#astrid: -sips tea-

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Free Write #3:  Revenge

Sequel to Kick

Under cut for mention of violence, blood.  (It’s Astrid, ya’ll.)

---------

Lightly drunk and wrapped in furs was quite really, the perfect way to enjoy the sudden snowstorms that would come over the city, Astrid mused.  The sky was a light gray with white flurries gently falling down, and the sudden gusts of cold wind only enhanced the warmth of the spiced rum in her belly and the furs wrapped around her body.  Adding to the pleasure of the moment was the anonymity of the mourning-dress she was now in--complete with veil--

And the swarm of investigators and mammets on the harbour below.  Astrid had arrived shortly after Nionaut Trigelle’s body had been cut down.  Or to be more accurate, the pieces of him that had been strung up.  Astrid took another sip of spiced rum, letting the burn--and contentment--wash over her.  The knot of hatred and anger in her belly was for the moment, doused. 

“I apologize for putting you out of your way like this, Pietor.”  She murmured.  “Perhaps my request was a bit overkill.”  The elezen next to her chuckled darkly.

“No, you were completely valid.  And tame.  If someone had done this to my little one, I wouldn’t have just stopped at hung, drawn and quartered.  I’d have painted the entire dock red with their blood.”

“Yes, well...”  Astrid took another sip of rum.  She couldn’t have run completely riot with revenge.  The display in the harbor meant that the investigators would be coming to her door, and she expected Barnier to be with them.  As it stood now, Astrid was still in shock that her shite job of tampering with the crime scene that night had actually worked.  If she wanted to keep her head, her station--everything really, she had to put on the performance of a lifetime, and stay on top of eliminating any incriminating evidence.  Beside her, Pietor frowned.

“...How is she, anyroad?”  He asked.  Astrid inhaled deeply, looking down at the surface of her drink.

“She’s...still sleeping.  A lot.  When she’s awake, Helena stuffs her with as much food as she can.”  Almost as if trying to pay her own penance for what Kari had been though, Astrid thought.  Helena had loved Kari as if she had been her own flesh and blood.  Ever since Roderick’s death, Helena had been the one--until Astrid had snapped at her one day--to urge her to check in on her grandchild.  That something wasn’t right about Camilla’s stories.  Helena had been the one to hold them both when Kari had first awoken and seen Astrid for the first time in years.

...Gran-gran?

Astrid’s fingers curled tightly against the mug. 

Gran-gran...I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for-for-disturbing you--for sending that letter--

Her grandchild, her baby, the living memory that she had left of Roderick and Emma...apologizing to her.  Apologizing to Astrid for begging for help.  For saving her. 

Grandmother please, I beg you--do not believe what my stepmother has said about me being a most wicked child--

She could still hear the animal howling in her mind, echoing in her ears, as the dam inside Kari broke.  Years of pain and suffering manifesting into that one singular purge, her fingers clutching at Astrid’s arms as she screamed, and screamed, and screamed, the wound finally lanced so the poison could drain out.  Astrid knew she would be haunted by her granddaughter’s cries for the rest of her days.  And she deserved it.  It was a drop in the bucket for punishment that was owed, for failing Kari so badly--failing Roderick and Emma--failing in her familial duty. 

“She called me ‘Gran-gran.’“  Astrid whispered aloud.  “I failed her, Pietor.  I believed the worst about her.  She knew I despised her.  And yet...” 

Gran-gran.

“Children are resilient.”  Pietor soothed.  “She knew that you were having the wool pulled over your eyes.”

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.”  Not from her, Astrid thought.  Not from Roderick, nor Emma, or even Helena.  If there was ever someone who deserved to hate, who deserved to be spiteful, it was Kari.  If there was ever someone who should have been the one to issue the orders against those who had wronged her, it was Kari.  Astrid had even stolen that peace of mind from her grandbaby.

“Don’t be hard on yourself.  Especially now.  You’re in the middle of a proper fucked up situation, and you need all those frightfully scary-sharp wits about you.”  Pietor blew out a breath, watching the cloud condense in the air.  Astrid exhaled, forcing herself to take another mouthful of spiced rum.

“Have you found anything else yet on the whore?”  She asked.  Another act of penance for her sin, ensuring that Camilla would pay dearly in blood, flesh and her life--for what she had done to Kari.  Before she’d left her manor that morning, word had come to Astrid on another facet of her revenge...the welfare officials who had taken Camilla’s bribes were now completely and utterly financially ruined.  And Astrid was not finished with them yet--when they were incapable of holding any office, any job save for stablehand and even then--that was when she would be satisfied. 

“Not yet.  I’m leaving today to head for U’ldah and see what I can dig up there.” Pietor considered the white-haired woman.  “Sure you want to put her bounty for that high?  You’ll have idiots flocking about.”

“Idiots can be dealt with.”  Astrid murmured.  “But for her, I don’t care.  Dead is preferable.  But if they bring her to me alive, I’ll go to the underworld and pay the Traders themselves to ensure that their afterlife is nothing but golden.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Thrill of the Chase: Rip Wheeler x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging @kmc1989

Rip knows a horse thief when he sees one, especially when she’s riding John Dutton’s favourite mare, Starbuck. When he sees you up on the pasture astride the horse, he can’t believe the fucking audacity of it.

Most wranglers will wait until after dark, try and shuffle the horse into a truck but you, your brazen. It’s like you just climbed up on the damn thing and took it for a ride.

Rip won’t stand for it.

He’s after you in an instant, his heels digging into Marlowe’s sides as he spurs on the stallion. You see him coming, its impossible not to when you’re on top of that hill. You turn tail, run but Rip, he’s always been about the chase, he’ll dog you until the ends of the earth if you make him.

It takes him a couple of minutes to realise you’re fucking with him, when he starts to catch up you suddenly pull ahead, when he falls back too far you slow it down. It’s a game to you and it riles Rip, sends a flush of rage and adrenaline through his body.

He’s going to catch you, there’s no doubt in his mind because what you don’t know is that that horse has a stiff leg, it doesn’t go the distance. That’s why Starbuck was in that stall all alone, waiting for the vet’s assessment.

When he cuts you off, it’s by the stream that winds through the furthest meadow. His stallion darts in front of yours and Starbuck rears almost throwing you. It’s by the grace of God you remain in the saddle. You’re off the horse in an instant and so is he.

He doesn’t realise how pretty you are until you’re in his face, cussing him out, shoving him. You have quite the mouth on you too, he’s surprised God doesn’t strike you down where you stand.

He grabs you under the arms, drawing you close against his body to stop you from hurting him and that’s when it happens, that’s when he feels that spark, and that spark it starts a fire. He knows you feel it too because suddenly your fingers are gripping his shirt and instead of hitting him, you’re kissing him.

It turns into a wildfire, raw, passionate and all consuming. He doesn’t know how he ends up pants down in the grass, fucking you but being inside you, it’s like nothing else he’s ever experienced.

It’s when he tugs your braid loose that he realises just how much you like your hair being pulled, so he yanks it a little harder and you make the sweetest fucking noise as you come on his cock. It doesn’t take him long after that, a few more thrusts and he’s coming with you, his mouth covering yours, drinking down your pleasure.

He thinks he dozes off in the aftermath, the warmth of your body pressed against his in the midst of spring. He’s drowsy, sated, relaxed, the sun high in the sky above him, the scent of the earth surrounding him.

The next thing he knows he’s waking up to the sound of galloping hooves. When he raises his head, he sees you riding away on his stallion Marlowe, leaving him with a lame horse and his dick in the wind.

He slams his head back into the ground and stares up at the cloudless sky.

His curse has always been to love wild women.

He trudges back to the stables with Starbuck in tow, his jeans grass stained and fury he hasn’t felt in a long time. The others must see the darkness in his expression because they don’t question the fact it looks like he’s taken a tumble. When he puts Starbuck back in her stall, he’s surprised to find Marlowe back in his, chomping on a bundle of fresh hay.

“Hi boy,” He says softly, his palm running over the stallion’s nose. “I didn’t think I was going to see you again.”

That’s the part that hurt, the idea he wouldn’t get to see Marlowe again. The two of them have been partners in crime ever since he started at Yellowstone.

When he steps inside the main house to tell John there’s a thief in their midst he’s surprised to find you sitting pretty on the couch, sipping from a mug of tea. You’ve re-braided your hair and when you look at him, it’s as if you haven’t just fucked the shit out of each other up on the pasture.

“Rip.” John greets him as he turns in his seat. “Imogen was just telling me about Starbuck.”

“The old girl just needed a little run, she’d been cooped up in the stable too long, that’s what was causing her stiffness.” You say as you set the cup down on the coffee table in front of you. You raise to your feet, holding out your hand to take his. “I’m the new vet, my friends call me Jen.”

Love Rip? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[a-yellow-van]

Wish You Were Here | Part 2

The aftermath of the previous evening.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC for part 2 : 5.9 k

Warnings for part 2 : swearing, implied sexual content

(I had this one already written, currently working on part 3 so it'll take me a bit of time before uploading again)

You’re jolted awake, face contorted in a silent scream, dry tears stinging your cheeks, fists clenching the sheets, heart beating at a wild pace. The last remnants of a nightmare fade away, leaving a shot ringing in your ears, as you try to focus on your surroundings. You’re here, in your bedroom, in your house, in Jackson. You’re safe. You breathe, slowly, in and out. Everything is fine. Everything is-

Images from last night flash before your eyes. Joel, laughing with you. His hands on your waist. His lips on yours. The desire. His rage. And the abandon. 

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

A wave of shame, along with nausea, hits you like a freight train. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry, an awful taste lingering in it. You gag, leap out of bed and run to the bathroom just in time. 

When you’re done, you rinse your mouth and meet your reflection. Bloodshot eyes, heavy bags underneath them, knotted hair sticking out around a sickly pale face. You left the tavern without telling anyone and immediately collapsed into bed. Yesterday’s clothes, that you’re still wearing, smell like booze and sweat and something else too- or rather someone else. You shut your eyes and rub them with closed fists, applying so much pressure it hurts. You want to bash your face in the mirror. 

God you’re a wreck. 

You decide brushing your teeth and taking a shower is the best course of action right now. Your watch indicates it’s well past noon and there’s no way you can get back to sleep. Not with those thoughts swimming around your head. The scalding water does little to distract you from them. You scrub your skin raw, as if you can wash away Joel’s touch; it doesn’t work. You still feel him against you when you step out of the bathtub. You’re thinking about the kiss as you get dressed, as you run a comb through your wet hair, as you walk down to your kitchen, and as you put on the kettle for tea. Why can’t you stop thinking about it? And why the hell is part of you wishing that it went further? The kettle whistling shakes you out of the spiral. You wish you had a stronger beverage, that and a painkiller, but they’re rare supplies these days. You fill a mug with the tea and try sitting at your small kitchen island, but it quickly becomes claustrophobic, as though the walls are closing in on you. So you get up and grab a rainbow wool blanket, knitted by Astrid as a Christmas present, from the couch. Wrapping yourself in it, you go out to your back porch and sprawl on one of the lawn chairs, the bitter January air stinging your lungs, shocking you into alertness. The pain is refreshing.  

What a fucking way to start the year. 

You look out at the frosted mountains in the distance, peaceful giants protecting the town. They’re strong, grounded, indomitable. You think it’d be nice to float up to the top and lay there above the clouds, where what is happening down below wouldn’t matter at all. You take a sip of tea, which burns your tongue, and you curse under your breath. It brings you right back to reality. On the yard right of yours, the neighbour’s kids are playing in the snow, their high-pitched giggles filling the air. The girl, about seven years old, notices you and stops to call out your name. You give her a small wave back. 

“Happy new year!” She yells enthusiastically, flashing the gap of fallen front teeth. Her younger brother imitates her but stumbles on half of the words. Their little faces are flushed, snowsuits soaking wet. You can’t help but find it adorable, even in your condition. It never ceases to impress you how resilient children can be, how they can keep their wonder, their innocence when the world has crumbled around them. 

“Happy new year. Don’t get frostbite,” you reply. 

“Look at our snowman!” the boy chips in, his lisp evident, pointing at a shapeless mount of snow. 

You chuckle. “He’s cool. You should add a carrot.” 

The kids beam, and run off inside to act upon your suggestion. And then a snowball flies out of nowhere and hits you on the shoulder, almost causing you to drop your tea. You shriek, jumping to your feet and putting the mug down on the railing as another snowball misses your head by a hair’s breadth. Max’s figure appears from behind a thick pine tree growing right outside your fence. 

“HEY! WHAT THE F-” you catch yourself, remembering there are children closeby. Max steps fully into view, guffawing, their bright red beanie clashing with the ginger locks peaking out. They walk to the side and push the fence door open, entering your backyard.

“Moron.” There is no humour in your voice. You brush the snow off your clothes, muttering to yourself. Max walks up the old wooden stairs and joins you on the porch. 

“Really? Not even a hi, how are you, happy new year?” They raise a hand to their chest in mock offence.  

“You didn’t give me time for that did you? Nearly took my fucking head off.” You cross your arms tightly. You’re really not in the mood for Max’s antics. Not today. 

“Jesus, so dramatic,” they sit down on the other lawn chair, while you remain standing. “Woke up on the wrong foot?” 

Anger bubbles up inside, as does the urge to punch that smug little grin off Max’s face. “What are you doing here?” You ask, bluntly. 

“Hm. Not much. Just, uh, checking in on you,” Max replies, purposefully evasive. The anger rises. 

“Why?” You bark, already knowing the answer to that question. 

“Well…Just heard you got into, uh, an interesting situation last night.” They look up at you with that smirk again. You glare back, fuming, and grunt in response. 

God they can be such a fucking pain in the ass. 

“So I’m just wondering what it is exactly that made you think oh, yeah,” they suspend their voice for a few seconds “Joel Miller?” They accentuate his name as if it were an insult, full of implication.

You’re trying to keep calm, but it’s getting very difficult. You choose your words carefully. “I was drunk. We were just talking. And it’s none of your business” Your voice trembles with the emotion. 

“Just talking, uh?” Max is clinging on to this stronger than a dying man to his last breath. 

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but nothing happened,” you lie, through gritted teeth. You’re dangerously close to your tipping point. 

“Hm. That’s weird, `cause Astrid told us she saw a lot more than-”

“Can you fucking drop it?” you shout. Max has done it. 

They're taken aback by your outburst, pausing for a beat, before their expression hardens. They inhale sharply and speak up again, brows furrowed in frustration. 

“You know, I’m getting sick of this closed up bullshit. We��ve been friends for what, 5 years, and you never tell me a single thing about how you’re feeling, or your past, or-“

“We’re not friends,” you interrupt them, harshly. 

“Oh, okay, yeah, sure!” Their tone drips with sarcasm. “Then what are we?” 

The question makes you hesitate. “I don’t know. Coworkers,” you say, your tone losing conviction.  

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Max exclaims. “Are you serious? So you’re telling me you- you came to your coworker’s house in the middle of the night after having a breakdown? 

Your chest tightens at the memory. It’s a moment of weakness you really hate to be reminded of. “That’s not fair. It was a long time ago,” you grumble, looking down. 

“Uh-huh,” Max continues, raising their voice. “You supported your coworker when they came out to you?” They wait, expecting you to interject, but you keep quiet, so they take it up a notch. “You helped your coworker when they were starving, bleeding out, half-frozen to death? That’s what you’re telling me?” 

You still don’t respond, but the anger is starting to melt; Max’s words are stabbing at a sensitive spot. You’re brought back in time, to one of your first ever patrols, in the dead of winter, when you were still training. You had gone off the trail because you thought you heard a faint plea for help. That’s when you had found Max, curled up in the hollow of a tree, skeletally thin, shivering,  the snow stained red from a fresh wound on their leg. You had brought them back to Jackson, had strongly insisted to Maria that they stay in town, took Max’s defence when other survivors argued they were a lost cause. You’d checked in on them nearly every day, and you were right; Max had made a complete recovery, eventually growing into an active, important member of the community. At the time, you didn’t know why you were doing all of this for a stranger. Maybe you just couldn’t bear losing anyone else, couldn’t take being powerless, unable to save them. 

Max lets a few seconds pass by in silence. “Look, all I’m saying is I care about you. And I got worried when you left last night. It wasn’t like you” they explain, softer now, the concern honest. You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at them as the anger vanishes completely. Truth is, you care about them too. A lot. Of course you do. And you’re mainly upset at yourself for acting in such a senseless way last night. But admitting all of that out loud, it’d be too much. Instead, you give Max a meaningful nod, and squeeze their arm. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just- I- I’m hungover.” There’s way more than that, and Max is well aware. But they don’t push further.

“Lightweight,” they tease, lightening the tension. You’re grateful for the change in mood.

“And you’re not? I think you burst the entire town’s eardrums last night,” you respond, relieved to fall back into the usual back-and-forth. 

“Uh, I’ll have you know I’m proud of that performance,” they argue. 

“I’ll give it to you. Wasn’t your worst,” you reply, feeling a smile pulling at your lips. Max gives you one back. 

“Alright, can we go inside now? Fucking freezing” Max asks, rubbing their arms up and down.

“Yeah,” you answer, “want some breakfast?” It’s really the least you could do. Actions are much easier than words to show that you care. 

“Would love some lunch.” They correct, as you slide open the glass door and let them pass first, following them in.

“Seriously though, Joel Miller?” they add, peering at you over their shoulder. You push them into the dining room.

“Mention it again and I’m hitting you,” you threaten, half-serious. 

“Alright, alright,” Max concedes. “I just didn’t know you were into old men.” They snicker. You keep to your word and kick their ankle. 

They squeal out in pain and you strike a second time. “I’m. Not.” 

Max sits at the dining room table, massaging their hurt leg, while you scramble some eggs for the both of you. Along with some sourdough from Leanne at the bakery, it makes a decent meal. And, as you eat, you come to a conclusion. That thing with Joel, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It can’t mean anything. Because you’re not ready to accept the possibility that there might be something more. Something like feelings that you’d need to process. You’ve taken too long to build a thick, impenetrable shield around your heart. You can’t just drop it so quickly. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgement caused by the alcohol. You’re going to lock it away in a forgotten corner of your mind, like you usually do when emotions are involved. Just pretend it never happened, stay cordial with the man if ever have to interact again. It should be easy enough. 

Right? 

——————————

Joel is cruelly pulled out of sleep by a series of booming knocks. He sits up abruptly, in a panic, instinctively reaching at his side for a weapon but his fingers grasp only the pilled fabric of bed sheets. It takes a moment to situate himself, to remember he is out of danger. Whoever’s behind the noise doesn’t give him reprieve to slow down his pulse, however. Another round of knocks erupts as a muffled, irritated voice travels up to his bedroom. 

“JOEL! HELLO? JOEELLLLL! WAKE UP!” It’s unmistakably Ellie. 

The kid can be so damn loud for her size. Joel grumbles a string of curses, hurries out of bed and down the stairs despite strained muscles and the beginning of a migraine he’s certain will be terrible. He’s too old for hangovers like this. He jogs through the hallway, gets to the back door and flings it open before Ellie pipes up again. She’s standing on the porch, bundled up in her purple puffer jacket. Her balled fists are suspended in the air, mid-movement. 

“WHAT?” He yells, making Ellie flinch. He immediately regrets his tone.

“Shit, no need to be rude,” the girl replies, arms dropping to her sides. 

“Sorry, kid. You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s up?” 

She gets straight to the point. “My heating’s busted. Can you fix it?”

Joel scoffs. “Good morning, Ellie! Happy new year to you too.” 

“Uh, it’s almost 1 PM. And I didn’t think you celebrated,” Ellie answers matter-of-factly. 

Little smartass. 

Joel makes the motion to close the door in her face, but she’s faster and grabs the outer handle. 

“Hey come on! It’s like 2 degrees in there!” She shouts. 

Ellie stares up at him, impatient. Joel doesn’t budge. She sighs. “Please,” she mumbles, breaking eye contact. 

Joel smirks. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear. He keeps her hanging for another few seconds before answering : “Okay.” 

Ellie rolls her eyes. 

“I still got Tommy’s tools. Can you wait 10 minutes?” He’s just giving Ellie a hard time, and she knows it. He’d do anything to help her, no matter what it entailed; he’s done a hell of a lot more than repair a broken heater. 

“Yeah, sure, just drill me out of the block of ice,” Ellie says, spinning on her heels and walking off towards the garage that's been converted into her living quarters. 

Joel smiles, watching her go. He gets back into the house and does his best to clean up in the bathroom while avoiding looking in the mirror. He still feels like he’s been run over by a truck, and sleeping the day off is very inviting, but he can’t just let the girl freeze. And the work will keep him busy, distract him from the pain. He puts on a coat over the clothes that he slept in, the same ones he was wearing at the tavern; he hadn’t bothered changing out of them after coming home. He ties his boots with difficulty and grabs the toolbox from a storage shelf in the utility room. He borrowed it from Tommy a few weeks ago when the upstairs bathroom nearly flooded, and hasn’t returned it yet. He makes a mental note of it. Joel’s house is a fixer upper for sure, but he’s done his best over the last six months, and it’s starting to become less of a temporary shelter and more of a home, something he never would have thought possible. Ellie’s presence at such a short distance definitely plays a role. He’s not hurt by the fact she insisted on having her separate space; he doesn’t think they’d have done well trying to fit into a normal family dynamic. That’s not what they are. And besides, he’s just happy she’s still talking to him, after what happened at the hospital. Joel brushes off the thought as he crosses the back garden, counting the steps it takes to reach the garage. There’s exactly thirteen. As always. 

He lets himself in. Ellie’s waiting, laying on the loveseat wrapped in her duvet. She wasn’t lying; it’s glacial inside and Joel can see his breath. Ellie’s lit a fire in the wood stove, resourceful as she is, but it’s not doing much. 

“Took you long enough,” she says, barely audible as half her face is covered by the blanket.

“Hey. Drop the attitude.” Joel orders, but a little smile curves up his lips. Ellie returns it. He can’t stay mad at her and she’s proud of it. 

Joel looks around the room. Ellie’s bed is unmade, stripped of its cover; clothes are piling on a chair, random objects scattered around her desk, from coloured pencils to a used plate and utensils. Her guitar is held up by a sturdy stand in a corner, pristine; it’s apparent Ellie takes good care of it. And there, on the coffee table, a good amount of crumbs, and four empty bottles of beer. His gaze lingers on them long enough for Ellie to notice. 

“Um, Cat came over last night she brought those, her mom was totally okay with it-” Ellie overexplains, the words coming out quickly. 

Joel raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anythin’.” He likes that she gets anxious, it shows that she cares about his opinion, and doesn't want him to be disappointed. But how could he be? He’d do much worse than drinking a beer or two if he’d gone through as much as Ellie has at her age. “What’d you guys get up to?” Joel asks as he moves towards the space heater, plugged in a wall outlet not far from the loveseat. Ellie relaxes. 

“Uh, we just watched a movie. Back to the Future,” she replies. Joel smiles. He’d found it out on a run and gave it to Ellie as a Christmas present. “Cat had such a crush on Marty. It was pretty funny,” the girl adds. 

“And you didn’t?” He teases as he kneels in front of the heater, his back screaming in agony, and sets the toolbox down on the cold cement floor. 

“Nah. Not my type.” Ellie shifts in her seat to get a good view of Joel. He starts by trying the power switch, to no avail. “I already did that,” she tells him in a condescending tone. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Joel mutters. He takes out a screwdriver and finds the appropriate bit before starting to work on taking the heater apart. He opens up the electrical box and begins testing out the various components, face drawn out in concentration. Ellie observes him quietly for a few minutes, chewing on a nail. Joel’s completely focused on the pieces he’s turning over in his hands. 

And then, he hears Ellie’s voice behind him again. “So. You were out pretty late last night,” she points out. 

Joel freezes up, caught off guard. The tool he’s holding drops to the ground, clattering. 

Last night. Fucking Hell. 

Glimpses of the drunken evening assault his brain. Bribes of your conversation, how natural it felt talking to you. The sound of your laughter. How your eyes lit up when you smiled. The blushes you tried to hide. Your hands on his shoulders. 

How smooth your lips were. 

Wait. 

The way the night ended suddenly comes back. A rush of anger, shame, and guilt engulfs him, the same one that pushed him to abandon you about ten hours ago. He has to stop himself from screaming, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. Why the fuck did he do that? How could he let you get so close? When did he get so weak as to let his walls down that much the second a pretty woman talks to him? And why did it feel so damn good? 

Joel fights to somewhat regain his composure, to act casual as he replies to Ellie. He clears his throat and picks the tool back up. “Uh, yeah. Just out at the tavern with Tommy,” he deflects.

“Hm.” Ellie pauses, letting Joel think she’s off the scent. But then, she questions : “Just Tommy?”

Nervosity is added to the boiling pot of emotions, lighting up the wick of a bomb Joel’s trying his hardest not to let explode. 

What does the kid know? 

He struggles to recall another memory. Your friend, the tall blonde one who’s another patroller, she saw you too together. Not what happened outside, but enough to raise suspicion, Joel’s ninety-nine percent certain of it. 

He breathes slowly before answering. “Yup.” He attempts to be firm, but he can hear the hesitation in his own voice. So he busies himself with the heater again. 

“Well,” Ellie starts, but Joel cuts her off, not taking any chances.

“Didn’t you have farm duty today?” He changes the subject abruptly, pulling at a wire. 

“Uh, yeah, I went already. They let me off early,” Ellie says, “I heard something interesting though.” Joel can practically see the smirk on her face from where he is crouched, but he refuses to look her in the eyes. 

Damn it.

He stays silent. Ellie continues. “You were…dancing? With someone?” She adds your name, inquiring. 

Joel tightens his grip on the tool handle, knuckles turning white. “You don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he utters. “We weren’t dancing.” He keeps his gaze stubbornly stuck to the heater. 

Ellie holds back a laugh. “But you were with her?” She keeps up the interrogation.

The wick of the bomb burns more. “Just havin’ a conversation. With a coworker. I don’t know who told you that, but it ain’t true,” he replies harshly. 

Ellie snorts. “Uh-huh. Okay. That’s-”

“Ellie. Stop.” Joel threatens, finally snapping his head up to glare at the girl. And the expression is enough to make her understand he isn’t joking. She listens to the command and shuts right up, however, she doesn’t lose the mocking grin. 

He huffs, returning to the task. He’s mulling over everything in his head, beating himself up to a pulp, when Ellie decides to pick up her guitar. She begins practising Future Days, the song Joel has been teaching her. The notes are unsteady, the rhythm choppy, but the music is like a balm over Joel’s mind, soothing it. It helps him calm down, and soon enough, he finds the source of the heater’s malfunction : the fan is clogged with dust and debris. He dislodges it from the mechanism and cleans it out with a rag, whistling along to Ellie’s playing. He puts the pieces back together and wipes his hands on his jeans, before trying the power switch once more. The heater hums into life. 

Ellie breathes a sigh of relief and puts down the guitar. “Oh fuck yeah.” 

“Language,” Joel reprimands her. Ellie sticks out her tongue at him. He puts away the tools he’s used and stands up with the toolbox, knees creaking. 

“Hey, thanks, Joel,” the girl says timidly, taking off the layers she’d put on, “and, uh, sorry I woke you up.” She’s genuine. 

“It’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.” He awkwardly claps his free hand on his thigh, unsure if he should stay longer. He’d like to, but he doesn’t want to impose, or make it weird. 

“You should go shower. You look like shit,” Ellie quips. “And we got dinner with Maria and Tommy later,” she adds. 

“Hmm. Right,” he groans; he’d completely forgotten. He’s never wanted to do anything less in his life. The day just keeps getting better.

He follows Ellie’s advice once he’s back inside his house. As the hot water runs over his tired skin, he takes time to reflect, and he makes a decision. The encounter with you was simply a product of intoxication. The old, rusted feelings it stirred up within him were, too. It’s just been very long since he’s done anything…intimate. With anyone. That must explain it. He’s got to convince himself of that. Because the other alternative terrifies him, fills him with dread, and he can’t afford that. Not again. Not after Tess. So, he’s going to ignore it, push it away, bury it deep at the back of his mind, enough that it can’t affect him anymore. Just pretend it never happened, go back to the way he treated you before. Cold. Indifferent. He’s done that countless times. 

Right.

It should be easy enough. 

——————————

It has been two weeks. Two weeks that you’ve succeeded in avoiding Joel at all costs, and the weather has definitely helped. Winter has been ruthless, the temperature dropping below zero most mornings, the snowfall almost incessant, isolating the town. It’s mostly a positive; it prevents infected, or hunters, or worse, from discovering it. Survivors have been staying in as much as possible, going out only when absolutely necessary. You did your part with helping plough the snow on your horse, a dapple grey mare named Willow; Maria had assigned time slots to the capable survivors. Thankfully, you and Joel weren’t scheduled on the same one. You haven’t crossed paths with the man since New Year’s Eve, and you’re perfectly content with that. 

Well, that isn’t the full truth. There’s a part of you that incomprehensibly wishes you could see him again. You absolutely despise it, and you’ve made an immense effort to silence those thoughts when they seize you. But they come often. Too often. You’ve thrown yourself into tasks, hobbies, anything to occupy your mind. Needless to say, your house has been extremely tidy lately, you’ve listened through your record collection multiple times, finished the novel you were reading (The Count of Monte Cristo which you had previously barely made a dent it), and started on at least three paintings which you hated and scrapped, and you’re not one to waste supplies. If the thoughts are hard to control during the day, it becomes impossible at night. 

You’ve…dreamed about Joel. Doing things to you that you wouldn’t dare say out loud, to anyone, your inner thighs moist upon waking up. You think you might be going completely insane. So, you’re almost excited for your upcoming patrol, and the extended distraction it’ll provide.

It’s the evening of Sunday, January 14th, 2035. The sky is clear for once, the sun has started setting behind the mountains, casting Jackson in frigid twilight. You’re speed walking towards town hall, the icy wind piercing right through your coat, chilling you to the bone. Your scarf is pulled up to your nose, the flaps of your trapper hat down and tied, thick mittens protecting your hands. You reach the building in record time, its short clock tower illuminated. You pull the heavy door and get in, a gust of warmth from the heating blasted at maximum immediately relieving. The room is spacious, cosy, with a stone hearth at the back where a fire is crackling, chairs stacked in a corner, and a long table with a tall thermos of chicory coffee and some cups strewn about. You go up to the large rolling bulletin board standing in the middle of the room, where various organisational documents for the community are pinned. A handful of survivors are already gathered around it. One of them, a teenager with a long black braid, olive skin and sharp features (Tina? Or something similar), is adding a flyer to it, advertising her services to shovel pathways for trade. Brave move. You greet the group and look over to the patroller’s duty roster for the week. You’ve set for Hoback Pass, tomorrow, with Astrid. You spot Joel’s name on the list; he’s with Tommy, as usual, for Teton Village, at the end of the week. No chance of overlap. 

Good. Great. Wonderful. 

You don’t stay around much longer; you need to prepare for the next day’s run. Astrid likes to get an early start, and she’ll want to plan strict routes before leaving. You’ve forgiven her for snitching on what she saw you do at New Year’s Eve; she was drunk too, and she hasn’t mentioned it since. Max must have convinced her she hallucinated it, for your sake. So you go back out into the cold, empty streets, now plunged in darkness. 

You met Astrid when she arrived in Jackson around three years ago, along with Fred. The two are like siblings; after the outbreak, they were raised in a small settlement in the Eastern Idaho forest. The group had left camp when resources were becoming scarce, travelling south in hopes of finding a new safe haven. Upon reaching Jackson, the two women were the only ones left alive. You don’t know the exact circumstances in which they lost their loved ones, but the reality is all too familiar to most people in this world. At least these two still have each other. You weren’t so lucky with that. Sometimes, when you look at them, you can’t help but get a glimpse of a future you were cruelly robbed of. In these instances, you’re hit with a burning, gut-wrenching pang of jealousy. You try not to dwell on it; it’s a useless sentiment and it’s impossible to get her back. 

You jog up to your house a few minutes later. After a quick dinner, you put together your pack, checking items off a mental list: canteen, munitions, a few rations, first aid kit, flint rod, rope, hand-crank radio… You’re sharpening your knife, sitting at the dining room table, when you’re interrupted by a knock. You cross the hallway, puzzled, and undo the chain to crack open the front door. Tommy’s standing on the other side, bouncing on the spot, rapid breaths coming out in white volutes. 

“Uh, hey,” you say, surprised to see him there.

“Hey,” he replies, “sorry to bother you this late.” 

“Oh, it’s fine. What’s up?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile. You’ve known Tommy ever since you first came to Jackson. He’s the patrol chief; the one who teached you at your beginnings on the job. You like him as a leader; he’s fair, direct, dependable, and he’s got a sense of humour. He’s a good balance to Maria, who can be a bit too stern at times. 

“Uh, well, it’s about your patrol tomorrow. I know you’re supposed to go with Astrid, but I’m gonna have to send her to train Jesse instead,” he explains, talking fast. 

Jesse is the newest recruit. He’s a determined, strong young man who joined in late November, just as he turned eighteen, the required age for patrolling. He’s gone out with Astrid on practice runs a couple times before; she had volunteered to mentor him. 

You furrow your brows. “Oh. Alright, sure, that’s okay. Uh, you want me to go by myself?”

“Uh, no” Tommy answers,“too risky with all the snow. I was gonna send Joel. You guys work well together and he knows Hoback.”

Your stomach drops.

Fuck.

Your expression must have changed noticeably, because Tommy tilts his head, perplexed.

“Somethin’ the matter?” He inquires. 

You blink a few times, recovering from the blow. “Uh, yeah. I- I mean no. Just-” you search for the right words, “can’t Astrid do it another day?”

“Not really. We need Jesse ready ASAP. Why? Problem with Joel?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice. 

You pause, wondering whether to tell him the truth. Ultimately, you decide it would just create a bigger problem. “No, no, nevermind. All good,” you lie, averting Tommy’s eyes. 

The man doesn’t seem convinced. “Alright… You know, it’s funny. Joel didn’t seem too happy either when I told ´im.”

So he’s been thinking about you too. He remembers. This makes it so much worse. You give a nervous chuckle in response, and attempt a joke. “Is he ever?” 

Tommy snorts. “Yeah, you ain’t wrong.” He claps his gloved hands together. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning for briefing then.”

You give him a nod and he imitates you before walking off. You close the door behind him and rest your forehead against the hard surface, banging it a few times. You yell out in frustration. What did you just get yourself into? 

That night, you restlessly lay in bed, tossing and turning, your mind racing, agitated, unable to shut itself off. You don’t get any sleep. 

Joel doesn’t either. 

You’re already exhausted by the time you’re out of the door the next morning, right at sunrise, which just intensifies your terrible mood. You stride down the street towards Jackson’s main gate, in full winter gear, pack hanging off a shoulder. The town is a muted grey, misty; a few snowflakes are slowly falling from heavy clouds. It matches your emotional state. You’re hoping to be the first one at the stables, giving you time to blow off some steam. But, upon arrival, you discover that the object of your torment has had the same idea. Joel’s saddling his horse, Old Beardy, an imposing black-coated male. 

The bastard. 

You curse him out in your head, your heartbeat quickening as you approach.  You walk past him, heading towards Willow’s enclosure. Neither you nor Joel acknowledges the other. Willow neighs softly when she sees you, and you go to pet her on the nose, hyper aware of the man standing about twenty feet away from you. You quietly tend to your horse for a few minutes, every sound coming from Joel irritating you, before you finally dare steal a glance over at him. Right as you do so, he turns his head back quickly, caught in the act. 

So that’s how it’s gonna go, huh? 

You tie your pack to a hook on Willow’s saddle, your movements sharp, heated. Once you’re done, you take the horse’s reins and guide her out of the stable, passing by Joel once again; his back tenses as you do so, and you hear him sigh loudly. The feeling’s mutual.

You decide to take Willow for a trot around town while you wait for the other patrollers to show up. You don’t think you could stay there with Joel, in thick silence, pointlessly wondering what it is he’s thinking; it would drive you mad. You come back half an hour later, not an ounce more calm, as Tommy is about to start his report. You make sure to stand as far away from Joel as you can while you listen. The words enter one ear and come out the other; you’re too preoccupied with someone else. You’ve heard the speech a hundred times anyway: stay within sight of your partner, follow the routes, mark the logbooks, come back if you run into something you can’t handle. Once Tommy’s done, he gives the signal for the two townsfolk on guard duty to crank open the gate. You stick your right foot in the stirrup and hoist yourself up on Willow’s back, positioning yourself on the saddle. You let the other patrol team go first, staying behind, immobile, side by side with Joel. You’re not going to make the first move. And he doesn’t either. So you look over at him, and this time, he holds your gaze, fire ablaze in his deep brown eyes. Glowering. Taunting. Scornful. After thirty seconds, Tommy, posted at the wall, yells out to you.

“Guys! What are you waitin’ for? Get goin’!” 

Joel capitulates first. He urges Old Beardy forward, not giving you another sight, as you internally scream in victory. You follow behind. 

“Have a good one! Stay safe!” One of the guards says, as you pass the threshold. You have to hold yourself back from replying “We won’t.” Joel and you ride out of Jackson. 

This day is about to be really fucking unpleasant. 

Next chapter

To read on AO3

[disasterpurplebois]

“I think the smartest thing to do in this situation is to just eliminate the offender,” Essek said as he lifted his mug to take a sip. The steam fogged up his glasses for a moment before clearing up and giving Essek a view of the woman across from him.

Yasha shook her head, her braids and beads clanking softly. “But what if I just chop the heads off? Then I can put them on display.” She pushed the tray of cookies towards Essek. “Try these, I just got the new recipe from Martina.”

Essek reached a hand out and plucked a still-warm cookie from the top of the pile. “Alas, no, cutting off the heads won’t kill them, their roots go deep. I’m sorry, Yasha, but you’ll have to rip them up if you want to protect your tomatoes.”

Yasha sighed. “I suppose I can dig them up and plant them somewhere else in the garden, away from the vegetables.” She glanced across the kitchen table and out into the back garden at the offending plants.

Essek noted that the garden was flourishing, much better than his own. He tried to employ the tips Yasha gave him but he found that growing vegetables required much more work than the simple picturesque flowers he planted at Caleb’s cottage.

“Do you want to take some more green bean plants when you—” Yasha started to say. Her voice was cut off by the sound of the front door slamming open and heavy footfalls entering the house. Essek heard Beauregard grunt a question to which Yasha answered, “in the kitchen, babe.”

Beauregard rounded the corner, clad in her blue and gray Expositor robes. She was clutching a stack of notebooks and looked a little wild-eyed when she entered the kitchen. She dropped a quick kiss to the crown of Yasha’s head before turning to Essek.

“Yo, Hot Boi, you gotta get home. Caleb got a message from that druid lady in Tal’dorei and it sounds like he needs you for something. I have to review these notes from what we found the Archive today. We’re on to something, there’s definitely a connection to Molaesmyr.” The Expositor kicked out another chair at the kitchen table and plopped down, already flipping open one of the notebooks and tapping her chin. Yasha got up and set another cup of tea down at Beau’s elbow before walking Essek out to the front door. She pressed a basket of green beans into Essek’s arms and waved at him from the doorway.

“I put Martina’s cookie recipe in the bottom, if you want to try it for yourself.”

Essek waved back to her and hurried away down the street, his mind already swirling with the possibilities of what Keyleth of the Air Ashari might want with him. Something to do with another Beacon? More about that echo backpack being used by the Exultant Thule? Did she have a location on Ludinus? Oh, how his mind raced with the unending potential.

He rushed down the busy streets, reminding himself several times that Caleb would have messaged if it were life-threatening. But, then, Essek was still a little shaken up by the recent events with Trent Ikithon, and he hadn’t even been present for the encounter. Maybe Caleb was downplaying it? Although Beau hasn’t seemed that worried about it, just anxious to find more information about how to take down Ludinus. It probably wasn’t worth wasting a teleport spell to get home faster.

In eight minutes flat, Essek was rushing up the little path in front of the cottage he and Caleb called home. He was breathing hard, having pushed himself to go faster than his usual. When he pushed open the front door he found Caleb pacing in front of the couch.

Caleb’s crystal blue eyes jumped up to meet his upon his entrance and Essek quickly closed the door before closing the distance between them. Caleb’s large, warm hands grasped his own and he intoned, “Schatz, I need you to speak with Astrid.”

[httpknjoon]

can't take my eyes off you | jjk

plot | Sweet September surprises their fans with their own rendition of the classic song.

words | 844

genres | fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | -

main masterlist | drabble series

“Honey, attending such an event is not part of your itinerary…”

Your mom’s worried tone from your phone echoed in your hotel bathroom as you got ready for Sweet September’s concert tonight. After tying your hair in a half ponytail with your white silk ribbon, you tried to curl the ends of your hair with your fingers.

“I know, I know, mom. But the band personally invited me,” you replied before looking at the camera to see your mom sipping from her morning tea. “They are great performers. I and Astrid enjoyed their concert when they went there in Zafiro.”

Even though you are already a grown adult, with you owning a title and a long list of responsibilities, you still have to talk with your parents before doing something. And that’s what you are doing right now. You would usually go straight to your dad. He is strict but your mom’s stricter. You tried talking to him initially but he’s busy with meetings. So you reached out to The Queen to let her know about the concert.

She squinted her eyes, “A personal invite from the band? How so?”

You paused, “Oh… Uhm… I had a chat with their vocalist last night at the Gala. We already met before that.”

“And can I know the name of this vocalist we’re talking about?”

The image of Jungkook kissing your hand last night suddenly played in your head, unknowingly putting a slight smile on your face.

“Jungkook.”

Then, a noise from your mother’s background snapped you back into reality. A thin line formed on your lips as you waited for a reaction from your mother. But she just looked at you for a minute. Like she was examining you, you can feel her gaze on you even though she’s on the other side of the world.

“YN…” she called for you in a specific tone that made your shoulders tense up.

“Mom.” you sighed. “I’m not dating him. I’m sure I’m not the only one who gets personal invites from him.”

“That’s great to know, honey. I know you’re smart enough with your decisions, including who to date. You know how we would always want the best partner for you as you will be leading Zafiro in the future.”

Your jaw tightened as you tried to focus on running the mascara through your lashes. Your shoulders suddenly bore this hefty weight. The same weight you feel every time you put a crown on your head. You tried to ignore it, clearing your throat before you spoke,

“Anyway, Mom, I’ll keep my attendance lowkey. Okay?” You plumped your lips before smiling at her. “I promise, no one would even notice I was there.”

@/T4KEM3H0M3: OMGOMGOMG THERE’S A SPECIAL SONG

@/ot4sweetsept: y’all are so lucky!!! wdym they added a song to the setlist???!?

@/sweetseptfan bro stop flirting with ur gf ur literally on stage

@/woosungpiercing: lol jungkook keeps on eyeing the upper level during their concert tonight in new york

@/CARTERSBASS: louise chu should give her stylist a fucking raise! her dress looks so good!! #DenimJungleNY

@/swingingguitars: oomf said a princess attended tonight Replying to @/swingingguitars @/friskywhiskey: pics or it didn’t happen @/denimjunglesz: omg is it princess astrid??? I heard she’s a big fan

@/woosunginaday: im betting twenty dollars jungkook’s gf is in tonight’s concert Replying to @/woosunginaday @/woosunginaday: i mean he can’t stop smiling and walking to the right side of the stage tonight

@/PopCrave: Sweet September performs their own cover of Frankie Valli’s Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.

@/coldjeon: @.PrincessYNOfZafiro what r u doing here 🤔🤔🤔🤔 [insert video]

@/calliessong: omg louise is here again!! she’s at the vip standing

@/jkslouise: now we know why there’s a special song 👀

“Is everyone having a great time?”

Jungkook asked with his wired microphone and the whole audience roared with screams and cheers. The bright lights pointed at him made it hard for him to see you in the crowd. He offered you a VIP Standing ticket earlier but you declined, opting for a seat more secluded. 

“Now, is there anyone here up for a surprise?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

Every member smiled with the excitement from the crowd. They don’t really do surprise songs at every stop of their tour. So it thrills them too when Jungkook brings up a surprise song idea last night for them to play tonight. They only rehearsed the said song this morning.

“Seems like everyone is up for it.” Jungkook turned his head to his bandmates, silently signaling them to get ready.  He looked back to the audience. His eyes stopped at a specific spot, “By the way, I would like to greet the beautiful lady in–”

Cutting him off, Woosung began playing the drums for the song’s intro and so did Carter and Mingyu with their guitars. They all smiled when they heard a small “aww” of disappointment from their fans. Jungkook combed through his damp hair with his fingers before singing the first line.

“You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you.”

taglist rules

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROCKSTAR TAGLIST

@heartjiminie @rbrm094 @rjsmochii @jjkreblog @sugaslittlekookies @saintsugar @alpha-mommy69 @natalia-rmnva @stupendouscookiehumanmug @yoonjinhusbands @lilliankoo @gxtwllsn @snkyuv @canyon-lwt @hiii-priestess @jksgirlhere @bbtsficrecs @jnk-pop @jjeonjjk7 @tokkiggukie @kooliv @oopscoop @hani0407 @taebae19 @yunki-yunki-yunki

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd​ @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21

[izpira-se-zlato]

JO Paris, 22.03.24

Gig report! Compiled this morning in the car to Antwerp with help form @zadig-fate and @yoda-bor 💛 I recorded everything except Katrina (bc my camera app crashed in the middle), so I'll upload this once I'm at a place with stable wifi again :D

all my buses were delayed so I power walked to the train station. Then that train was delayed so I almost missed my Eurostar. Then my Eurostar was also delayed. "That's what I call a Deutsche Bahn special, actually." – Kris ("when your first train is late but then it's okay because the second train is also delayed")

so many people I knew in the queue. From Helsinki. From London last year. From Utrecht. 😊💛

when I grabbed my number, Jan and Nace returned to the venue (and they were so pretty in daylight and in person)

Nace said hi as they walked past 😊

their postures??? Nace has definitely worked on his posture, meanwhile Jan appears so slim and small. It's wild.

Jan and Jure returned to the venue together, looking… Pissed is too harsh a word, but frowning? So we first kinda thought they were actually pissed off. But then Nace showed up a minute later, his usual sunny self, and was immediately accosted by fans. So. I assume it was less "pissed off" and more "do not approach" (and it worked)

soundcheck was Gola and Vem da greš, which we could hear every time they opened the doors (this was my last general access gig. It's EA from here on out, baby!)

Kris and I had decided to go on the balcony and got spots right next to the sound booth, where we were joined by @thisismyobsessionnow 🫶

it was warm but the sound was really good (duh)

also we had nice cushy seats like the old people we are 😂

first opener was a duo of brothers made up of discount Jure and Käärijä if he was French. Discount!Jure had a nice chest (Jure at home)

their music was eh, the lyrics cringe

Kris says they spoke french but I spent most of their set on tumblr/discord so I wasn't listening, but it was a Choice since pretty much none from the EA crowd spoke French

speaking of EA, there were allegedly 60 EA tickets though I saw numbers up to 62 (500 people venue)

JC Stewart was fun

he was told he looked French prime minister. He got confused by president vs prime minister but he also got kinda flustered. He was shown a pic and was "oh yeah, I see it"

we got Katrina opener

Nace. Jfc.

the venue was super hot so I tried to appreciate the fit while he had it on in full – white buttoned shirt with a sweater vest over it and a proper tie and glasses, going for the full teacher look except hot???

I still spent a good chunk of the gig looking at Jure though. The elevated balcony spot gave ussuch a nice view of him

Bojan was smiley and sounded way less congested than in Utrecht (maybe he's on the mend?)

Kris on the other hand was sipping tea on stage. In particular very sassily during Demoni

Kris had guitar problems at the beginning of Šta bih ja and went to Kiki to get it fixed but Bojan didn't see and so was actually worried for a moment that Kris had gotten sick off-stage. Kris was adorable in reassuring him that he was fine

they were all so mobile again

og demoni scream. In the middle. Might have been Bojan letting out his anxiety over Kris having disappeared from stage

"Kris, honey" and then that moment. What in the BoKris was that. I just turned to Kris and said that out loud bc what the fuck

There was a sizeable crowd of Slovenians in the audience and Bojan was delighted

fairly even split in the crowd for French vs foreigners, though the French were louder in yelling

the most hilarious to me moment: Bojan did his spiel about "who here experiences panic attacks?" And the crowd cheered, and he was like "yay! Panic attacks! It's me!" And Kris next to me went "I'm the problem, it's me," and literally on the last syllable, Bojan started saying the exact same thing. One brain cell. Or maybe he has the stream on his in-ears

Barve oceana 🫶🫶💛💛

according to Astrid, I looked ridiculously happy (I was ridiculously happy)

best galaxy of me version tonight. I still don't like it though 😂 it's gonna be my metulji 😂

Bojan went into the crowd for Umazane misli

it's so fun to watch from above

Vita was his trusty shadow and also a beacon of light to spot Bojan with

this time I don't think they forgot her in the crowd

Bojan made the balcony sing while he was still in the crowd. But it was mostly just Kris, Madeleine, and me, at least on the bleachers/seated part. We still gave our best 😂

Carpe Diem was not part of their "encore" but came before

no Tokio :( might be the first show without it?

fucking Novi val

the way Jure jumped up and sprinted to trade a drumstick for a baguette, it was so hilarious

he was so happy, and he first made fun of Nace for being unable to eat it

he shared it with Jan

Jan got chocolate and they put it into the baguette and then shared it.

Jure let everyone else also take a bite, including Bojan who was ostensibly singing

Nace bottle feeding Kris. What the fuck. Can someone make sure they still don't know about AO3?

no Umazane shenanigans even though Jan and Nace had talked right before it so I'd been hopeful

so many um versions in other langauges. It wasn't the longest rendition, but we also

when Bojan said we'd get the original Slovene version, I thought it would be the one he made up on the spot when they went on stage to play it all the way back? When they were babies. So it was a small disappointment when it was just the regular Slovene version 😂

Bojan asked the Slovenians if they were able to tell that they weren't playing at home and they said no and Bojan was so so delighted

he's also given the mic to people in the audience outside of Umazane misli (ne bi smel and plastika, I want to say)

he sang galaxy of me with a guy from the front row (Josh?)

not a lot of Jance, possibly because they were looking after Kris?

still a lot of eye contact

or maybe it was the fact that they apparently were out in Paris together in the afternoon 😏

my phone was so hot by the end (and I have 4gb left of memory)

after the gig I couldn't find my hat so I was worried I'd left it, so I went back in. Which was how I got JC and Vita to sign my gig memory book

I had forgotten about wanting to grab Vita's signature so if Astrid hadn't reminded me, I would have missed out

the boys got JC Stewart sick, he said his voice was going

It was raining so the boys ran out of the venue towards a van while we cheered. Bojan took a group selfie

Jan and Jure left first with the crew in that van so we assume that the others took a second car

[myeur-n]

Imagine that the Darkling had just caused the death of his own mother, and he needed to look for you once more

Note:

Purely based on s2 of the Shadow and Bone Netflix series, so some lore might be incorrect

"We've used the last of Baghra's remains for the others," the Darkling's Alkemi informed him, but he remained in his lonely despair in a mind unhinged. He needed a break from all of this planning to expand the Fold and consume the whole of Ravka in his darkness - he needed,

"The Wanderer," he murmured under his breath as his eyes darkened with a new way to beat this grief festering within him.

"Vladim, tell everyone to make use of their new Amplifiers. I'm going to scout ahead for some time," the Darkling pushed himself off his chair and began to march out of his own encampment.

"But General, why can't you just let the others do it for you?" his Alkemi raised a brow.

"That's none of your concern," the Darkling turned back at him, eyes glaring into his very soul while the corners of his camp turned darker. "Do as I say and speak nothing of it?" He ordered again through gritted teeth. The Alkemi pressed his lips hard against each other and nodded.

The Darkling mounted his horse and wasted no time astriding North, knowing what he needed was somewhere in the Fjerdan borders, the last time he had heard of her.

You were knee deep in a river with a ceramic vase in your hand. As you dipped it into the cold yet calm, icy river to collect the cold waters, you carefully walked your way out of river. Looking around your surroundings first to ensure that no one was looking, you slowly heated the vase with your own fire.

"Not very discreet now, aren't we?" A familiar voice suddenly called out from within the darkness of the forest ahead of you.

"Who's there?" You frowned and clenched your fists tight, though you already had an idea whose voice it belonged to.

"Y/n, has it really been that long since we last saw each other?" The Darkling calmly sauntered out of the shadows of the trees, with both his hands clasped behind his back.

"Its you. How long has it been? Half a century, I'd bet," you moved toward him and shoved your vase into his hands.

"Do you not know who I am?" He turned to you with a cold tone, but you've been living in the Fjerdan mountains long enough to know that he was just playing around with you.

"Whatever identity you've taken this time, Aleksander, I don't care. Just don't bother me with your propaganda," and both of you began to walk towards your modest cabin made of wood and steel, blanketed in a thick layer of snow.

"Anyway, what brings you here? This place isn't exactly friendly to Grisha. And I've heard that you're not really popular in Ravka either," you opened the door and led him in first. Just as he was about to sit on your favourite spot and in your living room with his ridiculously massive fur coat, you forced it out of him, which he complied with a light, but bittersweet smile.

The Darkling was usually broody, but you knew that something was genuinely upsetting him.

"How about we sit by the fireplace while I make some tea, then? Just like old times," you offered.

"I'm willing to sit by the fireplace, but I do not wish to drink your horrible tea," he only said as he looked around your plain house. You nodded and went to the kitchen, still within earshot of what your guest would say.

"I didn't imagine that you would live someplace so... small, Little Saint," he remarked on the lack of decorations in your house. "Then again, you're the one who's lesser in ambition between us two,".

"You don't understand, Aleksander. Not everyone lives in your Little Palace, under the riches of the kings that betrayed our own kind," you brought two mugs of hot drinks to the fireplace and settled down slowly next to him, passing one of them to him.

"I told you, I don't want your tea," he groaned.

"Its hot cocoa. And stop complaining like a child," you rolled your eyes.

Cautiously, he accepted it and took a few sips, before he placed it down next to him.

"Y/n, there's something I must tell you," he began.

You didn't answer, but your silence beckoned him to continue talking.

"That is... I wish you could have accepted the title of Saint, y/n. If you had been at the Little Palace with me from the start, you could have kept me in check," he choked out his words.

"I don't think old friends could have changed you. You've turned from the path we used to walk together hundreds of years ago,".

"But with you there, you could have at least - burnt some sense into me, like you've always done," he hissed as his eyes glared into fireplace. "You could have...," he breathed, then your living room began to darken with his shadow.

"Could have what?".

"You could have saved me from killing my own mother," his voice trembled as the confession took place.

"What?" You resigned your comfort in his presence and began to crawl backwards and away from him.

"Its true. I killed my mother-,".

"How could you do that to Baghra?!" You shot upwards, now fully standing and prepared to summon your wildfire to protect yourself.

Had the Darkling came to you to destroy every reminder of his past? Both of you had been comrades since you were children - you were his first friend, follower and soldier. If he could kill Baghra - the very person who birthed him and stood by his side for centuries, then what of you?

"No, no, don't be scared, y/n!" He held his hands out, expression contorted in fear - but not fear of you.

You summoned a sphere of concentrated fire, but then, suddenly the shadow around you began to form a beast of more than 8 feet tall, barely able to fit into your own cabin. The beast brushed past the Darkling and stretched out its dark tentacles toward you, prepared to decapitate you - and you recognised it from Baghra's old stories, that it was a Nichevo'ya.

Only the Sun Summoner could stun this monster.

You spread out your fire into the Cut, prepared to fight against it.

"NO, don't do it!" The Darkling shouted, but his voice drowned out between you and the monster. You took a deep breath, and as the Nichevo'ya stretched its hands towards you for the killing blow, you quickly turn defensive and made a shield of fire.

It let out an ear-piercing scream, and you summoned a beam of fire from your core, before you penetrated it into the monster of darkness.

The Nichevo'ya disappeared into the shadows.

Your breathing was ragged and you needed to take a seat, so you clumsily rest yourself against your own wall.

"Was that the thing that killed your mother?" You let out a tired sigh.

"Yes...," the Darkling only stared in silence at you.

"And it's yours?".

"Yes,".

"How dare you use merzost again! Can't you see that its hurt thousands of people once, and now you've gone ahead and did it to your own mother," you exclaimed at him and rushed to open the door. "Get out and never come back. I can't see you like this," turning your gaze away from his scarred face, you tried to control your breathing.

"You know I never meant to, y/n," he began to unbuckle his knees and slowly approached you, as if he feared both your wrath and himself.

"It was always like that, Aleksander. You weren't a monster when all of this obsession to save our kind began. You were our commander - someone I could pour my loyalty for. But now," you turned your head away, holding back your tears. "You're obsessed with hunting down this Sun Summoner of yours and expanding the Fold. Won't that kill all Grisha too?".

The Darkling pursed his lips and studied your face. Slowly turning to finally meet his eyes once, you realised that he was displeased with your opinions, but made no move to silent you with any threat.

"I promised those that follow my command they will be safe," he added in a low voice.

"And I'll bet that they believed it. However, you know that you can't fool me. I was there with you for hundreds of years, heard thousands of your promises to all of Grisha. And you only brought upon them ruin and death with your ambition,".

Your old friend remained silent and only stared at you, wide-eyed and furious. He shifted his gaze to the door you've opened wide to beckon for his leave. Nodding, his legs slowly brought him outside your house. You followed him out as if you're still attracted to his power of command like all those years ago.

"Aleksander," you said once more, and he stopped in his tracks at the middle of forest. "You're not a monster like what everyone has said, especially your Alina Starkov. If she had seen what the previous kings had done to Grisha, the way that people had hunted us down and refused to provide us any food and water - simply because you requested more from the king, she would have done the same despite what she thought of herself," you approached him and cupped his one metallic hand, and his real one in yours.

You flinched a bit at how cold it was.

"I know I can't stop you once you've started your plans, but please," you began to rub your fingers against his knuckles, warming them up with your fire of hearth. "Don't kill the Sun Summoner. You're already lonely enough, and I can't see you ruin yourself for another century again," your breath trembled.

He nodded, and only looked into your bright eyes of hope with his starless ones. You weren't begging him to promise himself to your words, for you knew that your old friend couldn't break his promises to you - and so his silence revealed to you - that even he did not know if he would kill his Sun Summoner or not.

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and embraced him. The Darkling closed his eyes, held back his breath and only buried his face within your arms.

Something was telling you that this might be the last time you'd see him, and he thought so too.

[november-rayne]

Chapter Nineteen: Seeing

Summary: Frigga uses her sight to discover how the fates intervened to answer Astrid's prayer.

Word Count: 3300

Rating: Mature

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Chapter Index

Frigga and Astrid were sitting together near a cluster of flowering dogwood trees. The pink and white petals blanketed the stones along the path to where the ladies were seated at a small wrought iron table. An assortment of nuts, cheese, and dates sat on an intricate golden tray. The warm breeze made the petals dance and flutter as the ladies sipped their tea. They had a wonderful conversation until the subject shifted to the wedding.

The Queen set her teacup on the table and asked, “You seem preoccupied, Astrid. Is something the matter?”

“Apologies, Your Majesty. The wedding approaches quickly. I am trying to come to terms with going home without my little girl.”

Frigga placed her hand over Astrid’s and gave it a few little pats. “I understand how difficult that must be.”

“I am happy for my daughter to be getting married and to a prince at that.” She smiled at the queen, “I will miss her terribly. We may not agree on much, but I could always count on seeing her every day. I know I should be grateful for all my years with her.” She sighed, “Why do they have to grow up so fast?”

“It is the cruelty of becoming a mother, I’m afraid. Although eventually, we will be rewarded with grandchildren. Won’t that be wonderful?”

Astrid smiled, “Sigyn has wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. She had quite the doll collection. Erik would bring her a new ‘baby’ every time he returned home from a trip, every birthday, anytime she got good marks in school, any opportunity he could.” Her smile fell.

“Then the dolls were eventually replaced with dresses, shoes, and jewelry. We spoiled her, but how could we not?” She shrugged her shoulders, “She is our miracle. My answered prayer.”

“And you believe Loki to be the one who answered your prayer?”

Astrid looked sheepishly at Frigga, “I do not have any other explanation. He remembered my unspoken prayer word for word.”

Frigga took Astrid’s hands in hers, “The golden apples from Idunn’s tree affect each of us differently. Loki can tap into someone’s mind, see their memories and hear their thoughts, but I’ve never seen him heal anyone. Perhaps he heard your prayer because you were holding him? He needs to be touching someone to read their thoughts.”

“Well, yes, I would hold him on my lap, stroke his hair, and hold his chubby little hands as he drifted off to sleep. And I would pray. Over and over, I would pray for another baby of my own. I went to the nursery almost every day that we were here.”

“There is no doubt that Loki heard your mind.” Frigga furrowed her brow and looked off into the distance, pondering. “I will need to do some scrying to see how exactly you were able to conceive.”

She looked at Frigga with wide eyes. “How old was he when you fed him the golden apple?”

“Odin was insistent that the boys got their apples as soon as they had teeth.”

“Oh, goodness. So, they were both babies at the time?”

“Yes, their ceremonies were each quite comical.  Thor shrieked after he finished his apple and was not permitted to take another. Loki had just learned to sit up on his own and was more interested in tossing the apple and rolling it around on the dais than eating it.”

“Goodness,” Astrid laughed. “Why so young?”

“As you know, the King is extremely selective. Only those with the strongest elements may receive the gift. He was so proud when the boys were born; he could not wait to bring them into the fold, to start their tutelage. And he wanted them to have the protection of Asgard’s magic as soon as possible.”

“Are you telling me that the King is a big softie?  It is hard to picture.”

“That is on purpose,” Frigga smiled. “He must rule with an iron fist, without exception. One whiff of vulnerability and our enemies would pounce. But Odin is a different man behind closed doors. He is gentle, sentimental, and empathetic. Do not let him know I told you that,” she chuckled.

Astrid grinned, “Of course not.”

“He was a good father when he was not being a king. He focused most of his efforts on Thor, obviously; he was the heir to the throne, strong as an ox, and the spitting image of Odin. But he was just as proud of Loki, in his own way.”

Frigga smiled, “We were both shocked when he was born with a head full of black curls and looking almost exactly like my late father. When he started showing a predilection for seiðr, Odin started referring to him as ‘your son.’ So, he had his boy, and I had mine.”

Frigga took a sip from her teacup and set it back down again. “Loki projects an heir of haughty arrogance, but he is a sweet boy under that cool demeanor. He would be the first to throw himself in front of someone he cares about. And I know he cares about Sigyn, not just superficially; he loves that girl.”

“And she him.” Astrid smiled, “She has had a crush on the prince for as long as I can remember. It was always, ‘Prince Loki is so handsome, Mama.’ and ‘Prince Loki can wield seiðr, Mama.’ She would moon over his portrait for hours if I would let her.

“She was such a naughty little thing when she was young. Just picture me trying to raise a proper little lady and her winking and blowing kisses to framed art on the wall!” She clutched her necklace, “Where she even learned such behavior, I could not tell you.”

Frigga held her stomach and laughed, “Oh, that is precious.”

One of Frigga’s ladies approached the table and curtsied, “Excuse me, Your Majesty. The Prince and the Lady Sigyn have just arrived at the garden gate.”

“Ah, very good. Please bring us a fresh pot of tea and two more cups.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsied and collected the teapot before she hurried away.

oOXOo

Loki and Sigyn came through the garden gate as one of the Queen’s ladies approached and curtsied. “The Queen and the Lady Anderson are having tea under the dogwood trees, Your Highness.”

Loki nodded, “Thank you.” When they were out of earshot of the maid, he leaned over and whispered in Sigyn’s ear, “I think I will take us there the long way.”

She tightened her grip on his arm, “You will get no complaint from me.”

Loki led her off the stone path to a smaller gravel walkway that wound through an ornate flower bed. “Mother designed this garden herself. She spends most of her free time out here.”

“I can see why. It is stunning.” They followed the meandering path until they came across a small pond. Sigyn stopped to admire some purple irises planted along the water’s edge. “It is very peaceful out here.”

She looked over to Loki and caught him staring at her face with a look that could only be described as adoring. “Oh, Loki.” she stroked his face with her free hand, “I love you so much. When you look at me like that…” she ran her fingertips lightly along his cheekbones, “I feel like my heart could explode right out of my chest.”

Loki touched her neck and stroked her jaw with his thumb. “You are the hidden treasure I never knew I was searching for.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his middle and put her head on his shoulder. He rested his head against hers and stroked her hair.

“I am never going to let you go,” she said through her sniffles. They held each other, swaying in the warm sunlight for several minutes. Each of them not wanting to be the first to let go.

“Riiibbit.” A giant bullfrog croaked as he plopped onto a stone in the pond with a squelch, startling the couple.

“Excuse me. We are trying to have a moment here. Move along.” Loki dismissed the frog with a wave.

“Riiibbit.” The bullfrog responded, staring at Loki.

“Rude!” He glared back at the frog, his lips curling up at the corners. Sigyn giggled. “We will get no more privacy here. Let us go.”

She gave the bullfrog a little wave as Loki led her away.

oOXOo

Frigga heard the pair approach before she could see them. Their heavy footfalls and shouting taunts broke up the peace in the garden. Loki rounded a corner and ran down the path at full speed, Sigyn running a little behind him.

“I won!” he yelled triumphantly at her before stopping to bow to his mother, “Mother.”

“Not fair! I do not know my way around this garden! And I am wearing a dress!” She yelled back, slowing down as she rounded the corner and saw her mother's unmistakable look of displeasure. She quickly walked the last twenty yards to where Loki stood waiting for her.

“You cannot sour my victory with your logic, My Lady. I will still relish your defeat.” He was grinning from ear to ear. He placed his hand on her back as she approached the table.

She tried to catch her breath as she curtsied deeply to the Queen, “Your Majesty.”  She gave her mother a peck on the cheek, “Mama.”

Lady Anderson stood and curtsied to the prince, “Your Highness.”

“My Lady.” He helped push her seat back in before sitting Sigyn next to her.

Frigga raised her eyebrows, “Loki, why were you making this poor girl run through the garden?”

“Oh, I was not making her do anything, Mother.” Loki conjured a tall glass of cold water and passed it to Sigyn, “Here you go, sweetling.” She nodded a thank you as she accepted it. “My betrothed wrongly believes that she can outrun me. So, we agreed to a foot race.” He shrugged as he plucked a date from the tray and passed it to Sigyn.

“You did what?!” Lady Anderson moved to the edge of her seat. She leveled Sigyn with a glare. Sigyn dropped her eyes to her lap as she nibbled the date. “How many times must I remind you that you are a Lady, Sigyn.” Her mother said through clenched teeth. “Ladies do not challenge people to foot races! Especially men! Especially in the presence of royalty.”

“Sorry, Mama. We were having a bit of fun.”

Lady Anderson sighed, exasperated, “A bit of fun?” She shook her head in disbelief as she clutched her necklace.

“Honestly, My Lady, I love that Sigyn feels she can challenge me. I love her spirit and her tenacity. I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with some vapid woman who has trained her whole life to pander to me.” He rubbed Sigyn’s cheek with his knuckle as he smiled at her.

“Yes, of course, you are right, Your Highness,” Lady Anderson replied tightly.

“My case in point.” Loki laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair as he leaned back.

“Loki, a little more decorum in front of our guest,” the Queen said.

“Apologies, My Lady. I did not mean any offense.” He straightened his posture and reached across the table for her hand.

“Sigyn is fortunate to be betrothed to someone so… accepting of her demeanor.” Lady Anderson placed her hand on Loki’s, and he quickly kissed the back of it. “She has always leaned a little on the boisterous side. I blame her father.”

“Please, I am the lucky one.” Loki passed Sigyn another date.

“Speaking of fortune and luck,” the queen interjected, “I need to clarify something you mentioned at lunch, Sigyn.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Sigyn covered her mouth as she chewed.

“You mentioned to me that you felt connected to Loki from an early age. Care to elaborate on that a little more for me, please?”

“Yes,” She cleared her throat, “As I told you the other day at lunch, I have felt drawn to the prince ever since I was tiny.” She smiled at Loki and continued, “One day, his portrait stopped me dead in my tracks. I felt a connection that I cannot explain. I knew, somehow, that I would one day be his wife. And the day we met,” tears pricked her eyes, she shook her head and fought to keep her composure, “the day we met in person…I do not have the words to describe the feeling… a piece of myself that had been missing was returned. I felt complete.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I am sorry if that makes no sense. That is the best way that I have to describe it.”

Lady Anderson moved to comfort her daughter, but Loki was already en route to wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple as he dried her cheeks with his thumb. Sigyn looked at him and gave him a sweet smile. Loki took some cheese from the tray and offered it to her. She laughed through her tears, “Thank you, my love,” she whispered as they rested their foreheads together.

“And Loki? Can you tell me more about when you first met Sigyn?” The queen looked pensive.

Loki’s cheeks flushed slightly, “Aside from being completely bowled over by her beauty, grace, and warmth, I would say that my initial reaction was quite… possessive. I felt time come to a screeching halt. My vision blocked out everything but her. All the pain in my body relented briefly. And I knew she was mine and that I would be hers. I tried desperately to deny it. But I knew. Somehow. She was mine. She is mine. She…is…mine.”

Loki looked away from Sigyn to find the other two women staring at him intently. “What? Is that not how everyone falls in love?”

“No.” the Queen said as she went deep in thought. After a moment, she asked, “Sigyn, Astrid, may I have a strand of your hair? Loki, you as well. Root attached, please.” She held out her hand, and Loki, Sigyn, and Lady Anderson each plucked a stand from their scalps and placed it in the queen’s open palm.

Frigga summoned her soapstone smudge bowl to the table and twisted the hairs together. She placed them in the bowl. A heatless yellow flame rose from the bowl as Frigga held her hands over it. She stared into the flame; her eyes took on a yellow glow.

“I see,” she said faintly.

Sigyn reached over and clutched Loki’s arm with both hands. Lady Anderson clutched her necklace with one hand and held her stomach with the other.

Loki scooted to the edge of his seat, “What do you see, Mother?”

“I see the Lady in the nursery. I feel her pain.” Frigga grimaced and clutched her abdomen, not taking her eyes from the flame; she said, “I see the boy toddling over to her with a book.” She smiled briefly before her face shifted. Her eyes widened, “I see the Nornir… they argue… the tapestry… the Lady’s fate… Atropos relents, Lachesis instructs, Clotho weaves… a new pattern emerges… the boy… the girl…”

The flame in her bowl died down. Frigga closed her eyes, “I have been shut out from seeing any further than today.” She took a few deep breaths to center herself. She opened her eyes and took a sip of her tea.

“The Norns intervened on your behalf, Astrid. They heard your prayer, felt your longing, and changed your fate.”

“Oh...” Lady Anderson clutched her heart with both hands, “Oh my stars…”

“They used a small fiber of Loki’s thread to patch what was missing in yours. A small piece of his divine element, his mischief. The piece was so small that it only healed you long enough to conceive Sigyn and carry her to term. It created an irrevocable bond between the two of them as well.”

Frigga looked to Loki, “You see it in her eyes too, do you not?”

“It was one of the first things I noticed about her. It took my breath away.” Loki looked at Sigyn and the unmistakable glint in her eyes. “I had no idea it was part of my own.”

“Excuse me, but I do not understand. How does one see mischief?” Lady Anderson took Sigyn’s chin and looked at her daughter’s face. “All I see are her pretty green eyes.”

“Only the Gods can see the divine elements, My Lady. I am sorry. It is a sight to behold,” Frigga stated.

“I suppose I owe your father an apology, Sigyn. All these years, I believed him to blame for your naughtiness.”

Frigga laughed, “Sigyn is responsible for her own behavior, My Lady. I assure you that her free will has not been tampered with.”

Sigyn blushed and tucked her chin to her shoulder, turning her face away from her mother’s disapproval. “I see.” The Lady picked up her teacup and took a sip.

Loki took Sigyn’s hand and kissed it, “Would you like another snack, my sweet? I could conjure you something else if you like?” he asked her as he noticed that she had finished off the dates.

Sigyn’s eyes lit up and then fell as her mother cleared her throat. “Thank you, Your Highness. But I… should pass.  I have my final fitting for my wedding gown tomorrow. I want it to look perfect for you.”

Loki scoffed, “I would not care if you walked down the aisle in a burlap sack. Your happiness is my only concern.” He conjured a small pumpkin muffin and placed it in her hands with a kiss on the forehead.

Heat came to his cheeks as he remembered her nakedness from earlier. The curve of her hips, the fullness of her breasts, the cute little bump of her empty womb that poked out slightly between her hip bones. She was athletic and strong while still having the feminine softness that awoke something feral in him. His eyes dropped from her face to the curve of her breasts at the top of her dress.

“Loki?” Frigga said again as she kicked his boot under the table.

“What? Yes, Mother? Did you say something?” Loki tore his gaze from Sigyn to look at the Queen. He heard Sigyn giggle as she tore off a piece of her muffin.

“I asked if you had decided on the apartment.”

“Oh, yes…” Loki cleared his throat, “Yes, we are taking the corner unit directly south of yours, Mother. We are going to be neighbors.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Frigga beamed. “I am so pleased for the two of you.”

“Fredrik said he would have our furniture delivered and the changes we want to be completed by the wedding day. Sigyn and her maids can move her clothes to the closet immediately. He even gave her her own set of keys to do so.”

Sigyn reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a gold keyring. She jingled them above her head. “I am so excited.” She smiled at her mother, “Would you like to help me organize my things in my new rooms, Mama?”

“I would like that, yes,” she sobbed.

The Queen stood, “That session has drained me, I’m afraid. I need to go lie down before dinner.” Frigga signaled to her ladies.

Everyone bowed and curtsied after she stood. “Are you all right, Mother? Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?”

“No, I am fine. I just need a little rest.” She waved as she started down the path. “I will see everyone at dinner.”

Loki escorted the ladies back to their chambers, reluctantly bid Sigyn farewell, and then made his way to the training grounds.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

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XOXO - Rayne 💚

Tag List: @gigglingtiggerv2 @chantsdemarins @superficialdomina @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @smolvenger @simone818283 @gruftiela @huntress-artemiss

[nightmdic]

"they can't make you feel the way i made you feel" (i changed it a bit to make it fit for when she's married to Lee and Lark if you're okay with it)

mug of tea is held gently in her grasp, despite the rising, low growl that escapes from Astrid sitting beside her. She dares to even let a moment of silence pass after his words, stealing a sip of the green tea contents before continuing.

"They've certainly made me the most happy I've been, I can assire you."

@asrielbelacquaaaa || Jealous possessive meme

[deathbecomesnerds]

"Bark Like A God" | Chapter 40 | Astrid x Raymond

A03 Link

Ray checked his watch while looking out the window of the safe house that Mickey and Ros had relocated to after the attack. Mickey was absolutely lucky that he only sustained a shoulder wound, but Ray knew things were escalating with the Russians and Sergei. This needs to be handled now, and not delicately. Put a bullet through every single one of their heads!

He glanced back at Mickey who was taking a sip of tea at his favorite spot while high on the pain medications the doctor had given him, his eyelids drooping and Ray couldn’t help but think that he would pass out at any moment.

“You alright, boss?” Ray asked quietly.

[finniestoncrane]

-walks up to you all shifty-eyed like you're my dealer- UH, could I ask for Character - 🎩 Scenario - 🪑 Sentences - 💛🧡

Kidnap

general!mad hatter x gn!reader/sitting in their lap ehehe *i open my trench coat in the alley and porn falls out* minors DNI!! 🔞 500 words, cw: flirting, teasing, roleplay send me a request • kofi link • minors DNI • tag: finnie500

Jervis poured the perfectly brewed tea into a delicate, beautifully painted cup, setting it down, saucer and teaspoon accompanied, in front of you.

“It’s always a pleasure to be able to kidnap you, the general public. You’d be surprised how few of this city’s elite know proper etiquette. Now drink up.”

You took a sip, awkward in your attempts to be formal, proper. He was, after all, a gentleman, once gracious enough to have extended you an, albeit involuntary in his mind, invitation to his tea party.

“You’ll note, sweet little bunny, that in an effort to keep you comfortable, there are no restraints. And I’m sure you’ll note you have all of your faculties.”

“Of course.”

He finished pouring his own, stirring the tea without clinking the sides of the cup. Very proper, very refined. Distinguished, and handsome, the way his smile radiated across the table from you. He broke eye contact to take a sip, silent, no slurping, placing the cup down with a gentle ‘ting’ before he pressed his fingers, steepled, to his lips, deep in thought, removing them to speak to you.

“Might I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Mister…”

“Tetch. Jervis. Of course, most would know me as-”

“The Mad Hatter.”

You cursed yourself for interrupting. How very rude of you.

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just that I…am familiar with your…work.”

He raised an eyebrow, so high that there was a slight shift in the band of his top hat, raising gently with his forehead.

“Which only further piques my curiosity?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Mister Tetch.”

A wry smile as he leaned in to speak.

“Please, Jervis.”

“What is it you’d like to know.”

“You came so easily.”

“Is that a question?”

“I suppose not.”

He picked up his cup, sipping at it, letting his eyelids close over as he appreciated the brew, the flavours, the comfort of the warm liquid flowing down his throat. With a satisfied sigh, he opened his eyes and found you standing before him.

“Oh! Perhaps there should have been an element of restraint. You’re not planning on leaving so soon, are you? There’s a whole pot of tea to get through. I haven’t even yet explained to you why I’ve brought you here for-”

You moved swiftly, gracefully, astride his legs and firmly on his lap, arms around his neck. His calm demeanour, instantly shifted to one of slight panic, but gleeful intrigue at this new twist in the tale.

“Might I ask another answer of you?”

“I suppose so.”

“Is this…why you were so easy to ‘kidnap’? The reason you were so easy to bring into my company?”

“Is what the reason? I’m afraid you’ll have to be specific.”

He swallowed, nerves forced down, but rising swiftly back up again, a stiffening below you as you let a wry smile cross your face.

“The reason…that you might…that there would…”

“Yes?”

“Just answer me.”

You pressed a delicate kiss to his lips, allowing it to deepen slightly before you pulled away, his mouth following you until he couldn’t strain his neck further.

“If you would like the answer, Jervis, then I’m afraid you’ll have to beg me for it.”

[apinchofm]

Edwina rode hard to Bridgerton House, running inside with a quick apology to the butler and footman.

"Is Kate up?" She quickly asked Anthony, who was coming down the stairs, flabbergasted at her rumpled appearance and the fact she was here this

"Yes, but-" He began and she just continue running up the stairs until she reached their bedroom, walking in.

Sitting with her breakfast tray in bed, Kate was confused to see her sister burst in.

"Edwina, what-?" Edwina took a breath, removed her boots and climbed into bed next to Kate.

"Did you ride astride?" Kate asked, surprised. There was a little bit of dried mud on her dress.

"Yes. See, I hate it so, but this is urgent." Edwina told her.

Kate shifted her tray so it was resting on both their laps and Edwina began explaining.

"Mama was with a man. Some Baron Quinn."

Kate failed to see this issue, "Mama is making friends again. That is good. It is nice to know some people do not hold-"

"Not just any friend! She used to write to him! When they were children and he was Eton and he would write back." Edwina said, and Kate's eyes widened, "Exactly!"

Kate thought for a moment, sipping her tea and then passing Edwina the cup, "Amma has a childhood dalliance? How fascinating. Drink. You're cold."

"I think it is more than that. She looked at him..." Edwina sighed, drinking the tea, "She looked at him the way she does when she thinks of appa. But not as sad,"

Kate blinked several times and began to understand her sister's anxiety.

"Which is why you must come to the fete today. So that we may find out more and the nature of their relationship." Edwina said, having thought this over, "You are feeling less sick, yes? Mama said that the sickness should only last a few weeks."

"I thought you were against scheming?" Kate teased, "What happened to complete honesty?"

"Akka, needs must!"

"You have not eaten breakfast, have you?" Kate stated, and Edwina took a slice of toast, "Very well. We shall all come along and ensure this man has pure intentions for mama."

There was a knock at the door, and an annoyed Anthony walked in, "May I dress or am I to be banned?" He teased.

"Anthony, use my rooms," Kate sighed, "And ask Sophie to bring out my day dresses."

"Are you feeling better?" He checked, looking back and forth between the sisters

Kate narrowed her eyes on her sister, who looked very unapologetic, taking another slice of toast, "Apparently."

Edwina smiled sweetly at Anthony, "Anthony, do you know of Baron Quinn?" She asked.

"Only of him. But he is my father's age." Anthony said, and was very confused, "Are you-?"

"Not for me." Edwina rolled her eyes and looked at her sister, "Is he always this slow?"

"When he does not have the full information, yes!" Anthony snapped as Kate held back a laugh, and Edwina ignored his annoyance.

[your-enby-antihero]

I was recently thinking about the whole Ludinus situation in Cr3 rn and just imagining Beau and Caleb’s reactions to him leaving the empire without them knowing.

It started with a letter, a summons to Astrid’s tower. Caleb received it from one of her assistants after a class. When he had just dismissed a group of young humanoids with homework on “the ethics and use of charm person and other spells alike” a pale human with silvery blonde hair and deep green eyes slipped a note onto his desk.

“Master Beck requests Expositer Lionett and yourself at her tower immediately.”

Caleb took the letter in hand immediately and ran as fast as he could to the Rexxentrum archive of the Soul. He found Beau where he usually found her, in a stack of red string and legal papers. She taught new trainees of the Soul once a week but most of the time Beau was working at Caleb and her’s life’s work.

“Beau, Astrid has summoned us to her tower and I get the suspicion it has to do with the sudden absence in the Assembly,” he said out of breath, handing the letter for her to read.

The letter was mostly for show, telling the guards to let the two enter the premises, after they had successfully taken down two member of the Assembly most of the other Archmages did not appreciate their presence.

“Expositor, Professor,” Astrid said with a curt nodded, “It is good to see you are well. But to skip the pleasantries a bit. I should let you know that Ludinus has fled the country to Marquet on one of his little projects. I hear it has something to do with that cursed moon in the sky.”

Caleb, who was about to take a sip of whatever tea Astrid had served, had his cup knocked out of his grasp for a moment as Beau stood abruptly.

“Shit what is that bastard up to now? I’ll start the research on the moon if you can get the message out to the rest that we have a rat to catch.”

They thanked Astrid for the information and headed out. It seemed like The Mighty Nein needed to get back to business.

[ccmpletemess]

closed starter for @honeyedblossom ft. theodore parker & ( open )

Just one more page, Theo told himself as he sipped his tea, eyes dancing across the page of the novel he was currently reading. Ellie was sat in his lap, curled up asleep against his chest as he read. The two were waiting for Astrid, but as Theo finally tore his gaze from the book -- he realised someone was standing there. "...How long have you been stood there for?" He asked sheepishly.

[ungrateful-cyborg]

9. Is your OC laid back or do they thrive on drama? What role do they play in their group of friends/associates?

Also asked by @allyennah. Thank you both!

She loves drama... as long as it's not hers and it makes fun gossip. Where she's concerned, Astrid is more laid back and, frankly, too painfully shy to do anything dramatic.

If you annoy her too much, she might stand her ground in a professional setting—nothing like academic disagreement to forget you hate drawing attention on yourself—but in any other context, she'll flee at the first sign of drama.

Unless, like I said, she's only here to witness. Then she'll enjoy the show and sip her tea, both literally and figuratively.

As for the role she plays with her friends... Well, she's not the leader that's for sure. She tends to follow and participate but if anything she's perhaps more the Aunt Friend. Like, she's not gonna Mom you but she's here to listen and feed you some homemade cookies.

He's basically the extrovert who's gonna adopt every interesting introvert he can find, whether they're interested or not XD A'idan would love nothing more than having a big group of friends, but even though he's friendly and approachable and pretty chill overall, he's always had a hard time maintaining friendships.

Even with his latest group of friends, in fact. Two left, one called by her brother, the other by a mission that A'idan and Lian weren't allowed to join because they were considered too inexperienced as fighters. Not that it's deterred him from trying—that's how Lian and him ended up in Thavnair—but the point remains that once again, his friends left him behind.

Fortunately Lian stayed with him! But since he's now his boyfriend, that might explain the difference.

It's a sore point for A'idan, even if he doesn't let it show. He really just likes having a group of friends with him that he can hype up to do fun and (potentially dangerous) stuff with, and doesn't quite grasps what he does wrong to end up alone.

As for drama... No, thank you. Say what you mean and mean what you say, otherwise he's not interested and will tell you to get lost in no uncertain terms. He doesn't have much interest in gossips either, to be honest. There's too much to do to care about other people's private life!

GET TO KNOW THE OC

[losertriangles]

Astrid: Merlin broke his leg from Natural causes.

Jim: You pushed him off a roof.

Astrid: Gravity is natural.

Jim: …

Astrid: *Sips tea*