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bamsywrites · 3 days ago

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And Comes Dawn pt 15

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader, Isildur x Reader, Sauron/Halbrand x Galadriel

Summary: Sweet One overhears something she is not meant to.

Tags: manipulation, Saurons inner thoughts though they're pretty tame this time, insecure reader, confessions all around, angsty

Notes: this takes place starting at the scene from the gif. Not super heavily edited so let me know if there's anything glaring. As always leave feedback, I love anything and everything I get. And if you feel inclined here is my Kofi. (https://ko-fi.com/bamsy95253)

“ Whatever it was he did to you, and whatever it was you did, be free of it.” Galadriel spoke those words, and it was as if the final piece had fallen into place. The elf trusted him. It would not be hard to get to Eregion, and then it would only be a matter of time until he could forge his weapon. Until he could enact his rule, his control. To bring peace for all middle earth.

To bring peace for you. To ensure your safety.

Galadriel was a worthy ally, someone he'd want at his side. He was more certain now he'd likely need her at his side in order to achieve the optimal outcome. He'd do what he needed to that end, “I never believed I could be. Until today. Fighting at your side, I… I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it to my very being, then I…”

“I felt it too.”

And she had fallen into the palm of his hand. It was a fun little game, one he hoped to continue. He looked at her, his hand moving ever so slightly towards hers. Whatever it took, he'd do it. For peace. For order.

For you.

He knew how you'd feel if you heard this conversation. The tension between you and the elf had lessened, but he could sense there was still an insecurity there that you had delegated her as more than you following a checklist of traits he could not understand. He knew you were wary of his interactions with her, fearing you'd be replaced, but you never spoke it. You never dictated who he could and could not spend time with, and he, perhaps surprisingly, offered you the same grace. He had no worries of the boy taking you from him. He knew you were smitten. However, he knew that the implications of his words to the elf would break you. He had only ever spoken to you of being better, of doing better, so speaking of the elf as if she was the key to his redemption would be a blow that he did not know if he could fix.

But your safety was what this was all for. He would do whatever he could to that end. He would fill the elf with lies, perhaps even hold her hand in his or kiss her, if only that meant a world where you did not die, where you did not feel pain or hunger or fear.

“Halbrand, the queen ...um…the queen Is looking for you.”

Your voice broke the spell between him and Galadrial. His fears crushed upon him, and he could not help but feel an overwhelming anger, an anger he hid with a shaky breath. He could hear the breaks in your voice, the thickness of tears unshed weighing down your words. You'd heard it all, and you were walking as fast as your feet could carry you in the opposite direction.

Your head was down as you walked away from them. His words ring in your ears.

Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Of course, he would not want you now. He was to be a king, and you were just you. You had no doubt he cared for you, but there had always been something with the elf. Lingering looks, touches that lasted a few moments too long. You were not upset that he could feel such things for another. There was a cloud of ‘What if?’ around Galadriel. What if you hadn't been on that raft? You had come to the conclusion that Halbrand and Galadriel would have fallen into that old trope of beautiful elven woman and mortal man.

It wasn't the ‘What ifs?’ that bothered you. You had plenty of those yourself. Without Halbrand, you are sure you would have fallen hard for a certain Numenorian. But as much as Isildur made you laugh, you never entertained the idea of anything more, and when touches lingered, you would call him out on it. And Isil respected you, respected your courtship.

No matter the what ifs’, you met Halbrand first, and your heart was his, and it was shut off to all others. Halbrand couldn't seem to do that with Galadriel, and that was what bothered you so. You were not important enough to him for him to let that go. It seemed he couldn't be happy with just you.

You weren't enough.

Your head was down, and you were furiously wiping away tears. You didn't want anyone to see your shame. You wanted to disappear. Perhaps the earth could swallow you up. You took some breaths to gain your composure before you made it to the village, but your lip trembled. You couldn't get his voice out of your head. You knew he was behind you. You didn't know how far, and you didn't care. You weren't interested in his explanations, how he'd excuse it or worse tell you his feelings have changed. Your feet carried you through the village. You ignored anyone trying to talk to you as you made your way up the ridge.

You sat there in the grass, you could see the people below. You could make out Halbrand, The Queen, Galadriel. You knew it was a triumphant time for your people. You knew it was the man you loved down there, but right now, you just wanted to be alone. You were exhausted from the emotional whiplash. You sniffled and wiped your nose, your cheeks felt raw and stiff from the tears.

You were broken from your thoughts when Isildur sat next to you. He said nothing, just sat with you. It was interesting how his presence lessened your despair, you didn't feel so alone. He was the one person you felt would not judge you or try to invalidate you. You both enjoyed the silence for a few minutes before he broke it.

“I would offer to stab him, but now that he's a king I fear that would not be the best course of action. Perhaps putting rocks in his boots, horse shit in his bed. We must get creative.”

You smiled, wiping the tears from your eyes. He looked to you and smiled softly, following your gaze to where you stared at Halbrand and Galadriel.

“I do not know what it is he has done, only that you'd only be here crying if it was him who had done something. Whatever you may need of me, I am here to offer it to you.”

You swallowed, wetting your lips with a nod. You were silent for a few more moments before speaking, “I feel as if I don't know his heart, not truly. Sometimes, I feel as if we are one and others, and it feels that there is this gaping chasm between us. His words and actions do not always agree, and I struggle to know what to believe. I believe he loves me, but I do not know if I'm the only one. I would understand if she did hold his heart, for she is most things I am not.”

He listened as you spoke, brow furrowed, “Most things you are not? I do not know what you mean by that, but I do know love is not a list to be marked off. It does not care if you are an elf, low man, or high man. It does not matter. If an elven king were to declare his love for you, would that change who you love? Or would you still love Halbrand? The answer to that is rather obvious, I think.”

“I wish he could be content with me. It seems he is restless. It seems��.he wants something from her, something I cannot give him. That is what hurts the most. He has given me all I need and more and I have given what I can and yet it is not enough.”

Isildur was thinking of a response, fingers picking at the grass when you spoke so softly he almost did not hear it.

“I wish I was enough.”

His fingers stopped picking the grass, and he looked at you, “Is his opinion of your worth the only one that matters?”

You sniffled and looked at him, wiping your eyes.

“You put too much worth into what he thinks of you when it doesn't matter, not really. Are you enough for you? Are you happy with who you are?”

You sat there in silence. What he was saying made sense. It just wasn't what you expected from him.

“Your worth comes from your heart. Your kindness, your empathy. It comes from your values. From your mind. Your soul. It is not from being enough for Halbrand. Or for me. Or for anyone. Do not give anyone that control over you.”

He didn't chase you. It took everything in him not to. He hated it, the feeling of guilt that settled in his chest, how many scores of men and elves had he killed and felt nothing? He had sat with the elf while she cried about her dead brother, a brother he had killed, and felt nothing. But a tremble of your lip and tears in your eyes, and he was riddled with it. He still despised how you could make him feel. it gave you a sense of control over him.

No one had control of him like this, only Morgoth, and that control was taken from him through manipulation and torture. You had used no such tactics. You simply existed, and he was wrapped around your finger. You simply smiled, and he was on his knees. There was not a moment that went by that his mind wasn't consumed with you, thoughts of your safety, and thoughts of your future. Thoughts of how he was to keep you safe.

It was odd to compare you to Morgoth, but he could not deny that, to an extent, you were his master. Even if you didn't command him or lead his actions, he was doing all this so that he could be with you forever, so he could protect you. In that way, you were in control.

He didn't run after you, despite all that, because this conflict would benefit him in the long run. And to that end, it would benefit you. He needed to give Galadriel pause when it came to his feelings for you. He needed her to think his feelings for you were comparable to his feelings for her. He needed her to think that if he had to choose, he might choose her.

There was no choice, though. Not one where she was victorious.

His eyes followed you as you walked up the hill and sat. He could feel the sadness radiating from you even this far away. He would fix it. In time. His attention was pulled away as the queen spoke to him, and he confirmed himself the king of the Southlands. It was an ego stroke to have them chant for him. If only they knew. He smiled as he looked around, reveling in their chants and praise. His smile only faltered when he noticed who else was missing from the crowd.

The boy.

And when his eyes found you on that hill again, his blood boiled to see you weren't alone.

Isildur had given you space. His words had resonated with you. Before Halbrand, you had been confident and content in who you were. You had a past that you wanted to atone for, but you were not insecure. You knew who you were and what you dreamed of. You knew your worth, your strengths, your flaws. It all made you who you were, and you liked who you were.

It seemed love had changed that. You loved Halbrand. It would hurt to lose another person you loved, and so you worried and obsessed over it. Over your worthiness for it. But you knew you were worthy of love and happiness by simply existing. If Halbrand valued Galadriel over you, that was his choice, and while it would hurt, the sun would rise and set, and you would move on.

If you could overcome your father becoming a violent fanatic and warping your family into a murderous cult, you would overcome Halbrand loving someone else.

Your gaze wandered to Isildur with Berek and his father. It was far enough you could not make out the conversation, but you could tell it was a heartfelt one. You were glad for it. Their relationship had been too trained for too long.

The calm was broken as water erupted from the ground, screams filled the air, and orcs began chanting. You stood and watched in horror, frozen in place amongst the chaos. Then fire rained from the sky, and your body sprung into action. The children, the injured, they had to have help, and they couldn't be left alone. As soon as you started running toward the village, you were pulled back.

“No! You must not go,” Isildur demanded, his hands holding your wrist.

“Isil, they need help, they need -”

“They need you at the camp. They need you to heal them. Take Berek. I will make sure Halbrand is safe. That your people survive.” He held your face in his hands as he pleaded over the sounds of screams.

“What if you don't return?” Your voice trembled, and lip quivered.

“I would not give you my horse If I was not certain I would come back.”

He gave no warning before lifting you up on the horse,his hand squeezing yours, “If I do not return, I need you to know that I….I love you. Even if it is not returned.”

There was no time for a response before Berek was off, taking you to the Numenorian camp as fast as he could.

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #trop fanfiction #trop x reader #rings of power x reader #sauron x oc #halbrand x oc #rings of power fanfiction #isildur x reader #sauron x galadriel #halbrand x galadriel #annatar x reader

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cosmerelists · 8 hours ago

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Cosmere Characters as Parents

As requested by anon. :)

If Cosmere characters who aren't currently parents (or who never got that chance) were parents, what would they be like?

1. Adolin

LOVES playing dress-up

Small child: And YOU'RE my servant, Radiant Princess Assassin Duelist! Adolin [solemnly wearing a princess hat and armor, carrying a large wooden sword]: I am at your service, Your Highness.

2. Siri

I'm seeing: Midnight Family Picnics.

Siri: Whose ready for Midnight Family Picnic?? Both kids: [cheering] Siri: Tonight we have a lovely assortment of sweet treats, assorted nuts for salt, and of course a Surprise Stew that the cook whipped up! Siri: Let's set up the tent, and we can get eating!!

3. Kaladin

Wants to support his kid in everything...but may be slightly overprotective

Small child: Dad, Dad look! I climb ALL the way to top! Kaladin: Wow! Great job!! Syl: Wow! I'm surprised you're letting him climb a rock that tall! Kaladin: Well, you know. It's good for a kid to get to explore and be fearless. Syl: ... Syl: Got him Lashed so he can't fall, huh? Kaladin: You know it.

4. Shallan

Has a little bit of trouble setting boundaries--she just doesn't want her kid to feel restricted, you know?

Teenager: See ya, Mom! Gonna go set a building on fire. Shallan: Hey, wait a second! Shallan: You got a good reason? Teenager: Yeah. Shallan: Got a plan to avoid being caught? Teenager: Of course. Shallan: Okay--have fun!! Radiant: ... Shallan: What?

5. Nikaro

As an emo guy, he of course ends up with a kid who is the opposite.

Akane: Are you wearing...a pink shirt with a heart on it? Nikaro: My daughter is obsessed with kawaii fashion. Nikaro: She wanted to style me. Akane: That also explains the sparkly eyeshadow. Nikaro: It does. Akane: ... Akane: Is your goth soul dying inside? Nikaro: Only a little.

6. Yumi

It feels inevitable that Yumi would give birth to a tiny Godzilla child.

Yumi: Look! Mommy made the stack sooooo high! Child: [shrieking with delight as they plow right into it, knocking it over] Yumi: [smile only slightly strained] A mother's love is a powerful thing.

7. Lopen

They say it takes a village, and Lopen definitely has that.

Sigzil: You know...I'm impressed by how well-rounded your kid is. Lopen: Ha ha! A Herdazian is always well-rounded--and very often round as well! Lopen: Every cousin teaches 'im something--he's learned to cook and talk quick and make friends and tell jokes and stick people to walls and all the things! Small Lopen child: [flips someone off] Lopen: He learned that from me! Sigzil: You don't say...

8. Tress

Raises her child on the high seas.

Child: [screaming a sea shanty at the top of her lungs while she swabs the deck] Ann: She getting punished for something? Tress: What? No! She just likes to sing and her favorite one is about swabbing the decks. Tress: I tried to get her interested in spores, but apparently that's not as exciting as swabbing the deck. Ann: [patting her on the back] Well, there's still plenty of time to share your incredibly dangerous hobby with your kid. Tress: Yeah, you're right!

9. Elend

Just doesn't want his kid to have a childhood like his

Elend: Wait a minute...are you reading that book after I told you that the thesis was juvenile speculation sprung from the mind of a man without two thoughts to rub together? Teenager: Yeah, what of it? I'm not gonna take your word for it! Elend: [sniffs] I-I'm so proud!

10. Vin

Just doesn't want her kid to have a childhood like hers.

Sazed: Wow so this is your baby, huh? Vin: Yup! Sazed: So....round. And happy. Vin: Yup! [The fattest, happiest baby you've ever seen gives Sazed a sleepy smile] Sazed: She's...perfect.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Adolin #Shallan #Kaladin #Siri #Vin #Elend #Tress #Nikaro #Yumi #Lopen

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sentientcave · 7 hours ago

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Masquerade

You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.

Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.

See end for Notes

~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI

“My, don’t you look exquisite,” a voice purrs in your ear.

You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.

His heavy hands land on your shoulders. “Don’t muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,” he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, you’re simply predictable. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldn’t have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolf’s jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, because it’s worth a try at least, but he’s laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from it’s depths, watching you.

“Oh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.”

“Your invitation?”

“Yes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.”

“To kill you,” you remind him hoarsely.

He chuckles and takes your hand. “Perhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You haven’t danced all night.”

You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I don’t dance,” you tell him sharply. “Let go of me.”

“You’re a liar,” he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you don’t have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. “You forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your father’s halls? I have seen you dance.”

It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. “You failed to make an impression,” you tell him sharply, although it’s not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.

Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadn’t so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-place’s iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.

“I knew you were mine from the first,” he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. “My lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.” He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. “I’m certain you remember that, at least.”

“Unfortunately.”

“The only unfortunate part,” he says patiently. “Is that I did not take you as my mate that night.”

His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything he’s done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.

The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolf’s eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, you’d probably break your leg, and then you’d be helpless.

“What do you think of our home?” he asks. “Have you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure you’d have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found them already.”

“I have been busy with other preparations,” he says mildly. “But I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.”

You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. “Preparations for what?”

“Your homecoming. The king has made it clear that it’s time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.” He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. “I’ve been too lenient with you.”

“Lenient?” you ask, incredulous. “I’ve been trying to kill you.”

“Those who attempt such things do not usually live long,” he reminds you. “I don’t often show mercy. I’ve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.”

You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you can’t see.

He’s always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with it’s heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.

Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.

You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks. “Stubborn creature.”

He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.

“What are you doing?” you ask numbly.

He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. “Just returning your pin,” he says, smirking. “Why do you seem so flustered, darling?”

“Why don’t you just kill me?” you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know he’s capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. You’ve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if you’d been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You don’t know how to stop anymore, you don’t know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. “I’ll never stop.”

There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. “I never could,” he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. “I begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.”

“I’m not innocent anymore.”

“No, I suppose not. But you’ve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.

“You have it regardless,” he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. “And someday I will earn yours.”

“Never,” you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. “I hate you. I’ll always hate you.”

He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. “If you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?”

“I’m afraid of you,” you snap.

He laughs harshly. “No you’re not. You’ve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.” He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.

But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.

But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolf’s jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that he’d shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.

His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like you’re a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. “You have become worthy of me,” he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. “I would have kept you like a bird in a cage if I’d taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the king’s sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”

“I used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.”

“You killed my father,” you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.

“He was a traitor. I had orders.”

“And what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?” you ask, sneering up at him. “What will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?”

“I’ll never see you again.”

You aren’t sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

“What do you think it means?” He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. “It means I would pluck my own eyes out before I’d kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down I’d stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neck—” He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. “Loyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, he’ll ask another.” He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. “I hope it does not come to even that.”

“But why?”

He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!” he snarls. “You had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what it’s like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.”

“But you let me go,” you say numbly. “You said—”

“Let you go?” He laughs, striding back towards you. “Oh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldn’t kill you does not mean I didn’t try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain I’ve placed upon you. I’ve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.”

“You called it a game—”

He inclines his head towards you. “I did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. It’s good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.” He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. “Besides. We’ve both made our marks upon the other.”

“I’ve gotten you more times than you have me,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously. “Two or three times I really thought I’d finished you off.”

“Are you so certain of that?”

You think about it. “Yes.”

“Care to make a wager, dearest? If you’ve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.”

You draw in a steady breath. “And if I lose?”

He grins. “Not so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you needn’t worry. You can name your own penalty.”

“How magnanimous.”

“I can be,” he says. “Now, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but it’s not revulsion that you feel, it’s something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all it’s legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but it’s only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but it’s winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. “Ah, yes,” you say nervously. “Perhaps somewhere more private.”

“And warmer,” he adds. “As stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.”

As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, you’re struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldn’t be ten years your senior. You suspect it’s much less than that.

It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, stepping in close again. Although you’ve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, he’s full of restless energy, moving away and back again like he’s tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.

You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. “I was just thinking. You look so…” You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.

“Handsome?” he suggested. “Strong? Irresistible?” He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.

“I was going to say young, actually,” you say. “I was wondering what sort of boy you were.”

He holds a hand out to you. “I’m sure there’s a portrait somewhere, if you’re curious. Now come along, pet, I don’t want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.”

You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. It’s been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someone’s hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolf’s. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.

Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, it’s become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.

His fingers close around yours, and you realize that you’ve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and he’s smiling in a way you haven’t seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.

He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.

Despite that small reassurance, you’re grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps it’s that you aren’t on constant guard for the wolf. He’s already here, holding your hand, pretending that he’s not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.

The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder if he feels like he’s won already, but there’s none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that you’ve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.

“Do you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?” he asks.

You laugh. “I was just thinking about it. Why?”

He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. “Do you think you’ll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?”

“That depends on whether or not you tie me up again,” you quip back.

“Don’t say such things,” he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“You’ve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didn’t already have ideas,” you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like you’re old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.

He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. “I live in hope.”

The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isn’t as stark as you’d always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isn’t something that has ever come up before.

The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat you’ve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.

“You have a cat?” you ask, because it seems unlike the picture you’ve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.

“I don’t have a cat,” he corrects you loftily. “Smudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.” He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. “She isn’t usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.”

“I’m not much of an assassin, I’m afraid she’d be terribly disappointed in me. I’ve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.” You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. “I’m sure her record is much more impressive.”

He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. “Have you never taken a life?”

“I’ve tried very hard to avoid it. You’re the only person I ever wanted dead, and I— I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense of…” You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. “Oh I don’t know. Righteousness, I suppose.”

“So sweet that you wanted me to be your first,” he teases.

You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. “Perhaps I still do,” you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. “My first kill— Not— Ugh.” He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Stop laughing!” Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolf’s ears don’t hear you perfectly. “That’s not what I meant!”

He snorts. “I know, pet. It’s a bit late for that, I should think.”

You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Darling.” He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never taken a lover.”

“There was never a good time,” you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when you’d been sorely tempted to share someone’s bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses you’d shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.

He sits back with a groan. “You’re always throwing wrenches into my plans.”

“How on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?” you ask hotly.

“Darling, don’t be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.”

“Too easy!”

“I would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.” He smiles ruefully. “But seduction isn’t fair if you’re a virgin. I’ll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” You stare at him, incredulous. “What, you’re going to court me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. “It’s the long road, but you’ll find I’m usually more than willing to take the scenic route.”

“You’re insane,” you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. “You must be.”

“Must I be? Like you said, I’ve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.” He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. “Do you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? You’ve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, children— Do you want none of those things?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.” He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. “Ugh, I hate wine.”

“I know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass you’ve been waving around.”

“I just wanted to indicate that it wasn’t poisoned.” He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. “Just in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. “I’ve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.”

You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps she’s simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.

You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.

The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechless— getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like you’ve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.

You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you haven’t eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, you’ve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.

“You’re staring,” he says without cracking an eye.

“How would you know? You haven’t opened your eyes in ages.”

“And how would you know that, if you haven’t been staring?”

He has you there. “Alright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about… about before.”

He opens his eyes. “How long? We do have a rather storied history, don’t we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.”

You smirk. “I bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.”

“I was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didn’t have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.”

“You wouldn’t even let me feed myself,” you lament, though you can’t help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. “It was terribly humiliating.”

“Revisionist drivel!” he snarls playfully. “I did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.”

You blink. “I suppose I did.”

He leans closer. “I suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.” He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. “That’s one, by the way.”

“I only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,” you reminded him.

“Ah, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didn’t I? There was just this moment when I touched your lip…” He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadn’t. “Are you still too proud, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. “Will you let me kiss you?” He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Yes.”

At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. “Not so fast, my darling. You’ll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.” He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. “Two and three, respectively,” he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. “You’re a better swordsman than I,” he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. “I might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didn’t you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or I’d have lost far too many good men to your blade.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Is it working?” He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. “This one is my favourite,” he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. “The first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldn’t have made it to a proper healer in time. It’s partially why there’s such a scar. He’s always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jon’s your man.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.”

“It is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,” you say mildly.

“Oh yes, I imagine it is.”

“So is it really just the five scars?” you ask. “That’s all?” Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.

“There’s one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably don’t want me to take my pants off.”

You do want him to take his pants off. “Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you say instead. “I suppose you’ve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.” You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. You’re covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like you’ve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.

The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure you hadn’t imagined it. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

“You’re just trying to get me out of my dress,” you say hotly.

“Obviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.”

You shake your head. “I think you’ll be a bit disappointed.”

“Never. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didn’t erode my affections, what could?”

“Oh I don’t know,” you say thoughtfully. “I could have scales, or a tail—”

“I have a tail,” he reminds you. “And I’m quite positive that you’re human, so I’m not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. “It would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,” you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. “There are so many of them.”

He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. “I’ll have it fixed,” he says hastily. “And I’ll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.”

You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. “I— I don’t want— I won’t stay.”

He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.

“I won’t,” you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They don’t.

“I already told you, darling, I won’t make you stay. It’s up to you.”

He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. You’re riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.

“I wondered if I’d bitten you that night.” He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. “You never turned, so I wasn’t sure.”

“It doesn’t always take,” you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. “I think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. “I can’t say I’ve thought about why some bites take and some don’t. I’m not as observant as you, my love.”

Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. It’s not his observations that are the problem, it’s the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. He’s faced so few consequences in his life that it doesn’t come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake you’ve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if you’d done it all just a little differently.

You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. “This one’s only indirectly your fault,” you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. “When I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.”

He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. It’s just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.

There’s no halting the soft “Oh” that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. There’s no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. “You shouldn’t show me any more,” he tells you. “I find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you won’t stop me if I try.”

You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. “Would that be so bad?”

He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. “I am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.”

You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.

You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.

“Come here, you little minx,” he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when you’ve made so many overtures in such a short time.

You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and there’s no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.

“I rescind my earlier statement,” he says.

“Which one?”

“You don’t have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that you’re too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isn’t fast enough to stop.”

You huff. “Is this your way of asking for another?”

“It’s my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,” he says. “There is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.”

He’s a ridiculous kind of man. You’d always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though you’re the sunrise and set, like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky.

You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. There’s nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.

You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.

The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?

He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.

You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” you admit. You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I don’t see what difference it makes, really.”

“It makes a great deal of difference. I’ve taken enough from you, I don’t want you to regret it.” He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.

Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."

"Darling…"

"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."

"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.

“I know.”

He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but you’re still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.

“Don’t,” he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. “Don’t apologize. You won’t hurt me.”

His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. There’s a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.

He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. “You are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.” He stands in a smooth movement, and you’re untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.

You shed the garment as soon as you’re able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.

He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what you’d find, you’ve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, it’s hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.

“We don’t have to do this, love,” he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. “If you’re nervous—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I want to. I’m just— I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that darling. It’s your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you don’t.” He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. “And if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.”

It sounds so simple, put like that.

“Besides,” he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. “You’ve always been a quick study.”

Well, he’s right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.

He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.

He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. “Do you want more?” he asks. “Can I taste your pretty cunt, darling?”

The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.

A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. He’s doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.

To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what he’s directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.

The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways you’d never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. It’s too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. It’s too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.

If he minds your writhing, he doesn’t show it. You can’t help the sounds he pulls from you, but he’s louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.

His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that you’re surprised you don’t break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm that’s been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You can’t see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.

He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.

You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. “How was that?” he asked.

There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but they’re beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.

“Only nice, hm? I suppose I’ll have to work harder.”

“Better than nice,” you assure him. “I— I liked it a lot.” It’s still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

He does, after a long moment. “Are you ready for more?”

“There’s more?” you ask. “Or— for you? Do you want me to—”

“No, there’s no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.” He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.

You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. There’s no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.

The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. “Hello, pretty thing,” he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well you’re taking him, how good you feel around his cock.

Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.

He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until you’re shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that you’re certain you’ll leave permanent marks.

He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesn’t pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.

His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Sex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once you’re both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.

You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like he’s had his fill of you. There’s a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and now…

He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. “You’re too far away,” he tells you, voice a warm purr. “And you’re thinking too much.”

It’s still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.

“What happens now?” you ask at last. “Do we go our separate ways?”

Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. “If that’s what you want.” His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. “Is that what you want?”

There’s raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldn’t work so hard to hide his feelings if he didn’t care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.

The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him won’t bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldn’t admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.

It’s so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, you’re not sure you mind.

“I’d like to stay,” you say at last.

He’s on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. It’s hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.

In the end, with all the history between the two of you, what’s one more mess?

It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)

C. T. Cutter

(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)

Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune

#Cave Writing #original works #enemies to lovers but in a you can't hate someone without also loving them way #in a “I keep my nemesis' picture in a locket around my neck” way #Night of the Wolf #OC: Cat #OC: Valter #This is the sort of work that can happen when you dare to ask the question “What if Rahul Kohli was a hot werewolf?”#This is pretty much my one year writing and posting fanfiction-aversary! How time flies #I've written more this year than the previous 4 combined and it's been so much fun #And I've learned a lot #especially about putting myself out there #Writing other works definitely stretches a different muscle but fanfiction helps with dialogue and characters and writing sex lmao #I have sooooo many stories that stop right before a sex scene because I used to be so bad at writing it #But now? I'm all over it #Anyway these tags are not helpful to anyone I am just dithering to delay posting at this point #It's written in second POV because I was in the monster romance circles before the COD circles and it's popular there too #but I was never brave enough to post anything anyway lmao #Thanks for helping me be brave!#monster romance #but only kind of because when werewolves aren't actively shifted they're just some guy #He spends a lot more time being wolfy in the actual novel

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runningincircl3s · 23 hours ago

Text

Nothing Ever After

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Vinny Mauro

Chapter Seventeen

masterlist

chapter warnings: alcohol, SMALL SMUT WARNING (through a flashback), reader singing just pretend, subtle foreshadowing through the songs...

this is just a fun and super silly filler chapter! bad omens want to keep their cool and mysterious reputation but ik these guys are lovers of fun, also i wrote this chapter when i was soo tired so reading this back honestly felt like a fever dream

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The bar was pretty lively tonight, the constant hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, along with a lingering smell of alcohol as you stood at the bar and ordered another margarita before asking Noah if he'd like another drink

“I’ll have a pepsi.” He smiled, looking up from his phone.

“One margarita and a pepsi…” The bartender nodded, adding it to Noah’s tab.

“I just told the guys we’re here, they're already on their way,” Noah mentioned, leaning against the bar as you waited for your drinks.

The two of you had already been here for about half an hour. It’s been nice to spend time with him away from the others and somewhere that isn’t a hotel room or empty tour bus.

“You sure it's okay for them to join us?"

“Yeah of course, I thought that was the plan anyway.” You smiled, glancing at your phone as you waited for the bartender to return with your drinks. You had been hoping for a text from Vinny, maybe an apology, but so far, nothing.

“So," Noah asked as you were given your drinks, "How was your weekend?"

“It was fine,” you said, putting your phone down on the bar, “Vinny’s parents were lovely, and I made sure I got plenty of pictures for them.”

“I didn’t know you and Vin were even that close,” Noah says, raising an eyebrow, “Wasn't it kind of weird?”

“Not at all, anyway his parents invited me, didn't they. Vinny and I are pretty good friends, I guess you just don’t see us around each other that often.” And you wonder why that is.

“Well, after seeing you two the other week I’d say he might have a crush on you,” Noah smirked, “I don’t blame him.”

You almost choked on your drink, holding back laughter.

“A crush? What are we, seven?” You scoffed, “I don’t see him like that at all, he's just a good friend.”

“Vinny please! Fuck, you’re the only thing on my mind when I’m with Noah, there's nothing between us… Not when this is all I think about!”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, your words only egging him on as he lifts your legs over his shoulder, his cock hitting deeper than it ever had. He looked even more beautiful like this, the sweat beading on his forehead, the hair hanging over his eyes as he leaned down, his lips attaching to your neck, “I bet you wanna moan my name too… Oh what would he do if he ever found out you're my pretty whore, sweetheart.”

You tried to push away the thoughts that came flooding back from last night, you also tried to stop thinking about Vinny so much as you were with Noah tonight. Between the silence on the drive home and the way he spoke to you in his hotel room, you realised your feelings towards him probably weren't as reciprocated as you were led to believe.

“Hey it’s your birthday next month, right?” Noah asked, noticing how you had gone silent.

“Yep,” you smiled, “I’m not telling you the date though. I don’t want anyone making a fuss, and Bry knows how I’d feel if he ever told anyone.”

“Okay,” Noah chuckles, “I was just asking.”

“There you guys are!” You heard Folio before you spotted him, with Matt, Jolly, Nicholas and Bryan.

“So... When does karaoke start?” Jolly asked, clapping his hands together, noticing how nobody was singing yet.

“I’m pretty sure it’s already started-”

“Since when? You could’ve told me, Noah!” You gasped, smiling at Jolly as you took his hand, “Can we do a duet?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

"We're gonna play 8-ball, we'll watch from over there!" Folio called out as you and Jolly walked up to the makeshift stage.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What’s the sense in sharing, this one and only life.” You sang into the microphone, getting caught up in the energy with a wide smile on your face as you looked over at Jolly, who was reading the words off of the screen.

“Ending up just another lost and only wife.” Jolly sang, “You count up the years.”

“And they will be filled with tears” You sang together.

“Love only breaks up to start over again!”

“You’ll get the baby, but you won’t have your man…” Jolly seemed to be a little off, you chuckled to yourself as you assumed he didn’t know the song too well.

“While he is busy loving every woman that he can… Uh huh!”

This was easily the most fun you’ve had the whole tour, as you were catching your breath you spot Matt leaving the guys and making his way over to the two of you, looking ready to join in.

“Young hearts run free! They’ll never be hung up, hung up like my man and me!” The three of you sang, Matt leaned towards you to share the mic, as s couple people in the bar cheered for all of you, and you saw Noah singing along with a grin on his face.

As you three continued to sing the rest of the song, you kept motioning for Noah to join in, or one of the other guys, but they all shook their head- even Folio which surprised you the most.

When the song ended, you noticed no one else was eager to get up next and sing, so you took a sip of your drink and promised the small "audience" an encore. You scanned the song list, hoping to pick one you knew Noah would join you in.

Then you saw it, the perfect song. You turned to Noah, watching his expression change as the music started.

“Come on, Noah!” you smiled, “Just this one?”

His smile was slow but inevitable, though he shook his head, looking down at the ground. Anyone watching would have thought he was a little embarrassed. A faint blush coloured his cheeks as you pouted, calling out again.

“Please!” You pleaded, “...Do it for Cher!”

Somehow, whatever you did managed to convince him and he said whispered something to Nicholas before slipping his phone in his pocket and began walking over to you. As he approached, you noticed how good he looked tonight, even in a simple pair of black joggers and a matching t-shirt. Maybe it was his hair, he’d clearly styled it differently tonight. It was growing out again, and you couldn’t help but hope he’d let it keep growing.

“No matter how hard I try… You keep pushing me aside and I can’t break through! There’s no talking to you…” You bobbed along to the music as you sang, a wide grin on your face as Noah picked up the other microphone.

“It’s so sad that you’re leaving,” he joined in, “It takes time to believe it, but after all is said and done, you’re gonna be the lonely one.”

“Do you believe in life after love.”

“I can feel something inside me say…”

“I really don’t think you’re strong enough!”

“Do you believe in life after love!”

Noah knew the song so much better than you, which didn’t surprise you at all. You thought back to the night by his pool when he told you about his love for Cher, explaining how a fan had gifted him the Cher shirt he wore all the time.

“I don’t need you anymore!” Noah sang, trying not to laugh.

“No, I don’t need you anymore!” You matched his energy, grinning.

After the song ended, you both bowed dramatically to the small handful of people in the bar who were enjoying the show you were putting on. You couldn’t help but smile contently as Noah threw his arm around your shoulder, walking back to the guys. You noticed Folio raised an eyebrow.

“Who knew you could sing like that?” Noah chuckled, taking a sip of his drink as you both sat down opposite the pool table, it was currently Ruffilo's turn.

“Yeah well compared to you-”

“Well, if you two are gonna keep flirting, me and Bryan want to see if they have 'don't stop believing'.” Folio announced with a grin.

“We're not-”

“It’s okay,” Noah patted your knee, “He’s not wrong is he.” He smirked, and you hid your smile as you took a sip of your drink, finishing yet another margarita.

"So, y/n," Bryan cleared his throat, "How was your weekend?"

"Why does everyone keep asking?" The words left your mouth quicker than you intended, sharper than you meant for them to be. "It was fine."

"Did something happen?" Jolly asked after a moment of silence, concern in his eyes as he noticed how the question clearly pissed you off.

It only pissed you off because it reminded you of him.

"Oh, no not at all!" You shake your head, "It was fun, I just, uh, everyone keeps asking me but I was just there to take pictures. I was working." You said, almost trying to convince yourself.

"What do you think about Vin?" Bryan asked, "I didn't realise you guys were even friends."

It was as if the guys all shared one single braincell between them.

"That's because I wasn't there as his friend, Bry," You were so thankful the only two of the guys who knew about your situation with Vinny weren't here at this moment, "I think he's a great guy, we're good friends but his parents specifically asked if I could come because they wanted a photographer."

"But, wait isn't his sister a-"

“Oh my God they’re really doing it,” Nicholas laughed, pointing over at Nick and Matt, “And they’ve only had one beer!”

“Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world! She took the midnight train going anywhere!” Folio sang and you tried to contain your laughter, he looked so happy to be up there, bless him.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit… He took the midnight train going anywhere!” Matt sang, nodding his head as he read the lyrics off the screen.

You couldn’t help but crack up at Nick’s air guitaring, followed by the way Matt looked so passionately at him as they sang together.

However, your attention was drawn back as Noah’s phone started to ring. But, to your surprised, he took one look at the contact which happened to be ‘Toby (Sumerian)’ and he didn't hesitate as he flipped his phone over.

“Weren’t you supposed to answer that?” You asked, and he thought for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, not tonight,” he sneakily wrapped an arm around you as you felt his hand rest on your waist, “I’m here having a night off with my friends, with you.”

He kissed your forehead, and suddenly your cheeks were hot, a rush of warmth spread through you. It had been so long since you’d felt like this with Noah, so long since the Noah you’d fallen for had shown up. But tonight, it was like he had come back.

You noticed Nicholas giving you two the side eye, his lips curling up into a teasing smirk, but you chose to ignore this.

As Nick and Matt finished their song, you had an idea that you knew the guys would hate you for, but one which would be quite funny. You would need to sneak away from them- maybe pretend to go the bathroom. You wouldn't do it yet, you'd wait a little while first, maybe have a couple more drinks first.

"Wow," was all you could say as Matt and Folio returned, "We need your guys' vocals on the next album!"

"I've been saying that for years, y/n. They just won't listen." Folio sighed dramatically, "Anyone want another drink?"

"Please." You smiled, the rest of the guys shook their heads in response, their glasses still full.

You checked your phone again, still no text from Vinny. You wondered if you should text first, but held yourself back.

"So," you put your phone back down and look up at Noah, "What did you get up to whilst I was gone?"

"Not much..." He thinks for a moment, and you noticed he gave Bryan a look before saying, "Me and Matt went to the gym... Uh, yeah that's pretty much it."

You watched as Nick returned with drinks for him and yourself, placing yours down on the table before he sat down with his.

"Well, I went fishing and caught a..." Folio lost you as he began explaining the fish he caught, how he had never caught one of them before and how rare it is. You just smile and nodded your head, it was quite wholesome to hear him talk so passionately about his hobby.

"That's so cool!" You smiled, despite not understanding a word he said.

The guys all talked, and you occasionally joined in, but as you finished your drink you thought now would be the perfect time to execute your plan.

"I need to pee." You said to Noah, "Can you look after my stuff?"

"Of course." He smiled, and you got up from your seat and headed to the bathroom.

However, as you returned, instead of going back to the group, you made a beeline to the karaoke stage. A couple of young girls were belting out a song when you approached, and you patiently waited and cheered for them as they finished. As you searched for the next song, you could feel the anticipation building inside you, this was your moment.

You were almost certain they wouldn't have this song, and you were right, but you knew all the words so all you needed was the backing track and you were good to go.

As the music began to play out of the speaker, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline mix with the alcohol in your veins, making you giddy with excitement. Your smile was wide, and you couldn’t suppress it as you picked up the mic. You glanced over at the guys, who had no idea what was coming. They were all busy talking, unaware that you were about to take them by surprise.

“I’m not afraid of the war I’ve come to wage against my sins…”

Their reactions were priceless. You couldn't contain your laughter as you saw the pure terror on Noah’s face, the way Folio's smile quickly faded, Ruffilo's eyes widening in fear and the way Matt, Bryan and Jolly all burst out laughing.

“I’m not okay… But I can try my best to just pretend, so will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out… So will you wait me out…" You began to really feel the music, bouncing up and down as you sang, "Or will you drown me out?! I can wait for you at the bottom! I can stay away if you want me- Noah what are you doing?” You giggle as he takes the microphone from you, cutting the music and beginning to lead you away from the stage.

“You’re drunk,” he chuckled, “C’mon it’s probably time we leave now.”

“But I didn’t thank them!” You pouted as he puts his hoodie that he brought with him over your head, letting you slip your arms in.

“Thank who?”

“My audience.”

“You mean the two old guys eyeing you up?”

“Exactly!” You giggled, feeling Noah’s arm wrap around you as he walked back to the guys.

“I think I’ll get y/n to bed and make sure she has some water. See you tomorrow guys.” He chuckles, collecting your things as you wave to the guys.

The group gave their goodbyes, and Noah led you out of the bar, his arm protectively wrapped around you as you stumbled slightly, leaning into him for support. The cool night air hit your face, and you smiled up at Noah, feeling an odd sense of calm settle over you.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight, Noah.” You tell him, holding onto his arm as you walk together.

“Yeah? Me too, I’ve actually been able to switch off from work for the night, and I don’t think I’ve done karaoke in about 10 years!”

“You do karaoke every other night on tour!” You laugh, “Have I ever told you how much I love your voice?”

“Uh…” Noah thinks, “No I don’t think so.”

“I fucking love your voice...” Your words slur as you mumble, “You’re unreal!”

“Well, thank you,” he grinned, clearly entertained by your drunken honesty. “And your rendition of Cher? It was... unique.”

“Hey we could be Sonny and Cher for halloween!”

“Really? I’d rather not spend my birthday with a moustache.”

“You’d look hot with a moustache!” You blurted out, without any hesitation.

“I’ll have to disagree with you there, angel.” He laughed.

“Yeah me too.... you always look fucking hot.”

Noah couldn’t help but chuckle at how open you were being right now, but they do say drunk words are sober thoughts.

“And you always look beautiful.”

Your steps faltered for a moment, and you suddenly stopped walking, catching his gaze under the streetlight. His words seemed to hang in the air between you.

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?” He says, “Y'know, you always look best in the morning when we have to rush you out of your room on to the bus, , the messy hair, old stained pjs, grandma slippers-”

“Bastard!” You smack his chest, “I value my comfort over anything, thank you.”

“And that's what I love about you y/n… You just don’t care. You’re real, and that’s something that’s so rare to come by these days. That's part of the reason why I gave up on dating," He confesses, "But then you came along again, I've always wanted to get to know you better since the time we first met, it was my idea for you to join us on this tour-”

“Really?” You ask once more, feeling a lump in the back of your throat at his words, “Noah I-”

“I wasn’t finished,” he chuckles, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you, “I was worried whilst you were away with Vin this weekend-”

“Fuck Vinny!” You spat out, the anger suddenly flaring up in your chest. But he shook his head, cutting you off.

“My point is,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I don��t want to hide anymore. If you think we have something real, I think we should give it a shot... I know I shouldn’t be telling you this now, because you’ll probably forget everything by the morning, but I can’t keep pretending like this. I don’t know how much longer I can go without you, y/n. I feel terrible about the way I’ve been acting lately. I never realise how much I hurt people until it’s too late, and you’re the last person I ever want to hurt.”

You were stunned, unable to find the words to respond. His sincerity hit you like a wave, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear.

You suddenly reached up, pulling him down to your level, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was unexpected, but it felt right, and for a few seconds, the chaos of everything else faded away.

When you pulled away, your breath coming in shallow gasps, you suddenly turned, feeling a wave of nausea hit you.

“Y/n are you okay?” He asked, rubbing his hand on your back as you bent over.

“No… I think I’m gonna be sick…” You whispered, feeling his hands move to hold your hair back.

“Think you can wait until we get back to the hotel?” He asks softly.

“Maybe…” You breathe in and out slowly, “Just don’t make me walk too fast.”

That’s okay,” he chuckled, his arm steadying you. “Let’s go and get you to bed.”

"Yeah..."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“C’mon,” Noah says as he pushes your door open, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I’m so tired.” You mumble, sitting on the edge of your bed, barely able to keep your eyes open.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, crouching down in front of you with a soft pout. He carefully slips your shoes off, his touch surprisingly tender. “But trust me, you’ll feel so much better in the morning if you let me take care of you tonight.”

“Okay…” You sigh, trying to keep your eyes open as he searches your room for your pyjamas.

“Can you dress yourself?” He asked, setting the tshirt and shorts down next to you on your bed.

“Can you help me?” You asked, picking the shirt up to find it’s inside out.

Noah smiles gently.

“Of course,” he says, taking the shirt from your hand and flipping it the right way around before helping you out of your clothes. His hands are steady and he remains respectful as he slips his fingers under the hem of your shirt, lifting it carefully. There’s a quiet intensity to the way he helps you, his gaze never straying from your face as he helps you step out of your jeans.

You don’t mind the intimacy of the moment. It felt strangely comforting.

When you’re in nothing but your underwear, he picks up the band t-shirt you’ve stolen from Bryan all those years ago. He pulls it over your head with a soft chuckle as you mutter nonsense.

Once you were dressed, he led you to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You couldn’t help but giggle as he sat you on the toilet and tied your back, pumping some of your cleanser onto his hands and carefully massaging it into your face.

“Since when were you into skincare?” You smiled.

“...How’d you know?” He questions.

“You knew what the cleanser was for.” He chuckles as he runs a cloth under warm water and begins wiping it off your face.

“Maybe I like to take care of my skin too.”

“I love your skin.” You mumble, getting up and reaching for your toothbrush.

As you got into your bed, Noah grabbed a bottle of water from the mini bar and handed it to you, telling you to have at least three sips before going to sleep.

“Thank you, Noah.” You smile as you pulled the covers over you, getting comfy as you let your eyes shut.

“For what?” He chuckled, fixing a strand of hair that had fallen over your eyes.

“Tonight… It’s been fun…" You mumble as your eyes fall shut, "Even if you did have to look after me…”

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before, angel.” He smiled, noticing how peaceful you looked as you fell asleep, “Sweet dreams.”

As he moved to get up from his place beside you on your bed, he heard your phone vibrate from it’s place on the nightstand. He knew he shouldn’t, but he looked over anyway in case it was something important, but he furrowed his eyebrows as he looked and saw it was a text.

From Vinny?

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

@rumoured-whispers @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lma1986 @thisbicc @dominuslunae @miss570 @miamore0570 @jilliemiw86 @itsyaboinoah @kait16xo @discocowgirly

#nothing ever after <3 #noah sebastian x reader #vinny mauro x reader #vinny mauro fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic #motionless in white fanfic #vinny mauro #noah sebastian

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m4xgirlie · 2 days ago

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A Surprising Invite

Chapter 1: Max’s POV

HA! you think i’d write their first meeting from one POV? you’re mistaken my dear! word count: 2,454

Max was openly staring, but he felt like he couldn’t help it. His gaze had landed on the raven wing haired woman across the paddock, sitting at a table on a raised patio, and it was like he couldn’t help himself. As the golden light of the slowly setting sun danced across her features, he gaped, wondering in astonishment if she actually existed. He was drawn to her, and not just because she was beautiful, but because something about her called to him like a siren song. Max wondered to himself if this is what his mother meant about hearing a song coming from his soulmate. Apparently all of the men on his mothers side of the family had this experience when they found the woman they were meant to be with. His mother had called it a ‘gift.’ Ever since Max arrived at the Las Vegas paddock, he heard it, desperately trying to find its source, but now staring at her, the song was at its loudest.

“You good, man?” Max heard Sergio ask from behind him, snapping him out of the trance-like state he felt he’d been resting in. It took effort to tear his eyes away, the song dulling only slightly as he did. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman across the paddock was the source of the music.

“Yeah, just- I think I’m supposed to talk to her.” Max muttered as he looked back at the mysterious woman, gesturing to her as he watched her nearly frantically scribbling in a notebook. Max watched for a moment, suddenly struck with a feeling of extreme curiosity to know what she was writing, the air around her electrified as she wrote. Sergio must have noticed this as he shrugged and began walking towards her. Max panicked, quickly breaking into a run to catch up with him.

“What are you doing?!” He hissed lowly as he tried to stop Sergio, glancing at her as Sergio strode with purpose.

“You want to talk to her, I want to see what she’s writing, plenty of the pit crew have stopped to watch already without her noticing. She won’t notice us.” He commented as he continued forward on his mission to the woman who was oblivious to the two men approaching. As they got closer, they slowed down, not wanting to unknowingly draw her attention to themselves as they made their steps slightly lighter. Max felt a pleasurable hum cross over his skin as they came to a halt behind her, peering around her. As the two stood and watched over her shoulders, they saw elaborate drawings of the chassis from all angles, not just for Redbull, but all of the teams. In the margins and remaining space, she had notes and equations crammed in. ‘Was she an engineer?’ Max wondered to himself.

Sergio tapped his shoulder gently, gesturing for them to return to the garage. Max nodded and with a final glance at her flighty hand, turned and followed his teammate. As they got to the garage, one of their pit men passed, casual in his stride. This gave Sergio a fun idea.

“Josh!” He called to the man, causing him to backtrack and peek around the door.

“‘Sup Checo?” Josh asked easily.

“Need a favor. Go to the woman over there with her face buried in a notebook. Ask her to come over and look at the chassis, then abandon her with Max and I.” Once again, Max panicked, groaning deeply.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, please don’t.” Max asked hastily, his eyes meeting Josh’s in pleading. This response only sparked mischief in Josh’s eyes, and without a word he began to walk steadily toward the woman who had just stretched up and opened a Redbull can. Sergio looked at Max pointedly, also noticing the Redbull.

‘This has to be some sort of joke from fate.’ Max thought to himself. He groans into his hands and walks over to the opening where he can watch Josh approach the woman on the patio. As Josh approached her, she seemed to groan, making Josh stiffen slightly. He said something to her that made her remove an earbud and wave at him apologetically. She made a comment that he chuckled at before his response made her smile easily and nod. Josh seemed to continue, a look of confusion crossing her face as she looked at her outfit. Max groaned again, praying for Josh to not be stupid before continuing to watch just in time to notice a blush dust its way from her neck to her cheeks. He watched in awe as she let her hair fall, itched at her scalp, and then placed it back into a loosely held ponytail with a claw clip securing it in place. She grinned down at him before shutting her notebook, grabbing her purse and her drink, and descending the patio stairs.

“Here she comes, now relax.” Sergio grinned at the man next to the door. Max shook his head and strode to the other side of the garage, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly anxious as he listened to the song grow louder as she approached. Max heard Josh call out to them and tell then the team needed him for something, and for the men to take care of the woman he’s now abandoning with them. He heard Josh chuckle softly as he walked away and mentally cursed his existence.

He opened his eyes as he hears a small squeak, watching as she looks quickly to Josh in a panic. Before he can think too much about it, a gentle smile is in place as she looks back to the racers, outstretching a hand in greeting.

“Raela Perenzi, most of my friends call me Rye, It’s a complete honor to meet both of you.” Her voice is level, a gentle sound that Max then and there decided is his favourite. He can’t help but notice the gentle shaking in her hands and offer a warm smile, taking her hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze. He gasps softly, attempting to stay quiet as he began to feel a sharp static that wasn’t quite electricity slowly creep its way up his arm. He notices her eyebrows scrunch for a second before she seems to brush off whatever speculation she has. ‘She’s perceptive’ He realizes dazedly as their hands release.

She walked over to Sergio then, and Max felt a sudden cold where the static had been. As she grasped Sergio’s hand, Max watched her eyebrows furrow, her head tilting softly to the side.

“You look like you need something to drink. If you’d like, I can go grab you some water right quick?” She offered kindly, an easiness in her tone that had an undercurrent of persuasion. He watched her carefully as Sergio scoffed at her.

“You are a guest, you shouldn’t run errands for drivers. Enjoy your time here.” He said easily, smirking at her as their hands released. As they did, Max felt an uneasiness he hadn’t even been aware of lift from his chest, causing him to rub at the lingering sensation. Raela smirked at Sergio before walking over to a water cooler, grabbing a cup and filling it before she walked back to him, tapping it to his shoulder.

“This guest just had the random honor of meeting two of the greatest racers in the world. If I have a chance to run even simple errands for you two during downtime, it’s a chance I’ll take.” Her voice held meaning, her smile gentle. Max couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You’re a lot more level headed than most fans would be right now.” He smirks at her, looking up at her through his lashes as he tilts his head inquisitively. Raela giggles loudly.

“Yeah, that’s courtesy of a great day job mask that forcibly blocks out even an ounce of social anxiety.” She quips quickly, causing Max to laugh deeply. He watched as she relaxed further, looping a thumb into her pocket before allowing the other arm to drop to her side.

Soon, Sergio lifted his voice again. “So Raela, how long have you been watching F1?” He asked her, smiling as she looks down at him from her position standing next to the couch he sat on.

“Oh, for as long as I can remember honestly. I found it one day while my mom was scrolling channels looking for the morning cartoons I usually watched. When I heard the first zings of the engines passing the cameras and then the different pitches as the drivers dropped their clutch or switched gears, I was just enraptured. I wouldn’t let my mom change the channel again. I think I was maybe 3 or 4?” She looked deeply lost in thought as she spoke, a wistful smile gracing her lips. Max noticed her eyes held sadness, and for a moment all he wanted to know was why?

He thought to himself for a moment before speaking up. “I hate to be rude, but how old are you now?” He asks her in a gentle manner, looking at her in curiosity. Max watches as the blush slowly creeps its way back up her neck, catching himself smirking.

“I’m 21, about to be 22 just before the start of the 2025 season.” She chuckles nervously, shifting her feet as she scratches at her neck. Sergio and Max stared at each other in surprise. She looks between them, caution in her eyes.

“Am I missing something?” She asks hesitantly, looking like she might run. Max assumed she was most likely 25 just by her demeanor. Before he can voice this, Sergio beats him to it.

“I genuinely thought you were only 16. You looked incredibly young.” Max chokes as he says this, glaring at him as if to ask ‘what the fuck.’ They hear a bark of laughter before cackling follows it. He looks up to see her, and was struck silent as he did. She seemed to be glowing, radiating in positive energy. He wanted nothing more than to be the reason for it.

“Oh, well thank you!! But no, I’m 21 and actually a single mother, so I will absolutely take 16 as a compliment right now.” She visibly relaxes again. ‘A single mother?’ Max thinks. ‘Who would leave her behind in such a way?’ He watched her carefully as she began to take in her surroundings, studying everything. Her stance begins to turn antsy as she gently bounces from foot to foot almost subconsciously. Max realized she may be looking for Josh from the pit crew. He wondered if she was genuinely that intrigued by the chassis before remembering the diagrams he’d seen sketched across those pages held in her hand.

He smirked to himself and walked over to the water cooler, grabbing himself a cup and taking a sip as he asked the question. “Looking for Josh?” She seemed to hesitate before responding, her voice almost distant.

“Yeah I am. He said he and some of the other crew members wanted me to take a look, maybe offer suggestions about the chassis.” She turned her head around, studying the garage closely. Before Max can respond once again, Sergio makes a quick quip.

“He actually asked you over here cause he was curious about you.” He points to Max as she looks at him. Max starts to choke on his water, glaring over at Sergio as he coughed, wishing that for once looks could kill. They both look at Raela as she rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“Yeah right. Max Verstappen, 27 year old most badass dutchman who drives for Oracle Redbull Racing in Formula 1 asked for a member of his pit crew to invite me, Raela Perenzi, 21 year old kind of american who’s simply a single mom and paralegal to the pit zone so he could meet her. If that’s reality, I must be living in a Tumblr fan-fiction. Nice prank, Checo.” She giggles softly, smiling as she continues to examine the space.

As she’s turned away, Sergio and Max look at each other in surprise. Most women would jump on a chance to flirt with an F1 driver. This one was genuinely more intrigued with getting a good look at their cars, believing herself to be too plain to have a chance. And what felt even worse to Max is that she seemed to be perfectly okay with that perception. His chest squeezed, his mind racing with the thoughts of hurting whoever had convinced her she wasn’t the embodiment of a goddess. He catches himself, surprised at his thoughts as he clears his throat, looking over at her. As Max watched, she seemed to move with this unexplainable grace, turning in circles, her eyes putting her surroundings under excruciating examination.

“He was telling the truth.” Max voiced after a moment, watching her stop and slowly turn to stare at him. Wonder, surprise, and confusion clear in her features, he prayed she wouldn’t freak out. She scoffed, disbelief still seated deep in her pale green eyes. Max only looked deeper and noticed they weren’t only green, but there was also a deep grey close to the pupil. Checo nodded in response to her scoff, and she just stared at him.

“You mean that.” She spoke, her words less of a question and more of a statement.

“I saw you and thought you looked extremely interesting, and found myself wanting to know you.” Max replied easily, only a moment of hesitation before he spoke. Raela took a moment to let the words sink in. “Let me get your number? I’d like to get to know you.” Max asked gently, hoping she’d go for it. She pauses, thinking to herself before she begins to nod.

“You get my number.” She said, a grin blossoming across the man’s face. But before he can walk over to her to pass her his phone, she continues. “On one condition. I get to look at the chassis with you showing me everything.” She finalizes, looking over to Max with a smirk. He can’t stop the laugh that escapes as he nods enthusiastically to her, passing her his phone as he began guiding her over to where his chassis was sitting, glancing as she dialed her number into his device. Sergio could tell as he watched them walk away that the two would have great chemistry, and as Max stood next to the chassis explaining things to Raela before clearly hearing her ideas, he just hoped Max could win Raela over, having gotten the notion that her heart was heavily guarded.

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all-pacas · 2 days ago

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i mentioned this in the notes but. you know what. let's add it to this insanity: the way cameron ties into this. the way chase is absolutely, positively sure with her. for the first time in his life, with all his doubts and all his attempts to be good and obedient and do what he's told and follow the script of god, of his father, he… falls in love. and he's sure.

CHASE: You have doubts. CAMERON: And you don’t? CHASE: No. CAMERON: Well, that’s… naïve. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you. That’s how I feel right now. But I don’t… know. CHASE: I’ll wait until you do. CAMERON: I can’t know. No one knows. CHASE: I do.

ten years from now, he says. he has no doubts, he's absolutely sure, probably for the first time in his life: this is his path, he's figured it out, he knows, and six months later it's over. (no wonder, btw. no wonder chase doesn't seriously date again after this. not because of cameron, exactly: because of what all that meant and represented. another attempt at defining his life and finding direction, and it didn't even last a year.)

by s7 and s8, house pretty regularly accuses chase of being afraid of intimacy, of sleeping around to avoid relationships and connections. chase was presented as a flirt before this, but not that.

he falls immediately for moira, the nun, someone also struggling with guilt (the boy she nannied died, she blames herself) and faith and who wants desperately to find meaning, to find purpose. it was a rebound, chase seems to admit house is correct on that front, but that doesn't mean it wasn't real, that moira wasn't a mirror to his every internalized struggle. he tells her he was married once, that he can do relationships.

MOIRA: I tried the outside world. It wasn't enough. CHASE: Ever been married? MOIRA: No. CHASE: No kids. You never found a career. Doesn't sound like the outside world got much of a try. What you're headed towards now, fourteen hours a day in silent prayer, never having a family, never touching another human being. MOIRA: Just because that's what you'd miss the most. The nurses talk. CHASE: Nothing's wrong with having fun. MOIRA: They said you were almost killed three weeks ago. You go right back to fun? CHASE: Is that why you wanna be a nun? Someone broke your heart? MOIRA: No. I'm just looking for something more. CHASE: So am I.

no marriage. no kids. no family. "nothing wrong with having fun," he says, but plenty of other episodes explicitly say he finds sleeping around boring, he is bored on his date later this episode, it isn't fun.

HOUSE: Or you're terrified of intimacy, which is why you're a serial slut. But right now you're grasping at an emotional life raft. Ideally someone for whom intimacy's not an option. That actually makes sense, which I can't say about anything else you've been doing.

honestly, has chase ever really had much of the 'outside world?' he's probably known he would be a doctor since he was a child. he doesn't hate it, but did he ever have a chance to consider anything else? he has a career, but in this episode he's doubting and regretting it. in the last episode, he looks scared, not proud, to have his name on the door. he's not unhappy. i really don't think he is. but he's never had much choice either. he doesn't have any of the things he tells moira she'll want, either.

and yes it is all tied together. the constant searching and longing for meaning and purpose. moira has it. he doesn't. the one brief window chase did have meaning and purpose and what he wanted (family, intimacy, love, certainty) slammed shut, and continues to affect and fuck with him for years after; he's still reacting to it even now. ("i was married," he assures moira. "i can do relationships.") insane

Okay need to make a post entirely about chase being insane about religion. Chase's endless religious cycling. how badly and desperately and clearly he wants to believe, how much he wants faith and god, and how he can never quite - make it. Never quite get there. How he openly admires and defends the faith of others, faith and prayer as concepts, how he turns to confession in a crisis, how he still has large parts of the bible committed to memory, how he never answers any questions about his faith, if he believes in God, if anything.

In Damned If You Do, he shares his favorite bible verse with the nun. The episode itself paraphrases it a little, but the verse he mentions reads:

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.

(you will suffer. it will be so hard. you will be tested. gold can be melted and your faith is more valuable, and if you keep trying, you will be rewarded, you will.)

(AUGUSTINE: Why did you leave the seminary? CHASE: That test. You passed, I failed.)

Here Kitty:

PATIENT: Do you want to tell me what an idiot I'm being? CHASE: No. I really believe that there are things that science can't understand. That there is a role for faith and prayer. But it's in the waiting room. Not the O.R. PATIENT: There's a reason I got sick. There's a reason for all the bad things that have happened to me. I don't know what that reason is. But I know that if there isn't one… If there's no greater purpose in the world. Then it's not a world I want to live in. CHASE: I'll schedule an operating room.

House Training:

CHASE: You want to go get drunk? FOREMAN: No thanks. I’ve got paperwork. CHASE: Listen, I don’t… I don’t know what I believe, but sometimes I need to think there’s something out there paying attention. So when I can’t talk to anybody, I talk to God, and pretend somebody’s listening. We were all wrong, Foreman. Even House was wrong. FOREMAN: I know.

He leaves the chapel in Damned if You Do. He prays for the baby in Forever. He gives the woman in Here Kitty her risky surgery; he defends the faith healer and Wilson's girlfriend's faith in House vs. God.

House vs. God:

HOUSE: When you were in seminary, did God ever talk to you? CHASE: …No.

Chase:

I always wanted to believe. It would have made my life a lot easier. It never took.

(AUGUSTINE: You told me your favorite passage. Would you like to hear mine? “Celebrate and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again.” CHASE: …The prodigal son.)

#robert chase #malpractice posting

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markcampbells · 2 days ago

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"That all sounds excellent." Milly smiles easily enough that to cause one isn't all that hard, but Meryl delights in doing it anyway. "But I hope you didn't think I needed you going to the extra effort of those vegetables? The risotto and the salad were lovely on their own…" "Oh, I knew you liked them; you said so. I just thought maybe it wouldn't hurt to do something special for your birthday." The thank you that is about to slip out instinctually is quickly overridden by a fortunately brief stunned silence. "You know it's my birthday?" Meryl asks, when she's recovered some words. Meryl is surprised when Milly's offer for them to have dinner at her apartment leads to her first real celebration of her birthday in a long time. content warnings: There are references to Meryl having been bullied in the past due to her neurodivergence, and further allusions similar to the first chapter to her experiences with acephobic remarks. Meryl has tension with her mother stemming from compulsory heterosexuality; Meryl and Milly discuss societal expectations in that regard. Milly makes passing mentions to prior experiences with cruel remarks about her size and appetite, and how that led to her being reluctant to eat around others. My Milly is also dyslexic (not explicitly stated here) and there are some nods to her being worried about how she'll be perceived, as such.

Hello hello, Trigun fandom! At long last, I have posted the second chapter of my originally-a-oneshot Meryl & Milly fic I wrote for Ace Trigun Week. I hope folks who enjoy their dynamic will have fun giving it a look!

(n.b.: While I write Meryl as biromantic and Milly as sapphic, this fic will remain a friendship fic, as that was always the intended focus of the piece. I hope that people who ship them, and I do myself, will find plenty to enjoy regardless. I care deeply about this dynamic getting the respect and attention it deserves, but hope to give some more love to queer friendship stories and the value of the girls being each other's person without that bond necessarily having to be more than platonic.)

#merylmilly #insurance girls #insurance wives #meryl stryfe #milly thompson #trigun #trigun fanfiction #fic by haveloved #i decided to turn this fic into a multichapter when folks had sweet things to say about chapter 1 #but also because people have really come to enjoy my meryl fics and that's blown me away a little #thank you to everyone who's said kind things in comments or reblogs; i hope you enjoy this if you check it out <3

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victorluvsalice · 8 months ago

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-->And then I looked at the party timer, and was like, “crap, no, I have to make sure that Smiler gets silver on this thing – where are the guests?” I quickly looked over the farmhouse, and found Cletus and Brian eating some leftovers from the fridge, and Myra upstairs – kindly fixing Smiler’s video creation station! Didn’t even know it was broken, thank you, Myra! (I mean, maybe SHE broke it, but at least she also fixed it!) Couldn’t find Cameron right away (I think he was eventually located just chilling in front of the house), so I resolved to have Smiler concentrate on the two in the kitchen, joining them and telling some jokes since that was one of the party goals. Though it didn’t actually complete until I had Smiler tell base game jokes, instead of vampire puns and special “let’s make fun of n00bs together because we both like video games” jokes. EAxis, you really gotta update some of these interactions... Anyway, the guests continued moving around seemingly at random, with Myra coming down for food while Brian wandered off somewhere (and Roxanne headed upstairs to use Victor and Alice’s computer for a bit – prooobably should lock it to just them), but Smiler persisted in making conversation with whoever was in the kitchen, and managed to complete the main goal of socializing with their guests by supporting Cletus’s facial hair. XD Bringing the party up to automatic gold! Yes!

Oh, and what were Victor and Alice doing during all of this? Chilling out alone in the party barn with Party Time the bot, dancing to the music and chatting with each other. XD I mean, that probably IS their ideal party situation, given they’re both supposed to be not that social. Alice eventually had to go outside and take a little nap to calm down her werewolf instincts, but she came back up to eat some hamburger cake provided by Party Time while Smiler wrangled their guests and got them all back in the party barn area. Mostly because there was one last thing that I wanted to do before the party ended –

-->Play a game! Specifically, Simbles, since I’d never played that game before! Smiler invited Alice, Brian, and Victor to play with them – Alice was a little late in joining as she was busy wolfing down her cake first, but she eventually found a seat and joined the others for a rousing game of Sim dominoes (where the “simbles” have geometric shapes on them instead of patterns of dots). Brian ended up leaving the game early, but Victor, Smiler, and Alice played past the end of the party, with Smiler winning. :) In fact, they won in multiple ways, because their party ALSO ended firmly on gold level (meaning they’ve won yet another stereo – I think I might just recycle that one straight of the inventory, why not), meaning they too managed to complete an aspirational milestone (FINALLY getting past the “Sir Gala Had” level of Party Animal) and thus fulfill their New Year’s resolution! :D Three for three, yaaay~

-->With both party and game over, though, it was time to do some clean-up around the house. Alice found some more spilled trash in the front yard (apparently a certain someone kicked over the trash can again while leaving >( ) and cleaned that up before emptying out the hamper, getting the clothes pile out of the yard, and starting a load of laundry (freshened by a daisy); Smiler washed all the plates their guests had left behind and cleared the spoiled food out of the fridge; and Victor fed Toothy after I stopped him trying to eat its cake. *shakehead* Victor, I already went through you getting nommed by a cowplant in my old save file – not interested in doing it again! Anyway, he and Alice then both proceeded to have leftover waffles while I stuck their various bits of produce and suchlike in the fridge – then got one of the giant oversized mushrooms OUT of the fridge so Victor could turn it into a seat. Because I just think that’s cool. XD The gang had a brief chat in the kitchen (with Victor and Smiler doing a little flirting as Alice cleaned up her plate), then Smiler went back upstairs for more video gaming time (on Victor and Alice’s computer again – REALLY gotta lock it) while Victor put the laundry in the dryer and Alice used the bathroom. I ended up leaving it on Victor Repairioing the downstairs bathroom sink after it broke while Alice was using it. XD

And there we are! One very satisfying day in Sims world! :D I’m so glad I was able to hit my goal of getting them all to hit theirs. :D And next time we visit, the gang will be celebrating Love Day! How will that go? We'll find out...

#sims 4 #the lazy save #victor van dort #alice liddell #smiler always #the one problem with parties in this house #the guests really do like to spread out #and there's actually not that many doors I can lock to keep them out of places #(though I probably should lock Victor and Alice's and Smiler's rooms #even if Myra entering Smiler's room was for a nice reason)#and I can't bar them from the house entirely #because the house has the bathrooms #so yeah #at least Sims looking for food meant that Smiler could at least always find SOMEONE to chat with #and get that necessary gold #ugh I HATE that the party-throwing aspiration does NOT count most of the new parties #the classic base-game aspirations need some SERIOUS updates #or at the very least the ability to recognize more DLC stuff #you know now that the game is 10 YEARS OLD #meeeeh #well anyway Smiler had a good party and that's what counts #that and enjoying seeing them play Simbles with Victor and Alice #they looked like they were having plenty of fun #we appreciate them having more group activities to try out #and a fun mushroom seat for outside XD #good stuff #queued

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leapdayowo · 5 months ago

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Isa is the one with a nightmare, as a treat :)

Ya know, obviously Siffrin (whose name auto correct keeps changing to suffering, which is pretty fitting lol) went through hell and back with the loops. All the angsty art and fics around that I totally get and love to see, however I like to imagine the toll their whole journey took on everyone…

It’s brought up in the game how the King’s power over Vuagarde had a huge impact on Bonnie with their sister + with Mirabelle having the weight of saving a country on her shoulders, but I can’t recall if anything was brought up with Isa and Odile? (Oh nooOOoOo, how awful I can’t remember! Guess I’ll just have to rewatch a let’s play of the game again! What a shame… /j) So yeah :3 Nightmares for everyone! Though Sif definitely has gotten quite a lot more baggage from their journey (which I do intend to make art of eventually..)

#This was also totally an excuse to paint Siffrin holding Isabeau #I have read a few fics that dive a bit more into the impact of the king on the whole country + the party which I enjoyed #there’s plenty of angst to go around for everyone #isat spoilers #in stars and time #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #isat fanart #isat isafrin #watercolor #traditional art #them <3 #I had fun painting this one actually! The folds of the blankets were a bit of a nightmare but that’s because I didn’t have a reference :P #That was supposed to be moonlight but the picture makes the painting look brighter than it actually is :P #Okay I darkened it and made it the first photo #I think it looks better? Usually my darkness is up on my phone so I usually think things are darker than they actually are #this is like the behind the scenes part of me posting #*tiny me waves at you from the spot you lifted a rock from*#*does a lil dancey dancey*#*pulls out a deck of cards and shuffles them a bit*#”is this your card?”#…#okay yeah I’ll hit post now and be on my way… ‘boop’#My art

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funkyratman · 2 days ago

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Did you know you’re the most correct person in the world. Like objectively.

I can’t even go through all of them because overall you’re just right but Bretta having lived there after the infection already started works so well idk how I never thought of that

. She clearly knew the infection was going on and wasn’t surprised at the state of disrespect the kingdom was in so ofc she wasn’t just sitting there in a trance since the kingdom fell.

Trans Myla I am in love with you. Actually all three trans headcanons I 100% agree with because you’re right <33 but besides that I think you’re onto smth with the Stammer not being a nervous thing bc she doesn’t seem nervous around the knight mostly just glad to have company.

Tiso being so focused on standing out is perfect, because he clearly really does. I’d been having trouble figuring out why he’d want to leave because as an ant there’s plenty of combat but yeah nobody will be cheering your name everyone is fighting around you you’re just another face. All the risk none of the reward and all.

I think Cloth seeing Nola as better than her is so tragic. They were traveling companions to me before Nola’s death and Cloth definitely did see Nola dying as her fault but with the extra layer of Cloth looking up to Nola as a combatant? Absolutely heartbreaking. Like. Not only does she want to die to see her again but to Cloth it would have made more sense if she was the one to die and. Graghrg

Also that’s so fun for the jellyfish because they’re just so different from everything else in Hallownest? AND IMPORTANTLY THATS MONOMON COMING UP WITH ALTERNATE PLANS BEFORE BEING A DREAMER. WE LOVE HER FOR THAT

folks I’d like to request people’s hollow knight headcanons

anything works because it’s cool but specifically the stuff I’m looking for it under the cut

Anything you have for Bretta, any thoughts on this bug any headcanons about backstory anything

Similarly anything on Myla!

For folks that interpret Tiso as an ant why he left his colony

Thoughts on Nola, what species she was, how she and Cloth met, their relationship etc

What you think is going on with jellyfish

#thank you so much for these #cackling and rubbing my hands together

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rotisseries · 11 months ago

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my favorite thing about mha has got to be how you can't tell if the writers are aware or not that the setting is in fact a corrupt police state

#like. it almost says something sometimes and then they back out of ittttt😭😭😭😭#I'm not keeping up with mha canon presently so I'm just thinking back on things #like. they have plenty of villain characters where it's like oh they're sympathetic and were clearly pushed into this life #by the narrow views of what is acceptable in society and the corrupt police state #AND THEY HAVE CORRUPT HEROES AND A CORRUPT ORGANIZATION SO LIKE. YOU KNOW IT'S A CORRUPT POLICE STATE THE WRITERS MUST KNOW #but then mha pulls fun shit with like. redeeming endeavor!! A CORRUPT HERO WHO GETS AWAY WITH THE SHIT HE DOES BECAUSE OF A BROKEN SYSTEM #while the ENTIRE rest of the todoroki family is like #“well obviously dabi sucks and is a monster and needs to be put away and can never be rehabilitated ever” 😐#AND LIKE. FINE. FUCKING REDEEM HIS ASS IF YOU WANT (BOOO HATE THAT BITCHHHHH) but don't then act like dabi is unsalvageable!!#both or neither babe!! nerf or nothing!!#like. do you guys get me. sometimes it feels like wow look at how much this corrupt society sucks #and sometimes it feels like yes we are going to not examine this at all #it's just. mha is so bad. it's so bad guys and it could've been good but it's bad #it could be so good if it was good but it's not it's just bad #it sucks its a stupid anime stupid manga fuck off

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softquietsteadylove · 26 days ago

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Helloo, how are you?

So its halloween and i have a little request for something scary. Maybe the eternals somehow end up in this very old and problaby haunted house, and then the ghost in said house take a liking for Thena, so they start to hide her and make the others see her when she is not there. And poor Gil is more scared that he would like.

(Also thank you for answering to my asks🩷😭)

"This place really is massive," Gil commented mildly as he moved the flashlight around the walls. It was just the sound of their steps and their breathing. The halls of this old asylum were oppressively quiet.

"It's easily the largest space we've ever been in," Thena agreed as she too moved moved her light to examine their surroundings. "Its a good thing the others agreed to come with us to man the equipment."

Their friends were being good sports about it, whether or not they were present as true believers or because if half of their group was already in, they might as well all come.

"I hope they don't hate me for dragging them out here all Halloween night," he gulped as they turned a corner down - what a surprise - another pitch black hallway.

Thena scoffed at the idea, though, allowing him to walk even closer to her, all but clinging to her arm. "Please, all they would be doing is loitering at Phastos' anyway. He and Ben would be watching something, Makkari and Druig would be pretending not to make out in the corner and Ikaris would be trying - and failing - to hold Sersi's hand during the whole movie."

Gil snickered beside her. Thena's observations could seem cutting at times, but they were never all that inaccurate. And they could be pretty funny, in that way. "I'm sure he'd get there eventually."

"I have yet to see it," she drawled about their mutual friend, more frenemy when it came to her and Ikaris in particular. "Speaking of, when did they last check in?"

Gil pulled pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Ground floor, do you copy?"

"Ugh, Gil--aye, we're still 'ere. You don't have to go all air traffic control for it."

Well, if he was going to be such a stick in the mud. Gil huffed, "roger that, Party-Pooper."

"Oi!"

Thena took his hand and pulled the walkie closer to her. "Sersi, tell us if he holds onto you too tight and we'll switch floors."

"Watch it!"

The constant radio static of the channel clicked again and Sersi laughed. "He's really quite all right, you two. Anything up there?"

"Nothing, so far," Thena sighed before remembering to add, "over and out."

Gil smiled as he put the walkie back in his pocket. Thena probably thought it was silly too, but she would never actually say anything. It was one of the many ways in which she indulged him on these ghost hunts. "Hey."

She looked at him, wondering what had caught his attention. Once she saw him wiggling his hand at her, her smiled turned a little bit shy as she slipped her hand into his. "Do you think they'll know what to look for?"

"I told them about what all the equipment does, they should be able to tell if they get any activity," Gil murmured as they turned down a hall into a more residential looking area. "Whoa, this looks like an actual house."

"This must have been an area for those in a palliative sort of care, like a true hospice," she muttered, pressing closer to him. It was still old floors and concrete walls, but there were now rooms with more than nothing, some even still had an old metal bed frame in them. There was a dresser or two, even a mirror.

Gil winced as their flashlights both hit it head on. He lowered his, but he blinked and rubbed his eyes after the fact. "Can't believe something like that is still standing in a place like this in one piece."

Thena had no comment on it, apparently.

"Kinda freaky, right?" he sighed as he rubbed at his eyes again before shaking it off. "Thena?"

He looked around.

"Thena?" he called out with a little more urgency. He moved the flashlight around, plenty of the room doors were open, but he would have heard her. He would have felt her, wouldn't he? "Thena?!"

He rushed to check each of the rooms, forgetting how creepy everything was. His stomping feet were echoing all over the place, but that didn't matter. "Thena, where are you?!"

All that came back was his own voice bouncing around. He was starting to panic.

"Thena, please, answer me!" he panted, even moving the creaky, old doors to make sure she wasn't hiding somewhere. How could she have just vanished into this air?

He shouldn't have let go of her hand.

"Thena, please!" he shouted, retracing their steps, shining his flashlight down every hall he passed. He knew most of them led to dead ends. Where could she have gone? His hand pulled out the walkie-talkie again, fumbling with it a little. "G-Guys?!"

"Gil, what's wrong?"

"Th-Thena!" he gulped, knowing they needed more information than that. "She was right next to me and-and now-"

"Whoa, Gil, slow down. Nothing's happened to Thena, I'm sure she just went to look at something that caught her eye," Sersi attempted to diffuse his worry.

"Why the hell weren't you keeping an eye on her?" Ikaris snapped at him in sharp contrast.

"Oi," Druig chimed in on his set. "You all need to calm down, I just saw 'er."

"What?" Gil frowned. Druig and Makkari were on the second level, although most of it was sectioned off thanks to a fire from the last century. He rushed to the stairs, "you're sure?"

"Yeah, I saw her walk clear through that light grid you put up, actually," Druig narrated. He paused and then continued, "Kari saw'er goin' down the far stairwell."

"You mean the one to your left?" Gil asked, rushing down the main stairs so quickly he almost tripped at the very bottom. But he took off, full on sprinting.

"Yeah?"

Based on where they had set up, there was no way Thena could be on the stairwell to their left, because it led to absolutely nowhere, just a collapsed hallway downstairs and a boarded up room at the top. Whatever they had seen wasn't Thena.

"Keep your nightvision cam on, okay? And you two stay there--and stay close together!"

"Gil, man, you okay?" Ikaris asked a little more sympathetically, obviously hearing the urgency in his voice over the loud and static-y walkies. "Like Sersi said, I'm sure Thena's just fine."

"I'm on my way to you, just sit tight," Gil huffed. His chest felt tight, like it was on fire. He looked around, only now on the second floor. This place was such a massive hell hole, who knew what kind of malevolent spirits were in here. "Guys?!"

"Hold yer bloody horses, man, hell," Druig flashed his light at him from within the main hallway of the floor. As soon as Gil rounded the corner, though, Druig was already on his feet. Despite his words, his face was dead serious, "she really not with you?"

Gil gulped. Tears sprang to his eyes, although he knew this wasn't the time. He shook his head, trying to catch his breath. The light grid they had set up to pick up any kind of movement was still shining into the closed off areas ahead.

He jumped, but Makkari rubbed his back with a reassuring smile. Druig shone the light a little closer to them to illuminate her words. This place is like a maze, I'm sure she's looking for you too.

That was actually what worried him. He had screamed for her, at the very top of his lungs. And not only had he not heard anything back, but apparently none of their friends had heard him either, which seemed impossible.

And if he couldn't hear Thena, then how would he know if she needed his help?

"Where did you see her?" he asked, shining his own light closer to his face for Kari to read his lips.

She pointed. I swear I saw her walk through the grid. I thought she saw something in the window.

Thena would never walk through the light grid herself; it would compromise any evidence they got of a spectral figure. Still, Gil moved closer to it. He shone the flashlight into the corridor, through the propped open door. It was hard to tell with the light in the window reflection, but he was pretty sure it was just a boarded up, empty room through there.

Druig took the liberty of packing up the light grid and putting it back in his bag. "Take a look."

Gil slid closer to the darkened hallway. Despite never having been on one of these hunts before, all their friends were far less scared than he was. Maybe because they definitely didn't believe in ghosts. His heart hammered as he entered the suffocating dark of the hallway. He pressed his flashlight to the window of the door that was boarded closed. If something jumped up at him he might have a heart attack.

It was just a closed up room, full of evidence of fire damage. He angled the light around as best he could without giving himself nothing but reflection to look at. He jumped as some kind of movement caught his eye. He tried to follow it but it was gone as soon as he saw it. But he knew it moved towards the other door to the room.

And it looked blonde.

Druig and Makkari made room for him as he started running towards the main stairs again. "Come on!"

"If she's messin' with us she's makin' us go through a hell of a workout," Druig felt the need to chime in, following him down the stairs.

But Gil knew that wasn't the case. Maybe - maybe - she might mess with Ikaris a little, possibly Druig, all in good fun. But she would never make him worry about her like this, she just wouldn't. She would never scare him like this, not when it was always her calming him down on these hunts.

It really was like a labyrinth in this place. Gil leapt down the last two stairs and whipped open the doors to the main floor. "Did you see her?!"

Ikaris and Sersi both jumped off the bench of the entrance hallway. They looked at each other and then at him. They still had most of the equipment set up around them, and a floodlight pointed at the ceiling for a little more illumination of the area.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ikaris growled at him for storming in the way he did. "Didn't you see her on your level?"

Druig shrugged, "thought we did."

But Gil rushed past all of them, taking a right and pulling open the doors. This place was so massive, it was hard to keep track. But if the figure he had seen in the other room had been Thena, or worse, something else, it would have ended up in here. "Thena!"

Still, nothing but his own voice. It didn't echo like it did upstairs, though. He moved his flashlight around, seeing all the junk that was pushed into this empty but undamaged area of the building. He moved more slowly.

His heart was still hammering, but he made himself take each next step. He couldn't stop until Thena's hand was in his again. "Thena, are you in here?"

He could have sworn a voice whispered back to him. It would have been great potential evidence if he had any equipment or was recording anything. But for now, he took the potential whisper of 'she's mine' and scowled. "No, she's not."

Whatever whispered at him didn't have another reply to that.

Gil slid around a corner constructed of old office furniture, flashing his light in every nook and cranny. "She's my girlfriend! Whatever you are, find someone on your own plain of existence!"

Something rattled in a far corner. He really was going to have a heart attack in here. But he gulped, re-grasping his flashlight in his sweaty palm. No ghost was getting his precious Thena--not tonight.

He moved closer to the rattling. It was a doorknob turning. Okay, so he might die in here tonight. He hoped his friends would escape, at least. But if he did die, then maybe he could be with Thena. If she had died alone in here, he would never forgive himself.

There was a door, and the doorknob was turning.

Gil let out a breath and steeled his resolve again. He could do this. He would do this! He could do anything if it was for Thena. Thena, he repeated to himself as he reached for the doorknob, Thena, Thena, Thena.

As soon as he touched the doorknob, it was no longer locked, and flew open. Thena tumbled into the room, straight into his chest as he caught her. Both of their flashlights fell and rattled on the ground as they held onto each other.

"Gil!" Thena gasped into his shirt, burying her face in it as soon as she knew it was him. "I-I-I didn't--I-I thought-!"

"It's okay, it's okay," he gulped, holding her as tight as he could without hurting her. It was really Thena in his arms, small and warm, blonde hair under his chin. His tears came again, and he didn't force them away, "you're really here."

Thena held onto him just as tightly, clawing at the back of his shirt so she could hold fistfuls of it. "I-I turned around and you were gone--just gone! And I tried shouting for you but I couldn't hear anything around me but silence. And then I thought I saw this--th-this thing-!"

"It's okay, I'm here," he whispered. He couldn't process any of what she was saying right now. All he could think about was the comfort of having his Thena in his arms again.

Slowly, they released one another. Thena sniffled, laughing as she put her hands on his cheeks. "I'm supposed to be the one here for you."

He laughed as well, just as watery and tearful. He put his hands on her cheeks as well, "I can be here for you, just this once."

She leaned into him again as he kissed her.

"You two okay?!"

Thena pulled back and picked her flashlight up first. She shone it around the room, "where are we?"

Gil frowned as she handed him his flashlight as well. "We're on the ground floor, in that side room we checked out first thing tonight."

"The ground floor?" she repeated, looking completely baffled. "We were on the third floor. I-I felt something pull me and I thought it was you, then I was in this completely other room. I was trying to find my way back to you in the hall."

Nice try, ghost creep; Gil took her hand, weaving their fingers together. He could carry his flashlight in his mouth if he had to.

"Gil," Thena continued to frown as he guided them back towards the entrance, "I didn't go down any stairs. We can't possibly be downstairs again."

"It's okay, Thena," he reassured her blindly. It didn't matter. None of it mattered, now that his fear was lifting. He waved as a flashlight circled from where the door was. "I got her!"

Collective sighs of relief were had. Ikaris was the first to bark at them, "what the hell, Thena?! You nearly scared the big guy half to death--that's not funny!"

"Shush," Sersi soothed the beast beside her, as she always did. "We're just glad you're both okay."

Druig and Makkari gave them both more curious looks, "where the hell were did you go?"

"I-" Thena looked at each of them, seeming completely stunned. "I don't know."

"Doesn't matter," Gil spoke up, more sure of this now than he had been about anything all night. "We're getting out of here--now."

He pushed through them, pulling Thena to the door to the outside, hand in hand. He could hear their friends packing up all the equipment behind them.

"Yappin' orders at us now, is he?" he could hear Ikaris gripe behind them.

"Stop it, they've been through enough." How did Sersi put up with him?

Finally outside, Gil took a deep breath. He put his hands on Thena's cheek again, urging her to do the same. She did, but she looked up at him. "Really Gil, I thought I was making my way back to you. I didn't even see any stairs, there's no way I could have-"

"We'll figure it out later," he resolved. They could do that in a safe place, where there was overhead lighting, and a warm mug of her favourite tea. Maybe he'd even have a blanket around her shoulders and massage her feet. "All that matters is you're safe."

Thena's face shifted to something like guilt. She looked down at their joined hands. "I thought I saw you."

"What?"

"What lured me away," she admitted quietly, and maybe with the first bit of true fear he had heard her voice all night. "I thought I saw you in one of those other rooms. That was what made me follow...whatever it was in there."

It had lured him the same way. But, again, that could wait until they were in a brightly lit space with firmly locked doors.

Gil kissed her forehead and pulled her into his arms. "I found you again, so it doesn't really matter."

"Hm," she sighed, nuzzling her face into his chest again. "I knew I'd find you, I guess you finding me is okay, too."

Ah, his invincible Thena. She was the truly unshaken of the two of them. But he had to admit, he was assured by tonight that he had what it took to square up if he really needed to. If it was for the woman he loved, at least.

#Oh my gosh sweetie thank YOU for sending me asks!!!#I always try my best with all of them #and it's nice to feel wanted y'know?#Thenamesh Ghost Files AU #as always shared with the amazing @taran-chan #I thought about it and I thought this was the best au #because the immortal Eternals either #A: cannot be touched or harmed by ghosts or #B: have plenty of experience with ghosts and thus don't fear them #but this Gil loses hold of Thena's hand #and he freaks out loses his mind #he's like where is my emotional support girlfriend please???#that sad hamster with the eyes and the music #meanwhile everyone else came along for the ride for fun #for the halloween vibe #and now they're like um im sorry are ghosts real #Phastos comes and picks them up like you all look like shit #Thena really doesn't believe how it happened #she just kept going into room and after room chasing glimpses of him #until all of a sudden she's in a locked room on the ground floor scared and alone?#Gil tells her everything #and she's like are you FUCKING KIDDING that's the best evidence we've ever had and we don't even have solid recordings of all of it?!#Gil: it doesn't matter just let me hold you #more sad hamster with eyes music #Gil says no more hunts for at least a month maybe ever #and he wants them to be tied together at the waist from now on #the others still kind of don't believe but hey it was kinda cool #and Gil is now in his overprotective boyfriend era #also imagine you're a ghost and this group of - let's say - late twenty somethings barges into your home #if I were a ghost I too would have a crush on Thena all I'm saying

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