#i think I might keep doing things like this. between every 'plot' chapter is a chill bonding chapter. Worth n Warmth; Pamper; this one.

[smol-grey-tea]

Secret Ending Three - Chapter Five: We Think We Know You

Don't judge books by their covers!!

The wind bites my face as we exit the cafe. The owner led the way, paws in hand, leaving myself and the red head following. She and her bear fall into conversation, pointing out every shop on the way and explaining everything in great detail.

It is impossible to describe the experience of watching her. She is someone with an undeniably one-track mind, incredibly simple in a strangely charming way. Her round and soft, gentle features dance in the midst of her excitement, hopping slightly and with a permanent beam from ear to ear.

I'm not sure how I might handle it if I'm to lose this sight. Watching is satisfactory, but not at all enough, especially after how much our relationship has grown, and us along with it. My appreciation for my owner has only brightened since becoming human and I don't see it's light dimming any time soon. I am determined to win this war with the other dolls.

The other dolls... I do hope that my apology earlier today was to the owner's liking, as well as her bear's. I want to make the best impression I can of myself, not just for my own sake, but so that the new addition to our family may feel at home too.

However, if I'm to ensure my success, I can't just focus on displaying my own strengths, but assessing the competition as well. My attention is drawn to my right, where Red walks beside me, slightly faster than myself. I'd tell him to slow down, but I'm not sure he's physically capable of that. My shins hurt to keep up with him, still.

He looks at me, looking at him, and cracks an awkward smile. I blink back. It's hard to know how to act around the others already, but even more now that all of them have dated the same girl I have.

I've noticed a considerable change in Red since the realities converged and it's changed our relationship. Or it will, at least. In truth, we haven't been alone together until now. We've slept in the same bedroom already of course, but being asleep or busy is hardly time to get to know someone.

Despite this, I've made the observations that Red is now more level headed and less hyperactive than he was before. He also has a notably weaker obsession with that cartoon though. I'm not sure I've even heard him mention it once yet.

What exactly occurred in his version of events? He's rarer and has much stronger of a personality than mine, but he has always been slow and positively delusional. What specifically made the owner choose him over me in that reality, and how can I prevent it from happening again?

"So, Lance." I was running through several ways to interrogate my rival, but he began the conversation before I could even decide on a topic to start with. "You guys never explained about that cross dressing thing. What did they mean?"

Oh... That again...

"... I have already explained that it is none of your concern... And besides, it's not as big of a deal as people are making it seem. I simply took actions to prevent someone else in taking the owner's first kiss in my version of reality. That is all."

"... Really?" A laugh played on his lips as he scratched his cheek at my answer. "And you dressed up as a girl to do that? I assumed someone forced you into it or something. It doesn't sound like something you would do just for fun."

"I did not do it for fun. The version of yourself in my reality was there, and he did not find it very fun either. I can assure you."

"Okay..." This conversation mortifies me, but the look on the red head's stunned face as he assumedly tries to imagine such a situation is exceptionally amusing.

"On the topic of that though," I said to change the subject as we rounded a corner where our destination was finally in sight. "Did you also act in that nonsensical play in your world?"

"I did actually!" His entire face lit up at the mention of the play, as expected. "And so did the Heroine!" Unfortunately, also just as expected. Had he achieved what I had tried to prevent in my own world?

"It was so fun! You only signed her up for the play for her safety, since she'd been attacked by some girls before that, and the drama club members always walk home together. But when she started attending it with me, it was like it was always meant to be.

"It was difficult sometimes, but I think the practicing the lines over and over really helped bring her memories back when she was struggling with losing them. It felt like I'd really accomplished something good when I finally went up on stage with her and performed after working so hard to get it right. I hope we'll be able to do it again in the future."

This man is awfully good at talking endlessly, especially about such pointless things... It struck me as a surprise to hear that I was the one to sign the owner up for that ridiculous play in Red's version of events. He didn't pester her to join, but it was instead my own decision? In what kind of danger could she possibly have been that I would agree to such idiocy..? I dread to think.

But the rest of this news doesn't sound good either. Because I was the one who decided it, of course the owner would join a club she has no personal interest or experience in. Maybe the appeal that Red has for her is that the two of them are, in some ways, equally as slow as each other.

Two slow people in love... It's at least cute on Eri. On Red, it's... Well...

"We're here!" my owner calls. In front of us stands the stationery shop we were looking for. I admit that it lifts my spirits to see a place so organised.

"Let's go in then," I say, greatly looking forward to the venture. I say this to Red, but upon hearing no response, I turn around to realise that he is nowhere I can see him.

I am left, standing alone outside the shop. I scan my surroundings, but see no trace of him.

If I could have it my way, I'd say good riddance. The owner must have grown quite close to him after how much time they spent together in the drama club. Plus, because he helped her overcome her memory loss issues, she may even feel indebted to him, or even obligated to choose him as her one true love.

A simple minded, slow man with ridiculous dreams and aspirations, yet a vibrant personality. A man who enjoys showing off and effortlessly exceeds at entertaining a crowd of people atop a stage. A man who cures the owner's magical illness without even trying. A man who has never known struggle, who successes come to with ease.

As expected, he is someone to be very wary of in this fight for the right to stand by the owner's side. I should be careful not to let my guard down around fierce competition such as himself.

As I'm about to give up and follow Eri into the shop, I catch the sound of Red's voice behind me and instead make haste to find it's source. I end up walking back the way we came for a moment before finding him seated in an alley, similar to how Yeonho was found when he was chasing that cat.

In this instance though, Red was not kneeling in front of a cat, but in front of someone who was bundled up in warm clothes, seated on a sheet of cardboard under the overhanging roof of an abandoned restaurant. I hadn't even noticed they were there. I don't think anyone else had either.

But there Red was. He'd bought cookies to go from Banjul when we left, but they were now in his hands, being offered to the complete stranger in front of him. The stranger looked incredibly thankful.

I watched them speak briefly before Red soon returned, looking relieved. Had the person told him they were going to be okay?

"... What were you doing?" I asked him.

"Oh..! Sorry for leaving like that. I just saw that guy and he looked like he needed help."

"Right... That was...very thoughtful. People don't usually think to help."

"Oh, well... It wasn't really that thoughtful... I just know what it's like..."

I know what it's like..? To be...homeless..?

It is impossible to describe the experience of watching him say nothing else and return back on track to the stationery shop with a skip in his step, as though the entire exchange never occurred.

I'm left in a stunned silence. He couldn't possibly have done such a thing to boast about how kind he is; I didn't even know he was doing it. And he never even accepted my regretful attempt at a compliment.

Besides, what could he have meant by knowing what it's like..? I've spent almost the entirety of my human life sharing a bedroom with him, but this only defies all expectations.

What else is there about him that I do not know? This new knowledge of Red makes me feel sick. It brings back the same sickness I felt on the day I performed with him on stage in Eri's stead. And what a wonderful, detestable, life-changing day.

[soaps-mohawk]

So...

I've been doing some thinking about a couple of things.

This blog has grown considerably, even from its start and I appreciate each and every one of you so much. Your support never ceases to amaze me and I owe all of you a lot for giving me something to focus on this year instead of spiraling into insanity.

But

Things have gotten a tad bit overwhelming recently between trying to run the blog and trying to write. I find myself either having to ignore the blog to get writing done, or sacrifice writing time and energy to spend time on the blog and keep up with all the replies/reblogs/asks etc. Definitely not complaining, you all never cease to amaze me.

But, I am just one person and my brain only has so much power right now. So, I'm planning to take some (more) time off each week right now while I focus on writing and planning since we're getting into some serious plot stuff soon. So I'm planning to be on the blog three days a week for a while: Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday. That gives me some time to get some writing done as well as some time to rest my brain.

Saturday and Sunday of course to post the chapter and respond to replies and reblogs so I don't get super behind. Monday I'll have some asks queued up as well as maybe a few reblogs. I'll still use the queue Tuesday and Wednesday for reblogs/asks with spoilers as usual. Thursday I'll be on the blog answering asks from Monday - Wednesday as well as things I get that day. I'll queue up a few things for Friday since that day gives me a little break between to prepare for the weekend and posting the chapter.

I'll probably add more days as time goes on. You can still send in asks on the days I'm gone, but just know I won't see them or respond to them until later in the week. I already get behind by a couple days on asks anyway so that's not much of a change.

Don't feel bad for sending them either, I love getting all these asks, I just tend to get behind on days I spend more time writing.

The second order of business

has to do with my taglist. Most of you probably haven't noticed (which I don't blame you lol) but my taglist has gotten very big. Very, very big. It's just over 230 people right now, and I'm sure there will be others asking to join. It's quite time consuming to do all of these tags for every chapter (especially since we can't tag in blocks anymore) so I've been doing some thinking into how I can make it easier for me, and for you.

I know there's at least one blog I've heard of, though I'm sure there's more, that have made side blogs that they have people follow and turn on notifications for and just make a post on that blog when they post a chapter or fic, etc. I've been considering doing that since the taglist is a lot of work and time.

I've also seen blogs that have side blogs that just post chapters/fics and nothing else. I know quite a few of you only follow for the fic, so if anyone is interested, I could put together a side blog like that as well that you can follow and get notifications from instead of having to follow this blog and having to go through the probably 100 posts that I make a day 😂 (at least it feels that way for me)

Having a separate blog for the taglist too would allow me to schedule posts so I can have them come out a bit earlier than I get up for those of you across the world who stay up to read and have to wait for me to post in the morning when I get up (or later like today because I slept in). Of course Ao3 will get posted later because I can't schedule posts there, but at least for Tumblr I can have things post earlier.

So let me know what you think about the taglist side blog and the possible just chapters/fics side blog. Feel free to send in asks (anonymously or not) with your opinion. I might not answer them all (not tonight because my brain is fried and honestly i'm not sure if this is even comprehensible English) but I will at least use them to make the decision (or make a post with all of them and answer it as just one).

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War IIII

Author's Note: I hit a massive writer's slump, thank you for all your patience! Have some Smut, as a treat!

Content Warnings: SMUT with Some Plot I Swear--Masturbation, I guess there's kinda a hint of hate-fucking here but only if you squint, Exhibitionism, Thigh Riding (it's always the hands and thighs of this man I swear it's all I think about); Canon Typical Violence, Character Death (Unnamed), Mentions of Starvation/Abuse.

Summary: Reader grapples with her feelings towards Rhysand and what she has to do to save her people.

Previous Chapter/ Masterlist

---------

Rhysand is the enemy. His hands have spilled the blood of thousands of innocents. He’s most likely torturing people as we speak. He. Is. The. Enemy.

So why do I lie awake, hours after he’s gone, still thinking about how his hands had felt on my skin? Why do I lay here, tracing the path his lips had taken down my throat and collarbones, around my chest and sides, imagining what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted?

He is the enemy. I plan to seduce and destroy him. I will make him pay for all the pain he has caused me and my people.

But who is supposed to tell my body that everything that happened tonight isn’t real? That it’s all part of the plan to get him to let his guard down, I’m not actively interested in sleeping with him. I’m not! 

It’s just that I haven’t slept with anybody in a long time--that has to be it right? What other explanation do I have for the lingering ache between my legs? For the wandering thoughts of what those hands might have felt like between my thighs?

Every time I close my eyes I replay that moment: The feel of his warm body atop mine, callused hands roaming my skin, lips sucking marks into my throat. Gods I let Rhysand give me hickeys!

I’m going to die of shame.

If the need boiling in the pit of my stomach doesn’t take me out first.

I absolutely refuse to do anything about it! I won’t. Selling my soul to get information is one thing, to try and get off while imagining my enemy is a whole other evil. I can’t! It’s all kinds of fucked up.

I think there might actually be something wrong with me, because the more I try and tell myself it’s wrong, the more wetness I feel between my legs, the tighter the coil in my belly grows. My body actively wants something my brain refuses to let me acknowledge, and so I lay there in a bed that smells so much like him, trying to keep my hands off my still bare skin. I should, at the very least, get up and find where Rhysand had thrown my sweater. He’ll get the wrong idea if he comes back to find me still topless in bed. The middle of the night’s a hard time to get information out of anyone, there’s no reason to try and pick up where we left off tonight. I should just go to sleep.

I pull the pillow over my head and try to imagine all the gruesome, brutal ways he’s probably torturing his captives so I’m no longer laying here thinking about his body. It should work like an ice bath, right? But my mind will not linger on thoughts of blood, only how hot he’d looked scrubbing it off those swirls of ink around his bare chest earlier.

He’s going to be the death of me!

It’s like I can’t escape him. The scent of him is all over the bed, no matter where I lay or how many blankets I shift around. His touch lingers on my skin, the more I try to fight it, the more I find my hands trying to replicate the feeling. I roll my nipple between my fingers, imagining the feel of his calluses against my sensitive peaks. My other hand slides down my stomach, slipping easily beneath the worn waistband of my pants.

This is wrong!

I pull my hand away with a groan. I cannot be doing this.

He is the enemy.

I am doing the seducing. Not him. Me! And I have to have more willpower than this. I can’t be so Cauldron damned horny that a couple kisses gets me this worked up! Seriously, how does one male have this much sway over me already?

I can fight this. I am stronger than this…

I make it all of five minutes before my hand is once again sliding beneath my waistband, tracing its way down to the pool of wetness gathering between my thighs. 

He is the enemy.

Yet he would have found no resistance if he stayed. I would have easily surrendered under his touch, let it ignite a wildfire beneath my skin until I’d willingly spread my legs and let him take whatever he needed from my body. I hate the very thought of it, but I know, as my hips buck feverishly against my own hand, that I would have done it. 

“Rhys,” the whimper slips past my lips before I can bite it down, pleasure licking white hot down my spine. I’m too far gone to even be mortified at this point, chasing that high while my imagination runs wild with all the things that might have been tonight. 

It’s unfair that the sheets smell so strongly of him, only fueling my imagination, all the way to the edge of such jarring bliss. Only then does my body finally relax, my thoughts satiated for now. I can be mortified in the morning. Surely, I’ll hate myself in the light of day, but tonight, tonight I’m exhausted and I finally feel comfortable enough to sleep.

----

My dreams are full of my people hurling rocks at me, chasing me out of the Grasslands, calling me a traitor and a whore, Tam telling me never to come back; I try to visit my parents grave, but can never find it, as even in death they cannot bear to be near me.  The guilt I feel upon waking is worse than I imagined it could be. How could I be doing this? How could I want it?

The guilt  makes my skin itch. Every bit of me feels like it needs to be scrubbed down to the bone. I climb out of the bed and go to the basin of water to attempt to get clean. There’s a small mirror hanging from a string against the wall, the worn glass giving a spotty view of the bruises across my throat. I’d let Rhysand give me, not just one, but four hickeys, trailing down past my collarbone. There might have been more were it not for my appearance. I trail the damp towel down my torso, fingers ticking against my ribs like piano keys. I’m so godsdamned thin. It’s not unusual, most of my people are, save for Tamlin and his riders--riders always get first dibs on supplies, the rest of us get the scraps, especially when we haven’t been claimed--but I’d never thought about how bad it might look to someone outside of camp. With the scars I bear from my father’s temper, this looks intentional.

I glance up at the circles under my eyes, my reflection in the mirror hollow as a chill runs through me. Supplies have been thin lately, but… Dear old Dad had intentionally withheld supplies from the un-marked in camp as an incentive to get them to bend the knee, Tam knew that, was trained to do it, and he’d been so miserable lately, it wasn’t intentional, right?

I give myself a shake. Tam’s cold even on his good days, but he’d never intentionally do that to me, no matter how unruly I’ve been in the last couple weeks before this mess. Lucien would always sneak me snacks for him on days he was too busy to come see me; I’m just being paranoid. Being here is messing with my brain.

I toss the dirty towel in a bin and untie my hair. There’s no brushes around so I use my fingers to comb through the knots and tie it loosely behind my head. It’s only when I’m done and half way into my discarded sweater that the tent flap blows open and Mor storms her way in.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” She says by way of greeting.

How is she so perky all the time?

There’s a large bag in her hands that she hurls at me with surprising strength. “Time to get dressed! We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

“What’s the occasion?” I should feel excited with the prospect of getting out there and getting new information, but what are the chances we’re going right to Rhysand? How am I supposed to look at him after last night? No I think it’s for the better if I just sit right here in this tent and continue to torture myself with my thoughts. 

“Dress first, talk second,” she returns, hands reaching to help untie the bag since I’m moving too slow for her liking. Bits of dark cloth poke out, the bottom of the bag heavy and lumpy in a way that makes me think I’m holding a pair of shoes. 

Mor pulls out a top, the material as dark as her own, though hers has sleeves, this has none, just a band across my torso. The inside is lined with fur at least. I don’t even have time to question it before she starts pulling the other stuff out and rushing me to get dressed. There’s a moment where I think she might actually start undressing me if I don’t start moving, so I dip behind the bed for some privacy, clothes bundled under my arm. 

The skirt 's more loose fabric cinched around my hips than an actual skirt, nearly all my legs on display. I stare at the vast expanse of my skin and then up at Mor. “Please tell me there’s pants to go with these?” I don’t want to sound ungrateful since my clothes are barely holding on as is, but I also really don’t want to be walking around camp mostly naked either. 

“You’ve got nice legs,” she says, eyes roving over me approvingly. “You’ll look hot.”

“I feel naked,” I retort.

“You’ll adjust. Now hurry up!”

The top is warm but it leaves my arms bare, and even the fur lined ankle boots don’t keep me as warm as I would be if I had a pair of pants. “I really don’t want to sound ungrateful-”

“No time for second thoughts, you’re committed to it now.” Mor interrupts, ushering me over to the mirror again to adjust my hair. 

Her delicate fingers brush over my throat as she works and she grins at me in the reflection of the mirror. “Have some fun last night, did we?”

A blush makes its way across my cheeks. “Well, um…”

She laughs as she braids, blue eyes twinkling as she continues to watch my reflection. “I see now why he picked this top. Gotta show everyone your his.” Mor rolls her eyes. “Males! Always so territorial. Though, if I were you, I’d give him a few back in return.”

“Why do I have competition?” I blurt out. That’s a stupid question to ask. Look at him! Of course I’d have competition. But, despite myself, a flicker of jealousy worms its way into my chest.

“Oh there’s quite a few people in camp who’d literally kill to be you,” she returns as she pins my hair to the top of my haid. Using her fingers, she pulls a few loose strands free to frame my face. “He’s been eligible for a long time now.”

“How come?” I ask as she grabs my shoulders and turns me around so she can apply some dark makeup under my eyes.

The amusement in her eyes fades a bit as she says, “His wife…” She clears her throat and turns away to find where she left a tube of lip color. “Feyre. She was killed a couple years ago by Amarantha.”

My breath catches in my throat, chest heavy with the thought. “Oh.”

“He’s been a ghost since she died,” Mor gives herself a little shake as she turns back with the color and dabs a bit of maroon on my lips. “I’ve watched all these females throw themselves at him and it’s like he can’t see them. Usually the males in my family move on quick, you know? Gotta keep the bed warm somehow, right?”

I nod, having seen it well enough back home. 

“But Rhys…” she sighs. “I thought Rhys died that day too, but now you’re here and I can see a little life in his eyes again. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Gods the guilt is coming back! I should be glad that this monster got a fraction of the pain he caused others inflicted on him, but instead, my heart only aches for him, as if I can feel that pain in my own chest. The female he loved was dead and the monster that killed her was once again knocking on his doorstep. No wonder he’d asked for a distraction last night! And I’d planned to take advantage of that vulnerability.

My stomach turns. 

Mor grips my hands tightly. “I’m glad you’re here. I think he needs you, ya know?”

Please, Mother, kill me! Strike me with lightning or let the ground open up and swallow me. I am a horrible, terrible person.

“You’re too kind, Mor, really I don’t think-” but she doesn’t let me finish as she gives herself a little shake to collect herself and starts ushering me towards the door.

“Now we gotta hurry! We’re gonna be late!”

The early morning light rushes to meet us, such a stark contrast to the darkness of the tent. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, her hand on my wrist leading me along, oblivious to how blind I am. Once I can finally see, I try to take stock of my surroundings and get my bearings. The set-up is a semi-circle of tents, all open and bustling with activity. Fae of all shape and sizes hurry from their tents, the males wearing fighting leathers, the females wearing variations of my own get-up. No one even glances our way, save for the lone male stalking towards us. He’s massive, a head taller than everyone he passes, a giant sword strapped between his tightly tucked wings. I recognize the sword as one I’d seen on one of Rhysand’s riders, though I hadn’t gotten a chance to glimpse his face then. He’s handsome, his dark hair tied back out of his face with a long string. A bit of stubble dusts his jaw, barely hiding a scar that cuts his way across his cheek. 

“Y/N, this is Cassian,” Mor introduces, no trace of her earlier seriousness to be found. She is once again all smiles. “He’s Rhys’s general.”

General. He certainly looks the part. He could crush my head with his biceps alone if he wanted! 

I don’t know how to move in these stupid skirts, let alone curtsey or bow in any sort of way as I would have back home so all I can manage is to dip my head in greeting. “Hello.” I hope it's enough to not offend this hulking mass of a male.

Despite his size, an easy-going grin cuts across his face. “Glad to officially meet you, Y/N!” His voice booms, even under the din of the rushing crowd. “We should get moving, he’s waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I ask Mor, wrapping my arms around myself as a breeze hits me head on.

“You didn’t tell her?” Cassian returns.

“He told me not to,” Mor retorts as she loops her arm through mine to help lead me forward. 

This is not instilling anything but anxiety in me, but this is my chance to look around  so I have to take it. Not that the cold helps. It’s an effort to try and count the tents as my teeth start chattering. 

We follow the crowd down the hill, past a set of sentries that guard the path at the bottom as we head into the main encampment. Some of the people around whisper to each other in a mixture of languages, but there is too much moving and noise for me to get a good grasp on what’s being said. Mor doesn’t say anything either, just keeps one arm looped in mine and the other in Cassian’s to keep us from getting separated.

Once inside the main encampment, past another set of sentires, the path splits and becomes rows of tents, laid out like city streets. I’ve never seen a camp look so methodically laid out, each space like a well groomed and planned street. There are even amounts of tents on each side, firepits and places to sit breaking up the road between them. It’s all very homey and… permanent. A spike of envy rises in my chest as I take it in. This is not a camp that ups and moves frequently. It is settled and intentional in its spacing. It might not be the cities the Night Court once boasted in the days before Hybern, but it is still far more a city than the Grasslands had ever seen. I try to count them as we pass, but lose my train of thought after fifty, when the road starts to thin and people push in around us from every direction. I will have to get back another time and recount. 

The path continues forward, for some time, growing smaller and smaller until we come to a standstill. Mor huffs something about being late as we’re forced to wait under the rising sun as whatever is ahead of us gets closer, one step at a time. Eventually, a large amphitheater comes into view, set deep into the ground like a giant, stone step flanked pit. It must have taken months to dig this deep, let alone shape the stones into such smooth edges. How long has this encampment been here? 

It takes what feels like an hour to reach the flat edge at the top where holes have been drilled into it so that banners can be held aloft, each massive pole waving a different flag. There are multiple Night Court black flags, the shimmering triple stars over matching mountains, but there are others too: Twin Wyverns chasing each other’s tales, their golden maws open and ready to snatch and eat the other; A set of bat-like wings open and extended across a crimson flag, an eight point star at its center. Under each banner, crowded atop the steps are fae of all shapes and sizes, all separated into sections, their clothes matching the color of the banner they sit or stand under. I’ve never seen anything like it. I want to take a second to take it in but I can’t focus on any of it. Not when, at the heart of the pit, standing over two bound figures, is the male that claims to be my mate.

My breath hitches in my chest when I see him. 

He is the enemy. 

This is the male that stormed into our camp all those years ago, this is the male that slaughtered my people in cold blood. Any warmth I had ever seen in those, nearly glowing, violet eyes is gone, only cold indifference remains. Atop his raven hair sits an obsidian crown, the pointed centerpiece glittering with three gems in the center, a nod to the stars marked on the arm of every person crammed into the amphitheater. He wears fighting leathers, but not the ones he’d worn into battle, these are all black, polished to a shine in the early morning light. And his wings! By the Cauldron, I’ve never paid so much attention to anything as I watch the massive membrane flare out behind him, decorated in swirling patterns of violet and blue ink, the patterns a twin to the tattoos that circle over his exposed biceps. He looks every bit a Lord. No, every bit a Dark Prince. Wisps of darkness slither off his shoulders, twining over his fingertips, dancing around his hips and thighs. I feel the power of him in my veins as Cassian leads us down the steps.

No one pays us any mind as we pass, their attention and anger, judging by the shouts they throw, are all honed at the males kneeling at Rhysand’s feet. They’ve been stripped down to their underthings, bare chests slashed with even, precise lines of a blade, the blood long since dried. Both have short, dark hair and eyes so black it looks like all pupil. There are more slashes beneath their eyes, the marks fresher than the others, a few droplets of blood dripping down their cheeks like tears. 

Cassian leads us to the bottom row, where I recognize the shadowy figure of Azriel, saving us a spot. The other male stands with his arms crossed over his chest, the dagger he’d been spinning in his hands last night now safely strapped to his thigh. I shiver as he puts a hand on my back to motion me into a seat between him and Cassian, with Mor squeezing her way in between him and I so we remain together. The shouting of the crowd grows louder with each passing second, the volume and anger making my hair stand on end. I find myself reaching out for Mor’s hands, huddled beside her for both warmth and protection. 

Up until this point, Rhysand has been pacing, hands clasped behind his back, wings flaring behind him. Only once I’m seated does his gaze flick to me, eyes roving over my new attire and I hate the flutter in my stomach the look brings me. I should want him to be looking at me like that, but after what Mor had said, after what I’d done once he’d left… I look away quickly, torn more than ever on what I’m supposed to do here. 

I feel, more than see, the little smirk he gets as his eyes linger on the marks he’d left on my throat, but am spared from any more thoughts about last night when he finally looks away to address the crowd. It’s first in Illyrian, then in Basic. The change in languages makes his voice deeper, huskier; I’m more drawn to it than I’d like to be. Many things about the male are attractive, I’m not so blinded by disdain for him that I don’t notice them, his voice among the top qualities. There are quite a few females around me who lean forward in their seats, enraptured with his every word. It’s almost distracting enough that I forget there are two bound men at his feet.

Almost. My eyes flick to them. Their wounds are precise, methodical, not so deep it’ll kill them, but not so shallow it doesn’t hurt. They keep their heads to their chest as Rhysand speaks, dark eyes darting around for an escape. They say Amarantha’s men are worse monsters than the Illyrians, but they certainly don’t look terrifying now. They’re scrawny, like someone had plucked them off the street, no scars upon their skin to reveal any past battle wounds. I can’t decide if that means they’ve never seen a battle until now or if Amarantha’s fighting men have such an advantage that they’ve never been injured in one. 

“Amarantha thinks that she can do whatever she wants,” Rhysand’s voice booms across the amphitheater, the worn stones trembling beneath us. Darkness mists off his body, violet eyes glowing like starlight in his tan face. “But Hybern and his General have no power here!”

The crowd roars in agreement, some of the fighting men on their feet now, stamping the butts of their spears against the ground. 

“These are our lands!”

My ears ring under the din of the crowd. Mor grips my hand a little tighter to keep me steady. At least she’d been right about one thing: The amount of bodies packed into here makes the cold a little bearable, but I press as close to her as I can all the same. 

“We have bled and died for it!” Rhysand continues. “And we proved last night that we are not to be underestimated! We proved that if Amarantha thinks she can come here and take what is rightfully ours, that there will be blood to pay!”

A shiver runs up my spine as he speaks. Not just at what he says, but the truth of it. There is no mourning here. The injured in the crowd are few--only a handful of males sport bandages, no blood seeping through the white linen as if even the wounds that had landed were superficial and healing, not the open, bleeding mess I’m so used to seeing--and he’d said last night that his men had no casualties. Not only were their numbers greater than I had anticipated, but their powers are far beyond what we feared they were. Rhysand himself is a living testament to that. There isn’t anyone among us who doesn’t feel the reverberations of his power in our veins. His darkness doesn’t just flow from him, it ebbs into us, brushes against every person present like it’s introducing itself to us one by one. I don’t need to see him in battle to know that he can easily blow Amarantha’s men away by himself. He won’t even need an army.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Am I prepared to go up against a one man army?

“And we will make sure that is a lesson that bitch never forgets!” Rhysand roars as stars glitter around his outstretched hand, twinning between his fingers. His wings flair out behind him, the apex talons at the tip growing sharper, the violet of his eyes deepening, I swear I see fangs forming in his mouth. He’s not just powerful, he’s something wholly other.

The crowd jumps to its feet demanding the heads of the two males bound before them, and their Lord obliges, using a glittering trail of starlight to separate their heads from their shoulders, blood splatter across the stones. 

Rhysand lifts their heads up by the hair, admiring his work with nothing but pure satisfaction as he calls Azriel over to him. “Why don’t you deliver these to their doorstep?”

The shadowy figure of Azriel doesn’t even break stride as he grabs the heads from his lord and vanishes into shadow with them.

Interesting, so they know where Amarantha’s camp is? Tam had never been able to track her. Or maybe he’d never tried. 

Rhysand flicks the blood off his hands as he looks to the crowd and says, “We can expect a swift response, so let us be ready.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. He can’t really be trying to take on Amarantha, can he?

“Bring all your un-marked forward, let us ensure the protection of those within our borders before we prepare to strengthen outside it.”

Shit!

I’d forgotten about that part. Why else would this outfit they’d dressed me up in not have sleeves unless they needed to mark me? It should have been obvious from the beginning but I’ve been so in my head I haven’t even stopped to think about the reasons behind all this. 

Mor grabs my arm gently, but I feel the strength hidden behind it regardless. She thinks I might try and run. Truth be told, I want to. How am I supposed to go home with Rhysand’s mark? Even if I manage to get all their numbers and weaknesses, that mark is permanent. It might literally be the signature on my death warrant, no matter what information I take home.

But it also puts me right in the middle of all important matters here. Rhysand said he wanted me to ride out with him. The things I could see if I do that! I’d know how many fighting men he has, would learn battle strategies and weak points, all things no one back home has ever been able to touch. 

Thankfully, Mor helps me stand, my shoes feel like they're full of sand. Even if I’m ready to face Rhysand, am I ready to face Tamlin when this is all said and done? 

Around me, males and females all step forward. A few struggle against it, having to be pulled down into the center of the amphitheater, others go alone, heads high. They’ll have to go through the blood littering the floor to get there, which is clever on Rhysand’s part. Swearing fealty here, after blood has been spilled makes this oath all the more magically binding. We’re all entered into a blood oath without spilling any of our own to do it. 

I let Mor lead me forward, despite every instinct to run. I will be closer than anyone to Rhysand. I can give my people the chance they deserve at having a good life. Maybe, when this is all said and done, this walled in haven could be a place we could call home, safe from war and hunger. I can ensure our future, all I have to do is damn myself to do it.

And put this male through more misery. The image of him last night, the dark circles around his eyes flashes across my mind and I have to give myself a little shake to rid myself of it. I can’t let one tragedy sway me, how many tragedies has he himself caused? 

My chest aches, I rub absently at it like that might relieve the tension. He is the enemy. I have to keep telling myself that, over and over, until it’s ingrained into my very thought process. One loss cannot compare to what he has put us through. I have to think about all the lives I will save instead of the one he has lost. 

It takes so much time for me to convince myself that I am capable of doing this that I genuinely miss everyone’s else’s pledge to Rhysand. By the time I am settled and ready to raise my head again, it’s just me and him, and a river of spilled blood between us. A fitting meeting ground I suppose. 

Mor gives my arm one last squeeze before she slips into Cassian’s arms and I swear the whole world centers in to just me and the massive Illyrian before me. He looks even more a dark prince up close.

“Hello, mate,” he purrs.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Don’t throw up here, don’t throw up in front of all these people.

Rhysand leans in close enough for me to smell the citrus and jasmine scent of him, the heady fragrance invading all my senses like it's trying to carve itself into veins. I’ve never been more aware of his size compared to mine. “Kneel,” his voice is a lover's caress, made for the gentle darkness of the bedroom. “Take my mark, so that you’ll have our full protection, and then you and I can have some fun.”

Those violet eyes flick to my bruised throat, his fangs biting into his lower lip as he admires his work and heat rushes through me. I want to play, just as readily as I had last night, maybe more. 

I tear my gaze away first. There’s no going back from this. 

My heartbeat is a clanging gong in my ears, breath a heavy rasp that tears from my throat as I lower myself onto my knees. The rough stones bite into my exposed flesh; the blood now cold against my skin. 

Rhysand reaches out to touch my cheek, thumb stroking over my skin as he nods encouragingly. His touch makes me think of last night, and what I had done in the aftermath of having those hands on me. I’d managed to not think about it until now, but now that the thought is here, I can’t stop it anymore than I could last night. Heat licks its way up my spine. 

He is the enemy. I am not supposed to feel like this while on my knees, I am supposed to hate him. I really need to pull it together.

“I-” Am I even capable of separating myself from what I want and need to do here? I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want his hands on my body. It’s not supposed to be like this!

“I swear fealty to you, My Lord.” Am I supposed to say something flowery? Make some grand gesture? I never really paid that much attention during these things, I’d spent most of my time trying to figure out how to get out of them, not into one.

The words are barely out of my mouth before I feel a tingling sensation shoot its way up my arm, from fingertips to shoulder. It’s not painful, feels like my arm fell asleep and lost feeling, even though I still have all my motor functions. When I glance down at the source of the discomfort, a band of ink colored darkness spreads across my skin. It moves in swirling patterns across my bicep, twisting and twining until the familiar pattern of triple stars makes itself clear among the ink. We brand people with an iron in the Grasslands, this magic tattoo is a new sight for me.

Rhysand takes my hand and helps me to my feet before I can even think about reaching out a hand to feel the new piece of me. I don’t even have time to feel guilty about it either, not when he’s crashing his lips against mine, the hunger he feels palpable as his hand slides into my hair. 

The crowd whoops and hollers, reminding me that they’re even there. I’d truly forgotten about them up until now. 

His other hand still strokes my face as he pulls away just enough to say, “I swear, no harm will come to you under our watch.” 

Lofty promises I’m sure, but with the crowd pressing in, now that the spectacle is over, there is not much time to dwell on it either. The next couple of minutes pass in a blur as we all shift from the amphitheater to a mess tent full of benches and long tables full of food and drink.

Rhysand hasn’t let go of my hand, not even at Mor’s insistence that she should get to show me around. The mark might as well be a rope tied around our wrists, dragging me along beside him as he greets various soldiers and sentries. 

The heat of the room soon makes me forget I was ever cold in the first place, a sheen of sweat clinging to my skin the longer we linger. 

In the back center of the tent is the seat of honor, it alone has a single table, everyone else crowds into each other, clambering for seats with no real order. The fighting men mingle with the elders and children and maids alike; the armored sentries dumping their helmets on the tables, the horse hair plumes drifting over the worn wood, holding spots next to the seats of scantily dressed dancers. 

As everyone finds their seats, serving girls start bringing in the food and drink, until all the tables are full of dozens of dishes I can’t name. My stomach rumbles as Rhysand leads me along, an arm looped around my waist like he thinks I might slip away at any moment. He hasn’t stopped touching me since his mark wrote its way across my right arm; a good thing for my plan, I suppose, but I my mind won’t stop narrowing in on the way his fingers dance over my hip bone or the strength of his arms around me. To some degree, I feel small next to him, but not in a way I can convince myself I hate. Not in the way I had felt small back home. 

It’s not long before Rhysand claims this would-be throne and before I can ask where I should disappear to, the warlord is gripping me by the hips and pulling me into his lap! My brain short circuits, all rational thought flying out the window.

He slots one powerful thigh between my, very exposed, legs the scrape of his leathers against my bare skin enough to make my whole body shiver. He’s all sleek muscle, body chiseled from riding and fighting and it is not as if I hadn’t noticed--especially after last night--but I’d never been so aware of him before.

His breath is warm over the shell of my ear as he leans in to whisper, “Now we can play, Darling.”

Here?! Cauldron he’s really going to be the death of me! And rationally I know the more people see us together, the easier it will be for me to maneuver and get information, but it is very hard to think rationally when I can feel so many eyes watching my every move.

Rhysand brushes his nose over the juncture of my neck and shoulder, the soft waves of his dark hair a contrast to the harsh flash of teeth he brushes against my skin a moment later. My heart thunders in my chest, heat rushing to my cheeks. I’ve lost sight of Mor and Cassian, though I doubt they’d be stupid enough to interrupt, let alone save me.

Rhysand sucks a new mark into my neck as he trails a hand up my exposed thigh and the notion that I need to be saved leaves me. This is what I had hoped would happen last night--what I had tried so hard to pretend I didn’t want. The crowd starts to blur in my vision, the only people here are the two of us as he gets closer and closer to the apex of my thighs.  

He is the enemy. Yet, my head falls back on his shoulder as both his lips and his hands trail higher. Every move is warm and calculating and my body is so eager to surrender. I tell myself this is part of the plan, part of the game, but my body doesn’t care about any of that. It just wants more of him.

His hand stills at the pathetic excuse of a covering the skirt offers, thumb stroking against the inside of my thigh. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says softly in my ear. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I think I might actually be so pathetic that I’d beg for it, body squirming under his grip in search of more friction. I’ve never been more acutely aware of the ache between my legs. More so when I find myself grinding my hips down, unabashedly, against his thigh in front of all these people, the scrape of his leathers a heady friction that makes me bite down on my lower lip. 

He chuckles in my ear at my neediness, the sound so rich and deep it only further ignites the heat in my lower belly. If he is supposed to be the enemy, why is his whole body made for such pleasurable sin? There isn’t an inch of him that couldn’t be used to turn me on.

“It’s… it’s ok,” what even are words? “This was important.”

He hums as if thinking, fingers still stroking idle patterns into the tender flesh of my thigh. He’s so close to where I want him. 

“Thank you for being understanding,” he says softly. He sounds about as fragile as he had looked last night and that pang in my chest is back. “I can’t… I can’t risk it, not again, not with you. My mark will guarantee your protection, even if I am not physically here. You’re safe, and you’ll stay that way.”

I slowly raise my hand back, until I can thread my fingers through his hair and he leans his whole head into my touch. “No one’s ever really looked out for me before,” I whisper. Not a lie and not part of this game, but something that slips right out of me before I can trap it behind my teeth. 

“Never again,” he vows.

Perhaps if there wasn’t so much blood between us, I could believe him. 

I can’t take the words back, and I hate that we constantly end up more vulnerable than I thought we could be, I need to get this back on track. The less vulnerable I can keep things between us, the better. All I need to do is keep his focus on what we’d been doing. The more he’s thinking about my body, the less he’s looking at what I’m doing--and the less guilty I will feel. 

 I grind my hips back against him, trying to regain control of the situation, the obvious proof of his own arousal pressing into my ass. 

He hisses, even as he nips at the underside of my jaw. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You did say you’d make it up to me,” I tease in return, scraping my nails playfully along his scalp. 

“I did,” he muses. “Though I was thinking about doing it after we eat.”

“Liar,” I retort. 

His hand finally, blissfully, snakes higher, dipping beneath my skirts. “See, I was planning on making it up to you with my tongue-”

All thought eddies from my mind as his fingers stroke over my core, heat licking its way up my spine. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from making a sound.

“But if my hand is what you’d prefer, I’ll happily give it to you.” He slides a finger into the budding wetness between my legs, testing to see how much I can take. “That’s what you were thinking about last night, right?”

I freeze and he chuckles in my ear as he says, “It was rather distracting, having your side of the bond open, right as Azriel was going to work on our captives.”

He’d heard me?!

Shit shit shit! How much did he know?

“H-how did you…?” My hips buck instinctively as he curls a finger inside me, hitting a spot I didn’t know was so sensitive. 

“Think of the bond like a bridge,” he explains it so clinically, as if he isn’t currently adding a second finger inside me. “With a door on each end. Last night, you opened your door and let me walk right in.”

“How…” I roll my hips to match his pace, desperate for the friction, even as my eyes squeeze themselves shut from the embarrassment of this conversation. “How much did you hear?”

“Heard and saw,” he corrects, teeth scraping along the underside of my jaw. 

I wish the floor would open up and swallow me!

“Just the last bit, I think,” he continues, picking up his pace as my body clenches around his fingers. “When you called out for me. Want to tell me what you were imagining I was doing?”

Thank the Mother he hadn’t walked in when I was thinking about how much I hated him! I’d be dead otherwise, mark or not, and this wasn’t the position I wanted to be in if that was going to happen.

“This,” I whimper, turning my head to brush my lips along his throat. As long as he thinks it was nothing other than my general horniness, I’m safe, embarrassment aside. 

His fingers plunge deeper, wetness dripping down my thighs; I have to be leaving a mess on his pants at this point. “Hmmm, not very creative,” he tuts. “You could have had any part of me you wanted, and all you could think about was my hands?”

Considering the way my thighs start to shake, breath catching in my throat as he hits a spot inside me that has stars swimming across my vision, I’m pretty sure his hands are far beyond the limits of my imagination. No dream had ever felt this good. I intend to defend myself, or at the very least tease him in return, but the only thing that makes it past my lips is his name, soft and pleading as a prayer as my hips chase the motion of his fingers. My whole body is on fire. No part of my imagination would have ever been able to create this.

From somewhere inside the tent, music has started playing and some of those dancers I’d spotted on the way in start the entertainment portion of the afternoon, which I’m sure is a fantastic display, given the approving sounds of the crowd, but I can’t even pay attention to it. I’m barely aware that it’s there as I press my forehead into Rhysand’s shoulder and whimper, body tight as a bowstring.

“Just like that,” he whispers in my ear, chin dropping to rest on my shoulder so he can watch the way my hips rock against his hand. “Doing so well for me, Darling.”

“Please,” I beg. Gods I’m begging Rhysand. Did that even matter at this point? I’d already gotten on my knees for him, already taken his mark, what was a little begging in retrospect?

He places a tender kiss beneath my ear. “Beg a little more.”

Color heats my cheeks. “Please?” I tilt my face up enough to brush my lips over his warm skin again, my hips doing most of the work now as he slows his pace. I could honestly cry from the sudden lack of stimulation. 

“Little more.”

What could he possibly want me to say here?

Something flares in my chest as my brain spins, the same tugging feeling I’ve felt the last couple of days when I think about him. Is that the bridge he spoke of? Is that really him on the other side and not some bullshit? I mean, he did know what I’d done last night… So maybe this is real, maybe we really are…

It clicks and I drag my own teeth over his throat, leaving a little mark. This is how I keep up this ruse, right? “Please, mate.”

Shadows swirl up my thighs, caressing all the sensitive spots his hands are too occupied to touch. That little tether in my chest warms as he once again picks up the pace. His own hips rock forward, erection hot and heavy against my ass as he leaves another bite mark where my shoulder meets my neck. I’d said exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice so low and husky it pushes me right over the edge.

Stars swirl across my vision, body going limp in his grasp as I finally hurtle over the edge. I’ve never cum so hard in my life! It’s only by biting down on my lower lip that I don’t let out a scream.

He holds me gently as I come down, shadows now stroking in soothing patterns over my skin as I catch my breath. 

“Fuck,” I whisper. 

He kisses my cheek as he removes his hand from between my legs. One of his shadows brings a cup of ale over for me to drink.  “Let’s get you some food, hm?”

It is still hard for me to wrap my head around that this male is the one that so easily slaughtered my people--the male that just took two heads off in the amphitheater. There is such a contrast to him it makes my head spin. It is even stranger to me that he is still very obviously aroused and not doing anything about it. He’s very content to let me just sit here in his lap after giving me the best orgasm of my life with nothing in return?

“What about you?” 

Rhysand places another kiss beneath my ear. “We have all day, Darling.”

That thing in my chest warms at the thought. At least there are some perks to seducing the enemy, right? 

------

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[ahgasegotarmy116]

Do it for Him | Do You Even Love Me? | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Voicing the thoughts that had been on your mind for so long leaves you broken and regretting every decision you've ever made. Pairing: Daughter in law reader x Father in Law Jungkook (Yändere) Word Count: 1.1k~ Warnings: An argument and some explicit language (kinda but not really) a/n: This is a hypothetical situation and is NOT what happens in the story. Oc and Jungkook don't end up together and I'll be writing another bonus chapter about how everything ends but this is simply a longer drabble that I just decided to make into a bonus chapter since I think some of you would be interested in reading it 😁 P.s. Requested by an annon 💜 (also written in one sitting so ignore any mistakes lol) Series Masterlist

"How was your day today?" I ask half heartedly, wondering if he'll actually speak to me like a human being today or skip to having sex again like he's done almost every time he's come to visit lately.

"It was fine but I don't want to talk about work since it looks like someone's been missing me huh?" he taunts, taking my want for interaction with him as a sign of an insatiable hunger he wishes I shared.

"I did miss you but I missed being with you, not just sex" I say, pressing on his chest to keep some space between us to show I'm serious and want to talk about this.

He stops and waits for me to continue but his eyes don't leave my body for a second.

"When I told you I loved you I didn't mean for our life to end up like this" I say, referring to the way we've been living for the past year.

"What's wrong? Did you need something else? You have my credit card and I told you before that you didn't have to ask me for anything. If you want it then get it. It's the least I could do for my beautiful Angel" he says while caressing my face but I take a step back, not letting him put me under his spell again.

"I'm not talking about money Jungkook. I'm talking about how I told you I didn't want to live as 'The other woman'. You told me you were going to get a divorce and let the children and I move in with you. Not just have you pop by at this separate house you have us living in" I say. 

He turns around and heads to the kitchen, gulping down a glass of water and placing the cup down on the counter. "I told you I would take care of it" he growls out while leaning both hands against the sink, clearly not appreciating the topic of conversation when all he had been looking for was a quick fuck.

"You told me that a year ago and from what I've seen you've been lying to me this whole time. Have you even filed the papers? You know that neither of you love each other so what's the point of keeping this whole charade going?" I say, following after him and standing my ground, not letting him drop this.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to center himself so he won't blow up on me like he has in the past. "These things take time Angel, plus going through a divorce would make my company take a big hit and might ruin some of the relationships I've built" he tries to explain but I'm not having it.

"If your company is all you care about then maybe all of this was a mistake" I say, turning around to walk into my bedroom with him following lazily behind me.

"You know I care about you too Angel" he says, leaning in the doorway while I've decided to plot down on the bed, running my fingers through my hair and trying to figure out if any of this was a good idea.

From the looks of it to any outsider this whole relationship was bound to go up in flames sooner or later. My life wasn't supposed to be like this. Was I really that naïve to think that somehow things would change if we were actually together? Did I really think that he was capable of loving me too?

"No I don't know that. I know that you love my body and that you love having sex with me and the idea of being with me and stealing me away from your son but I don't even know if you actually love me. Y/n. Not Angel, not the mother of your children, not the daughter in law that you took advantage of, just me" I spout off everything that's been on my mind and I can see that he starts to more or less assess our relationship and I really hope I'm going to get the answer I'm hoping for.

"You knew who I was when you first met me. You knew who I was when you married my son and you definitely knew what you were getting yourself into when you left him to be with me. I'm not this loving and kind husband that you want me to be and deep down you know that too. Do I care about you? Yes, I do. Do I love you? I don't know. I don't know if I do and I don't know if I ever will and if that's not good enough for you then be my guest, say the word and we can end this right now" he says and every condescending word that falls from his lips is like a knife through my heart.

I choke back a sob as my eyes glass over leaving him rolling his eyes, clearly not having the patience to deal with this today. 

"Seems like you've got some stuff to think about and from the looks of it I've got some business to attend to" he says, hinting at the headache it's going to be for him to go through with this divorce. 

He strides over to the bed where I'm sat with my head down, trying and failing to hold back my tears and picks up my chin. "Just remember who you're dealing with Angel okay? It will make all of ours lives so much easier if you stop thinking that you can change me" he says, caressing my face again, driving the knife deeper. 

"I am who I am and if you can't accept that then I think we have some hard decisions we'll need to make here" he says a wipes away a few of my tears before tapping underneath my chin twice and walking away. 

"Where are you going?" I ask, getting up and following him out, my vision going glossy. "It seems you're not in the mood that I thought you might be in so I think it's best if I go. Give my love to the children" he says over his shoulder and walks out, leaving me speechless and beyond heart broken, mourning the life I had with his son all over again and missing the feeling of loving someone and being loved in return. 

"What have I done?" I whimper, sinking to the floor and sobbing, wishing that I could take it all back. That I could start over and never get mixed up with this family no matter how in love I was with his son. I never knew that a love that was once so pure would be traded for one that is so devastatingly one sided, wrecking my life beyond compare and stealing what little pieces of me I had left. 

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[erinwantstowrite]

erinwantstowrite on tumblr dot com how do you get the motivation to plan & outline & write & finish ur fics

well, anon on tumblr dot com, motivation comes in waves, and i've simply learned how to ride it

we're all in different boats of many colors, shapes, designs, and sails, so we all have different ways to ride our waves safely, creatively, and while having fun. my methods might not work for you (i hope they do!) but they could give you an idea. however, there are basic fundamentals that every sailor (writer) should know:

taking care of yourself, body and mind

going outside to enjoy the sun and live and breathe

taking time to learn new things

outside of the box thinking

your motivation will come to you better when you figure out what helps you feel good. create a schedule or set out a certain time of day to write, and don't beat yourself up if you find that your writing isn't coming to you on certain days. it'll come back, it always does

when planning, i like to use notebooks. i have two notebooks (so far) for LoF, notebooks for my original works, etc. I treat them like it's an extension of my brain (or like a journal). it has all my brainstorming, lists and facts, timelines, calendars, etc. i have research notes in here too! the notebook is a conglomeration of everything all together, and some things don't end up looking pretty or end up in the fic at all

outlining is different. outlining is taking your brainstorms, figuring out what is "needed" to drive the plot forward, what is "wanted" to fill in spaces between plots (example: i wanted tim and peter to meet, and i decided it makes the most sense if tim was stalking him, and what was needed for the plot was for tim to figure things out from that conversation). put it in a chronological order and try to make it read like an episode or "mini-book" each chapter, if you can. no pressure on that last part.

your outline will constantly change (think like how the wind and currents in a boat could shift and you have to adjust so you can get where you're going). do not fret about it, just continue forward. make a new outline with your new ideas, reflect and keep the old one around. you might scrap a scene and then find out you can fit it in somewhere else later on

when writing, you want to know what you can handle within a day. on average, i can set aside 80 minutes a day, and write about 2000 words. but it entirely depends on my mood, if i slept right, if i have plans that day, etc. sometimes i write 2000, other times i write 20 or nothing at all. do not push yourself to write every day or write a certain word count, it will come to you naturally. you'll also get better over time and with practice, and when you find and get comfortable with your writing style, you'll be able to make your plans, outlines, and write with no problem at all

and with finishing... i'll admit that i have an issue with that. i find that endings are the most important part of a story, and sometimes i don't want it to end. but alas, it must. endings are never "endings", because there will always be a set up to what comes later, even if you don't write it. you want your characters to finish their arc, but also have room for growth once the reader has stopped following their journey. it's satisfying to get to that end and see your characters off. it's on you to figure out your way over that hill

[ratherembarrassing]

alright pals, it's time for some rhaenicent fic recs, as asked for by literally 10s of you. here are nearly 500k words of things that have made me kick my heels with joy.

(for the full list of things i've liked enough to think someday i might like to find it again, see here.)

you don't know what love is (if you don't put up a fight) by tansymeadows. 144k, E. technically not finished, but the first 14 chapters feel like a complete story. rhaenyra returns just in time for viserys' death, alicent doesn't back aegon and instead rhaenyra is crowned queen. visenya lives, daemon takes his leave, and rhaenyra courts the dowager queen through the process of succession. the slowest slow burn to ever burn. there is so much plot, a whole-ass war, and they're so ridiculously in love. this fic is why it took me so long to finish compiling this list, because i sat and reread every single delicious word, because it circles back and forth all over their history in a way that just askjdhas. i've read this twice now and even just flipping through it to write this up is trying to suck me back in.

i dwell in possibility by ladybundle / @ladybundle. 29k (2 part series). viserys doesn't die and rhaenyra returns to king's landing. visenya lives, aegon dies, and alicent in this is the most tortured lesbian while they mend their relationship. i really dig the whole vibe of the writing in this, which feels very in character, if that makes sense for the vibe of a fic rather than just a character. the second fic is the origin of the 'alicent hightower's belated sexual awakening' tag i started using, which is a category of fics that i enjoy very, very much.

you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream by rosiep8801/ @rosehathaways-sidepiece. 12k, M. another one where viserys doesn't die and rhaenyra returns to king's landing, this time one in which they wholeheartedly and rabidly throw themselves into sorting their shit out, as they share a bed over and over each night as they battle through their issues. this one has my favourite iteration of the traditional alicent hightower learns of the female orgasm scene.

cleopatra by dontaskmedude. 52k, E. this one appears on every rec list i've ever seen, and rightfully so. kicks off with the weirwood scene in 104, and runs from there, a lovely alternate reality where alicent/rhaenyra/laenor/joffrey live the next 20-odd years in relative peace. this one smashes me in the feelings.

where fire and ice meet by wariangle. 41k, 4 part series, E. pre-series through to rhaenyra's ascension, everything's the same except she refuses to marry or have children. it's okay though, because she has a plan. i am deeply obsessed with "and they were two queens through machinations" fic. alicent in this is my actual fave, she's so spiky; the final fic in the series, although actually deeply sad, has a premise that makes me howl with laughter because obviously alicent hightower, lesbian with a wife for 20 years, would also be a massive homophobe.

not on the last day by revans_mask. 48k, E. alicent goes with otto to meet with rhaenyra and offer terms, and while she's there she slips rhaenyra a message. there are a couple of beats in this that are so romantic i clutched at my chest.

keep the promise in your mouth by iwantthemtostay / @iwantthemtostay. 87k, E. technically not finished, but only missing an epilogue. the closest thing to AU on this list; rhaenyra is barren, alicent has four daughters, and when viserys dies while rhaenyra is away from westeros, daemon takes the crown. when she returns, he forces alicent and rhaenyra to marry each other for reasons. as the summary says, they make the best of it. this fic makes me insane, it's so dreamy.

ride the dragon (do it quickly) by molter / @molter-writes. 36k, unrated. in the free real estate between 106 and 107, viserys sends rhaenyra and alicent to do some politicking in the north. alicent cannot stand the cold, so what is rhaenyra to do but share her bed to keep her warm. alicent is so angry about it.

thine is the queendom by liadrell / @lesbianalicent. 11k, M. the only non-ship fic on this list. an alicent character piece set in the free real estate between 105 and 106, and deal with the absolutely batshit fact that alicent was pregnant with daeron at the same time rhaenyra was pregnant with jace in a way that made me sad as fuck tbqh.

daughters of the dragon by DMCMercy. 14k, M. the kiddos patch things up with alicent's first pregnancy, kicking off what is not at all secretly one of my favourite categories of early canon divergence: alicent's other husband rhaenyra.

[theetherealbloom]

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM - CH.4

Chapter 4: ​​Scandal Does Funny Things To Pride, But Brings Lovers Closer

Summary: After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, AGE-GAP Romance, Reader is Early twenties and Joel is in his late 30s to early 40s, Secret Romance, Sneaking Around, FLUFF, LOTS OF SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, Heavy Make Out Session, Oral Male Receiving, Penetration Kissing, Barely any plot, NOT A SLOW BURN AT ALL, Relationship, Swearing, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Flattery, Awkward, Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, slightly Self Deprecating, Suggestive Content, Size Kink, Reader is “smaller” than Joel but no further descriptions, Breeding Kink, PWP (wrap it up), Body worship, declaring their love for each other, 

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: I wrote this in two days and I’m lowkey unsure if this all makes sense LMAO. So here we are, at the final chapter… tf am I gonna do now… (*stares at all the unfinished series rewrites*) well… damn. See you at the epilogue. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

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Joel doesn't think you both slept a wink that first week, the two of you creeping around in the dead of night and again in the pre-dawn light. You were over at Joel's place every morning, right after your dad left for work. He still thinks you're in your own bed every night, only helping Joel out part-time during the day.

But in between when he leaves for work and when he gets home for dinner, you're right where you belong – by Joel's side. Or, in most cases, bouncing your fine ass on the end of his thick, throbbing cock until you're screaming his name into a pillow.

It's not as if you haven't tried to tell your dad the truth. Joel has, too. But it cuts him up to keep anything from his oldest friend, especially when he sees your dad on such a high. Telling him the reality of the situation would surely ruin him.

Even though Joel knows it's the right thing to do, the thought of shattering your father's newfound joy and confidence is almost too much to bear. He's seen the way your dad's face lights up when he talks about the success of his business, all thanks to Joel's intervention.

Your dad is even making noise about setting up a workshop on the East Coast, making Joel's original idea sound like his own. But if it makes him happy, Joel's happy. Because of all that, you and Joel made a pact – if your dad asks either of you directly if you're anything more than just friends, you'll tell him the truth. But he's been so busy that neither of you have actually seen much of him at all.

As uneasy as it makes Joel, keeping the both of you a secret just a little longer seems like the easiest way to avoid making waves. Or so Joel thought. It's been two weeks to the day, and Joel doesn't think you or him have ever been happier your whole lives, except for the sneaking around past your dad bit.

But your dad is no dummy. And Joel can see now that he should have just come out with it, long before helping him get his business into first gear. You both guess that you two got lazy.

It happens right after another one of your father's dinners on a Friday night. He's insisted Joel, Tommy, and Sarah come over, and he'll cook for all of you. But come eleven o'clock, when Tommy and Sarah go home, and then midnight, you and Joel are giving each other guarded glances. And your dad takes on the air of a man who has something to say.

"I should probably head to bed," you say, about to excuse yourself, but your dad asks you to sit.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, honey," your dad says calmly, shaking his head and laughing to himself. But it's not a happy laugh – it's a wounded, ironic kind of grimace he wears as his eyes settle on Joel's.

"And you, Joel? I suppose you're beat after spending the day with my daughter 'helping you out' around the house, huh?" your dad says cuttingly, but he regains his composure quickly.

"I guess I have somethin' to tell you," Joel croaks, trying to swallow but feeling his mouth dry as dirt.

"I guess we both have something to tell you," you add, making Joel jump when your hand slips into his, and you rest them both on the table.

Your dad takes in a sharp breath, steadying himself, and Joel has to say, he's being a fucking man about it. "So go ahead," he murmurs.

"Tell me all about it," he says before raising his hand quickly. "No. Don't tell me all about it. I don't need to know the sordid details... Just tell me when all this started, Joel. You too, hon'," he asks, looking over to you, his eyes filling up with tears before either of you even says a word.

"How could you?" he sniffs bitterly, looking every bit as hurt and betrayed as Joel thought he might, but he's not angry. Not angry at all. Just hurt that you two have been fooling around behind his back and keeping secrets.

You feel upset too and lower your head in shame, but Joel, for one, feels better now that he knows. The burden of the lie has been removed, and he's ready to face the consequences, whatever they may be.

Joel takes a deep breath, his hand tightening around yours. "I've been in love with her since the day she graduated," he tells your father, his voice steady and unwavering.

"Things moved quicker than I thought, and it wasn't until we both knew how much we were in love that it meant hurting you if you knew," Joel explains, not making excuses, but trying to help your dad understand.

Your father is silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "So. You coming all the way out here, for good. All that was just a way to get to her?" he asks, his tone laced with a hint of accusation.

"Don't twist it to make it look like that," Joel retorts, but your dad isn't entirely wrong.

"I meant what I said about helping you, and I still do," Joel reminds him, his voice firm.

"I can give her more than any man half my age, too. Give her a life..." Joel trails off, his words hanging in the air.

The tension in the room is palpable as your dad's anger flares, his words sharp and cutting. "What? Give her a life her father couldn't? She's my fucking daughter, Joel. Who the fuck asked you to help yourself, huh?" he demands, his frustration evident. But you interject, your own voice rising in defense.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. I'm an adult. And I know you've provided for me, always made sure I have everything I need," you assert, your tone firm and unwavering.

"But do you think a woman like me is ever gonna have a guy like Joel just breeze into town, sweep me off my feet, and then let him go?" you challenge defiantly. "Getting eight bucks an hour tutoring part-time and living with my Dad into my old age isn’t the kind of life I had planned for myself."

Joel admires your fire, proud of you for speaking your mind. The air crackles with tension, but at least everyone is having their fair say. Despite the burning bridge, the honesty in the room feels like a weight lifted off your shoulders.

For your dad to take the news without his fists flying, Joel realizes he's matured more gracefully than he would have given him credit for. The pulse of the moment slows, the truth out in the open. No more hiding, but decisions loom ahead that may not be easy.

Your father reflects, a nostalgic air settling around him. "I knew that day of your graduation, sweetheart. And I know you better than you think, Joel," he says, his gaze shifting between the two of you. "I just didn't want to believe it."

"I love her," Joel declares, his voice unwavering. "I'm having his baby, Dad," you begin, the revelation causing a moment of shock between both your dad and Joel, before your laughter breaks the tension.

“You should have seen your faces.” You chuckle a little.

"Honestly, I want to have his kids, Dad. I want us to be together forever. I want to take care of Sarah. House, kids... the whole nine yards," you chime in, relief evident in your voice.

Your father's response is unexpected, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "I know you do, sweetie," he comforts you, a smile creasing his face. "You wanna be the mom you never had. And I guess I just didn't wanna lose the little girl I raised all on my own."

As your father prepares to leave, the moment's weight settles over you all. "I just need time, Joel," he finally says. "Time to get used to all this... Time to get used to not having her around."

The nuclear fallout you both expected never came, not in the way you expected. The night ends with a sense of understanding and acceptance, your father's blessing a silent promise of support and love.

Walking home next door, the weight of the evening hangs heavy in the air. In the quiet of your shared bed, you find solace in Joel's arms, the raw emotion of the moment bringing you closer than ever before. You are crying in his embrace, the tears flowing freely as the tension and relief of the confrontation with your father wash over you.

But it feels just as good to Joel, this shared vulnerability. Sharing the not-so-great times as well as the good times – this is what being with someone is truly all about. The good thing is that you don't have to keep anything secret anymore, and better still, you both have your dad's blessing.

Probably the most important thing for Joel, because without his best friend and the woman he loves, where would he be?

"We good?" you sniffle, rubbing your puffy eyes as you look up at Joel. He lifts your face from his chest, holding you close.

"Oh, we're better than good, darlin'," he smiles back at you. "We're perfect," he tells you, stroking your hair as you lie silent for a long time.

"I love you," you eventually murmur, drifting into a dreamless sleep with a little smile playing on your lips.

"And I love you more," he promises you, kissing your forehead goodnight. He's already waiting for the morning so he can tell you the same again, his heart swelling with the knowledge that you are his, and he is yours, without the need for secrecy or shame.

The weight of the evening has lifted, replaced by a sense of relief and contentment. No longer do you have to tiptoe around, hiding your love and affection. Your father's blessing, though not without its reservations, is a testament to the depth of your connection and the trust he has in Joel to care for you.

As you sleep peacefully in Joel's arms, he can't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. This woman, this life, is more than he ever dared to dream of. With your father's acceptance, the path ahead is clearer, and Joel is determined to cherish every moment, to build a future that will make you both proud.

As you stir from the depths of slumber, the remnants of a dream linger, tantalizing and vivid. Joel's image flickers in your mind, a hunger burning behind your eyelids, a relentless craving that claws at your senses.

With a slow, drowsy blink, reality floods back, engulfing you in a haze of sensation. Heat coils low in your belly, radiating outward as awareness seeps into every pore. And then you feel it—the intoxicating pressure between your thighs, a languid caress that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Your gaze drifts downward, heart pounding in your chest as you take in the sight before you. Joel lies beneath the duvet, his form obscured yet unmistakable in the dim light. His rugged features are softened by the shadows, the scruff of his beard grazing your skin like a promise unspoken.

A shiver courses through you as his tongue dances over your slick folds, igniting a firestorm of need that threatens to consume you whole. Your back arches involuntarily, a breathy sigh escaping your lips as pleasure blossoms deep within.

"Joel... fuck..." you moan, the words torn from your throat in a desperate plea for more. His head emerges from beneath the covers, lips glistening with your essence, eyes smoldering with untamed desire.

"You gotta be quiet, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice thick with a southern drawl that sends shivers cascading down your spine. "Might wake the whole house up. Can you do that for me, be a good girl?"

Your heart pounds in your chest, pulse racing as his words wash over you like a wave crashing against the shore. With a nod, you bite down on your lip, a silent promise of compliance as you surrender to the whirlwind of sensation engulfing you.

As Joel's tongue delves deeper, tracing patterns of ecstasy along your sensitive flesh, your senses spiral out of control. Every flick, every swirl sends shockwaves of pleasure cascading through your body, igniting a fierce inferno that threatens to consume you whole.

"Fuck, Joel," you whimper, fingers tangling in the sheets as you surrender to the heady rush of sensation. His touch is electric, setting your nerve endings ablaze with a fervor unlike anything you've ever known.

With a low growl, Joel's lips capture yours in a searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a passionate dance of desire. His hands roam over your trembling form, tracing the curves of your body with reverent exploration.

"You taste like heaven, darlin'," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "Gonna make you scream my name until the whole damn house knows who you belong to."

A shudder wracks your body at his words, desire pooling low in your belly as you succumb to the primal urge driving you both. With a wordless plea, you arch into his touch, craving more of him with every fiber of your being.

Joel's fingers slip between your thighs, finding you slick and ready for him. With a wicked grin, he teases your entrance, circling your clit with agonizing slowness before plunging deep inside you with a single, relentless thrust.

"Fuck, yes," you cry out, the words torn from your lips in a breathless plea for more. Joel's pace quickens, each thrust driving you higher and higher until you're teetering on the edge of oblivion.

In the soft glow of morning light streaming through the window, you find yourself tangled in Joel's embrace, limbs intertwined in a mess of sheets and limbs. His chest rises and falls with each breath, the rhythmic cadence a comforting lullaby as you revel in the aftermath of your shared passion.

With a tender sigh, Joel presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his touch gentle against your feverish skin. "God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I could spend eternity right here, just like this."

You feel the heat stain your cheeks at his words, warmth flooding your veins at the intensity of his gaze. "I feel the same way," you whisper, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. "Being with you like this... it's like coming home."

Joel's lips curve into a tender smile, his eyes alight with adoration as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "You're my home, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp that sends shivers dancing down your spine. "And I'll do anything to make sure you feel safe and loved, always."

His words linger in the air, a comforting blanket enveloping you. In Joel's embrace, you discover a sense of peace, a haven amidst life's storms. Here, in this quiet moment, you realize that with Joel beside you, and you're so excited and can't wait to see what happens next.

As the morning sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the breakfast table, you took a deep breath and shared the news with Sarah and Tommy. The revelation of your relationship with Joel and your decision to stay with them while your dad was away for the week hung in the air, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.

Sarah's eyes lit up with joy, her enthusiasm palpable as she practically bounced in her seat, devouring her scrambled eggs with gusto. Tommy, ever the observant one, shot you both a sly look that made your cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

You knew you needed to work on being quieter, but it was a challenge when Joel had a way of taking you to heights of pleasure that left you gasping and moaning, unable to contain the sounds of ecstasy that escaped your lips.

The dynamic between the four of you shifted subtly, a new energy crackling in the air as the unspoken tension of your newfound relationship with Joel lingered between bites of toast and sips of coffee. Sarah's infectious excitement was contagious, her chatter filling the room with a sense of camaraderie and shared secrets.

Tommy's knowing glances added a layer of intrigue to the morning, his playful smirk hinting at a deeper understanding of the dynamics at play. You couldn't help but feel a rush of desire at the thought of Joel's touch, his presence a magnetic pull that left you yearning for more, even in the most mundane moments.

As the morning unfolded, the anticipation of the week ahead hung in the air, a mix of uncertainty and excitement swirling around the breakfast table. The unspoken promise of stolen moments and whispered confessions added a layer of tension to the morning routine, turning the mundane into something charged with possibility.

With each passing minute, the weight of your decision to stay with Sarah and Tommy while your dad was away settled over you, a mix of nerves and anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, you found yourself in the midst of a perfect evening with Joel. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze created a soothing backdrop to your shared moment.

Joel's hand in yours felt like a perfect fit, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. The two of you had decided to take a leisurely stroll through the nearby park, the soft grass underfoot adding to the sense of intimacy that enveloped you both.

As you walked side by side, the conversation flowed effortlessly between you, a mix of playful banter and heartfelt confessions that deepened the connection between you. Joel's laughter was like music to your ears, his Texan drawl adding a touch of charm to every word he spoke.

"You know, darlin', I can't get enough of these little moments with you," Joel said, his gaze warm and adoring. "It's like the rest of the world just fades away when I'm with you."

You felt a blush creep across your cheeks, your heart fluttering at his words. "I feel the same way, Joel. Being here with you, it's like everything else just falls away."

The setting sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a romantic glow over the scene. You couldn't help but steal glances at Joel, his features bathed in the warm light, his eyes reflecting the beauty of the moment.

As you reached a secluded spot by a tranquil pond, Joel's gaze met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, his touch sending a surge of desire through you. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of shared intimacy.

"I can't get enough of you," Joel murmured, his voice low and husky. "Every moment with you feels like a dream."

You melted into his embrace, the heat of his body searing through you. The air crackled with tension, desire simmering just beneath the surface as you lost yourselves in each other.

The soft rustle of the wind in the trees provided a gentle soundtrack to your shared moment, heightening the sense of intimacy between you. In that perfect moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of Joel's touch, you felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over you.

As the evening drew to a close, the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, casting a magical spell over the night. With Joel by your side, you felt like anything was possible, the future stretching out before you like a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of your love.

The stars had begun to twinkle in the darkening sky, lending an enchanted quality to the night. As you and Joel continued your leisurely stroll through the park, hand-in-hand, you couldn't help but be filled with a sense of wonder and possibility.

As if reading your thoughts, Joel squeezed your hand gently, his dimpled smile lighting up his features. "What's got you smiling like that, darlin'?" he asked, his affectionate nickname for you causing a flutter in your heart.

"I don't know," you replied honestly. "I just feel so... happy."

Joel's smile widened at your words. "Me too. Being here with you feels like magic."

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, taking in the sights and sounds around you. The chirping of crickets, the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, the distant hum of traffic - it all blended together to create a peaceful symphony that added to the romantic atmosphere.

As you reached a small clearing by a pond, Joel guided you towards a bench tucked away under a weeping willow tree. Sitting down beside him, you leaned against his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you.

"This is perfect," he said softly, gazing out at the tranquil water. "Just being here with you under this beautiful sky."

The next few days were a whirlwind of stolen glances and heated touches, the air thick with unspoken desire and anticipation. Every stolen moment with Joel left you breathless, your skin tingling with the promise of what was to come. The thought of your father's imminent return lingered in the back of your mind, but in Joel's arms, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of shared intimacy.

One evening, as you stood side by side in the cozy kitchen, the scent of simmering spices filling the air, Joel's presence was a magnetic pull you couldn't resist. Without warning, he pulled you into his arms, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that left you dizzy with need.

"I've been craving this all day, darlin'," Joel murmured against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.

A soft giggle escaped your lips, your fingers trailing down the strong lines of his jaw. "You certainly know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"

Joel's eyes gleamed with mischief, a wicked grin playing on his lips. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what I have in store for you. I'm just gettin’ started."

Before you could respond, Joel scooped you up in his arms, a playful glint in his eyes as he carried you towards the bedroom. Your heart raced with excitement, your arms wrapping around his neck as he laid you down on the soft sheets, his body pressing against yours in a deliciously intimate embrace.

The room was bathed in a soft, golden light, the air heavy with the promise of passion and desire. Joel's touch ignited a fire within you, his hands roaming your body with a hunger that mirrored your own. Every caress, every kiss, sent a jolt of electricity through you, building the tension between you to a fever pitch.

Joel's breath was hot against your skin, his body moving in time with the rhythm of your own desires. He pulled away for a moment, gazing into your eyes, the only source of light in the room casting shadows across his face. "I love you," he whispered, his voice husky with need.

You couldn't respond, lost in the intensity of the moment. Your heart pounded in your chest, matching the throbbing pulse of desire between your legs. With a low growl, Joel moved his lips to yours once more, his tongue probing your mouth with a fierce hunger.

The sound of your labored breaths, mingling with the low growls of desire that escaped his lips. The air grew heavy with anticipation, charged by the electricity that crackled between you. His fingers traced the sensitive skin at the apex of your thighs, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your veins.

The heat radiating from his body, the primal energy pulsing between you. As he pulled you closer, your muscles tensed in anticipation, every cell in your body yearning for the connection.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, their tongues dancing together in a frenzied tango of need. You could taste the sweetness of desire on his lips, the tang of salt from your tears of pleasure. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of your skin as if committing it to memory.

You couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as he spoke those words. You wanted nothing more than to take him into your mouth, venturing into the world of pleasure and sin that awaited you. You opened your mouth, allowing your tongue to dart out and wet your lips in anticipation, his eyes never leaving yours.

He guided his erection towards your mouth, the velvety head brushing against your lips. You opened wider, welcoming his invasion. His eyes darkened, and he groaned as you enveloped the entirety of his shaft in your warm embrace. You began to suck gently, the rhythmic motion of your head creating a wet, slurpy sound as your lips and tongue massaged him.

As he thrust deeper into your mouth, you struggled to breathe, your lungs involuntarily attempting to escape the suffocating embrace of his thick, pulsating member. Yet, you remained steadfast, determined to please him, to satiate his carnal desires.

His animalistic groans echoed in your ears, as though the very walls of the room had begun to quiver in response to his euphoric release. You could feel his veins, now bulging with the ferocity of his climax, vibrate against your sensitive lips and tongue, heightening the already intense sensations coursing through your body.

You could feel his heart pounding wildly, the rhythm syncing with the beats of your own. The room was filled with his scent, musk and sweat, a potent mix that drove you on. Your tongue swirled around his hard length, savoring the taste of him.

His hands gave your head a gentle squeeze, urging you on. His pleasure was your reward, the way his breath hitched and his hips thrust harder. You moved your head in time with his, sucking him deep, keeping a steady rhythm as his release approached.

The sudden tightening of his body spoke of his climax, and you knew you had to continue. Your lips glided up and down his shaft, focusing all your attention on the growing flutters within him.

Finally, he groaned, his release a hot, salty flood that filled your mouth. You swallowed quickly, eager to please him, the taste lingering on your tongue like the first bite of a ripe peach. He pulled away, breathless and flushed, his eyes locked on yours in a silent communion of satisfaction.

“You’re turn, darlin’,” Joel says, his eyes dark and his voice deep as midnight. You feel him grab your hips and begins to devour you, kissing every inch of skin and grabbing your body with an almost primal hunger. The air around you seems to grow thick with desire as you cling to him, your breath catching in your throat. He slides his hands up under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine, and you can't help but arch into his touch, moaning softly.

Joel's lips trail down your neck, and you suck in a sharp breath as his teeth gently scrape against your delicate skin. A warm flush spreads across your body, and you feel yourself growing bolder, more willing with each passing moment. He bites down gently, leaving a mark that matches the one he gave you days ago, and you shudder with pleasure.

His lips explore every part of your body, getting closer and closer to your core. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his desire for you palpable in his every touch. The pace quickens as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently, a possession claim of sorts. Your breath hitches, your heart pounding in your chest, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

His hands, strong and calloused, graze the soft skin at the nape of your neck, expertly unfastening the delicate clasp of your dress. It falls to the ground, pooling around your ankles, leaving you exposed in just a lace-edged bra and matching underwear. 

Simultaneously, his hands slide beneath your underwear, his fingers exploring, tracing patterns and leaving trails of fire on your skin. He pauses, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze fierce and unyielding. In that moment, you feel a connection, a bond that transcends physical desire. It's more than just lust; it's passion, raw and unbridled.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin against skin, and moans of pleasure, creating a symphony of desire that drowns out any other noise.

The air is heavy with the scent of sweat and musk, a heady mixture that serves to heighten the sensual atmosphere. The lingering scent of scented candles adds a touch of sweetness to the mix.

You can't take it anymore. The anticipation, the desire, it's all too much. Your body is on fire, begging for release. And Joel knows it.

"Fuck, Joel, please," you whine, your hips grinding against his in desperation.

He chuckles darkly, his lips grazing against your neck. "Alright, baby," he murmurs, and before you know it, he has entered you.

His cock slides into your weeping hole with ease; you're slick and wet from both arousal and anticipation. You gasp at the feeling of him filling you up completely, every inch of him stretching you in all the right ways.

Joel's movements are slow and deliberate at first, as if savoring every moment. But soon enough, the pace quickens as he pounds into you with a primal need. 

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure through you.

Moans and gasps escape your lips uncontrollably as Joel hits all the right spots within you. Every touch feels like electricity coursing through your veins; every kiss like a fire burning between you two.

Your fingers grip onto his back desperately as he brings you closer to the edge. Your moans become louder and more frantic as your body tenses with impending release.

With one final thrust, Joel pushes both of you over the edge into pure ecstasy. Your bodies tremble together as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You cling onto each other tightly as powerful orgasms rock through your bodies.

As you come down from your high, Joel pulls out of you gently and collapses beside you on the bed. Your breathing is heavy and labored as both of your hearts beat in sync.

Joel pulls a blanket over both of your naked bodies before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. You snuggle into his chest contentedly, feeling more satisfied and loved than you ever have before.

The sunlight streams in through the window, casting a warm glow over your tangled bodies. You stir, slowly coming to consciousness as the events of last night flood back to you.

Your eyes flutter open and you find yourself staring into Joel's deep brown gaze. He smiles at you, his fingers still tracing soothing patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he says, his words soft and sincere. 

The sound of his voice is filled with love and emotion, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You smile and snuggle closer to him, basking in the warmth of his love. It's a feeling like no other, one that fills you with happiness and contentment.

As you lay there together in peaceful silence, memories of how the two of you came to be fill your mind. And it was the best decision either of you had ever made.

"I can't imagine my life without you," Joel whispers, breaking the silence between you two.

Tears prick at your eyes at his words. You feel overwhelmed with emotion - gratefulness for having someone like him in your life and overwhelming love for him.

"I feel the same way," you reply honestly, turning to look into his eyes once again. "I never want to lose you."

Joel leans in and kisses you gently, sealing his promise with actions rather than words. And as your lips move against each other's in a sweet embrace, all doubts fade away.

This is real and true love; a connection that goes beyond physical attraction or fleeting emotions.

It was a connection that defied reason and logic, a force that could not be contained or explained. It was a love that knew no boundaries and bloomed in every corner of their being, the sweetest melody that echoed in their hearts with every beat.

[jetwhenitsmidnight]

Compound Fracture by Andrew Joseph White

Release date: 3 September 2024

Genre: young adult contemporary horror/thriller

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Synopsis

A gut-wrenching story following a trans autistic teen who survives an attempted murder, only to be drawn into the generational struggle between the rural poor and those who exploit them.

On the night Miles Abernathy—sixteen-year-old socialist and proud West Virginian—comes out as trans to his parents, he sneaks off to a party, carrying evidence that may finally turn the tide of the blood feud plaguing Twist Creek: Photos that prove the county’s Sheriff Davies was responsible for the so-called “accident” that injured his dad, killed others, and crushed their grassroots efforts to unseat him.

The feud began a hundred years ago when Miles’s great-great-grandfather, Saint Abernathy, incited a miners’ rebellion that ended with a public execution at the hands of law enforcement. Now, Miles becomes the feud’s latest victim as the sheriff’s son and his friends sniff out the evidence, follow him through the woods, and beat him nearly to death.

In the hospital, the ghost of a soot-covered man hovers over Miles’s bedside while Sheriff Davies threatens Miles into silence. But when Miles accidently kills one of the boys who hurt him, he learns of other folks in Twist Creek who want out from under the sheriff’s heel. To free their families from this cycle of cruelty, they’re willing to put everything on the line—is Miles?

Content warnings

Transphobia, misgendering, deadnaming

Death, murder, violence, blood, gore, body horror, injury, fire injury

Gun violence

Hospitalisation

Car crash

Mentioned animal death/abuse

Implied sexual assault

Toxic friendship

Drug abuse/drug addiction

Ableism

Classism

(I did my best to get all the content warnings, but I might have missed some things so do be warned)

Review

Thank you to NetGalley for an ARC!!!

I have heard nothing but good things about the author's other works, so I went into this book excited, but trying to temper my expectations in case I got let down.

Y'all. This book is pure FIRE.

This book is horrifying and visceral, but at the same time, it's moving and sincere. While this book tackles heavy topics like transphobia and classism, it's also very much about the importance of family and community.

Not to mention that the story/plot is absolutely gripping. I was tempted to finish this in one sitting, but I made myself pace it out so that I could enjoy it longer. Every chapter ended on a cliffhanger that made me want to keep reading. The author does a great job of interspersing the really dark moments with hopeful ones, so the book never gets too bogged down in despair.

One thing I have to mention is that I was very much NOT prepared for how dark this book got. I think I underestimated it because it's categorised as young adult, but this book gets really heavy.

If I had to critique something, it would be the formatting. The first page of each chapter is all black with white text, and all the other pages are the regular white with black text. The changes in page and text colour threw me out of the story a little, but TBH this is like a really minor nitpick, and also the only negative thing I have to say about this book.

[tragedybunny]

Pretty Baby 2

༺Summary༻

Astarion is a brat on several occasions and is duly punished for it. In between, he and Mommy (Fina) deal with some emotional issues.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Tav

༺Warnings༻ NSFW - PiV Sex, Anal Play, Femdom, Mommy Kink, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Chastity Cage, Porn with Feelings, Porn streaming, Pegging, Astarion being a brat

༺Word Count༻ 3783

༺A/N༻

So, it's chapter 2 of a fic I never planned to write. Lol. And somewhow now we've got plot and feelings involved. Hope you all enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing it. And huge thank you to the best of betas and friends, @icybluepenguin

The chat is populated by Tav's and other characters from my friends, they all helped makes this a delight.

Check out two similar fics if you dig mine. Decadent Torture and Careless Whisper

Read On AO3 Chapter 1

“Hush, a little more, then your punishment is over.” I let go of his cock, turn off the plug vibrating in his ass, and give him a short reprieve. 

Drawing gasping breaths, he looks up at me with pleading, tear filled eyes. God, his eyes are pretty; startling crimson, soft, and round. Normally, I cave when they're all watery like this. But not tonight - tonight is for lessons. 

I play with the little pink bow on his white thigh high stocking. Leaving him with only those, his white bra, and of course his collar, made him such a fetching picture for our little teaching session.

He'd spent most of the night on his knees in the naughty corner, those stockings peeking out of his pleated white skirt, a little pink cashmere sweater completing his look. I'd posted a few pictures that had his audience nice and worked up.

Demi_g0ddess: oh looks like Little Star was very bad today can’t wait to see what Mommy does to the little brat Bookworm420: didn’t realize Mommy was a thicc queen this might be too much for my ovaries

The chat had been crowded when we set up for the stream. Before the camera went on, I told him what to take off and how to prep, but not what I was planning. 

We went live and I made him give a little introduction. 

“I've had a very bad attitude lately and Mommy wants to make sure I'm thoroughly punished, so she's letting you all watch.” Every word was said petulantly as he leaned into playing the brat. 

Ari147: wonder what he did… Drag-onme: who cares, as long we get to watch the aftermath BardlockLongdick: is that a leather couch animal cruelty is not sexy.

“Go on,” I prompted, gesturing for him to get ready. 

The clothes he stripped were folded and set to the side, the chat cheering him on. When he kneeled down, I handed him a vibrating plug that made his eyes go wide. 

“Mommy, please…” he pleaded, but obediently went to work prepping and inserting it, cheeks flushed a deep red. I let him position himself in my lap, head propped on the arm of the couch. Then I started typing, Astarion watching with dawning horror.  

Mommy: Little Star has been an absolute brat about wearing a chastity cage while I’m out of town, because he wouldn’t be able to touch himself. So, tonight, I’m making him come as many times as I think he can handle. 

Demonbbyy: poor little thing got himself into a lot of trouble  TestyZesty: Mommy is way too nice about it but I’m still going to watch.

And here we were- Astarion, covered in his own semen, whimpering in my arms. I drag my finger along his cock, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. One more and I think he’ll have learned his lesson. I push the button on the remote for the plug.

“Fuck,” he whines the word. 

Penguino: aww, Mommy, I think he’s had enough  TestyZesty: nah, he’s still coherent  keep going Demi_g0ddess: Zesty, we’re sharing a brain cell  DrowDaddy: this chat is very mean tonight

I put a generous coating of lube on my hand and begin to work his shaft again. He pants and moans, desperate sounds falling from his lips as he builds to another orgasm. 

The chat continues to go feral as he whines and cries. I'm gentle this last round, languidly rubbing, letting the plug do its work. “That's it, one more for me. You've been so good for your punishment.”

He squirms at the praise, tearfully whimpering, hips weakly bucking as I take him to climax again. My other hand turns up the intensity on the plug. 

“Pleeeease,” he cries, voice ragged.

Another spurt of cum and he goes limp. I turn off the plug and lean down to kiss his sweat soaked forehead, letting him recover for a moment. He's so pretty like this, spent and helpless in my lap.  “Now, are you ready to apologize for being such a little brat the past couple of days?” 

He doesn't hesitate. “I'm sorry, Mommy,” he whimpers, tears running down his face. 

“Good baby. Almost done.” 

He tenses. “But...”

“Shh. They get to see because of the attitude.” He makes a noise. “Don't turn this into a spanking session,” I warn and he gets quiet. 

I take a warm, moist towel I'd set up earlier and clean up his pretty cock. The chat is losing it. 

KneelForMeSweets: and we get to see the cage  can he act up every night 

It's a pretty pink little chastity cage, just perfect for him. I slide the ring on first, then put the tube over his cock before locking it down. He's so quiet, I can hear every breath and the sniffles he's still fighting. 

Once they get a good look, I shut down the stream. 

Mommy: I'm going to go get this little brat cleaned up. Hopefully, he's learned his lesson.

Bitchybambi: I hope not, I want to see what you do next  KneelForMeSweets: she can DM me for ideas.

I kill the video and give him a proper kiss as he clings to me, spent and shivering. “Come on, you. Bath time.”

Astarion is unusually quiet during our aftercare session, and when he's settled into bed in a pair of oversized pajamas, I pull him close, and he snuggles into my neck on instinct. 

“You know, if you think it's too much to wear it, you don't have to.” I run my fingers through his curls and cover his face in soft kisses. He's done stints in the cage before, but I'm starting to doubt myself on this one. It would kill me to ever hurt him for real. 

He doesn't move; if anything, he burrows deeper into the crook of my neck. “It's not, and I am sorry for being a pain. It's just…”

He makes a small, frustrated noise and I keep petting him. “Take your time.” 

For a few minutes, he just takes shaky breaths, and then he speaks. “It’s this whole going back to school thing. I'm nervous, and you're going to be gone for the next two days. And what if this is a dumb idea and I can't do it.”

“It's not a dumb idea, you really like fashion design, baby. And why do you think you can't do it?” 

“Remember the last time I was in school? I failed out.” 

“Astarion, you didn't want to be a lawyer and you hated law school. You only went because Caz-” I feel him tense in my arms, “because he made you.” 

“I know.” He sounds teary again. “But it doesn't mean I don't feel stupid.”

“Love, my pretty little wife, you are not stupid. You’re capable and creative. And you know I won’t have time on this stupid team building trip, otherwise I’d bring you with.” 

“Still going to miss you, though.” 

“I know, baby. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The next morning, Astarion drives me to the airport. I put the keys for his collar and the cage in my jewelry box in case of an emergency or if it’s too much for him. It's cold and rainy, and he’s adorable in oversize sweats with sleepy eyes. After he unloads my bag, I pull him in for a hug and feel it pressed against me. A wave of lust courses through me; I can’t wait to come back and have a nice little session with him. 

“Call me when you land, Fina.” 

I don’t know if he realizes how much I’ll miss him. Astarion and I have rarely been apart since we met in grad school. It's just as hard on me to get on that plane and be without him.

We get one quick call before I’m off to the first of many “activities” the firm planned. I can’t be too angry about it, they pay a ton, and it finances my trophy wife’s lifestyle. I tell Astarion I’ll call him after dinner and karaoke hour. 

The whole day isn't that tortuous, and most of my coworkers get into the spirit of things for karaoke. I still make my exit as soon as I can to get some time in with Astarion. 

To my surprise, I see he's streaming. Sprawled out on the bed in a sheer black satin chemise that's ridden up his thighs enough to show off his beautifully caged cock. 

Instead of anything salacious, he's painting his nails. Not every stream is as action filled as last night. Some of them are just mundane things like now. I can’t fault the audience, I'd still pay to see him too, if he wasn’t mine already. I slide into the chat without announcing myself. 

Ari147: nothing fun tonight? :( 

“I’m afraid not, darling. If I don’t get any fun, neither do you.” He blows a cheeky kiss to the camera, and readjusts, spreading his legs more. One hand idly traces unpainted nails along a thigh while he blows on the ones he just painted. 

He’s such a filthy little tease. 

Mommy: glad to see you’re behaving yourself tonight

He sits up straighter, eyes lighting up. “Hi, Mommy. Missing all this?” His hand climbs higher, running up his abdomen to his chest. 

Demonbbyy: if she isn’t, I’ll take him   Mommy: settle yourselves down

Astarion leans over, getting on all fours to look directly into the camera, licking his lips. “Well, are you?” he pouts. 

Mommy: you know I am, and I’ll prove it when I get home 

His breath hitches. “That’s all for tonight, darlings. I want to give Mommy all my… attention.” 

The stream goes blank and he’s video-calling me seconds later. “Hi.” He smiles giddily. “I thought you might be a little later.”

“What can I say, I do actually miss you a lot. How was your day?”

We chat for a while and I watch him finish his nails, still in his chemise, which hides nothing as he shifts around. He seems less nervous about the school situation, which I chalk up to actually talking about it. 

“Alright, I should probably get to sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.” 

The morning call goes smooth enough, but the day is filled with seminars and an afternoon paintball session. Why do HR departments always think that’s a good idea? Astarion starts texting me around lunch, chatty little messages that I don’t have time to properly answer. Then the attitude creeps in. 

“Fine, if you don’t want to talk to me.”

“I. Am. Busy. Astarion. I’ll call after dinner.”

I forgot dinner is an awards banquet that traps me for longer than I’d anticipated. It never seems to end, and I start trying to text him during it. No response, and a part of me begins to stress that he’s not doing well. He’d tell me though if he wasn’t, I’m pretty sure. 

I practically run up to my room after dinner, skipping the cocktail hour after and all the great networking. All because he has me nearly panicked with worry. So of course, when he doesn’t answer his phone, I’m furious to find him on stream. 

He’s not actually wearing anything, sitting on the plush white rug, a cozy glow from the fireplace providing ambient lighting.

BaasaNova: weren’t you supposed to be in a chastity cage while Mommy is gone 

He gives his hard cock a firm stroke and moans dramatically, red eyes dancing with mischief. “If I’m getting ignored, I’m not going to listen. Besides, she’s busy, so what she doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt her.”

Bookworm420: this seems like a bad idea I don't want to see you get in trouble. 

It isn’t about disobeying me, or any other kink related thing. He really thinks I’d ignore him on purpose. And that stings like nothing else I've ever felt. 

I wait and lurk while he continues to touch himself. He's bubbly and flamboyant, basking in the praise of the chat. Normally, I'd be entranced by his hand working that gorgeous shaft, now I'm getting more furious. 

Finally, with an exaggerated cry, he comes all over himself. While his hand gives a few more lazy pumps, he glances at the chat. 

Mommy: I hope that was worth it 

His eyes get wide and he sits up straight. “Shit.” 

The stream dies just as he starts calling me.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” he whimpers before I can say anything.

“Astarion,” I cut him off. “I want you to know that I still love you and that isn't going to change. But I'm so hurt and angry right now that you could decide I would ignore you on purpose.”

“Please, I just…” 

“No, we're not going to talk about this now. I'm going to give you until I get home tomorrow to get your thoughts together. But right now I'm too angry to talk to you. So I'm going to go to bed and will call you in the morning.”

 He sobs. “No, stay on the phone with me. Please, Fina.”

I sigh and relent. “I love you, Star.”

We lay in silence for a long time, the occasional sniffle coming from his end. Finally, I'm too exhausted and have to sleep, and reluctantly tell him goodnight.  

There's a subdued call in the morning and I tell him I'll get a cab at the airport, I don't think he should be driving while that upset. Then I'm on the way home. The anger has mostly worn off but this stunt of his still hurts. 

When I get home, hev hasn't left the bed, completely naked, almost hiding under the covers. I don't even think twice before getting under them with him and pulling him to me.

“I'm sorry,” he says softly into my neck, reminding me so much of the day we first kissed. The day I'd needed to take care of him after what Cazador had done to him. 

“I know. Tell me what happened.” I bury my face in his curls and kiss his head. 

“I started getting nervous again and started to panic, and I wanted to talk to you. And I got upset that I couldn't. I know you wouldn't just ignore me.”

“Then why didn't you say you were anxious? I could have made time if I had known you were panicking.”

“I didn't want you to think I was weak. Especially after you told me that you believed in me.”

“Astarion, love, you are always going to be one of the strongest people I've ever met.” My hands rub his back, fingers finding the scars of years of his adopted father's “discipline.” “I'm sorry too, I think I pushed you into something you didn't need while you were nervous. Even if you said you were alright with it.” 

He gets quiet for a moment before answering. “It isn’t your fault. You’re always the best you can be to me.” 

“Still, maybe we should take a break from some of the more performative things.” I feel him tense and kiss his cheek to reassure him. 

“No, it makes me so happy to be like that, to be so completely yours. Don’t take that away.” 

“Let's talk some more tomorrow. There's no need to rush anything.”

“Alright. And, well, you did say that you were going to show me how much you missed me?” His voice pitches soft and breathy. 

“Astarion, you horny little gremlin,” I tease. 

“Please, Mommy. I know I was very naughty, but don't I deserve a little treat?” 

I already feel slick between my legs, even if I'm not sure that I should let him do this. 

“I know what you're thinking, but I can handle some relatively vanilla sex right now. I want to be loved.” He gives me his best wide-eyed pleading look. 

“Alright, baby.” 

I sit up, and he helps me undress, leaving kisses wherever he can reach. My hand reaches out to wrap around his stiffened cock and give a few languid strokes. I catch his eyes wandering down to my breasts with naked longing. 

Relatively vanilla, he said.

“Come here.” 

I lay back, and he follows, slotting between my legs. His cock pushes into me as his lips latch onto a nipple, and he sucks frantically. “There you go.” I stroke his hair, and he starts fucking me with wild, desperate thrusts. “That's what you needed, huh, baby.”

He whines and sucks harder, teeth scraping until pleasure blends with pain. Molten heat builds in my core with each snap of his hips, and I doubt either of us will last long. 

“So good for me,” I pant as I feel myself contract around him and my body tingle with bliss. That does it, and he gives one last jerky thrust as I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him in tight to take every drop of him. 

He collapses on top of me, still suckling, and I let him stay that way, fucked and comforted.

After a very nice Saturday in our pajamas, we talk and settle some things between us. Astarion is still very nervous about school in a couple of weeks, but doesn't want to change the things he loves about our relationship. He even insists on punishment for his bad behavior.

We agree on three days with the chastity cage, the two he originally was supposed to have and one extra. No clothing at home, so I can see it at all times. It kills me not being able to play with my wife's pretty cock. But you know, discipline hurts me more than it hurts him, or something.  

And at the end of the third day, a very serious lesson. So, I arrange something special, to be shared with his audience, like he shared his misbehavior. He's been waiting in the bedroom while I set things up.

“Safe word, wifey,” I order when I come to collect him. 

He stares at my too short, black latex dress with my pale pink strap-on visible where it rides up over my thighs, and blushes. “Objection.” 

“Good, baby.” I lead him to the living room where the camera is already at the right angle to watch as I bend him over the couch arm, pushing his face into the cushion right next to the waiting paddle. I watch him shiver with anticipation and spare a glance at the chat. They’re in rare form tonight. 

DM_ME_UR_SYRUP: Back from my two week ban just in time.  Thornyonmain: Hggnnnnnn, god he looks so good like that am I enjoying the impending pain too much Bitchybambi: Nah, he's asked for this  Demi_g0ddess : You're so right, bestie Penguino: Aww, you guys, have a little sympathy

Picking up the paddle, I run it over the curve of his ass and hear him whimper. My hand pushes down on his back, commanding and reassuring. The first smack is light and I give him a moment. He trembles but says nothing. 

Another one, slightly harder, he whines but doesn’t say anything. I keep going, watching his pale skin burst into red blossoms with each impact. I can feel him shaking under my hand and hear when he starts to cry. 

“You’re being so good,” I coo.

He sobs in response. It’s been awhile since he had a serious spanking session. I keep whispering praise as I go, letting him know how well he’s doing, how much I love him. He’s a teary mess when I’m done, and I can feel the warmth coming from his skin. 

“I’m sorry I was naughty, Mommy,” he whines through tears.

“Shh, shh, I know. I think you deserve a little reward for taking the punishment so well.”

l take the lube I have waiting and coat my fingers. He whines for a totally different reason when I spread him open and push a finger inside his tight hole.

“Fuck,” he mewls when the second one enters. 

He pants through clenched teeth while I work them inside of him, getting him ready to take me. Each stretch and flex draws a new noise and when he’s ready, I coat the strap in lube and press the tip of it against his entrance. Even with a stinging ass, he rolls his hips into it, desperate and needy. 

I gave him a little playful smack on the marks darkening to bruises. “Behave.” 

He yelps but stills. Slowly, I slide it into him, relishing each little moan as I fill him. Then my hips rock, and I thrust deeply, before stilling again. 

“Please,” he begs, desperately. 

“Please what?”

“Fuck me, Mommy.” 

I reward him with another deep thrust, and began to move my hips with a quick rhythm. Under me, Astarion is losing himself, keening wails and pleading whimpers accompany my every movement. 

I'm aware just how achingly empty I am; later we’ll take care of me. Right now, I focus on making him properly blissed out. 

I know his cock is straining against the cage, leaking helplessly, as he reaches the edge. My fingers dig into his hips and I fuck him as deep as I can until a wordless shout rips from him and his whole body is shaking again. I press my hips tight to his, as deep into him as I can while his orgasm ebbs away with multiple whimpers, only pulling out when he’s stilled. 

Turning back, I give the chat a good-bye and end the stream.

SquidDomme: He has in fact not learned anything DrowDaddyG: I think he'll try to be better, he's such a sweet boy BardlockLongdick: Maybe you all should try opening a Bible instead of this website DM_ME_UR_SYRUP: Anyone know how I can get an air horn noise to play in chat (I'm joking, please don't ban me again)

Then I remove the strap-on and save it for later clean up. “Come here, wifey,” I say, sitting on the couch. 

Sluggishly, he obeys, coming to rest his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and let him come  down from the experience. 

“I love you,” he murmurs into my thighs.

“I love you too. No more bratty behavior, right?” 

I feel the little smirk he makes. “Absolutely, lesson learned.” 

We both know he's lying, but I trust none of it will be super hurtful again. “Good little wife.”

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[physalian]

On "immersion" in narrative

I should be relaxing today taking a victory lap because my book is finally live on sale, woo!

But I have this to say first, in the realm of “you can’t please everyone”. I am not a reader who enjoys extremely fluffy narrative, not “fluff” as in “feel good cotton candy stuff” but as in “300 words of describing the layout of a bedroom” fluff. I don’t like when the pacing moves as slow as molasses, not for introspection, but for telling about every little thing that happens in the story no matter how irrelevant it is to the story or its characters.

I had a beta reader for ENNS who left at least 20 comments across my narrative asking for all this extra material because my book felt too lean. I had a birthday party for a side character’s newborn daughter, when the side character herself was never even named. The plot takes place in a castle, and, shocker, the castle isn’t only populated by Main Characters.

It was just the inciting incident of the chapter that got my characters staged in the right location and the right mindset (happy fun birthday party, sourpuss self-saboteur protagonist is really missing out).

But she’d left me a comment asking for probably at least an extra 500-700 words of details about this party. She wanted to know about the food that was served, what everybody was wearing, what music they were listening to. She wanted to have actual dialogue between the new mother and some important character, some comment about life and death and parallels, and wanted all these details about a three-day-old newborn baby.

I deleted that comment. And every other comment like it.

Why? She is not my target audience and was my only beta with such notes, but also, even if this was that kind of book, she failed to understand what, I think, counts as meaningful to the narrative. That baby only showed up maybe twice in the book. The mother, like I said, never named.

The point of the party was simply “hey happy times exist in this place that you hate, Protagonist”. Spending paragraphs upon paragraphs on a little narration side quest to give you irrelevant details that don’t advance either the plot, the worldbuilding (there were other parties where I described the clothes and food and music), the important characters’ thoughts, feelings, goals, or conflicts, at the cost of keeping the pacing more consistent would have been superfluous.

And that party in of itself was fluff. I was following through on the set up of a pending newborn, spent time describing how a castle full of immortal vampires who don’t have to sleep can crochet baby clothes for a week straight and now this baby has far more clothes than she could ever hope to wear before she grows out of them. I had my narrator, a vampire, comment on how much he likes these events because new life is so rare in this bleak setting. I spent a few sentences describing the baby herself, and then he left to continue the story, taking talk of the party to the pissy protagonist and going “buddy you are allowed to have fun and meet the baby and your attitude is really getting old.”.

500 words might not sound like a lot, but she had asked for these extra paragraphs constantly. She argued it was for immersion.

The thing is.

I don’t like superfluous fluff, but I do like fluff in moderation. I don’t think any one element that takes up more than two sentences or so should exist for one sole, niche purpose. Meaning: You want to toss in a detail about a supporting character’s woodturning hobby? Great! You want to spend two whole paragraphs going on a tangent about this hobby that never comes up again and isn’t actually that important to the character? Why?

This is not to say that I think all books should be lean, this is just what I like. I don’t have the attention span to sit around waiting for the plot the author forgot about so I can read a whole page about the kingdom’s irrelevant potato farming practices. I do have time for a couple sentences about the irrelevant potatoes. I do have time to read a whole page about the kingdom’s potatoes if it’s setup for a potato famine.

There are ways to be immersive without overkill. All this counts as exposition—establishing details that set up your world and your story—and what she was asking for was a series of exposition dumps, several of which were redundant.

As a writer, I work very hard to give expository details as they become necessary. I won’t describe the dresses at a party until my narrator has time to thoughtfully comment on said dresses at said party—which he did. He came from a place that didn’t have dresses, much less lavish parties, and criticized the castle’s hedonistic opulence. He wasn’t plotting his escape, stopping mid-thought to tell the reader about the costumes, and then carrying on.

I could have waxed poetic all day as well-constructed and seamlessly as I could to work in those details to try and make them matter, but a) that would be rehashing the ‘hedonistic opulence’ and b) it really, truly, did not matter.

Would a reader like her enjoy my book? Eh, probably not. Would a reader like me enjoy her book? Eh, probably not.

There is plenty of room in libraries and on bookstore shelves for “lazy river” style books where the whole point is reading about as many details as the author can cram between the pages and there really isn’t a plot, it’s more about the setting and the relationships. Can’t mess up the pacing with an exposition dump if there is no pacing. Not my kind of story.

Doesn’t make either of us bad writers. She will have her audience and I have mine. I only argue for details that serve a purpose, and if that purpose is a solitary and weak one, then that’s not enough for me.

[moralesmilesanhour]

if you believe in me - 04.2

summary: a very brief intermission. between aaron and his father, miles wonders who he takes after more. wc: 1.5k a/n: this chapter is me trying to get back into the swing of things before the next major plot point (!!!) so this might feel a little slower and more introspective. thanks for reading! (reblog with ur favorite comic or manga if u want idk) taglist: @shuna-boin @aloraangelix @vhstown @sillykirb @proudgojofucker @weirdducky17 @milesandcorysupermacy prev. next

BOOM!

Miles hits the ground shoulder-first with a dull thud, the storage building bursting into flames behind him.

I’m gonna feel that one later, he thinks as he rolls to his feet and back into a sprint. But Oscorp’s gonna feel it, too.

With a leap and a shot of his grappling hook, it’s not long before he’s back on the sidewalk, with Aaron waiting around the corner. The older man has completely retired the Prowler suit now.

“Not bad for your first solo run,” he nods. “Could still be a lil’ quicker, but you’ll pick it up.”

Miles twists the joints of his metal claws. The steel is still shiny and new, save for a bit of soot from the explosion. The purple glow disappears as they power down with a quiet whir and detach to reveal the human flesh underneath. They work like a charm so far.

It’s been two weeks, but he hasn’t gotten to use them - Aaron has yet to send him on a mission where he’d have to. He wants to ask his uncle about it, ask why he let him do all that welding and tinkering if the claws were just for show. But Miles knows that if he does, the man’s brows would furrow and he’d get a stern speech about not getting too eager about that sort of thing. And he’d be right. 

So, like every other night, Miles says nothing but “thanks”.

“And what’s this one about?” 

You pointed at a comic sitting on the far side of Miles’ bed. On the cover stood a man wearing what looked like some imagined version of an “African” headdress. He was shirtless and dressed in nothing but shorts and brightly-colored boots, like the costume of a wrestler. The upper half of his face was obscured by a mask with white eyes tied around his head. The flat colors and dark lines make it look old, likely from the 80s or early 90s. Above the man on the cover was the title in bold graphic font: Anansi.

“You don’t know ‘Anansi’?” Miles asked with wide eyes before shaking his head. “Nah, we gotta fix that.”

He threw what he was reading aside, hovering his hand over the pile of comics until he located the very first issue. 

“So Anansi is like, this spider that gets turned into a human who has the abilities of a spider. Y’know, climbing up walls and shit.”

“Does he shoot webs out of his ass?”

“That’s not how that works, and no. Anyway, he’s got spider powers and he beats the bad guys by being a trickster instead of just brute force.”

You took the comic from him and began leafing through the worn pages, frankly more interested in the art than the plot. The sharp lines and crosshatching remind you of Miles’ sketches. You turned to Miles and held it up once you were finished looking at it.

“Can I borrow it?” 

There’s a shadow of uncertainty that crosses his face for a moment as you await his answer. 

“Mmm…I dunno. I’ve had that thing since I was ten. You gonna be careful with it?”

You place a hand over your heart. 

“Promise.”

He snorts, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I’ll let you have it for a week, sound good?”

“Good.”

Miles remembers that he’s supposed to ask for his comic back on the way home, the two metal claws tucked safely into his backpack.

He sneaks a glance at his uncle, and tries to copy his stride when he walks. It looks easy, but there’s a rhythm to it. Miles keeps his gaze low, but his steps lively. The key is not to show the sweat, as they say. All of one’s effort goes into making it look like there’s no effort at all. 

Aaron looks over at his nephew, and chuckles.

“Remind me of your old man when you walk like that,” he says. 

Miles grins good-naturedly. Guess the sweat shows. But it’s fine, for now.

“What’s that mean?”

“When we was young, we used to watch the older kids walk out the corner store and try to copy ‘em. The way your pops did it…”

The man’s shoulders shook with laughter at the memory.

“He kinda looked like, like he was marching almost. Just stomping down that sidewalk!”

Aaron began to demonstrate, making his steps quicker and heavier.

“I look like that?” 

Miles wrinkled his nose and began to tone down his swaying.

“Exactly like that. Shit’s kinda amazing, really. Genetics.”

“I don’t think that’s how genetics work.”

“Oh yeah?” Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Then how come I got you stealing like my pops and me, and in my colors?”

Miles laughed, “But this is good stealing!”

“You got a point there.”

Aaron lifted his gaze upward towards the skyline. The moon was out in full tonight.

“Did y’all make good money, at least?”

“Sure did. Sometimes it was the only money that came in, that’s why we ain’t stop.”

There’s a beat of silence. Miles pats his left pocket to make sure the wad of cash is still there, and wonders if his uncle had to do the same thing, or if he kept it in a fanny pack or briefcase.

“So what made you finally give it up?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. Jeff did it for your mom. Hard to keep secrets with a baby on the way.”

Miles tried to picture a younger version of his father – less facial hair, no eye bags, better eyesight, probably – looking a pregnant Rio in the eye as she broke the news. He looks into her gentle face and…yes, there. Right there is when he decides it’s over. 

Even without the whole parenting thing, it probably killed him inside to have to lie to her every night about where he’s been. Miles gets it.

“What about you?”

Aaron shrugged.

“Couldn’t leave my nephew hanging.”

He had knocked on Miles’ door after a few weeks of radio silence and found the kid lying in bed, surrounded by dirty clothes and snack wrappers. The room smelt of stale sweat, the clothes piled up on the floor impossible to get through, so Aaron elected to stand just outside.

Miles looked up, and suddenly the man understood what had Rio so frantic on the phone. 

The boy’s gaze was…vacant. Like he was looking through him, at something far off in the distance. There were no words comforting enough to turn the lights back on behind those eyes. So Aaron had done the next best thing:

“Go wash up, we goin’ out.”

Miles doesn’t remember it that way. He hardly remembers anything from that period of time between the funeral and his uncle barging into his room. Just a long stretch of gray, and then the door cracks open, then he’s in the shower realizing how long his hair’s gotten, and soon he’s dodging the punching bag in Aaron’s apartment, carrying crates back and forth and maybe blowing some up on occasion. 

He knows in his head that he’s doing this to hurt the pockets of invisible men hiding in their glass skyscrapers and high-rise offices, and he’s as angry at them for sucking the life out of his neighborhood as he’s always been. 

But it had started with the door, cracked open just enough for his uncle’s face to poke through. Otherwise, Miles might’ve been content to lie there and become one with his mattress as he missed another week of school.

He wonders if his father went on those runs because he, too, looked into his future and hadn’t the slightest idea as to what he was looking at. 

Miles’ thoughts are interrupted when his phone buzzes in his pocket. You have his Anansi issue.

“So this is all you do in your free time, then? Comics and robots?”

Miles has his nose in another shounen manga.

“Is that a bad thing?”

You remember the helmet, and the parts set in neat little rows. And the tarp in Uncle Aaron’s car.

“Not for the most part. More interesting than what I do.”

Miles finally looks up, and squints. “What do you do in your free time?”

“I braid hair,” you reply with a bit of pride. “Pretty good at it, too.”

“Mm-hm, that’s what they all say before they fuck yo’ shit up,” he jokes, earning an issue of Jujutsu Kaisen to the face.

“Ow!”

“Shut up, with them fuzzy ass braids.”

Miles gasped dramatically. “You said they looked nice!”

“Looked. Past-tense.”

“Chill on me, my mom didn’t have time to re-do ‘em this week.”

Seeing an opportunity, your eyes lit up.

“Ooh, let me–”

“No.”

Miles narrowed his eyes at you.

“Aw, come on! You have so much hair, it could be fun! And you said you’d let me.”

You reached out to touch one of Miles’ overgrown braids but ended up swiping the air as he dodged your hand.

“I said ‘maybe’, and now the answer is no. You’re gonna ‘have fun’ in my hair? Like you ‘had fun’ with my t-shirt? I know you stole it, by the way.”

“I up-cycled it.”

“Cutting a shirt in half is not up-cycling, and you’re not touching my head.”

“You're so mean.”

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter fifty three

close to home | chapter fifty three

plot: the reader and Daryl's relationship continues to develop as more time passes

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 2,111 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!!

When you found out Rick wanted Daryl running the sanctuary for a little while, you wanted to give Rick a piece of your mind. But, as much as you hated to admit it, you knew that Daryl might be the only one that could. So you packed up yours and his belongings. Daryl asked you to stay behind, but you wouldn’t hear it. 

So you moved to the Sanctuary with him--leaving Tora with Michonne at Hilltop. It broke your heart to do so, but you didn’t fully trust what remained of the saviors, and Tora loved the Hilltop. Besides, with your new role, you’d see her often enough. 

Rick wanted you in every community as his eyes and ears. So you would start to rotate around. At first, you tried to refuse, but after everything, you knew the communities needed it, and Rick needed to know what was happening. So you’d spend a few days at Hilltop, then the Kingdom--which you didn’t mind so much after being there for ten minutes--and then back at Alexandria, helping to get the place back together. Then you’d return to the Sanctuary for over a week and start again. 

You hated not being with Daryl and leaving him with just Eugene and Rosita. But you got used to it after a while, and when you did return, it made being with him even more special. And having sex with him after being apart for two weeks was enough to keep you both up all night. 

Slowly, fall changed to winter and then winter into spring. Things got better between the communities, but the Sanctuary wasn’t improving. Nothing grew there, and there was a lot of resentment. You begged Daryl to ask Rick for a break, but he always refused. His stubbornness was something you both loved and hated about him. 

The end of spring neared too quickly, and summer came in full swing.

Maggie had her baby, and you were there to help her through the birth. It was a little boy who she named Hershel. You cried with her and held the baby until you started crying again. After that, you spent extra time at Hilltop and made Daryl take a small break to meet him. 

But things were getting worse at the Sanctuary, and when you arrived back for the first time in two weeks, you knew Daryl needed you with him. Though it’s been under a year and a half since the saviors were defeated, you knew Daryl was still haunted by it. And being at the Sanctuary didn’t help. 

Eugene was the first to greet you, and you hugged him as he told you about what was happening. You heard someone yelling your name, and when you turned, you saw Frankie running up to you. 

“Hi!” You exclaimed, welcoming her hug. Like always, she hugged you tight for a few seconds before backing away. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon; how’s Maggie’s baby?”

“He’s beautiful,” You mused, “He is happy and healthy. How are you? Where’s Amber?”

“She’s probably with her new boyfriend. I’ll have to tell you about it later. I missed you.”

You smiled and grabbed her arm. “I missed you, too. I gotta go see Daryl, but I’ll find you later, and we’ll catch up.”

She gave you one last hug before she bid you goodbye. 

Besides Daryl, Rosita was the one you spent the most time with at the Sanctuary. And she smiled widely when she saw you. 

“I thought we lost you to the farmwork and that little nephew of yours,” She teased you as you walked into the ground level. 

“And miss out on your company, Rosita?” You nudged her arm. “If I didn’t see your face every day, I think I’d go mad.”

“Oh, get out of here.” 

You laughed and headed towards the impromptu garage, where you knew you’d find Daryl. If he wasn’t with you or yelling at some asshole savior, he was there, working on motorcycles. What used to be a maze to you wasn’t anymore, and you found your way there quickly. 

Daryl was precisely where you knew he would be. The garage was empty; you knew it was because everyone was getting ready for the upcoming corn harvest. You crept up to Daryl and covered his eyes with your hands. 

“Guess who?” You laughed. He grabbed your hands and pulled them away before standing up and hugging you. You laughed louder and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I missed you, too.”

“Gone for too long this time,” Daryl told you as he pulled away. He pressed a light kiss onto your lips twice and then a third. “Ya gotta tell Maggie she can take care of Hershel without ya,” 

You laughed and leaned up to kiss him again. “I’ll let her know that.” Then you walked around to see the bike he was working on and smiled when you saw the spray-painted muffler. “I see my bike is coming along great. It’s even in my favorite color.”

Daryl grunted with a nod and knelt next to it, grabbing whatever part he was using in the first place. “Sit on it, woulda ya?”

“The bike or you? I’d much prefer you.”

“Shut the hell up, and sit down, crazy girl.”

You laughed as you sat on the bike, keeping it balanced so he didn’t have to get so low under the parts. You ruffled his hair and heard him sigh with annoyance. Then you leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “You’re getting to be such a grump in your old age.”

Daryl looked up at you. “Ya done? Ya the one fuckin’ an old man.

“Don’t tease me with a good time, Dixon.”

He snorted and shook his head, “Ya gonna be the death of me. Why don’ ya just start talkin’ ‘bout everythin’ ya wanna tell me. Might as well start, gonna be yappin away all day.”

You tugged his hair as your revenge for the comment and smiled when he swatted your hand away. “Okay, okay. If you insist, I will tell you all about everyone.”

So you did, and you told him how the Hilltop was doing, how Maggie and the baby were. You told him about your brief visit to Oceanside just to drop off some neighborly gifts and then how Kingdom was. You gossiped about the budding romance between Carol and Ezekiel, but how the latter seemed keen on declining every mention of marriage-which, you admitted, you only knew about it because you were eavesdropping to get more dirt on them anyway. 

“Alexandria is doing well; they’ve really built it up nice. And Judith is talking. She is so adorable,” You mused, playing with Daryl’s hair as he worked. “She painted you a picture. You and Rick have matching big bellies, according to her. Maybe you should come with me. It’ll be nice of you to see them. You haven’t been in a few weeks. She asked me all about you.”

Daryl looked up at you, tossing his wrench aside. “I still don’ like the idea of you out there alone.”

“I’m fine,” You brushed his hair back to see his entire face. “And once my handsome old man fixes my bike, it’ll be even faster than the horse.”

“Maybe if ya didn’ crash it,”

You waved him off and slowly stood up from the bike. “Yeah, well, shit happens. Eugene told me there would only be another week or so before harvest. Summer’s nearly over again.”

“Still hot as hell.”

You nodded and walked over to him, grabbing his greasy hands and seeing the black grease smudge against your skin. Then you looked up at him and wiped the grease off his cheek. “You look tired, honey.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against yours. “Don’ know how much more I can do this for. Wanna be with ya out there, wanna see my family.”

“I’ll talk to Rick. I’ll tell him that I want you out there with me. The walkers are clustering up again and I need you with me.”

“I-.”

You shook your head. “You’ve done enough for him. I love Rick, and I know you do too, but this was an unfair ask, and you’ve been here almost eighteen months. You deserve to rest.”

Daryl kissed your forehead, and you knew that was his way of agreeing to it because he’d never speak the words out loud. 

“Why don’t we go find Rosita and get dinner? I wanna hear about all the shit you’ve been up to since I’ve been gone.”

“Oh, forgot to yell ya, found your machete. Some asshole here had it; it’s in our room.”

***

You sent a message to Rick that you’d be staying at the Sanctuary through the upcoming harvest, which he agreed to and thanked you for your help. So you spent the next few weeks with Daryl, Rosita, and Eugene and helped in every way you could. Harvesting was the worst, and some of you wanted to run off to Alexandria to play with Judith all day.

Daryl had initially picked out the room that once belonged to you, which you had no issues with. It was easy enough to shake the memories from your head after the time passed, and being there with Daryl made everything easier. It was like he replaced every lousy memory with a good one. 

So when you walked into the room after spending the evening with Frankie and Rosita, a little tipsy, you were more than happy to see Daryl against the counter, eating. 

“Hey sexy,” You said, closing the door behind you. 

“Ya drunk?”

“A little,” You laughed, taking off your shoes and walking over to him. You wrapped your arms around his lower waist and set your head against his chest. “It was so fun with the girls. I miss them when I’m gone.” You smiled. 

Daryl kissed the top of your head. “Ya smell like wine.”

“I spilled,” You said, backing up and pointing at the stain on the bottle of your shirt. “Luckily, not too much, though."

Daryl laughed and set his late dinner down, “Come on, why don’ ya change and get ready for bed.”

You did as he said, taking one of the old shirts you kept here and then collapsed next to him on the bed. “I hate harvesting. We should run away.”

“Yeah? Where we goin’?”

“An island, just me and you. We can be all alone to do whatever the hell we want,” 

Daryl grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. “Not a bad idea, darlin’."

You smiled and rolled over, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I love this shoulder…” You yawned. 

He snorted, “Ya’ll have a whole bottle?”

You giggled and looked up at him. “Frankie knew where ratface liked to hide shit.” The two of you had devised a nickname for the man who’d made both your lives hell, though you were the only ones you said it to. 

Daryl chuckled and moved, “Come on, in bed."

“You’re no fun,” You whined.

But you did as he asked anyway because you always did. And besides, the bed was soft and comfortable, and he let you wrap yourself up in his arms the moment his head hit the pillow. 

“Gonna have Eugene call Alexandria tomorro’, was thinkin’ we should make a run into the city, that museum gotta have some shit we can use. Was lookin’ at some books.” Daryl told you as he absentmindedly played with your hair. 

You pressed your hand flat against his chest, “That’s a good idea. You’re so fucking smart,” You mumbled as you looked up at him, just in time to watch him shake his head. “You are. You know so many things. You’ve taught me so many things.”

“Like what?”

You propped yourself up on your elbow and cupped his cheek. “You’ve taught me how to track and helped me get better at hunting. You taught me fighting skills and how to use my bow and arrow even though Carol stole it from me. And you taught me about motorcycles when you talk about them while working.” You rambled on and on. 

Daryl stared at you, the corners of his lips just barely tilted up. “Ya just sayin’ stuff 'cause ya drunk.”

“I’m not even that drunk, just a little tipsy.” You leaned down and kissed his cheek. “But we should get drunk together one day; that would be fun.”

Daryl made you lie back down. “Any chance of ya stayin’ home if we go to the city?”

You shook your head, “No way.”

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

Alex’s feelings being symbolized as fire and Henry’s being symbolized as water

I made a post like this time ago, but this one is better.

The first example you can see is their zodiac signs. They immediately link Alex to fire (Aries) and Henry to water (Pisces).

Alex’s feelings are fire, intense, they can burn him, strong, when he feels them, he feels them in an intense way (She doesn’t worry about going public with it; feelings don’t consume her the way his do.)

Henry’s feelings are water, deep, they can drown him, clear (genuine), when he feels something, he feels it deep (Every time something terrible happens to you from then on, it doesn’t just stop at the bottom—it goes all the way down.)

Now going directly at the book. It’s present through all of it but specially during chapter 9-10.

Alex is paired with phrases like “having a fire under his ass” or “you’re flying too close to the sun”.

In chapter 9, there are sentences like these “I kind of can’t stop thinking about you all sunburned and pretty” and “with fingers that smell like smoke” and “He watches a drop of water roll down Henry’s perfect nose and disappear into his mouth” Those are little sentences, little symbolism not exactly important to the plot (except maybe the last one, although it might be a reach from my part).

I kind of can’t stop thinking about you all sunburned and pretty

Sun symbolizes life, brightness, positivity, etc etc. This is Alex saying than he can’t stop thinking about Henry happy (and away from the palace). The sun is also made of fire. Who is deeply tied with fire all around the book? Alex.

with fingers that smell like smoke.

Henry spent the day with Alex and his family (Nora is basically family too), on a place really important to him, where not everyone gets to go. This could be Alex being all around, kind of seeping through him. Being obviously in love with him, and that having an effect in him.   

He watches a drop of water roll down Henry’s perfect nose and disappear into his mouth.

The drop of water (Henry’s feelings) disappear into his mouth, he doesn’t say them.   

There’s also this one

“I guess that makes you the North Star?”

Stars are made out of fire, in some way. This is Alex seeing Henry like how Henry sees him (alive, bright) because when Henry thought than Alex loving him would set him on fire, is not only because Casey enjoys symbolism, but also because Alex was “happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access”.

Stars shine in the same way the sun does, but they don’t appear like they do because of the distance between us and the stars. This is Alex seeing Henry like how Henry sees him (I talk more about it at the end of this post), Henry is as bright as Alex, it’s just harder to see because he’s more guarded, he keeps his distance, he keeps himself to himself. Alex is more open compared to Henry, so it’s easier to see Alex as a sun rather than Henry. Meanwhile Alex is fire and Henry is water, through the book Henry gains fire elements. A representation of Alex’s influence on him.

Then at the lake, the symbolism really starts.

The lake is made out of water, the lake is Henry’s feelings (a parallel to Alex on chapter 11 saying Sometimes I feel like a funny-looking rock in the middle of the most beautiful clear ocean when I read the kinds of things you write to me.)

The water ripples quietly around him as he slides his hands up to hold Henry’s face in both palms, tracing his cheekbones with the wet pads of his thumbs.

In this scene, the lake is Henry’s feelings. They were surrounded by Henry’s feelings, so strong (a mix of his own feelings for Alex and how he felt about Alex’s confession) than it was the width of a lake. That’s why they were inside the lake when this confession happened.

The water ripples quietly around him, Henry’s feelings being shown through their surroundings.

Tracing his cheekbones with the wet pads of his thumbs. Alex is touching Henry with wet hands. Wet by the lake, wet by Henry’s feelings. He’s surrounded by them, Henry helped him not take it ten years into the future, and just be, even if unknowingly, so during Alex’s confession, he was swimming on Henry’s feelings. The credit was not Henry’s, obviously, but I think than if Alex never started going out with Henry, maybe this change would have took longer to happen. 

His hands are wet, he is affected by Henry’s feelings, and he touches Henry while being affected by his feelings. He tells him about having a fire under his ass and slowly getting rid of it, to which Henry had something to do with, and he tries to confess. This whole line explains the entire scene perfectly.  

 

Abruptly Henry shifts, ducking beneath the surface and out of his arms before he can say anything else. 
He pops back up near the pier, hair sticking to his forehead ///  Henry spits out lake water and sends a splash in his direction,  

Henry gets away from Alex, but he’s still in the lake, still on the water. He’s feeling here, he doesn’t ignore his feeling for “Alex’s sake” (what Henry was probably thinking). 

Hair sticking to his forehead, the water, his feelings, are still present. Henry spits out lake water, he tries to get rid of them, somehow. To ignore them, to not focus on his own feelings at the moment.

and sends a splash in his direction, he pushes his feelings away from himself.

as he turns and starts hauling himself out of the water and onto the dock.

Henry is the first one to get out of the lake, apparently, running away from Alex’s feelings, but using the symbolism, also running away from his. Not denying himself what he felt, since he already knew, but trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore his feelings and the fact than Alex reciprocated because that just couldn’t work out. It didn’t make sense than Alex loved him back.   

Now chapter 10, this one has the most fire/water symbolism.

It’s dark and pissing down rain when they land in London / Fat raindrops are pelting right into his eyeballs.

Basically, Henry breaking down. Henry's feelings being too much for him to handle, too deep, too bottomless, to keep inside of him anymore.
Now, his feelings are the rain. It was dark and pissing down rain. Strongly raining. Henry knew Alex loved him back, and he couldn't deal with that. He couldn't deal than, when it all would
eventually end, as he thought it would, he would not only break his own heart, but Alex's too. 

At the moment, he still believed than he deserved nothing, than he was only born to be a puppet for the crown. Than he didn't deserve happiness, didn't deserve Alex's love because, what was there of him to love? However, even if he didn't feel deserving of happiness, of Alex's feelings,
he still loved him. He loved him strongly like the rain outside. 

Rain outside, than, by the way, was soaking Alex.

Alex was soaking in Henry's feelings the moment he arrived at Kensington. One, because Henry's feelings were so deep and strong than occupied all of London, and two, because those feelings were directed specially towards Alex.

Henry paces over to the elaborately carved fireplace across the room and leans on the mantelpiece.

The fireplace. The fireplace has a big part in this scene omg.

The fireplace, who is continuously being described with fire-related elements? Alex.

So the fireplace is a tangible representation of Alex’s feelings, he paces over it. He’s deciding whatever he should accept Alex’s feelings or not. Whatever he should let Alex confess or not. Deciding exactly what to do with them. Because giving Alex up nearly killed him, but if he accepted his feelings, everything else would be so much more complicated. They would have to fight, and as we see later in the scene, Henry doesn’t think of himself as a fighter, but a coward.    

 

“I fucking love you, okay?” Alex half yells, finally, irreversibly.     
Henry goes very still against the mantelpiece.

Alex said it, Henry can’t just ignore it or deny it anymore, he goes still against the mantelpiece, he doesn’t pace over it anymore. Alex said it, there’s no turning back.

 

A small click cuts the silence: Henry has taken his signet ring off and set it down on the mantel.

He takes of his signet ring (a symbol of monarchy, something than probably was passed down to him, which means than it’s also a symbol of history. The prince of Wales signet ring [Charles ring] reads: Ich Dien. I serve. A tangible representation of his service to the country. Of his responsibilities) and he puts it in the fireplace.

The fireplace, which represents Alex’s feelings.

He takes off his ring, takes off monarchy and that sense of expectation than comes with it, and sets it on top of the fireplace. Leaves the two possible futures for him side by side. The ring, meaning monarchy, having to pretend someone he’s not, probably marrying a woman and stay in the same place and system than caused him so much pain. But than, nonetheless, would be the easier choice.

Or, a possible future with Alex. A future they both would have to fight tooth and nail for, and maybe, will not even happen. Maybe they will not be accepted. Maybe it all would turn out wrong. Maybe Alex would regret in the future. But than, even if it’s the most complicated and unknown path, is the one where Henry would be able to be himself for once, and where he would have Alex at his side.    

He holds his naked hand to his chest,

He’s not used to not wearing the ring, to have a choice, to decide for himself.

his naked hand, bare, exposed, the real him, how he actually feels about the whole situation, about the choice he has to make. Just Henry, not Prince Henry.

He holds his hand to his chest, to his heart, here we have a little bit of foreshadowing you could say, than he makes the decision based on his heart, on his feelings. He chooses what he feels.   

Alex yanks the soggy note out of his pocket, I wish there wasn’t a wall,

Soggy, wet by the rain. Wet by Henry’s feelings. After all, he did put his real feelings on the note. But this is not what it is about. It’s because then more than ever the note was true. Henry did wish there wasn’t a wall, Alex loved him back, if only Henry could accept it, if only there wasn’t a wall.

    

staring at a point on the mantel somewhere

He stares at the mantel meanwhile he confesses. He talks about how “it was never supposed to be an issue” while staring at the mantel, at the two possible futures for him. 

“I never thought I’d be standing here faced with a choice I can’t make, because I never . . . I never imagined you would love me back.”

He was still staring at the mantel. What was he supposed to choose, the path than was written since before he was born, the easy path yet the unhappy one, or the unknown path, the one he didn’t know where would led them but than, still, it would led Henry to a more happy place, even if it will be more complicated.

He never had to think about what he would do given the situation, given than he thought than said situation would never happen. He never had to think, because he thought than he would always continue just as he was, than nothing would come and change it all.

He realizes, suddenly, Henry’s crying.

Henry’s feelings getting out, showing them, not being able to ignore them anymore.   

the fire gone out.

This fire could refer to Alex’s feelings, or it could refer to the strong emotions subsiding, before, they were screaming, crying, now it’s calm, in some way.

If it refers to Alex’s feelings, it doesn’t change much. Alex’s feelings before were angry, irritated, he was screaming, trying to understand and make Henry understand than he should have control over his own life, now he’s calmer.  

there’s a violent rain lashing against the big picture window, half-revealed by parted curtains.

What if I said than I actually adore this line?

Violent rain, lashing against the big picture window. Henry’s feelings being violent. He’s thinking things through, making a decision, and his feelings are strong, like a violent rain.

Half-revealed by parted curtains. He isn’t showing Alex all of his feelings, but he’s showing him some of them, which is more than he did the previous days, since here Alex is seeing the rain, even if it’s half-revealed by parts curtains. Before Alex came, in the USA it wasn’t raining, it was raining in London. Alex wasn’t in London, so Alex didn’t know about the rain until he came. Henry didn’t tell him about his feelings until Alex went for himself to talk to him. Now, it rains while Alex is in London, where he can see the rain. Henry shows him some of his feelings without Alex having to talk to Henry in order to understand them. 

Alex says this some lines later: It’s time, he realizes, to start accepting only what Henry can give him.

He says it referring the Le Monde newspaper, but Alex also doesn’t open the curtains, he settles with the rain he can see through the half-revealed window.

Next to the clock on the mantel, Henry’s ring still sits.

He left it where it was the night before, meaning he’s still pondering over what to choose, except, Henry isn’t in the room anymore. He’s thinking outside, and he left the ring inside.

He makes this decision without monarchy in sight. He leaves the ring behind, it’s weight no longer in him. It’s a decision he has to make for himself, untouched and uninfluenced by monarchy, just him for once. 

Just what Henry decides (he chooses his own happiness over what is decided for him) before Henry explains his decision.

Also, clocks (next to the clock on the mantel) can symbolize emotional overwhelm, caused by things like lack of time, or deadlines (Henry was on a deadline, in some way. He had to choose what he wanted to do, he couldn’t put it off any longer). Henry was emotional overwhelmed.  

”I honestly have never thought I deserved to choose.” His hand moves, fingertips brushing a curl behind Alex’s ear. “But you treat me like I do.”

Not regarding fire/water but I wanted to add this.

Henry is not talking about how Alex told him than he deserved to choose, but about how he treated him like he deserved to choose.

Is not “but you make me feel like I do”, or “but you convinced me than I should” or anything else, is Alex treating him like he deserves to choose what did it to him. 

Surely people told Henry about how he should choose over his own life, but they never treated him with the respect and understanding than one should receive when is in charge of making decisions. Alex held him accountable. He went to Kensington, went off on him for ghosting him, told him than they could figure something out, called him an obtuse fucking asshole, the whole deal.

Sure, the blame was on the monarchy (specially Henry’s grandmother [do not speak the devil’s name]) but part of the blame was also on Henry. Henry decided to run from the lakehouse, Henry decided to ghost Alex, no one forced him to do these things. And Henry endured a lot of brainwashing and manipulation from monarchy, which led to him making decisions like these ones, but at the end of the day, the decision was his. I feel like because of these brainwashing from monarchy most of his actions were excused, people (like Pez or Bea) felt bad for him, understood what train of thought led to these decisions, didn’t told him “hey that was an asshole move”. Alex did. He held him accountable for what he did.

Henry being held accountable this time might have made him realize than he did, in fact, choose to do all that. Mary didn’t force him to do it. Sure, she’s the reason why he did it, but Mary didn’t ask him to, she didn’t force him. Henry did it himself. Which means he can choose for himself, and than he should start choosing good things for himself, not choosing what will hurt him out of fear and resignation.

When Alex told him about how he could choose, how they could figure something out, he was serious. He genuinely believed it could work (and it did). I think than the lack of realism regarding Henry's decisions is what made him believe than he shouldn’t choose, than he didn’t deserve it. Aside from Henry probably never being granted a chance to have a voice regarding matters growing up (like which clothes he wore, etc which led him to believe he just couldn’t choose, shouldn’t choose, than everyone else knew what was better for him [given his position (he didn’t have the same responsibilities as normal people, he had the weight of a country on him, etc etc)] and also since very little his ideas and thoughts were probably dismissed, not only because that’s what almost everyone does to kids, but because if Henry had little control over his life now, in his 20s, imagine as a kid. His parents listened to him, surely, but did his grandmother? For years, since he was a kid, to a teenager, to now, she probably just smiled or frowned her lips regarding if she agreed or not, but never actually took anything he said seriously), it’s the way everyone else viewed what Henry wanted for himself. They viewed it as something unattainable.

For example, I imagine Bea and Henry talking about the future, and it’s always if. Imagine if this happened, if it went like this, if we did that. Never talking about a realistic future, because they didn’t realistically expect a good future (specially Henry) where they could actually choose. Alex makes it real, he genuinely believes it. It had been a long time since people genuinely believed Henry could have a good future made up of choices about his life he made by himself. I feel like even if Pez tried to be positive and talk about how it all would be okay eventually, he didn’t exactly believe it. Pez had been with Henry for years, he knew how monarchy was up close, something Alex didn’t truly know (for this part of the book. Alex heard stories, heard Henry complain, but he didn’t see it up close yet). Even if he tried to be genuine, to bring some positivity, some light to Henry’s thoughts, Henry saw right through him. However Alex genuinely believed it, which made Henry stop on his tracks and actually consider the possibilities.

Alex treats him like he deserves to choose not only because he does deserve to choose, but because Alex doesn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to choose in the first place. Alex has a supportive family, he doesn’t know monarchy first hand, he’s used to making decisions regarding his life, and even though he has heard Henry talk about how constricting and controlling monarchy, he didn’t really thought it would be as bad as it actually is. The idea than Henry literally has no decision over his own life (because he doesn’t. If he wants to do something other people have to approve of it. If they don’t approve, he has to deal with it) is crazy to him, because of own different that situation is to his own. His family supports him, he talks and gets along with everyone in his family (immediate family, at least), and the idea than Henry’s life is not only so so different, but than also, is like if it wasn’t his at all, is baffling to him.     

listening to the rain slow to a drizzle

Henry’s feelings calm down, he’s happier, calmer, serene, no longer feelings the same emotions he felt before.   

(These below have nothing to do with fire/water, but I wanted to add them)

Alex exhales a laugh. “Aren’t you gonna ask if I know how to waltz?” 
“No waltzing,” Henry says. “Never cared for it.”

Waltzing is this traditional dance, normally between men and women. Heteronormativity, you could say.

It was expected for him to waltz with Alex in this moment, as something romantic, but he doesn’t cared to follow these unwritten rules. He makes his own rules. He doesn’t cared for monarchy or appearances, this is him choosing a new life and a new start, making his own decisions rather than what’s expected of him, what’s appropriate.   

He removes his hand and there, sitting in the center of Alex’s callused palm, is the signet ring. /// “Keep it,” Henry tells him. “I’m sick of wearing it.”

Henry is sick of having monarchy on him all the time, of wearing the ring, Ich Dien, I serve. When Henry wears it, it means he serves monarchy, he obeys, he gives all of himself to it, he’s part of it. When Alex wears it, is different. Not only Henry giving it to him is a representation of Henry giving away his position, a beginning to Henry fighting for himself, but of Alex wears is, I serve belongs to him now.

Alex doesn’t serve monarchy, he’s not even part of it. Even if Alex and Henry marry (which they do, but Henry abdicates before they do [Henry’s chapter]) Alex is still not welcome inside of monarchy. This is not about Mary, or even Philip, is about monarchy as a concept and what it stands for, and has always stood for. Alex, brown, American, bisexual, Mexican, is not welcomed inside of monarchy, but the ring is not about monarchy being on Alex now.

When the ring was on Henry, it was monarchy, when the ring was given to Alex, it stopped belonging to monarchy itself, and passing to just be Henry’s ring. This is Henry giving a part of himself to Alex. I serve has become not about Henry and monarchy and his country, but about their relationship. Fortifying their relationship, in some way.   

he takes the chain off his neck and slides the ring on next to the old house key. They clink together gently as he tucks them both under his shirt, two homes side by side.

Monarchy is Henry’s home, so this can be both of their homes (Alex’s old house, and Henry’s life in the palace) being side by side, or about Alex’s both homes. Again, the ring no longer represents monarchy now it just means Henry, it became Henry’s ring, so Alex here is implying Henry is Alex’s other home, which I believe is the real meaning, what Casey intended.

In chapter 11 there is

If someone like that ever loved me it would set me on fire

Henry thought of himself as incapable of being loved, and the idea of being loved specially by someone like Alex (someone who, in his mind, was the opposite to him—happy, bright, alive) seemed so unreal, than he felt like it would probably set him on fire. Alex was the sun, happy and bright, so full of life he shone. Alex was someone who could be loved. And Henry loved him. And the idea of being loved back by him was impossible. It wasn’t mean to happen, and if it ever happened, it would burn Henry. Because Henry could not hold all of Alex’s form in his hands, since, in his eyes, he did not deserve to hold him, to have him. It would burn him, because Alex was the sun and Henry was nowhere near to deserve him.

This also parallels Alex in chapter 15 describing looking at Henry’s face like staring right into the sun (almost makes Alex want to look away, like he’s staring into the sun. He called Henry the North Star once. That wasn’t bright enough).

Alex describing Henry’s face as looking directly at the sun, parallels this. Alex is describing Henry as the sun, now, Henry is the one who’s bright, happy, and full of life. That’s how Alex sees him vs how Henry’s sees himself. They are each other’s suns. They see each other as the sun, even if the other doesn’t see themselves as the sun. Here, Alex is proving Henry wrong, because Alex’s love is not setting him on fire, since in Alex’s eyes, Henry is the sun, made of fire itself. You can’t burn fire with fire. Henry is fire itself, Henry is made of the same things Henry sees Alex being made of (example: life), he just doesn’t see himself as being made of that, as being worthy of that (example: happiness), and Alex comparing him to the sun proves him wrong, given than that’s how Alex sees Henry, rather than how Henry sees and describes himself.

Meanwhile I said and repeated a hundred times than Alex is fire while Henry is water, this is different, given than this is not based on symbolism, this is a direct parallel.

And if someone like that ever loved me it would set me on fire and the it was like looking straight at the sun are directly connected. The sun is made of fire, and Alex set Henry on fire with his loving. He made a sun out of Henry, changed him for the better.

And there’s also the “He wants to set himself on fire, but he can’t afford for anyone to see him burn” from chapter 12, where Alex just wants to give in to his emotions, to stop tying to hold everything together, but he can’t. He has to keep it together.

[harriertail]

Omen of the Stars reread + a lot of thoughts

The Fourth Apprentice

The cover is actually the best cover in the series are you kidding me? Its so pretty. The yellow blue and dark green r so nice

Why does the TC/ShC stream drying up affect the lake water level and not the RiverClan... river? Does the Moonpool stream still run???

Every mention of Squirrel and Leaf sitting together "so close they were like kits just out the nursery" is an actual STAB in the chest. They go thru so much :((((

A flash flood seems to take out the beaver den (or its just poorly worded?) so what was the point of the journey...

Dovewings personality is snappier than i think pple give her credit for, I kinda enjoy her

Tigerheart literally does not interact with her on the mission lmao what is he on about 'I'm gonna miss you'

Jayfeather missing Lionblaze is act so painful :(

Fading Echoes

So much of the opening of these books is just recounting previous events and character arcs omg this goes for all WC books.

Hollyleaf :(

Blossompaw's siblings joke that she moons over Toadstep. Idk why fucking Thornclaw becomes her mate later on then :/

What is Tigerheart doing on the border ? he doesnt explain it? I actually thought that he was already meeting Dovepaw secretly but then hes not like what is he doing...?

Dovepaw being worried for the other Clans + her thoughts about having this power should put her above the Clan rules could be so interesting. the series back-and-forths over Lionblaze (we must protect ThunderClan) and Dovepaw (we must protect all the Clans) even though Lionblaze gets annoyed at Dovepaw for using her powers to look after ThunderClan???

The whole "being obsessed with Prophecy and what it means" is probs a part of Jay's character (as he baso became a med cat to fulfil his destiny) but it also feels like a gross misunderstanding of what a Prophecy is. All the "the dark forest is rising. This might be what the Three is meant for" is like putting the horse before the cart- a prophecy is meant to describe a situation and hint at the character/means to solve it; but PO3/OoTS has the characters/means to solve, but no conflict :/ its a bit backwards.

I like the mentions of Firestar + Sandstorm going on night hunts etc.

Blossompaw/fall's a cunt lol. Shes kinda fun but shes not nice at all especially to Ivypool.

I love Littlecloud. I love when the med cats share ideas and discuss things 10/10 makes my day everytime

The pacing is actually... not good. Ive defo always been on thr camp of "too many povs and too few chapters ruins the book" but wow FE really shows it.

So much of Doves characterisation so far is about agency and not wanting to be special and have Firestar/Lion/Jay talk to her. I wish this was not forgotten about in later Super Editions.... kittypetdovewing2k24

this battle is crazy tho. I wish more of the DF plot was about stirring up trouble between the Clans and specific troublemakers in each Clan rather than the later nebelous 'dark warriors invade the forest' battle. Ill get to that one day

Night Whispers

Picking right back up in the battle...

and again just recounting the last books events. hollyleaf death/disappearance explanation count: 3

Kinda love how many times shes mentioned. From Lionblaze avoiding the tunnel she ran into to Jayfeather finding the fur that Leafpool hid.... cute

Okay i actuallt love ShadowClan discussing the battle + tactics + training and then the chapter immediately after the TC camp doesnt mention it at all and Ivypaw is like "why arent we discussing the battle? Just because we won doesn't mean we will again!!" interesting character moments + a nice look at differences between the Clans

Ivypaw and dovepaw fighting over tigerheart????? they fight so much but then always wanna be together like jfc.

Dove n tiger have negative chemistry like it just jumps right into "no boundaries can keep us apart". I get shes using him as an escape from TC/prophecy bullshit but like.... rlly? I wish it was just like expanded on. Tbh i wish every chapter had like just two extra pages to actually delve into things a bit better.

Lmaoo lionblaze cinderheart leafpool dovepaw patrol this is so fucking funny brambleclaw u get one point for this

Tigerheart break up scene count: 1

Flametail POV. Interesting but... why? Bad things r coming we know... what was his point narratively? It was cool tho. I liked seeing ShadowClan.

Every single book Dovepaw has a character die/get really hurt and is haunted by their screams. Rippletail, Longtail/Briarpaw, and later on its Antpelt... jesus christ girlie has it SO rough

The ivypaw "nernernenerner im better than you im being trained by tigerstar" to "oh fuck hes actually a bad guy i cant believe the terroristic maniac lied to me" is so rapid shes so funny/stupid

The imagery in this book is kinda crazy. Fire and ice cats and drowning in darkness visions. Very fun.

Sign of the Moon

So the med cats are divided and split up and StarClan does not trust any other Clan cat- but when in StarClan, Barkface and Flametail are hanging out? Crookedstar offers to share prey with Yellowfang? But StarClan is super fractured rn each Clan must stand alone. Okay

Antpelt nooooooooooooooo

Idk what the mountain prophecy actually means like. Firestar was always going to lead ThunderClan into battle.... what is he gonna do that's different...

Rock: i was the first Stoneteller Five chapters later Half Moon becomes the first Stoneteller. This is egregious

Swoop death. that's the fourth death Dovewing is going to be haunted by

The Forgotten Warrior

all the hints to Hollyleaf still... its a nice throughline... the yarrow and tansy and Molepaw/Cherrypaw scenes... shes my fave. sometimes the foreshadowing feels like it could be just Jayfeather coping that she's 'defo still out there' but TFW ties it up well. especially when you get surprised by Sol coming back and its like 'oh they were convinced she was defo still out there :(' and then she's actually back!!!

also the title??? is banger. the Forgotten Warrior, with Leafpool on the OG cover??? wow. espec as its constantly brought up that Leafpool was the medicine cat but no one sees her as a warrior really.... TBH all these titles are just as good as the TPB titles in terms of meaning/how good they are.

Another fox? okay.

SOL.... okay

tunnel adventures part 3.

All this like.. Bumeblstripeing is just kinda naff. Dovewing is clearly tryna force herself into liking him. But then she's also going on about how Tigerheart used her??? NGL i do really wanna see like.. why she changes her mind in AVOS

Brambleclaw lying to protect Hollyleaf is actually like. GOD that hurts. especially when you consider Bramblestar's Storm and how much he misses her. thats his favourite

the cinderheart shit is so stupid my jaw is actually on the floor. what you do mean you've been in love with a cat you shouldn't have. is cinderheart having cinderpelt's feelings for fucking firestar and that's why she doesn't want to be with lionblaze. also they have negative chemistry they literally are CONSTANTLY having issues.

oh my god i swear the 'Sol is secretly working with WindClan' was brought up chapters ago and we are only now dealing with it okay. anyway hollyleaf moment.

its kinda weird we dont get any like. scenes of the siblings just being siblings... they only discuss prophecy/plot shit and dont get to be siblings again - which i guess fits with the whole 'everything has changed' but god it'd be so god to just have them doing like. normal cat stuff - especially when so much of this series has had Jayfeather missing her and Lionblaze

i love Dustpelt and Brackenfur building shit... its so good

Dawnpelt murder accusations. okay.... i can't wait for Flametail to suddenly be argumentative again next book

the battle we've been building to all book is one chapter. cool. Sol runs off again and it's the end of the book. cool.

[bookofmirth]

what do you think about ppl saying that the cauldron is corrupt means that maybe the elucien bond is indeed “fake” and that the trove trope links Azriel with Elain and that would be their plot

It's honestly funny that people are acting like they gained new information that somehow changes anything about mating bonds. All we really got in hofas is further confirmation that sjm is going to give everyone and their dog a mating bond, that it never goes away, and that mating bond = endgame. All of which we knew.

Setting aside the fact that that would supposedly be their plot - despite all of the actual world-threatening info they learned in hofas - let's talk about the cauldron.

We already knew that the Cauldron had been "corrupted". In acomaf, the Bone Carver tells Rhys and Feyre this:

“Long ago, before the High Fae, before man, there was a Cauldron … They say all the magic was contained inside it, that the world was born in it. But it fell into the wrong hands. And great and horrible things were done with it. Things were forged with it. Such wicked things that the Cauldron was eventually stolen back at great cost.

So this is not news. Why are they just now deciding that it means something?

Speaking of this reason, since Rhys knew in acomaf that the Cauldron was corrupted, and if every mating bond could be suspect because of that, then it stands to reason that none of them would be so hyped about mating bonds. Every character would be much more suspicious if they got one, and you know that Tamlin would be looking to delegitimize Feyre and Rhys's. But they aren't acting on that assumption, that the Cauldron is giving them something that is corrupt. If Rhys didn't know this info before talking to the Bone Carver, then he would have looked into it, knowing that Feyre was supposedly his mate. However, learning this info did nothing to keep Rhys from thinking that his bond was every bit as valid as he'd thought it was before. Feyre didn't warn either of her sisters, "hey, your bonds might be fake"??? If that information was supposed to be have implications for mating bonds, we haven't seen a single character act on that. For years in book time, and through a few mating bonds.

2. If the Cauldron were randomly making mating bonds, then we'd have to consider a few things, namely that it puts the validity of every single mating bond in acotar into question. Are we really going to go out here and say that chapter 54 of acomaf is meaningless? That Nesta and Cassian may as well cancel that mating ceremony because what's the point?

3. We don't know where mating bonds come from. Rhys, who knows more about the world besides anyone other than Amren, doesn't know where they come from. Rhys says maybe the Mother, maybe the Cauldron, but the fact is that the mating bond comes from SJM because she decides that when a couple is going to be endgame, she makes them mates.

4. If a person had used the cauldron to create a fake elucien mating bond, then... who? Why would they do that? They've been mates for 2+ years in book time and literally nothing has come of it? No one gives a fuck that Elain and Lucien are mates.

5. Mating bonds are from birth. It has been stated multiple times. It didn't happen because Elain went into the cauldron. It gets stronger when the sisters are Made and come across the wall, but it existed before that.

6. SJM has told us exactly what happens when a mating bond is rejected. In fact, from HOFAS, when Hunt was talking to Baxian about Danika:

“It was a potential minefield, to bring up his dead mate. To lose a mate was to lose half of your soul; to live without them was torture.”

From acomaf:

you were in love with another male, and had destroyed yourself to save him, and that … that I didn’t care. If you were going to die, I was going to die with you.

From acofas:

I still saw that moment, in my sleeping and waking dreams. How his face had looked, how his chest had not risen, how the bond between us had shredded into ribbons. I still felt it, that hollowness in my chest where the bond had been, where he had been. Even now, with that bond again flowing between us like a river of star-flecked night, the echo of its vanishing lingered. Drew me from sleep; drew me from a conversation, a painting, a meal.

7. She has also talked about mating bonds in the highest praise; here are some examples.

Mating bonds = endgame in sjm world. She creates them because she wants that couple to be together. It's really that simple.

[ariundercovers]

Roundabout (When Paths Cross, Pt III - Javier Peña x Reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Afab!Reader (No use of y/n!)

Length: ~2.8k words

Series Summary: Chucho's been like a father figure to you since he helped you out of a sticky situation on your second day in Laredo. What happens when you finally meet his son, the former-DEA agent, who just happens to ignite you in a way that you haven't felt before?

Chapter Summary: The next Sunday. Fluff, flan, and the great beyond.

Chapter Warnings: its all fluff anf plot, no porn this time, Javi being a needy demon, spanish nicknames, idk what else its honestly pretty chill

If you're so inclined, please drop a like and a reply/reblog! I live for your feeback, and it keeps me going and keeps me writing. Did you like it? love it? hate it? I want to hear all of your thoughts!

PREVIOUS PART (II) HERE

Javi does, in fact, meet you for lunch that week. Twice. And then dinner on Friday. He’s a perfect gentleman, picking you up from your apartment and driving you to the restaurant. He holds every door for you, makes sure you’re seated first, tells you he’s paying and that he wants you to order anything on the menu you’d like. 

Normally, you’d take that kind of chivalry as a bit of an offense - some kind of lingering patriarchal worldview that you’d have absolutely no interest in - and yet, with Javi, you’re not opposed. In fact, you find that you genuinely enjoy it. Something about that shocks you even more than the way you jumped into his bed that first evening did, and even more than the warmth that blooms in your chest when he presses your knuckles to his lips. There’s just something about him, you think. Something you can’t quite put your finger on, but you already feel like you can’t live without.

Okay. It’s been a week. Get it together.

It feels like you’re in high school all over again, falling head over heels for anyone who showed an interest in you, no matter how bad they ended up being for you, or how much they annoyed you at first. 

Yeah. You’re falling. Hard. 

Fuck.

You’re getting ready to head over to Chucho’s for another Sunday meal when your phone rings. Picking it up, a beautiful baritone voice speaks into your ear that makes your knees a bit weak and a warmth bloom in your chest.

“Hola, Muñeca.” You sigh, like a lovestruck teenager, and move to sit down at the little armchair you keep in the corner of your room.

“Javier.” You can practically hear his smirk from the other side of the phone line, your own face graced with one to match.

“You’re coming tonight, right?”

“Like I always do, every Sunday. Unless… you don’t want me to?” You’re suddenly struck with a pang of worry in your gut, fear that perhaps things were moving too fast, that you’ve assumed some kind of exclusivity that the two of you have never discussed. You hadn’t stopped to think about what this might do to alter your standing weekly dinners at the Peña ranch. Javi chuckles in your ear and you settle immediately, reassured in an instant.

“No, darlin’, of course I want you to be there. I just thought I’d ask if you want to stay again? Maybe with a bit more planning this time? Doesn’t have to be with me, if you don’t want. We’ve still got the guest bedroom made up.” You smile and sigh, once again affronted by this gentlemanly way he has about him. Somehow, it’s not what you were expecting from a man like him. You were expecting something gruffer, with unfinished edges. Something more… machismo, really. He throws you for a loop at every corner.

“Yeah, of course. I’d love to. Any excuse not to come back to my empty apartment is a more than welcome one.” You can hear a little chuckle come through the receiver and then a heavy breath.

“Good. Can I come pick you up?”

You scoff and respond quickly. “I can drive myself, Javi. You don’t need to go out of your way for me like that.”

“It’s not out of my way if it means I get to spend more time with you, muñeca.” Sighing, you stand, pinching the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you start to pull out whatever clothes and items you’ll need for an overnight stay.

“Really, Javi. I’m alright. But I appreciate the offer. I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll be out of the house in like… half an hour, I think.” 

He sighs lightly in the background but his words are laced with a touch of disappointment when he answers. “Hope you’re bringing some more of those pastelillos. Pops and I ate them all in less than 24 hours.”

“Ha! Of course you did. No pastelillos but something just as yummy, in my opinion.”

“Good. See you soon, then.” You pause your motions and smile softly to yourself, holding the phone once again.

“Yeah, See you soon. Bye, Javi.”

“Adios, muñeca.”

The receiver clicks off and you put down your phone, sighing dreamily as if you just stepped into a romance novel. He so successfully melted you by doing so little… it should really be more concerning to you, you think. 

Hastily, you pack up your bag and head to the kitchen where your homemade flan is cooling in the fridge. Pulling it out, you flip it onto the dish and scoop out the remaining caramel, grabbing up a can of dulce de leche and stuffing it in your bag before wrapping up the flan carefully and tightly. You flit around the house for a few minutes, tidying things up and making sure everything was in its place, lights were off, and cleaning up the few dishes lingering in the kitchen sink properly.

Taking a moment to visually scan the apartment, you open the door, hands very full, and shut it behind you before deadbolting it shut.

~ ~ ~ 

With the way your mind has you lost on some daydreaming tangent that is no doubt Javier-infused, it's no surprise that it feels like you blink and suddenly you’re standing in front of Chucho’s front door. You still blink back at it for a while before raising your hand to knock and being greeted by the old man, himself.

“Mija, I’m so glad you made it. Oh, here - let me take something, yes?” He takes the flan out of your hands and heads into the kitchen with it as you let yourself into the house, closing the door behind you. “Javi’s just finishing up a few chores around the ranch. He’ll be back in soon, I’m sure.”

You smile at Chucho and take a seat at the dining table as he brings you over a glass of water, taking the chair next to you. “Okay. No problem. You know he’s not the only thing I came here to see, right?” Chucho shrugs, a smirk on his face as he leans over and squeezes one of your hands with his own.

“Well… given the way he’s been moving around the house over the course of the week, I think I might’ve been knocked out of first place already.” You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks again, looking down into your glass in slight embarrassment before he quickly continues. “I don’t mean to make you feel embarrassed about it, mija. I’m glad, actually. He’s been so much less mopey. Much more pleasant to be around.”

“You noticed that in a week?” You’re shocked, to say the least, thrown a bit by Chucho’s admission. You knew how much you felt for Javi already, but you were surprised to hear he might be feeling similarly, to put it lightly.

“I did. Doesn’t take very long when it’s the right person.” The warmth in your cheeks spreads and you look back down before he squeezes your hand once again. “Mija… look at me, please.”  You do as he asks, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I want you to be careful. He went through a lot down there. I won’t pretend to know the extent of it, but… I don’t want to see you hurt, either. Just… just be careful. Okay?” 

Your brows scrunch together slightly and you nod, somber, but agreeing. “I will. I promise, Chucho.”

Naturally, it’s then that you hear the front door open and you turn in your chair to see one sweaty Javier Peña in his tight jeans and a pair of muddy cowboy boots, yanking them off and throwing them on the porch before he steps inside. He smiles at you immediately.

“Muñeca. Pops. ‘M gonna go shower. Be back out in no time.”  He squeezes your shoulder on his way to his room and your eyes follow him down the hallway as Chucho speaks up to you again.

“You’re good for him, mija. I just hope he’s good for you, too.”

~ ~ ~ 

Dinner goes by relatively uneventfully. You spend some time recounting your weeks - Chucho talks about the ranch and the problematic bull he’s been fighting for some time now, Javi talks about some of the things he’s been tinkering with on the property, especially the fences he’s been fixing up. You give them the low-down on what work’s been like over the last week and you can tell that they both listen very intently, even if they’re not up to date on museum lingo. You do your best to explain as needed.

When you’ve all finished, Javi gathers up the plates and you follow him into the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for your very precious flan. As you’re reaching forward, fingertips just grazing the plate, suddenly there are a pair of arms wrapped around your midsection and a set of lips attached to your neck. Your body shivers involuntarily and you squeak, surprised. 

“Javi!” You almost shout, just barely holding it back into a whisper in time. “You could’ve made me drop the whole thing!” He chuckles in your ear and presses a kiss behind it. His voice is sultry, hushed whispers in your ear as he speaks.

“But I didn’t. Been waiting to get my hands on you all night, muñeca. Making me wait a whole week has been like a living nightmare.” You chuckle at his words and press back into his embrace as his lips drop to the junction of your shoulder and neck. 

“Well you’ve gotta wait a little more, Javier. I am not risking Chucho turning over his shoulder and seeing anything.” You push him off of you and turn around to a dejected look on his face, like a kicked puppy dog. You roll your eyes at him and reach up to press a kiss on his cheek. “You’ll survive, I promise. Couple hours, tops.” He sighs back at you but acquiesces, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, muñeca.”

You walk the flan back out to the dining area, setting it on the table as Javi follows behind with a set of plates, forks, and serving implements. You dole out a portion to each of you and sit down with a hesitant smile, waiting to see what they think of it. Chucho’s face lights up with the first bite, a smile on his lips that warms your heart.

“This tastes much like my wife’s did, mija. It’s wonderful.” 

You stop, tilting your head slightly at him as you study his expression closely. He’s never really talked about his wife before, at least not with any substance. You don’t know much about her, but you can certainly tell how much he loved her by the glimmer in his eyes at his admission.

“I’m glad you like it, Chucho. It’s always been one of my favorites.” Javi studies Chucho’s face similarly critically, and you think for a moment that you can see a twinkle in his eye that matches Chucho’s. If it didn’t feel overly intrusive, you’d consider asking them about her. You’d truly love to know, but it feels wrong. Like you’re sitting in on a moment that was never meant for you. You hold yourself, promising that you’ll bring it up sometime on a later date. Now isn’t the time.

Chucho eventually goes for seconds, as does Javi, and then you spend a few moments cleaning up from dessert. You’re standing at the kitchen sink, washing dishes with care, when Chucho comes up to you and rests a hand on your shoulder. 

“Mija, you know you don’t have to do those.”

“You tell me every time, Chucho. I always do them. It’s my pleasure.” He smiles at you and gives your shoulder a light squeeze.

“Alright. Well, I’m off to bed. This old man is tired, and I think the two of you could use some time without me lingering.” You stop, turning to him.

“You don’t have to do that. We’re fine. I’ve seen Javi, oh… four other times this week?” You laugh, but he just smiles back at you and nods.

“I know. Still. I’m off to bed.”  He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before he’s walking in the opposite direction toward the master bedroom. You shake your head in slight disbelief and turn back to the dishes.

A few minutes later, Javi is pulling up beside you with a rag, taking each dish from your hands and drying it before putting it away. Between the two of you, you get through it all rather quickly and in no time at all you’re drying your hands and turning around to Javi’s arms caging you in against the countertop edge. Your eyes go wide and you take in a sharp breath, suppressing what could have easily been a squeak, but you manage to keep it down.

“Hi,” You say, like a doofus.

“Hi.” Javi responds.

His smile grows impossibly wider then, as he shifts further into your space, wrapping your lips up with his own. You hum into the kiss automatically, hands lifting to find his hips and then the center of his lower back.

“Has it really only been a week?” He asks in between kisses. You sigh, closing your eyes softly as he works his mouth down the side of your neck. It feels like heaven on your skin.

“Yeah. Just a week. Feels like it's been ages longer than that, though.”

Javi pauses and chuckles for a moment. “Oh, good. It’s not just me, then?” You laugh lightly at him in response and lift your hands to either side of his face, pulling his face up to look him in the eyes.

“Definitely not.” He swoops in then to kiss you once again, a warmth blooming in your abdomen that feels like it's been settled there all week long. You do not understand how you’re falling so hard, so quickly, for this man. It’s unnerving.

Suddenly your world feels upside down for a moment as he leans down, picks you up to set you on the counter, and presses his body further into yours as his hips come forward to meet the edge of the countertop. His lips never leave yours, keeping you firmly connected to him as he moves you. You wrap your thighs around his hips, pressing your chest tightly into his, and you melt into the kiss. 

It’s impossible not to.

When he pulls away, he has a starry look in his eyes that melts your heart into an even bigger puddle than it already is. One finger pushes a piece of your hair to the side, away from your face, and he offers you that big, dumb, lopsided grin of his.

“Before we get too carried away, there’s something I want to show you.”

You smile curiously at him and answer, “Oh, yeah?” 

He nods and sets you down off of the counter for just a moment before he’s grabbing your hand and leading you toward the backdoor. Pulling you onto the porch before he shuts the door behind you both, he takes a seat on a small bench near the grill and pulls you into his lap, angling you so you can look up towards the sky.

“You probably don’t get this kind of view in the northeast, I don’t think. It’s one of the best things about Laredo.” You don’t really know what he’s talking about at first until you really take a moment to take in your surroundings. In front of you is the most brilliant sky - the night is clear, with no clouds to obstruct your vision, and you can make out every tiny pinpoint of light in the distance as you look out over the river into the endless sea of stars above you.

“Javi… this is- oh wow.” You’re in awe of it - you’ve never seen so many stars, taking up so much of the sky above you. You’ve never had the pleasure of looking out into the great expanse of the universe like this. It makes you feel infinitesimally small, almost meaningless, but then Javi’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist ground you back to him, back to this moment. Back to everything you’re feeling for him all at once.

The two of you sit there just like that for a very long while, wrapped up in the embrace and in the vision above you. You actually see a shooting star cross nearly from one side of your peripheral vision to the other, lacinand you lace your fingers into his, squeezing tightly as his other hand rubs soft circles into your thigh.

“What do you think, muñeca? Think you can see yourself staying in Laredo for a while?” You smile at his question and lean back into him a bit further.

“Yeah, I think I can.”

~ ~ ~

a/n - next part should be out sooner than this one! Already working on it! love yall so much.

NEXT PART (IV) HERE