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fireemblems24 · 5 months

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Golden Wildfire Ch 14

Almost done guys. I can stick with it.

STORY

Oh no, The Empire is in danger. Anyways . . .

They're all shocked Edelgard is asking for help because she's putting her in debt to them.

Haha, they're considering just leaving her there and letting the Empire die. Lorenz came up with it. Based.

I know Claude will go bail her out, which is really stupid for a guy who claims he wants to end the war.

So . . . how does killing Rhea and sparing Edelgard cause the least amount of bloodshed? I knew that's what was going to happen, but it makes no sense. Claude even admitted he knows that Edelgard doesn't give a shit, she wants to conquer Rhea or no Rhea.

I really fail to see how on earth this is ending in 2 chapters. Unless Edelgard is so grateful to Claude she just gives up her ambitions? And Dimitri is equally OOC also suddenly gives a shit about what Claude thinks??

I've actually LOVED how they're written Edelgard and Dimitri in Hopes so far, and if GW ruins that with its shit writing I'm gonna be pissed.

Edelgard better not turn into some soft sissy who is all "oh, you saved me, Claude, now I'm going to play nice and make big eyes at you! Now that Rhea's dead and you did something nice, I'm going to give up the most core part of my character." Double gross if it's implied that she's flustered by his good looks.

And Dimitri better not not be pissed off that Claude invaded him for no reason and be like "You were so right, I wanted Rhea gone this whole time, thank you for saving me from her, please ignore Sylvain stewing in the corner, he'll just get over that you murdered his dad, just like I suddenly don't care how you murdered my citizens!"

If that happens, I'm calling this Claude's bizarre fanfic where he thinks his masterminded Edelgard and Dimitri so hard that now they're both hard for him no matter how OOC that makes them or how stupid Claude's been this whole time.

CAMP/SIDE MAPS

Haha, Shamir doesn't want to help the Empire. She wants revenge against them for the war with Dagda lol.

I don't think Holst has had an interesting thing to say in this entire game.

Oh yeah, I forgot. In GW and SB we're saving Bernie's father and helping him maintain religious power. Only in AG is he the enemy we're replacing. I swear, did nobody look at this and wonder if they made the Blue Lions unambiguously the only good guys?

Haha, right after I wrote this, some NPC was like wtf are we doing putting an Imperial noble in charge of the Monastery and religion?

Meanwhile, Lorenz is like, if we just let Edelgard die, the war ends right. But they must go save her because they're former classmates! For, like, a month! And Claude's like, Dimitri is too. And then crickets. I swear to God GW is borderline self-aware of how reaching and desperate the writing is to have Claude want to join the "I want to suck Edelgard's toes" gang for no logical reason.

Ouch, someone just compared Claude to Hubert. Like, I love Hubert, but he is NOT someone I want to be compared to.

I forget how boring GW is to play. Lorenz takes no damage from anything, so I just mash buttons. He isn't particularly strong either, so he's not nearly as fun to play as Dimitri and Hubert are with their ridiculous strength and magic stats, respectively.

So if I ever replay GW (lol, sure /s), I would def not pick Lorenz again. Lysithea seems like a way more fun character more suited for my play style but she's too far behind with class unlocks and etc . . .

Haha, Shez is like "if I ended up on another side, they would've been suspicious of my powers and thought I was an enemy" - side-eyeing Edelgard and SB.

Lamo, where did Claude get the idea that the church doesn't like people from other places or that aren't religious? Last time I checked, they didn't care?

Lamo, Shez is saying she might just leave Claude when the war ends. Same, Shez, same.

I had to fight Gustave :( And after that Sylvain :(

Guys, I'm feeding Claude recipes he dislikes. I've run out of supports to grind this round so . . .

I did the same to Holst too, because fuck you too, Holst

I'm giving my merc whistle to Lorenz. He basically did everything this route. And ohhhhh, he's right in front of Claude and Hilda too, haha. That means they're going to watch me give Lorenz a present and none for them.

And now to dump every stat boost on Lorenz too. I literally use no one else unless I absolutely have too. Hubert and Dimitri will get the same treatment. Probably also the 2 getting my merc whistle too. Which is hilarious since Hubert is pretty openly hostile to Shez.

SHEZ & CLAUDE A

It's funny. In SB, no one trusts Shez. In GW, Shez doesn't trust Claude. In AG, Shez . . . yep.

Wait, whut? Shez is like "we need to end the church to end the war." And Claude is like "right, because they they can try something again." My brother in Sothis, what the fuck? Did he just forget that Edelgard started the war? Rhea didn't do shit.

Also, didn't Claude say earlier he knows the church is just an excuse for Edelgard to make a land grab? Did he magically forget that?

SHEZ & BALTHUS B

Don't remember if I saw this yet.

Balthus wants to make a bet on battle. Shez doesn't want to.

Balthus likes to live on the edge and adding a bet makes battle more fun. Shez disagrees.

SHEZ & HAPI B

Still don't remember if I saw this or not. But it's another support about Shez's mysterious origins that go absolutely no where.

And I have a strong suspicion that we won't actually learn anything about who Shez really is unless her mom is like Arundel or something.

I think I may have seen this before. But Shez has more than one support like this so . . .

CLAUDE & MARIANNE A

Weird. They only have 1 support and its A.

Marianne gets a letter that implies that he wants Marianne to rule House Edmund and she's intimidated by it.

Claude shares that he worries too.

Claude says Marianne needs more resolve.

Sorry, that was boring as fuck.

CLAUDE & LYSITHEA A

Lysithea has a message from her father, who's taken maybe the worst beating in this game.

Her father doesn't want to complain, but to thank him for ending TWSITD chaos.

Poor House Ordelia really does get the shit end of the stick.

Claude is worry that Lysithea works too hard.

Lysithea doesn't really listen.

CLAUDE & LEONIE B

Their only support.

The crops of the territories that are at war are suffering because armies are trampling fields.

Common people are mad at Claude because of the battle making them starve.

Glad this game is acknowledging, even a little, how it's poor people who get screwed over the most when nobles bicker.

Leonie admits she could care less about this war. Which just make her not being in AG (so far) weirder. Since she's probably one of the one who cares the least.

This is more interesting than I thought it was going to be, because it's about how the commoners suffer in war, and how Claude needs a common born perspective. So that makes Edelgard the only one who never asks common born people what they want - and the one thinking she has the right to decide everything for them.

CLAUDE & CONSTANCE C

Claude is interested in Constance's experiments

Constance invented a spell that can change hair color and style, which Claude wants to use to escape but not to be her first test subject

She gives him a hard and sharp style, like literally - he complains, she's not happy

I don't know if she turned it back or not, if she didn't I'm tempted to not view their B so Claude is stuck with silly, awful hair for his final chapters because then his looks will match his clown behavior

HILDA & IGNATZ B

Hilda doesn't recognize Ignatz without his glasses on. So . . . she's an idiot?

Ignatz is basically blind without glasses, yet forgot where he put them. So . . . he's an idiot too?

Hilda thinks he's hot without his glasses. I . . . question her taste.

IGNATZ & HAPI C

Hapi finds his sketch book and there's a picture of her with cats in there, and she's disturbed that someone drew her without telling her

She figured out that it's him

She's mad he lied, but liked the picture

And . . . the Chicago Carolina game is more entertaining than that was (who may be the 2 worst teams in the NFL, for those who don't know)

SHEZ & IGNATZ A

Aw, that's sweet of Ignatz. He's like, we talk too much about me, talk about you!

And Shez teases him about a crush, lamo.

Shez only has 2 dream options: I don't know or easy going mercenary life

Ignatz asks Shez to be a bodyguard ones he's done being a knight and going after his dreams

Shez says she'll charge a lot lamo

Claude & Constance B

Oh, right, the hair magic stuff.

Constance doesn't appreciate his lack of enthusiasm

She turned his hair frizzy and uneven, lamo - like a bird's nest, and honestly, deserved Claude, you've sucked this route

He has a beard too

LORENZ & IGNATZ A

Their only support, weird.

Lorenz didn't make much of Ignatz when they meant, but now is impressed.

The improvement it because Ignatz is painting in his free time, helping his mental health

Lorenz feels bad because he realizes Ignatz wants to be an artist, not a knight, like he assumed

Ingatz is still grateful towards Lorenz for giving him a purpose after the school closed and he felt directionless

RAPHAEL & MARIANNE B

Bummed they only have 1 support. I like their chain in Houses.

Marianne can't get a horse to the stable bc it's sick (the horse told her, Raphael doesn't seem to care that a horse talked to Marianne)

Raphael offers to get the horse to the stable by putting it in a cart

He lifted it, Marianne is impressed, but now her horse can get the medicine and rest needed

Dumb horse ate bad fruit, honestly, accurate, they're all secretly pigs in horse-shaped bodies

Raphael . . . also eats rotten food. So, I guess Dimitri has competition for who has the most iron stomach

See, this was cute too. Marianne just feels naturally open with him

RAPHAEL & LEONIE A

They're out of arrows and surrounded by wolves

I think Raphael beat them back with her bow

He credits her for making such a strong bow (it didn't break)

So now Leonie will keep making bows until there's one Raphael can't break, and Raphael will keep working on muscles so he can keep breaking them

MARIANNE & YURI B

Oh, God, Yuri's always so mean to people in the beginning of support chains. I wonder how on earth this is going to go . . .

Yuri takes her off guard and asks questions, which just makes her more guarded and feel judged.

Marianne assumes he hates animals and herself. Because she saw Yuri glaring at her once. Girl, you have issues, but I love you.

Understandably, Yuri's a bit confused.

Marianne keeps assuming things are her fault and apologizing, and Yuri keeps getting more and more annoyed until she runs off.

A lot of this support felt pretty random, but let's see where A goes.

MAIN BATTLE

This battle is titled . . . salvation. You know, that may be the most clever bit of writing in GW so far (as in the ONLY clever writing)

Haha, Edelgard is surrounded by the Kingdom and Rhea.

Even Holst is like, are you sure about this Claude?

I really don't understand the logic of rescuing Edelgard if Claud doesn't want war. Like, Claude acknowledged that Edelgard only used Rhea as an excuse for expansionism. He knows she's just going to find another excuse for war, so all he's doing is making her enemies weaker.

Ok, that's enough. I forget that applying any sort of logic to this plot line is pointless.

Cut scene is cool though. Lamo, is this like the 5th time Edelgard needed someone to rescue her in this game? She looked really pathetic in cut scenes in this game. Like, I don't even like her, and I'm annoyed because one of the things I did like was her being a bit of a badass, not always needing saving from Shez, Byleth, from assassins all the time, etc . . .

Guys, there's a save Monica side quest. Should I just . . . not? You know what? I'm going to have fun with this. I want to see what happens.

Fuck, Ingrid appeared :(

And now they want me to save Bernie's dad. This chapter is really "rescue the most fucking annoying characters" and "kill the best ones."

Thank FUCK, she retreated this time. I wouldn't been livid if they made me kill her twice for no reason.

OMG, again, lamo, Edelgard is useless this chapter. She keeps getting caught. That's the 3rd time in 1 chapter she's needed to get her ass saved by Claude and co.

Now I have to fight Dedue :( He's better not fucking die. This route isn't worth it. Edelgard called him Dimitri's most loyal retainer though.

Oh, thank God, he retreated.

Now I'm going to have to fight Dimitri, I'm sure :( I'm really fucking glad Lorenz can't take damage. I'd be shitting myself otherwise. He better retreat too.

Why can't we let Edelgard die, Claude? Wouldn't that fix all the problems?

Oh, Rhea! Fighting Rhea will actually be a little cool, since you never get to see her or use her.

Dimitri retreated at least.

WTF Claude? "I'm just determined to see what the world would look like without you." Idk, maybe Almyra??? The writers really gave Claude nothing with that line lamo.

Took Rhea out. She retreated too.

Now Byleth is here and I think she's dying for good this time. Feel a bit bad about not recruiting her. Claude doesn't deserve Byleth's support on this route, but she doesn't deserve to die either.

Cut scene time. I wonder what's considered more cannon, recruiting Byleth or not?

Also, isn't it thematic that you kill Sothis on routes where you oppose Rhea and side with Edelgard?

Arval's way too happy about this, lamo. Shez is bummed. Honestly, I think I ship Shez with Byleth the most.

Edelgard was so lame this chapter.

Claude tries rubbing it in Edelgard's face that she owes him, and she threatens not to honor the debt. Like, Claude, my boy, if this person is willing to turn on you because you teased her . . . that isn't an ally you want, but whatever.

Claude is like, can we not destroy Faergus. Edelgard's like, no.

"We never spared a thought for Dimitri's motivation." Uh, how about "stop killing my people you bloodthirsty idiots." Also, not surprised. These two really are idiots. They can't fathom why Dimitri's . . . defending himself.

Claude sounds so pathetic in this chapter. He's like, sooooo desperate to be like, remember I did you a favor, Edelgard, remember! Like she gives a single shit, lamo.

#golden wildfire #fire emblem #fire emblem three hopes #three hopes #three hopes spoilers #golden wildfire spoilers

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mignonricciardo · 2 years

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intro + masterlist

hello! I'm em, and welcome to my little space where I let everything in my silly little brain come to life :) I write mainly motorsport works, but there are some fics I love too much to go unpublished. learn a little bit more about me and access my masterlist⬇️

about me:

I'm american, but my family is from france so I speak french and a bit of Italian and spanish (these two might be a stretch)

I love most sports including f1, indycar, soccer/football, rugby and even american football

some of my favorite f1 drivers are daniel, mick, pierre, carlos, charles, lando and seb (but really I support most of them)

I also love books and reading and music <3

masterlist:

a one sentence summary is below each fic. for a longer summary, please check link of the original post.

as a note, I am an adult, so most of my work typically contains allusions to adult themes and/or adult themes. I will try to tag all of my work appropriately, but please be sure to check the more specific tags in each individual fic for specific mature content.

fics containing smut are denoted with a ★

motorsport/formula 1

DANIEL RICCIARDO

things have changed since the last yearly visit to the winter beach house, but if there's one thing that hasn't, it's the magnetism between callie o'connor and her best friend daniel. with an unspoken history and the urge to navigate their changing lives, the two bring the crew back together for one more winter at the house. is this the august trip that truly changes everything?

simply the best | pt. 2 (★)

dan has covid in bahrain, and you come down with it, too.

LANDO NORRIS

holiday jitters

the aftermath of two friends hiding their feelings sharing a drunken kiss.

taking care of him

taking care of lando during and after the spanish gp.

medicine

lando wakes up sick before the brazil gp and he knows just the medicine he needs

CHARLES LECLERC

pancakes for dinner

charles has pre-race jitters, and only he won't feel better until he admits something.

stuck in my brain

following the French GP, charles searches for comfort from his best friend.

CARLOS SAINZ

surprise, surprise | pt. 2

family vacation, holiday around the corner, unexpected pregnancy. what could go wrong?

LEWIS HAMILTON

compromised (★)

sneaking around mercedes team settings hasn't always been easy, especially when you're caught in a compromising position.

massages (★)

lewis is sore after a long day of testing, and you've got just the remedy.

PIERRE GASLY

sore loser

you've just lost the champions league, and your favorite boy is a call away.

comfort

pierre helps with your chronic illness, assuring that you haven't ruined vacation.

LANCE STROLL

self-control (★)

lance is injured but has little self control when it comes to you.

après ski (★) [written and social au]

lance has some ideas for how your trip's après ski should look. too bad his future brother-in-law has different ideas.

MICK SCHUMACHER

dim lights, thick smoke (★)

mick heads to the bar with his sister's best friend. tomfoolery ensures involving a certain cowboy fashion statement.

FELIPE DRUGOVICH

a helping hand (★)

a certain conversation with your best friend leads to him teaching you a few things

MAX FEWTRELL

secret's out

you don't realize max is on stream so you let you some words fly.

3 AM (★)

drunken nights in Ibiza followed by 3 a.m. texts. what could happen?

F1 DRIVERS

formula one drivers as romance tropes pt. 1

formula one drivers as romance tropes pt. 2

other fics

CHRISTIAN PULISIC

home for the holidays

christian is a little homesick for the holidays. you have a plan for that.

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW

can't take my eyes off you

a long history with rooster comes to a head when you're brought back to top gun.

take my breath away (★)

rooster will do anything to make sure you first date happens, no matter the circumstances. [part 2 to can’t take my breath away]

tag list

if you want added to my tag list, shoot me a message! just let me know who exactly you want to be added on to :)

#mignonmclaren #masterlist #mignonricciardo

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cherryfennec · 5 months

Note

Hey I been thinking how would a au of Mr l joining the heroes would look like?

Hiya! There actually have already been some posts and even a fic considering this topic, which I'll link below! As for my perspective, we'll have to start at the obvious stuff.

When could Mr.L join the heroes?

We have 2 glorious encounters with The Green Thunder, one in the Whoa Zone and the other in the Sammers Kindgdom. These are really the only times he'd have a chance of changing sides. If we go with the Whoa Zone, Mr.L gets to go on around two adventures, if we go with the second option he'd only get join the heroes for one trip to Flipside.

Would Mr.L join the heroes willingly?

Well yes, and no. So Nastasias brainwashing isn't really explained but we as a community have agreed that she basically has to ability to sort through and remove whatever memories she sees as unimportant. She can also add behaviours and forge events as she sees fit so they remain utmost dazed. During the cutscene before Chapter 6 we see that Mr.L, despite being 'disciplined', is able to rebel which means there is potential.

With these two questions answered we have the possibilities of:

The heroes decide to take Mr.L by force back to the Flipside in Chapter 4. Basically they fight, catch him by the scruff and drag him away. Once back they could try to convince him to switch sides. My favourite continuation of this would probably be that he declines, and since they can't just leave him at Merlons they just tie him around the waist to Mario so he doesn't run. In shorter terms: they drag the chihuahua around on a leash. I just think the picture would be funny. He'd have to learn to cooperate with Mario in battle so they don't die. He could slowly question his current beliefs and change his mind over the span of the small adventures but by the time he'd be ready to fully switch he meets his and the heroes canon demise.

If you'd want to see a more detailed scenario where he does actually agree to join Mario, Peach and Bowser I can recommend you:

The Mr.L Hero AU made by brendathedoodler that takes place after the battle in the Whoa Zone and is based on that specific idea. They've made some art posts, writing work and even a short comic for it. Here's one:

https://www.tumblr.com/brendathedoodler/702687904346030080/hi-about-your-mrl-au-thing-what-would-tippis

The second possibility is they get to the next battle with Mr.L in the ruined kingdom and do a similiar thing from there. Maybe they didn't know it was Luigi during the first battle but by the time they realised he had already ran off, so they want to use this second chance. Now again it's either take back by force or convince with a good argument.

I'm going to be honest though, I think there is one great, already existing portrayal of this scenario. And it's all written in:

'Grey Lies', a fic by SnowyFrostShadow that takes place after the battle in the destroyed Sammers Kindom.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43425892/chapters/109168240

I think it went with the best route when it comes to getting Mr.L to join the good side at that point in the story. It could use some small tweaking but I think it's a good read, at least I enjoy it!

I hope I managed to answer your question. I maybe could try to go into more detail with the first one but I think this about covers the general idea.

#spm #super paper mario #askbox

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gardensofthemoon · 1 month

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20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by the lovelies @ettelene and @tilion-writes, many thanks! Sorry for the late response, been busy with real life commitments.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 10

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 38,319 words

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently, Silmarillion and MDZS/The Untamed, though I haven't posted anything yet for the latter.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Fëanor posts on r/amitheasshole

Capodopera

Family Dinner

Immortal Longings

uprooting

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, always! And I ramble a lot.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hm. I write quite a bit of angst, and I can think of at least three fics of mine with sad endings, but I think Cardinal takes the cake. It's a bleak end, miserable, made even more so by the relative tenderness of the main story.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably Fëanor posts on r/amitheasshole, because it's crack. Nobody dies; is that the low bar for a happy ending in the silm fandom?

8. Do you get hate on fics? So far none, but I expect to get some in the future as I want to write about darker themes. And I'm mentally preparing for posting in a new fandom that's known for its toxicity.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes, and I plan on writing more! I love shipfic, I love romance, this is the main genre I read in fanfic, so. If I had to classify my style of smut, I'd say it veers into porn with feelings territory. The main sentiment behind my writing, behind all my writing, smutty or not, is yearning. What intrigues me is what the characters are feeling, their thought process, building the tension and portraying their dynamic. I don't think I can write smut just for the sake of smut - and there are so many facets of the characters' personalities that can be explored through their kinks, their bedroom attitude, their emotions and insecurities. Also, I write slash, though I'd like to try my hand at femslash as well.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? No, but I've thought about it. The logistic aspect of it ruins the fun, unfortunately.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not yet.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Not sure if they can be considered "all-time" favourites since I got into fandom less than a year ago, but the ships I'm completely obsessed with are Curufin/Finrod for the silm fandom and Jiang Cheng/Wei Wuxian for mdzs/cql.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My Curufinrod in Valinor fic that I talked about on here. It's a long project and I'm used to writing one-shots, so I keep telling myself I'd work on it and post it once it's finished. Not sure when or if that will happen.

16. What are your writing strengths? Story concepts, comedic timing, eliciting emotions. Prose if I'm feeling confident.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I am always obsessing over sentence structure, conveying tone, and word choice. English not being my native language doesn't help either. Technicalities aside, probably dialogue and longer story arcs.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Ambivalent.

19. First fandom you wrote for? The Silmarillion! Best fandom.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? The second chapter of Capodopera (which is composed of two mirroring one-shots). I think I managed to write precisely the story that I set out to; I'm pleased with everything about it, from the prose to the characterisation, to the escalation and the power shift, to the smut scene. And it doesn't hurt that it's the most self-indulgent thing I've written for my silm otp.

I'd like to tag two of my favourite writers @crackinthecup and @tobermoriansass, I'd be super curious to read your answers!

#tumblr games #fanfic #elio writes

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whatwewrotepodcast · 3 months

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WIP Introduction

Okay! Probably about time to actually introduce some of our writing projects, right?

Pride and Prejudice in Space (Working title)

What?

PPiS is a just-for-fun queer enemies to lovers scifi story. This thing is massive and goes on for ages. It's got no novel structure and is basically what would happen if you turned the Bold and the Beautiful into a written text and also it was gay and in space. I will be posting chapters from PPiS on the blog, so keep your eye out for them!

PPiS follows the adventures of the crew of the space freighter Idalia, as they attempt to run a shipping business while being hunted across the galaxy by the corrupt Andromeda Alliance. It's silly, it's messy and it's super queer. Don't come to PPiS for structure and a clear narrative arc - it's more a long running monster of the week style!

Chapter 1 - Theo

Chapter 1 - Onyx

Chapter 2 - Theo

Chapter 2 - Onyx

Chapter 3 - Theo

Chapter 3 - Onyx

Chapter 4 - Theo

Who?

The Main Cast

Theodotus Wolfe

Theo is an ex-Alliance pilot who was quietly discharged from service for seeing something he shouldn't have. Having grown up in poverty and disadvantage on the poor, over populated planet of Therus, Theo has a keen sense of justice and a dry, understated sense of humour. He lacks charisma, but is intelligent and brave, even if he comes across as a bit overly stoic and stiff. He's tall, at 6'3, and of distant Greek descent, with olive skin and dark, curly hair. After leaving the Alliance, Theo bought the Idalia with the intention of a quiet retirement running supplies across the galaxy. It . . doesn't really turn out that way.

Onyx Calladan (Rathbone)

Onyx was born into the extreme privilege of being the daughter and heir of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy - the CEO of Calladan Industries, a technology and weapons manufacturer who sold their technology almost exclusively to the Alliance. The Calladans are richer than god, but Onyx, who identifies as non-binary and only ever wanted to be a mechanic, never fit in. They fled their wealthy home and set up a quiet starship mechanic business on a distant station, where things were going great until a certain Alliance captain ruined their entire reputation. Onyx is wickedly intelligent, fiercely loyal, and a bit of a jerk sometimes, but they are also plagued by intense anxiety and PTSD from their upbringing. They're average height, a little stocky, with tanned skin. They wear their hair short, with shaved sides, and dye it a vivid shade of indigo.

Pantheras Wolfe

Pan is Theo's little brother. Having grown up amongst the abuse and and poverty of Therus as well, Pan had a difficult childhood and a harder adolescence after Theo joined the Alliance and he was left largely to his own devices. Pan covers his uncertainty and fearfulness with bravado and charm. He's sweet, kind, generous and friendly, outgoing and charming in a way his brother can never be, but he's also fragile and easily rattled. He relies on his brother and doesn't cope well without him. Pan is tall like his brother, but with none of his musculature, giving him a stringbean appearance. He wears his hair longer, showing his natural ringlets.

Ellis Grey

Ellis is an orphan who was found in a garbage bin in the slums of Ceres. When the orphanage was closed by the Alliance, Ellis was turned out onto the street due to being deaf in one ear, making him unfit for military service. He survived through a combination of resourcefulness, savagery and sex work, and eventually turned to a life of crime, through which he learnt to be an excellent hacker and pilot. As an adult, Ellis took to piracy, conning freighters out of their cargo to sell on the black market. Ellis, belying his upbringing, is camp, exuberant, eloquent and urbane. He has dark skin, black kinky hair, and a wide, winning smile. He dresses extravagantly, and loves bold colours.

The Second Coming Trilogy (Revelation, Anarchy, and The Second Coming)

What?

The Second Coming Trilogy is a modern fantasy set in Brooklyn, New York. Loosely based on the poem of the same name by W.B Yeats, it tells the story of a human girl and her two Fallen Angel allies as they attempt to prevent the second coming - the rising of the son of the devil to take his place on earth. Originally this was a YA story, but subsequent re-writes have landed on a more adult tone. We've been working on this story for well over 10 years, with many iterations. Once it was one book! But it got way too long and had to be split into three. We're currently doing edits and re-writes on book 2, Anarchy, and are querying publishers with book 1, Revelation.

Who?

The Main Cast

Merry: Merry is a human girl who was born with the Sight. This ability allows her to see through glamours and lies, but also often gets her into trouble. She's spent most of her life trying to ignore it and the things she sees, but one night she sees something she shouldn't have, and becomes embroiled in the hidden world of angels and demons. Merry is caucasian, dark brown hair and dark eyes, and has a slight, athletic build (she was a gymnast in her younger years). She's head strong, stubborn, and doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

Ith: Ithuriel is a recently fallen arc angel. Once the Angel of Truth, Ithuriel fell prey to the sin of wrath and was thrown down from Heaven, his wings torn from his back and his divinity stripped away. Having been on earth for a mere few months, Ithuriel is still filled with his righteous desire to root out and punish evil wherever he finds it. He has been hunting the faction of Demons that Merry falls afoul of, and takes her under his wing to protect her. Ithuriel is 6'3, with a broad, strong build. He has fair skin and wavy golden hair, his features sculpted and harsh, and he has bright golden eyes, though he routinely glamours himself to look more human and less otherworldly.

Belial: Belial is also a Fallen, but he fell during the first great battle between the followers of Lucifer and those who remained true to Heaven. As such, Belial is a Prince of Hell, though he long since abandoned the regions of Hell to live on earth, where he has been for thousands of years. Belial walks a careful line between self preservation and his fondness for humanity, but his outlook on the world is grim and pessimistic. He's got tanned skin covered in a thousand years of scars, with deep maroon hair and eyes, and sculpted features just like Ithuriel's, though he is a little broader and stronger. Belial's glamours are particularly strong and there are few on earth who knows what he really looks like.

The Antagonists

Moloch: Moloch is a Duke of Hell and a Demon. Long corrupted by the evil in his heart, his physical being has become corrupted in the same way. One of the first lieutenants of the coming apocalypse, Moloch also runs a series of clubs throughout Brooklyn that cater to hardcore human clubbers amongst the demons who patronise them. To humans, Moloch is a thin, slight, suave middle aged white man with slicked back black hair and a pinstriped suit. To those who can See, he appears as a rotting skeleton, scraps of putrid flesh clinging to pitted bones.

Astoreth: Princess of Hell, Keeper of the Gate. Astoreth is the daughter of Lucifer, a creature of pure evil. She is the Princess of Hell, come to earth to pave the way for her brother. Astoreth is petty, proud, vain and cruel. Half snake, half woman, with long dark hair and skin that has an iridescent sheen, Astoreth is hunting Merry with all of her considerable resources, aware she could be the key to her plans.

Mammon: Son of Lucifer. Spoilers ;)

#WIP intro #writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #am writing #writer #write #writers #writing community #writeblr community #writeblr intro #writing on tumblr

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lady-of-the-spirit · 1 month

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tagged by @goldheartedchaoticdisaster thank you bestie ❤❤❤

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

55!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

183,074

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The short answer is basically "whichever one I'm feeling".

the longer answer is: Arata the Legend, the MCU (specifically my own OC content and Eternals), Good Omens, The Old Guard, The Wicked + The Divine, A Discovery of Witches/All Souls Trilogy, Doctor Who, Ted Lasso (in theory, so far) and like... other stuff I can't think of right now that I haven't published but still write for, and other stuff I have written fics for but wouldnt say I "write" for the fandom.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Okay

Rotten Work

Ethereal

First Word

everybody wants someone (i want to be somebody)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! Or I try to - I try to respond to every comment people leave, even if it's only a heart emoji or a 'thank you'. Because I want to show them I see them and appreciate them!!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Toss up between "no home sweet and no sweet home" with Joan having to run away from an abusive household in the middle of the night to a life of just constant running and loneliness she's not emotionally prepared for after having a relatively normal life and "my heart is a stone, my body is not my own" with Yataka dealing with years of blackmail, sexual assault and noncon suddenly being exposed to everyone by one of his abusers and just refusing to talk about it at all and rejecting the (admittedly flawed) attempt at comfort shown to him (points for being a fic I wanted to end with comfort and instead became my first hurt/no comfort).

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It's hard to choose but I'm gonna say probably First Word (link above) because. I mean how does it get better than Human!Ten, Donna and Jenny being a little family together and Jenny's first word being Donna's name and Ten being absolutely in love with his girls-

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh I did like, back when I was 13. My ATLA OC fic got cyberbullied by some dude on tumblr, who copy&pasted whole chapters of my fic and then would go through the chapter and add shitty comments.

The only good thing about that situation was that he even added a whole post to express his confusion that all the comments on my fic were positive. everyone else was loving it. and then he apparently needed to ruin me and left his own comment telling me he was reviewing my fic. which of course led to a shock and some hurt feelings but uh, seeing him annoyed at everyone else liking the fic helped lmao now I can look back on it with amusement like what was going on with that guy that he felt the need to harass a 13 year old.

I also got another comment on the same fic accusing me of plagiarizing their fic and OC because both my oc and hers could bend 2 elements and had sort of similar names and when I went to read her fic it was so completely different from my own I had to LAUGH.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've attempted it a few times but I really don't know what I'm doing with it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've never written a whole crossover - I admit I did start an au fic where all different studio ghibli characters were in the story of Anastasia the movie, but it did not get super far before I stopped.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

luckily no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but if anyone ever asked I wouldn't say no!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Oh my god.... I mean as hard as it is to choose it's gotta be TenDonna. like platonically, romantically, a secret third thing, they are amazing together and I love them so much.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I try to never say I'll never finish a fic, but there's one for certain I don't think I'll ever finish, Prince Mononoke - a role swap au of Princess Mononoke. I was writing it for years and had my grandma proofread every chapter before publishing. I put it on hiatus for years, but then she died, and it didn't feel right to keep going.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I feel I write dialogue really well. I try my best to hit the right voice for every character and I think I do a good job at it. And honestly it's hard for me to not write dialogue like half the time I'm like can you guys shut up already and progress the plot with actions instead-

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not as poetic as I'd like to be, I guess. Like. some writers are just fucking masters with words and I feel like I'm stammering. I'm also not super confident in writing romance - like, pining, or friendly relationship with a splash of romance for fun? I've got that. Actual romantic relationships? Not so much.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

If I do, I use google translate and hope for the best, but usually I don't. Ethereal has a lot of Canadian French in it because Marianne is from Quebec, but I use my sister (a French Immersion student) as my translator.

I mean I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Like, use the best translator website you can find and hope for the best.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

If we want to get really technical it was for The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, before I even knew fanfic was a thing. If we want to be specific to published fic, it was Avatar the Last Airbender.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

UGHHHH HOW DO I CHOOSE

honestly I have no way to choose. So I'm simply not going to lol

tagging: @dani-luminae @sighonaraa @altschmerzes @jamietarttsnorthernattitude @fallenangelontheceiling @vinatintasupernovita @strangelock221b @mousedetective @linguini17 and like, anyone who wants to do this!!!! it's fun :)

#tag game

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karahalloway · 8 months

Text

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: It's the morning after the night before, and Drake does some reminiscing...

Word Count: 3,500

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, awkwardness, references to masturbation, obsessive-compulsive drinking)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This was not what I was supposed to be working on 🙈 My plan was to finish up Part 3 of Thanksgiving so it could be my submission for this year's Flufftober, but - as per usual - my brain (and my characters - thank you, Walker!) had other ideas, so here we are 😅

A/N2: I had 90% of this chapter written before the start of the summer, but then my inspiration kinda fizzled out, and I only finished it very recently. I was then umming-and-ahhing about whether to wait to post until the next part was also finished, or whether to split the content into two chapters. I went with the latter. Next chapter should be posted soon, though! Thanks for bearing with me! We're almost at the end (I know I keep saying this, but I can officially see the light at the end of the tunnel now!)

Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

My eyes snap open.

And just like that, I'm back on top of the hotel room bed, staring up at the ceiling, my hand wrapped around my still-pulsing dick.

Fuck.

I've never tripped out like that before.

Sure, I've dived down the rabbit-hole of a fantasy or two before. I mean, what guy hasn't? You're not gonna jack off staring at your own schlong, and if porn isn't available, you're gonna make up your own.

But to lose myself in the warren of make-believe so completely? To the point where the line between fact and fiction dissolves and I've lost all sense of direction?

Never.

Though I guess I now know what The Matrix feels like...

As if to evidence the point, I feel the end-results of my feverish daydream slide down my hip.

I swallow a groan. Great...

Yet another reason why I'd wanted to avoid flying solo. Because in addition to the sour taste in your mouth, you're always left with a God-awful mess to clean up... Especially if you hadn't had the foresight to grab a towel beforehand.

Which leaves me with an unenviable choice: make an awkward dash to the bathroom while trying (and most likely failing) to contain the dog's breakfast sitting in my lap; or repurpose something to act as an impromptu rag...

...though one downwards glance quickly narrows my options.

Definitely Option 2.

Unclenching my cum-covered hand from my junk, I carefully balance on an elbow as I reach up to grab the collar of my t-shirt. Because given the extent of the damage, there's no way I'm making it to the sink without some serious casualties.

And I'd rather sacrifice the shirt off my back than the one pair of jeans I'm going to have to travel back home in.

Decision made, I pull the t-shirt over my head, lowering myself carefully back against the headboard so I don't accidentally capsize my payload onto the covers. Because that's definitely not something that I have in me to deal with tonight.

Scrunching the cotton up, I wipe my hand before reach down to begin cleaning myself up...

...and nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of the loud rap on the door.

"Room service...!"

"Shit!" I cuss under my breath, tossing the ruined t-shirt onto my duffle while grabbing for my jeans as I roll of the bed.

Yanking the denim up as my bare feet hit the floor, I quickly secure the fly and top button with one hand while scrambling for my wallet with the other. "Two secs!"

Locating the well-worn, hand-stitched leather on the bedside table, I flip it open and extract a couple of notes for the tip. Throwing the wallet back onto the bed, I do one last visual sweep to make sure that everything was kosher before—

Knock-knock-knock!

"I said I'm coming!" I holler back, wrenching my belt through its buckle as I make my way across the room.

Sweet Jesus! Hold your fuckin' horses already!

Reaching the entranceway, I snap an irate hold on the door handle. Wrenching it back, I come face-to-face with the impatient staff member who's gearing up for yet another round of aggressive knocking.

"Oh!" she exclaims in surprise, her fake-lash enhanced eyes going wide. "I—"

"No need to wake the whole damn neighbourhood..." I tell her tersely. "I said I was coming."

She flushes scarlet, not quite knowing where to look. "Sorry... The... umm... the doors are sound-proofed, so I... I couldn't—"

"Never mind," I grunt, pulling the door wider so she could wheel the food in.

She stares at me like a newborn calf seeing a fence for the first time.

I quirk a brow. This girl high, or something?

But just as I'm about to open my mouth to say something, she snaps out of whatever trance she's stumbled into and quickly refocuses her attention on the task at hand.

Stepping back, she reverses the service cart slightly so she can angle it into the room...

...and she still manages to hit the door frame on the way in.

The contents of the trolley jerk with a loud rattle and I have to snap a hand out to save the bottle of whiskey from crashing onto the floor.

"Christ alive..." I mutter under my breath.

"Oh, my God!" she gasps, face going red. "I am so s—!"

"I'll take it from here," I tell her, throwing the whiskey under my arm as I snatch the clonche-covered tray off the trolley while it was still in one piece.

"But—"

"Thanks," I say firmly, holding the tip up with an uncompromising look.

She glances at the notes almost morosely before reaching out to take them with a sigh. "Is there anything—?"

"Nope," I say, moving to close the door back 'round. "I'm good."

"Okay..." She heaves a breath as she begins to pull the cart back into the corridor. "Well, if you change your—"

"I won't," I assure her, flicking the door closed as soon as she's cleared the threshold.

Jesus... Talk about incompetent.

Retracing my steps, I deposit the tray onto the bed and reach for the whiskey under my arm.

Unscrewing the top, I tip the bottle back, not bothering with a glass from the mini bar.

The sweet sting of the amber liquid hits the back of my throat, and I suck it down, feeling the familiar warmth snake its way through my insides.

God, I needed that.

I take two more generous swallows — after the shit way the second half of the night had ended up unfolding, I'm seriously overdue some Southern comfort — before pulling the bottle back down and re-attaching the cap.

Chucking the bourbon onto the covers, I detour to the bathroom to wash my hands properly before sitting down on the edge of the bed and lifting the clonche.

The smell of grilled meat and salted carbs plumes out into the room, and my stomach growls in response.

Fuck, I'm starving.

Grabbing the burger with both hands, I tear into it viciously. The smoky flavour of the beef hits my tongue, followed quickly by the creaminess of the melted cheddar, and the tang of the pickles.

And even though it's not quite as good as the one I had back at the dive bar, that doesn't stop me from wolfing down another ravenous bite before the first one's cleared my gullet.

Because given how hard my body's craving the calories, even a tub of caviar would've tasted like ambrosia right now... And I fuckin' hate caviar.

Gulping the mouthful down, I grab a handful of fries and throw 'em down the hatch as well, barely pausing to chew before I swallow.

This ain't a high society dinner, so fuck table-manners.

Chowing down on the food like it's my last meal on Earth, I polish off the plate in record time, even wiping up the wayward bits of relish that had escaped the bun with last couple of fries...

...and am rewarded with a loud belch for my efforts.

I scoff. Probably shouldn't've eaten so quick...

But what's done is done. And my body sure as hell feels the better for it.

Sucking my fingers clean, I reach for the bourbon again. Taking another swig — much more measured this time — I drop the clonche back into the now empty plate and move the tray onto the upholstered bench that sat at the foot of the bed.

Glancing down at my watch, I can see that it's just coming up to 5am.

Which means that dawn's right around the corner.

I glance briefly at the bed.

But I know there's no point.

Because as exhausted as I am, I know I'm never gonna be able to nod off. Not this close to departure time. I'll just be staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes 'til my alarm rings.

Especially since the sun's about to come up. And when that happens, there's no way in hell I'm catching any shut-eye. My circadian rhythms are too well-tuned for that.

So, closing the bourbon back up again, I push myself heavily up from the bed. Making my way over to my duffle for the third time tonight, I extract my last wearable shirt.

Pulling it on, I grab my phone — no urgent messages or missed calls, thank fuck! Though the battery's on the verge of dying...

But it's gonna have to suck it up in power-saver mode. Because I only have a handful of self-imposed fiats that I live my life by. And top of the list is never leave anywhere without my phone.

Ever.

I learnt that lesson the hard way...

And I'm not about to break my cardinal rule. Especially not after Chris' disappearing act last night.

So, dropping the device into my pocket, I reach for my sidearm — another thing I never go anywhere without. Slotting it into the back of my jeans, I grab the keycard and exit the room again, not bothering with shoes.

I'm not plannin' on being gone long. And my feet could do with a break after racking up some serious miles over the past 24 hours in my boots. Plus, it feels good to let my soles run free — especially since I can't go for my usual barefoot run on the beach here.

But given that I have nothing better to do, and the TV had let me down earlier, I may as well take advantage of this brief moment of calm to do something that I actually enjoy.

Making my way up onto the roof — via the lift this time because I'm in no particular rush and I've already more than surpassed my daily step count — I push the door open and step into the twilight.

As expected, the roof is empty.

The lights of the skyscrapers twinkle in the distance, the buzz of the traffic merely a faint drone at this height.

Making my way over to the eastern corner of the building, I park myself next to the edge...

...and wait for the sunrise.

At first, nothing happens. The dark of the night sits heavily over the island, seeming to muffle the normally inexhaustible energy of the City That Never Sleeps.

But slowly... ever so slowly, the sky begins to lighten. And the wind shifts. From the depths of the evening's humid, slightly stale breeze comes a fresh, easterly gust that carries the soft scent of the sea with it.

It whips over me, cutting through the thin material of my shirt. But I don't flinch. If anything, I lean into it, savouring the faint taste of salt on my skin.

The black of the horizon gives way to blue and then to grey as the rising sun pushes the darkness back. Spots of colour appear — gold, russet and magenta, framing the clouds like a backlight.

And as I watch, the first tendrils of brilliance start to creep over the buildings, setting the acres of glass on fire. The wind begins to warm, bringing with it the promise of tomorrow...

...until the sun finally bursts into view, scorching the Big Apple in the blaze of the new dawn.

I heave a deep breath of the crisp morning air.

This. This'd been worth staying up for.

The last vestiges of tension drain out of my shoulders as I simply stand, taking in the view...

...and realise that I can't remember the last time I stopped to just enjoy the moment. Be it a hot mug of coffee, or the breeze on my face. Let alone the silent beauty of a perfect sunrise.

I exhale heavily.

I've been so caught up planning every aspect of this trip — not to mention the details of the social season with Bast — that I haven't even had time to think about taking a break, let alone catching one.

It's probably why I—

"Couldn't sleep either?"

I scoff at the sound of the familiar — and not entirely unexpected — voice from behind me. "Nope."

"Jet lag still?" asks Chris, coming to stand next to me.

"Probably," I shrug, keeping my gaze turned towards the horizon. "You?"

He heaves a breath as he surveys the sunrise. "Bit of jet lag as well, I suppose..."

I glance over at him.

We both know that ain’t the whole truth. Just like neither of us are under any illusion that my answer hadn’t been completely honest either. But we've known each other long enough that neither of us feels the need to press the issue.

So, it goes unsaid that I'm fully aware of the fact that Chris' sleepless nights are caused by the looming spectre of the social season, which has been haunting him for the past year. And, with just one day to go, that spectre's about to transform into a living nightmare.

And there's nothing that either of us can do about it.

Because the die has been cast — by forces outside of our control — and both of us are now stuck on the proverbial highway to hell with no exit ramps in sight.

And I hate that feeling of helplessness. Not just on my part — though it grates on me no end that I can't save my brother from his predetermined fate — but on his part as well. Because even though Chris wears the mask of obligation like a second skin, he can't hide the fact that he's shitting a brick.

At least not from me.

Because despite all his years of diplomacy training, we've played enough poker together for me to know that behind that stoic façade, he's terrified. Terrified of the weight of his inherited duty, terrified of falling short of expectations, terrified of ending up on the same error-ridden path that his dad had trod.

But, most importantly, he's terrified of making the wrong choice. Because even though he knows each and every one of the suitors who'll be competing for his hand, that knowledge doesn't make things easier.

In fact, just the opposite.

Because regardless of what each woman brings to the table in terms of money, ability, or allegiances — a dizzying and convoluted cost-benefit calculation at the best of times — the fact remains that none of them are really in this competition for him. They're in it for the Crown. Which means each option's just as relative as the next. As none of the women actually care about Chris. They just want the title of Queen. Or rather, their families do. For the bragging rights.

Except maybe Livy. She's arguably the only suitor who's putting her name in the hat because she actually wants Chris for himself. And couldn't care less about the social promotion.

Too bad she's a class A bitch.

Not that any of that matters. Because the hunt for the next Queen isn't about love, or what people want, or any of the rest of that touchy-feely crap. It's about what's best for the kingdom...

...irrespective of what's best for Chris. Now, tomorrow, or twenty years down the line.

As he's just as much of a pawn — if not more so — as the women competing for his hand. And unlike Leo, he doesn't have the luxury of flipping the system the bird and calling bull on the whole fucked up exercise. Because there’s no one else to fall back on. It’s him, or nothing.

So, it's small wonder he's been burning the candle at both ends, trying to avoid being alone with the weight of his thoughts.

Hell, if I was him, I'd've disappeared down the neck of a bottle long ago.

As if reading my mind, Chris magics up a a pair of tumblers. "Here," he says, placing them down between us. "You look like you need it."

A scoff escapes me. "Didn't think they had a bar up here."

"Invitation only," he winks, unscrewing the cap of the 25-year old, single malt bottle of The Glenlivet that he's also brought with him.

"Comes well stocked, I see," I remark, watching him dole out a generous serving into each glass.

"Well, someone once told me to never cheap out on wallets, watches, or whiskey," he replies with a smirk, placing the bottle off to one side.

I shake my head with a scoff as I reach for my glass. "Yeah, 'cause the first holds your money, the second tells you the time... and the third'll help you forget about both."

"Truer words have never been spoken," grins Chris, raising his glass to clink it against mine.

"Dad knew a thing or two about life," I agree, throwing the scotch back on a suddenly constricted throat.

"He was a good man," nods Chris, taking a reciprocal sip of his drink.

"Yeah..." I say tightly, gazing out over the city without really seeing it. "He was."

Wonder what he'd think of Harper...

I give myself a mental slap. It doesn't fucking matter, you ass. That girl's history, just like Dad. No point getting hung up on—

"You know..." muses Chris, interrupting my self-flagellation. "We never got to see Times Square."

I snort caustically as I reach for the bottle again. "Because Besnard conspired with the weather to fuck us over..."

Chris quirks a brow as he holds his own glass out for a top-up. "I'm not certain it was entirely intentional..."

"You sure?" I counter with a sidelong look, refilling both tumblers. "'Cause I'd be damn hard pressed to find another dipshit on this planet who could've screwed up something so simple so spectacularly."

"Fair point," Chris concedes with a chuckle. "But, lucky for us, both Tariq and the malignant rain clouds are — rather thankfully — in the wind. So, what say we take advantage of the reprieve? Just the two of us?"

My hand stops mid-air. "You wanna sneak out? Again?"

He meets my eye with a knowing look. "May very well be our last chance before the start of the season..."

I shake my head dryly as I place the bottle back on the ledge. "Thought I was supposed to be the bad influence."

"Perhaps the student has finally surpassed the master," he replies, throwing me another wink as he raises his glass up in mock salute.

I can't help but scoff. "With that disappearing act, I'd say you've surpassed even your brother!"

"That may perhaps be a bit of a stretch," he chides. "As we cannot forget that it was my dear brother who once skipped out of a high-profile summit in Marrakech, commandeered a camel and a kaftan, and rode for six hours through the desert so he could watch the Dakar Rally."

"Yeah, that Lawrence of Arabia shit does set the bar quite high, doesn't it?"

"Leo has never been one to do things by halves..." Chris reminds me.

I heave a breath. "Don't I know it..."

Chris catches my gaze out of the corner of his eye. "Hope you weren't too harsh with him..."

I lift the tumbler to my mouth. "No comment."

"Christ! That bad, huh?"

"I may have questioned his sanity," I tell him sardonically.

"You certainly wouldn't have been the first," laughs Chris. "Father seriously considered sending him to a clinic in Switzerland when Leo told him of his plan to abdicate."

"Would've saved me a massive headache if he had..." I grumble.

"No... it was my fault," sighs Chris. "I should not have taken the device. I did promise that I would behave, and I reneged on my word."

I hold up a hand. "Hey. It's fine. I get why Leo gave it to you... and why you took it. Just... Don't get any ideas for the season. I'd prefer to keep my job... and my balls."

Chris laughs. "Duly noted. However, I would still like to take the opportunity to offset my regrettable faux pas... Perhaps with a traditional American breakfast?"

I cock a brow at him. "Do you even know what a traditional American breakfast is?"

"No," he admits. "But what better way to find out than in the company of a local?"

"Okay, fine," I concede, throwing the last of my scotch back. "But you better not skip out on me again..."

"You have my undying word," he says, laying a hand on his heart.

"Good," I say, pointing a finger at him. "'Cause this time, I'm gonna hold you to it." Softening my expression, I add, "But seriously. Glad you had a chance to escape. Christ knows you needed it."

"As do I," he says with a smile, picking up the bottle of scotch to head back across the roof. "So, thank you for pulling this getaway together. I'll treasure the memories — always."

"The trip ain't over yet, buddy," I remind him. "We still have three hours to kill before departure."

He grins back at me. "Then we best get to it, hadn't we, mate?"

The story continues in Chapter 12 - Hungover on You

A/N: As a quick bonus, here is a pic of Leo in the Moroccan desert 😇

Permatags

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits: Burger - Shirtless - Whiskey - New York

Drake, Christian and Leo were generated with the AI art app Wonder

#drake walker #sleepless in new york #the royal romance #trr au #new york #prince liam #Spotify

53 notes · View notes

bromcommie · 1 month

Note

Hello & Happy Monday!

So...for the WIP tag game...I know I'm supposed to pick the one (1! ONE!) that I find most intriguing, but this is like a whole buffet of intrigue, so maybe I can have two? 👀 1) НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT) <- ngl, the 'figure out' cracked me up. Also, late night conversations? Yes, please!

2) what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 <- this just sounds fun...and possibly like the title could be deliberately misleading

Thank you! <3

Hello helloo, happy Monday to you too! (but also Tuesday now I guess. It's a 2-for-1!)

Thank you for the ask, and thank you for indulging me with two (2! it's gonna be so long!) <3

НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT!!!) - Ooof, this fucking guy. I'm glad my stern instructions to myself in the title there were funny, because I do indeed need to FIGURE this one OUT and it's bugging me. It's essentially another chapter that's a part of a larger work (not naming names not pointing fingers but it's. The Work I'm Having Trouble Updating) and it was written a looong while back, which is why it's now a standalone file. I love the premise but I kinda want to tear it down and rebuild it entirely, mostly because I'm still deciding on whether I like the way I wrote the backstory for it. So. It's fun! It's challenging! It's giving me a migraine! The title's from this song about a tired traveler trying to find his way in the night. It's three conversations (Steve+Nat, Nat+Bucky and Bucky+Steve - although they barely talk at all) that happen in the night after a very not lucid, injured Don't-Call-Me-Bucky who's recently remembered the Red Room and also had a pretty rattling encounter with the code words seeks Natasha out in Europe for [redacted] something as a last resort, but instead accidentally walks straight into Steve who he's been staying away from like the Devil Himself since CATWS. And then basically bleeds all over him. (I am not immune to the wound care trope! However, this is unfortunately not that.) A lot of ugly feelings and defense mechanisms are brought up, some painful memories re: the war and the Red Room are brought up, and nobody's having a good time or really knows how to process jack shit. They all communicate/perceive love&protection in wildly different ways, and while all three dynamics end on some kind of natural conclusion it's still a lot of unfinished, unspoken business and just kind of sad. Hurt no comfort that's necessary for there to be the promise of comfort in the future, if you will. Tbh, I really want to finish/reincorporate this one. But it's just so *screams into paper bag*. Anyway. Snippet:

When Steve wakes up the next morning Bucky’s gone, like he knew he would be. Like a hurricane passing through, the foreknowledge doesn’t make the aftermath any easier. And then what? his own voice from so long ago echoes in his head as he waits for the water for Natasha’s tea to boil in the sunny little kitchenette of the motel’s lobby. 16 hours later, he’s watching the blinding stripe of the sun setting over the East River before the plane maneuvers onto the landing strip at JFK. The hell else? Then we march on, ace. We go home.

2. what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 - oh good, thank god! So this one is a bit more fun, but it's only got a few disjointed half-scenes so far. The title is actually one of the most literal ones on the list - the fic does take place in Astoria, Queens, and it does involves a certain "nutcase". Several, even. They really don't get along, and then they almost do.

(Blame my recent rewatch of the Netflix shows for this one. Man. What a golden age that was.)

Excerpt under the cut:

It was easy to clock the combat training before, sure, but up close this guy’s… Keyed up. Wild-eyed, a little, and not in the twitchy way of the three idiots piled up outside by the ruined water hydrant, not just sheer adrenaline stoked by fear and booze and coke. More dialed-in, purposefully ruthless. Hungry. Getting up with an expression like an enraged bull in spite of the beating he just took. Nutcase, Barnes thinks bleakly. Not that he’s in any position to judge — glass houses, all that, but — “What’re you,” he croaks, “some kind of psycho?” “Says the guy who just mowed down six guys without blinking." The man spits, grimacing at the blood that lands on the stark white of the rooftop like it personally offends him. If he notices the similar spray across his busted face, his clothes, his military-short hair, he doesn't seem to give a damn. "Nice going, by the way— my man got away." "And my man's bleeding out on a fucking pool table downstairs," he grits out. He doesn't have time for this. This whole night has been one giant exercise in unpredictability, and the police sirens echoing off in the distance are problem enough without him having to duke it out over and over with some local homicidal moron who might or might not be HYDRA. "You wanna tell me what that's about?" The man levels an irritated look back at him and then shrugs, dismissive. "I don't play with my food." "Your food had intel I've been hunting for two weeks." "Tough shit. Maybe if you hadn't screwed up your goddamn trig—" His lip curls of its own volition, affronted despite himself. What an appropriate time for his ego to announce it's back from the dead and in the mix. How fun. “The hell I did. I don’t miss.” "Is that right? There's some real screwed up drywall down there that says otherwise." His voice picks up an edge of something dangerous, aiming for threatening and landing on feral as he takes a step closer, and Jesus, can he stay down already? "Unless you did it on purpose to let him know I'm coming because you work for the bastard, in which case lemme tell you, you and me have a whole different problem." "I don't work for anybody," he says, probably with more intensity than strictly necessary. "He was a civillian. I don't kill civillians." The words curl acerbic on his tongue. He doesn't. He doesn't. That, of all things, makes the man laugh, a bitter little thing that sounds like it clawed its way out of his throat, and only barely. Who the fuck is this guy. "Oh Jesus Christ, not this bullshit again— how many of you assholes are running around this place, huh?" he says, gesturing a little wildly at him. "You got a fancy catsuit under that hobo getup, too?" It's Barnes' turn to look at him like he's a few marbles short, which judging by all evidence he very well might be. The guy snorts at his confusion, shaking his head. "If you consider that criminal piece of dog shit a civilian, you’re way more out of your depth than I thought, kid.”

but also:

“Self-righteous, God's sacrificial lamb type-of-shit," he mumbles around the mouthful with distaste, staring off across the bridge. "Got himself a stupid fucking title and everything, if you can believe that. Major pain in my ass.” Barnes hums, considering, before taking a cautious bite of his own sandwich. The thick pile of fatty meat and melted cheese breaks apart in his mouth easy with a sudden, almost overwhelming explosion of flavours, his empty stomach singing praises despite the ache in his bruised jaw as he chews. He never thought he’d say this, but god bless Queens. “Catholic?” Castle grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, I have some experience with that.”

#thanks for the ask<3 #one of these days I will learn how to make these normal length. not today though lol enjoy!#booksandabeer #tag game #my fic #asks #wip tag game

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farfromstrange · 11 months

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter Nine: I Want You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael takes care of you after a long day at work.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, but other than that fluff, fluff, FLUFF!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: This is so sweet y'all. I wrote some real domestic shit here and I am so excited to share this with you. I re-read it a million times and added even more fluff until I decided it was okay to post. Also, I said on AO3 that we have about 2-3 chapters with fluff before the Angst Train takes off again. The next one is a little angstier, but there is also a lot of fluff in there, and you're only going to start hating me after Chapter 12 :) If you want to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know! (AND LOOK AT MY smiley little baby AHHH)

You find yourself at work when it finally happens.

Your phone pings and you look down to find two messages on your screen. One is from Michael, and when you open it, you have to stop yourself from laughing because why is he sending you a picture of your unicorn mug with a double espresso in it?

You store it away to answer later. The message that matters most to you is the one underneath. Maya’s name stands written over your lock screen and you have never opened your texts faster.

‘Dad gave me my phone back. Going on the field trip on Saturday. Got my friend to vouch for the money. They agreed. Thank you again, so much <3 Love you.’

You almost cry out of pure relief. You do cry, in fact, but just a little. A stray tear slides down your cheek from the corner of your eye.

Hearing Sarah’s footsteps, you quickly wipe your cheek and stuff your phone away, knowing that you’re not allowed to use it during work hours, let alone behind the counter.

“Girl, there’s this lad in the ‘no work’ section,” she says, clearly not noticing the tears in your eyes. “He’s like, so hot. I’d fuck him.”

You’re not even surprised anymore when it comes to your friend’s ability to have the most random conversations.

“Oh yeah?” you say, “Is that why you chose to personally bring him his coffee this time?”

“If ya looked at him, ya’d understand.”

You brush the wrinkles out of your apron and refocus on the dishes that still require to be washed after the first crowd of tourists came in and managed to ruin the three-hours worth of cleaning from the night before.

Truth be told, you couldn’t be any less interested in the customer she mentioned, and you don’t plan on checking him out. A few weeks ago, you might have. It used to be your favorite thing to do, battling about who gets to treat the good-looking customers that came into the café. But for you, that is over now. You don't need it anymore.

You found your good-looking customer a few days ago, and you would prefer to stay with him.

“What, not even an interested glance?” Sarah asks.

You shrug. “Why should I?”

“Because he’s hot–“ she breaks off into a gasp. “Oh, girl! You are down bad.”

You look away to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Shut up,” you retort, using the red towel next to the sink to dry the first few mugs from the rack.

She eyes you before stepping closer and pulling your shirt aside. You frown at her bold move, but after spending so much time together, you no longer have boundaries.

Sarah roams her eyes over your neck and the little bit of cleavage you’re showing. The hickeys are bright purple now, the edges slightly red where the blood is just starting to pool and she gasps again. She makes it sound as if she found out the most scandalous piece of information and you’re the main attraction in this case.

“You’re walkin’ ‘round with hickeys now?” she asks, her voice hushed yet loud at the same time.

It sounds like she’s squealing, almost, but you’re not sure if it’s positive.

“What are ya, fifteen?”

You pull away from her, pulling your shirt further up to cover at least the imprint of Michael’s lips on your breast. The one on your neck is for everyone to see; you didn’t bother covering it up, you’re embracing it, and you considered taking a picture to drive him crazy at home. If only he knew the glances you’ve received throughout the day, he would be at the door in a second, caging you against the wall and–

Sarah calls your name, her fingers snapping in front of your face. You blink out of your haze, your cheeks even redder now as the arousal floods through your body and meets with the yearning between your legs.

She was right; you are down bad.

“These look brutal,” she comments, but now she doesn’t seem as angry anymore.

Maybe Michael is growing on her.

Instead of berating you, she leans her hip against the counter and smirks. “Did ya have sex last night?”

You bite your lip. It feels weird to be talking about it because your love life has been non-existent for a very long time and you forgot what it’s like to tell your friend about good sex, but Michael is exceptional in bed and he never leaves you dissatisfied. It’s something you should brag about and yet it’s so intimate, something special between the two of you because every time you do it, it’s different. There’s not just unbridled desire between you, the emotions are just as raw and they make the experience so much more intense.

You sigh softly when you think about the feeling of his lips against yours, your neck, and the rest of your body. His hands burn their marks into your skin. The way he sounds, smells, and feels. You can’t tear your mind away from the man he is, and he is all yours.

Sarah’s smirk widens into a grin. “Oh, yer gettin’ dicked down every night now, huh?” she says. “And you’re enjoyin’ every last minute of it. I bet yer thinkin’ ‘bout it right now.”

“You know,” you say, trying to somehow save yourself, but it’s futile because she’s right; you are thinking about him right now. Snapping out of it, you continue, “You are very invested in my sex life for someone who claims she doesn’t like the guy I’m sleeping with.”

“Yes, I am a hypocrite, but I’ve noticed that you look a lot… happier, and if he’s good in bed, I mean, why shouldn’t I profit from these stories? I’m chronically single. Doesn’t mean I like Mister I’m-A-Mobster, but if his cock is good–“

“I don’t like the thought of you thinking about his cock.”

“Alright, alright, just let me have a little somethin’. I just want to know some details. Bread crumbs. Just a taste. Please? I don’t want his cock, but I want to know more about it, if ya know wha’ I mean.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you lean in, wanting to keep this as private as possible. “Well,” you say, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes and reflecting in the mug you’re polishing right now, “My dining table suffered a little last night, and I’m not talking about spilling food.”

Sarah gasps again, burying her head in her hands. “Oh, my God!” she as much as shrieks, and you have to squeeze her shoulder to stop her from causing a scene.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, and it sounds almost proud.

What have you turned into?

She claps her hands excitedly. “Did it break?” she asks. And she almost looks disappointed when you tell her that no, it didn’t break. It only squeaked a little and left scratches on the floorboards after you were done fucking on it like wild animals. But that’s all that happened to your precious dining table.

“It should have broken ‘cause that’s the best kind of sex. If it doesn’t, yer not doin’ it hard enough.”

You snort. “Let’s just say he knows how to make me come,” you say.

She smirks. “Like hard, or–“

“Mhm.”

“Does he cuddle after sex? Be honest.”

“The cuddliest.”

“Aw, man!” She fans herself. “What else?”

“Well, the way he does it… oh, Sarah, if only you knew.” You sigh. “So good.”

Her eyes widen, hoping you will spill a little more than a few mysterious bits and pieces, but then your lips curl up and she knows she has been defeated.

“That’s all you need to know,” you say.

“Ugh,” she says, “You’re boring!”

She pouts when you turn away from her to treat the next customer who just came in.

Passing by her as you prepare the order, you halt to whisper something into her ear, “If you give that hottie your number, you might get good sex, too. Maybe even some morning cuddles like me. This café turns out to be a great match-maker.”

Seeing her face, it’s clear that Sarah considers taking your advice the second it leaves your mouth and reaches her ear.

You have an excellent day. After Maya’s text, there is seemingly nothing that can ruin your mood. The customers are all nice to you and you give them your best smile, which results in a lot of tips. You can already see a brighter future for your bank account, considering Ava allowed you to close up shop at the end of the day and do some overtime to add some more hours, and you have never been more grateful.

You promised her you wouldn’t get overworked so easily, but when you’re finally done cleaning the café, your feet and back hurt and you’re almost too exhausted to even make your way home. But you still do because your thoughts flick to Michael and you know you won’t be alone when you get home. That’s all that matters to you when you make your way to your car and drive home.

Slowing down at the gas station, everything seems normal again after the shooting except for the police taping locking the place down for business, but you don’t feel as much threat coming from it now that the worst is cleaned up.

Hearing that Michael’s family was involved in the shooting shocked you to your core, but death doesn’t scare you, it hasn’t for a long time, and neither does violence. What scares you is the fact that it is so damn messy, and you don’t fully understand the magnitude of the life he grew up in and his family continues to lead.

You don’t appreciate violence, so you don’t appreciate them making a living with the suffering of others – with bloodshed and drugs. It must eventually grow sad and lonely, right? It must be traumatizing. Michael is traumatized. He lost so much to his name and now he’s broken. You can’t imagine the others not feeling that way unless they’re psychopaths in which case you never want to meet them.

They’re dangerous and you should stay away, but Michael does not fit on that roster. And somehow, when you think about it, you’re more curious now than ever about what the Kinsellas have got to hide.

With every step up the stairs to your apartment, your feet grow more tired. You just want to get out of these clothes and these shoes, maybe take a hot bath to get rid of the ache in your muscles, and sleep. You have been so wound up and in your head thanks to Maya and your incompetent family, you didn’t notice how awful you have been feeling.

You open the door, almost crying from how exhausted you are. Only after closing the door and locking the deadbolt, do you notice that the apartment is rather warm. Your heater doesn’t always work perfectly, so it’s often too cold. Tonight though, you can feel the comfortable heat of candles and a working heater hug you as soon as you step inside.

Then you smell it. The softest whiff of pasta and garlic lies in the air. You sniff, trying to make out if it’s your neighbor’s cooking or coming from your kitchen. When you hear the clanging of utensils ahead of you, you realize that it’s not just anyone making dinner in the complex, it’s Michael. In your home. For you.

He somehow got the heater to work and still turned on a few candles to make it more comfortable for you before you got home. Now you want to cry even more because it is just so considerate, no one has ever done something of this magnitude for you before – and it’s somehow only the bare minimum.

You leave your coat and bag by the door, slowly walking down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Don’t get startled, I’m not a serial killer,” you say.

Michael’s head whips around when he senses your presence, his frown quickly turning into a smile. “Hey,” he says. “Yer home.”

Home. It’s a normal thing to say, but he’s referring to your apartment, the one he is staying in, and now he even cooked for you. It feels like he belongs here now, with you.

He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a cozy, green sweater. You remember it from the first day you met. The color reminded you of the cloudy Dublin weather, but also the grass whenever it rains.

He smells good, you can tell it from where you’re standing, once again reminding you of ground coffee beans, rain, and Michael. It’s his unique scent that draws you in the most. It’s woody, almost, but also holds a certain whiff of leaves in autumn and the feeling of the soft summer air during a clear London night. You can’t explain it; there are too many sensations when it comes to him, and none of them can be put into words.

“You okay?” his gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes are a little wider than usual, cheeks already flushed from the warmth as you look around. “What’s all this?” you ask, your voice carrying a soft, quiet tone.

Michael frowns. “Dinner?” He smiles shyly. “I thought I’d, uh, make you somethin’ ‘cause ya said ya had to work late again today, so… Sorry, I–“

You raise your hand. “I’m not mad.”

“What?”

“I’m… you did this?” Your eyes soften even more. “For me?”

“Well, yeah, who else would I be doin’ this for? Wouldn’t cook dinner all fer myself, that’s kind of… tha’ would be a lot.”

“Michael, I…”

“Are you sure yer okay?”

With silent steps, you approach him. He follows you with his curious gaze, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to read you. You wrap your arms around his neck in answer, pulling him down into a kiss.

He smiles when he pulls away. “Hi,” he murmurs. “What was tha’ for?”

“Being you,” you say.

It warms your heart that he went out of his way to make you dinner. He made sure the apartment would be warm enough for you because you hate the cold and he notices how much you freeze at night, and how much you rely on his body to provide heat. But you were always too proud to get someone to look at your heater, so he took a look at it for you and found an easy fix. He did all of that without batting an eye, using his time alone for good, and you’re not sure how to react to that.

“Your heater had a few loose screws,” he answers your unspoken questions. “Fixed ‘em, now it’s warmer. And your tomatoes were ‘bout to go bad, so I decided I’d make some spaghetti ‘cause that’s the only thing I remember how ta make.”

You place your hands on his face, stroking the faint blush on his cheeks. “Thank you so much…”

“Ya don’t have to thank me, love.”

“Yes, I do. That’s not something I can expect, especially not after such a short amount of time together. I mean, I haven’t always been completely open with you and that would be turn-off for a lot of people, and it would prompt them not to cook dinner or- or fix my heater. I’d totally get it if you didn’t trust me and tell me now that this won’t work out, but I–“

Michael shuts you up with a sweet kiss pressed to your lips. You’re quick to stop rambling, the softness of his lips moving against yours eliciting a warmth that comes from deep within and not from outside, and it reminds you that you’re home. It’s not the apartment that makes it feel that way, it’s home.

Ever since you moved to Dublin, you had been searching for a place to call home, but your four walls have almost just been an apartment, and you struggled. Now that Michael is here with you, you feel less stranded and alone and more like you’ve finally found somewhere you belong – and that is his arms and his lips, offering you a sanctuary and a home.

Your eyes are still closed when he pulls away. “I want ya t’be comfortable ‘round me,” he says.

You can feel his hot breath fanning across your face, his fingers painting delicate patterns on the back of your neck where he is holding your forehead close to his.

“Michael, I–” you begin, but the words elude you.

“Shh,” he shushes you with his index finger against your lips. “It’s okay. Let’s just… have dinner, and then I’ll run ya a bath, and then we’ll watch a movie. I wanna be with ya. I don’t care if it takes a day, a month, or a year fer ya to open up ta me ‘cause I have so much left to tell ya, too; as long as I get to be with ya and get to know who you are, that’s all I care about.”

You nod in response, unable to find the right words. You have always been just a caretaker and telling people the truth has never become important before because no one cared before, but he does. With Michael, it seems that you have found someone who sees you for who you truly are, flaws and all. You have found a home. In his eyes, you're not just someone who exists solely to take care of others. You're worth more than that, and he's taking care of you for a change to prove that to you.

With a quivering smile, you brush your thumb against his cheek, cherishing the warmth beneath your touch. "I... I want that too," you finally manage to say.

He leans in and kisses the pad of your thumb. “I know you do,” he says.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but–”

“Shh, let me take care of ya. You’d say the same thing ta me right now. And don’t say no ‘cause we both know ya would.”

Your shoulders slack as you sigh. He’s right; you can be quite the hypocrite sometimes. He smiles when your protests die down and takes your hand to lead you to the table.

Watching him, you are amazed by how natural he looks moving around your kitchen. He’s in his element, and you mentally add another talent to his list – he seems to be an excellent cook, or he can at least stand his own in a kitchen, which is something not many can say about themselves.

With a shy smile, he places the pasta in front of you. Michael put in the extra effort to plate the food well enough to make it look as delicious as it smells. You decorate coffee cups for a living, you know the eye of the beholder plays a big role in how food and drinks are consumed, so you appreciate it even more that he used herbs to garnish the spaghetti.

“I’m not the best cook,” he begins.

You glare at him from across the table, grabbing your fork. “It smells good,” you tell him. “And I’m sure it tastes just as amazing.”

“If it doesn’t, we could still order pizza.”

“Michael, darling, please stop expecting the worst from yourself whenever you create something.”

“I can’t help it, I–”

You shush him, digging into the pasta and taking a huge bite as if to prove to him you would still eat it even if it tasted like trash. You love cooking and you often do so for others because it is therapeutic, in a way. You used to cook for your sister all the time, and you would help your mother when she couldn’t. You used to make dinner for the whole family to prevent confrontation or any unnecessary violence because the fear was greater than hunger, and so food became a means for survival in more ways than once.

You don’t like to dwell on the past, but there is a reason why you often cook for yourself rather than order takeout; you don’t know any better, and that’s also why in every relationship you have been in, you were the sole provider when it came to breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Having Michael cook for you is something you never thought you would experience, let alone enjoy, but the second the delicious taste of tomato sauce, garlic, and spaghetti meets your tongue, you are in heaven.

“It’s made with love,” Michale murmurs, “I hope that’s enough.”

You reach out and gently touch his hand. “This is…” you lick your lips. He is an amazing cook, he even exceeded your expectations. “It's delicious,” you say. “And I don't just say it because I like you. This is really good.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yes, really. This is probably the best fucking pasta I’ve ever had.”

“It’s an Italian recipe,” he says, slowly beginning to curl his own spaghetti around his fork. “Birdy brought it home with her after one of her trips and she taught me ‘cause Anna, when she was still little, I mean, loved pasta more than anythin’...” He chuckles. “So I thought I should learn how to make spaghetti, but I always thought… well, never mind.”

“You thought everyone was just pretending to like it for your sake?” you ask.

He shrugs. You must have hit a sore spot. Nodding, you return to eating your pasta, enjoying every last bite with a soft smile playing on your face. When you meet Michael’s eyes, he’s watching you intently, his hazel eyes carrying a look you haven’t seen before, and it makes you frown.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he quickly looks away, flustered.

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothin’, I just… I can’t believe yer here.”

“Well, I am very real,” you say as you finish your last bite. “And you just cooked me probably the best dinner I have ever had in my life, so… not getting rid of me that easily, Mister Kinsella.”

His chuckle resembles a giggle and the sound swells your heart. You look over your shoulder, standing at the stove now and filling your plate with some more pasta. “What?” you ask.

“Hungry?” he teases.

You poke your tongue out at him. “Fuck off! I didn’t have the time to eat today.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You better not.”

“Lucky for ya, there's plenty more where tha’ came from.” He gestures to the pot on the stove. “Help yourself.”

You add another spoonful of sauce. “Oh, I intend to,” you say.

“And I encourage ya to do so.”

You sit back down across from him, your legs now crossed, and you dig into your second serving with enthusiasm. Michael watches you throughout.

“Was it stressful?” he asks eventually. “Work, I mean.”

Swallowing the bite in your mouth, you shrug. “It was pretty tame today, actually, compared to yesterday’s mess, but I was in pretty early and then I had to close up, so it’s been a long day.”

“You shouldn’t be overworkin’ yerself.”

“I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should ask fer fewer hours, hm? If I do happen to get the job, ya won’t be as understaffed and—”

“I asked for the overtime,” you cut him off.

Your words hang heavily in the air as he processes your words, then immediately frowns when they start making sense in his head. “Why?” he asks.

You finish your plate and set it aside, shrugging. “Needed the money,” you say.

His frown deepens. “How much?” His hands pat his pockets as if he’s searching for something, maybe even his wallet.

You raise an eyebrow. “Michael, you don't have to…” The last thing you want is to take money for him without him knowing why you're short this month.

He interrupts you, still. “Please, just tell me,” he says. “How much?”

You sigh. “Fine,” you relent. “It's not that much, just a couple hundred quid. But that's why I asked for more hours. It's just to make rent due this month. Please, don't–”

You’re not sure why the most human struggle embarrasses you so much, maybe because he doesn’t know the full story, and maybe because he thought you had somewhat control over your life and now he realizes that you don’t. It makes you feel utterly pathetic.

He looks at you so softly, you want to cry. He pulls out a roll of money and places it between you on the table. You don’t even want to know where he got it from, a feeling of unease spreading through your body.

“I don’t have rent to pay,” he says. “I got that from… well, doesn’t matter. Point is, I got that after I got out and was still searchin’ for a job, and then I started with Amanda and I… I don’t need it. I have some stashed away for emergencies, and if yer strugglin’ to make rent due, then you need it more than me.”

If someone from his family gave him the money, it surely is connected to drugs or any other kind of crime they use as their main source of income. He notices your hesitation and the bewildered look in your eyes, and he sighs, sliding the money back to his side.

“I get it,” Michael looks down at his hands, “Ya don’t want it because of– Sorry.”

You reach out and gently place your hand over his, stopping him from retracting the money. “No, wait,” you say. “I'm sorry. I appreciate your kindness more than you know, but…”

“I don’t want ya to question where it came from. I get it, trust me.”

Your lips curl into a sad smile. That’s what you’re doing; you are questioning where it came from and if it could get you into trouble if you were to pay this money into your bank account. You’re questioning if Michael had something to do with getting this money in the past, or what his family did to get that batch in the first place. It looks like a lot of money, and part of you wants to take it because it would help your situation, but your common sense speaks louder than words. Besides, you don't know how to accept help even if it’s served to you on a silver platter.

“This isn't because I don't trust you,” you feel the desperate urge to add, “This is just me… and the fact that I’m just as confused as you are, and this…. I can’t take your money, no matter if it’s from your family or not. I have to find a way to get back on my feet on my own. Somehow… I can make rent due. I have to.”

Michael gently takes your hand and places it over the money. “Yer gonna work yourself to death,” he whispers. “I just… I just want t’ help ya. If it makes you feel better, I will pay all of yer bills and your rent, you don’t even have to touch it, but I can’t watch ya do this to yerself longer than ya have to.”

You meet Michael's eyes. It's both overwhelming and comforting at the same time how concerned he is. His offer is tempting, and a part of you wants to let go of your pride and accept his help. But another part of you is fiercely determined to stand on your own feet. You don't want to be dependent on anyone ever again. But it's money, and it isn't as easy to come by as you originally thought when you first moved across the sea.

You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t want to be a burden to you,” you admit quietly.

“Yer not,” he says, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “Please? Can I help ya just a little?”

Taking in a deep breath, you nod.

“Is tha’ a yes?”

“Yeah,” you answer huskily. The unshed tears in your eyes are burning, your body exhausted and overly sensitive.

He smiles, getting up and walking over to your side of the table. “C’mere,” Michael urges, his arms already outstretched for you. “Let me hold ya. Yer exhausted.”

The comforting scent of his cologne envelops you as you place your head against his chest. He embraces you tightly, his strong arms holding you as close as he humanly can, you let out a soft whimper. His hands work their making over the sore skin of your back, and you find yourself falling further into his arms until all you can feel is him. You can smell him, hear his heartbeat and feel his breath tickle the crown of your head as he leans down to kiss your scalp. You lose yourself in the feeling and for a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, shaking off the weight of the day and the days far before that.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your nails clawing at his shirt. “For everything. Just… thank you.” He caught you when you were falling, and you are still not quite sure what you did to deserve this kind of devotion.

Just as you took care of him, he is taking care of you now; isn’t that what a relationship should look like? You heard about it, but you have never experienced it before he came along, but you know you don’t want to live without it anymore.

He keeps his promise of running you a bath. The hour you spend in the tub of warm water and bubbles soothes the ache from your muscles and offers your feet some sweet relief. Your favorite candles adorn the side of the tub and you sink further into the bath, wanting to be consumed by this cozy feeling forever.

The door opens eventually after a gentle knock, and Michael comes in to check if you’re still awake – it’s sweet that he wants to prevent you from drowning, which you appreciate because knowing you, you would fall asleep in the bathtub and fight for your survival later.

He settles down at the edge of the tub, gazing over you. You reach out to take his hand.

“Wanna come in?” you ask.

“If ya want me to,” he says.

“Always.”

“Okay.”

Michael sheds his clothes and you watch curiously as he undresses. You move a little to make space for him behind you, and he slides into the tub with you.

You lean back against his broad chest, his arms encapsulating you instantly. You sigh. His warmth matches the one of the bath water and you find yourself hulled into a serene state of mind that doesn’t happen very often to you.

He strokes your arms and your hair, getting some of the strands wet that you tried to tie out of your face, but with him so close to you, you don’t mind. You relish in the gentle intimacy of your moment together, and even he seems to relax visibly behind you, his muscles slacking as he pulls you fully into him.

His heartbeat thuds against your ear as you turn a little, listening to your favorite lullaby. His chest moves your head up and down with every rise and fall.

You’re content.

You spend some more time in silence together before the water runs cold and you are forced to get out. You get up first, wrapping yourself in a towel. Michael watches your every curve with a gentle smile on his lips, and maybe he’s a little flustered seeing you so effortlessly naked moving around him as if you have been together for years.

As you brush your hair and tie it back up into a bun, he gets out, too, and dries himself off. You don’t talk throughout, you simply share stolen glances and soft smiles, his arms wrapping around your waist and hugging you once again. You speak through the language of touch and you both know how to translate.

Later that night, he makes some of the Popcorn he found in your cabinet, and prepares some drinks while you settle in on the couch with a giant blanket that covers you whole.

When it comes to picking a movie, you find yourselves at a crossroads because you share very not-so-similar interests.

“Just put on what you want,” you say.

“No,” he retorts, “That defeats the purpose of a movie night.”

“But I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“As long as I have ya in my arms, I can never be unhappy.”

He makes you blush with his comment and you cave, putting on a movie from your watchlist. It’s a new one, something Netflix just put out. A rom-com. Michael is not a fan, but he settles in next to you anyway, pulling you into his chest.

The blanket lies over you both as the intro of the movie starts, and fatigue instantly settles over you. His hand cradles your head close to his heart, his other arms draped around you. He’s your rock, quite literally.

You cling to him, your body succumbing to the exhaustion of the day and the mental turmoil you have been in the days before. It all falls off your shoulders in his arms and you find yourself gradually sinking deeper into the pits of sleep before you can even taste the buttery popcorn he prepared.

His fingers move along your scalp, massaging the skin, and that’s the moment when you begin to clock out completely. Your eyes roll back. You lose yourself in his touch and his gentle whispers in your ear, the stupid comments he makes about the movie you can barely pay attention to, and your eyes flutter closed.

Looking down, Michael notices that you have drifted off to sleep. A small smile forms on his lips. As he’s turning off the tv and adjusting you so he can carry you to bed, the sudden movement startles you.

“I’m awake,” you slur, your eyes open, but your mind still asleep.

“Shh,” he cradles your head and places you back on his chest, “I’m just movin’ ya to bed,” he says. “Go back to sleep, love. There ya go. Good girl.”

You close your eyes again, your consciousness slipping once more.

Michael lifts you up and gently takes you to bed. Tucking you in with the same loving touch he's always had, he makes sure you're comfortable first before even thinking about himself. You nestle into the softness of the blankets, his warmth still lingering on your skin. As he pulls away, you instinctively reach out, afraid he might slip away if you don't keep him close to you.

He climbs into bed next to you, and as soon as he's next to you, your body curls into his. “Don’t go,” you murmur. “Stay.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer as your bodies mold together, fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces. “Always,” he whispers. His lips find your forehead. “I'm right here.”

And he won’t be going anywhere, that much he promises.

Tagging for this Series: @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fic #kin amc #charlie cox #reader insert #chaos theory

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