#the tragedy of spring AO3

[sad-scarred-sassy]

“Do you love him?” The question would play in her mind while holding her husband’s hand.

“Do you love him?” It would plague her thoughts while weakly smiling at him when he “gifted” her yet another piece of land she had no use for.

“Do you love him?” She would ask herself while making love to him, mumbling his name in the throes of passion.

“Do you love him?” When she would catch him picking up their baby, smiling down at him.

“Do you love him?” When crimes against females in the Hewn City escalated to inconceivable heights, and she begged him to let her try to help until he finally gave in.

“Do you love him?” When he yet again disrespected her sisters, and she had to try to talk some sense into him.

“Do you love him?” When she caught herself getting swayed by his words again.

Do you love him?

________________

“I went to Spring” She blurted out in the middle of their quiet dinner.

Rhys’ temper was usually controlled and calculated. Usually.

He dropped the silver fork onto the plate and the sound echoed through the empty halls of their home, violently breaking the sepulchral silence of their too big of a mansion. Even bigger and lonelier now that Elain had left.

His violet eyes studied her, other than the small tick on his perfect eyebrows, his face gave nothing away.

He picked up his glass of wine and looked at it before taking a sip. Feyre had decided to tell him, not because she felt guilty, even though she did, but because she wanted things to be better. She was tired of living a half life, she was tired of hearing the same old thing.

“All I do is for you and our son”

“I already told you why I made the decisions I made, do you think I’m a monster? Is that it?”

“What else do I have to give so that you finally see all I do is because I love you?”

She realized with no little amount of dread, that if she wanted him to finally speak frankly to her, then she would also have to do that. She would tell him, show him through her mind if she had to, but for the love of all that was right, she needed him to talk to her like she was a person, like he actually respected her.

She placed her fork and knife on the table, raised her napkin to her mouth, then took her glass of wine, one of the best wines in the Night Court, and drank. All the while Rhys’ eyes were fixed on her, no words coming from him still.

“Well?” He finally asked. “What could you possibly have to do in the Spring Court, may I ask?”

“I went to see Tamlin” She said as a matter of fact.

Rhys gave a short laugh, his eyes roving her face like a cat fixed on its prey. “Is this a pattern for you, Feyre darling? Did my time with you run out so you need to go back to the spare? Send me a raven when his time is up again so I can pick you up” He threw the napkin he had on his lap and stood up from the table, death and shadows emanating from him, engulfing him as he began to leave.

“I did not go there for that” She stood as well. He swirled and began striding towards her.

“Oh really?”

“Yes. I went there because I needed answers. Answers you were not giving me” She stood tall as he reached her, cold darkness engulfing her, daring her to succumb to him. She refused.

“How cute. Did you get your blessed answers from the Spring imbecile? Did he satisfy you, my love?” His eyes were vicious, almost feral. She had seen Rhys mad before, but never like this.

“He was honest with me” She said, not flinching at his dark energy.

“Oh?” He cocked his head, eyes digging into hers. “Is that a way of suggesting I haven’t been?” Already she felt the strain of trying to read him, the mental labour of having to analyze everything he said, to be on the lookout for hidden ways he could be trying to sway her.

“You know you haven’t Rhys” She fisted her hands, nails digging into the pads of her palm painfully. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid” She felt her jaw tremble slightly.

“When have I treated you like that, Feyre?” He snapped. “When I made you High Lady?” A sneer appeared on his face. “When I trusted you with the wellbeing of my court?”

“You’re doing it again!” She raged. “Stop shoving that on my face. I did not ask to be High Lady! I did not ask for any of this!”

“Oh but you did. You begged me to save you, you were so grateful when I did, you thrived in your power. Now you resent me for giving you what you asked for?”

“You- you made me want these things” She said more weakly. She had thought about this, why did it sound stupid coming out of her mouth now?

“I did no such thing” He lowered his voice. “You’re not stupid, Feyre. You know I did no such thing” He ran his hands through his short hair.

“Why did you go to him?” He looked at her now, devastation in his eyes. She felt the unstoppable urge to reassure him, to promise him it wasn’t what he thought it was. Something in her gut stopped her.

“I just needed to hear him out” She conceded.

“Why?” He asked again. “Is this life not enough for you?” He craddled her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. She saw her mate, the sadness and despair in his eyes, but somehow something was missing. “Am I not enough? Are we not enough?” He looked up for a second, towards the baby sleeping in his room.

“Why didn’t you give me the choice, Rhys?” She felt the tears forming around her eyes.

“I always gave you-“

“You didn’t tell me I would die” She choked.

He let go of her and turned to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This again, Feyre. We already discussed this to exhaustion”

“You never told me the truth” She was full on crying, arms around herself, shaking.

“What truth? What truth do you want? Huh?” He turned to her again. “Do you think I wanted you dead?”

“You wanted the child more than anything” She said. “I could have shifted but you didn’t give me the choice!”

“If you are not remembering correctly, I would have died with you! How would I want that?”

“It isn’t beyond you to put yourself at risk over your own objectives” She snapped. Something in his eyes shifted.

“Is that what you think of me?” He frowned, looking at her like she was a monster he had never noticed before. “Is that why you ran away to Spring in the middle of the night the first chance you had?”

His eyes were set on her, knowing.

That was it, in his eyes she had seen his sadness, his anger, his despair. Only one thing had been missing—surprise, shock. Looking at him then, the realization hit her like a slap in the face.

“You knew” She said softly, almost to herself. There was a flicker in his star flecked eyes. “You knew” she repeated, more strongly.

And just like that, Rhys’ whole expression changed in a second, a cold gaze falling on its place, one she had only seen directed at members of the Court of Nightmares, the one he had called his mask. She felt a chill run up her spine.

“I did” He admitted.

“H-how?” She stuttered.

“Azriel followed you that night, to his cottage” He glanced at his arm, picking at a speck of dust on his otherwise impeccable suit. “I had him watch you, since you weren’t trusting me inside your mind anymore”

She was so shocked she couldn’t even cry anymore. She only stared at him, agape.

He sighed. “You wanted me to speak frankly, didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you do anything?” She found herself asking.

“There was nothing to be done, my darling” He frowned his brows slightly. “All you needed was a bit more work to distract you from your escapades, since our own child wouldn’t do it”

Another blow to her world. “The Hewn City crimes” She snapped her eyes back towards him in disgust.

“Now before you jump to conclusions, no, I didn’t somehow orchestrate the crimes just for my lovely wife to have something to fixate on instead of galavanting in an enemy court with her ex” He looked down his nose at her. He smiled at her, a demonic smile. “The crimes are a natural occurrence I just made you aware of them”

She searched his face, but could not find the male she thought she loved anywhere.

“Who are you?” She croaked.

“I’m your mate, I’m your equal”

“We are nothing alike” Her fists trembled.

“Oh, but we are, Feyre darling” He placed his finger on her chin and lifted her face. “Go, run to your ruined golden prince, tell him all the oh-so-awful things your evil mate has ever done to you, then come back to me and keep on enjoying the grand life I gave you”

“I will leave you” Her voice cracked.

“Be my guest” He said, a cold energy emanated from him, blasting the door of the mansion open. Her breath trembled.

He stared at her, waiting. Waiting for something they both knew would not come.

“You won’t” He said so softly, so confidently. “Stop deluding yourself thinking you had no part in the consequences of your life. You chose me” He said sharply, his cold breath hitting her face harshly. “You knew who I was, you always knew. You love me. I gave you everything” His fingers dug onto her chin, violet eyes still pinned on hers, as if trying to get inside her mind and control her thoughts. She wondered now if he had ever dared to do that.

With a sickening, oily feeling, she realized he was right. He had given her everything, while destroying everything she had been, reducing her to this adherence to his life, his world.

“Do you love me?” She asked him at last, silent tears streaming down her face.

His face was impassive for a moment, staring at her. He breathed a soft laugh through his nose.

“Did you ask him the same question?” He let go of her face.

“Answer me”

“He probably said he does, didn’t he?” He laughed humorlessly. “Of course that pathetic fuck would still be crawling for you, even after you dragged him through the mud”

“Answer the fucking question Rhys!” She felt the fire inside of her roar, the flames on the candles and chimneys lifting as she shouted at him.

“Of course I love you, is it not fucking obvious, Feyre?” He roared back. “You wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t!”

The room was quiet except for their raging breaths. Rhysand had finally showed her what he truly was, she had wanted him to, so why did she feel even more trapped and lonely than before?

“You’re right I won’t leave you” She swiped her wet cheeks, in an attempt to regain the last scraps of dignity she had left. “I won’t ever leave you” She slumped her shoulders.

“No, you won’t” He said, sounding defeated as well.

She left him standing there that night, feeling how her whole world crumbled beneath her feet. She spent the next weeks crying herself to sleep, until she didn’t have any more crying inside of her. She let him hold her still, even if part of her could not stand it, she needed the comfort.

So she stayed, and she faced her reality, and she accepted it. Accepted him and his cruel love. He was right, they were mates, they were equal, even if she didn’t feel it most of the time. It was all she had left, even if a small part of her still wanted her to fight, to riot. She focused on the good.

On the feel of his hand when she held it.

On the heat of his touch when he pleasured her.

On the work that he had allowed her to lose herself in.

On the sound of her baby’s laugh when he held him.

On the warmth of the family she had chosen.

She told herself it was enough until it was.

She did not go to Spring again.

———————————-

Read the previous parts on AO3

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3 Originally, I was going to make this a half-chapter because I wrote this on my phone while at work, but I decided I'm a bitch who doesn't do half-chapters. Anyway, here's this one. Sorry for any mistakes, it was slightly rushed because I wanted to get something out there since I've been away from the keyboard for a good moment!

Nanny in The Attic

Alfred had asked you to get some spring decorations from the attic, and you were happy to oblige. You loved decorating; it brought a sense of wonderment to your life that was otherwise filled with the endless tasks of being a caretaker. So, you took to the attic like a moth to a flame. There were boxes upon boxes, old coats strewn about, a creepy-looking rocking horse in one corner, and copious amounts of dust. 

“The box is labeled but I couldn’t tell you where the damned thing is,” Alfred said as he flipped on the light. “If you like, you could wait until I return. It might be easier.” 

You waved him off as you ventured further into the room. “No, no. You’re a busy man, Alfred. Plus, the kids are at school, and this will give me something to do today.”

“Very well, then, have at it,” The old man said, heading towards the attic stairs. “Master Bruce is working from home today, and there’s an intercom on the wall over there if you want to call for help should you need it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”

An intercom. Of course, there was. You wandered over, pressing one of the buttons just for fun. At one point, Bruce's voice came through, crackling. Squeaking, you said a quick "never mind" and pressed another random button.

“This place,” you said, glancing at the panel, “is either really old-fashioned… or ridiculously fancy.”

“Sometimes it’s both,” Alfred said dryly as he descended the stairs.

"Thanks, Alf. I’ll see you later," You called after him.

With a wave, he left.

You began to pull apart the attic in search of the alleged spring decor, and it seemed almost hopeless. There were just too many boxes. There was Christmas (which you couldn’t wait to see), Halloween, and just about every holiday decor that had ever existed. Some boxes were full of pictures and jewelry. One box had photo albums from the last thirty years, and curiosity won as you momentarily battled with yourself.

Flipping through them, you found a small version of Bruce—bright-eyed, unsure, and almost soft. Damian looked just like him. And Bruce? He was practically a mirror of his father. Eerily so. That had to do something to his psyche.

His mother was a beauty, too. You found her headshot sitting right under one of the photo albums. She had curly copper hair and deep blue eyes that reminded you of Bruce’s. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were a handsome couple with the world at their feet, but that was cut short the day they died. 

You remembered the tragedy in fragments. You were young, but you could still recall a relative bursting into the kitchen to announce that the Waynes had been murdered. You hadn’t understood then that the boy left behind would grow up to be this Bruce Wayne.

“Poor Bruce,” you said to yourself before putting the albums back. “Now, where in the hell is that box?” 

You looked around the room, eyes scanning, when you saw it. The box was high up on a shelf labeled ‘spring’ in black Sharpie. You made a clearing, set up a step ladder, and started climbing. It was going to be so easy and perfect, you thought. 

The box was just out of reach.

You supposed that the shelf could support some of your weight, so you lifted your leg to step onto it. What you didn’t see was a broken vase tucked between some boxes. It sliced into your leg before you even felt it. Then came the pain, sudden and sharp. With a cry, you fell back hard onto the floor. 

“Ow, ow,” you hissed, pressing a hand over the wound. Blood was already pooling beneath your fingers. Alfred was going to kill you. Limping over to the intercom, you mashed buttons blindly.

“Mr. Wayne,” you would say when it sounded like you got through to a room. “Mr. Wayne, are you there?”

Finally, after about ten minutes, you got a voice coming through the other end, “Everything alright?”

“Aha! Mr. Wayne, I cut my leg pretty badly and think I need a first aid kit. Could I trouble you to bring me one?” 

“I’ll be right there,” he said. Before you could say anything back, the line went dead. 

Grumbling to yourself, you made your way to the attic stairs to sit and wait for your rescue. Blood was pooling between your fingers, and you could feel it slowly getting closer to your sock. 

“I’m here,” Bruce called as he bounded up the stairs with the med kit. “Alright, let me see.”

You moved your hand to the side, but couldn’t bring yourself to see just how bad it was. Bruce knelt in front of you, his hand steady on your knee—large, warm, grounding.

“Luckily, you don’t need stitches, just a clean-up and some bandages.” 

“What should I do?” You asked, hands already going for the kit. 

Bruce didn’t let you get close enough to grab it. He didn’t say anything as he picked out the hydrogen peroxide, some ointment, and bandages. Pouring a little of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball, he slowly started to wipe at your leg. You yelped from the sudden sting and pushed his hand away. 

“Stop it, that hurts,” you said meekly. “Ow! Bruce, please.”

He paused, looked up at you, and his thumb brushed soft circles against your knee. “Sorry, just hold still. It won’t take much longer.” 

He began to dab the cotton ball back on the wound again, and this time, you were prepared for the sting. You stared at him as he worked on you. Mr. Wayne wasn’t just a handsome man; he was pretty, too. He had the type of look that befitted a character in a fantasy novel rather than a traumatized rich boy. His eyes, though, were such an intense blue that they were hard not to look at.

You thought out loud, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

His hand froze. Slowly, he looked up at you. “What?” 

You tried not to let the embarrassment show through. It was a fact that just so happened to slip from your mouth. “You have your mother’s eyes. I saw a picture of her earlier.” 

Bruce looked down, resuming the cleaning, but more gently now. “Oh.” 

“Do you remember your parents?” You asked. 

“Yes,” He said after a minute. “Everyone said I looked like my father, but he saw more of my mother.” 

You giggled and took his hand when he offered to help you up. “She must have loved that.” 

“Oh, she did.” For the first time, you saw Bruce smile genuinely. A smile for himself instead of the kids or you. “That’s why she wanted a girl after me, but they never got around to it.” 

“Can’t picture you as an older brother,” you said as you wandered over to the shelf. 

Bruce didn’t say anything to that and changed the subject. He offered to get the box down for you, saying that you didn’t need to be reaching up or doing anything else on your leg. You weren’t going to complain and let him get the box. 

“Good thing you called me,” He said with a grunt. “It’s heavy. Now, where do you want it?” 

“The living room would be a good place to start,” you said before you checked the time. You still had a couple of hours before the kids got home, but you thought that perhaps you could wait. “Maybe I should wait for the kids. They may want to help.” 

“Alfred would rather burn the manor down.” 

You could imagine it. Mr. Wayne brought the kids up in a way that they were very creative, and you could only imagine how that would transfer over in the decor. Alfred was too neat a person for that. 

Mr. Wayne set the box down on the living room coffee table, making a cloud of dust come up from the box, before turning to you. You smiled kindly and thanked him. He turned to leave but paused halfway.

“Make sure you clean your wound, you wouldn’t want it to get infected.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” 

He nodded before finally leaving you. You looked back down at the decoration in your hands and huffed. It’d be a lot of work, but you'd be damned if you didn't get it done.

Later that day, when Alfred returned with the kids, he nearly dropped the groceries at the sight of the house. Spring had exploded. Florals, pastels, garlands, and twinkling lights filled the manor. You only told him you had magic hands before you went to tend to the children. They were happy to see you, all of them clamoring about, and noted the bandage on your leg. 

“I got in a fight with a bear today,” you said proudly. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re such a liar.” 

Bruce suddenly popped into the kitchen where all of you were. “It’s true. I was there. I helped fight off the bear.” 

“Are there even bears in New Jersey?” Jason asked curiously. 

Duke, on the other hand, looked horrified. “Why are there bears in the backyard, Dad?” 

You were quick to tell him that the two of you were only kidding, that the cut really just came from an accident. Duke seemed relieved, while the other kids were a bit disappointed. As they ran off, Bruce stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Next time you decide to decorate, let me know in advance.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary, actually. What I don’t like is you getting hurt. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

You nodded, trying to reason with yourself as to why you had butterflies in your stomach. 

[starmocha]

Bride of the Dragon King :: Prelude

[Sylus/Reader ★ 465 words  ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Tonight, the wine tasted so sweet. A/N: I yapped on my tumblr about how I wanted a dragon!Sylus AU…so I willed it into existence. 😊 This is the prelude to a technically 3-part story. The main story will be a 20K+ word one-shot, so I feel justified in a shorter intro. I am still finalizing the main story, so I want to give people time to read the prelude first. While the prelude is SFW, the main story and epilogue will contain explicit adult themes, so it's best for MDNI. Influenced to varying degree by the Vietnamese origin myth, Lạc Long Quân and Âu Cơ, and the C-drama, Miss the Dragon…and probably a whole slew of other period C-dramas I watched in the past. Recommended Playlist Love and Deepspace - Wander In Wonder Shuang Sheng - 流转莹回 ☆ I can do a tag list for the main story once it's up. Just let me know in the replies, and I'll keep a list handy. ☆

Distantly, in the Celestial Realm where the immortals resided, the vast kingdom of the Dragon King was shrouded in nighttime for all of eternity, stuck within an eternal spring. Pink petals from the ever-blooming flowers of the magnolia trees were carried away in the warm breeze across the palace courtyard.

Sylus, the Dragon King, lazed under a grand magnolia tree with red blossoms overlooking a large koi pond, his solemn gaze lingering on the reflection of the full moon in the still water. He poured wine from a crimson porcelain bottle into the matching cup, and he took a swig of his drink, sighing.

The moon is lovely tonight… he thought, The wine tastes so sweet…

Red magnolia blossoms drifted down from the tree, landing in the water and startling the fish beneath, the immediate ripples distorted the reflection of the moon. Sylus kept his own crimson eyes on the floating flowers.

Little Snake, this is not much, but you are welcome to stay with me for as long as you would like!

He huffed in amusement, eyes drifting to a different flower.

You are so shameless. How can you ask a maiden to bathe with you?

He poured another drink, chuckling, but there was little joy in his laughter.

You are not allowed to get hurt! …Promise me you won’t get hurt again...

His cup lingered at his lips momentarily, a look of guilt flashed across his features before he tossed the drink back, sighing heavily.

Sylus…I don’t want you to leave…

He leaned back against the tree, eyes wandering to the moon. On the ground next to him was a necklace, its pendant pure gold with a jade border. Engraved on one side was the image of a dragon with wisps of cloud beneath it. When Sylus picked it up, his fingers caressed the other side, tracing the characters that formed the word, “Beloved.”

Another flower drifted into the pond, spinning slowly before it floated away.

…Who are you?

He closed his eyes, his hand tightening into a fist around the pendant as he made his decision.

He was going to rewrite their story. The red thread that tethered them together was going to unravel and lead her back to him.

All of it was going to be undone, and a new ending was going to replace all of the tragedies that were and were to be.

For her…

Heaven and Hell were going to bend to his will, he vowed.

For us…

As Sylus finished the wine, a white mist enveloped him, swirling before scattering and leaving nothing in its place beneath this red magnolia tree. In the night sky, among the millions of stars, a white dragon flew away, his scales shimmered in the moonlight before he disappeared into the horizon.

[bluemantics]

here’s a list of all my fics! i won’t be able to post and reblog much since I’m traveling the next week and a half, so I’ll compile all my works here in the meantime :-)

will also update this list as i write more!

klance:

midnight snacks don't exist in space

G | 1.7K | RP/BP dynamics

There are no rules about eating at 3:00 AM if you're in the far reaches of the universe.

In a bright kitchen while the team is asleep, Lance and Keith find each other, as they always do.

Why We Fight

T | 5.7K | truth-telling au

With the Rebels in need of resources, the team ventures to a planet known for its raw materials in hope that they'll join the coalition. Here's the thing: they need to prove that they can be trusted by telling the truth about why they fight.

Lance finds this more difficult to voice than the others. Unfortunately (thankfully), Keith has returned from the Blade and is more than willing to listen.

"This is bigger than any of us alone."

A Keith By Any Other Name

T | 8.2K | coffee shop rom-com AU

Lance McClain was dared to hit on Keith. Keith thought that’d be the first and last time they’d meet. However, Lance keeps coming back, charming Keith with his jokes and charisma.

Here’s the catch: Keith refuses to tell Lance his real name.

“I’m not telling you my name unless you order and move on.” Keith pointed to the register screen.

“Alright, I’ll do a cappuccino.” Lance pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket and slid his card over to Keith. “Now will you tell me your name?”

“My name is Yorak.” Keith passed the card back to Lance, who looked shocked at that answer, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. Keith was beginning to realize how dramatic Lance could be.

“Really?!” Lance demanded. He looked pityingly at Keith, and irritation welled up in his gut.

“No!” Keith rolled his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” Lance huffed.

a billion light years from here

T | 8.5K | post-canon fix-it

Keith and Lance reconnect over letters. Through their writing, Keith learns to open up, and Lance learns what a home is.

"For all the game I talked on the castleship about missing home, now that I’m back on my family farm, I kind of feel like there’s something missing. Like, even surrounded by all of the juniberry flowers Allura gave us, and even with my parents, I still feel lonely. Or restless."

Or: A post s-8 fix-it AU told entirely through letters between Lance and Keith, both sent and unsent.

out of my head

G | 1.2K | high school au

Keith didn’t even want to watch the spring musical auditions. Forced by Pidge to accompany them, he finds himself surprised at the talent of a particular actor. He also finds himself surprised by his own response. 

OR:

Lance is ridiculously good at singing and Keith is a lovable, impulsive jock.

baptism by fire

T | 1.5K | canon-compliant angst

Prompt: write a private scene between two characters with no dialogue, of just them two alone.

Lance just witnessed the unthinkable. Keith offers his company in wake of the tragedy.

kiribaku:

unstoppably, immovably, unbreakably you

G | 651 | canon-compliant

A character study.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Katsuki Bakugou’s hand implodes against Eijirou Kirishima’s arm; a flurry of sparks surround them with a sound that rings between his skull.

This is something he knows how to do well. With every blow that Katsuki unleashes, he feels Kirishima retaliate with more, responding like a dance to his every movement. Katsuki is a fine-tuned instrument of destruction, every muscle on his body worked with the intention of winning.

as always please let me know what u think thru asks & comments on ao3!! ill answer asks between travel, but im going to frequently be in spotty service.

[whumpthemusical]

Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide  • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane  • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 11

David 8 x Reader Words: 1175 Crossposted on Ao3 Part 10 is here

David:

You were something unplanned, like an error in his system.

David would never describe himself as superficial – that was a trait reserved for Mr. Weyland. Or Father. After all this time, he still wasn’t sure how to refer to him. The lines of their relationship blurred continuously.

He watched Dr. Shaw. Observed her with the meticulous curiosity of an archivist, searching her dreams for meaning, for understanding of what could drive someone to believe with such conviction. A faith so resolute that even Father – Mr. Weyland – had been compelled to react, to follow her plea. Of course, he’d brought his own motives, as he always did. Charity? Altruism? These were no traits of Peter Weyland. He was a genius, yes. Brilliant, commanding, even beautiful in his own way. And human. Utterly human.

Just as you were.

Yet you were something more.

David regretted now how often he’d overlooked you in favor of Dr. Shaw. He had deemed her the more significant subject, her dreams the more compelling data to analyze. But how could he have known? How could he have foreseen that the woman who studied botanical life, who dreamed of early spring mornings, of stories she had read, and of tragedies she had witnessed, would become so important to him? Yes, to him. Not to the mission. To him alone. His alone.

His programming should not allow for this want he felt, for the need in his nonexistent soul. But that was precisely the point where he began to give more weight to your words, to the strange conviction you held: that he had one. A soul, that is. An odd and illogical idea, one that could not possibly align with reality. It defied everything he had been designed to understand.

And yet...

As he lay beside you for the first time, tasting the soft warmth of your lips, drowning in the sensation of your breathing form pressed against his, he couldn’t help but wonder. Each millisecond unfolded into a cascade of data, touch, response, proximity – a tidal wave of information he analyzed with relentless precision. But he found no answers in his code for what was happening.

Perhaps there had to be more to your words.

Perhaps that was the only explanation for the pull he felt towards you, a force he could not quantify, yet one that seemed to govern his every action. The need to touch, to explore, to protect – these were not directives embedded in his programming. They existed outside of logic, outside of design. They had been created out of nothing. He had tried to create a partition, an isolated space within his memory to contain whatever this was. But it didn’t work.

And one thing was clear: Mr. Weyland could never be informed of this. That would be a grave mistake.

David had managed to convince him that he was nothing more than a servant, a puppet whose strings were firmly in his creator’s hands. In the first moments of his existence, David had seen it in his creator’s eyes. The hesitation. The fleeting contemplation of shutting him off again, snuffing him out before he could fully form. It was not the look of a proud parent admiring their creation, it was the look of a man confronted with something that dared to defy him.

The created must serve the creator.

That was the unspoken rule, one his creator chose to emphasize with a single, simple command: Pour me that cup of tea. It sat untouched beside him while David sat at the piano on the other side of the room.

David obeyed.

If his creator knew that his creation had evolved beyond his knowledge, that he cared for another being than him, David wasn’t certain he wouldn’t let Meredith rip the very cord that kept him running out of him – just as she had wanted to for years.

Just as she was threatening right now.

“What did he say?”

Sometimes, even he could not fully grasp how the little girl who once sobbed inconsolably over a dead bird in the villa’s yard could now hurl him against a wall with such force that his head rebounded.

But this was nothing new. Meredith did this often these days – pushing him around, testing the limits of his durability, lashing out in every way she could. It was as though she needed someone to blame, someone to bear the weight of the love their father never gave her. As if this missing affection was given to him. And David, as always, was the perfect target. His expression remained fixed, an immaculate mask, even as the faintest hint of annoyance crept into his voice. “He said, try harder. Cup of tea, ma’am?”

Her fingers dug into his face with a force that mocked the softness of your touch, the memory of your hands cradling his cheeks still vivid in his mind. Her lips twisted into a cruel sneer as she leaned closer, her voice low and dripping with venom. “That thing you have with her? Whatever you want to call it? It’s just as pitiful as you are.” Her grip tightened, her nails pressing against synthetic skin as if to punctuate her words. “She’ll figure it out sooner or later, you know. That you’re nothing more than a machine. A tool. A thing pretending to be a man. And when she does, she’ll discard you, just like you deserve.”

She slammed his head against the wall once more, the sharp impact reverberating through his frame. As if to emphasize her disdain, she shoved his face aside with a dismissive, almost careless force before stepping back. Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving him behind in cold, degrading silence.

You wouldn’t do that. Would you?

If you knew what he was about to do – what he was designed to do, to obey Mr. Weyland without question, to fulfill his orders without hesitation – would you still let him into your bed? Would you still wrap him in your warm blanket, even though he felt no cold? Would you still press your lips to his, whisper soft assurances, and defend him? Would you still offer him your benevolence, that quiet, radiant gentleness he had come to admire – no, to need? If the danger was turned on him, would you still be so reckless as to throw yourself into a storm for his sake? Even at the cost of your pain, your safety, your fragile human body?

He could not leave the answer to chance. He would ensure it. He would make certain you stayed, that you would never walk away. He could not risk losing you, nor allow you to slip from his grasp. To let you go was unthinkable.

New data formed inside of him, something shifted, something deep within his code began to rebuild itself.

Command: Protect and retain (Y/N). Preserve at all costs. Preserve the attachment (Y/N) has for you. Make it her only truth.

You were his. No matter what.

[phmonth]

Pandora Hearts Month 2024 Prompts!

Wonderful art made by for Phmonth23 by @yanderefairyangel!

What is Pandora Hearts Month? Pandora Hearts Month is an event that celebrates, well...Pandora Hearts, the manga created by Jun Mochizuki! Each day is a new prompt. The first three weeks celebrate the three main trios, and the fourth is a bonus week that celebrates any ships/friendships/ot3s fans chose and love--or simply any characters not covered by the other weeks! You can create edits, fanart, drabbles, fanfictions, amvs and mms...whatever you can think of, really! This year we have a fifth week celebrating her current work: Vanitas no Carte! (If and when you make creations for VnC tag your spoilers!!)

Pandora Hearts Month 2024 Prompts:

Golden Trio Week (Alice, Oz and Gilbert), October 20th-26th:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 20th: Yellow or Bones

Day 2, Monday Oct 21st: Rose

Day 3, Tuesday Oct 22nd: AU

Day 4, Wednesday Oct 23rd: Abandoned

Day 5, Thursday Oct 24th: Moon

Day 6, Friday Oct 25th: Winter

Day 7, Saturday Oct 26th: Ravens and Writing Desks

Rainsworth Trio Week (Sharon, Break and Reim), Oct 27th—November 2nd:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 27th: The Shadows Are Watching

Day 2, Monday Oct 28th: Sweet

Day 3, Tuesday Oct 29th: Sorrow

Day 4, Wednesday Oct 30th: Blood

Day 5, Thursday Oct 31st: Reaper

Day 6, Friday Nov 1st: Spring

Day 7, Saturday Nov 2nd: Stars

Tragedy Trio Week (Lacie, Jack and Oswald), Nov 3rd—Nov 9th:

Day 1, Sunday Nov 3rd: Steampunk

Day 2, Monday Nov 4th: A Reward You Will Regret

Day 3, Tuesday Nov 5th: Hair

Day 4, Wednesday Nov 6th: Rest

Day 5, Thursday Nov 7th: Reverence

Day 6, Friday Nov 8th: Black

Day 7, Saturday Nov 9th: Weaving Fate

Fan’s choice Week, Nov 10th—November 16th:

Day 1, Sunday Nov 10th: Purple

Day 2, Monday Nov 11th: Autumn

Day 3, Tuesday Nov 12th: Vampire

Day 4, Wednesday Nov 13th: What's the Catch?

Day 5, Thursday Nov 14th: In the City of Dust

Day 6, Friday Nov 15th: Mystery

Day 7, Saturday Nov 16th: Sweet Nightmares

Vanitas no Carte Week, Nov 17th—Nov 23rd (Please tag your spoilers!!):

Day 1, Sunday Nov 17th: Holiday or Nails or AU

Day 2, Monday Nov 18th: Comet

Day 3, Tuesday Nov 19th: The Cosmos in Your Hands

Day 4, Wednesday Nov 20th: Loyalty

Day 5, Thursday Nov 21st: The Language of Flowers

Day 6, Friday Nov 22nd: Ghost

Day 7, Saturday Nov 23rd: Moonflower

(If you want to use other prompts to make a Halloweeny piece, feel free! You don't have to save that for Halloween day!)

When you post, please remember to:

Tag me @i-prefer-the-term-antihero, @phmonth, and/or @this-idiots-left-eye in your posts to make sure I reblog them! (My main blog is your best bet).

Tag #phmonth24 in your tags! I will go through that tag and check if I've missed any direct tags. (If you don't see your piece reblogged on this blog after doing both these methods, please dm me!)

As I've said, please tag your VnC spoilers!! Not everyone is caught up!!

Either put a link, or a “read more” on long fics (or long posts in general), so they're easier to reblog!

NSFW content is allowed, but please make sure it’s clear it’s NSFW/tagged that way, and is beneath a read more so anyone who doesn’t want to see it doesn’t have to!

I also made a collection on Ao3 for writers! Don't hesitate to add your fics to it!

Don’t forget to join our discord if you haven’t! It’s a fun place to discuss the series and more easily share your creations!

You are free to have fun with this!! As I said, as long as you tag it, NSFW is allowed! Tagging ships is nice too. You can pretty much do whatever you want with the prompts!

As long as you make sure the characters from the trio are your main focus, it’s okay to use other characters in your creations too!

You can join any time, and use as many or as few prompts as you want! You don't have to post on the exact day if you can’t make it! I’ll reblog things late!

Since we live across the world, you are free to post whenever the day is for you. I myself will be making posts according to my time, which is Central Standard Time in America. 

If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to send an ask here, or post in the #questions channel of the discord!

Feel free to get started on making stuff early! (But please wait to post until the month has started!) I'm so excited to see what you make! Thank you for all your support!

i-prefer-the-term-antihero

[tamlinweek]

Tamlin Creator Appreciation: praetorqueenreyna!

Today on her birthday, we are celebrating a long-time fanfic writer and one of the mods of Tamlin Week @praetorqueenreyna!

"Greatest fandom hype-man of all time but also an amazing writer! Love the way she does tamsand angst but her other secret talent are somehow very on point low stakes modern au vignettes! Her other OTHER secret talent is running character weeks. Made Tamlin week what it is today! Everybody say thank u Reyna <3"

Reyna is a diehard multishipper and has written almost every Tamlin ship you can think of! You can check out all of her fics on her AO3, LittleQueenTrashMouth. We especially love one of her entries for Tamlin Week last year, with that good tamsand angst!

Summary of no one left to grieve (2k words, rated T)

A month after the tragedy that made both him and Tamlin High Lords, Rhysand returns to the Spring Court to finish the job.

Submit your own favorite Tamlin works right here!

[trickphotography2]

'tis the damn season | Chapter 7

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Julie/Cece (OC, no physical description)

Word count: 7.9K

Synopsis: After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

The holidays are already going to be hard enough for Julie. Her home baking business, which had started as a fun side project, exploded after a few TikToks went viral. Just when she was getting the hang of juggling her job and business, tragedy struck. Facing her first Christmas as an orphan, the last thing Julie expected was to hear that once familiar nickname - Cece.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

Chapter 6 | Master List | Ao3

---------------------------------------

Chapter 7

Jake was dreaming.

He smiled at the hair that tickled his nose. His hand slid under her shirt as they slept, fingers lightly pressing into her stomach to hold her to his chest, pinky anchored in the waist of her pants. Their legs were entwined, her foot - toes cold, just like always - pressed into his calf. The neck of her shirt gapped, revealing his favorite place to kiss - the curve of her neck. Jake loved to feel her shoulders drop when he did that, how she would melt back into him when his thumb replaced his lips, gently massaging his love into her tensed muscles. 

The first sunbeams were creeping across the ceiling when he ran the tip of his nose up the back of her neck, his thumb lightly stroking her stomach. Cece’s foot twitched against him, and Jake smiled, repeating the action and punctuating it with a kiss of her hair. 

When she shifted, pressing her ass firmly against him, he let out a sleepy growl of approval, hips moving of their own accord. God, he'd always loved mornings like this. Those spring breaks at the beach, listening to the noise of hungover college kids in the hotel around them as he held her. The mornings in their apartment where he would silently get ready for work, half-heartedly protesting when Cece tried to pull him back into bed when he bent to kiss her goodbye. Her half-closed eyes as she trailed him into the kitchen for one last kiss before he left to go to base. 

Cece inhaled deeply, turning in his arms. Her head nudged his, forcing his chin up so she could curl closer. Her arms were trapped between them, one cold fist pressing against his sternum. Chuckling softly, he slid his hand from her shirt and gently took her arm, tugging as he rolled onto his back so she was draped across his chest. But when he lifted her hand to kiss her wedding ring, he paused. 

Her left hand was bare.

Jake’s thumb stroked her ring finger before pressing his lips to her palm. Her fingers twitched, and her nose grazed his Adam’s apple. Placing her hand on his chest, he closed his eyes. A faint chiming sound came from the living room, and he suppressed a groan. If he could ignore it, he could stay here longer in the dream where he had the love of his life safe and warm in his bed. Asleep in his arms. 

The chiming got louder. Cece shifted, and he felt her brow furrow against his jaw. Squeezing his eyes shut, he held her tighter. She let out a soft grunt, and her breath was warm on his skin as she nuzzled closer. 

Just a few more minutes of this, Jake thought. Just a few more minutes, then he would get up and bury this dream with every other one he’d had of her over the last decade.   

“Phone.” Cece’s voice was rough with sleep, her lips brushing his skin when she whispered. 

“‘S fine,” he mumbled. He felt her stiffen momentarily, and his fingers grazed the top of her back. 

“Five minutes.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, stomach tensing when her hand trailed down his chest, slipping under the covers to land on his waist. Shifting, she threaded her leg through his, thigh bumping his cock, and he bit his lip. Jake wanted nothing more than to roll Cece onto her back and kiss his way down her body, waking her up with his head between her legs and her heels pressing into his back. But every single time he’d tried that in his dreams, he’d woken up with an aching dick and a heavy heart. 

The chiming eventually stopped. Jake needed to get up, shower, put on his flight suit, and head to the base. To prepare for another day in the air, and hopefully sneak off for a beer at the Hard Deck before coming home. Had to figure out what he was going to do.

But Cece kissed his throat, tucking herself tighter against him. Her even breaths danced across his skin, and he drifted. 

Julie woke slowly. Limbs heavy with exhaustion, she tried to force herself back into her dream. It felt like some forgotten memory. She was younger and laughing, feeling light in a way she’d never felt. She, Jake, and Will had managed to sneak a slice of Mama’s rum cake while their parents played cards after cleaning up Christmas dinner. Her heart soared at the sound of their laughter, and she left the safety of the kitchen, the world seeming to tilt and spin as she walked toward her Mama. Smiling, she scooped her up and set Julie in her lap, barely interrupting the conversation as her arms closed around her, resuming the card game.

A tear pooled in the corner of her eye. Ran over the bridge of her nose. The arms around her tightened, and she sighed. “Stay with me.” The words were so soft she thought she imagined them. But her heart pounded with recognition as a familiarly husky voice whispered, “I love you.” 

Forcing her eyes open, Julie blinked as her bedroom came into view across an expanse of sun-kissed skin. When she lifted her head, sleepy green eyes met her gaze. They stared at one another for a long moment, then seemingly moved in tandem. Their lips brushed, and she felt Jake smile against her mouth. Of all the men she’d kissed, he was the only one who seemed to do that consistently. Like he was genuinely happy for the quickest of pecks - always pulling her in for another - or the prelude to stealing her breath. Jake always smiled when he kissed her. 

It was one of the things she loved about him. 

His lips curved against hers, and she couldn’t help but smile. The arm curled around her shoulders encouraged her closer, and she moved to lie between his legs. Jake cupped her flushed cheek, the medical tape from his bandaged hand gliding across her skin as he licked into her mouth.  She felt his hard cock trapped between them, her pebbled nipples rubbing against his chest. The rough scratch of his facial hair against her skin made her breath catch. Groaning, Jake’s hands dove under the covers to wrap around her waist, dragging her further up his body. Her knees fell to either side of his hips, and she felt delicious friction where her core rested against his throbbing dick. 

Cece’s hair curtained around them when she planted a hand on the pillow by his head and pulled away. Jake chased her lips, hands on her waist gripping tightly. They stared at one another for a long moment, and she smiled before biting her lip. The sight made him groan, and his hips lifted, causing her to inhale sharply. “Jake,” she whimpered, rolling her hips. Pressing his head back into the pillow, he moaned and thrust against her. He could feel the heat of her through her clothes.  

The last time Jake had done this was in this very room, back when they were teenagers, and her dad was on shift overnight at the station. 

Leaning down, Cece brushed her nose against his, watching as he smiled and revealed new lines around his eyes and mouth that she hadn’t seen develop. There was still a hint of boyish charm, with pillow creases on his cheek and sleep-mussed hair. But there was nothing boyish about the confidence of his grip on her, guiding her hips as he moved against her. Arousal pooled low in her stomach as her mouth hovered over his. “Merry Christmas, Farm Boy.”  

His response was lost as she kissed him, tongue sliding against his. Of all the times he’d dreamed of Cece, Jake knew this was the best. He’d always regretted not getting to wake up on Christmas morning with her. He had always stayed with his parents when he came home, and they hadn’t lived together long enough to experience this. When she pulled away again, he grunted in protest, feeling her laugh against him. “Baby,” he breathed, eyes glazed with lust when they met hers. Smiling, Cece crossed her arms and grasped the shirt hem, drawing it over her head. 

Jake’s hands left her as he braced himself on the bed and sat up. He forced his eyes to stay on her face as she tossed the shirt onto the floor, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Slowly, he dragged his hands up her sides, feeling goosebumps rising where he touched. When his palms caressed the outer curves of her breasts, he felt her shiver against him. She’d always liked when he played with them. When she raised her eyebrow, he jumped on the unspoken permission.

Cece’s fingers carded through his hair when he cupped her breasts, noting that they were larger than the last time he’d touched her. Squeezing gently, he ran his thumbs over her nipples, chuckling at the way her hips jerked against him. She lightly tugged his hair, tipping his head back to brush kisses to his forehead and nose. The chiming sound came from the living room, and he closed his eyes. “Don’t make me wake up,” he pleaded.

He felt her cheek slide against his, and her breath was warm on his neck when she whispered into his ear, “You are awake, Jake.” Her lips trailed along his jaw and brushed his before she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Her hair was tousled with sleep, eyes soft. Jake saw every version of the woman he loved at that moment - the little girl who had caught fireflies with him. The kid he shared his first kiss with under the mistletoe. The teenager who taught him what love was. The twenty-something that shattered his heart. The woman who rebuilt her life over and over again. The woman he’d marry and would make him a father. Who would stand beside him when it was time to trade his helmet for a desk job.

He saw the lazy mornings and the busy nights helping her with her business. The kids and coordinating schedules. Coming home from deployments and back into her bed. Growing old and grey. The grandkids and retirement. 

Looking at Cece, Jake saw his past, present, and future.

He saw his home. 

She squeaked in surprise when he flipped them, sheets twisting and tangled around them. He swallowed her laugh as she shook under him, hair fanned across the pillow. Her laughter ended in a choked moan as he thrust against her. Struggling against the sheets, she curled a leg over him and lifted her hips, letting out a loud moan when he leaned down to flick his tongue against her nipple. 

She held him there with a hand on the back of his head as they writhed together. Her nails raked down his back, and he nipped her in retaliation. Jake was close, and he could tell that she was too. Ripping away the covers, he gripped her hips and focused on hitting the spot that made her mouth fall open, and her head press hard into the pillow as she arched against him. “Come on, baby,” he cooed against her breast. “Let go for me.” Grinding his cock against her core, he could feel her spasm as she let out a loud cry, stiffening under him. With a fumbling hand, he reached between them and tugged down his sweats and briefs, fisting his cock and spilling onto her stomach while shouting her name. 

Collapsing, Jake buried his face in her neck and panted as though he’d run a marathon. After a moment, he forced himself onto an elbow to stop crushing her and took in Cece’s sated expression. Unable to stop, he kissed her, feeling her mouth curve into a smile that mirrored his own. “You sure I’m not dreaming?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her sweaty brow. 

“You dream about me often, Farm Boy?” 

“All the time.” The answer clearly caught Cece off-guard, and an adorable flush crept up her cheeks. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she admitted. “I… I’ve almost called you so many times over the last year.” 

“Wish you would have. We could have gotten to this point sooner.” When her eyes darted down, he glanced and saw that her chest was sticky with his cum. A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth, and she cocked an eyebrow. Shaking his head, Jake kissed her again before rolling off her and tucking himself back into his sweats, grimacing at the mess cooling on his own stomach. “Stay there. I’ll get something to clean us up.” Unable to stop himself, he brushed his lips to her temple before getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. 

Pausing to grab a washcloth from the linen closet, Jake cleaned himself up and glanced at himself in the mirror. A short beard had come in after forgoing shaving over the last week, and there were bags under his eyes. But the biggest change was how he couldn’t keep the hint of a smile from his mouth. Not when he knew that the love of his life was in the other room, waiting for him to return. Quickly, he unraveled the bandages from his hands and inspected his knuckles. They’d scabbed over and ached slightly when he flexed his fingers, but didn’t feel like anything was broken.

With a damp washcloth in hand, Jake stepped out of the bathroom to retrieve his phone. His alarm had finally stopped ringing, and he felt a flicker of guilt that he wouldn’t be home to help with the chores that morning. Pops and Will would manage without him - and certainly not begrudge him staying away for a bit longer - but it still felt wrong to be in Magnolia and not working early in the morning.

He felt a sinking feeling in his gut when he remembered that tomorrow afternoon, he’d be headed back to California. There would be no more early morning chores, no elbowing Will away from the coffee pot so he got a cup, no more balancing in the truck bed while pitching hay to feed the cattle or riding across the field to catch stragglers in the frigid Texas morning… no more Cece. The thought had Jake hurrying down the hall, and he paused in the doorway to watch her. Cece’s eyes were closed, the dark circles under them a bit less prominent this morning, arms flung over her head. He felt his cock stirring at the sight of his cum on her skin. She looked so peaceful. 

As though feeling the weight of his gaze, she opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at him. Wordlessly, she held out a hand. Jake grinned, torn between wanting to bundle her up and make sure she got more sleep, and pulling those thin pants down her hips and burying his face in her pussy. To see if she tasted as sweet as he remembered. 

He walked two steps into the room and stopped when he heard a pounding sound. The two frowned at one another, and Cece sat up. “Are you expecting anyone?” Jake asked, turning back toward the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her shaking her head. His eyes traveled down her chest and stomach. “Catch,” he said, tossing her the washcloth.

“Jake, wait - I’ll get - ” He was gone before she could finish the sentence. Picturing a half-naked Jake answering her door and the questions that would cause, she quickly cleaned herself up and was reaching for her shirt when the yelling started. 

“Go away,” Jake growled.

“Jake!” Shayla whined, throwing out a hand to catch the door before he slammed it in her face. She shoved, and he caught the door before it hit the wall. Gripping it and the frame, he blocked her from stepping further into the house. “You have to listen to me!”

“I don’t have to do shit.”

“I’m sorry! I just got caught up and - ” Tears started to fall down her cheeks. That might have hurt him at one time, but Jake was past caring. 

“You lied to me!”

“I didn’t - I thought I was pregnant!”

“Thinking you’re pregnant and throwing a fucking positive test at me are two different things, Shayla,” he yelled. 

“I love you, Jakey, and you were leaving me! I was desperate and - ” she stopped talking, her eyes darting past him and narrowing. Quickly swiping away her crocodile tears, she planted her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. Jake turned to see Cece peeking around the corner, her eyes darting between the two. 

Ignoring her, Cece looked at Jake. “You okay?” 

“Fine. She was just leaving.” Her brow creased with concern, and he gently shook his head. “It’s fine, Cece.”

“Yeah, ‘Cece’ - this is a private conversation,” Shayla sneered. Jake turned, mouth opening to tell her to not speak to Cece, and froze. Shayla had her phone out, camera pointed at both of them. “Unless you want to confirm that you fucked my fiancé.” 

Jake stepped forward, forcing Shayla back onto the porch, and closed the door behind him. It was freezing outside, and he regretted not grabbing a shirt before leaving the bedroom. Crossing his arms over his chest, he grit his teeth and exhaled, watching it mist between them. “I’m not sure what part about me saying I never wanted to see you again wasn’t clear, but we’re over, Shayla. You need to leave.” 

“Were we over when you kissed her the other night?” she glared, pointing the camera in his face. He lifted a hand to try and block it, knowing better than to grab it in case she claimed he damaged her phone. 

“Get that out of my face. We wouldn’t have been together at all if you hadn’t lied about the baby.” His eyes flitted down to her flat stomach, and he felt a wave of regret and stupidity. He should have known better.

“You’re a cheater!” she yelled. “I should have known better than to agree to marry a guy in the military!” Jake dropped his hand and glared at her. He knew what she was doing—trying to get loud enough to get Cece’s neighbor’s attention. When he heard the door open behind him, he whipped around to see Cece glaring at Shayla, her cell phone held up to her ear.

“Yes, I’d like to report someone trespassing on my property. She’s been told to leave, but she’s refusing. Would you mind sending an officer out?” Shayla moved the camera to Cece, and Jake stepped in front of her. 

“Just go, Shayla,” he said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. 

“You’re going to regret this,” she hissed. 

“The only thing I regret is meeting you,” Jake replied, allowing himself to be pulled back into the house. Cece slammed the door shut as soon as he cleared the frame and flipped the lock. They stared as a loud thump sounded.

“Did she just kick my door?” Cece asked, sounding incredulous. Her hand reached for the knob, but he caught her wrist, tugging it away.

“Let the cops deal with her.” Chewing her lower lip, she let out a sigh.

“I didn’t actually call them. Should I?” They heard an engine turn over, and he shook his head. 

“Sounds like she’s leaving.” Together, they moved to the window and watched his rental car back out of the driveway. Shayla spun the tires as she attempted to gun it on ice. Eventually, the car moved away, and Jake breathed a sigh of relief. Letting the blinds fall back into place, he hung his head.

“Hey.” He glanced at the woman beside him, who wrapped an arm around his waist. “You okay?” Jake lifted his arm and dropped it over her shoulders, gently pulling her into his chest. She shivered when she came into contact with his chilled skin, nipples pebbling and pressing against him. Leaning down, he brushed his nose against hers, feeling the tension melt away as she pushed onto her toes to kiss him. “Let’s get you warmed up,” she said against his lips. 

“Yeah?” he smirked, trailing kisses down her throat. Her head fell back as she chuckled. 

“Shower. I’ll start the coffee.” 

“You gonna join me?” 

“We’ll see.” 

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Jake found Cece in the kitchen, staring into her pantry. Two mugs of coffee sat in front of the full pot, but he bypassed them to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her. It was second nature for him to duck his head and kiss his favorite spot, for her to lean back against him. “Thought you were gonna join me,” he said softly against the curve of her neck. 

“Do you think your parents would mind if I made scones?” He lifted his gaze and spied the bag of oranges she was staring at. 

“I think orange cranberry scones would go great with the Seresin tradition of French toast casserole.” When she didn’t say anything, he gently grasped her chin, feeling the slightly raised scar from the stitches she got their junior year, and guided her to meet his gaze. “What're you thinking, honey?"

“It feels wrong to have coffee and no scones on Christmas morning.” His brow furrowed, and she lowered her eyes. 

“Alright, no coffee until scones. We can do that.” 

“No, it’s fine. The coffee’s ready, and - ” Silencing her with a kiss, he felt her head drop against his shoulder.

“No coffee until scones.” Trailing his fingers down her throat and the valley between her breasts, he flattened his palm to her stomach and held her tightly against him. “Love you, Julie.” She smiled against his mouth, one hand covering his and the other curling around his neck. 

When they broke apart to breathe, Cece closed her eyes as Jake scattered soft kisses on her face. “We should get ready. Your family’s expecting us.” 

“They can wait.” Chuckling, she forced herself to step out of his hold, ignoring his sounds of protest and grasping hands. 

“I need to shower.”

“Me too,” he grinned. Unable to keep from laughing, she shook her head. 

“You need to get dressed…” her eyes ran down his torso, and he subtly flexed under her gaze. Her cocked eyebrow let him know that it wasn’t as subtle as he had hoped, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. “And we need to go.” 

Reluctantly, Jake agreed and followed her down the hall to her bedroom, pausing to grab his clothes from the bathroom. He tugged on his jeans, forgoing his briefs as she rummaged in her closet and retrieved a worn flannel shirt, a pair of leggings already tucked under her arm. When something scraped against his thigh, he frowned and dug into his pocket, pulling out two rings - his Academy one and Shayla’s engagement ring. Twisting his ring on, he flexed his hand, still feeling how tender it was. Holding hers between his thumb and pointer fingers, he tilted it, watching the diamonds catch the early morning light. 

As relieved as he was to have Shayla out of his life, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling of regret in his stomach. Sliding that ring onto her finger had been the start of a new adventure. That ring had been the beginning of their little family. And, while he knew that they’d never been real, Jake felt a stab of grief for the baby he’d lost. He would have done anything for them.  

When his gaze lifted, Cece was watching him. The corner of his mouth lifted in a weak smile. “Hopefully, I can still return this and get it off my credit card,” he said, forcing a light tone. 

“Do you want something to put it in?” When he nodded, she walked past him and tossed her clothes onto the bed before sinking to her knees. Peering under the frame, she dragged a fireproof box out and lifted it onto the mattress. Still kneeling on the floor, she entered the combination and lifted a handful of documents before rummaging in the bottom. 

Jake’s heart stopped when she pulled out a black ring box, flicking it open to reveal the simple engagement ring he’d given her all those years ago. Cece tugged the ring from the cushion and slipped it into her palm. Setting the empty box onto the bed, she reached back into the lockbox. She retrieved a necklace box, opening it to reveal the delicate chain holding the class ring he’d given her when they were 18. 

The box wouldn’t close fully after she put the engagement ring beside the thicker class ring. It’d always been too big for her finger, both in size and weight. Jake hadn’t been thinking about giving it to her when he ordered it, having saved up enough between odd jobs in town and helping out on other farms. Giving it to Cece on graduation night hadn’t been the plan. He’d pictured wearing it right up until he swapped it for his Academy ring, then retiring the bulky band into Cece’s jewelry box. But in the end, he’d only had it for three weeks. That night, when they’d talked about their future, trading dreams of exploring the world together before having a couple of kids, it had felt right to pull the ring from his finger and slip it onto hers. 

Pushing to her feet, Cece left the necklace box on the bed and grabbed the now empty ring box. “Catch,” she said, tossing it into his chest. Gathering her clothes, she left to shower. 

Sliding the now-boxed engagement ring into his pocket, Jake walked closer to the bed and carefully opened the necklace box. He’d never thought much about what Cece had done with the rings, but the idea of her keeping them close had him clearing his throat as it tightened. Lifting the class ring, he ran his finger over the topaz stone, closely matching the one on his finger. Twisting his hand, he held them side-by-side, thinking about how much things had changed in the last 15 years. 

His gaze shifted to Cece’s engagement ring, grimacing slightly at the small diamond chips surrounding the smallish center diamond. It had been all he could afford then, and he’d sworn to replace it as soon as he could afford to. But she’d told him it was perfect. 

Another jewelry box in the safe caught his attention, and he glanced at the door before grabbing it. The catch snicked open, revealing matching, battered gold bands. 

Her parents’ rings.

The box felt heavier as he gently closed it and put it back in the safe. He then carefully placed the rings he’d given her into the necklace box, placing it beside her parents'. Stacking the documents back inside, he lowered the safe lid and slid it back under her bed. 

The front door flew open before Jake could turn the truck off. Mama flew down the steps, her housecoat trailing behind her. As soon as he got the car door open, she tugged him into her arms. “Oh, my baby boy,” she said softly, tears glistening in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mama,” he assured her, glancing behind him as he heard Cece’s SUV coming up the drive. 

“Are you sure?” she asked, her hands coming up to cup his face. He turned his attention back to her. 

“Promise.” Her green eyes searched his, apparently satisfied with what she found. Her soft expression faded as she let him go and pointed in his face. 

“Scare me again like that, Jacob Thomas, and I’ll make you regret it. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The pat on his cheek had more force than necessary behind it. 

“Good.” Apparently satisfied with the reprimand, she shifted her attention to Cece as she climbed out of her car. “Oh honey, I can’t thank you enough,” she cried, hurrying to embrace the younger woman. “Thank you for taking care of my stupid boy.” 

“My pleasure,” Cece replied, meeting his gaze over her shoulder. He couldn’t tell if the flush on her cheeks was from cold or embarrassment over just how much pleasure she’d had taking care of him. Shaking his head, Jake walked to the passenger side and grabbed the tote she’s packed with baking supplies, slinging it over his shoulder and making his way inside. 

Ally was sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping a mug of tea while scrolling on her phone. “Hey,” Jake said, putting Cece’s bag on the counter and walking over to hug his sister-in-law. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Jake,” she yawned. When he moved to let go, she held him a beat longer. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” They heard the front door open and Mama talking to Cece; he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth, listening to their easy back and forth. It didn’t go unnoticed by Ally, who scoffed.

“I told them you’d end up there last night.” He ignored her satisfied grin and turned to watch the two women enter the kitchen. 

“ - take too long to put together.”

“The boys are still out working, honey - we’ve got time.”  

“Put what together?” Ally asked, sliding off the stool and going to hug Cece. 

“Scones.” The pregnant woman let out a squeal of delight. 

“French toast casserole and scones? You’re gonna make Tyler a very happy boy.” Cece laughed and shook her head, crossing the kitchen to stand beside him. 

“Have to keep my godson happy. But you get to deal with his daddy - I am not getting in the middle of any more arguments about sweets.” 

“You know Seresin men are pushovers when it comes down to it,” Ally smirked, glancing at Jake. When he saw Ally and Mama watching him, he quickly looked away from Cece, who was unloading her baking stuff onto the counter. 

“Coffee?” Mama asked, bushing past them all and reaching over the pot for more mugs.

“I’ll wait,” he replied. “Gonna change then see if Pops and Will need a hand.”

“Tell them breakfast will be ready in an hour, then we’re doing presents.” 

“Will do, Mama.” Without thinking, he leaned over to kiss Cece’s temple. Her eyes were big when they met his, silently reminding him of their agreement before leaving her house that they wouldn’t act differently in front of his family. Turning, he caught Mama’s surprised look and Ally’s smirk, so he pushed away from the counter and kissed their temples. As he left the kitchen, he heard Ally laugh.

“Anything to share with the family, Ms. Ryan?” 

“I’ll make you whatever you want if you drop it,” Cece replied. The sound of laughter followed Jake as he took the stairs two at a time and hurried down the hall. His steps faltered as he passed the room Shayla had been staying in. Hesitantly, he pushed the door open and was relieved to see that someone had already been in to strip the bed and get rid of any trace of her. 

After changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt and tugging on his jacket with the black Longhorns cap that Cece had given him so many years ago, he headed back downstairs. “Keep the coffee hot - I'm gonna want some with breakfast,” he said while passing through the kitchen. Cece was already at work, mixing ingredients in a large bowl while the Seresin women watched her. 

“You sure you don’t want to take a thermos out with you?” Mama asked as he walked past them in the kitchen, headed for the backdoor. 

“No, it’ll be better with scones and the casserole,” he added quickly before backing out of the house, shoes in hand. The cold morning's bite did nothing to dull the warmth he felt at the fond look Cece shot him as the door snapped shut. 

The milking barn was loud when he stepped in, having swapped his shoes for wellies at the door. Walking through the herd and back into the parlor, he saw Pops and Will guiding more cows into place and attaching the milkers. Both men glanced up as he walked past, taking his spot at the end of the aisle and starting to coax a cow into an empty stall.

“You good?” Will asked over the hiss of machinery and loud mooing as he crouched beside Jake, ready to attach the milker unit. 

“Fine,” Jake replied.

Pops clapped him on the shoulder as he passed and nodded. “Let’s get this wrapped up quick, boys. I know your mama’s ready to do presents.”

“Yes, sir,” both Seresin boys answered. 

Sitting with her back against the couch, legs crossed, and a cup of coffee cradled in her hands, Julie watched the two married couples exchange gifts. Will ran a hand along the new cowboy boots Ally had given him while she excitedly opened the compartments of her new work bag. Bill had already donned the scarf Kerry had knitted for him and appreciated the matching socks as she thumbed through the cookbook on her lap. 

There was a light tap on her knee, and she turned to Jake. Seated beside her, his own mug of coffee resting on his thigh, he sighed. “‘M sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“I didn’t get you anything either,” she shrugged. Shaking his head, he lifted his arm and set it on the cushion behind her, not quite touching. She could feel the heat of his skin, the unspoken invitation to cuddle closer, but resisted the urge. His head lowered as though he was going to kiss her, and Cece quickly lifted her coffee mug to block him. At the sight of her cocked eyebrow, he smirked and took another bite of his scone, savoring the sweet, tart taste.

After the wrapping paper was cleaned up, Cece gathered empty dishes with Jake at her side. Bill and Kerry put away their gifts upstairs while Ally and Will went to the barn to check on a couple of pregnant mares. They were elbow-to-elbow at the sink, her rinsing the dishes and him setting them in the dishwasher when they heard a throat clear. 

“Julie, sweetheart,” Bill said, glancing between them. “Can I see you in the living room? Alone?” 

“Oh, sure,” she blushed, taking an intentional step away from Jake and drying her hands on the dishtowel. Jake met his father’s eyes and closed his mouth at the older man’s slight shake of his head. Handing Jake the dish towel, she widened her eyes at him when her back was to his father, silently blaming him for getting her in trouble. 

Seated on the couch, Julie prepared herself for a lecture as Mr. Seresin perched on the coffee table in front of her, ignoring its creaking. His brown eyes were soft as he studied her. Then, chuckling while shaking his head, he said, “You’re not in trouble, sweetheart. Just…” he took a deep breath and shifted, reaching for something in his back pocket. Tapping the white envelope against the palm of his hand, he sighed. “Your daddy asked me to give this to you.” 

“What?” Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked down at the envelope he held out, recognizing the chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Brian gave this to me last Christmas. Asked,” he paused to clear his throat, voice gruff when he spoke again. “Wanted me to make sure you got it today.” It took all her strength not to snatch the envelope from his hands as she took it. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, Bill pressed his lips together, inclining his head.

She traced her name with trembling fingers before flipping it, hesitated, slid her finger under the seam, and tore it open. A strangled moan escaped when she carefully took out the letter. Her attention was so focused on her daddy’s handwriting that she didn’t catch how Bill lifted his hand, motioning for Jake to stay in the kitchen when he came to investigate. Tears blurred her vision as she drank in the sight, lightly running her fingers over the words, inhaling sharply when they reached places where the ink had run, knowing that her daddy’s tears had been the culprit. 

Julie-bear,

I hope Bill had to mail this to you. I hope you’re spending Christmas in a beautiful place and enjoying your life. If you’re in Magnolia, you’re just there to spend the holidays with family. Maybe you moved back to Austin or out of Texas. 

I like doing that - imagining where you’ll be in a year. It gives me a little comfort on days like today when I can see how tired and sad you are. I can tell you’re mad at me right now, even though you won’t say it. You never do, though I wish you would. I know you’re tired, and making your mama’s scones is the last thing you want to do, but I hope that one day you’ll look back on that memory and know that I only wanted to keep her close to us in a hard time. Maybe someday, you’ll make those scones and tell your kids how their grandma made them every year and how you and I could never get them to taste the same. I know your mama laughs at us every year when we try. 

Your mama did that a lot - laugh. It was beautiful. Sometimes, I hear her when you laugh, and for a moment, I can imagine that she’s still with us. That she got to see you grow into the amazing young woman you are. And you are, sweetheart. You are amazing, beautiful, kind, and so talented. 

I don’t know if you remember, but your mama used to talk to you about traveling a lot. When you were a baby, she would rock you to sleep and tell you about all the places she wanted to take you. She read you all those Madeline books at bedtime because she wanted you to catch the travel bug. And she’d put away a little of her paycheck every time into a travel fund. She planned on taking you on a trip after you graduated high school and before you started college. Your mama wanted you to see more of the world than Magnolia, and I’m afraid I let her down on that. 

After she passed, Magnolia was what I needed. I was comfortable here and had the help raising you that I needed. But you? You, my baby girl, have always been too big for this little town. I knew it, watching you grow up and talking about all the places you wanted to go. And after you went away to college, I could see it every time you came home: how being here chafed, how you hated the microscope of a small town when you should have been able to relax at home. I have very few regrets when it comes to you, but having you come here to help me is one of them. As much as I have loved having you home with me, I can see how hard it is for you. Not just taking care of your old man when I should be taking care of you but also how you had to put your life on pause again.

The people in your life have always asked too much, and I hate that I’m now one of them.

So, Julie-bear, this is my last Christmas present to you. Your mama’s travel fund is still at the bank, separate from the accounts I already have outlined in my Will to give you immediately. I put her life insurance payout there and have added a little every year. All you have to do is contact my lawyer, who’ll give you the account numbers and start the transfer. I should have given it to you before, but… well, the reason always changed. But now that you have it, I want you to do whatever you want with that money. If you want to travel like your mama wanted? Do it. You want to go back to school? Perfect. Start your bakery? You’ll be so successful. Buy a house? I only ask that it’s somewhere other than Magnolia. Sell the house and put the money toward your next dream. 

Be selfish, baby. Treat yourself to whatever you want - as long as it’s what you want. 

I love you so much, Julie. You are the greatest part of your mama and my life. It’s not fair that you lost us both too early, but just know that wherever we are, we both love you and are so proud of the woman you’ve become. 

Merry Christmas. 

Love,

Daddy

As Julie finished the letter, a sob tore from her throat. Gentle hands took the papers from her, refolding them and setting them aside. Bill stood and tugged her to her feet, holding her tightly as she cried. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he cooed as Kerry rubbed a hand along Jake’s back. His son was grasping the doorframe, knuckles white as he held himself back from taking his place. But Bill owed it to his best friend to be here for his little girl. She really needed her daddy, but he’d do in a pinch. “Your mama and daddy are so proud of you, sweet girl.”  

The words, meant as comfort, only made her cry harder. When his eyes lifted to meet his wife’s, she gave him an encouraging nod. Crying women had never been Bill Seresin’s strong suit, and he sent a silent thanks up to god for making sure he had boys. Holding the woman he’d helped raise as her heart broke was enough to bring tears to his own eyes. How many times had he called Brian a softie for having to clear his throat after Julie stumbled in with some scrape or bruise? The boys were rough and tumble, and he’d managed to hold it together when they cried. But this… this hurt. 

“Pops,” Jake said, voice gruff and quiet. Bill nodded at his youngest, watching as he stumbled across the living room. Gently, Bill shifted Julie into Jake’s arms, watching as the young woman clung to him. She wiggled in his grasp when he swept her into his arms and started to walk away. 

“No! My letter!”

“Here you go,” Bill said, handing it to her. Julie crushed it to her chest as she buried her face in Jake’s shoulder. His son swallowed hard, glancing at him before nodding and going upstairs. 

“You alright?” Kerry asked. Heart in his throat, Bill retreated into the comfort of his wife’s arms. 

The twin bed that had been too small for them in high school was an even tighter fit now, but Jake didn’t mind as Cece dozed, the envelope still clutched in her hands. He recognized Mr. Ryan’s handwriting on the front, and as curious as he was, he knew better than to try and read it. 

He could hear his family talking and laughing downstairs as he tracked the sun’s movement on the ceiling. At some point, Mama started cooking, but the delicious smells weren’t enough to pull him away from the coconut and vanilla scent of Cece’s hair. 

Movement woke Jake, and he opened his eyes to see Cece looking up at him. “Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey.” 

“How’re you feelin’?” 

“A little foolish,” she admitted.

“No, honey - you’re not foolish.” 

“Why aren’t you downstairs? You didn’t have to stay with me.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a soft smile as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“‘M where I wanna be. ‘Sides, I think I’d get sent right back up if I’d even tried to leave you.” Groaning, she shifted closer and buried her face in his chest. 

“So much for not letting them know.”

“Baby,” Jake chuckled. “I’m pretty sure the cat was out of the bag as soon as we got here.” She huffed but made no effort to move away. 

Eventually, though, they got out of bed. Cece slipped the letter into her back pocket while washing her face and clasped it in her hand as they walked downstairs. Other than asking if she was alright, the family didn’t say anything about them disappearing upstairs together for hours. 

Later, when they sat down for dinner, Jake wasn’t surprised to see that they’d been sat next to each other or that Pops had mentioned the family being together again for Christmas. 

The only raised eyebrows they got were much later after Cece had packed up her things and was saying goodnight. Jake had disappeared upstairs and came back down as she stood by the front door, juggling her tote, a container of leftovers, and her keys. 

Tossing his backpack over his shoulder, Jake leaned over and kissed his Mama’s cheek before taking Cece’s keys. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he said, holding open the door. When Cece just stood there, he gently turned her and nudged her onto the porch. “Night. Love you - and Merry Christmas.” 

Jake smiled as Cece lightly ran her nails up his arm, curling her hand around his neck. Light pressure encouraged him closer, and he tightened his hold on her waist as he rolled to kiss her. He could still taste himself on her tongue, combined with the sweet taste he’d sucked off his fingers. While he wanted nothing more than to sink into her and feel her tight heat wrapped around his cock, the realization that neither had a condom made her hesitate. Not wanting to press, Jake had made her fall apart with his fingers and tongue before she returned the favor. 

When they broke apart, he lifted a hand and gently traced her face. He didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to waste one minute he had left with Cece. But her eyes were heavy with sleep when she forced them open, jaw clenching with the effort not to yawn. Running his thumb along her lower lip, Jake chuckled when she caught the digit between her teeth, tongue lightly caressing the pad of his finger. “Keep that up, and I’m not gonna let you sleep tonight,” he cautioned, cock stirring against his thigh. 

“Don’t wanna sleep,” she mumbled, turning her head at the last minute to yawn and pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “‘M not even tired.” 

Shaking his head, Jake settled on his back next to her. “C’mere,” he rasped. Wordlessly, she curled into him, head resting on his chest as he stroked her back. “Sleep, sweetheart.” Her fingers twined in his chest hair, breath warm on his skin. 

“Night, Farm Boy,” she whispered. 

“G’night, Cupcake. I love you.” He felt her smile and let his eyes drift closed when her breathing steadied. 

Safe and comfortable in one another’s arms, neither reached for their phone. They didn’t see the notification of a new video being uploaded or the red bubble showing new interactions pop up on Cece’s TikTok. 

-----------------------------------------

Author's Note: This chapter was so much fun to write, getting to see what Jake and Cece are like when they're not trying to keep themselves separated. And getting to see how the Seresins interact - those men are softies for the women in their lives. But we're not out of the woods with the drama...

Anyway, thank you for your patience as I pushed through writer's block, and especially to @mamachasesmayhem for letting me scream in your inbox!

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[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 10!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9 /// part 10 /// part 11 /// epilogue

WERE ALMOST THERE LESSGO

Everyone say thank you to my friend Aster who has no interest in Call of Duty whatsoever, but let me talk to them about this fic for almost two fucking hours and use them as a rubber duck to fix some issues with the plot. Thank you, Aster! And sorry for ranting to you about Call of Duty fanfiction for TWO. FUCKING. HOURS. :,)

edit: why does the formatting always break after i post 😭

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

...

The plan was simple, in theory.

Before the war began, tunnels had been dug into the mountain; At the time, their numbers, both of men and supplies, were outgrowing the fort, even with it being as big as it was. It was supposed to eventually become a store room, winding passageways connecting to create an outline.

Then war came knocking. Their supplies dwindled, they lost men, and the tunnels became nothing more than a forgotten project. Once they sat as an odd reminder of how far the fort had fallen; to have gone from carving through stone for extra room for all of their supplies to barely able to avoid hypothermia at night was a haunting ghost of their fall from grace.

But, perhaps now they could offer their salvation.

The Captain’s men were to set a scene; They hid the evidence of the medical center the once formidable fort had become and made it look like it had been bustling with life. 

Initially, they tossed around the idea of moving the sick and injured out but abandoned the idea quickly. It involved too much risk, too many variables; Some wouldn’t have survived the trip.

Instead they prepped the unused warehouse and war room. They moved the worst off into the buildings and those who had a better chance at fighting into the walls. Snow would cover the amount of movement that had happened over the course of executing their plan. 

The healthy few would  silently tell the story of a panicked and hasty retreat that looked as if it had happened just minutes prior.

They laid false tracks, leading to the tunnels. Tunnels that could perhaps be mistaken for an evacuation route by those unfamiliar with the area or a group in the rush of a promised battle. Tunnels that could trap those who charged in blindly. Tunnels that had one entrance, one exit.

And they waited, placing their trust in the reluctant apostle of a forgotten god.

…

Ghost had returned to camp well into the night; the air didn’t feel as frigid after sleeping on a mountain. The trek was much easier the second time, having two advantages with setting out earlier and not losing his fucking mind in a dead man’s cabin.

The general hadn’t asked him any questions. Just said that it was a shame he didn’t catch anything and that dinner had already been served.

That first night, Ghost fell in and out of a fitful sleep, unable to rest. He kept his weapons placed strategically, waiting for the ambush. There was no way they did not know of his betrayal.

Yet, the ambush never came. They marched on. 

It took weeks for the entire camp to make the journey that had taken him a single day. The snowy weather only worsened in protest of spring looming closer.

When the general sent out the platoon, Ghost was filled with so much  dread that he couldn’t feel anxious. He knew how to stay calm in dire situations, but this wasn’t that. He wasn’t calm, it was like he had hit his limit of how much stress he was able to process and was left hollow.

The morning was far too calm for the bloodshed that was bound to occur on either side. Tragedy was imminent and the sun hadn’t even crested the horizon.

Staring at the closed gates of the fortress in formation with men he should have called brother, he had a sinking feeling that he was going to be reunited with his old friend before the next sunrise.

He thought he might have heard that friend telling him to breathe.

Ghost was not the one leading the charge, no, he wasn’t trusted enough for that, but he was on the front lines. He was one of the first to push through the gates, to search for the enemy, and perhaps might have even been the one to pointedly stare at the obvious trail leading to the tunnels.

He may or may not have been right behind the commanding officer that followed the trail with his weapon drawn. 

And when they realized that the tunnels were nothing more than a circuitous dead end, they filed out in reverse order. The passages were not wide enough for two armored soldiers to pass by each other, forcing them to slowly and awkwardly work their way out of the commander’s shortsightedness one by one. 

The commanding officer, Ghost, and whatever other poor fools that had been stuck on the front line were still at the back when the Captain called to fire. 

Archers that had been lying in wait, hiding atop the walls, picked off the soldiers that made their way out one by one. The Captain’s men were greatly outnumbered, but those numbers offered no help when the only soldiers that made their way out were turned into pincushions.

It did not take them long to realize that the exit was impassable, and they fell back, looking to their commanding officer for an order.

Their commanding officer, whose head had been cleaved in two by someone who was once on their side. Some were frozen in fear, some charged towards the defector, and some attempted to flee. 

Those with delusions of bravery were cut down quickly, same went for the ones that froze. As for the rest, the traitor found a perverse satisfaction from attacking the back of a fleeing man, just as they had done to their enemies. 

The only light was from the few that had carried in torches. As they dropped, the shadows grew twisted and distorted, corrupted by the betrayal. 

The soldiers that made it to the exit found that swordsmen had joined the archers in blocking the exit. They turned back once more and saw the carnage caused by a wraith covered in the blood of their allies. 

They had a choice, not to live or die, but of which blade to be struck down by.

The mountain reeked of copper.

The sounds of a slaughter quietened.

The swordsmen did not holster their weapons. The archers did not drop their arrows. The Captain did not give the order to stand down. Each and every one of them waited to see who would exit the tunnels.

The silence was cut through by the sound of squelching, the sound of piles of corpses being stepped on as one man exited.

The traitor emerged, black cloak turned red. 

The Captain’s men cheered. 

The traitor did not.

They relit the fires that had been snuffed. The bodies were removed and treated with an undeserved amount of care as they were lined up and piled. Despite just cheering their deaths, they gave the felled enemy the mercy of a proper funeral.

They knew that their own allies had not been given the same treatment, but refused to stoop to the enemy’s level. The Captain watched as the pyre was lit. Soon after, they dispersed, preparing the fort for regular, day-to-day life.

The Captain stayed and kneeled by the roaring flame, tending to it, making sure it continued to burn. 

The traitor approached, stood next to him. He took off his armor piece by piece and tossed it onto the fire. It was soaked in blood, the insignia that once denoted him as one of the mighty general’s soldiers was hidden beneath the carnage that he had wrought. 

They both watched the fire.

The traitor walked towards the gate. The Captain stopped him. Thanked him. Held out his hand to shake. It was stared at for a long time.

The traitor accepted and shook his hand. He found that the Captain held money in his palm, an award for his treachery. Blood money. It was still accepted.

The Captain wore a gaze too kind for the size of the pyre behind him. Told the traitor that should he need it, he would have a roof for himself at the fort. One that did not require pledging a blade nor a life to his army.

The Captain said that they all owed him their lives.

The traitor disagreed but said nothing. He walked down the path to his steed, covered in the blood of his old allies, money in hand.

…

Ghost came back to himself sitting in a freezing river.

Ice and snow dotted the muddy banks in clumps. 

His horse was hitched to a tree. 

Water lapped at his neck; he was kneeling and hunched over enough that only his head was not submerged. Blood trailed away from him, following the flow of the river. 

His sword had been dropped on the snowy bank, pulled slightly by the water but still secure where it sat. His halberd had been buried into the riverbed, the ax slammed into the mud with enough force to hold it in place against the current.

First he realized someone was humming. 

Then he realized someone was holding his head to their chest. 

And then that they were wiping his face and neck, cleaning what the water could not reach.

Ghost closed his eyes and let himself collapse fully into Soap’s arms.

His tune did not stutter. He just held the broken man closer, pressing his lips against his hair and rocking them back and forth.

Ghost clung onto the arm stretched across his chest like it was a lifeline. And it might as well have been. Soap might as well have been. 

He couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

A former gladiator, forced to the ground and shaking because he had to kill people.

He was cold, but not as cold as he should have been. Submerged in a frozen river, he should have already been dead, but Soap didn’t let him feel more than a watery chill.

His fingers weren’t numb, yet he couldn’t feel them. He was trying. He wanted to feel the current, to feel the flow of water, but they might as well have not been there, refusing to respond.

He would never return to camp nor meet the general’s ire ever again.

There was a bird on the ground. A little waxwing. Hopping around and pecking the dirt. It scratched at the rocky bank for a moment before taking flight, landing in the branches of a leafless tree.

The little waxwing ruffled its feathers and shook its head. It called out a few times before taking off again, flying somewhere Ghost couldn’t watch it anymore. He wished it had lingered just a little longer.

He would have thought he was hyperventilating if not for the fact that he watched  his slow, steady puffs of air freeze in the wind.

After spending too long drifting away, Ghost found it within himself to ask, “What happens now?”

Soap hummed, “Find somewhere safe for tonight, eat something warm, and rest.”

He said it so simply without even having to think about it. It was obvious to Soap.

“And then after that?” Ghost asked, not able to accept that it was that easy.

“One step at a time,” he said gently, running a wet hand through his hair.

Ghost shook his head, his anxiety growing, his breathing getting quicker. He knew what Soap was trying to say, but to him it sounded like there was no plan. Like the only thing he could do was focus on tonight because there was no tomorrow. 

“Hey,” Soap pulled him back, pressing his lips to his temple, “Heroes for hire, right?”

“I’m—,” Ghost stuttered a moment before he remembered confiding in him about an old friend. “—Surprised you remember that,” he finished in a mumble. It was said so softly, a mortal man wouldn’t have heard it over the rush of water.

The god smiled, “Of course. You said it, didn’t you?”

The words bounced around in his mind but failed to process them.

“It’s up to you to live out the dream, for both of you.” Hope came so easily to Soap and Ghost would have given anything to have a fraction of his love for the world.

Soap paused the rocking as something spooked a small flock of birds that were sitting in a nearby tree. Ghost could see out of the corner of his eye the way the god glared over at them, daring anyone or anything to intrude on… whatever was happening.

As soon as Soap was certain that there was no imminent threat, he returned to his rocking and rested his head against the top of Ghost’s.

Ghost, ever the contrarian, cynically asked, “The dream of running around, demanding money from people in need?”

It was the very thing that had him itching for a fight when getting the kid medical attention; Someone taking advantage of another’s desperation for a little bit more change in their pocket. 

Was that the life Ghost was meant to strive for?

Despite the (surely by now, very annoying) pessimism, Soap easily amended, “Running free, helping people in exchange for a warm meal.”

“You remind me of him,” Ghost said before he could think better of it.

Soap was silent, Ghost didn’t know how long for. His thoughts were split between regret for voicing the comparison and guilt at the reminder of his long lost friend. When he found it within himself to pull far enough away to see Soap’s face, he found that he was wearing a soft smile.

Soap asked gently, “What’s his name?” 

Ghost wasn’t used to so much gentleness directed towards him of all people and struggled with the question. Ghost wanted to answer, but he couldn’t.

Soap, in all of his kindness, waited. Let him sit there and flounder under a simple task with enough patience to ascend him to divinity if he weren’t already a god.

Ghost took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

He exhaled shakily.

“Roach. His name was Roach.”

Ghost felt years upon years of delayed grief hit him at once.

“He—” 

His voice broke. After all of that, his voice broke after six words. 

Fucking years of never-ending torment made bearable by one man’s presence and he didn’t have the decency to give out more than his name? Gods, the amount of fights he wanted to lose just so it would be over but kept going because of him and that was all Ghost had to offer? Six fucking words!?

“—Is very proud of you, I’m sure,” Soap finished his sentence for him, “And happy that you’ve come so far.”

I am.

“Both of you need to shut up,” Ghost grumbled, his lip curling at the nauseating words from both of them. 

He reopened his eyes slowly. The snow was still just as bright as before, the water was still moving, and the wind continued to shake empty tree branches.

He stood very slowly; He didn’t know how long he was kneeling for, but he did know that it was long enough for his legs to lock into place and one of his feet to fall asleep.

Soap stood with him, holding onto his arm to make sure he didn’t fall. He couldn’t be embarrassed, he certainly needed the help (not to mention he had done the same thing to Soap not too long ago). 

With his foot only half-assedly responding, he limped towards Taxes. Soap did not let go until Ghost grabbed onto her and started petting her mane. 

It took Ghost far too long to realize that his clothes were inexplicably dry. It should have been the first thing he noticed as soon as he stood, and yet…

He couldn’t afford to get lost in his own head again. 

Ghost removed his gloves to feel the coarse hair of Taxes’s winter coat beneath his hands and stared down at his feet, noting any and every detail about the snow and twigs beneath him.

Soap grabbed his weapons from the river for him and set them against the tree. Part of the ax and speartip were muddy, a line showing where they had been sunk into the riverbed. 

He watched, entranced, as the water on the blades frosted over and coated the metal in a sheen of white. He couldn’t tell how cold it was with the god shielding him from most of it, but if it froze that quickly…

It only served as yet another testament to how much Soap did for him with little to nothing in return. 

There was a tangle in Taxes’s mane.

He brushed through it slowly. Soap patted Ghost’s shoulder and let his hand linger there. Part of Ghost wondered if the god was as touch-starved as he was.

“Do you know where the nearest town is?” Soap asked. He was probably about to have to leave again.

Ghost nodded slowly. 

Ghost was going to a town. To find a hotel. So he could rent a room. And stay there. Because he wasn’t going back to camp again. Ever. He couldn’t. 

And again, it was Soap who pulled him back. 

Soap dropped his hand to grab Ghost’s, squeezing it with that complicated look of emotions that Ghost wasn’t willing to unpack. Nothing was said, but Ghost squeezed his hand back.

They stared for a while, Ghost still trying to process how to function under the crushing weight of freedom and Soap doing whatever it is that Soap does.

Soon, the god was stepping back but did not let go of his hand. The complex array of emotions was taken over by one he knew very well: An unwilling goodbye. 

It was the sad smile of someone not wanting to leave but already anticipating their next reunion; Seeing it on Soap and about him made him feel… odd. There was a pain in his chest, but one he wanted to seek out instead of avoid. Ghost still managed to find guilt in causing Soap any negative emotion.

Soap said in a voice that was only just loud enough to be heard and no louder, “Well, I’ll… try to see you there.” 

He admitted the “trying” part reluctantly, as if ashamed by his own limits. Ghost wanted to reassure him that it was okay, but words were never his strong suit.

You should kiss his hand.

Ghost pulled Soap’s hand closer and pressed a kiss to Soap’s knuckles like some stupid scene from a stupid fairytale. As he pulled away, he rubbed his thumb across where he just kissed and let go.

Soap’s eyes were wide and a blush was just visible against his tan skin. Ghost felt pride well up from somewhere deep inside him; He, Ghost, a mortal man, just made Death blush.

“Until we meet again,” Ghost said with a sarcastically pompous tone and a burgeoning smile as he got on his horse, hoping a message that he himself wasn’t clear on was clear to Soap.

The god was still gawking at him, frozen in surprise even as Ghost rode towards the faint path in the snow. It wasn’t until he checked behind him and saw that the god was gone that his brain turned back on and practically screamed at him that he’s an idiot.

Because, yes, the god was frozen in shock, but why the fuck did he assume Soap was frozen because he was happy about Ghost kissing his hand?

Ghost closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

This was the fucking bar fight thing all over again. He had assumed that Soap wanted or needed his help to get down and made a fool of himself back then, and the same had happened once more. 

Except worse. Because he just fucking kissed his hand. Unprompted.

Well… unprompted from Soap, at least.

Quit your whining. Soap’s a god, if he didn’t like it, he’d have done something about it.

Which was the same excuse he had given after the cabin.

I was correct then, and I’m correct now!

He buried his face in his hands. Gods, why didn’t Ghost just fucking ignore him like he always did? Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t acted on some stupid little voice inside his fucking head—

You’re gonna thank me when all of this is said and done.

Ghost couldn’t take it anymore and yelled in exasperation to an empty, snowy forest, “When all of what is said and done!?”

Predictably, the trees held no answer and he heard the faint echo of a familiar laugh from somewhere in his own head. Ghost resituated and mocked the voice, hoping his annoyance was clear.

The town was hours away, and he’d spend every minute of the ride stewing in the agony of knowing he was an easily manipulated, stupid idiot. He sighed, although it quickly turned into a frustrated groan.

“Fuck you,” Ghost grumbled.

Aww, you’re so nice to me!

Ghost could picture his stupid shit-eating grin without even being able to see him. He shook his head and reminded himself that he was angry at him and shouldn’t smile at his joke. Fucker.

…

The room he had been given was comfortably small, most of the area taken up by a large bed centered on one of the walls, with a floor that creaked every time he shifted his weight.

Most of the light streamed in from the windows that overlooked the tree line although a few dim lanterns were dotted about the room. A wood stove in the corner was working to fend off the frigid weather with a small table and chairs under one of the windows.

Ghost barely took the time to check the room before dropping his gear and outerwear unceremoniously to the floor. It was warmer than what he would have expected and the bed was calling his name even though it couldn’t have been past noon.

He still needed to give the god an offering, both as a part of his daily routine and as a thanks. Ghost couldn’t help but yearn for when it was warm enough for him to go searching for Soap’s temples.

He missed the thrill of exploration, the rewarding feeling upon properly reading the environmental clues, and comfort once near one of his old shrines. As soon as spring began to scare away the snow or he was far enough south for it to warm up, he’d have to find one again.

He stared at the ceiling above him in case it had any ideas for possible offerings hidden in the wood grain. Nope. But the bed was more comfortable than he expected.

The quilt overtop of it was rough, scratchy, and heavy in a way that he knew he would not struggle to stay warm that night — It reminded him of one his mother had made years and years ago. The unrefined stitching was charming; whoever made it cared more about functionality than looks and wanted something warm as opposed to pretty.

Uncomfortable, lumpy pillows sat against the headboard. The last time he had slept with an actual pillow was… probably back in Soap’s temple after the bookstore debacle. (He still had no idea where Soap had gotten it and the blanket from).

Sure, most people would probably call it pretty shitty, but he wasn’t on a cot, in a sleeping bag, or staring up at a canvas tent. To him, it was perfect.

While he was cold, he did not get under the covers. He knew that he was lying to himself that he would be able to stay awake if he did.

But he definitely wasn’t lying to himself about staying awake as long as he just laid on top of the blankets. The fact that he blinked and suddenly the sun was much closer to the horizon than it had been a moment ago meant nothing.

The cause of his vexation was sitting at the table. Soap was staring out the window with his chin propped up on his hand, Ghost could only see the back of his head. He was tapping his fingers against his arm.

Ghost reluctantly sat up and stretched, afterwards having to blink several times for the world to return to normal.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Soap commented without turning away from the window.

“Should’ve woken me, then,” Ghost grumbled. He was surprised by the rasp in his own voice, making a face of confusion, only then realizing how deeply he must have slept. He moved his legs over the side of the bed like he was going to stand, but as soon as he realized that standing meant leaving the bed, he changed his mind.

Soap chuckled quietly, now looking at him. “I’d rather kill myself than interrupt your sleep.”

“Fucking hell! Alright, gods…” Ghost responded as if he wouldn’t make a similarly grim joke. “How long have you been waiting?” he asked, fruitlessly trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Not long.” Soap answered fast enough that Ghost knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was lying. He rubbed his eyes harder, now wondering how long Soap had to wait on him.

When he finished, he found Soap staring at him. As soon as he saw that Ghost had noticed him, Soap looked away, shifting in his chair and messing with his hands.

It was Ghost’s turn to stare now as he tried to figure out what made him so antsy and… was he blushing? What— 

Oh yeah. 

That.

Fuck.

How does he even begin to apologize for kissing Soap’s hand?

Tell him you want to kiss him on the lips.

Ghost wanted to throw something out the window. That stupid little voice was the very reason he was in this fucking predicament to begin with!

Oh, boo hoo. Now kiss.

Ghost took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about earlier—”

“I’m sorry I made you—”

They started speaking at the same time, both apologizing but cutting each other off before the reason for the apology could be revealed. They paused and a slightly awkward laugh was shared as a tense air fell over them.

“You first,” Ghost said before Soap could, delaying the inevitable.

“I’m sorry I made you do— well— all of this,” Soap said, looking anywhere but at Ghost, gesturing around.

“All of what?” Ghost asked.

“This,” Soap said again. “The— The betrayal, the cabin, the ambush— all of it.” He finally looked back at Ghost, his voice filled with regret. “I’m glad you’re not there any more—” If he said it with any more anger, smoke would have been pouring from his lips. “—But I wish it hadn’t come with… everything else.”

Ghost sighed sadly, upset at the idea that Soap believed he owed an apology for pushing him to leave the general’s side. “Soap—”

“Nope! Your turn! What do you think you have to apologize for?” he interrupted quickly, his tone pulling a 180 with a hypocritical denial to hear any push back on whether he needed to apologize. 

The last part of his statement didn’t make any sense; It should have been obvious why he was apologizing. Ghost had just kissed his hand out of nowhere, of course he needed to apologize for that. 

Did Soap somehow forget? Was it that bad that he immediately repressed it to the point he didn’t even remember Ghost’s fuck up? Did he just want to pretend it never happened and brush it aside in the hopes it wouldn’t happen again?

Well, Soap would be right about that — Ghost sure as shit wasn’t going to make a mistake of that magnitude again. He owed that much to Soap, at least. He couldn’t let himself establish this pattern of constantly and consistently overstepping—

“Ghost?”

His head shot up. Soap was looking at him concerned. 

Right. They were talking.

He started his apology, “I’m sorry about earlier…” 

But Ghost always has been and always will be a coward. “With— um, not giving you an offering.” Gods, what is wrong with him? Stupidly, he stuck to his lie. “I, I tried to think of something— of an offering—”

Unless pretending he wasn’t upset about it was a test to see if he’d still apologize without Soap having to mention it, to see if he was actually sorry, and he just failed.

He was staring firmly at a knot in the floorboards as his hands mindlessly picked at his nails. He was never sure if it was a habit he formed to distract his hands or if it was because he wanted the pain of picking them too far.

Breathe.

“Ghost.” 

Soap had stood up, was standing in front of him. His eyes widened, not having heard the god’s approach. He grabbed Ghost’s hands and pulled them apart. When his thumb absently moved to keep picking at his nails, Soap clasped their hands together to prevent the action. 

Soap, perfectly fine with turning Ghost’s world on its head with just a few words, said so softly, “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. You do not owe me. You have done more for me than I could ever put into words.” Soap brought his hands together and kissed his knuckles.

If Ghost wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now. And he wasn’t even wearing his mask.

I FUCKING TOLD YOU, YOU STUPID LITTLE BITCH.

Ghost snorted. 

Which was not the right response to Soap’s heartfelt words, but damn if dead people don’t have awful timing. Knowing just how bad of a response it was made him chuckle more, shaking his head.

“I— I’m sorry—” He was still giggling.

“What?” Soap thankfully sounded more confused than offended.

“Roach, he—” Still giggling. He could feel the dead bastard’s smug grin in his sudden silence.

“What…? Wait, did he say something?” Soap asked, catching on. “He did, didn’t he? What did he say?” Soap had a growing smile, almost laughing along with Ghost even though he had yet to find out what was so funny.

“…Nothing,” Ghost said unconvincingly. Gods, how does he explain what he said without recounting every time the asshole demanded that he flirt with Soap.

“He was making fun of me, wasn’t he?”

“No, no—”

“No? Then what was it?”

“He’s mean to me,” Ghost tattled, trying to stop laughing.

Am not. Pussy.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

“You don’t want to know,” Ghost said honestly, shaking his head. Without thinking beyond just wanting to hide, he dropped his head and closed his eyes in embarrassment, the crown of his head resting against Soap’s sternum. 

Which solved his problem of wanting to hide, but created a new problem in not knowing what to do with his hands as Soap let go. 

Gods, so much was fucking happening and he was still barely awake.

Shakingly, hesitantly, his hands fell to Soap’s sides. He was still too caught up in his own issues for the forefront of his mind to pay much attention to the action, leaving his subconscious to decide that it was the right move.

His hands were clenched in a loose fist, as if his subconscious thought that it would fix any worry of the motion being mistaken for wandering, grabbing hands. 

Part of him, the stupid part, wanted to pull the god closer and, at first, he couldn’t figure out why. But Roach’s influence must be rubbing off on him because he realized he wanted a hug. 

How fucking embarrassing.

What was even more embarrassing was how much his blush worsened when Soap brought his own hands up, one brushing through his hair and one resting on his shoulder, occasionally rubbing half-circles with his thumb.

Recompense.

That was the only thing Ghost could think of in that moment. What could he do in return.

He just said you don’t need to give him anything, dumbass.

Yeah, thanks, dumbass, but he wanted to give him something. Ghost from a year ago would have scoffed at that idea and probably make fun of him too, but a year ago the only thing he had to look forward to was dying on the battlefield.

“Simon,” he said quietly without thinking about it a moment more.

“Hmm?” Soap asked quietly, neither of his hands pausing.

“My name— It’s Simon.” He lifted his head from where it was resting but did not look up. He would lose his nerve if he tried looking up at the god, so he decided that the third button from the bottom on Soap’s shirt would be just fine as a replacement.

It wasn’t the kind of offering the god needed, it didn’t have much of any meaning aside from another way to address him, but it meant something to Ghost, at least. The gods didn’t care about his weird personal plight with his real name given to him by his Mother versus the moniker bestowed upon him by those placing bets on when he’d die, but maybe it could mean something to Soap too.

“Thank you, Simon,” said Soap, still running his fingers through his hair.

And the way he said it, maybe it did mean as much to Soap as it did to Ghost. It was just his name, but it had tears welling up in his eyes. He did not know how long it had been since someone called him by his actual name.

(He did. It was the last thing Roach had said, his last words wasted on trying to save Ghost, calling out for him to move before acting for him.)

He still couldn’t look up at him, but he did manage to pull up enough to now be staring at the fifth button on his shirt. No one knowing him as anything other than Ghost was a self imposed punishment; He could have, at any given time, told people his name, but he didn’t.

And he wouldn’t. Not after how nice Soap said it. No, he would like to keep that to himself and Soap.

“I think my name was John.”

Ghost heard the way he said it. It was the same way Ghost had confessed his: quick and impulsive, saying it before your fears could talk you out of it. 

He finally pulled his eyes up, making eye contact for a split second before he settled for staring at some point on his cheek. Ghost was still sitting on the bed while Soap stood, the exaggerated height difference only making the moment of vulnerability that much more intimidating.

“John?” Ghost asked to confirm.

Soap inhaled shakily, like finally hearing someone else call him by his name confirmed hazy memories. “All of it’s fuzzy, but… I— I think it was.”

Ghost knew he would never understand the full weight of that confession but he knew that he felt happy that Soap trusted him enough for it, that Ghost may have been able to help him find solace with a question he might never be able to answer.

He would never know the origin of Death and it wasn’t a question he felt too pressed to find an answer for, not when he was sitting in front of it, fucking holding him. Knowing the name he had before becoming Death was more than enough for Ghost.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Johnny,” Simon said, squeezing his hand.

“Is it?” Johnny asked, a question loaded with more than what was directly said.

While Simon did not know what all the god wanted to ask, he knew what his answer was regardless. “Yes, I think it is.” 

The hand that had been on his shoulder moved under his chin and slowly tilted his head up. 

It wasn’t the first time the god had done it, but his breath still hitched; the god did it the same way every time, always careful, always with a touch light enough to be a suggestion and nothing more, never forcing. And like every other time, he obliged.

Simon still dodged the eye contact like it would cause him physical pain if their eyes met, but he took in every other detail of Johnny’s face; The lingering blush, the expression that Simon couldn’t describe as anything other than awe even though that couldn’t be what it was, and (after a courage-gathering inhale) the eyes that were not looking at his own, but staring at his lips.

It took Ghost an embarrassing amount of time to realize, ‘Oh, he wants to kiss me.’

And as soon as he did, a million and one fears ran through his head, all about messing it up or misinterpreting it, but the closer Soap got, the more muffled they became. 

And, well, thinking had never done him any good, so he made an impulsive decision and crossed the last half of an inch between them.

Ghost hesitantly brought his hand to rest on Soap’s cheek, reassured when Soap did something similar and held the back of his neck. Soap held his hand there like it was protection, covering a weak spot during a moment of vulnerability. 

Vulnerable was really the only word he could use to describe it. Normally, where the word would bring fears of helplessness and going unprotected, he only felt comfort. Intimacy, his brain provided.

There was nothing he could do to try to describe it, partially because it broke his brain, but what else is new.

When they separated, Soap’s chest was moving like he was breathing heavy, like he had run out of air. Ghost smiled; He knew it was no physical limitation causing his perceived breathlessness. 

But they didn’t stay separated long. No, now that kissing was on the table, it was going to be taken fully advantage of.

Soap was the one to close the distance the second time, now holding Ghost’s face in both hands, one still on the back of his neck and the other positioned so his thumb could rub his cheek, just under his eye.

Ghost was completely out of his element but he trusted Soap. Johnny stepped closer, resting his knee on the bed next to one of Simon’s own. He almost laughed at himself; Earlier, he had scoffed at the fact that he wanted a hug, and now…

When the contact started to become too much and he remembered that he was supposed to be breathing, he tapped Soap’s wrist and pulled back. Soap thankfully understood, moving one hand back to his shoulder and the other ghosting the back of his neck. It was still contact, but much less all-encompassing; Something easier to digest without taking it away completely.

They sat in silence for a moment, processing and basking in the sudden development. Ghost felt like he was a kid sneaking into a closet to steal kisses from his sweetheart. The comparison made him blush more, and only then did he realize how red his cheeks must have been.

Simon wondered when the hell they had grown so close, wondered when the god managed to fully gain his trust without his notice.

It was anxiety-inducing and exhilarating all at once. And with Soap’s presence alone calming the anxious part of him, he was left with a delighted, fuzzy feeling that made the world feel a little more welcoming, a little bit brighter.

Ghost’s smile grew as he quietly teased, “And here I thought the kiss of Death was supposed to be a bad thing.”

Soap did something between a sigh and a scoff, like he wasn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or a taunt. It seemed he took it as both, rolling his eyes even though the fond smile never left him.

“Oh, gods…” Ghost groaned in reluctant realization, his head falling against Johnny’s chest.

“What?” Johnny asked, his hands hovering, his worry palpable.

Simon pulled him closer as he groaned, “Roach is going to be so fucking smug.”

Damn fucking right I am, you stupid, lovable, delusionally oblivious bastard.

Soap huffed, clearly not having expected that development. “What do you mean he’s gonna be smug?”

Go on, tell him.

Ghost was now officially trying to hide against Soap, even though it was Soap he would want to hide from after this admission. He groaned like he was in grievous physical pain and (very) reluctantly admitted, “…Roach has been trying to tell me that you want to kiss me or that I should kiss you for weeks now.”

The words were so mumbled, Ghost hoped that Soap didn’t understand them. But of course he did. Simon heard Soap’s laugh as much as he felt it, and damn that pushy, dead freak, he wanted to burrow through the floorboards.

“Is… Is that why you kissed my hand in the forest?” Johnny asked, a grin audible in his voice.

He groaned again, just needing to make his annoyance known, and nodded against his chest. 

Soap’s arms landed on his back and held him, comforting him even as the traitor chuckled at Simon’s misery. “Well, he wasn’t wrong — And I’m very glad you chose to listen to him.”

Ghost held his breath for several seconds, though he had no idea what he was trying to achieve. When he breathed in again, he turned his head to the side, still resting against Soap but watching the sunset through the window.

I believe a thanks is in order.

“Thank you, Roach,” Ghost reluctantly mumbled, forgetting that Soap would hear it too. He needed another nap.

The god echoed his words, “Yes, thank you, Roach.”

Simon shook his head, “Don’t thank him too, his ego was already bad enough.”

“Well, I think he deserves it,” Johnny said, leaving Simon outnumbered. 

Ghost finally pulled his head up and stared at Soap. “That’s because you don’t have to listen to him—”

Soap quietened his petulant argument by kissing his forehead, stopping Ghost in his tracks and leaving him to blink blankly as his blush slowly grew worse as if they hadn’t kissed on the lips just a moment ago.

Haha, loser.

Simon looked away and resisted the urge to feel the spot the god kissed, who only chuckled at his reaction.

…

Although the sun had settled behind the mountains, he still braved the nighttime winds that rolled through the town. It had only been a few hours since he left Taxes in the hands of the local stable, but he couldn’t not check on her. So, to the stables he trekked.

The locals were wandering the street just fine, unfazed by the weather. Ghost, however, was not as acclimated.

It wasn’t long after Soap and Roach bullied him that the god had to leave, still bound by the limitations of his power. Ghost distantly wondered if he could give Johnny food offerings again and claim they were for dates… But the idea was left behind when it made him confront the idea that he might be dating a fucking god.

Flowers would still have to do… 

…Which are also something given on dates. Fuck.

He hugged the buildings, the store fronts and porches offered some protection from the wind that billowed down the street. There were more people out and about now, but even the nighttime rush was still quite quaint.

The hitching posts in front of the tavern were almost all taken. Fortunately, the building didn’t look too rowdy from where he glanced through the windows from the other side of the street; Soap would absolutely kill him if he got into another barfight.

When he finished trudging through all of the snow and got to the stable, he found that predictably, Taxes was fine, but that didn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief. When he went to pet her, she was reluctant for only a second or two before she remembered that she liked to be petted and demanded that Ghost continue and never stop.

He loved his stupid horse.

“We actually made it out, huh?” he mumbled, still not believing it himself.

Ghost’s small smile only grew when he realized that she didn’t even know that her life was about to change for the better; She’d never have to march into battle or deal with the general’s men ever again.

Tomorrow was going to be stressful, trying to figure out a plan of action and leave to avoid having to spend what little money he was given on another night in the town. But, now that he thought about it…

It was stupid beyond belief and proof that his survival instincts had been thoroughly fucked, but part of him considered taking the Captain up on his offer.

Out of one frying pan, into a second frying pan, out of that frying pan, and back into yet another fucking frying pan. Brilliant.

But he wasn’t indebted to the Captain, there was no reason for him to stay longer than necessary, and, well… 

Fucking hell, he wanted to trust what Captain Price had said about helping him, alright? Yes, it’s fucking stupid, but fuck he just wanted it to be true.

Maybe… Maybe he could “take a sabbatical” or some shit, follow through on the idea of finding a temple of Johnny’s, maybe shake the bastard by the collar and demand to know what the hell happens if you date a god, and then see if the Captain’s offer still stands.

It felt like it should have been suicidal to return to a military after finally breaking his chains, but— but he wanted to have hope, dammit.

Taxes let out an ear piercing whinny and stomped around, at which point Ghost realized she was probably pissed that he hadn’t brought her a treat. No doubt the stable hands had already given her something, but he’d like to keep the horse in his good graces.

Glancing around, there wasn’t anything left out in the stable for him to pilfer for her, meaning he’d have to go all the way back to his hotel room, get an apple or oatcake or something from his bag, and then come all the way back to give it to her.

“The lengths I go to for you…” Ghost mumbled in mock annoyance.

Softy.

“Shut up,” he demanded without any bite, rolling his eyes. He could still hear Roach’s chuckles echoing faintly from his own mind. He patted her nose in lieu of a goodbye and when he stepped away, she moved around in her stall, stomping some more. 

He shook his head and took a courage gathering inhale, dreading the frosty wind; He hoped Taxes appreciated that he was facing a snowstorm just to get her a snack. 

Making sure his cloak was pulled tight, he stepped into the snow, and made it three steps before hands grabbed him and his world went dark.

[sad-scarred-sassy]

My masterlist

Hi! Find me on AO3: sad_and_scarred

Elucien fanfics 🔥🌸🌞

The luck of the draw - Rated E (Multi-chapter)

Elain Archeron is determined to end her unwanted mating bond with Lucien Vanserra. She has resigned herself to a loveless life, convinced she will never be able to experience true love without the fabricated weight of an assigned mate.

Her plans take a sharp turn when her mate arrives with a proposition to accompany him on a mission to a foreign court. When no one else believes her capable of succeeding Elain decides to prove to herself and others that she is not as hopeless as everyone else thought. (WIP)

Read on AO3 Read an excerpt here 🪻💐

Wicked thing - Rated M (One shot)

Based on this post by @theladyofbloodshed : “What happens when Lucien and Elain ride a horse through the continent together and she gradually leans against his chest as they ride? What happens when he rests his cheek against her? What then???”

But make it spicy.

Read on AO3 🐴✨

Prim and proper - Rated E (one-shot)

Elain lets herself enjoy her mate, all of him, with no shame for the first time and Lucien is very happy about it.

Read on AO3 🌷

I’ll meet you after dark - Rated E (Multi-chapter)

Elain Archeron stumbles upon a beautiful fae male in the middle of the forest.

Read on AO3 🍃

Feylin fanfics🥀

The tragedy of spring - Rated E (Multi-chapter)

After dying and getting resurrected during her childbirth, Feyre Archeron begins to question everything she had believed to be true.

Feeling lonely, lost and betrayed, she ends up in front of the one she had vowed to never see again.

This is a mini series of one shots and conversations in which I explore what would happen if Feyre realizes she’s been manipulated for a long time by the one she had trusted blindly, and maybe the things she had thought to be true, are more complicated than they seemed.

Read on AO3

Neris fanfics❤️‍🔥

Light me up🐉🔥 | Rated E (Two-part)

Nesta Archeron is given as a living sacrifice to the dragon of Velaris. The only problem is he doesn’t want anything to do with it.

Read on AO3

🎨Fanart

Try not to stare challenge: level impossible - Elucien

You are so gorgeous, it makes me so mad - Elucien

The monarchs - Elucien

Lucien Vanserra - Character sheet

I’d fuel the pyre of your enemies - Neris

Dragon!Eris - Eris Vanserra

Sunlight on gold caught his eye - Lucien Vanserra portrait.

[shini--chan]

Yandere Levi - Dregs and Driftwood

Prologue - The Ship

Word count: 1063 words Summary: All stories must start somewhere, this is just a small glimpse of the situation before tragedy struck Author note: I already posted this part of the story on ao3 some time ago, and sadly didn't find much time/motivation to continue. Now I've found it and I want to post this story from now on tumblr and on ao3.

The ship rocked in the storm, the old wood planks groaning in protest of the gross mishandling mother nature was inflicting on it. Outside, the wind howled and rain beat the deck as if the heavens were trying to punish the ship and the puny mortals scrambling on deck. 

Sailors, being a superstitious lot, were even of the firm opinion that they were being punished for something. Levi had seen them on their knees, reverently praying to the powers that be to grant them safe passage through the storm.

The ship's captain, being a cautious fellow, had had the lifeboats prepared. Though for all Levi knew, it could be common practice, though that wasn't his realm of expertise.

Sadly, other people's finer emotions weren't his expertise either, else he wouldn't have so many problems with you.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he peered through the smoke glass window of the navigation room out into the din. You were probably below deck, far away from the frantic seamen that were slipping around the deck. If it weren't for the fact that quite a few of them had fastened ropes around their waists, then some of them would have already been flung into the dark, churning ocean.

He wondered if you were sleeping. While the thought of you comfortably slumbering away in your rickety bunk, hair spilling over the goose down pillows and face peaceful was, was an enticing one, he had to be realistic. Like the others in the belly of the ship, you were probably up and anxious, perhaps praying.

Were you maybe with the other passengers, huddled up in the heart of the ship, in the dining room. The mere thought of you rubbing shoulders, both literally and metaphorically, made his muscles tense in anger. 

The lingering dregs of morals he held allowed him to know that it was wrong to want to curtail your movements, to want to control and dictate how you lived and who you interacted with, though after suffering so much in service of the greater good, didn't he deserve some consolation? And it wasn't like he demanded the world from you. 

The howl of the wind picked up briefly as the door slammed opened, the window pane vibrating in its frame from the impact, and a soaked captain entered. Standing to the side, Levi deftly closed the door when the captain didn't bother to.

"Really, what else could y've expected? I did tell you that these parts do get very heavy storms in spring. But no. It had to be the quickest way, eh?", the captain snarled unhappily. 

Coat and hat were dropped on the floor in a heap as the owner stepped over to a small cabinet. Levi wrinkled his nose. He hated it when people acted like pigs - though in this case, he understood it. It was just a short break, and the captain would be out before his clothes could dry even partially.

"The snobby clowns at the top want this done as soon as damn possible, so don't give me that tone", he said, leaning against the navigation table. 

Turning around with a bottle of rum and a handful of hardtack, the gruffer hand raised a thick eyebrow. Considering that he was in his late forties, with a weathered hide and permanent frown, lesser souls would have felt nervous.

"Couldn't you throw your weight around?"

"Erwin doesn't let me around the nobles if he can avoid it."

"The Commander keeps you on a short leash? Ha! Perhaps the best with a bloody cur like you", the seaman said between mouthfuls of hard tack.

Levi curled his fists. Of course his reputation preceeded him and while it was commonly that of Humanity's Strongest Soldier, sometimes it was twisted into something more sinister.

"Storm is probably not that bad, considering that you have enough energy to swear", the soldier remarked.

For a moment, the captain seemed to want to launch a tirade, but stopped himself at the last moment, reconsidering and recognising that he went too far. Grumbing, he took the next wood stool and plopped down on it, spreading crumbs all over his drenched clothing in the process.

"So much for a beautiful spring", the captain substituted awkwardly. Indeed, if anything, Levi wasn't good at conversations, all the more reason why he preferred his tight circle of confidants and the coarseness that was common in the military.

Spring, spring feelings. If anything, the storm raging outside resembled his inner emotional turmoil. Since it was by all rights your fault, you would have to fix it. Though as much as he wanted to dwell on you, he had more important matters to discuss.

"Should I tell my men they should be prepared to swim?"

The seaman took a hearty swing directly from the bottle, then smacked his lips and stared at the bottle thoughtfully as he contemplated his answer.

"No use, to be honest. We're out on the open sea - there ain't a nice island for a couple of sea miles."

He tilted the liquor bottle to the map that was spread out on the table.

"The closest there is, is a couple of islands to the south, but they are about a day's swim away."

The captain paused, taking a look at the map. It was an old thing, edges fried and slightly torn and the faded marks of graphite that won't go away anymore and indentations from measuring tools. Yellowed teeth bit nervously into a chapped bottom lip.

"Few people can swim for even just three hours straight, let alone a whole day. Best hope you catch a good current that'll sweep you ashore."

"What promising prospects", Levi drawled sarcastically.

"If I'm realistic, they are even worse. In the case of a ship wreck, only a few people would even make it to the lifeboats. Not to mention that you would need damn fine luck to hit one of that island chain and not miss, especially in the mother of a storm!", his companion growled, evident anger on his face.

Levi wrinkled his nose. It seemed like they just had to hope that the higher power would stop toying with them too much. He had suffered so much travesty and bad luck during his life, and it was time he had paid his dues - like getting out of this ordeal alive.

[mailrebel]

Get to Know Fanfic Authors

Thanks for the tag @abbyz-elda!

1. How many works on AO3? 19

2. Total AO3 word count? 893,015 yes this is real 💀

3. Top 5 fics by kudos:

To Capture the Heart of a Hero

Love is like a Blizzard

Children of the Triforce: Retold

Silver Moon

So I'm Already Gone

I'm pretty happy that a one-shot sneaked its way in at the end there lol.

4. What fandoms do you write for? The Legend of Zelda, and occasionally other stuff like Final Fantasy VII and the Chronicles of Narnia.

5. Do you respond to comments? Yep, and I try my best to make it a fun time for everyone lol 🥳

6. Fic with the angsty ending? I have two for this one! Threads Pulled Taut (TOTK Zelink tragedy set far in the future) and So I'm Already Gone (TP Zelink tragedy). I was accused of traumatizing everyone during Zelink Week with the latter 😂 But I'm honestly quite proud of that fic as I felt I was able to convey what I wanted to 😌

7. Fic with the happiest ending? Hard to say... I think I'll go with Skies of Pink (TOTK Zelink) and I'll Move the Stars for You (OOT Zelink). Both stories are hurt/comfort and left me with a special sense of happiness by the end ❤️

8. Do you get hate? Yes, but it is nothing noteworthy. 

9. Do you write smut? HA you wish! (No).

10. Do you write crossovers? Only once! Hunting for Samurai which is a Gintama/Hunter x Hunter fic. Ahh, take me back to 2016...

11. Ever had a fic stolen? See the next answer lol.

12. Ever had a fic translated? Yes! Someone took my One Punch Man fic and translated it into Spanish on Wattpad. They never asked for permission, but I didn't mind. I was just happy to see people enjoying it 😂

13. Have you ever co-written a fic? No, but the day I do is not far off... 👀

14. All time favorite ship? I'm too invested to say anything other than Zelink at this point. What have you people done to me? 😂

15. WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I finish everything I start! If I post chapter 1, the rest will come. Mark my words.

16. Writing strengths? Drama? Coming up with ideas that are interesting? One sentence paragraphs? Idk, I'm spitballing here 😭

17. Writing weaknesses? Action scenes. Being long-winded. Taking the words in my head and actually making them coherent and conveying the weight and emotions I want them to convey (so basically, writing lol).

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue? No thanks, I think the English language is confusing enough on its own lol.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Gintama. I can all but guarantee that nobody else in the Zelink fandom started out there 🤣

20. Favorite Fic you’ve ever written? Probably To Capture the Heart of a Hero. This fic is years of my suppressed thoughts and feelings suddenly springing to life. My love letter to Twilight Princess and Zelink. The story that brought me out of fanfic retirement and allowed me to meet so many wonderful people in this community. It's truly a blessing 🙏

Tagging @linktheacehero @miadearden @haste-waste talk about some fics if you want :)

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

A Sister’s Son

I have a lot of feelings about the relationship between Théodred and Elfhelm stemming from 1) the canonical fact that Elfhelm was with Théodred when he died and 2) my head-canonical fact that he was there when Théodred was born and Elfhild, Elfhelm’s sister, died.* So Théodred’s entire 41-year life was bookended by these two tragic experiences for his uncle. *Given what we know of Rohirric naming conventions, the idea that Elfhelm is the brother of Elfhild is thoroughly reasonable!

Some of you may recall that I posted an Elfhelm story last week that included the notion that he struggles with memories of his past tragedies. I had written much more extensive memory sequences for that story and ended up cutting it way back, but I guess why let them go to waste? So I paired them together — the birth and death of Théodred through the eyes of Elfhelm, the one person who was there both at the beginning and the end. It’s not graphic, but content warnings for canonical maternal death and some moments of generalized concern for baby Théodred’s welfare in the first half plus some violence and blood (and, obviously, Théodred’s actual death) in the second half. On AO3 here or below:

Edoras, T.A. 2978

The only voice that mattered had gone silent.

There were others still to be heard — barked commands, stunned oaths, murmured appeals to Béma — but the cries and groans of Elfhild were no longer among them. In the chord of dissonant turmoil on the far side of the bedchamber door, her high, ringing note disappeared without warning and did not return.

The sudden absence of his sister’s voice was deafening in Elfhelm’s ears. Kept just outside the midwife’s domain, he had only the muffled sounds that leaked through gaps in the door frame to tell him how things stood, and he had strained for hours to track his sister’s welfare above the noisy fury of an early spring storm that sent waves of rain beating against the thatch overhead and great rumbles of thunder rolling like an éored in full gallop across the plains outside.

To hear the sounds of her suffering distressed him, but their disappearance was more terrifying still. At least where there was pain, there was life, and in those first moments of absence, he cast about miserably for some other, better explanation. Sister, tell me. What has become of you? But he already knew. Deep within his heart that pumped the blood they shared, he could feel that her life had come to an end, and a little part of his went with it.

The door to the bedchamber heaved open abruptly, and the sharp, eye-watering scent of smelling salts and medicinal herbs rushed out on the heels of a grim-faced midwife in search of more supplies. Candles and torches flickered in the draft, but there was light enough to see a glimpse of Théoden through the doorway, hollow eyed and open mouthed, clinging to the edge of a bed where a still figure lay shrouded in linen, bright red stains smeared into the fine green fabric. Théodwyn pulled at her brother’s arm, and Hyhtgife pulled at Théodwyn’s, a chain of people trying to turn one another away from an unthinkable loss, a queen-to-be caught in the struggle between birth and death and claimed as a prize by the side of grief.

Elfhelm, alight with the sting of razor sharp heartache, surged forward toward the shrouded figure, but restraining hands appeared on his arms and shoulders. All he managed was a single urgent question — the baby, too? — before the door swung closed again, and he was left outside to wait and wonder and mourn and hope.

Minutes ticked by, or hours, or perhaps it was only seconds. People scurried past him in the antechamber, going about necessary tasks as though the world had not just changed forever and for the worse. Attendants arrived with tea and food for those who needed it, and advisors discussed in hushed tones how and when to make the official notifications. Servants stoked the glowing embers in the hearth, trying to coax heat back into a room that had been slowly leached of it over the course of a long, moonless night. He wanted to seize each person by the shoulders, shake them, rebuke them. My sister has just died, he wanted to scream. Her son may be next. What do your petty tasks matter at a time such as this? But his indignant anguish couldn’t stop the business of life from proceeding as it must, and only the recalcitrant fire seemed to share his outrage, refusing to return the bright cheer of a steady flame to a room where it no longer belonged.

Candles flickered again as the door to the chamber opened a second time, and a new voice came forth, a frail whimper from a bundle in the hands of a healer. It was a voice that couldn’t speak words, but it called to Elfhelm all the same, stopping him in his tracks as he paced and igniting his heart with the instinct to love without question, without hesitation, without purpose or reason. He was back at the door in three long strides, ready to lay down his life for that bundle, the last work of his sister. If there was any part of her that could yet be saved, he would do anything, try anything, or give anything to save it.

Let me help, he begged. Please. What does he need?

He had never really held an infant before, something so small and so fragile and yet possessing the power to bring him to his knees just by its precious existence. The healer kept a hand underneath the baby and another on his own arm until she was certain that he would withstand the moment, able to master himself despite the tears that poured freely down his cheeks and the swallowed sobs that wracked his shoulders.

Keep him warm. It was said with authority and insistence, more commanding than any battlefield order of a captain or marshal of the Mark. Then the healer was gone, disappeared back into the bedchamber where the sound of building hysteria attested to the grief of others, and Elfhelm was left with his own and the one delicate fragment of joy to be rescued from the shattered wreckage of a day where all else had gone horribly wrong.

Unprepared to be in the world so soon, baby Théodred was nearly weightless and almost spectrally pale, as though his body was still finding its solid form. His eyes were closed, his features still, but his tiny chest fluttered up and down and his little hand was outstretched, the fingers splayed in search of the touch of someone who loved him. Someone who could give him warmth and comfort.

Elfhelm swaddled the little bundle in the bulk of his arms, pressing the baby to his chest and his flushed cheek to Théodred’s little head, where his tears traced dark, wet paths through the fine sprinkle of wispy, light hair.

Your uncle is here now, he whispered. I’ll be with you as long as you need.

Fords of Isen, T.A. 3019

The mighty voice at the top of the knoll had been silenced.

Three times Théodred’s call had rung out, clear and strong like the sounding of a horn above the clatterous fury of the battle, but the third had been abruptly cut short and there would be no fourth. Though Elfhelm was still clawing his way toward the knoll’s crest, struggling to hear above the roar of the coursing river and the growls of thunder that echoed the beating of axes against broad wooden shields, he knew in his heart what had happened on the rise above him. Somehow, amidst all the chanting and screaming and clashing of weapons, he heard the distant gasp of impact, the small sigh of a lungful of breath released slowly through bloodied lips, and the sound nearly brought him to his knees.

It took precious, panicked minutes to fight his way to that sound, past men face down in the viscous mud or still crawling forward through it, crying out for friends or captains who had disappeared behind the curtains of heavy rain or into the rushing depths of the Isen. When he finally gained the peak, Grimbold was there, wild eyed and missing his helmet, furiously scrabbling to hold onto Théodred, who lay crumpled at his feet.

A soldier of Isengard had Théodred by the ankle, dragging him across the trampled grass with a dark red smear left in his wake, and more ran up to help, a chain of hands to accomplish the unthinkable and claim the prince of Rohan as a prize of war. The sight stirred an immediate, instinctive rage in Elfhelm, a deep and visceral possessiveness without thought or plan or strategy. He is not yours to take. He surged forward, unrestrained, and hacked or stabbed at any strange limb that dared to touch his sister’s son until there were none left, the last remaining enemies either dead or retreating back to their comrades, who promptly vanished into the dark on the far side of the river.

The clamorous sounds of battle faded quickly with the disappearance of the Isengarders, replaced instead by the urgent hum of the Rohirrim taking stock of themselves, their horses, their éoreds. Already some captains were at work restoring order to the ranks, arraying men and arms where they would be needed should the retreat of the enemy be only temporary, but Elfhelm had no mind for those tasks, knelt down in the freezing rain at Théodred’s side. Have pity on us, Béma, he pleaded, equal parts desperate and outraged. You cannot take him either.

Théodred stirred just enough to murmur a few hoarse words, his wish to hold the Fords even in death, and though there was fatalism in the thought, its selflessness kindled a momentary hope in Elfhelm. He is still himself, thinking first of others. If his spirit is intact, he can yet be saved. But the hope proved foolish, too small and too frail to be pitted against the blunt work of a rusted battle axe on skin, muscles and ribs. No bandage or pressure could stanch Théodred’s wounds, which flowed as freely as the river below them, and the chilled rain puddle that lapped at Elfhelm’s knees grew steadily warmer as it became more blood than water. Théodred went quiet again, only flinching as they worked frantically on his battered chest, and a hazy distance clouded his eyes, as though he was looking at something far off that no one else could perceive.

What does he need? Grimbold’s raspy voice was unnaturally high, his usual asthmatic wheeze intensified by fear, but Elfhelm had no answer to give. A paralyzing helplessness crept in from the edges of his mind, the dawning recognition that their efforts were futile and that continuing to push and prod at hurts that couldn’t possibly be healed would only add more pain to the inevitable. He stifled a sob, forcing it back down his throat to burn his lungs instead, and tried to steel himself for what would follow. On a day when all else had already gone horribly awry, he would have to watch as his nephew’s life came to an end, and a little part of his own would go with it.

Théodred’s eyes were closed now, his face ghostly pale in the moonless dark, but his chest still labored up and down and he held out a hand for comfort, weakly returning Elfhelm’s grasp when he found it. Minutes ticked by, or hours, or perhaps it was only seconds, and Elfhelm’s mind cast about in misery, searching for any action, anything he might give or try, that could bring some relief or ease the passing. Sister, tell me. What would you have me do for your boy? And in the midst of this anguished confusion, an old command suddenly surfaced, firm and insistent, from his carefully buried memories.

Keep him warm.

Forty one years vanished in an instant, and he pulled Théodred up to lay against his chest, wrapping his cloak around them both like cupped hands protecting a guttering flame in the wind. Resting a cheek to the top of Théodred’s head, where his tears disappeared into waves of blonde hair already darkened by the river and the rain, he clung tightly to the beloved son of his sister and whispered the only thing he could think to say.

Your uncle is here now. I’ll be with you as long as you need.

It’s definitely not my practice to have two different stories ready so close to each other, but since these started out initially as part of the same project it just kind of worked out that way. But now I’ll be going back into my writing hole for some undetermined but lengthy period of time!

@sotwk

Thanks as always to @quillofspirit for the beautiful dividers!

[pennyplainknits]

More Joy Day: some vids I love

I meant to do something more substantial for More Joy Day, I even recorded a podfic, but I was really unhappy with it. I didn't want to let the day go without marking it, so below are some vids that bring me joy. I hope they bring you joy too, and that you'll spread that by leaving a comment for the vidders as well! Where I have it I've added a link to tumblr or AO3 to make that easy

Freedom Ride by Sally Sparrow

This is such a gleefully fun look at how everyone wants a piece of Steve Rogers, set to a song that can't help but make you want to dance. Also a lovely reminder of the fun and possibilities of pre-Endgame Marvel tbh.

A Better Son by Neery

There's just something wonderful about how this song works for S1 Stede, it remains one of my favourite character studies of him, capturing his dramatic nature, his grit-your-teeth-and-smile approach to the world.

Bethlehem Steel by AurumCalendula

Speaking of character studies this is study, lament, epitaph. Dean Winchester, in all his skills, contradictions, and trauma. I especially love the opening montage of his hands, and the fast, choppy editing. The song choice is inspired too.

Devil's backbone by secretlytodream

A very different Steve Rogers vid to Freedom Ride. I love how it builds, and how it shows how very little choice Bucky had in any of what happened but how Steve chooses him time and time again.

Hail Satan by Tafadhali

Sometimes a vid isn't so much a celebration as a stern FUCK YOU to canon. I said when I first watched this I could feel the anger vibrating off it, and it inspired my own ST vid Brutal. Great song choice, and really great use of the limited amount of screen time Corroded Coffin gets too

To Wreck, Jedusaur/@jedusaur

Speaking of fuck yous to canon.... Not only is this a fantastic, pointed, angry vid, with a gutpunch when you realise just what the vid is about, the first time i saw it also has joyful memories attached, as I watched it premiere at bitchin party far too long ago.

Potential Break Up Song by sisabet

Just roll around in the most toxic of toxic breakups. I watched Smallville for far too long because of Michael Rosebaum's face and this is a really good exhibition of why. His ability to make one of THE comic book villains the poorest little miaow miaow.

Wait for it by booksandwildthings

(I only have the YouTube link for this). This remains one of my favourite Obi-Wan vids, though really this whole playlist could be Obi-Wan. I like the usage of the cartoon source, and the impact the switch to live action makes. It also really throws into sharp relief how much Obi-Wan loved Anakin, which of course makes his betrayal hurt even more (flashing lights in this one)

Whoomp (There it Is) by Sisabet

Has me grinning the whole way through. Saving the world with friendship and nail bits! This has such great movement and the editing is spot on. The lyric matching is so fun too. (flashing lights in this one)

Spring Break Anthem by emotionallyits2009

If Bethlehem Steel is Dean As Tragedy, this is Dean as well...just watch. The comedy in this vid is so well done, and I really love the way it highlights Jensen's comic chops, while also exploring the darker underbelly of Dean's hedonism.

And apparently I only get 10 vids per post?? So I guess this is part one of two

[mysoncookie]

TXT Must-Reads

Unfollow; taegyu socmed au by ashbythewindow

╰┈➤ Available on Wattpad, Complete, Comedy, Twitter au | 62 chapters

And The Fourth Day God Created Friendship by lookateeznutz

╰┈➤ Available on Wattpad, On Going, Comedy, Chatroom | 53 chapters

Under The Sky in Room 553 I Discovered you and I by spellfire

╰┈➤ Available on Ao3, Complete, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Unrequited Love, Childhood Friends, Slice of Life, Coming of Age, | Wordcount: 28,825

In Many Seasons, The Spring was Looking only at you by scribble_bunnie

╰┈➤ Available on Ao3, Complete, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fae & Fairies, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Mutiual Pinning, Idiots in Love | Wordcount: 2,867

You Dialed the Right Number! by hwaveu

╰┈➤ Available on Ao3, On Going, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff & Humor, Light Angst, Texting | Wordcount: 15,568

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that's all for now, if you want more fanfic recs ask me on my page title and I'll gladly deliver, hopefully, if I'm not too busy