#(can’t tell if it’s me or ulysses damn it)

[rowanthestrange]

Sunny In The Pit

Rating: T Characters: The Fourteenth Doctor, River Song, The TARDIS Pairing: Fourteen/River

Tags: The Doctor’s Name(s), The Division, Depression, Mood Swings, Mental Illness, Hallucinations, Heartbreak, Previous 13/Yaz, 11/Rory, 10/Rose etc, Teeth, Trans Themes, Teeth, Emetophobia, Being Perfectly Normal, Mad [Person] In A [Shape].

————

The Doctor and River Song in a hole that cannot be climbed out of. Or something to that effect.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Fallout Characters' Lover's Embrace Quotes -- Extras

(Original ask): Hello 😊 I absolutely adore everything you do for the characters you write for! You get the interactions and such perfect every time I read something new 💕 I have a personal headcanon, not full blown request if you don't want it to be, question for you. If you could romance the companions in New Vegas like in 4, what would some of their lovers embrace quotes be? I love how you think and can't wait to hear what ideas you have for any of the characters ❤ have a good day

So I didn't actually get any requests for these specific characters that I can remember, but I had this in my WIPs folder, and had a good time looking back on them, so here they are!

As always, if you would like me to add any characters to this, please let me know, and I'll be happy to 😊

Also, here's a link to my first Lover's Embrace Quotes post with the FO3 and FNV Companions.

Just a heads up, too, a bit of nsfw below the cut (nothing explicit, but definitely some implicit stuffs).

Fallout 4:

Codsworth: 

“Prepared to face the day, sir/madam?”

“Oh my, now that was exciting!” 

“Your hair, sir/miss. Allow me to fix it for you?” 

“Good morning, sir/madam!” 

“My, you are truly amazing, my sweet.” 

Deacon:

“Whoa, when did you get here?” 

“Up for one more round? No?... Yes?”

“Just another minute. Then we can kick some ass or whatever.”

“Gooood morning! And it is a beautiful day out in the Commonwealth, the weather is looking mighty fine in this– Oh, you’re up? Okay, just making sure.” 

“Up and at ‘em, right boss?” 

“Wow. That was fun.” 

Maxson:

“Sleep well?” 

“I’ll take that over morning drills any day. No, I don’t need you to tell Kells that.” 

“Head’s still swimming…” 

“Don’t make me get up, not yet.” 

“Damn… Incredible.” 

Nick:

“Can’t take my eyes off you….” 

“Ain’t I the luckiest synth there is?” 

“Say… where’d my cuffs get off to, doll? May need ‘em for later.” 

"Well, that's one way to get the coolant pumping." (I know this is already a line of his, but I mean come on. It's too good not to use)

“What do you say, about ready to go?” 

“That sure was somethin’, sweetheart.”

Sturges:

“Mornin’ gorgeous/handsome.” 

“Ain’t nothin’ better than wakin’ up like that.” 

“You really are incredible, you know that?” 

“What a perfect way to start my day… wakin’ up next to you.”

“*whistles* That was somethin,’ baby.”

X6-88:

“Good morning, ma’am/sir.” 

“Awake quite yet?” 

“Damn.” 

“Sleep well, ma’am/sir?”

“I… Didn’t know I could feel like that…” 

Fallout 3:

Mr. Burke: 

“I suppose there are worse ways to wake up.” 

“Care for some coffee?” 

“Just a moment more, sweet one.” 

“Ahh, you vixen/scoundrel.”

“Just turn over. It can’t be time yet.” 

Harkness: 

“Starting our day off right, I see.”

“It can’t really be time to get up, can it?” 

“Mm, good morning…”

“What’re you… Oh? Well, a few more minutes, then.” 

“Babe, have you seen my handcuffs?”

Sarah Lyons: 

“Up and at ‘em. Come on.” 

“Oh, good, you’re finally up.” 

“The others better not have heard us.” 

“Quit your groaning, it’s not that early.” 

“Best to have a shower after all that.” 

Fallout New Vegas:

Benny: 

“Ring-a-ding, baby. Time to rise.” 

“Easy there, squeeze. Save some for tonight.” 

“Can’t be time yet. Stay here awhile, lemme hold ya.” 

“Geeze baby, you wear me out.” 

“24-karate, pussy cat. Just platinum...” 

Colonel Hsu:  

"Right, then... Up we get."

“Well… that was an excellent performance. Top marks from me, private.”

“Rise and shine, love.” 

“Now that was worth waking for at this hour.” 

“Wish we had a few more moments…”

Joshua Graham:

“Just… divine.” 

“Care to pray with me this morning?” 

“Wake up, dear one.” 

“Praise be to Him who lights the sky…” 

“Ahh… still, your love heals me.” 

Ulysses: 

"Be slow, beloved. We can take our time."

“Another sunrise…”

“Time to wake.” 

“So… It wasn’t a dream. Hm.” 

*huffing* “Need another rest after that.” 

Victor: 

“Shoo, didn’t know you had that in ya.” 

“Where to today, pardner?”

“You look like I dug ya outta that grave again, hehe. Only teasin’.”

“Well, how-dy.” 

“Mornin,’ pardner. How’d you sleep?” 

Vulpes:

“Awake at last? Good.” 

“Mm. Expect the same from me tonight, courier.” 

“Ave, amica mea.” 

“Ah, to hear my name sound from your lips… A fine sound this morning.” 

“Expergiscimini. The sun has risen.” 

Yes Man: 

“Wow, Six, that was the best way to start the day!”

“I sure am glad to have you by my side.” 

“Rise and shine!” 

“What a great morning it is!”

“Boy, that sure was fun! Ready to make a difference today?” 

[tarrenterror25]

Ulysses Klaue x F!Reader Title: I Always Find My Way Back To You Chapter: 4 of 9 Rating: Explicit 18+ Word Count: 3K

Summary: You can always count on Ulysses to return to you, but lately you find yourself wanting more. The new dangers in the world don't make the life of an arms dealer any easier and any day could be his last. Running away and living off the grid with the man you love is the dream. Does he share your feelings and can he be convinced to live a life with you?

Tags: MxF, heavily implied sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, major angst, some fluff, hurt/comfort

Playlist is here (May contain explicit material)

Notes: This took awhile to write, I won’t lie. I try to stay in character as much as possible and the research says that Klaue does not have a moral compass and is extremely selfish and therefore we have some serious angst in this chapter. I know it’s fiction and I could make it lovey-dovey, but for this story, it is about him confronting those narcissistic tendencies and what I think would come of it in this sort of situation. Also there was a bit of a flub with the outline so I had to recalibrate some stuff. Anyways, here’s chapter 4!

Chapter Four: Eyes For you

“I don’t want you to go.”

The words hang in the air between you for a moment. With his brow contorted, Klaue just looks at you, mouth slightly agape. He’s stunned, unsure of how to process your words.

He scoffs softly. “I’m afraid I can’t help that,” he says holding his hands out incredulously. “What would you have me do instead? Stay here?” He makes it sound like a rhetorical question and God, it makes you feel so small with the way he says it.

“Yes,” you reply through a sniffle. Tears start to roll down your face. “Just...stay with me. You don’t have to go, you can stay here.”

Klaue shakes his head like what you’ve suggested is the silliest thing he’s heard of and you shrink further.

He takes a drink of his coffee. “That’s what I do,” he states matter of factly. “You don’t think all of this pays for itself do you?”

Oh.

You’re pissed when he says that.

“You think that’s what this is?” you snap, your harsh tone making him look at you. Wiping your face you continue, “About your fucking money?”

“Oh, it’s not?” Sarcasm oozes from him and he scoffs again.

He’s frustrating you now and it’s mixing with all the other things you’re already feeling. The emotions swirl in your stomach, make it ache, make you even more angry.

“No!” you shout making his brows go up in surprise. “It’s not!”

Now he’s pissed, too. His brows come back down as he scowls, his lip twitched up into a closed mouth snarl.

Klaue sets down his mug and straightens up. “What the hell has gotten into you?” he asks raising his voice. He’s close enough to you now that you have to look up at him.

“I don’t want you to go out there anymore!” you explain gesturing your arm out.

“Why?” he shouts. “Why the fuck does it matter to you where I go? Huh?”

There’s so much emphasis on the word ‘why’.

A simple question with a simple answer, but it’s not one you’re ready to confront. You try to contract your muscles to keep it down, but again it’s boiling over. Your stomach churns as tears roll down your cheeks again. You look him in the eye and say it, what you’ve been wanting to say.

“Because I love you.”

There.

It’s out.

Your heart is banging in your chest and drumming in your ears.

Staying silent, Klaue’s jaw is clenched tightly, his brow furrowed as he straightens up.

“I love you, Ulysses,” you continue softly. Your gaze doesn’t pull away from his. No matter how intimidating he looks, you tell yourself that you’re in this now and you’re not backing down.

“And,” you go on, “I don’t want you to go because...because that would mean that there’s a chance you won’t come back. I...I can’t do it anymore! I love you and I don’t want to lose you!”

Running a hand through his hair, Klaue steps back and scoffs in disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking, right?” he asks. “You can’t be serious?”

You wipe your face again. Damn these tears.

“I am, Ulysses,” you say firmly. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“Only when the current state of things...is at it stands,” he says. “You and me have...an arrangement, a very good one at that and-”

“And I’m telling you that I don’t want that anymore,” you interject. “I don’t want that anymore and I haven’t wanted it for a long time. I just want you.”

He’s silent again, jaw still clenched and his body tense. You have to be careful; he looks like a snake that will slither into the brush the moment you get too close.

“I didn’t say anything sooner,” you explain, “because I thought you wouldn’t have a reason to come back.”

Frustration hits you as he is still quiet, eyes down as he examines his coffee mug.

“Could you please say something, Uri,” you say. “You’re treating me like you don’t know who I am anymore.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks quietly not looking up at you.

“I want you to, hopefully, share how you feel about me,” you reply.

There’s a brief moment of silence that settles between the two of you, but it feels like an eternity. He’s still not looking at you and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s also frustrated or confused. Is he just wanting to escape? Is he caught up in his emotions as well?

“I can’t answer that,” he says shaking his head.

Silence, thick and heavy, falls between the two of you.

Now it’s your turn to be in disbelief.

You’re trying to maintain a level head, but your mind is going back to what he said to you just last night. Was he just saying that? Did he make it up?

“But you did,” you say, “Yesterday in the car? What was that about?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Klaue snaps and walks off.

“Ulysses!” You rush after him. It’s not the best choice, but you’re not thinking straight. “What’s the difference between what you said then and what you could tell me now? Unless what you said wasn’t real?”

You want to shut up, you do, but the words just spill out.

He turns to face you, his voice low when he speaks. “I said I’m done with this,” he growls.

Mentally, you punch yourself for making him uncomfortable. You open your mouth to apologize, but Klaue is already walking away. He heads for the bedroom. You can’t help but follow him and your heart drops when you see he’s hurriedly putting on some jeans.

“Uri,” you say softly.

He throws on a shirt.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but he’s putting on his shoes and you already know the answer.

Stoic, he ignores you and leaves the room. You follow him again, trying to get him to speak to you, but he isn’t having it. Grabbing his phone, he heads for the door.

No, no, no!

Tears start rolling down your face again as you step in between him and the door. “Uri, please,” you beg. “I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

His expression is unchanged and fear builds within you as Klaue softly tells you to move out of his way. You’re begging, pleading to him that he stay.

“Move,” he says again.

Regret consumes you as you take his face in your hands and kiss him. “Please, baby, just stay here and we don’t have to talk about it, just forget it happened, please! I’m so sorry!” The words are just tumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall.

He does return your kiss briefly, but firmly grasps your shoulders and moves you aside. “I’m only stepping out for a bit,” he assures you. “I’ll...I’ll be back.”

And he leaves.

You’re not sure how long it’s been since Klaue left your apartment. The temptation to call him was at the forefront of your mind, but that wouldn’t be the right move. He needs some time to be alone.

So now you sit on your couch, knees pulled up to your chest, fidgeting with your phone in your hand.

The sun starts to set. The golden orange rays of light slowly leaving the room and making it dark.

The apartment feels hollow and lonely. You didn’t bother turning on any lights or the television, you’re just sitting there, waiting for...something.

You stand and walk over to the bookshelf. The small collection of books stares you in the face. You pick up 20,000 Leagues and flip through it, looking at the illustrations. There’s some smudges on the corner of the pages where Ulysses has turned them.

At this point, you start to accept that he’s gone, not even having bothered with getting his things. He wouldn’t need to, he can easily go anywhere he wants, measly possessions like clothes wouldn’t stop him. Would he come back for his precious book?

He’ll probably just buy another...

You put the book back on the shelf and stand by the large window to look out at the city. Are you just a possession of his now? Something he once coveted and now has to leave behind? Are you just a remnant of this part of his life with these things?

“I always come back to you.”

That’s what he said. You’re sure you heard it clear as day.

You wander over to the bedroom and lay on your bed.

You always come back to him, too. No matter how far he goes, you heart is with him. Whoever came before him doesn’t matter because it’s him you always find yourself wanting.

The doorbell rings and you race to answer it.

You don’t bother looking through the peephole, you just swing open the door.

You feel like you can finally breathe when you see it’s Klaue. You let him in and he enters, not looking at you.

No words are exchanged as you take his hand and lead him over the couch. He looks reluctant to follow, but he plops down next to you. Gently, you guide him to rest his head in your lap like usual and you run your fingers through his hair.  He sighs and closes his eyes.

There’s a long silence before you speak to apologize.

You barely say anything before he interrupts you.

“Don’t,” he says, eyes still closed. “Not your fault that I’m irresistibly charming.”

There’s no stopping the smile on your face, his humor never failing to break through the furrow of your brow.

The two of you stay this way for awhile before he finally speaks again.

Eyes open now, staring at the ceiling, he fidgets lightly with one of his rings, using his thumb to spin it on his finger. “Told you I always come back,” he says. “If that means anything to you.”

“It does,” you say. “I’m sorry, really, that I got so upset. I shouldn’t have put that all on you. I just...it’s dangerous out there and...”

“I know,” he says flatly.

“I don’t want to be professor Annorax wondering what really happened to Captain Nemo and the Nautilus.”

He just shrugs. “Maelstrom took them.”

“So you’re saying it’s inevitable then? That that’s just what happens?”

“Captain Nemo was a man of the sea,” Klaue says sitting up. “It was bound to happen that way.”

“And what are you?”

Your eyes search his blue ones for an answer. He looks at you like he knows that you already know the answer. Your gaze begs, implores him to say it out loud and his eyes ask that you not push him again.

He breaks from your stare and kisses your hand. “Not Captain Nemo, that’s for sure,” he says with a chuckle.

It’s difficult to not roll your eyes, but you do and move to stand. Klaue grasps your arm at the elbow and pulls you to sit in his lap.

“Stop being so sour,” he says in a voice that conveys he’s trying to lighten the mood. “I’m only joking.”

“I’m not,” you say crossing your arms, still visibly upset. “I’m not kidding about this and...I want you to take me seriously about this.”

He leans back against the couch and looks away, petulant, like he doesn’t want to be scolded and is just waiting for the part where the subject changes. You’re still sitting on his lap, looking down at your hands, trying to figure out how to word your thoughts. Part of you wishes you had kept your mouth shut and then the two of you wouldn’t be doing this. You two could be laying in bed wrapped in each other’s arms or out doing something fun and it almost feels like you’ve ruined it now.

“I’m hungry,” you say softly.

It’s so terribly easy to fall back into where you were with Klaue before the fight.

The two of you are in the kitchen, working together to fix something to eat. You forget that Klaue is actually pretty decent with a skillet. He can flip the food in the pan and doesn’t let up that you can’t, despite having more cooking experience than him. He’s wearing a smug grin as he shows off.

“I get it! You can shut up about it now,” you say through your laughter with a teasing nudge.

“Someone jealous?” he teases back, reaching out to tickle your side.

“No!” you say trying to push his hand away, but he persists. “Uri!”

He sets down the pan on the stove and lowers the heat then continues trying to get at you, tickling your sides.

Soon the two of you are running around, laughter filling your apartment as you try to run away. With a squeal you leap over your couch, nearly knocking into the coffee table. You steady the centerpiece on it and Klaue seizes the attack of opportunity and wraps his arms around you making you shriek in surprise.

“Gotcha!” he says playfully tossing you on the couch.

Your sides hurt from how much you’re laughing, but you don’t want it to stop, don’t want this between you and Klaue to stop.

Bracing himself on the couch, his arms cage you. He playfully peppers kisses all over your face and neck, his beard tickles you and makes you giggle uncontrollably. Your hands on his chest, hardly attempting to push him away and then they find his broad shoulders. Slowly, they start to grip him as he begins placing open mouth kisses on you. His lips hot against your skin as he kisses below your ear down to your neck and shoulder. A hand comes to rest on your hip and slides its way under your shirt to touch the bare skin there.

You take his face between your hands and guide him to kiss you. Boldly, your tongue finds its way past his lips. Your legs fall open and he settles between them, wasting no time in grinding his hips against yours. There’s a familiar heat pooling in your center as you feel him already getting hard for you. Your hips buck into his in response and he lets out a soft groan.

When he pulls away for air, he takes a second to look down at you, eyes scanning your face. He’s a little out of breath, but so are you.

Your hand comes up to his face and your thumb brushes across his cheek.

He’s so ruggedly handsome, like those swashbucklers in those romance novels or movies, except he’s far from the romance part. He’s more like the morally grey character that you’re not supposed to fall for, but you end up falling for them anyways.

“Why do you look at me like that?” he asks breaking you from your thoughts.

You blink, not realizing you had been staring. You pull your hand away from him. “Like what?”

“Like it’s the last time you’re gonna ever look at me. You always do that,” he says. “Why?”

“Because it might be,” you say.

You convince Klaue to put a pause to having your way with each other long enough for the two of you to eat. The two of you opt to eat on the couch and to watch a movie. It’s some classic adventure flick, but you’re not paying attention. You’re too focused on how the events of this morning dissipated as if they hadn’t happened. Where was there to go from here? This you had to sort out, but you only have one more day with Klaue before he has to leave.

Your feelings are all over the place and it’s difficult to pin them down. There are a lot of questions you have to ask yourself: What do you want from this? Can you keep going even if he doesn’t return your feelings?

That last one has your throat suddenly feeling tight.

You must have fallen asleep during the movie because you’re in your bed with the covers pulled over you. Quickly, you sit up, ready to spring out of bed, thinking Klaue’s left you alone again.

By the time you throw the blanket off of you, he enters the room with a hand behind his back and one rubbing the back of his neck. With a heavy sigh he just sits next to you on the bed and reveals from behind his back a small jewelry box. “Don’t like to see you upset,” he says softly. “Forgot I picked it up for you the other day.”

You take the box and open it. Inside is a dainty necklace with a pink diamond pendant. You don’t even take a second longer to admire it, you just shut the box and set it aside. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

Sensing something’s wrong, Klaue runs a hand through his hair and his head hangs low, defeated. “Baby, I don’t know what you want from me,” he says.

“You,” you say. “Just you.”

“I can’t do that,” he says stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Least not in the way you want.”

“You can start by laying next to me,” you offer with a smile.

You pull back the covers next to you and pat his side of the bed. He chuckles and kicks off his shoes, removes his shirt, and lays next to you. He wraps an arm around you and you snuggle close against his chest, inhaling his scent, fingers running over his chest and the curls of hair there. He’s half asleep already, but you’re wide awake.

Moonlight creeps into the room and faintly illuminates Klaue’s face.

“Ulysses,” you ask softly.

“Hm?” Eyes closed, his brow furrows.

“Even if...even if you don’t love me, could you love me?”

In between his light snores, he mumbles, “Dunno...Maybe.”

“Is there anything you do love?” you ask.

There’s some incoherent mumbles from him before he makes any sense. “Sleeping,” he grumbles. “I like sleeping.”

You smile a bit at that. “Ulysses?” you whisper.

“Huh?” he grunts tiredly.

“I love you,” you say. “I’ve loved you for a long time now. And...I don’t think I’ll stop loving you anytime soon.”

He’s quiet, only the sound of his open mouthed snores filling the silence in the room. You feel relief at the thought that he probably didn’t hear you. Nestling close against him, you rest in his arms.

[niennandil-me-writes]

Respite in the Heart

CN: drugs, drowning, bees, nsfw-ish

[this is a commission for Noel, who Wespe belongs to. Proceeds went to the Queer Vienna Mutual Aid Fund]

This is a mistake.

It started with the Malak. He never should have asked them if they carried any. He usually doesn't take downers on a job, or when he has to focus. But this job has lasted months now, and he constantly needs to focus. He needed a break.

He was surprised that they had any on them but gladly took the vial they passed him – and then froze when he saw their face. They are too weird to read, intentions undiscernable, as is so often the case with those wretched people who follow the call of the Heart. Was their expression knowing? And knowing what?

He's getting paranoid. Paranoia has gotten him this far. Damn, he needs this.

He remembers squeezing the vial between his face and the mask, careful not to reveal anything, to put a few drops of the bitter liquid on his tongue.

He remembers Wespe's tilted head and soft smile: “You won't get anywhere like this. They don't work as well if you're closing yourself off."

He scoffs. As if he were new to this.

“You need to relax.” They are standing behind him, putting their hands on his shoulders.

He flinches away. “I can’t relax. I need to be prepared.”

“For what?”

“For anything.” For the worst, which always comes. Prepared to react, prepared to think…

“Then why the Malak?”

“Because I need it.” His words begin to slur, and the Heart begins to blur. When you close your eyes, bee’s wings sound almost like waves against your skull.

When he opens his eyes again, they are both sitting on the ground, leaning against each other, and Wespe is dripping more Malak on his tongue. Something about this is wrong, but he can’t quite place it.

“You don’t happen to have any Chum as well?” he asks.

They tilt their head. “We are ages away from Derelictus, Ulysse.” When has he given them that name? “We have this, though.” And with a smile they put a finger to the hole in their throat, the one that always drips golden fluid.

He didn’t know what it was before, took it for honey, one of the many weirdnesses of the apiarists.

He leans back and stares at the ceiling buzzing with bees. “I won’t drink something that comes from your body.”

And he doesn’t drink it. He licks it from their fingers.

He has never been high with someone else. The closest he’s come is when Yetelanc lifts – lifted – him up out of the sweet oblivion, when she strokes his hair and dries his skin. Wespe’s hands feel so different in his hair. He doesn’t like taking drugs in company. He doesn’t like company in general. He likes being sober even less right now.

He lies back and feels the Heart under his naked skin. He can feel its veins pulsing, can feel the tide tug at him, try to pull him closer. Rushing water joins the bees. He can’t tell if he brought the sea, or if Wespe brought him to another place, or if the Heart changed for him. He’s floating, while Wespe sits on a small island of rock above him.

“The Heart loves you, Ulysse.”

Only fools love the Heart. “Don’t call me that.”

They smile that knowing smile, and he guesses that now they do know, because he is floating in the water naked, and he told them his name, and he wonders if anyone has ever seen him this clearly except –

“We are in the deepest parts of the Heart,” they explain. “Nobody will follow you here. If they did, we’d see it. We see everything.” Two bees settle on their eyes as they say this, and their smile widens, seeming almost predatory, until they say: “It’s safe here, Ulysse.” You are safe here.

“Don’t call me that.” His protest is meeker than before.

“You asked me to call you that.”

Did he now?

“Relax. You’re safe. Let the Heart take you.” It sounds almost like a prayer when they say it.

Ulysse relaxes, breathes out, and goes under. Water fills his lungs. It gets darker and darker, as he keeps sinking and sinking. His white hair floats freely around him. He can feel the beings around him, cyclopean things that watch him, like in his dreams. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe it’s the Malak and the honey. Maybe the water’s not even there.

Slowly, he floats upwards again, eyes towards the surface. There’s a face beyond it. For a moment he thinks it’s the face he knows from his dreams, the one calling to him, beckoning, ordering him to go deeper into the Heart. But then he recognizes her. Yetelanc. He calls her name into the water. But when he surfaces, her face turns into Wespe’s.

For a moment, they stare at each other. Two Drow, both equally mad, both feeling that call, that pull of the deep. They put a hand to his cheek, and he realizes he’s crying.

“Hold me,” he whimpers, and they lift him out of the water, and pull him close.

It feels wrong in a way. Even though he broke up with Yetelanc weeks, maybe years, ago. She probably found someone new by now. That thought makes him cling to Wespe's kimono harder, drives him towards them and makes him beg for more. More what? He doesn't know. He forgot.

Their hands softly caress him, bees settling on his naked skin, over his moles. Their lips taste too sweet, but he can’t stop himself from coming back for more, and more and more, deeper, lips meeting the hole on their throat, drinking their honey because he needs it, by the Heart, he needs this so bad! They guide his hands, show him how to pleasure them, and he submits oh so willingly. Honey clouds his mind, water fills his lungs, and their hands stroke him faster and faster, with him following their pace, until they both dissolve into each other.

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

Here I am, super late, but @artofadmin​ I was your secret cupid. I wrote some Arthur and Albert fluff for you, I do hope you enjoy it. So sorry again that it’s late!

Characters: Albert Mason, Arthur Morgan Pairing: 2AM, Albert x Arthur Themes: Fluff, Pre-relationship, just cute shit Warnings: None Words: 3,968 [ ko-fi ] || [ ao3 ]

Chance Meeting

Saint Denis. 

Arthur adjusted himself in the saddle. Why Dutch wanted anything to do with this city was beyond him, especially after Blackwater. He slowed Ulysses to a lazy walk as he wound his way through the streets, keeping an eye out for employment opportunities in the city. 

He eventually found himself on the main drag, crowds of carriages and pedestrians filled the street. The chime of a trolley car filtered through the dun of activity, the noise grated in Arthur’s ears, another reason he hated the city. Making his way to the Bastille Saloon, he tied up Ulysses and gave the horse an apple, promising to be back soon. 

The saloon was surprisingly busy for how early it was and Arthur moved to the bar to order a drink. He placed a handful of coins on the table and motioned for the bartender to leave the bottle, turning his attention to the poker table, the men around the table talked raucously. 

“Seat taken?” He asked, pulling out one of the empty chairs. 

The man next to him sized him up, a predatory smile sliding across his face as he waved for Arthur to take a seat.

“Join us! Join us! Take a seat, stranger!”

Arthur tipped his hat and sat down, placing the bottle of whisky on the table. The men quietly returned to their conversations. Arthur poured himself a shot before reaching into his bag and pulling out a handful of cash. He held it out long enough for the other players to notice before looking up at the dealer.

“How much I got to put down to play?” He fumbled with the money in his hands.

“Five dollars.” Said the dealer, almost sympathetically. 

Arthur counted out the bills and pushed them across the table,  the dealer traded it for chips before he picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them.

“Alright, gentlemen. Bets in.” He said and started to deal as the men bid. 

Arthur pulled his cards toward himself, sneaking a quick peek at his hand.

“So— ” a voice broke the silence at the table, ”—you don’t look like you’re from around here, lad. What brings you to town?”

Arthur filled his glass again, looking up at the man, finding all eyes at the table were on him.

“I was sellin’ some cattle to one of the farms just east of town,” he shrugged.

The conversation shifted a bit as they began to talk more about the town, offering information about local spots that Arthur should see while he was here. They told him where to find the general store and then got caught up in local gossip. Arthur let them talk, hoping to catch any information that may lead to some quick cash in town.

The game continued for another couple of hours, the men chatting about their lives and the goings-on about town. Arthur polished off the bottle, collected his winnings and politely took his leave from the table. He was annoyed that the men had nothing of importance to say, that their lives were so boring and simple, and even more annoyed that Dutch had sent him here, of all places.

He pushed through the doors onto the too-loud streets, unhitching Ulysses and giving him a pat. He stepped into the saddle and adjusted himself, looking around. The streets were busy as people went about their day and he decided to try his luck at one of the other saloons in town.

He gently dug his heels into Ulysses' flank, turning him around and heading toward the looming cathedral near the center of town, winding his way through the crowded streets. 

Arthur groaned to himself as a group of kids bolted across the street in front of him. His eyes followed them down a small alley. His gaze lingering. He had exhausted almost all other options and the saloon he was heading for was nothing more than a hole-in-the-wall. Arthur pulled Ulysses to the side and jumped down, sighing heavily as he followed the kids into the alley that gradually opened up into a small courtyard.

The courtyard was empty for the most part, on the far end two women sat, chatting idly. He caught sight of the kids as they moved further into the space. He followed them around the corner finding himself in a dead-end, the three kids turning as he walked through the gate.

“You followin’ us, yokel?” One of the kids hissed, turning toward Arthur and pulling a knife from his belt.

Arthur held up his hands defensively, “Caught me.” a devilish smile crept across his face. 

The boys looked between themselves, curious about the man, the kid lowered his knife as they came to a silent agreement.

“We ain’t giving back that lady’s coin purse. She don’t need it.”

                                                          -- ☓ --

Albert sat at his workbench in the small and cramped apartment. The wind blew gently on the unseasonably cool morning. He sat back, rubbing his tired eyes and placing his camera casing back on the table. He blinked a few times and stretched his arms above his head, reaching for his tea on the desk, empty.

“Damn.” Albert muttered and pushed up slowly from his chair, leaning deeply into a stretch.

He crossed to the sink, grabbing the kettle from the potbelly stove in the center of the room. He filled it with fresh water and placed it back over the heat to warm before gathering some tea leaves from the cupboard and leaning against the counter. 

Albert closed his eyes, the sounds of the city in the morning a stark change from the quiet of nature he had been waking up to the last couple of months. The comforts of home were hard to deny, but he would miss seeing the stars in the sky and the gentle sounds of nature. 

The sounds of traffic and fragmented conversations blurred together as Albert waited for the water to heat. He pushed off the counter and lifted the lid to the kettle, dropping the tea leaves in and returning to his desk, content to let the tea steep. Picking up the camera casing he grabbed the small brush to continue cleaning the dust from the gears when a new voice carried through the window, one he had never expected to hear again.

“I ain’t here about that.” The voice drifted through the open window. 

Albert turned, slowly placing the camera back on the table.

It can’t be.

“Just lookin’ for some information about the town.”  The distinct baritone continued and Albert stood, crossing to the window.

His eyes scanned the space below, looking for the familiar figure, moving between the faces of strangers. Across the courtyard, behind a low wall a group of street kids, staring defensively to a shadowed part of the alley.

“And why should we believe you?’ One of the boys growled, brandishing his knife toward the darkness.

“Listen kid, I just know. Best place to get the info I want is from the people most in the know.” Arthur stepped into the courtyard, his hands still raised defensively. “And, that’s you lot.”

The kid lowered his knife, eyeing Arthur warily. “What do you want to know?”

Albert couldn’t believe his eyes, his heart skipped a beat as Arthur’s form moved into the light.  He watched, intrigued.

Arthur dropped his voice, taking another step forward he continued. “I’m just lookin’ for anything interesting going on around here.” He stopped, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “I can make it more than worth your while.” 

The kid glanced at his buddies, re-sheathing his knife, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah? How can you make it worth our while. Huh, old man?”

Arthur growled with annoyance at the comment but he pulled some cash from his bag, waving it in front of the leader. The kid smiled, rolling back on his heels. “Now you’re talkin’.” 

He whistled, flagging over one of the boys. “Lem here can give you the tour of our fine town here.” He gave the kid a pat on the shoulder. “Won’tcha Lem?”

“A’course.” Lem replied smugly. 

Arthur looked between the boys and sighed, folding a small handful of cash over and handing to the leader. “Right. Lead the way.” He stepped aside, letting Lem pass through the alley behind him.

Albert pushed back from the window as the two disappeared down the alleyway. He grabbed his hat and coat and ran out the door. What was Arthur doing in Saint Denis? How had he gotten wrapped up with these kids?

He pushed open the small gate to the courtyard, heading toward the alley Arthur and the kid had disappeared into, he glanced around, but the other two boys had vanished. He continued through the alley and back onto the main road, looking desperately up and down the street for any sign of Arthur and the boy.

He worried his hands, choosing to head right toward the center of town, his gut telling him that Arthur may have bit off more than he could chew with these kids. Arthur was familiar with a perilous life, Albert was certain of that, but the dangers here were nothing quite like those on the frontier.

The street opened up into the main square, the cathedral towering over the other buildings in the middle of town. He walked slowly around the square, hoping to find any indication of where they might have gone. As he passed a small courtyard he heard a group of kids talking lowly among themselves

“Why we trailin’ some poor yokel? Lem’ll clean him out just fine.” One of the boys huffed, kicking a small can along the cobbled street.

“Because he’s snoopin’ around, and Mr. Bronte won’t like that.” The boy Albert recognized from earlier said.

“Then why’d we take his money? We coulda just told him to take a hike.” The first grumbled, kicking the can again.

The boys’ voices faded as they moved out of earshot from where Albert had stopped to listen. He peeked around the corner, catching the group as they rounded a corner on the far side. Albert glanced around before following them through the courtyard, hoping to keep up just enough to avoid their attention. 

The group wandered along the street, chatting among themselves. Albert followed a distance behind, hoping that the group would lead him close enough to Arthur that he could get him away from these kids. 

They rounded another corner and Albert picked up the pace, he couldn’t afford to lose them now. He turned the corner, seeing the boys just ahead, much closer now as they crossed the street, heading toward the industrial side of town. Albert tried to imagine what business they had near the trainyard, but nothing good came to mind and he jogged after them, getting closer to the boys as they pushed through a gate to an alley behind the livery.

The alley seemed empty besides the boys and Albert dared not follow them in, walking around the front of the building, hoping to catch them on the other side. He stopped, seeing Lem round the opposite corner of the livery, Arthur in tow, and he ducked inside. 

He had to think fast, why had he hidden in here, he didn’t even own a horse, it seemed silly in the city. He heard them getting closer and he fumbled with his waistcoat, pulling it straight before wiping the sweat from his brow and adjusting his hat. He swallowed hard, counting to himself as he saw Lem pass in front of the door, he stepped out, and into someone solid.

“Oh, my apologies, I real—Mr. Morgan?” He tried his best to sound surprised, stumbling back as the hand caught him.

“Watch where you’r—Mr. Mason?” Arthur’s voice cracked slightly, a restrained smile spreading over his face.

Lem turned, his eyes moving between them, he took a nervous step back, stealing a glance back toward the way they had come.

“Surprise seeing you here!” Albert said as cheerfully as he could, his eyes moving to Lem. “Who, who's your friend?” He held out his hand to the kid and Arthur stepped between them,  confirming Albert’s suspicions.

“Lem here was just showin’ me to the stables, weren’t ya?”  His eyes burned into Lem’s and the kid took a step back.

“Oh yeah, here we are, mister.” Lem said shakily. “Best a luck to ya!” He gave them a nervous wave and skirted around the corner, swallowed into the mass of workers. 

Albert watched him go, seeing Arthur’s stance soften as the kid rounded the corner. 

“Sorry, ‘bout that.” Arthur turned back to him, a warm smile breaking across his face.

“Oh.” Albert felt a rush of heat wash over him. “No need to apologize, I supposed Saint Denis is a big city. Easy enough to get lost.” He chuckled.

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed, looking around. “It’s quite a bit of civilization. Ain’t really used to it.”  He rubbed the back of his neck shifting his weight.

“Well, if you need someone to show you around, I’d be more than happy to.” Albert couldn’t stop the words as he saw a bit of surprise cross Arthur’s face and he laughed nervously before adding. “You know, to pay you back for all you help out there.” He gestured vaguely to the north.

“You from here?” Arthur turned his attention back to Albert. “I would have thought some place like New York or Boston.” 

“Not originally, but I’ve been here long enough to know a good place to get a drink and a good meal.”  Albert winked. 

Arthur chuckled and shook his head slightly, holding out a hand for Albert to lead the way.

“What brings you to town, Mr. Morgan?” Albert started back toward  the center of town, pausing briefly to let Arthur catch up.

 “I guess, I’m just looking for work.”

“Oh? Looking to finally settle down?” Albert couldn’t help the excitement that crept into his voice.

“Heh. Nothing like that, just some cash to tide me over while I’m in the area. Ain’t sure I could live some place so civilized.” Arthur glanced toward the ground, lying to Albert was quickly becoming  one of the harder things he had done.

As happy as he was to see Mr. Mason again, he didn’t need him wrapped up in his world. The man was too kind, and Arthur couldn’t imagine the guilt if anything was to happen to him. He looked up, seeing the sadness on Albert’s face.

“Not, not that this place ain’t great!” Arthur backpedaled. “Just, didn’t expect to see ya here is all. Ain’t no wildlife here for you to try and get yourself eaten.” A smile played at the corner of his mouth.

Albert chuckled lightly, a heat spreading across his face. “No, I guess not.” 

Albert led them through the city, stopping at a couple landmarks and Arthur humored him. He’d been through the town enough to know his way around, but listening to Albert talk excitedly about things was nice. Albert slowed as they came upon a small cafe and turned to Arthur.

“You hungry? This place has some of the best French pastry I’ve ever had.” He waved for Arthur to join him. “I happened upon it when I was applying for gallery space upstairs.”

“Oh? Your work is in this gallery?” 

Albert turned as Arthur walked toward the alley, following the signs for the gallery. He hurried after him, reaching for his shoulder.

“It's, it’s not open quite yet, I’m afraid. The exhibit  won’t open for another couple weeks or so, but yes!” 

How could he tell Arthur that he had included that initial portrait of the man in his series. The Dying West, the man who embodied everything Albert found endearing about the wilds of America. He had thought it safe to include, never thinking he would see Arthur again, but here he stood in front of him. 

It had to be a dream, Albert thought. The man had haunted his dreams for weeks, a passing fancy. It was safe to imagine him there, under the guise that he would never see the man again. But Arthur was here, had accepted his invite to a meal, and now was dangerously close to seeing himself included among the beauties of nature.  

“Well then. I’ll have to come see it, once it opens.” Arthur turned to face him, a smile flashing across his face. 

Albert felt himself melt looking up at Arthur’s smile. Did this man even know what his smile could do to a person? He froze as Arthur hooked an arm around his shoulder, giving him a quick pat.

“Now, you said something about French pastry?”

“Y-yes, it’s right over here.” Albert sputtered nervously, Arthur’s touch setting fire to his skin. He swallowed hard. “Their beignets are to die for.”

“Ben-yay?” Arthur’s voice cracked slightly. “What’s that?”

“You’re gonna love them! Sweet bread with honey and sugar!” Albert beamed. “And their coffee? Won’t find anything quite like this out there on the frontier, Mr. Morgan.”  He pushed through the door and into the small cafe.

Arthur followed him into the cafe.

“This place seems real fancy,” he whistled.

“Nonsense,” Albert chided. “all kinds of people gather here, it’s one of the most popular cafes in the city.”

Arthur sighed and followed him to the counter. Albert flagged the waiter over, placing an order for some beignets and a coffee. The waiter turned to Arthur who politely asked for his coffee without whatever lait was, scrunching his nose at the sign on the wall. Albert felt a pang of guilt as he tried desperately to commit that face to memory.

“Dollar fifty,” the waiter said and Albert’s hand moved to his bag. 

“Thank ya.” Arthur said as the waiter poured them each a coffee, sliding a handful of coins across the counter.

“No, you can’t! I was going to get this one, I owe you so much.” Albert protested as Arthur slid his cup in front of him.

“Don’t think nothing of it. What is that they say about starvin’ artists?” Arthur took a sip from his cup.

“And you said you were looking for work, don’t think I’d forgotten!” Albert rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, let’s find a seat.” Arthur pushed off from the counter, finding them a table near the window.

Albert slid into the chair across from Arthur as the waiter appeared, setting the warm beignets down on the table between them. He looked excitedly toward Arthur.

“So what will you work on next? Hopefully something less likely to get you killed.” Arthur picked up one of the pastries. 

It felt airy and light in his hand, white sugar dusted the top and honey dripped from the side and he raised an eyebrow.

“Just try it, I swear it’s worth it.” Albert picked up one of the pastries, taking a big bite.

Arthur followed suit, the warm dough melted in his mouth, the sweetness from the honey and sugar dancing on his tongue. Mmmm. He took another bite, savoring the sweetness.

“Oh, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about my next project yet. I’ve got enough to tide me over, plenty of ladies in this town want to have their picture taken.”  His eyes lingered on Arthur expectantly. “What’d I tell you?”

 Arthur popped the last bite in his mouth, fighting a sly smile. “Ain’t the worst thing I’ve eaten.” 

He picked up his coffee, inhaling it deeply, he didn’t know what they had put in his coffee, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying it. It had a familiar taste that reminded him of quiet nights out under the stars, before all this running. Things were simple, life was the best it’d been in as long as Arthur could remember. Things could be like that again, here, with him. He pushed the thought from his head.

Albert rolled his eyes. “What about you, Mr. Morgan, what’s next for you?” 

“Probably just more of the same.” Arthur scratched his chin. “Shame though, that I won’t have to come to your rescue anymore.” 

A smile tugged at Albert’s lips and he chuckled. “Guess it’s my time to save you then.”

“Oh yeah?” Arthur cocked his brow letting out a breathy chuckle that made heat rush to Albert’s ears. 

“Yeah,” he said, defensively. “Those kids are bad business around here! Always swindling people out of their money.” Albert looked down, heat rising in his cheeks. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

Arthur was taken aback, feeling the heat brush across his cheeks and he lowered his head.

“They were just some kids, no need to worry about me,” he mumbled.

“No, they just some kids looking to swindle some out-of-town stranger. You’re lucky I found you when I did”  

Arthur shook his head and looked up from under the brim of his hat at Albert. “Well then, I guess this makes us even. Thank you Mr. Mason, for savin’ me from them kids and for treatin’ me to the best meal I’ve ever had.” 

He picked up another beignet, gesturing with it at Albert, he took a bite.

“The best.” He chewed. 

Arthur humored Albert, knowing the feeling of leaving a debt unpaid. He was a good man, and he didn’t deserve to feel indebted to someone like Arthur, so he would let him free, let him live his life.

They sat together, the conversation between them easy as they finished their meal. Arthur wondered if he had to leave, perhaps he could stay in town a few days, see what was around and catch up with his new friend. He worried Dutch would send someone to look if he hadn’t returned and quickly pushed the idea from his mind. 

Albert chatted excitedly about his gallery opening, how excited he was to share the wonders of nature around them with the folks in town and Arthur smiled. He would have to swing back through when it opened, see how they came out. Maybe he would ask Albert to show him how to take pictures on that little camera he had gotten his hands on.

The sun had started to sink in the afternoon sky when they finished their coffees and pastries. The sounds of the city a rude reminder that they weren’t alone as they pushed through the door and back out onto the street. It had been so easy, spending time with Albert, Arthur thought. So much easier than life had become with the gang and he wished that he could stay, but he knew where he was needed.

Albert wanted to ask Arthur to stay, he would help him find work, but he knew that Arthur would refuse. Always something pulling him back to wherever he lived, whatever life he had. Albert chest tightened, would he never see Arthur again? He didn’t want that, he had to say something, anything to make Arthur understand how he felt.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Mason, truly.” Arthur adjusted his hat low over his brow.

Albert froze. His breath hitched, and he smiled.

“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur reached out, giving Albert’s shoulder a pat, his hand lingering.

“I’ll see ya again, and thanks for the tour. Maybe Saint Denis ain’t so bad.” He let his hand fall and whistled for Ulysses.

“It grows on you.” Albert flashed a half smile, but his heart sank. “Don’t be a stranger, now.”

Arthur turned, running his hand down Ulysses as the horse came to a stop outside the café. He pulled himself up in the saddle, looking down at Albert, he tipped his hat, his eyes sad.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Arthur said, clicking gently, he started down the road.

[penpatronuswhump]

WHUMPTOBER 2020

No. 17

Fandom: Avengers

Whumpee: Peter Parker

Caregiver: Tony Stark

Title: Blackmail, Bullets, Blood

By: PenPatronus // PenPatronusAooO 

Steve was so concerned about Tony that he followed him one night. Tony walked to a small Stark Industries warehouse eight blocks from the Tower at two in the morning. Peeking through a dusty window, Steve watched as Tony loaded wooden crate after wooden crate into a white Stark Industries van. When Tony went to leave, when the garage door opened, there was Cap standing there illuminated by the headlights with his hands at his hips, looking like a mother who just caught her son’s hand in the cookie jar.

 Tony stuck his head out of the driver’s side window and shouted, “Out of my way, Rogers!”

 “I can’t do that, Stark,” Steve called back. “Not until you tell me why you’re sneaking out missiles in the middle of the night.”

 “It’s none of your damn business where I’m going with my own inventory, Rogers,” Tony spat back. Tony jumped out of the van and pushed Steve in the chest. “Now get out of here!”

 Steve caught Tony’s wrists when Stark went in to push him again. “Where are you taking those missiles? I thought Stark Industries was done with arms dealing. Who are you selling these to?”

 “Selling them?” Tony laughed. He put his hands on his knees and laughed harder. “Selling them…”

 In the bright light, Cap noticed that Tony’s skin was white and shiny with sweat. He appeared to have lost a few pounds and the crescents beneath his eyes were darker than usual. “Tony, what’s wrong with you?”

 Tony wiped his eyes with his flannel shirt sleeve. “Nothing.”

 “You’re upset and you’re hiding something from me.”

 “I’m hiding a lot of things from you. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Tony…”

 “Cap, I really need to get going.” Stark checked his watch. “I can’t be late.”

 “Fine. I’ll go with you. I’m driving.” Steve went to pass Tony, but Stark grabbed him by the shoulders.

 “Listen to me. Just… Just listen, Steve. I can’t get you involved in this. Nobody can get involved in this. It’s just between me and…”  Tony sighed.

 “Tony, I’m your friend.” Steve put his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “I just want to help.”

 “You can’t help me,” Tony whispered. “This is the only way. This… This…” Tony’s face crumpled. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. “He took the kid.”

“Parker? Who?”

 “Klaue. Ulysses Klaue, the arms dealer. He has Peter. And if I don’t keep giving him missiles, he’ll kill him.” Arms fell away, and Stark took his phone out of his pocket. He opened an app Cap didn’t recognize, and showed a live feed of a prison cell. In it, a very skinny, very disheveled, very dirty Peter Parker sat in the corner with his arms around his legs, staring at the wall. “Klaue gives him one bite of bread and one sip of water for every missile I give him. And if I don’t get there soon, Peter won’t have anything to eat in the morning.”

 “He’s practically starving him,” Cap said. His face turned red. “Tony, we’re getting him out of there. Right now.”

 Stark shook his head. “Klaue said that if he sniffs even the slightest bit of trouble, he’ll kill the kid without a second thought. If one security guard sees us, if one alarm goes off – Pete’s dead.”

 Steve nodded. He gave it some thought – eyebrows frowning. “We’re going to need some help, then, aren’t we?”

 “Steve, no, I…” Tony put his face in his hands, then suddenly whirled around and punched the truck with his bare fist. “I can’t risk the kid! This is the only way to keep him alive.”

 “Tony, Klaue will eventually kill him, no matter what. We gotta get him out now.”

 Tony took three deep, settling breaths. “You’re right,” he decided. “You’re always right, Cap. So… What do we do?”

 “What we’re gonna do,” said Steve, “is rescue Parker and take down Klaue at the same time. And, fortunately, we have some very Ninja-like assassins who can get the kid out before Klaue even knows we’re there.”  

 ----------

 Tony stood on the dock outside Klaue’s seaside warehouse and watched the arms dealer’s men unload the missiles from the van. The only light was the moon over the water and one flickering snot-colored lightbulb above the entrance. Tony pulled his baseball cap down and folded his arms against his chest. Autumn was just about to exit the stage, and the East Coast had been promised an extra cold winter.

 Klaue emerged from his office wearing a pit-stained white button down shirt over dirty jeans. He had a toothpick in his mouth and an assault rifle over his shoulder. “Mr. Stark,” he greeted, “my most loyal supplier. I’m told you’re five missiles short today.”

 Tony held up his palms. “My own supplier let me down, Klaue. But I brought you something to make up for it. Look in the back seat.” Klaue nodded at his henchmen. One opened the van and an unconscious, tied-up, beat-up Steve Rogers came tumbling out, rolling across the wooden dock.

 Klaue clapped his hands together. “Quite a gift!” he exclaimed. “I know some underground scientists who will pay quite a lot for a specimen like this.” He motioned for his henchmen. Tony expected Klaue to order them to take Steve inside but, instead, they lifted him to his feet. Klaue approached Steve, said, “I know you’re awake, Captain,” and smacked Steve across the face. Cap coughed and spit out a tooth.

 “Let me guess what your plan was,” Klaue said, attention back on Tony. “I put Rogers in the same cell with Parker, together with their combined strength they break through the bars, and then they sneak out – escaping from under my nose, yes?”

 Tony pursed his lips together so hard that they turned white. “Listen, Klaue, I just want the kid. I’ll give you whatever you ask, just give me the kid back.”

 “We all want things, Stark. I want to own a Caribbean island. And, I’m only five mil short of it. And now, here you are, interfering with my dream, trying to take it away.” Klaue shook his head. “Tisk, tisk,” he said, waggling his forefinger. “I told you I’d kill the kid if you interfered. But, I think I’ll do you one better. I think, right in front of your eyes, I’ll kill all four of them.”

 “Four?”

 A garage door opened and a half dozen henchmen wearing thick jackets and caps over their faces exited with a very bloodied, very beat up Peter, Clint, and Natasha. Klaue gave the order to stand them next to Cap, then he ordered all four of them to their knees. His goons pushed them down and aimed guns at their backs.

 “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter whimpered.

 Tony shook his head. “I let you down, kid. I’m so, so sorry.”

 Klaue was soaking up the moment like sunshine. “This is lovely. Half the world wants you all dead and here I am, little old me, holding each of your lives in my hands. I really should sell tickets to this.”

 “Enough, Klaue,” Tony barked. “I want my team free. I’ll give you anything, anything you want.”

 “Anything, huh?” Klaue tapped his chin. “What if what I want is for you to see your friends die?” He nodded at his henchman. “Kill Barton.”

 “NO!” Tony screamed. He was too late. The henchman shot Clint in the back. Barton collapsed forward onto the dock. He didn’t move.

 “Clint!” Nat sobbed.

 Klaue suddenly cocked and aimed his weapon. “Who’s next?” he asked, aiming the gun first at Peter, and then at Natasha, and then at Steve. “Which one of your friends is next?”

 Tony saw movement in his peripheral vision, and it took all his concentration not to look at the roof of the warehouse. “Klaue?” Tony said, his posture straight now, his classic smirk back on his face, “would you like to guess what happens when a warehouse full of volatile weapons gets hit by a bolt of lightning?” Tony looked up at the roof.

 Klaue followed his gaze. Thor waved down at the crowd, then raised his hammer.

 “Get him!” Klaus screamed, and he and all his henchmen turned to fire. At that precise moment Bruce Banner, who’d disguised himself as the very goon who shot Barton in his bulletproof vest, pivoted and hit Klaue in the shoulder with a bullet. Klaue tumbled backwards off the dock and into the water. His rifle spat a half-dozen times as he fell.

 Natasha flipped to her feet. Barton rolled over and somersaulted backwards. Steve broke out of his bonds instantly. While those three kept the henchmen from shooting Thor, Peter sprinted into Tony’s arms. Stark caught him and lifted him off his feet, so happy was he. “Into the van, kid,” Tony ordered. “Everyone in the van, now!” he shouted. He could feel the dock rumbling as more of Klaue’s goons were heading their way. Barton, Banner, and Rogers dove into the back of the white van. Natasha got in the driver’s seat while Tony pushed Peter into the back seat. Tony yanked the door shut and shouted, “Heads down!”

 Outside, Thor rose into the air, summoned lightning, and slammed it down into the weapons compound. The place exploded in a massive mushroom cloud. But seconds before it did, Thor picked up the van and flew it out of danger. He set it on the street six blocks away and opened the door, revealing his disheveled but whole friends. “Sorry I was late,” the god said. “I was with Jane and I didn’t get your message and... Why didn’t you wait for me?”

 “Because we had to get there by a deadline!” Tony shouted at him. He sat against the far door with his arms around Peter, who was leaning back against him. “You cut it pretty damn close you big Norse piece of—” Tony felt something warm on his shirt. He looked down and saw dark liquid against his shoulder. It was blood, blood that wasn’t his. One of Klaue’s shots had hit a target.

 “PETE!”

 Peter had gone limp. He fell back into Tony’s arms, smearing blood from his shot up shoulder down the rest of Tony’s shirt. Stark tossed his hat away and adjusted Peter’s body so that the kid was cradled in his lap. “Nat! Hospital! Now!” Tony shouted.

 A tear slid down Peter’s cheek. “Thanks for coming for me,” he said between hitched breaths. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

 “Kid, hang on, we’ll get you some help in a second, in just a second, all right?”

 Peter licked his white lips. “It hurts,” he whispered.

 Tony’s heart clenched like a fist. He looked at his wide-eyed friends who were just as helpless as he was. “Hang on, kid,” was all he could think to say. Adrenaline burned through him and his face flushed. “Just hang on, Pete.”

 ---------

 May exited Peter’s hospital room with a fake smile that instantly disintegrated once she was sure she was out of her nephew’s eyeline. Tony stood up from a hallway bench and she hugged him. “He’s so brave,” she sobbed in his ear. “He’s incredible.”

 Tony nodded. He sniffed, and then held May at arm’s length. “He is. He’s an incredible kid.”

 “He wants to talk to you.”

 “Ok.” Tony took a deep breath. “Ok.”

 The kid was asleep when he walked in, so Tony had time to sit in a chair beside the bed and relive every moment of the “rescue.” He should’ve done better. He should’ve acted faster. He should’ve this, he should’ve that…

 “Mr. Stark?”

 Tony shot to his feet. He leaned over the hospital bed and smiled at Peter without showing his teeth. “Hey, kid. How ya feeling?”

 Tears sprung to Peter’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry. None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for me. The others – are they all right? God, Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry. I deserve to be—”

 Tony held up his finger and made a sound that resembled a game show buzzer. “Don’t,” he ordered softly. “Don’t do that, kid. That’s a dark road I’ve traveled, and I won’t let you go down it. None of this was your fault, you understand? None of it. And the others are fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

 Peter frowned at him. “Mr. Stark? Are you fine? You’re—you’re crying.”

 Tony didn’t even realize it. He wiped his eyes dry. “Joyful tears, kid.” Then, without thinking about it, he leaned in and kissed the kid on the forehead. “Glad you’re ok,” he whispered, “so glad, Pete.”

 The End

[diicktective]

Character Interview

What is your name ? “Swift. What, ya mean my FIRST name ? Fine -- it’s Ulysses. HAPPY ? ”

Do you know why you were named that ? "I dunno why my Ma did anything, really.”

Single or taken ? “Single & keepin’ it that way.”

Stop being a Mary Sue ! “First off, HUH ? Second off, NO . ”

What’s your eye color ? “Brown.”

How about hair color ? “Black.”

Have you any family members ? “Last I checked there were some kickin’ around out there. We’re not in touch.”

Oh, how about pets ? “Nah, but sometimes the local alley cats follow me around.”

Now tell me something you don’t like.  “Tell ya somethin’ that GRINDS my GOAT  -- when people act like they KNOW shit about me. MOTHERFUCKER  -- you’re WRONG , and I’ll PROVE it. Anyone who’s ever thought about me WITHOUT a hand down their pants is just wastin’ time, and I don’t wanna hear’em pretend otherwise ! ”

Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do ? “Uh . . . Drugs.”

Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before ? ”I do plenty of that. Don’t we all ? ”

Ever … killed anyone before ? “Is that rumor still in circulation ? ”

What kind of animal are you ? “The worst kind -- a human one. Or do ya mean METAPHORICALLY ? Probably a fuckin’ cockroach or somethin’. A sewer rat, maybe. One’ve those things nobody LIKES but can't get rid of.”

Name your worst weaknesses ? “Occasionally I give a fuck. NASTY habit.”

Do you look up to anyone at all ? “What am I, a sucker ? ”

Are you straight, gay or bisexual ? “I like all sorts.”

Do you go to school ? “I’m done with that shit.”

Ever want to marry and have kids one day ? “Hell, no.”

Do you have fangirls / fanboys ? “I'm a popular guy -- but not THAT popular.”

What are you most afraid of ? “Right now, I’m REALLY afraid of this buzz wearin’ off. ‘ SCUSE me while I re - up.”

What do you usually wear ? “Uh . . . pants. A shirt. Shoes. My coat. A tie. I keep it simple. Best accessory’s a holster -- the Colt really adds all the GLITTER I need.”

What’s one food that tempts you ? “Fries’re pretty damn irresistible when they’re all fresh & hot. Splash some malt vinegar on those babies . . . get a nice thick vanilla shake to dip ‘em in . . . SORRY , I’m havin’ a moment.”

Am I annoying you ? “Oh, so you CAN tell. That’s good -- I was I worried I was bein’ too SUBTLE . ” 

Well, it’s not over ! “Great.”

What class are you ( low class, middle class, high class ) ? “Put it this way -- what I make wouldn’t be BAD if I didn’t SPEND so much more ! ”

How many friends do you have ? “Oh, lots.”

What are your thoughts on pie ? “Am I supposed to answer this WITHOUT referencing cunnilingus ? Cause that ain’t happenin’.”

Favorite drink ? “Straight whiskey, black coffee, or both.”

What’s your favorite place ? “The office, I guess.”

Are you interested in anyone ?  “I get PAID to be interested in people.”

That was a stupid question… “You said it, not me.”

Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean ? “Neither. Fuck you.”

What’s your type ? “Dangerous. Uh, or anyone I ain’t SUPPOSED to be screwin’ with. & the rough ‘n tumble sort in general. THEN there’s the real prim & proper ones . . . OR  -- hell, anyone, man. I don’t care ! ”

Any fetishes ? “We don’t have time for THAT conversation. Tell ya this for free -- I got a whole THING about pain. It ain’t always sexual, but . . . it’s usually sexual.”

Seme or Uke ? “Gesundheit.”

Camping or indoors ? “Indoors. I haven’t lost ALL my marbles.”

Who asked me to interview you ? “I don’t usually KISS & TELL , but . . . @patiencetaught​.” ​

Who would you like to send me to ? “Uh, lemme pull out the little black book -- ” @madame-coquette​ , @gghoulish​ , @grenkids​ ( dean or tilde maybe ? or anyone ! ) @genrcsavvy​ ( or any of your blogs ) @missmxrcy​ , @axgmented​ 

[lovewriting-5]

Rules:

*gif credit goes to @angelshizuka*

9. Confessions

11. Breaking Free

10. Screeching Tires:

We carefully enter the house, I call “Hello! Hello? Claire? Stephen?” When there is no answer, Daniel says “Looks like grandma and grandpa haven’t come back from church yet.” Sean looks at us with a little smile, “Well. At least they won’t yell at us for going out...” He says “That was so cool to spend time with Chris at the market! Did you know Chris’ mom was an artist?”

Sean says “We...didn’t...How so?” He says “She drew comics! You guys should see her drawings, they’re so cool. Just like yours!” Sean tells him “Thanks, dude.” Daniel looks around, “Hey! Uh...” I ask, suspiciously “What? What is it?” He says “Sean, (Y/N)...I wanna go check on the room...upstairs. I know it’s mom’s. Please...”

Sean and I look at each other. I tell him “Daniel, you heard Claire. They will freak out if they know we went inside. We promised them.” “We won’t tell them! We’ll be in total stealth mode! They won’t know anything if we make it quick...” he contradicts.

He also throws in “It’s just...I really want to know what’s inside. What kind of stuff she had. Chris had tons of things that belonged to his mom. And I have nothing! Come on...You guys don’t even have to come with me...if you don’t want to...”

“Fuck it. We’ll come with you...So you don’t make a mess and get us caught.” Sean tell him. The three of us head upstairs and go straight to the locked bedroom door. Daniel tries the knob. Frustrated, he says “The door is still locked! I just...Don’t get why they lock the room. What’s the big deal?” Sean says “We’ll find a way to open it.”

Mischievously, Daniel says “This is super easy! I can just break the lock with powers!” I say “Yeah, we could do that with a hammer...” “Let’s try and find the key instead, right?” Sean says. He says “I’m just gonna clean up real quick.” As soon as he went into the bathroom, I tell Sean “Sean, I’ll keep watch while you and Daniel search for the key.”

They begin searching all around the second floor. I was starting to get a little nervous that Claire and Stephen were going to return any moment. I tell them “Hurry up! They might come back any minute!” Sean says “Yes, we know. I can’t find the fucking key! We just need five minutes.”

I was sitting at the top step, keeping an eye on the front door. After five minutes, Sean sits down next to me. Frustrated, he says “I give up. This is impossible.” He then says “DANIEL!” Daniel comes walking over to us. Sean asks “You really think you could open this door...without doing too much damage?” A smile shot across his face, he says “Yes! I know I can.”

We stand up and follow him to the door. Cautiously, I tell him “Go for it.” He says “Yes!” Sean reminds him “And don’t blow apart the whole house...” Daniel holds out his hand and uses his power. There was a blast. I holds my arms in front of my face to block it from the debris. We see the damage. Sean asks, annoyed “Really?” He says “Oops...”

The two of them walk in the room. I stay in the doorway to still keep watch. I figured the two of them need to do this together. Daniel says “Wow. There’s not that much left. Where do you think they put the rest of her stuff?” Sean tells him “It’s her teenage room, I’m sure she...sorted through her things before leaving for Seattle. The rest is probably packed in these boxes.”

I could see that there were boxes stacked in the corner near the closet. The rest of the room looked like it hasn’t been touched in years. Daniel asked “Sean...What do you think happened to all the stuff in my room? When we left...” Sean says with sadness in his voice, “I don’t know, enano...I wish I could answer that.” All he says is “Okay...”

I see Daniel picks up a book and goes to sit down in the armchair in the far corner. From the doorway, I say “Okay, you guys seen everything, you wanted to see? Claire and Stephen will be home soon now.” Daniel says “Just...Five more minutes.” He sets the book down and starts looking at the other items in the room.

Daniel asks “Sean...Are you really mad at mom for leaving us with dad?” I know it’s a topic he doesn’t like to talk about. For Daniel’s sake, he says “It’s a bit more complicated than that, man...” Sean picks up a teddy bear that is sitting on the dresser. He shows it to me. I smile and say “Cute.”

Sean says “Hey Daniel, check this out. His name is Ulysses.” He asks “Like...the hero?!” Sean says “I guess.” He says “So cool!” Daniel takes the teddy bear and sits on the ground, “Hi Ulysses! So...You were a friend of my mommy’s? I hope she took good care of you. Did she take you with her when she went on trips? I wonder why mom loved it so much. You’re not that fluffy anymore, little bear...”

Underneath Ulysses there was a folded piece of paper. Sean picks it up and examines it. He asks “Why would Claire lock these up in here?” He goes and sits on the bed. Daniel sets the teddy bear down and follows.

Curiously, Daniel asks “Is that from mom? Huh? Let me see...” as he tries to grab the piece of paper. Sean blocks him, “Daniel...Come on...” As he tries to grab the paper again, “What’s it say? Read it!” Sean blocks him again, “Seriously, stop!” He moves the paper slightly so Daniel can read it. Daniel begins to read, “I’ve heard the news about Seattle. Please help my boys and their friend if they come to you...” I walk into the room further as he reads the letter.

He asks “What? Why did they hide this from us?” Unsure, Sean says “I don’t know...” Daniel continues “You can reach me at this address, it’s a PO Box I use sometimes.” He looks back and forth between Sean and I. Asking no one in particular, “What’s a PO Box?” Sounding disapproved, Sean tells him “Well, a cop out...in this case...” Daniel finishes reading the letter, “I...beg you...please...help my sons.”

“Oh yeah, right...Total bullshit.” Sean says a little angry. “What do you mean? She cares about us!” Daniel says. He says “Well...I don’t...” Trying to sound hopeful, Daniel says “Maybe she...changed her mind! We could try and contact her!”

He says “You don’t even know her, okay?! Don’t get any wrong ideas. We should just...stick to our plan. For now...” Daniel asks “Can I read it again...?” Handing the letter to him, Sean says “Yeah...Then we gotta go...”

Distracted by the letter, we never heard Claire and Stephen coming up the stairs. We knew they were there when Claire says, shocked “My goodness. What happened...?” I say “Shit!” She asks “Excuse me, what are you three doing in here?! Except, visibly...ransacking our house while we’re at church?” Sean and Daniel stand up from the bed with the letter in hand.

I try to explain “Claire...We’re sorry...But we just wanted to - -“ Sean interrupts “We were just looking...for answers...and...uh...” Looking at the door, Claire asks “Were they really worth breaking my door open?!” Calmly, Stephen says “Claire, please. Calm down...” She tells him “No Stephen! They went way out of line here!” She turns back to us, “We specifically told you to stay out of this room!”

Daniel tells her “Uh...I just wanted to see my mom’s stuff!” Claire tells him “This isn’t her room anymore! There is nothing to see in here! It’s time you learn to respect some rules!”

“What’s the problem, then? If there’s nothing to see, why lock us out? Or get mad? It’s like you’re in denial...I know that mom left us...and yeah, it made me mad...but at least we moved on...” Sean says, angrily. Pointing a finger at him, she says “Don’t you dare lecture me, Sean. You don’t know anything about how I feel!” She grabs the letter from his hand, “One letter doesn’t change what she did to me...all of us! She is not welcome back.”

Sean tells her “Just don’t blame us...for being curious about her...” Claire says “But I know her better than anybody! She hasn’t changed! She just feels guilty!” “I can’t hear that.” Stephen says. He then leaves the room.

She was going to go after him but turns back to Sean, “Listen, Sean...I know life has been tough on you the past month...Bless your souls. And...and we put up with a lot of things...But...that...Breaking our door to sneak in the room...That shows you don’t respect us. Then act like I’m the bad guy! After what we’ve done for you! I knew something like this might happen...maybe you three staying here wasn’t such a good idea...” I thought After all you have done for us. We appreciate it but they just want answers.

Having a realization, Sean says “Man! I think I see why mom left now...She couldn’t put up with your stupid rules anymore!” Claire says “Oh...So that’s what you think? Then let me tell you something - -“

There was a loud thump and then Stephen’s screams could be heard from downstairs. Claire yells “STEPHEN!”

We hurry down the stairs to his workshop and find him trapped beneath a cupboard. Frightened, I say “Oh, shit!” Stephen shouts “Get...this...god damn thing off me!” In terror, Claire says “Stephen! No! Hold on, honey! We’ll get it off...” The four of us try and lift it. He says in pain, “NO...stop! My legs!”

Daniel steps back away from the cupboard. I was still trying to think of ways to get Stephen out. Sean must have given him a signal because he yells, “Do it, Daniel! Now!” She asks, confused “Do what? What’s going on? Oh, Lord! What...What are you doing, Daniel?”

Claire and I step out of the way. Daniel holds his hand out and concentrates on the cupboard. The cupboard begins to lift just enough for Sean to pull Stephen out. Daniel falls to the floor in exhaustion. I catch him just before he hits the floor.

She rushes to Stephen’s side, “Oh, my baby...Stephen, are you okay?” Exhausted, Stephen says “Now I am...Thanks to Daniel...You were right, Claire. I should have fixed that cupboard months ago. I guess my laziness will get me someday...” Bewildered, Claire says “What in the name of God was that all about? That’s impossible...What are you, Daniel?” Sean says “Claire...Listen...” Stephen says “They saved me, Claire. That’s all that matters...” Finally accepting what happened, she says “Maybe...It was a miracle...Thank you, Lord...”

All of a sudden the doorbell rings. Claire stands up and looks out the window. She says “It’s the sheriff...” Muffled, the sheriff says “Stephen? Claire?” Claire says “I didn’t...” The sheriff says “It’s about your grandsons and their friend.” She says “We didn’t call them.” Sean tells her “I know, grandma...” It was the first time, I ever heard him call her that since we arrived.

The sheriff tells them “They were spotted at the Christmas market, earlier today...” Still standing close to me, Daniel asks “What are we gonna do?” Stephen says “Go hide in the garage!” Sean says “No...No! No way!” I add “If the police search the house, that makes the two of you accomplices.” She tells us “Get your bags and go out the back door...I will distract him...” I ask “Really?” Stephen says “Yes. Now...”

The sheriff asks again “Stephen?” He says “Get the hell out of here!” The sheriff says “I know you’re in here, your car is in the driveway...” Sounding very caring, Claire says “I’m so sorry...For everything...I wish we could have helped you more...I wish you could stay here with us...Watch out for Daniel.” I tell them “Thanks for helping us...Both of you...” She tells us “Oh, we love you. Now hurry up!”

The three of us sneak into the hallway. Sean says “(Y/N), Daniel, wait for me while I go upstairs and grab our bags!” He runs upstairs. Daniel and I crouch as we run to the back. We hear Claire slightly open the front door and begin talking to the sheriff. Daniel and I have our winter gear on when Sean joins us with our backpacks in hand. Daniel and I throw our backpacks on. I open the back door and quietly say “Hurry!” Sean says “Move your ass, bro...Shit!”

We are in the backyard. We see another cop car pull up. I look around and decide the Eriksen’s yard. I tell them “This way!” We run towards their yard and climb the fence.

We run to the front yard of the Eriksen’s house. We are stopped in our tracks when a third cop car pulls up. We hold for a second and wait. The cop car put on its siren and pulls back out in our direction. All of a sudden Chris runs out into the middle of the road. He holds out his hand. Daniel yells “Chris!”

Daniel then thrusts his hand out and throws the cop car off the road into a tree. Chris turns to face us and is disappointed at the sight. Sean and I pull Daniel away. We run off in the opposite direction.

We came to a clearing up on top of a hill overlooking railroad tracks. We take a rest on a rock.

[icarus-suraki]

unusual asks: 4, 14, 37, 79

4. do you like your name? why? Ah ha ha ha, so I'm not going to tell my real name, but I'll say that my first, middle, and (probably obviously) last name are all family names. My first name isn't so bad, except that my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and a number of other relatives all have the same first name. It's really a family name on my mother's side. It's not a bad name, but it doesn't feel like my name because I've been called by my middle name all my life. With so many people with the same first name, it makes sense, right?

My middle name is...different. I mean, I'm a woman (though I'm a bit sloshy on that sometimes) but my middle name is a really old, slightly ugly-sounding name that's usually given to boys. It's a family name, formerly a surname--and since my family is undeniably Southern, we follow the good tradition of giving daughters family surnames that were "lost" in marriages. And that's how I, a girl, ended up going by a name that's basically on par with Cuthbert or Aethelrad or Gruffudd. It did not make my school-years easy, no.

And my last name is a strange spelling of a Dutch name--if it were English, it might be something like the surname "James" being spelled like "Jaymesse." We aren't quite sure how it came to us since we can only trace it back to one person. We know when and who he married, but we have no information about him before or after that. We know he was out of the picture when his wife was pregnant (whether he died or ran off or was kidnapped or something we don't know). His wife, at a loss as for what to do, went to her sister's house and lived with her sister and her sister's husband for a while. And then she named the baby after her sister's husband??? But with her own (now our) last name???? She was an interesting woman. But we just don't know much about the man who gave us our last name. There's some family conjecture that he might have been an Eastern European Jew and, when that came out, that was totally unacceptable to his wife and her family. So either she left him or he left her. Either way, we've still got the name. And now, whenever one of us with the name goes to Europe, we like to confuse the locals. (I think I got more of the British Isles genes, but my brother definitely got the Dutch genes because he looks like a damn Tour de France cyclist.)

Do I like my name? It's not the easiest to live with, but it's got a colorful past. So I don't always like it, but it's interesting, to say the least.

14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? This is so hard to answer because it changes based on my mood and the season. Sometimes I'm like "I want to live somewhere tropical and warm in a house that almost doesn't need windows with long sheer curtains where I can be a hippie doing yoga and eating smoothie bowls up in the trees." And other times I'm like "Wouldn't it be interesting to live in Japan? Maybe Tokyo, but more like Kyoto and out in the suburbs. Or maybe out in the country, like a real Studio Ghibli place." France crosses my mind too, sometimes Paris, sometimes Provence, sometimes Normandy...

But I think, and this is probably pretty predictable, that the most aesthetically-comfortable place, to me, would probably be the Lake District in the UK.

Is the UK all that great in ever sense? No, for many reasons (Brexit is only one of them). But in terms of weather, wildlife, scenery, familiarity from children's picture books, I think it's got to be the Lake District (and environs).

It was one of the last places we visited when I did a summer abroad. We'd done London (exciting but such a city), we'd done Scotland (rather craggy and gray), we'd done Bath (I was sick as a dog so I can't make much of a judgement and would like to go back), we'd done Oxford (and I thought I was a snob, fuck me), we'd done Yorkshire (suddenly the grimness of the Bronte sisters makes sense)... And then we took this long bus ride northwards and up into the Lake District and it was such a...relief in a funny sense of the word. Trees! Fields! Foxgloves! Stiles over fences! Walking paths! Lovely cottages!

If I was appallingly rich, I'd find an old cottage to move into and live there and grow a cottage garden and probably have a Patterdale terrier named Toby or Tommy and take lots of walks.

The Cotswolds were a close second, as I recall, but not quite as much of a spiritual(?) relief.

37. do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? The greatest irony of being a librarian is that everyone thinks you read all the time but you often don't have enough time to read at all.

Some librarians manage to pull it off, but I don't. I've gotten picky about books as I've gotten older. I had to lead some book discussions at my libraries, so I've had to read some very boring books (in some cases the book was boring but I did understand why books like it would appeal to some people). And I just don't have the mental capacity to suffer through boring books if I don't have to. So, no, I don't read all that much--

--in terms of books, at least. I've found that I'll read zillions of articles: longform, shortform, magazine, newspaper, online... I've got a few websites for sources and I'll just kind of look around and then suddenly say, "Wait, what?" and find myself reading, say, a GQ article about two Mormon brothers accused of murdering their parents and the whole backstory of the situation. If you drop a longform article about Weird Shit in front of me, yeah, I'll probably read it.

Which actually makes me wonder if I might want to read more nonfiction at the moment. Hmmm........

But favorite book? Favorite favorite book? Fuck, I'm such a sucker for Ulysses. I know, everyone's like "it's dirty!" or "it's too hard to understand!" And that's cool. But for me, it reads rather like poetry to me, dirty bits and all. And I love it and it has saved my life a few times. James Joyce got me through my 20s, okay?

I had hoped to go to Ireland, and Dublin specifically, in the summer or fall of 2020. Obviously that didn't happen, lmao. But part of my idea was to research tattoo shops before I went and to get a line from the "Ithaca" chapter tattooed on me somewhere. The line is:

"The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit"

It's got to be one of my favorite lines in all of literature. T. S. Eliot has a couple of lines that are close seconds (it's almost time to read Ash Wednesday again and, hnnnngh, it's so good), but between the Eliot lines and the Joyce lines? Yeah, I'm going with the heaventree of stars.

I am a terrible person with a dirty mind. What can you do?

79. do you believe in ghosts? Most of the time I'm like: "Nah, I don't really believe in ghosts. It’d be kind of cool if they were real, right? But, nah, l don’t."

And then I'll watch some really good “real” ghost videos and it'll be about 11:30 at night and I'm immediately "I have changed my stance re: ghosts and I will be sleeping with the light on. Goodnight."

But generally speaking? As someone who has spent the night in a couple of supposedly haunted places? I guess I'm more in the "I want to believe" category. It'd be cool, wouldn't it? But I don't think it'll happen.

Now that said, I do still wonder about the Gray Man With The Hat that my mother and I have both seen on different occasions. It has to be something about how human brains understand certain things in certain situations (esp. related to light/shadow). We both wonder if it might be kind of like a "collective unconscious" situation, where something unfamiliar is interpreted as something familiar and then the brain puts that familiar "icon" (which is Pete Lorre in M, evidently?) over whatever the image the brain can't compute.

It's not directly related to ghosts in the typical sense, but I do have strong feelings about certain Jungian concepts (I have an aunt who's got some major Jungian background)--sometimes in a mystical way, sometimes in a more rational way. So I guess that's why I feel like I, personally, don't believe in ghosts as ghosts are generally viewed today. But I also think that people who say they've encountered ghosts shouldn't be dismissed immediately as wrong--they experienced something, I absolutely believe that, and it’s not fair or kind to dismiss them out of hand.

[convivialcamera]

Let’s talk smack about Outlander S5E1!

I’ve got cake and a Bulleit bourbon on the rocks and a lot of things to say, so I’m just gonna let it rip.

1. Baby Jamie’s hair is the wrong color and it’s gonna drive me nuts. But, Murtagh is breaking my heart.

2. I really disliked the new theme song on first listen and honestly, it grew on me this time around.

3. I know we’re supposed to have totally forgiven Roger for whatever the fuck happened in season four, but I do love that Jamie is totally ripping into him ... pretty much constantly. 

4. “The Big House” is patently absurd. Beautiful, but totally and utterly absurd. Can’t wait for it to burn the fuck down!

5. Claire’s in “nothing but a loving wife and mother” mode here, and it’s totally boring me to tears. I miss her.

6. WHY do we run through “Something new, something old, etc.” twice? Who wrote this?

7. So the tea is that I haven’t watched season four since it first aired, but I’m pretty sure Bree was still pretty pissed at Jamie when the season ended. So, why is she all “I don’t have to imagine you” and “I’ll always be your wee girl?” It’s sweet, but also out of nowhere. MOVING ON.

7a. WHAT DID THEY DO TO ELLEN’S PEARLS?

8. What the shit is up with the whole “THE FRASERS OF THE RIDGE ARE HERE” and applause and shit? Bree’s barely a Fraser and she’s about to become a MacKenzie and I don’t understand the form of this wedding procession at all. Ah, yes, we are shoehorning in lines from the book. How original. And Claire’s little pep talk to Roger is SO FUCKING TRITE. “The two of you together can conquer the world,” my butt. WHO IS WRITING THIS I HAVE NOTES.

9. HOW DARE THEY FLASHBACK TO “THE WEDDING.” HOW THE FUCK DARE THEY. The whole fandom’s got every frame of that episode burned into the back of their corneas and they have the audacity to invoke the ghost of a way better show in this... mess? OK I want Bree and Roger to work as a couple on this show but it would really be in season five’s best interest to keep season one off its proverbial lips.

EDITED TO ADD 9a. Jamie complains about Bree and Roger’s ceremony being in English and not Latin, and then the show immediately flashes back to Claire and Jamie’s wedding... IN ENGLISH. UNFORCED ERROR. Just, skip the flashbacks. It’s better this way.

10. Gov. Tryion is interesting. As bored as I was with the cliffhanger last season (because yeah, Jamie is gonna hunt down his beloved godfather, sure), this is good.

11. JAMIE IS TELLING EVERYONE ROGER IS A HERETIC. The pettiness! The shade! I live! {I swear they need to give Claire something to do because if I’m stanning JAMMF we have a problem.}

12. Reminder that Aunt Jocasta is a slave owner. That is all.

13. Roger’s comment about doing the whole wedding again “when we go back” is ACTUALLY INTERESTING. He thinks he’s going back sometime soonish? Oooo, good conflict, show!

14. I’m still trying to figure out the rules to the drinking game led by John Quincy Meyers. You say a rhyme without messing it up, and you can forefit or fail and then forfeit, and then you pass it to someone else in the circle? But if you get it right you have to come up with a new one? It sounds like fun and I wanna hang with Fergus and Marsali because they are so clearly the cool kids. LOVE THEM.

15. “Some Shakespeare?” Poor LGJ. Too proper for his own good at all times. 

16. OK. The flashback to Bonnet raping Bree is SO VERY UNNECESSARY. It was already in the “Previously on Outlander” bit. This show is way too fucking casual with violence against women. It’s gross. That ep is a whole half of why I’ll probably never watch season four again, and then they just throw it in again. Bree’s reaction is ENOUGH. The rape was unnecessary in season four, it was way too graphic in season four, and it’s very much unneeded here. 

17. Reminder that Aunt Jocasta is a slave owner. That is all.

18. I know The Beatles are probably way out of this show’s budget (they spent it all on that damn house), and as cute as Roger’s singing is... OH GOD THE SEX MONTAGE.

19. I would like to propose a new rule. If show is going to continue to do graphic sex scenes, which they had fucking better, ONLY ONE GENERATION AN EPISODE. For example, if Claire and Jamie are banging, Bree and Roger  can’t. If Murtagh is getting it on, Claire and Jamie have to wait. Bree and Roger and Fergus and Marsali can do it in the same episode, that’s cool, they’re the same generation. But the three generations of graphic banging in one montage is WEIRD. MOVING ON.

20. I was so excited in season three when the show totally supplanted Duncan Innes with a pair of fake Rupert and Anguses, because Duncan Innes is not a character that works for me in the books. So I’m pretty deeply disappointed that he’s back in season five. I am very worried we’re setting up Duncan being cuckolded by Jocasta and Ulysses, you know, the man she owns as a slave, but they could also be setting the stage for Duncan being cuckolded by Jocasta and Murtagh -- and I want so much better for Murtagh!

21. LIZZIE WEYMMS AND JOSIAH BEARDSLEY! WE’RE GONNA GET LIZZIE AND HER TWO HUSBANDS! It’s one of my more fave plot lines in book six, which is truly faint praise considering how much I dislike “A Breath of Snow and Ashes,” and it cracks me up every time. She, just, outfoxes everyone so slyly! It’s good and cray cray shit. 

22. Reminder that Aunt Jocasta is a slave owner. That is all.

23. Doctor Claire! Love her. But it’d be nice if the show was back on her bullshit, not everyone else’s.

24. If this season ends with Murgagh’s head on a spike in New Berne, I’m gonna be pissed. 

25. Here’s the thing about the blood oath. Roger does it in the book kind of for Jamie’s benefit, to prove himself publicly in a language Jamie understands. Bree isn’t into this shit. Why is he doing it for her? 

26. Claire’s assertion that “The men of the Ridge would do anything for” Jamie assumes so many facts not in evidence. Why are they making her so dumb? It’s FRUSTRATING. 

27. MY CAKE FELL.

28. OK, the kilt thing is good. Doesn’t make up for my cake falling. My fave part was the multiple shots of Jamie’s knees, like show knows about all the knee smut or something. 

29. Well, they went full cross burning. Couldn’t stop them, I suppose. I am entirely horrified anyone thought this was at all appropriate or not entirely inflammatory (no pun intended); intellectually I was surprised how much the celtic cross mitigated the visceral horror of cross-burning imagery for me, personally. It’s still not good and they should not have done it because WTF. There’s really no getting around how fucking racist this is. Please fuck off with this shit.

30. “Stand by my hand Fergus, son of my name and of my heart” was the sweetest. FERGUS! 

31. WHY DO THEY HAVE A SECOND CROSS ALREADY MADE? WHY ARE CLAIRE AND JAMIE RANDOMLY STANDING BY IT? WHY IS IT ON A CLIFF? IS INSTAGRAM A THING YET? THEY REALLY DID THIS FOR THE AESTHETIC.

32. NOOOOOOOOO. Jamie releasing Murtagh from his oath. MY HEART. Again: If this season ends with Murtagh’s head on a spike I’m going to be very pissed. 

33. Murdina and Arch Bug were in the credits so that will be exciting at some point, one assumes!

34. But my god, GIVE ME CLAIRE OR GIVE ME DEATH.

[warriorofdragons]

The Baby’s Coming

You watch as Kandomere triple checks your baby bag.

He sighs, “I think that’s everything.”

You smile at him and he stops and stares at you, “What?”

“Have I told you how much I love you?” you ask.

A smile graces his lips and he glances down, “Only every day.”

“Well, I love you,” you whisper affectionately.

He steps towards you and wraps an arm around you, “I love you too,” he says and presses a kiss to your lips. You smile as he pulls back and stare around the nursery.

“People will be confused as to why we painted it blue,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow and glances around, “Well, it’s our favorite color, so no one should be surprised.”

“You know next time when we have twins we can paint it blue AND pink,” you say as you stare off and Kandomere’s hand rubs across your back, “We’ll have to move of course, this place isn’t big enough for the five of us. But you’ll be happy about us being safer further from the city.”

“Darling?” he questions.

You turn to him and blink, “Yes?”

“What makes you think we’ll have twins?” he asks studying you curiously.

You blink again and furrow your brows, “I don’t know I just…have a feeling?”

He presses his lips to your forehead, “Well I need to get you to my mother’s place before I have to head to work.”

You rub your hands across your belly and sigh, “I still can’t convince you to let me stay here?”

He starts to turn and stops, “Absolutely not. You are due any day now and I will not leave you here all by yourself.”

He turns and walks into your nearby bedroom and quickly returns with your suitcase. He insists on carrying everything as the two of you head out of your apartment and down the elevator and to his car.

He puts everything in the trunk and then opens your door for you.

You smile and give him another quick peck before climbing into the vehicle.

When you reach his mother’s house, she meets you outside and as you open your door she walks to your side and extends a hand to you and helps you out.

“Verona, I may be pregnant but I can still walk,” you say as she loops her arm in yours and ushers you inside.

Kandomere smiles at you and begins to retrieve your things from the car and then follows you both inside.

“I’ve already got a room ready for you,” Verona begins.

She guides you through the house and shows you to a bedroom on the first floor.

You step through the door and admire the room.

It’s a spare bedroom, but it’s just as nice as any fancy hotel room would be.

“I wanted to make sure you would be in walking distance of the kitchen should you get any late night cravings,” Verona says with a wink.

You smile at her and then look at Kandomere as he enters the room and sets your things down.

“Now, Mamá, this is her baby bag, you NEED to take it with you to the hospital,” Kandomere says holding it up.

Verona waves a hand at her son,  “Honestly, hijo, you act as though I didn’t birth four children.”

“Mamá, por favor,” he pleads.

She sighs, “I won’t forget it.”

“You both know I’m not due for another week, right?” you ask.

Kandomere sets your bag down near the bed, “I know, Mi Alma, I just want-“

“To take every precaution,” you finish for him, “I know.”

He grasps your shoulders and kisses you on the cheek, “Like it or not I’m going to worry,” he says pulling back.

“And so am I,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that something bad is happening at work, and that’s why you’re having me stay at your mother’s on such short notice,” you say.

He inhales, “Yes, there is something…and I…I just want you and the baby to be as far away as possible tonight.”

You wrap your arms around him and he buries his face in your hair, “Be safe,” you whisper.

“I will,” he says softly.

You pull back from him, “I want you HERE when the baby comes, alright?”

He smiles, “I promise, My Love.”

You smile and then press your lips to his.

You walk with him to the front door and wave at him as he heads to the car.

You stare at him and then purse your lips and stride towards him and he pulls you in for another kiss. Verona watches silently from the doorstep and then waves at her son as he backs out of the driveway.

Then she extends a hand towards you, “Come Dear, I’ll make lunch.”

You spend the day chatting with your mother-in-law and watching soap operas with her. And when early evening hits you return to the kitchen from a trip to the bathroom to find her preparing supper.

“So were are Aranea and Cirinea? I thought they were staying here as well?” you ask.

“Oh they’re at some red carpet premiere, they probably won’t be back until late tonight,” Verona says, “And not to worry Maretha is picking up your mother from the airport tomorrow morning, I’m sure Kandomere has already told you.”

You nod and walk over to the island counter with your left hand resting on your belly and eye the food she’s preparing hungrily.

You inhale, “That smells so good already.”

Verona smiles, “I thought you might be in the mood for something like this. I used to eat this dish all the time when I was pregnant, it was the one consistent craving I had through all of them.”

You’re wearing a long, blue, floral dress since you’ve found dresses to be the most comfortable thing to wear this far into your pregnancy. You grab a glass and open the refrigerator and pour yourself some strawberry lemonade.

Sipping it, you close the door and start to head back to the living room.

You reach the dining room when you double over in pain and elicit a small cry.

You hear the clattering of a knife on the counter and Verona rushes to your side, “Is it the baby?! Is she coming?!” she asks in alarm.

You clutch at your abdomen and catch your breath, “I don’t know, she usually has some pretty strong kicks.”

“Did it happen here?” she asks placing her hand on your abdomen.

You feel the pain happen again and cry out.

“Oh Dear, that’s definitely a birthing cry, “Verona says looping her arm around you to help support you.

“NOW?! But the baby’s not supposed to come for another week!” you protest.

Verona helps you to a chair in the dining room, “The baby comes when the baby wants to,” she says and then she rushes back to the kitchen to turn off the stove before disappearing down the hall towards the guest bedroom.

She returns shortly with your baby bag and your shoes and phone and then helps you to her car. Once in the car you reach for your phone and dial your husband…

                                                                      *******

Kandomere surveys the teams assembled as they prep to move in on the targets. He strides over to Montehugh who is currently relaying information over a radio.

“Alright, Boss, we’re ready to move in,” Montehugh says.

Kandomere nods and then he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket.

There’s a rumble of thunder overhead and his brows furrow as he stares up at the darkened sky. He pulls his phone out and stares down at it…it’s his wife.

She wouldn’t be calling unless…

The baby.

He picks it up and holds the phone to his ear, “Mi Alma?” he asks in a hushed tone.

His ears are met with frantic breathing, “Kandomere? The baby’s coming,” she says followed by a groan.

He glances around at the agents in full gear, of all times…

“I promise you, I’ll be there when you give birth to our daughter,” he assures her.

“Okay…I love you,” she says, “Please, get here soon.”

“I love you too, and I’ll be there as soon as I’m able, Querida, goodbye,” he says.

“Bye, My Love,” she breathes.

He hangs up the phone and stuffs it back into his pocket and then runs a hand through his hair.

“Shit, Boss, did I hear that right?’ Montehugh questions, “Is she going into labor now?”

Kandomere wets his lips and nods and stares off into the distance.

He can’t leave now, but his wife needs him.

She’s with his mother, Mamá will take care of her.

Knowing her she would not leave his wife’s side for anything.

“Fuck, of all the times to have a kid,” Montehugh continues.

“I know,” Kandomere states his breathing becoming heavier.

He’s nervous for his wife and child, what if something goes wrong? And he’s not there? Half-elven children can be tricky to birth…

“Look, alright, think of it this way,” Montehugh begins sensing the elf’s nervousness, “It’s your first baby so it’s gonna take her a while, and both mom and the baby will be fine in the meantime. You said yourself that her pregnancy has been going great.“

Kandomere slowly turns back to him, “You’re right, Ulysses.”

There’s more chatter on the radio and Montehugh listens to it for a moment before saying, “They’re in position, Boss.”

Kandomere sighs, “Tell them to move in.”

                                                                  *******

You’re in a hospital bed, waiting to be moved to the delivery room finally after several hours and Verona is now telling you way too many details about how she birthed your husband.

“And it hurt just as bad as the last ones but at least it only took me fours hours and I didn’t shit myself either!” Verona exclaims.

“Verona, this isn’t actually helping,” you say.

“Oh, well I’m just saying you didn’t eat supper so you probably won’t shit yourself either,” she says matter of factly.

You glare at her and then cry out in pain again.

Verona stands up, “They’re getting closer together, where are those damned nurses!”

You stare out the window at the rain that’s now beating against it, “Where’s Kandomere?” you moan.

Verona returns to your bed and clasps your hand tightly, “Shh, I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“Verona, it was nine when I called him and now it’s almost seven!” you exclaim.

Verona purses her lips and is unsure of what to say.

You cry out again and throw your head back against the pillow.

“They’re very close together now,” Verona says and hits the call button and calls for a nurse and unsatisfied with that steps out of the room and into the hall and you hear her start shouting. You then hear a bunch of footsteps and several people including your doctor pour into the room and start to help you out of this one and into the delivery room.

As they’re wheeling you across the hall you see Kandomere running towards you.

He’s missing his jacket and his dress shirt is stained with soot and dirt.

You start crying when you see your husband.

“I came as quickly as I could,” he says out of breath.

“About damn time!” his mother scolds, “She’s literally about to push her out!”

You cry out in pain again as the medical staff transfers you to the delivery room.

Kandomere is at your side in an instant, and he grips your left hand in his, “I’m here as I promised, Mi Amor.”

You smile at him.

“I’ll go check to see if the girls are here yet,” Verona says as she disappears out of sight.

“Alright, deep breaths,” the nurse says.

You stare at your husband and he takes a deep breath with you.

                                                                  *******

The elf doesn’t complain when she squeezes his hand with an intensity the likes of which he has never seen from her.

“Alright, now push!” the nurse orders.

His wife cries out as she attempts to birth their child.

When she stops, she breathes heavily, and Kandomere can smell a fresh wave of fear roll off of her.

“Mi Alma, look at me,” he says.

She lifts her head to stare at him.

“You can do this. Our baby girl is almost here, you just have to help push her the rest of the way,” he encourages.

She nods.

“You can do this,” he repeats.

She pushes again and again and again.

He glances over at the baby now peeking out, “You’re almost there,” he assures her.

She nods shakily, sweat pouring from her brow and gives one final push and there’s a chorus of voices as the doctor intercepts the baby and steps back with her. Kandomere stares at his child and then at his wife, “You did it!” he whispers pressing his face into her hair.

She smiles wide and slumps against the pillow, exhausted.

The doctor and nurses begin cleaning and examining their little girl.

His wife takes a few ragged breaths and he kisses her hand.

“How is she?” his wife asks.

Kandomere’s smile fades as he realizes that his baby is silent.

She should be crying.

Why is she not crying?

He turns to stare at the doctor and nurses huddled around his newborn infant and his ears catch the barest whispers of their conversation and Kandomere scowls.

Her lungs are filled with fluid.

He lets go of his wife’s hand and stalks towards them slowly. One of the nurses looks up at him and gets very nervous, “…Sir.”

Kandomere stares at his too still baby in the doctor’s arms and his blood boils.

He then hears a choking sob from his wife, “NO!”

He turns to stare at her and she looks from him to the doctor and shakes her head, “NO!! I WANT MY BABY!!!” she screams.

Kandomere’s heart breaks for both his mate and his child.

But then he catches sight of a flicker from the machines next to her as she cries out and his attention swiftly turns to his babe.

And her eyes open and lets out a cry.

The doctor who had begun his attempt to revive her seems surprised, but quickly recovers and begins his normal routine of checking for any other worrying conditions now that she’s conscious. Kandomere looks back at his wife and she’s starting to smile as she listens to their daughter’s cries.

He swiftly returns to her and grasps her hand once more.

“Is she?” she begins.

“She’s healthy,” he says, “Her lungs are clear and her voice is strong.”

And indeed with his hearing, Kandomere can hear that there’s nothing obstructing her airways and nothing hindering her gusto.

His wife sobs in relief and he thumbs away her tears and soothes her.

She stares up as they finally swaddle their daughter, “Can I hold her?”

The baby is gingerly lowered into his wife’s open arms.

And the moment she touches her mother she stops crying altogether.

There’s a few looks of confusion among the medical staff that quickly wipe themselves away and turn into smiles.

His wife cradles their baby in her arms and stares at her tiny face,” Hi,” she says and smiles before starting to cry again, “I’m your mommy.”

Then she leans down and brushes her nose gently across the baby’s.

When she lifts her head up, “Do you want to hold her?” she asks turning to him.

He stares down at the child, his child, and nods.

She carefully passes her off to him, and he holds his baby against his chest.

His daughter definitely has his ears and the wisps of her hair are blue like his.

And he’s pleased to find that her eyes are her mother’s.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers.

“She is,” his wife agrees.

“Just like her mother,” he says glancing at his mate.

She smiles.

He begins to softly sing to the baby in Elvish and rock her gently and his daughter seems curious at the sounds he’s making. He also hopes that she is starting to connect the dots on the voice she heard when she was in her mother’s womb.

After a few minutes a nurse cautiously approaches the couple to take their daughter into the hospital’s care for a short time. Kandomere finds it hard to relinquish her and his wife is no different.

He does follow the nurse with his baby out of the room where his mother is waiting.

She clasps her hands over her mouth at the sight of his child, “Oh, she’s so beautiful.”

“Mother, could you-“ Kandomere begins.

“Not to worry I’ll keep an eye and an ear out for her. I’ll not have anything happen to my granddaughter,” she says and then proceeds to follow the nurse.

He returns to his wife’s side and kisses her sweat-soaked forehead, “Mother is going to keep an eye on her.”

His wife seems to relax at that, “Good.”

Eventually his wife’s mother is escorted to the hospital by Maretha and they relieve him while he goes to check on his baby. He finds the nursery and his mother leaves to relay the news to Cirinea and Aranea. Kandomere stares at his daughter amidst the others, unmistakable as the only half-elf.

He sighs in content.

“Hey, Boss,” a familiar voice greets.

Kandomere turns to see Montehugh striding towards him trailed by two other familiar individuals dressed in uniform.

“So how’s fatherhood treating ya?” Montehugh asks.

“It’s pretty good so far,” Kandomere says and then stares at the two behind Montehugh.

“Sir,” Ward begins, “We were just checking in on-“

“Ooh where’s the baby?!” Jakoby asks excitedly as he presses his hands against the glass and peers inside, “Oh is that him? He’s so adorable!”

“SHE,” Kandomere corrects flatly.

“Oh right, I’m sorry, She. She’s so adorable,” Jakoby apologizes awkwardly, and then he stares at her again, “Oh look! She’s got your ears!” he exclaims in quiet delight.

Kandomere’s mouth begins to open slightly and his narrowed eyes slowly move between the two officers. And then he focuses his attention on his sleeping daughter again and he smiles.

“She does,” he says softly.

“Oh you must be so proud,” Jakoby continues.

“Alright Nick,” Ward warns, “You saw the baby. Now. Let’s. Go.”

“I’m sorry it’s just not everyday you get a chance to see a baby elf especially not a half-elf,” Jakoby says.

Kandomere raises his brows at him.

“I mean you probably get to see baby elves all the time. I mean you made this one so…” Jakoby trails off as he realizes his partner is glaring at him with a tight lip and shaking his head, “Right,” Jakoby says quietly now fidgeting with his belt loops, “I need to get back to work. Congratulations by the way.”

“Congratulations, Sir,” Ward echoes as he forces a smile and then walks off with his partner.

After they’re out of sight Kandomere can hear them start to argue about what is and isn’t appropriate behavior.

Kandomere then turns back to stare lovingly at his daughter.

“You two made a good looking kid,” Montehugh says

Kandomere smiles and nods.

“I’m honestly relieved she mostly took after her mother,” Montehugh jokes.

Kandomere stares at him and chuckles.

Montehugh chuckles too and then claps him on the back.

“But seriously though, congratulations on your first kid,” Montehugh says seriously.

“I love her so much already,” Kandomere says.

                                                                  *******

After both of your families are done cooing over your new baby Hernández and McTavish come into your room to visit you both.

“Oh my God she’s adorable!” McTavish exclaims softly clapping her hands to her face.

You and your husband smile broadly at them.

“Ugh those little cheeks!” Hernández coos.

You and Kandomere glance at one another knowingly.

McTavish approaches the bed, “Have you two picked out a name for her yet?”

“We have,” you say.

“And we decided to name her after you,” Kandomere says.

McTavish’s eyes widen, “Me?”

You nod.

She starts to cry and furiously wipes at her face.

“You know this means that Papá Kandomere is just going to wander around the house calling a little Gwendolyn,” Hernández says as she also starts to tear up.

“I KNOW!” McTavish sobs, “How Long Have You Been Planning This?!”

“We decided on it quite some time ago that if we were to have a girl that would be her name,” Kandomere says with a smile.

Eventually all the crying subsides and the three of you are alone again. You’ve dimmed the lights and you’re holding your sleeping baby after having breastfed her and you’re just enjoying watching her sleep. Kandomere has an arm wrapped around you and his face buried in your hair.

“Kandomere,” you whisper.

“Hm?” he hums.

You thumb across your baby’s forehead, “She’s a Bright,” you whisper.

Kandomere straightens and stares down at her and then at you, “Are you sure?”

You nod, “I’m sure.”

He inhales and it’s quiet for a moment.

You have a feeling he expected this.

You can sense the magic within your sleeping daughter, afterall it came from you.

‘Then I will protect you both,” Kandomere whispers.

You glance up at him and then lean towards him and kiss him.

When you pull apart you stare back down at little Gwendolyn and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Kandomere wraps his arm tighter around you and with his other arm helps you support the baby and he holds you both safe in his arms.

[malfoyheartsgranger]

Ulysses: A Tale of Late Nights

Summary: A story about Draco, Hermione, their love, late nights, and why Hermione always stays.

Request: no siree

A/N: This is loosely based on the song “Ulysses” by Josh Garrels. Not my finest work, but I will still share. Ulysses: https://youtu.be/S3YKD_qKVwM

Warnings: alcohol, cheating, swearing

Word Count: 1.5k

. . .

It is nearly two o'clock in the morning when I hear the apartment door swing open. It is always like this with him. Late nights filled with drinks and friends and probably some girls. I try my best to ignore the fact that I was most likely not the only one he spent his nights with. There are ones before me and sometimes ones after me.

I’m holding on to the hope that one day this could be made right.

I am supposed to be the only one. That’s what it’s meant to be like when you’re together.

Not for Draco.

I’ve been shipwrecked, and left for dead, and I have seen the darkest sights.

I hear him stumble around in the kitchen. I picture the pots that hang above the counter swinging when I hear the clatter. Merlin knows what he could be doing out there. Maybe making a pot of spaghetti, maybe cleaning dishes, maybe snogging another girl. The only thing that makes me doubt the third is the loud curse that escapes his mouth then.

He wasn’t always like this. When we first got together, he was so attentive, so sweet. He was unlike Viktor or Ron. He was better. We both returned to Hogwarts for our seventh year. Both of us became head students, and soon enough, our patrols and duties were neglected for each other. It took a long time, but I realized that I had fallen for him. I had fallen for Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince.

Everyone I’ve loved seems like a stranger in the night.

It was slow, his transformation. It all began after Lucius Malfoy died in Azkaban. He had claimed he hated his father even before the fact, but I knew how he really felt. He didn’t despise his father; he despised what his father stood for. He hated that when he thought of Lucius, he thought of all those years in Malfoy Manor, his life controlled, his choices made for him. He hated that when his gaze drifted to his forearm, the Mark on it did not remind him of Voldemort, but of his corrupt family. He hated that when he looked into his mother’s eyes, he saw pain, and he knew that his father was the reason it was there. But he didn’t hate Lucius. No, I knew the truth. He loved his father. He was just too proud to admit it.

But oh my heart still burns, tells me to return, and search the fading light.

First he was angry. Angry at his father for controlling him, angry at his mother for allowing herself to fall prey to Lucius’s mistreatment of her all those years, angry at himself for not being capable of protecting everyone.

Back from a meeting with the headmistress one night, I entered the shared Head Boy and Girl common rooms to find him on the floor with his wand pointed at his arm. His shoulders were hunched, his head down. Quietly, I shut the door and advanced. As I approached, I saw that his wand was pointed directly at the scar of the Dark Mark that remained. Several gashes ran through it, appearing as though someone had taken a knife and slashed at it. I knew, though, that Draco had done it himself with his wand. His entire body shook as he let out a sob. I threw my hand over my mouth as one of my own escaped. My Draco, my strong, strong Slytherin, in pieces.

The moon illuminated the common room through one of the large windows beside the fireplace. His face was painted a ghastly shade of white as his head turned to me. His wand fell from his long fingers and he went as to cover up the Mark. The blood oozed between his fingertips. It ran down his arm and splattered the carpet. I rushed to his side.

I’m sailing home to you I won’t be long.

I slid onto the ground beside him and joined him in his pain. I cried as he did, and I shook as he sobbed.

By the light of the moon I will press on.

He fell into my arms when I opened them for him, and he laid his head on my chest. Maybe it should have felt awkward, my small frame cradling his much larger one, but somehow it didn’t. It felt … right. His tears soaked my shirt, but I didn’t mind.

It was in that exact moment that I realized just how much I loved this boy.

Until, I find, my love.

“Draco,” I murmured, “what have you done?”

He took a shuddering breath and spoke. “I just - I just wanted it gone.”

Not the Mark, I knew, although that, too, would have been a benefit. He wanted the memories gone. He wanted to be free of the evil scar that reminded him of all his pain.

He had hurt himself to do so, and I felt his pain with him. I hurt for him. I hurt for myself. Mostly I hurt for the young boy he had been when he endured all that the Mark reminded him of now.

And still, I let him cry onto me.

Trouble has beset my ways, and wicked winds have blown.

He was just sad after that. I guess he had been sad for a while. He cried a lot. I let him.

A light flicks on outside the bedroom. I see the yellow rays slip underneath the closed door. I glance toward them and catch his footsteps heading towards the room.

I turn my face into my pillow and pull the sheets up around me. I may be awake, but he doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to know that I wait for him every night he leaves. He doesn’t need to know that I make tea for myself at midnight in order to keep my drooping eyelids from falling shut.

Sirens call my name, they say they’ll ease my pain, then break me on the stones.

I could leave. I know I could. But when the door creaks open and Draco walks over to the bed and stops, I know I won’t. Because I know him. I know what he will do.

When he kisses the top of my head, rubs a hand on my hair, and lets it lay there for a moment, I realize once again, to what extent I belong to him.

Fully.

But true love is the burden that will carry me back home.

I hear him begin to undress. The dresser drawers and the closet door open as he searches for pajamas. He is quiet now, his movements slow, shuffled - unlike he was when he first walked into the apartment. It’s because I am in the room. He doesn’t want to wake me.

Carry me with the, memories of the, beauty I have known.

If I left, I would be abandoning one of the most wonderful men I have ever met. I would be neglecting all of the good memories that outweigh the terrible ones. I would also be freeing myself. There is a price for freedom.

The sheets make a slick sound as Draco slides into the bed. He wiggles until he finds a comfortable position. His sigh as he runs an arm down my own causes me to smile a bit. Then I register the smile and it wipes off of my face, followed by a tear. The whole thing is a bit bittersweet, I would say.

I’m sailing home to you I won’t be long.

I’m luckier than most. At least he comes home every night. Throughout our relationship, there has never been a night when I did not fall asleep with his arm slung around my body. There has never been a morning when I did not wake up before him and stare at him and wonder how the hell I got so lucky. Because I really did.

By the light of moon I will press on.

I can’t complain. Maybe he is rowdy. Maybe he has a bit too much fun. Maybe he spends a lot of time out. But he also kisses me goodnight every night, makes me breakfast when I sleep in, and tells me he loves me.

These things may not occur as frequently as they used to, but they still happen, and that makes me fortunate.

That makes me love him.

So tie me to the mast of this old ship and point me home.

And just as I do every night, I fall asleep thinking that, yes, I could leave. But I won’t. I know I won’t.

He needs someone to hold him when he cries, someone to wrap bandages around his forearm, someone to admire his beauty.

Before I lose the one I love, before my chance is gone.

He needs someone to love him.

I want to hold, her in, my arms.

I will be that person, even if I don’t want to.

Damn you, Draco Malfoy. Damn you for making me stay.

…

my stories

[felassanis]

My favourite Fallout NPC’S (Fallout 3,NV and 4!)

Raul Tejada (Fallout: New Vegas) AKA my snarky Abuelo who puts up with all my bullshit and complains about his knees and eats all my sweets. 

ED-E (Fallout: New Vegas) My sweet spherical boi who I would die for. And who I keep calling E-dee not Eddie despite the game telling me numerous times it’s pronounced Eddie. 

Deacon (Fallout 4) This motherfucker who Bethesda wouldn't me put a ring on. Funny, doesn’t take anything seriously and rocks the sunglasses. A very complicated and mysterious dude who keeps lying to my sorry face and makes me have a meltdown over a stupid note all for his own entertainment. He’s an asshole but I love it. My favourite dude in FO4

Three Dog (Fallout 3) Cool. Just the embodiment of cool. Says cool shit. Has cool ideas. Cool goals and a cool voice. If there was three dog merch in the wasteland I would buy everything. Even overpriced mugs.

Ulysses (Fallout: New Vegas) This ray of fucking sunshine. Nice voice and I am one of the few individuals who thirst for this mailman. Constantly hinted about throughout the game and the DLC’s which is kinda spooky but very intriguing. Talks waaaay too much but I actually like the way he broodily talks.

Jonas (Fallout 3) VIP of the did not deserve it club. I was enraged when he died and beat Alphonse with a baseball bat. I liked this geezer cuz he was kind and clearly held affection for the LW, wish we got more of him but he’s on this list because I have a tendency to sometimes get attached to minor characters too quickly.

Cait (Fallout 4) She could stab me and I’d still worship the ground she stood on. Mad woman who’s got the biggest balls in the Commonwealth and I have huge respect for her. 

Charon (Fallout 3) One tall motherfucker, knew he was something special when after I got his contract by killing an old precious lady he straight up whipped out a shotgun and blasted his former boss to oblivion and then turned to me as if nothing happened...

MacCready (Fallout 4) Swearing toddler becomes a greasy weasel who can’t swear. MacCready beats Danse all the way sorry folks, I love my sniper with the bad teenager attitude more than the rigid soldier who’s mean to Nick, Hancock and Deacon. Also nice hat.

Benny (Fallout: New Vegas) I sped halfway across the Mojave desert looking for Chandler from friends and I wasn’t disappointed. If he took off the damn suit I wouldn’t have found him which just sums up his priorities...

Arcade Gannon (Fallout: New Vegas) ayyyy my bro, the guy who does 99.9% of the work. Seriously, I’d be dead without him and I think he fucking knows it the smarty smug bugger.

Moira (Fallout 3) I am very conflicted towards her. On one hand, I wanna body slam her into the bomb at Megaton, but on the other, I also do a disgruntled grunt as I treck across the wasteland fetching her material for her book.

Butch Deloria (Fallout 3) ohh boy. The fallout heartthrob in my opinion. deffo enemies to lovers trope if you’re into him. I mean, he’s immature and obnoxious but that kind of attitude is entertaining when you’ve got a mean old merc named jericho, a 7 foot ghoul named Charon who doesn’t talk much and a brainwashed slave girl named Clover. and more lovelies. Plus, he’s a greaser and they’re hot so...

Dean Domino (Fallout: New Vegas/Dead Money) I hate this asshole. I love this asshole. He’s done bad bad BAD things but he’s so charismatic so I don’t care lmao. Also, kinda tragic in a way. He couldn’t let go so he stayed in the streets under the Sierra Madre for over 200 years...

Christine Royce (Fallout: New Vegas/Dead Money)  I am ngl I had the hots for her during the elevator scene. Also, unique and I like how she tied into Ulysses and Veronica. I like her story too, tragic hero and all that.

Muggy (Fallout: New Vegas/ Old World Blues) Muggy fucking cracks me up and if you haven’t met this guy lemme tell you, that gif? whatever you’re thinking about how he sounds or what he is like YOU’RE FUCKING WRONG.

[nellie-elizabeth]

Outlander: The Fiery Cross (5x01)

I know the episode is called "The Fiery Cross" because the book is called The Fiery Cross. I know it's a bit moment and everything. But honestly... yikes? A little bit?

Cons:

I did really like this episode over-all, but I do want to start with the big, obvious problem with having our white hero burn an actual cross on-screen. I know it's a symbol that has been tainted by later association. I know there's a rich cultural history there. But you could say the same damn thing about a swastika, and if you want to evoke that image, you can't avoid the obvious connotations. You just can't. This is a group of white men making a pledge while a giant cross burns in the center of a clearing. It evokes the KKK. It just does.

And also lest we forget, Jocasta is a slave owner, Ulysses is a slave. These things are there, and they're brushed over and accepted by our supposed heroes far too quickly. Bree and Roger's qualms about baby Jemmy inheriting River Run are not enough for them to cut an actual slave owner out of their lives, which is what they really should be doing. It's a lot. And I don't want to be a downer, I don't want to make this review just about that, but I'd be remiss if I didn't say it early and say it often.

Pros:

The beginning of the book version starts at the Gathering, and it's a couple hundred pages covering the events of just one day. I like the changes that were made to streamline things here. Setting it at the Ridge made the gathering smaller, and allowed the focus to be on Bree and Roger's wedding, which makes sense. It also gives a chance to focus on the gorgeous setting, in particular the new "Big House" that has been built for Claire and Jamie, with Roger and Bree having moved in to the original cottage.

I also like how this episode manages to "catch up" with all of the characters without it feeling too much like exposition. We last left these characters at a moment of transition. Bree and Roger had just reunited. Roger's relationship with Jamie was still very much in flux, with Jamie's accidental betrayal of Roger, and Roger's hesitance to return to Bree with the knowledge that she might be carrying another man's child. Murtagh is forced to go on the run from the Brits. So many things uncertain.

Here, some time has passed - a new house has been (mostly) built. Roger and Bree have settled into their relationship again. And Jamie and Roger's relationship... well, that looks like it's going to be quite interesting. I haven't been Roger and Brianna's biggest fan, in terms of my investment in their romance. But Roger as a character I do enjoy, and his bond with Jamie is something I really liked seeing develop in the books. We are off to a good start with it here. The scene where Jamie helps Roger to shave with a straight-razor is so charged, with all of the things said and unsaid between them.

Roger is insecure and also genuinely worried about his lack of practical skills when it comes to living in the back country, knowing he needs to provide for his family. Jamie is put off by his status as a Presbyterian, and hesitant to entirely trust him given his doubts about returning to Brianna. And yet in the moment of truth, he walks his daughter down the aisle, he says he will give her away, and he stands and applauds when the ceremony has concluded. Later, we see Roger kneel and pledge his loyalty to Jamie. There is a lot of weight behind this oath, and I'm excited to see their relationship develop over the course of the season.

I'm still ultimately on the fence about Murtagh being here, in many ways. There are a lot of pros and cons to his inclusion. The biggest "con" currently is his relationship with Jocasta. Duncan is still going to swoop in and marry her, like in the books, but... yeah, Murtagh doesn't really fit into Jocasta's story as I remember it. I guess I'm interested to see where they take it?

Where Murtagh does work is as a personal stake for Jamie to balk at, as he contemplates his involvement in the War of Regulation. He's been tasked by Governor Tryon to track Murtagh down, and to call on his men to form a regiment. Jamie is forced to say goodbye to his godfather, in what is probably a final goodbye. Murtagh, even knowing what he does about the future as Claire explains it, cannot step away from the Regulators. This puts him and Jamie on opposite sides. Jamie telling Murtagh to leave, and to make himself hard to find, and then crying and dropping to his knees... that had me feeling my feelings in a big way.

Despite my ambivalence about the Murtagh/Jocasta situation, I really liked the sex montage, where we see Bree and Roger consummate their marriage, Jamie and Claire try to have sex without waking baby Jemmy, and Murtagh and Jocasta reunite in a private hideaway. This is all happening while Sinatra's "Love" plays in the background. It was sweet to see Roger serenade Bree - their memories of 20th century life are a big part of what ties them to each other here in the 18th century.

This episode had a lot of happiness for the newlywed couple. I loved the cake eating part, and the way they looked at each other during the vows. But at the same time, there were lingering hints that things might not all be dandy. I loved that Roger claimed Jemmy as his blood, with a little goading from Jocasta. But the specter of Stephen Bonnet lingers, as Bree overhears Lord John telling Jamie that the smuggler has been spotted alive. There's also the fact that Brianna seems to have embraced her life here on the Ridge, while Roger is making off-hand comments about returning to their own time. That's going to be a conversation they have to have.

We meet Josiah Beardsley for the first time, and Jamie invites him to live on the Ridge. Lizzie seems interested. I'm really curious how they do this story-line too, given that apparently the same actor is going to be playing Jo and Kezzie!

So, my two favorite characters in Outlander have always been and always will be, Lord John Grey and Fergus Fraser. The show has thus far done be the insane honor of expanding their roles from the books, and I could not be happier about it. Fergus and Marsali are at the wedding being adorable, and we see that Marsali is pregnant again. Since they are already set up living the urban life in Wilmington, I wonder if Fergus' story will by-pass the depression he undergoes in the books, because he is unable to care for his growing family one-handed. I'm excited to see how that story is changed here. Fergus and Marsali are honestly an adorable couple and I love them a lot. Also, Jamie calling Fergus "son of my name and my heart" and ushering him forward to give an oath? I exploded into a million happy pieces.

And Lord John! He doesn't appear in The Fiery Cross AT ALL, except for through letters, which might be one factor for why it's my least favorite of the books. So I was not expecting to see him here. It's so wonderful to think that he'd come so far to attend Roger and Brianna's wedding. He became such a good friend to Brianna in season four, and of course his ties to Jamie are numerous. He was so cute, trying to quote Shakespeare in the limerick competition, and then gamely taking a drink as instructed. He is the cutest and I will love him for always.

I think we'll stop there for now. This was a strong opening to the season. I'll admit I'm not thrilled with the burning cross thing, although I can see why they felt like they kind of had to include it. As I mentioned, the fifth book is my least favorite of the series, and I think is mostly widely regarded as the weakest of the lot. We're already seeing how a lot of things have been condensed for the show, and I'll be curious to see how they shape the story moving forward!

8/10

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

Soft!Sadithur while hunting together (probably Clemens Point)?

I’m working through these! This ended up more fishing than hunting, but I hope that’s okay ;)

This is very long, so it’s under the cut, for the sake of all your dashboards

Characters: Sadie Adler, Arthur Morgan, Hamish SinclairThemes: Fluff, Canon Divergent, Arthur never got sick, Implied post VDLWords: 2,299Warnings: None[ leave a tip ] | [ ao3 ]

The temperature was dropping as the sun dipped below Three Sisters. Sadie and Arthur had been riding most of the day, on their way from Strawberry to Annesburg. Arthur turned back to Sadie, pulling up on Ulysses’ reigns.

“Hey, there is a cabin I know of up ahead. We can stop there for the night., it’s gonna get cold.”

“Don’t need to get fancy just for me.” Sadie countered.

“Ain’t fancy, I just know I’d rather sleep indoors if that was an option.” He shrugged his shoulders and spurred Ulysses on again. 

The cabin had been empty since Hamish had passed. Arthur spotted it as they came over the hill, his heart sank in his chest, the windows dark and cold. He knew better than to expect Hamish to be there, but it didn’t hurt any less. They approached the cabin, Arthur motioned for Sadie to follow him around the back. He dismounted and opened the small gate and ushering Ulysses into the pen, Sadie followed with Bob. They stripped the horses down and Arthur tested the door, locked. He pulled the lock-breaker out and quietly worked the lock.

“How you know the owner isn’t coming back?” Sadie leaned against the house watching Arthur work the lock.

“He died.” Arthur didn’t look up at her, his voice low. Sadie pushed off the house, her hand brushing his shoulder as she walked over to their tack and pulled the bedrolls. The lock clicked and Arthur opened the door, holding it open for her.

The inside of the cabin was musty, a layer of dust coated the interior. Arthur’s eyes scanned the room as Sadie wandered the cabin, stopping to look at a paper on the table. His eyes landed on the fish above the mantle, he sighed and walked the rest of the way into the cabin, closing the door behind him.

“This your veteran friend’s place?” Sadie looked over at Arthur.

“Hamish.” Arthur said, quietly. “Yeah, this was his place.” He shrugged out of his coat, putting it on a hook by the door, like he had done so many times before. “You can take the bed, I’ll get a fire started.”

He dropped down by the fireplace, there were a couple of logs still sitting there, dried out from their time indoors. He moved them to the fireplace, he stood and moved to the table, picking up the paper. The burning of Braithwaite manor was the front page article. He turned and struck a match and lit the corner of the paper dropping onto the logs in the fireplace. 

That had been a tough conversation to have.

---

Hamish invited him in same as always, but instead of light-hearted talk he just sat down and pushed the paper toward Arthur. Arthur saw the headline, dropping his head, unable to meet Hamish’s eyes. 

“I ain’t a good man.” Arthur muttered. “You knew that.” He opened his mouth the continue, but Hamish cut him off.

“Is it true though, what they are sayin’?” Hamish prodded a finger at the paper, pushing it again closer to Arthur.

He picked up the paper, scanning through the article. Of course they had pinned the arson on them, it had been their fault, the rest of the article called out the number of other crimes of the Van der Linde gang. It all was true, Arthur felt his gut drop, the terrible things they had done he had told himself it was an ‘us or them’ situation, but the list was long and seeing them all in one place made it hard to look past what the gang had really become.

“They ain’t sayin’ anything that hasn’t happened, no.” Arthur was quiet, he stood near the door. “I’ll see myself out. Sorry t’bother ya.” He opened the door and stepped out, his chest tight.

“Arthur!” Hamish shouted after him, “Damnit boy, get back here!” He pushed up from the table and followed him outside.

He sat in the saddle, unsure why he stopped. He didn’t turn to look to Hamish, his eyes locked to the floor. He didn’t know why Hamish had stopped him, maybe some part of him really hoped that he wasn’t completely irredeemable, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath for that. He was Arthur Morgan, murderer, outlaw, thief. Wanted in 5 states, notorious lieutenant of the Van der Linde gang.

“We were gonna go fishing, where you goin’?” Hamish’s expression seemed tired, a small smile on his face, but sadness filled his eyes. It was that look, it was the look people got when they recognized him. A mixture of fear and forced courtesy, he sighed.

“You don’t have to do this, I promise you’ll never see me again.” Arthur pulled gently on the reigns, turning the horse away.

“Don’t you tell me what I don’t have to do.” The sadness was replaced by anger, the fire biting behind his eyes. Arthur looked back, Hamish has disappeared into the house, emerging a few moments later with a rod in his hand. He brandished it at Arthur. “Get in the god damn boat!” Arthur dipped his head and swung down off the saddle, silently heading toward the dock.

----

Arthur chuckled darkly, watching as the paper burned. The logs were dry enough to start and he turned to Sadie who was searching through the cupboards, she stopped and turned to him.

“Ain’t gotta do that, bed’s big enough for both of us,” she paused, “and we both could use the rest.” 

“I’ll be fine on the floor.”  Arthur met her in the kitchen. “I’m gonna see if I can’t catch us some fish for dinner.” He put his hand on her shoulder. He would never say it, but it was nice that she looked out for him. She watched him as he walked out the front door. The cold air rushed in around him, Sadie hadn’t realized how quickly the fire warmed the cabin and a shiver ran down her spine. She glanced to the back door, Arthur’s coat still hung there, She grabbed it and followed him out. He stood by the lake. The sun had fallen behind the mountains, it threw a beautiful pink haze over the lake, the wind bit into her as she closed the door behind her. 

“You left your coat.” His shoulders stiffened momentarily, he turned and took the coat from her. His eyes wandered from the coat to Sadie. The cold bit her nose and fingers. She hadn’t invested in a heavy coat since joining the gang, there hadn’t been much need the wind caused her to shiver slightly, goosebumps running up her neck. He draped the coat on her shoulders, she looked up at him.

“You need it more than me.” Sadie noticed now, looking at him, the steam lifting off him. She shook her head, moving to shrug out of the coat, she felt his hand clasp around the front of the coat. “‘Specially if yer gonna help me catch dinner.” He released his grip and turned back to the lake, baiting the hook on his rod. 

The coat was warm, Sadie was surprised at how well it kept the heat in, she looked down at it, the fur in the lining was familiar, she couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but it wasn’t soft enough for rabbit...something heavier. 

“I ain’t much of a fisher, I’m better with a gun.” Sadie pulled her arms through the sleeve of the coat.

“Good a time as any t’learn.” Arthur held out the pole, she huffed taking the pole from him, the sleeves making it difficult for her to maneuver the rod. Arthur watched her out of the corner of his eye as she struggled with the rod. “Put your arms out.” He took the rod back from her, and she stuck her arms out as told, her face less than thrilled. He gently rolled the sleeves, exposing her finger through the thick fur lining.

“Thanks.” She took the rod back from him.

“You know the basics? Or ya need me to show ya how the rod works?” He bent down and picked up the lantern on the ground next to him, lighting it and setting it back on the ground. He pulled out a cigarette and used the match to light it as well before flicking the matchstick into the water.

“I am just too impatient, I know how t’fish, just never want to wait for a bite.” Sadie offered, shrugging her shoulders slightly. Arthur barked a laugh.

“Two sides of the same coin.” He shook his head and threw and arm around her shoulder. “I’m gonna let you in on a lil’ secret Hamish shared with me.” He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his satchel, Sadie stifled a laugh. 

“I see he was a good teacher.” She took the bottle from him. The warmth from his body seeped into the coat, she took a swig from the bottle and the warmth from the whiskey snaking down her throat. She handed the bottle back to him, he straightened up and moved toward the water. Sadie found herself missing his warmth as he pulled away. 

“That he was.” He took a swig from the bottle, waving her over to the water’s edge. “C’mon now, the fish ain’t gonna catch themselves.” 

They both cast their lines into the water, the pinks from the sky fading into purples and blues as they waited for a bite. They shared a bottle between them, talking quietly about life, about all the shit they had endured. Sadie’s line dipped beneath the water first, the fish taking the bait, she pulled back hard setting the hook. She fought the line, slowly bringing the fish in, Arthur watched as she put all her weight into the fight.

He missed the first tug on his line, the rod set aside against a rock, bottle to his lips. It fell to the ground with the second tug and he caught it just as it started to pull along the shore.

“Ope! Got me one too.” He muttered, grabbing for the pole. The pulled in two decent sized salmon, each of them comparing their haul. A smile crept across Sadie’s face in the darkness as she pointed out how hers was bigger.

“We should get these cooked up before it gets too late.” She took the fish from him and started toward the cabin. “You’ll catch cold if we’re out here to much longer.” Arthur scoffed from behind her, picking up the rods, tackle, and lantern he followed her back to the cabin.

“It ain’t that cold out here.” He watched her walk with purpose back to the house, his coat hilariously long on her, flutter behind her as she walked.

He wasn’t going to say that the warmth of the cabin wasn’t welcome. He kicked the mud from his boots and stepped inside. Sadie had hung his coat by the door, her boots discarded by the door, his chest tightened. She hadn’t known Hamish, only heard the stories he told, but she still respected his memory enough to make sure not to track mud through the man’s house. He smiled, bending over, he picked them up, he knocked them against the outer wall of the cabin, placing them back where he found them inside the door.

“You know how to cook them fish?” He joked as he joined her in the kitchen. “I could show you a few pointers.” 

“I’ve seen what you eat, I ain’t sure you know how t’cook ‘em either.” She chided. He pushed her gently with his hips. The gentleness caught her off guard and she looked up at him. The smile on his face, she couldn’t help but stare, it reached his eyes and she found herself smiling back at him. 

He worked quickly with the fish, removing the bones and prepping it for the fire. Sadie watched him, he pulled some herbs out of his satchel, tucking them into little slits he cut into the meat. She sat down at the table, watching him work, he never failed to impress her. She rose and took a pan off the wall, it was old and  worn. She turned it over in her hands, wiping the inside of it with her shirt to clear the cobwebs. She put it on the counter next to him and turned to look about the cabin. 

So many memories were left here, she had never pressed Arthur for what happened. Hamish had been his friend, she knew something had happened when he came back that last time. He looked hollow, so distant for a time. She made her way around the room, glimpsing more into the life of Arthur’s friend. He had finished his prep on the fish, panning them up and placing the pan in the fire.

“Should be ready to eat in a few minutes.” He wiped his hands off on his pants.

“Who taught you about the herbs?” Sadie sat down at the table.

“Bessie.” He joined her. “Back when it was just the five of us. I helped a lot more ‘round camp.”

“What was she like? Y’all talked about her so much.” Sadie rested her head in her hand. 

“A pistol.” He looked at her, warmth in his eyes. “You remind me a lot of her. She was a hell of a woman.” Sadie felt her ears get hot.

“Ya ain’t gotta say that.” Sadie muttered, turning away from his gaze.

“I ain’t gotta say anything.” He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “You really do, everything about ya. I see that same fire and I understand just how Hosea felt.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re one hell of a woman Mrs. Adler.”

[darrowsrising]

Dark Age final thoughts, by yours truly! Spoilers ahead, blacklist the tag.

One thing you learn about talking about books on the internet is that if you can't take criticism of your own criticism - someone disagrees with a critique of yours - you should check your panties for uncomfortable bunches.

You can state your opinions without getting offended if someone disagrees with them (of course they should do that in a respectful manner). If you didn't want anyone discussing what you say, then pardon me, I had this ridiculous thought that we can have a conversation around our separate opinions.

I never aim to change one's opinion. I only want to present things how I see them. Because I always agree to disagree, as books are subjective. Our interpretation of them even more so.

Please, fellow Howlers, take this post of mine and if you disagree with what I say here, tell me so and add your own thoughts.

I don't have rose-coloured glasses when it comes to Red Rising, despite the what I look like. I do have rose eyes when it comes to Darrow and I ain't sorry. But it's always the good parts that interest me more than its bad parts. That's why I don't talk about them much. Why wouldn't I do that? I am here for a great time, not for Pixie time.

Now, to delve as I should in this abyss of my mind, here are my final Dark Age thoughts:

I love this book and I'd give it 5/5.

There were some plot points that kinda felt wierd to me. Like the fact that Atlas and Atalantia have way more claws embedded into the Republic than I thought possible. Some things are too much like the Obsidian Gorgon.

Yet, 99.99% procent of it was amazing.

I loved Mustang's pov the most, it delievered exactly what I wanted and more.

Darrow is on equal footing, even if his plot was heart-breaking.

Lyria was gorgeous and I loved her plot the mostn to be honest. It had everything.

Ephraim found his guts and stopped wallowing and it was glorious! I was wary of his redemption, but in the end, it was indeed glorious. Tragic, but he was built that way. I never expected otherwise.

Lysander was hard to endure. Very hard. There is no redemption for him. Too many of such arcs can be annoying, although Pierce Brown always deliever.

I knew Cassius wouldn't die like that. When he looked at Lysander, I had the same feeling as when Sevro called Lilath an 'untidy abortion'. Which was glorious. Of course, he wouldn't even think that, but he surely has some regrets that he let Lysander become this.

Pax and Electra are amazing and sweet. And feral. I am so happy that we got more of them. They are exactly what I love part mother, part father, 100% their own bloodydamn selves.

Victra was a goddess and I love her so very much. The writing is so amazing when it comes to Victra. I felt how genuine she is and how out there. It was beautiful to read. So beaitiful.

Lyria, Volga and Victra are amazing and it was amazing to read of them. Now I want more.

The girl action in this book was exactly what I needed.

Also loved Virginia with Holiday and Theodora.

I am devastated still from the death of some of my faves and my new faves.

Ephraim was always annoying to me, but after Pax and the Obsidians kick sense into him, I do come to appreciate his style. Thank Reaper he stopped with those us vs. them, I disliked those the most.

Volga is the most precious feral baby ever and if something happens to her, I don't care, we riot.

Luckly, Adrius 2 doesn't know how to erase memories yet. So here's hoping Cassius, Darrow, Screwface and Thraxa rescue them on their way to Mars.

Atlas au Raa is really overpowered imo. I dislike his comparation with Vlad the Impaler, it is ill-fitting.

Diomedes is on Earth. The Minotar is joining the fray.

Lysander got the Minotar to protect himself against Atalantia&co. And to help him bring them down, I suppose. But Apollonius is a lot like Tactus. Darrow is just worth following. I'd rather have Apollonius fight with Darrow than Lysander getting something else than life in Deepgrave (or something similar). He might want to be the Apex Predator and steal Darrow's thunder, but Darrow is the only one who beat him multiple times. Apple is unpredictable. I wouldn't count on him fighting for Lysander for long, he is no lap dog.

Holiday should kill Flavinius, that would be a sight to see.

Ragnar's father or not, that Gorgon is going down.

Lyria's parasite is interesting, but I'm dying to know what the fuck it is. Pax, you're as sly as your father and intelligent as your mother, but damn if my waiting like 2 years to find out about Figment doesn't frustrate me.

Atalantia and Lilath should die terribly.

Daxo, Sefi, Alexandar, Ephraim and Ulysses' deaths were the hardest on me. I can't re-read this book.

The violence I didn't mind in the least, I am used to it, I read A Song of Ice and Fire and Broken Empire and I'm used to it. Even if it happens to characters you like and thus dousing the flame of hope in you, I don't find it unnecessary. The Red girls destroying the Red Hand, the Reds gathering to fight, Lyria causing all of that - beautiful. Even Sefi's death - the Obsidians were feared even in Morning Star that they would rampage everything. They indeed were held back only by Sefi. So her brutal death was what ignited the wildfire. A swift death would have left the Obsidians feel sorry for their queen.

Virginia being vulnerable in front of Victra and full of scars, more than even on Victra's body, was beutiful. I just want Darrow to kiss every one of them 😭 I am happy that these two are how they are. They're coming together was beautiful.

Atalantia and Atlas are 100% for taking the Rim. Lysander hasn't find out about the real Ascomanni. That might be what bites him on ythe arse at the end. Still, there is the risk that he suffers from poison, but, as Rising data shows, he poisons himself a bit at the time to withstand poison.

Kalindora believing in Lysander makes me pity her. Lysander thinks of what people do to pay back their horrible deeds and says that it is what Kalindora, Cassius and Darrow did. I pity him too...Cassius' mercy wasn't about ganing back honor.

Lysander's mum issues are almost as disgusting as the incestuous pedophile he will have to marry.

Ajax wasn't much of a threat, more like a foot soldier, because he is no man, but a little insecure boy that let's himself be a victim and a puppy. He is no Aja or Atlas. He is a little puppet with some great razor wielding skills.

I understand how Adrius' plans deceived Virginia. We are shown exactly how he is the smarter of the twins. But Virginia pulled through and I love her arcs.

I knew the Vox was corrupted and Dancer would be a puppet. Too bad he is also a victim. He didn't deserve that.

Virginia cried before the Day of the Red Doves and after she woke up on Dejah Thoris. I cried with her.

I love Mars, I love that planet so much. I love its people. Even the Minotaur is Martian. And I love Virginia's Iron Circle and the way every martian gathered to see Pride Two and the Sovereign. I love the slingBlade made of blazes in Cimmeria. I love how Mars received the Sovereign. They love her for her, not because she is Darrow's ally or wife. They love their Sovereign.

Lyria and Volga are totally it for each other.

The writing was so beautiful, I love it very much. Well, that's an understatement, but words elude me right now.

I feel that Pierce built the clonning thing well enough that the clone of the Jackal is a twist, but not impossible, so I liled that.

The Minotaur would kill Glirastes and he should.

Rhonna broke my heart.

Valdir is surely out there gathering the remains and I totally believe he would go with either Darrow or Virginia, or Volga. He'd want to deliever the heart of that Gorgon personally to Tyr Morga.

I'm afraid for Sevro, Pebble and Clown, but here's hoping, because that's all we can do.

Aurea might be Evey and I'm all for it. Someone needs to drag Diomedes from the shiteshow.

Finally, in the immortal words of Pierce Elliot Brown on HowlerPodn episode 31:

Dark Age is the best book in the series and if you don't like it, that's fine. Fuck you!