#❛ welcome to the bliss ❜ ⸗ * / FAITH .

[babygirl-coded]

oh my god this is faith and john !! it’s them !! this is teetering on the unhinged , but john would absolutely drug people full of bliss and make them do crazy shit and faith would trail behind him with the new angels in tow. an angel conga line , if you will. they force angels to recreate clutch nixon’s legendary stunts and fight all sorts of dangerous wildlife. faith readily supplies john with barrels and barrels of bliss so they can get into all kinds of shit together.

*sighs* just two goofy pals up to no good <3

[locustandwildhoney]

Welcome to the Bliss

[magic-moonflower]

``oh the great collapse, won't be our end``

welcome to the bliss.

-------

some old Faith Seed screenshots that I took couple years back. She's still my favorite.

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ‘sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Wine Heated

For @turbulentscrawl <3

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: none

i wish this skin came back! literally always have a crush on the wine god (hades' dionysus is so HOT and they made professor literally him aaaa)

You know him well, you offer all your prayers to all the Gods, but you know him well as he blesses your crops with the sweetest fruit-- Both in the land and your womb. You have been blessed with many children with each living a happy, healthy, and wealthy life. As you grow older, you cannot harvest the fruit the way you used to and give your offering to the God who looks out for you so fondly.

You sigh as your old body is making you less and less able to do the minor tasks at the house.

A home, an empty nest that was well lived in by you and your husband and all the children you bared.

As you lay your head on your bed, eyes closing, you smell a sweet scent and a glimpse of a white cloth.

“(Name), my favorite mortal.”

The world shifts, you wake up not on your bed but in the arms of a man you have never seen before. Yet, you do not move, there is no fear or shock. Because you do know the man who is eating a grape in a way that makes you suddenly envious of the fruit. You look around and you recognize the temple you are in for you have seen a glimpse of it in dreams in your youth when you were of age to begin giving offerings to the spring-heated wine god.

“Finally awake,” You turn your head back to him who stares at you the way your husband did, maybe more intensely with a gleeful smile, “She awakens!” Picking you in his arms makes you panic and cling to him by wrapping your arms around his neck, “My sweet blossom, welcome home!”

“Home?” Speaking after he puts you down allowing you to stand there in confusion. You see your hands, the youth return to them, and you examine yourself seeing you only wearing a chiton that is much too thin to be proper, “But I…”

“You have given me much, often my cups are full of wine created from your fruits.” Picking up a golden chalice, “Faithful to all but you saved your best for me.”

“By the Gods,” A hand over your heart, “I am so sorry I could not deliver you proper offerings as my body began to fail me.” Going on your knees begging for forgiveness.

“You need not beg for my forgiveness,” Kneeling and petting your hair, “You who have given me the sweetest of offerings and kindest of prayers of thanks.” You raise your head when guides you to look upon him, “It is only right I return such devotion.”

The Spring Heated Wine God has many titles, the most commonly known titles are fertility, festivity, and insanity. The latter is rare unless he is not given offerings to keep him in high joyful spirits.

You worshiped him as the Seer of the land told you to, to give offerings and pray in thanks. In return, you have been blessed and others around you with joy and happiness.

Though you wish to be in the underworld wandering in Elysian Fields with your husband, the God of Wine has called upon you to be his, this new life granted by him as part of his thanks. You are to be by his side, to fill his cup, and in turn, he will continue to love you as one should upon a worshiper.

He lays upon the kline in his private chambers upon your request, you are not ready (or ever will) to be taken in front of the pans and nymphs he has in the temple. His eyes are warm, inviting, and clearly announcing his infatuation with you as you are naked upon his lap. Your hands are on his chest, fingers brushing upon the scales that shine like precious gems. He likes it when you dare bite back when he bites your chest, littering your skin with his mark with teeth.

Luchino, this is the name he once was called before mortals gave him a title, he loves how you moan it out. When you are close but he stops you before that fall to bliss, you pout and say his name much differently from your prayers. 

Begging should follow, he rather enjoys how you retaliate by taking measures into your own hands, greedy humans. He drinks his wine as you chase bliss once more desperately as you say his name each time his thrusts meet yours, his lips sharing the sweet taste of nectar mixed within the wine.

You nearly choke on both the intoxicating taste, his tongue in your mouth, and once more his thumb rubs your clit.

“Luchino!” Pulling your mouth away to give one verbal warning while your body seizes, velveteen walls spasming around his cock. He holds you close to him taking over as he changes positions so you are lying underneath him.

Faster, harder, a growl you feel the rumble of it on your chest, his teeth on the side of your neck threatening to break skin. You in kind dig your nails into the back of the Wine God scraping down and a few times catching a scale you learn is sensitive around the area where skin turns into scale.

You feel him fill you, his cum filling your womb and spilling onto the linen sheets. After a few thrusts, he keeps on that high until oversensitivity has you whining like a poor kitten seeking attention.

You go lax on kline, trying to catch your breath as moves to lay beside you, pity he pulls out taking away the warmth and fullness of his cock.

[warnersister]

Alfie Solomons x Jewish!Reader

“If you’ll have me”🧸🕍

Click here for the request

Summary: the oddly timed belated visit to his synagogue gave reason for Alfie to keep visiting (Jewish reader)

Alfie felt the need to reconnect with his religion, reconnect with Judaism. Reconnect with the community he’d began to stray away from as his unlawful business thrived. Reconnect with his home, with his family, with his truth.

That’s how he ended up at the local synagogue at two oclock on a Tuesday afternoon. He’d inhaled deeply and relished in his transparency, how God could see straight through him yet still welcomed him into this place of worshiped. And Alfie relished in the fact that for once he couldn’t hide, for once he couldn’t argue it with guns. Alfie felt bare; he felt truthful; and he felt free. He felt proud adorning his faithful yarmulke on his head.

But something felt pure, strong, innocent. Something radiated out of the room that wasn’t only Alfie opening his arms to religion once again. It was something purer than he could ever fathom, something addictively bright. Something powerful. Something that drew him closer like a moth to a lamp. Something like you.

Alfie’s eyes immediately darted to you the moment he’d entered the holy house - how could they not? You were the only other person besides him daft enough to be there at such an odd time. You were sat rather centrally in comparison to the room, only a few ways back from the front and mid-row: head bowed. And if Alfie listened closely and tuned his reiteratively ringing ears enough, he could hear your whispers of prayer and they sounded like bliss.

Alfie approached quietly, noticing how the blue taints to your dress contrasted with your surroundings, and how the shade made your skin appear vibrant and more radiant. He noticed the bracelets encapsulating nimble wrists. He noticed your eyes closed, and lips endlessly muttering promises he couldn’t quite make out.

Eventually, his presence became more apparent as he wasn’t necessarily stealthy with his painful limp and wheezy breathing. You looked up at him, connecting your eyes; entrancing him with the siren-worthy whirlpools that stared back at him. But as quick as the connection was made, it was gone as you quickly returned to your familiar mumblings.

You’d ended your prayer and raised your head, basking in the silence as you stared straight ahead of you. Alfie cleared his throat. “Seat taken, love?” He asked, motioning to the bench space beside you. You looked back at him and smiled gently, shaking your head and offered it him “no, no. Please, sit” and Alfie perched himself gently beside you. “Bit of an odd time to talk to God, no?” He asks, staring ahead; similarly to you to mirror your actions. You snort slightly. “Could say the same thing for you.” And he nods in response, thoughtfully appreciating your correct comment. “Plus I’ve not been for a few months so I thought a few minutes alone wouldn’t really hurt.” You shrug. “Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt?” He asked, turning to look at you, figure towering you slightly. You just shook your hair again. “Not at all. The weights off my shoulders so the time must’ve done some good” you say to him. “What brings you in?” You ask. “Business has kept me away. Need some time to rekindle.”

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing needing to confess, anyways?” He asks and you giggle slightly. “Well, I’ve got to explain why I’ve not visited him for a while.” You look upwards. “But my grandfather just passed and I thought now was a better time than any to start revisiting Judaism.” You explain to the man. “Oh, sorry for your loss sweetheart.” Alfie never said that, but he felt a serious pang in his heart at your saddened expression. “No need, he wasn’t a good man. But it was a good reminder.”

“Well if business has kept you away for so long why are you available at two on a Tuesday?” You ponder, cocking your head to the side in an amiable fashion. “Well business isn’t as busy, and I’ve done a lot of bad business recently. Plus my sciatica’s been playing up recently, must be a punishment from beyond.” He jokes and you hun thoughtfully. “You know I have just the remedy for that.” You tell him and he raises a brow. “Oh yeah? And wha’s tha treacle?” “Chocolate hamantaschen cookies, they always do the trick.” You promise.

“Oh,” he stokes his beard, reminiscing, “i haven’t had one of those in years.” He admits. “Where do you suggest I get one?” He enquires as you begin to stand. “Theres a bakery at the corner of this street. Theirs are alright.” You tell him and he smiles slightly. “I’ll give it a go for you.” He swears and you nod. “Well I best be off, those cookies won’t bake themselves.” You say, beginning to walk away when Alfie practically jumps out of his seat. “Your bakery is it, darlin?” He asks, quickly catching up to you to which you giggle and nod. “Well I need to be trying these cookies now then.” “Doesn’t seem like to have to” you turn back to him “seems like your sciatica’s magically disappeared.” You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. He grins and taps his nose, replacing the hat on his head “the lord knows.”

Alfie found himself frequenting your bakery once a fortnight. But he didn’t really string together when once a fortnight became once a week. Or when once a week become once daily. Or even when once daily became twice daily, open and close. Or when he started walking you too and from work: but he did, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Eventually, Alfie had managed to taste every bake before it entered the storefront market, giving you his input as you chuckle and tut, wiping the crumbs from his beard and wipe the strawberry jam that had gone missing ten minutes ago from his lips. He also found salvage in the synagogue - your presence a more convincing one that made him go at least once weekly, always at a random time on a random weekday, but you still bowed your head and prayed. But now something had changed, you now spoke louder as the burly man next to you would simultaneously bow his head and swear just as you would. He'd then ask if any of those cookies were ready yet and would always burn his mouth after taking one straight from the tray and placing it straight in his mouth.

*Ring*

The bell in the storefront chimed and you moved from the back of the bakery to the front to answer your customer, instead you were face to face with three men, pistols in hand: talking quietly in brummie accents. "Can i help you gentleman?" you ask, wiping the flour on your hands onto your piney and resting them on your hips. "well aren't you a pretty thing?" the youngest one quirked with a smirk on his face. you roll you eyes but the apparent leader begins to speak, the red-haired one distracted by the odd bakes available in the glass display case in front of him. "we'd like you to give a message to Alfie Solomons." he tells you and you cross your arms and shake your head as you feigned confusion "doesnt ring a bell, sorry."

the man smiles slightly. "alright sweetheart, tell Alf that he has some business in Birmingham to attend to right away seeing as he isnt in his office, seems like a know where he has been" he instructs. "Tell me yourself Tommy boy." the familiar voice barks out roughly from the doorway and you exhale slightly at his welcome presence. “Excuse me missus?” The red haired once removed his cap and requested your attention. You looked over to him and hummed. “Can I have a box of those ones with orange in the middle? My young’un loves ones like that.” He admits, sheepishly. You smile and nod, telling him to cost and going to box up the goods. Tommy smacks the back of his brother’s head “fucks sake Arthur”.

“How dare you, come to my missus’ business, demanding her to send a message to me? If she wasn’t here I’d have murdered the lot of ya, yeah? So I suggest you take your saggy little shitty business back to Birmingham, yeah? And make sure my wife doesn’t see it again? Hm?” Alfie seethes. “Thought you didn’t know him?” Thomas narrows his eyes at you and you raise your brows in confusion “know who?” You retort. Alfie soon kicks the three brothers out, after a loud and frustrated conversation outside with a few “fuck yous” and some “if my mrs wasn’t watching I’d smash your heads together” but soon enough he’d just about cleared them off.

You quickly hurried outside, and called out for the one Alfie seemed to argue with the most “you forgot your desserts” he hurries back under the intense eyes of Alfie, thanking you with a sincere smile before rushing back to join his brothers walking away. “Oh my darlin’ I’m sorry-” “your wife?” You ask and he smiles widely, relaxing, putting his arms around you and pulling you into his chest

“if you’ll have me my love”

[manari-archives]

Already Over | MS47

We been talkin' for hours 'bout how we shouldn't talk for hours on end Kissing after a conversation 'bout how we'd probably be better off as friends

pairing: Mick Schumacher x Reader

warnings: alludes to a sexual relationship

word count: 1.4k

note: again this isn't based on the entire song, just a couple of lines mentioned. Not to happy with the way the confessions turned out. also english isn't my first language so any corrections feel free to let me know and any feedback is welcome :)

masterlist

You and Mick found yourselves in the intimate sanctuary of Mick's bedroom. The room exuded a comforting warmth with a faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. You gravitated towards this space, seeking solace and a connection that ran deeper than the boundaries of friendship.

The evening had begun innocently enough, with Mick inviting you over for a casual chat. your words were like brushstrokes, slowly painting each other's souls. Each sentence carried weight and meaning, your voices growing softer and more intimate as time progressed. you spoke of dreams and aspirations, of past heartaches and the lingering wounds you carried. The vulnerability you shared at that moment laid the foundation for what would unfold next.

In the depths of their conversation, Mick's gaze locked with yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away. The silence enveloped them, filled only by the anticipation hanging in the air. Your hearts beat in synchrony, each beat resonating with unspoken questions. It was a single moment, a shared glance that spoke volumes. In that instant, the weight of their connection became undeniable. Time seemed to stand still as they leaned closer, their breaths mingling. The energy crackled between you, electrifying the air with a sense of both hesitation and longing.

Without uttering a word, your lips met in a gentle, tender kiss. It was a kiss that carried the weight of your unspoken desires and the culmination of a connection you had both yearned for. In that embrace, the lines blurred between friendship and something more profound.

As you kissed, your bodies gravitated toward one another, seeking solace and closeness. The bed became a canvas for their emotions unspoken of, a space where you could explore the depth of your feelings in the purest form. It was a moment of surrender, a leap of faith into the unknown.

your bodies entwined, and they discovered a shared language that went beyond words. Each touch conveyed a world of emotions, igniting a fire within them that burned brighter with every passing moment. In that sacred space, you found solace, passion, and a love that defied all expectations.

Time became irrelevant as you revelled in the blissful intimacy, the world outside ceasing to exist. your bodies moved in harmony, guided by an instinctive understanding of each other's desires. The room echoed with their whispers, your voices mingling in a symphony of pleasure and affection.

And as you lay together, your bodies spent, you found solace in each other's arms. your hearts beat in unison, and the room filled with the echo of your breaths. Slowly, silence filled the room, the two not knowing how to navigate through unasked questions, unknown emotions, and unspoken truths.

"We really need to stop doing this," you said with a mix of longing and sadness as your fingers gently traced patterns on Mick's chest.

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes filled with affection and yearning. "You're right, Schatz. Yet, we keep finding ourselves back in this same situation."

your connection was undeniable, evident in the way Mick always searched for your face in a crowd and the way they effortlessly understood each other. Conversations between the two were magnetic, filled with laughter, vulnerability, and profound intimacy. But beneath the surface, a constant tug-of-war battled between the two of you.

You sighed, your gaze shifting from Mick's eyes to his lips. "Maybe we'd be better off as friends, Mick. It's just... it's complicated."

Mick's heart skipped a beat at your words. He had wondered the same thought countless times, but the sheer thought of losing you from his life filled him with a deep ache. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice laced with yearning.

But before Mick could continue, he found himself overcome by a surge of emotion. Without hesitation, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips against yours, a delicate and tender action that spoke volumes of the unspoken desires between the two.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but as the initial shock faded, the two of you smiled into the kiss, a silent acknowledgement of the depth of your desires. To Mick's surprise, you responded with equal intensity, your lips meeting in a moment of perfect harmony. You melted into each other's embrace, feeling the warmth and electricity surge between them. It was a kiss that spoke volumes in a language only you understood. It was a shared understanding that your hearts had found solace and peace in each other, and they were no longer able to deny what had blossomed between them.

As you slowly pulled away, your eyes met, sparkling with love and hope. Mick softly spoke with a smile, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm sorry I couldn't help myself."

You reached out, gently caressing Mick's cheek, a radiant smile present. "Don't apologize. That was everything I could have ever wanted."

In that instant, you knew that their love was meant to be explored and not left in the dark, that love that had found itself entwining their souls in ways they could not ignore.

Mick felt his heart swell with newfound courage as he gazed into your eyes. The depth of his feelings terrified him, but he knew it was time to share the truth that had been burning within him for years now. "Schatz," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, "I'm in love with you, and honestly, I have been for years now."

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening in astonishment. You had sensed the depth of their connection, but hearing Mick's confession brought a wave of overwhelming emotions crashing over you.

Tears glazed Mick's eyes as he continued, his voice trembling with sincerity. "Every conversation, every shared laugh, every stolen glance has only intensified my feelings for you. You are the one who fills my thoughts, the one who makes my heart skip a beat. I've tried to fight it, to deny it, but the truth is undeniable. I am deeply in love with you."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Mick's heartfelt words hung in the air, their weight enveloping both of you. In that vulnerable moment, everything felt stripped away, leaving only the raw truth of your connection.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening in surprise. The world seemed to stand still as you locked eyes, the weight of Mick's confession hanging in the air. Slowly, a shy smile tugged on your lips, mirroring the joys that danced in your eyes.

"Mick," you whispered, your voice filled with tenderness and a touch of vulnerability, "I'm in love with you too."

The weight of your confessions lifted, replaced by a profound sense of relief and an overwhelming surge of love. Your connection deepened, your souls intertwining with a newfound intensity. The walls that had separated you as friends crumbled away, leaving behind the raw, unfiltered truth of your shared love.

In the silence that followed, you allowed your emotions to settle, savouring the beauty of your newfound relationship. Mick reached out, his fingers delicately brushing against your cheek as if to reassure himself that this was not a dream but a tangible reality.

Your smile blossomed, your eyes shining with a mixture of affection and trust. "Mick," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering certainty, "You've always held a special place in my heart."

You lay side by side in Mick's bed, your fingers gently intertwined as you basked in the warmth of your connection. Time seemed to stretch as you savoured the moment, your hearts singing in harmony.

Mick's fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, his touch a testament to the tenderness and adoration he felt for you. With every caress, your bond deepened, and a sense of belonging washed over you.

You nestled closer, resting your head on Mick's chest, your heartbeats merging into a rhythmic melody. In the comfort of your embrace, you found solace and a haven where vulnerability was celebrated. You knew you could be your truest selves in each other's presence, without fear of judgment or rejection.

The air around you seemed to shimmer with electric revelations. At that moment, all seeds of doubt and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the overwhelming certainty that the two of you were meant to be together. As you embraced each other and as you lay in each other's arms, hearts beating in perfect synchrony, you smiled, knowing that your love story would forever be etched in the tapestry of your lives. It was as if all the pieces of your lives had fallen into place.

In the warmth of Mick's bed, you had discovered a love that would transcend your wildest dreams, a love that would intertwine your souls in ways you had yet to imagine. It was a love that would weather storms, celebrate victories, and forge an unbreakable bond.

[honeybadgerwritings]

Megggg you wanna know something that’s been on my mind? Aftercare with Steddie. I just know they’d take such good care of reader after multiple rounds….

You must have a lot of faith in the reader to last multiple rounds with both Steve AND Eddie?

Holy shit, they’d better give amazing aftercare <3

This includes afab!Reader & Fem!Reader

⚠️ 18+ Content Ahead — Minors DNI ⚠️

The coil in you snaps, back arching as you cum for the fifth and final time of the night. Pathetic cries and whimpers leave your lips, tears streaming down your face as pleasure rolls through your body.

“There we go, good fucking girl.” Steve cradles you in his arms, holding you through the aftershocks as he watches Eddie pull out, who’s currently mesmerized by the way both his and Steve’s cum leaks from your ruined cunt. Your entire body trembles in his arms, and your legs shake as Eddie lowers them from his shoulders.

“Thaaat’s it sweetheart,” The metalhead murmurs, gently rubbing your calf to soothe you, “Ride it out for us.”

You’re on cloud nine, thoughts jumbled and hardly noticing how they maneuver your body while you lay there limp. Everything around you feels soft, the covers beneath you, Steve’s arms around you, Eddie’s hand on your leg. It’s all soft.

The two boys share a knowing look as you lay beneath them, completely blissed out.

“Such a pretty little thing isn’t she?” Eddie teases, and Steve hums in agreement, gently rubbing your hip.

“And soooo good for us,” The jock leans down, placing a kiss on your forehead, “Aren’t you baby?” You hum in response, hardly registering the words coming out of their mouths. You can’t help but whine when you hear them chuckle, wanting them closer to you, “Eds…Stevie…”

“Shhh pretty girl, we gotcha…” Steve murmurs, maneuvering himself to completely lie down with you, still cradling you in his arms.

“We’re right here sweets.” Eddie adds, leaning down to place a kiss to your lower tummy before getting up off the bed. He looks over to Steve, “You got her?” Steve nods, opening his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by you.

“No Eddie…” you whimper, “don’t leave.”

A deep chuckle rises from his chest, and he bends down to cradle your face in his hands, thumbs gently wiping a mix of sweat and tears from your puffy cheeks, “Silly thing, thinking I would ever leave you and Stevie,” He coos, looking down at you with nothing but love in his eyes, “M’ not going anywhere pretty baby. Just gonna run us all a bath okay?” You sniffle, nodding slowly as his words slowly register in your brain.

He gently tugs on your lower lip before standing back up, “Good girl.”

You and Steve lay there for a few minutes while he holds you and plays with your hair, and it’s not long before Eddie’s calling for the two of you. He picks you up in his arms and carries you towards the bathroom, cradling you against his chest, and you find your head buried in the junction where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Jesus Christ Stevie, I’ll never get over the size of this stupid bathtub.” Eddie grumbles, and you can feel Steve’s chest shake as he chuckles.

“Yeah well you’re more than welcome to come over and use it anytime you’d like.” He winks at Eddie, (who blushes a bright red) and moves to gently set you down on the counter. You whine as the cold marble meets your bare skin, and you cling harder to Steve, not wanting him to let go of you, “No no no…”

“Okay, it’s okay I gotcha,” he tugs you back towards him quickly, “I gotcha pretty girl. Let’s get you in then hm?” You nod, and Steve steps over the wall of the tub, sinking both of you down into the warm water. It smells like lavender, and you look around at all the bubbles that surround you, giggling.

Eddie sinks down into the water behind you, sneakily reaching forward to grab you by the hips. Steve’s grip on you loosens when he sees what he’s about to do, and watches as Eddie quickly snatches you, pulling you into his own lap.

You squeal and wiggle in his grasp, giggling as he attacks your face and neck with kisses. The movement splashes some water over the side of the tub, but neither of the two men can bring themselves to care. Eddie finally gives you some reprieve, resting his chin on top of your head, and his arms around your waist.

You release a sigh, resting against him with your eyes closed for a few moments.

“Don’t fall asleep on us just yet sweetheart, gotta get you cleaned up first.” You feel Eddie’s chest rumble against your back as the words leave his lips, and you peel your eyes back open. Steve’s sitting closer to you than he was a moment ago, a bottle of his lilac scented shampoo in hand.

You can’t help but smile, remembering the first time you found out about all of his hair products. You’d teased him so relentlessly about how he had triple the amount of things that you did. The only way he could get you to stop was by pinning you to the bed and tickling you until you begged for forgiveness.

And even though you and Eddie still joke about it sometimes, neither of you can deny that Steve’s hair is the epitome of perfection.

You lean forward, allowing him to scrub the soap through your hair, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. At some point, your eyes fall shut at the feeling of Eddie running a loofah up and down your skin, and you relax, letting your boys take care of you.

It’s Eddie who lifts you out of the water fifteen minutes later, quickly wrapping a towel around you when your teeth chatter. He helps you dry off, changing you into one of his oversized band tees, and Steve’s athletic shorts. You sigh in content, feeling cozy in your boyfriend’s clothes, and breathing in their scents.

“Do you want me to carry you? Eddie asks you gently as you sit on the counter in front of him. You nod slowly, eyes feeling especially droopy, and he grins, hands reaching underneath your armpits, “C’mere trouble.”

You pout at him as he lifts you up, “M’ not trouble. You’re trouble.” He chuckles at you placing a kiss to your cheek, “I must be a bad influence on you then.”

You wrap your legs around him so you’re sitting comfortably on his hip, and he carries you back to bedroom. You spot Steve, who is just finishing up changing the sheets, and he smiles warmly at you.

You’re laid down in the center of the bed, and it’s not long before they both join you, Steve cradling your body from behind, while you bury your face in Eddie’s chest.

“M’ gonna be so sore tomorrow.” You murmur, verbalizing your first coherent sentence in the last hour. The two boys chuckle, gently stroking different parts of your body to soothe you.

“Good thing we’ll be here to take care of you then hm?” Steve hums into the skin of your back, leaving kisses up your spine, “Gonna be treated like straight up royalty honey…isn’t that right Ed’s?”

Eddie, whose gently playing with your damp hair, hums in agreement, “We gotcha sweetheart. We always gotcha.”

[romanoffsbish]

Cooking With Timmy

Florence Pugh x Pregnant!R

Warnings: Brief mention of loss

Florence entered your shared home with a long, drawn out sigh, it'd been a long week away, and all she wanted was a glass of wine, a decent meal, and to fall asleep holding you.

Her plans faltered though when she stumbled into the hallway and peered into the kitchen.

There she found a curious little boy on the floor with an array of seasonings, pots and pans.

"Hey guys!" He shrieked at his iPad that was recording. "Welcome back to Cooking with Flo, I'm Timmy Pugh, her fill in until she returns."

——

Florence bit back a chuckle, as well as a sob because this is the first time he'd called himself by her namesake that she'd heard. It'd been about three years since you and Flo had taken the orphaned boy in, so this was monumental.

Back then your relationship was still fresh, it'd only been a year, and though it was blissful, you'd only just said I love you to each other in a way that mattered before you got the call that changed everything. Being parents one day was a conversation you'd vaguely had with each other while drinking yourselves silly. It was believed to be a far off subject to broach when things got serious. Not on a random Tuesday.

So, when your close friend Laura was in a life ending accident, you couldn't exactly deny her final wishes that designated him to be given to the both of you. His father wasn't around, and her chaotic family wasn't an option. She clearly had faith in your relationship, you confirmed that when you found out she signed you up for parenthood before you were even a couple.

She just hadn't told you since she thought she had time, but the universe is fickle that way.

Florence and you wasted no time, you got your paperwork together, and went down to the courthouse the following morning to legally bind yourselves, it felt rushed, but even with the fear of the moment backfiring in the future it was still easy to say I do. Florence was your forever, you always knew that deep down.

With marriage came the name changes, Y/N Pugh had a ring to it, and it also offered security over the smooth custodial transition of your son, Timothy Pugh, who at the time had only just turned three when you took him in.

It was easy enough for him to trust you since he knew you well, but he still had quite a hard time. Every single day came with blow out tantrums that would put a strain on anyone. Florence was sometimes too exhausted from her long days on set to handle his episodes with kindness, so you decidedly took turns.

When she was clearly at a low energy level you'd send her to relax, then you'd scoop the boy up, and sing him a lullaby you recalled his mom would sing to him. This always worked. Because when it was your turn to be spread too thin Flo would pick up the slack. She'd put the emotional toddler on her hip, and animatedly describe to him her day as she made dinner.

Every time you'd reconvene, and the parent that couldn't handle the tantrum would take him and offer him gentleness as they got him ready for bed. He'd go down in his bed, but without fail he'd wind up between you both.

It was complicated, but with therapy, and the sweet reminders of his mother, things began to look up around his fifth birthday. Once he started grade school he was able to cycle some of his energy into recess or making friends.

Soon enough he was the happy go lucky boy you remembered him to be before he lost his mom. He'd actually been calling you mama for the last year now, you beamed the first time.

Florence however had been met with Flossie. Something he was familiar saying since he was two, so it just carried on, but it always worried her that he didn't feel comfortable calling her mom. She wondered if her work schedule made him feel less valuable, or as if she was only a guest in his home that she partially owned.

Then she heard him continue his monologue, her hazel eyes closed as a couple happy tears streamed down her face, her heart felt full.

"Mommy Flossie is really busy right now," he informed his crowd of zero. "Mama said she is working on a new movie, because she's like a superstar or something. How cool is she?!"

He paused to shake a salt shaker over a pot that was actually empty, but his mimicry of Flo's mannerisms was shockingly spot on. Especially as he lifted a wine glass of juice to his lips, Florence felt a wave of embarrassment at being so incredibly transparent to her son.

"My friend Jackson told me she's British." He frowned as he shrugged, not understanding the implications of his friends words. "But then my friend Amelia said she's actually a superhero," he relayed excitedly, "I like her idea better."

He stirred the faux contents of the pot with a wide grin that Florence admired through the recording on his screen as he rambled on.

"Spying on our son are we?" Florence jumped as you suddenly spawned behind her. She turned to face you immediately, her hands took their rightful place, one on your protruding baby bump, and the other cupped your cheek.

"He's recorded like five episodes today."

Florence deeply pouted, "I'm missing it, huh?"

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around her neck so you could pull her into a soft kiss, your baby bump slotted to the side of her body as she melted into the affection.

"One of us had to work my love," you reminded her. "Acting was always your dream, becoming a parent wasn't on your 2020 Bingo card."

"Neither was a global pandemic that forced us to move into the same house two months into our relationship if we wanted it to work. It was like the world wanted to make sure we never broke up." Florence smiled at the thought.

"Yeah, 2020 was an odd year," you teased, and kissed her smirking lips, the kiss was heatless, but passionate in its own regards. It lasted an entire minute until your sons voice cut in.

"Mama! I want to make dinner tonight."

You stared down at him with a practiced quirk of your brow. Florence watched as the two of you stared the other down until he softly sighed, "Mama, can I please help with dinner?"

"What a polite boy, thank you for offering to help and using your manners baby, but I was going to order in since this one just got home," you gently crushed your sons dreams, you couldn't help it, but you'd been craving a big mac with extra pickles and sauce all day long.

Florence shook her head though, and scooped the much bigger boy up with an ease that reminded you of her Marvel workout regimen.

"I could really use a sous chef so that Mama and your baby sister here can eat something besides Maccy's." Florence evaded your hand as it attempted to slap her in the shoulder. "We better hurry bubby, Mama seems hangry."

Timmy giggled wildly on her hip as she ran the pair of them to the kitchen. You smiled at the scene as it unfolded before you with a hand on your bump. Rubbing it fondly as you saw the wonderful mom your wife was that she herself didn't exactly see. Florence might not always be home, but she was always there when she was, and that alone counted for everything.

"Mama! Go sit down and relax!" You smiled, and shook your head at your sons outburst.

"Okay, you two make sure not to burn my kitchen down!" Florence scoffed, "As if..."

Florence and Timmy started by washing all the pots he'd used as toys, then afterwards she rewarded the boy with a kiss on his cheek that made him giggle and her heart soar. Then she propped her phone up and started up a cooking with Flo. Tim's hands and voice were all she allowed on the tape, your son was aware of his exposure to the internets limits so he didn't take any offense. He happily played his part.

The duo decided to try their hand at making a Big Mac for you, vegan patties of course. This led to the blonde gushing about you and the pregnancy on her story as your son filled them in on the things even Florence hadn't seen. It made her feel guilty all over again for having not been here for huge chunks of your lives.

She knew you were right, that she had a career to build so your family would be secure. It didn't stop her from wanting to quit though. Hearing about how tired you've been from the babes mouth made her wonder if the spotlight she found herself under mattered anymore.

When she had a growing boy who deserved her sole attention before your infant arrived, and you who deserved to rest in this last trimester.

Florence texted her manager as your son set the table all on his own. He beamed up at your wife whenever he felt he did something right, and she always praised him, never letting the argument on her phone interfere with their precious time together. "Mommy?"

The blonde nearly dropped her phone as he directed the title at her. "Yes bubby?"

"Is it true that you're a super hero?"

She smirked, "I'm actually an anti-hero."

Timmy looked at her puzzled, he now stood right in front of her wearing the expression so that she could catch onto his confused drift.

Florence dropped to her knees so she could look him in the eyes as she spoke. "That's when the person is in between good and evil. They are trying to figure out the best way to make things work, sometimes they do good, and others they do really bad things. Way cooler."

"What's cool?" You asked as you settled down at the table, Florence froze as your son enthusiastically cheered, "Being the bad guy."

Florence's jaw dropped, she attempted to fix the moment, but fortunately Timmy did.

"She was telling me about her character."

Dinner went smoothly from there, your moans of appreciation told your wife she'd done the food of your heart justice. It made her happy to take care of you, knowing that she was able to give you what you wanted, while making sure your daughter got the nutrients she needed.

Also, it made her feel less guilty being able to take some of the load off of you. You'd never complained, you simply took it all in stride, but she sees the way your smile is tired, and she catches the hand pressed into your lower back.

Carrying a baby is no joke, she knows that, so she does whatever needs to be done when she's home, and after tonight she plans to be here far more often. In a weeks time she'll be done with her current film, and the other's won't start shooting until after your daughters birthday.

When your son saw you getting up with the dishes he stopped you with a hand on your bump, and carried it to the sink for you. Flo scooped him up moments later, and tickled him until he was unable to breathe right.

"Careful Flossie, don't suffocate my baby." Your lover rolled her eyes, then she made her way over to help your wobbly self to your feet.

"You go take a nice long shower my love, I'll handle his bedtime routine." Florence kissed your cheek, and Timmy mirrored her action as he was sat on her hip. "You deserve it mama."

"Thank you my loves," you couldn't hide the emotional timbre of your voice, your eyes glistened in a direct call out. "Goodnight to you then my baby boy, I'll see you in the morning."

Timmy grinned, "We're making french toast!"

"My tummy is already rumbling," you enthused back, then happily slipped off to your en suite.

After Timmy was clean and in his PJ's, she decided to bring him with her to your room. Where she read him a story as he laid on her, and within a few minutes time he was snoring.

Florence carded a hand through his damp hair, she watched him in amusement as his eyes fluttered beneath the lids. Her tired mind wandered to what he might be dreaming about, the possibilities with him are endless, but she is almost certain it's either dinosaurs or fairies.

His obsession with Tinkerbell was her favorite.

"What's got you smiling?" Florence's lips widened when she saw you toweling your hair.

"I was thinking after the baby is six months we could leave her with my parents and take Tim-Tim here to Disneyland." She placed a kiss to his forehead then went on. "He is big enough to ride things now, and he'd love to meet the characters. We can do the brunch with them."

You smiled at her, delighted by her idea, but then your brows furrowed in confusion. "What about that horror film you were excited for?"

"I told them to push the filming to the end of 2024, or to recast me." Florence shrugged with an air of genuine indifference. "They moved it to October, so baby Pugh will be a year old."

"Baby Pugh," you softly repeated, hand softly caressing your bump as you realized you'd yet to give your daughter a name. Even when she was due to arrive within the next two months. Florence's hand joined yours as you stood beside the bed, and before she could soothe your worries she was gasping, "She kicked."

In all seven months of your pregnancy the little girl had yet to let Florence feel the harsh jabs she subjected you to. One time, when Flo felt like sleeping on the couch, she'd told you that you had to be exaggerating. You weren't, and she knew that now. Sometimes you wondered if you watched Flo's "Fighting With My Family" one too many times whenever you missed her. Because you were now absolutely certain your daughter had the potential to be in the WWE.

"I'm glad that brings you joy," you teased through a wince as the little one kicked again, this time much stronger, your belly even shook.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry I doubted you," Flo giggled softly as she saw an imprint form under the skin, and you smiled tenderly down at her as you moved to put your hand over hers. "You should be, it's because she hears you talking."

Florence tried to deny it, but you were already two steps ahead of her. Showing her the videos of whenever she kicks, and how it's usually as you rewatched old family videos. Each shake or prod of your belly followed her laugh or words.

Your wife gently moved the boy on top of her onto the mattress, then stood up, briefly she kissed your lips before bending to be eye level with your pregnancy bump. "Hello Lyla," she tried, but she was met with a sudden stillness.

"Okay, how about hello baby Patricia."

"No," you vetoed immediately, then the both of you felt a powerful kick, baby Pugh agreed.

"I'm running out of names little one."

"Florence, that was two names," you laughed and she looked up at you with a tired smile. "I'm jet lagged my love, please do forgive me."

"Come on then," you paused, taking her hand in yours as you guided her to her side of the bed, "We'll discuss everything in due time."

Florence however flipped your positions, and gently helped you into your side. Then she straddled your thighs, leaving you to quirk a distrusting brow at her. She shook her head, then gestured to the sleeping boy beside you before her hands began to bring you to bliss.

Every press of her hands against your bump was heavenly, and in no time you yawned. It was a miracle that you were still awake when she finally finished. Clambering off of you she moved to sit beside you instead, leaning down so she could kiss all over your face before she landed on your lips with a contented sigh.

"I think Samantha could be cute." You both chuckled when a soft kick resounded beneath her hand that was still settled atop your bump.

"Timmy and Sammy against the world?" You both chuckled softly at your sleepy son's voice cutting through the already sweet moment. "We could be like mommy and be anti heroes."

"Where does that leave me?" You inquired, and he sleepily shrugged, a move that brought him closer to you, he easily snuggled into your side. "At home making all of us cookies of course."

"Oh of course," you conceded, but sent your wife a disapproving, heatless glare over it.

"A cookie might make us less evil mommy," he reasoned. "Mommy's are never as sweet."

Florence had already settled in behind your son, wearing a mischievous grin as she leaned in to whisper: "That's cause mama pours the entire bag of chocolate chips into the batter."

"Go to sleep," you barked. "Both of you."

"Yes ma'am," the two giggled in sync and you couldn't help but to smile at their childish camaraderie. "I love you mama," your sons tired whisper of affection made your eyes glisten. "I love you too bug." Then he sweetly rubbed your belly. "I love you Sammy Pugh."

He giggled as she kicked, "She loves me too."

"Of course she does," you reasoned, settling a kiss to his temple. "You're her big brother."

Florence observed the moment with an adoring smile, but it held an obvious longing as well. It wasn't unlike her to watch moments like this between the both of you, it's one of the main reasons she was so adamant on taking a break.

Timmy deserved her time, and she not so secretly craved his reserved affections.

Then he rolled over, she softly gasped as he burrowed into her chest. "I love you mommy." Her arms wrapped around him tightly, and she shakily whispered, "I love you my lil sous chef."

Florence's eyes sought yours out as soon as his soft snoring filled the space. You'd already been looking at them, neither of you said a word, you just admired the other as a steady flow of happy tears trailed down your faces.

This was all either of you had ever wanted. A happy little family, unconventionally formed, but brought to the now by unconditional love.

——

3,135 Words

❤️ K 💋

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Rakes never cry

Paring: joshua x fem!reader

Genre: angst, regency!au

warnings: mentions of sex

summary: idk its just sad

words: 817

a/n: I request each and every one of you to comment on this fic don't be a silent reader it helps me as an author to understand my readers and i would love to communicate with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcomed by me so do talk about this fic or send me an ask. Plus, if you loved it enough don't forget to reblog, it will help me reach a larger audience.

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

Someone needs to tell Joshua that whatever he is seeing is wrong, that it’s not your form that is dancing with the man so closely on the floor.

It has been almost a year since he last saw you and he never thought that this is how the reunion with you would happen. But what rights does he have to stop you from dancing with this man you are enamored with, so enamored that you can barely shift your eyes away from him.

He thinks back to the time when it was him holding you that close, twirling you around the ballroom and hearing your beautiful laughs and talking to you in hushed whispers about some gossip he heard while playing poker with the other dukes.

Listening to you laugh when recounted an exceptionally funny story from his recent trip.

He thinks about all the nights he spent with you lying on a haystack at the back of his stable, smoking a cigar and talking about life and even though it was not the most ideal place to have heartfelt conversations, you both somehow made it work.

As he looks you, he notices how you at Jeonghan like he arranged in the stars in the night sky for you, like all the galaxy you hold your eyes were just stars burning with love for the man. He realizes that one year is indeed a long time, and a whole lot has changed in just a mere span of 365 days.

It took him just one afternoon to confess that he never loved you, that you were merely a fascination to him due to the off-limits nature of your relationship. It took him just one afternoon to throw away all those nights of laughter, all the evenings of passionate love making behind the theater while his friends were busy indulging in the new melodious shows with their betrothed or wives.

The thought of losing his status of as the nonchalant Casanova was too much for his foolish boyish mind to accept so he did what he was the best at he fled from the conflict. Never the one to think about consequences, or even about anyone but him, he could never fathom the great pain he caused you by leading you on and not only jeopardizing your probable engagement with other potential suitors but also make you the butt of all the apathetic gossip of the older women.

The minute he felt the presence of something brewing between the two of you that felt like it had deeper meanings than what he is accustomed to, he boarded on the first ship to Caribbean, to be as far away for you as he physically can. Only he never underestimated how strong the brewed feeling actually were.

Not one day went on his voyage when he did not think of you, even when he tried his very best to put the you named thought out of his head. Nights of intoxication and passion became a norm for him during his trip and new destinations and people kept him busy.

But still as he looked out of his cabin at the dusky setting sun, he felt the innate need to hold you close to him, to hear you voice calling out to him while he is beneath you making you feel levels of bliss you didn’t know you were capable of experiencing.

So, when he hopped off that ship on the coast of England the only name that echoed in his mind was yours. He knew he had made a mistake, but he had hoped that you would let it slide, that you would take him back into your loving arms like you always did.

But it seems like faith was reluctant to give him a second chance as he noticed you in the first ball of the season and realized that you had been successfully swept off your feet by someone else who was not him. As much as he would have loved to fight for you, he realized he had lost the battle even before it started, when he had left you stranding alone in the park with your bloodied torn heart on the palm of your hand and the emotions slowly bleeding out of your eyes.

Maybe he would have tried to jeopardize your relationship with Jeonghan, if not for the fact the man went ahead and collected all the pieces of your heart and sewed them together for you and filled those eyes that he hollowed out with the most beautiful galaxy that Joshua had ever seen.

Maybe if he had more courage, he would have tried to get you back but he doesn’t so he will stand here and toast you both and make sure his eyes don’t show too much emotions for he still has the reputation of a rake to hold up and rakes don’t cry.

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

A/n; again i hope you guys liked it.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 8 - Or Down Affections Cloudless Sky

Summary: A blissful sunny day after a long hard night.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.9 Ch.10

AN: Longer chapter, ~7k words Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Kate woke the next morning to the quiet serenade of songbirds and the soft caress of a gentle breeze through the leaves. The day embraced her with warmth, a welcome comfort after a long exhausting night. Sitting up, she found herself on Arthur’s cot, but he was nowhere in sight. A twinge of guilt tugged at her for taking his bed. Her waist was bound in cloth, the pain from her wound lingered but it was nothing she was not used to by now. 

Her gaze drifted to the shoreline, where Belle and Lorena nibbled on cattails, exactly where they had been the night before. She sighed in relief, sensing that calm had returned and a semblance of normalcy had settled over the camp. The smell of eggs and pork filled the air, and her stomach made its hunger known. 

Heading towards the chuck wagon, Kate noted the camp was now organized, a silent testament to the efficiency of her companions. However, Micah was nowhere to be seen. She made a mental note to have a friendly discussion with him later. Seizing a plate, she settled at the wooden table to eat, only to be joined by Abigail moments later.

“Mind if I sit with you?” She asked politely. 

Kate shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Not at all,” she replied, gesturing for Abigail to join her.

Abigail smiled warmly as she settled onto a wooden crate, pulling Kate’s revolver from the pocket of her dress and sliding it across the table. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she admitted, her gratitude shining in her eyes, “for what you did for us last night.”

Kate accepted the revolver and holstered it, waving off Abigail’s thanks. “No thanks needed, Abigail. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Abigail sighed, her gaze drifting towards Jack in the distance, skipping rocks across the water. John was nearby, unloading the wagon while keeping a watchful eye on their son.

“I keep prayin’ for this all to end,” Abigail confessed, her voice tinged with weariness. “My boy deserves a better life than this.”

Kate empathized deeply with Abigail’s longing for a different life for her son. This was no environment to raise a child, but it was the hand they were dealt for survival. During her time here, however fleeting, Kate vowed to find a way to help them break free from this cycle of violence. They deserved a chance at a peaceful life, far removed from the shadows of death.

“I’m not a religious woman Abigail,” Kate began thoughtfully, “but in my life I’ve found that a prayer always has one of three answers; yes, not yet, and I have something else planned for you. I have faith that your boy will turn out just fine.” After all, he had the entire camp as his protectors, willing to sacrifice everything for his safety.

Abigail’s expression softened into a solemn smile. “I know that bravery is found in living,” she replied earnestly, “but sometimes I don’t feel very brave. I felt useless back there. If you hadn’t come along and given that rifle to John, I don’t know what would have happened.” She shuddered at the memories.

“That’s nonsense,” Kate retorted, squeezing Abigail's hand reassuringly, “you’re the bravest woman I know. There’s nothing more courageous than a mother willing to lay down her life for her son. And last night, I saw a strong woman fiercely protecting her child. I knew you would stop at nothing to defend your boy.”

Abigail’s smile deepened at Kate’s words, and she looked down bashfully as she placed her hand over Kate’s. “I hope that’s true.”

“I know that's true,” she interjected with conviction.

With a quiet laugh, Abigail stood to depart. “I think you would make a great mother, Kate,” she said, her words carrying genuine warmth. It meant a lot to Kate to hear such kindness, especially after everything she had been through. Her thoughts drifted back to Arthur and their conversation from the night before.

“Thank you,” Kate said sincerely. Before Abigail could leave, she added, “Have you seen Arthur this morning?”

“I think he’s sleeping against a tree over by the water,” Abigail pointed in his direction, and Kate could see the outline of his legs stretched out beneath a shady tree.

With an extra plate of breakfast and a cup of fresh coffee in hand, Kate made her way over to Arthur to express her gratitude for his service the previous night. As she approached, she was a little surprised to see that he was already awake, writing something in his journal. He closed it with a thunk when he noticed Kate’s figure approaching. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Arthur greeted with a warm smile.

Kate couldn't help but smile back. “Good morning, Arthur,” she said, bending down to hand him his food and drink.

“That for me?” Arthur exclaimed with surprise. She nodded as their hands met to pass the plate. His hunger was palpable. “Aw shucks, Kate, ya didn’t have to bring me breakfast,” he said bashfully, taking a grateful sip of coffee.

Kate settled into the sandy grass beneath the tree next to him, “it’s the least I can do, for patching me up last night,” she explained, “and for letting me steal your cot.” She added with a hint of embarrassment. She didn’t remember when she had fallen asleep. 

Arthur chuckled, taking a bite of his eggs, “don’t mention it. How ya feeling anyways?” He inquired about the bullet wound in her side. 

“I’ve been through worse,” she admitted with a bitter laugh, her hand grazing the side of her hip where he had squeezed the bullet through her flesh. 

Arthur sighed, and gave her a sympathetic look, “I’m so sorry Kate, that is a hard life,” he said sincerely, recalling her recount of her past. “No one deserves to go through that.”

Kate waved off his apology. “I’ve made my peace with it,” she professed, her eyes meeting his own, “but I owe you an apology for how I acted at the ranch.” Arthur wanted to speak up and tell her he was the one who should be apologizing, but he let her continue.

“For what it’s worth. I know what it’s like to hate yourself just as much as you hate the world. And whatever darkness your past carries, I do not think less of you for it.”

His face softened, and his heart pulsed. Arthur felt like he was looking into a reflection of himself, or what he could have been. He concluded last night that Kate is the bravest woman he had ever met, braver than he could ever be. And he greatly admired her for it. Darkness and damnation was nothing new to him, but he believed in his heart that he was already too damned to be brought back to the light. He is a person who has caused so much suffering, he believed he didn’t deserve happiness. He had fully convinced himself of his own cruelty. 

“Kate, I think I’m the one who owes you an apology. I -” he began. Suddenly, Arthur’s name was called from within the camp. His duties never ceased; even on quiet mornings. “Damnit,” he muttered. With a grunt he chugged the last of his coffee before standing. Turning to her he promised, “I’ll come find you later.”

Kate smiled sympathetically with a nod, offering him a parting reminder, “don’t keep hidden what matters Arthur, even from yourself.” 

He placed his hat on his head and tipped it to her in a warm gesture before taking off back into the camp. Kate settled against the tree and was about to close her eyes just as her loyal mare Lorena came trotting over to her side of the beach. Eager for attention. She chuckled at the sight, “how ya doin’ pretty girl.” 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

After valentine, we fled the country and headed even further south and east, camping by a lake. This is pretty much new country for me. If only we had fled west out of Blackwater, we could be free now, out where we belong beyond civilization with the savages and the animals. Here, we won’t ever be at home.

By some miracle, my mean nasty ugly self has yet to scare Kate away. Even after that debt collecting mess. That kinda work is revolting, and it shames me, and I think she is the first woman to ever see me and set me straight. Mary saw this side of me too, but she knew I would never change, so she left me. I could not offer her the life she deserved. Oh Mary, what a couple of fools we were. 

Kate said she came back for Abigail and her boy, from one mother to another. She wants peace for them too, away from this nonsense and lies. Ain’t that what we’re all seeking? Not sure I know myself anymore. Dutch don’t seem too worried that the law keeps finding us, I’m beginnin’ to doubt his wisdom. 

I had never seen a woman fight so brutally as Kate, and now I know why. I can handle the unkindness of existence. But to hear it from the lips of a good honest woman, it damn near broke my heart. I don’t know how she does it. After everything that life handed her, goodness comes naturally to her. Like she does not oppose GOOD vs EVIL as it rages within me. I’ve seen her rage and bloodlust and it frightens me, but she is ashamed of that part of herself. Perhaps we have more in common than I thought. 

Arthur made his way through camp in search of Dutch, a slight annoyance lingering from his interrupted conversations with Kate. Yet Kate seemed understanding; she knew he was a busy man and showed sympathy towards him. Last night, as he tenderly stitched her back together, he saw a different side of her—she had bared her heart and soul. He realized why it was important for him to know this side of her; she saw someone she could relate to. But Arthur believed he was beyond saving.

Unlike Kate, Arthur was born into the flame. Blood and violence had been his companions since childhood; he never experienced the loving embrace of a mother or father. A child born in the flame loves the fire and becomes its fuel, perpetuating its rage.

Kate, on the other hand, was burned by the flame. She had a loving family, a proper and honest life with her husband and child—all stripped away. Then, the fire engulfed her. She had to become the flame to ensure it would never burn her again.

Arthur found Dutch by the lakeshore on the opposite side of camp. "How are you doing, old friend?" Dutch asked, calling out to him.

"Fine," Arthur retorted, his frustration evident. Last night's events and Micah's actions toward Kate weighed heavily on him, and he felt Dutch bore some responsibility. Since arriving at the new hideout, Dutch hadn't even acknowledged Kate, let alone thanked her for her help.

"It's funny... us ending up down here," Dutch continued, his voice reflective. "My daddy died in a field in Pennsylvania fighting this lot. Did I ever tell you that?"

Arthur nodded wearily. "Many times, Dutch."

Dutch noticed his disinterest. "I see I'm boring you, Arthur."

He blew out a breath, his frustration simmering. "No, you're worrying me. We could've lost people last night. Why didn't you send some men back to help us?"

"We have lofty goals, Arthur," Dutch replied, his tone rehearsed. "Our primary objective was to escape the law."

“Our primary objective is to keep everyone safe!” Arthur's voice rose with anger. “Kate took a bullet for the Marston’s, that's more than I can say about you Dutch.” 

"Society is reforming, son," Dutch said, sounding like he was delivering a sermon. "We're trying to make it better, kinder, and truer. There will be casualties..."

"The world don’t want us no more. Why aren't we heading back west? What are we even doing here?" Arthur pressed.

Dutch sighed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We are dreamers in a world of facts, Arthur. But come on, let me make it up to you, son."

Typical Dutch, always deflecting when he didn't have a direct answer. Everything was a strategic move in his mind, and he always had to be the one in control. Arthur followed as Dutch led him further down the beach, where a large rowboat was waiting ashore with Hosea and John standing nearby.

"We've got the day, and it's beautiful out. Thought it'd be nice to take my boys out fishin' like the good old times," Dutch said with a smile. "Hosea says there's a creek around here, probably full of fish."

Arthur tipped his hat to his father and brother as they approached. John looked just as perplexed as Arthur. They weren't kids anymore, and it had been ages since they did anything together that didn't involve something illegal.

"You don't look too rosy, old friend. I thought this warmer weather would—" Dutch began, turning to Hosea.

"My days of looking good are long over, Dutch," Hosea admitted with a chuckle, then turned to Arthur. "How's the young lady? Heard she got shot last night."

Arthur sighed. "She'll be alright. Nothing too bad. But I'm gonna have some words with that sack of shit Micah," he added bitterly.

"I'll do you one better and put a bullet between his eyes," John quipped, earning a chuckle from Arthur. "I owe Kate that much. She seriously did me a solid by lending me her rifle."

"Nobody's shootin’ nobody," Dutch's gravelly voice cut through. "Now c'mon, help an old man get this in the water." He gestured toward the wooden boat.

Arthur and John exchanged a look. Hosea rolled his eyes. "Always bursting the bubble, you. C'mon, boys, let's go catch some fish." He joined Dutch in pushing the boat into the water.

Together, they climbed aboard the wooden craft. John took up the oars and rowed toward the supposed creek Hosea had mentioned. As he rowed, Arthur took in the surrounding scenery. It was a beautiful, cloudless day, the sun beating down warmly. It had been a while since he could relax and enjoy himself, so he set aside his grievances with Dutch, if only for the afternoon.

Dutch was the first to break the silence, as usual. "You know, before any of them back there," he began, gesturing toward the other gang members, "it was just us. The curious couple and their two unruly sons." He chuckled with a grateful sigh. "This feels good, thanks for doing this with me, boys," Dutch added, his expression full of pride and gratitude as he looked at his two sons.

He continued, "I feel like we can really breathe here. As thick and soupy as this air is, it might even do your whistling pipes some good, Hosea."

Hearing Dutch comment on Hosea's health worried Arthur. Since they left Colter, Hosea's health had been declining. The harsh cold had taken its toll, and he feared his father figure was nearing his end. Hosea had a rattling cough that struck fear into Arthur's heart every time he heard it, imagining the worst as Hosea struggled for air.

"I was once in this country with Bessie," Hosea ignored Dutch's comment, lost in his memories of his late wife. "Oh, it feels like a lifetime ago."

“It was a lifetime ago,” Dutch chimed, “what a life we have lived. How well we have fought, especially you two.” His gaze finding Arthur and John’s. “With just a little more money, we’ll be out of here in no time. We just need to stay hidden.” 

Hosea raised a brow, “oh, is that so?” 

“I have a plan Hosea, I’ve got ideas hatching I just,” he hesitated a moment, “I need you with me, not against me. All of you.” 

Arthur nodded, “ ‘course Dutch.” 

“We’re always with you Dutch,” John piped in from the back of the boat. 

The unlikely family rowed the rest of the way in comfortable silence. They listened to the lapping of the water, the song of the seabirds, and felt the gentle breeze tickle their hair. It truly was a beautiful day for fishing. Arthur tilted his face to the sun and relaxed his shoulders. Moments like this made him believe that maybe things would turn out okay for them in the end.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate spent the morning tending to her mare, staying close to the shoreline, brushing and washing the blood from Lorena's coat. She hummed a quiet tune, feeling Lorena's affectionate sniffs on her face. Guilt gnawed at Kate for pushing Lorena too hard the previous night, though the horse seemed unfazed. Memories flooded back of when they first met.

Lorena was found in an abandoned barn, where she and River had chased down horse thieves. Just a frightened filly, barely a year old, she had been left tied up after the thieves fled in a hurry. It took Kate months to earn her trust, enduring every buck and bite. But the bond they forged was unbreakable—Lorena would stop at nothing for her rider, just as Kate would gladly lay down her life for her baby girl.

As Kate combed Lorena's dark mane, she noticed the mare's ears flickering back and forth, as if sensing something. Kate was about to ask her what was wrong when Sadie's voice erupted from within the camp.

“Say whatever you damn well please, but I tell you, if you ask me to chop one more vegetable I’m going to kill you!” She shouted, her frustration evident. 

Mr. Pearson answered her in equal anger, “and if you don’t stop hissing at me, I’m going to kill you!” He retorted. 

Kate spun on her heel and sprinted back into camp toward the chuck wagon. There, she found Sadie and Pearson squabbling, with Sadie brandishing a knife and Pearson looking ready to explode.

“Can’t somebody else help you cook for once? I ain’t your damn housewife!” Sadie shouted, pointing the tip of the knife at Pearson.

“You put that knife down or you’re going to be missing a hand, young lady!” Pearson roared back.

Kate approached the wagon, hands on her hips in disappointment. “What the hell is wrong with you two?” she shouted over them.

“I ain’t chopping vegetables for a living,” Sadie answered, slamming the knife down on the cutting board. She threw her hands up in frustration. “And I ain’t being lazy neither. I can work, but not like this!”

Kate sympathetically tilted her head. Despite their differences, she could understand Sadie's frustration. She'd gladly handle the simple duties and stay out of trouble, but Sadie thrived on adventure. You couldn’t keep a woman like her cooped up for long.

Sadie moved to the other side of the wagon, taking a deep breath before turning back to Pearson and Kate. “My husband and I shared the work, all of it,” she explained. “I tended to the fields, hunted, carried a gun, and used a knife.” Her voice rose in anger. “If you keep me here, I’ll skin this old coot and serve him for dinner!”

“Watch your damn mouth, you crazy goddamn fishwife!” Pearson retorted, pointing an accusing finger. Sadie looked ready to pounce.

It was about time Kate stepped between the two, “that’s enough!” She yelled, using her hands to distance the two feral cats from scrapping, she placed a hand on Sadies shoulder to hold her back. She turned her gaze to Pearson, “that includes you too.” 

The old man raised his hands in defeat with a grunt. Kate turned to Sadie. “Why don’t we ride into town today? See what we can stir up,” she suggested. “Need anything while we’re out, Pearson?”

The cook reached into his wagon and handed over two pieces of paper. “Here’s my list. Could you also post this letter for me?” Kate nodded, tucking the items into her satchel. With a tip of her hat, she let Pearson get back to work.

The two widows climbed into the empty supply wagon, Kate taking up the reins. Together, they departed from camp and made their way toward Rhodes.

“I guess I’m back to bein’ the mailwoman,” Sadie grumbled. “At least we get to go shoppin’.”

Kate chuckled, nudging her knee against Sadie's. “Oh, come on. It ain’t so bad. We just earned ourselves the entire afternoon to do as we please,” she said with a playful wink. Sadie met her gaze and grinned.

Once they were away from camp, Kate broached the conversation again. “You cooled down now?” she asked, her voice gentle and concerned.

“I guess,” Sadie sighed. “I just hate taking orders from that sweaty half-wit. Hey, what did you do with that letter?” she inquired.

Kate chortled, “oh so the mail woman is also reading people’s letters now?” She asked with a laugh, slightly concerned that she may have snooped in Arthur’s personal letter from Mary. 

“Not particularly, I just wanna see who that old bastards writin’ too.” 

Kate shook her head, sighing as Sadie eagerly took the letter. In a mockingly low voice, Sadie began to read aloud. “Dear Aunt Cathy,” she started, “I haven’t heard from you in some time, so I pray to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further…” Her mocking trailed off as she read the first half of the letter.

Kate sucked in an awkward breath. “Maybe you should, uh, stop there, Sadie.”

The woman pressed on, her eyes scanning over the pages. “Blah blah blah, it’s boring. Oh! Wait a sec, listen to this; since we last corresponded I have traveled widely, making no small name for myself. Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife but I can assure you it’s not for lack of suitors…”

Kate snorted and quickly covered her mouth, unable to contain her laughter. Sadie’s infectious chuckles mixed with her own amusement. “You think he ever talked to a woman he didn’t pay for?” Sadie managed to say between laughs.

“I guess we’re all hiding behind something,” Kate replied, meeting Sadie’s amused gaze. The laughter bubbled up again, and soon they were both hysterical. The wagon veered off track as Kate was distracted, but she quickly yanked on the reins to right themselves.

“Oh, you are something else Sadie Adler,” Kate gasped, trying to compose herself.

Sadie chuckled and affectionately slapped Kate’s knee. “I think we’re running with a bunch of idiots dressed up like outlaws.” She handed the letter back to Kate as the wagon pulled into town. They guided the horses over to the general store and hopped down.

“I’ll mail this while you do the shopping,” Kate stated, nodding as they parted ways.

After all these years, Kate still held out hope that her aunt would someday write back to her. In every town she passed through, she asked the post office to mail a letter for her. She continued to write to her aunt, but she stopped receiving word back almost a decade ago. She could only assume her aunt was no longer living, but she enjoyed writing her letters nonetheless. 

It didn’t take long for them to finish their assigned errands; the post office was a short walk from the general store. As Kate walked back, she saw Sadie and the store clerk finishing up loading the wagon. Sadie had purchased a new outfit, her old worn-out jeans and top replaced by a nice pair of black dukes and a fresh yellow button-down. She looked more at ease after getting out of camp, but Kate suspected the fun wasn’t over yet.

"Alright, anything else we need to do here?" Sadie inquired, dusting her hands and placing them on her hips.

Kate smiled, “Care to join me for a drink?” She nodded towards the saloon up the street.

Sadie followed her gaze and turned back with a grin, “After you, Miss McCanon.”

The two widows settled on the porch of the saloon facing the sun, each with a chilled glass of spiked sweet tea. It wasn’t enough to get them drunk, just enough to take the edge off. It was a beautiful day, so why waste it running errands? Kate’s cheeks were flushed, both from the beating sun and her drink, but her heart felt light. After the hell they all went through last night, she felt she deserved this.

Sadie, equally deep in her glass, ran an idle finger around the rim. “You know, my Jake would’ve loved it here. He was always complaining ‘bout the cold, but I told him a hundred times we could move south and he refused,” she said, lost in the memory of her husband.

Kate nodded somberly, “My husband would’ve liked it here too. He was from Kentucky but moved to Boston when he was a kid. I know he missed the country dearly.”

After a moment, Kate asked a question that had been on her mind, “How come you and Jake never had children?” Despite rarely having time together, they enjoyed sharing pieces of their lives with one another. Kate had told Sadie about her husband and daughter over one of their many late-night poker games. It brought them closer, and they had more in common than she realized.

“We thought about it, but where we lived up in the Grizzlies, it was no place to raise a child,” Sadie explained, scanning the town and its bustling people. “Although, I think this country would’ve been great for us. The owner at the general store said they were building a school here.”

“Can’t say putting kids in school won’t make the world better,” Kate said with a somber sigh.

“At least it’s progress,” Sadie added.

“I’m not even sure I know what that word means anymore,” Kate retorted, taking a sip from her glass.

Sadie leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “This town is full of drunks, Kate. I’m not sure anybody here knows what that word means.” Kate looked over at Sadie and couldn't help but let out a laugh. The two girls chuckled as their laughter fed one another.

After an hour, they decided it was time to head back. Sadie took up the reins this time; she was a little tipsy, as were they both at this point. But it was nothing they couldn’t handle. After a few minutes of riding, they left the town perimeter and entered the plains again, when a few men on horses approached them.

"Hey there," one of the men called out, "what you ladies up to?"

“Just headin’ home,” Kate answered politely.

One of the men maneuvered his horse in front of the wagon, causing Sadie to pull the reins to a halt. “You’re in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here,” the man declared.

Lemoyne Raiders? Kate's mind raced as she connected the pieces from last night; these people must be from the same group that attacked them. Her demeanor shifted, and she gazed at the two men before her from under the brim of her hat.

“Oh, is that so?” she began coolly, “I don’t think I’ve heard of you.”

“We’re gonna need you to pull over this wagon right now,” the man on Sadie's side of the wagon demanded. Kate caught the flash of iron from his gun as it glinted in the sun. Sadie noticed it too; she turned her head to meet Kate’s gaze. They shared a moment of unspoken understanding, nodding ever so slightly. With a wink, Sadie signaled to make their move.

“Here’s your toll you son of a bitch!” Kate shouted. In unison the two women upholstered their revolvers and shot the men dead, on either side of the wagon.

The raiders tumbled out of their saddles as Sadie cracked the reins, sending the wagon careening forward at a relentless pace. More men appeared from behind, closing in on them along the dry, dusty road.

“Let’s keep this little squabble between us,” Kate chuckled to Sadie, preparing to deal with the raiders. She aimed her pistol and fired, missing her target. With a frustrated grunt, she took another shot, hitting a man in the shoulder this time. She made a mental note to retrieve her rifle from John when they returned.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Laughter echoed through the secluded creek, startling birds from the trees. Four fishing lines bobbed idly in the water as the two older gentlemen reminisced about embarrassing tales from their boys' younger days. Despite catching only a few perch and bass, the fish weren’t biting much, perhaps due to their wooden watercraft rocking from their rowdy chuckles. But they couldn’t care less; nothing could spoil such a pleasant afternoon.

"Remember when little John got so spooked holding a fish that he fell right out of the boat? Thank God Arthur was with us or the kid would've drowned!" Dutch chuckled heartily, slapping his knee.

John shook his head, laughing at the memory. "Yeah, well, at least I didn't go to the market, buy the three biggest bass, and try to pass them off like I caught 'em," he teased, nodding towards Arthur. "Dumbass didn't think we'd run into the guy who sold it to him!"

“Oh, not this again,” Arthur grinned, feigning annoyance. "Maybe I should toss you overboard right now, Marston. Let's see how fast you can swim to shore," he playfully threatened. "Oh, that's right, you still can't swim!" He chuckled heartily.

The four men shared another round of laughter. As their giggles died down, Hosea noted the time, “We’ve been out here a while, boys. What do you say we head back and get this cooked for dinner?”

The group nodded in agreement, and Hosea picked up the oars. He was about to lower them into the water when Arthur playfully tapped his arm. “Let me row, you two are getting too old for real labor,” he said with a grin. Remembering how weak Hosea was getting, Arthur wasn’t about to let him do the work. He wanted Hosea to enjoy the evening without tiring himself out.

“And you’re too dumb for anything else,” Hosea quipped back with a smile.

Arthur let out a hearty laugh as he took his seat and lowered the oars. “You’re still too quick for me, old man!”

Hosea playfully bopped him on the top of his head. “I just enjoy picking on children,” he winked. Their banter flowed effortlessly; Arthur always enjoyed spending time with Hosea. He loved Dutch too, but he saw Hosea more as a father figure. Hosea was his role model, and Arthur was his biggest fan.

“Well, I guess we didn’t have much luck fishing,” Dutch remarked after a moment, looking at their small haul.

“Bad luck and stupid fish,” John mused.

“Or maybe the fish had good luck and we’re just stupid,” Arthur added with a snicker.

As Arthur rowed steadily, following the shoreline back to camp, Hosea let out a sigh and gazed out at the water. After a moment, he spoke up. “How do you boys feel about a song?” 

The boys launched into a hearty old sea chanty led by Hosea, with Arthur and John joining in on the chorus. As they neared camp, laughter escaped them, a shared contentment settling in. Dutch and Hosea took the fish, signaling they would bring them to Pearson, while Arthur and John guided the boat to a secluded spot on the other side of camp to safeguard it from prying eyes.

Pushing the boat through the shallow waters, John broke the quiet. “I had fun today. Wasn’t sure what Hosea was up to dragging me out of bed this morning, but I actually enjoyed it.”

Arthur chuckled, a hint of playful jab in his voice. “Maybe now you’ll remember to take your own son fishing sometime.”

“Maybe, if someone wasn’t already taking him,” John shot back, irritation creeping into his tone.

Arthur straightened, his expression serious. “Don’t give me that shit, Marston,” he spat,” If you’re not stepping up, what’s the difference? You’ll just run off again.”

“Why are you so interested in my life? Don’t you have your own?” John retorted. 

Arthur sighed, his tone softer, “just figure yourself out John, you can’t be two people at once.”

John scoffed, a touch of bitterness coloring his voice. “You’re one to talk, Morgan! At least my kid is alive. Can’t say the same about yours.” He immediately regretted his words as Arthur’s eyes darkened, and he moved closer through the water.

“I am one to talk Marston,” Arthur replied, his conviction mixed with regret. “You left that boy, your family, for nearly a whole damn year!”

John grimaced, avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “You know it ain’t that simple. I wasn’t—” He paused, then continued with a lower voice. “I wasn’t ready to be a father.”

Arthur softened, sympathy in his tone. “And you think I was? Look how that turned out.”

“See? You and I are the same,” John remarked.

“No, we’re not,” Arthur countered with gravity. “You have a family, John. For the love of God, don’t abandon them.”

The boat finally rounded the bend, hidden from strangers’ view. Arthur said nothing more as he left John and headed into camp, his mind heavy with old memories and lingering regrets.

As Arthur made his way toward the fire, ready to settle in for the evening with a cold beer and fresh fish for dinner, rowdy laughter near the chuck wagon caught his attention. To his surprise, Kate and Sadie were busy unloading supplies for Pearson.

"What’s got you girls laughing like a couple of hyenas on caffeine?" Arthur asked with a smile, relieved to hear Kate’s laughter lifting his spirits. He found himself thinking of her more and more, even wishing to be the reason behind her smile.

Sadie chortled and exchanged a look with Kate. "Don’t worry ‘bout it, cowboy," she replied with a laugh. Pearson waved off the girls, and Sadie bid them farewell, mentioning she was off to freshen up before dinner. Kate turned back to Arthur with a smile, and the two of them made their way to the fire to catch up on their day's adventures.

"Heard you caught us some fish for dinner," Kate noted.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, it ain’t much, but it'll do. What were you up to today?"

Kate leaned back against the log, stretching her legs toward the fire. "Posted some mail, did a little shopping, got some drinks with Sadie…" She trailed off, then added, "and, uh, may have run into those raiders again." Arthur sat up, shooting her a worried look.

"Easy there, cowpoke," Kate reassured him, giggling. "Sadie and I took care of it. Just a couple of dumbasses trying to make a quick buck." She shook her head with annoyance.

As the rest of the gang members gathered around the fire with the setting sun, Arthur and Kate continued to chat about their day. The smell of fried fish filled the air, and everyone eagerly awaited dinner. Bottles of beer were passed around, and Kate accepted hers with gratitude. It felt like the perfect way to end the day—crisp drink, good food, and great company.

Javier settled in with his guitar, but before he could strum a tune, he turned his attention to Kate. "Why don’t you play us something tonight?" He offered her his guitar with both hands. Surprised by the gesture, Kate shook her head bashfully. "Oh c’mon, cariño, don’t be shy! Arthur told me you used to play."

Kate shot Arthur a teasing glance, and he held up his hands defensively. "Alright, I’ll give it a go," she caved.

As Kate tuned the wooden instrument to her liking, she caught sight of a familiar face entering camp—Micah. Arthur noticed him too and started to rise, but Kate gestured for him to stay put. "If you do all the talkin’ for me, Morgan, I’m gonna forget how to talk," she said with a reassuring grin. She slipped a small bone knife from her satchel, concealing it from the others. "Be right back," she said as she got up to intercept Micah before he could find Dutch.

With purposeful steps, Kate approached Micah. Threatening him in front of the entire camp wouldn’t work, and brute force had already been attempted—she needed a new approach.

"Micah!" Kate called out in a bogus friendly tone, drawing the attention of everyone around. She saw the confusion in his eyes, tinged with arrogance. "Well, looks like you’re still here. Guess I should apologize for my aberration," he said, his voice like a hissing snake.

Kate chuckled as she closed the distance between them. "No apology needed, Mr. Bell. It was just a misunderstanding," she said loud enough for the others to hear.

To his surprise, Kate draped her arm over his shoulder in a seemingly affectionate gesture, their heights nearly matching. Before Micah could react, he felt the sharp tip of something against his neck.

"Walk with me," Kate said in a low voice, her grip firm on his neck. She led them away from the camp, speaking directly into his ear, much like he had done to her when she first joined the gang.

"I’m not here to hand out gold stars for your sudden epiphany, Micah. Try me again, and I promise you, I will return the favor tenfold," she spat, the knife pressing dangerously against his jugular. One false move and he would be bleeding out in the dry grass. 

Micah chuckled, his demeanor shifting. "Is that an invitation?" he retorted dryly.

Kate brushed off his insinuation with a steely gaze. "I assure you, I've dealt with far scarier men than you. You're nothing but a coward hiding behind your pawns. I've faced men like you, tortured men like you. You relish in others' suffering, but you haven't known suffering yourself. And I won't show you mercy."

With that, she withdrew her hand, flicking it upwards in a swift but gentle motion that left a shallow cut on his chin, drawing blood. "Consider this your one and only warning."

With a dismissive flick of her boot, Kate pivoted on her heel and strode back toward the welcoming glow of the campfire, leaving Micah to nurse his wounded pride. As she moved away, she caught a glimpse of him rubbing his chin thoughtfully, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips, ““you and I would make a good team Kate.” She rolled her eyes and continued her walk. 

Seating herself beside the crackling flames, Kate casually picked up Javier's guitar, her movements deliberate yet nonchalant. The instrument felt familiar in her hands, providing a comforting distraction from the lingering tension.

Arthur leaned in close, his voice a low murmur against her ear. "How'd it go?" he inquired, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

Kate couldn't help but laugh, her confidence unwavering despite the encounter with Micah. "Oh, you know," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eye, "the usual threats and warnings. I might have mentioned something about plucking his eyeballs out and serving them for dinner... but I was only half serious." She shot Arthur a playful wink before turning her attention to the rest of the gang.

Seated comfortably around the fire, the gang members welcomed Kate's return with warm smiles and eager anticipation. She glanced around at her companions, a sense of camaraderie settling over the group.

"So, what'll it be tonight?" Kate asked, her fingers beginning to pluck at the guitar strings. 

As the flames danced and shadows flickered, memories of her father's cheerful tunes filled Kate's mind. She recalled a particular song he used to sing on balmy summer evenings, a lighthearted melody that brought joy even after the toughest of days. Adjusting her grip on the guitar, Kate launched into the familiar tune, her voice carrying over the crackling fire with a warmth that echoed the affection she felt for her makeshift family.

I dream in the morning, that she brings me water,

And I dream in the evening that she brings me wine.

Just a poor man’s daughter, from Puerto Peñasco.

South of the border, in old Mexico.

There’s a great hot desert, south of Mexicali.

And if you dont got water, you’d better not go. 

Tequila won’t get you across that desert,

To Evangelina, in old Mexico.

The fire I feel for the woman I love, is drivin’ me insane.

Knowing she’s waitin’, and I can’t get there. 

God only knows that I wracked my brain, to try to find a way, 

To reach that woman, in old Mexico.

Evangelina, I miss you so. 

[lilap20]

CHAPTER I : The meeting of eyes

In the year 105, King Viserys organized moments of rejoicing for the birth of his future child, whom he said was the male heir. Rhaenyra 15 years towards his 16th year Nymeria 13 years towards his 14th year

PRINCESS POV

My mind frees as I observe the wings of my dragon getting lost in the clouds having its scale color, Nightmares seems to enjoy the flight although pressed by Syrax behind him who is doing everything to catch up with us.

Starting the day with a dragon race with my eldest is one of the best ways to spend the day. His dragon is bigger than mine in age but mine is taller and wider, its wings more spread than those of Syrax the golden dragon make it fast and agile.

Nightmares growls in the clouds as I dive through them allowing us to see King’s Landing, King’s Landing and the sea around us. The locals pay no heed to the dragons flying overhead, although they roar and growl in unison. Soon we arrive at the Dragonpit and my dragon's large wings make the dust rise. His landing makes the ground vibrate from his weight and he roars in victory because we have won my sister.

A smile hangs on my lips as I climb off him while stroking his long gray-white neck. He simpers a little with his blue gaze in mine as I laugh at my victory.

-Princess, I think it would be good if we allocated a new cave for Nightmares; he is getting too big for a closed cell, I would recommend an open cell. Meivos the goalkeeper intervenes

I nod positively towards the guardian, my hand warm on my dragon's scale and he does the same. Soon the ground is struck by the presence of Syrax and her dragon rider, the golden dragon roars in frustration something that can only make me laugh, and Rhaenyra gets off her, stroking her scales.

-It's nothing, we'll win another day. She whispers

The dragons easily surrender to the guardians and I turn to my sister with a big smile on my lips.

-I got you.

She laughs while pushing me then takes off her gloves with a blissful smile on her lips.

-He will become as big as Caraxes, your dragon.

-I hope so. I respond by taking her by the shoulders, a big smile stretching my lips

Rhaenyra greets the head of our father's Royal Guard and then runs towards her best friend Lady Alicent who is waiting for her in the carriage. I walk past them, glancing in greeting at the daughter of the Hand of the King.

-Did you enjoy your walk, Princess Nymeria? She asks with a beautiful smile

-I enjoyed it, thank you Lady Alicent. I answer as someone brings me my horse

I mount my pitch-black stallion without meeting my big sister's eyes. Not a day goes by without Rhae asking me to be more open with others, to get out of my books and open up to the people of this palace and to her friend. I just don't have time for that, I'm focused on my mother's fate, my apprenticeship, and my future trips if possible.

I leave the two young women there while my horse trots before galloping through the streets of the city. Freedom and the wind tangle my curly hair even more and I think my curls escaped from my thin braid once I passed the gates of the Red Keep.

-Ser Erryck, thank you for the welcome. I smile as I get off my horse while he holds the reins

-The Princess left early this morning. Said the man with the big beard like a Dotraki

-I have a lot of things planned before the Lords arrive for the big celebration. I explain as he entrusts my stallion to the squires

Following me closely, my faithful guard Ser Erryck Cargyll asks no more questions, following me wherever I go. We pass by my mother's rooms and he stops in front of the door before knocking on it announcing me.

-Mother, I said as I returned, I am back.

I see her laying on her sofa bed a fan in her hand as beautiful as the sunrise. The strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. When she sees me, her pale blue eyes light up and she holds out her hand to me, which I grab while sitting down in an armchair.

-How is my little dragon? She asks a suffering smile

My pale purple gaze slowly darkens as I look at her closer, she is so unwell, and no one wishes to free her from the burden she carries on her shoulders, the conception of a male heir.

-I'm fine mother, flying then galloping, are the best activities to start the day. I respond by stroking his thumb

She smiles at me again, standing up with a grunt and I quickly get up to support her, the servants doing the same. My mother suffers enormously, between unfinished pregnancies, babies who died in childbirth, it is the Gods who prevent her from going through it.

-I pray that the Gods help you mother to get through this ordeal. I breathe while taking a glass of water from him

She takes it with a grateful but grimacing smile as I sit up again running my hands through my completely disheveled hair.

-The Seven? she asks in a sly tone

I run away from his gaze, untangling my braid, letting go of my hair to drink from my glass, a laughing smile on my lips.

My Faith is not with the Seven Gods of these lands, but with the Gods of Ancient Valyria to the great dismay of many Maesters.

-My darling daughter, you should probably take a bath for the dragon scent before tonight, and comb her hair. Advises Queen Aemma to have a more serious look on her face

I stand up to kiss the forehead of the love that gave me life, then head towards the door, nodding.

-I promise mother, only I have to go to the Library, Lady Talyssa is waiting for me there.

-Good learning, my dear.

I close the door smiling at my knight as we head into the Library. Today I am wearing my mother's colors of pale blue, the dress is embroidered in gold, the blue fabric running down to my feet. My curly hair flows over my shoulders and back and the Lords and Ladies of the court bow to my presence, even my shadow.

Finally we arrive in front of the door of the Great Library where my friend and lady-in-waiting, Lady Talyssa, is waiting for me in the company of Maester Aerys.

When they see me, they both turn around and bow, which makes me laugh and roll my eyes.

-No need for that and you know it, I said, stepping forward with my hands clasped in front of me. So where are we?

-The Iron Islands your Highness. The Maester answers me

I like to educate myself, to learn a little more about what constitutes the Kingdom and what lies beyond it, what happened before us, our history.

So I immerse myself in my studies, marking, reading, discussing, to try to put everything together and understand better. When the Sun is high in the sky the servants bring us something to eat, and I barely touch my meal because I am so focused. Lady Talyssa, whose red hair is braided on her head, consults with equal devotion using her blue eyes the books in front of her.

That's how we met, in a library. She had escaped from the group of Lady sent by Tarth to court. I found him in the Great Library reading and looking at the maps. Since that day she has become my lady in waiting and my best friend. We never left each other, and I promised him that together we would travel a lot.

Night falls quickly without me even being able to see it coming, the Maester puts away the books while I still try to decode the language of the Dotraki, one of the most difficult languages ​​to learn. The sound of the door opening doesn't distract me, but my oldest's words do.

-Nymeria, we are expected, and you promised mom to take a bath because of the smell of the dragon. She growls with her hands on her hips

-Excuse me. I stand up to greet each person present

We run towards my apartments where the bath is already ready but probably lukewarm. I quickly undress, forgetting that the servants are there, then dive into my bath, asking for the sponge to soap me.

I hadn't noticed that it was late, I risked making us late. Damn Nymeria.

Once bathed, I am helped to put on my dress for the big bath. A white dress with puffed sleeves and a collar embroidered in red with dragons on it, a golden belt falls from my hips, it is fine and in harmony with the golden designs on my arms.

While Bila does my hair with two small braids gathered at the back that flow over the rest of my silver curly hair, I put on my rings and a beautiful pair of earrings.

-You are ready Princess. Said Eila one of my ladies as she finished tying my shoes

-Thank you girls, you are fast. I sincerely thank you before looking in the mirror

A beautiful Targaryen Princess, a true beauty, that's what my father says, and my uncle and my mother keep repeating. They never cease to salute our unreal and celestial beauty.

-My sister, we are expected. Rhae jumps impatiently

She is thirsty to see the crowd, thirsty to see people celebrating even if her heart keeps reminding her of our mother who is forced to be present this evening despite her suffering.

Rhaenyra is dressed in a golden dress flowing down to her straight feet, there are red trims on her dress and her hair is styled in a braid gathered into a beautiful back bun. Bejeweled I can notice the new necklace on her neck and see how proud she is to wear it. I can smell my uncle there without even seeing him, and Nyra meets my gaze.

-We'll discuss it later, she said, touching the necklace, father is waiting for us. She continues, pulling me with her hand

All the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms are present, even those coming from the North. Our arrival, although late, will be noticed and all eyes will be on us judging by the noise behind its doors.

-Ser Erryck is my mother already in the room? I ask looking at the door

-She is, Princess. My KingGuard answers me.

I swallow as does Nyra who holds my hand encouraging me to go. Ser Erryck asks for the door to be opened and the sight of all these people seated at a table for a newborn who has not yet arrived almost turns my stomach.

Our arrival makes noise, the benches push each other, the cries settle down to a faint whisper as my sister and I cross the room, at the same time the valet announces our titles.

-Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Nymeria Targaryen, daughters of King Viserys I and his Lady, Queen Aemma.

My mother's eyes shine as she sees us walking with our heads held high, while everyone around us lowers them. Nyra and I are one in these moments, even if we are different, both physically and personally. Where Rhaenyra is sophisticated and dazzling, I am natural and simple, but I excel in knowledge while my sister doesn't like studying.

I can see my uncle Daemon smiling at us and I smile back happy to see him. Quickly my sister and I took our respective places. I furtively kiss my mother's forehead before letting my gaze wander over the guests refusing to listen to my father and his dream story once again.

Quickly I find the Northern table and I observe Lord Rickon Stark with his bannermen, next to him, a young man with closed faces and neutral looks is painted in front of me. He looks at the king with a blank expression and alone reflects the Northern beauty, rustic, virile, but with attractive features. His hair is shaved on the sides but braids adorn his head with a small beard his ringed hands are clasped in front of him.

-To the Queen! Do they all shout?

I jump when I hear them, fear painting my face cutting me off from my adoration of the Nordien. Nyra gives me a sideways glance as she sits down and I do the same. How many people noticed my daydream?

I am between my mother and my uncle Daemon, my eldest is between my father and my mother.

My mother, this pure diamond, smiles despite her great fatigue and suffering, dressed like a Queen and wearing her hair like one, she thanks each Lord and Lady who comes to greet her and shower her with gifts.

Discreetly while we are being served the good dishes, I squeeze his hand under the table which attracts his attention. If only she could speak High Valyrian we could have spoken out loud and not whispered.

-How are you ? I ask in one breath

A tender smile appears on his face and his hand caresses my cheek tenderly.

-I'm fine, my miracle, after eating I'll retire to my apartments, the party won't be too long for me. Does she reassure me

I nod gently, turning back to my plate, getting ready to eat. Only I have no appetite, I only eat a little bread and cheese, my turkey and the game hunted for this evening remain intact on my plate.

I huff terribly from boredom, and the guests are already dancing downstairs, Rhaenyra has already lured Alicent for a dance and I enjoy watching them. My eyes fall on the Northerners, and what I see arouses my curiosity. They are loud, and only talk to each other, they are respectful to the maids although some are drunk, but they show no signs of disrespect.

My gaze again finds this same young man next to the Lord of Winterfell, he also laughs, relaxing the features of his face, and while many will think that his features are boorish or brutal, I find them attractive and full of mystical beauty. He looks like a young warrior straight out of my story and poetry books.

My gaze stays on him, and my throat goes dry as I can't look away, behind me I can hear Ser Erryck asking me if everything is okay, but I don't think I really answered.

-His name is Cregan Stark dear niece, he is the future Lord of Winterfell and Governor of the North.

My uncle's voice startles me and I turn quickly towards him. His childish, sly smile that almost never leaves his face when he faces me welcomes me.

-You scared me, Uncle Daemon. I respond by pushing him a little

His laugh makes me laugh, he has always managed to make me laugh even when I am concentrated in my studies, he is the one who relaxes us in times as oppressive as tonight.

-And you, you are almost drooling on the Northerners' table. Daemon mocks

I feel the blush rising in my face and look away from my uncle to look at them again, young Cregan Stark does not move from his remaining seat with his father while others from his table go off to dance.

-He must be in his tenth and eighth year, and he is very tense. His fighting skills are exemplary and worthy of a true warrior. Continue my uncle always with this sly smile

-Why tell me all this? I finally ask looking at him again

His smile widened.

-And take off that smile if you want. I blush even more

-You are so curious, my dear niece, I thought you would like to know more about the young Lord. He replies, shrugging his shoulders.

I lower my eyes to answer.

-Perhaps you are not wrong, uncle.

Daemon bursts into loud laughter and even though the music is loud, some people notice him, including young Stark. My body becomes one with the chair now that I meet his black gaze as deep as the night. He doesn't smile, only nods at me and I do the same, watching him then turn to his father to argue.

-You got me noticed. I scold annoyed at my uncle

-A good point for you, it will be easier for you now to ask him to dance. He said, winking at me.

My fist goes to his shoulder and he laughs a little more calming down, then out of nowhere he pulls out a small bag and hands it to me.

-Gifts from my travels, hoping that they will allow me to be forgiven for my indiscretion.

I can see my mother glancing at the bag containing the presents my uncle gave me, though she's not worried about what he might give Rhaenyra because usually they're jewelry, she's Worried about me because my uncle is bringing me more masculine gifts.

My eyes light up when I first take out a magnificent compass and when I open it tears almost fall.

-It's made of pure gold, I couldn't help but draw your Dragonstone marker above the hands. He explains

Indeed the mark of all Targaryens is engraved on the top face inside the compass, the hands can point to all the kingdoms of the Seven Kingdoms and the worlds explored by man thanks to the drawing on it.

-She is magnificent, uncle. I thank the throat tied with emotion

-If you like it, I'll be delighted. He said with a sincere smile

A muffled noise cuts off our discussion and I turn to my mother who gets up as discreetly as possible. I waste no time and get up to help him as best I can.

-Don't get up Prince Daemon, she said, stopping Daemon who was heading towards her, I want to go out discreetly, without attracting more attention.

Daemon nods and my mother smiles gratefully at him before slipping into the arms of her ladies who carefully guide her towards her chambers. I sit back down, not without looking at her until she disappears from my field of vision.

-Ser Erryck? I call softly but firmly

-Yes Princess? The guard kneels to be at my height

-Follow my mother until she returns to her chambers, then please come back, I want to make sure the ride goes well.

My gaze meets his and he responds with a nod before walking towards my mother. Despite the presence of my most faithful companion, I do not feel reassured.

-Everything will be fine, my little traveler, your mother is strong, and your knight is with her. Daemon reassures me

-Thank you Uncle, I smile.

-Now that no one is really looking at us and your knight is not here, here is your second gift.

Daemon takes out a long leather sleeve from his large bag at the foot of the table and my heart panics.

-It is…

-Take it out, but discreetly. Daemon whispers

I look around making sure no one is looking at me then I caress the leather before grabbing the gift's grip. I take a sword out of the sheath, and my eyes flow with tears that I hold back. It is medium but large, a gold bracelet surrounds the leather sleeve its touch is almost like that of dragon scales, and the blade is as thin as a needle. The Targaryen symbol sits on top of it and I can't help but widen my eyes.

-It’s Valyrian steel. I whisper amazed

-Yes, like Dark Sister. Now put that blade away before someone confiscates it from you.

I put away my beautiful sword, and jump into the arms of my surprised uncle, who hugs me protectively.

-Thank you uncle, I will never forget this gift. I thank him with tears in my eyes

-You’re welcome, little traveler, now go and enjoy the evening, or the cards that I had delivered to your rooms. He said with a wink.

I jump out of my chair not without kissing his forehead, I greet my father with a gentle bow before kissing his cheek then, with Ser Erryck at my side, I head to my room where my new cards are waiting for me, my sword and my compass upon me.

Only, as I stay up in the late evening lit by the candles in my room, the look of young Stark haunts my vision and my thoughts. I can't get rid of him, I force myself to forget him but his look dominates my thirst for knowledge. Exhausted, my eyes red from the effort, I go to my bed and collapse from fatigue, and my last vision are his eyes.

[dearingsxx]

I've never actually finished watching Eden's Gate but live action Faith has my heart.

I was also thinking about getting a tattoo with the text "Welcome to the bliss" or "Eden's Gate is opened to those who have Faith"

[take-the-hidden-paths]

HIDDEN PATHS: A Celebration of the Smaller Tolkien Canons

Hello, and welcome to Hidden Paths, a fortnight-long event dedicated to the celebration of smaller Tolkien canons!

We all know and love the tales of Tolkien's Middle-earth, but the Professor's creative and academic endeavours didn't stop there.  However, fanworks for smaller Tolkien canons (such as Farmer Giles of Ham, Mr. Bliss, Leaf by Niggle and more) are much rarer than works inspired by their Middle-earth counterparts.  This event was created to be a low-pressure, low-commitment opportunity to explore those lesser known works, and create and share fanworks based on them.

Define “smaller Tolkien fandoms”. 

Basically, any Tolkien canon or text (including academic works and translations) that is not explicitly set in Middle-earth and is not based on The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or The Silmarillion and closely related histories.  This includes, but is not limited to:

Beowulf/Sellic Spell

Farmer Giles of Ham

The Fall of Arthur

The Father Christmas Letters

Finn and Hengest

The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son

The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun

Leaf by Niggle

The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún

Mr. Bliss

Mythopoeia

The Notion Club Papers

Pearl

Roverandom

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Sir Orfeo

Songs for the Philologists

Smith of Wootton Major

The Story of Kullervo

Tolkien (2019 film)

Tolkien's essays, poems, letters and non-ME artwork

We also accept fanworks based on The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (because it collects a number of poems that were not originally intended as part of the Middle-earth canon) and The Book of Lost Tales (because it differs so significantly from later versions of the legendarium), and/or centring characters or concepts that only appear in extremely early drafts of The Lord of the Rings (e.g. Trotter).  

We know that this leaves a bit of a grey area, but ultimately, we will trust and accept the judgement of fanwork creators.  Act in good faith, and assume that others have done the same. 

How does it work? 

At the start of the event (14th February) the mod will post seven optional prompts to inspire you.  There will be a thematic prompt, a character-based prompt, a setting-based prompt, a text prompt, a visual prompt, an audio prompt, and a wildcard prompt.  A second batch of prompts will be posted on the 21st. 

If you like the prompts, then use any or all of them to create and share a fanwork based on one or more small Tolkien canons.  If they don't speak to you, then please feel free to do your own thing – the prompts are there to spark creativity, not impede it! 

What types of fanworks do you accept? 

Anything you like.  Fic, poetry, meta, art, edits, vids, podfic, craft, cosplay, rec lists, playlists, compositions, interviews with fellow fans...it's all good. 

Are there any minimum requirements? 

No, none.  Want to write a six-word story?  Be our guest. 

Are crossovers permitted? 

Yes!  We accept crossovers with the Middle-earth canons, and with non-Tolkien fandoms.  We only ask that one of the smaller Tolkien canons plays a significant role in your fanwork. 

What do you consider a significant role? 

We don't.  The event is intended to be low commitment and low stress for both participants and the moderator, and we trust that people will act in good faith.  We are not going to police fanworks or apply an arbitrary definition of “significant” - we leave that up to the creator to decide. 

Does actor RPF count? 

For the purposes of this event, no it doesn't, unless you are also drawing on elements from a smaller canon (e.g. Liv Tyler encountering the Shadow-Bride).

Where do I post my fanworks? 

We have an AO3 collection, but you may post your fanworks anywhere you like.  We'd appreciate a link back to our Dreamwidth or Tumblr page, though, to spread the word about the event! 

Are there any restrictions on rating or content? 

Nope.  Tag and warn appropriately, as you normally would, but make whatever your heart desires. 

Can I post fanworks that were inspired by or created for another event, or created prior to the event's inception? 

Yes!  The goal is to celebrate and increase content for the smaller Tolkien fandoms.  Please feel free to share your creations and add them to the collection, regardless of whether they were created specifically for this event. 

I want to take part but I don't know anything about the smaller canons.  Help!?

Tolkien Gateway has helpfully collated a list of Tolkien's writings, and some of the articles reproduce or link to the actual text.  This is a great place to start browsing, and to find out more about a text before you invest in your own copy.

Have a look at fanworks for some of the smaller canons and see what appeals.  Innumerable Stars and TRSB both have several works for the smaller canons in their collections, and many of them can be understood with no prior knowledge of the source material.

Lists of characters appearing in the various texts and canons can also be a useful jumping off point - like this one for The Book of Lost Tales.

Many of the smaller canons are just that - small!  If you can get hold of a copy from your local library, book store or from a fellow fan, they are generally quick to read and digest.

If anyone has any other ideas and resources for folks wanting to dip a toe into the smaller canons, please get in touch so they can be added to this list. 

When does the event run? 

Officially, February 14th-28th.  Unofficially, as long as you like; the prompts will stay up and the AO3 collection won't close.

[adelaidedrubman]

it’s the most wonderful time of the week:)

was tagged by my loves the legends @blissfulalchemist @katsigian @g0dspeeed this week for the wip thing.

same as last week: we’re officially on hallmark au lockdown. here’s another little excerpt of have faith in christmas. warnings for bliss/angel stuff/unethical experiments/brief description of injection with needles

“I’m sure Joseph would be far more disappointed to find one of his children was spending Christmas Eve cooped up in a lab than he would be over one lost batch of bliss.”  Faith hopped down from the table before Jenna could respond, too preoccupied with the bow at Faith’s back fluttering dangerously close to the flame of the bunsen burner as she spun to stand on the other side of Jenna, grabbing the chemist’s hands to pull her along in the direction of the door.  “In fact, I think the Father would be thrilled to have you join us for Christmas Eve dinner,” Faith offered with a beaming smile, leaning forward on the balls of her feet and bringing Jenna’s hands to rest between the women, delicately held. “We’re having a Seed family gathering over at the ranch, and we’ve all been welcomed to bring a guest.” 

Faith stepped backward, keeping a tight hold on Jenna’s hands as she did. “Forget all your data and equations for just one night to get into the Christmas spirit?” she asked, words soft and airy in their gentle coaxing. “Be my guest for dinner?” Jenna looked down from Faith’s eyes, taking in the sight of her fingers delicately wrapped in the blonde’s grasp as she considered the proposition, weighing the value of the anthropological knowledge that could be gained by attend a cult leader’s inner circle Christmas dinner against the biochemical knowledge that could be gained by completing the current production through to trial. Factoring in the almost crystalline sparkle in pleading green eyes, the warmth of lithe fingers squeezing —  “I shouldn’t, I’m afraid,” Jenna replied hesitantly, pulling her hand’s from Faith’s grip and turning back to her lab station. She reached for her rubber gloves, rolling them back up her arms with a sharp snap as she added, “Do send along my best, and let Joseph know I will plan to make it to morning services tomorrow, though.” Even with back turned, Jenna could tell the acknowledging hum Faith gave came from low in her chest, an unusually heavy sound.  Faith drew in a deep breath, as if resetting herself to speak in breezy sing-song once again and say, “At the first chime of Christmas bells in the morning then….” Jenna heard the soft padding of bare feet against the floor, the door creaking as it was pushed open for the herald to take her exit. “And I know in my heart and soul the Christmas spirit will have found you by then.” With that, the door closed, Jenna unable to get out a proper goodbye before it settled into the frame.  “Well,” Jenna remarked to the Angel that had been sitting silently in the stool beside the lab station as she inserted the tip of a syringe into a test tube to pull the plunger and suck up the green liquid, “let’s fill you with some Christmas spirit then, hm?” “Hrm-ragh,” the Angel growled in reply as Jenna pierced the vein of their neck with the needle to inject the solution — thrashing and jumping to their feet with a quick surge of aggression that never fully peaked into violence, leaving the subject standing there with awkwardly clenched and swaying fists.  Yes, it would be a typical night in the lab, Christmas Eve or no.

sending no pressure sharing tags out to my dears @socially-awkward-skeleton @corvosattano @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat @roofgeese @shallow-gravy @strangefable @8bitpizzacoupons @orionlancasterr @v0idbuggy @jackiesarch @quickhacked @firstaidspray @strafethesesinners @clicheantagonist @henbased @simplegenius042 @miyabilicious @nightbloodbix @thedeadthree @shellibisshe @deputyash @confidentandgood @captastra @voidika @just-another-wasteland-merc @poetikat @afarcryfrommymain @josephslittledeputy @florbelles @unholymilf @belorage @cassietrn

[vasiktomis]

The Seeds Eating You Out - AFAB!Reader (18+)

Tags/Warnings: Humiliation, angst, illiteracy, yelling.

Buy me a coffee! | Commission Me!

Joseph

Joseph doesn’t beat around the proverbial bush. He wants to make sure you’re satisfied.

He takes an ultra long time worshiping your body.

Lots of kisses.

After a while the spit in his beard goes cold and it feels like a gross stamp.

Also, you realise that despite all the worship, he never actually looks at your face.

When he finally settles between your legs and you’re looking down at the top of his head, you realise how aggressive the male pattern baldness really is.

A strangled sound escapes him the moment he lowers his face to your cunt.

You look down again. He’s crying. Choked sobs, shoulders wracking against your thighs.

“I’m sorry.” He blubbers, drooling saliva and snot all over your vulva. “My wife had a vagina, too, you see.”

Deep in the ocean of his balls, the sperm that will one day become the fetus that will one day become Ethan Seed is strangling its siblings to death. It will lead the New Eden.

___________________________

Faith

Faith is one to keep her nails clipped, god bless.

She just hasn’t washed her hands since the 3rd grade.

There’s almost as much grime on her fingers as there is her terminally bare feet, which are leaving patches of wet grit and sand and the odd blade of grass on your sheets as she crawls toward you on the mattress.

“Welcome to the bliss.” She smiles, holding eye contact until she’s lowered herself enough that you can only see the whites of her eyes.

A muddy hand grips your thigh, and it distracts you from a long lick through your folds, and the expectant look that goes unanswered.

Bravely, she continues on. First in an ‘A’ sequence, then ‘B’.

She’s tracing the alphabet into your clit, and what’s worse, you can hear her humming along so as not to forget her place.

When she gets to ‘F’, she stops and cranes her head to meet your gaze again.

“F for Faith.” She whispers, expressionless.

“That’s right. Very good.” You nod, hesitant.

You wish to leave this place.

___________________________

John

For the past minute, John has been rubbing your shit like a scratch 'n' win lottery card. Sweat gathers on his forehead.

When this started, he was brimming with charisma. Now, 60 seconds in, he looks like he’s about to kill you.

“You like that?” He pants yet again, near sanding off your clitoris with the sheer elbow grease he’s putting into it. “You gonna squirt? You gonna come? Come already. Just —why won’t you come?” John punctuates his accusation by straight up punching the mattress.

For a moment, he looks like he might burst into tears. Into the layers of cotton and padding, he screams himself hoarse before going deathly quiet.

It’s a matter of seconds before he composes himself.

He’s a pro, after all.

A bead of sweat (or perhaps a tear) that had been wobbling at the end of his nose smears into your folds as he lowers his mouth to your entrance — and all but shoves his tongue inside with a faux-appreciative hum that makes it obvious he really thinks he’s doing a good job right now.

Just as soon as the ill-informed venture begins, he’s pulling out and away from you, settling on his knees with what is either a grin or a grimace.

Hastily, he fumbles with his belt.

Apparently it’s his turn now.

___________________________

Jacob

Jacob traces a grimy finger around your clit, ignoring the hitch in your breath.

“See, if you had some more meat on this, there’d be more for me to work with.” He grumbles. “No balls, either. Not only am I going hungry, but thirsty, too. How do you expect to feed a platoon like this?”

“Sir, it’s a pussy, SIR!” You bark back at him, doing your damnedest not to flush red while his eyebrows raise.

His expression turns thoughtful, then. “So this is what a pussy looks like. And the hole?”

“Supposed to be there, SIR.”

“Ew, yuggy.”

“Sir, it is yuggy, sir!”

Jacob shifts back, then. He turns to look over his shoulder at the sliver of arm peeking out from behind a corner.

“Peaches, you see this shit?” He hollers. “Is this common?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Comes the trembling response.

Jacob hums at that, returning to scrutinising your cunt.

“So this is what the liberal agenda is pushing.” He scoffs. “This is the America I fought for.”