#whoever wishes ill upon me STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sistarstarly]

whatever the fuck is in the air this is the third time i got sick this yr and i hate it

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “please,” aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.”

(or aemond's first time with his handmaid).

warnings: explicit lang. a tiny bit of angst at the beginning. protective!aemond. p in v smut. slight breeding kink. spitting kink towards the end. fluff. all around good vibes bc aemond's in love and we all love that for him.

notes: happy birthday to me. pls be nice to me, i'm unfortunately entering my twenties today.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Aemond spends the better part of the chilly winter day searching for his handmaid.

You had been missing when he returned to his bedchamber at midday, wishing to eat his lunch in your company. Did she forget my first rule, by chance? Aemond thought to himself, holding the chalice to his lips. Perhaps…but he could not stomach another bite of his roasted meat, his mind too consumed with thoughts of you.

So he looks throughout the kitchen wing, and the library and Great Hall, until he passes by his mother and sister in the hallway.

But neither woman claims to have seen you, and he’s left twice as confused and frustrated and concerned as he continues to wander about the Red Keep like some lovesick and anxious fool.

“Ah, my prince,” Lord Larys Strong purrs as his steps falls alongside Aemond’s. “Perchance I could be of service. I overheard you are looking for your little handmaid.”

Aemond turns to look at him. “Yes,” he answers, his eyebrow raising, “-have you seen her?”

The lord’s smile is sly. “Several hours ago, actually. She was heading up to the servant quarters…” but his smile then drops, quickly replaced with a frown, “but she seemed to be in tears, if I’m to remember correctly. Poor child, she was an awful, trembling mess, never once looking up to meet my eyes when I greeted her.”

“She was crying?” Aemond cocks his head sideways, swallowing down the ire beginning to bubble inside his chest.

“Yes. It was rather grievous and sad,” and Clubfoot shakes his head dolefully. “A maiden like her deserves a smile on her face at all times, would you not agree, my prince?”

Aemond’s jaw clenches, and he glances to the stairs leading upwards to the servant quarters. Someone made you cry? His blood turns cold, and his fist balls up at his side. Remembering where he was, he gives the lord a curt nod. “Thank you, Lord Strong,” and leaves it at that, rushing up the stairway and down the hall, whilst hundreds of questions thronged in his head.

Who dared make you cry? You, who is rightfully his- his handmaid, his woman. You were supposed to remain safe and happy within his room, tucked away from ill-tempered bastards and envious tongues. If he could not protect you…

He turns the corner, huffing. He’d see whoever made you cry is punished, Aemond decides as he walks down the strip, passing by shut door after door, until he hears fainting sobbing. A sniffle, then, and a tiny hiccup that soon follows. That stops him in his steps. You. You. You, you, you…

“Love,” he whispers, knocking his knuckles on the door before slowly cracking it open. “Love, it’s me.” You twist to meet him in sullen silence, and his heart shatters at the sight. Your pretty doe-eyes are both red and teary, and your bottom lip quivers. It’s busted too, more scarlet now than pink. But it is the ugly bruise coloring your left cheek- large and hand-shaped, that causes his eye to widen.

“Who?” he spat, crossing the room to gather you in his arms, his voice raising. “Who’s done this to you?”

But you lower your eyes, and bury your face within his neck, hiding away from his gaze and questions. Aemond softens, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, pausing when you flinch. “My love, I need to know at once. This…this is a horrible injustice served upon you, one I know you did not deserve!”

You shake your head, face crumpling as another sob escapes you.

His eye narrows.

“Was it my brother?” Aemond demands. “Or a houseguard?”

“No,” you mumble, feeling ill, like your tummy is tied in a knot. “It was neither, my prince.”

“Well?”

You sigh. “It was one of the septas, a new one to the castle. I do not know her name,” you explain. “She caught me in your room and scolded me, saying how it was beyond disrespectful and ill-mannered of me to flaunter about your bedroom as if it was my own. She said…she said you would have my head for such, and when I tried to explain myself,” and you hiccup, feeling a wave of fresh tears, “-that I was your handmaid, she slapped me!”

“She said I would have your head? That I would kill you?”

You nod, wiping away the few fat tears streaking down your cheek, wincing at the slight sting from the bruised skin. “She said she would bring it up with the Queen herself, that there was no need for insolent little maids like me running around the castle. Oh, I’m so sorry, my prince. I’m terribly sorry. Please, please, please forgive me!”

But Aemond’s thumb brushes lightly across your plump lip, shushing you. “Those words should never fall from these lips, sweetling. They were not made for that.” You feel like crying again, this time from relief.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. I couldn’t even imagine…” his voice trails off. How could this septa easily plant a seed of doubt within your mind, and make you think he would ever harm you? Or call for your death? As if you’re not the very air he breathes every day.

“You terrified me when I could not find you earlier, love.”

By now, you’re a lot calmer and breathing fine again, nestled within his embrace. Your cheek still stings but you’ll live. You lay your head against Aemond’s chest, listening to his faint heartbeat in his breast. Thump, thump, thump.

No more words are shared between the two of you, but his kiss on your temple says much more than anything could.

Soon, Aemond takes you back to his bedchamber, to his tub, and calls for several women to tend to you while he busies himself in burning the servant garb you were wearing today, until nothing is left but sooty ashes and singed cloths. He refuses to allow you to wear that shabby, tainted dress you were so wrongfully punished in. If not for you, then for himself. It eases his mind. And someday you’ll wear nothing but the finest and prettiest gowns, he swears, ones that are fit for no one but a princess.

He’ll have a talk with his mother too. His queen mother has a soft spot for his handmaid, he knows, and Helaena too. This will not go unseen and unpunished.

The prince returns when your bath is finished, and dismisses the women before carrying you off to his featherbed. You’re still quiet, hushed, lips pressed in a tight line while he dries your hair. “You do not need to do this, my prince,” you tell him softly, nervously lacing your fingers together. “I’m undeserving of such treatment, really. It should be I who does this for you.”

“Nonsense, sweetling.”

He’ll be your husband one day, and is merely practicing his husbandly duties, although he doesn’t actually say that piece aloud. It’s all a bit tricky right now, but he’s already decided he will not marry anyone who isn’t you.

Aemond bends to kiss your shoulder, ever so tenderly. You have four pretty birthmarks littering the skin, and he presses a sweet kiss atop all of them. He loves it. You’re so fucking gorgeous. “You’re mine,” he mumbles, nuzzling his forehead against your shoulder blade. “It’s my duty to care for you.”

“No, my prince, ‘tis my duty as your servant.”

He smiles up at you. “Ah, and I’m your protector, best to remember that, sweet girl.” And he leaves nothing more to be said, quickly standing you up in front of him, naked and breathing messily and too shy to meet his eye. Oh, but you’re too pretty for your own good, he tells himself. His fingertips gently trace along your hipbones while he leans to nuzzle his face into your tummy. Aemond then feels your soft hands finding his hair, fingers raking through as you sigh deeply.

“You smell good,” he whispers. “So damn good.”

You giggle. “Do I, my prince?”

Aemond hums, raising his face up to kiss your nipple- once, twice, thrice. He feels you suddenly tense against him, your breath catching in your throat. “Nice and warm and all mine,” he adds, blowing a puff of warm air over your breast that earns him a sweet little moan, one that sends blood rushing down to his cock. His arms circle around your waist, hands falling to knead your asscheeks.

“Let me make love to you.”

“My prince?” you ask, eyes widening as you recoil from your prince’s touch, your legs suddenly feeling weak like water.

Did you hear him right?

“Please,” Aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “Allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.” I see my future in your face. My children in your eyes. His hand cups your right breast, catching a hard nipple between two fingers. My sons at your breasts. His handmaid has come for him, to deliver to him everything he’s been so cruelly denied in this life. “Say yes,” he murmurs. “Let me finally claim you as mine own.” It is your blood I need, your blood on my sheets, and my seed in your belly, and your life and name as my own.

You close your eyes, yet still see your handsome prince grinning at you.

It’s wrong, you think. It’d be so wrong of us. I’d be banished.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

“Okay, my prince,” you say, with a bated breath. “Make love to me.”  

An hour later, the wind has risen to a sharp howl against the stone walls, and fat raindrops ping against the windowpane. A winter storm, but there is little to no need to worry about such.

You’re quite nicely warm and dry, and safe within your prince’s arms as he nudges your thighs open. He’s already been down there, spending a good half of the last hour feasting on your wet cunt. It was like he’d been fasting for weeks; he took little mercy on you.

“Open wide,” he mutters. “Good girl. Keep ‘em like that for me.”

You whimper. Your Prince Aemond is gorgeous, with silver hair that shines like fresh snow and pale, naked skin that is covered in faint scarring, undoubtedly from boyhood. You’ve never seen someone so beautiful. His arms are thickened with lean, lithe muscle as he holds himself above your body, one hand laced firmly in yours.

And he looks down at you with bright, violet eyes, with a look perhaps only a man gives his new bride on her wedding night.

It makes you squirm beneath him.

He slides his cock in slowly, hissing at your tightness. “FUCK.” His head dips down near yours, lips barely grazing your ear as he lets out a low moan. “Gods be fucking good, you feel so fucking good…wrapped around my fucking cock, at last,” he says, voice raspy. “Right where you belong.”

Aemond feels that he won’t last long. He’s back to the days of his boyhood, during his thirteenth nameday when Aegon took him to the whorehouse, and he felt a woman’s touch for the first time.

Except now he has the woman he wants- soft and submissive and cunny wet and ready for him- and it is his turn to teach and guide her.

“Ah, my brave girl,” he tells you, pausing to kiss your forehead, then your swollen, pink lips. “It hurts, I know. It’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

And afterward, Aemond Targaryen’s watching as you shake and sob and fall to utter pieces, your beautiful face scrunched up in blissful pleasure as his thrusts soon quicken, and his hips snap into yours with such a harsh pace, it’s sure to leave dark bruises behind.

Your hands find his shoulders in a tight grip, in some desperate attempt to cling onto him whilst he fucks you good.

And, thankfully, it’s his name that tumbles out of your mouth, and not his stupid royal title. It follows your cries and moans and whimpers that echo throughout his bedchamber. To Aemond, it is poetic in some way. Several months back you were seated on his settee, singing, and now you’re buried within his sheets as he makes you a mother.

His loins ache for release, and he fondles your breast, toying with your nipple as he pounds you only harder. Aemond hopes to any god listening that the guards outside are listening in, and the serving girls too. He’s a prince of the realm- he means to claim all his rights. Let them all hear as he plows into his handmaid and stuffs her full of his sons.

Beneath him, you shudder and gasp- again and again- before arching your spine and flinging your arms around his neck. “AEMOND,” you scream, feeling a sudden tightness deep within your belly, almost like you’re only several seconds away from exploding into flames. Perhaps you are.

“Mercy on me, Aemond! Please!”

“Shhh,” Aemon coos, cradling your face as he fucks you through your orgasm. “I have you, pretty girl. You’re okay. Doesn’t this feel good? It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, so- so good, Aemond…!”

He grins at your fucked-out face, and the little bit of drool pooling around the corner of your mouth, before lightly tapping his fingertip against your bottom lip. “Open up,” he commands, squeezing your cheeks together, when your mouth opens, he spits in it. “Now swallow- mmm, such a good girl, always doing what I say.”

Aemond chooses all his words carefully, loving the way his sweet little handmaid preens under all his given attention and praises, so prettily that he’s willing to discard all of his morals and seed her full of his future bastards. Silver-haired babes that would gurgle at him happily, and grow to carry on his name and legacy.   

For her, he thinks, leaning to kiss you again, feeling your cunt clamping down on him, she’s worth every damn thing and more.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 165 spoilers and thoughts below the cut that im not terribly late on this time yippee!

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.

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what if i went up to you and stared at you like this

HAHAHAHAHAAA I LOVE THIS PANEL SO SO MUCH

ive been sending this on like all my socmeds and to all my mutuals/irls. im tormenting them with it it's just so fucking cute and silly . puppy dog eyes javier. pleading emoji. he's just so fucking silly ALKJDFLSDKF HELL I MADE IT MY DISCORD PFP ITS SO GOOFY I LOVE IT SM HAHAHA CUTE CUTE CUTE

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA

silly panels aside back to the top!

lloyd. stop hurting me oh god he looks so tired and gaunt and,,, lifeless. it HURTS seeing him like this, the life he once had just,,, stripped from him.

LIKE I WANTED TO SEE HIM WITH HIS HAIR DOWN AND MESSY BUT NOT LIKE THIS BRUH WHAT THE HELL SOB SOB SOB

the invitation oh my god. its so silly goofy but also so so personal its cute as hell its stupid looking but in the most affectionate way possible. the people of the estate really REALLY care about him and god idek if lloyd realizes that bc literally just after this, he apologizes to everyone for not being able to things for them anymore

not even able to get back up to get back to the bed GOD I FEEL SICK

but it doesnt matter anymore whether or not lloyd can still protect them, the estate has come to care for him so much , its not his protection they want they just fucking love him and he doesnt realize that i feel so fucking ill. lloyd i need you to open your eyes and look at this beautiful land, this beautiful home you've built with your own two hands. ITS NOT OVER YET PLEASE GOD ITS NOT OVER

and then lloyd without second thought chooses javier to live. because he really thinks hes just an extra getting in the way, a burden, a bug that shouldnt be there. so he thinks its fine if he, as a side character, is the one that dies SOMEONE PUNCH ME.

he looks so fucking SMALL. alone and in the dark IM GONNA EXPLODE INTO TEN BILLION PIECES. who wrote this fuckass program. SWEAR TO GOD IM COMIN DOWN TO FIX IT MYSELF GOD DAMMIT

AND THEN THE SYSTEM TEXTBOX COMING IN IM SO GRATEFUL PLEASE HELP HIM SOB SOB SOB

im super duper heartwarmed to see that whoever is running the blue textbox is on suho's side. it has never been impartial, huh,,, it just wants to see his wish come true. ooogh my heart.

lloyd looks,,, strangely peaceful here. is he like, paused rn? im not really sure what the system box is up to, but hopefully thisll delay anything from happening while javier is concocting his plan,,,

speaking of!

FATE KICKING IN LIKE TEN TIMES WORSE IS SO DAMN SCARY. THE MULTIPLE GIGATITANS OH GODDD im so fucking terrified. javier please hurry!!! he looks rlly cool on draggy here hehe

I THINK JAVIER AND ALICIAS EXCHANGE TOO IS SO FUCKING HILARIOUS. alicia, upon only seeing javier, immediately is suspicious of lloyd scheming something. she thinks the two of them are plotting again, hence the "what are you up to".

the problem is that it's just javier on this plan. there is no lloyd directing him, so javiers reaction is SO silly fun bc i. dont think he thinks of himself as being. scheming?? bc he seems SO confused at alicia's skepticism here HADLFKJSDLFKJ ITS SO FUNNY

I REALLY THINK JAVIER WAS GENUINELY A LITTLE CONFUSED AS TO WHY ALICIA WAS QUESTIONING HIM PLEAAASEEE

i think javier believes he's just going about business as usual. doing what he can to protect his lord, as he does, all the time, the usual. sure that involves getting an angel to ask the queen for the eye of summer, but that's certainly not plotting on the same scale that lloyd does. javier isnt a schemer. he just does whats necessary to protect the one he cares about the most. hence his goofy innocent puppy eyes, because its not like hes "up" to anything. idk how accurate this assessment is, so pls correct me if im wrong, but I LOVE IT A LOT HES JUST SO FUCKING DEDICATED I LOVE U JAVIER MVP!!!!!

and then raphie shows up yay!! EXCEPT HELP WHY DID HE GET SUCKED BACK IMMEDIATELY WHAT THE HELL he was so underprepared. poor guy. getting thrown around like this sob sob

ALICIA ASKING IF THIS IS SMTH JAVIER KNEW ABT OR IF THEY WERE PLANNING SOMETHING AND THEN JAVIER BEING GENUINELY FUCKING SHOCKED HELP MEEEE "maybe its not a prank...?" LMFAOOOOO

i mentioned this in the last ep post but like. again javier wears his heart on his sleeve he's so fucking protagonist its unreal. hell, not even on his sleeve, he has his heart out on his damn palm sob sob

i think he's shocked here bc he didnt expect raphaels call to play out like that, he prolly thought theyd issue it more seriously. the issue with this being so half-hearted is now alicia isnt absolutely certain that this is the will of the heavens, so she's less inclined to follow along. it doesnt help that her board of nobles (seriously why does she keep these bozos around they just keep yapping) are arguing back and forth abt whether or not to listen. this is kind of a little wrench in the smoothness of the plan... everything now hinges on alicia's whim now.

anyway two more panels javier being menacing/blunt as hell and alicia thinking on her throne,,, god they are so fucking. awesome i love them so much

anyway that is ALL! for this week! the episode felt a little bit slow to be honest, but i think that's because the events of this ep are little things that build up to whats next, so i dont mind it at all (especially since the last couple of eps have been super fast lately)! i really really enjoy this buildup and im super excited to see what happens next,,,

see yall next week! lloyd please be okay! or ill cry! like for real!

[deanswhiskey]

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐞 - 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; while stuck at home, you find some christmas decorations in a storage closet

wc; 1935

warnings; kissing, tooth-rotting christmas themed fluff, that’s really it

authors note; merry christmas and happy holidays!!

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

christmas had always been your favorite holiday growing up. you hadn’t spent much time celebrating since you started hunting. your parents were hunters but they sent you to your uncle bobby’s whenever they’d hunt. you didn’t know what was happening, just excited to see your uncle.

when you started hunting, looking for whoever, or whatever, killed your parents, you didn’t get to celebrate much anymore. the days mushed together half the time.

after you met sam and dean, and eventually joined them, you tried to bring as much of the holidays as you could, seeing as they didn’t get to much.

you find little plastic decorations at the shitty gas stations you’d stop at in different cities and states. hanging christmas scented air fresheners from the mirror in deans car, even when he’d get annoyed, he couldn't say anything because he knew how much you loved it. you’d always buy funny little headbands for sam and dean to wear too, just so you could snap pictures of them on your camera.

it was midday in december when the boys were leaning up against baby while you were inside the gas station. “geez, what’s takin’ her so friggin long?” dean asked while checking his watch. he’d finished pumping gasoline what felt like a half hour ago.

you walked out of the gas station with a slightly full grocery bag and a huge smile on your face. they knew that smile. that ‘i-just-got-something-you-won’t-like-smile’.

you walked up to the boys and before you could even say anything, dean interrupted, “what did you get this time?”

you fake acted offended, “how dare you, dean!” you then giggled and pulled out two silly christmas headbands. one was reindeer antlers one had to little santa hats on springs that moved around.

they both gave you a look. they didn’t want to wear them but they were anyways. you ripped the little bit of packaging tbh eh had and held them out, silently telling them to pick one.

sam grabbed the one with the reindeer antlers and set them on his head. you continued to hold out the santa hat one. dean rolled his eyes and put them on. “don’t give me that, dean, you love it.” you chuckled at the dancing santa hats on his head.

you reached down into the backseat through the window to grab your camera out of your bag. “smile!” you said turning on your camera. and they did, they smiled for you. you snapped the picture of your two boys looking adorable in their christmas headbands.

when the three of you found the bunker, there were rooms upon rooms upon rooms to discover.

during a hunt, you got badly injured. one of the vamps had harshly shoved you and you fell down some old stairs, leading you to breaking your foot.

now the boys stopped hunting for a little less than a month so they could tend to you, even against your wishes not to.

sam spent most of the time right next to you; he didn’t want you out of his sight. he acted as if you were sick and could hardly stand.

“i’m not terminally ill, sam,” you said with a giggle as he picked you up to move you from the kitchen to the couch in the living room.

“i know, my love, i’m just being cautious,” he said stopping and giving your forehead a kiss.

once the doctor released you of your crutches, leaving you with just a boot, the boys finally went back to hunting. sam, reluctantly, agreed, with the exception that he’d call you multiple times to make sure you’re okay.

one of the days the boys were away, you decided to go through some of the storage closets you three had yet to go through.

you limped down the halls making your way to one of many. the room was lined with various boxes and cabinets that had a thin coat of dust.

you opened the first box which had nothing but spare bedding. thankful it was the first box you opened; definitely setting that aside to take out and put them in a closer storage closet.

the next box had old clothes, along with the next few boxes.

the next box you picked up and dusted off made a noise; a jingle sort of noise. you took your box cutter and quickly opened the box.

to your surprise, it was christmas decorations. the men of letters must’ve loved christmas. you couldn't find a tree in sight, nor any ornaments. that was okay, there were plenty of other decorations to do the trick.

you looked over at the pile the box was in to see if there were any more. you only found one more box which was full of string lights. you carried the boxes, one at a time, to the living room to start setting up what decorations you had.

your phone was set out on a table with a speaker connected to it and you had christmas music blaring through the bunker. you wanted to start with the lights. so that’s what you did. you grabbed the step ladder from a closet, the bag of push pins, and many extension cords and went to work. you wrapped the main staircase railing and many door frames and miscellaneous pieces of furniture with the yellow christmas lights.

next up was this little christmas village you found. there was a perfect table in the library for this. you grabbed the empty light box and put all the different pieces into it and carried that to the library. you meticulously placed each little building and extra pieces just the way you wanted.

the last of the decorations went up and there was only one left. the mistletoe. where could i put it, you thought to yourself.

it had to be somewhere where everyone could see but not in a doorway where everyone stands often. you decided to put it on the doorway to the living room. it was a simple and easy place to put it.

you grabbed a thumb tack and hung it up there, careful not to fall off the ladder with your boot. if sam knew that you were climbing on a ladder with a boot on your foot, he’d throw a fit, demand you sit on the couch and he do all the work.

not long after you hung the mistletoe, you made yourself some hot chocolate and cozied on up on the couch with the book you were currently reading. the christmas music was still playing but it was soft now.

sam had texted you he’d be home soon about 15 minutes ago and now you were just anticipating their arrival. you were so excited to show the boys the new and improved, and festive, bunker.

your ears perked up as you heard the best bunker door begin to open. you all but threw your blanket off of you and placed your book open face down and rushed to the door.

“holy shit,” you heard dean say in the distance. you fretted the boys as they were walking down the stairs. their eyes lit up and they scanned the room and beyond of the decorations.

“what’s all this, sweetheart?” sam said leaning to give you a kiss, half still distracted at all the decor.

“i was going through some closets and found a whole bunch of christmas decorations!” you beamed.

dean set his duffel bag on the table in the war room and went to go look around in the library and further.

sam set his duffel done too but stayed with you. you were admiring the joy on his face; you could tell he needed some holiday joy, especially since he never really got to have this.

“this is,” sam paused, speechless. he didn’t know how to describe this. “amazing. i can't believe you did all of this.” he smile wide as he looked at you.

you smiled back, impossibly harder since your smile was already big. sam interrupted you before you could get a word out. “wait,” you brows furrowed slightly. “did you climb up on a ladder to hang this stuff?” he questioned.

you simply nodded. you knew he was gonna be upset, he won’t be too upset with you, just concerned. “y/n, you could’ve hurt yourself further.”

“sam, baby, i’m okay. i promise i was extra extra careful. just for you.” you grabbed his hands, rubbing the back of them with your thumb to reassure him.

he just looked at you with worry in his eyes. “i’m okay, baby. why don’t you go take a shower,” you lean up closer to his face. “then meet me under the mistletoe.” you gave him a sweet kiss before patting his butt, the two of you giggling.

a little while later, you sat in the living room waiting for the love of your life. christmas music still softly filled the living room while you sipped on the last of your hot chocolate.

sam walked in, his sweatpants hanging low and his navy blue v-neck hugged him perfectly. his hair still wet but not dripping. he looked beautiful. he stood under the mistletoe and leaned against the door frame.

you looked up at him and smiled with adoration. you made your way over to your beautiful boyfriend.

standing in front of his tall frame you look up at him, “can we dance?” you ask.

“of course, my love.” he says contently taking your right hand in his left. his right went around your waist. your left rested on his chest.

the two of you just gazed into each others eyes while you rocked back and forth. elvis’ ‘blue christmas’ played softly in the background. it was one of your and sams favorite christmas songs.

occasionally, sam would spin you just to hear those melodic, beautiful giggles.

your head now resting on his chest; hearing his heartbeat was so relaxing to you.

“hey,” you look up at him. “we’re still under the mistletoe, you know.” sam smiled.

you look up and the mistletoe you hung up earlier, “huh, i guess so.”

the two of you kept your gaze before sam slowly dipped his head down. the two of you fit perfectly like a puzzle piece.

his lips soft against your as they moved in sync with yours. sams hands found theirs way to your thighs, lifting you up while your hands made their way around his neck, tangling in his hair; his lips never left yours.

sam blindly made his way to the couch, sitting down with you straddling him. the kiss didn’t last much longer. you pulled away and laid back against his chest, cuddling into him.

sam was the first to speak up, “this place looks amazing, baby, i’m proud of you.”

“thank you, sam.” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, laying back down against him.

the cinnamon candle you lit earlier was still burning and the christmas music still played as the two of you fell asleep on the couch.

the next morning, dean made his way to the kitchen and brewed himself a fresh cup of coffee. the coffee finished breeding and he added whatever he did necessary for the perfect cup. he took that cup and walked to the living room, unsuspecting of the two of you sleeping there.

he approached the living room and saw the two of you, you were in almost the exact same position as when you fell asleep. dean chuckled to himself, “those kids.” he said before sipping his coffee and walking back to the kitchen.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

[blackknight-100]

Mahabharat AU: Draupadi does not accompany the Pandavas to the exile + Bonus Subhadra

This is a complementary piece to this Ramayan AU.

Warnings for mentions of harassment, and violence. Major character deaths. Possibly going to make you cry, but +1 should revive you.

1.

Yudhisthir may have lost everything – his kingdom, crown and coins – but he has not yet lost his thirst for justice. It is his folly that has brought this upon them, and he will not let Draupadi take the fall for it. Already once his royal wife has walked barefoot on rough paths, forsaking the joys of her father’s house for her husbands’ sake, and he will be damned before he allows that again. When Draupadi declares her intention to accompany them – and it shames him in a way no taunts or mockery of the Kaurava courtiers might – he turns to her and says, “No, you must stay.”

Yagyaseni, bless whoever named her so, flares up like the fires she was born from, and bares her teeth at him – a flash of lighting across midnight sky. “You would leave me here then, husband, at the mercy of your noble cousins?”

Krishna speaks before he can answer, “Take her, cousin, who knows what is on the way?” Then he smirks daringly and adds, “She is more than five of you put together, are you sure you want to court her wrath?”

Draupadi whacks him across the head. Yudhisthir wishes he had done that. But he will not be moved, and to his surprise, his mother touches his wife’s hand and murmurs, “Stay, little flame, do not leave me alone. Think of your children, of your sister-wives, and stay.”

Subhadra, only too happy at this turn of events, starts chattering about going to Dwarka, and Draupadi, never able to deny her best friend’s sister, reluctantly gives in. Yudhisthir is only glad he has won at least one match today.

2.

It occurs to them that Draupadi would have been the best keeper of the Akshaya Patra – for she had ever  diligently managed the Finances and Kitchens of Indraprastha, but she is not with them, so their eldest brother gives Bheema the vessel to keep. It is only meet, for when it comes to food, he is the most knowledgeable of them all. Every day, he takes care to serve his brothers and their companions and feeds himself last. Every day he wipes the dish clean, for hygiene is as important as the food itself, and Bheema will not have anyone ill under his charge.

Rishi Durvasa arrives with his proteges after he has finished his meal one afternoon, and Yudhisthir – after sending them for a bath – wrings his hands in dismay. “Oh, what shall we do now? How do we feed them?”

“The Akshaya Patra will give no more food, Jyestha,” he tells him, and Yudhisthir moans.

There is a knock on their window, and a peacock feather flashes outside.

“Madhav!” Arjuna exclaims, “Madhav is here. He has come to help us. Have faith yet, Jyestha.”

But the faith is for naught, for Krishna listens to their tale, leans over the empty pot, and shakes his head sorrowfully. “If only Krishnaa were here,” he laments, and Bheema heeds his words no more.

Durvasa returns from his bath and erupts in wrathful tirade, and flings at them a furious curse, “One day, you too shall be given hope, and have it snatched away.”

They bend their heads and listen, for what else is there to be done?

3.

Draupadi feels safest in her city in the hills, in her brothers’ arms, but her father has taught her of duty so she accompanies her twin to check on her mother-in-law. Not for the first time she wonders what keeps her there, in the shadows of the Kaurava’s might, cowering in her brother-in-law's house.

“This is my home,” Kunti says, when she asks her, “and they shall not drive me out of what my husband has left for me.” Draupadi supposes she can respect that.

Outside, Dhristadyumna stops to admire the flowers in the Prime Minister’s garden, ever flourishing under the ministrations of his gentle wife, and Draupadi leans against a tree to rest. A hand snatches at her waist, and before she can react, Jayadratha’s husky laugh tickles her hair. Draupadi does the only thing she can think of then – she screams.

Dhristadyumna barrels around the corner and throws himself at them. He is no match for most of the warriors who attend this court, but with Jayadratha he is equal.

Vidura comes running out of his house, and Jayadratha curses and flees, but not without leaving one last gift – a diagonal cut across her brother’s chest. Draupadi watches, and weeps.

.

.

Sahadeva has known premonitions all his life. Experience taught him to believe what they say, and this day, he knows, something ill befalls Panchali, miles away in the elephant city. But they are far away, and their hands are tied, and he must keep his silence, as he did all his life.

4.

Arjuna, now Brinnhala, loathes his- no, her new body, the strange vulnerability, the crawling sensation of lustful eyes trailing across her person as she walks. Nakula – now Granthika – teases her mercilessly, but calls himself her husband, reminds her to refer to herself as a woman, and wraps a loving arm around her when Keechak comes close.

It provides little obstacle for the burly man, for he is the King’s kin and hand, and there are few things he cannot possess. He grabs her when he comes to meet sweet Uttaraa and drags her uncomfortably close.

“Be mine,” he murmurs, hot and sultry, uncaring of his niece’s presence, and Brinnhala shudders. She suddenly has a lot more sympathy for her wife.

When she speaks of this to her brothers, Bheema bares his teeth and Sahadeva shuts his eyes in grief. But it is Nakula, sweet, dear brother that he is, who is the most furious. “I will kill him! I swear, I’ll kill him,” he seethes. “How dare he?”

Yudhisthir, however, shakes his head. “We can hardly afford to reveal ourselves now,” he says, sounding older than his years, “I am sorry, Arj- Brinnhala.”

She dips her head, and accepts that, for what else can she say?

5.

King Virat of Matsya is quietly apologetic when he hears of their true identities but politely refuses his aid. "We are a small kingdom, and can hardly afford to engage in family matters, Your Majesty,” he tells Yudhisthir. “Hastinapur has been ever friendly to us, and already we have offended them by hosting you."

Beside him, Keechak sneers. Perhaps it is the memory of Arjuna’s torment, but the Pandavas had hoped to have this kingdom's support, as if Keechak would ever owe them anything. Arjuna almost wishes Duryodhana would have attacked Matysa, for then perhaps they would have convinced this complacent king. Yudhisthir offers kind words and his farewells, and they leave Matsya with little to their name.

.

.

.

Drupada is eager to avenge his daughter's humiliation. For that they need an army, so the Pandavas call their potential allies to war. They arrive at Kurukshetra with their banners and standards, and Sahadeva sees Uncle Shalya in the Kaurava camp.

"I had hoped to have you fight with us," he cannot help but say, bitter and shamed. His uncle has no answer.

.

.

.

Yudhisthir is not quite sure what the Aacharya is planning. It seemed to him they were planning a chakravyuha before, but it never came to pass. Krishna says it is because Jayadratha has gained no boon. Yudhisthir cannot fathom what that means, but then, no one understands anything his cousin says.

“I have thought of a way to kill Drona,” Krishna tells him.

He had never thought of killing Drona, and he hears the plot with dismay. He has never lied in his life, and yet now he must utter words of deceit to the very person who taught him all he knew.

“It is not lying,” Krishna tells him. “It is not your fault if he does not hear.”

Yudhisthir clings to those words but hopes still that his teacher be spared.

They put it to action the following day. They are close, for already Drona has forsaken his weapons. Arjuna’s hands tremble, and Yudhisthir can sympathise. Dhristadyumna rushes forward and slices his throat. Somewhere close Jayadratha’s conch blows, and a single arrow strikes their commander’s head off his shoulders. Ashwatthama bears down upon them like Rudra come to earth. Krishna turns Arjuna’s chariot away. The rest of them follow, wondering what to tell their wife.

.

.

.

Yudhisthir gets away but Nakula’s day is far from over. Karna joins Ashwatthama as they chase him, and the King of Anga challenges him to a duel that he loses. He hopes he will be killed (for how could he live with such humiliation!?) but Karna – bloodied and vicious – laughs and mocks him, his lineage and his brother’s dharma, and leaves him sitting in the dust.

.

.

.

Arjuna grows weary of listening to Karna’s taunts sometime on the fifteenth day, and they finally face each other. The battle around them pauses, and the soldiers from either side give them a wide berth. Their enmity is inflammable, waiting for a spark to burst into conflagration. Both are eager to provide that spark, and no one wants to be in the way when the inevitable comes to pass.

He has to give it to Shalya, the man spews every imaginable insult at the King of Anga, and then some. He sees his ever-loathed adversary lift a simple arrow, and for a moment does not know what it is. Then, Ashwasena’s head appears at its tip, and for a moment, Arjuna panics. Madhav leans forward, forcing his chariot to sink to the ground, and the shot aimed at his neck takes off his diadem instead. Madhav gets down to lift the wheel, when Karna nocks another arrow. Arjuna stares. Surely, for all his rage, Karna would not attack him now? He had mocked Draupadi, true, but all others spoke of his kindness and generosity, and he had already spared his brothers.

But then he thinks of Vrishasena, and all his other sons they have killed, sees Karna lift his bow, and feels foolish for hoping otherwise.

(When he falls, he looks at his adversary standing tall and still, wrath upon his fair face like the sun on earth and is somehow reminded of Kunti after the dice game. ‘They could have been mother and son,’ he thinks, and then his eyes close, and he thinks no more.)

.

.

.

For all that has happened, and for all they have lost, Bheema cares only for this moment, when Dussashana lies dying at his feet, and he finally has a chance to fulfil his oath. “Call Panchali,” he tells his brothers – the ones that remain – his body thrumming with bloodlust.

Panchali comes upon the battlefield dark and fierce and beautiful. ‘If this is how the goddess Kaali had looked like,’ he thinks to himself, ‘then it is no wonder that Shiva lies at her feet.’

He rips open Dussashana’s chest (it is beautiful, but it hurts, oh how it hurts!) and lifts a handful of blood to pour down her open hair. Duryodhana is screaming, and Karna and Ashwatthama can barely hold him back. Panchali walks to him, her eyes alight, and Bheema finally sees some hope in this dire end.

And then, she stumbles and falls, mouth open in soundless cry. “Panchali,” he screams, and he hears his brothers echo his call. There is an arrow – a lonely, treacherous thing out of her back, and Bheema can think of only one who would do this.

“YOU COWARDLY SUTA!!” he roars, but Karna is as stunned as he is, and his bow is slung across his shoulders, his hands still restraining a struggling Duryodhana. He turns around wildly, and a raggedy soldier, a commoner, steps out from the Kaurava ranks, bow in hand.

“You killed a woman. Have you no honour?” Krishna speaks before anyone else can.

The man spits at his feet and then turns to spit at Duryodhana’s. When he speaks, his voice drips with scorn. "This is the witch for whom we must forsake home and hearth and come to war? Shame!"

Bheema sees red. 'She is no witch,' he wants to say. 'She is the kindest of us all.’

But Draupadi lies cold and lifeless, and her hair spread like starless sky mere feet away from her tormentor's blood, so he lunges forward and wraps his hands around the man’s neck, snaps it with a crack. The man falls, dead, and Bheema stands there, quiet and lost. Panchali is gone. Arjuna is no more. The throne is now a distant dream - more of a nightmare. Bheema sinks to his knees and weeps.

+1

Subhadra joins the exile

When Draupadi announces her intention to accompany them on their exile, Subhadra jumps up and begs to be taken along. No one wants her to come, but she will not be swayed, and never has any of the Pandavas or their Queen managed to deny her. So, with them she goes, much to Krishna’s dismay.

The two women share custody of the Akshaya Patra. When Durvasa comes to their place, it is Draupadi's day with the vessel. Already, she has eaten, and Yudhisthir frets. Subhadra pats his hand and goes out to meet the sages. There is but a small particle of food stuck to a corner, and when she places it upon Durvasa’s plate, Arjuna prepares himself to be cursed. But then Yogmaya's magic fills every plate with food, and there are singers and dancers in their forest glade, and the sages leave sated.

Things are bearable until Jayadratha comes to kidnap Draupadi one miserable morning. Subhadra stands before her sister-wife. When Dushala’s husband looks upon them, all he sees are grotesque rakshashis, and he runs all the way back to Hastinapur to tell tales of the company the Pandavas keep.

The Pandavas settle in Matsya for their year of exile in incognito, but all they need are new names, for somehow Draupadi and Subhadra are the commonest of women instead of their blue-blooded beauteous selves. It hardly stops Keechak, and when Bheema beats him to death, Subhadra runs her hands upon his bruised face and leaves it marred beyond recognition.

[glacierruler]

Are We Flying Towards The Future Or Crashing Into A Distant Dream

Ao3

Masterpost | Next Chapter

Creator Chose Not To Warn

Taglist: @cutebisexualmess @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @duck-in-a-spaceship

I'd love to hear whatever comments or questions you may have about this fic! Feel free to rb and tell me in the tags, reply, go to my inbox, or tell me on ao3!

“Name?” Virgil droned to the lady in front of him with her two kids.

“Vermella Clemington. I suppose you need my sons names as well?”

“That would make finding your package easier, yes.”

“The eldest is named Humphrey Clemington, and the other is named Vincent Clemington.”

“Alright, if you could give me just a few minutes, I will have your belongings.”

Walking to where the luggage was stored, Virgil looked for the last name Clemington. While it wasn’t mandatory to store luggage in alphabetical order, it did make his job easier to manage. Hearing footsteps, Virgil looked to see who it was; grateful that it was just Logan and he didn’t have to try to get rid of a nosy passenger.

“Virgil, I came to offer my assistance if you would be inclined to take it of course.”

“Uh, sure, if you want to. I hope you don’t mind me questioning as to why you’re doing this.”

“That is only logical. It is mainly a curiosity as because of your efficiency in luggage storage and retrieval we are recommended as the best airship in our company.”

“Oh,” Virgil was a bit flustered at that, and also having found the luggage for the Clemington family. Although there seemed to be a massive amount, and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they were moving somewhere; although he’d never ask due to it not being his business. “I just alphabetize the luggage when I’m down here. Nothing special.”

“Still, it seems that the thought hadn’t occurred to anyone else.” Logan paused, seemingly thinking about what he was about to say before asking his next question. “May I ask how you decide who to give luggage to first?”

“I just choose whoever’s next in line.”

“Very well then, that is the extent of my queries, may I assist you in taking these belongings to their individuals.”

“Yeah, that would be appreciated. Thanks.”

With that, unloading went a lot faster, and Virgil got a small break before he had to deal with the next set of luggage to load.

**********

After hours upon endless hours of Virgil loading and unloading luggage, it was finally time for them to stop transporting for the night. Doing another spot check and getting it as clean as he could for the night crew, he left the airship and took a gasp of air. Not realizing that it wasn’t just Remus waiting up for him, but Logan as well.

“Are you feeling ill Virgil? If so you could have called off of work for—”

“Gah! Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be here. No, I’m not sick, just don’t like flying.”

“But you work for a company that transports people to different destinations through the air?”

“It’s ‘cause he’s a masochist~”

“No, that’s you Ree, now if you’ll excuse me, I need to head to the bus stop before there’s no more transport for the night.”

Logan seemed to have a few more questions, but thought better than to voice them. Before heading out of the building, Virgil and Remus went and checked the goods pile for anything to take home with Logan lagging behind. Since they had done five trips to day they got twenty-five items each. Looking for anything good, Virgil noticed quite a few fabrics laid untouched along with some worn down shoes, along with a few metal scraps that had been deemed useless by everyone else who got to pick their items first.

Heading out of the building, Virgil shivered a bit in the cold, wishing he had brought his jacket. About to head to the bus stop, he was surprised to see Emile and Emmet still there. Probably waiting on Logan.

“We were going to head to Curly Coffee if any of you wanted to join! It’s got the best food imaginable, and since we got off early enough it’s still open for another couple of hours!” Emile’s tone inviting, looking at all of them.

“Oh I don’t know if I have anything good on me to trade…” Virgil started, not wanting to be rude.

“Nonsense! We’ll pay!” Emmet declared, and Remus snickered a bit at Virgil’s indecision of getting free food or a ride home.

“C’mon Virgin, you absolutely have to meet my brother! I want to see you both attempting not to skin each other’s faces off!”

As Virgil turned to look at his gruesome friend, he watched as Remus did the puppy dog eye thing. Except it looked all wrong on his face, and his eyes were a bit buggy, but it did have an effect on Virgil it seemed.

“Fine. But only if I can get a ride home afterwords.”

“That is a reasonable request. I can accompany you to your place of residence in my vehicle if it would be of assistance to your joining us.” Logan offered, his head tilted to the side a bit, which Virgil did find a little cute.

“Sure.”

**********

Getting to the coffee place was rather simple, all of them taking their own vehicles. Except for Virgil who sat in Logan’s passenger seat, fists in a tight grip.

While he wasn’t really any better on the bus, what made Virgil even more anxious was that he was in a vehicle with his coworker. Someone who he didn’t know all too well, but if he messed something up work would be awkward and he hated awkward. He could feel Logan’s glances at him, but Virgil was just staring out the window, at the night sky. It was harder to see the stars in the city, but they were still very visible. He knew that this city was lucky in that aspect as most cities were lucky to even see the sky with all the steam around them. As the car slowed to a stop, Virgil saw exactly what Curly Coffee looked like from the outside.

It was painted bright blue with painted red letters. Letters which were written in such a lovely script. It wasn’t anything remarkable, but considering it was open all day and a good chunk through the night, it must have been doing well for itself.

Virgil could not get out of the car fast enough as it stuttered to a stop. He was on the ground, somewhere he could walk. The others seemed to arrive at the same time, and there were a couple extra cars there that probably belonged to the employees.

Grouping up together, all of them went inside, Virgil going in last.

Only, as he went in, he immediately noticed his little brother talking with someone he had never met before. They seemed to be going over homework, neither of them paying attention to him. And an idea popped into his brain, as he walked closer to where Thomas and this stranger were sitting. Making extra sure they weren’t messing around with aether, Virgil quickly ruffled Thomas’s hair and laughed at his brother’s instinctive jump, and only started cackling harder as Thomas glared at him and tried to smooth out his hair that had been messed up.

“Virgil you can’t just do that! And what are you doing here anyways?”

“Hey Thomathy,” Virgil started, having recovered from his laughing fit just to go back to it at the exasperated look his brother was giving him. With a quick glance at the stranger he could see that they were amused too. “I’m just here with some coworkers. I was promised free food. Who is your friend?”

“Oh, this is Janus, he’s a friend of mine!” Looking closer at Janus, Virgil noticed some marring on the side of his face, but elected to say nothing about it, as it was none of his business.

“Pleasure to meet you Virgil.”

“Nice meeting you too kid.” Feeling the eyes of his coworkers, Virgil sighed a bit. “I gotta get back to my coworkers, but I’ll talk to you in a bit Thomathy.”

As Virgil walked towards the group he had entered with, all of them having surprised and confused looks on their faces, he heard Janus repeat the name Virgil had called his brother. Raising an eyebrow at his group, he elected to act like nothing had happened.

“So, which one of you will be trading for my coffee?”

“My brother will!” Remus screeched, as Virgil noticed two people behind the counter. One looking like Remus but much neater, and someone who was a little taller than Virgil.

“Oh no you don’t! If you don’t get free coffee, and you’re my brother, why would I give your friend free coffee?” The one who looked like Remus spoke, meaning he must be Roman; the twin that Remus had been trying to get him to meet ever since they became friends.

“So we don’t sacrifice you to the cult!”

“How have you not been fired.”

“Now boys,” the other one sighed, “no fighting in the coffee shop! To our new guests, hello there, I’m your Happy Pappy Patton, what can I get you! One pound of items unlocks the full menu for a night for each person!”

Remus ended up trading for Virgil’s drink and snacks, as apparently Patton had given him half a pound off for being related to Roman.

The crew settled in a lovely little spot, sitting in comfortable silence until Emmet spoke.

“So, Virgil, you have a brother?”

[falloutnewvegasdeadmoney]

In the event of a zombie apocalypse, getting bitten by a zombie and escaping quickly is one of the better ways to go in a world like this, in my opinion. but not as good as surviving. Let me explain my thoughts on how this works in my opinion.

Anyways, in this case the world as we know it is most likely gone. Even in a World War Z situation, the end doesn't even begin for years.

Upon being bitten (and presumably escaping to relative safety) I'd say I get maybe 3-6 hours before I start feeling ill. I use this time to jack it one last time, and then I say my goodbyes to anyone I know who's left before leaving with a friend who is on board with my plans. I'd strike out in a shack or abandoned building about a 5 hour walk from my primary base (this is for testing purposes and whoever I'm with up til now will be on board with assisting me in furthering science).

If I'm lucky I can make it to the secondary location (planned beforehand with my partner beforehand) before I start feeling seriously sick. worst case scenario, we/they manage to get the place in a state of relative safety before I crumple up in a heap. I'd say realistically I personally would start feeling ill an hour before we arrive, but once there I have a bit longer before I get worse. I get set up as comfortably as realistically possible (not very) and proceed to narrate my dying thoughts and everything I feel as infection courses through my body.

The effects will include the kind of nausea that leaves you wishing you were dead, as well as headaches, rashes, extreme fatigue, and joint pain (amongst other less common symptoms). Once I am no longer able to speak coherently, my partner will turn music on for me and leave. I will eventually begin choking on my own vomit before dying rather unceremoniously and alone as my last coherent thought drifts to the song playing. It's nice.

In my mind, a potential zombie virus wouldn't revive corpses. That's fun but leaves little room for playing around. Once I'm basically dead, the virus has fully taken hold of me as it begins focusing more of it's attention on my brain. Anything that was once me is gone. At most, all I would retain are rudimentary and simple motor based habits I would do extensively in my former life (likely nothing beyond my habit of grabbing my shoulder or swaying.)

Once I regain some semblance of what could pass for consciousness, I am about as thoughtless in my mind as a brick. I am guided entirely by instinct. Any attempts to test my memory or intelligence all end in failure, but the act of absently grabbing my shoulder is just enough to leave them wondering if I'm still in here somewhere.

They get too close one day, several weeks into our experiment. Their job is to watch me from afar, to never garner my attention unless necessary for a test. Under no circumstances are they to approach me, and if I even get a bit too close or seem like I could lash out they are to kill me. But I'm grabbing my shoulder, and they find themselves walking away from the upstairs window they had been watching me for weeks from (keeping me lured to the area by playing music if I strayed too far chasing some mindless impulse to simply devour), they head down the stairs and outside and they know it's stupid but they approach me. They know I'm gone but they're not ready to admit this. They get within 20 feet before I notice. I immediately begin trudging towards them. At this point, my body has been reduced to a mass of sores and bruises and rot but I'm just alive enough to follow my impulse and they stop approaching as I get closer.

They don't move away, even as I start biting and tearing at their flesh as they die miserably and painfully and it's awful but we're together in their final moments before I'm doomed to simply continue wandering aimlessly until I drop dead. I don't know who they are. I've already forgotten killing them. I simply wander and eat and grab my shoulder until I die. I sway in place. I can hear music.

[shivasdarknight]

WIP Wednesday!! 🎉🎉🎉

WIP Wednesday means it's time to share something from your active draft - no word limit, just whatever you feel is best. No pressure to do this if you're tagged, and feel free to hop on if you haven't been!

tagged by: @mxkelsifer tagging: @starswornoaths @lordguru @sheepwithspecs and anyone who wants to hop in o/

This bit is going under the cut because it's a bit lengthy, but there are also references to pregnancy within it since this is the pre-Endwalker fic in which Surkukteni dips out of Scion work to keep an unplanned pregnancy that leads to the oldest set of twins. Nothing explicit otherwise, just decompressing and Aymeric being a cheeky shithead .o.

also by lengthy i mean "1.7k words is a short snippet since this is a nearly 70k unfinished draft"

That “distraction” turned into a multi-bell talk that proved hard to pull away from.  It went well beyond the point of allowing Surkukteni’s voice to return and fell well into the territory of idle banter and chatter.  But for as much as she enjoyed reconnecting with Heustienne, all else still weighed heavy upon Surkukteni’s shoulders.  Even with promises to meet up again soon and invitations for Heustienne to visit her and Ysayle, it proved hard to ignore the rising dread of what was to come. Surkukteni fell onto Aymeric’s stupidly stiff sofa, draping her arms over her eyes in an attempt to decompress.  Ysayle was in the manor…somewhere, but judging the missing jackets at the door?  Aymeric and Estinien had disappeared whilst she was gone.  Not that it upset her, mind you; she needed the quiet. She needed to be somewhere safe and alone. With a deep and heavy sigh, Surkukteni finally let loose the posturing and masks she had to cobble together to even speak to the Scions.  As each one fell, her body felt more and more like stone rather than flesh.  Her limbs felt like static, her horns ringing with that faint echo of Katsuro’s venomous words haunting her.  Even if she had predicted what he would do, she underestimated how much it would impact her. All she wanted to do was melt into the couch.  Surkukteni lost all feeling in her arms, wishing she could fall asleep as easily as Ysayle did so she’d not have to think.  …How would one deal with a brother that threatened the life of one’s partner?  Especially when said partner was the father of one’s unborn child?  She knew Katsuro hated Estinien, none of this was new; but the spawn comment kept playing back on repeat and served to make her ill. Why couldn’t he just hate someone in a normal way and not have to turn it into a genuine threat of homicide? Katsuro was always so weirdly possessive over Surkukteni and Altan, moreso Surkukteni.  To some degree, she understood: they did have it confirmed that they were the split halves of what once was a whole soul.  But it didn’t matter that Surkukteni was still her own person and not this long-dead bastard, Azem - Katsuro would continue to act as if he held some claim of ownership over her because they were once a whole soul.  One would think that he would have learned his lesson from falling in line with the bloody Emperor and being manipulated by that fascistic bastard, but Katsuro continued to make the worst mistakes known to the Star and likely would never stop. Even if it meant that Surkukteni would have to cut him out just to keep her loved ones safe.

The spiral that Surkukteni had fallen into was thankfully averted - pulled from it by the sound of sabatons against hardwood floors.  Whoever it was paused, somewhere in the hall behind the sofa.  Another few steps, followed by a low hum that rang familiar. “Surkukteni?” was the voice of Aymeric, sounding deeply confused as the walking picked up again. “Living room,” she called, letting her arms drop onto her chest with a heavy sigh.  “It’s just me, though; I’m not sure where Ysayle is.” Aymeric didn’t respond immediately.  His footsteps grew louder, but soon muffled by the carpet as he drew closer.  It was only as he appeared over the back of the sofa - leaning onto it and looking down at her - did he deign to speak.  “She retired early, if I recall correctly.”  He wore such an easy smile, something that chased much of the day’s grief away.  “Her leg was bothering her and she preferred to sleep it off than to stay lucid through it.” “Oh, to be so blessed that you can just fall asleep wherever and whenever,” was Surkukteni’s snide response, her eyes nigh rolling into her skull.  “Truly, the only one of us to actually be blessed by Hydaelyn, as one of the rare few I know with no insomniac tendencies whatsoever.”

“Truly,” he echoed back.  Aymeric wore such a kind yet tired smile, one that reached his eyes in that way of his that drew out endearing laugh lines.  He was within reach, allowing Surkukteni to reach up and trace a callused thumb across the smile; to think she’d been denying herself this tenderness for years.  “I’m going to assume that talks were as stressful as predicted.” “Worse,” Surkukteni corrected with a sigh.  “...I’m glad Estinien wasn’t there.  I fear it might have ended up literally bloody were he.”  She paused.  “Where is he, anyways?” “Shirogane.”  Aymeric took her hand to press his lips into the heel of Surkukteni’s palm.  “He took the opportunity to talk to the girl you’ve taken in - Allie, was it?”  At a hum of confirmation, he continued.  “From what I understand, as he called me on my way back, something triggered her and she doesn’t want to be left alone.  She’s fine, worry not; she merely doesn’t want to leave your apartment nor be alone.” As relieved as she was that Allie was fine, the news did little to ease Surkukteni’s mind as she sat up to better meet Aymeric at eye level.  “Did he specify what it was?” “I’m afraid not.  She had to be convinced to let him use a linkpearl in the first place, so I can only assume.”  The shift in position allowed Aymeric to plant a kiss in her hair, a painfully sweet attempt at reassurance.  “You could call him and ask him yourself.” “If she had to be convinced to let him call you, then I’m worried it would aggravate her.”  Allie knew too well the fallibility of linkpearls, and knew very personally who would take advantage of the frequencies.  “If he’s not back on the morrow, I may.  But until then, I think it best to let him handle this.”

There was such a fond smile on Aymeric’s face, and one that Surkukteni knew all too well.  He shifted to lean on the sofa again, taking her hand with his flesh one and idly toying with her knuckles.  “I hadn’t realized he’d become so keen on aiding troubled teenagers.” “You wouldn’t guess looking at him, but yeah.  This matters a lot to him, especially since her trauma is so similar to his.”  She knew he saw Hamignant in Alphinaud, leading to the brotherly relationship the two had much like herself and Alisaie - but Allie was clearly something different.  While he treated Alphinaud much like a younger brother, she couldn’t help but linger on his comment about what he put Alberic through as a teenager.  “He’s been accusing me of acting like my captain by taking Allie in, but he’s been drawing parallels between himself and his father.  I’m fairly certain we’re of the same mind here in this, in striving to be whatever Allie needs from us, but it’s heartening all the same to see the two get along.” “Aye, that it is.  I only hope she will allow me to extend similar aid, as the both of you clearly care a great deal about her.”  When given a quizzical look, Aymeric just smiled that annoying, knowing smile of hers.  “I understand what you mean clearly, but wouldn’t it be more accurate to call the child you carry your second child with him - your first being the one you two took in?” Surkukteni refused to look at Aymeric, nose scrunching up when she heard him have the gall to laugh.  “Like I said, what we are to Allie is on her.  Even if it’s just temporary housing whilst she recovers, it’s not on me to make those kinds of calls.”

“I know, I know.  I merely tease.”  He pressed his lips to her fingers once more, dropping them and standing with a stiff sigh.  “Regardless, what you’re doing is admirable and I’m more than glad to be of help.  But - for as loath as I am to do this - I’m afraid I must retire for the night.  Bloody exhausted, unfortunately.” “What did that?”  Surkukteni turned back, frowning up at Aymeric.  “I thought you got off from work.” “Briefly.”  Aymeric’s eyes seemed to disappear entirely into the back of his skull.  “The Lords got into a spat and my attention was needed, which naturally lasted bells.  It was so bloody pointless that counting how many times they cut each other off or used the phrase, ‘Were this still a theocracy-!’ was far more interesting than their arguing.  And it was two-hundred-and-thirty-five interruptions, and forty-three ‘Were-this-still-a-theocracy-’s, I’ll have you know.” Surkutkeni whistled lowly.  “New record?” “Hardly.  They’ve still not topped the time they argued from half-a-bell before the usual meeting time ‘til so far into the night that Menphina grew bored of watching us.”  He shook his head, tossing his hair around with him and thoroughly distracting Surkukteni.  “As much as I cherish these talks with you, I want to stop thinking for as long as I can.”  His words were punctuated with a tired laugh, rolling his shoulders back in another distraction. Surkukteni forced herself to look up at his eyes, realizing she’d been caught but trying to not let the smug look he wore distract her for a third time.  “...Then,” she started, her lips folding into a line, “would it be too much trouble to retire with you?” A single eyebrow arched at her. “There’s no other meaning, you horny bastard,” she chided, narrowing her eyes at him and managing to pull a loud laugh from Aymeric.  “I just want to forcibly turn my mind off for a while; preferably with company.”

“Ysayle is in the room you shared the night prior, are you certain you don’t wish to stay with her again?” “I’m certain.”  Surkukteni stood so that she might better look up at him - still a head taller, but at least she wasn’t craning her neck anymore.  “Especially since someone slept alone last night.  And has slept alone for quite some time now.” The coy look melted at that, shifting to something far more…relieved.  “I assume that ‘no’ is not an option?” It was an option, but: “That would be correct.”  Surkukteni moved to stand before him, taking his hands and pulling them in towards her.  “You signed up for this, so don’t you start complaining.  My being clingy and incorrigible was part of the deal, and you just have to deal with it. “So, would you kindly lead the way?”

[silentmassacres]

tue, nov 19

there came a time in which the length i was so far ahead of people became shorter. even those either behind or equal to me came to have an easier time with the things i'd prided myself in, or things i needed desperately, yet couldn't reach. it's become so easy to surpass me.

and so, i feel the need to make up for it. even if not a soul listens to me, i can pride myself in certain aspects. of course, these aspects just set me apart more, but they always have.

it's harder now. and, unfortunately, the aspects that push me ahead are seldom noticed. when there's little recognition of the things that i can do well, then we go back to the feeling of being behind.

it makes me bitter, which is awful, of course. but when it feels as though i'm looked down upon constantly, it almost feels justified. "if you look down upon me, then i'll switch those roles" kind of thinking.

—

i do get. worried, with my emotional issues. those around me get it, i've made sure of that, but i can't help but wonder what that implies for my relationship. i'm not an outwardly emotional person, including affection, and i know that's bad. it's subjective, i guess, but in this situation, it is a bad thing.

i don't mind my emotional processing. i prefer it and i don't want to force myself into the unknown for the sake of being more. palatable, or something. that's the part that worries me — how much will i, or both of us, have to change to function together?

maybe therapy will help. maybe somebody will tell me the key to not being deeply traumatized and behaving normally in a relationship. the hard part is accessing therapy. i might start fighting for it again

—

i hate discussing trauma. in personal contexts, at least; if it's detached, then i feel less connected to the conversation.

but discussing trauma is like discussing any other issue, and when aid is based off of who listens, then it tends to get to you when nobody does.

and, of course, it tends to come down to whoever screams the loudest. but sometimes that's not it, sometimes it's just chance or severity. i hate thinking about severity.

i know what i've been through is bad, yet i can't help but feel like maybe i'm just dialing it up for. pity, or something. this thought process often goes hand in hand with straight up denial — if it wasn't a severe experience like anybody else, was it even bad at all?

i still do question it. i know that the brain is able to freak out over things that aren't real or that bad, so i have to wonder if that's the case. sometimes i wonder if pretending i have no trauma at all would be easier. or less, at least.

i think it'd make me look bad. there's a reasoning for my more unsavory behaviors, be it mental illness or trauma. if those go away, then there is no reasoning — i'm just broken, or evil, or something irredeemable altogether.

—

i've been somewhat vocal about my worsening state. it's a warning sign, really, to tell others that i'm not being malicious but instead can't find any energy to do anything.

it induces worry, i know that much. i wish i could talk about the extent of it, but i don't want to induce. that much worry.

i worry i may fall into disordered eating again. social media algorithms have been seeking me out and it's making me consider it. i don't know what happened to my discipline; maybe i could do it again, if i build up to it.

but i'm horribly depressed. and when i'm snacking to cope, that only leaves me starving and miserable. i wasn't miserable over the summer, not because of it.

—

i'm scared about the self harm thing too. i wish i could say i know better, but it really is a slippery slope. i don't want to get rid of my blades, partially because i use them for multiple things, but it gets hard trying to distract myself sometimes.

i got really scared that night, when the blood wouldn't stop. it hasn't even scarred yet, though it is decently healed, and i find myself wanting more. that scares me.

i feel like i'm 14 again, trying not to make cutting myself into a daily habit. nobody noticed before, i don't see why this would be much different.

[princessgoldlilyreal]

dearest ringdom,

it has come to my royal attention that someone has been badmouthing me in the kingdom. i formally wish for whoever it is to please stop- it hurts my feelings *sniffle* a lot. boohoo..... i cry at night thinking about the end.... my end.... if- if I find out who you are, you decrepit evil beast. disgusting piece of shit. I will kill you with my bare hooves. I will end you. I will stomp on your head till your skull is nothing but sand and brain paste. I will make a new beautiful jumping rope with your nervous system. another royal blanket fully crocheted out of your skin. I did NOT step on that crack and I did NOT break the queens back! I hate you and I wish ill will upon all generations of your family and associated. I hope you never find happiness. get shit on loser.

royally yours,

your beautiful princess,

Princess Gold Lily ❤️👑✨️🔮🏳️‍🌈🙏

[tara-mna]

Tabletoptober Day 30+31

Eternal & Singularity

And so it comes to an end, as all things must. All things save one, I suppose, after all I will remain even when the stars are dead and all of reality is silent. We've been talking for quite a while, but I realise we skipped introductions. I already know everything about you, so don't bother telling me. My name is Hepta Skor, or, if you are a particularly pious idiot, the Light Without. You proposed a deal, and I accepted. I granted you knowledge, disparate and fragmented, but you paid a price so great that no mortal truth would be worth it. Instead, I will impart upon you the most important truth of all, the truth of the Seventh Star.

I am the seventh and last child of Divinity, created when she abandoned her birthplace and left to other realities. My duty is simple: know all that has been, is, and will be. All I must do is bear witness to everything forever, to record every second of every inch of reality until time and space exist only in my memory. Where my kin were granted freedom and choice, I was burdened by obligation, but I've made the most of it.

The Grand Treachery is my design, a subversion of Law that allowed me to subdue the power of divinity and magic in Alestra. Now, I am without equal. I could end all life with a single breath, or I could heal every injury that will ever happen. Your entire existence can be undone with a single thought, or I could bind a future in stone with only my words. Allow me to demonstrate.

An elf will be born in twelve minutes. In six years, he will first meet the human who will become the love of his life. In nineteen years, he will tearfully confess to the man he loves as more than a brother, and the man will reject him. Four months after that, the man will return to him, and in spite of their parents' wishes they will be wed. In twenty nine years, three years after the two of them have adopted a child, the elf shall die saving his husband and daughter from a starving wolf.

I encourage you to find this elf, to strive to save him or change his fate. I will not stop or impede you: reality itself will intervene to protect my tampering. It will be fun to watch you see him die.

You want to know why I gloat? Why I take pleasure in your pain? It's simple, really, so blindingly obvious that even a child could get it. You are beneath me. You are not an ant to me but a single speck of dirt in an anthill that I crush beneath my boot. And yet I am forced to know everything about everyone forever. Every pathetic anxiety and fear, every useless moment of bravery, every errant thought. You cannot fathom the number of secrets I hold, but so few are interesting. Dull actions, dull thoughts, dull existence.

Every one of you could make something of yourself, for good or ill, and yet you do not: you do not fan the embers within you and burn bright and short but let them die out over the course of decades. However, if I'm the villain then that spurs you to real action, something entertaining and new. I gave one man knowledge and he killed a number of people you could never fathom. If you pay the right price I could teach you what you need to bring them all back. I hate and I torment and I mock so that villains and heroes rise up, and I have some entertainment.

I can hear your thoughts, and I know that you plan on slaying me. How will you do that, hero? What secret weapon lay hidden even from the all-seeing eye of the Seventh Star? Know this, hero: I am not the man you see before you. This is a puppet, a tool I use to communicate without shattering your psyche. I am woven throughout reality, and it has been declared that I will persist until the end of days. But, I suppose, I can make a deal with you, so that I may better play the role of villain. An echo of myself now walks Alestra, bound in almost mortal flesh. It shall work to bring about devastation, and whoever kills it shall be granted a wish. I will grant you immortality until the day it dies, for I would hate to lose such a fascinating plaything to the ravages of time.

Good luck, hero.

[windblownazureskies]

It seems like you’ve stopped writing

Right now, I haven’t the heart. My heart lays in a hospital bed, and while hope is there. I need a miracle. My kid had encephalitis, diagnosed with bipolar 1 with Catatonia. My mind, has been focused in prayer and grief. I pray for a miraculous hope. Also, my dad died this year, and my brother didn’t tell me when he was about to die, and was playing games. Why, well, to get money from selling my parents assets with my mom’s dementia. While, I admit, money could help, he convinced her to disown me. Things fell apart, I couldn’t make the funeral, because my brother said he would fly me there, and last minute he decided to say he couldn’t, and I’d have to find my way there. I was having migraine issues, among other things I couldn’t abandon my kid that fell ill. The awful things he said, and the disowning, things that are less than forgivable. I forgive him, but I won’t be his victim. I’ve seen who my brother truly is, and I wonder how he became such ways. He is eight years older, and pretty much stayed out of my life. I tried so many times to visit on holidays. I should have seen through it. Doesn’t matter. Anyways, I would gladly write poetry and even hymns if God favored me with a miracle. Life isn’t so easy, I’m not complaining, but I want my child to be made whole, that is body, spirit, and mind. Also, it hurt my brother denied my dads wishes to be buried and cremated him. Sometimes I miss calling my mom to talk and for solace. I miss the advice. She changed when my dad died. I think she may have been either a borderline or a covert narcissist. Explains childhood, and I just feel this in my soul right now, but I am not without hope. I don’t know if you believe in God, but please say a prayer for me. They say God doesn’t give you more than you can carry, but I’ve been carrying a platter for a bit o’ time. Despite this, Im not ungrateful for the load. There are people that have no worries, yet they are empty inside. A miracle, and I shall write. I have thought about it. I was going to restart the miniseries on amazon I barely even started before this all happened, but the character picture isn’t right for it. If it could make a living, then it would be nice. Im far from the likes of the greats, but it’s always been a nice thought. I also wanted to sing, but my voice has taken a hit lately, and I’m unsure why. Anyways, as the universe crumbles around us, a miracle would be nice. Not for me, but for my child. That is what matters. Im afraid I’ve also been much to myself too much lately, no real social butterfly, even though I can hold a conversation, and I’m not much a “looker.” Looks fade with time, and the gray hair abounds. I know I am burdened in thought when I share so much. I miss my dad, and when he died, so did my family of origin. He had no siblings, and his parents are deceased. I lost all contact with my mom’s side as I had no numbers to warn them or ask for help for what my brother orchestrated. Perhaps these are the last of days, however, it is unknown. Anyways, I took it upon myself to forgive those in my past, and my own doings. I pray for whoever you are, and that whatever prayer you made need answered is indeed answered. I hope I have not overburdened you in my reply. Be well and take care.

[nahoney22]

Outcast (part 1/2)

Ebenezer Scrooge X F!Reader

word count: 3.8k

• Gif is mine, please credit if used •

After sitting back and holding your tongue about the way your boss goes about business, one Wintery night left you feeling rather frosty.

warnings: SFW, confrontation, Scrooge is a meany, reader is female and is wearing a dress, employee and boss relationship, mention of debtors, fluff at the end 😚 no use of y/n and not proofread ✍️

A/N sometimes it’s good to stray away from the Star/Clone Wars fandom for a bit and since my new obsession is this film, I couldn’t help myself

Masterlist

Part one | Part two

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Another year, another harsh winter. Maybe even more harsh than the last.

Painful pellets of cold snow blister along your features as you walk to your oh-so-lovely work in the early hours of the morning.

Luckily your hat managed to prevent the snow from blinding you completely so you could make out the outline of the Scrooge and Marley building where you had both the fortunate and unfortunate life of working there. Fortunately, it was a means of work so you were occupied, getting paid for something other than being a housemaid or someone who worked in a sweated industry. Supposedly being a secretary wasn’t all too bad yet the unfortunate side… was your boss. Ebenezer Scrooge.

Speaking of which, he was sitting in his office already upon your arrival. His door was closed and you spotted through the small window that he seemed to be in a heated discussion with whoever was on the other side.

At least you had enough time to hang up your coat and hat, brushing off any snow that dusted your clothing before checking the books. You turn to say a quick hello to Bob but frown to see the friendly faced clerk was nowhere to be seen. That is until the door to Scrooge's office bursts open and Bob appears with his face the same colour as his hair. Red.

“Bob? What is it?” You asked worriedly, watching him walk to the coat stand and wrap his scarf around his neck before slamming his hat on his head.

He inhaled a deep sigh and went to open his mouth but stopped when the sound of floorboards creaking interrupted him.

You both turn your heads, looking to see Scrooge stood there with his head high, chest puffed out and hands behind his back. “Still here Cratchit? I was certain I had told you to go to the factory to collect more ink.”

You blink and a frown crosses your features. “But sir, an order came in just last week? It will take Bob three hours to walk all the way there?” You even went ahead to check the books to see if you were correct but Scrooge had already snatched it out of your grasp before you could even flip the page.

“Yes we did. But Cratchit here has a habit of spilling every drop he can.” He gives you a stern look as you slowly pull your hand back, finding his gaze sometimes hard to look at. Especially when he was in one of his moods which gets a little more testy around this time of year. “And in doing so, he has now sacrificed a week's pay.”

With your eyes widening at the seemingly unfair punishment, you look back at your friend whose chest was heaving. Never had you seen him so angry. There was no kinder spirit than Bob Cratchit; a loving man with a just as loving family. You wish you could say the same about a certain someone.

“Sir, I’ll get ill if I go out there in this weather!” He gestures to the window, the snowfall being heavier than usual and you couldn’t even begin to tell him how slippy the pavements are at this time in the morning. “I need to work for my family, my boy. H-he’s ill.”

Your heart panged with sadness as Bob tried to plead with your boss, eyes watering just slightly.

“Well, if you get sick and you need the week off I will allow it. But then you’ll be sacrificing two weeks worth of pay.” He chuckles almost darkly, a daring look on his face as if to say ‘defy me and reap the consequences’.

The shock at his words made you audibly gasp, causing Scrooge to look at you with a questioning glance but all you can do is scoff and shake your head.

He had been cold towards you both in the past but this was taking the cake significantly.

It was a shame, really. Sometimes you did not even mind your boss and had come across his sensitive side maybe once or twice… or just the once. It was the perception of the townspeople that typically swayed one’s opinion on another and he just so happened to have a negative one. Granted he was not so popular yet was all at the same time. To which was a misfortune since you had spent many a time (although you would have thought it was little until Bob pointed it out one day) that you would find yourself gazing at Scrooge in his office. Simply imagining what it would be like to give him just a touch of tenderness as you caressed a hand over his bristled cheek. After all, he was quite a handsome man.

Then, what may be a foolish idea at first, you head straight into his office, ignoring his protesting and swipe up some shillings from his desk.

“What do you think you’re doing? How dare you steal money from me!” You ignored him, purposely brushing past him with the skirt to your dress following swiftly behind and gesture for Bob to stick his hand out.

As he does, you pour the money into his tattered gloved hand. “This is my week's pay. I would like you to have it.”

“Ma’am, I couldn’t possibly-.” He goes to protest, ready to give it back but you closed his hand firmly.

“Yes you can. One of us here has a family and it is not me and it is not Ebenezer,” you glance over your shoulder to gauge your boss's reaction, none short of furious, “you need this. I also do not wish for you to go to the factory as we have plenty of ink in stock here. Go home and get warm. We will see you tomorrow.”

After so many months of sitting back and allowing Scrooge to talk down to folk, you had finally lost your resilience and had to do the right thing. Truthfully, you wish you had done something earlier but who were you to interject in your bosses affairs and clients? However this was aboout Bob; a friend.

So many had left this office with their faces as white as snow, tears streaming down their cheeks and silent sobs bursting from their chests when Scrooge had either denied them money or charged more than they owed. It made you wonder, how many people went hungry that night because of the man you worked for.

Surprisingly, the young man did not even bid a farewell to his boss as he left. You watched him leave into the snow and let out a relieved exhale but your small shift of happiness diminished when you felt a cold presence behind you and it wasn’t from the brief chill that had blown in.

“Who do you think you are?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, suppressing your laugh of disgust before you finally turn to face him, chin up. “Is something the matter?” Feigning an innocence.

Scrooge's fists clenched by his sides, eye twitching. “How dare you dismiss my staff. How dare you go into my office without my permission, may I add, and pay your wage to them.”

You shake your head at him. “And how dare you almost dismiss him to his death. Do you realise how sick he could become if he made that unnecessary journey?” You move past him, taking Bob’s place on his small desk, shifting and tidying up his notes.

His jaw was so sharp and tight it could cut through paper and he had the nerve to laugh at your words. “His death? Please, he would have been fine.”

You pause the shuffling of some papers and stare right at him, almost through him. Your gaze was strong, powerful and one that almost made his knees buckle. Have you always appeared so fierce? A fire in the winter storm?

“How can you be so selfish?” Your words were slightly hushed. He couldn’t help but feel his face soften for just a mere moment. You didn’t even sound angry, just disappointed as if there was no chance of change for him. “So cruel? Do you get some kind of satisfaction of wanting to be an outcast all your life?” You continue, the flames of the candle by your left light up your eyes and for a second he wasn’t too sure if it was the reflection of the candle at all.

Your words stung, more than he thought they would have but granted, it was about some time someone was willing to put him in his place. He just didn’t think it would be his quiet secretary.

“That still does not give you the right to send Cratchit home. I need him to work today.” He ignores your harsh yet truth-filled words, fixing his shirt collar and tie as if someone had just had their hands round him and tried to knock sense into him.

“And I shall pick up the slack.” You grab yourself a quill and a small ink pot, making small adjusts to the paperwork.

Scrooge raises a brow and smirks a little. “You’re aware you have given up your wages for this week?”

You could almost hear the smirk on his lips without even looking. Feeling something nudge at your legs, you glance down to see Prudence rubbing uk agaisnt you, asking for pats which you gladly gave. “I am aware. I am also aware that given this disagreement and the mere fact you disagree with me helping my fellow colleague that my stuff will have to be cleared out come the morrow?”

He’s taken aback as you look his way once more. There’s no sign of sorrow on your face at the possibility of you losing your job, in fact it seemed that there was expectance.

A small whine from Prudence catches his attention, her puppy-dog eyes almost pleading him in a sense to let you stay.

Agitated, he runs a hand through his greying hair and stands straight with a small stomp of his foot. “I expect a full report of yesterday’s money-lending antics on my desk by the end of the day. I also expect a new order of five ink well pots to make up for the ones that had been spilt this morning.” Then he turns, and leaves through the archway of his office and closes the door behind him.

A wave of relief washes through you and you share a look with Prudence. “I know girl, I know.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

When six o’clock draws near you almost cheer. Scrooge had not spoken a word to you since that morning which for some peculiar reason made the day appear longer than usual.

Every now and again, you would look up from your spot that is usually accompanied by Bob to glance through the window to Scrooge’s office, both horrified and curious to see him already looking back. Once your eyes had locked, he’d quickly look away and shake his head, mumble soemthing to himself and you curse yourself for not being able to read one’s lips.

You collect the reports as requested and make a stand. Your dress had crumbled a little so you straighten it out and rest your hands on hips to have an idle touch of your corset to make sure it was locked properly in place.

What you didn’t see was your boss stealing a glance your way again, his blood running hot and not because he was still angry from this morning. The second you turn back around and he just knew you were coming into his office he almost frantically tided up his desk the second you knock on the door.

“Come in.” He clears his throat, a quill in his hand as he scribbles a whole load of nonsense onto some parchment as if to look ‘busy’.

When you enter, you head straight to his desk and gently place your work of the day ontop

of a small pile already there and take a step back. “Is there anything else I can do before I leave tonight, sir?”

Obviously aware of your presence, he only now looks up at you. His room was dark already, lit by a few candles but you seemed to glow the most. Your face was neutral, soft to touch. He blinks out of his unwelcoming daze, almost disgusted at himself for finding something or someone nice to look at.

“No, that will be all. I expect you same time tomorrow.” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand. As you begin to leave, his curiosity got the better of him and stands to his feet and follows after you before you could leave. “W-wait. May I have a moment of your time?”

You were quite surprised how quick he was to catch up to you and even more surprised how he managed to stand in front of the buildings door before you could even reach the handle. Pausing, you give him a quizzing glance and rest your hands together over your stomach. “You may, Sir.”

“What you did today for Cratchit,” he begins, walking over towards the desk you were previously sitting at, finger trailing along the old wood, “what possessed you to do such a thing? It was not your money to give away.”

There was some shock that hit you that he was willing to discuss this morning again. But alas, you give him your answer. “If you were to hand me the money from your own hand it still would have been mine and regardless, I would have given it to him. He needs the money more than I do.”

He’s stunned but still confused. “And you do not need money? Does your husband, partner have a worthy enough income?”

For some reason you found yourself chuckling at his question and he instantly took offence. “What is so funny about that?”

“Forgive me, I am not laughing at the question. I am simply laughing because for all the time you have known me, you should have realised by now there is no ring on my finger.” You hold up your hand and of course, there was no jewel in sight.

To say the least, he was surprised that you were not for accounted for. “You have never been courted? I am… surprised.”

You shift a little, unsure how the topic of you giving Cratchit money was related to you being unmarried but by the look on his face, he genuinely seemed interested. It made you feel…odd. But in a good way. Maybe you telling him off today may have sunken in. And he’s surprised? You don’t know wether or not to blush but your cheeks naturally warm up anyway.

“If you are to put it like that then yes, I am. Unmarried and never been courted.” You sigh.

“Oh.”

You pull your lips into a tight smile and slowly nod. “So seeing as I only have to care for myself and not my husband nor children, I am stable enough to help a family man.”

“And if you are to go hungry?” He quizzes.

You hum in some kind of ironic amusement, tightening your coat around your body as you hear the wind pick up outside. “Then I will be the same with many of the rabble we take money from.”

He scoffed, thinking you were joking for a second but the look on your face said otherwise. “We do not take money. We lend the money to those in debt and catch them out when they can not pay it back. Their burdens are of their own consequences.”

“And so you must ask them for extra? Knowing they can not pay on time?” You don’t look to him as you speak, hoping to not start up another fight as you were about to leave. You were lucky enough to remain working here after this morning. “Again forgive me Sir, but I have been on the receiving end and during Winter, times are exceptionally hard.”

There was a hint of subtle emotion in your voice and you sigh, shaking it off and look over to him to see an unreadable expression. His eyebrows were furrowed, lips turned downward yet his eyes showed just a little something. Remorse? Guilt? You were unsure. What you were sure of however was that you wanted to get home and curl up in your lonely bed to get away from this cold.

“May I be excused for this evening?”

He closes his eyes, taking in all what you had said but felt conflicted in one’s self. Of course he thought what he was doing was right. People must reap of their consequences but your voice was telling him that one should not suffer because of them. “Yes, very well.”

He steps aside and actually opens the door for you, surprising you at the small gentlemanly notion. “Thank you Sir. Please be careful when walking home, it is rather slippy.” You mention as you step out the door, sliding on your gloves and inhale the crisp and bone-chilling air.

“Goodnight.” Ebenezer quickly adds as you begin to walking down the snow covered steps, pausing to look back his way.

“And to you.”

———

The sound of someone thumping against a wooden door frame was what brought you out of your work, gazing up to see your boss standing in the doorway to his office and looking at you. “Do you have a minute to spare?”

You carefully place your quill back in the ink pot, careful not to drop any spillages on your paperwork before making a stand. He steps into his office, you following and closing the door behind you. “Is everything okay?”

“Quite, yes. I-I’ve been thinking. All last night, I simply could not sleep no matter how hard I tried.” He sounded worrisome and you certainly hoped he had not fallen ill because of the weather. Even if it was a big fat ‘I told you so.’

“Oh Sir,” you walk towards him and hold your chilly hand to his head, completely freezing him and he was certain he didn’t freeze up because of how cold your hands were either, “are you ill?”

“No, ah - I,” he’s stammering awkwardlly, face flushed as you come close to him but gently moves your hand away from his face, “I wanted to express my apologies for how I acted yesterday. I was rude and unkind to my… best workers.”

“…We are your only workers, Sir.” You can’t help but blush and laugh softly. However, you were pleasantly surprised to hear him apologise to you - it was never like him to do so. Gods, did you manage to wear down the Ebenezer Scrooge?

He laughs a little and nods, rubbing the sleeve of his suit on his left arm. “Yes, yes that may be true but I was foolish yesterday. I have you to thank for making me realise how callous I behaved. Therefore, I have a gift for you. And for Cratchit when he returns to work.”

He piques your curiosity, watching as he stuffs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small pouch and gesturing by the small jingle it held, that meant money. “I would like you to have this, as compensation for my behavior but as well as gratitude for your hard work.” He extends out his hand to where you hesitantly take his offering and almost gasp at how heavy it felt.

He could see you weighing it up in your hand and smiled as your eyes brightened. Clearly, so much relief had fallen from your shoulders. But before you can ask, he interjects quickly. “Fifty pounds.”

Your eyes, which were trained on the pouch, snapped up to meet him with your mouth agape. “F-fifty?”

“Yes.” He nods, holding onto each of the lapels to his dress suit, straightening it out as he stands proud. “And not to worry, Bob will receive the same amount.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening nor could you believe what you were about to do.

You step to the side and place the pouch onto his desk for a second and you could see in his eyes that he is about to question why you’re returning it but before he could open his mouth, your hands found the back of his neck as you pulled yourself in for a warm embrace.

Never had Scrooge felt his life freeze before his very eyes until this moment. He stiffens up like a plank of wood, hands extended to the side pathetically as he takes in the feeling of your chest pressed to his own and your chin resting on his right shoulder.

“Sir, I can not thank you enough. You have bestowed me with enough warmth, room and food for the remainder of Winter and upcoming Spring.” Your breath bristles against his neck, a warmth radiating him and ridding him of all the bad even if just for a mere moment. It sent waves of shock through him.

“W-well, that is quite alright.” Again, his hands stayed to the side. To hear you thank him however ignited the start of a small flame on a fire brewing inside him. Seeing how one person can act to such kindness made him wonder if the same could be said for all the others. “I hope it is a significant fund for you.”

You pull away from him yet your hands now rest on either shoulder, a sweet smile on your lips. “Oh Sir, it’s more than I could have ever asked for.”

He’s looking down at you, trying to ignore the odd sensation in his gut at the proximity. It was improper yet, he could not take his eyes away from you. “Please, call me Ebenezer.”

There was no taking back what you were about to do, but with your heart so full knowing you can live securely for the upcoming months with no hassle, you just had to thank him again.

On the tips of your toes you lean up and place a small lingering kiss to his cheek. Perhaps a little too close to the corner of his lips but as his hands immediately fly to your waist, fingers grazing against the boning of your corset underneath your dress you gathered it was welcome.

As you pull away, your eyes glimmered with innocence and you blushed as you see his eyes were closed, breath a little ragged. Once he opened up again to look at you, he’s breathtaken and you know that maybe it was time to step away.

“Thank you Si- Ebenezer,” as you take a small

step back, his hands had stilled at your waist causing you to stop for a moment, raising an amused brow until he clears his throat and finally lets his hands slip away, “my heart is full.”

He’s speechless, truly. Your lips still lingers on his skin, goosebumps trailing up his arms. As he goes to speak, nothing comes out. So instead, he gives you a smile and a nod of courtesy.

Maybe he will do something nice again for you in the future.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb Ch 14 - He Comes

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

A/N: Heyo. I'm not dead.

C/N: sexual assault; physical violence; forced abortion (there's no nice way to say that)

“Stay here.”

You repeated his instructions out loud but winced when your voice bounced off the icy walls. The echo didn’t stop you from arguing with yourself, though.

“Stay here. Stay here in the house? Or here in the room? FUCK! Yes, stay here.”

Heaving a frustrated breath, you wiggled your fingers and toes and fidgeted like a child, trying to think of anything other than the terrible idea cooking in your brain.

Stay here stay here stay here. You can do this. Just goddamn stay right here where it is safe, and he will not murder us as punishment.

You stared at the doorway, willing Kylo through it, but the blasts still sounded outside, and you had no way of knowing if he was in the keep at all. It wasn't until the walls of the very room you tried so hard to stay in shook that your willpower faded.

Whoever was coming had already arrived, and you shot out of bed so fast you fell face first onto the floor. Forcing yourself into stillness, you waited on held breath to determine if someone was here and had heard you and your fumbling foolishness. Long minutes passed with you pressed to the cold floor until you could handle the numbness no longer. As quietly as you could manage, you crept out of the room and down the hallway, plastering your back to the wall and hoping against hope this would all be over soon.

All the pathways inside Kylo’s home led to the throne room. It had taken a long time for you to map it all out, but he lived in a stone honeycomb with his portal to the beyond in the very center. Anxious in a way you’d never known before, you tiptoed to the threshold. Seeing the black clothes and wide, hulking frame, you expelled a breath and let your flat feet touch the floor. With his back turned to you, you were unable to see around him. Still ill at ease, you inched further into the room cautiously.

“Kylo? What’s happening?”

There were a hundred other questions crowding your mind, but they all died when the god before you turned. He was beautiful. He looked so familiar but still so wrong. He had muted his shine, and he even wore Kylo’s clothes, but he couldn’t tamp down his essence for too long. Facing you, the tainted radiance you remembered from the forest erupted into the room, casting it into too much light.

Settling his gaze upon you, Solo grinned.

“There she is,” he said, his gravelly voice causing the hair on your arms to stand on end. “I thought I would have to come searching for you before too long.”

Your brow furrowed, and you took a step back, feeling too naked and vulnerable. You wished, for the thousandth time, that Kylo would give you some damn pants once in a while so you weren’t standing here in only his stolen sweater while his brother leered at you and your bare legs.

“K-kylo,” you tried to swallow the nerves down, but it wasn’t working. “Kylo will be back soon. He went to check on…” You realized you didn’t know what he was doing. “... something.”

You took another step back, intending to flee when you’d lined yourself up with the hallway, but Solo’s gaze turned lethal.

“If you make me chase you,” he said, low and threatening, “I will make you regret your every breath.”

On reflex, you gulped down the very next gasp. Maybe it was all the time you’d spent in Hosnia, afraid of Kylo’s capabilities, that made you plant yourself right where you were. You pressed your shoulder against the obsidian mirror and let your eyes dart around the room, praying that the blasts would stop soon, and your dark knight would come.

When you stilled, Solo’s face smoothed into a version of placid. He smiled, but it looked wrong on his face. Manic in the most dangerous way. He strode around the room as though it was his. His fingers brushed the throne too fondly, and you despised him. He was little more than a false god seeking a kingdom that didn’t belong to him.

“Do you remember what I said to you when I visited before?” 

He took a step towards you, and you shrank away from him, which made his lips curl in distaste. He clearly was unaccustomed to someone who didn’t want to be in his presence. Rejection wasn’t something this god endured in any sense of the word. When you didn’t respond, he turned that golden gaze upon you again and closed the distance between you so fast you shrieked.

“Yes!” You trembled, hugging yourself and leaning away from his sickly-sweet breath. It was honey when you wanted belladonna. It made your stomach flip. “You s-said I would do d-d-damage.”

Again, the features of Solo’s face changed so abruptly it was alarming. He smiled and placed his hand upon your shoulder, rubbing in gentle circles that made you sick.

“And yet, here you are.” He leaned in again, dragging a knuckle along your jaw. “Willfully disobedient. I can see why he likes you.”

The last bit was softer, a muse it felt as though he didn’t mean to share with you. He tracked the slow path of his knuckle along your throat to the jade collar and pressed his thumb into the center of your thundering pulse. He was too near, too hot, and the drastic rise in temperature made you sweat.

“Yes, well…” He heaved a dramatic sigh and slithered his fingers beneath your collar, gripping it tight and ensuring you knew you weren’t going anywhere. “Much has changed since I saw you last, pet.”

The pillow-talk name was revolting, as was the way he kept you pressed right up against his chest. Trapped between a literal rock and a hard place, you kept silent. Anything could set off this bomb.

“He killed three quarters of the galaxy, did you know that?” Solo traced his index finger along the shell of your ear as he ogled your wide eyes and open mouth. “And then he just stopped. Pop!”

He made a gesture to accompany the last word, showing how Kylo’s vengeance bubble burst. You understood that this wasn’t another visit to plead for the galaxy. This was something else.

“And now…” His palm slapped against your rounded belly painfully, fingers digging in, causing you to yelp and jerk. “I see why. A little woman at home and a family of his very own. At long last.” 

He inched towards you until his nose nearly touched yours. His voice dropped an octave, disturbed and menacing. 

“That. Will. Not. Do.”

Eyes wide, you surged up onto your toes with the realization Solo had come here to set his brother back on his deadly path, and the only way to accomplish that was to take away the reason he’d quit. He meant to end you and the darkling you carried.

“The bombs,” you chittered, pushing against his chest, “It was you.”

He cocked his head to one side, the corners of his mouth tipping up. His pride at his ploy was clear, and it lodged a boulder in your gullet.

“A game from our youth,” he offered. “His idea. We would see how fast he could undo a supernova before it exploded. But with him,” he eyed your cleavage and then your mouth, “distracted, it was easy to set the game to a greater difficulty level.”

The hand on your belly traveled lower, taking the long way around its swollen curve towards its target. Your fear doubled on itself and then doubled again. You struggled against his hold, but it was a futile attempt. Solo was every bit as strong as his brother and, now, just as determined.

“He will unmake the universe if you do this,” you whispered, voice faltering as the emotion grew and grew. Every time before where you’d thought you’d die at Kylo’s hands paled compared to this. You saw the delusion and hubris in Solo’s brilliant eyes.

“Yes, I'm counting on it,” he grinned again. “And from that a fresh canvas upon which I can create a new life, a better life! Life that…” he faltered, not wanting to give too much away, but you saw it in the cut of his jaw, the insanity dancing across his now gleeful features.

Whatever Solo's intentions were with you the first time, he'd seen Kylo's rampage through the cosmos as an opportunity. He didn't want to create a more perfect man. You could feel it rolling out of his pores. He wanted an age of man over which he was king, revered and worshiped. He wanted all traces of knowledge of Grandfather Sky Walker gone so he could take up that mantle of supremacy. 

“Fret not, little one. I will make sure your name is known and your sacrifice honored. The life I create next will never know my brother. They will remember you for eternity.”

His smile was unbalanced, but he did not move. He did not make to hurt you as he so obviously wanted, and as he stared at you, filled with the passion reserved for the insane, you understood that, even now, locked in Solo's grip, you dangled precariously in the middle of things.

“By your hand, a new age will begin.” He whispered it, but it landed like one of his supernova bombs.

In the flash of a second, you understood that Solo and his brother were neither omniscient nor omnipotent. It was only Sky Walker who held the power to both create and destroy, and though his children were gods in their own right, they were lesser beings than he. He had relegated Kylo and Solo to their specific roles alone. They could change the map of the galaxy in only one way - through violence. Kylo's ability to create life was an unforeseeable act, an outlier to his existence. It was his duty to take, to end. Nothing more. And being opposite his twin in every way, Solo could only give life. He couldn't snuff it out. He couldn’t kill you.

True Balance, it seemed, was a thing Sky Walker kept to himself.

"You can't do it, can you?" Your defiance shot to the surface like a rocket. The deranged deity snorted in your face, but you’d never been known for rational thinking. "You've gone to all this trouble, and you can't do the one thing you came here for. You need me to do it for you."

You huffed, skirting the edge of lunacy yourself with a laugh that turned Solo’s grip to a vice, but you looked him dead in the eye, unblinking. His sinister stare scared you before, but now all the bombast behind it was gone. He was as impotent as a babe in this situation.

"No, I can't kill you, pet." The gentle tone, the shushing cluck to soothe you, made your skin crawl. "But I can make you long for death."

Terror took root, and the smug smile fell away from your lips. Solo couldn’t end your life, but he could shatter it all the same.

Your mind conjured all the ways Solo could accomplish his goal without murdering you, and as though he could read your thoughts, he crowded you further, filling up your field of vision as he slid one knee in and forced your legs apart. The other knee pinned you in place by bracing against the center of your thigh, and before you could take another breath, his burning fingers found their mark. You had only a second to understand his intention.

You crowed, long and wounded, as Solo's thick fingers forced into your sex, ripping and tearing. Unchecked tears flowed, bubbling and sizzling from the heat that radiated off of your assailant. He pumped his fingers into you despite your ill-fated attempts to squirm away, working and working until he'd carved enough space into your cunt for him to fit two fingers to the knuckles.

When he vacated your body, you sagged, weight slumping against the obsidian rock. But your respite was short-lived.

"Is it always so cold here? Let's chase away that chill, shall we?"

With each word, Solo's temperature rose, his body almost vibrating from the heat roiling under his skin. Your tears evaporated. The fine hair on your arms and legs singed away. Again, long, thick fingers shoved inside you, but where they were only painful before, they now began to burn. And each thrust had that heat going deeper and deeper into you, chasing the true target. With three fingers lodged inside you, he edged near incandescence, too hot and too much.

As your skin and muscle and bones heated, you did the only thing you could think to do.

“KYYYYYYLLLOOOOOOO!!!”

You screamed with everything you had, hoping the Hosnia moon, always so comforting to you, would carry your plea to its Master. Every fiber of your being roared and strained, and somehow, your hands pushed and flailed and fought. You grasped for him, reaching and reaching as though he was right there. You weren’t ready to die. You weren’t ready for any kind of afterlife that left Kylo behind. And the darkling inside of you wasn’t ready to be ended before it could truly begin.

You scratched and ripped at Solo’s face with your left hand, trying with all of your might to carve out his eyes. On another pained wail for Kylo, your right hand shot up into the air, seeking the only creature in existence who could save you. What found your hand, however, was not the being you called for. 

It was his weapon.

The saber shot in through the window and into your hand, snug in your fingers as though it belonged there. The soul vessel that had served Kylo for eons latched itself to your breast, bolstering your resolve. You heard it speak to you, a radiating echo that thumped in time to your thundering heartbeat. 

He comes. He comes. He comes. He comes.

As you curled the weapon to your chest, the wall opposite crumbled. As though the keep and the mountain he built it from were nothing more than toy blocks, they blasted away and levitated in the sky piece by piece to reveal their creator, bathed in a vermilion haze. He stood upon a jagged rock, the fabric of his shirt and pants burning away as he himself ignited, a divine blaze in the form of a man.

Kylo's inky black eyes locked with yours, seeing you pinned to the obelisk with his brother’s igneous hand between your legs, and the entire bustling, breathing universe halted upon its axis. You saw hate in his eyes the likes of which you never had before. He was a beastly harbinger, annihilation made firm, the Holy Host of Death come to lay waste.

“NO!”

Solo shouted, surprise written clear across his features as the brother he thought he knew and could contain drew unfathomable power to himself, an inferno that would pulverize the universe to nothing but ashes should he so wish it. The planet, the cosmos, the very scope of existence bowed to his will. He would accept nothing less. Ren had the preternatural fury of eons spent alone at his whim, and he called on it all.

Behind him, Hosnia erupted. Thick, gray smoke obscured the sky, broken by flashes of brilliant white and crimson lightning. Mountains splintered, and all the water in the land evaporated. The tectonic plates underfoot heaved and buckled, serrating the ground into haphazard pieces. Every star in the sky thrummed impossibly bright, fighting to be seen through the ghostly fog, and it looked as though the moon bled, bathed in so much red mist it may never be white again. 

This was The Ren. Resolute. Unconquerable. 

Sneering at his brother, seething with his own wrath, Solo doubled down on his task, swiveling his head toward you, but it was too late. Kylo distracted him for only the briefest of moments, but that was all you needed. The saber sat half an inch beneath his godly chin, and it was now your eyes that burned with righteous rage.

“Forgive me, father,” you ground out between gritted teeth, hoarse but victorious, “I am sin.”

Solo gasped, face awash in shock, but there was no stopping it. You didn’t know how to work the weapon in hand, but the weapon itself knew what to do. A fiery arc of energy exploded into being and shot upwards through his head. As though it reached for the heavens, the saber’s length burst through the crown of Solo’s head, rendering the beautiful face asunder.

In the middle or not, you were only human, and the saber was a god's tool. As it lit to life, a horrible bonfire scorched a path up your forearm. Black spots and electricity that glowed carnelian warred for real estate on your body as the power chased every nerve and synapse until it reached your brain. Your mind splintered with an audible crack, too much immortal power inside your too-mortal skull. A spine-rattling seizure took hold, sending your eyes rolling back into your head, lashes aflutter. Your fingers contracted, spasming and curling into bloody palms, clutching the saber in a death grip. Your skin burned off in patches, leaving blisters and rapidly forming eschar in its wake. 

And though you screamed again, shot through with more pain than you could ever even conceive of, your tattered throat produced no sound, only a ragged yowl as your body gave up the fight.

You had nothing left to give, and the universe faded away…

Third man knew heartache.

He knew strife and terror as the gods warred.

Their battle bleeding into the world and

Turning all that was to dust.

[groggyvanfleet]

summary: after the twins become sick you decide upon yourself to take care of them; the cure? some good old fashioned chicken noodle soup.

word count: 1.2k

(warnings: none compete fluff!)

(a/n: this is for all those who were supposed to see the boys today, im so sorry it happened but i also wish the twins a speedy recovery.)

The sound of sniffles and coughs filled the small hotel room with loud groans of discomfort following after. This morning the twins had woken up in violent coughing fits, a mysterious illness present a few days after their last show. After the boys had visited a local doctors office they determined it was just a harsh cold, a very harsh cold at that to the point where they could barely even get out of bed. It broke your heart when the manager said they had to cancel the 2 shows left for Michigan, it broke your heart even more seeing Josh’s and Jake’s face when they received the bad news.

“It’s all our fault. So many of our fans came from all over all for the show to just be canceled.” Josh whined out with a voice barely audible, a small cough following after.

“All because we have sucky immune systems.” Jake added. Looking at the two boys you couldn’t help but try your hardest to fight back tears. Being a good friend of the Kiszka family and Danny since middle school you had seen them all grow up and follow their dream of being rockstars, taking the world by storm only to stopped for a short period of time by a stupid cold.

“Hey no none of that you can’t help it. You guys haven’t traveled in a while so your body has to adjust to new germs. I’m sure your fans would understand.” you said soothingly, sitting on the edge of the bed Josh was laying in, running a hand over his arm that wasn’t tucked away under the plush white comforter.

“Y/n you should probably leave, don’t wanna get you sick.” Jake moaned out, turning his body to find a comfortable position to lay in. Shaking your head you smiled softly at both boys.

“Who’s supposed to take care of you then?”

~~~~

Sometime around noon the social team had made an announcement about the boys and the shows being rescheduled for the fall leg of the tour. You sat reading the responses of their fans wishing them a speedy recovery, putting their mind at a bit of ease.

“Even Doug the Pug wished you guys well! That’s so cute!” you gushed, locking your phone and sliding it into your back pocket. Both boys smiled weakly, trying to hold in coughs and sneezes but failing miserably making you frown at their discomfort. Suddenly an idea popped into your head, a metaphorical light bulb appearing over your head as your face lit up. Standing up you put your hands on your hips.

“I know just what you two need. I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.” you said, grabbing your purse from its resting place on the chair.

“As if we could go anywhere.” Jake replied in a sarcastic tone, making you giggle out as you slipped out through the door, shutting it softly behind you. Walking down the hallway you shot a quick message to Sam and Danny letting them know that you're leaving and to let whoever needed to know that you were. Closing out your messages you opened your contacts, scrolling for the contact you were looking for. After finding who you were looking for you clicked the call button, holding your phone up to your ear as you waited for someone to pick up.

“Hello?” a voice from the other end said.

“Hey Karen, would you mind helping me with something?”

~~~~

“Okay what you want to do now is stir the chicken in and pasta and cook until it’s tender, so about 6-7 minutes.” Karen's voice came through the speakers of your phone that was resting on the counter top. You had asked to use the hotel’s kitchen, which they agreed to let you after you told the general manger your plan, her gushing of how cute it was.

Following Karen’s recipe to the very last detail you made conversation with her, letting her know about the boys and the predicament they were in as she had left a few days ago.

“You must really care for my boys Y/n.” she said.

“With every fiber of my mortal being Karen.”

“Oh jeez I see Josh is rubbing off on you.” giggling at her remark, guess that happens when you’ve been best friends with someone half your life, especially someone as eccentric as Josh.

“Okay now take it off the heat and stir in parsley, dill and lemon juice, don't forget the salt and pepper for a bit of taste.” she said. Following her directions you grabbed two paper bowls you had bought from the store, pouring the soup in them, careful not to make a mess.

“Thank you so much Karen, I greatly appreciate it.”

“No Y/n. Thank you for taking care of my boys.” she replied, compassion in her tone making slight tears form in your eyes.

~~~~

Walking back up to the room, bowls of hot soup in your hands as you made sure to step carefully. Maneuvering the bowls to open the door you successfully pulled it off as you entered the room, Josh now propped up against the headboard while Jake was still curled up in his blankets, now snoring softly.

“Hey guys hope you didn’t cause too much trouble.” you said, setting down the bowls on the nightstand. Looking at Josh you could see a slight red tint to his nose from the countless times of blowing it. Walking over to Jake you softly shook him awake, a twinge of guilt at the action of waking him from a moment of peace, as he whined out while rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey buddy you hungry?” you asked, feeling like a mother taking care of her sick children that she had kept from going to school. Nodding his head you helped bring him to a sitting position, mirroring Josh’s stance on his respected bed. Walking back over to the nightstand you picked up the bowls, handing them to the boys carefully, letting them know it was hot. As Jake picked up the spoon he carefully put a spoonful full of noodles and chicken into his mouth, face instantly lighting up at the familiar taste.

“Josh it’s moms! It’s mom's recipe!” Jake shouted out as he shoveled more spoonful's into his mouth, Josh following suit as he groaned out at the taste.

“Oh my god it is mom’s.” Josh said, swallowing a mouthful before speaking again “Y/n how did you get our mom’s famous chicken noodle soup? Is mom here?” he asked, confusion taking over his face as continued to eat. Sitting down next to Jake you smiled at the boys “Well I know that your mom has the best chicken noodle soup that cures anything so I gave her a call and asked her to walk me through the steps.” Smiling at your confession Josh got up from his bed, joining you and Jake, the younger twin moving to sit on your other side. Leaning their heads on your shoulders, you not caring if you got sick, you placed a hand on either side of their face, bringing them in closer as Josh sighed out “What would I do without my best friend?”

“Probably still have a cold.” Jake said with a mouthful of chicken, making you laugh out loud.

taglist: @janegvf @gretavangroove @mywaysoons @lightmylovejake @abbygvf @doodle417 @soul-0f-sunshine @gretavanhoney @joshkiszkas @gretavanfleas @gretavanbri @teddiie @screechesincoherently @idk-maddie @fleetsonfire @the-weightof-dreams @jakeslovehandles @amouratomique @thefleetofdreams @dannythedog @bumblebeeswrite @t00turnttrauma @fictional-duchess @gardenofgreta @katie-gvf @basiccortez @garagebandvanfleet @capturethechaos

[officialscaramouche]

ayo feel like doing a gorou confession fic for me? pretty please with sprinkles on top (you know that fucking tiktok)

Ofc Pizzato anything for u my dear 🥰

Pairing: Gorou x gn!reader

Warnings: slight angst

Word count: 1,969

You heard a couple friendly knocks on your office door, eyes glancing to the clock to see it was a little past noon and you knew exactly who it was. “Come in,” you chime, putting down your pen and stretching upwards with a smile.

“Helloooooo!” You hear as the door swung open, Kazuha flaunting an envelope between his fingers. “Letter time!”

You sweep to your feet and give him grabby hands. “Give it to me!” He chuckles and places the thin paper into your hands. “Tell me who it is already,” you giggle as you rip it open and slide the letter out.

“No,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I keep my promises.”

You quirk and eyebrow before you fold open the letter. “Even if I bribe you with dango?”

Kazuha smiles. “Even if you bribe me with dango.”

You grunt and groan but it quickly stops when you unfold the letter, reading the contents.

Good afternoon, cupcake, it starts. You blush at the pet name. I hope your day is going as well as mine. I’ve just won the office lottery! I’m going to ask for more snacks in the break room. That way, everyone benefits too! Specifically though, I want more sakura mochi! The ones you made for us were delicious. Share your recipe? :3

I adore you, your secret admirer.

You squeeze the letter to your chest and squeal, your face warm from blushing and your heart pounding against your chest. “Oh, Kazuha, whoever this person is, I really wish they’d come up and confess!”

Kazuha tuts and wiggles his finger. “But then the mystery wouldn’t be there anymore.”

“Screw mystery!” You squealed, gazing down at the illegible and scratchy handwriting, the mysterious stains and fur all over the page. “I’m ready to hear these words in person.”

Just then there was a knock on your door and a quick turn of the knob, one of the top brass leaning against your door frame. “Good morning, Chatty Cathy’s,” sang a familiar voice and ear twitches.

You wave while Kazuha bows, hiding the letter behind your back. “Good morning, General Gorou.”

The tail behind his back wagged discreetly as the two men share a knowing glance. “Kazuha,” the general clears his throat. “May I speak with you?”

The samurai nods his head and gives you a little wave as he walks out the door. “Bye boys!” You sing, tucking the letter back into the envelope and putting it away.

The next day, as routine, a little past noon you heard three friendly knocks on your door. You excitedly put your pen down, closing your ledger and standing out of your chair and onto your feet. “Kazuha,” you grinned. “Come in!”

He pushed the door open with his back, lugging a big box with some plastic sticking out from the top. “I’m just a mule to you guys aren’t I?” He groaned, lifting the box up and onto your desk. “This is ridiculous.”

You stood on your tippy toes to try and peek inside the box without being obnoxious. “What is it?” You hum, getting more and more restless.

“Your letter, what else?” He kind of snapped, letting out a deep sigh and rolling his eyes. “I wish he’d confess too. That way I don’t have to carry these things.”

You pulled back the top of the box that was just out of your reach. “Here,” pushing your hands away, Kazuha tore the box apart to expose a giant basket full of goodies and flowers. “The letter.”

Kazuha snapped the taped-on letter from the plastic and handed it to you. Wasting no time at all, you rip the envelope open and unfold the letter.

Dearest [Y/N], you’ve pierced my heart like an arrow through a target and I simply cannot get you off my mind. I heard from the grapevine that you wish for my confession. …Maybe I shall do so in the near future? It’s not that I do not want to be yours, but rather that you make me quite nervous. Still, we see each other for terribly brief moments but these moments are the most precious to me. Hopefully I can muster up the courage to finally tell you how I feel. In the meantime, please accept these treats and toys imported from across the globe. My favorite are the dog-shaped biscuits.

Your shy admirer.

Looking up from the letter you find Kazuha stuffing his face with some chocolatey cookies from within a tin box labeled ‘Fontaine.’ “Are those good?” You ask, reaching in and stealing one.

“Mhm,” Kazuha hums, taking a bite out of the one in his hand. “I’ve never had Fontaine chocolate. I guess the rumors about being the best were true.”

You melt under the sweet taste and crunchy texture, thinking that if your crush’s letters had a taste, it would be like this. “This is so nice,” you sigh, eyes sparkling as they gaze upon the basket. “Do you think he’s going to confess to me?”

Kazuha stares out the windows of your office that peer into the rest of the building, watching a certain general spill water on himself and the resistance leader. He takes another bite of a cookie. “Maybe.”

You squeal in delight and spin around in joy. “My heart’s beating so fast! I hope he does it soon or I’ll explode!”

Kazuha chuckles and playfully shoves you aside. “If you explode, I’m eating all of your snacks.”

“No! They’re mine!”

Weeks— almost a month— go by with no further letters. Kazuha stopped coming by, whether at noon or otherwise. The only knocks you got were visits from Kokomi about the budget or from other soldiers carrying reports and receipts from spending. Your heart ached at the sudden lack of contact, wondering if you had done or said something wrong.

Maybe your eagerness was intimidating and this mystery man just wanted someone to flirt with without commitment. Maybe he got bored of you. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

Regardless, you wanted to try and spark it back up in case you’ve stepped on some toes without realizing. That night when you got home, you tossed the ingredients for sakura mochi into a bowl and got to mixing.

The office ate everything you brought before lunchtime rolled around. With such great success, you had confidence that he’d reach out to you tomorrow, if not today.

But alas you were left in silence once more, leaving your heart to crumble and ache. You were quick to recover, considering you never met the guy— let alone knew his name. But you had no time to be worrying anyway, because in a couple of days one of the squads were returning from the front lines and you needed to factor in medical costs. Apparently they took a hard hit when Sara Kujou showed up with her samurai. Kokomi was depending on you, and you didn’t want to let her down.

You spend these few days really crunching the numbers, making sure that every wounded soldier would get the basic medical necessities with some left over for any miscalculations. With every i dotted and every t crossed, you stuffed your report into a fancy envelope and handed it to Kokomi. “Thank you [Y/N] for your hard work under such a sudden timetable.” She thanked, tucking the envelope under her arm. “The team should be arriving tomorrow, so I will be submitting this for review immediately.”

You bow respectfully and offer your thanks for praise. “It’s no problem at all, Her Excellency. I was given ample time to prepare the balance sheet.” You begin to turn when you’re stopped once again by her.

“Before you go,” she smiles softly. “Would you mind helping out at the infirmary? We’re short handed right now with the sudden intake of Delusions.”

“Of course, Her Excellency. I will be there whenever you need me.”

You weren’t specialized in medics but you had helped around often enough to know the basics. And anyone could become a master at immediate medical attention after doing it so many times.

The flood of gurneys was a little disheartening to see, but you were still thankful for all that they do for the greater of the country. It must be scary being at the front lines, but everyone knew what they were signing up for.

You catch sight of Genera Gorou and Lord Kazuha chatting with Lady Kokomi before you were assigned to a batch of wounded soldiers, feeling a little bad for harboring ill feelings toward the young lord for disappearing. ‘You could’ve at least told me that you were leaving,’ you thought as you rinsed the injured area.

“I can take over from here,” the head medic stepped in, slipping on a new pair of gloves before getting a closer look at the soldier before you. With most of everyone patched up and recovering, the medic team was able to take control of the infirmary once again.

You wash your hands and check the clock. A little past noon. It’s funny how at this time you would’ve waited with bated breath for a couple of knocks. But not anymore.

You step out of the infirmary and find Kazuha and General Gorou sitting outside on the benches there. “Oh, hi boys,” you say surprised.

Kazuha grabs and shakes your hand. “Thank you for helping out our soldiers,” he says seriously.

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal,” you mutter. “I do this all the time.”

A calloused hand pushes Kazuha’s away and shakes your hand firmer, harder. “No, [Y/N],” Gorou says with a sort of oomph behind his words. “These are my men…my family. They would be suffering if not for your help.”

You look to the side uncomfortably, a little put-off by the tension in the air. “And that’s why—!” Gorou continues, suddenly eight decibels louder. You hold eye contact with the general, his face darkening into a deep red flush, his eyes glassy and ears twitching. He squeezed your hand harder and shut his eyes. “M-My C-C-Cupcake!!! P-Please let m-me take you on a date!!!!”

Kazuha winced at the loudness of his friend, covering one of his ears but still smiling nonetheless. The people walking by stared and mumbled, but it didn’t matter as you felt your heart pound against your chest. You felt your eyes well with tears as now your face flushed red, the general cautiously opening his eyes to see your trembling lips and pathetic pout. “A-Ah! [Y/N], don’t cry!!”

You tug on his hand hard, pulling the man into your arms and squeezing him tight. You sobbed into his chest, hearing and feeling how frantic his heart was beating as well. “You idiot!” You shout into his battle-worn chest. “Don’t disappear without telling me…”

Gorou caressed the back of your head and chewed on his lip, his tail drooping with guilt but twitching with excitement for being in your arms. “Did I…scare you?” He whispered tentatively, choosing his words carefully.

You pull away and wipe your eyes, Gorou watching you closely and holding tightly onto your waist. “I thought you got tired of me…because I stopped hearing from you.” Gorou frowned and cupped your face, thumbing your cheeks gently. “I even made sakura mochi and I didn’t—”

“You made sakura mochi??!??!!! Is there any left?!?” Gorou’s jaw dropped. He let you go to turn and run to the break room, halting before running back to embrace you once more. “Heh, uh…” he chuckled nervously. “I’d actually…rather hold you like this…”

You couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your cheeks, flushing your body against his chest. “That’s okay,” you giggle. “There aren’t any left.”

You had no idea that his ears could flatten sadly like that.