#without ever verbally you know. asking. one sided is fine. he's fine. he braided her hair (he'll never touch another woman again) he's FINE

[theknittingoracle]

I love this so much!

Today on I Reread Effloresce And Had What If Pov Thoughts: RHYSAND. Like what is going on in this dude's head? Seriously. In the little snipit we get of his pov it sounds like Hyburn is his biggest concern but that derails into a desperate need to one-up the Archerons SO damn fast. His oh so ~well~ thought out plan gets blown to smithereens instantly and his control freak self is PANICKING while also trying to maintain his whole calm cool casual facade. Will he ever admit how badly he misjudged the whole situation in the human lands? No. Does he even care? Probably also no. All that really matters by this point is that Feyre's sisters keep upsetting her and THAT can't stand.

Added to all this other plan breaking bullshit, Cassian starts following around after the angry loud one like a lovesick puppy and he's not 100% sure what's going on with Az but Something is.

And of course Lucien FUCKING Vanserra.

I'm willing to bet that Rhys's suggestion of going to get shithead papa Archeron is based on just how much Nesta and Elain seem to hate him.(And then Az shuts that down with "I will fucking KILL HIM")

Then the wardrobe of dead birds happens and he thinks for like half a second that he should feel bad about that but then Nesta is shouting at Feyre and he can't have THAT. (Then the sweet polite sister grabs the knife from Cass's boot. Oh yeah, she did STAB Az didn't she)

He looks forward to seeing Nesta put in her place by a bunch of misogynistic Illirian assholes but instead the entire legion is ride-or-die for team Archeron practically from the moment their feet hit the ground. How the HELL did they mange THAT? (it's called respect and basic decency. Try it sometime)

(and then Mor gets there just in time for Az to start noticeably losing his shit.)

(I also noticed that there was a line where Rhys bit back a snarl because even after all this time it would make Feyre uncomfortable. Meanwhile Lucien just has no qualms about being absolutely undeniably Faery in from of Nesta and Elain and they give exactly zero shits about it.)

Oh man, Rhys. Rhysie Rhysie Rhys slowly but surely showing more and more psycho.

So, the thing is, Hybern IS the top priority. However- and I think this is just like, so pivotal to Rhysands character as a whole- it has to be fighting Hybern his way. He has a year to tell the other lords shit, and he doesn't. He steals, he lies, he puts civilians in danger.

And why? Well, because that's the story he's telling.

Textually, observably we have Rhys, arrogant misogynistic selfish fuck face that he is, and then we have Rhys, the battered but unbroken noble underdog fighting against odds for the Good of All tragic hero man- this is the story he tells himself. It's the one he makes sure Feyre believes. It falls apart against all his actions, but that doesn't matter to him.

The humans don't want to talk to him? Of course he's going to find a back way in. Feyre's human sisters might die? Well, one less thing to take her away. Humans might die? Sure, Rhys feels bad, but not enough not to weigh the cost favorably.

Then he actually gets there.

And they're so... Unbiddable. Hostile. They've upset Feyre, they've written blood magic all across their land, and Rhys might appreciate cleverness but this is just more than he wants to deal with.

And Lucien. Sidebar: what I think is hilariously never talked about is. Well. Lucien actually is all the things Rhysand romantically imagines himself to be. He is ACTUALLY the lost heir, the disinherited son, the noble prince. He actually did stand against Amarantha for his friends. He's drinking respect women juice by the gallon while actually being charming and powerful. I cannot imagine this doesn't lie cardinal to the reason why Rhys is so disdainful towards him.

Lucien is easy to write off by himself. (Because Rhys fucking hates him). Nesta Archeron sets everybody's teeth on edge. Elain keeps smiling. They're all the worst and every one of them is important to Feyre and thus, a threat to Rhys. Anything that could hurt her is, he won't allow her to be hurt.

Cassian is acting like an idiot but Cassian is an idiot about women. Azriel is all Azriel but what else is new? Rhys will deal with it.

(Rhys will not deal with it. Rhys does not believe for a second how serious this all is. Rhys is, frankly, already bored. Maybe he'll find Feyre's father. It'll make her happy, and someone else can wrangle the others.)

They're merchants- of course they're merchants, grasping little mortals- they have a contract? Well, if they want to play with magic so badly, Rhys will help them.

(Rhys does not understand what Azriel finds so compelling, much less Cassian. Illyrians do not brook with disloyalty- even the mention is enough for shame. They won't betray him. They won't, but it's still enough to annoy)

Cassian's bleeding heart has always been a problem. Azriels moods. Honor. What honor did they ever learn, starving in the freezing mud, Rhys thinks. These humans want to wade into waters that will only drown them- Feyre will be so much safer, no ties left to mortality- of course Illyrians, backwards, difficult Illyrians, side with these misbegotten nightmare women. Let them be crushed by it, let one rebellious legion die, Rhys doesn't care either way.

He's pissed, but he's also letting things play out hoping it just implodes an entire situation he doesn't want to deal with.

He's also not actually totally in the loop. Cassian's POV makes Azriel really distinct because they are so, so close, but Rhys, for a lot of reasons, doesn't have the same understanding. He knows Azriel went off the rails when his mother and sister died, but so did, you know, half the mountains. He refuses to even entertain how personal it was beyond maternal feelings.

Things get worse and Rhys gets worse because this is not how it was supposed to go. What the hell is it about these Archerons?

[cassanovancats]

felicitate. four.

three < current > five

March 2017

White Day is only a few days away when you begin to notice Rika’s form is absent from your training sessions lately. There shouldn’t be any reason for this, at least not one you’re aware of. Your class celebrated Yuta’s birthday just two days ago, and both the curse and cursed seemed fine, great even. You decide it’s best to bring this up casually - Yuta was still so skittish and Rika would be able to hear whatever you said anyways. So while you lead Yuta through a yoga session, you ask, “How’s Rika?”

He flusters and falls from his side-plank variation pose. The band he was using as an aid tangles around his calf. You debate and decide to leave him. If you touched him now, he might spontaneously combust. That thought makes you giggle a little. You move to change to a position that meant you weren’t looking at him. Hopefully, that’s less pressure.

Yuta speaks up when you’re fully downward dog, leading you to believe your plan worked. “She’s fine, yeah, fine. Just uh - tired?” You nod but inwardly roll your eyes. You shift your hips in to move to upward facing dog and make eye contact again.

“Just checking. I miss her hanging out, you know?” It’s obvious Yuta just lied, curses don’t get tired, but it’s better to not call him out this time. You just have to hope it wasn’t anything you did. “I know you fell but at this point you’re just slacking. Get back on your mat,” you say, changing the topic to something safe.

You’re back in downward facing dog when the door slides open. A familiar voice drawls, “Why are you still working out, dummy? Forgot our plans?” You scramble to your feet.

“Gumi!” You rush to hug him despite his obvious distaste. “What time is it? Do I still have time to shower or will we be late?”

Your little brother snorts and pushes you away, “Please do, you smell. You have,” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

“Gumi! That’s not enough time!” You yell, already sprinting towards the showers at the back of the gym. Yuta pouts at how quickly you seemed to forget his presence. That face doesn’t escape Megumi.

“So, you like my idiot sister?”

“W-what! No, no no no, it’s not like that! She just helps t-train me and -!” Yuta knows he’s rambling but he can’t seem to stop talking.

“Whatever,” Megumi has better things to worry about than repressed hormones. He's known that Yuta had a crush on you since the first time he came to campus to train with you after Yuta arrived. Your classmate couldn’t stop staring and seemed disheartened by the fact that you called Megumi by a shortened version of his given name. He had pouted until Satoru showed up and made a spectacle of ‘Team Gojo’ being all together again. Like you three didn’t, at minimum, have a weekly dinner together.

“If you ever want to acknowledge them, you’ll have to get approved by Satoru.” Yuta feels like he also needs the approval of this boy, but he leaves that unsaid. Just nods dumbly. Probably a good thing he didn’t respond, because you barrel through the doors you disappeared from.

When you rush past him, Yuta gets a strong whiff of the floral scent he’s come to associate with you. Megumi laughs under his breath at the blissed out look. Your hair drips water onto your tee shirt and it’s clear you rushed. “Really, really sorry to dip, Yuta. Run through those stretches we did last week to cool down!” Your fingers distractedly pull your wet hair into a braid as you instruct him. “Oh! Tell Maki I won’t be at afternoon training, Satoru already knows and gave permission. Megumi, grab my duffel?” Already carrying it, he rolls his eyes. “I should be back tomorrow morning, but don’t count on it.”

“Wait, but why -?”

“Gotta dash. Bye, Yuta!” You run ahead of your brother, headed to your room to grab Tsumiki’s gifts. Megumi gives a nod and follows after you. Alone and without anyone around to judge, Yuta groans and buries his face into his yoga mat. God, why can’t he just be normal.

When he looks back up, Rika has taken your spot on your mat. You left in such a hurry, you didn’t even clean up. He’ll have to drop it off in your room. “Ya’ know, it’s not that I’m mad about you liking her,” she begins. “It’s just…. I know we can’t be together so I do want you to be happy. I just feel jealous. Especially since you got her that super fancy chocolate for White Day,” Rika finishes with a pout.

Yuta doesn’t really know how to reassure her. So he does what he promised when he was ten, and is just honest. “I’m here to learn how to let you go, Rika. Neither of us know how to do that yet. I can’t be in any kind of relationship until I learn. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

Rika hums and picks at the corner of your mat. “Well. I think it’s more than just us two you’re worried about.”

“What?”

“Inumaki seems pretty interested in the both of you too. You may not see it, but all three of you are pretty smitten. It’s actually kind of gross.”

“That’s - he - no!” Rika just laughs and dissolves her form. Yuta, still flustered, continues to mutter as he collects the things you left and wipes down any used equipment. When he finally leaves, it’s just his luck he runs (literally) into Inumaki who looks unfairly handsome in a fitted tee and sweatpants. Even his markings are uncovered, which makes Yuta groan, tuck tail, and run away. Yuta can hear Rika laughing in his mind.

“Tuna mayo?” Inumaki tilts his head to the side but shrugs off the odd behavior.

-

July 2017

JJH Thots the good gojo: guysss help which tie do i get :( fushiguro: isn’t satoru with you the good gojo: yea but u know he’s shit at gifts maki: Both of those are ugly, (y/n). Do you hate the man? osamu: the cheetah print trophy husband: I like that one too! the good gojo: this is why you two are my favorites

From a few cities over, Yuta flushes at your words. Inumaki notices and kicks his foot. He’s laughing when he says, “Nori,” but Yuta can spot a faint pink over the hem of his collar too.

You turn around in the middle of the street when you hear a loud, “(y/n)-chan!” Satoru is speed-walking towards you, waving an arm that is covered in different shopping bags. His long legs have him beside you in a split second, even without the use of cursed energy. “Are you done yet? Nanami won’t even thank you properly you know. Why don’t you just get gifts for your precious Nii-chan?” He pouts and takes the two bags you’re carrying.

“One, it’s not your birthday. Two, you could buy anything you want already. Three, who's to say I didn’t already get you one?” You pull a box of macaroons out from one of the bags he took. Satoru moves to snatch it immediately but you put it behind your back. Of course, if he wanted, he’d just grab it, but your Nii-chan would never deny playing a game with you. “You can’t get it until we’re back on campus! I’m already tired and this is my bribe to go home early.”

“But (y/n)-chan,” he whines.

“Nu-uh. I promised a movie night with Toge and Yuta and I don’t wanna be late.” You realize too late you revealed too much, because your brother suddenly looks like a very successful cat.

“Why didn’t you just say so? I would never make my little sister late for her first date.”

You blush furiously, “Who says it’s my first?”

“It better be your first.”

“It’s not even a date,” you roll your eyes. “Neither like me like that, and if it was a date, wouldn’t one be a third-wheel?”

“Tricycles are pretty fun.” Your brother says casually. You roll your eyes again and add a gag for good measure. “Seriously, (y/n). You should know you have my full support to love anyone and everyone you want. Not that you need it, though. You’re a Gojo. We do as we please anyways.”

You tear up at his sincerity and throw your arms around your brother, or at least the best you can with his bags in the way. The two of you are frequently physically and verbally affectionate but not often in such a serious manner. You know there’s a deep love between you; for a long time, the two of you only had each other. Eventually, your family expanded to include Megumi and Tsumiki, but neither ever took the Gojo name. You and Satoru had a special bond. “Thank you,” you stutter around tears. You hope he understands it’s not just a thank you for the reassurance but a thank you for giving you such a life.

“Come on, no crying. You can’t go on your date with puffy eyes, you’ll scare both of them away.” He pats your head softly and just laughs when you punch him in the gut.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 03

(Masterpost)(Previous Episode) 

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes!

 Wei Wuxian demonstrates the purple nurple technique of the Jiang Clan

Should’ve Used Trivago

The Jiang Clan’s reservation got cancelled while they were on the road, so they are going to wander around this small inn for hours being fussed about it, rather than trying another inn. Yes they say the other inns are all full but…so is this one, now. 

The Jin Clan sends an advance party to fancy up the inn for them.

Fuckboi Wei Wuxian

Wei Wuxian decides to use his considerable powers of prettiness to get them a room.  He drops some poetry on Mianmian and brazenly flirts with her before shifting to properly introducing himself and asking for a room. 

This actually works.

...until her boss shows up.

(Much much more after the cut!)

Worst Person // Best Jin

Jin ZIxuan is an ass and a snob. 

I guess we have to give him credit for having a beautiful sidekick and never hitting on her, given that his dad is a rapist and one of his half-brothers is (reputedly) a sex pest and the other half brother is (definitely) an incest perp. But I feel like it doesn’t take much to be the best Jin of his or his father’s generation.

The Jin folks are snobs and talk about how great their fancy and expensive stuff is. It’s an interesting contrast with true connoisseur Nie Huaisang, who loves everything that is fine and beautiful and can quote stacks of poetry off the top of his head, but is not even a little bit of a snob. 

This Tea Smells Like Farts

Ok, let’s talk about generation names in the Jin clan. Ru is the name for Jin Ling’s generation, hence his courtesy name Rulan. The name for the current generation is apparently Zi (子), because both Zixuan and his jerk cousin Zixun have that as their name.  Sect Leader Jin Guangshan would seem to be using the generation name Guang, but then names his son Jin Guangyao so…the whole system breaks down. 

Anyway, my point here is that even considering generation names, if I had a baby and named it Zixuan, and my sister-in-law promptly had a baby and named it Zixun, I would slap her. 

Find you a lover who does not make you feel like this 

Jin Zixuan is mildly intrigued by his betrothed, and expresses it by being rude to her in front of Wei Wuxian, starting a chain of events that will culminate with Wen Ning’s fist going all the way through Jin Zixuan’s chest.

Side Note: Look at these young Jiang Brothers and their casual shoulder hugs. Sigh.

Wei Wuxian’s Combat PlayBook

When Wei Wuxian wants to throw down, he starts with smack talk, moves along to boundary crossing, then to direct threats, and then brings out a weapon if he hasn’t won already. 

Here he starts shit with Jin Zixuan by complaining at him for taking up too much space and having too many sycophants.  Then he goes for the unwelcome shoulder touch. 

Having been sufficiently provocative to get someone to draw a sword and threaten him with physical violence, he shifts to formal verbal sparring. 

This gets the other guy to back down, because even at this age no-one actually wants to tangle with Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian gets to claim the moral advantage, although he still doesn’t get to keep his hotel room. 

Actually Not A Fan of My Sister’s Betrothal

Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli have the first of many, many moments of heterosexual ineptitude together. Wei Wuxian quickly rescues them.

Hi, I’m Young Master Cockblock.

Neither of the boys understands what Yanli sees in Zixuan and neither do I, at this juncture. He does improve later after multiple beatings from Wei Wuxian.

This Is The Day Your Life Will Surely Change

Yanli’s encounter in the Inn is the first step toward the inexorable end of the three of them as a unit, although it’s still a long ways off. They are all growing up and she and Wei Wuxian are both going to fall in love at summer camp, like in a 1980s teen movie but without the virginity betting (presumably). 

Meanwhile poor Jiang Cheng is going to be swept along just trying to keep up with events, which becomes the story of his life for the next two decades.

Welcome to Transylvania

We meet Wen Ruohan. He is boring and he sucks. Also I’m summarizing the Transylvania parts out of order because they break up the rhythm of the story. And are boring and suck.

We meet Xue Yang. He seems nice.

Wen Ruohan’s living room is like a shitty nightclub where everyone is too drunk to dance except Xue Yang.

Dee Jay: Undead undead undead, Bela Lugosi’s dead

[OP can’t get a video to embed in this post with looping enabled, so the alternate version of this joke has its own post right here. That will teach OP to get fancy.]

Anyhoo

We meet Wen Qing. She is the bestest most wonderful girl in the world but this isn’t actually when we find that out. 

Right now we just find out that she is absurdly pretty, that she loves her brother deeply, and that she is helping Wen Ruohan with his “take over the world by murdering cultivators” project. OKAY, PROBLEMATIC, BUT SHE IS THE BESTEST GIRL OKAY? 

Gatekeeping

The Jiang Clan don’t get another inn but they do manage to change into immaculate white robes while they’re out on the street, so - nice work, Jiang Clan. Be free!

They get stuck outside the gate because they don’t know that the secret to getting into Cloud Recesses is to set the gate guard on fire. 

Walking Thirst Trap Hanguang-Jun

Lan Wangji shows up and everyone except Yanli, who is already in love with Sir Golden Pants, makes thirst faces at him. Including Jiang Cheng tho he will never admit it. One girl in the background is actually biting her knuckle. 

Note: Lan Wangji knows exactly how fine he is. Look at his fucking hairstyle. 

He is sixteen years old. The only person in the entire cultivation world with fancier hair is Nie Mingjue, and that’s because he indulges his dìdi’s braiding hobby. 

Wei Wuxian loudly stage whispers that LWJ is their key to getting in and LWJ is is like, not fucking likely, person I didn’t glance at yet. 

But then Wei Wuxian says a smart cultivator thing about the puppet dude, and Lan Wangji turns around and has the first of many long mutual staring sessions with this boy he totally isn’t going to like at all.

Jiang Cheng has a bad feeling about the future: a 2-frame gif

Unrelated gardening note: the red-crack puppet is more commonly grown in Gusu and Dafan, while the black-line puppet is native to Yiling

I Must Arrange a Date with this Uninteresting Boy

The rest of the evening is a series of tests that Lan Wangji puts Wei Wuxian through. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know this and Lan Wangji probably doesn’t exactly know it either. 

First he sends WWX back to town to get the invitation. Yes, go get it. Not your entourage; YOU, talky person who thinks he can manipulate me and is smart and looks...intriguing. Go find it and come back. 

When Wei Wuxian complains, Lan Wangji silences him, which is literally the most boss move he could have used on smooth talking Wei Wuxian. 

You tried, Fuckboi.

Would you like to try some more because I think I would like you to try some more

Jiang Cheng is the Better Baby Brother

Sorry, he just is. Wei Wuxian is all about being taken care of and adoring Yanli without actually doing much for her. Jiang Cheng is the one who thinks about her feelings and giving her what she needs, even to the point of arranging that wedding rehearsal dinner so she can be with her favorite brother again -- the favorite who isn’t him, much as she also loves him. 

Date Test 1: Can You Get In.

Once Wei Wuxian is definitely gone, Lan Wangji shows up again and collects the entire retinue, guaranteeing that Wei Wuxian will be stranded outside the gate when he gets back.  LWJ doesn’t wait by the gate; he goes and waits up on the roof instead of going to bed or whatever else he’s supposed to be doing. Because he already knows the route Wei Wuxian will be taking. 

Wei Wuxian passes the “get in through the wards” test with no problem besides a minor headache and bent fingers. 

Is that Xiao Zhan’s hand or did they use a double-jointed hand model?

Date Test 2: Fight Me (Lan Wangji’s Combat Playbook)

As soon as Wei Wuxian shows up on the roof, Lan Wangji picks a fight with him. 

LWJ fights all the time; he’s perfectly comfortable when he’s fighting and it’s a good venue for him to express himself. His style is graceful and aggressive. 

Attack attack attack strike a pose, vogue, you know it.  

He starts by going all in on swordplay, but that doesn’t gain him the advantage; Wei Wuxian fends him off without ever drawing his sword. Which is probably the hottest thing that has ever happened to Lan Wangji in his young life.

Do you like me better when I’m horizontal? 

Next Lan Wangji deploys the pettiness by breaking WWX’s wine. Then when Wei Wuxian starts insulting him he upgrades to next level pettiness by dropping another silence spell, this time with the added bonus of preventing WWX from drinking. 

Wei Wuxian’s Combat Playbook, Redux

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian is running his own fight routine, starting with a charm attack, which doesn’t work at all. 

Are you admiring the moon? 

He keeps trying to de-escalate for the first phase of their fight, until they reach a pause and he reflects that Lan Wangji has real skills. As soon as he makes that determination he goes on the offensive - with words. 

He very formally says he’s too busy to continue fighting, and turns away, which is a pretty solid roast when you say it to someone who’s been trying really hard to kick your ass. Then he continues defending easily until Lan Wangji uses the wine against him. 

At this point the gloves come off, with Lan Wangji lecturing Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian making ad hominem attacks, Lan Wangji forcibly shutting him up... 

...and then throwing him on the floor in front of Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen. 

Sincere Grief for the Death of our Colleague

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen feel really bad for their disciple who has been horribly turned into an undead creature. Ha ha j/k

Date Test 3: Face the Authorities

Lan Wangji gets to pick Wei Wuxian’s punishment.  This probably won’t awaken anything in him. 

Surprise surprise, Wei Wuxian actually passes the Authority test with flying colors. Lan Qiren doesn’t like him, but listens respectfully to his thoughts about the undead cultivator. And Lan Xichen clearly does like him.

When Wei Wuxian learns that Lan Wangji was nice to his sister, his entire demeanor changes, to such an enormous degree that Lan Wangji starts to run away.

He’s not going to let this boy (who has passed all the tests oh no he passed all the tests) make out with him in front of his family like he is obviously planning. 

But once again, Wei Wuxian’s cultivation knowledge captures Lan Wangji’s attention and breaks through his reserve. 

This Hardy Boys moment is the beginning of their cultivation partnership.

Lan Wangji is brave but is extremely constrained: by the authorities in his life and by his own rigid reserve. Wei Wuxian is brave and is also free. His companionship gives Lan Wangji an opportunity to engage with a much broader range of the things that interest him than he’s ever had before. 

After Wei Wuxian has been sent to bed, Lan Wangji stands outside and -- just as WWX had suggested at the beginning of their date/fight -- admires the moon, with an expression that’s anything but upset. 

Sure, sex is cool (probably), but have you ever analyzed a walking corpse with a beautiful boy in the moonlight?

If you’ve got your true honey Life can be pretty funny If you've got money, money to burn Rooty toot toot for the moon It's the biggest star I've ever seen

The Fine-as-Hell Brothers

Alone together, Lans Xichen and Wangji talk over the various things on their minds. 

Xichen: What the fuck is up with you? ...Rooftop fights and dropping spells on boys?

Wangji: You and uncle were ignoring me so I was making my own fun

Xichen: Yeah, we are dealing with this zombie situation; shit’s going to hit the fan

Wangji: what are you going to do about it?

Xichen: fuck-all

Wangji: Well, you can rely on me

Xichen: I totally do. So how about you get to know this Wei kid, he seems like a fun ride.

Wangji: *death glare*

Xichen: You know, since Dad died you’ve become even more uptight. I wonder if I’ve been too strict with you?

Wangji: Um, you think? 3000 fucking rules, dude. Fortunately I’m not going to go off the rails and fall in love with my polar opposite and cause havoc in the cultivation world or anything like that.

Xichen: good, me neither

Outtro

Writing prompt: Lan Xichen’s secret nightly letter to his Mom’s memory or spirit (your choice), in which he confides in her about his day. May be written in flute solo form. 

(As always if you use this prompt feel free to post a link to your fic in comments!)

Soundtrack: 1. This Is The Day by The The  2.  Bela Lugosi’s Dead by Bauhaus 3. Rooty Toot Toot for the Moon, Greg Brown version 4. Madonna, Vogue

Bonus: FineAsHell-Jun

Episode 04 Restless Rewatch coming soon!

[thewayshedreamed]

Death Dance

Thank you for the prompt submission, Nonnie! I really liked this one.

Prompt: Can u write a Nessian fic involving Cassian seeing Nesta with her hair down for the first time? 🙏

A/N: This starts with an excerpt from A Court of Wings and Ruin, page 408. That scene was my inspiration for this prompt <3

acotar masterlist

——————————————————————————

Cassian had been born for this—these fields, this chaos and brutality and calculation.

He didn’t stop moving, seemed to know where every opponent fought both ahead and behind, seemed to breathe in the flow of the battle around him. He even let his Siphons’ shield drop—to get close, to feel the impact of the arrows that he took in that ebony shield. If he slammed that shield into a soldier, his other arm was already swinging his sword at the next opponent. 

I’d never seen anything like it—the skill and precision. It was like a dance. 

I must have said it aloud because Mor replied, “For him, that’s what battle is. A symphony.” 

Her eyes did not stray from Cassian’s death-dance.

------

“STOP!” Cassian bellowed.

At his instruction, the clashes of steel ceased. Two flaps of his grand wings, and he was airborne, traveling the 100 or so yards to where Nesta stood. He landed firmly on the ground in front of her, sending vibrations through the earth beneath her feet. His brow was furrowed, nostrils flared, and his shoulders were tense as he assessed her.

“Problem, Commander?” she asked him dryly.

He huffed a breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders for the verbal sparring that he knew was coming.

“Nesta, who was your target?” he demanded.

“Cassian, I don’t understand the problem. You have trained me for battle, shaped my skills into what they are. Now, you scold me for employing them?”

It was true. The General Commander had started training her all those months ago, refining her physical competencies in battle as well as her strategy. Although resistant to his help when they originally arrived in Illyria, Nesta had been a talented pupil, her skills increasing at an exponential rate. Her wit and propensity for strategy served her well, and her mental tenacity helped fuel her progress through her lessons in technique.

Today was a day of group trainings, including battle drills designed to expose the legions to various strategies and threats alike. Nesta woke with an excitement on drill days, the opportunity to practice her skills pulling her from her bed earlier than any other day. She came alive in combat scenarios, as they allowed her to employ her newly honed skills without giving her the time to ruminate too much over which strategies to utilize. Only times of crisis were strong enough to compete with the brutality of her thoughts.

Additionally, she felt a compulsion to never find herself in another situation like the war with Hybern.

“Your skills are fine, and you know it. But you aren’t alone, Nesta.” His wings twitched, exposing his irritation. His voice was all rasp and intense focus; nothing of the pure and genuine male that existed off the battlefield.

“I’m fully aware, but I was disarming them easily. I don’t see why I shouldn’t take care of it.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, the end of it landing on her leathers just above the small of her back with a soft slap.

“You are engaging every enemy, but they are not your intended target. You need to evade them and allow your legion to support you as you move,” he reminded her firmly. “So I ask you again, who was your target?”

“How am I supposed to make peace with leaving my comrades behind me, unsure of their fate?” she spat.

His nostrils flared, his patience fraying by the second. “You have a responsibility to ensure your specific skill set is where it needs to be when it needs to be there. You are not a hero for clearing the field ahead of them, only to exhaust yourself prematurely or get yourself killed,” he seethed. “Your death leaves them unprepared for your intended target and increases the odds that they die as well.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered his words.

“So should I have left you there, too? Bleeding out on that battlefield?” she hissed.

He recoiled as if she struck him, obviously surprised to hear her mention the moment they shared during the battle with Hybern. This was the first and only time she had done so.

He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Who,” he asked through clenched teeth, “was your target?”

“You,” she said through a snarl.

“Correct. Move through this field, allow your fellow soldiers to support you. Save your energy for when you get to me.” he ordered, leaving no room for protest. He took off without waiting for her reply, the wind from his wings blowing back the loose strands of hair around her face.

He repositioned himself in the target location, his shield in place. Once he lowered it, they were to begin. Nesta fell in line with the other soldiers, steeling herself for when that red shield disappeared. She was still angry, but she felt a sense of calm wash over her as her focus shifted. Cassian waited for the opposing soldiers to move to their positions, then he dropped the shield.

Nesta ran, opting to pull a long dagger from the sheath along her thigh rather than pulling the sword from across her back. She knew she could move faster without the weight of the sword in her hand, and if she were meant to evade those she confronted, she felt her dagger would lend enough defense until another soldier arrived.

She never imagined that she would feel so at home on a battlefield, that these drills would become almost therapeutic. She moved forward, deftly knocking her first opponent off their center of gravity and causing them to stumble. She didn’t hesitate to move forward as instructed, daring to glance back quickly to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She was pleased to see her comrade engage the soldier, halting any plans they may have had to pursue Nesta.

She slipped into an eerie sort of calm, evading soldier after solder in her pursuit of Cassian. She could see him where he stood, waiting. She’d yet to best him in combat, and honestly didn’t hold that expectation in the absence of using magic, but she knew she was being assessed purely on her ability to get to where he was. She continued to move, only glancing back when absolutely necessary, and she was filled with a sense of honor that her back was covered every time.

She continued to feel a certain serenity surround her as she moved from one opponent to the next. She glided through them with grace and precision; as if she had learned this battle as choreography. After successfully blocking the blows targeted at her, she was already extending her dagger to the next, carrying herself through the field. There was a certain rhythm thrumming through her; her heartbeat akin to the cadence of a battle drum. She let it guide her and propel her forward, tugging her closer and closer to her target. She let it pace her, her footfalls coordinating in time with the fall of her daggers and her transitions between soldiers. Her movements came together in perfect harmony, an art form all their own.

She moved so briskly through her opponent's forces that her last obstacle to Cassian seemed to be caught off-guard by her arrival. She had him disarmed in less than a minute, promptly turning to lock eyes with the Illyrian warrior that awaited her.

He met her gaze with sheer focus, finally raising a scarred brow to her in challenge. She felt it like a blow straight to her chest; felt compelled to make her way to him. The steady beat of that battle drum pulled her once again, urging her feet forward toward the General Commander. She meant to break into a full run, but she felt a sharp tug on her long braid, snapping her head backward.

She risked a small glance at who held her. She didn't rotate her body being that she was unsure of how much that would compromise her ability to evade the attacker, but she turned her head to the side and dared a peripheral look their way.

The very last solider she'd disarmed had managed to grab hold of her braid, almost all the way at the bottom, near her lower back. She cursed herself for opting to wear it this way rather than her usual crown braid, but it seemed like an incredible amount of work for an activity that provided minimal appreciation for intricate braiding.

She saw her ally engaging with the enemy who was gripping her hair, so she knew it was not their failure to cover her that got her in this position. She had likely stopped too soon, not allowing enough distance to be created between them before pausing to assess Cassian. In those seconds, the soldier had regained access to his weapon and reached for her. It didn't surprise her, considering who had trained him. Even small opportunities could change the direction of a war, and he capitalized on her misstep in a way she had to respect, if she were honest.

All of these things burst through her brain within a couple of seconds before she started to scan it for a possible solution. Had she ever learned how to get someone to release her without getting hurt or killed in the process? The thought was pointless, because even if she had, it wasn't serving her at the moment.

And so, she moved.

— — —

From the second Cassian had lowered his red shield, his eyes were glued to the female meant to engage him at the end of her pursuit. She had arrived in Illyria with almost no skills and even fewer battle instincts, but when he had introduced her to training, she came alive. The idea that wars were ever fought without women like her was almost comical to him as he watch her graceful figure glide straight through enemy lines.

He couldn't, nor would be, discount her improvement or her skills in general. She had worked tirelessly for months, never wanting to find herself in a position similar to the day she was Made. She was strong, beautiful, and lethal with the blade in her hand. It was almost as if she were always intended for this.

He was relieved to see that she had taken his feedback into consideration rather than engaging every single soldier in hand-to-hand combat to spite him. It wouldn't have surprised him if she had being that she loved nothing more than to irritate him, but he felt touched at how seriously she was taking her training.

He watched her move through the crowd, entranced by her movements. He stood with his arms crossed, shield and Illyrian blade across his back, assessing Nesta and the others. Her team was supporting her beautifully, and he couldn't fight the smallest smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. She was almost to him now, disarming the man in front of her and pausing to look his way. He had just schooled his face into one of neutrality, thank the Cauldron, but his expressive brow quirked up of its own accord as he continued to monitor her.

That is, until the very last opponent she faced resorted to cheap shots, latching onto Nesta's hair. He gripped it as if she were the personification of his pride, floating away from him on the wind. He held a firm grip down at the bottom, yanking her head backward in the process. It took every ounce of his training to fight the vicious snarl that threatened to erupt out of him at seeing someone touch her in such a way. She paused, but she wasn't motionless for long.

Cassian knew his eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape as he watched in disbelief. As fast as lightning, Nesta turned on her heel, blade in hand. The Illyrian steel went through her thick braid like a knife through warm butter, sending the offender stumbling back.

Her golden strands unraveled as she whipped around and broke into a full run toward where Cassian stood. Her hair billowed around her face, framing it in a way that took his breath away. His breath was suddenly ragged, heart pounding through his chest as she ran toward him. When her steel blue eyes raised to meet his hazel ones, he had to take a step back and steady himself from the blow of emotions that roiled through him.

He knew it then, had suspected it for some time. That one word that changed everything, and by the way her eyes widened slightly, he suspected she knew it, too. She was almost to him; had already prepared the daggers in her hands to ensure she was ready whenever he deigned to attack.

Before entertaining a coherent thought about his actions, he raised his right hand in front of him, palm toward her. She slowed to a halt about 6 feet away from him, the look in her eyes a combination of determination, frustration, and something else altogether. He couldn't breathe.

He could see his own chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his blood singing to close the distance between them. He wanted to lie to himself and claim the call of battle as the reason for his compulsion. Battle, however, was the last thing on his mind.

The wind circled the both of them, and Cassian thanked the Mother for the soothing gesture across his wings. His blood was raging, sweat pouring along the inside of his training leathers. His wings twitched with anxious energy as he continued to look at her.

Her hair was blowing around her face, a few strands slanting across it. She was a vision, the strands looking as if they were perfectly placed to frame her delicate features. Her blue eyes bore into him, made even more stunning by the contrast of the brown whipping around them. He was both angry and relieved that he'd never seen her this way before. Had he, he would have never been able to train her properly, her hair and beauty wonderfully distracting. She was the one to break the silence.

"What now, Cassian?" she scowled. "I've made it, haven't I?"

Her voice was much quieter than before the drill, almost breathy. She was looking intensely at him, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. He tracked her movements as she ran her hand through her strands, from her forehead to the crown of her head, to attempt smoothing them.

"Nesta." he managed, his voice a whisper.

She continued to look at him, that unidentifiable emotion worn all over her beautiful face.

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to say what he needed to through his nerves.

"You're my mate."

——————————————————————————

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[rithalie-sideblog]

The daughters of Dracula

When Vlad Dracula first hears the prophecy he laughs and bellows with a voice that shakes his castle to the bone. 

Him? Falling in love with a mortal woman? Inconceivable, unheard of, simply a figment of an old man's scribbling imagination.

But then Vlad Dracula starts to think. And wonder. Because for all of his wealth and goods he managed to accumulate he was born a beggar and a thinker, as such happens when one learns life on the streets.

Prophecies have power.

So Vlad Dracula devises a plan. To make sure, he won't fall for the novelty that is a mortal woman, much less give her a son to fulfil the damned prophecy.

The first step he takes, he scours the village for his prey.

Mortal women, of all height and weight, from the plump daughter of the baker to the muscled heiress of the mercenary group. He kidnaps them from ungrateful families and bargains for them and soon his castle is filled with women's voices, their whimpers and terrified sobs. 

He avoids the young ones, as pretty as they might appear because Vlad Dracula might be a monster, but even he had rules by which to live his immortal life.

He never harms the women, despite their hostility and suspicion towards him. He leaves them be for the longest of times and watches as they slowly make the castle their home.

The women clean the spider webs, dust the old forgotten rooms and chambers. 

As they slowly grow more bold, they begin to take down the most horrid paintings from the walls, wash their clothes in the well in the middle of the cursed garden, stringing lines of laundry between the sculptures of demons and gargoyles.

Vlad watches it all happen from his tower, curiosity taking over him as he waits. Observes. Studies.

Finally, one woman seeks him out.

A pretty one, with her hair the color of honey, tangled way past her knees with her unable to cut it without any sharp object.

She demands a knife with a trembling voice and desperation laced with fear.

"Give it back soon." Says Dracula in his velvet voice as he gives her a dagger.

The woman never takes her eyes off of him as she backs away from the room, weapon held tightly in her hand.

By the end of the next week, most women have their hair cut, or braided into something new.

The honey-colored woman comes back with the dagger, placing it delicately in Vlad's outstretched hand. 

And she stays to talk.

A few years pass before most of the women warm up to Dracula, even if for him, it hadn't been much more than a blink.

They smile at him when he passes the corridors of his once gloomy castle, some wave to him, kneeled over the freshly planted potatoes in the gardens that once hosted the most exquisite of Louvre's hedges.

They come to him for his judgement, they trust him with their pleas and for his part, Dracula does his best to judge fairly. Years after Dracula's decision, the first woman wishes for more. He does not chase her away, even if his dark heart remains unchanged, curiosity driving him dangerously close to the edge of destiny's sword.

Vlad wonders if he should kill the woman before she can give birth to his descendant. If she were to bear a boy, the prophecy would come true and everything Dracula had done would have been for naught.

"It's a girl." announces one of the women as she comes out of the birth chamber, hands covered in blood up to her elbows. Vlad tries to not stare at them much as the relief washes over him.

A daughter, no son to slay him, no vengeance to come forth from his mother's mistreatment.

His plan is saved.

There are two more births that follow, and with each child being born a female Vlad grows more confident. Convinced he managed to beat the prophecy, he once again disappears into his tower.

He meets his daughters sometimes.

Pretty creatures, not a flaw to be seen on them. With hair the color of honey, mahogany and obsidian, they look at him with eyes of crimson and sunlight and moonlight, their sharpened ears uncovered proudly in the safety of his home, his vast galleries and libraries.

Dracula goes down deep into the guts of his castle and brings up the jewelry, old dress materials and sewing kits for them to use. He does not care what they do with the gift, but something like pride flashes in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of them covered in gold and silk.

As they grow, they get more and more bold, coming to his tower and asking questions about the world and life outside their castle.

Their Inquiries rarely go unanswered.

Dracula begins to let the mortal women go, the youngest of them past the age of her prime now. Some of them leave, but some of them stay, unwilling to uproot their lives again and comfortable with what they learned. Dracula begins to travel, living his years free of the burden of the prophecy, confident that his fate has finally been changed.

So when an angry woman shows up at the door of the castle, a three-year-old with crimson eyes' hand, gripped in hers, it comes as quite a surprise.

Dracula kills the woman, for she was not one of his, one of them, despite the claim she made upon Dracula's paternal role in the child's life. 

The daughters that greeted her warmly once she arrived had not known such violence before. They lick their lips and wrangle their hands at the sight of blood before them, and when Dracula sees that he gives them the woman's body to feast upon.

The boy is spared, if only for the foolishness of one of the women who rushes him outside when the carnage begins. 

He runs and when Vlad finds out about it, he flies after him in hot pursuit, but the boy is nowhere to be found. The prophecy protects him and fate is on his side and no matter where Dracula looks he cannot find him.

No harm befalls the woman who helped him, but upon hearing about the prophecy she weeps, for she did not know what calamity she brought upon her host. She leaves the castle in shame.

Three daughters of the Dracula grow hungry for blood, their beauty shining in its ethereal light brighter than before. Vlad feeds them and begins to teach them. Slowly but steadily he allows them entrance upon his dark and shrunken heart. They become his confidants as Dracula admits his defeat against the prophecy, preparing for the final act of the play. 

If his daughters showed promise even unattended, they shine with brilliance under his attention. Soon the castle is alive with the sound of magic, verbal disputes and turned pages.

When the child, now a man fully grown, comes back, bearing the Alucard title, Dracula steps forward to battle his destiny. He makes his daughters swear not to join him, and stay far away from the fight, for he had made arrangements for his knowledge to live on in them were he to fail.

Alucard is strong, but not as strong as his father.

He is quick, but not as quick as Dracula.

He is vengeful and drunk on the prophecy's promises, but not quite as desperate as Vlad is.

And yet, what finally brings The almighty Dracula to his knees is the fact that Alucard isn't quite as honorable as him.

When the edge of Alucard's blade rests against the honey-haired daughter of the Dracula he stops fighting.

After many years of undead existence, his daughters became his legacy, and he refuses to lose even a slight part of it.

Dracula's pause gives Alucard a chance to defeat him, and as he does that, all three daughters cry out in anguish.

Dracula's body caves in itself and turns to ash, and as Alucard lifts his fist in triumph, ready to claim the castle and all of its wealth as he was promised, he is met not with the radiant smiles of the saved woman but with weeping and sneers. The woman may have hardly loved the monster who kidnapped them, but his presence meant safety. It meant freedom to pursue what they desired, no mortal husband or any kin present to dictate their lives.

Three daughters of the Dracula weep the loudest, and through their tears they growl and hiss, blind in their rage. They chase Alucard out of the castle, the man unable to defend himself against their fury.

The brown and dark-haired ones stay on the stairs of the castle, but the honey-colored one chases Alucard to the edge of the woods, red droplets of blood flying from the spot where he threatened her. She almost gets him, her claws marking the tree, behind which he ducked with three deep lines.

And when the dust finally settles and the castle stops trembling with the sobs of the grieving women, they all come together to plan.

The rumors grow, ones of an imposing castle deep in the woods, that one day disappeared from all maps. 

Some say it's still there, just concealed with the magic of a really powerful witch, no matter what the church claims about having burned them all.

Others think it crumbled to the ground, unable to stand any more without its master there to keep it together. 

The Vatican claims to have destroyed it in the name of God, the village men grow bold enough to boast about the treasure they supposedly stole from there.

Alucard's tale grows, even as the man shrinks into itself, once his prophecy has been fulfilled and his sole reason to exist finally slayed. 

Very few remember Vlad Dracula's daughters, but there are traces of them left in the history.

Hushed female voices telling each other stories over the fire. Tales of the place where husbands' heavy hand won't ever reach. 

Rumors of libraries and workshops where all the knowledge is at your fingertips, your fate finally yours to choose.

Whispered clues to find the farthest tree on the south of the main road, its bark marked with three fine lines in the shape of the hand, and to march three hundred steps north of it.

And finally, three names to call forth when you reach the clearing, given to their daughters by the desperate mothers who wish for a better life to happen upon them.

Do you know the names? 

Did you ever have to call for them, deep in the night, three hundred steps away from the tree where a daughter almost avenged her father's death?

Don't you know the heart of greed and entitled desires? Have you ever heard of self-fulfilled prophecies? Didn't you see the hate in the eyes of the people?

Don't let them know.

Whisper the daughters names in the night, gain their strength. 

And don't let the world know where we are.

[jbbuckybarnes]

Cute

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (2,6k words) Description: Bucky has a crush on you that he can’t seem to ignore and Alpine is causing some trouble along the way. Prompt: "Wait, did you just call me cute?" (/w Bucky) For: @coffee-with-bucky​‘s challenge. Warnings: Nightmare, awkwardness, slight angst, fluff, not proofread

M A S T E R L I S T

A white furball was sitting on the coffee table in front of a big dark figure, early in the spring morning. „Meow!“ Alpine voiced her opinion. „What‘s wrong, baby girl?“ Came back from Bucky‘s voice. „Meow.“ Her left paw went forward and tried to touch him. „You want to be pet?“ „Meow.“ His hand came closer and she pressed her head against it. „Rrrmeow.“ His hands both reached to scratch behind her ears. „Yeah, you like that, needy furball.“ He chuckled. She advanced towards him, putting her paws on his chest and booping his nose with hers. „You‘re a sweet girl, aren‘t you?“ She licked the tip of his nose. His smile was so giant, it was almost scary if you‘ve never seen it before. „God, you actually look cute when your face shows emotions,“ you commented in the door frame. He chuckled and stopped shortly after, „Wait, did you just call me cute?“ „Yeah. Happens when you‘re not looking like the death himself.“ You grinned at him. His face was back at its usual asshole resting face. You sat down very close to him, seeing Alpine sit down on the other side of him. „You look good when you smile. I like that look on you.“ You smiled behind your mug. „Meow.“ „Look she agrees.“ You reached out to squish his cheeks together and make him chuckle, which you succeed in. „Stop.“ He grumbled and grabbed you. You, dodging it by throwing yourself against him. „Darling!“ he threw you a stern look and you giggled, coming back up right in front of his face, seeing a smile vanish to a slight blush on his face. „Sorry if I made you uncomfortable,“ you mumbled. „No, no. Not at all.“ He looked down at his hands. God, he had such a crush on you, but he couldn‘t and shouldn‘t. It wouldn‘t work, he couldn‘t even hold a conversation. He was glad you even felt comfortable around him. „Meow!“ Alpine pushed her head into his side very hard to make him move towards you. „Alpine, no.“ He mumbled and got a protesting meow back. She was determined. „What is she trying to tell you?“ You dipped your head to the side. „Uh, just, nothing.“ He was so weird all of a sudden. The furball licked her paw and then put it up in your direction before dipping her head to the side with a purr. „Did she just...alright, wow. Can you understand us?“ You got closer to the cat but got an almost arrogant stance back. „I ask her that all the time.“ He chuckled nervously. „Did she mean kissing?“ You were thoroughly confused by what she had just done. „Um.“ He looked away, blushing profusely. Your eyes got big, „She did.“ „I need to go.“ He mumbled, grabbed the protesting cat and booked it.

-

It was your free day, until it wasn‘t. The team that was out on a mission came back in a hurry. With a baby. „You two stay here, keep her safe. We need to find the organization trying to hurt her.“ „Where is her mom?“ „Gone. Just keep her safe. We need to go.“ And Steve and the others were already out of the compound again, leaving you with a baby in your arms. „Friday, put the security level up.“ „Will do.“ When you came back into the living room you saw Bucky watch his favorite show without even noticing you. Alpine made a leap off the couch to come towards you and loop through your legs. A coo made the giant man raise a brow and turn around. „What in the mother of-“ „They dropped her off and currently try to chase down the people wanting her for some reason.“ You shrugged and sat down next to him. „You‘re good with children, right? I didn‘t have much family and I honestly have no idea what to do other than holding her. Help.“ You looked into his eyes helplessly. „I haven‘t- Fine.“ He grabbed her out of your grasp. „Friday? Do we know her name?“ „Her name is Olive.“ „Hey, I‘ll call you Lilly. Alright?“ He cooed down at the little bundle and got a little coo back. The baby looked extra small in his grasp, but it also looked way more relaxed than with you. Her eyes got heavier and heavier the more he slightly moved her just right. „Yeah, you probably had an exhausting day, baby girl.“ He smiled down at her. That smile that was reserved for pets and children. That „I‘m not being judged“ smile. „I‘d never be that good with children.“ You mumbled and had him look up. „What? No, you‘re just not used to it. I think you‘d be great with children.“ „Really?“ „Yeah, you‘re good at taking care of people. Why not put that into a smaller version.“ He put down the little girl between the both of you on the couch and watched her sleep. „Do you want children?“ You asked a little shy. That was a personal question to ask such a traumatized person. „Yeah. One day.“ He smiled down at Olive and took her little hand. „I think you‘d be a great dad.“ You smiled and saw him look up and blush. „Um, thanks. Uh, do- Do you want children one day?“ He stammered. „Maybe. Only if I find the right person.“ You shrugged and looked away. „You will. I‘m sure of it,“ he answered as Olive already started to fuzz again. Watching him be so good at this kinda made you think twice if you really wanted this one day. You felt like anyone would be more qualified at it than you. „You got this, right? I- I think I need to just-“ You gestured towards the door before making your way out, leaving behind a confused Bucky looking at a baby in his arms and a cat that disapprovingly put her head back down.

-

He looked pretty beaten up after this particular intense mission. Two cuts in the face and a bullet wound in is side. You sat down on his bed in the med bay, „Hey.“ „Hey.“ You got a soft smile from him. „Do you need help with cleaning up those wounds?“ You asked reluctant. „I mean, they only did the bullet wound, so I‘d appreciate it.“ He chuckled a bit strained. You got everything you needed and sat down next to him again, moving his head how you needed it. He frowned for a second before his expression eased at...whatever it eased at. You didn‘t notice the stare at your lips that kept him thoroughly distracted. It would be so easy for him to just go for it right now, but he shouldn‘t. He knew he shouldn‘t. „Aaand you‘re all cleaned up again.“ You smiled at him and got a tiny „Thank you“ back. „Anything else?“ You dipped your head to the side. „What else would there be?“ He smiled. „I could get you clothes to change into, make your hair less messy, get you some food,“ you suggested. „Make my hair less messy. Please.“ He played the idiot in need, but he really just wanted to feel your hands in his hair. You sat down behind him, started detangling it and sending chills down his spine. Then you started braiding little braids into it and he was sure that this was his undoing. And as you saw his shoulders relax you gave him a little scalp massage, letting him lose all the tension he was holding. „God, I could kiss you right now. This is amazing.“ He grumbled relaxed. „Wouldn‘t hold it against you.“ You chuckled as you sat next to him again. „Is that so?“ He smirked. „Yeah, well, I‘m pretty good, aren‘t I?“ „Yeah.“ There was this softness, this fuzz in the air. 

-

Alpine came walking towards you in the very early morning as you wanted to get yourself some warm milk with honey to fall back asleep. Nothing she usually did. Normally she was always a step behind or ahead of Bucky. You frowned and crouched down. „Is there something wrong, sweetie?“ „Meow.“ „I take that as a yes.“ „Meow.“ You made your way to his quarters in the compound and knocked at his door. When there was no answer you pushed the slightly ajar door open. „Where is he, Alpine?“ You looked down and saw her rush towards the bathroom door. She scratched the surface lightly with soft meows. She was not a trained therapy cat but she sure as hell was one hell of a buddy. The bond they both had showed especially now. „Bucky?“ You asked soft but nervous. Nothing. „Alpine got me here. What is wrong? Please open the door.“ You explained and asked. „Meow.“ Harder Scratching, paws reaching under the door. „Friday? Can you please unlock this door?“ „Protocol: MHE. Door unlocked.“ You pushed down the handle slowly, letting Alpine rush in first before you could even see anything. You only heard her purring before you saw her forcefully cuddle into a hunched figure. „Bucky…“ You came towards him, sat down in front of him. Nothing. You reached out for his flesh arm to feel him. He was a little cold for his usual supersoldier warmth. „Wait, I‘ll get you a blanket,“ you mumbled, coming back with a giant black soft throw blanket. „Bucky, please talk to me.“ He didn‘t move the head leaning on top of one of his arms. Alpine in the small room between his thighs and his chest pushed against him. She was purring and making biscuits on him as best as she could. Truly a good girl. „James, at least pet Alpine. You don‘t have to talk to me, but she‘s doing a great job.“ A shaky breath left him before his free hand reached for Alpine and carefully went through her fur. „Meow.“ She looked up at him. You just knew. She was verbally mothering him, kicking his ass. „Thank you, Al.“ A deep, nasally and rough voice came from him before his face came up a bit so she could climb higher on his chest to be scratched. „What happened?“ You asked softly again. „Bad dream. Somehow you were a person brought in to make me comply and...you were killed by a drone strike somehow. God, I have a lot of gore in my mind, but that was horrible.“ You saw tears form in his eyes again and pulled him close. „I‘m here. See? I‘m hugging you and I‘m here. You won‘t let anything bad happen to me, ever. I know that.“ You tried to soothe him. He grabbed you, squeezed your arms, your waist, your hips, touched your hair. „It looked so fucking bad. It was awful. I can‘t get the picture out of my head.“ He dug his face into the crook of your neck. „Think about your favorite moment with me then. Or that mission where I accidentally shot Steve in his arm. Or when Alpine tried to tell you to kiss me.“ You chuckled. His hands wandered up and down your body, relaxing both of you. „You know, I really kinda want it. To kiss you, I mean.“ He stumbled over his words. „What‘s holding you back?“ You whispered. „My brain.“ His head came up and looked at you. You could see the troubled mind in his eyes. „Then what‘s your heart saying?“ You asked pointing at it. His face turned soft, „That you‘re cute.“

You went through his hair carefully, still a little concerned about him. „I know, I should cut it off,“ he mumbled. „Huh? No, you don‘t need to. I like you with any type of hairstyle.“ You offered him a soft smile. „I want it short again. I don‘t wanna look like him anymore. Not after that dream.“ He shuddered at the mention. „Now?“ You asked still going through it and saw him nod. „Do you trust me?“ „I do.“ You got up, grabbed scissors and an electric razor from all over his bathroom, before taking his blanket away from him under protest of both him and his cat. The cat proceeded to lay down in the warm blanket pile shortly after. You put his hair in three tails, cut them off while being watched carefully. His shoulders relaxed when that step was finished. You proceeded to get all of his top hair up into a tail, helping with various products in spray bottles, cause you were definitely not used to doing this anymore. Alpine jumped a little when the razor turned on, but when she saw Bucky visibly relax even more she rolled back into a furball on the blanket pile. You shaved down his sides and back a decent amount. Not too much. You didn‘t want to make this look military style. Then you continued with the top of his head. You didn‘t know which length would be ideal. Maybe not too short, but too long also looked off with his fluffy hair. You still wanted to indulge in playing with it though. Maybe about 3-4 cm / 1-2 inches long. It took a while for you to figure out the way you needed to go about cutting it but you were finished with it in no time. With soft brushes over his hair you got rid of any hair that didn‘t belong there anymore before making him stand up. „WOAH.“ His eyes got wide as he went through his hair, looking at your quality work. „You like it?“ „I love it.“ He looked at you in the mirror, seeing a loving shimmer in your eyes. Maybe he DID deserve you. „We should go to bed. I only slept like 3 hours because of that,“ he mumbled and you nodded as you put out the bathroom light and closed the door behind Alpine. You padded after him, making him do a full stop and turn around a little confused. „What?“ You asked rubbing your eyes and he really couldn‘t say no. So he did the next best thing coming to his mind, grabbed around your waist and let himself fall into his bed. „Idiot.“ You giggled into his chest and climbed up a bit a few seconds later. „Hey.“ He smiled up at you as you grabbed into his hair. „Hey handsome.“ You smirked all tired before cuddling yourself against him and planting your face in his neckline. Yeah, maybe he did deserve you.

-

In your routine of being half awake and grumpy you turned around to hit something unusual with your arm. „Ouch.“ You heard next to you pretty monotone, then holding back laughter. „Sorry, B.“ You pushed yourself into his grasp to fall back asleep. „Darling, it‘s noon.“ You pried one of your eyes open to look at him judgingly. „C‘mere,“ he cooed as he pulled you extra close. „Didn‘t know you could show that emotion.“ You giggled as you gave him a little kiss on his cheek. „Oh, believe me. There are a lot of emotions that are a you-only thing.“ He grinned at you and felt your hand pat up the side of his face to find the proper position. „Show me another.“ You smiled up at him all sleepy. This was a now or in three uncomfortable weeks kinda situation. You were just enough in sleep mode for him to feel less awkward about making a move on you. So he reached for your face and finally went for that damn kiss that‘s been the topic of his life for weeks. Your hand went through his new short hair with a hum, pushing him down for more. Yes, definitely the right decision.

[couvers]

13,20,37 👀👀👀💞💞💞 ily

13.  “Are you going to keep pacing outside my door, or are you coming in?”

20. “I… am uncomfortably aroused.”

i am still marinating on 37... but i won’t forget it.  👀

Jason was early. Too early. Embarrassingly early. If he knocked on her door now, she would probably think he was crazy. And she'd be right. Jason had absolutely lost his mind.

Ten more minutes. If he waited ten minutes he would no longer be too early and simply be early. Politely early. Considering he'd already been standing outside her door for ten minutes, that would mean his crazy ass had been out there for a full twenty minutes before he announced his presence. Jason had to fight the instinct to pull out his phone and text Thalia to ask her which would be worse – his being too early or the waiting awkwardly outside Piper’s door for twenty minutes. He'd already had to ask his sister too many dumb questions, though. His pride could not survive another.

There ended up being no time for him to decide, though, because at that moment Piper's front door opened and Jason found himself standing face to face with her. His heart jumped into his throat as he took her in. Piper had braided her hair down either side of her face, wisps already falling loose. That evening she had dressed simply, in a pair of jeans and a royal purple, thick knit sweater. Jason's favorite color. He doubted it was a coincidence.

"Are you going to keep pacing outside my door, or are you coming in?"

"Saw that, did you?" he replied, trying to fight the blush creeping up his neck.

Piper nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line. "I heard something and decided to check the peephole. How long have you been out here?"

"Not long." A lie, and an obvious one at that, based on the way she laughed. "If you're not ready, I can wait."

"Do I not look ready?" she asked, and it felt like she was teasing, but he didn't know her well enough to be entirely sure.

"No," he quickly corrected. "No, you look…" And then his heart was stuck in his throat again, because Jason didn't know how to tell this woman he'd known for all of two weeks that she was the most beautiful person he’d ever met.

Offering him her hand, Piper finally smiled, shoulders shaking in a silent laugh. “Come in already, you weirdo.”

“Are you sure you should be letting a weirdo into your apartment?” he asked, slipping his hand into hers and allowing her to lead him inside. Just holding her hand had his heart racing, something he couldn’t remember happening even when he’d been a middle schooler.

“Probably not, actually,” she said with playful severity. The door closed behind him and Jason stopped to slip off his shoes and remove his jacket, then Piper claimed his hand again, threading her fingers through his. “It might be a good idea for you to go.”

Even though, again, he was pretty sure she only meant to tease him, he might have actually doubted himself if she didn’t immediately tug him toward the living room once his shoes were off. “Too late, you already let me in.”

She hummed softly, the corners of her lips turned up into a surprisingly shy smile. “I guess I’ll have to take my chances, then.”

They settled together on the couch, Piper curled against his side, and he really hoped she couldn’t feel the way his heart pounded. Piper had already queued up their first movie for the night – ET, because she’d told him she’d never seen it and Jason found that personally offensive. Almost immediately she was talking, commenting on everything and anything that came to mind. He’d seen the movie enough that he didn’t mind the running commentary.

Actually, he found his attention on Piper more than the movie in general. Jason liked watching her talk. Her face was so expressive, brow, nose and lips quirking and scrunching in slightly different ways with every thought. He could tell she wasn’t enjoying the film about halfway through, even though she hadn’t expressed a single complaint verbally, and there was something refreshing about her openness. It disarmed him, and it kind of scared him, but the kind of disarming and scary that had Jason wanting to jump head first into her.

“Jason,” she said, when her very obvious boredom had reached a boiling point, “are you going to wait until the day after our date to kiss me again?”

If that was where her mind went when she got bored, Jason didn’t think he would mind if she found him absolutely drab. “No.”

Piper’s eyes narrowed, her body shifting toward him. “I’m not sure I bel–”

He didn’t let her finish the thought before he leaned in and put his lips to hers. Just like the first time, a quiet sound of contentment sounded in the back of her throat, which served to encourage him. Jason inched closer to her, his hand coming up to her neck as his other arm pulled her a little closer. Her lips tasted faintly of cherries and the more he got of them, the more he realized he would never get enough. It was more than just the taste or feel of her mouth, though – it was how she leaned into him, her hand resting on his chest, the brush of her nose against his.

“Sorry for doubting you,” Piper whispered when they finally parted. Her breaths came in short puffs, hot against his skin. He definitely hadn’t gotten enough.

Jason smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “I kind of deserved it.”

“You kind of did,” she agreed, the sound of her giggle the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

In a rush of courage inspired by that sound and the warmth that had settled in his chest, Jason said, “Can I ask you something, Pipes?”

A frown formed on her lips as she sat back scanned his face. Jason still didn’t know exactly how to read her expressions, but he felt like he’d said something wrong. Piper took a deep breath and nodded before he could even form the apology on his lips, though. “Yeah. Anything.”

“I, uh,” he started, that bravery fading almost instantly in the wake of her confusing frown. Still, he powered through, deciding to finish what he’d started. “I don’t exactly know what the etiquette for this is, because it’s been a long time since I’ve even thought about it.”

“The etiquette,” Piper said softly, her hand dropping to his thigh. That was a dangerous position, but when he tensed, she noticed, drawing it back and quirking an eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“I know this is only our second date,” he started, trying to find the words to express himself from another angle. It was annoyingly difficult, and his face already felt warm from the embarrassment. Piper watched him closely, trying to discern his train of thought without rushing him. “It’s just that I– I really like you, and I want to keep doing this – seeing each other, I mean, going out with you, or staying in. I’m just wondering, because I’m not… I’m not seeing anyone else…”

Piper reached for his hand, once again threading their fingers together. The credits to their movie played in the background, but neither of them moved to turn it off. “Are you asking if this is exclusive?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, relieved that she understood and that her smile had returned. “If you’re not ready for that, it’s fine, I don’t mind see–”

This time she cut him off, catching his lips in a way that was more smile than kiss, and he could hear her giggling into it. For once Jason didn’t mind her pulling away relatively quickly, if only because he still felt so nervous about her response. “I’m not seeing anyone else, either, and I really don’t want to.”

A tightness in his chest began to fade, and Jason wasn’t sure whether it had developed over the course of that conversation or if it had been there all his life. He breathed another sigh of relief, tilting his forehead against hers again and smiling. “Good.”

Dialogue Prompts!

[alexajanecollins]

Difficult decisions - Part 5

I felt very inspired but this is the last part for this series. This explains why it’s so long. Hope you liked this sort of mini series. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Hope you like this last part. 💙💙💙

“MUMMA, IS DADDY COMING WITH US?”

Your little girl asked while you finished her hair. Her first day in her new school and it was fair to say you were more nervous than the little girl herself. Ever since you moved to London a month ago, the little girl had been asking when she could go back to school. “Yes, daddy is coming.” You answered as she smiled, all happy with the answer. “We are so proud of you.” You added and the girl turned to look at you. “Why?” She asked a bit confused. “Because you have been behaving so good since we moved here.” You explained; a kiss placed on her head.

“I like my new room here, and the new toys daddy bought me.” She shrugged looking at herself in the mirror. “And I am happy to go play with some other kids.” You smiled happy with the way you styled her hair. “That’s great. I am sure you will like it.” You added while taking a quick picture of the both of you looking in the mirror.

“Come on little one, we have to go.” You said after a while, the little girl walking out of the bathroom already. “Go ask daddy if he can help you with your shoes.” You said loud enough for the little girl to hear. “Okay mummy.” She sang walking down the stairs looking for Ben.

“Ready?” Ben asked looking at the little girl as she entered the kitchen. “I still need my shoes.” She said looking at her sock then back at him. “Mhm right.” He said while walking towards the shoe closet. “Which one?” He asked looking over at her again to see what she was wearing. “Give her the brown boots.” You shouted from upstairs while quickly getting yourself ready. “Brown boots it is.” Ben smiled taking those from the closet.

“I am a little bit nervous daddy.” The little girl says silently while Ben helped her with her boots. “That’s fine princess.” He smiled. “Very normal reaction. I was nervous as well on my first day with the new team.” He explained as the little girl looked at him. “Really?” She asked surprised. “Yes really. And so was and is your mummy.” He added while walking downstairs, a smile on your face as you followed the conversation.

“What if people don’t like me? I don’t make friends? No one wants to play with me?” She started asking all different kinds of questions, a worried look on her face. “I am sure they will love you.” Ben smiled kissing her cheek. “It’s only half a day, just for you to explore the school.” He explained and she sighed wrapping her arms around his neck. “I am scared daddy.” She whispered leaning against him. “I know baby, I know.” He said moving his hand over her back, a smile shared between the two of you.

“We have to go.” You whispered nodding to the door while showing the small backpack you had in your hands, together with the little girl’s jacket. “Come on princess.” Ben smiled taking the car keys from you as the little girl held onto him. “Time to go.” You smiled closing the door behind you three, the little girl looking at you for a second before you all got inside of the car.

The car ride to your daughters’ new school wasn’t that long. The school not being that far away from your new place making it possible for you to even walk her there when Ben wasn’t home, or the car wasn’t available. Ben had been glancing over to the little girl time after time, the little girl looking around the buildings a sigh coming from her when Ben parked the car. “You ready princess?” You asked turning around to look at her for a second.

“Oh baby, no need for tears.” You said getting out of the car as you saw tears running down her cheeks. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked opening the door on her side; the little girl reaching for Ben as he got out the car himself. “Princess. We have talked about this.” Ben said calmly unbuckling her seatbelt picking her up from her car seat. “I don’t want to go daddy.” She whispered leaning against him.

Ben kept talking to the girl while the three of you walked towards the school building. The little girl answering some of his questions time after time. The calming words coming from her daddy making her feel a bit more comfortable about what she was going to do. The goodbye at the door of her new classroom without any tears, just a quick hug shared with the two of you before she left with her teacher.

“I for a second thought we were going to take her back home.” Ben said while walking with you back to the car; no verbal reaction coming from you when you both get back inside. “Our little girl is growing up so fast.” He said looking at you for a second. “Oh baby, are you crying? Why are you crying?” He asked surprised; his arm moved around your shoulder pulling you closer into a hug. “Baby, you don’t need to cry. She will do amazing.” He added.

“She seemed so sad and scared.” You sighed while covering your face against his shoulder. “I know. But she is the most wonderful girl. And she will have a great time.” He whispered while kissing your head a couple of times. “She will have a lot of stories to tell later the day.” He added and only then you moved away to look at him. “I love you.” You smiled. “I love you too.” He answered kissing your lips for a second; wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Now let us have a nice day with the two of us, just you and me.” He smiled and you nodded moving away so he could start the car.

“I actually have to go to this one store.” You said as he drove away from the school building. “Which one?” He asked looking at you for a second. “I don’t remember the name but it’s here to the left.” You said pointing at one street. “And then to the right and end of the road back to the left.” You said reading the instructions on your phone. “Okay, call me your driver from now on.” Ben laughed looking at you for a second then back at the road.

“Why are we here?” Ben asked confused looking at the store for a second; remembering the name from when you were pregnant from your daughter. “I need to pick up a present for a friend.” You said while getting out of the car. Ben just nodded not thinking anything about it. Ben headed towards the entrance with your hand reaching for his when you entered. “That way.” You said looking around the store as Ben just following the way you led him.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” A friendly lady from the store asks you when you stopped near the information desk. “Hi, I am here to pick up a parcel.” You said with a smile letting go of Bens hand for a second. “What’s the name of the baby? That way I can look up the order.” The women smiled typing some things on her computer. “Erm, we haven’t decided on a name just yet, so I just ordered it on the name ‘Baby Chilwell’.” You said in a casual way as the women nodded typing the name after you spelled it.

“Wait. What?” Ben asked confused after he realized what you just had said. “I am back in a minute.” The women said walking through a door that led to what seemed like the warehouse of the store. “What did you just say?” Ben asked once again making you turn to look at him. “Ben, we are not here for my friend. We are here for us.” You said taking his hands to hold in yours.

“Here is your order.” The women smiled interrupting your conversation handing you a box. “I see it’s already paid for so all good for you to go.” She added and you thanked her taking Bens hand again to pull him out of the store. “Babe. Stop. Seriously.” Ben said making you stop the walking when you reached the car. “Care to explain? I am very confused.” He added and you giggled. “Get in the car first.” You said getting inside yourself already.

Ben looked at you the whole time you opened the package, a confused look still resting on his face. “Hello?” He said loud enough for you to hear in case you forgot you still had to explain him something. “I am pregnant again, Ben.” You said handing him a tiny baby shirt that said ‘Baby Chilwell N°2’ on it you just took out of the box. “What? Really?” He asked surprised looking at the shirt in his hand then at you for a second. “Really.” You nodded with a smile.

“This explains the tears this morning, and yesterday, and the day before.” Ben laughed shaking his head for a second. “Baby, this is amazing news.” He smiled looking back at the shirt in his hands. “This actually explains lots more.” You laughed yourself; your hand moving to the back of his neck. “Wait. Who knew about this?” He asked moving away from your hand for a second. “Only your daughter.” You shrugged with a smile.

“You two deserve each other.” He laughed leaning closer in your direction; thousands of kisses placed on your lips. “You just made me the happiest person ever.” He whispered against your lips as you smiled. “You already made me the happiest person.” You answered. 

And so, your secret was finally out. The smile on Bens face not leaving for the rest of the day. The day spent counting down till Ben arrived back home from picking up your little girl. The girl explaining everything she did at school, how she made new friends and how the teacher told her how beautiful her braids were.

The constant talking of the girl warming your heart as you all three sat down at the dinner table. The house filled with laughter and joy, the future all clear. Your little girl clapping her hands when Ben announced you had told him their secret. It was clear to say your family of three was finally ready to welcome a fourth member in the future. 

tags: @chilly-me-softly @bbychilly @footballdaydream @cam-blog98 @chillyssauce @emwritesfootball @glam-khal @ellarrose @kingkepaff @manchesterunitedgirlforever @englandntposts

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Eleven

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Eleven: A Balancing Act

My darling Inej,  

Don’t think for a minute I don’t know what you’re aiming at with this letter full of questions. You may have my heart, but you can’t be privy to all of my schemes, especially when I’m now aware that your birthday is next month. Did you think I would forget? My dear, I forget nothing.  

So, no, to all of your questions. I’m not telling you what I’ve been plotting lately. I’m not telling you what has been on my mind. I’m not telling you if I’ve been visiting Jesper and Wylan’s more than usual. You must wait in suspense just as Jesper did. That’s part of the experience.

And don’t make that scoffing sound when you read this. I remind you that this whole birthday gift experience business was all your idea. You have no one to blame but yourself.

How do I sleep at night, you asked? Noisily, I’ve been told, but just fine, thank you.  

With all of my scheming heart,

Kaz  

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

To my favorite Inej,

Has he said anything at all to you – regarding the incident in my last letter? We found him on the couch again this morning. It’s at least becoming less startling when it happens. I just wish I understood it. He has that uncanny ability to vanish without explanations, and Wylan and I aren’t sure how to bring it up since he’s so clearly bent on pretending it’s not happening.

I suppose if our sofa and our dog are what he needs right now for whatever is happening inside that ridiculous brain of his, then I’m glad we’re able to help in some small way. He’s not taking advantage of much. We only wish he’d trust us with more.

I mean, we’ve all have nearly died for his schemes on more than one occasion. Should I remind him of that? What could possibly be too much to ask of us at this point?

All my love,

Jesper  

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

To our feared and beloved Captain

For her twenty-first birthday:

Cake and kvas and mysteries galore

Are awaiting your arrival

Return to Ketterdam if you wish to know more

Your presence is requested at the enclosed address, at 3 bells the 18th of October.  

No questions. All will be revealed in time.

Love,

Your favorite Crows

(addition in Kaz’s handwriting)

That gods-awful poem was Jesper and Wylan’s idea. Withhold judgment until after the evening. I’ll make it worth your while.  

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

 Dear Nina,  

I’m sailing away from Ketterdam today having nearly every single one of my birthday wishes fulfilled but one. But I won’t hold it against you. I know why you couldn’t have been there, or at least, I understand why I don’t know the specifics of why you couldn’t be there. Just know that, at the time of writing this and always, you are sorely missed.  

You would be so proud, though, with how our boys outdid themselves. I am impressed and moved and, frankly, still a little speechless. I’m honestly still replaying the memories and recalling the half-starved scrappy little things we all were seven years ago, and the two images side-by-side could not be any more different. I hope, wherever you are, the passage of time is bringing you similar new hopes. You deserve that and so much more, Nina.  

Where to begin? You know, years ago, just before we started the Ice Court, Kaz made me this lofty, insane promise. That, if we did it right, we’d be kings and queens. I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right.  

The day started at a dressmaker’s shop. I’d been given an address and a time to arrive, and that alone was a little jaw-dropping. It was in The Lid – an absolute premier spot I’d never even heard of when I lived in Ketterdam. I was grossly underdressed when I arrived. It’s not that I have anything against dresses – you know this. They’re just not at all practical for my line of work, and so I have none. I confess that sometimes I’ll admire them in a shop window when I’m out and about in a port town, but why in the world would I ever spend the coin on one? I wouldn’t even know what suits me anymore.  

This dressmaker, though, Nina. She knew all everything about the right fabrics, the right cut, the right make. They’d booked me the entire shop all to myself, just me and the dressmaker. She found me an absolute perfect gown – I’m staring at it right now. I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do with it now that my birthday’s over. Maybe I’ll prop it up in my desk chair and have tea with it every once and awhile. It’s this breathtaking light, pastel yellow, like sunshine, with all this detailed beadwork and exposed shoulders and what the dressmaker called an A-line waist. You might know what that means. I think it’s just dressmaker code for very pretty. She tailored me into it right there in the shop and fitted me with shoes and a cloak to match.

(My one regret was having no idea what to do with my hair. You’d cringe, but I left it in the braid. A minor detail the boys overlooked.)

It took a good few hours to get fixed up in the dress, and it was nearly evening by then. The dressmaker assured me it was all paid for, and right about that time, a black carriage pulled up in front of the shop. And Jesper and Wylan had their heads out the windows, shouting like madmen at me from the streets. I think the entirety of The Lid knew then about my birthday.

Kaz was in the carriage, too, hiding his enthusiasm as he does so well. I have to tell you, though, Nina, I won’t ever forget the look on his face when I got into the carriage. He was clearly trying his best to remain cool and unaffected, but I saw it, the way his jaw dropped slightly and his breath caught. This is obviously why I can never get rid of this dress. I’m just imagining what he’s going to end up writing in his letter after this, since, verbally, he actually managed to mumble that I looked beautiful, right there in front of Jesper and Wylan.

You know, it’s interesting. When he says it, it’s not at all like hearing a man in the Menagerie say it. When he says it, it’s like it’s not just the dress. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s the same words, and yet it’s so very different.  

And it only got better from there. The city was getting dusky, and the lamps were being lit. We were still in The Lid, amongst carriages and carriages of the filthy rich from the Financial District, the Government District, and tourists from all over. I kept leaning my head out the window to figure out what was coming next.  

Nina – they had bought us all ticket to the Cirque Euphoric.  

Maybe this means nothing to you. But it’s only the most ancient, most elite, most elaborate traveling circus in the world. It can only be afforded anymore by the wealthiest of tourists. And they were there doing an entire season in The Lid in Ketterdam, under a big top the size of two city blocks.

Nina, you don’t understand. My entire childhood, I kept posters and drawings and any relic that made its way to the markets from the Cirque Euphoric. Their high wire artists set the standard for all other performers in the business. The things they do in the sky, Nina, are things I haven’t even begun to imagine yet.

Sufficed to say, as soon as I figured out where we were going, I lost it. I did not know what to do with myself. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I burst into tears. It was a horrifying few moments for everyone involved. They were fairly certain they’d done something horribly wrong, instead of so wonderfully right. But that only last a couple minutes. I was able to get it together before Kaz could yell at the driver to take us back to East Stave. And then the merriment resumed, soaked handkerchief and all.

Oh, Saints, Nina, it was everything I’d ever imagined and more.

I don’t know how he knew this, but Kaz had reserved us the very best seats. You don’t want to sit too high at a circus or you’ll miss entertainment on the ground. Sitting too low presents a problem, too, because you want to be able to see the footwork the high wire artists can do. We were right in the middle, just where I’d have picked seats myself. Sankta Alina, I felt like a little girl again. I haven’t been that happy in years. I’d almost forgotten what it was to be that happy. And to watch it all with such beloved friends, who knew me well enough to know I would like this, to watch and hear their reactions to the performances. They might have loved it almost as much as I did. Almost.

We took another carriage ride after, hours later, when it was dark and the streets were bustling with very different crowds. I would have assumed that was the end of it, but Kaz had made us reservations in a private dining room at a fine dining club I’d never heard of.

My entire crew from The Wraith was waiting in the dining room. We ate a meal there fit for royalty, with drinks and a cake big enough that even you might have gotten sick of it after awhile. I don’t think I’ll need to eat again for weeks.

It must have been around midnight or past when we finally rolled ourselves out of the club. We took another carriage ride, stopping first at the Van Eck mansion so Wylan could haul a decently-sloshed Jesper off to bed and hopefully not to the toilet bowl. I actually never heard how he ended up faring that night.

And then it was finally just Kaz and me. If I hadn’t been so tired then, I think I’d have tried to snog his face off the whole way home. I’d been noticing his smug little smirk all evening. He’d planned the whole thing. Like I said, kings and queens. He’d made good on his word at last.  

But we were both exhausted on that final carriage ride – he’d booked me a room at the Geldrenner. And it’s not like I needed anything else at that point. The whole experience had already exceeded my expectations. He leaned back against the window, and I rested against him under his arm. We both dozed off there before the end of the ride.  

Which is another point I realize I haven’t mentioned to you yet. This has been happening lately. Kaz falling asleep in unusual places. Jesper’s been worrying about it for weeks now. I was having a hard time believing it until I witnessed it myself. Tell me this isn’t weird:

We got to the Geldrenner, and I asked him to come up. Oh, calm down. Are we really going to pretend like this is shocking at this point? Frankly, given the number of years, it’s shocking we weren’t sneaking into hotel rooms four years ago. And it’s not like we do much more than kiss. Although, I thought about it. It was my birthday after all, and he had just gifted me the experience of a lifetime and a luxury hotel room to boot. I was definitely thinking about it.  

But that’s not the weird part. Let’s agree that’s not the weird part, anyway. We came up, and we did very little talking. There’d been plenty of talking happening all night, and I was more interested in other things he can do with his mouth. Kissing, Nina, Saints. I can sense you doing that waggling thing with your eyebrows. I’m talking about just a lot of kissing, as soon as he let me get my hands on him. The kind of kissing every grown woman should have on her birthday, kisses that slide into more kisses, like there’s nothing else in the world happening but this.

But then the weird part happened. We’re lying on the bed (fully clothed, Nina, he even still had his gloves on), or at least, he’s lying back on the pillows and I’m kissing him, and then I notice he wasn’t really moving. And I sat back a moment, and I swear to you, he had fallen asleep. Believe me, I called him out on it right then, literally – “Are you sleeping?!” And he flinched right awake and apologized and blamed it on the kvas, and I might have even believed him.  

Except Jesper keeps talking about this strange new habit of his. And, as I replay the night’s memories in my head, it does feel like something was off. He seemed paler. He seemed quieter. He seemed – well, tired.  

Now I can’t kick this feeling like there’s something more happening behind the scenes. I wish you were here, Nina, and you could work your magic like you do and just squeeze the truth out of his brain somehow. I’ll have to settle for my own magic, I guess.  

When I look over my letters from him, he’s off-handedly mentioned feeling overwhelmed, particularly since this kid Artie joined the Dregs. And, don’t get me wrong, the kid is kind of handful. His moods swing wide between murderous rage and affectionate admiration. But he’s not Kaz’s sole responsibility. Pim and Anika do a lot to keep him on task and out of the bad kind of trouble. I wouldn’t think this would be enough to drive him to exhaustion.

But then again, Artie is the same age Jordie was. I wonder how much that gets to him. I wonder how much time he spends avoiding that. I wonder if he allows himself to think of it at all. Would that be enough to push him to the edge? Or is it something more?

It couldn’t be me, could it? Am I becoming exhausting?  

Ugh, Nina, come squeeze this out of my brain, too. And then come dress shopping with me, because it is much more enjoyable than I thought it would be.  

Missing you terribly,

Inej

[justjessame]

Sins of the Father: Chapter 9

I considered skipping dinner, but I hadn’t had any time with Danny since breakfast and that felt wrong to me.  Sliding out of my bed and taking care to redress for dinner and remove any signs that might show that I had any distress at all during my day, I found that we’d be eating inside - and I was thankful for it.  

Anytime we dined al fresco, the atmosphere became more and more frantic until it became a party and I was in no mood for that.  

“You look more rested,” Dad offered once everyone greeted me, holding my chair for me, and brushing a kiss on my temple.  “Do you feel better?”  

“A bit,” smiling at Danny, I was happy to see that he wasn’t holding a grudge for my lack of attention during the day.  “I guess my jetlag finally caught up to me.”  

That was all the others needed to get going, and the conversation flowed.  Jed kept a careful distance, her comments never directed at me, but never too awkward either.  She knew how the sharks could smell blood in this group, and was well practiced already in keeping her weaknesses covered.  She needn’t have bothered, I was busy listening to Danny’s plans for the next day - he wanted to go to the beach and I was more than willing to take him.  

While we chatted with one another, and ate, the others discussed the best ways to deal with jetlag and weariness in general, because once you got them going - that’s really all it took.  

Dinner wound down sooner than it would have if we were eating on the patio, which was more welcome than I could contemplate.  Danny asked if I wanted to see something he’d found while I was resting that he’d left in his room, but Dad asked if I could spare a moment for him first.  

“Of course,” winking at my little brother and telling him to go ahead to his room and I’d meet him there, I followed Dad into his hidden study.  Wishing for all the world that we didn’t have any need for hidden rooms and cloak and dagger nonsense, but Ropers will Roper.  “Do you want me to pour you an after dinner drink?”  

“No,” he held up his still full glass.  “I’m good.”  He gestured to the chair next to his and I sat, wondering what the latest dictate would be concerning Tom and his nursing duties.  “How are you feeling, honestly?”  

I considered what he was asking.  How did I feel?  Tired, still, but not nearly as ready to run headlong into the ocean.  That was progress.  “Better.  I think resting helped.”  He nodded.  “I’m taking Danny to the beach tomorrow.”  Another nod, but his mouth opened and I was certain he was going to remind me that lunch duties were still necessary.  

“Perhaps someone else could tend to Quince’s bandages,” he offered instead and I felt irritation crawl up my spine.  Someone else?  Who?  Jed?  “The doctor will be coming to remove the bridge holding his nose in place soon.  It can’t be that difficult to tend to his -” 

“I’ll check on him before we go out,” my mouth was saying before I even made the choice to say it.  “Then when we come back.”  Dad’s lips were curling into a smirk and I glared at him.  “What?”  

“Nothing.” He sat his glass down on the table in front of us and turned to me.  “I think that your idea is perfect.  Quince will no doubt find it far more pleasant than having Corky take over for you.”  

After saying goodnight to everyone and heading up to see what Danny had to show me - a piece of sea glass that had found its way onto our balcony - I made my way back to my room, after forcing a promise out of my little brother that he wouldn’t try waking me up before the sun rose.  

Keyed up from dinner among the entourage, the talk with my father, and then my decision to keep taking care of Tom - I felt that getting my bag ready for the beach might be a good way to relax before bed.  

It didn’t help.  So I drew a bubble bath and soaked.  And soaked.  And soaked.  It felt like my skin was vibrating and I had too much caffeine.  

Drying and dressing in another pajama set, I sat in front of my vanity mirror and studied my reflection - trying to see what Dad was alluding to when he said I drew attention like Jed.  Curly hair the color of the blackest ink, with the palest green eyes that anyone had ever seen - trust me, I’ve heard it my entire life - my skin stayed pale, until I got a sunburn that would terrify people to see (lobsters would be envious of the red) and then it would eventually darken to a nice golden tan.  Petite was the polite way to describe my height deficiency, short the cruel way.  That’s it, that’s what I could see staring back - well not the shortness, that was only noticeable when I stood next to a “normal” sized person.  

What did other people see when they looked at me?  A small curly, dark haired pale girl with big green eyes and - that’s it. That’s what they must see.  Right?  

Sighing, I worked my hair into a braid for bed.  Otherwise I’d end up with a bird/rat’s nest or a mouthful of it before morning.  Neither was something I’d care to deal with - again. The issue, I realized as I tied my braid off, was that I still wasn’t the slightest bit tired.  

Stepping out onto the balcony attached to my room, I glanced down at the pool and smiled when I noticed that Dad and Jed were there together - alone.  I couldn’t hear them, but I also couldn’t hear the normal noise of the rest of the group, so that might mean that I could go down to the kitchens for some cocoa or a snack without tripping over all of them.  

Grabbing my book, in case it took awhile to heat my drink, I left my room and started toward the kitchens - 

And ended up outside Tom’s room, where Sandy was sitting guard.  “Esme?” He barely breathed my name and didn’t get up from his chair.

Holding my finger to my lips, I smiled around it.  “Is he asleep?”  He shrugged and I fought rolling my eyes.  “I’m taking Danny to the beach tomorrow and I thought if I checked his bandages tonight -” Sandy looked convinced, but then confused by my lack of first aid supplies.  “I leave some inside by his bed.”  A convenient lie.  “They shouldn’t need changed, but -”

“Go ahead,” he nodded toward the door and yawned.  “Not like he’s going anywhere.”  

“Exactly.”  I agreed, moving to the door and knocking gently before opening it.  The mosquito netting, mostly for decoration, fluttered in the breeze of the open window of the balcony and I wondered who left it open?  “Tom?”  He was lying prone, but I could see him move in the light offered from the starry, moon bright night.  “It’s just me, Esme.”  

“Esme?”  His voice was rough, and I thought he might be half asleep.  “Ah, a dream,” he murmured, and twitched again - the linens moving lower off his legs.  

I bit my lip, wondering if he thought I was a dream or if he was flirting again.  Setting my book on the chair by his bed, I stared down at him and realized that he wasn’t awake, not fully anyway.  “Tom, could you -” I leaned over to try to wake him up, but I truly didn’t realize his strength, not even in his battered state.  With a tug he had me on the bed with him, his hands sliding up my sides, and then both hands were cupping my face and pulling it toward his own.  “Thomas, I think you should wake up,” I murmured, my legs were tangled with his and I was afraid I was going to injure him more.  

“If I wake up,” his breath was fanning my face, warm and spellbinding, making my stomach twist in a new delicious way.  “Then you’ll disappear and I can’t do this.”  One of his hands moved to cup the back of my head and the other went on a journey down the length of me, as his lips managed, even with the bridge and bandaged nose in the way, to finally touch mine.  His tongue dipped into my mouth when I gasped and I forgot what I was arguing with him about - why was I against this again?  And then he rolled over and we both remembered when he hissed in pain.  Right, invalid -  “Esme?”  He was squinting down at me, awake now, fully.  

I was burning, far hotter than the blush had been during the day, and this time it was EVERYWHERE.  And I was panting harder than either of us had been before too.  All I could manage to do was nod.  At least until I caught my breath again.  “Yes, it’s me.”  

“How did you end up -” He was hovering over me, his arms like a cage around me, while he tried to make sense of it.  “Did I -”

“You were having a dream,” I said.  “A vivid one.”  

“I -”  He didn’t seem to know what to do.  “Are you alright?”  

I nodded again.  Aside from feeling like I’ve been lit on fire, and the fact that there are parts of me that are literally a puddle - Yes, I’m fine.  “I’m fine.”  He didn’t move and I could tell why, it was pressed into the puddled part of me and it was making thinking pretty difficult for me too.  “I should have waited until morning.”  

“No,” he shook his head.  “No, don’t - it’s fine.”  We were stuck, but he was trying to convince me it was fine.  Of course, so was I.  “Why did you come tonight?”  Right, why was I here now?  

“I’m taking Danny to the beach tomorrow,” mentioning my little brother helped the part of him that was somewhat turgid start to relax slightly.  “I thought I’d check your bandages tonight.”  I started out strong, but it sounded lame even to me toward the end.  “I planned on coming in the morning as well.”  

“I see,” he wasn’t moving, even though he wasn’t in the same predicament as he had been.  “And while I was sleeping seemed a good time to check my bandages because?”  Fuck.  

“I couldn’t sleep.”  Verbal diarrhea.  I’ve come down with a horrible case of verbal diarrhea.  “I was coming down to get some cocoa and -”

“Ended up in my room instead.” Tom wasn’t being as careful with how he was hovering now, his rigidness might have gone slightly soft, but he let his hips settle into the softness of mine, and my body was more than willing to accommodate him. His fingertips were tracing the lines of my face, teasing my lips as I spoke.  “And somehow, we ended up like this -” he didn’t have to gesture or look down, I knew precisely what he meant.  

“You were having a dream.” I reminded him.  “About me.”  

“I know,” he leaned in and this time when he kissed me, we were both awake.  His lips were surprisingly soft for the beating he’d taken, and he grew bolder when he realized I was a willing participant, nipping at my fuller lower lip.  He pulled away when he noticed I wasn’t touching him.  “Esme?”  My eyes opened and he smiled.  “Touch me?  I won’t break, and I trust you.”  

My hands obeyed before I really considered his words, and his mouth met mine, my fingers sliding under his shirt and along the bandage I’d wrapped around his chest.   Thinking that lower might be more interesting for both of us, I dipped beneath the waistband of his shorts and swallowed the growl that he fed me.  He rocked his hips into mine and I licked into his mouth as I felt the resurgence of his hardness, my legs wrapping around his and arching up into him.  He drug his mouth free from mine, the bandage, tape and bridge digging into my skin and wrecking havoc on my skin - not in a fun way.  Sighing, he pulled away.  

“I want you,” I nodded up at him, how badly I wanted him right back.  “But you’re going to wear tape burns if we continue right now.”  The laughter built in both of us and bubbled over, causing him to lie back on the bed, and hold open his arms for me to lay against his shoulder, still careful of his more tender parts.  “Will you stay the night with me?”  

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Sandy was outside and while he might doze off, the idea of Corky finding me in Tom’s bed wasn’t something I wanted to experience on our first night together.  “I want to,” he’d gone still and silent again.  “I do, but I don’t want you to get harmed further because of me, do you understand?”  

I could feel him brush a kiss on the crown of my head, through my curls.  “I do.  I don’t like it, but I do.”  His arm that was wrapped around my back holding me to his side tightened.  “Can I hold you for a while at least?”  

“I’ll allow it,” I curled against him, breathing in the scent of his neck, and sadly the scent of the salve I’d slathered on him.  I laid in his arms until his breathing evened out and his arm relaxed.  Then I slipped away, grabbing my book and slipping out.

“How were his bandages?”  Sandy asked, looking no more awake than he had when I went inside.  

“Not too bad,” I offered with a smile.  “I’ll check in again in the morning.  I’m going to the kitchens for some cocoa, want something?”  

“Coffee?”  Nodding, I promised I’d get him a cup and headed to my original destination.  Grabbing two cups, one fully caffeinated and one of herbal tea instead of the chocolate.  I needed sleep, not more excitement.  And after Tom’s touch, I think warm tea would be a better option than sugar.  

I dropped Sandy’s coffee off and headed to my room.  Once inside, I sat down at my vanity again, to check my braid and nearly screamed.  Hoping that Sandy was too tired to have noticed or that it was too dark in the hallway - Tom hadn’t been wrong about the tape.  There on the side of my cheek, where he’d started to nip and move down, I had a huge mark that proved I’d done more in his room than just check on his bandages.  Grabbing everything I could think of to remove it, should it be removable, I tried - but no.  It was a scratch, and the closer I looked the more I wanted to smack my head against something.  It wasn’t just the tape, I think it came from the bridge, it was the same shape and size.  And - Closing my eyes, I gave up for the night.  Maybe when I woke up I’d come up with a fix, or maybe it was because I was so damn tired.  That’s it, I was sleepy and so it looked worse than it was.  Right? 

[everlarkficexchange]

The Change

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 59: Growing up Peeta started loving her. It was a gradual thing that happened throughout his childhood and into his teens. But something changes when he hits puberty. Her scent has heightened, he can spot her from miles away. He gets a bit possessive. But the biggest thing is when his body starts to heat up and even just the thought of you gets him hard for days. He finds out the family secret of his werewolf genes, something his parents thought passed him. How can he go by with his day and be with her without scaring her away by humping her because of his heat. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

  Rated M: for language and “adult-y” situations.

  Tags: Underage. No-Games AU. In Panem AU. Tags/Warnings will be added accordingly. Un-beta. All mistakes are mine. 

  Author’s Note: I really tried to write this as a one shot, but since the quarantine brought my husband and kids to work/do schooling from home, I’ve been busier than ever… and I really wanted to have something to post before the exchange was over. So here’s the first part of this story, around 2500 words.

  As always, thank you to the moderators of the Exchange, you ladies are terrific as usual. Thank you to @animekpopxx for her awesome prompts, I swear your prompts are my catnip and kryptonite rolled into one. 

Heads Up, there’s no verbal interaction between Everlark in this chapter.

Stay safe, everyone. Enjoy! 

Chapter One:

  Is ten fifteen in the morning when I start feeling feverish and thirsty. We’re in the middle of a social studies test, and I can’t keep from squirming in my chair, shaking the whole desk everytime I try to hold on to it for stability. 

  I catch the teacher’s eye and wince when she screeches in her affected accent for me to stop twitching. 

  I try to tell her I can’t help it, but before I get one word out she’s flying upon me from her own desk at the very front of the class. 

  “Mr. Mellark, you have exactly 5 seconds to—“ she gasps when her cold hand grasps my shoulder like a crow’s claw. “You’re burning up, Mellark!” She sounds concerned for a Capitolite, but by the way she extracts her bony hand from me, I have to think I must be burning through my thin cotton shirt. “Why did you even come to school if you were so sick, boy?” She snaps eyeing me suspiciously.

  Against my better judgement, I roll my eyes. “We have a test, Ms. Greer.”

  “A note from your father would’ve suffice.” She snips.

  “I didn’t feel sick this morning.” I explain, embarrassed when my voice cracks lamely and the other kids try to hide their quiet chuckles, so the teacher doesn’t turn on them. The boys in my year have already grown into their adult voices, and some of them even have facial hair. Not me. I still sound and look like a baby. “I don’t feel sick right now.” I almost whine, which actually disproves my statement, because I’ve never whined about anything; whining it’s a sure way to get on my mother’s bad side, so is the first thing we Mellark’s learn to suppress and avoid at all costs. 

  Ms. Greer huffs impatiently, “Well, you have a terribly high fever, and you’re starting to sweat all over the place, Mr. Mellark. I’m going to have to ask you to go home until you are well again. The last thing this district needs is some epidemic tearing everything apart.” She sniffs out the last phrase, probably more concerned about missing her fat paychecks every week she stands here feeding us Capitol propaganda that’s supposed to pass as schooling, than actually worried about the district’s well being. 

  I try to protest about the missing the test, but this time Ms. Greer rolls her eyes and waves me off, saying that I can make it up with a two page report on coal production and its impact in District 12’s economy… as if she herself doesn’t know that our local industry is a joke, District 12 is still the poorest district in Panem, even after the Reformation a few years back, when the Capitol dissolved the Hunger Games and promised to open fair Inter District negotiations. It never happened, at least not with us, yet the whole country uses our coal. 

  Ms. Greer’s glaring at me though, so I pack up and start shuffling out of the classroom, only stopping to grab a note she hands me to bring to the front office. 

  As I footslog to the door, strange things happen that startle the shit out of me: first, a rush of smells like pine needles, sun and wildflowers invade my nose leaving me disoriented and frenzied; is a combination like nothing I’ve smelled before, but somehow, instinctively my eyes lock with the gray orbs of Katniss Everdeen, who somehow I know in my bones is the owner of the aromas filling my nostrils— I already knew she was sitting there of course, I deliberately chose my seat so I could steal glances at her long, dark braid, during class, but… I’ve never stared at her so boldly and openly, and for a moment I think she is staring at me with some interest… concern, maybe? It’s gone as soon as her gorgeous eyes fly away. That’s when the third thing happens. I growl deep and low at her dismissal, a possessive and animalistic sound that rumbles in my chest, making the rest of our classmates stare at me… great! As if the other kids need any more reasons to giggle and whisper behind my back.

  I’m the shortest boy in my class; I still have what can be considered as baby fat in this District, holding on to my thick frame, and while my older brothers are wrestling champions, I’m too heavy and uncoordinated to wrestle myself. Is not that I’m at any risk of being bullied or anything, I learned to be witty and funny a long time ago as a self preservation mechanism, and everyone likes me well enough, but I still don’t want to give anyone any munition to use against me.

  Yet, I can barely control the noise rumbling in the back of my throat, an worst of all, I’m fighting this unbearable urge to stomp to Katniss’ desk and plant myself there until she turns her eyes back to mine and acknowledges me. 

  She scowls at her notebook and rubs her nose with her knuckle. There’s a spike of some strange smell— reminds me of discomfort, I think— mingling in with her original scent, and that’s what finally makes me snap to reality, and force my legs to trudge to the office to get me an official excuse for missing school for the next few days.

  I’m loathe to admit it, but I’m itching so badly all over my body, I’m glad Ms. Greer kicked me out of class for having a fever. I don’t feel sick, but the itching is just killing me, and I want out of my clothes now… maybe a layer or two of my skin as well, but that just sounds kinda gross. 

  To my surprise, when I arrive home, Mother’s hands stay put at her sides instead of flying up to scoff the side of my head for skipping school, as if I where stupid enough to come home if I was skipping for real. She looks at me oddly though, almost like she’s sad or disappointed I came down with this fever. 

  Father on the other hand, looks mildly alarmed for a moment, but after feeling my forehead, he cups my face and pulls the skin under my eyes downwards with the pad of his thumbs, tilting my head around like he’s checking their health. Then his thumbs let go of my cheekbones and hike up the skin over my upper lip, bearing my teeth to him. He tilts my head again studying my mouth like I’m some prized pony he’s hoping to buy. His thumbs slide the length of my canines and then prods the tip for sharpness. An uncharacteristic blank expression takes his face, then he nods seemingly done with his examination or whatever he was doing; he lets go of my face and asks in his usual, quiet voice, “Are you hungry?” 

  My stomach growls in response. I’m surprised at the sudden feeling of voracious appetite unfurling in my belly. “Yeah.” I mutter, watching him pin the school note to the board by the bakery door with all the operational permits, just in case someone comes asking about me missing school. The Hunger Games might be abolished, but school attendance is still compulsory and any unauthorized absences are punishable by hefty fines, no one can afford to pay.

  Father points at the dining table with a thick finger, and I sit down heavily in my usual chair. I’m very surprised when out of nowhere, my mother plops a plate heaped high with food— mostly fresh stuff too— but I ignore the serving of vegetables and the freshly baked roll, in favor of the few meats lining the plate. I know Mother keeps certain meats she can reheat and repurposed in other meals, so it’s disconcerting seeing this abundance in front of me.

  I only pause to look up at my parents standing side by side near the wall, watching me eat with some strange interest.

  “Eat, Peeta, before the food gets too cold,” My mother orders without her usual verb when they notice I’m staring back.

  I dig in unceremoniously, inhaling first a piece of goat meat, then a pigeon leg, and lastly a bite of fried squirrel that somehow makes me growl as soon as my teeth sink into the morsel. There’s an overwhelming taste of pine needles and flowery woods mixed in with the savory flavor of the squirrel; my mind is suddenly full of images of a long, dark braid swishing against a brown leather jacket. 

  “More squirrel!” I demand in a grunt. 

  My father’s eyebrows arch for a second, and again my mother is the one to bring a piece of meat, no bigger than the pigeon leg I just ate, and tosses it on my empty plate. 

  I throw myself at it like a savage beast.

  “After you’re done eating, you can go lay down.” Says my mother flatly. 

  Well, now I’m worried! 

  My eyes snap at my parents, anxiously. “Why?” I ask cowed. 

  The last time my mother encouraged any of us to rest during a work day was… never. They did send my middle brother to stay with our aunt once; he had chicken-pox. My brother got to stay in bed for as long as he wanted, until he wasn’t contagious anymore and Mother dragged him back home. 

  My father sighs, “So you can sleep off your fever, son. You can’t handle dough while you’re sick. We could get fined for a safety code violation. If the peacekeepers think you’re working while sick, we could get in a lot of trouble.” 

  “Oh… okay.” I’m relieved. But I still have to ask, “And you’re both alright with that?” 

  My mother snorts. “Eat up, Peeta. Then go to bed. We’ll see how you do in the morning.” She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head, dislodging a few blonde hairs from the tight bun at her nape. She leaves the room muttering to herself something about not being ready for any of this shit, leaving my father to stare at me alone. 

  We just stay there, mutely watching each other for a second. 

  “You like the squirrel meat best?” He asks, awkwardly pointing at the piece of food still clutched in my fingers. 

  “Yeah. I mean, everything is tasty, but this stuff is just great.” I take a big bite out of my piece to illustrate, and as soon as the flavors invade my mouth, I shudder involuntarily, even body parts that usually lay dormant during meals stir at the thought of the huntress this particular animal came from. 

  My father makes a noise at the back of his throat, then he asks, “How are you feeling? Any weariness? Tiredness? Lethargy?” 

  I shake my head, “Nah. I actually feel great. I feel like I should be outside chopping wood, or running laps for wrestling practice.” It’s true too, even the itchiness driving me insane earlier, is gone. 

  Father’s eyebrows arch, “Wrestling, huh?” 

  I shrug and go back to finish up my lunch. It’s the first time I’ve actually voiced my interest in the sport, but I don’t know why it should come as a shock? After all, everyone in town knows Mellark’s are somewhat legacy wrestlers. 

  “Well, we can figure it out if you still feel so energetic after your nap.” Father says before making his way back to the bakery, leaving me to my own devices. 

  I finish up my meal, returning to the icebox the vegetables and bread I didn’t eat, then wash my plate and put it away. Sick or not, Mother would throw a fit if there is a dirty dish in the sink when she comes back to the apartment. 

  I lay down, not expecting to find sleep since I’m so wired up. I’m tempted to fetch my sketchbook— really, it’s just a bunch of scrap paper I’ve put together in an ancient folder I keep under my mattress— and draw for beat, but I’m a 16 year old boy… lay in bed, idly. My mind wanders back to the stupefying smell I’m convinced belongs to Katniss Everdeen, and as usual, thoughts of her lead to stirrings in my nether regions, only this time my body heat increases to furnace temperatures, my mouth goes dry as a bone, my skin itches like crazy and I’m trembling with aching want like never before. 

  I don’t understand what the hell is wrong with me, but I only start to panic when my dick starts swelling in my trousers, and it keeps growing and growing and growing, until the crotch of my pants feels like it’s shrunk three sizes on my body. I tear at the buttons until the fly is open and hastily try pulling myself out of my boxers, but goddamned near impossible to do, and I desperately shove at bottoms freeing myself after squeezing and twisting like a maniac. 

  I’m a little disturbed at how purple and swollen my dick looks. There’s some kind of protuberance bulging at the base of my cock. I’ve never noticed it before, and I’m freaking out it may be some nerve end or some of those tiny veins that pop when pressured… I silently beg the universe my I didn’t break my dick while pawing at it to pull it out. I’m still pulsing with want, and my brain is screaming to go back to remembering the aroma of pine needles and freedom that’s Katniss… but at the same time, I can’t unsee the strange meaty ring at the base of my dong. 

  I bring my fingers to it apprehensively. I’m curious, so I poke it and hiss at the zap of pleasure I felt as soon as my fingertips grazed the turgid skin. 

  I chance another touch, just to see if I can recreate the sensation, and moan pitifully at the feeling. The head of my cock bobs dripping precome. I close my eyes and wrap my hand around myself, so I don’t have to look at how angry red my penis is. Images of Katniss come unbidden into my mind’s eyes, and before I know it, I’m pumping my fists and groaning like a wounded animal, lost in sensation. 

  I can’t keep a rhythm to save my life, but as soon as the heel of my hand makes contact with the strange, swollen ring around my cock, my body jerks violently; I double over at the waist, gasping, “Katniss!” Just as cum starts pouring out of me like a fucking fountain.

  I saw a kid in school convulsing once, it scared the shit out of me then, and the way I’m twitching and spamming in bed right now, vaguely reminds me of it. I wonder if this is what it would feel like to convulse? 

  My cock is still spewing ribbons of semen in every direction, but my erection keeps hardening and swelling; I try pinching the head of my penis to staunch the flow of cum to no avail and I’m getting anxious and scared enough, I consider calling my father for help, but the mess in my bed is embarrassing, and I can’t stop eyaculating. Suddenly, out of nowhere my mind is conjuring up memories of that sweet smell of Katniss’. 

  The phantom smell of pine and flowers tickles the roof of my mouth and start panting into my pillow. I’m lightheaded and out of breath, copious sweat covers my entire body and an overwhelming need to squeeze the base of my cock takes over my body. My hand wraps around the weird protruberance above my pelvic bone and I fucking howl on contact. 

  My vision goes dark, and I only have one more thought before passing out: “I have got to hide this filthy mess from Mother.” 

  To be continued…

[klovenhooves]

Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Four: Physical Touch

Daniel was starting to associate the beach with Johnny – when he was a teenager, it was impossible to separate his first embarrassing encounter with the man and the backdrop that witnessed it. He didn’t come back to the beach for months after he got kicked into the sand next to Ali’s radio, and even years after that, he always thought he could hear the roar of dirt bikes, Johnny’s irritated whine.

 Now, the beach felt like what it must feel like to all native Californians – warm, comforting, familiar.

 The next Saturday was pleasant, a breeze blowing off the sea that shook loose the painful memories of their last visit and left them lingering by the Volvo. When Daniel pulled up, Sam and Robby and Anthony in the car, Johnny’s Challenger was already in the parking lot beside him, the owner’s blond head already in the water.

 He let Robby greet him first, surfboard under his arm and carefree smile on his face. Anthony ambled behind, wary of the ocean and the board but too curious to stay on the sand. Sam pulled out her phone and her towel and made herself comfortable.

 It was nice, watching them all from a distance, knowing that Sam was probably texting Miguel, who had stayed up late last night helping her with physics homework; that Robby had sat Daniel down at the dining room table last night and talked earnestly about moving in with his father; that Johnny was probably looking out at the waves and thinking about Tommy, set to be pulled out of his thoughts by his beaming son.

 He was watching a family stitch themselves together, and he got to help it happen. He wondered if Miyagi ever thought of him that way.

He sat down next to his daughter and let Robby and Johnny surf, content to observe. Johnny was in his wetsuit again, his hair almost white against the backdrop of the rain clouds that were rolling in from the horizon, dark and ominous but still silent. He could see them laughing, standing steadily on the boards, the resemblance startling even from this distance.

 “Do you think Robby will go live with his dad?” Sam asked, putting her book down over her stomach, page dogeared.

 Daniel turned to his daughter, finding himself in the lines around her eyes. “I think he’d like that,” he hedged. “What do you think?”

 “He told me he wanted to,” Sam said, turning her gaze out to the water. “I think it would be good for them both.”

 “He still hasn’t heard from his mom?”

 Sam shrugged one shoulder. “He doesn’t really talk about her much. He sends her money from his paycheck every two weeks.”

 Daniel pulled his knees in, sitting up straighter. “He sends her money? What does she need money for, in rehab?”

 Sam picked absently at the cover of her book. “He said he wanted to make sure she had enough to get a new place when she got out.” She pulled her hair out of her braid and piled it on top of her head. “He worries about her a lot, you know.”

 “Do you worry about him?” Daniel asked, following her gaze out to the ocean, where Robby was sitting on his surfboard, showing Anthony how to kneel and balance.

 “Don’t you?” Sam replied. When Daniel didn’t answer, she continued, “I’m just glad that you and Sensei Lawrence aren’t fighting anymore.”

 “Because it’s better for Robby?”

 Sam rolled her eyes under her sunglasses. “Because you’re happier, too. All of you are.”

 ***

 Johnny found him on the sand before Daniel could get up and interrupt his time with Robby. He was flipping through his book History of Okinawa, a yellow bookmark sticking out of the pages over halfway through, eyes aimless on the pages. Clearly his mind was somewhere else. Johnny watched him stare at the same spot on the page and turn once, twice, a third time. He was in different swim trunks this time, yellow with some design on them, just short enough that his bent leg gave Johnny a tantalizing view of tanned thigh, just barely noticeably paler than the rest.

 He swallowed thickly and ran his hands through his wet hair, feeling the excess water run down his back. Behind him, he could hear Robby and Anthony shouting, laughter interspersed with the words.

 “You planning on getting into the water, LaRusso?” Johnny asked, and Daniel jumped so sharply the book fell closed on his lap, his sunglasses falling down his nose. “Or are you just going to pretend like you’re not watching me?”

 Daniel’s eyes shot toward his daughter, who had headphones in and her eyes closed, and then went back to him, a tense line in his jaw trying to hold back his amusement. Johnny could practically feel the intensity of his gaze through the darkened lenses, could imagine the shine in his eyes.

 “I’ll get in the water,” he promised. “In a bit.”

 “Gotta get your suntanning in first, Danielle?”

 He worried as soon as the words left his mouth that Daniel would get all riled up, the way he always did, but Daniel just laughed and bit his lip, nodding like he expected a comment like that. “We can’t all have a surfer’s body, Johnny. Some of us have to compensate with a tan.”

 Johnny froze, halfway to a smile. If he heard correctly – and he was pretty sure he did – Daniel LaRusso just complimented his body. That was, what did Miguel call it? Encouraging.

 But now what was he supposed to say? He lingered between giving Daniel a compliment back (the idea that all Daniel had to offer physically was his tan was ridiculous, and he relished the possibility of spending the time to tell him so) and acknowledging the compliment. Did Daniel even realize what he said? Would calling attention to it make things awkward?

 He had been quiet too long. He met Daniel’s expectant gaze, the other man’s smile slipping from flirtatious to amused the longer he was silent.

 “Shut up and get in the water,” is what he settled on, and Daniel looked mildly triumphant at his response.

 Maddeningly, the man didn’t get up and listen, but settled himself deeper into the reclining chair and said, “Mmm, I don’t think so.”

 “So help me God, LaRusso –”

 “What are you gonna do, Johnny?” he asked, pursing his lips to try to keep a straight face. Johnny raised his eyebrows at him. That sounded like a challenge.

 It was easier than he expected to lift Daniel out of the chair and over his shoulder, fireman-style. He felt Daniel’s sunglasses slip off and bounce on his calf on their descent into the sand.

 “John!” he yelped, the admonishment softened by the laugh that snuck out immediately after. “Put me down.”

 “We’re getting in the water,” Johnny said, winking at Sam’s wide-eyed gaze and turning toward the ocean. Robby and Anthony were standing at the edge of the water, watching them with open mouths.

 “You’re going to pull something, old man!”

 “Don’t provoke me, LaRusso,” Johnny retorted, trying to suppress a laugh that would bowl them both over. “I’ll drop you.”

 “That’s precisely what I’m worried about!”

 Despite his verbal protests, Daniel was curiously still, one of his arms wrapped loosely around Johnny’s hips to steady himself, his legs bent to give Johnny something to hold onto. Johnny could feel his thundering heartbeat against his back, and wished suddenly that he was in normal swim trunks so he could feel his skin without a barrier.

 “I’ll save you, Dad!”

 Johnny had a good two second view of Anthony barreling toward him, Robby’s extended arms behind him trying and missing to keep him back, before he tackled him, Daniel’s quick “Anthony, don’t” loud behind him.

 If he hadn’t been carrying Daniel, he probably could have withstood it, but with Daniel on one shoulder, and Anthony on the other leg, he had to make a choice – go down gracefully or go down ugly. They went down in a heap, Daniel managing to almost catch his balance when Johnny fell, only to stumble and land on his chest, wheezing with laughter.

 Anthony scrambled to his feet, triumphant, and flexed for his adoring audience (Robby, who looked horrified).

 At the same time, Robby and Sam both shouted, “Dad, you okay?”

 Daniel, who was probably used to being called ‘dad’ already, gave his daughter a weak thumbs-up without getting up, sweaty cheek plastered to Johnny’s chest. Johnny didn’t say anything, just stared at his son, who was looking down at him in concern.

 “Johnny,” Daniel pulled himself up to see his face, chin resting on Johnny’s chest while his laughter died down. “You okay?”

 He glanced between Daniel LaRusso and his son, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, and nodded. “Yep, yeah, fine.”

 Daniel exhaled sharply, a relieved sigh, and rested his forehead where his chin had been. Johnny considered putting his arms around him, but before he could, Daniel was pulling himself up, brushing the loose sand from his legs with an easy smile. Johnny watched him get up, content to stay still while Daniel untangled their legs and got to his feet, sandy and tan and altogether painfully pretty in the sunlight.

 Robby offered him a hand on the other side, and Johnny gratefully took it.

 “Have you ever called me Dad?” he muttered, quiet enough that he hoped it escaped Daniel’s notice.

 Robby shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, simple as that. “You sure you’re okay?”

 “Yeah,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder only to catch Daniel staring at him. “Just thinking about how I’m going to enact my revenge on that little twerp.”

 “Don’t beat up my son, Johnny,” Daniel laughed.

 Johnny shrugged, making sure to tighten his left fist until it cracked, a remnant of a particularly bad punch from a bar fight fifteen years ago, eyes on Anthony, whose triumphant grin faded into fear. “Then he better start running.”

 “I’ll fight in his place,” Daniel offered, eyebrows raised in challenge.

 Johnny stared at him. “You challenging me to a sparring session, LaRusso?” he asked, breathless.

 Daniel shrugged, and slipped easily into his fighting stance. Johnny watched him do it, unabashedly taking in the sight of tanned, half-naked Daniel LaRusso poised for a fight. Even if it was for fun. He felt like he had a shot of whiskey burning deep in his gut.

 “You’re the boss, LaRusso,” he said, mirroring his stance.

 Robby, behind them, coughed. “Bow,” he instructed.

 Daniel gave him an exasperated smile and obeyed, bowing low and deep, form perfect. Johnny’s own bow was late and aborted, too busy watching Daniel move.

 True to his mantra, Johnny struck first, sending a jab punch that Daniel blocked and returned, only to be blocked in turn. Wax on and wax off or whatever, Johnny thought, stepping back to set up for a crescent kick that Daniel immediately predicted. He ducked out of the way and sent a front kick into Johnny’s chest, knocking him back a step.

 “Point, LaRusso,” Robby said from behind Johnny.

 The two men paused, gazes still locked. “Oh, we’re doing points, huh?” Johnny asked.

 Daniel grinned and shrugged.

 They followed their pattern – block, punch, block, punch, kick – until Johnny caught Daniel’s roundhouse kick and held it with one arm while the other sent a jab to his side. He released Daniel’s leg, making sure to put his free hand gently over his bad knee before moving back to their starting positions.

 Daniel’s eyes on his were wider than before, as if he was figuring something out.

 Johnny let him have the next point, too caught up in the subtle changes in his opponent’s face. He blocked one punch but not the next, and even as Robby called out that it was LaRusso’s point, they didn’t move.

 “You alright?” Daniel asked, eyes concerned.

 “Course I am,” Johnny replied, Daniel’s pulled punch already nothing but a memory against his chest.

 “We can stop,” Daniel was searching his face now, no longer bothering to listen to his mouth. Johnny wondered what his face was saying that his mouth was contradicting.

 “I know,” Johnny reassured him.

 They moved back to their fighting stances.

 ***

 Daniel decided, as he stepped back into his fighting stance, that he would strike first this time. He wasn’t sure what he was reading in Johnny’s face, but he was fascinated by what he found in his countenance. So the moment Johnny came up from his bow, he started with a switch stance roundhouse kick, one that Johnny barely blocked, his eyes surprised.

 “Okay, LaRusso,” he muttered. “That’s how we’re playing it, now?”

 Daniel didn’t trust himself to answer. He leaned back, out of the reach of Johnny’s crescent kick, and stepped forward for a right hook that Johnny easily blocked, and then a left uppercut, deviating out of karate and into other fighting styles. Johnny leaned out of the way, but his eyes were bright, impressed, and he couldn’t hide the smile that snuck over his face.

 “Boxing, huh?” he asked, raising his fists until they blocked his face, a classic boxing stance. “Full of surprises.”

 “I try,” Daniel replied, switching his stance again, relishing in the way Johnny read and responded immediately.

 He was ready for everything, it seemed. That is, until Daniel blocked a low kick and went to the ground, low enough that Johnny couldn’t stop the scissor kick before it pulled him to the ground. In the rush to scramble back to his feet, Daniel could easily grab him with his legs and yank him back down to the sand, where he got to his own feet and took hold of Johnny’s leg, pressing the knee toward his chest.

 It was a basic grappling move, one that Johnny could have easily gotten out of, but once Daniel pressed his other knee to his unobstructed leg, pinning his lower body in place, Johnny’s options were far shorter. He could try to get his torso off the ground and grapple Daniel to the ground in turn, but –

 Oh hell.

 No matter what he did, Johnny would either be put in a headlock or have to put Daniel in one if he wanted to win.

 Daniel saw, in his quick, hungry assessment of Johnny’s face, the brief flash of buried fear before he could push it down. They both went still, panting, Johnny’s knee against Daniel’s chest, his leg pinned in place at the thigh by Daniel’s knee.

 “Point?” Robby asked.

 Neither of them won.

 They settled on a tie, Daniel absolutely refusing to continue, Johnny not really trying to convince him otherwise. Instead, they tried to shake the sand free from their bodies and failed, Johnny finally pointing out that there was an ocean specifically to fix that problem for them.

 But getting sand-free just to be covered in salt was not appealing to Daniel.

 “There are showers for a reason,” he said. Johnny rolled his eyes.

 “Why do you need a shower when there’s an ocean?”

 In spite of his ribbing, Johnny followed him to the little cabana that held a set of showerheads and bathrooms, shaking sand out of his hair on the way. Daniel watched him go, thinking back to their sparring session.

 There was something important about the way Johnny gently touched his knee before releasing him, like a silent apology. He couldn’t shake it loose, couldn’t forget the burning touch of his hand on his skin, the way it calmed the panic that rose in his throat the moment Johnny caught his leg. Like Johnny understood.

 And wasn’t that the same as Daniel stopping them before they got into headlocks?

 He wasn’t sure.

 He lingered outside the cabana for a moment, taking the time to turn back to the ocean and take a deep breath, the way Miyagi taught him.

 Stay in the moment, Daniel-san, he’d tell him. Stop overthinking.

 By the time he got inside, Johnny had peeled off the top half of his wetsuit and was standing underneath the shower spray, head tilted back, eyes closed. Without the sunlight, without the ocean behind him, Johnny looked like a statue in a museum, a Greek god caught in repose at just the right moment that a sculptor spent months of his life committing to stone forever.

 He let his eyes do the committing, content to drink him in while Johnny’s eyes were closed.

 Except they weren’t anymore – they were shockingly blue and painfully fond, and locked on Daniel.

 Before he could overthink it, he strode forward, fast enough that Johnny looked momentarily frightened, and put his hands on Johnny’s chest, applying gentle pressure until Johnny’s bare back hit the wall, the shower spray falling on them both.

 Johnny didn’t speak, but Daniel could feel his heartbeat beneath his hand. He rubbed his thumb over his heart gently, blinking past the water.

 “Déjà vu,” Johnny said, and Daniel was suddenly fascinated with the way the water was running over his lips and down his chin, almost shining.

 “What?”

 “You know,” Johnny said, shifting against Daniel’s hands. “When you feel like this has happened before –”

 “I know what déjà vu is, moron,” Daniel laughed. “I was just…”

 “You were what, LaRusso?”

 “Distracted,” Daniel finished, wondering if Johnny was going to lean in or if he was going to have to.

 And then the door behind them clanged open and the sound of Anthony’s video game filled the echoey room, and Johnny ducked out from under Daniel’s arms to give them negligible space. Daniel’s eyes met his as he stepped out from under the water, gaze burning into his.

 He sighed.  

[therealcalicali]

White Lies

The Best Kept Secrets: Ivar, shocks you with a secret. He's gotten someone in the family way. Worse yet, it’s your sister.

Warnings: Emotional Abuse, Cheating, and Lots of Angst

Part II here 

Part III here

Part IV here

Part V here

Part VI here

Finale here

Deleted Scene here

White Lies AU - Bitter Fruits  here

"Ivar, why are you so quiet this evening?" You asked, eyes full of worry as you studied his expression. "Have I done something to upset you?"

Despite slightly rolling his eyes, he stated that things were perfectly fine. Without even looking you direction, he then asked that you allow him to enjoy the festivities.

"More mead!" He hissed at a nearby Thrall. As the man poured, the verbal assault continued. "What is wrong with everyone around here? Must I beg for drink now? Next time, I'll get your attention with my axe."

With a bow of the head, the old man apologized profusely before filling your horn as well. He then rushed back to his position near the thrones to avoid anymore of Ivar's abuse.

After eyeing your husband a while, you sighed.

Despite his words, you knew something was very wrong. You may have been married for a little over two years, but you could read Ivar well.

"Will you stop staring at me!" He snapped, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. "There's an entire troupe of foreign dancers performing, yet you choose to watch me instead."

"Why are you so short-tempered lately?" You asked, trying your best not to make your sadness noticeable. After all you were hosting a massive feast. The last thing you needed was to fight with the King in public. "I'm only trying to figure out what I've done to make you........so-----"

"So what, Y/N?" He interrupted, cutting off your train of thought. "Listen, stop trying to read my thoughts. Just enjoy the lavish lifestyle being my wife affords you."

You were dumbfounded.

It wasn't as if you even cared about such things. In fact, you had not even been thinking of the youngest Ragnarsson at all when unmarried. He was the one who chose you on a whim during a midsummer festival.

Ivar did so because all of Kattegat referred to you as the "purest of maidens". The one that even Odin himself couldn't bed. A woman who never allowed a man to come close enough to even temp her for a kiss.

Your reputation intrigued all the Ragnarssons. However, it was Ivar who made his intentions known first.

Despite their fear of his temperament, your parents did question his motives. They raised their concerns about many things, including a Prince marrying a farm girl.

Still, Ivar insisted that you had to be his wife.

Surely, a woman as headstrong and principled as you was meant to be at his side. Thus, they gave in. And he truly seemed happy after your vows. Not only did Ivar treat you well, he allowed you to fall love with him at your own pace. Never forcing anything on you. 

But now.............

Now, he behaved as if you had bewitched him in some way.

"I wish to retire for the night." You said leaning closer, the pain of his aloof behavior making your voice tremble . "That is, if it's alright with you, my King."

"You will not!" Ivar replied, his gaze finally falling on you. "Besides, the night is still young and you are the Queen."

"Am I?" You asked, searching his eyes. "You treat me like a stranger. As if I cannot be the same woman you wanted to be yours not so long ago."

"You are the same woman. Of that I can be certain." He scoffed with a shake of his head. "Are you not the one that lost seed for the third time only months ago?"

Your heart nearly stopped.

How could he say such a cruel thing?

Ivar knew how devastated you had been since your most recent womb difficulty. You cried for weeks, unable to be consoled by anyone. Not even your mother and Aunts. Yet, here he was, throwing it in your face.

"Y/N, you have given me neither a son nor daughter. Yet you feel the need to pester me incessantly. But why am I surprised?" Ivar added. "You think I am your hostage. But I will prove to you that I am not!"

You fell silent. Saying nothing as you gazed over the Great Hall. If you had to weep , it would be behind closed doors.

After all, if you did so publicly, no one would show any sympathy. They would all side with Ivar and mock you relentlessly.

The Queen who had yet to produce an heir for their God King.

As you were lost in thought, a hush fell over the Hall. Confused, your eyes went to where attendees were parting and creating a path to the thrones. There, dressed in a lavish red and gold embellished gown was your youngest sister, Eiriana.

She had only recently become a woman the previous year. In fact, she completed her rites with the help of coin from Ivar.

As you gazed at her adorable face, you were about to stand to greet her when you noticed something. Not the absurdly fine jewels or the gold crown atop her braided hair. No, none of those peculiar things.

Your eyes fell to her belly.

There was no mistaking that Eiriana was with child. Perhaps anywhere from seven months along if not more. As your tried to think of who could have possibly done this to your unmarried sister, your parents made their way to her side.

Their eyes avoiding your own.

"Everyone, please look at this woman before my throne." Ivar announced as he rose to his feet with the aid of his crutch. He then looked at Eiriana who gave him a smile that reached her eyes. "Come, my love."

Your heart was beating within your ears. 

"My, love?" What did he mean by such a phrase you wondered to yourself. “No, it cannot be!" 

Eiriana made her way up the small steps with the aid of some guards. Everyone in the Hall watching with baited breath. Once she was beside him, Ivar gently took her hand in his.

To your surprise, she briefly looked in your direction and gave you a friendly wave. Not a mocking one. But a genuine greeting that signified that she was happy to see you.

"I want all of Kattegat.......no, all the world to know who this woman beside me is. This is Eiriana, sister to my wife, Y/N." Ivar declared, his eyes falling on her with a tenderness you had not seen in months. "She is carrying my child. The child of the greatest Ragnarsson to ever live! And though we have exchanged vows already, we will conduct a second ceremony after she gives birth. A ceremony fit for a Goddess."

Your head swam with tension as the Hall erupted with celebratory shouts and cheers. It was as if you were either going to pass out or die from the shock.

"Eiriana and Ivar?" You thought as everything began to sink in. "He laid with my little sister."

You watched as he palmed on her protruding belly, it's rounders that more noticeable due to her petite frame.

"I missed you so much." Eiriana said, wrapping both arms around Ivar's neck. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course I missed you."

"Liar! If that is true, then why did you have me away on the island for so long without visiting? You or Y/N?"

She looked at you as he drew her closer.

Kissing her on top of the head, Ivar apologized and stated that the two of you had been busy. However, he promised to make it up to her.

"Are you lying to me again?" She asked, raising a brow. “You know I hate to be lied to.”

With an amused smirk Ivar replied that he was indeed being sincere. After promising that she could have whatever she desired, he walked her to his throne.

"Now please sit, before you tire yourself." 

"Only if you give me a kiss." Eiriana teased causing you to grip the armrests to the point that blood formed around some of your fingernails.

Your entire body was hot with rage and shame.

As she hung on Ivar yet again, you averted your gaze. Still, from the corner of your eyes, you saw him press his lips to hers. You hoped it would be a quick show of affection, however, Eiriana kissed him deeply, her arms about his neck.

"I love you." Ivar whispered, his lips still touching hers. 

"You better."

With that Eiriana took her place on his throne as he had requested. With a giddy smile upon her face, she turned to you.

"I have missed you so much Y/N. You look so very beautiful tonight." Your sister practically squealed. Placing both hands on your arm, she beamed at you. "So, did you get all of my letters?"

You didn't know what she was taking about. However you were too numb and hurt to delve any deeper.

"Uh....yes...I did."

"Ivar told me how busy you were with your duties but I had to write even if you couldn't reply" She confessed. "The island was beautiful but it was also boring in some ways. Plus, the family taking care of me hardly let me do anything. They were afraid they would be put to death if something happened to me."

"I.................don't blame them." You replied, unable to prevent yourself from looking at her belly.

Taking notice, Eiriana asked if you wanted to touch it. When you hesitated and tried to decline, she forced your hands atop the swell.

It was heartbreaking and you could have burst into tears then and there. But you fought it. You were not going to give the people gathered a show at your expense.

"Don't worry. The baby is really strong despite........ anyway, he kicks all the time." Eiriana said with a giggle, pressing your hands to the sides of her rounded belly. Almost like magic, you felt the baby begin to move around. "See? He's awake. He always wants to play when it’s nighttime."

The movements kept going as your hands began to tremble. This was a viable baby. One that was too far along to be expelled from the body unexpectedly.

Unlike you who could hardly hold seed for two months, Eiriana was truly going to deliver the child Ivar so desperately wanted.

"Can you sleep in my chamber tonight ?" She suddenly asked. "We have so much to gossip about. Like Henrik's new woman. Kristina wrote that she's Gaul. Can you believe our eldest brother goes through women like that?”

You could hear your sister’s voice but your mind was miles away. If had been possible, you would have preferred the ground swallow you whole.

"Love." Ivar said, his eyes fixated on Eiriana. "We are taking our leave of the festivities" He then looked at you, his blue eyes scrutinizing your expression. "You as well Y/N."

"But why? I just got here!" She protested.

Your sister was quite high-strung and showed no fear of Ivar. Perhaps it was her age or the fact that she was the spoiled youngest of your family. Whatever it was, she truly cared not for his reputation.

"Please do not argue with me." He replied. "You have traveled far on the waters, you must rest."

"I don't want to rest! I want to see the shows and speak to interesting people" Eiriana said with her eyes locking on his. "If the two of you are tired, you may go, but I'm staying."

"Eiriana, I do not wish to repeat myself."

"Then don’t!” She quickly hissed back at him. “And I’ll let you know this. Saying my name doesn't frighten me, Ivar. Mother did it all the time when we were little and it never worked."

You could hardly believe your ears. 

No one had ever spoken so rudely to him....ever. Even though you had your moments of push-back, it was never to the extent of your sister. Surely, Ivar would become enraged at any moment.

With child or not, he had proven numerous times that he did not tolerate disrespect. But to your utter surprise, he didn't get irate and yell. Instead, Ivar began to smile. 

Pressing his lips to Eiriana's ear, he whispered something that made her practically jump out of the throne.

"Are you sure?" She asked, looking between you and him. "I was just asking Y/N to spend the night in my guest chamber."

He nodded, making her smile even more as she excitedly took his free hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Come, Y/N, we are taking our leave?" Ivar beckoned, his eyes only falling on you a short while.

"How could you do this?" You asked, the tears running down your cheeks as though they would never end. "My own sister?" Of all the women in Kattegat, you choose my own blood?"

Ivar glared at you dismissively, drinking his mead with annoyance. After telling you to calm down he confessed that it had not been intentional, however he had no regrets.

"Eiriana is special." He admitted, tilting his head slightly. "You may not like it but it's not going to change anything. She is my wife and the mother of my child."

The words were like a sword to the heart. 

The mother of his child? Your little sister?

It was enough to cause you to grab the stack of maps and measuring devices that were on the table and hurl them at him. One of the guards in the chamber stepped forward to intervene, but Ivar waved him off.

"You best control that temper, Y/N." He said, pointing at you. "I still love you, but I will not hesitate to send you away if this continues."

Your eyes widened in disbelief. 

"You speak of love after laying and seeding my sister?" You asked with eyes welled. "I may have lost three times in my endeavor to bear you children, but I never lost my heart. I loved you in spite of how cold you grew with each occurrence."

"If you want to be angry, then be angry with the Gods." Ivar said, moving to the doorway. "You are still first wife and I shall treat you as such. But Eiriana is here to stay. I love her just as I love you-----"

"Just as you love me?" You repeated.

"Enough! I have said my peace!" Ivar fumed, wanting no more of the conversation.

“Well, I’m not done saying mine!”

Just as he was about to unleash a verbal tirade, your sister approached, already in her nightdress. She had one hand on her belly whilst the other held her hem.

"Ivar." Eiriana whined. "What's taking you so long?

"Nothing, my love." He replied, his entire demeanor changing instantly. "I was just making sure Y/N was settled in her chambers. She is still first wife you know."

Your sister gazed around, commenting on how well it was decorated. As she was about to say something else to you, Ivar took her by the hand.

"Say good evening to Y/N." He said, already dragging her away.

Sleep well, sister." Eiriana said with a pleasant smile. "We shall have our chat in the morning. It should be fun since Kristina and the others will be here for a visit."

With that, the two if them left and went to what was once your marital chamber.

TAGGED: @alicedopey @lizblinder @ainatirb-j @glassywriting @lyanna-the-giantsbane @justacripple @queenmissfit @winchesterwife27 @john-lemons @queenmissfit @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @november7378 @bravado07 @ivarlcthbrok @inforapound @paintballkid711 @ariascarlet11 @tis-itheapplepie @alexa4040 @whyiminlove @tephi101 @millie67  @tgrrose @julian--casablancas @imonique0 @faintlyforgotten @lilliephoenix @gruffle1 @thewisewolf218 @funmadnessandbadassvikings @lil-lit-bit @dangerousvikings @sallylebecks  @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @walkxthexmoon @puddin116 @chinduda @peaches-seed @naaladareia @youcancallmeladyjoker @littletinyblog @tierneygonzalez @hallowed-heathen @rvj5234 @starrmoondaisy @laketaj24 @titty-teetee @deathbyarabbit @retratosdemarfim @ivarslittlebadgirl @ivarslittlebadgirll @imaginequeen @lovingeb @moodygrip @kingbouji3 @captstefanbrandt @ivarsrideordie @artemis--wild @ivarslittlebadgirl @jeowjungkook @readsalot73 @kylobien @cbouvier23 @memememememe1-blog @mblaqgi @thelastemzy @honestsycrets @zuz28 @unicornbaby741

[stripper-patrick]

Here for you📴 Erik Killmonger

Lil Mama 🍷

Oh shit♋️

Here for you📴

Bitch⚔️

Always be my baby💛

Song: pillowtalk- Zayn

Warnings: language, n-word use, verbal abuse, small physical abuse, smut

Relationship: Erik Killmonger x black plus sized reader

It’s been about a month since the doctors appointment. I finally got a little bump. I just look like I gained a little bit of weight not too much. Lately I’ve been thinking about Erik a lot more and how supportive he’s been and how amazing he’s been.

“You haven’t given me an answer” Dionte says taking a bite of his sandwich

“For what”

“Me proposing”

“Where’s the ring? Did you get on one knee? What’s the real reason you marrying me? Once you answer these questions then we’ll talk” I roll my eyes and Dionte leans forward

“If you ever talk to me that way again ima fuck you up”

“Don’t get popped” I say

“Check please”

...

“I don’t know who you thought you were talking to but it wasn’t me”

“Bitch I’m the man of the house”

“Nigga you came and lived with me cause yo dumbass got evicted” he backhands me and I feel a stinging pain across my face.

“Y/N I’m warning you now stop treating me like I’m a child” I grab the car keys. I get in the car and drive off. I don’t know where I’m going but I’m going away from here.

I wind up at Erik’s house and I ponder whether or not I even wanna go in. I take out the key and walk up to the door knocking on it. I wait for a bit then hear the door open and reveal Erik. No shirt no shoes and wild hair out of its braids.

“Hey mama wassup”

“Hey can I come in” he steps to the side and I walk past him.

“You ok?” We walk to the kitchen and I nod slowly “why is your face red?”

I keep quiet and fix my eyes to the painting next to him. “Y/N”

“E I-“

“Did he do this to you?” I can tell he’s getting angrier by the second.

“Er-“

“Just answer my Gotdamn question”

“Yes it there’s nothing to worry about I’ll handle it”

“I shouldn’t even be saying this cause there shouldn’t be a next time but” he pauses taking a deep breath to calm himself “the next time he touches you I’ll kill him and I put that on my life”

“E I’m fine” He sighs shaking his head

“Can you braid my hair?” I nod. I follow Erik up to his room where I grab the gel a rat tail comb and sit down on his bed. He sits in my lap but him being taller than me he has to slouch a little.

“Can I ask you something” I part his hair and pull the rest of it out of the way

“Yea” he answers

“What are these scars for?” I ask running my hands over his broad shoulders and chest.

“If I tell you, you gotta promise me you won’t look at me any different”

“Erik you’re my best friend-“

“I got that but we haven’t seen each other in years so you don’t know what I’ve done”

“What are they”

“Promise me Y/N”

“I promise”

“Each scar is for someone I’ve killed” he says.

I don’t know what to think “why”

“Sometimes in Wakanda we’ll have a ritual where you test your strength and that other person or yourself pays the price”

“And other times?” I keep braiding his hair

“When people cross me or bring up my past in a negative way”

“So if I bring up your past like your father in the heat of the moment-“ he turns around fully to me and grabs my chin softly

“I would never hurt you” he looks me directly in my eyes “you or my baby you need to understand that”

I look at him nodding. “Baby girl tell me you understand”

“I understand” he turns around and I go back to braiding his hair.

....

I’m in the kitchen making Erik some of my famous pancakes. He comes over and wraps his arms around my waist and rubs my growing stomach.

“Stay the night I don’t feel comfortable with you staying with that bitch”

“E he’ll probably blow my phone up and look for me”

“Cool if he come here and try to start some shit I’ll have another scar on me” I shake my head at his craziness. I know he’d really kill him without hesitation “did you say yes to his proposal”

“No I didn’t give him an answer” I flip the pancakes and set them on the plate

“Do you want to marry him”

“Of course not” I say

“Then tell him that mama” he kisses my cheek and grabs the stack of about 8 pancakes.

“Don’t tell me your eating all of those”

“Ok I won’t tell you”

“Erik leave 2”

“Make more”

“Please daddy” I bat my lashes at him “me and your child are hungry”

“That daddy thing will have you bent over and me slangin dick in a hot second” he puts 2 pancakes on a plate for me and I smile. Erik sits in the living room with his pancakes and I cut mine up putting syrup on them. I sit next to him and eat my pancakes while we watch American Horror Story.

Once I’m finished my food a gory scene comes on where they’re all fighting to be the Supreme and Zoe disappears and ends up on the fence dead. Blood spews from her mouth and I feel nauseous.

“I don’t feel well”

“You gon throw up?” As soon he asks that I get and walk to the bathroom throwing up my pancakes.

Again I feel Erik’s hand rub my back. I hear the water run then a cold wrap be placed on the back of my neck. I finish up and flush the toilet. I rinse my mouth and throw water on my face wiping it.

“Let’s go lay down it’s late” he says. He takes my hand in his and we go to his room.

“Do you want water?” I shake my head and undress. I go in his drawer grabbing a big t-shirt. My phone rings and Erik looks at it.

“It’s the devil himself” I grab the phone putting it on speaker. I lay down and Erik kisses my stomach rubbing it.

“Baby please come back I’m sorry I’m so sorry”

“Nah I’m spending the night at a friends”

“Y/N I’m warning you” Erik’s head pops up and his nose flares

“That’s cute” I hang up and sigh rubbing my face.

“I wanna do a drive by”

“You know what I want?”

“What’s that?”

“Some dick” I smirk rubbing his leg higher and higher. I can see he’s getting harder.

“That won’t hurt lil one?”

“It won’t even reach it. It’s small the baby I mean” he rolls his eyes kissing me and lays on top of me.

“Fuck me up daddy” I moan taking off my panties. Erik’s large fingers rub me while sucking on my neck. I dip my hand in his shorts jerking him a little watching him tense then relax.

I pull his shorts down and he pushes himself into me. My jaw drops as I pull him into myself. My nails are digging into his back. He’s slow and deep with it but still kinda rough.

My back arches off the bed and he places his hand under it holding me closer. This is different than all the other times. I can feel his love and his desperation.

“Erik” He moans by my ear egging me on. I hold him closer actually feeling him. Somehow he goes even deeper making my toes curl and my head fall back against the pillow.

Erik pulls my leg over his shoulder and starts to pound me out until we both scream each other’s name.

...

“I love you” he admits. This is rare. That’s a very special meaning to him.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I weren’t sweetheart”

“I love you too” I actually mean it and I haven’t meant that in a minute. Even saying it to Dionte I don’t mean it. Why am I still with him?

[dontmindthefangirling]

Catfish {t.h.}

part 5!

gif by @peteparkrrs

Summary: What happens when you start falling in love with a boy online, completely unaware that it’s Tom Holland behind the computer screen?

Warnings: mentions of a past emotionally abusive relationship (based on real events that happened to me); swearing

part 4 | series masterlist

-

Chris watched as you walked through the halls on the last day of school for graduating seniors. He was leaning against his locker, his eyebrows furrowed while you were smiling at your phone and talking to Laura. 

Seeing you smile at something that wasn’t him made his blood boil. He should be the one making you smile like that. He pushed himself off of the lockers and was about to make his way over to you when the bell rang and you disappeared into a nearby classroom. 

-

“Can you believe it’s our last day of high school?” Laura whispered as you sat down in your respective seats. Shannon sat behind you, working her curly hair into a braid and tossing it over her shoulder. 

“Guys, we graduate in like...a week,” she said. 

“I don’t want to think about it,” you laughed as you typed a reply to Peter’s latest message. 

He was recently telling you how he had taken his dog for a walk when she made friends with a few other dogs at the park, and you couldn’t help but think about how absolutely adorable he was when he talked about something that got him excited. 

Laura watched you wearily out of the corner of her eye. You told her and Shannon everything about your conversations with Peter and how happy he made you when you stayed up late at night talking on the phone. But you had yet to see a picture of the British boy that somehow managed to steal your heart, and Laura was starting to get more suspicious. 

“(Y/N),” she whispered, leaning over. “Have you seen a picture of him yet?”

You snapped your attention towards your friend, as she looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and her lips pressed in a thin line. Every time she asked about Peter’s identity, you got aggressively defensive. 

“Why?” you demanded. 

Laura sighed. She knew you only got defensive because a part of you must have suspicions of your own. You’ve been talking to Peter for almost two months now, and you haven’t seen a picture or even video-chatted. 

You would never admit it to your friends, but you did have your own suspicions that you never wanted to address directly because you were afraid of the answer. You were afraid of getting your heart broken because you had created such a perfect picture of what Peter was like that you were terrified of it being shattered. 

Laura didn’t even bother arguing with you at this point, so she turned back to her seat and faced the front of the classroom, hoping that maybe you would come to some sort of sense. 

-

Tom was in trouble. 

The feelings he had developed over the last few months talking to you had grown stronger, and he had never in a million years thought that something like this would happen to him. When he messaged you, he only had intentions to get to know someone who didn’t know who he actually was without all the fame and cameras following him around everywhere.

But now here he was, about to go to America for the Spider-Man: Homecoming press tour, and all he could think about was how you were in America. He fell in love with the phone calls that you had almost every night, and he loved the way that you would talk to him like he was just a normal guy who you wanted to get to know better.

However, every time you referred to him as Peter, Tom’s heart would sink to the bottom of his stomach. It was a constant reminder of the fact that he was lying to you and he had dug himself a hole too deep that he had no idea how to get out of. 

He wanted to tell you who he really was, more than anything, but he was so terrified of losing you that the thought made him feel nauseous. He knew he was being selfish, he was being so damn selfish, but something about you just made his heart go into a frenzy. 

“Ready? We have to be at the airport in an hour,” Harrison said, poking his head into Tom’s room. Tom huffed and grabbed his luggage before wheeling it out into the living room. 

“Ready.”

He shot you a quick message about how he won’t be able to talk for a while, but he knew you were probably in school since it was your last day before graduation, so you may not see it until later. 

He shoved his phone in his pocket and followed Harrison out to the car waiting in the driveway.

-

“Find out who (Y/N)’s talking to,” Chris snarled to his best friend, Bobby, who sat next to him at lunch. Bobby froze, mid-bite of his sandwich and looked at Chris as if he had grown two heads. 

“Are you insane?”

“I said find out,” Chris snapped. 

“Bro, you broke up six months ago. Move on.”

Bobby’s comment made Chris’s blood boil. He didn’t like being told what to do, and he especially didn’t appreciate it coming from his so-called best friend. But, he knew that when you were dating, you always took a liking to Bobby. You used to tell Chris that Bobby was his nicest friend, and Chris used to accuse you of having a crush on him. 

Chris resented Bobby for that ever since, but he kept him close for convenience. 

“I didn’t ask for your fucking input,” Chris spat, swatting Bobby’s sandwich out of his mouth. 

Bobby stared at Chris with a look that said you’re fucking crazy. 

“Fine,” Bobby huffed, and stood from the lunch table. He was so tired of Chris’s shit that he found it was easier to just keep him happy until graduation and then he would never have to deal with him again. 

Bobby spotted you standing near the entrance of the cafeteria, talking to a girl he thought was Shannon. As he approached you, he offered you a small smile. You turned to Shannon and said something, causing Shannon to glance back to Bobby and then turn and leave. 

“Hey, (Y/N),” Bobby greeted. 

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. You knew that Bobby was a good guy deep down, but as long as he was still friends with Chris, you wanted nothing to do with him. 

“Look, I’m going to be blunt with you. Chris wants me to find out who you’re talking to,” Bobby said, gesturing to the phone in your hand. 

You scoffed. “Can he get a life?”

“I’ve been trying to tell him that for months.”

You laughed dryly and shifted your weight. “Yeah, well he doesn’t listen to anyone but himself.”

Bobby stared at you with a sad look in his eyes. He always felt guilty for the way he let Chris treat you, and he realized he should have stepped in sooner, but he was so concerned with keeping his reputation as one of the varsity lacrosse players that he did whatever Chris told him. He felt like a coward.

“(Y/N)...I’m sorry I never stood up for you,” Bobby apologized. “Chris treated you terribly.”

You looked at Bobby, trying to read his expression to see if this was just a way for him to get you to trust him before telling him about Peter. But you knew Bobby had tried talking to Chris about the way he talked to you before and Chris punched him in the face and then blamed it on the lacrosse ball hitting him at practice. 

“It’s okay,” you sighed. “I got away from him and that’s all that matters.”

Bobby smiled sadly and looked down at his feet. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything about who you’re talking to. I wasn’t going to tell him anyways.”

You offered Bobby a small close-lipped smile, and nodded. “Thanks, Bobby.”

With a silent nod, Bobby turned on his heel and walked back to the table where Chris was waiting impatiently. You scowled when Chris looked over at you and turned away from him. 

Chris was never physical with you, no he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you. Instead, he tried to control you with his words, calling you every bad name in the book from dumb bitch to that c-word you hated so much. He tried to isolate you from all your friends, even going so far as to hacking into your phone and blocking their numbers. You despised him, and you would never let him control you again. 

You couldn’t wait to graduate and get away from him forever. You were both attending different colleges, and you were pretty sure the one he was going to for lacrosse was in the state next over. 

“Hey, you okay?” Shannon asked, coming back over to you with Laura. “What did Bobby want?”

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug. “He just apologized for not stepping in when Chris was being a jerk.”

Laura scoffed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

You shrugged again. “I’m glad he said it. It was nice.”

Laura sighed and gave you a side hug. “We’re almost done, boo.”

The bell rang, and you and your two best friends went to your second to last class of senior year. 

-

Graduation came and went faster than you were expecting and before you knew it, you were sitting on your couch with no school work to do for the first time in twelve years. The summer between high school and college was the one summer you felt you actually had off and you could not wait to relax. 

You were currently talking to Peter on the phone while he said he had just gotten back from the gym. Your heart fluttered when he told you that he had missed talking to you on the phone, since you hadn’t been able to talk as regularly due to his job, that you still didn’t know anything about. 

“I can’t talk for long, darling, but I wanted to know how graduation was,” Peter said. You didn’t think you’d ever be over his English accent. Everything he said sounded so much cuter. 

“It was really lovely,” you gushed. “The weather was perfect, and I got some good pictures with my friends.”

“That’s amazing, love,” Peter said, and you could practically hear him smiling through the phone. “I’d love to see pictures one day.”

“I’d love to see pictures of you, too,” you said, your heart thumping in your chest. You wondered what excuse he may make up now. 

Instead of making a verbal excuse, Peter suddenly changed the topic. 

“I’m so sorry, darling, but I have to go, my best friend is at the door. I’ll talk to you soon though, yeah?” he said. 

You sighed, your heart sinking in your chest. “Yeah, okay.”

“Have a good day, love.”

“You too.”

The phone call ended and you felt like you were left in complete silence. Every time he skirted your questions about his life, what he looked like, even his siblings’ names, you would just get so discouraged. Laura was constantly asking if he had finally sent you a picture or maybe FaceTimed you, but the answer was always no. 

You were so afraid of getting your heart broken, that you didn’t want to face the reality that something suspicious was going on here, and even though you could hear Peter’s voice and you knew he wasn’t an old man, there was still something off about him and his identity. 

A knock at your front door pulled your attention away from your phone as you read through your most recent conversation with Peter. It contained a lot of flirting and a lot of you talking about if and when you would finally meet. Although a part of you expected Peter to be talking in a hypothetical way, while you meant every word you said.

You got up to answer the door, greeted by a disheveled looking Laura who looked as though she had just sprinted to your house.

“What’s wrong with you?” you gasped, but Laura pushed her way past you into your house. 

“You need to see this,” she huffed, pulling out her phone. 

You stared at her, frowning as she looked up a video on YouTube, finally settling on an interview with a Tom Holland about the new Spider-Man movie coming up. You had heard about the new movie, but you didn’t know anything about the star of it. 

Laura hit play, and the interviewer started off by asking Tom about the Queens accent he plays as Peter Parker in the movie, and followed it up by confirming that he is not from Queens as his character is. 

Tom replied by saying, “I am not, I am a native of South West, London, darling.”

As soon as the words left his mouth your heart plummeted. Darling. Peter had just called you that a mere five minutes ago, and the word was still ringing in your head.

The way Tom had spoke, the way his accent dripped off of each syllable made your head dizzy. You knew that voice. You talked to that voice every damn day, and you knew it so well it was engraved in your mind like some sort of song. You knew how Peter spoke, and you watched how Tom spoke and you felt like you were going insane because they were just so damn similar. 

Laura watched you as the video continued to play, but you didn’t even have to listen because that one line did it for you. No one else said darling like Peter did, but Tom Holland just said it. 

Your knees were weak and you had to sit down at your kitchen table, shutting the video off after you couldn’t take it anymore. Every word Tom said, you imagined Peter saying it, and the nausea hit you like a wave, but Laura was able to grab the nearest trash bin as you wretched into it, while also rubbing your back. 

Tears stung your eyes as you lifted your head, thanking Laura while she handed you a paper towel to wipe your mouth. You looked at the paused video on Laura’s phone, and brought it back to when he said the word darling and hit play once more. 

You thought that maybe if you heard it again, you would be able to tell that that wasn’t Peter, that Tom Holland the up and coming movie star of the Marcel Cinematic Universe was not your Peter. 

He couldn’t be...

You refused to meet Laura’s gaze, because you knew it was filled with some sort of pity, and you really didn’t want her to say she told you so, but every fiber in your being was filled with dread as you listened to each phoneme that came out of Tom’s mouth. 

“(Y/N)...” Laura trailed off. “He sounds exactly like-”

“Peter.”

-

part 6

okay I know my time line is a little off because that interview™ came out after Homecoming, but I figured that she would find out it was Tom from the word darling so....here we are

taglist: @slythxr // @greenarrowhead // @your-daily-dose-of-fangirl // @loxbbg // @didanyonesaybuckybarnes // @strang-ersclub // @roaringgoodshow //  @skeletalwolfcat // @peterbrokenparker // @jackiehollanderr // @krispykreeme // @eye-of-the-owl // @  eternal-l-appel-du-vide // @lifeandloveandhappiness // @16wiishes // @snifelisnifsnif // @fxded-jackgyeom // @dxftprettyboys // @spookyconsultingcriminal // @yourwonderbelle // @too-much-spidey // @savethebabyseals // @apseventy // @starkslovebot // @binaruma // @just-a-littlebit-of-everything // @lifeisabitchandsoareyou // @iloveyouthreethousand-o6 // 

[eyepatchdate]

Batman au

@abysskeeper

Finally.  This is from the 3 sentence prompt meme.  Which I am still doing.  Fucking.  This one is the longest I think.  Almost 4k words.  I’m not looking at this anymore.

———

Trickshot frowned, the light of the computer monitors in front of him casting his features in blue light.  His eyes flickered from screen to screen, but nothing notable was to be found.  Usually that wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but they had already been tipped off that someone was on the move tonight, so it was tense, waiting for the pin to drop.  Just watching and waiting, unable to do anything else.

The sound of the door opening behind him was hardly worth him switching his attention away—he could see the person entering on the security monitors anyways.  But, he did call out a brief greeting, “Hey.”

He could see Jonathan wave at him from a subwindow on the monitor on his upper-left, and Trickshot smirked, amused—he had even waved in the camera’s direction, despite the fact that it was the size of a marble, not visible to most.  But, of course, Jonathan could see it.

“Tavon,” he greeted as he stepped closer to the monitors, “I take it no moves yet?  Never mind—you’re still here.  So obviously not.”

“Mn,” Trickshot nodded.

They stood in silence for a little while, watching.  But it was never long that Jonathan would stay quiet, not while they weren’t on a mission at least, “Sooo.  Have you come up with a name for this place yet?  I feel like we really need a name for this base, or center of operations, or whatever.”

Finally, Trickshot looked away from the monitors, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan, “My garage?”

“Yes,” Jonathan snorted as he propped a hand on his hip, “We can’t just call it that.”

“I don’t see why not.  It’s not like anyone else is ever going to be here.”

“We can’t just say we’re ‘going back to Trickshot’s garage’ at the end of the day.  We should say something that sounds cool.”

“No,” he replied, unimpressed, “Why do we even have to say anything at all?  We don’t have to explain ourselves to anyone.”

“Ugh,” Jonathan let out a long-suffering sigh.  Trickshot smothered a smirk.  “I get tired of your dark broody thing sometimes though.  It feels rude to just disappear on people.  It isn’t uncool to say ‘bye,’ you know.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, don’t pull the fake ‘I’m-considering-it-but-I’m-actually-not’ tone with me, Tav.”  Jonathan was grinning though as he said it, their usual banter making the time go faster.  It was nice to take his own eyes off the monitors for a bit too, he could trust that Jonathan would notice something pop up even faster than he would if he were looking himself, and so he could take a moment to be at ease.

It wasn’t the monitors that finally alerted them though, but rather the ring of the communicator on Jonathan’s belt. Trickshot could see who it was before Jonathan even brought it to his face, the red heart emoji giving it away rather obviously.  Jonathan, predictably, lit up, quickly clicking to accept the call, “Nexus!  Any news?”

Trickshot lacked super-hearing, so he didn’t really have a chance to overhear, but that was quickly remedied as Jonathan tapped the side, activating the holo-interface of his communicator so that Nexus could presumably speak to both of them.  Nexus’s face came into view, looking only mildly irritated, “I have received a call meant for the two of you.  Since your identities are unknown and your communications are more underground than mine, you’ve forced me to become a relay.  I don’t approve.”

“Oh,” Jonathan’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked far too apologetic for something that was hardly a concern—of course one of the most active heroes on the net was easier to contact, “Sorry about that!  I guess we could open a line or something—”

“No,” both Nexus and Trickshot said at once.

“Stop bullshitting,” Trickshot frowned.

“Fine,” Nexus sighed, continuing as if his complaint hadn’t even been aired, “It was your ex-partner, Trickshot, back in your ‘Crosshair’ days.  I maintain that that was a stupid name, despite how fitting it was for your prior job.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

Jonathan looked at him in concern.  He wondered if his voice was as tight as it felt.

“No, and I didn’t ask.  I’m not your secretary.  All she gave me was a set of coordinates.”

“Transmit them.  And tell Sequitur that we’re out, it’s up to him to deal with anything that arises.”

“Fine.  But I maintain that I’m not your secretary.”

“Thank you, Nexus!” Jonathan added, quick, just before Nexus hung up.

———-

“I can’t believe you made him hang up on us.”

“You’re still mad about that?”

“Yes!  I’m trying to—”

“Yeah, I’ve seen your contacts list.”

“You can’t talk, you’re gunning for—”

Trickshot brought a finger to his lips and Jonathan immediately grew quiet, his eyes narrowing behind his visor as he turned his focus to their surroundings.

“Five o’clock, 40 meters,” Jonathan whispered, low enough for Trickshot to just barely hear him, “She’s got a cloaking device on.”

But, of course, Jonathan could see through something like that, attuned to even the slight shifts and wavers in the air.

Trickshot glided down to the rooftop, landing with ease, and he turned himself towards where Jonathan had said she was.  “Bolt,” he greeted.

“Don’t pretend to be all cool,” her voice rang out as her form shifted, the cloaking device at her belt being deactivated, “I know you didn’t see me.”

Jonathan landed so that he was slightly between them, but without saying a word.

Lynnick chuckled, “Way to ruin his attempt at mystique, Sentinel.”

“Spotter,” Jonathan corrected coldly.

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that,” Lynnick hissed, emerald eyes blazing in a way that was both familiar and not.  “I was his spotter.”

“Not anymore.”

Trickshot interrupted, not that he didn’t appreciate what Jonathan was trying to do, but they weren’t here to fight (verbally or physically).  “What do you want with us?”

“You,” Lynnick corrected, turning her gaze to him alone, “I didn’t ask for the other guy.”

“Fine, just me,” Trickshot snapped, narrowing his eyes, “What do you want with me?”

“I’ve heard whispers of something I knew you’d care about, so I’d figure I’d do you a favor—for the last time you got me out of a jam.”

“…When was that?” Jonathan’s eyes flicked to him, sparking with uncomfortable uncertainty—he never liked it when Trickshot kept him out of the loop.

Trickshot shrugged, “Sometimes we keep up connections.  Help each other out.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed behind his visor, but he said nothing more.  He wouldn’t, not while they were in front of someone else.  Later though, Trickshot definitely hadn’t heard the end of this.

“Stop interrupting, Sentinel,” Bolt hissed, “I want to get this over with as much as you want me gone.  So let me say my piece so I can fuck off.”  Jonathan shrugged, prompting her to continue, flipping her braid over her shoulder, “Great.  Specter is planning another raid—yes, I know you’ve been following them. Every superhero has.  But I know you don’t want her dead, and I don’t either.  She’s a good distraction, and she gets my crew out of jams sometimes.  But, she doesn’t like us contacting her, so I can’t warn her.  And fuck if I’m going to be where the shit is going down.”

“What’s going to happen?” Trickshot asked, masking the spiking worry—it wasn’t surprising that it was getting risky for Specter and the rest of her team—there were a lot of people gunning for them.  This could be…bad.

“They’re going to be stopped, obviously. Attacked.  Police, SWAT, whatever else they got out there, I don’t know. All I know is that there’s gonna be a lot of brass and I’m out. And, sure, Specter is good at getting out of things, but she won’t leave her team behind, and I’m sure more than one of them will be along.”

“How did this information come out? What’s your source?”

“I know a guy embedded with the cops. He heard about it and was nice enough to let me know for a few hundred bucks.  He’s never steered me wrong before, and this isn’t a trap for me or anything so the likelihood of him lying is, I assure you, quite low.”  She still remembered his paranoia.  And, he was sure she could go on for longer to disregard all of his concerns about authenticity.  She knew him. He could trust that much. “Specter’s people must have a leak or something too—you just can’t trust people these days.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, probably to object, but Trickshot quickly interjected, nodding, “I appreciate the information.  Tell us when and where and we’ll handle it.”

Bolt grinned, her eyes glimmering, “Oh, a part of me wants to come along just to see how you handle it.  How you’ll get them out.  Especially since you don’t want them to know you like them, right?  A little���well, it’s a little supervillain of you.”

Jonathan stepped forward, fists clenched, “He’s not—”

She scoffed, “Please.  Don’t delude yourself.”

“I’m not.  I wouldn’t stand here if he was.  I know him better than you do.”

Bolt turned, her footsteps sounding softly off of the rooftop.  She stood near the edge now, looking back at them, shrugging, “Tell yourself whatever you want, Sentinel.  Don’t come crying to me when he leaves you.”

With that, she tapped her belt, activating her camouflage, shimmering invisible, the distortion barely visible to him, until she jumped, disappearing below.  The sound of a grappling hook could be heard firing into the next building, but Trickshot couldn’t discern where she was once distance was established between them.

Jonathan could though, his eyes cold on the horizon.

He couldn’t just let the silence remain though, he had to—to address what she had said, he couldn’t let her turn Jonathan against him.  Trickshot quietly affirmed, “I’m not going to—”

Jonathan cut him off, “You don’t need to validate yourself to me.”  He tore his gaze from Bolt, “I know you.”

He didn’t know how to reply.

Jonathan sighed, fumbling with the pouches on his belt to bring his communicator out, and predictably, another call was coming, a little red heart displayed on the screen.  He clicked to accept it, solemnly scanning the information that was displayed in green over its surface.  No voice or video this time, just the information, presumably the coordinates and time that Bolt was referring to.

Jonathan smirked a bit, swiping the message so that Trickshot could access it on his goggles, “I like how he says he’s tired of being our secretary but then tells us that he’s standardized how he’s sending us coordinates.”

“Of course you like it,” Trickshot quipped, a weak smile tugging on the corner of his lips, “You like everything he does.”

“Mhm,” Jonathan nodded, an ease to his stance now that Bolt was gone.  “So, I assume we’re getting there first.  Before they even break in.”

Trickshot shook his head, already running possibilities in his head, “We’ll just run into the authorities that way. We can’t be seen either—they wouldn’t understand our sympathies.”

Jonathan smirked, “Not when they’re trying to catch her too.”

“You and I both know she’s not what they think.  That there’s way more going on here, we just have to figure out what.”

“Or ask.”

“Or ask,” Trickshot relented.  “Either way, we have to head them off before they even get there.”

Jonathan frowned, “We don’t know where they’re coming from, only where they’ll hit.”

“Well, that’s half the puzzle.  Surely with all the pieces we’ve been picking up about them, it’ll be easy enough to figure out.”

“Maybe for you, but I haven’t reached quite the same understand of them that you have,” Jonathan admitted, a bit sheepishly.  “I’m not sure how much help I can be with so little information.”

“You can be plenty help.  You’re my eyes.  Come on, it’s only a few dozen blocks from here.”

“Why do I work for you again?”

———-

They were split up again, Jonathan on a radio tower a few blocks away, placed in the highest vantage point to take advantage of his heightened senses.  Of course, their communicators still kept them in contact, Jonathan able to whisper so that Trickshot could hear him in his earpiece.  He had told him to focus on the area north of the site—it was the least covered by the covert police and hero forces they could see since it was right by the waterway.

They had, of course, kept themselves from being detected by the other forces, which was easy when you knew them all so well.  Better than Specter and her crew would—although they also knew how to hide.  But, not knowing enough (and being limited in their mobility since they needed room to carry things out too) would hold them back from scouting to the extent that he and Jonathan could.

If only, a traitorous thought whispered, You were on her team.

Pushing it aside, he shifted his focus on the streets below, the little alleyways, the gratings that led to the sewers and the underground systems of the city—it was likely that those would be her choice of entrance.  They were still a long way from her actual target, but they needed to catch them first.  Before they entered the snares of the trap.

Jonathan’s voice whispered in his ear, “A shimmer of steel—Archangel’s wings fifty meters to your left.  Alleyway grating pushed up.”

Ah.  Specter’s right hand.  They would be in two separate groups though, two entry points.  Trickshot squinted to where Jonathan indicated, nodding as he caught sight of a brief flash, something no one else would notice, especially not from this far away.  But, since he knew where, he could see.

“Keep looking,” he whispered back, “There should be a second group, that’s where Specter will be.  We need both before we move.”

With a lack of anything else to do for the moment, he kept his eye on the small group of figures in black moving. Archangels wings were even painted black to blend in, but the slightest shimmer of their gears was the tell for Jonathan’s sight.  From this far away Trickshot couldn’t identify the other members, but he was sure they were the profiles he had seen before.  Perhaps a few new ones as well—her group was ever-growing.

“Twenty meters north and thirty meters west from your position—doorway of a building near a streetlamp.  Probably has an underground entrance inside.”

Trickshot smiled, relieved, shifting his attention away from the others who he knew Jonathan would keep track of as well, tapping his goggles to enhance his own vision (although mere tech couldn’t compare with Jonathan), and just as he had thought, there she was.  Alone—a surprise, but not too much of one.

She was sacrificial, he thought.

“You handle the others, try not to fight them.  But we can’t have them fall into the trap.  I’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t get distracted,” Jonathan’s tone was lilting, “Recall that you don’t want her to complete her mission this time.”

“I know,” Trickshot smirked, “I don’t get caught by such distractions so easily.”

“Ah, leaving the ‘like you’ unspoken, how unlike you.”

“Just try not to harm her subordinates. We’re trying to save them, not make things worse.”

“There’s only two others, I’m sure they’ll be amiable.  I have a good reputation.”

“Oh, rub it in why don’t you.”

They could go on like hours like that, but they both had tasks to complete.  He saw Jonathan glide down from the radio tower, landing soundlessly on the rooftop before running, heading towards where Archangel was. Meanwhile, Trickshot shifted his own attention to where Specter was starting to move, sticking to the shadows, and he would have to catch up to her quickly before she’d phase out.

He leapt between rooftops until he was closer to her, jumping down onto a staircase at the edge of a building.  He allowed his impact to rattle the metal, creating a slight sound, enough to catch her attention.  And it did, immediately her gaze snapping to him, alert and prepared.

He held his hands up, palms out, raising his voice only enough to be heard, “I’m not—”

Specter blinked out of existence underneath him, and before he could even think of where she would go, she reappeared, right beside him, soundlessly on the metal, her dagger up and ready a mere foot away.

He froze, eyes widening a bit, continuing as he carefully kept still, “—Intending to do you harm.  I want to help.”

“You’re…Trickshot.”  Her brows furrowed, green eyes bright in the dark. Slowly her dagger lowered, just slightly, “…Where’s Sentinel?”

So, she knew enough to know that they were rarely apart.  He answered with ease, “Spotter is speaking to Archangel.  And whoever else is here, I didn’t quite see who was on your other team.”

Her eyes narrowed, dagger raised again, “How did you know where we’d be?”

“Your operation has been leaked.  A lot of people are trying to capture you, heroes and police alike.  I caught wind of it and wanted to tip you off before you were in the trap.”

“How did you know where I would be?” she repeated, slowly, although she still didn’t quite seem hostile.  It was starting to hurt, keeping his hands raised, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be seen as a threat to her, so he remained motionless.

“I’ve been observing your group’s actions. Reports, CCTV feeds, anything I could get my hands on.  I’ve only run into you a few times in person, far off, but—” he swallowed, “I made an educated guess.  And Spotter’s eyes did the rest.”

“You’ve…you have helped us, in the past. I noticed how sometimes our path would suspiciously clear, even though we expected a fight on our way out of somewhere—but never have you appeared before an operation.  You’re with them, aren’t you?  The people trying to get us?”

He was pleased she had noticed that much, at least, he hadn’t ever really been trying to hide, “No,” he replied smoothly, “They keep me out of the loop.  I learned of their intentions from a contact—I have not been involved in their planning or their chase of you and your crew.  I have no interest in labelling you as a foe.”

Her dagger lowered, again, this time staying low, and she took a step back (not that distance meant much for a teleporter).  He allowed himself to lower his hands, but he kept them away from his belt.  He continued, “I don’t want you to walk right into a trap.  I know you aren’t what they’re claiming you are—and I don’t know what you are, but I’ve been wanting to know.”

He was usually skilled at reading expressions, but he couldn’t quite parse what emotion it was crossing her face at the moment.  She seemed to be evaluating him, that much was clear and predictable, but he couldn’t discern what it is she saw.  Did she believe him?  Trust him, or at least trust his words?

“…How many are in the trap?”

“I don’t know that much.  But when we were scanning the area, Spotter discerned that three blocks around your target is entirely stonewalled.  They’re all undercover but there’s signs, equipment and practiced patrol routines that aren’t as normal-passing as they’d think.”

“…How much do you know?”

It was easy to respond, perhaps a little too easy to share his information, but he had been waiting for this for what felt like so long, to actually stand in front of her and speak to her, to be a more proper ally to what he felt was right.  Even though he didn’t understand yet, he had seen the sort of things her people had been doing, and none of it was with true evil intent.  “I don’t know what your purpose is.  Or what your target is.  Only where.”

“And still, you warn me?  Without even understanding?”

“How am I supposed to understand with so little information?”

She let out a breath, the barest hint of a laugh escaping her lips, “Good point,” she mused, a corner of her lips tugging upwards, “I suppose that’s too much to ask of anyone when so much is hidden.”

“I want to uncover it,” he said, “I know something is wrong but I don’t know what you’re fighting.”

She stepped back a little farther, shrugging her shoulders, “You have to find that out yourself.  I can’t just tell you.  You have to see it.”  Her eyes glittered, “Sentinel has good eyes.  He might be able to, if you help him figure out where to look.”

He paused, unsure of how to respond to that, frustrated but unable to direct it towards anything.  His fingers clenched slightly.  Finally, he shook his head, “You aren’t still going to go for the hit, are you?”

She tilted her head, “Hm.  No, not with the forces you described.  This one wasn’t that important.  It’s not worth getting captured, or risking my allies. Archangel agrees—Sentinel is someone even we’re prone to trust.”

He tried not to be too obviously relieved, but was sure that some of it bled through his façade, “Good.  I wouldn’t have wanted all my efforts to go to waste here.”

She blinked, scanning him over, seemingly evaluating him again, “I’m sure we would have gotten out of it, but perhaps we wouldn’t be unscathed.  While, clearly, we are now, even if our goal remains unaccomplished.”

“I’m sure you can plan accordingly later. In the meantime, I suggest you figure out the source of your leak.  Someone who knows about your operations leaked it to the authorities, and they leaked it to my source.  So…be careful.”

She nodded, “…Thank you,” she said after a moment.  “…I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again.”

And, before he could reply, she vanished once more, and he didn’t see her reappear.

Jonathan’s voice crackled from his earpiece, “Archangel is headed back through the underground.  Specter gave the order, but even before that she was listening to me. We aren’t seen as foes as much as you thought, Trick.”

“I’m glad whatever they were hitting is unimportant enough to drop.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what we’d do if they just ignored us.  I guess at least they’d be warned?”

“Yeah,” Trickshot agreed.  And as Jonathan chattered on about meeting back up and heading back to base (“Which we really need to rename,” he added), he was left to his thoughts of that scenario.  What would they have done?  Gone back after simply accepting that they had done all they could by informing them? Or—

Would he have followed her?