#and I would have dropped it like a hot potato if they had kept him or defended him

[captaintiny]

I haven't really spoken about this with everything else going on, but it's been on my mind.

As a massive LPOTL fan, it was genuinely heartbreaking and disappointing to hear the news about Ben and what his girlfriend endured. When you listen to the episodes close to his departure, it's incredibly clear he's not fully present, and has lost a lot of his charm from earlier in the show. I hope his stint in rehab helps him find peace, and that Taylor finds safety and security going forward.

That being said, I am so glad Marcus and Henry decided to drop him from the show and the network as a whole. It was absolutely the right choice. It might not have been the safe decision, and definitely not the easy one. But it was correct. I am really enjoying Ed as the third host and I really hope they keep him full-time.

[ryanmarshallryan]

The Foodie Genie

Vincent had purchased a vintage cookie jar from an odd little antique booth at a local county fair. He thought it would be a perfect thing to put his homemade cookies in, which he always kept a batch of dough ready to make on hand, as they were his favorite, and perfect to bring out when hosting guests.

He did not expect it, though, when it began to smoke as he tried to clean it at home. Sparks flew out of it as he dropped it into his sink. Somehow unshattered, but still spewing sparks and purple colored smoke, he heard it make a squelching sound as if someone was prying their hand out of the cookie jar but it was suctioned in.

A great big figure of semi-transparent man jolted up out of the cookie jar and smacked its head into the ceiling.

“Years of hitting my head in my tiny little jar, to finally being released to hit my head again. Go figure,” said the being.

Vincent surveyed its impressive height, its massive belly, its bald head and goatee, and the way its legs seemed to swirl away into almost smoke.

“All right then, let’s get to it, I am Xavier, Genie for the Foodies, great to meet you,” Xavier held out a comically large hand, Vincent stared at it in surprise, “And your name is?”

“Vincent,” he blurted out, “Vincent’s my name, but you - what are you?”

“A genie. You got ears right?” Xavier said as it leaned back in the air, crossed its arms which accentuated its belly forward a bit.

“Of a cookie jar? I’m confused.”

“I could do the whole song and dance introduction, but I don’t want to overwhelm the already overwhelmed.” Xavier stated, magicking a large cushioned chair, and motioning Vincent into it. “You see, I’m a special kind of genie. A previous wish-giver was a foodie if I ever saw one, and made it so I can only grant wishes of a specific nature. For example, any food you could desire I could produce.”

Just then a whole feast of roast duck, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and more appeared with a pop in front of Vincent. Then in another moment all vanished, and was replaced with a buffet style platter filled with noodles and meats and rolls and veggies, and again vanished and was replaced with a vat of ice cream, steaming in the hot room.

“You get the picture, I can help you experience the rarest of delicacies too… and every once in a while I get someone who wants to become a rare delicacy themself, if you know what I mean.” Xavier raised his eyebrows, and watched as Vincent looked intrigued. “The one who wished I could only grant food related wishes, used his last wish to have me even swallow him whole! He wanted to experience first hand what it would be like to be food,” Xavier, floated upside down and let his large belly hang down and show how massive it is. It seemed to grow and inflate until it was pushing up against Vincent’s face.

In a flash of smoke Vincent suddenly had a gut the size of a yoga ball, and the genie was back to normal.

“Or I can give you more room, so that any meal you desire you’ll be able to finish, and have room for seconds…” Xavier snapped and Vincent’s belly swelled to the size of a compact car, “Thirds… fourths… you get the picture.”

In another puff of smoke the room filled with jello and Vincent felt himself floating in the giant mass and heard a muffled shouting from Xavier say “Or if you’d like to play with your food, I’m sure we could have a fun swim.” Another puff of smoke and Vincent was as small as a soup spoon, looking up at a dollhouse sized castle made of graham crackers and gingerbread. The candy door of it swung open and Xavier popped out, “Come on in, and consider a wish. You get three. No more. No less.”

Vincent entered the graham cracker castle, grabbed a chunk of chocolate that was by the door and nibbled on it. Xavier let him up a staircase made of cake, into a hall with a long table. They sat down and Xavier asked again what wish Vincent would begin with.

Vincent thought for a while. He supposed his wishes didn’t matter as much as a normal genie’s might. He didn’t think the world would collapse if he wished for a fridge with unlimited eclairs or something.

“I wish I had a fridge that could summon any food I desire when I opened it.”

“I can work with that,” said Xavier. A flash of smoke and they were normal sized, sitting on the kitchen floor. The genie gestured behind Vincent who turned to see a purple fridge replacing his old one. He opened it to find his favorite smoothie sitting on the center rack.

“Cool!” Vincent exclaimed, picking up the smoothie, closing the door and opening it again to find a plate of kebab waiting for him as well, “I didn’t even realize I wanted that. Thanks!”

Vincent drank and ate as he considered another wish. How could a wish regarding food be helpful for both himself and others? Maybe he could wish to change the taste of anything he ate to something he loved. That’d make shoving down the burnt stuff his friend made more bearable, even enjoyable. Or perhaps he could wish to not have any allergy to food or poison: to digest anything. But what if he wanted to heat something but not digest it?  “I wish I could change the shape of my gut at will, so if I want to eat a whole roast pig I could do it in one sitting, but then be able to change my gut’s size back to another size to fit my clothes.”

“Hmm that’s an interesting one. Many ways that one could be used without relation to food so it’d be tricky to see if my powers would allow. I think I can grant it, but only if the primary body part you are changing shape is that of your gut and digestive system.”

Vincent felt a surge of energy through him like an electric charge. He looked down at his gut and imagined it ballooning to the size of a watermelon. It did so. He opened the fridge and found a cantaloupe waiting for him, and he stretched open his mouth to an impossible size and fit the melon in easily, swallowing it down if it were a small round candy. He felt his gut with his hands, feeling the soft flesh and the hard melon underneath layers of it. He imagined that his gut would be packed with thick fat to pad the melon inside. He watched as his layers of fat grew thicker and thicker until his gut could easily fit a human inside and have enough fat padding no one would notice a difference in shape. 

“Wow, genie, you outdid yourself with this one. I think my friend Henry is gonna get a kick out of this,” Vincent said, turning back to the fridge. This time, when he opened it, the racks were gone and in their place was a full size human being, looking utterly bewildered at their being in a refrigerator. 

“Hello? Vincent? How on earth - I was just in the library. How did I get here?” said the man in the fridge, stepping out of it into the kitchen, “And who’s this? Or what is this?” he said, gesturing to the genie.

“I know you’ve got a million questions but I’d like to try something if you’re still interested,” Vincent said, “Remember when you told me about those funny fantasies you like to muse about when you’re - well you know what I mean?”

Henry looked between the genie and Vincent, and began to notice their large bellies, “What - ?”

“Wanna make it a reality for a bit? I can let you out later. Like this,” Vincent’s stomach changed shape and the melon popped out of his mouth, good as new. 

Henry looked surprised, but interested. “Wow, you swallowed that whole?”

“And you’re next, Henry,” Vincent said, with a gleam of devilishness in his smile. He glanced down on Henry and saw he wasn’t the only one changing shape. With one quick swoop, Vincent grabbed Henry by the shoulders, and threw him head first into his rapidly stretching mouth, sending him down into his belly, which was swelling to the size of a large couch again. Henry seemed to be quite content with this experience, not even struggling to slide down into his friend's belly.

The genie started clapping, “Oh my, what a show! You’ve got the hang of it quite quickly! But I must warn you, you must make three wishes by the time the clock strikes the hour mark, or all of your wishes will be revoked! And if that happens, your friend might be stuck in there for good with no magical stretching maw to let him back out.”

“The hour mark? Isn’t that like Cinderella and stuff? Why’s there a time limit?” Vincent asked, rubbing his gut and mildly distracted by the lump of Henry inside.

“Someone tried to wait to give me a final wish for 30 years and I got fed up and got special permission to start setting time limits.”

“Oh, I suppose that makes sense,” Vincent said absent mindedly, turning to the clock which read 3:59pm. Sudden panic filled him and he jostled his belly, sending Henry bouncing around. “One minute!”

“30 seconds actually,” said Xavier, not stressed about it.

Vincent’s mind went blank with shock as he tried to think of something good. He gave up and went with something that intrigued him earlier, “You said you ate one of the previous wisher people? That could be interesting I suppose to know what it’s like for Henry. I wish you would swallow me whole for a bit, then let me out before I get digested!”

Xavier looked excited and coy, “Really? Me eat you? I haven’t eaten in years,” the genie said, blushing. He clapped his hands and the room filled with smoke, and suddenly the two of them were steaming in a warm vat of hot fudge together. Xavier leaned in close, “I like a little flavor. But what would suit you best? Hmm…” The genie snapped its fingers and the vat of hot fudge turned to chicken soup… then to a birthday cake… then to a pool filled with chicken parm and pasta… then suddenly Vincent found himself sandwiched between two human sized slices of seeded bread, with an assortment of stuffing, cranberry sauce, turkey and lettuce and tomato. “Just want to say thank you for being a great wish-giver,” said the genie.

Vincent’s eyes grew wide as Xavier’s mouth stretched to the size of a door. Vincent felt air rush past his face as the genie’s throat seemed to start vacuuming the air around them down inside it. The sandwich lurched forward and Vincent watched as the giant mouth came closer and closer and he began falling into it, feeling the wet, mushy expanse of the back of the genie’s throat, and the tight squeeze down its esophagus. He fell what felt like ten feet down a tight, slimy tunnel of saliva, and landed in an opening chamber of stomach juices that tingled his skin. He felt around the giant stomach and felt it shrinking. He began with space to move around, but by the time it stopped shrinking he could barely move his chest to breathe. He hoped Henry was doing alright in his own belly, though his empathy was not deep when he felt Henry’s elbows and knees jabbing directly into his bladder and lungs. He felt the stomach walls around him knead his body, squeezing and contracting, as acid trickled down his sweaty face. He felt like he was dissolving into soup, felt like he could no longer tell where his fat belly ended and the one he was in began.

He began to fade into unconsciousness when, in a puff of purple smoke, he felt all stress upon his body relinquish as if he had been let go of from the tightest, sweatiest hug ever. He landed softly, seated on the ground of his kitchen. He looked around but did not see the genie anywhere. Xavier had gone. He felt a bit groggy. Perhaps he had passed out on the kitchen floor. Had it all been a dream? 

His answer came at once.

“Hey, bud, I’m having a great time… but you might wanna swallow some antacids, or let me out soon… unless you're hoping to make me permanently belly fat, of course, but this stomach acid is getting stronger.”

Vincent turned to the fridge. It was still purple. “Cool,” he whispered to himself. He looked up where the genie had been floating a while before and mouthed a silent “thank you.”

“Vincent? You there? I’m kinda digesting in here.” Henry called with a forced-casual tone showing signs of mild panic.

“Oh, right!” Vincent said, opening the fridge to find antacids and threw the whole unopened bottle in his mouth and right down into his belly.

A while later, after stretching his throat and mouth to let Henry out, the pair of them sat at the table, sharing some cookies. They sat in silence for awhile, enjoying each other’s company and processing what had happened.

“So I’m thinking, maybe I can come over for dinner again next week?” Henry said.

“To be dinner? Or share dinner?” Vincent joked.

“Why not both?” They shared a smile.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello Miss Raven!✨💕

I would like to ask you for an imagine/scenario or character interaction with Crewel and Vil (platonic ofc), where they talk about fashion and everything like the queens they are and they just always have the hottest tea! Talking about the school etc.

It's a casual fic idea without any angst or things like that, maybe somewhere along the way they start talking about Yuu who's Vil's friend, that he has a bit of a crush on? It may start at the Vil's alchemy lesson or smth-

Anyways, the main focus is hot tea between the fashion queens🙏👑 Thank you!💖

This interaction takes place after the events of book 6, so there will be spoilers for that.

I kept the “Vil has a crush on Yuu” element out of this particular interaction since I didn’t find it super relevant 💦 I want the focus of this blog event to be Crewel and his relationships with others. Maybe if the interaction had been posed like Vil coming to Crewel for love advice (since Crewel is a trusted adult for him), it could have fit better. Either that, or I’d advise waiting for more generalized writing requests to open ^^

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

“Crewel-sensei.”

He turned at the call of his voice. “Schoenheit.”

Vil, dressed in his labwear, approached. A beaker of a bubbling substance carefully was ferried in his gloved hand, which he offered to his instructor. “The Peddler’s Disguise is done. You may evaluate it for its quality.”

Crewel accepted the potion, gently swirling it to test the viscosity and noting the color.

“It was brewed with mummy dust, black of night, an old hag’s cackle, and a scream of fright. I then churned over high heat with a blast of wind and a thunderbolt.”

"You've memorized the recipe. Excellent work." Crewel set the beaker down on a lab bench and marked off Vil's name on a clipboard. "You're making up for lost time at a record pace."

"Of course. There is no excuse for falling behind," Vil insisted, tossing his blonde hair over one shoulder.

Crewel quirked a brow. "Not even being kidnapped? How strong-minded of you. I was surprised when you came to me asking to hit the ground running with makeup classes upon your return.”

He looked Vil up and down. “You remain put-together for someone who has gone through an event most would consider unsettling. Is it your PR training keeping you cool in the public eye?”

Vil folded his arms. "... If you're trying to be subtle with your worries, then you're doing a poor job of it, sensei.”

"And is there a problem with a teacher having concern for his student?”

“No, not at all.” A smirk flickered onto Vil’s lips. “Then shall we drop the pretenses? Though so bear in mind that I am under a strict NDA, so I can only divulge so many details.”

“Let’s,” Crewel agreed. “I presume you cannot share the bulk of your harrowing experience.”

Vil nodded. “But fortunately, I can tell about the worst of it… The atrocious lack of attention to self care!!”

“Our school uniforms were taken away and we were made to wear the same sterile grey uniforms every day. Threads as thin as hospital gowns, collared like misbehaved mongrels… Why, it was the worst injustice I faced in that facility.

“Not only that, but the air in the enclosure was stale and terribly drying.” Vil patted his cheek and shuddered at the memory. “It wreaked havoc on my skin.

“Worse still was that I was denied access to any skincare products and cosmetics! I was told that they were a safety hazard and to ‘rinse off with water and soap and go bare faced for a while, what are you aggro’ing about’!! Can you believe the GALL?! I was just about ready to let the staff have my wrath.”

Vil paused, taking a breath to calm himself. “… I was only saved thanks to a gaggle of nosy potatoes and a certain huntsman.”

“Speaking of, Hunt caused quite the stir at school when he vanished. Pomefiore was already suffering without its dorm leader and expected its vice dorm leader to step up fill that role in your stead… but with Hunt mysteriously gone, Pomefiore was without anyone in charge.”

“As I rightfully scolded him for.” Vil sighed deeply. "I was informed that Trein-sensei served as acting headmaster while the situation was unfolding. How did he address the issue of Pomefiore's missing leadership?"

"You're looking right at him," Crewel replied with a dry laugh. "I was called in to supervise the dormitory on top of my usual teaching duties. It seems the old man... excuse me, I mean my esteemed colleague, decided to put his faith in his favorite ex-troublemaker. Who was I to deny him?

"For the time Hunt and his rescue squad were away, I stayed at Pomefiore and kept watch over its students. What a mess—there are hardly time for my personal upkeep, nor a moment to steal away and seek the comfort of my beloved dogs... My clothes were horribly creased and my hair unkempt when the news first broke of your return.”

"What a harrowing tale of sacrifice. I apologize for the inconvenience my vice dorm leader imposed on you. He'll be getting another earful from me.”

“Hmph, no need. Though it was an inconvenience at the time, I am glad to see that you’ve come back to us safe snd sound. Perhaps it is not so bad for you pups to act selfishly every now and again.”

“Oh? Careful, Crewel-sensei. We may just take that as the green light to behave even more selfishly.”

“Then I will be there to keep you in line."

"Is that so? I'll be holding you accountable to that promise."

"And I'll be holding you accountable for your dorm's students," Crewel promised with the same ease as Vil.

There was a mutual understanding between them, the same spark set in their eyes. Teacher and student, fashionista and fashionista.

Together, they radiated an overwhelming aura.

[xxsugarbones]

CHRISTMAS SICKNESS

-You had been so excited for Christmas, having planned to spend it with a group of your friends and your loving boyfriend. Too bad this sickness decided to roll around just in time to down you for the entire day.

cw - implied fem! reader but I don’t think I used any terms, chubby! reader, reader is very sick but their loving bf takes care of them 💕, nudity but not in a sexual way (he bathes them), fluff, not really proofread we die with grace in this household

wc - 2.3k

|| an - So I ended up getting the spicy flu for the second time just before Christmas and was sick through the entire day + Boxing Day, and I’m still not feeling too hot now on New Years Day. All I craved was comfort and snuggles but ofc I was infectious so that wasn’t gonna happen 😍🤞🏼

So whatever this is supposed to be was inspired by that fact, it’s not the best thing I’ve ever written but we’re rolling with it lmfao

I am also very late posting this but I wasn’t sure if it was good enough to post skrrt skrrt

Today was supposed to be fun. Today was supposed to be a day of celebration, family, food and gifts. But here you were, curled up in bed with a cold rag resting over your warm forehead, balled up underneath the heavy blankets while cold chills wracked your overheated body. It hurt. So bad. You were hypersensitive as it stood already, so the shivers that rolled through your body made it so much worse. You could feel the fabric of the blanket rubbing against your bare skin, just how heavy they were, all you could think about was how uncomfortable you were-

“How are you feeling, my love?” The familiar voice of your boyfriend called out softly, catching your attention. You gave a stuffy whine in reply, pulling the sheets up a little further before the next wave of shivers kicked in. It started off slow, goosebumps slowly rising to the top of your skin, before getting more and more intense, to the point they became so sensitive you had to beg your boyfriend to take the sheets off since you could barely move your arms yourself. Of course he obliged, quickly moving to your side of the bed and pulling the covers off of you, watching you shake where you lay. He was clearly worried about you, and you hated to see him look so sad like this.

“Thank you.. You know you don’t have to stay here.. You could go to that friendmas thing the others were talking about.” You mumbled once the shivers had died down once again, your heavily blocked sinuses making themselves known with the way you spoke. He shook his head, resting a cool hand on your warm cheek to try and cool you down, even a little.

“No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here, and taking care of you.” He stated, matter-of-factly, like that was the end of the conversation. And it seemed that it was because he stood up again.

“I’m gonna go run you a cool bath and make you something to drink.” You shrunk down into yourself at the mention of a cool bath, knowing it was going to hurt even more than the sheets did. But you didn’t have the energy to fight back or stop him from walking off, out of the bedroom and back towards the bathroom to get your bath started. He kept it lukewarm so you wouldn’t feel like you were freezing, adding a few drops of an essential oil that would hopefully help clear your sinuses. He sighed, eyeing the water sadly.

He knew just how excited you were for Christmas- the few years you two had been dating you always made such a big deal out of the holiday. Decorations, a big Christmas tree covered in ornaments, lights and tinsel, and you always enjoyed cooking the Christmas lunch or dinner. You always made some of the best mac and cheese, and your potato bake was on another level. But this year.. He sighed, standing up again and making his way back to the bedroom to collect you. By the time he got there you were once again curled up under the thick blankets, breathing heavily from your mouth and clutching onto the fabric of the blankets as the pain shot through your shaking form.

“You poor thing.” He sighed, shaking his head and siting on the edge of the bed again. You didn’t look at him, but you did slowly shuffle closer so your warm cheek was resting on his thigh. He sighed, reaching down to card his fingers through your hair. Truly, you poor thing..

“How about, after your bath, we go sit in the living room and open some presents, hm? That’ll perk you up. I know you’ll love what I got you.” He whispered with a soft smile, keeping his eyes on your expression. But you didn’t respond, just keeping your eyes closed and focusing on keeping your breathing even, though it almost came out in pants because it was just so hard to breathe. His smile faded quickly, and he sighed, carefully scooping you up and into his arms.

“Baby.. careful.. Gonna puke if you move me too fast..” You warned, grabbing onto the front of his shirt for stability. He apologised with a tone that could shatter your damn heart, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He took your words into account, keeping you bundled up in his arms as he forced himself to his feet. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, gripping tighter onto his shirt. It would never cease to amaze you just how easily he could lift you, like you were light as a feather.

“Come now, pretty girl, let’s get you cooled down.” He whispered, carrying you off to the bathroom. All you could muster was a tired moan, gripping onto him so tight as if he was going to drop you. But he would never. He had a soft, yet steady hold of you as he slipped into the bathroom, your cheek rubbing against his chest with each step he took. He couldn’t help but smile at the feeling, stepping into the bathroom. But he didn’t flick on the overhead lights. Instead, he carefully sat you down on the counter next to the sink, and flipped the switch of the salt lamp that sat on the windowsill, filling the bathroom with a soft orange glow.

“So your headache doesn’t get worse.” He explained as he pressed another kiss to your forehead. You pouted up at him.

“Baby, I’m sweating, don’t kiss my forehead.” You whined, reaching up to wipe said sweat away from your skin, which unfortunately (for you), meant you also wiped away the kiss he had just planted. He feigned hurt, puffing out his bottom lip and resting his hand over his heart.

“My heart, you break it. Wiping off my kiss like that. You must not love me anymore.” He teased, stepping closer to you again. He slotted himself between your legs, reaching forward and plucking up the hem of your singlet.

“C’mon. Arms up. Let’s get you in this bath.” You complied without much fight, lifting your arms above your head and allowing the man to pull the fabric off of you. Unfortunately it didnt do too much to help you. Once it was off you leaned forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck and sniffling, though it didn’t help because of just how congested you were.

“C’mon baby. I gotta finish undressing you to help.” He dropped his voice in volume since you were now right there, rubbing your bare back. Shit, your skin was so warm. But you felt freezing. The friction hurt. You audibly winced, and he pulled his hand away.

“Sorry baby. But it’s gonna hurt again once you’re in.” He whispered gently as a warning, working at your pyjama pants next. They took a bit more effort since you barely had the energy to lift your body off the counter enough for him to slide them off, but it eventually worked, the pants being thrown into the dirty clothes hamper. He scooped you back up, prompting you to wrap yourself around him like a baby koala would its mother, clinging onto him for dear life. He made the little trip over to the bathtub, and looked down at you with soft eyes.

“Come on.” He encouraged, and you slowly slid off of him, resting your feet back on the cold tiles. The action caused another immediate shiver to take over you. You hunched over, arms wrapping around yourself to try and keep warm.

“I know, sweetheart, but you need this. You’re running a bad fever.” He encouraged again, and finally, you turned your back to him, carefully stepping into the water. It may have been lukewarm, but it felt like cold fire. With a great deal of pain he helped lower you into the water, your body tensed up and tears pricking at the corners of your dull, tired eyes. He cooed, doing his best to keep you calm as he squatted next to the tub, dipping his hands into the water and cupping some, before carefully pouring it down onto your back. You gripped onto the sides of the tub, head dropping and trying so so hard not to shake or flinch away from his touch. You trusted him, with everything that you were. You knew he wasn’t going to hurt you. But this bath felt like absolute torture.

“You’re doing so well, honey. How about after this we go and open some presents, huh? Will that make you feel better?” He tried again, since he didn’t get a response the last time he had asked. This time, you slowly nodded your head. He poured a little more water over your shoulders, and hummed. “I’ll get you your favourite comforter so you can rug up and everything. How does that sound?” Another little nod in reply, so he smiled, just continuing his actions so you were soaked in the cool water, small winces and swears slipping from your lips every few seconds the longer he continued.

It lasted a little while longer until he was sure that you had cooled down enough, reaching into the water for the plug. But by then you were also shivering, arms wrapped tightly around your body and your thighs squished against your stomach as you attempted to curl up into yourself. His eyes saddened, and he grabbed the fluffy towel he had grabbed earlier, unrolling it on the counter, then moving to scoop you up and out of the tub. He set you down on the little mat in front of the sink so you didn’t slip, grabbing the towel once again and starting to pat you dry.

“I know, my love. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He whispered soothingly, and you simply nodded, just leaning against him. You barely had the energy to speak by then, honestly just wanting to go back to bed with him. Your eyes were droopy too, the soft lighting in the bathroom calming enough that it was making you drowsy yet again.

You didn’t notice him calling your name until he took your chin between his fingers, lifting your head up so your tired eyes gazed into his own concerned ones.

“Are you okay, my love?” He mumbled, setting the towel down and scooping you up off your feet again so he could carry you back to the bedroom. You shook your head a little, resting your cheek against his.

“‘M okay, baby.. I love you..” You mumbled softly against the shell of his ear, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face between your soft bicep and his neck. Your eyes closed, which he caught onto pretty quickly. He turned the corner into the room, and carefully set you down on the bed. You opened your tired eyes again to look up at him.

“I’ll get you some clothes and help you dress, give me a second, my love.” His lips pressed against your hairline so tenderly, it had your heart melting. You watched him pull back and step to the dresser, pulling open your drawers and picking you out a pair of short pyjamas. He was going to wrap you up in a comforter shortly anyway, so there wasn’t a point in dressing you with more clothes and making those hypersensitive shivers hurt even more than they already did. You could feel the little tears bubbling up in the corners of your eyes again. He was so perfect. Not once had he made this out to be a chore, not once had he gotten annoyed or upset with you. You had felt horrible having to cancel going to the Friendmas celebration, but you had insisted he go without you. He had flat out refused. There was no way he was going without you, or leaving you home alone feeling like this.

“Y’ keep zoning out on me, baby, you sure you’re good?” He finally snapped you out of your thoughts again, looking up to him as he kneeled in front of you to help slip on your clean shorts. You nodded your head weakly, offering him a lopsided smile.

“Just thinking about how much I love you.” You hummed out with a soft breath; and he smiled, shaking his head. You were too sweet. He continued, just carefully dressing you until you were semi-comfortable again, then wrapping you up in your favourite blanket, all snug as a bug. He once again lifted you up, your legs around his hips and your arms around his chest while clinging onto the comforter, as he once more exited the bedroom. This time, his destination was the living room. But before he sat you down so he could get you something from underneath the intricately decorated tree (that you had decorated together at the beginning of the month, thanks to your pleading and begging), you mumbled something into his ear, clearly half asleep and struggling to even hold onto him anymore.

“Can I just sleep? Wanna cuddle you but wanna sleep..” He looked down at the back of your head with a blink, but he nodded his head, walking the both of you over to the deep couch and carefully sinking down into it with you straddling his lap comfortably, his arms around your hips.

“Of course. Whatever you want.” He whispered, sliding his hand underneath the back of your shirt to spread his hand over the flat of your back. The skin contact made you groan into his neck, one more shiver rolling through your body, but this one didn’t hurt. No. The goosebumps covering your body were good, and it made you just snuggle down further into him.

“Love you..” You whispered, exhaustion tugging you further and further into sleep. He smiled against the side of your head, eyes closing.

“I love you too, my dear. Merry Christmas.”

[rey-jake-therapist]

Folks need to get over Celeborn already. Not even Tolkien cared enough to make him into a actual character, he’s just “Galadriel’s husband” because Arwen needed to exist. In some versions, Celeborn wasn’t even around when Celebrian was conceived and born! He and Galadriel spend centuries apart, and in the end she leaves for Valinor and he stays behind in Middle-earth! Literally, Galadriel could have spend centuries in love with Sauron that Celeborn would t even matter, since they were always apart doing their own thing.

Yep.

I don't understand this obsession with Celeborn and Celebrian. Like wanting Mirdania to be Celebrian while nothing, I say nothing, speaks in favor of that theory in the show except for the fact that Sauron compared her hair to Galadriel's.

Mirdania is framed since the beginning as a very secondary character, and probably doomed to die before the end of the season. If she was a "mystery daughter", she wouldn't be kept in the background, she would have been shown at least once in the trailer imho

She's down bad for Sauron since she met him at the gate (girl I GET IT), and Sauron is not an idiot, he perceived that. So now, he's using vile flattery to get her on his side, like, "wow, you totally look like Lady Galadriel in this light". It's not said in the show and it's probably a mistake, but Galadriel is considered a very, very pretty lady. Her hair in particular is FAMOUS. So comparing Mirdania to Galadriel is a huge compliment. Of course he got caught at his own game and found himself thinking of "the one that got away", but that's beyond the subject.

And frankly, I think we should hang on to our seat belts, because there might even be a kiss coming at some point. That won't mean a thing, (not to him anyway), but I don't trust him to play fair in this game LOL

Now, Celeborn. I think there's a reason why Galadriel dropped his name like a hot potato and never mentioned him again : right now, he's not important. It was the writers telling us "we know, he exists, but there's no room here for him now. Move on!" It doesn't mean he can't ever show up in the show at some point (he definitely will imho), but I don't see it happening before season 3, even season 4 !

And he's not a threat to the connection between Sauron and Galadriel anyway lol If Sauron had remained Halbrand, a man of the Southlands, that's a discussion that would be worth having, because Elves generally mate for life and fall in love only once. So if Galadriel fell in love with another man, worse, a mortal, it would raise questions regarding her true feelings for Celeborn. And it would be very boring too. We had enough mortal/Elves failed and successful romances, thank you very much.

But we can clown ourselves as much as we like : Sauron and Galadriel will never, EVER become a couple, and it's NOT because Galadriel has already fallen in love once, or because she's already married. She's the Light, Sauron's Darkness. She's GOOD, he's EVIL !

I don't know about you, but I think it's a more solid threat to a potential romance between the two than... Galadriel's marriage or Sauron flirting with a coworker lol

Sauron's never going to be a good guy, and Galadriel's never going to fall into darkness. They're literally doomed by the narrative. Sauron could have a wife of his own that it would add absolutely nothing.

[redflagshipwriter]

Hi, it's Tim (just Tim) chapter 6

Masterpost

San Francisco was a breath of fresh air. It would have been better if Dick wasn’t shepherding him there like the world’s most anxious and chatty herding dog. Tim halfway wanted to make a break for it to see if Dick would bark at him.

He nobly resisted the urge. He actually hadn’t gotten in trouble for going no contact. Incredibly, Bruce hadn’t noticed that he had been with Superboy. He must really be wound up about the Red Hood.

Speaking of- “What’s the Red Hood done that makes B think I’m the target to be concerned about?” Tim asked.

Dick looked a little ill. He clearly didn’t want to answer. “Well, he’s been pretty clear,” he said apologetically. “Very clear. A lot of metaphors about breaking off your wings that B is taking pretty seriously. It’s like English class all over again,” he complained. Dick scrunched up his face and gestured wildly with his long elegant hands. “There was this like, poetic reference that I didn’t get, but it was about stomping on a bird and crushing all their bones under your boot. B had to look it up.” He cocked his head to the side at the end.

…This guy was referencing poets B didn't know offhand, and they were meant to think he was some big scary thug?

“...So he’s, uh, well-read, then,” Tim concluded, adding it to the very short list of things they knew about the Red Hood. “Loser.”

“We shouldn’t say that,” Dick demurred, which meant ‘lol yeah.”

Tim gave the older bird a judgemental look for even trying as Dick typed in pass codes for Titan Tower. That was their whole thing as Bats. They took information and made deductions. This particular deduction made him feel cockier. While the big bad Red Hood had been wasting time reading, Tim had been studying the blade and uh, making out with a really hot guy. Heh. He couldn't hold in the self satisfied smirk. Hood was a loser. He could use his time much better than by reading moldy old books.

Dick stayed long enough to get Tim settled, but he was clearly anxious to get back to Gotham.

Tim was torn. On the one hand, he did not like essentially being benched. But… Well, he wasn't benched outside of Gotham, Tim decided, wandering through the shared kitchen and rummaging around for a snack. He could go on any Titans mission that came up. He opened the fridge and squinted suspiciously at something in the vegetable crisper.

He had always assumed someone really liked potatoes. But knowing what he did now, he wondered if those were Kon’s groceries. Did the guy just eat raw fruit like some kind of lunatic?

…Maybe no one kept potatoes there after all. He had thought it was weird since he never really saw anyone cook. Tim picked the suspect up and sniffed at it. This ugly thing was a fruit?

Well. He was brave and he was bold. Tim bit through the skin. His teeth sank in with much less resistance than he expected: not a raw potato. It tasted okay. This was Kon’s favorite flavor? Tim had another bite and mulled it over. It was alright. It wasn’t exactly bacon and artichoke pizza or sour cherry candy, though.

Huh. He shut the fridge door with his hip and made his way to his room, planning to drop off his travel bag.

A window opened and slammed shut nearby. Tim detoured to see who it was. His heart beat hard against his chest when he rounded the corner.

“Superboy,” he said casually, as if he hadn't been making out with the guy a couple hours ago.

“Hey, Rob.” Kon breezed past, obviously lost in thought. He stopped midair and frowned. “Do you smell mango?”

Tim hid the half eaten fruit in his utility belt. “No. Maybe you're just hungry.”

Gaslight gatekeep girlbossing worked, as always. Kon let out a “huh,” cocked his head, and zipped away to the kitchen.

Ah, hell. Tim realized he was smiling like a dope to the empty hallway. He wiped the expression from his face and hoped that no one ever reviewed that section of security tape. How embarrassing.

He hid away in his room for a while, letting tactics and plans stew away in his mind. He was hyper aware of the fact that Kon was somewhere in the tower. Was anyone else? He didn't know. He should check.

While he was at it, he should try and hack into whatever B was hiding about the Red Hood on the bat computer. Tim spun idly in his desk chair as he thought it over. Bruce was being twitchy. He wanted Tim so far away from the situation that Tim knew in his gut it would eventually be his problem. That was how this shit always worked; the most dramatic thing possible would happen.

He emerged from his room to find Kon in some kind of argument with Cassie. Tim decided to stay way the fuck away from that. He steered to the living room. Raven looked up from her book, expression flatly unamused.

“Robin.” She acknowledged. Then she looked away.

She was in a great mood, then.

He checked through the logs: it was just the four of them. As Tim watched, Cassie's status dinged to display ‘out of the tower’.

Just the three of them, then. And Raven wasn't going to come seek anyone out.

Tim went Kon hunting. Kon was sprawled out in his room, tossing something up and down. It glittered where it caught the air.

“Superboy,” he said, leaning on the doorframe casually. Did it look casual? Did it look douchey? Tim stood up straight before Kon looked up.

“Hey, Rob,” Kon said. He flashed his toothiest grin at Tim. Fuck, he was pretty. “Did you want something?”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk. Can I come in?”

Kon sat up on his elbows. “Come right the hell in, my dude.” He cocked his head to the side and a curl fell over his face. “Everything alright?” A smile tugged one half of his mouth up mischievously. “Come sit on my lap and tell me all about it.”

The thing was that Kon said shit like that all the time. He said it to Tim, he said it to Cassie, he said it to any number of civilians. Tim had thought that Kon was just being kind of a bitch to him.

“Thanks,” he said easily, and sat with his knees on either side of Kon’s thighs.

Kon’s mouth fell open. Tim waited, but no sound came out.

“I was actually wondering- you say things like that to me a lot,” Tim continued, feeling very smug. Haha, Kon hadn't just been needling him. He'd been pulling pigtails. He wanted Tim, what a loser. “A guy starts to get the impression that you're interested. And…” he dragged his gaze pointedly down Kon’s perfect body. “I'm not disinterested,” he finished coyly.

“Robin.” Kon swallowed visibly. “I uh. I'm really flattered.”

Ah. Fuck. Tim had a very bad feeling.

“I'm kind of seeing someone at the moment.” Kon’s voice cracked. “If- if I hadn't been, I would be all over this. But I am. So.” His hands hovered uselessly a few inches from Tim’s sides.

Well then. Tim slid off Kon’s lap. He didn't let howling frustration show on his face. He was cock blocking himself. “I see,” he said simply. “No worries. I'll see you around.”

“Right.” Kon’s voice cracked again. He shoved his hands in his pockets. His eyes were wild.

Wow. Okay, so life isn't fair. It was good to know. Tim sulked his way back to his room. Well no, actually, he hated this information a lot. But it was useful for his prediction models. He should have known better than to think things would work out.

On the one hand, Kon was apparently loyal to his flavor of the week. Tim could choose to appreciate that, since he was flavor for early September.

Or he could be mad that he'd apparently chosen the wrong ID to flirt with Kon under. He paced an angry circuit in his room around the pile of things he was going to eventually reconstruct. Hell. Fuck. This sucked. Kon had a crush on Robin, the guy he actually knew. What a wasted opportunity!

He calmed down enough to think.

Of course that was when sirens went off. Tim booked it to the landing pad, pulling up the alert on his wrist computer on the way.

They had a mission. Okay. Tim compartmentalized away all the mortification. He could deal with it after they got back.

[magnifythesun]

Absolutely loved ur latest prompt about Anthony picking Ian up and how you stick true to their characters it feels too realistic. On that note, since I'm an avid fan of protective worried Anthony, would you pls write something with Ian passing out while filming and Anthony hyperventilating over it.

aaaa this prompt has had my mind spinning since I first read it I'm so hyped to write it! and thank you soooo much, I tried really hard to keep their voices realistic in that one and I'm honestly very happy with the way it turned out! I'm so glad you enjoyed!! :D

(post-writing note: this turned out way more comfort than hurt lol, but it was just too cute to resist!)

It was a rager of a hot day in southern California. They were filming their latest sketch, which was unfortunately entirely outside, and were eager to just get the thing done.

"Should we take a break?" Anthony asked, "It's been a few hours out here, and this heat's really killing me."

"Let's just finish up this scene," Ian said wearily, his face slightly red from the sun.

Anthony nodded in agreement and turned to tell the crew to set the cameras at another angle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian suddenly drop like a sack of potatoes, one second standing, then not. It was almost like a bit. It would have been funny, except that the way he ragdolled to the floor sent a horrid chill through Anthony. That was not the way someone fell on purpose, for comedy or otherwise. Anthony turned.

"Ian?" He said, distantly.

Erin was already running toward him, holding her huge water bottle. "Someone bring a sheet!" She called over to the crew, who, behind the sudden haze in Anthony's vision, were little blobs scurrying to and fro, some toward Ian, others running toward the house.

Anthony stumbled over. "What happened?" Erin glanced up at him. "Is he all right?" Her eyes widened at the way he was swaying on his feet.

"Don't you pass out too!" Erin snapped, voice tight with worry. "Go sit down." She waved toward the shade by the house.

"But, Ian," Anthony started. He swept his eyes over his friend, who was starting to stir. Ian's eyelids flickered, then opened as he started to wake up.

"Ow," He groaned, raising a hand up to clutch at his forehead. "Oh wow, my head hurts really bad."

"Like you hit it?" Erin asked sharply, then looked back up at Anthony. "Anthony. Go sit down."

Anthony took an involuntary step backward from the command in her tone alone, then kept backing up until his back hit the side of the house. Tears jumped to his eyes, and he knew in that moment he needed to get out of sight. He went inside the house, ignoring the way different members of the crew were reaching out to him, worry in their voices, and headed straight to the bathroom. Closing the door, he sank to the ground immediately, trying to breathe.

His breath was tight in his throat, like a great beast had a hold on his neck and was squeezing him. The sensation traveled down to his chest, causing him to gasp quick, shallow breaths as he tried to wipe away his tears.

Was Ian alright out there? His mind was spiraling as he desperately sucked in little gasps of air. He had just left him there, too wrapped up in his own frightened reaction to comfort his friend. A pang of guilt burned bright in his chest. He had to get this under control and he had to get back out there.

Anthony focused and started his yoga breathing routine that he used every time he exercised. Slowly, slowly, he controlled his breathing. He stood up shakily, and glanced in the mirror, making sure to wipe the tears from his eyes. There was nothing he could do about how pale he looked, or how red-rimmed his eyes were.

He took one more deep breath and pulled open the door to the bathroom. Walking out, he could hear many voices in the kitchen, which was out of sight. Sounded like most of the crew had taken shelter from the sun in there.

Anthony turned toward the living room and startled. Ian was sitting there, a wet rag on his head and Erin's big bright blue bottle of water clutched in his hands. Anthony felt his breath catch in his chest again.

Anthony walked over to him. "Hey, man. You feeling okay?"

Ian smiled guiltily up at him. "Well, better now," He glanced up at Anthony towering above him and patted the couch cushion next to him. Anthony sat. "I should have called a break sooner. I could tell it was getting to me."

"You don't need to push yourself that hard," Anthony said quietly.

"True," Ian's mouth quirked. "Plus the crew deserved a break too." Ian stared off in the direction of the kitchen for a moment. "Are you alright?" He asked quietly, fingers shifting on the pastel surface of the bottle.

Anthony grimaced. "Yeah, I'm good."

Ian turned to look at him, a sharp look in his eye. "Uh-huh."

Anthony intently examined the table in front of the couch. "You saw?"

Ian took a big gulp of water. "I may have just woken up from the consequences of my own hubris, but I, I caught a glimpse."

"Sorry," Anthony said quietly, "I really don't know what came over me."

Ian didn't say anything for a moment, just slurped another sip of water. Anthony couldn't look at him. Then, Anthony felt Ian's hand, cold from the surface of the bottle, rest on top of his own hand and squeeze slightly.

"Always good to know you care." Ian said lightly, the veneer of a joke over his words, but the slight drag of his thumb over the back of Anthony's hand emphasized his words.

Relief and affection rushed through him, and Anthony glanced at Ian. "Your head okay though?"

"When is my head ever okay?" Ian laughed, "But yeah, I didn't hit it. Water?" He lifted the bottle and offered it.

"God, yeah." Anthony took it with the hand that wasn't still covered by Ian's and took a long, refreshing drink. "I can't believe we still have to go back out in that to finish filming."

"Ugh, don't even remind me," Ian groaned.

Right then, Erin's voice called from the kitchen, "Alright, back out there to shoot in ten minutes!"

Various shouts of "Heard!" echoed around the house, accompanied by several grumbles.

"I gotta lay my poor heat-stricken head down for a few minutes before we head back out there," Ian said.

"Oh okay," Anthony said, preparing to get up to let him lay down, when Ian just tilted his head slightly to rest it on Anthony's shoulder. Anthony stilled, his breath catching for the nth time today.

"I'm gonna try to visualize myself in the Arctic," Ian mumbled, "Quiet on set."

Anthony tried to not shake his shoulders as he laughed. "Alright, alright. Make sure to get back from your polar expedition in ten."

Anthony let himself rest his eyes too, the warmth of Ian's hand and head soothing the last of his rattled nerves.

[moonlightazriel]

Forget me Not /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: They loved each other more than words could describe, but they were star-crossed lovers and their fate was doomed, especially when their worst nightmare came true. But is their love strong enough to survive this nightmare and can their souls one day be truly united?

Warnings: Smut, torture and death!

Word Count: 3,5K

Notes: The collaboration no one asked for but everyone needed ahahahaahahah Happy to introduce the first part of the fic @fieldofdaisiies and I wrote together. She's an amazing writer and making this fic with her is an honor. Love u baby and thanks for doing this with me, our baby was finally born.

Read part 2 here

His soft lips touched the hot skin of her collarbone, kissing as his hands gently unlaced her plain dress, she held his hair, her lips parted as soft gasps left her, her breath uneven as his cold fingers brushed down her spine. 

The space was limited and he was entirely pressed against her, his member touching her clothed core, she moved, trying to get some friction between them, to soothe the aching sensation on the apex of her thighs. 

“Where is the prince?” The feminine voice outside, too close, alerted her, she gently pushed him away, his eyelids half closed as he lost himself in her. 

“They are searching for you.” She whispered and he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I’m so sorry my beloved, I must go now.” She nodded, avoiding his eyes, she hated when he had to leave. His index finger lifted her chin, and he kissed her again, his breath tasted like mint. “I love you dearly.” 

“I love you too, my prince.” He turned around, opening the door, and leaving her there. She closed her dress, used to this now, and waited a few minutes before leaving the tiny room to  tend to her obligations.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Have you heard?” She turned her head to see the blonde servant by her side gossiping with a friend, she turned back to the potatoes she was peeling for the royal family supper. “The royal family is hosting a ball in a week so Prince Azriel chooses his bride.” 

Her eyes went wide but she kept quiet, the knife sliding from her shaking finger and cutting her palm, she cursed under her breath and dropped everything, rushing to the healer's wing. She mumbled a couple of words to explain what happened as the healer started to clean and stitch the wound. 

“Be careful with that, or the stitches might rip and it will scar.” The healer said, dismissing her. 

She wandered around the castle, heading back to the kitchen to finish and then serve the meal. The queen was near the kitchen, talking with the chef about the ball, and how she wanted everything to be done. She was a terrifying person, the kind of person that truly enjoyed another’s suffering.

“Your majesty.” She bowed as she passed, the woman not even acknowledging her as she did so, thankfully she didn’t see Y/N shaking with fear. 

The only truly born with good in their heart was Azriel, the younger prince, her Azriel, the man she decided to give everything she was, the man she would love forever, even if they could never be together outside tiny rooms and late hours at night. Her heart ached with the thought that he would have to get married, she wanted to run away with him, to a land where he being a prince and she being a servant didn’t matter, all that counted was that they loved each other.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“What happened to your hand, my love?” Azriel asked, seeing the stitches tying her skin back together, the skin around it was red and swollen.

“Just an accident working in the kitchen today.” she said, not quite looking at him, she had been avoiding his eyes ever since he sneaked up to her modest chambers in the servant’s wing, thankfully the castle was big enough to accommodate all the servants without the need of sharing rooms with others, so they had the privacy of her chambers to meet every night. 

“What happened?” His hand brushed her cheek, his index finger lifting her chin so she would look at him, her eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Don’t cry darling, talk to me.” He begged, his thumb wiping the stubborn tear that rolled down her cheek. 

“How much time do we have left?” she asked, her tongue licking the salty tears from her pink plush lips. 

“I can stay the whole night my dear.” She stepped backward, her hands held his, removing them from her face, she sat on the edge of the bed. 

“That is not what i meant.” He looked at her confused, eyebrows furrowed. “How long do we have until you’re married?” His throat went dry, his father had spoken to him that morning, saying that he needed to marry a princess soon to strengthen their alliances. His mind had been scheming ever since, plans to run away with her, he didn’t want to get married to a complete stranger, he wanted to be able to make Y/N his wife, have her carrying his children, being by his side forever. 

“I don’t want to get married, to anyone but you. And I don’t care  what my father says, let’s go, somewhere far away from here.” She blinked, the tears still wetting her pretty face. “Come with me, we deserve to be happy.” He kneeled in front of her. “Let’s start again in a new land, marry me Y/N Y/L. That’s all I want.” 

“Are you serious?” He nodded. “I want that so much that it hurts.” She threw herself into his arms, inhaling the smell of the fancy soap he used. He pulled her closer, hands roaming down her back, he started to kiss her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses along her collarbone. “Make me yours one more time.” She breathed against his hair and he got up, lying her gently on the mattress. 

His hands were agile as he unlaced the front of her white nightgown, her skin smelled like roses, one of the few things the king made sure of was the servants always smelled great, so they provided scented soaps and perfumes for them. The thin fabric was soon discarded by the side of her bed, alongside his clothes.

He kissed her warm skin until he reached her breasts, one of them was cupped in his hand, the nipple trapped between his thumb and index finger, he pressed it, making her softly moan at the sensation, the other he kissed and circulated the nipple with his tongue, moving it up and down, she arched her back, and tried to rub her core against the knee he had in between her legs. 

She was desperate for any type of relief, she pressed her lips together as his tongue left her breasts and he started to lick down her belly, his right hand spread her legs open his finger spreading the wetness there, rubbing a circle to the bundle of nerves there, making her jump slightly, she wasn’t able to control the moan that left her lips as his warm tongue reached where she wanted him, he drew circles with his tongue, earning more breathy moans from her, her hands grabbed the prince’s inky black hair, involuntarily pressing his face against her. 

He was hungry for her, had been ever since he met her, so his tongue licked her like he was a starved man, he loved to hear her ragged breath, loved how she couldn’t control her body, neither the little whimpers that came from her mouth the closer she got to her orgasm. She squirmed underneath him, he grabbed her waist, pressing her down onto the bed, stopping all the movement as she went through her orgasm, he could feel her body spasm as he overstimulated her.

She pulled his hair, forcing him to stop, his chin was glistening with her juices, the sight of him like this almost making her cum again. He laid on top of her again, kissing her deeply, making her taste herself on his tongue. He adjusted himself to her slick entry, easily sliding inside her, all the way, their breaths in synchrony as he started to move, a slow pace as her walls were still sensitive from moments before. 

Just when she started to move her own hips, wanting more, he started to move faster, their bodies covered in sweat, as he made love to her, he was getting closer and closer to his own release, the bedframe hit the stone wall, while the sound of skin slapping skin filled the whole room, she moaned, encouraging him to go faster. His dream was to be free to make her scream his name, she never did, afraid that this would get them both in trouble, so for now he was okay with her screaming nonsense in the air. 

He moaned against her neck as he released himself inside her, feeling her walls clench around him as she had her second release right after him. He got out of her, collapsing by her side, pulling her closer, her head rested on his chest, hearing the soft sound of his heartbeats when he spoke again.

“Give me a few days, and we will be far away from here. My love for you is bigger than the universe.” She looked at him.

“The universe?” He looked at her, her hair was glued to her forehead and her cheeks were red from the effort.

“Yes, this earth is not big enough to measure how much I love you.” He saw her eyes filling with tears once more that night. 

“I love you Azriel, with all I am.” She kissed his chest, feeling the sleep wash over her body, making her close her eyes, a smile on her lips as she fell asleep with him still holding her close. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“AGAIN?” The woman yelled, pacing around the room, her fingers were shaking with rage, that damned bastard, he wouldn’t stop until he ruined his family’s name. It wasn’t enough that the King had the nerve to make his mistress’ baby a prince, the boy was trying his best to ruin everything. 

“What should we do, mother?” Marvin, the oldest asked, he had a couple of ideas in mind, what he could do to that bastard. 

“Since the little princeling won’t learn, maybe that whore will, do whatever you want to her.” She said, dismissing her sons, her blood boiled inside her veins, she needed to get rid of him. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Meet me in my chambers tonight.- Azriel

She read the note he slipped into her pocket again, his fancy handwriting, it wasn’t often that she got to go to his private room, always choosing to meet in her’s or in a more secluded place, but she dismissed the weird feeling in her belly and how heavy her chest felt.

She rubbed the soap on her skin one more time, scrubbing it until it was pink from the pressure, she always wanted to look her best to him, so she brushed her hair and dressed in her best dress, a green one, with a square neckline, it wasn’t much since the servants didn’t make enough to afford luxury dresses but it was the prettiest one she owned. 

She walked in the dark, only the moonlight illuminating the way to his chambers, she took a deep breath, fixing her dress before she knocked on his door, but the knock never happened as someone held her from behind, pressing their large hand over her mouth, her whole body went still, she was in panic, not thinking straight, so she didn’t resist as they took her through the holloways and down the stairs, to one of the cells in the basement.

Everything smelled like dust, and the temperature dropped significantly as they tied her to a chair, her mind raced as she tried to distinguish the two hooded figures, one of the males was taller than the other, and the one on the left was holding a torch.

“Please, let me out.” She cried, the fat tears streamed down her face, she was shaking in fear. The taller male approached, removing his hood, she gasped in surprise when Prince Marvin stood in front of her.

“Don’t cry princess.” He said, his voice laced with disgust as he rubbed her cheek harshly, wiping the tears from her face. “It will be quick, for us.” He smirked, the devilish smile on his face made her body go limp, she would die and there was nothing she could do.

The second man, Prince Elijah, approached, unlacing the rope from around her wrists and forcing her arms forward, he made her sit on her knees, with her hands extended to him, he slowly undressed her, leaving her bare in front of them, claiming that a nice dress like that shouldn’t be ruined by a whore like her. 

Her mind was numb, to the point that she wasn’t even registering the pain in her back as Marvin used all his strength to whip her back, the warm blood was everything she was feeling, even the tears had stopped as she accepted her fate, not able to fight back for her life, she closed her eyes, thinking about him.

Her skin was torn apart, big cuts on top of each other, and the cold breeze stung, making her whole naked body shiver. Elijah approached her, dropping a liquid in her hands, the smell of alcohol filled her senses and she started to panic again.

They were going to burn her, alive. She started to move her head, looking desperate when she heard the two men laugh, they were evil, sadists, they were having fun with her being tortured. 

“That is what you get…” Marvin said, lighting a match, and holding it close to her hands. “For thinking you’re good enough to lay your filthy hands on royalty.” And he dropped the match.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The music from the orchestra was nice, the melody traveled through the room, capturing the hearts of those who listened to it, she moved her feet, soothing the urge to dance, to join those on the dancefloor, she held the tray filled with fancy drinks as she walked around the room, people would pick drinks without even looking at the small woman serving them, yet she felt observed, a pair of hazel eyes watched her all night long, Prince Azriel was the youngest son of the King, she blushed under his attentive gaze. 

Some flashes of reality mixed with the dream she was stuck on, she could hear people calling her name, things falling, but the music, the melody from the day she met him called her attention, snatching her back to the dreamland, where she revived all those moments by his side, where she loved him and he loved her back, with all the intensity of their love. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“What happened?” He demanded again, frustratedly running his fingers through his hair.

“We found her like this in the gardens.” One of the servants said, avoiding the Prince’s gaze, he was almost crying as he saw her, her forehead covered in sweat, her hands, her beautiful hands, burned, the skin had fallen in some points, and in other parts it was like the skin angrily patched itself together, in a way to remind her what she went through. Her back was also destroyed, he was disgusted with the cruelty, the servants did the best they could.

She was supposed to meet him two days ago, and he also hadn’t seen her around the castle anymore, when he went to her chambers he found her lying there, destroyed. He had a gut feeling telling him that it was all his fault if it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t be like this now, so he didn’t care anymore, he stood by her side all day, missing all of his obligations, she was the only thing that mattered to him. They were able to manage her fever, but she hadn’t awake yet, and he got more worried as the days passed, he couldn’t lose her, he wouldn’t survive. 

She only woke up two weeks later, everything was painful, she adjusted her eyes to the sunlight that entered from her window, her whole body was in pain, she looked down, at her hands, remembering how they glowed as the flames burned her skin, she couldn’t stop the disgusted scream that ripped through her lips, she looked awful. The tears came, making her eyes burn, the door was open and someone got in.

“Hey love, it’s me.” Azriel spoke, holding her face. “Breath, please.” He asked and she did as he asked, taking her time to calm down, she could see him now, his worried and tired eyes, like he haven’t been sleeping properly in days. “You’re awake.” He said, she lifted her hands, just to quickly lower them back to their original position, she couldn’t touch him, he must think she looked like a monster now. 

“What are you doing here, they will catch you.” She said, what would his family do to him?

“They know i’m here, they cannot make me leave.” He slowly pulled her in for a hug. “I thought i had lost you.” He went to kiss her but she turned her head to the side.

“Thank you for taking care of me Prince Azriel.” He rose an eyebrow, looking confused. “But you can’t stop pretending now.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“I know you find me disgusting, I look horrible, deformed.” She looked at her hands, feeling the urge to cry again.

“You look just as beautiful as the first time I saw you, scarred or not, nothing can change that.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Everything is ready if you still want to run away with me.” 

“Really?” She looked at him, hope shining in her big eyes. 

“We can go tomorrow night.” She nodded, inclining her head until she connected their lips, he smiled as they parted. “We’re going after our happiness, my love.” 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

With the care they have given to her, the skin on her back had closed, leaving ugly scars behind, her hands were healing still, it was painful to move but at least she could still close her fingers, for a miracle the mobility was still there. Her colleagues helped her bath and dress, the wagon Azriel had paid to take them out of the castle was ready with a few things and a lot of money from his personal business. 

“Thank you all for helping me, I'm forever in debt with all of you.” She thanked the females in her room, they carefully hugged her, wishing her a better life. Azriel was waiting for her in the wagon, a smile across his lips as they climbed in, they were going to the nearest port, get a ship to the other side of the country, and never be bothered again by his family, he asked if she remembered who had harmed her but she pretended to have forgotten if he went after justice who knows what they could do to him. 

The wagon suddenly got to a stop, and Azriel swallowed dryly, someone yelled outside, and the two tensed. The door was yanked open, and Marvin was on the other side, a sword pointed to them, Azriel looked at him.

“Get out.” He demanded. “NOW!” They did as they were told, the memories of what happened in that cell made her dizzy, and the tears gathered in the corner of her eyes once more. 

“What is this Marvin?” The man didn’t answer, still making them walk to the front of the wagon where guards stood, Elijah was there too, mounted on a horse, and in the middle was the Queen, an evil smirk as she looked them up and down. 

“You dumb whore.” She said bitterly. “What my sons did wasn’t enough to stop you, greedy bitch?” Azriel looked at his brothers and then at the scars on the hands of his lover, realization washed over him and he turned around, his fist connecting with Marvin’s cheek, making his head fly in the other direction, giving him enough time for Azriel to  grab Y/N and try to rush. “Not so fast.” 

More guards appeared from behind the wagon, pointing their swords at the couple. 

“I’m fucking tired of dealing with you, you bastard. It’s a shame that Prince Azriel was killed during a robbery. So sad.” She laughed, waving her hand in the air, the woosh was quick, but Y/N was quicker, her body protecting Azriel as the arrow pierced her heart, she choked on blood and Azriel screamed in agony.

“Please, please love, stay with me. I won't survive without you.” He said, she lifted her hand, the scarred skin caressing his cheek one more time, her eyes widened with terror and Azriel felt someone grabbing his hair, and the cold blade on his neck.

“I love you, My prince.” She breathed. He looked down, not caring about the sharp blade on his neck, the blood was already pouring from the wound.

“I love you and i will find you, in another life. We will have the happiness we deserve. Promise me you will wait for me.” She smiled, her teeth stained red from the blood.

“I-i-i p-pro-prom..” She didn’t have the time to finish, as her head fell limply in his lap, the smile still adorning her beautiful face as he watched her die. The tears fell from his eyes, and he closed them, seeing her one last time, she would be waiting for him, and he wouldn’t stop searching for her. Marvin moved the sword, slitting his throat open, his body fell, with her still on top of him. In his last breath he knew he would see her again.

[bluecatwriter]

Blood of My Blood: Namesakes

In the Blood of My Blood AU, I was thinking about what might have prompted Arthur to show Quincey the Documents, and this scene was born. Tagging @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush as usual!

CW for mentions of past violence, murder, and vampire staking

~~~

Lu was out for the day, with Kate Reed on an investigative mission in a city a couple hours west, and Arthur was immensely relieved about it. It was unlikely that their search would turn up anything, and in the meantime, Lu was out getting some fresh air and enjoying the company of someone other than her vampire boyfriend. (She had begged Arthur to let the boy come along, but he chose this moment to put his foot down: absolutely not. She had pouted, but obeyed… this time.)

He hadn't realized what a weight on his shoulders it had been until it was lifted, and as he walked down to the dining room to have his usual lunch with Jack, he felt his heart sitting more lightly in his chest. He still had no idea if he was doing the right thing for his daughter by not actively stopping the courtship, but at least for today he didn't have to think about that.

Since he and Jack kept nearly opposite sleep schedules, they tried to have lunch together every day, and they met each other in the hallway and linked arms to walk to the dining room together. Jack didn't have long to spend with him, talking eagerly about his meeting that afternoon with a doctor who specialized in epilepsy, whose insights would no doubt help him with the medical article he was trying to finish. 

It was a hot, sunny day, so the servants had drawn the curtains, leaving the normally-bright room draped in shadow, and potato-leek soup was laid out along with an assortment of greens and pastries.

Arthur saw a telegram on his plate and picked it up, Jack leaning over his shoulder to read it too. Ms. Reed said that the investigation seemed to be turning up nothing, but that they planned to stay overnight to investigate further. The thought of Lu and the boy being separate for that long made an extra layer of tension peel off from Arthur's muscles.

"Where is Q today?" Jack asked.

Arthur looked at him curiously; hitherto he had called him "the boy" in sign language, but now he just signed the letter Q. 

"Is that your name for him now?" Arthur asked aloud, then signed, "Q?"

"Lu calls him that, and I figured it was good enough. I can't exactly call him Quincey." This last name was a sign that he had come up with to describe their deceased friend— an open hand to the head as if donning a cowboy hat.

Arthur's hand clenched into a fist, crumpling the telegram. "No. No, you can't," he said aloud. He deliberately relaxed his hold on the paper and dropped it on the table. He wondered for a thousandth time why Harker had chosen that name. "I don't know where the boy is," he signed. "Probably sleeping until evening, as usual." One less thing to worry about.

"Forgive me," Jack signed, drawing close to his side. "You were so relaxed, and now I've raised your blood pressure again." He ran a soothing hand along Arthur's arm, turning him to face him and linking his metal hand around Arthur's hip.

"It's fine," Arthur said aloud. "Just… let's just have a nice lunch and not worry about anything for a while, all right?"

Jack nodded, and his eyes grew soft as he studied Arthur's face. The room felt suddenly warm. 

"Jack…" Arthur said, a smile tugging at his lips. He knew that look.

"Can you guess what I'm thinking?" Jack said playfully, drawing Arthur a bit closer by his hip so that they were pressed together.

"Jack, it's the middle of day," Arthur said, but his stern voice was belied by the slight chuckle in it. 

Jack's eyes softened further, his lips quirking as he brought his face close, keeping his right hand free so he could keep talking. "I have an idea for stress relief for you, though I doubt it will lower your blood pressure."

"Jack," Arthur said, feeling himself blush like a schoolboy, and he made a show of turning away. Jack didn't let go, and ended up flush against his back, kissing the nape of his neck, his right hand sneaking into the waistband of Arthur's trousers. Arthur melted against him. "Jack…"

From the settee at the far end of the room, they heard a small, discreet cough.

They leaped apart as if burned, Arthur's shirt coming untucked in the process. The vampire child rose up like a shadow from the piece of furniture, his eyes wide and his cheeks lit up with a bruise-colored blush.

"I'm so sorry!" he blurted out. "I didn't mean to— I'm sorry— I— I thought you saw me when you came in, I wasn't trying to hide, I would've left but there wasn't a way out, I'm sorry, I'm very sorry—"

Arthur tucked his shirt back in, all bluster. "Calm down, it's all right, no one's going to punish you!"

The boy snapped his mouth shut, squeezing his hands together behind his back. Arthur heard the soft, rasping sound of Jack chuckling, and Arthur shot a glare at him— as if he was at fault for not noticing the vampire in the corner. "What are you doing here?" Arthur asked Quincey sharply.

"I was taking a nap." 

"Don't you have a bedroom for that?"

"I'm so sorry. I just came in here, and it was nice and dark, and the settee was so comfortable…" He hung his head, the blush still on his cheeks. 

Jack stepped up beside Arthur and nodded to him. "You should invite him to have lunch with us."

Arthur signed back so the boy wouldn't hear. "He doesn't eat."

"It might be a nice gesture. Look at the poor boy."

Arthur looked over at Quincey, who was visibly trying to keep himself from trembling.

Through gritted teeth, he said aloud, "Would you like to join us for lunch?"

The boy lit up, and Arthur remembered that expression on his mother's face, how she would clap her hands when she was excited. "May I?"

"Of course," Arthur ground out, shooting another glare at Jack, and the three of them sat down at the table. Quincey sat perfectly still and straight in his chair, but he was almost vibrating with a palpable energy.

Jack took his place next to Arthur, their legs brushing under the table. Arthur briefly considered offering the boy some soup, because it felt strange not to, but they had well-established that the boy could not stomach any human food. So they just began eating in silence.

After a few beats, the boy asked, "Lord Godalming, you said in an earlier conversation that I did not need permission to speak, is it not so?"

Arthur sighed. "That's correct. You can just speak."

The boy looked relieved. But when he spoke, it was to Jack, not him. "Dr. Seward, I saw you mention my name, and Lu's. She's been teaching me some sign language," he added, but then didn't elaborate further. Arthur noticed that he rarely asked direct questions, just opened topics of conversation and seemed to hope that the other person would answer his oblique hints.

Jack signed, "We were just discussing your nickname, Q." After a moment, he glanced at Arthur, and Arthur remembered he had to translate. He spoke the words aloud.

"Ah, yes. Lu calls me that."

Lu and Q, what a matching set of nicknames. Arthur held back a groan. But now that the topic had come up, the question returned to his mind: of all the names to give his son, why had Harker chosen this one? Aloud, he said, "Quincey… did your father ever tell you about your namesake?"

Quincey looked at him quizzically, as if thinking this was some kind of test. "My father didn't give me this name," he said. "Papa did."

Arthur was still getting used to the father/papa differentiation. He went on, a bit testily: "Did your papa ever tell you, then?" 

"I didn't know I was named after anyone." Quincey looked at him with open curiosity.

That was fair. What would Harker say, anyway? He was a fine man, loyal and with the truest heart that ever beat. When he swore to kill your Father, I took his hand and gazed at him with glowing admiration. Then I brutally murdered him in front of his friends.

The boy had sensed Arthur's bitterness; Arthur could see him tense. Under the table, Jack gently touched his knee, a warning, a reassurance. Arthur swallowed back the angry words he wanted to say. He didn't want to hurt this boy, not really, and he had long ago given up his right to revenge in order to save Jack's life. But he felt a sudden duty to make sure that Quincey knew something of the man whose name he carried.

"You are named after a man named Quincey Morris," Arthur said, willing his voice to be steady. "He was our best friend. Kind, noble, goodhearted. He had a great sense of humor and he was the bravest and most selfless man I ever knew."

The boy looked up at him eagerly, as if trying to memorize this new information.

Arthur hadn't seen the exact moment of his best friend's death; his back had been turned. Jack hadn't seen it either; he was too distracted by his hand going flying and the blood exploding from his throat. Sometimes, Jack had said, I think I remember that Quincey grabbed my coat and pulled me away from Harker's blade. But I don't know if that's my memory playing tricks on me.

Quincey had had a gun, and he had not fired. It was possible that he didn't have time to draw. But Quincey had the quickest draw of anyone Arthur knew, and it was not easy to catch him off guard.

Arthur had never seen that much blood before, even when he had staked Lucy's body.

"You should be proud to be named after him," Arthur concluded, his voice wavering only slightly.

Quincey hesitated, then spoke gingerly. "You speak of him as if he's not here."

Arthur felt his heart catch in his throat. Under the table, Jack squeezed his leg.

Arthur had turned over and over Harker's words in his "letter of recommendation:" I swear to you, he is wholly ignorant of the the evil done on his behalf.

"He died, unfortunately," Arthur said. Unfortunately. As if the inexorable march of time had caused it to happen, like the melting of snow or the turning of tide. As if it were not the result of Harker destroying everything and everyone in his path for his own selfish ends.

"There is so much pain in your eyes," Quincey said, and there was such open compassion on his face that Arthur felt the beginnings of tears. He blinked them back. 

"It's a noble name to live up to," Jack signed, and then nudged Arthur to translate for him, which he did. "We hope that you can show yourself to be as true and good as he was."

The boy nodded vigorously. "I intend to live up to the name."

Living up to Quincey's name was impossible, Arthur thought, but there was no use telling him that.

They ate in silence for a while longer, then Jack checked his watch and told Arthur he needed to head out. He gave Arthur a peck on the lips when he left, which made Arthur blush (it wasn't helping that the boy was staring at them, with that same unabashed curiosity he showed with everything).

When Jack left the room, there was an awkward silence, and Arthur was just getting ready to make some excuse to leave when Quincey spoke quietly. "Lu told me that she has the same name as someone who died, too."

Oh, lord, he was not ready for this conversation. But Quincey needed to know this. He needed to understand… 

Arthur tried to keep his voice even. "That's correct. She shares a name with her Aunt Lucy Westenra, who unfortunately died before she was born." Again, that word, unfortunately. Like time and tide and the stake in his hands— she is among the angels, friend Arthur, you have set her soul free, oh dear Lord, he wished to God he could be sure of it— "She was to be my wife," he added, not even sure why he did.

Quincey gasped, and stared at him wide-eyed, as if this much grief was something new to him. "What happened to her?"

Arthur opened his mouth, shut it again. She became like you, and so I took a mallet and a wooden stake and I slaughtered her, blow after bloodied blow while she screamed, and I thought myself righteous for doing so. What was there to say? What could he say?

"She fell ill, and died."

Quincey solemnly took this in; Arthur could fairly see the wheels of his brain turning, processing all this information. 

Not knowing why he pressed on, Arthur added, "Lucy Westenra was best friends with your Mum, before she was a vampire." Before they both were.

Quincey started, staring at him. "Oh," he said, and suddenly he looked even paler, if it were possible.

"What is it?"

Quincey looked like he was going to say, "Nothing," but he put his head down and gulped. "I didn't realize… I do know about Lucy Westenra. I just didn't know her name." There was sorrow, deep sorrow, in his voice.

Arthur felt his skin prickling, as if a fire was crackling under his skin. He should not ask, he should not ask, he should not— "What of her?"

Quincey raised his head, his face grief-stricken. "Was that why she was disloyal to Father, because she tried to belong to you?"

Arthur's stomach dropped out, and his brain ground to a halt. A choked, "What?" was all he could get out.

"Father said that when he wooed her, she offered only her blood, but that her loyalty was fractured, and that's why—"

Arthur didn't realize he had leaped up until his thighs hit the table, sending dishes clattering and silverware flying. He had grabbed the boy by his shirt across the table and yanked him to his feet, and the words came out in a roar before he could stop them. "Never speak of her again!"

"Yes, lord!" Quincey gasped, and burst into tears.

Arthur's hands went slack, and he watched in surreal horror as blood welled up in Quincey's eyes and went dripping down his face in rivulets. Was that how vampires wept? (Oh God, what was he doing, making this poor child cry?)

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, letting go of his shirt. He felt dizzy. "I'm sorry, Quincey, I shouldn't have yelled."

"I'm sorry, lord, I don't know what I said wrong," Quincey gasped out, furiously wiping away his tears, leaving streaks of pale red blood on his skin. "Please teach me, so I may learn the Lesson and not anger you in the future."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said weakly again, and quickly circled around the table, fumbling for his handkerchief, which he handed to the boy. Quincey accepted it and bent over it, sniffing and trembling. Arthur hesitantly put his hand on the boy's head to steady him, and he felt him relax instantly under his touch.

"You only spoke in ignorance, and I shouldn't have lashed out," Arthur said, a lump in his throat. "Forgive me."

Quincey looked up quickly, as if Arthur had said something incomprehensible. Arthur guessed that his "Father" certainly never would have said these words. "You can't help but repeat what you've been told," he said carefully, moving his hand down to squeeze Quincey's shoulder, "but what you've been told is a lie."

Quincey blinked at him, still sniffling a little. 

"I can't blame you for being raised by a monster," Arthur said.

"Father is not—"

"He is," Arthur snapped. Quincey flinched, but Arthur didn't have the patience for compassion right now. Arthur let go of his shoulder, to give him room to move away if he wanted. "You need to know this, Quincey. Your papa and mum hid this from you, but you need to know. He's a monster who drinks people's blood and kills them. He killed Lucy in this way."

"No," Quincey blurted out. "No, that can't be true. Father would never, ever eat someone he didn't love."

The urge to grab him and shake him passed over Arthur like fire. He didn't move, only clenched his fists. "Quincey—"

"Father loves me," Quincey said, and there was desperation in his voice, as if he wanted nothing more than to convince Arthur of this fact. "He loves all of us. And—" he gulped, then set his jaw in that determined way that his papa had. "And I love him."

For a long time, they just stared at each other. Quincey's eyes had a reddish tinge from crying, faint blood-trails smeared on his face.

Then Arthur made a decision. "If you don't believe me, perhaps you'll believe the words of your mother and fa— and papa."

Quincey looked up at him in confusion. 

"Come with me."

He turned and headed up to his office, Quincey trailing behind him like a shadow. In a wardrobe in the far corner of that room, locked in the bottom of a safe, laid a stack of yellowing pages, lovingly typed and compiled by the woman Arthur had once hoped to love as a sister, the woman who had died twenty-one years ago, the woman who had raised the child following noiselessly behind him.

It was time Quincey learned the truth.

~~~

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 30)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (29) | Next (31)

Content Warning: Vore themes, licking

Word Count: 2.3k

------ Chapter 30: Jar ------

Eren was tense when Joey returned her to the kitchen. He did his best to nonchalantly hide her arm under his thumb as he spoke to Bucky and gently placed her back in her tank. She could sense the strain in his fingers as he released her, reluctant to abandon her to an uncertain fate. He lowered his chocolate eyes to her level and gazed at her soulfully one last time, before Bucky shoved him out of the kitchen. 

Eren sat with her arms tucked near her legs to make her concealed weapon less apparent, trembling with anxious anticipation for the dinner service. She knew she only had one chance to pull off an assassination, so she resolved to kill whomever she was served to. She prayed for success, unsure of what the consequences would be if she were found with a weapon. As much as she wanted to share her secret with her dispirited neighbor, Jackie, she was worried one of the giants might notice. So, she kept it to herself. 

The chefs labored over hot ovens and stoves to prepare tonight’s dinner: roast duck with sweet potatoes and orange ginger glazed carrots. Chef Cruor stopped over at the human tanks to feed the prisoners, dropping in some sort of steaming casserole mash that he made for all the humans, but specifically for Addison. Eren had to concede that his cooking was exceptional, but she didn’t want to give the giant chef the satisfaction of seeing his food enjoyed. Normally, she’d throw a fit, kick the food away, and spit on the glass to demonstrate her disapproval, but she didn’t want to risk having her needle spotted. So she hunched over and turned away. 

Cruor observed her change in demeanor, but his curiosity was dampened when she showed no interest in his cooking. He hurried to feed the bulk of the human stock so he could fawn over his favorite. Once he finished with them, he slunk over to the jar in the pantry, avoiding Bucky so the boss wouldn’t chastise him for slacking off. He pushed the extra junk out of the way and retrieved the jar with a smile. 

Addison greeted him with a smile of her own. She wasn’t fond of being stashed away in a jar all day, but she understood that her circumstances were better than the other humans. She didn’t have to suffer the indignity of being on display all the time, when she was hidden away in a cupboard instead. She didn’t undergo horrible abuses, like she did back home, or get eaten by any giants. While she was still mildly nervous around Chef Cruor, she appreciated how he doted on her with fondness and fed her quality meals, a true luxury. If anything, she was treated better here than with her mother, who preferred to starve and beat her. Her mother would work her to exhaustion and then lock her in a dark closet for hours at a time. Addison didn’t miss those days; she enjoyed peace and rest, while they lasted. 

“Hello again, my little dumpling,” Cruor purred. “I made a special dinner, just for you.” He unscrewed the lid and dropped the crumbs inside, which Addison gladly indulged in. He watched with glee as she nibbled on them like a tiny mouse, stuffing her cute little cheeks and clutching the chunks of food with microscopic fingers. He marveled at the remarkable change in her physique that the hearty meals had rendered in her. Her emaciation was significantly reduced as her flesh filled out, rounding her modest hips and breasts and giving her formerly sallow face a plump, rosy touch. She finally looked more like a mature full-bodied woman, soft and petite, as opposed to a rail-thin girl. She seemed happier, healthier, and more energetic, though the giant couldn’t help but notice the scars covering her form. Such a sight saddened him, as he could only imagine the pain the poor starving girl had faced. 

“Oh, and I figured you’d appreciate if I… freshened up your living quarters,” Cruor mentioned. Addison flushed with humiliation. Her space was little more than glass lined with layers of paper on the floor to absorb messes, and it was rapidly becoming too unsanitary for her to tolerate. “So, I brought you this…” He grabbed another clean jar off the counter, with a soft blanket inside for bedding and some other basic furnishings for minimal comfort. “It’s not much, but it’s an improvement at least…” 

Addison looked at the new jar, her new home, sadly. She knew she should be grateful, for he was trying to be kind—but she didn’t want to live the rest of her life in a jar. She didn’t know what she wanted. Going back wasn’t any more desirable than staying here, but the dreadful knowledge that life would soon become much worse for her hung over her head like a black cloud. She’d been confined in a cylindrical room of glass for days, and with her revitalization from the extra nourishment she was getting antsy. She yearned to stretch her legs and breathe the fresh air and see the sun again. Instead, she was stuck here. 

She forced a smile, for she didn’t wish to be perceived as ungrateful. She was thankful that somebody cared about her for once, even if he was a man-eating giant. She wasn’t accustomed to affection, and the positive attention felt nice, albeit unsettling coming from such a massive being. Cruor smiled back, his eyes twinkling with tiny stars in the deep purple galaxies of his irises. He uncapped the clean jar with a satisfying pop, using his enormous, manly hands. Addison was awed by his mighty strength. She had ruminated for hours about escaping, how impossible it would be for a puny human like her to open a gigantic jar like that, but the giant chef did it without a second thought. 

“Well… I guess I’ll… move you over…” Cruor said, with some hesitation. Up to this point, he’d avoided taking her out of the jar or touching her, so as not to frighten her. He’d handled enough humans to know how scared they got when he grabbed them from their enclosures and dressed them up for dinner. The most he’d done with Addison, after placing her inside the jar, was change out the paper lining and drop in food. He noticed how she paled when his huge fingers got too close to her, so he didn’t push it any further than that. 

Now, though, the most practical way to move her would be to reach in and pick her up. He supposed he could also turn the jar sideways and let her walk out onto the counter on her own, but if he were honest with himself, he wanted to hold her. Slowly, he eased his hand into the opening. He paused to see how Addison would react. She shuffled her feet nervously, fixated on the looming hand above her, but didn’t back away. Encouraged, Cruor lowered his fingers more until they surrounded the small woman, completely dwarfing her. She let out a gasp, too quiet for the chef to hear through the glass. 

He gingerly scooped her up into his hand, keeping his motions slow and steady. If she resisted or panicked, he was ready to release her back to her original position. To his delight, she didn’t struggle, but rather folded her legs to nestle securely into the hollow of his palm. Cruor’s pulse raced as he wrapped his fingers around her small form, enclosing her in a loose fist, and removed her from the jar. Once his hand was upright, he opened his digits like a clamshell to reveal the pearl within. 

Addison was breathing fast, and her heart was thrumming in her chest like a purring cat, but she was handling the interaction well. She gazed into Cruor’s huge face, no longer separated by an impenetrable wall, closer and more intimate than ever. With how large he was, every detail was magnified with fascinating clarity: the strands of graying stubble on his blocky chin, his thin dry lips, the pronounced hollows of his cheekbones and under his eyes, the worn texture of his sallow skin, every wrinkle like a canyon carved into the surface, each stray hair like a wavy, dangling vine. His irises reminded her of a rich purple velvet, strikingly deep and dark yet soft. She felt like she could explore the cliffside of his face all day. 

Cruor felt the same about Addison. She wasn’t a beautiful or alluring woman by any means, rather unassuming with her plain face and dull brown hair, but he was captivated by her nonetheless. She was a mystery to him, every scar on her body teasing a story he was not privy to. Even with her stripped bare, he could not penetrate her enigmatic depths. He respected her for her good taste, since she was clearly distinguished enough to appreciate his art, unlike the other troglodytes around him. He wanted to know all about her. 

He licked his thin lips to lubricate the conversation. “How’s this? Are you doing okay?” Addison nodded wordlessly, mouth slightly agape with wonder. Suddenly, she turned white and released a squeak of terror, falling back into the inner curve of his fingers. Cruor creased his brow with concern, realizing a moment too late that she wasn’t responding to him, but the beast flanking him. 

“Cruor!” Bucky griped. “Are you slacking off AGAIN?!” Cruor swiftly closed his hand around Addison to hide her, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent Bucky from seeing her. 

“No. I’m busy,” Cruor lied. Addison fluttered inside his fist. 

“Oh, I see! You were going to feed our malnourished specimen to the king.” 

“No!” Cruor protested, a bit too forcefully. He tried to recover. “Uh… she’s not ready yet.” 

“Let me see her,” Bucky insisted. Cruor didn’t want to raise suspicions, so he reluctantly opened his hand and held her up within visual range. Addison cowered in his roughened palm as the heavyset boss squinted at her with his beady eyes. “She looks fine to me.” 

Cruor scrambled to fabricate a falsehood to protect her. “No, no… her flavor is no good.” 

“Is that so? What does she taste like? The king said she was bland.” 

Cruor bit his lip. He hadn’t tasted Addison yet. If he lied about her flavor, Bucky might find out, since he could verify on his own. “I was just about to check, actually, to see if it had improved at all.” He swallowed, wrapping his hands around the vulnerable woman like a shield and drawing her in closer to his chest. He looked down at her with a silent apology. Addison stared back at him, clearly frightened and insecure. 

Cruor raised Addison up to his mouth. He wished he could go slower, to acclimate her and make her feel safer, but Bucky was watching. He parted his lips and gently brushed her with his tongue. He only intended to give her a quick lick to sample her, but he lingered. She had a subtle, complex flavor that could be described as bland to an unsophisticated palate, but an experienced chef like Cruor could discern her infinite potential. She would be a marvelous complement to a variety of sauces and dishes, with the right preparation. His mind schemed with all the tantalizing possibilities as inspiration struck. A strong desire overwhelmed him, as he imbibed her scent, her taste, and the feel of her luscious flesh against his. He reveled in the sensations. 

“Well?” Bucky interrupted, crossing his thick arms. 

“Mm, definitely not ready yet,” Cruor fibbed, tearing himself away from Addison. He crinkled his nose with faux revulsion to make the display more convincing. “No good.” Addison withered under his criticism. Cruor steadfastly held his tongue, as difficult as it was to insult her. In order to safeguard her, he had to hurt her, and by proxy himself as he witnessed her discomfiture. 

Bucky shook his head. “If she doesn’t improve, we’ll have to dispose of her.” Cruor crumbled internally at the thought. “Anyways, go plate the dishes for the royals. And make it snappy! It’s time for dinner.” He hustled off. 

Cruor wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “Sorry about that, Addison,” he whispered. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva as he held her near his face and caught her scent again. “I didn’t mean that at all; your flavor is truly delightful…” He paused, his lips mere inches from her naked flesh. He exhaled, bathing the tiny woman in warm breath. He couldn’t resist. He planted a soft kiss on her side, nearly engulfing her small body with his lips. She felt warm and petite against his skin. He couldn’t imagine throwing her in with all the others, to be heartlessly consumed like a scrap of meat. She wasn’t any ordinary human; she was special to him. 

He tucked her away in her new case, checking her over to make sure she was okay. She seemed shaken by Bucky’s interruption. He would reconnect with her later, after the dinner rush. Maybe sneak her a sliver of sweet dessert. With his heart humming, he organized the food on the plates with his usual aesthetic flourishes. He added a human to each plate, selecting three at random. 

Since his mind was fixated on Addison, he failed to notice that Eren had a sharp implement tied to her arm. He failed to observe that she didn’t fight, curse, or throw food. She didn’t try to bolt or require restraints. She sat obediently in the giant plate of food, up to her elbows in sweet potato, intentionally burying both her arms in the orange paste to conceal them. 

She was ready. Tonight, somebody was going to die. She would accomplish her mission and kill a giant. She would no longer be powerless to control her fate. Her bloodlust would be sated. 

Chapter 31

Tag list: @yummynomms @tinycoded360

[nerdieforpedro]

His first drop of Sugar

A Joel Miller and Layla (OFC) story

General Audiences but my Tumblr overall is 18+

Main Masterlist/ Joel Miller Masterlist / Drops of Sugar Series

Summary: Joel Miller is a simple man. He works, takes care of his daughter, maybe meets some ladies sometimes. As he puts it "He does okay." If he was going to look seriously.

One day, he met her, the woman who'd change everything.

Word Count: approx 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, awkward flirting, attempt at humor

Notes: I wanted to revisit Joel & Layla’s story but not disturb what relationship I had already built for them. So I decided I’d do different vignettes at various points in their relationship. We’ll see where they end up.

Joel is a man of habit. He picks up his brother Tommy, drops off his daughter Sarah at school, and he and his brother go to work. After work, he goes straight home to make sure Sarah is safe in the house, relaxes with some music, a book, maybe a little whiskey. Sarah tells him he’s getting a bit old for that now that she’s almost out of high school. Thankfully for Joel, she’s sixteen which gave him a few more years before he would worry even more about her. Tommy and Sarah were concerned that he didn’t have enough in his life, Joel always waved them off.

“I’m fine. I got all I need with you two.”

“I mean, if I was gonna look, I’d do okay.”

Joel wasn’t lying when he said he could have a girlfriend if he wanted to and he did not. They usually tried to get him to leave things around his house, put pillows where they don’t belong, get him to eat some quinoa (no one needs to eat that, he was a potatoes or rice type of man), buy different clothes for him and even suggested different ways to parent his daughter. Mentioning anything about Sarah other than that she was the sunlight of Joel’s life was grounds for him to never speak to that person again.

The elder Miller brother’s routine didn’t change until one of his employees gave him a Starbucks gift card. He didn’t think much of it and kept it in his wallet. It wasn’t until Tommy had him stop in between sites to “grab some joe and a quick bite,” that he came to taste the coffee. Joel ordered a caramel cappuccino because he could say it and he knew what was in it. He told the young lady or barista whatever milk was fine. It was his first taste and it was wonderful.

The next time Joel made sure to come without Tommy and try a different drink, he got a white chocolate mocha and was hooked on the caffeine and sweetness. Now he ordered one at least twice a week. He tried to ensure that Tommy nor his daughter Sarah knew about his Starbucks trips, but they did. Tommy had passed by a Starbucks on the way to one of their jobs in the neighborhood and he saw Joel exiting the coffee house with drink in hand happily gulping the hot beverage down. He didn’t mention it. The Younger Miller brother waited until they were in the office alone. He whipped out a photo he had taken of Joel: head craned back, cup tipped upward with the faint semblance of his lips curled into a smile.

“I caught you! I thought you said you’d never go back?! Look at this Joel. I thought you said it was too expensive.”

Joel rolled his eyes hard, he would never not hear about this from Tommy. Ugh. “I got some more coffee. What’s the big deal? You’re making it sound like I’m cheating, which it’s coffee, how does that make sense?”

“You’ve been making trips by yourself and leaving me out. Maybe I wanted some coffee too Joel, you ever think of that?”

“You mean you wanted me to buy you coffee? You’re a grown ass man. Buy your own damn coffee Tommy.” The Elder Miller brother thought for a moment. “Wait, I was at the Starbucks around 11:30 in the morning, what were you doing driving around at that time?”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, “What do you mean? I was on my way to Mrs. Flores house in the neighborhood. To put up her kitchen cabinets.”

Joel squinted his eyes, “Mrs. Flores said she wanted them up sooner than later. When I spoke to her earlier this week, she told me 10 in the morning. What were you doing for damn near…?” Joel already knew the answer to his own question and sighed. “You’re lucky as hell that Mrs. Flores didn’t call me and complain about you being late. You can’t do that shit for one of your…dalliances.”

Tommy snickered, “Is that what they kids are calling it these days? Dalliances? You’ve got to take the two by four out Joel. I am showing Sarah this picture of her father though.” He bounced out of the office, feeling the overall victor but when Joel finally listened to his office messages, Mrs. Flores had complained so he docked Tommy’s pay by half.

The next week was when it happened. The meeting that changed his life.

On a Tuesday, Joel stopped by Starbucks on the corner after he had smoothing things over with Mrs. Flores. Tommy was going to have to have lunch with the woman twice a week for the next two weeks in addition to the docked pay. Was it a bit much? Yes, and Joel was fine with that. He was also wanted to teach him a lesson about being on time, for every minute he was late, that was an extra five that Mrs. Flores could keep him in her house, watching telenovelas, knitting or as Tommy told him told once, ‘putting some weird peppermint cream on her feet.’ Joel decided that it served him right.

Joel ordered his usual white chocolate mocha grande and waited for it. He heard his name followed by a woman’s name rather closely but no matter. He picked up his drink at the end of the counter and sipped it, feeling the rush from the caffeine in the esspresso and tasting the chocolate, milk and whipped cream together. He had heard someone say wait, but he had his drink, that wasn’t directed toward him.

“Hey! You in the black shirt!” At this Joel finally turned, so someone had been trying to get his attention. He was annoyed though, it was during coffee time though. The scowl on his face quickly left as he saw who was calling him. A plump woman with hands on her hips, a lavender silk button down shirt not tucked in but still appeared neat. Her skirt hit just below her knees with a small slit above her left knee, exposing some of her thigh. She had a small bit of cleavage showing as his eyes trailed up and saw her silver necklace might be a cross? But she had dark red lipstick coating her full lips. Her face was round and her hair was loose and wide, it looked soft though. Her honey eyes glared at him and intensified as she made her way toward him. “Are you going to buy me another one? That mocha was mine.” She kept her hand on her hips and leaned her weight back on her right foot, looking up at him. Joel scoffed.

“Sorry darlin’ no it ain’t. This is…” He was proven wrong. The name was not his on the side. It said ‘Layla.’ “Um. Sorry about that Miss Layla. I’ll buy you another.” He watched as she exhaled and looked down, her hands now crossing her chest and pressing her breasts together. Joel blinked so he could focus on her face again, but that wasn’t much better.

“I should apologize as well. I’m sorry for raising my voice. I was just looking forward to my coffee. It gets me out of my office for a bit, away from everyone. I didn’t meant to take that out on you.” She explained and he nodded, understanding the sentiment. Joel at least had the luxury of driving to different sites, often by himself of Tommy who he could stand half the time. He can’t picture himself around people who annoyed him all the time. They walked over to the counter and Joel paid for her mocha and a brownie. He had told her it was something to sweeten her day before he found himself exiting the cafe again. He had half a mind to go back in and ask her if maybe she wanted to meet outside of the office again.

“That sounds horrible. Maybe I am out of practice. I am not asking him for advice.” Joel shook his head, he would NEVER ask Tommy for advice with women, not even on his deathbed. Turns out he didn’t have to because the same woman stepped out of the cafe and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Not sure who you don’t plan on asking for advice but I wanted to ask you something.” She began and paused. “I’m Layla to start. I figured I would make sure you knew that. Would you…oh, um.” She was floundering but pushed through, Joel let her, he wasn’t sure what to say either. “Could we meet maybe for lunch or dinner or it doesn’t have to be a meal. It could be anything. Well not…” He chuckled and she pursed her lips. “You could say something you know! You can tell I’m just saying whatever comes to mind. God I suck at this.” Layla threw her head back and sighed. Joel held her hand gently. She was startled but then smiled.

“Let’s say we exchange numbers and see what we both agree to do, Layla? Might lead to a meal or whatever else you were thinkin’ sweetheart. Name’s Joel by the way.” His rough thumb grazed the soft skin of her hand, the smile she had on her face beamed. A barista came out, calling Layla’s name to which she let go of Joel’s hand and put her index finger, signaling to give her a minute. After having the brownie and coffee handed over to her, Layla made her way back over to Joel.

“S-Sorry about that.” She set her coffee on the hood of a nearby car and went in her purse, pulling out her phone. “Yes, put in your number Joel.” Joel grinned and pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it for her, they entered their numbers in each other’s contacts and double checked the numbers by sending an initial text. Joel told her that he needed the practice per his daughter and she laughed, stating that her friends said the same for her selfies. She was easy to talk to and the single father was hopeful to hear her say his name again - her voice was calming despite the excitement it brimmed with. The snort at the tail end of her laughing fit was adorable. Joel picked up her coffee and walked Layla to her car, holding it for her as she placed her purse and brownie in the passenger’s seat being across the driver’s seat to do so. He took a step back to appreciate the view, part of him felt conflicted until she looked back with a grin. ‘Damn, shouldn’t have felt bad about it then.’ He approached her with her coffee and handed it to her, making sure to brush against her fingers.

“Send me a message when you get back to the office Sugar.” He leaned down into her open window and cocked his head to the side, laying it on a little extra thick. He hoped not too much.

“I will Joel. You can be sure of that.”

“You’re the one who said anything Layla.”

“I’m well aware.” A chuckle to herself. “Maybe we should just start with lunch so I don’t end up talking and tripping up my words again.”

“However you wanna meet darlin’.” His smirk grew into a smile.

Layla shook her head. “You’re so much trouble Joel. I can tell already.”

“Good trouble I assure you Layla. Shouldn’t you get gettin’ back to work? You might be the real trouble, you know.” He teased her, not really wanting her to leave, but he didn’t want her to associate their meeting with possible work repercussions.

“Alright, maybe not so much trouble. And I should be getting back to work. I’ll see you later Joel.” Joel stood up and watched as she pulled out of her parking space and drove off. He returned to his truck and drove back to the office where he got an angry call from Tommy about Mrs. Flores had him try on her late husband’s clothes and dance with her. Joel told him to suck it up for one more week and then he’ll be square. And not to be late, lest the elder Miller brother sends him back to Mrs. Flores house. He’ll be Ignacio for a month. In the midst of Tommy complaining for the last five minutes, he heard a small ping and took a look at his phone:

Hey there Joel, I’m safe back at work, though I don’t really want to be. I’m free most evenings and as for lunch, between 1-2 works well. I may be able to stretch it to 2:30 if I push some things until later. I’m also free on weekends. Let me know what works for you. I hope you have a good rest of your day.

Joel felt vindicated, he was not the only adult over the age of thirty that texts full sentences according to Sarah, his daughter. He made sure to text out his reply while Tommy was heard getting pulled by Mrs. Flores out of the bathroom he was calling Joel from.

Good to know you got there safely, Sugar. The evenings are for my daughter but if we plan, I can have my brother watch her for a bit while we go to dinner. Lunch is always an option and those times are perfect. You tell me where you want to go and I’ll take you there Layla.

Joel sent it and was nervous for the next few hours while he answered questions from his crew about various jobs and materials. He also drove to another site and ignored a call or two from Tommy. It was when he pulled up to the next site that she suggested they meet at ‘Brenner’s on the Bayou’ a place that Joel had eaten at years ago. It was with a different woman and she was about as interesting as paint, but the food was delicious. They agreed and the date was set for Saturday night.

Up until the date, they exchanged texts for two days until Layla called him just to say good morning and Joel damn near missed a stop sign in answering the phone before pulling off to the side of the road. He had a feeling then he’d need to see her sooner than Saturday.

Joel's Darlin's: @yorksgirl @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @guelyury @goodwithcheese @morallyinept @ilovepedro @pascalsanctuary @grogusmum @pamasaur @perotovar @pedrodascal @gwendibleywrites @marcus-is-my-muse @pedritapascal

[sassyfrassboss]

“Since I didn't like her straight away but it was hard to find people that felt the way I did at the time I actually googled "people who hate Meghan Markle" and Tumblr popped up.” I’ve been BRF fan since the 90s and William was the good looking, athletic guy reluctant to be king one day and Harry was the fun-loving party Prince. I thought Harry would be William’s Princess Margaret (sometimes wayward but fiercely loyal and do all of the social engagements the monarch didn’t/couldn’t do). I watched when Catherine came on the scene and then Chelsea and Cressida. Harry absolutely had a type, tall, blond, from a good family. Then we get to 2016 and there are rumors he’s dating some random American actress who no one has heard of with some dime a dozen blog and on some basic cable legal show that she’s not even the star of. Let’s face it, Suits is not Law&Order or SVU. Not to mention, she’s short, brunette, and not from a connected family. She appeared out of nowhere and all of is sudden has a VF cover? I thought for sure he’d end it then because none of his previous girlfriends talked about their relationship with him but Meghan did. Then there’s IG in Toronto and “the statement” and I knew she was going to be trouble. She made damn sure everyone knew they were together. She still does it, referring to “my husband” and Duchess of Sussex on every article ever written since they married. Superficially, she looked smug as hell too.

Harry absolutely had a type, tall, blond, from a good family. Then we get to 2016 and there are rumors he’s dating some random American actress who no one has heard of with some dime a dozen blog and on some basic cable legal show that she’s not even the star of.

Yeah so when the news started coming out that he was "possibly" dating this divorced American actress I was like "yeah right..." then when it came out she was half black i thought "not a chance in HELL is this true" because let's face it...this is the guy who wore a Nazi costume and was known for throwing around racial slurs. No way was this story true. Then it WAS true and I thought, eh maybe he is turning a new leaf. Of course there was talk he didn't know she was half black until they had been dating a while and he was afraid to break up with her because he didn't want her to call him a racist.

While all of this was going on we got the spooning banana Instagram post and then the coffee cup with bracelets IG post. When that came out and you saw she was baiting someone into connecting the dots so she could FINALLY brag about her once in a lifetime catch I thought "she's toast...nothing Harry hates more than someone flaunting their relationship and talking to the press." Because at the time Harry was way more tightlipped about his life than William. Harry guarded his privacy fiercely and was known to drop people faster than a hot potato if they talked about him to the press. I never thought the relationship would get past this point.

Then Love Shield 1.0 and I was like you..."uh oh...we are in trouble here..." Also because there was ZERO evidence she was being harassed and she claimed in the statement. There weren't hundreds of paps chasing her down the street like Kate or Diana. In fact, it seemed that Meghan was courting and LOVING the attention. Smiling big and bright at the cameras and making sure to wear her "H" necklace. This is when I knew she was a manipulator and a liar.

Then when she was in London and kept walking in front of the Daily Mail offices to get photographed. She looked ridiculous walking around London in her "wellies."

When "Wild about Harry" came out I 100% thought "that's the end of her" so when they were engaged shortly afterwards you could have knocked me over with a feather I was so shocked. I expected breakup news, not an engagement.

[ezras--moon]

Disorganized Attachment - Chapter 1: Fibonacci

IT'S FINALLY HERE!

Dieter x adult actress reader (no age gap, both in their early/mid 40s)

18+ although this chapter does not contain any explicit smut yet.

This work contains a lot of cursing, talks about substance abuse, mental illness, violence, and I have not researched anything about the film or p**n industry, so if that's not your thing, scroll on. (it is surprisingly soft and fluffy though)

More warnings: Negative self talk/thoughts, body image issues.

word count: 5364

Where to begin?

 You and Dieter met in high school, drama and art classes. You had a secret crush on him back then, but thought he was kind of a dick, too. He was envious, or even jealous, of your ability to memorize long monologues seemingly overnight. These ridiculous reasons were mainly why you didn’t become friends then yet, just secretly harbored certain feelings for each other. If just one of you had pulled their head out of their ass and talked to the other, you would have realized very quickly that you were two peas in a pod. 

 When you met again in college, you had all your acting, theater and film related classes together. You stuck to each other then, because you were both from the same hometown, and you’d both changed and grown. Experimenting with drugs welded you closer together, and you woke up in each other’s dorms after lawless nights quite a few times. Dieter began auditioning long before you both graduated, so did you. He was more successful pretty much from the beginning. You congratulated each other on a few projects, his always bigger than yours, and then at some point you just went your separate ways in Hollywood.

You still privately kept up to date with Dieter’s work and achievements; you watched the Oscars the year he won one of the categories he was nominated for, with a friend over the phone, squealing over the line and damn near rupturing her eardrum at the announcement of the winner. And he looked so handsome on screen, even with the sadness and hubris in his dark eyes that you were well acquainted with. 

He’d told you all the stories throughout your time in college together. The abuse, the violent reign of his strict parents drilling him to be the best in all his classes, to always get the big roles he auditioned for… and the harsh punishment if he didn’t. The constant pressure to be perfect and likeable, the emotional neglect in between his successes. What they never really gave a shit about was if he was happy.

While Dieter went off to become a real movie star, you struggled and clung on to shadier and shadier gigs, until you finally landed in the adult film industry. You’d tried your best and worked really hard to make a name for yourself in this new field, and you did, you succeeded! 

Your screen name was a secret to most people you interacted with in your daily life, you kept a strict line between your private matters and your work. Many of your loose acquaintances believed you were simply “in the film industry”, which was technically true. Sometimes, when you met someone new and they asked what you did for a living, you could see the split second of recognition in their eyes and then, as soon as possible, you’d drop them like hot potatoes. Better not to get involved with fans.

Now…

Around the time when you sign a contract with a new agency, Dieter’s spiraling into another crisis. He’s coked up to the max, never not high anymore, and during the short, intermittent down periods he thinks he’s worthless and needs to rebrand himself. All of his unusually bottomless lows are followed by particularly severe manic episodes lately, in which he comes up with things to do to revolutionize his public persona, and he won’t hear anyone out who tries to stop him. Because of the excessive amount of cocaine he consumes, he believes himself to be in possession of the necessary skills and fortitude to star in a real, professional porn movie during this particular spiral.

 And thank Mother Gaia for modernity, because his manager isn’t even opposed to the idea.

“Get me the most expensive co-star you can find to do this with me!” he barks into his phone, ordering some poor fool at his agency out to get him a role in a big production.

There isn’t much hope, Dieter thinks, that he’ll get anyone exceptionally hot, no matter their price tag - he’s getting old and has gained a few pounds since the peak of his career. But then again, it’s mostly the women in porn who are under pressure to be perfect, fresh off the rack, if they want to make it in the industry. And not just in some niche fetish market, but instead the very top of the food chain, the big studios, like Brazzers or Tushy dot com. His other, admittedly quite reasonable, hope for a really fuckable scene partner is that having an actual Oscar winning movie star like himself, aging and getting heavy or not, fuck his pent-up frustration into a dimepiece on camera would drive sales exponentially more than if he did it to a bridge troll. Fuck, he really should see his therapist again. These horrible thoughts about people’s looks, including his own, can’t be beneficial to his already dwindling mental stability. But that guy is a leech; even as rich as Dieter is nowadays, the rates of a decent therapist are nauseating.

When you receive the offer, you’re just on your way to a set, somewhere up in the hills. You don’t read the e-mail until late that night. The header gives away what type of shoot it’s going to be - a celebrity, a real movie star, and this time not just for a private sex tape. No, this time an A-list Hollywood actor wants to actually publish the tape. It’s guaranteed to make headlines for weeks. This would most definitely be the next Big Thing for you.

It takes you a while to read the wall of text before you find the name of the actor at the bottom of the page. You gasp, then break out into a fit of bewildered little laughs. 

Dieter Bravo! You damn outlaw.

You know he probably has no idea his people sent yours an offer, nor that you would definitely say yes, if he’s even aware you’re in this business - it isn’t likely that he knows your screen name either, because you would hope to have heard from him on social media if he had. You’ve followed him since you made your professional account.

The next morning, you wake up bright and early to give Dieter’s agent a call back, accept the job, make an appointment to sign the contract, and go get a fresh bikini waxing. You can’t wait to see Dieter again. Get to fuck him again, if the surprise of seeing you show up for the shoot doesn’t turn him off of it entirely.

As the aesthetician, a close friend of yours affectionately nicknamed Barbie, rips away at the wax strips to get rid of the bush you’d grown out for a vintage shoot, you think about him and what he used to mean to you.

You tell Barbie about him, in between wincing through the pain of the waxing; you tell her that when you were young, your bodies taut and lean, you enjoyed each other’s company very much. And about the things you’d say to each other in bed, how you could never stop praising his heavy cock, how deliciously it burned when he pistoned it into your welcoming heat; how he couldn’t stop sucking on your tits and emptying his balls into you, again and again for hours until there was nothing left to fill you with, always high on something.

 You know what he looks like, you’ve seen him at red carpets from the comfort of your living room, even this year - Barbie remembers when you screamed at her over the phone and she tried to match your excitement. She also remembers all the times you were intoxicated and reminisced about past loves, your dreamy retelling of your experiences always circling back to Dieter in the end.

 But the new memories all just come from images on screens, they’re not real memories of him. The last real one is over a decade old.

The contract you sign is your agency’s standard adult film production contract, you’ve signed hundreds like this before. Every rich adult film connoisseur who’s into “older” women wants a piece of you.

Several days pass after you sign, before you hear back and receive a shooting date very soon after. 

“Mr. Bravo would appreciate it if we could make it happen as soon as possible.” your agent relays to you on the phone. “Fine by me. I can definitely squeeze it in next week.” you reply.

That day…

Rolling up to his house in the hills, your manager drives you through the LA afternoon traffic, and ultimately you're twenty-five minutes late. “We should have known it was gonna be like this” you complain to your manager, a woman your age named Tonya with round, red cheeks, who’s raised five children by herself. “Nonsense. I guarantee you, this guy’s going to be even later himself. These A-listers usually are, they’re too self important to be on time. Now go, get up there! I’ll be right behind you.”

You grab your handbag and your cosmetics, wallet and phone secure in your jacket, and make your way up the thirty-something steps to ring Dieter Bravo’s doorbell.

A stern looking woman with a sleek black librarian hairdo and penciled-in eyebrows of the same color lets you into the mansion; she’s surprisingly nice. You’re instructed to take a seat in Dieter’s living room, on a comfortable couch. You don’t mind the staff standing by the open doors, and change into your outfit out in the open there - a pitch black, crotchless leotard, equally dark ballerina flats, and a thin pink robe for modesty before the shoot starts. Someone from the production crew arrives and brings a make-up artist, who makes you look a decade younger. That takes almost two full hours and removes any remaining shred of your guilt about being late. It's a bothersome process, but might increase the chances he’ll recognize you.

Finally, after another ten more minutes of waiting for him, his majesty makes an appearance, coming from the garage. He’s dressed in a cornflower blue robe, a fluffy, well-worn thing, and chanclas, along with sweatpants. He holds a starbucks cup in his hand and peeks at everyone in the room over the rim of a pair of sunglasses, chewing gum. His hair is as messy as ever, a patchy, scruffy looking beard on his face now. He’s sporting several heavy rings on various fingers and has a chain with an upside-down cross around his neck.

And then he spots you. You can see the exact moment it clicks for him, and everything falls into place. A sultry smirk at him, a wink perhaps, should do, so that’s what you respond with, to the look of pure befuddlement he shoots you.

He crosses the room so fast, he spills some of the whipped cream peeking over the rim of the cup he’s holding with an iron grip. 

“What on earth are you doing in my house, Dolphin?” Oh, God, not that nickname… you visibly cringe, but then sigh and go in for a hug. He accepts without hesitation, and you note that he’s wonderfully warm and soft. It almost balances out the reminder of that time he renamed you against your will, when you were sitting out on the fire escape stairs of your dorms, smoking a blunt together. It would be a good memory if it wasn’t tainted by that nickname designed to drive you up the wall, when your hysterical laughter at one of his jokes resembled the call of a marine mammal.

“I was hired to have a certain movie star fuck the shit out of me on camera.” you tell him nonchalantly, and he bites down a laugh to counter. “I didn’t know you do porn. I thought you might still be doing theater, because I never saw you at any award shows. Is everything okay?” “Yes, Dieter, I’m fine. I’m financially stable, I’m nominated for an AVN this year; the only setback is I’ve recently been pushed into the MILF category. Absolutely killing it there, though.”

Dieter laughs at that, finally - a hearty cackle, and it causes your already buzzing head to flood with memories of that same laugh that are aeons old. You realize he never laughs like this in any of the interviews you’ve seen. 

He pats your shoulder almost fraternally and sets down his drink to give you another hug. “I missed you, Dolphin.” “Please don’t call me that again. I’ll fucking leave and go home, I swear to God.” “Didn’t peg you to be particularly religious.” “I’ll fucking show you a pegging, amigo.” Again, you make Dieter laugh; he seems like he hasn’t earnestly laughed much in quite some time.

The two of you waste everyone else’s time while you catch up; you hear about his last ten years, he hears about yours, while you wander around the house and he shows you his awards. At some point, his manager shows up in the dining room, where Dieter is feeding  you with the best bread you’ve ever had and antipasti from the catering cart, and reminds you both that you’re here for work.

You think it’s odd that Dieter decided to shoot this film in his home. He doesn’t seem to care and says this house has seen weirder things. It’s more convenient for him to do it here. Your worries about the media backlash directed at him that would inevitably follow the release of whatever you tape today remain a secret for now. It’s not your job to bring it up and you trust that all the adults involved know what they’re getting themselves into.

The set in a spare bedroom is all done, assembled, lit up and prepared; as a last effort to prevent disaster, somebody wearing a headset is grabbing a sphinx cat and removing it from under the massive king size centerpiece of the shot. They just exit the room with their arm full of what you think is a raw chicken when you walk in with Dieter and both your managers, who know each other and proceed to go have a conversation somewhere in the corner.

 He introduces you to the director, a Finnish-American talent of the erotic arts, who then introduces herself as Ansa, and who’s supposed to make Dieter’s filthy vision a reality. The six foot four blonde with an angular jaw, who looks like she could easily be a famous basketball player, explains the concept of the Golden Ratio to you, but you have difficulties following, with the way Dieter is already staring at your mouth. “...in each shot, your two bodies have to be arranged in the exactly right way to align with the ratio, which you might know under its other commonly known name, the Fibonacci sequence. Well, technically the golden ratio and the Fibonacci sequence are different things, but they are closely associated with each other. We’ve come up with a few positions that work, they’re shown here-* She rambles on, then hands you a thin stack of cards, each depicting a drawing of a sexual position in which the visual lines and boundaries of the lovers’ bodies resemble a spiral from a certain angle. You look through them, wide-eyed, while Dieter chews on an Olive and ogles you over the rim of his sunglasses - shamelessly.

Ansa continues, “Somebody might have to touch you to adjust the position of a body part for the perfect shot. I hope you have an active gym membership, you might be forced to stay still and hold a difficult position for a while, through up to a few dozen of his thrusts, so we have enough material from each shot.” 

Can’t we just start fucking? Why does it matter how I sit on his dick? Besides, the whole Fibonacci sequence thing is kind of overplayed, isn’t it? Hasn’t this shit been done a million times before? There’s songs about it, media that’s structured according to it, stuff that won Grammys and everything. It’s been a meme online, too, people already laugh about it.

Those are the gripes coming up in your head in quick succession, and you don't fully realize that you say all of them out loud and worded exactly like that, making Dieter snort and bend over in a cackle. You blush, hard, and begin to stammer an apology for the bluntness, because she’s not used to your Modus Operandi yet and deserves some grace. This job could have very well been given to somebody else, somebody more demure and accepting of bullshit executive decisions. 

Ansa just smiles at you, not quite as amused as Dieter seems to be, still giggling to himself. “You’re funny, I like your attitude,'' she says to interrupt your desaster of an apology before you embarrass yourself, and you notice that you like her subtle accent, although her non-answer annoys you.

 You demand to know why they would ask you to sign a contract before letting you know this was going to be a cringefest, and then attempt to ask your questions again in a more respectful tone.

This is when Dieter realizes he’s missed you a whole lot more than he thought; you’re so quick on your feet, as you’ve always been. Just based on this, you haven’t aged a day. Ansa welcomes the rewording of your questions and finally grants you a real response.

She explains that that’s exactly the point of the scene. It’s supposed to drag this pretentious bullshit through the mud. It’s a direct parody of a short film Dieter starred in, ages ago, which you’d never seen, because it was such an obscure release with practically no advertising budget.

“I want to ruin that motherfucker’s career.” Dieter bites; he’s talking about whichever poor soul directed the atrocious short film. “He’s acting all uppity in the media after he landed a couple hits with some military propaganda, wastes of precious lifetime, bullshit ass movies.” You wonder why he’s so genuinely livid at this director, but he answers the question before you can ask it. 

“This guy screwed me over so hard on that stupid short film, I almost died trying to appease him and his artistic sensibilities, because he convinced me he was doing something worth my while with it. He had me drenched outside at night in Whateverthefuck, Ohio, in the pouring October rain, wearing barely anything, contorting and curling up and posing like a spiral for hours, because no take was ever perfect. And then that garbage didn’t even make a profit, so I got pneumonia for nothing. I had to pay someone to take that disgrace off my Wikipedia and IMDB. I want to make fun of his yuppie ass, I want to make a pornographic parody of his dumb, pseudo-intellectual garbage movie that nearly cost me my life.”

You get it then. The second layer reveals itself to you from behind the curtain of your initial reaction. And with it, you drop the robe they’d handed you. 

Dieter apologizes that he didn’t take the time to talk you through the project before you signed, but he wanted it done as soon as possible. You tell him it’s fine, usually your agency would have sent a request for more information, but you saw his name in that e-mail and didn’t hesitate.

He’s touched by this, though you begin to get a feeling that Dieter isn’t being honest about his intention to do this scene, or at the very least about his constitution. Constantly on edge, fidgeting, shifting his weight back and forth between both feet, extroverted. Friendly. He used to be quieter, and you wonder if he was miserable back then or if he is now, and if it’s your place to even ask.

There’s no time to, anyhow, with droves of production staff pouring into the room, until you and Dieter are practically pushed onto the bed while the camera tests begin. It’s busier than at any normal shoot, but he seems used to it, conversing with his assistant standing close by, about what he would like to order for dinner after. You’re puzzled when he turns to you to ask if you’d like to stay.

But again, no more time to answer questions, the stylist invades your space and touches up both of your faces and hair, and when the cameras are set to roll, everyone who isn’t essential to the shoot leaves the room. The question is long forgotten, when two more people roll a whiteboard into the room that has each of the possible Golden Ratio sexual positions pinned to it for easy review, before leaving as well. 

Dieter is awfully quiet over the next few minutes, when the last round of preparations begin, right before they have some time to get each other turned on, and then the cameras are going to start rolling.

But it never comes to that.

What happens next is Dieter is having a panic attack. A full-on hyperventilating, pacing up and down, cursing and yelling and… crying? He’s crying, crashing. A second ago you were busy holding still for the touch-up, and now he’s sobbing.

You’re immediately overwhelmed with the situation, in your leotard and the ballerina flats, adjusting the shoulder straps and wordlessly watching as Dieter’s team attempts to calm him down. His manager seems to be desperate to get him to stay away from the set while he’s melting down, so he doesn’t ruin the professional relationships they were able to forge over it.

 He’s so loud when he yells, you’re speechless. A moment ago he was content, laughing, talking about having dinner with you… Oh. You hadn’t given him your answer. You completely ignored his advance. He asked you to have dinner with him, and you ignored him, and now he’s breaking down in front of everybody.

It can’t be because of that. Can it? You stand up and put your pink robe back on, tying it in the front. Then, tip-toeing around the expensive equipment and slipping past all of the people outside the room, you make your way up to Dieter, who’s currently trying to vandalize the dining room, wielding some kind of award, ready to smash a glass table to bits with it. However, he’s being held back by his apparent crisis team, his manager trying to talk him down. 

Now it makes sense to you that the set was so crowded, with half of the workers not even doing any active tasks. They’re there to monitor him and mitigate the damage in case he goes off the rails. On second thought, that sounds cartoonishly conspiratorial, like they’re drugging him on purpose or something.

 You decide then and there to find out and try to help him, through whatever it is he’s burdoned with.

A step closer to him earns you a glare of disapproval from his manager, but you ignore it and take another. He’s like a feral animal, if only they had Steve Irwin here with a tranquilizer gun. 

“It’s okay, Dee… it’s me. Look at me.” you say calmly, raising your hands to show him you don’t mean to restrain him like the others, and it’s not like you would even stand a chance to. He looks at you and you almost start crying too, he looks fucking miserable. “I don’t know what to dooo, oh God” he whines, still looking right at you, fat tears spilling from his wide open eyes that are so dark you can’t tell how blown his pupils are.

His manager looks surprised that he hasn’t tried to swing a fist at you yet, you’re stepping so close to him, and finally she gestures for the two burly guys holding him back to release him and give you both some space. 

The out-of-control Hollywood actor in his giant mansion is coming back to his senses slowly, closing the remaining two or three feet of distance to pull you into a desperate embrace, soaking the strap of your leotard with his tears.

You wrap your arms around his middle and shush him, swaying him in place like a big baby and whispering reassurances into his ear. The entire thing is so fucking surreal, everyone’s eyes on you, and when they start whispering to each other so you can’t hear what they’re saying, you ask Dieter where you two can be alone.

You don’t expect him to be able to answer coherently, but the finger he points at a door down the hallway is enough. Keeping one arm around his waist, you lead him there step by step, past all the gawkers. It’s on you now to shoot them a glare, causing them to scatter behind you.

The door leads to another bedroom, which is in complete disarray and stuffed full of boxes overflowing with all kinds of shit. You lock up behind Dieter as he stumbles to the dusty bed and curls up on top of the covers, and you realize he’s been butt ass naked the entire time.

You grab a thin blanket hanging over a chair in the corner and make your way through the narrow path to the bed, past all his stuff. Climbing into bed behind him, you cover him and yourself with the soft blanket and spoon him, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. He grabs your hand and squeezes it with a trembling sigh. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, so careful not to tread him loose again with the wrong words. He breathes for a minute, deep inhales and long exhales, then croaks, “I hate myself.”

It’s a simple response, easy to understand in theory, but the reasons aren’t clear to you and you’re not sure if you should ask. “Why?” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the side of his neck and nuzzling closer to him. He’s so fucking soft and warm.

He scoffs, like it should be obvious, and you have a hunch but don’t dare to bring it up. “I’m such a fucking waste of space. I’m a piece of shit. I’m so sorry.”

Barely coherent through his tears, you just tighten your arm around him and give his shoulder another kiss. “Don’t say that. Let me help. We can figure this out.” 

He shakes his head, “No, it’s fucking pointless. I’ve b-been to rehab so many times.”

“Are you high right now?” you continue to pry some answers from him with the patience of a saint that you’ve really only ever had for him, nobody else. He nods, sniffling and turning around in your grasp to face you. His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks wet, tears soaking his mustache. Up close like this, you can see the state of him clearly in his fully dilated pupils and everything else, and you swallow the emotions so you can be there for him, because what else are you supposed to do?

Thumbing away the tears that still keep coming, a seemingly endless well of them hidden under his eyes, you give him a soft smile. “I missed you, Dee. I’m so sorry we lost touch. Wish I could have been there for you all this time.” 

“No, no, that’s not your fault. I’m an asshole, I should’ve called.” He brushes your hair behind your ear with a gentle touch that stands out in overwhelming contrast to his earlier demeanor, when he was about to smash his table with his award. 

“Oh, you stop it. It doesn’t matter, I’m here now. And I’m not going to leave, unless you want me to.” you reassure him, and that finally seems to help, his features soften and he manages a crooked smile to try and match yours. 

A harsh rap at the door startles you both, and suddenly he looks like a cornered animal again, sitting up and clutching the blanket to his chest. Giving his calf a reassuring squeeze, you slowly get up and walk to the door, unlocking it and cracking it open to peek out at whoever would have the audacity to knock like a cop right now.

It’s Tonya, your manager, behind Dieter’s manager whose name you’ve forgotten since you were introduced. You make an effort to look annoyed at them breaking the brief moment of peace, expecting an explanation.  “We’re all leaving. I’ll call you in the morning, alright, sweetheart? Take care, and let me know if you need anything.” Tonya says, looking apologetic and her motherly nature appeases you. “Let me speak to him for a minute, please.” Dieter’s manager demands, but you refuse her with another glare. “Absolutely not.” Then you look back at Tonya with a much less furious look and a nod, “Drive safe, Tonya, I’ll text you if… yeah, I’ll text you.”

Tonya leaves, Dieter’s manager reluctantly follows, and you see some more people leaving and carrying gear out of the house. It’s suddenly very quiet, not even Dieter is making a sound anymore.

“Are they gone?” he asks after a while, when you shut the door again, locking it just in case.

“Yeah, they’re gone.” you assure him, and he lies back down on the bed with you, facing each other and holding hands. Yours are cold from clutching the door knob so harshly, and he warms them in his.

“Did I fuck it up?” he asks you after a while, the silence starting to make him uncomfortable.

“No, you didn’t fuck anything up. I promise.” You hook your pinky around his and look into his deep brown eyes, still filled with residual tears. “Pinky promise.”

He laughs again - not loud like earlier, it’s a quiet chuckle, but it seems even more genuine now that it’s between the two of you. “Pinky promise.”

You end up staying the night. It turns out he didn’t mind you not answering his question on set at all, you were busy. He orders dumplings for dinner and rolls a joint you share by his pool out back, huddled together on the side with your feet in the water. The pool is fucking heated and the emerging steam billows around you in the lights like the smoke you blow out your noses.

You haven’t smoked weed in so long, you’re a lightweight and he smokes most of it himself, content with just handing it over whenever you lift your hand to request a few tiny little puffs that make him giggle at you; he still thinks you’re adorable after all these years.

Dieter has make-up wipes for sensitive skin and scrunchies in his en-suite bathroom, and you even discover a half empty box of tampons under the sink. You don’t need any right now, but the fact that he has them on hand at all makes you a little emotional.

He gives you a shirt that’s three sizes too big and puts on a quiet movie for background noise, turning down the brightness of the enormous TV mounted to the wall opposite his bed. You toss the fake lashes into the bin, burying them in there like a casualty of the disaster of a set.

You finally properly meet his cat, which you’d mistaken for a whole raw chicken earlier as he was being carried off set. The friendly little guy - named Mad Max - lets Dieter put a sweater on him with no complaint, strutting his stuff all pretty in pink as he goes to devour the contents of a can of wet food from a bowl on the kitchen floor.

Dieter offers you a guest room, but you decline, climbing into his unbelievably comfortable kingsize bed, the effects of the weed making you feel heavy and deeply content. Exhaustion creeps into your bones as you curl up next to him with your head and hand on his chest, your eyes falling shut. His slow even breaths and the shapes he gently draws on your back with his fingertips lull you to sleep soon after.

This is not how you expected this day to end, but you’re the opposite of upset about it. If only it could be like this forever.

[bcofl0ve]

omg i love your pa!reader x austin headcanons!!! do you have any for pa!reader x austin’s daughter hanging out at graceland or w the presleys??? 🤕🤕🤕

is this where i confess i had my friend plant this anon so i had an excuse to post this…🫣 dedicated to the twitter chat and our 48 hour long discussion about more or less just this. and also disclaimer-ish that i have nothing but love in my heart for the presleys hence why i kept this positive. no disrespect to any of them- e included.

- in this specific world your daughter is a rebound baby. austin showed up at your door while on a break from the bikeriders doing award campaigning and asked for another chance. you went back to ohio with him and got knocked up the first night there. blame the beard, it’s sexy.

- priscilla found out you were pregnant from baz. lisa found out from austin.

- consider there were complications and she had to be born quite a bit early. austin was at a press thing when it started, so baz is there because he came over with him in the car and didn’t have the heart to just drop austin off with how terrified he was.

- austin is blubbering and asks baz to call lisa because “i need- i need to talk to my mom and i can’t- she’s the closest thing i got.” austin is so hysterical that baz has to explain what’s going on to lisa before he passes the phone over.

- she floors it to get to la from san franciso, breaking traffic laws and all.

- the baby is named eleanor/ellie, a “compromise” on austin wanting to name your daughter elvis presley. lisa says “he would’ve loved you” so quiet she thinks you don’t hear her, but you do.

- when the whole entourage goes back to memphis and graceland for thanksgiving all three of you are invited. austin isn’t sure, and neither are you. not that you don’t appreciate their kindness.

- riley calls you and tells you lisa mentioned that you two might be wary so she wanted to assure you that they invited you because they wanted you there- and that you would absolutely not be overstepping.

- so you go, and it’s nice. really nice. they’re all obsessed with eleanor, who is equally obsessed with being passed around like a hot potato. she especially loves riley, who mentions that once you’re all back in los angeles she’s more than happy to take her off your hands for a night when you need a break.

- going to memphis for thanksgiving breaks any awkwardness you felt around the presleys or feeling like you were overstepping by accepting their desire to be in your lives. to the extent that on one particular call from australia your mother accuses you of talking to priscilla more than you do her. she’s not far off. blame it on the fact that she understands you in a way your own mother never will.

- you and austin and your daughter wind up in memphis almost every time the presleys do, and when eleanor is old enough to really throw fits she makes it very clear she would be perfectly content if you shipped her off with ‘aunt yisa and riee’ and never saw your daughter again.

- you’re there for christmas when she’s 6 and she asks about the meditation garden. you and austin decide she’s getting old enough to understand a little bit more, so you take her.

- “and and you and mommy met cuz of the movie ‘bout him, right?” she asks austin, twirling a piece of hair around her finger so tight you lean down and unfurl it before she cuts off her circulation.

- turns out maybe she wasn’t ready.

- you and austin are with riley in the basement while eleanor is with everyone else on the main floor.

- she stops while walking off trying to find you, looking at the photo of elvis on the wall by the stairs.

- she’s so little she doesn’t understand why she’s so sad looking at a picture of the dead guy you were just trying to explain to her about. but she understands that she’s suddenly really fucking sad and bursts into tears.

- mommy and daddy are nowhere to be found, she’s feeling some really big feelings she doesn’t understand and she’s absolutely hysterical when lisa comes to see what’s going on.

- lisa sees her crying, follows her gaze to the photo on the wall and looks back at your little girl and sees herself when elvis died.

- “oh baby, come here,” she says and sits down, eleanor climbing into her lap with a watery little “aunt yisa i want him to come back,” that just breaks her heart. “i know,”

- your mom senses are tingling so you drag austin upstairs and walk into *that*. he crouches down with a little “hey sweetie, what’s going on?” and you’re both mortified when she blurts out “daddy i don’t want elvis to be dead.”

- you’re still mortified as lisa gets her calmed down more than either of you can, telling her that it’s okay to be sad because sometimes she gets sad too, and so does riley even though she never met him “just like you sweetie,”

- you apologize when austin takes eleanor downstairs to distract her with ‘aunt riee’ but lisa brushes you off. “don’t be honey, i think we both needed that.”

- priscilla gets her a little diamond encrusted EP necklace that you swear off asking the price of. she wears it even as a teenager.

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Witchy Woman (5/10)

0.5 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | AO3 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

art by @cocohook38

Summary: When Emma came into her position as Storybrooke Coven Leader, she ended things with the powerful Vampire Overlord, Killian Jones. She’s spent over a decade working alongside him and ignoring the growing tension between them.

During his best mate’s wedding, Killian decides he is done waiting. He is ready to have his mate back in his arms (and bed) again. Emma is not an easy woman to woo, but Killian has never backed down from a challenge.

When Emma’s jilted ex-boyfriend returns to town and Emma goes missing, Killian will stop at nothing to get her back and ensure that nothing can ever separate them again.

Rating: E

CW: Mention of domestic abuse, blood and blood drinking (vampires), threatening situations, minor violence, death, mention of parental death

Entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2023 (@cssns)

Tagging: @anmylica, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4 , @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert

A big thank you to @kmomof4 for her cheerleading and sanity-checking.

The kitchen was filled with the smell of roasted potatoes and vegetables, hot oil sizzled and popped as Killian laid the sea bass filets in the pan, and the wine had rested. All that remained for the evening to begin was the arrival of a certain stubborn witch he spent a decade chasing. Humming to himself, he grabbed his glass from the counter and took a sip. Then, he turned the fish to brown the other side. 

Despite the disturbing site that they investigated this afternoon, his heart was weightless with the joy of having his mate in his house. After waking up with her nestled against him on his couch this morning, he became fixated on getting her to return home; his vampiric instincts desperate to be surrounded by her scent and to provide her with all the protection that he was able. It was difficult to deny his protective instincts around her, especially after last night’s encounter with Neal. 

After he made coffee for them this morning, they discussed the strangeness of the encounter in more detail. Killian was concerned that Emma hadn’t been able to sense Neal’s magical signature before he approached her. A witch as powerful as Emma was able to pick up on signatures from a considerable distance. Emma brushed it away as being too distracted to notice. But sensing magic was second nature to supernatural beings - he couldn’t shake the worry something more was happening. When he raised the objection that she had also been able to access her magic for a few moments, she had shut down the conversation - Leave it alone, Killian. 

There was more to that exchange than Emma was seeing. She kept blaming herself, inventing weaknesses that he knew she did not have, for Neal’s attack. Even now, his jaw ticked and his fist clenched in frustration that she was blaming herself for that prick’s behaviour. He would have eliminated that worthless vampire after she had fallen asleep last night, but she made him promise that he would let her handle Neal. 

“You left the door unlocked,” Emma said by way of greeting as she walked into his kitchen from the entry. He switched off the stove, put the fish filets on their plates, and turned to watch her approach and he was filled with the want to experience this every evening for the rest of his life. A plate with four chai cupcakes was in one hand, likely Mary Margaret’s handiwork, and a duffle bag hung from her shoulder.

Killian cocked an eyebrow. “Can I take your bag?”

“Erm, well,” Emma started, looking anywhere but at his face. She set the cupcakes near their dinner plates on the island between them and dropped the bag at her feet.

Squaring her shoulders, she looked at him and tried again. “I was, I mean, I thought just in case…” 

“Just in case,” he repeated, his tone filled with feigned innocence. “Shall I take it to the guest room? Just in case the evening runs long?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her face had turned a rich red that immediately became his favourite colour. “No, no need. It was ridiculous, Mary Margaret caught me leaving and…I will put it back in the car.”

Killian’s eyes were bright with humour. “Aye, that is likely for the best.” 

He had picked up the bag and looped the strap over his shoulder before she could blink. He was clearly suppressing a smile as he walked out of the kitchen with it in the opposite direction of his guest rooms, in the direction of his bedroom. He was back almost as quickly as he’d left, the bag deposited, and a crooked smile on his face. 

Killian didn’t attempt to hide the fact his fangs had descended at the thought of having Emma in his room and in his bed. His smile broadened when Emma had caught sight of them; it wasn’t the scent of fear that had filled the space between them and threatened to pull him under. Her arousal surrounded him and after over a decade of celibacy, the irresistible scent was driving him mad with desperation.

§§§§    §§§§    §§§§    §§§§    

“Swan.” His voice was hoarse with need and warning, and his blue eyes rolled with the bright starlight of magic, evidence that his control was slipping. Killian rarely let his vampiric nature free and Emma felt a shiver run through her body at the realisation that she was the reason it was surfacing now. He cleared his throat and leashed his self-control before speaking again. "Swan, if you were planning on eating then you need to think about something else. Your desire is," he took in a deep breath, "commanding me, love."

Eyes bright with challenge and humour, Emma reached toward the cupcakes between them on the granite island. She swiped a bit of frosting onto her finger and lifted her hand slowly toward her lips. Killian tracked the action but he stood completely, unnaturally still, battling to keep his control tightly in place. 

“I’ll just have dessert.” Emma placed her frosted finger on the tip of her tongue. She kept her eyes on his; his shattered expression encouraged her further. She wrapped her lips around her finger and sucked it clean. She pulled her finger from her lips with a soft pop and a wicked smile on her face.

She leaned on the counter to reach again for the cupcakes, coating her finger in more frosting. His hook captured her wrist and his hand gripped her hips, holding her in place, his sapphire and starlight gaze holding hers as he guided her finger to his lips, slowly, allowing her every opportunity to stop him. 

Emma had no intention of stopping him. 

He closed his lips around her, his tongue sweeping off the frosting and circling the pad of her finger in an explicit reminder of all the incredible things that tongue could do to her. The sensation of him sucking lightly and her memory of his mouth on her neck, on her nipples, and on her clit made her clench her thighs together to ease the sudden ache. 

A strangled sound, somewhere between a moan and a plea, escaped her when he scraped his sharp fang against her finger. He relinquished it with a satisfied, “Mmm, delicious.”

“Mary Margaret makes the best frosting.”

“I wasn’t talking about the cupcakes, Swan.” He pulled her closer to him with the hand still snug on her hip. He brushed his lips softly against hers in both question and invitation. Emma's heart raced as she closed the distance between them, placing a demanding kiss on his lips and providing him with her answer. 

She tasted the frosting that lingered on his lips as she deepened their kiss further. She pushed her body against his and felt his cock pressed between them. Keeping her body tight to him so her movements would provide some friction against his sensitive head, she rolled her hips against him. A low groan rumbled through him at the action. Breaking away from her lips, he kissed and nipped his way down her neck to her shoulder. 

“Emma.” His voice was broken and his expression was shattered. She vaguely registered that her posture was requesting and welcoming a vampire to drink from the vein. She was confident that he would never take what she didn’t offer; her heart still fluttered excitedly when he scraped his fangs lightly over her skin.

His hand slipped under her shirt, flames sparking wherever his fingers touched. He rolled her nipple between his fingers, sucking at the other through the thin fabric of her shirt. The flat of his hook continued to apply pressure against her hip, keeping her pressed firmly against him. 

“Killian.” She moaned. Her mind was too jumbled with sensations to say anything beyond his name. He was there to provide her with all she wanted - his lips and fingers exactly where she needed them. 

He was everywhere. 

Still, she needed more. 

Killian lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He smiled wickedly at her. “I have dreamt of having you needy in my arms and my name falling desperately from your beautiful lips for so long, Emma.”

She made some incoherent noise in response as she ground her hips against him. The resulting friction gave her a little reprieve from the tension building in her body. “I need…” 

“Mmmhm, I know.” He carried her toward his bedroom. Kissing and nipping desperately at her neck, throat, shoulders, and anywhere else to which he could gain access as he walked. 

Once they had crossed the threshold, he set her down gently on her feet. She whined in protest. Killian chuckled lowly as he made quick work of her belt and the buttons on her jeans. She pushed her jeans down hurriedly as he tugged them off, both eager to carry on what they had started in the kitchen. Killian tossed her jeans off to the side, kicked aside his own trousers, and swept her back into his arms, her legs wrapping tightly around him once more.

They came back together with desperate kisses. Emma raked her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer to her to deepen every kiss. Killian tightened his arm around her, his strength and warmth providing her comfort that she hadn’t realised she needed and had missed for so long. She wanted him to surround her and fill her so completely that everything else would cease to exist. 

“I need to hear you, Emma,” Killian demanded, voice low, into her ear. His cock was teasing as he rubbed his head against her clit. 

She laid her head back on the wall, rocking her hips, desperate to pull him in deeper. Killian held her up, hook refreshingly cool under her left thigh, preventing her from being able to take in any more of his hardened cock. He tsked. “Love, give me what I need. I will give you your every desire.”

His voice sent a wave of pleasure through her body, the promise something she knew he could and would deliver on. “I am yours.” She rolled her hips and was rewarded with a magical flash in his blue eyes accompanied by a groan she felt more than heard. “I belong to you, Killian.”

“Aye, that you do.” He flashed her a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. His pupils were blown wide with only a thin, bright ring visible around them. The creature within was slipping the tight leash he always kept on it; her words of surrender and acceptance, after all of these years without them, pulled out the most primal desires from the powerful vampire holding her against the wall. He slammed into her, arm wrapped tightly around her hips to hold her steady as he set a demanding, almost punishing, pace. 

Her head fell to his shoulder, her breathing erratic as she felt her body tightening around him. 

“Good, Emma.” He didn’t let up the pace, murmuring soft and encouraging words in between them as he slammed into her. 

She pulled at him, desperately, she needed to be closer to him. As the tension low in her stomach grew, she let out a throaty sound, a mixture of a moan and his name. 

She wasn’t sure what she’d meant to say, but Killian seemed to understand.

“That’s it, love, let go. I’ve got you.” He held her tightly, following her over the edge once he felt her shatter around him. 

They stayed like that, his arms tight around her, cock softening inside her, forehead resting against hers, until they were able to steady their breathing. He slowly withdrew and she whimpered at the separation.

“Oh, I am far from done, love.” He took her over to the bed they hadn’t quite made it to before and settled her onto the fluffy duvet. “But, I need you laid out before me for this next part,” he said with a salacious glint in his eye.

§§§§    §§§§    §§§§    §§§§    

After becoming thoroughly reacquainted with one another and reheating the very cold meal they previously abandoned, Emma fell asleep curled in Killian’s arms. They rested, tangled together all night. He woke before her and pulled her close.

He held her tight, basking in the feel of her soft body pressing against his with every breath she took, and drew in a deep breath in hopes of drowning in her scent before the light of the morning could tear them apart. He could not recall a time he had felt so content. At this moment, he was certain he had everything he would ever need or had ever needed in his grasp and he feared letting go. For if he did, he suspected the mirage would fade away and reveal that he dreamt it all. 

In her sleep, she rolled further into him. Her elbow jabbed painfully into his side with the movement, pulling a shocked noise from him. She didn’t wake; he hadn’t expected she would. Waking Emma was nearly impossible, but she wasn’t a peaceful bed partner. She often jabbed sharp elbows into tender bits, tickled his legs with icy toes, threw her arm into his face, wrapped the blankets tightly around her like a cocoon, and muttered the strangest strings of words; but, he would endure it all to keep her tucked beside him. 

Unfortunately, time doesn’t halt to permit even the most powerful vampire to capture every detail of the few perfect moments he is granted. As if mocking him for such sentimental thoughts, the morning arrived sooner than was fair bathing his room in bright, warm sunlight. He muttered low curses at it in a failed attempt to scare it into submitting to his will. It, of course, continued to fill his room. 

Killian gently nudged Emma’s shoulder. She didn’t stir. He lightly touched her side, lingering on spots he knew were ticklish. She grunted in her sleep but didn’t wake. Chuckling to himself, he rolled over so that he was on top of her and kissed her firmly on the lips. She melted into the kiss, releasing a soft sweet sound before her body stiffened as if she were preparing for a fight. Her eyes popped open in surprise when she realised that she was held too firmly to strike her assailant. 

“Good morning, Love,” Killian greeted her. Her body relaxed beneath him. He released his hold on her and kissed her gently on the forehead. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she pulled the blankets tight over her head. Killian pushed off the bed and padded on silent feet to the kitchen.

When he returned with a cup in hand, Emma had already resumed sleeping. The aroma of cocoa and coffee with a touch of cinnamon swirled around the room and a low hmmm rose from the blanket pile in the middle of his bed. Followed shortly by the appearance of her hand grabbing blindly for the cup he held. A soft smile pulled at his lips and the humour danced in his words as he spoke. “I’m not giving you this until you’re sitting up.” 

She clawed out from her position, grunting dramatically at the clearly herculean effort it was taking, her face a mask of annoyance and frustration until she was repositioned. She shot him a look - are you happy, now? Offering her the full mug, he slid onto the bed next to her. A warm, soft emotion filled his chest as he watched her slowly come alive with each sip. 

“Will you spend the day with me?” 

She rewarded him with one of her rare full smiles. His breath caught at the sight of it.

“Depends,” she answered. 

He cocked an eyebrow - oh, really?

“What’re we doing?”

“Good.” He pushed off the bed and started toward the large pass-through closet adjoining his bathroom and bedroom. “We have to get going or we’ll miss it.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she called from the bed. 

“Didn’t you?” 

He could feel the eye roll from the other room. Emma not declining his offer or making one of her flimsy excuses to keep her distance between them was the same as her agreeing, and they both knew it. She didn’t reply to his teasing question, but he could hear her moving from the bed and crossing to the dresser where he’d laid out the clothes from her duffle. His heart was light, a smile on his lips and that warmth still filling his chest as he dressed for his second, first date with the woman he had loved since the first, first date. 

[inquisimer]

wip wednesday

thanks for the tag @dreadfutures :3 a lil start to a backstory fic for Neria, that will go somewhere....eventually

tags below for wip whenever because it's pretty late on wednesday💜

~~~

"It is time."

Duncan kept his voice gentle, laying a hand on Fiona's arm as a slip of a serving girl entered the room. In her arms was a tiny bundle, with bright green eyes and the smallest of noses just showing from her swaddle. Aside from the pointed ears poking out on either side of her cap, she was a perfect match to the babe Fiona held tight to her breast.

When Duncan spoke, the mage tensed. Her fingers tightened around her son.

"Perhaps...perhaps I was mistaken." She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting everywhere but at Duncan and always coming back to the baby. "I—it would be safer, traveling together--"

Her fellow Warden watched her fumble sadly, somber until she trailed back to silence.

"I cannot, can I?" she asked softly. Duncan shook his head, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and slipping the other beneath her cradled arms.

"No," he answered simply. There was nothing better to say.

Fiona clenched her eyes and jaw, then dropped her face, murmuring Orlesian fast and low against her son's head. When she looked back up, her gaze hardened to that of the woman who had made hard choices to keep her convictions—and would do it again, if needed.

"Take him," she whispered. "Keep Maric's promise for him."

"I will," Duncan vowed. The weight of a child in his arms was a bit foreign, but he shifted young Alistair securely into the crook of his elbow as Fiona pressed tear-salted kisses to his cheeks.

"Au revoir, Duncan," she murmured.

"Maker go with you."

Once she'd left for good, Duncan steadied himself with a deep breath and turned to the serving girl. He gestured with his chin to the elfkit she held.

"This is the one?" The servant nodded, scurrying forward at a gesture and laying the second babe in his free arm.

Only a few days in this world so far, and yet she did not fuss or cry at the absence of her mother, or at being passed about like a hot potato. She was lighter than Alistair, smaller, and her too-large eyes stared knowingly up at him.

"Does she have a name?"

The serving girl stuttered out uncertainties until Duncan waived her off. She scraped and bowed her way out of the room, leaving the Warden to settle his new charges in their wicker traveling bassinet.

"No matter, young one," he told the elf, tucking a blanket securely about them, "We'll find something that suits you."

Having nestled the babes to his satisfaction, Duncan slung his waterskin over his shoulder and hooked his thick cloak atop his armor. His horse waited at the stables, fresh and tacked for the surely frigid ride to Redcliffe. He lifted the bassinet and, giving it one last reassuring glance, pinched out the final candle. He plunged the chambers into darkness and left the palace, and Denerim, behind.

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