is bullshit

They work for companies are will be put on different projects

Just be honest that you want more GO (despite the message that it sends to studios- that audiences are ok with abusers! Just turn a blind eye to them! Yes that gives them more power but who cares because people will watch and make them money!)

Don't pretend your doing this for moral reasons

(And acting like you're doing this for Terry- for all we know he might want his work with an abuser completely destroyed- it's stupid to assume he'd want the series to be continued)

Like say this shit with your chest, you know?

Oh boy, ok. Gonna take a minute to answer this.

Firstly, I and a lot of the fandom, are heartbroken over what NG has done. Because we were duped into thinking he was a decent person. From the things that he wrote to the things that he said we thought that he was good person. And it is horrible that there are people out there suffering because yet another rich powerful white man decided he had the right to take advantage of them.

You seem rather angry and if that anger stems because you have experienced something similar yourself then I hope you have love and support around you so that you can heel.

If you want to talk about money, let me remind you that NG has already been paid for season 3. He will continue to get royalties, and thanks to the writers strike last year, he will now get more money for those royalties than before. If S3 doesn’t go ahead then hundreds of people will lose their jobs. Will they get other jobs? Sure, maybe. But any loss of job in this current economic climate is terrible and stressful (and I’m not talking about DT or MS here. They’ll get more work).

I don’t know if you understand how hyper fixation in neurodiversity works, but this is extremely painful for some people and takes a lot of time and energy and therapy to get over when a hyper fixation is threatened or taken away. Some people, like myself, need closure for things otherwise we can find it extremely difficult to move on emotionally. This obviously does not compare to someone trying to survive after SA, but emotional diversity can be extremely debilitating as well. They are apples and oranges to compare, but you can’t invalidate one person’s pain because you think another person’s pain is worth more.

As for the show itself, there is so little queer representation in media. There is a lot more nowadays compared to a decade ago, or even 5 years ago, but the little representation we have is so extremely important. Do you know how many people have found a truth to themselves thanks to GO? How many people discovered something about themselves that finally gives them answer to how they feel? How at the age of 40 I finally realised that I’m asexual and NOT BROKEN. That’s fucking important.

And this. ALL of this is why everyone, including me, are so fucking angry with NG. Because he has left us emotionally devastated. He has not just physically hurt these women. He has emotionally hurt hundreds of thousands of people. He is a stain.

I have spoken before when this all first happened about how I was angry that my one teeny tiny corner of the internet that made me happy was on fire. I left for a bit. I came back. I want to continue to interact with like minded people who love this fandom. I won’t stop that.

And frankly, and here’s the last I’ll say on this, the world is on fire. It is filled with a lot of fucking awful shit right now. I have suffered a very deep depression of late where some nights after I put the kids to bed I just stare and cry. You don’t know that about me because I don’t say those kinds of things on the internet, because our internet personas are facades. They’re not real. They’re not true life. I’m a real person and I’m aching inside about so many things. And these kinds of messages are just breaking me further. Seriously, when you send stuff like this do you even consider that?! So when I decide to hold onto one of the last bastions of entertainment that brings me joy, I’m not going to be guilted into dropping it because someone involved happens to be a monster. Because let me tell you if we did that every time someone turned out to be horrible, then we would never watch or enjoy anything ever again. EVERYTHING you watch or listen to or enjoy or like or cared about is connected to someone who is horrible or produced by a gigantic evil corporation (Nestle, Disney, Microsoft, Facebook, Google just to name a few). Every. Single. Thing. It’s the clothing you wear, the electronics you buy, the food you eat, the furniture in your house, and ALL the entertainment you consume. So if you gave up everything for some moral stance, then you would literally have nothing left.

Dropping Good Omens does nothing. It sends no message to anyone because the next really fucking awful person is about to produce the next big thing you might happen to love and care about. So what’s the point?

Let me have Good Omens. You don’t like that, then you can block me. That’s what the button is there for. You don’t need to send anonymous hateful messages. And if you want me to “say this shit with my chest” maybe you can send me an ask with the Anonymous off. So I can see your chest too.

I’m turning off anonymous asks now. Considering the only asks I’ve ever received is abusive shit telling me to kill myself or saying David Tennant is a paedophile or just telling me I’m a horrible person for supporting NG (when I’ve already stated before that I don’t anymore).

Sorry for those who’ve managed to get to the end here. Thanks for reading if you have, sorry it was so long. I hope you aren’t receiving the same type of messages. If Anonymous has read this far, I don’t know, maybe think twice before being horrible to random people on the internet?

[softieekayy]

In the dark of the Night

Hannibal x vampire!reader

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: the reader is characterized with having a mole under her left/right eye and brown/black hair. (She also comes from greek origins and I sincerely hope I don’t offend anyone.) reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🧸

Biologically, vampires were impossible. Their immortality and survival on blood didn’t make any sense, in the scientific and medical sense. At least that’s what Hannibal Lecter believed for the majority of his life. Until he stumbled upon one, in the dark of the night where in an alley there stood a creature of the night, blood thirsty, sucking on the neck of a lifeless man.

Hannibal paused, he didn’t know if it was in shock or intrigue, perhaps it was a mix of both. But at this moment, he didn’t care what it was. He was taken so dearly by this bewitching creature. Oftentimes, he wondered what vampires looked like, in his head, they were ugly beings with protruding teeth and rotten grayish flesh from the lack of sun. Not once in his life did Hannibal ever think that they’d be so beautiful. This woman who stood in front of him was bewitching with hair that cascaded beautifully down her back in perfectly done curls and makeup done with perfection and down to the outfit she wore. She was perfection.

“I wonder if I should let you live or die.” The woman in front of Hannibal smirked, snapping him out of his momentarily trace while discarding the corpse as though he was nothing. To her, he was nothing more than a blood bag. Hannibal noticed her fangs, sharp canines that looked nothing out of the normal.

“I believe my death will bring you peace for your secret.” Hannibal responded breathlessly, stil so taken by the beauty in front of him. He watched as she moved fluidly, quick and fast, he observed how the moonlight beamed on her skin making her look ethereal. In a quick moment, she was in front of him, gripping his chin between her fingers as she observed. Hannibal didn’t know why nor did he care why but his breath hitched, not allowing air flow to get to his lungs. He couldn’t breathe but he didn’t care to, if he could die in this moment, he’d die a happy man. Death at the hands of a death Angel.

“I can hear your heart, are you scared?” The woman whispered in his ear, giving a slight lick on the shell of his ear as she huffed out a small laugh.

She pulled back, watching him curiously.

Something about him drew her to him. She didn’t want to kill him. However, her soul was drawn to his, something that she could tell was as old as she was. Older than life itself.

“Do as you please.” Hannibal whispered, closing his eyes, awaiting his death. Upon feeling nothing, Hannibal was confused, he wondered why she didn’t kill him. He opened his eyes, eyes that were the colour of rum and a slight tinge of maroon, eyes that held warmth hurried deep within. The woman in front of him was observing him, similar to a cat observing its prey, her blood stained mouth pulled into a slight frown.

She took one step forward, sauntering like a cat and in a moment, before Hannibal had known what happened, she stood next to his ear, whispering “Find me when you have time, we need to have a long chat.” Before leaving a small kiss on his jaw, leaving behind a red lipstick print, the only thing he’d have to hold on to for a long while.

Time passed quickly and before Hannibal knew, it had been decades since he’d seen the beautiful beast in that dark alley. He was a young boy then but a grown man now and somewhere deep in his soul, he missed her. He didn’t understand why and he won’t for a while, fate has decided to play a cruel game on him. He still remembers the inquisitive look that she held in her eyes and the way the moonlight made her look like an angel from the highest of heavens.

Even as he stood now, in the dark street, his face being lit by the moon, he thought of her.

His eyes were closed and his head tilted up, as if he was long awaiting death. She thought he looked like a fallen angel, craving for the touch of heaven again. Unbeknownst to him, the immortal beauty had been keeping up on him. She watched him grow from a 20 year old boy in medical school to the man he was now. A beautiful man with the appetite for something so dark.

“Hmm, you look as delectable as the night I met you.” She hummed, voicing her thoughts. Hannibal snapped his eyes open, looking towards her direction, bewilderment coating his face. Calling her a young woman would be quite the irony for she was as old as time itself.

She sauntered forward like a fox, her black lace skirt flowing down her legs seamlessly, lips stretching into a foxy smile with fangs protruding onto wine red lips. Even at night she dressed like a beauty and Hannibal could not stop staring at her, his soul wanted her, no, it craved her.

“You’ve developed quite the palette, love. A very interesting one at that.” She told him, leaning against the wall, a respectable distance still between them.

“You told me that we’d talk when I find you, it seems that you’ve found me instead.” Hannibal mused, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It seems that I did.” She smiled up at Hannibal and he smiled in return. He may not know her in this lifetime, but their souls are well versed, knowing every inch of one another. The two walked forward to each other, two hunters coming together for the hunt of a lifetime.

“I believe we can have that talk now.” She told Hannibal, her lips almost brushing his own as their noses touched. Hannibal hummed in slight agreement.

“I believe that we can do the talking later.” He told her before kissing her, his lips twisting with hers in a passion that cannot be recreated. His hand gripping the back of her neck as her hands gripped Hannibal’s shirt, in an almost desperate manner.

She pulled back, giving Hannibal the chance to catch his breath, she didn’t need to breathe.

“Oh my dearest heart, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” The young woman told him, laughing a little when Hannibal pulled her close to his chest, resting his cheek on her head laughing a bit as well.

“So tell me now, why is it that you never killed me back then.” Hannibal asked her, leading her into his home and looking back at her. Despite the way her beautiful eyes glimmered in the warm light, they held a deep sadness within them.

“I’ve lived a long long life, my love.” She told Hannibal, caressing his cheek as she smiled. Hannibal leaned into her touch, wanting more.

“I’m here to listen to your pain.” He told her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Her body wasn’t warm, it hasn’t been for over a thousand years. It was cold, like a dead one.

“I was born in 487, in Ancient Greece, during the Hellenistic period, I was a priestess of the great goddess Artemis, a goddess of the hunt. A young woman who was to spend the rest of her days living in the temple of the goddess. Of course, back then I hadn’t known what life would hold for me. I was young and naive, wanting to help anyone who came to the Goddess’ temple.” She told Hannibal, her eyes closed and head tilted back as she reminisced the days of her early youth. Even though it had been over 2,400 years ago, she remembered it clearly.

Hannibal observed her closely, her hair that was once up nearly now lay in curls down her back as one hand held a glass of red wine he had kindly poured for them. Her nails were long and sharp, like claws but nothing out of fashion. She truly looked like a temptress, and maybe, just maybe, many stories of vampires being beautiful stemmed from her.

“There was this one night, it was cold and rainy all day, an indication that a storm was about to come. Many thought that the great god Zeus was upset hence why everyone stayed home that day. Women that came to pray for their daughters didn’t come, pregnant ladies hoping for a safe birth didn’t come and men who prayed for a good hunt did not come.” The old vampire told Hannibal and to him, it seemed like a myth. Her life, her humanity was so long ago that it seemed impossible to Hannibal yet it was. She was living proof of it.

“Yet there was this man who came, seeking shelter in the temple.” Hannibal listened to his companion continue her story.

“A young man in his 30’s I assumed. But he was beautiful, more beautiful than any creature I had ever seen. His hair was long and blonde and he was dressed in the richest of robes. I, being the young lady I was, allowed him in. I trusted him, fed him and gave him shelter from the rain. And he betrayed me.” She told Hannibal, the glass that she had been now shattered as broken shards embedded themselves into her skin.

Quickly Hannibal took her hand, eyeing for any injuries yet finding none.

“Are you hurt, my dear.” He asked her and she simply pulled her hand away before shaking her head no.

“What happened? What did this man do to you?” The older man asked her, running his hands through his slowly graying hair, worried about what she might say next.

“He betrayed me. That night, after feeding him and giving him a place to sleep, I went to pray to the goddess, to pray for the safety of my community and the children and for the families to never starve. I was just setting up her altar after praying when he attacked me. A growling creature with teeth as sharp as a sword and glowing red eyes, he turned to me and smiled and said “you’re a stupid little lamb aren’t you. Letting strangers you don’t know into your sanctuary.” Those words were the last I heard before searing pain and finally, darkness.” She sighed deeply, as if she had just breathed out the pain she held in her heart.

Hannibal felt pain for her and the way her life ended. She may be alive but she’s a walking corpse, she doesn’t breathe nor does she sleep. She’s not warm and she’s not alive. There’s no beating heart in her body.

“What about your family?” Hannibal asked her, making her smile slightly and look up at him, she stood up and walked over to him, running her hand through his hair and Hannibal leaned into her touch like a cat.

“I believe they simply thought I died in the storm, and I believed that it was best for them to believe that. My sister went on to have kids and so did my brother. However, my mother and father never really moved on from losing me.” The old vampire told Hannibal, and he nodded, understanding her reasoning for not going back.

“Come my love, you have work tomorrow and I have things to do.” The brunette told him, leading Hannibal up the stairs to his room and he followed behind her as if in a trance. Once reaching his room, he took out his nightwear and sat it on the dresser as the young woman watched.

“Are you going to leave again?” He asked her, not recognizing the voice that came out of him. He sounded like a small boy asking for someone to stay. He sounded pathetic to himself.

“Only to get my stuff. Unless you’d like me to leave.” The young woman winked towards the end of the sentence and laughed. Hannibal laughed when he came up to her and leaning down to her level, he placed a kiss on her lips and she returned it with just as much passion.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She told him after pulling back from the kiss, and kissed his cheek.

Their one morning turned into another and another and sooner than later, they moved in momentum. One could not function without the other, a flowing river.

Hanniabl proposing to her wasn’t very secretive, he did it in their kitchen, while she marked work of her students, the pair had decided to settle in Baltimore, Maryland where Hannibal worked as a psychiatrist and his wife as a teacher. She always had a thing for children and teaching. Unfortunately due to her being physically dead, she could not have any children of her own.

“What are your thoughts on marriage?” Hannibal asked her one day, not bothering to look up from the veggies he was cutting. His lover smiled at him, putting her hand under her chin in faux thought, fangs poking her cherry lips.

“I have never really thought of it. I’ve had lovers, yes, I’ve been a mistress and everything in between yet I have never thought of marriage. Why do you ask?” The smile never left her face as her attention was fully directed towards Hannibal. She sat up straight, dark hair cascading down her back in Hollywood curls as she crossed her legs one over the other before pulling up the sleeves of her sweater.

“If you’ve had lovers, you never thought of marriage?” Hannibal questioned, a small hint of laughter in his voice. He looked up at her, hair disheveled from the long day he’d spent with patients.

“They were lovers, not someone I’d consider spending the rest of my life with.” She told Hannibal in a nonchalant tone. Her eyes held warmth when she looked at Hannibal, he noticed the way her body lost its rigid posture around him and the way she let herself become more loose.

“Would you marry me?” Hannibal dropped the question, his breath hitching in his throat while he anticipated her answer. Anything other than a yes would kill him, physically and emotionally.

“Without a doubt.” The dark haired woman told him as she hopped down from her place at the kitchen bar and made her way towards Hannibal. He looked over his shoulder at her, smiling at her.

“If you’d said anything other than a no, I think I would’ve died.” Hannibal told her, standing up to his full height, towering over his lover. He pulled her into his embrace as she rested her hands on his chest, looking up at Hannibal with a love drunk look on her face.

“When should we start planning?” She asked him, elated beyond means yet not letting an ounce of it slip through her voice. Hannibal let out a laugh before bending down to kiss her passionately.

“You can do the planning, I can assure you that money will be no issue.” Hannibal informed her as he went back to continuing their dinner.

“Sweetheart, I've more than enough money to last us for generations. I’ve been alive for so long and many of my lovers have transferred their assets to me as well. So yes, I agree, money will be no issue.” She laughed and Hannibal laughed with her.

It was not long after this dinner that the wedding planning began.

(Y/n) had a famous dressmaker that she had turned into her kind to forever make her dresses. A polish woman by the name of Olg, a fiesty woman. No matter how grumpy she may seem, the older woman had always thought of the brunette as her own daughter ever since she lost her own.

“Olga! It’s good to see you!” The young woman greeted the older lady with a tight hug and a kiss to the cheek. The older one returned the hug before pushing her back to take her in.

“Still the mournful colours you wear. Reds and blacks and grays. I see that nothing has changed.” Olga told (Y/n) with a distasteful tone. The younger one never listened to Olga when she told her to wear more colourful clothes. The only colours she had in her pallet were blue and red.

(Y/n) laughed fondly before hugging the old lady again and dragging her to the car. The ride home was filled with chatter about everything and nothing. Olga pestered the brunette about Hannibal and to know more about him. She was excited, her daughter, not by blood, finally found love within her life. Someone whose eyes light up when she enters the room and the one person who looks at her as if she hung the stars specifically for him.

“Have you thought about wedding dress fabrics?” (Y/n) hummed in thoughts the question. When she was born, it was a plain white fabric wrapped around you. Although she was very fond of the dresses that were worn in the 1800’s. The puffy dress with off the shoulder sleeves, ugh, (y/n) loved them so much. She liked to think that they were the height of fashion, Olga liked to disagree.

The ride home went by faster than the two ladies expected yet they were not disappointed. Olga was happy to be here to judge the groom in person.

“Do you smell that?” (Y/n) sniffed the air, smiling as she straightened out her dress and fixed her hair before bending down to pet Lucius, a fluffy black cat that wandered the grounds of the Lecter home. Olga indeed did smell that, she smelt meat with a tinge of blood and she was absolutely starving.

While the young brunette cooed at the cat who was now spread out on his back, Olga examined her surroundings. The home was nice and modern, it was a large home with a glass front.

“Do you like it?” (Y/n) asked Olga before guiding her into the home. It was just as beautiful on the inside with a blue coded interior.

“Hm, it’s quite nice. However it compares nothing to the estate that one Lord gave you. Madly in love, he was.” Olga reminisced, pointing her finger at the younger woman who laughed boisterously. The younger woman led Olga into the kitchen where Hannibal was just finishing up the dinner.

“Oh hello, my love.” Hannibal perked up at the greeting before turning around to greet his wife to be. (Y/n) kissed him on the jaw and hugged him and he returned the hug.

“Hello Angel.” Hannibal smiled, caressing her cheek before kissing it in greeting. (Y/n) pulled back before walking back to Olga and introducing her.

“Hans, this is Olga, my mother in all but blood.” (Y/n) enthusiastically introduced the older woman who was busy sizing up the tall man. He had charm and was good looking. He could also cook. However, all that mattered was that he loved her daughter and that she loved him.

“It's a great pleasure to finally meet you, (y/n) has spoken greatly of you.” Hannibal smiles at the woman who nods slightly at him in acknowledgement. He gestured for all of them to take a seat and they did, Hannibal sitting at the head of the table with his fiancee on the right and Olga on his left. Dinner was a silent deal, Olga didn’t know how to feel. There were many times in the past where (y/n) had come close to marrying yet never did. She only hoped that this couple would last for eternity and beyond. Olga knew deep down that it will, she could see it in the way they both looked at each other. Hannibal looked at her as if she was the breath of fresh air he’d been looking for his entire life while (Y/n) looked at him as if he was the only thing that she lived for.

Dinner was a silent affair and Hannibal was an excellent cook. After dinner, (y/n) wandered off into her study to mark the remaining work of her students as Olga cornered Hannibal in the kitchen.

“She’s loved men greater than you, many Kings and Lords who were willing to lay their lives down for her beauty.” Olga informed Hannibal who listened intently, trying to ignore the clenching feeling in his heart. He knew that his lover had many before him yet he never felt insecure, not until this moment that is, the words from Olga’s mouth put that into perspective. If great kings and lords were willing to die for her, then who was he to deserve her love?

“Yet she never married any of them.” Hannibal retorted looking up at Olga, maintaining eye contact as some form of dominance.

“No, she almost did though. A man, a lord really. A widowed man, he was. His wife had succumbed to the chills and (Y/n) was new at court, quickly catching the eye of the young lord.

Their love was pure and young, like a freshly bloomed flower. However it did not last unfortunately, the young lord succumbed to a strange illness that (Y/n) would never die from.” Olga told Hannibal who listened closely to a piece of his fiancée’s history. Olga stood leaning against the counter, watching Hannibal, waiting for a reaction.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. However, she has me and I have her, I am not succumbing to any illness soon.” Hannibal smiled at Olga in a sarcastic manner who just smiled back at him, glad that he hadn’t let the jealousy overcome his conscious mind.

“You, my boy, will do just fine.” Olga pat Hannibal on the back and wandered off, leaving the older man to his own thoughts. Hannibal himself wasn’t less than royalty, he was the Count of Castle Lecter in Lithuania, his mother was a descendent of a family that ruled over Milan for 290 years.

He was on par with any king or lord that would die for his wife to be. She was beautiful, perhaps even the most beautiful creature to walk this earth.

Lost in thought while doing the dishes, he didn’t notice his lover walking in. The slight touch of her hand on his back caught Hannibal off guard as he let out a sigh of relief once he saw it was only his lover.

“Are you alright?” She questioned him, a worrisome look on her face as her eyebrows furrowed together, wondering what made him so panicky. Her hand travelled from rubbing his shoulder to caressing his face. Hannibal sighed gently before allowing himself to lean into her touch, cherishing every moment.

“I’m quite alright, dear.” Hannibal told the young brunette in a soft yet tired voice. She muttered a quiet “oh Hannibal,” before encasing him in a hug. Hannibal hugged her tightly, afraid that she was just a dream that his mind had conjured up before burying his face in her neck, allowing himself to breathe in her scent.

(Y/n) pulled back from the hug, bending her neck down to look at Hannibal as a frown overtook her beautiful face. She carded her hands through his hair before they settled on his face.

“How will you tell me what’s wrong?” She asked him gently and Hannibal, just for a brief moment, lost control over himself.

“Olga told me about your past.” Hannibal barely whispered out in a bitter tone. “She told me about the man who you nearly married and the kings and lords who were willing to lay their life down for you.”

“Oh my dear heart, that man was someone I loved years ago. But you, my dear, you are my love now. My star and my moon.” Hannibal relaxed at her words of reassurance, fully pulling away from their embrace.

“Let’s head up to bed now, I’ll start a fresh bath for you. It’ll help you relax.” She smiled at him and patted his cheek before heading upstairs.

Hannibal stole a quick kiss from his girlfriend before going back to doing the dishes. Once he finished, he wiped his wet hands on a towel and removed his apron and hung it on the hook before heading upstairs. Halfway up and he can already smell the scent of jasmine and sandalwood beginning to drift through the air. Hannibal tilts his head up and takes in a deep breath, already feeling a bit relaxed.

“There you are my star.” (Y/n) called out to Hannibal as she got up from the bed. “I’ve been waiting patiently for you, truly had half a mind to go and grab you myself.” She tells him, Hannibal laughs as he makes his way to their bathroom.

Even at the end of the day she looks like an Angel. His beautiful angel, crafted by god just for him. He removes his clothes, putting them in the hamper and then getting into the bath. Sandalwood and Jasmine, the scent that comforted him the most simply because it belonged to his wife. He remembers the first time he saw her, in that alley way, smelling like freshly bloomed jasmine with a hint of sandalwood.

“Take your relaxing bath, I’ll see you in bed.” The young woman told her lover before kissing him on the corner of his lips and strutting into the room. Hannibal relaxed fully now, lowering himself into the extremely hot water. It felt nice to have someone care for him like this. Sometimes he let his mind wander and wonder if this is the type of love Mischa felt when she was being cared for by her elder brother. He missed his sister, his little star in the sky. Now she truly was a part of the sky. Shaking his head, Hannibal closed his eyes and drifted off a short sleep.

Once he woke up, 35 minutes had passed and his body had already pruned. Quickly getting out, he moisturized and put his night suit on. His wife, although they weren’t married legally, was on the bed, reading a book that was centuries old. She was there when it was written, hence her copy is an original.

“I thought you weren’t coming out of that bath today.” She joked, smiling up at him.

“It seems like you made it too relaxing.” Hannibal joked back, poking her side making her laugh. Sweet laughter that sounded like wind chimes. She set her book aside, arranging the pillows so that she laid down properly on them.

“Ready to sleep?” Hannibal asked her, moulding himself around the shape of her body.

“With you? Always.” She tells her husband, moving closer to rest her head on his beating heart, allowing it to lull her to sleep. Hannibal moved his cheek atop her head, breathing in that familiar scent of metallic blood and jasmine, allowing the scents to send him to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning was usual, Hannibal woke up first, made breakfast, woke up his wife and Olga, ate breakfast and then got dressed and headed off to work, he was now consulting with the FBI.

(Y/n)’s routine was the same as well. She ate, came up, got dressed for her teaching job, grabbed her papers and headed off to school.

Olga, well, she didn’t exactly have a job however, she had decided to get a head start on the wedding fabric. She knew that (Y/n) wanted something that was classic and elegant yet also wanted lace. She headed to multiple fabric stores and picked up multiple fabrics, allowing her surrogate daughter to pick one she liked the most. She wouldn’t admit it but Olga was excited, her daughter had happiness once, yet it was snatched straight out of her hands and now, she has a second chance at it with a great man.

The day came and went, by the time she reached home, it was 3pm and two hours later, (Y/n) returned home.

“Olga! What is all of this?” She asked surprised, shutting the door and taking off her gloves and coat, (y/n) put them on the couch and sat beside Olga.

“I brought fabric. The sooner you choose the type, the sooner I can begin the design.” Olga told her. The younger girl looked at Olga for a moment before hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek.

“You shouldn’t have!” She told her once, pulling away from the hug.

“Nonsense child. Now choose your favorite fabric.” And with those words, (y/n) began to finger the fabric and examined them closely. Some were beautiful crème coloured fabrics with a pearl sheen and others were decorated with gold threads and white coloured flowers embroidered. It was simply beautiful. However, the one that truly caught the young woman’s attention was a beautiful ivory coloured fabric with beautiful lace detailing and the fabric was woven with silver, causing it to have a beautiful shine in the sun and light.

“That one is it.” Hannibal called out from the door making his wife jump. She glared at him for a moment before running her hands through her hair. He laughed and shed his coat jacket, sitting next to his wife.

“It's beautiful, isn’t it.” She told him and Hannibal nodded. The fabric truly was one of a kind, however, his wife was more beautiful than any fabric or creature.

“I agree but I think that you’ll make it shine even more.” He tells her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and kissing her. (Y/n) raised his hand to his cheek, deepening the kiss a bit more.

“So that’s the fabric I assume.” Olga guessed.

“Well then, I’ll get started on the dress.” Olga kissed (y/n) on the cheek and headed to the sun room that was converted into her studio.

4 months passed by and their routine continued. Hannibal and (Y/n) headed off work while Olga worked on the dress, keeping it a secret from the bride. A month later, the dress was ready.

“The flower arrangements are beautiful, aren’t they.” The brunette gushed over the flowers, clutching onto Hannibal’s arm as he agreed. They truly were beautiful. Baby’s breath paired with lilac coloured flowers.

“Have you sent the invitations?” Hannibal asked the wedding planner who nodded. Hannibal nodded in acknowledgement and placed his hand over his wife’s.

“Everything will be perfect, my love.” Hannibal tells her normally, kissing her forehead before muttering a soft “And anyone who messes it up will be our dinner.” (Y/n) smiled at that. They weren’t innocent, Hannibal supplied her blood and the rest ate with her.

Their wedding date was in a week and good lord did that week come fast. At work Hannibal had made good friends with Will Graham and that man was his best man. Hannibal had friends, many friends, yet Will Graham was surprisingly his closest.

“Are you ready?” Will asked Hannibal who looked at him through the mirror.

“To marry her? Any day.” Hannibal replied in confidence, making Will laugh.

“I just went to see her, she looks like a vision come true. Now I see why you call her angel.” Will laughed, running his hands through his unruly curls. Will hadn’t only become friends with Hannibal, he also became friends with his wife. Will reminded (y/n) of her brother, one that she never got to see grow.

“Are you ready?” Maya asked (y/n), straightening her veil before grabbing ahold of her hands.

“Maya, I’ve been waiting over 9 centuries for this, I am ready as I'll ever be.” (Y/n) tells her long time friend, squeezing her hands in confirmation.

“Alright then, let’s get you married.” Maya said, linking their arms together.

Will was right, his wife to be was a beautiful vision. Olga did so wonderfully designing the dress, it was reminiscent of fashion during the Tudor period, with a beautiful ivory bodice decorated with the most beautiful blue and gold birds and flowers, the skirt was simple and trimmed with lace as well as the arms. It was a heavy skirt with multiple layers of fabric. A true Tudor wedding dress. Her hair was done up and a few loose curls framed her face, the makeup suited her well, dark eyes with a dark lip and the finishing touch was a dark blue lace choker, with a pendant depicting the goddess that she once served.

“You are stunning.” Hannibal sighed out in disbelief, still looking at his wife and took her hands in his bigger ones.

The priest officiated the wedding and they said their vows, sealing the ceremony with a kiss.

Maya cried at the Vows while Will teared up a little, praying to whatever god there was to find a love like theirs.

“I’ve waited a thousand years for you, Hannibal. I’ll wait another thousand if it means to have you in my arms.” She tells him, placing her hand on his cheek as he leans into it.

“I’d wait a thousand years to feel your touch and your love again, my beautiful, beautiful wife.” Hannibal tells her, tilting her chin up before kissing her again. They are finally married now, after centuries (Y/n) found someone to love for centuries to come and Hannibal found someone to love.

Tagging my beauties: @chchchcheni @shawty-writes-a-little @jake-g-lockley @dimitrisebastian

[creedslove]

The Millers 💖

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: an insight of Joel's married life with you and fatherhood of a little boy

Inspired by this post after I fell in love with the idea of Joel being a dad to a baby boy 💙

Warnings: fluff and Joel Miller being the best husband and father in the world

A/N: idk besties, I love Joel and I want him to be happy 😭🥺

1.6k words

When Joel had Sarah, everything was harder; he was too young to take that much of a responsibility by himself and yet he did it. Giving up his dream and short term plans, he saw himself seeking a steady job to provide for himself and his baby daughter, and for that he worked hard. Joel Miller had to work his ass off in order to make sure his family would be well taken care of. However, he loved that tiny little baby girl with all his heart, and it was that love that gave him the strength and the perseverance to fight things off and make sure his daughter had everything he could give her. Luckily to him, he did a pretty good job at raising her, stated fact as she blossomed into a beautiful, lovely and kind-hearted young woman, who gave him nothing but happiness and pride when she managed to get into a top-notch university, after all, she was the smartest kid he'd ever met.

He didn't know exactly what to do after he dropped her off in college, returning to the home that had been filled with her presence, her laughter, her joy and her things, was now a home Joel would have to live in alone and occasionally sharing with his laid-back brother. He was still fairly young, he had a successful business and he thought he would spend his next decades leading a quiet, comfortable life, with a lot of work, some fun, some night stands and that was it.

Meeting you wasn't planned, but it ended up being one of the best, sweetest surprises life had given him, and still, he had never thought it would end up in marriage. He figured you two would be together until you got tired of him and found someone better, he wouldn't blame you, he always thought you deserved more, even if it broke his heart. Turns out you didn't want anyone better, younger or wealthier, you wanted him, exactly like he wanted you, so despite Joel being a stubborn man, you showed him your love and you ended up married to the love of your life. Not bad at all.

However, he had never thought of having a second child. Not that he was against it, but he just figured it wouldn't happen at all, he had gone through all of it with Sarah, so he didn't see himself restarting it from the very beginning… that is until you came with a positive pregnancy test and Joel realized he was going to be a father. You were going to be a mother and you two would become parents. It took him some seconds to let the news sink in, he was shocked, he was not going to lie… he knew you two should've discussed the possibility of having kids and how that would affect your marriage and daily life, but since you were already pregnant, he saw that ship had already sailed.

He was terrified, but also couldn't hide the fact he was so happy to be doing that with you, before he knew it would be different than the first time, where he had to handle a newborn on his own and became a single parent, instead you would do it as a couple, together, building up a family, you were about to become The Millers and he fucking loved that.

Over the course of his life, Joel had to learn to be a girl dad, task that wasn't easy at all, he had no idea one day he would have to learn about Disney princesses, and Barbies, and My Little Pony shit and all the sparkly glittery Sarah was so crazy about when she was a kid. And for a rough guy like himself, he had done a decent job. Which was why his whole perspective had changed the moment he learned you and him were having a little boy.

Joel felt like his heart had stopped for a moment, it was the second time you nearly gave him a heart attack during your marriage. It was so new to him, to know that in a matter of months he was having a little boy. He thought of all the things he would like to do some day, such as teach him how to play the guitar, take him to sports matches, play soccer after Sunday lunches, take him to work… there was just an infinity of things he could try. He was excited.

When you and Joel decided to turn the guest room into nursery, was when he began wondering if his son would be the dinosaur kind of kid, or if he would be into space stuff, animals, or whatever, and just to be safe, Joel bought some of each of the items; that way his little boy could choose whatever he wanted and Joel would be a proud dad not matter what.

Three years after you broke the news to him, Joel prepared himself to leave home and come back home every night to his beautiful wife and his sweet little toddler. It terrified him how time flew by and in the blink of an eye, his beautiful Samuel Miller went from a tiny little baby, to a sweet chatty toddler, and in a matter of time he would become a teen and then an adult. It felt like an exaggeration, but that was what happened to Sarah. He just didn't want to miss out on his son's life, he didn't want to waste precious family moments by working too much. Money was a need, but so was his family, and that was why Joel hated the fact he had to work until that late, he knew you would be gladly waiting for him, but Sammy would be just asleep by the time he finally made it back home. He sighed, as he really enjoyed spending time playing trucks, cars, or blocks with his little man.

He got off his truck and walked to the door, opening it to find a nearly quiet home, the sound of TV was there, though it was low enough for him to be aware you were still awake, but he was sure his boy was already in bed. That was why it made Joel so surprise to moment he saw a tiny little thing waddling towards him, his messy little brown curls showed he had already got cuddles from his mommy, which caused him to he sleepy, judging by the way he rubbed his tired little brown eyes - exactly like Joel's.

"Daddy?" He whispered and smiled tiredly the moment he spotted Joel, rushing to him and hugging him tight, giggling adorably the moment his daddy lifted him up and tiny arms wrapped around Joel's neck. "Miss you daddy"

"Miss you too, Sammy… were you nice to your mommy? Did you take good care of her?" He saw his son nodding obediently and you resting against the doorframe, smiling at them. Your heart was a puddle of love each time you saw how good Joel was with your little boy. You walked to them, caressing Sammy's head gently and pecked Joel's lips

"There's dinner for you" you winked at your husband and got his plate out of the oven, as it was still warm and placed it on the table. You walked to him and tried taking Sammy, but he shook his head "no mommy, stay with daddy please" he gave you the puppy eyes and then turned to Joel "can we play trucks after dinner, daddy?" He asked with a yawn and rested his little body against his dad's stomach, fighting sleep as hard as he could.

While Joel ate, Sammy just stayed quiet, his small hands gripping his daddy's wrist and holding his watch. He shook his head when Joel offered him some food, all he wanted was to play trucks with his daddy.

Joel was still hungry and he was eager to finish that amazing plate you'd made him, but he couldn't simply continue eating while his boy wanted to spend precious time with him. He wrapped his arm gently around Sammy's tummy and got up, taking his son with him

"Daddy is done eating, let's play now, okay? But let's play in your room because our trucks are so noisy and we can't bother mommy" he tickled his son, as he used his trick to convince Sammy to play a little in bed before tucking him in. Sammy on the other hand, could barely contain his excitement, he rubbed his tired eyes once more, but this time the giggles came easy as he was taken to his bed by his father. He sat down comfortably and asked Joel to pick his yellow and blue truck: it was his favorite, given by his big sister Sarah on his last birthday. The man smiled at the thought of it, how his kids were adorable, even if the age gap between them was expressive, Sarah was every bit of sweet to her baby brother, and Sammy simply loved her. He handed his son the truck and sat by the edge of the bed. As they engaged in the activity, Sammy told his daddy silly nothings, giggled and smiled, until he was overpowered by sleep. He lay down in bed, and Joel placed the truck on the floor, taking the fluffy dinosaur blanket and covered Sammy. His big hand caressed his son's beautiful face. He might look like Joel, but he was every bit of sweet and lovely as his mommy, you, the woman Joel loved the most and he was so thankful for having given him the best present a man could have: a family.

"Night night daddy"

"Night Sammy, daddy loves you"

"I love you too, daddy"

____

[megpricephotography]

Flynn's become such a good, helpful boy! **Long read beneath the cut & Trigger Warning for cancer, choking, health problems... but Flynn himself is totally, 100% fine (just being helpful!) & I am OK too, nothing graphic!**

I don't talk about health on here but I had an aggressive cancer when I was younger - a few years before I got Flynn. My old lad Barney helped me through diagnosis & treatment, he was a star, bless him. Thankfully I've now been in remission a long time but do have long term side-effects. I had to relearn how to drink/eat & speak & it all remains rather hard to this day. One problem I have - especially when tired (& I am often tired!) - is that I am much more prone to choking now. Usually, so long as I don't panic, I can sort myself out very quickly & it's more emotionally distressing, than a serious danger to my life but every now & again, I do have a genuinely alarming moment, when it's worse than normal & I don't know if I might need immediate outside help. Flynn has gradually picked up on the fact that I am prone to choking while eating. He's also learned to recognise certain foods, which are more likely to cause me problems. Plus, he's worked out that he can summon assistance to me, by barking his head off if I seem to be struggling.

When I am eating food I'm usually OK with, Flynn goes to his bed & ignores me, unless there's a problem. However, whenever I sit down with a type food which he knows I find trickier to manage, Flynn has taken to standing in front of me the entire time I am eating (& I am soooo slow!) & watching me very intensely. He's not begging & he does not move from his spot, or take his gaze off me, until I make it clear I'm done.

Being under Flynn's hard-eyed stare while I am trying to eat a meal, is mildly unnerving but undeniably helpful. The thing is, despite this not being a new problem anymore… I did spend my 1st two decades of my life eating normally, so when I am tired &/or hungry, it's easy to stop taking so much care about what I'm doing - & that's when I run into problems… However, when I've got a border collie standing right there, "supervising", with an expression on his face that is similar to a particularly stern nurse, making sure their patient takes the correct medication, I find it's much easier to remain alert, remember I still need to pay attention to what I'm doing & to slow down - even more than usual... Having Flynn there regularly prevents issues even starting.

Of course, I do sometimes still start to choke & Flynn's got amazingly good at recognising when I am having difficulties & he's so fast to respond. He immediately turns his back to me, in order to watch the doorway & begins doing a very distinctive, agitated, loud, repetitive bark. He will not stop, until the relative who we live with appears to check on me. (Interestingly, when we're home alone, Flynn still takes up his vigil while I eat but he generally won't bark, or is slower to start woofing, if I run into problems). Thankfully the vast majority of the time, I am fine within a few worrying seconds but obviously, it's reassuring having someone nearby, just in case. This behaviour is just something Flynn began doing by himself…. We've slowly begun offering rewards for it though, because it's obviously, it's a nifty trick!! A very Good Boy!!

[dcdreamblog]

May I ask a possibly stupid question? How is Sanderson Hawkins still so young? I was doing reaserch for my paper on The Sandman and the timeline was really distracting for me, since Sanderson is a relative of his. He should be a lot older than he is, shouldn't he? There was a period of time wherein he seemed to fall off the face of the Earth, so maybe time travel was involved?

Please, let me know if you have the answer to this!

Ok so, you're not wrong in that Sanderson "Sandy" Hawkins is much older than he looks.

(A portrait of Sandy the Golden Boy drawn by famous pop artist Jack Kirby) Sanderson Hawkins isn't actually related to the original Sandman, Wesley Dodds by blood. He was the nephew of Dodds' lifelong companion, famous crime novelist Dian Belmont. (Who is famous enough on her own that some people freak out when I tell them that little factoid). Despite Dodds and Belmont having a lifelong romantic partnership and cohabitating for most of their adult lives, the two never married.

"Sandy" discovered Dodds' identity when he stowed away in the older man's attic after being taken to visit by Dian, seeing Dodds being approached by the Justice Society to confer on a case. Thus discovering Dodds' identity, Sandy became his partner in crime fighting, Hawkins' sunny disposition inspiring the Sandman's costume change to be more of an inviting and trusted public figure.

Sandy served with distinction as an associate member of the Justice Society and a member of the Young All-Stars where he served as pseudo leader due to his higher experience as a kid superhero.

Sanderson was 13 when he and Dodds originally met in the latter days of 1941. Meaning he was born in December of 1928.

Which would make THIS man 96.

(Former official portrait of Hawkins in his persona as "Sand")

Maintain professional detachment, maintain professional detachment, MAINTAIN PROFESSIONAL-!

*ahem* Anyway.

Like you said, the trick is in the time very soon before the forced disbandment of the JSA that Sandy the Golden Boy seemed to vanish from the face of the Earth.

Caught in the blast of an experimental silicide gun and bombarded with radioactive particulates, Hawkins was mutated into a hulking sand monster with a violent temper. Kept in containment for decades while Dodds attempted to find a cure he was accidentally released very soon after the JSA was pulled back into the public eye around the foundation of the Justice League.

Rescued by the combined efforts of both teams he was returned to a humanoid form, but in reality his skin, his muscles, his very cells had been replaced by living sand that he now had the ability to manipulate at will.

Hawkins faded again from the public eye, trying to wrap his mind around both his new state of body AND the decades he had lost in a haze of rage and pain.

It wasn't until Dodds' death that Hawkins was called back to where he had always belonged. Originally going by the name Sand in his heroic persona until being contacted by Dodds via the prophetic dreams that animated Dodds' own heroic career, Hawkins finally donned the heroic persona that was his inheritance.

(Hawkins' current official portrait)

And the Sandman was reborn.

Since then Hawkins has been a publically active member of the Justice Society's line up and has worked tirelessly to maintain the legacy of his beloved "Uncle Wes". The most famous outgrowth of which being when he opened his Uncle's estate to historians Matt Wagner and Steven Seagle, even giving them access to Dodds' dream journals stretching back before his debut in 1939.

I respect the hell out of Sandy Hawkins. He lost decades of his young life to an accident, work up to a world not of his making in a body that was not his own, lost the two people he cared the most about within months of one another and then, when called, stood in the shape of his mentor and carried his steps into the future.

His existence is the reminder of a dream. That those who seek to do harm shall never haunt the innocent and the righteous in the darkness.

That all evildoers shall behold the same nightmare at the calling of the Sandman.

[the-universal-sun]

Do you have any little Fiddleford hcs?

I haven’t really thought about before, but you’ve inspired me. Thank you! Please let me know if this is what you were thinking of!

I don’t really think he’d start regressing until after the memory gun is created and Ford goes through the portal. His mind is in shambles, he’s stressed, anxious, and neurotic all the time basically. He’s probably homeless/living in the dump at this point, too. So all that combined leads his mind retreating to a safer age, a younger age. It’s the one good thing besides the Society that he has.

Now, let’s imagine he goes to the Mystery Shack to confront Ford after a memory is triggered and he finds Stan instead, after Stan explains his connection to Ford, Fidds tells Stan that he used to be Ford’s research partner but left for reasons he couldn’t and didn’t want to remember. Stan, feeling sorry for the squirrelly little man, offers to drive him home, but when they reach the dump he’s been staying at, he offers Fidds to stay back at the shack. He doesn’t do it out of kindness, though a part of him is sympathetic given he was homeless for a decade up until a year ago, but because he thinks he can convince Fidds to help him with the portal. Stan’s a conman, so it doesn’t take him too long to get Fidds to agree to stay, just for the winter at least.

I would imagine that they don’t spend time together until Stan convinces Fidds to help with the portal, which took weeks to do. And he’s still not happy about and refuses to go down to the basement. He’ll do the equations and teach Stan the engineering bits, but that’s all he does, and he’s only doing that much because Ford still is his friend.

Onto the actual headcanons:

- Stan doesn’t really notice anything too out of the ordinary at first, Fiddleford is already an odd, fluttering, and anxious mess with a fractured mind, so seeing him act less like an almost 30 year old and more like a 7 year old isn’t out of the question, who knows the effects of the memory gun?

- It only clicks for Stan after living with and observing Fidds for a couple of months. Stan is actually not surprised or weirded out. He’s lived on the streets for 10 years, he’s seen his fair share of different behaviors, and this is one he actually sort of knows about. One of the prisons he was in made him go to weekly group therapy and this was brought up more than a few times.

- For all the fronts that Stan puts up, he’s a deeply caring and emotional man when it comes to his loved ones, and Fiddleford wiggled his way into his heart quite easily, so he’s going to look after the little guy. That being said, he won’t make it obvious that he knows and cares (he’s being so obvious it’s painful). He speaks softly to Fidds when he notices him feeling smaller, offers kid friendly food and shows, and doesn’t let him work on the portal’s math. And sometimes rocks him to sleep. He’s not obvious at all.

- Fidds is a smart man, he knows what’s going on, he knows that Stan knows what’s going on. But he doesn’t mind so much, having Stan there just helps his anxiety and quiets his mind. Plus, he hasn’t been called “Little Fella/Guy” since he was actually 7 years old, and it feels nice to be taken care of instead. He took care of his 5 younger siblings, his cousins, Ford, his own family, technically he takes care of the town with the Society of the Blind Eye, so this is a nice change

- He does have the energy and eccentricity of Old Man McGucket when regressed. He’s just a boy from the south who loves to run in the dirt and hock loogies sometimes. Stan encourages it, encourages Fidds being loud and playful and full of energy, something he never got to be. It was beaten out of him, but damn if he ain’t gonna make sure that his boy can experience childish joy

- You know how sometimes kids from the south have the strongest and cutest country accent? That’s how Fidds sounds when regressed and Stan cannot get enough of it. He usually hates the accent, but coming from his Little Man? It’s the best sound he’s ever heard, and if he hears anyone making fun of it, he’s punching their lights out

-Fidds is an engineer at heart, always has been, so Stan swipes him some wooden stacking blocks, some child’s robotics sets, and some advanced looking Rubix cubes. Of course when Fidds is feeling overwhelmed and super anxious, not wanting to think for a little bit, Stan acquired some kid friendly books from the library, some crayons and marker, and regular old printer paper

- About every picture Fidds ends up drawing gets put on the refrigerator by Stan. He’s so happy and he loves them

- I headcanon that Stan shows love through home made gifts and quality time, like with Dipper and Mabel’s fishing hats and the time he spent with them, so he makes gifts for Fidds. He’ll draw with him and give him the drawing to keep afterwards (they’re all in Fidds’ little treasure/memory chest), he’ll spend time learning and making food he grew up eating, home made biscuits and gravy, buttermilk pie are the first he learned and are what Fidds wants to eat the most. He hand sews stuffed toys for him, Fidds’ favorite is a dog that was made with different cloth patches, he carries the affectionately named Copper with him everywhere

- Fidds loves being with Stan, his Bubba, he loves the care he can see and feel with each action. His soft touches when Fidds gets into a fit, his soft voice, he never yells and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows why, but his head is too fuzzy to think on it. Fidds was always the one in charge, the big brother, so it’s nice having his Bubba take care of him. He gets fed, he stays warm, and on the days when Fidds feels awful in his mind, he gets wrapped up in a blanket burrito and just held and carried everywhere, all day. He loves Stan

- When Fidds gets scratches and scrapes from playing outside, Stan kisses his boo boos for healing and puts a colorful bandage over it. And then kisses them again for good luck

- His juice has to be watered down or he’s bouncing off the walls and talking a mile a minute, which is cute and all, but not when it’s been nonstop running for 4 hours

- He once had an accident after a nightmare during his nap. He just sat there sobbing until Stan came, he was so scared that Stan would be disgusted and would yell at him. But when Stan found him, all he did was whisper a soft “Little Man”, pick him up, and bring him to the bathroom to give him a warm bath, wrap him up in a burrito with a clean blanket and Copper, and rock him back to sleep.

- Stan loves taking care of Fidds, he likes being needed sure, but he truly does care for Fiddleford, whether he’s the genius engineer helping his get his brother back, or his Little Guy, who loves to draw horses and pigs and can solve a Rubix cube in 15 minutes. And Fiddleford loves Stanley, his best friend who’s helping him stop with the memory gun use and eagerly listens to his engineering lessons, and his Bubba who draws with him and kisses his boo boos when he falls down

- In conclusion, Fiddleford H. McGucket is just a little guy

[dontfearrr]

thank you to the angel who requested this<3 you can find it here

Request

Feast of Starlight

also this is like BARELY proofread so kindly disregard any horrible spelling mistakes🔥

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!reader

Summary: Readers childhood best friend had now become of higher status, due to that she hadn’t spoken to him in over two thousand years. However a simple invitation may change that.

Warnings: none

Category: fluff/hurt/comfort

Word count: 3.0k

“you may absolutely not Thranduil!”

She giggled as the young boy just crossed his arms in a whine. “but i will be so very careful, come on!” he insisted in a pitiful beg. She looked at the boy and sighed heavily, he always got his way with her no matter what, he was her best friend. “curse you” she grumbled and picked up the bright red apple, placing it on the top of her head and balancing it until it stayed put. She backed up and stood as still as possible. “you mess this up and i will kill you” she pointed a stern finger at the excited boy as he quickly nocked an arrow, pointing it in her direction. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he focused on the apple and the apple only… he opened his eyes and fired immediately. The arrow pierced the apple perfectly in the middle and it landed behind her on the grass. “i told you to just trust me!” Thranduil laughed and placed his hands on his hips proudly.

That was six thousand years ago.

She was woken up from her memory by another elf, she was passed out at her station due to the lack of sleep she had gotten the other night. She lifted her head up with a slight groan and took in her surroundings, finding she was in the seamstress quarters of the east side of Mirkwood, how stupid of her, falling asleep on the job! christ she thought..

Thranduil had been on her mind as of late, why? She didn’t know, It was as if he was haunting her every living thought, which is why she hadn’t got much sleep last night. She’d spent half of the night thinking about him, wishing she could turn back time a couple thousand years and be reunited with the sweet boy she once knew.

However she couldn’t dwell on it, not right now. Elrond was expecting the garment by sundown for The Feast of Starlight tomorrow. She’s been acquainted with the King of Imladris for quite a while due to her very skilled talents with making clothing for elves. He was going to be in Mirkwood by the morning and she was nearly finished with it.

She could’ve been finished with it a while ago if it wasn’t for her stupid..nap.

Nearly two hours later and she was finished with Elronds garment. It was beautifully elegant and she was positive he would be more than pleased. She gathered everything and placed it in the cart to be taken to the royal chambers and cleaned her area up, getting ready to retire to her own chambers.

Before she could exit, she was stopped by a royal guard right outside of the exit. He handed her an envelope without saying a single word and took his leave with a bow of his head. She was heavily confused but held onto the envelope until she reached her chambers to open it.

She placed her bag on the table near her bed and sat down, taking the envelope from under her arm and inspected it. The front had a wax seal with..a royal stamp? How intriguing. She flipped it over and the back read in very neat handwriting:

“A night of starlight”

She raised and eyebrow and shrugged before opening it and pulling out the piece of paper within it, unfolding it to see it was an invitation, to the Feast of Starlight?! That couldn’t be right..until she looked in the bottom right corner, where it read her name, underlined, as if it was being emphasized. She hadn’t been to one of those in..decades. The last one she was invited to was first age, when she was nearly a child. She could only help to wonder why she had been invited considering Thranduil was the only one who issued invitations, no one entered without his knowledge.

She set the invitation down and stared at the floor, wondering what on earth would he be inviting her for. She hadn’t spoke to him since he was crowned King. Maybe this is why he had been on her mind so recently. Her head was filled with many thoughts and possibilities but she chose not to worry her mind, she was invited, and that was it. All she had to do was show up, have a drink, and leave..right?

Thranduil poured himself a hefty glass of wine as he stared out at his private garden, pinching the bridge of his nose in perplexity.

“Ada, you cannot seriously be stressed out by this?” Legolas spoke as he entered the room, feeling his father’s agony from all the way down the hall. He rid himself of his weapons, placing all of them at the table and approached Thranduil, standing by his side. “she will come.” Legolas spoke once more, watching his father’s lip twitch, unsure of what to say.

“Hina, i do not wish to hear your words of wisdom at this time” Thranduil sighed in annoyance while taking a drink of wine, a large one. Legolas raised his eyebrow at his father and shook his head. For a king, he was the most stubborn elf Legolas had ever met in his life. “Very well. Let me know when you are done..dreading.” Legolas wanted to laugh, but he’d only get a piece of his father’s mind. So he held his hands up in playful defense as Thranduil eyed him as if he was some idiot and just sighed again, facing the window as Legolas took his leave.

The next morning she woke up to the sun rudely laying across her eyes watered slightly and she sat up, walking out to the balcony to open the doors and let some fresh air inside to wake herself up. But when she did so, she looked down and saw a dark green box sitting right in front of her feet. It was wrapped with a lighter green bow and the box had beautiful details of gold and red. She picked it up curiously and went back inside to open it. She places the cloth box on her bed and opened it slowly, finding what looked to be a..dress?

She tilted her head and picked up the garment from the box and held it up by the shoulders, watching it fall to the ground from its length. She audibly gasped at the beautiful dress, it was clearly made from the finest fabrics in all of Mirkwood, finer than even the guards. She had only ever used this kind of fabric for royals..

The dress was green and embellished with beautiful designs and elven patterns in gold thread and silver linings. The Neckline was a low v neck, something she wasn’t quite used to but who was she to decline such a garment! The back of the dress mirrored the v neck shape as well and the sleeves were fanned out at the wrist, the elegantly draped down, matching the sharpness of the rest of the dress. She laid it out on her bed and admired it before taking a deep breath to process what was actually happening.

First, he invites her to The Feast of Starlight, then he sends you an outrageously gorgeous dress..She was now as nervous as ever to go to this dinner.

It was now nightfall and she was sitting in front of her mirror, running a comb through her long golden brown hair. She pulled her two pieces out in front of her ears and braided some of it back, then littered a few more throughout due to her very thick hair. She wasn’t sure why she had thicker hair than normal elves but she loved it more than anything. She stood up and stared at the dress she had laid out on her bed and sighed deeply before changing into the elegant garment.

It fit her like a glove, hugging all of her curves and falling down her body like a waterfall. She felt like a princess, maybe even a queen..She wasn’t sure why she deserved this but surely there had to have been a reason. A good one. She hoped anyways. She then picked up her circlet she’d only worn once, feeling it was quite fitting for the event. It was littered in bright diamonds that hung down into her hair beautifully and a golden band that twisted around it. It was quite simple but beautiful nonetheless. Once she had felt she was ready, she looked outside to see the moon nearly cresting and decided it was time to head for the Palace.

“I told you, red doesn’t go with green. I want GOLD. Not red.” Thranduil told the dresser that was helping him with his outfit for the night. He was getting annoyed with them for they didn’t listen what so ever. Finally the dresser came back with a green and gold garment. Not too much gold..perfect. “By Valar..now go make yourself useful somewhere else.” he dismissed the elf and he began to dress himself.

He had purposely matched his own outfit to hers, wanting to be as close as possible to her. It was also something they would do in their childhood years nearly every day. Matching their clothes was something they did for the fun of it, any day they could to show everyone they were best friends. Only this time he doesn’t intend it in a best friend manner.

Thranduil never subjected himself to such childish antics due to his old age and had grown quite cold over the years, however he felt it was necessary, even Legolas suggested it. He hated when his son was right, but if he wanted to speak to her he had to make some kind of impression for just disappearing from her life when he was crowned.

She approached the large arched doors and looked over to one of the guards, who let her in immediately, knowing who she was. She bowed her head in thanks and entered the large Palace and could hear many conversations in the distance, so she followed that.

She walked down a long hall which had her turn right and she ended up in the right area, very clearly. It was a beautiful scene, filled with many beautiful elves and willow trees hung low above the area making the place look breathtaking. The only light came from the extra bright moonlight, the full orb casting white rays upon the feast.

She walked among the elves, some of them even greeting her very kindly. A raven haired elf approached with a tray filled with golden chalices filled with wine, she took one and thanked the elf, taking a small sip. She was delighted to be welcomed so quickly, she even had a couple conversations with some. But she stuck to her mission and sought out Lord Elrond, wanting to greet him especially since you hadn’t seen him in quite a while.

She looked among a bunch of elven heads for that very specific head of dark brown hair. Her eyes scanned the room but instead, was met with a pair of piercing blue eyes she remembered all too well..Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the tall elf. His eyes bored into her like she was his prey. She had suddenly felt out of place, she didn’t belong here! She didn’t even belong in this dress..what on earth was she even doing. She sighed and broke her gaze with the King and turned around to leave the dinner, it’s not like anyone would even notice her absence anyways, she was just the seamstress.

She placed her drink down onto a side table and turned around and began to leave, until she felt a hand on her shoulder, a very large hand. She got a whiff of a woodsy, manly scent and turned around, only to be met with the man she couldn’t erase from her mind.

She was bewildered to be stopped by him, it was the last thing she had expected. After an awkward moment of staring at each other, he went to speak.

“Mellon Nin, you look ravishing tonight.”

Thranduil spoke up first, staring down at her with his head tilted down due to her shorter height.

“Thank you, My Lord”

she couldn’t help the blush that covered her pale face and chest. She hadn’t heard Thranduil speak in nearly two thousand years, it was difficult for her to contain herself.

“Please, call me Thranduil. You are no stranger” He said gently, his voice laced with honesty and sympathy. She gave him a slight smile and nodded, letting him know she had acknowledged his request. She took this time to admire him, taking all of him in. He hadn’t really aged much since the last time she saw him but he was definitely older, sharper, and undeniably attractive. But what caught her eye was the overcoat he wore, it precisely matched her dress, the colors, the designs…was it on purpose?

“it’s been quite some time, Thranduil.” She spoke simply, a bit of hurt laced in her words, he may be the King but not in her eyes.

“it has.” he took a large breath through his nose then exhaled before speaking again, “I am pleased that you showed up. I had my doubts you weren’t going to.” He told you truthfully and reached down to take ahold of her hand, his hand dwarfing hers and placing his other hand over it, his thumb gently rubbing over her knuckles. She allowed him to and just looked up into his eyes. Trying to find some sort of emotion behind them, either he was good at hiding it, or he was truly just as cold as you thought.

“I do not know why you invite me, after two thousand years i’d think you have forgotten me.” she gently retracted her hand from his grasp after a moment and clasped them behind her back, her bottom lip quivering slightly. Thranduil faltered at this, his eyes relaxing and looking upon her as if she was a normal elleth. For the first time she actually saw emotion from him, and she was pleased to see this.

“My wrong doings have been heavy on my mind as of late. I am aware it’s been quite some time and i have no right to be putting you in such a position.“ He closed his eyes for a second before fixing his gaze back upon her and exhaling. “I cannot sleep at night knowing what i have done. The thought of you alone keeps me up, and i cannot bare it any longer.”

This made her heart ache for the man in front of her and she went to speak but couldn’t find any words. She let his words simmer first, playing them back in her head as she stared down at her feet. Finally she lifted her head and found Thranduil waiting patiently for a reply, the look of agony painted his face. He was truly in pain for what he had done to you.

“Oh Thranduil..” was all she could muster up and she placed a hand on his forearm, gently rubbing it. “I cannot blame you for doing such. I can only imagine the kind of things that were passed along to you when you were crowned. There is no need for apologies” she told him, giving his arm a small but noticeable reassuring squeeze. “you were never my king..” she then moved her hand to his cheek, gently caressing his porcelain skin, he sighed this time but in relief and endearment, leaning into her soft touch as if he had been yearning for it.

“and you were never just a seamstress..” he returned, making her smile slightly. He brings his hand up to place over hers that occupied his cheek. He took hers in his and placed a feather light kiss to her palm before placing it back to his cheek, closing his eyes to bask in her presence. “It’s always been you Thranduil. From the day i met you all the way until now. No matter what happened, you kept me going.” Her hand slid from his cheek to his chest, resting in the center of his broad chest.

“you are far too fair to be a simple seamstress, i curse myself every day i breathe this air for doing such a thing to you. You should be next to me on the throne, meleth nin..” This made her nearly tear up but she stayed strong, taking a large breath and stepping closer to him.

“Throne or not. I belong by your side, that’s how it always should’ve been.” She told him with sweet, gentle eyes. Making him drop the king act and wrap his arms around her completely and hold her close to him, his chin resting on the top of her head.

It was nearly a cursed sight to see the King doing such a thing, but he did not care because anyone who would like to voice a concern would be seeing the inside of a cell for the rest of their existence.

She buried herself into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut allowing a tear to fall. His hand pet down her hair, the delicate elleth in his arms once again. He felt like he’d just received the greatest gem of all middle earth. “It appears i have broken the King” she chuckled a bit, her words muffled by his chest and she could feel the vibration of his laugh as he did so.

She pulled from him and looked up at him with glossy eyes. He wiped her tears from her cheek with his thumb and gently fixed her stray hairs he’d messed up and bend a finger under her chin.

“I’ll never leave you again, you have my word.” He told her as his thumb ran over her bottom lip tenderly. Her lips curled up into a soft smile, earning a smile from him as well, which was a rare sight to see.

This would be the day known as the first woman to make The King smile.

[exonerin]

Picking Up Strays [Obikin | A03 | ✓]

This year, I made a poll to decide what fic I would write for Christmas. Cat!Anakin was the (rightful) winner of this poll. So, I wrote and posted this fic over the previous days leading up to Christmas. This fic is now completed!

(Yes, I'm a day early. My math didn't add up. Merry Christmas if you celebrate, and otherwise a very happy end of December). Also, there's bonus content at the bottom of this post!!

Synopsis:

A mission on Dathomir to find a rumored Sith Temple turns wild when Anakin is transformed into a cat. Obi-Wan, unaware of this transformation, believes Anakin has been kidnapped by the night sisters. Called back to the Temple, he returns with a cat rather than his Padawan.

Anakin is in the unique position to learn his Master cares about him from Obi-Wan's shoulder. He also learns why animals take a shine to his Master. Obi-Wan is very good with animals, Anakin included.

Tags: Top Obi-Wan Kenobi Bottom Anakin Skywalker Praise Kink Cursed Anakin Skywalker Fluff Animal Transformation Anakin Skywalker Is An Adorable Cat (According To Obi-Wan) Mutual Masturbation

(Also, there's no beastiality. I realize I never specified that)

The boy refused to look him in the eye, staunchly turning his head when Sidious tried to catch his gaze.

It was infuriating.

If the boy tossed him one more scornful side-eye, pouting like Sidious had killed his family -- wasn't that an ironic observation? -- Sidious would do something he would regret.

Kenobi sat by the boy's side, clutching the boy's hand. Or the boy clutched Kenobi's hand. Sidious couldn't tell, and he really didn't care. There was no explanation for anything that had happened.

When they had parted, the boy had looked at him with soulful eyes, pouting that he couldn't reveal where he was sent next. Sidious had noted that once the boy was his apprentice, he would have to clarify that one should never mention one was sent on a secret mission.

The naivety served him well currently, though.

Yet, the boy wouldn't be his apprentice now. No, a decade of hard work was ruined by an event Sidious wasn't part of. The boy refused his calls and turned his invitations down. When Sidious tried to visit the Jedi's temple, the guards turned him away, too.

The humiliation burning in his stomach was a powerful emotion that would help him snap Kenobi's and Skywalker's necks instantly. It was only the reminder that he was more powerful than they could imagine that kept him in his seat.

As a last-ditch attempt to talk to the boy, he had engineered peace talks with the Separatists. Skywalker and Kenobi were the obvious Jedi representation after Sidious had dropped a few hints.

He hadn't seen the boy since he was sent on a secret mission, but he had returned with new ears. He also purred when Kenobi grabbed his thigh, and it had taken all of Sidious' decennia of training to refrain from lashing out.

They were disgusting. Everything about this farce was wrong.

Amidala had wiggled her way into these negotiations, and the Bonteri wench was making fast friends with her. No, this was not going according to Sidious' plans at all.

He could adapt, though. His plans were as flexible as his mind. He would prevail here. Whatever perceived evil misdeed had the boy in such a tizzy, he would smoothen out. He had done so before.

During a break in a meeting that strayed further and further from his plans, he finally intercepted the boy. The boy had remained glued to Kenobi's side throughout the meeting. As a precaution, Sidious had volunteered Kenobi to show the appointed Separatist negotiators the coffee area.

"Anakin," he called out to Anakin, pitching his voice grandfatherly. The boy always reacted well to his warm voice.

Now, the boy jumped a foot in the air, twisted, and hissed.

He hissed at Sidious.

This revealed two sharp incisors.

Sidious regained his composure quickly, forcing his expression to remain placid.

"Anakin, would you mind escorting this old man to the restroom?" he asked.

"No," Anakin refused.

Movement in Sidious' periphery caught his attention. A tail swished in a slow pattern, reminding Sidious of a predator eyeing its prey. This was a warning -- or perhaps a threat.

"No?" he echoed dumbly.

He knew people watched, their shock palpable in the air to a Force-sensitive.

"No," the boy repeated smugly. "I will not."

Then, he turned around and hurried in the direction Kenobi had taken the Separatist representatives, almost tripping over his feet and tail in his eagerness.

This wasn't supposed to happen. For the first time since Sidious had stood over his Master's corpse, he felt ill-equipped to deal with a situation.

The remainder of the day went worse, all his scheming amounting to nothing. Skywalker and Kenobi still held hands as they left the Senate Rotunda, not even trying to be subtle.

It didn't matter. Sidious would find a way. He always did. He would also get his revenge for the utter humiliation of picking Kenobi over his most generous offer. The Jedi were weak; he would show them true power.

When he returned to his office, his nose itched. Irritated, he slumped in his seat, brushing animal hair from the furniture futily.

Did the boy shed in Sidious' office?

Oh, this was a disgrace. Sidious sneezed multiple times in succession, a headache building above his nose. His revenge would be sweet.