#i will still write smoke and ember but i need some time to iron out some pacing kinks

[soleilenchaine]

i have been itching to write more horror fics but now that i have the time i am finally gonna start structuring a horror limbus fic!!!!!!!!!!!!

[peppermint-toads]

could you possibly write something where remus & fem!reader meet at the astronomy tower every night to smoke and talk, but they both have developed feelings for each other & there’s a Lot of sexual tension and possibly some ~action~ ? i love your writing sm !!

an: it’s not as smutty as it could be but the tension is there i promise

cw: remus lupin x female reader, sexual tension, good bit of fluff, smoking

“Our normal spot?” You nodded at him quickly before he was swept away by James and Sirius. Remus snuck away later that evening when the corridors were silent, well past curfew. So did you.

When he ascended the final steps to the top of the astronomy tower, he found you leaning against one of the columns, legs dangling through the wrought iron railing. It was particularly windy that night, but the stars were twinkling brightly, and you insisted on gazing at them properly.

“I told you not to sit like that, s’too dangerous.”

“What do you care?” You bit back.

“I care more than I’d like to,” he mumbled, words too faint for you to make out. He took his usual seat across from you, back leaning against the column parallel to your own. “Have you brought them?” He fished around in his sweatpants pocket and tossed a pack of cigarettes your way.

You smiled at him awkwardly, still unsure of how to behave around him.

You settled a cigarette between your teeth, looking over at Remus to see him smirking. This part always managed to amaze you. His brows furrowed in concentration, wrinkles pinching above his nose. With a slow wave of his hand, the end of the cigarette began to burn, embers twinkling a bright orange.

You took a long inhale, and your eyes fluttered closed with relief. The familiar scent wafted through the air and the smoke warmed your lungs. You sighed.

As Remus took his first drag, he also took in your appearance. Your pajama shirt was tight, skin tight, and entirely too thin. And with the wind chilling your skin, it was no secret. There were a few buttons trailing up to the neckline, and you had intentionally left too many of them undone. He wondered if you’d dressed that way for him, because you certainly didn’t dress for the weather.

Remus was enraptured by your disheveled appearance. His eyes were trained on the swell of your breasts revealed by your top. How you always managed to look so beautiful, he didn’t know. He watched your ash-bitten fingers lifted the fag to your lips.

“You’re cold,” he grumbled, glancing at your shaking hands and pebbled nipples that showed through your thin shirt. You licked your lips and nodded.

With a grunt, he shifted across the stone below him. He had no jacket to offer you, he could only pull you into his side and wrap a warm arm around your shoulders. You remained completely rigid at this first sign of affection. These rendezvous only involved sharing a fag from at least four feet apart until now.

You swallowed hard. You tucked your head into his chest and felt him tense beneath you. He only paused for a moment, though, soon drawing in another puff of smoke. Remus’ hand moved down your arm to find your waist. He planted his hand there one finger at a time, then squeezed lightly.

Not a word was exchanged between you two, only hesitant glances and wavering breaths. You looked up at him with fearful eyes. What is this? Will it change everything? You looked down again.

“Remus I—Mmpf!” His lips were so warm, so plush, and his tongue was so warm. It was all hot breaths and clacking teeth. You moaned into his mouth, you really didn’t mean to, it just slipped out. His eyes were pinched closed in concentration. He’d been waiting for this moment for so long, there was so much he needed to say with this kiss.

The arm encircling your waist pulled you onto his lap. His thighs felt firm beneath you, a beacon of warmth and stability. You could feel his hardening length nestled perfectly between your folds through your skimpy pajama bottoms. You had half a mind to grind down on top of him, relieve the aching that had begun between your thighs.

His hands found your hips, slowly dragging you over his growing bulge. “R-remus,” you panted through the kiss. Your face was too hot and the wetness pooling between your thighs was too much, too fast; you wanted him more than anything, but it needed to be different. It couldn’t happen on a whim in the astronomy tower. You pushed yourself away from him, a trail of saliva still connecting your lips to his.

“No, no, no, not like this.” You gasped, trying to regain composure. Your forehead met his, and you could feel his short breaths against your cheek. “You-you’re right. You’re right.” His chest heaved in and out, in and out.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and shoved your forehead into the junction of his neck and shoulder. You could smell his body wash wafting off of his skin, something musky. You inhaled deeply, sighing out before relaxing further into his touch.

“James and Sirius are out of the dorm if you would like to…” He trailed off.

That night, he led you back to his dorm, offering up James’ bed before you bashfully admitted you’d like to sleep with Remus. He held you tightly through the night, your body slotted perfectly within his.

TAGLIST: @ildm4ev @alohastitch0626 @acciodignity @brattypeony @emmaev @greenlyblue @harmqnia @hexrtbrexk-hotel @i-love-scott-mccall @irlpadfoot @j-cat @jrj2 @kiaslily @mad-is-sad @mollysolo @sabrinathesimp @simpforferrets @sorayasorayita @sprucewoodlover @thewinterhunter @v4l3nt1n44 @wh0reforthemarauders @teenwolfbitches28 @lexlupin-black @antxriic @dracosafety @sxrcxsm26 @maitaisonthebeach @lizzyclifford13-blog @riddikulusweasleys @sgchamberlain @zoyasgirl

[blackvelvetwriteson]

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

                               (  ~ Villain Kirishima Eijirou x Kidnapped Hero-Turned-Villain Gender Neutral Reader Insert ~ )

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

GENRE: Smut and Fluffy Fluff!                                                                  

FANDOM: Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMUT! This time it’s pretty intense. God complex, drugs usage/mention, abuse, biting/marking, dubcon, cumflation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, degradation, blood play. There’s also some angst if you look hard enough.

SUMMARY: REQUESTED!! Requested by: @itzmekuka​    “𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘒𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘟 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘝𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘰-𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺 ( 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 ✨👄🍆💦) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 _ 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘵       ~𝘶𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘢”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Ah! This was actually so fun for me to write and I’m absolutely SO sorry if this is so intense. I read it over and over and over and it even bordered a little intense for me as an author. If this made you uncomfortable, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know and I’ll write a different version that’s not so intense! I’m also VERY sorry it took so long, Tumblr didn’t want to show me that you sent me a request!

WORD COUNT: 6548

| 𝘉𝘕𝘏𝘈 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘝𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘵 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 |

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

     The city around you was crumbling; the one you swore to protect as a pro hero. You were one of the better knowns sitting at the impressive spot of rank 5. That’s why everybody was relying on you, everybody that was successfully evacuated eyes were locked on the news trying to see if you’d escape safely or save their precious city. The scent of charred tree bark and burning trees filled your nose as you ran; that is what you had to do at this point. It was only you on the scene against Shigaraki who’d gone crazy, Dabi, and Toga. Dabi, in his usual fashion had his dead, icy eyes fixated on you, alternating his hands in his pockets as he torrented wave after wave of melting blue flames in front of him, off to the side, giving no time for breath, no time for anybody that could’ve been alive to escape. Some of the flames licked your body, some of your hero costume burned off, your skin burning as blood ran down the tender scalded bits. Keep running. 

     That’s all that was on your mind, your head spinning as you inhaled ash and the thick smoke of the area around you, stumbling as your adrenaline started to give up on you. Why were they after you? They all seemed so focused on you, all of them from the start beelining it towards you the second their feet hit the ground. Your eyes started to flutter and you found it hard to stay awake, Toga appearing from the trees with a hellish smile on her face as she fought trying to lure you back into the inferno. You lazily tried to dodge every time she swung her knife, dealing a few weak hits that at least made her a little disorientated, palming her ribcage making her cry out, but in return, she plunged one of her blades deep in your forearm, her crazed smile flitting to the flood of blood running down your arm.

     “Arigato gozaimasu (Y/N)- Chan~” She giggled as you tried to fight her off. “Maybe we can become goooood good good good friends!” She licked her lips as she drooled, crushing your forearms into the ground with her feet. “You’re being the hero you WANT to be, to me,” she said as she admired the capsule full of blood. You tried moving your head to stay awake, the soot coating your lungs not helping. Your body started to feel tingly and you couldn’t help but to try to fight even after Toga had hopped off into hiding. “She’s all yours~” Is all you heard; it was Toga for sure, but you didn’t know who she was talking to. Your vision was hazy now, your body feeling heavy like you were chained to the floor. You saw a familiar… Almost… Figure towering over you with hungry bright red eyes, his tongue running over his sharp pearly white teeth. From where you were right now, it was an intimidating sight, you tried to squirm and get away, turning on your stomach, crawling helplessly, shivers running up your spine as you heard the sadistic chortle that was brewing in the anonymous figure’s chest.

     “Where are you going, (Y/N)?! You know you can’t escape me,” he snorted as he walked towards you. Your body froze at the familiar voice that carried so much bass you were rattled to your core. “Ooh, you remember now, huh?!” He chuckled as he grabbed the back of your head and he pushed your face into the ground, standing over you as he stared at you with a ravenous expression. “All of this is for YOU, (Y/N),” he growled as he ran his fingers through your hair, yanking your head back, tears filling your eyes as you yelped out and looked at your destroyed city. “What kinda hero are you, (Y/N)? They’re supposed to depend on you but you ran… Just like that day…. You ran away from me,” he hummed in a sot of annoyed remembrance. “I NEEDED YOU, AND YOU RAN,” he yelled as he yanked your head back, turning you onto your back again so that you could look up at him looming over you. “Now I have this ugly ass scar… Right over my nose… And down my arm… Do you see it? Hm? Maybe we should get some more LIGHT in here so we CAN see it, right?” His eyes were crazed, you didn’t know him anymore- hell, you thought he’d died! At least you could sort of live with that- kind of. You shook your head, unable to speak, your tongue heavy. “HEY DABI,” he called out with a soft laugh. “GET OVER HERE, WE NEED SOME LIGHT!” He waited a moment hearing no response, slow footsteps approaching before suddenly stopping, a sudden wave of heat blanketing your body as you flinched, some of the stray embers singeing your hair. You winced as he held you down, able to see his scars that he was talking about. You were going to attempt speaking, but you couldn’t, his hand wrapped around your neck, palming your airway only allowing you to let out choked cries. “See it now, (Y/N)?… I know you do… And even after all of that- how you fucking left me and then told everybody I died; that’s cold, (Y/N)… But I still can’t help but to love you, yknow… Even though you let me get kidnapped…. Beat up… And then told everyone I died but I mean come on baby,” he laughed darkly as he looked over at Dabi. “That was probably the best thing you coulda did because this is the best thing that has ever happened in my life! Well… Aside from catching you again… Even if you’re choking… But I don’t want to hurt you, no! Of course not! Actually, I say we CELEBRATE, right? A momentous occasion where I was risen from the dead! And now YOU’RE gonna have your dance with the Devil… Whether you like it or fucking not,” he smirked down at you. “So resilient… I’m surprised you’re still awake! Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too bad… I LOVE YOU after all… After everything, after all is said and done. I haven’t lost my chivalry, I’m just the most chivalrous VILLAIN instead of a hero because I realized how fucking fake all of you are… Only getting faker the higher up in rank you climb and for what? All you ever did was run so how the FUCK are you at number five? I don’t know… Maybe the same reason that All Might was number one for a decade or two by lying,” he sneered as he giggled and he picked you up, letting your feet dangle in the air. This was it, you thought, the moment you were going to die. “You never were the model hero… And I still have faith in you… So… Eh.. We’ll deal with that when the moment comes… But no matter what, HERO, you’re going to love me back,” he growled as he pulled you closer, pressing a rough kiss into your lips, biting your lip so hard it’d started to bleed. You let out a strangled squeak, your body going limp and feeling warm. Somehow you felt an odd sense of comfort feeling him kiss you, feeling his teeth gnaw at your lip, feeling his tongue explore your mouth. You’d let yourself go and gave him the moan he wanted to hear so bad. “You like that baby,” he whispered against your lips with a gravelly giggle. “Yeah you do… You’re gonna get more of that where we’re going…. Don’t make too much noise now,” he laughed as he set you down and punched you HARD in the face causing you to pass out. He caught your limp body and draped you over his shoulder nodding in Dabi’s direction signaling that he got what he came for and they could go back to base.

—

     To the best of your knowledge, not too much time had passed since you’d been taken and you woke up in a daze, your whole body numb and trembling. You groaned softly, swaying from side to side, chained with your arms crossed over your body, chained to your ankles, then further restrained to the floor with a brace around your arms to make sure you didn’t slump over. You were unaware of where you were and who was by you, the soft voices sounding distant until your hair was snatched back again and you opened your eyes fully. “Wake up, Pebble,” you heard his gravelly voice in your ear as you came to, the harsh slaps to your cheeks not necessarily helping your cause. You allowed your eyes to focus on the man in front of you. You didn’t know if it was just you or whatever drugs they’d pumped you full of in your time in the dank room, but he looked almost angelic as he loomed over you. You, of course, already loved him and thought he was the best thing ever when you went to school together, but now… So many years later… His black/brown roots of his hair were starting to show, gradienting into the iconic red you’d grown accustomed to. Since his hair had spent so long getting tamed, his mane was full with fluffy spikes- some drooping, some not, going every which way on his head in such a way that made him look that much better- practically blanketing his broad shoulders, his sharp eyes staring condescendingly down at you. He was wearing a suit shirt that was a satiny red and was just begging to burst from his muscular body, seemingly freshly ironed black jeans to match along with black and red boots… And… Fingerless gloves. He licked over his sharp teeth as he noticed you checking him out and he let out a hollow laugh. “Like whatcha see? Hm? Am I still the manliest you’ve ever laid eyes on,” he laughed as he watched you squirm, his hand only twisting in your hair causing you to cry out. “Well?! ANSWER ME,” he growled out before planting a harsh slap across your face causing you to jolt against your restraints. Tears immediately pricked your eyes as you looked up at him.

“K-Kirishima,” you whispered out weakly, your throat parched from before, a cold sweat having broken out on your body. “H-How long have I been here…” Your eyes frighted rolling back into your head, the drugs having gotten to you a little more causing you to wince. Honestly, you felt like you were going to throw up, but you couldn’t help but to keep your eyes on him.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” he hummed as he stood up and paced the dimly lit room in front of you. “What a shame… Oh well, I mean it’s more fun for me- that I get to have… With you… My adorable little slave…” He looked over at you with a side eye and he smirked a little, huffing a small laugh through his nostrils before swaying his head to get his bangs out of his face. “You’re a fool to challenge a god,” he said lowly. “Especially one as… Well.. The best one. Myself…”

A god? Who the hell was talking to you right now? This definitely wasn’t Kirishima Eijiro… Not the one you met all of those years ago at UA… Not the one you were training to become a hero with. Who the fuck was this? You ignored that one pang that struck you that told you it was kind of hot that he thought of himself that way. You shook your head and hissed softly at the surge of pain that shot through your body. “I’m not your s-sla-“ mid sentence, you were interrupted with a slap that made you cry out again, your body broken, bruised, bloody, and sore… Your lungs were sore, everything was sore. You could barely even stay awake. He kneeled in front of you and tilted your chin tenderly so that he could admire the tears rolling down your face but also the nice bruises he left you.

“You are EXACTLY what I say you are… You’re the stupid pitiful hero that let yourself get caught by a dangerous man like myself, baby,” he said softly, practically straddling your lap as he fed you another gently, loving kiss. He didn’t bite your lip, he didn’t even pull away quickly. He pushed a soft hum into your lips as he trembled and allowed his hand to go to the wall next to your head. “You liked that… Didn’t you,” he murmured against your lips drunkenly, his eyes halfway open gazing into yours, and suddenly a pang of lust and… Adoration surged your body. You didn’t even know that you nodded until you saw his reaction. “Yeaaahh… I know you did… They all usually do,” he teased, just to get a rise out of you. And it worked. He popped his knuckles as he stood up and he popped his neck too, spinning on his heel as he picked up a small remote. “Let’s play the quiet game baby,” he said as he pressed on the remote, your legs trembling as you tried to grasp what happened. It was a vibrator lodged deep inside of you, of course, and your legs had started trying to give out. You also heard metal clinking together as Kirishima removed his belt, a big metal red R in the middle of it. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he smirked at you as he undid your restraints to the floor and he led you over to a chair, pushing you to fall into it. You were bent over the seat and he just admired the sight, you could hear the heavy breathing behind you accompanied by the small growls as you tried to stay awake long enough to know what was going on.

“You… Are gonna be bent over…. L-Like that,” he said with the occasional shaky breath, his own bulge forming and pressing against his jeans just seeing you bent over the chair so helplessly, your uneven breathing escaping into the air around the two of you. “And I’m gonna control this toy however I damn well please,” he said as he upped the level on the vibrator. “I put it in when you were sleeping! I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said as he walked around so that you could see him, his bulge and all. “And… While I’m controlling this, you’re not gonna say anything, make a single noise, or even so much as breathe the wrong way or…” He showed off his sleek leather belt with a soft laugh. “You see this beautiful ‘R’ right in the middle here? It’s gonna brand that sweet ass of yours… And I’ll take pictures and videos and show EVERYBODY just who you belong to… Little hero slut,” he spat as he tugged your hair back to make you look up at him again. “Do you understand me,” he growled as he slapped your ass with his hardened hand. You whimpered softly and watched as his arrogant stare became smug as he stood up and he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his muscular, veiny forearms. You couldn’t help but to shake your ass in anticipation. He let out a low groan and he bit his lip as he watched you squirm and shake for him. At this point, he figured it was just the drugs that were pumped into you kicking in again, but to you it was much more than that. You liked him even when y’all went to school together, and that only intensified once you both became pro heroes. Then he fell off of the face of the earth and it was told that he died in action. This was your first day back in work since then and this is what happened? He was alive? And.. He had you in his grasp. You were scared to lose him again, and you wanted him to know how much he meant to you… But the drugs also made your body feel heavy and it made your mind hazy how just his words had an effect on you. You caught the glint of that pretty metallic red ‘R’ on his belt and you couldn’t help but to drool over him. He noticed how your eyes were fixated on his bulge and he smirked a little with a soft grunt, his fingers tactfully unzipping his pants as he tilted his head and licked over his sharp teeth again.

“Oh I forgot how much of a needy slut you were,” he whispered softly as he let out another soft laugh. “You want to suck my cock don’t you? Yeah I know you do,” he said softly, slowly pulling his cock from his jeans, stroking it as he used his other hand to force your head back. “Open up,” he growled, slapping you before forcing himself inside of your mouth. Instantly, you teared up both from the hard hit he dealt but also from how quickly he filled your mouth and all of those sweet groans he was letting out for you. You whined as you felt him slowly thrusting his hips into your mouth, forcing himself down your throat more and more. “Oh fuck,” he gasped out quietly, starting to move the chair a little as he pushed your head into him harder and faster, slowly starting to find his rhythm. “Y-Yeah,” he whispered softly as he upped the level of the vibrator making your legs give out right under you. “I know it’s big, but you don’t have to show it all on your face,” he slurred out as he twisted his hand in your hair again making you whimper and whine as you choked on his cock, your face drenched with soot and your tears as you let him use your throat as his fleshlight. “Deeper,” he moaned out as his back arched. “Take me deeper!” He smacked your ass with his belt and he moaned at the sounds, the sound of the leather hitting your skin, that big red R in the middle smacking against your ass bruising it, that choked moan you let out as he sucked in a sharp breath. “Choke on it, choke… Ch-Choke… On… It,” he whimpered out as tears pricked his own eyes. “F-FUCK! Who would’ve thought you were so good at s-sucking d-dick,” he moaned out as he lolled his head to one side, staring down at you with a soft smile; a ray of sweet light breaking through that rough exterior of his that came with being a villain. He gently caressed your face, his thumb swiping your warm tears before he forced himself further into your throat, watching the bulge form and then disappear again. “Suck it harder! S-Suck it l-like it’s your fucking god, (Y/N),” he growled as he forced you as deep as he could go, holding you down on his cock, feeling you choke on it, taking in all of your gags, watching as you drooled, feeling as you squirmed and tried to suck up all of the saliva you could.

“Oh hell yeah,” he whimpered out as he shuddered. “Oh fuck fuck fuck,” he whined as he smacked your ass with the belt again. You felt like you were about to pass out and your eyes rolled back into your head before you whined softly as he pulled his cock out of your mouth. “Do you like the taste of your god’s precum,” he growled as he stroked himself slowly. “I know you do,” he whined as he forced himself into your mouth again, and you looked up at him with soft whimpers of protest. “I KNOW YOU DO,” he whimpered as he smacked your ass with that belt again, watching the R brand itself into your skin. He felt you tighten up and he pulled your head back into him, bottoming out inside of your mouth again as his eyes crossed. “F-Fuuucckk,” he whimpered out quietly as he threw his head back. “I-I’M YOUR F-FUCKING GOD,” he moaned out as he tried not to cum so quick. “S-Suck it l-like- O-Oh fuck,” he groaned out as he caressed the back of your head before filling your mouth and throat with his cum. He curled his fingers into your hair and pushed you down on him more, his eyes rolling back into his head as his hips jolted and he orgasmed, his whole body tense as he panted, trying to catch his breath. “D-Don’t… L-Let a s-single… F-Fucking… Drop… Out,” he said shakily, slowly pulling out of your mouth, your gaze locked on him and how perfect he looked in this state of ecstasy.  You watched the cum and saliva that was left on his cock drip to the ground as he reeled and brought himself back, looking down at you smirking at your dazed fucked out expression. “Oh baby,” he whispered softly as he kneeled in front of you, tilting your chin up a little. “You… Cute little thing,” he said with a small, sweet smile- even softer than the one he gave you before. You looked up at him and made soft chittering noises as you accepted the soft act and you tried to reach out to him but couldn’t.

“I wanna see it in your mouth,” he said softly as he squished your cheeks and watched some of the cum drip down your face. “Open wide… Show me how you take the cum of a fucking god,” he whispered harshly as you opened your mouth for him and stuck your tongue out. He grunted and closed his eyes as he tried to keep himself from getting too turned on again and he let out a shaky breath. “You really are a needy hero whore,” he said with a smirk, running his fingers through your hair, smiling at all of the cum dripping down your face. “You dirty… Filthy hero slut…” He stood up and snapped his belt with a soft growl and he hummed softly. “Fuck… This feels so good… I know what you want,” he said as he strolled behind you. “Tell me how bad you fucking want it,” he said as he slapped the belt across your ass again with a condescending laugh watching you spasm on the chair, unable to move. “Ah… You and those useless legs.. Can’t even hold you up- now you’ll have bruised knees. What a shame,” he teased as he struck you again.

“P-PLEASE,” you cried as you sniffed back tears, trying to arch your back just squirming against the chair. “I-I w-wanna f-feel you I-inside,” you whimper out as you let your head hang. “P-Please! F-Fuck me p-please,” you whined as your eyes burned with tears. “I want to feel y-you d-deep inside… Please!” You wanted to look back at him but your body wouldn’t let you. You heard him shuffle behind you, hoping that you’d be able to feel him inside of you, but you felt his large, warm hand caressing your inner thighs instead and you fell weaker as your breath stopped.

“Aw… What nice begging you did… But it looks like someone came without asking,” he growled as he stood up again, giving you a half second to breathe before he dealt another harsh slap, ‘R’s bruised into your skin. He gave a breathy groan and he stretched his arms out as he looked down at your bruised skin. “Looks like you’re getting punished… It wouldn’t be manly of me otherwise,” he said with a soft sigh, adjusting his shirt before dealing you slap after slap, blow after blow, soft groans and giggles of content punctuating each and every single one. “Oh yeah,” he whispered softly as he smirked. “Tell me how much you love it when I spank that sexy ass of yours,” he commanded as he shuddered. At this point, you were too out of it to speak, not being able to muster up more than soft mewls. He couldn’t help but to smirk as he suddenly shoved his cock inside of you, your eyes widening as you felt your insides conform to his shape.

“K-KIRI-“ you were cut off by your own pants and moans before feeing his fingers in your mouth. He bottomed out inside of you, already, and of course, there was a little bit of blood because of how sudden it was. He watched on with soft growls, slipping a hardened hand under the shirt to your hero costume that was already ripped. A small tug made quick work of the shirt, your back completely exposed to him. He let out soft whines as you constricted around him, subtly grinding your hips after you got over the pain of him suddenly rutting inside of you. You sucked on his fingers with soft mewls, drooling more, practically dumb from every single ounce of attention he payed you.

“Yeah,” he whispered softly as he lowered his lips against the skin of your lower back, taking in your scent, his eyes closing as he bit his lip, placing soft kisses on your lower back. Your eyes crossed as you tried arching your back into him. “Suck my fingers just like that,” he whispered, smiling as he watched the goosebumps run like waves over your skin. He continued to feed you soft kisses against your back, taking his time as he travelled up, his hands wandering over your body slowly, his hold commanding but still soft. If he wanted you to move, you did, and honestly you were fine with it. “Stop moving,” he commanded as he closed his eye, licking over the spots he kissed too. His warm tongue made you slick with precum, loving how warm he made you feel. You couldn’t do anything but moan around his fingers as he forced you to cockwarm him. He made sure to take extra care of you, gently working his way up your body as his hands followed and massaged every inch of you resting at your waist as he made it to your neck. It sounded like he was having trouble breathing, giving you short deep thrusts as he kissed at your neck. “O-Oh fuck you’re so tight,” he slurred out drunkenly as he closed his eyes. “F-Fuck fuck fuck…” He licked along your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth, still teasing you as the drugs made you almost pass out as well as how your insides conformed to the shape of his cock. “Just like that,” he whispered against your skin as he nibbled the sides of your neck. “Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you,” he commanded again, slapping your ass hard with his hand this time. It made you jolt and you let out a choked moan, sucking harder on his fingers with tears still running down your face. “Only good slaves get what they ask for,” he growled and you still felt the vibrator pulsating inside of you making you light headed. You drooled around his fingers as you gave him soft mewls and he only laughed at how fucked out you were already.

“Too much already? I haven’t even done anything to you yet,” he slurred out in your ear with a delighted grin. It felt like he was pulling out to give you some time to breathe, but he instantly snapped his hips back up into you with a loud moan, his teeth digging into the nape of your neck as you yelped out weakly. The hurt was accompanied by intense pleasure that made you quiver all the way down to your core, the condescending laughs and growls that followed making you light headed almost seeing stars. “Take it,” he moaned out as he kissed the bite in the nape of your neck which was now covered in beads of blood.

“K-Kiri-“ you choked out as you crossed your eyes. “P-Please! ’S t-too much,” you whine as you tremble and convulse on the chair under him, happily smushed into his body. “P-Please! S-Stop,” you whimpered out weakly, but he was still pounding deep inside of you, one of his large hands palming your neck from behind, his fingers crushing your trachea so you only let out choked cries and whimpers, your legs practically numb.

“Sorry! Dirty little h-hero sluts d-don’t get to say no!” He used his free hand to dig into your skin making you bleed more. “The h-harder I choke you, the more you t-tighten around me! W-What if the public knew what a whore for villain cock you were, hm? And you’re s-supposed to be a hero,” he scoffed as his bruising grip tightened around your neck, making your tongue loll out of your mouth as your eyes crossed and you struggled to stay awake. With each thrust he seemed like he was getting rougher, you were unable to move, you couldn’t even moan anymore, you were left with your labored breathing unable to fight it anymore, not being able to stick through his death grip he had on your neck. It seemed like one harsh movement of his thumb would break your neck, but you had no more resolve to fight it. “F-Fuck yeah! Ah fuck my cock,” he groaned out as he let your neck go feeling you fall limp under him. He let you stay passed out as he abused your hole how he wanted to, his smirk only growing as his tongue pushed out of his mouth, drooling as he drove himself crazy using you how he wished. “F-Fuck! Fuck I’m gonna c-cum s-so fucking hard,” he growled, digging his fingers into the bruised, tender bite mark, your blood smearing over his hand. He couldn’t help but to lick his hand clean, his gaze locked on your limp body as he thrashed you about, but he wanted you to be awake when he filled you up.

He gave you a harsh, wet slap and pulled your hair back, smirking at all of the bruises on your body that was for him. “R-RISE AND SHINE,” he growled as he slapped your ass harshly as he threw his head back and let out a loud laugh, crushing his chuckles with a growl as he forced your head to one side, licking up your neck until he made it to your ear, his stern tone making you wake up a little more. “I said wake. Up. Slut,” he whispered as he bit his lip. “I won’t ask nicely next time,” he growled as he pulled you down on his cock more. “F-FUCK,” He groaned out as he ducked his arm under one of yours, his arm pressing against your chest, easily pulling you up so that your back was rested against his toned chest, forcing you to bounce on him, forcing you to take him balls deep inside. “Oh this f-feels s-so m-much b-better,” he moaned in your ear with a soft growl, his nails digging into your skin marking you, watching the beads of blood roll down your body as he continued to rail into you, his own moans breathless. You were halfway awake as you clenched around him and let your arms fall helplessly still unable to move on your own. He whispered in your ear right before he came inside of you.

“O-Oh f-fuck,” he gasped as he kissed the side of your neck gently before growling into your ear. “Y-Yeah you like that huh? Hm?” He slapped your ass hard, his nails digging into your tender thigh. His hand forced your legs open as he nipped at you, scratched at you, growled into you, his face red, his body coated in sweat. “Yeah you do,” he whispered softly. “Y-You l-like it when a-a m-man takes control, huh? Hm? Yeah you do,” he growled as he forced your face into a nearby wall, grinding hard into him as his legs seemingly took up a mind of their own. “That’s WHY I b-became a villain baby,” he said with a smirk as he kissed up and down your neck, smiling as he admired your tears on your blood and sweat drenched body. “You like it when someone ca-can fucking take control of you like this! Fuck you like a dumb slut against the wall!” He growled as he kissed up the back of your neck. “You’re so fucking dumb right now baby,” he whispered with a soft giggle. “D-Drooling over villain cock… The cock of a fucking king!” He pushed your hips against the wall with a loud groan, his fingers going deeper into your mouth, grabbing your tongue, watching your saliva run down your face. “You’re so pretty like this! MY fucking toy,” he growled as he closed his eyes, slowing down a little as he nipped your ear. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum right inside of that tight hole of yours,” he mumbled in your ear. “But I’m gonna make you milk me… Slowly… Gently,” he said as he took a deep breath, gently brushing your hair out of the way, kissing the side of your head as he smiled a little.

“You like this,” he whispered as he dealt you slow, deep, hard thrusts that were definitely more comfortable as he blushed and let out soft sultry moans, his hands gently guiding your hips into his and then away from his. He held you against him lovingly, groaning needily as he massaged over your marks, his hands covered in your blood. “Make me cum… Make me cum baby,” he whimpered as he kissed the side of your head, down your neck, your ear, then on your neck and shoulder, punctuating every single thrust of his hips with a soft groan. “I love you,” he mumbled to you softly, his body tensing as he edged himself closer and closer to cumming. “I-I love you,” he whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. “I-I always have,” he whimpered quietly as he thrusted hard into you, nipping into your soft, supple neck. “C-Cum with me because you’re m-mine! Mine! F-Fucking mine,” he whined as he he rolled his body into yours. “I’m the only one that c-can fill you up the right way! I’m the one that can  fuck you the right way! T-The only one w-with c-cock big enough to satisfy you! The only one that can take control of you t-the right way!” He growled before pulling you onto him hard, filling you with his warm, sticky cum. He dug his nails into your skin as he watched your cum mix with his after it left a bulge in your stomach. “Oh fuck yeah,” he whispered softly as he slowly came down from his high as he watched the bulge he pushed into your stomach because of his cum. He trembled feeling his cum mixed with yours running down his leg. He hugged you close, hiding his face behind your shoulder, tears from his own overstimulation soaking his face, his breathing shaky as he slowly released you from his hold. Immediately, you slumped against the wall, Kirishima’s arms being the only thing holding you up. You trembled and whimpered softly, not even able to turn your head, barely even able to open your mouth.

“I m-meant what I said,” he said after awhile, slowly dusting your upper back with soft kisses, his hands hardened only halfway, massaging your back to help ease your pain a little. “I really do love you… But after it was expressed that I died in action… I couldn’t come back out… Hero work- well I wasn’t cut out for it,” he said as he pulled his pants back on, adjusting himself except having his messy hair. “This… This was the thing that made the most sense… This was the only way to get back to you,” he said sweetly as he took a deep breath and he bit his lip, picking you up with a soft grunt. “Cmere baby,” he said softly as he sat on the ground, cradling you in his lap, pulling your head against his chest. “Shh.. I know it hurts… I’m so sorry for hurting you… Calling you mean things- that wasn’t manly of me,” he said as he gently stroked your face. “I don’t actually think you’re a slut… or a whore… or… something like that. I was a little too intense,” he whispered softly as he kissed the crown of your head. “You mean everything to me. I already lost you once… I don’t want to lose you ever again…” He tilted your head up gently and he caught your gaze. He smiled and kissed the tip of your nose and he shook his head slowly. “… Please be mine,” he said softly. “I-I don’t care about social status or labels or anything! I don’t care if I’m a fucking villain and you’re a hero… And I wouldn’t care vice versa… I-I just…” He teared up and he looked away, biting his lip as he tried not to get too emotional. You reached up gently and weakly, your arm trembling as your fingers met his hot skin and you slowly stroked his face.

“Hey,” you whimpered hoarsely. “I’m all d-drugged up or whatever… But please believe me when I say that… I love you too… I always do… I mean have… Ugh,” you lolled your head back only to have Kirishima’s hand gently lift your head up gently and rest it against your chest again. “S-Since high school,” you squeaked before hiding into him taking in his scent. “I love you, Kirishima,” you whispered softly as you shook your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he stood up again, whimpering softly at how sensitive he was from how fast and hard he was moving. “Oh fuck,” he whispered softly, covering you up. “Let me run a nice bath for you… You can wear some of my clothes afterwards… I think Mr. Compress actually made some food, so you’ll eat good… But… Please,” he practically begged, his hand cupping your face as his glistening keen eyes stared into your sleepy ones. “Please don’t leave me again,” he whimpered as he hugged into you, kissing your shoulder gently.

“I won’t,” you smiled weakly at him, trying not to fall asleep again. “I don’t want to,” you reassured, running your fingers through his smooth, messy, fiery red hair. “I’m yours… I’m all yours… I l-love you Kirishima Eijiro,” you whispered before laying limp in his arms, the drugs catching up with you as you fell asleep.

He looked down at you with the most protective stare and he smiled sweetly at you, standing in the middle of the corridor to stare at you. His smile was lazy and sleepy as he stared at you. “I’m so happy that you’re finally mine… Finally… I’ll take such good care of you… It’s the manliest thing for me to do,” he whispered softly, gently kissing your forehead with a soft wispy giggle.

[inb4belphienaps]

boundaries

<pt. 2> warnings: fluff i think word count: 1525

belphie listens to your retreating footsteps, back still leaning against the metal as he tries to picture how you look. from your voice alone, he thinks you probably have a kind face. the approachable kind at least.

your eyes, well, with a hint of mischief as he's gathered from the stories you tell him. getting dragged into (and sometimes instigating) his brothers' antics suggested that you didn't take yourself too seriously.

and then he remembers your laugh. what he'd thought he'd find irritating is instead confusing. the instinct to ignore it grows ever weaker with each visit. he even finds himself smiling at the sound now. your amusement in itself could apparently be...amusing.

but that wasn't all.

there's a tightness in his chest when you leave. the walls of the attic close in on him ever so slightly and he's suddenly reminded of his current predicament.

he was essentially a prisoner here. how thoughtful of lucifer to have made one of his favorite napping places the very bane of his existence. he'd long gone past the stage of finding comfort in the familiarity of the floor-length drapes and antique lights.

they did little to dispel the loneliness.

eventually, he gets up from the floor and with that one motion, he begins to formulate a plan. a plan that would hopefully serve as a solution to his misery.

a plan he sets into motion the next time you come up those stairs.

he's counting the number of conjured arrows he can aim at the center of a painting (some relic from the celestial realm, he reasons with disdain) when you interrupt him, causing all the arrows to dematerialize in a puff of violet-tinted smoke.

"hey, i brought some reading with me today. hope you don't mind."

the smoke shifts in the air at your arrival, as if a gust of wind had come through the room.

"what's it for?"

papers shuffle. he hears you take a seat and slides off the bed. he walks up to the wrought iron gate, wishing you'd just move and sit in front of it so he can see you. at first, he'd thought you were shy. after your second encounter, he'd realized you were just being cautious. and for that, perhaps you weren't entirely stupid.

"seductive speechcraft."

oh the irony.

"an assignment?"

you hum in confirmation. he listens to the scratch of your pen, watching your elbow move. diligent, weren't you?

"maybe i can help you."

you scoff. he raises a brow.

"no thank you. don't think i don't know how you are with words."

oh? that was interesting. the two of you never really did talk about what you thought of one another. there's no time like the present then.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"the way i see it, you're far too confident. and maybe that works in your favor", you say between flipping pages and scribbling notes.

oh...how adorable.

"don't you trust me?"

a huff. he sees your shoulder slump and wishes he could gauge your expression. were you genuinely upset at his question or at the notion itself?

"i mean...you haven't exactly given me a reason not to."

yes. like you'd implied, he'd made sure of it. not only so you could continue to help him but also, so you would keep coming back. he'd been the one to break the ice and tell you stories. and he'd made you feel comfortable enough to do the same.

"and?"

you stop writing. the corner of his lips quirks upwards. the moment you'd decided to disregard lucifer's warning and find him, had it simply been curiosity?

"i don't know. you won't...try anything, will you? hurt me or something, i mean."

he feels a pang of guilt. at another point in time, he probably would have. he curls his fingers around a crest-shaped notch in the gate and rests his forehead against the back of his palm, figuring it best to be honest.

"i won't. not anymore, anyway."

you visibly stiffen. he sighs inwardly.

"so it crossed your mind."

"it's complicated. try not to take it personally."

truly, it was. if he wanted to explain it all to you, he'd have to recall memories that were still too painful to re-live, even (or especially) in his dreams.

"well that doesn't make it any easier."

the wheels in his head spin as he tries to figure out a way to convey his emotions without setting himself off. keep it vague.

"before this", he gestures, hoping that it comes across in his tone (after all, he wasn't just referring to your sole influence). "i didn't have the highest opinion of humans."

you remain quiet.

"i basically blamed them for us falling, among other things."

the fires of his rage had subsided to embers. in his isolation, he'd had months to come to terms with his prejudice. during the initial turmoil, amidst the anguish that plagued him, he'd had to learn to separate himself from the emotions. to view the events as merely events.

it'd been (and still was) a bitter pill to swallow. that it hadn't been the man's fault his sister had fallen in love with him. that it was only out of that same love that she'd committed sacrilege. that...he'd needed someone to pin it on in the end.

"i realize that that hatred was misplaced."

hatred, he'd said. you sit in silence in an attempt to give the both of you a second or two to think.

he's nervous. what could you be thinking of him following such a confession? he lifts his head to see your elbow tucked in at your waist. were you resting your hand under your chin? were you...scared of him?

"i should hurry along with those pacts, huh?"

his eyes widen. and he laughs under his breath.

"there's no rush. not really."

you sigh.

"aren't you lonely? beel misses you, you know."

before he can make sense of the new thoughts attempting to de-rail his train of thought, he's answering you.

"it's not so bad with you here."

you chuckle. it's like a weight is lifted when you do. this sort of apprehension he felt around you, although uncomfortable, wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"charming, aren't you?"

and you turn your head slightly. he eyes the ends of your hair, how they catch the dull glow of the lamps in the attic. he wants to see you.

"do me a favor?"

"hm?"

"come into the light."

another laugh, this one more amused than the last.

"curious? to see the face of your savior?", you ask, a sarcastic confidence coloring your words.

"yes. that and i'll show you a trick if you do."

you drop your pen to the side, letting it roll across the top of your notebook. you want to see him up close too. the painting in the hallway had made him out to be rather sad. a part of you wanted to dispel that image for good.

"promise?"

"i promise."

he isn't aware that he's holding his breath until he meets your eyes and comes face-to-face with an expression that stirs up a feeling he'd almost forgotten.

attraction. how foreign it feels and yet how befitting it is of the situation.

"um, hi, i guess."

the awkward smile on your lips has his stomach twisting.

"hi."

fuck, i wish we'd done this earlier, he thinks.

"it better be a damn good trick you're going to show me."

how much more pleasantly that sentence flows as he's looking at you, taking in the curve of your mouth and the flush of your cheeks. he figures he shouldn't stare but then again, this 'trick' didn't require a lot of focus.

you watch as he stretches his closed fist out through a gap in the gate. you wonder for a moment, whether he's going to ask for your hand.

as he mutters an incantation, you gasp. swirls of purple and magenta snake around his fingers, and a pulse of light from within them sends goosebumps down your arms.

he opens his palm and there lies a butterfly in the center of it - a delicate, almost translucent butterfly with wings that shimmer. it takes off, fluttering away from him and you lift your hand to greet it.

its delicate wings brush against the tip of your thumb and you smile as it gently lands on your palm. upon closer inspection, you marvel at the intricate patterns on its back and soon it leaves, flying past you, making its way down the stairs.

his eyes never waver, even as you return your gaze to him once more. it's enough to make you stammer.

"t-thank you. uh...you'll have to teach me some time."

in the wake of your admiration for his 'talents', he takes your hand. his touch is surprisingly warm and his skin soft.

"i'd be happy to."

he places a kiss inside your palm and your heart, much like the butterfly, flutters. such intimacy from a man with sharp teeth.

"is it okay if i stay a bit longer?"

you're sure he notices the anticipation in your voice, how it quivers, expectant.

"of course."

[geekydane]

Talk to me  - Tommy Shelby x reader - chapter 10

Masterlist 

Warning!!! This became kind of brutal, so please keep that in mind before reading!

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It was a strange sensation waking up the next day. The chest that your body was sprawled on top of was the same, but the bed was not nearly as soft as you were used to. The air didn’t smell of leather furniture and faint cigarette smoke. It was more of old wooden walls and the remaining embers from the fireplace. You breathed in heavily and stretched out the arm and leg that you weren’t laying on which also made Tommy stir. He strained his back for a moment before he relaxed again.

“We need to get you a new bed. This one is horrible. No wonder you were so easy to persuade to sleep in mine.” His voice was raspy and he was slightly mumbling but it was really attractive. It did help with the fact that he let his fingers run up and down your arm. It gave you that lovely tingling feeling in the pit of your stomach that always came when you were near Tommy. Whenever he touched you. It was strange how a single human could make you hungry for touch, when you have been moving away from it for years. You couldn’t help but look Tommy in the eyes and give him a smile. For a long time you just laid there looking at each other until the buzz of people on the streets started to grow louder. That indicated that you two might have to get up and get going.

Tommy sighed heavy as he started to sit up, forcing you to roll over. He started to get dressed in his clothing from the day before. Suddenly the tables had turned and he was in the position you were in every morning. You walked to your drawers and found a dress and stockings for the day.

“I’m not about to snoop in your drawers but do you perhaps have anything… fancy in there?” Tommy came up behind you and you gave him a frown. What has he on about?

“I mean, do you have anything that might be fitting for a place a bit fancier than the Garrison? No offence to my brother.” Tommy rolled his eyes and smiled. Those already high cheekbones reaching higher than you had ever seen before. He raised his eyebrows and gestured for you to continue and you opened up a new drawer and pulled out one of your older dresses that you had saved from when you lived with the Langstons. They required you to look your best if you were out with them. You had to get out sometimes so society knew that they still fed you and you were alive.

It was a royal blue ankle-long dress with short sleeves. It was a little old fashion with a tighter waist than what the most fashionable women wore, but it was very presentable, even though it had folds in the fabric from being in the drawer instead of hanging in a real closet. You held it up in front of you so that Tommy could see how it looked. You still wondered what he had I mind as he took a step back and looked you over.

“That will do. I’m sure you will look beautiful. Can you meet me at the office at 9? Then you can press out the folds in the dress and put your hair up. I want to take you with me to a very special meeting… or we can call it; a dinner.” Tommy went and got his jacket on the stool where the rest of his clothing was left folded neatly and put it on. He gave your arm a squeeze when you nodded to answer yes to his question. At that point you were almost ready to go to the end of the world with that man. What was wrong with you? Tommy fetched his jacket and hurried out of your bedroom. Only a moment later you heard your front door open and close again.

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It was a long time ago since you really had to get all dressed up. You were looking at yourself in the mirror and pinched your cheeks to give them a little colour. You had done your best with the hair pins you had and your hair was successfully held up and stroke back. The question was for how long it will stay that way. One blow of the wind and it might look horrible. You had a moment of panic when you thought that the dress might have not fit you anymore, but as soon as all the buttons was closed and you breathed out, it still fit you perfectly.

-------------------------------------------------------

You stepped out onto the street in your usual heels you used for work – hoping that it was okay. You received a few stares from people on their daily walk to and from work. You knew that the dress would have that effect because it wasn’t a rich neighbourhood and the dress fit the company of the Langstons who had a spot in the House of Lords. You had feared that walk to the office and you walked faster than you had ever done in high heels.

It was weird stepping inside the office all dressed up. You didn’t know if it was your anxiety that talked to you, but you were sure there became slightly quieter as you stepped in. The men glaring at you as you passed them. You clutched your bag closer to as you walked pass all the bookmarkers and into your own office. Lizzie was already working and looked up as you stepped in.

“Oh there you are! I was worried when you didn’t come in this morning. I said to the Shelby’s that we might should go look for you, but Tommy said that it wasn’t necessary… Why are you all dressed up?” Lizzie looked up and down at you. You pointed to Tommy’s office and hoped that was answer enough, because you didn’t know exactly what you were doing either.

“Did Tommy tell you to do it?” She asked and you quickly nodded. She suddenly looked a little sour and sat a little taller in her chair.

“Well he’s not in his office. He hasn’t been in yet.” She said a little angrily as she started to type in numbers on the calculator. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Should you start working like you used to or should you wait at his office? Lizzie gave you the side eye once more and you decided that you might want to wait in Tommy’s office instead of being around her for much longer. You didn’t want the sudden unfriendliness getting to you, when you had just had such a good morning.

Letting yourself into his office you could immediately feel the conversation stopping in the room. Lizzie said that Tommy wasn’t in, but apparently that didn’t mean that his office was empty. Arthur was sitting in Tommy’s chair and John was half sitting on the desk, both with a dead stare at you until they recognized you and relaxed a little.

“Y/n. What the hell are you doing all dolled up?” Arthur laughed a little but John just nodded at you with lifted eyebrows.

“I think Tommy got a plan. You look lovely.” The Birmingham accent was strong but the compliment was still much appreciated when all people had done was staring and being sour. Arthur huffed at the remark and just then Tommy stepped into the office with Lizzie.

“I told her you weren’t in.” Lizzie said and was about to walk into Tommy, as he stopped right inside the door. He caught your eyes and smiled at you.

“I knew that dress would do it when I saw it this morning. You look absolutely wonderful.” Tommy had such a wide grin that you had to look away to not show how hard you might be blushing. Pinching the cheeks might not have been necessary. It wasn’t like Tommy didn’t look good as well. He was wearing a suit that looked very sophisticated, with a waistcoat that matched the jacket. A little silver chain hang from an inner pocket to show off the pocket watch but at the same time you couldn’t see any trace of any gun on him.

���I suspect we are taking her with us?” Arthur said as Tommy walked up to you and placed a hand in the small of your back. He turned to Lizzie that was still standing in the door, watching over the scene.

“Thank you, Lizzie. We got it from here.” He said and Lizzie huffed before closing the door behind her. Tommy then looked to Arthur.

“I am sure Lady Finch will love her. She might soften up a bit and wants to agree to make a deal with us if she knows that we are not just men involved. She’s a very proud woman.” Tommy explained and John nodded.

“Well then let’s go then. We need to hurry if we have to be there at dinnertime.” John walked passed you and winked before leaving the office with Arthur. Tommy stayed back with you.

“You really do look wonderful. I hope you are okay with going with me to this business dinner. It’s in Manchester but there are no Mick King, no guns. We are going to visit Lady Isabella Finch. Her father was the Earl of Winchilsea, a very rich man. She inherited his fortune when the law was changed for female heirs but wanted to be financial independent beforehand. She has been in some shady business for many years now and nobody can touch her because of her title. She’s a bloody genius.” You tried to imagine what this daughter of an Earl might be involved with but you had never imagined anyone with a title of nobility being involved with something shady. The public eye was always on them and the newspapers were ready to write about all the rich and well-known families. Tommy started to guide you through the building and through all the many stares.

“It will all make sense when we get there. John and Arthur will be with us. They will park the car around the corner and keep an eye out for anything. If everything will go according to plan, we will be home and able to sleep in our own bed tonight… My bed, of course, yours are dreadful.”

----------------------------------------

As Tommy said John parked his car around the corner and Tommy helped you out of the darks very small backseat. It had been a wonderful trip there but also very bumpy. It was a relief to get out of the car and stretch your legs. The streets looked like a very wealthy district, much like where you had lived with the Langstons. The houses all had very well kept art nouveau style facades and the small front yards leading to the sidewalks were very heavily decorated with flowers and painted iron gates.

“Stay around the area. Don’t attract any attention. If anyone starts wondering what you are doing here, drive around the blocks and return to this street.” Tommy murmured to his brothers and they both nodded. John pulled his hat further down over his eyes and leaned back into his seat. Tommy gave you his arm and you let him lead you to your final destination. You walked around the next corner and seemingly a long way down the beautiful street. Tommy stopped in front of a very Victorian looking house with 3 floors. It was huge considering that this was right in the heart of Birmingham and it was very expensive living here. This Lady Finch must be more wealth than your father had been.

You walked to the front door and it was a servant opening the door, taking your names and made you wait a moment. When he returned he assured you that the Lady of the house was expecting you and you should follow along. The hall was massive of course. With high ceilings she could really show off her chandelier than for many years had been the sign of how wealthy the family was. It was also conveniently placed in the entering hall or the ball room of a house so everyone would notice it. The lady greeting you did look very pleased when she noticed that the both of you were looking at the ceiling when you stepped in.

“You must be Mr. Thomas Shelby.” She said and walked towards you with the elegance of a cat. Lady Isabella Finch was much older than you had imagined. She was an elderly woman with a long face with chin-length hair that framed her face. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress with just the right cut for the season. She was a very stylish for an older woman and you suddenly felt uncomfortable in your old dress that was hopelessly out of fashion.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you my Lady.” Tommy bowed at her like the gentleman he could be and you curtsied next to him for good measure, even though she hadn’t addressed you yet.

“You have certainly done yours to make this meeting happen. Very eager. And who is this lovely young woman?” She let Tommy kiss the top of her hand as she finally looked towards you. Your heart started to pound faster but Tommy came to just rescue almost immediately.

“This is my lovely partner y/n y/l/n.” Lady Isabella seemed a little offended for you, that Tommy was the one introducing you and not yourself. At the same time you tried not to react to how Tommy had just called you his partner and what he might have meant with that.

“She can’t introduce herself, unfortunately. She’s mute.” Tommy explained. That made her squint her eyes as she looked at you for a long while, like she just remembered something.

“Well it’s nice to meet you too, miss y/l/n. Will you follow me to the dining room? The dinner will be served in a moment.”

-----------------------------------------------

You were let into a spectacular dining room with a massive table that was big enough for at least 16 people. It was only the three of you in the far end of the table. She was sat at the end of the table and she wanted the two of you to sit on each your side of her. You knew it was an old custom that man and wife didn’t sit next to each other at a table and the thought of that made you blush.

“So, Mr. Shelby. Let’s dive right into why you have sent me so many requests of meetings. I’m sure it has something to do with all the building suddenly bearing the name ‘Shelby Limited’ on them around Manchester?” You were surprised how openly she was talking about these things as servants ran around you serving the starters. Tommy did look a little baffled too and cleared his throat before speaking, just to buy time, so that the servants went out to the kitchen again.

“I’m glad you have noticed that I’m expanding my business. I hope there hasn’t been any trouble involving any of your men.”

“If any of my men had been involved, we wouldn’t be sitting here tonight. No, I’ve noticed how you and Mr. King have served heads to each other on silver plates lately. I’m just curious to see how this will affect my business.” There was a silence filled with clanging of silverware scraping the plates and wine sipping.

“Mr. King doesn’t like that I’m playing on the same playground as him. He wants me out, but I’m sure he will come to terms.”

“When he doesn’t have any more men?” Lady Isabella blurted out and you almost choked on your wine. Tommy looked to you with a grin.

“I’m sure he is smart enough to know when to stop and surrender.” There was silent again as the servant appeared again and took away your plates and replaced it with the main course.

“You know, Mr. Shelby, I’ve been doing business with Mr. King for quite a few years now. He owns some of the best locations in this city. He is renting them for a very generous sum. He promises protection. What can you offer me, which I don’t already get from Mr. King?” The conversation between the two of them was like watching a duel. It was extremely fascinating and they both have been careful with their information, because you knew that if the deal wasn’t going to happen, they would be enemies instead of allies. All information about the other could be used against them.

“My Lady, that is exactly why I am here today. I know about Wilton House and what is going on in there. I am not here to threaten you but I am here to offer you an opportunity. You said that Mr. King might have some of the best locations in this city, but are you really sure about that? Wilton House is far too known to be hidden for much longer. You don’t have to be in my position to know what is going on in there.” You stopped eating and were staring from one to the other. Your fork had stopped half way to your mouth.

“No one in their right mind would go after me. Not even the chief inspectors.” She scoffed.

“Maybe not you personally. But I’ve heard of police raiding some other illegal gambling facilities for less in London. In fact, I only think it was a few weeks ago.”

“And you think the same thing will happen for me?”

“I only think it’s a matter of time.” Tommy said calmly and finished his meal. Lady Isabella leaned back in her chair and ringed a small bell next to her plate to signal that you were all finished. You all sat in silence as the servants came and took everything from the table, leaving only your wine glass.

“So… I am guessing you have a suggestion to a solution.” Lady Isabella finally said and leaned her elbows on the table. It was a cue for Tommy to reach into an inner pocket and you breathed in hard. Tommy took out a piece of paper. You breathed out slowly. You were so sure that he was about to take out his gun. He did say no gun, but you didn’t dare to imagine that he would actually leave without one, when someone like Mick King was after him.

Tommy folded out the paper that turned out to be a map of the whole city of Manchester. You did have a faint memory of visiting the city when you were smaller. Your dad had a business meeting with some factory owner who wanted to mass-produce some of your father’s newest creations. You didn’t know how it ended but you never returned to the city afterwards so you guessed the deal didn’t go through.

“You already told me you know I’m expanding my business and I just want to put some cards on the table that might be advantageous for the both of us. I have taking over an old factory building on Davyhulme Road on the west side, right down to River Irwell. I’ve started to rebuild it as an exclusive club but maybe you could have use of the new facilities instead.” Tommy pointed to a ring on the map. You couldn’t stop yourself leaning in when Lady Isabella did. You recognized the street name from some of the invoices you had ben sorting out the last many months. You had never asked any questions about what who they were from and what the money was used for, but it was amazing to finally get answers to all the things that you had been thinking about while working. Tommy looked to you and smiled. He must have guessed your thoughts because he wiggled with his eyebrow a single time before moving his attention back to Lady Isabella. She was looking at the two of you more than the map at that point though.

“Why would I move my casino to an abandon factory?” She asked and finally leaned back again. You looked back to the map and to the marked circle next to the river. You suddenly got an idea and looked up at Tommy with a sudden motion that caught his attention, but you didn’t know how to voice your thoughts.

"You look like you want to say something. Hold on I have some note paper and a pen.” Tommy reached into the pocket in the other side of jacket and took up a piece of folded paper and a pen with a lid and gave it to you. You started to write your thought down as fast as you could. While you were writing it accrued to you that they had stopped the conversation just for you to write and it made you a little anxious.

“What is she doing?” Lady Isabella said a little quieter than what the previous conversation had been.

"She writes down what she wants to add to a conversation, now that she doesn’t speak. We use to communicate like this at home as well. It’s very handy.” Tommy explained as you finished up and gave the note to Lady Isabella.

it is a lovely placement by the docks. It might be nearby some factories, but the view out there near Davyhulme Park would be ideal for your guests. It would give them a feel of the country side and safety because no one would suspect it out there. The density of the lower class isn’t huge either, so your guests’ cars should be safe out there too. Or else I'm sure Tommy would want to offer protection as well as Mr King does.

Lady Isabella handed the note to Tommy as she – for the first time that night – send you a warm smile.

“You are a bright young woman. How are you involved in all of this?” Tommy handed you back the note for you to write your answer on.

Mr. Shelby’s aunt hired me to be his secretary.

It was simple but true. You handed her the note and tommy read it along with her from the side line.

“I sense that there are more to this story.” She chuckled. One moment this woman was a hard business woman with her eyes only on her business, but suddenly she seemed all motherly and friendly. Tommy sensed the shift in the mood too.

“My lady, can we finish talking about the…”

"I'll have to think about it, Mr. Shelby. In the meantime I want to know about the people I'm dealing with. You two do seem very fount of each other. Have you been together for long?" The older woman grabbed her wine glass and leaned back with a smirk on her lips. She looked at the two of you and you just knew that your cheeks were flaming red. You looked down at the map again, fidgeting with the corner of the paper.

"Well…” Tommy started and paused. “I haven't officially made claim to her, as we are just... Business partners? But I feel confident enough to say that she might not reject me if I asked." Your fingers stopped fidgeting and you dared to sneak a glare at Tommy. He was looking at you with such a loving expression that you forgot how to breathe, until Lady Isabella finally spoke up.

“You two are so adorable.” You were pulled out of your little bubble by Lady Isabella. Her comment only made Tommy make a sour face. I don’t think the word adorable had ever applied for him and he didn’t seem to like it much. Lady Isabella sat with the biggest smirk on her face before she sighed dreamingly.

“I once had a sweetheart on my own, but my father didn’t like him much. When my father died it was too late. I was suddenly allowed to marry anyone I wanted, not that it was looked at with kind eyes. But it was too late. He had found another and all the men flooding to me was only interested in the money I inherited. I send them all away of course.” She explained and took a huge gulp of her wine.

--------------------------------

“It was a pleasure to host for the two of you. I might pass by Davyhulme Road and take a look.” Lady Isabella was tumbling along the walls drunkenly as she let the two of you to the door. After Tommy’s little outlet of his feeling she started to drink heavily and talked about all the men she could have concurred. You both sat and waited patiently for it to be late enough that you had a reason to say good bye.

“I have men there at all the time. Ask for Williams if you want to see it from the inside. He’s the one with the best overview of the facilities.” Tommy said as he was helping you with your jacket.

“We’ll see, we’ll see.” She said with a hiccup and laughed at herself. Her footman opened the door to you and you were about to step out when Tommy grabbed your hand. You stopped to see if he wanted something but he just signalled you to continue out and you felt him giving your hand a little squeeze.

That was how you ended up going hand in hand down the street. It was a strange feeling. The only people you could remember ever holding hands with were your father and some of your friends when you went out at night. You decided that you liked it and did want to let go, but what if he let go when you reached his brothers? Would it be considered a weakness if he was seen with you like this? A lot of thought when though your head as you walked down the street, but then…

“SHELBY!” Someone shouted from behind you and the both of you turned to see who it was. It was dark and the street was only lit by the weak light of the newly installed electrical lights. Two men came towards you and instinctively Tommy pushed you behind him.

“Who’s there?” Tommy yelled back. The men didn’t response as they came closer.

“Stay back. If anything happens, run to where John and Arthur are waiting.” Tommy mumbled to you. You just stood there as Tommy walked towards the two men in the dim light. You didn’t know what was going through his head as he walked towards them. He didn’t carry a gun, so you knew that his only weapon would he the blade in his cap.

“Gentlemen. Let’s talk.” He called out as you stood nailed to the ground. You looked towards the shadow men coming closer and in just a split of a second the whole scene changed. Something metallic silver in the hand of one of the men caught the light of the street lamps, right before you heard the gunshot.

“TOMMY!” Someone shouted as Tommy staggered back a step. No, not someone, it was you. You shocked yourself but it was like you saw red… This couldn’t happen. Right when everything was going your way again! You ran to Tommy and ignored the two men that had stopped and was just looking as you threw yourself to the ground next to him.

“Y/n. you… you said my name.” He mumbled but his eyes rolled around his head as he tried to focus on you. You looked him over and found blood gushing out and colouring his light grey suit a sickening scarlet. Your breath became faster as you looking down in the face of the man that had become so important to you. He was bleeding out and all he could think about was you speaking. You couldn’t lose him... you couldn’t…

A beastly instinct came up in you again. They deserved to bleed. They deserved…

You opened your handbag and found the gun that Tommy had given you. In one swift movement you got up and pointed the gun towards the man that was nearest and fired. It only took you a second to reload and shoot again before the second man could even find his gun. Bold of them to assume that you wasn’t a danger. You reloaded and walked towards the men. You didn’t know where you hit them but both of them were on the ground. You screamed out as you fired a second bullet at the first man, as you stood over him, right in the side of his head.

“Oh shit, Tommy!” you heard someone yell behind you but it was like it was miles away. All you could see was the men in front of you. You went to the other man – the man who shot at Tommy – who was starting to crawl away from you. Like a snail he was making a trail of blood as he was dragging himself on the cobblestones. You walked next to him for a few small steps before you turned the gun in your hand and hit him in the top of his head, so he collapsed. You kicked him in the side and he made a sickening gurgle sound. You kicked him over so he was lying on his back and he tried to curl up and keep his hand on the wound right under his ribs. You stepped on top of his hands covering the wounds, making his fingers dig into the flesh. He screamed out in agony and you savoured every sound of pain leaving his lips. When he stopped screaming you bent down and pulled up his head by his hair and hit him repeatedly with the bud of the small gun. You lost your grip in his hair and his head flopped to the ground again. Hard. You were about to claw at his face but someone grabbed you by your arms and pulled you back, holding your arms to your back. You screamed at the top of your lungs and tried to get loose but you weren’t strong enough.

“Relax will ya!!” The person capturing you forced you away from the two men and turned you away. The scene you were met with made you go limp. John was sitting next to Tommy with his hand covering the wound in Tommy’s stomach. It was then you went out of your blood frenzy and your head became clear. You looked down at your hands that was smeared in blood and remembered… You had done this before.

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Sorry but some of the tags doesn’t work!

[arsnovacadenza]

Day 6- Home

Characters: Napoleon, Isaac, Sebastian, Isaac, Jean (with others’ cameo) 

Pairings     : none, Gen

Ao3 Link    : Here

Warning     : mentions of suicide

home

Thick black clouds rose high into the night sky as the mansion was burning.

Among the rubble stood Napoleon, holding his rapier limply. His chest heaved laborious breaths, a human weakness his demi-vampire status couldn't remove.

He tried making sense of his surroundings. It was a futile act, with fire and smoke obscuring his vision. Vapor invaded his lungs as Napoleon forced himself to walk.

Why did everything turn out this way?

Napoleon didn't even question "how" as the former emperor himself had been unaware that a fire had broken out. Even the quick and capable Sebastian was reduced to a panicked mess as the inferno began to spread over various parts of the mansion.

 "Monsieur Napoleon," the butler stammered apologetically, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry. I tried, but there —there's nothing else I could do." 

 Meanwhile, Leonardo and the Count were rushing in all directions to find the other residents one-by-one and drag them out. Napoleon saw Theo carrying his brother out, shouting something along the lines of "Broer, forget about the paintings. We can't save them!"

Napoleon had barged through the fire with Arthur to look for Dazai, whom they found gazing at the embers around him with dissonant tranquility. 

(Both men argued for a good long while until Napoleon forced the sullen novelist on Arthur and commanded him to make a run for it).

But now, Napoleon found himself trapped in the fire.

It was ridiculous, knowing that some of the men —himself included —had a sliver of death wish despite all the benefits their second life offered. Yet in the face of a deadly situation such as this, their first instinct was to flee. Napoleon thought back to Vincent and how the painter must have suffered, knowing he failed to protect the very things he'd been living for.

And then, there's that one person who'd been claiming he had no desire to live at all.

Where is he now?

Napoleon banished the mental image of the man's possible reaction to finding himself encircled by the blaze.

In desperation, he scrambled to every direction, getting more and more lost by the critical seconds. He had crossed the (now crumbling) stairs and reached the ground floor, that he was positive. But the growing panic debilitated his chances of finding any possible exit.

His emerald eyes fell on one of the paintings on the wall. Comte told him that his old friend produced it ages ago, during one of his brighter moods.

That's right, this mansion had long seen Leonardo's worst and best days. It had been home to all of them, bearing witness to times when they were at their most vulnerable as well as their most joyous.

 Napoleon wanted to shut his eyes and let his memories away from this moment. Just yesterday, Isaac had been babbling to him about his pet hedgehog's recovery after not eating for two days. Meanwhile, this afternoon, Mozart handed him an invitation to some socialite's banquet, saying that he'd be presenting a new piece inspired by tales of his imperial army.

After this, he will no longer hear the composer play his most celebrated tunes nor watch as new pieces were brought to life. The music room must be ablaze right this very moment; the sterling piano reduced to ashes and the precious sheets consumed by the bonfire.

 Napoleon supposed he was lucky that he'd been in the bedroom when the whole commotion started and not in the attic. It'd be more difficult to escape, then. Still, he lamented the loss of those nights when he gazed down at Paris from the window. The warm city lights, a grand sign of civilization and progress, assured him that his arduous efforts for the nation weren't for naught.

Napoleon's thoughts immediately flew to his bedroom upstairs. Regret welled as he realized that the warm bed was no more. There went his sanctuary, his cocoon where he spent lazy afternoons banishing away murky thoughts and lingering dreams of the past. That room was his temporary shelter in this life that felt even more fleeting than his mortal one.

His chest constricted as he thought of the sparring arena and the man he spent his time with dueling and examining each other's weapons. They talked about horses as well —and what of them? What about Ange? In his befuddled state of mind, Napoleon pictured Jean barreling towards the stages, freeing the alarmed horses and setting them free, including his beloved Ange.

It didn't take long for Napoleon's mind to dart towards the kitchen. Did the fire start there? Did anyone see it happen? Nonsense, Sebastian must have been around the dining room and kitchen. After all, it was close to dinnertime when Leonardo alerted them about the fire—

Ah, he just remembered that he'd promised Sebastian to help him prepare dinner this afternoon. But instead, he forgot and went to the thermae instead with Isaac and Jean. The enigmatic Japanese would never confront him about it, but Napoleon still felt guilty nonetheless.

Well, none of that matters now, does it?

So Napoleon let his weapon fall to the ground unceremoniously. Idly, he wondered why his cape still hadn't caught fire by now. The old (yes, he was old and weary alright) Frenchman toyed with the thought of perishing together with this godforsaken building.

His first life had been long and tumultuous. This one was so short and surreal, it felt like a dream.

It is sweet and proper to die for one's country. To die like this, confused and grieving, was a farce. Then again, this was a hundred times better than succumbing to his end on that faraway island, lonely and in pain.

The former— nay, an emperor he shall forever remain —The emperor stared ahead past the screen of fumes. He took in the scenery before him one last time and sighed deeply.

Napoleon closed his eyes.

It was a great run, but even the best of times all come to an end.

Isaac struggled to break free from Sebastian's iron hold as he watched the mansion collapse.

"Let me go, you bastard! Napoleon's still in there!" Isaac thrashed about. "What are you all standing around for? If you don't go after him, I will—"

But Sebastian only embraced him tighter, his eyes red and his face stripped of its usual composure. "There is no use, sir. We can't risk going in there and getting ourselves trapped. Besides, this is Monsieur Napoleon. Of course, he'll return—"

"He doted on you like a son, you idiot!" Isaac screamed at the butler. "Are you REALLY that much of a coward to save the man you said you admired? Piss off—"

"I'll go." A deep voice rang amidst the chaos.

Isaac and Sebastian directed their attention towards the man walking in the direction of the mansion, his cape billowing in the wind.

"Jean!" Isaac called out to the soldier. "Can you go and save him?"

Sebastian winced at the thought of Jean d'Arc, braving through the fire to save another man. He can't even light a matchstick on his own, how is this even possible?

But Jean wordlessly unclipped his cape and let it fall to the ground. He adjusted the sword belt on his hip as Sebastian and Isaac watched.

Done with his preparations, he turned towards the men.

"I'm going inside." He declared. "No need to worry about us, for we are soldiers."

"We know! But—" the butler cried. He wasn't about to lose another great man to this catastrophe. "Are you certain about this?!"

Jean stared back at him through unreadable, iolite-colored eyes. Sebastian wanted to imagine that he was seeing something other than sorrow.

"I am certain," Jean replied. "Please wait for us here."

With one final nod, he made his way towards the ravaged building, the fire raging more violently than even the pyre.

Jean tightened his grip on the basket hilt of his sword.

There were not many things I could save from back then, he braced himself against the heat. There's probably not much I can save now. 

But if it's for a friend, then maybe...

Jean broke into a run.

Then maybe I can reach out for it, just this once.

Made for @kissmetwicekissmedeadly‘s Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020. The prompt was “home”.

“But Riri! Why are you hurting your readers like this? This is supposed to be Napoleon’s birthday! You should be celebrating!” Naw, I haven’t been doing angst in a while and I gotta practice.

Tagging  @kisara-16 @thedollarstoresatan @delicateikemenmemes @ikesensrandomninjagirl24 @ashavazesa @hokkaido-fox @nuclearwinterexe @lulu-the-hedgehog @longingkisses @weird-profiterole @napoleonstan @scummy-writes @an-otome-cally-correct​ @nafeary​

[hughiecampbelle]

Combustion (Geralt Drabble)

Character/s: Geralt

Word Count: 781

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt

A/N: So ya gurl is still in need of a break, but today was really hard, and writing always makes me feel better. I thought I would be proud of this, idk I'm just not sure. . . . It's not my best, I know that, and I wish it were. It made me feel better though, more accomplished and capable, less self doubt :) 💜💖💜

A baby born of embers. Between the crackling of the wood fire there were cries of life, and beauty, and pain. The veins under your skin raw, a glowing sun. Blinding, burning, young and destructive. He called you his moon, waxing, waning, burning the village down. A power couple. Monsters always found comfort in numbers. Rejected by the rest for your own good. If it wasn't their horse drawn carriages or land, it was their hair and nails chewed up by the flames and spit out. Always called ruthless, ironically determined cold hearted. You never could find anything comforting in that smell. Smoke lived in your scalp, your eyes, waiting for someone flammable to come along, just begging for hot blood, a warm body.

They sent their best, their biggest, unaware of what the beast truly looked like. Tales of hellfire, a horned thing with angry red eyes, and a goats tale. Others spoke of a person, flesh and bones that looked as theirs, disguising itself. Only some of them were right. Most made you chuckle as you listened, all of them too caught up in their words to notice. If they survived, it was all they'd ever tell, pulling out their oozing wounds as proof, most too infected to tell what it truly was. Swore on their mothers, their wives and daughters, the expendables in their lives, it was the real thing, unaware the real thing watched them as they did so. Drank from their cups, talked to their loved ones, hid among them in the pouring rain. Most of the time, though, those men, with their big muscles and rotten teeth, waving their torches, never even saw it coming, disturbing the peace for their own pleasure.

No one knew why a demon, if it really was, chose such a home. Your village neglected by your ruler, your people facing famine, war, defenseless to the armies that marched through. Flooded by rains, tortured by winds, if it wasn't the natural world, it was the creatures made by it. This thing of fire and rage was not the first, and would not be the last. Things that crawled on all fours, that screeched and cried if the sunlight touched their skin, that left footprints twice the size of a normal man. A passing friend, an understanding the others didn't have, leaving before it was too late.

They tried, and died, in need of a professional. A Witcher came and went, taking the abomination with him. No coins, not even a song about what he'd seen. Never any remains. Instead it walked beside him, Roach, conversing of the lifetimes you'd been apart, the lifetimes you spent together. He never got too close, the warmth of your skin threatening to singe, the want to be burned alive reminding him why he'd stayed away for so long. Drawn to one another, finding your way across lands to cup his face in your hands, to stare into those honey eyes, to crack that stone mask with a sweet smile.

By day you were one of them, mirroring their movements, their worries of starvation and stardust, but by night you she'd all of that. The last of your kind, made up of nothing, but the fires that kept you warm at night. Let loose the tension of skin and muscle, slipping between flammable fields. Most of the time, it was an accident. Houses, crops, forests, too relaxed, too comfortable. Sometimes it had to be done. They had to go. You found solace in unlucky places. Eventually, like you, those who stayed grew used to misery.

Leaving it seemed worth it when he came back. Relocate. Say your goodbyes, knowing it wouldn't mean forever. The first time he'd ever met you, he couldn't understand. None of you left, he thought, but there was just enough left in the fireplace to give you life. A bond born in rarity. You'd never meant to get so close. Sticking together on the dirt trails, lighting the way when the moonlight wasn't enough, keeping him warm in those cold nights he used to spend aline, share things only between ween you and the crickets. No one cared for his entourage if they looked human enough. You could be you around him, and he dould do the same. It wouldn't be long before another adventure called for his attention. You'd settle down in another nameless place where the unlucky lived and thrived. Word would reach them about a monster, doubts about the Witcher would come and go. He'd say his goodbyes, regretfully, wishing he could feel that warmth a little longer, looking forward to the next time he'd get to see you.

[kagetsukai]

Writer’s Review

Holy crap, I’m finally doing this tag!!! I’ve been trying to reply to it for a very long time, but every time I’ve opened my old writing, I’d fall into reading my stuff all over again. Some of my stuff is literally from 2005, y’all! I’m sure if went digging deeper, I could find stuff from 2002 ;) ANYWAY!

I was tagged by: @roguelioness @laraslandlockedblues @queen-kass-the-writer & @dismalzelenka. Thanks lovelies!

Tagging: @out-of-the-embers @shannaraisles @puddle--wonderful @thebakerstboyskeeper @allisondraste @ellenembee @ellstersmash @hollyand-writes @irlaimsaaralath @jonogueira @lucyrne @ma-sulevin @novamm66 @naiatabris @rhetoricalrogue @wardenari

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

I’m keeping it all under a ‘Read More’, because I actually like you people and don’t want you to have to scroll for a day and a half to get to the bottom of this post. You’re welcome!

Okay, let’s talk about the oldest piece of writing I could get my hands on. The timestamp on this puppy is from 2005, which sounds about right. I wrote it long-hand while laying down on my ex’s couch. Not sure what exactly prompted me to write this story, but I still fucking love it, even fifteen years later. I’m not going to link to my online archive where this fic lives because I am NOT opening myself up to criticism over what I wrote when I was younger. Not today, Satan! Anyway, the fandom is Yami no Matsuei/Descendants of Darkness and the pairing is Tatsumi Seiichiro/Watari Yutaka, my OTP for that fandom :)

Shadows danced around the barely lit room as the blinds moved to the rhythm of the wind. The house looked deserted, but the open terrace door, and a faint scent of something familiar, convinced Watari that Tatsumi was home. He took a tentative step forward, constantly double-guessing his choice to come at such a late hour. Considering the way things progressed between them in the last couple of days, he could expect to be thrown out rather quickly. Still, as each slow step brought him closer to the glass door, he had a feeling he had made a good decision.

Cold, crisp air filled his lungs when he stepped onto the dark terrace. He did not need magical abilities to feel the well-known presence, mixed with an awful stench of cheap cigarettes. Watari raised his eyebrows as he watched the dark silhouette against the night sky; so hunched and tired. Between his slender fingers, Tatsumi held an unlit cigarette.

“Are you going to light it?” he asked.

A visible tremble ran through that powerful frame as the small roll of finely cut tobacco fell out of Tatsumi's grasp. He followed its path for a brief moment and then shrugged. When he turned away from the railing, he kept his head low, hiding behind the long bangs. Watari swallowed almost audibly as he noticed the dark circles around Tatsumi's normally vibrant blue eyes. It only proved how poorly Tatsumi had been taking care of himself lately.

“Not anymore,” Tatsumi said in a flat voice.

Now, this next excerpt is from something I am currently working on, but haven’t actually posted yet. It’s a conversation between Fenris and Garrett Hawke, while Hawke is living a boring life and hiding from The Chantry post DA2. It’s from a random story that I decided to revisit recently, that I will be reposting this coming fall.

Fenris looked him up and down with a critical eye. “Considering what you look like, I’m surprised as well. What have you done to yourself? Was this your idea of a disguise?”

“What’s wrong with how I look?” Garrett pouted.

“You remind me of the humans in Kirkwall who kept pushing their questionable wares on clueless customers. Remember? They smelled of patchouli and smoked a lot of elfroot.”

Garrett snorted with amusement and reached up to run a hand through his now shoulder-length hair. He’d been keeping it in all sorts of braids and ponytails - mostly because it was easier to keep it out of the way while working the forge - but he figured Fenris probably meant the various piercings he now sported on his clean-shaven face.

“If you must know, I ended up near Wycome and there was a lovely Dalish clan friendly to humans who did all sorts of piercings in exchange for supplies and money.” He gently tugged at his right earlobe and at the large wooden plug that sat within the flesh. “It’s amazing what you can do with high pain tolerance and magic, my friend. I wanted to look nothing like my description and I think I succeeded at it.”

Now, onto the comparing thing!

My writing used to be a lot more focused on trying to evoke emotion and suspense through meticulous editing and sentence sculpting. It sounds stupid, maybe, but I remember taking a long time to go through my stuff with a fine-toothed comb to make sure that: 1) I don’t sound ESL, and 2) that I convey the emotions I was striving for. My early influence for writing like that was Tolkien (and I whole lot of other fantasy authors I can’t think of right now). I wanted to sound fancy REALLY FUCKING BAD.

These days my language is a lot more relaxed. I think once I left the creative influence of my ex, I was able to find my own voice in writing. I figured out that my strength lies in the more modern language and urban fantasy style (if we’re talking about traditionally published works). I think it really reflects that in the second blurb, because it feels funny, relaxed, laid back. Also, my sentence structure is nowhere near as stiff. Which I like.

Another thing I noticed is that I used to write exclusively M/M pairs, while I now write almost exclusively M/F pairs. I’m going to out myself as one of these obnoxious people who thought that writing M/F was gross and M/M was the only way to exist as a writer in fandom. Gods, I was SO STUPID. Ugh. Anyway! I was clearly dealing with trying to work out my sexuality while in a deeply Catholic culture, so we’re not going to dive TOO deep into it. This is just a meme, after all ;)

The big question is, have I improved my writing? The obvious answer is, yes. For one, I don’t have a beta editor to catch all of my mistakes anymore. I do all of my own writing and editing, and I feel like I do okay on most days. I also don’t stress as much about making my fiction perfect. Once you let go of the desire to get every sentence ironed out to crisp perfection, your writing immediately improves by a mile. I also don’t over-describe actions as much anymore.

I dunno, while I think I haven’t changed my style TOO much, I also feel I’ve changed A LOT. In the end, this is a part of my journey and I’m nowhere near done traveling ;)

[oh-theres-a-woman]

War Melodies on the Gramophone; Part 2

A/N: Here’s the requested part two!! Thank you so much to the lovely anon and other loving followers that expressed their want for a part two. The conclusion to this story! Really hope that its the ending you desired! A fitting end to the reunited pair, wouldn’t you say? 

Taglist: @zodiyack , @itsfrancisneptun , @shelbys-we-get-the-job-done, @amy-booxx​ & @fandom-fucking-shit

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby X Female Reader 

Word Count: 1519

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It was quaint and quiet the Shelby townhouse was at this hour. The loud crowd of the household all down at the Garrison which you’d departed shortly after. Tommy carried himself like he was the cock of the wall. The alpha among his pack. Yet, he held the damaged air of a dangerous lone wolf on the prowl.  He wasn’t at all the boy you once met, however, during the war you had borne witness to that transformation as well your own. 

Sitting down in the living area on a comfortable but worn out loveseat. You observed the family setting the room gave. Apart from that, it warmed your soul to know that he had a family to come back to. The epidemic that you had come home to without rest to throw yourself into a great risk environment of sickness and death after the gore-ish war. You had taken ill for a time and thought it’d be finally your end. Fate had something much crueller in mind for you. Your mammy and pappy as you called them took ill. It carried them away to the heavenly gates before you were able to see them again. 

So, the homely scene was almost comforting to you. As you straighten your posture, gazing at some of the things that made it uniquely home. Only to be caught off guard by Tommy’s outstretched hand offering you a glass of whiskey. Awkwardly you smiled up at him. Accepting the drink, even if you’d had a few at the Garrison it felt like you needed a bit of a boost of your confidence. Time surely had passed on the era where you were certain to know that man before you. But, life was so different now. 

Once you would have been able to speak your dreams, but now it seemed foolish to speak to a stranger. Whiskey was the answer for each discouraging thought that told you to run. Those thoughts dampened the best of moods, they wouldn’t win now. Fencing off those insecurities you clung to the hopes that made things seem a little more realistic. “You have a lovely home Tommy, it’s so homely. It's nice. Simple.” You complimented smiling at the rim of your glass. The home was something you have been looking for since you had returned from the war. After everything, the places you stayed were only beds to sleep in. The area where you paid way too much rent for the upkeep on a cheap and run-down flat. Shouldering the debts of family gambling… Your brother’s issues. Yet, that little shit ran away with his tail between his legs when he heard the world of your return. 

You guessed that’s what came of the younger generation that didn’t go to war. It was all about larking about, making a fool of oneself. “Thank you, my Aunt Pol is very particular with things. She likes things one way. Her way and no other way.” Thomas didn’t change with one point that was likeable. Things were always straight to the point and it never took long for him to answer. He was smart, quick with his wit. Maybe there were actually a lot of points you honestly liked about it. Truly, if you were a grand author or poet you’d be able to write it all out. If time would allow you and you had the knowledge of all the fancy words under the sun. 

No, you were, in fact, a little simple. Smart, but your wit came with the job and doing things with your hands. It helped things come across clearer; feelings, desires and needs. 

“You’re somewhere else, [y/n],” Thomas said in a matter-of-fact, seating himself beside you. Nursing his own drink of Irish Whiskey. “Where are you lost?” He asked you quietly. Blue observing eyes turned quickly to you drinking your lovely features in. The distance in your handsome gaze. 

“I don’t know, sometimes I just drift. A lot of days are like that.” You admitted hesitantly, it almost felt like dumping a burden on Thomas after so all. Sadly, the certainties of old familiarities seemed and felt long forgotten at that moment.  

“I understand that, somedays it feels better to just be somewhere else, doesn’t it?” Tommy commented rather understandingly. Offering you a cigarette from his smart-looking case in the front pocket of his well-tailored coat. Gratefully accepting the stick of pure calmative and nicotine. Placing the glass down on the coffee table, you took it between your slightly chapped lips. Inhaling at Tommy lit the end, sparking the ember to life and filling your lungs with that heavy relief you couldn’t describe. 

“Exactly, the work helps. It’s always helped. When I slow down the demons come rushing back, night horrors.” You admitted between a neutralizing inhale of the nicotine. It levelled out the insecurities. Beat them out like a flat iron. Before letting out a shaky laugh looking down at your lap feeling awfully silly about the suppression of emotions. Flicking the ask into the provided tray before you. “So, what have you been doing with your life? It seems to be going well for you, appearance-wise. But, I always picture you to be quite the smartly dressed fellow in any case.” There, finally, set in the creeping ease in your manner and comfort. Tensions releasing from you like a heavyweight rolling free off your shoulder and down a large hill. 

“Bookkeeping and other sorts of jobs pay well enough, I won’t lie about that.” Tommy exhaled a cloud of smoke as he spoke, filling the dimly lit room with a greyish cloud that held a little bit of mystery to it. “By it sounds and the girl you were with at the Garrison, is it safe to assume you’re still a nurse?” He asked with a focus dedicated only to you. 

“Yes, but I’m studying in the field to become a doctor. Bold, I know. The men at work are more than happy to point out how unwomanly and unbecoming it is to become a doctor. But, I don’t mind at all. It’d give me a purpose and something to look forward to. After all the hard work is done.” You smiled absentmindedly at the man at your side, feeling that comfort between each other once more. Like it had never left in the first place. Just stagnant time held, needing the flow of conversation once more to remove the frigid awkwardness.

Tommy chuckled at your remark of the men at work, their thoughts seemed invalid to him. “You’ve always had the most delicate hands, that do the job right the first time. Don’t take any notice of them.” There was a wit in his remark. Soul-warming. It lit an old spark for you. That had been so suppressed for so very long. It made you want to ask a question--something that would bug you later if you didn’t. No matter how rude it’d seem. 

“Are you married, or involved with anyone, Tommy?” You needed to ask. Eyes appearing glassy when asking such a question. Almost like you’d cry if you heard someone stole his heart. Foolish and bitter as it seemed, the little light that was alive between you and the Brummy had kept hell from your door for a time. Pitiful it just seemed to lose all that now. Even when you didn’t know Shelby pulled through there was a hope there that he was always out there. Healthy, alive, surrounded by the people that mattered--even, bitterly, a lover if he had one. 

Tom’s gaze became distant and wandering now. Taken to a place elsewhere. Locked on memories of the past. “No, there’s no one. The occasional whore, nothing emotional.” He suffocated the embers of his cigarette finishing that statement. Sparks jumping up and licking across his fingertips. Before glancing at you with that dangerously handsome gaze that made you feel like those days were the war stopped for a moment. Where you found yourself in his embrace. 

“I lost my heart and was broken by a nurse in the war, for the longest time I didn’t know she was alive… That was until tonight when I saw you in the Garrison. All dolled up and looking every part the goddess of Gyspy dream.” Thomas said in a perfectly heartbreaking voice, before drawing you to his lips. Right hand on your cheek, smoothing over the soft flesh. Left-arm a smooth snake around your waist, stealing your breath away as you gave yourself away into the passion of a shared kiss. That searing reunion that seemed to call for both you. 

“I lost mine to a Brummy Boy turned man, the bookkeeper, a crowned prince of the Peaky Blinders. My Thomas Shelby.” You announced against his rough lips once more. Before stealing a rough kiss once more. Easing back into the love seat letting things take their natural course. Only the smell of sweat and cigarette clung into the air after a time. Sweaty bodies tangled together. Still high from the memory of each other’s embrace. 

[norafike]

Despite all this, I still love you 19

That day replayed on loop in her head often and she would usually find herself trembling with the frightening flashes of light from shooting guns and the gruesome sight of that headless horseman would appear before her eyes. At first, she thought that it had been Kieran like Micah told but after more thinking she realised that it didn't look like the boy at all.

She was curious on how Micah managed to convince the majority of the gang's members that this was their missing campmate, but they weren't the brightest group of individuals and she deemed that a valid excuse in itself.

Perhaps the events of that night were only coming back to her now for a reason? One she wanted the answers to sooner to save herself from inevitable nightmares to come. That's how they usually started and her repressing them proved to be dangerous later on, otherwise she probably wouldn't still be suffering after those events a whole year after.

“How are ya?” Cripps greeted her fondly, taken to standing in the clearing just outside of the trees with a lit cigarette in hand. She had no answer for him because she did not want to confess her concerns so soon but eventually somebody would need to be trusted so she wouldn't end up plagued by it. So she lied, at least for now. “Fine.”

“Well, that is good to hear.” He shook the embers out and dropped the butt to the ground once he had finished smoking, but the smoke lingered over them, almost choking. It felt thicker than what it should be but perhaps she was only being dramatic. “Listen, I got a job for you.”

“There's always a job, isn't there?” Her attitude irked Cripps. “Now you ain't done shit for us in day's, I figured that while you been hanging around here that you would like something to do.”

“I'm exhausted, can't you send one of the boy's out on it?” She waved back at camp and the older male simply stood firm with his arms crossed. “Lem's going with you, as are James an' Harry.”

“I feel like you're just tryin' to get us out of camp.” Nora intended it as a joke but Cripps failed to see it that way, immediately choosing to turn defensive and dismiss the claim. It earned that suspicious look in Nora's eye and eventually she let out a quiet sigh, nodding as she accepted whatever Cripps had in mind. “What is it?”

Cripps gave her a wicked grin before explaining just what it was he had in mind.

...

“Cripps has really sent us out on this?” Harry could not believe it, huddled together in a group all armed with rifles as they waited for an eastern turkey to scurry by.

Whenever they wanted to go hunting the lands were sparse and not even a wild horse would gallop past and it came as no surprise that the animals seemed to appear when they were not needed. There was only so much patient the group had together, from Harry and James' despise towards Lem and how little care she had left in her brother's attitudes towards the individual she had called a friend.’ So when they were all forced together as a group to undergo the most patient job ever sent on, well, the troubles started to build up behind bitten tongues and the want to take their frustrations out on the other became strong.

“I swear we should move to find them damn turkeys, are you even sure that they come this way?” Harry bitterly said.

“Positive now shut the hell up or they'll runoff.”

Her brother simply rolled his eyes at the comment. James would soon tap his shoulder and gently motion for him to follow, sneaking away from the bushes they hid in after growing tired for waiting around too long. They thought they were being sneaky but Nora knew very well by the scraping of twigs against branches and the snapping of twigs beneath their feet that they were leaving and she smirked because unbeknownst to them it was what she planned.

Curiously, Lem would watch them ride away with cheers as they thought they got away with it and gave Nora a quizzical look to question her letting them do that and she replied with a small shrug at first before going into further explanation. “They'd get tired eventually and would leave us alone, it cleared the air of tension a bit and they're probably gonna go and hunt us a turkey now on their own to prove just how better they are.”

“So what are we gonna do then?”

“Well we're gonna collect that wagon because we were never told to make a trade, fella's already got what he needs and more and so Cripps was able to convince him into handin' it over.”

He found himself impressed by the antics and followed her out of the brambles and leaves to the small clearing where their horses waited and during their walk, he praised her for the idea, but never admitting how grateful he was that she got rid of her brothers. Any longer and he felt that they would have killed him then and there. “So where is the wagon then?”

“Just a little south, near Flat Iron lake.”

“You ain't worried t-that they're gonna head down there?”

She shook her head. “With any luck they'll have some sense knocked into them, if they do and besides, Harry'll probably take James towards Cumberland Forest.”

It felt ridiculous hearing it over but the boys weren't the brightest of the bunch so he believed it, but then again, neither was he.

“Can't believe that worked... I don't d-doubt you at all but somethin' that simple tricked 'em?”

“Surprisingly, but ain't you lived here for… twenty-eight years and still get lost in most places?”

Quickly the male shook his head but did appear to be embarrassed with Nora's statement and she gently gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “I still get lost sometimes, too. Ain't nothin' wrong in going the wrong way.”

As they came close to Flat Iron lake he had been first to spot the wagon, sitting just off of the path near a makeshift camp set up for this other trader Cripps mentioned. He greeted the two fondly and even handed over a small can of beans to be polite and they accepted it with a bright smile and many words of thanks before moving out with the wagon Cripps wanted them to gather.

Sticking to the roads, while tediously long, was the best route to go and Lem had even taken to whistling old tunes from his younger days that Nora seemed familiar with. She would nod along but never joined it, just that bit embarrassed to accidentally make a fool of herself and be teased about it for years to come. “Maggie's asked if you're still any good playin' instruments.” After a while, he decided that it was time to initiate conversation.

“Why?”

“I don't know... but she asked and a-all I could say was that I'd have to ask ya.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line before nodding slowly, despite having not played for a while she would probably remember something good enough to play at Fike's request. “Guess I am.”

“Great. I think she'll be glad hearin' it.”

The corner of Nora's mouth turned up into a slight smirk before she kicked back into focusing on their journey home, with Lem back to whistling and tapping his knuckles against the bench.

...

“Good work, with this we should have a full supply soon.”

“Does this mean I can leave now?”

Cripps quickly revealed a letter, handing it over but held a concerned expression on his face. “This was left for you.”

“Off?”

“Feller didn't give a name, but seemed to know ya.”

She gently looked at Lem before tearing the envelope apart. The paper inside was old and the ink had bled considerably, the writing almost impossible to read but with Lem's help they were able to decipher the introduction and the task she had been asked to do.

“Whoever dropped this off needs me to meet 'em near Riggs Station and to go alone.” She said, the instructions sounded suspicious straight away. “You ain't gonna go, are you?”

“I am, Fike.” He didn't take too kindly to her answer, his brows knitting together before she even had a chance to explain. “I ain't b-bright but I know that, that l-letter has danger scribbled all over it.”

“I'll be fine.”

“I don't trust you going, Nora.”

“Look, you can't make me do shit, I'm going and that's final. But even I know that this don't seem right, ‘go alone’ has suspect written all over. Just, ride out a few hours after me and you'll know if somethin' happens, if something does.”

“Why the hell are you bein' so goddamn stubborn.”

“Whatever.”

She grabbed her bolt-action from the weapon locker and with one, forced smile, left camp much to his protests of distrust in the writing.

“Why is she a-always like this, JB?”

“I don't know, son. I don't know.”

...

Just as instructed she rode down towards the train station and continued further down the trail, eventually coming to a small clearing where a man shrouded in a dark coat was stood. He had his back turned but knew she was there, cleared his throat as a manner of introduction as he rose from his stool.

“Nora Morgan?” He asked and she noticed the strong Irish accent immediately. She didn't want to jump to conclusions too soon, but most folk around the area who dressed in black and came from Ireland were notoriously members of the O'Driscoll's.

“I am. You are?”

“That don't matter.” She heard the rustling in bushes around, her hand moving to hover over the holster ready to draw her revolver and very quickly someone else, dressed in that similar fashion had leapt out in front of her. She was quick to draw her gun but had it knocked from her grasp when someone managed to grab her arm and force it out. Her bad arm being twisted uncomfortably and forcing out a cry of pain soon after.

“And he said that it wouldn't be easy takin' you down. Look at you, pathetic little thing.” She tried struggling against them but whoever had her apprehended was far more stronger than she was. “Walk her away, Colm will be pleased to see her.”

She struggled a little more, managing to put up a good enough fight so that they couldn't walk far with her but unfortunately they had taken to more of a drastic approach, taking the butt of her gun and hitting her head with it; enough to make her dazed and fall to the ground. He stood over her, this sinister grin on her face before connected her boot with her head.

The last thing she heard before falling unconscious was his laughter. The last thing she saw, was Lem's expression of worry and then there was nothing.

[deliciousscaloppine]

Unclean Realm

I said I was going to write some nieyao, but my hand slipped and wrote some xiyao instead. It’s in Meng Yao’s pov, when he got kicked out of Qinghe, how he met Lan Xichen, and what he did to save him. You can find all the other ficlets from the same cycle here- though they are in Huaisang’s pov.

He had always expected this moment. The moment he leaves Unclean Realm for good. In fact it was an inevitable, fated thing waiting to happen for years. If anything he was lucky it had lasted this long. He takes his time walking away, and not just because there's a stab wound somewhere in his chest. It's that secretly he waits for someone to call him back, inconceivable as that is.

 When no one comes, he begins walking faster. There are a lot of men that actively disliked him. Without Mingjue's protection they might come after him and Meng Yao is not ready to die yet. He makes it deep into the woodland. His first stop is going to be the workshop of a silversmith that is nearby. He will trade his silver hair piece for some old clothes and a bag of rice. 

He could get a better price for it at a jeweler in some city, but maybe he has been declared a fugitive and it could give him away. At least with the silversmith, out here in the country, he can always claim he was robbed and that's the only thing he could hide from the robbers.

He doesn't head there immediately. It would be best to arrive closer at midnight. This way his story could be more convincing. As night falls, he makes a small fire and waits. Inevitably he starts thinking about Nie Mingjue. He really did drive him away. He didn't kill him, or put him in a cell. He even let him leave like this with a wound untreated. He really just said “Go die somewhere else out of my sight”. 

Nothing of the things they did, the things that made him happy really mattered. And why should they, really? It's not like he didn't know these comforts were utterly meaningless. If he fell like that for Nie Mingjue, then his mother's life had really taught him nothing. 

At that thought he laughs. Hadn't his mother always placed her love and trust to man who couldn't care less? Didn't he just do the same? He remembers his father crashing the pearl button in his hands, like the cheap, meaningless thing it was. And then he recalls the many men who had visited his mother. When she got sick, who concerned himself with her health?

When she died who attended her funeral? If it hadn't been for him, her son, she would have died completely alone. Completely uncared for. His mother had been fortunate in her misfortune to have him at least, to care and love her. And now without her, how meaningless it all was. He thought living at the Unclean Realm with Nie Mingjue was finally something. But it had all been as frivolous and passing as a summer dream, much like the affairs of his mother.

“See, mother, I am really just like you.“ he smiles.

His wound hurts at these thoughts. It has swollen and opened up painfully. And then he remembers it was because Nie Mingjue kicked him there. And then he had the nerve to say he would spare him because Meng Yao had saved his life. Well, if he doesn't seek treatment soon, maybe he won't even survive the night. So he stands up and makes it uphill, where the workshop is. He is quite sad to have to distress the silversmith's household, but they are kind, common people.

They take him in and feed him, they give him medicine and clothes. The next day the silversmith examines the silver hair piece, admiring the intricate work. Meng Yao has to spend some time to convince him to melt it down. “It is an unfortunate object” he has to remind him. “I wore it and I got robbed, you should melt it down.”

They let him stay for a few days, to recover his strength. He has the time to wash and mend his clothes. At the next town he could sell the silk to some merchant. There is enough material to make something new out of it, and he needs the silver pieces to travel. Perhaps he is going to go to Gusu, to see if it really burned down. Such a thing seems so unreal to him. How could a mountainous stonghold fall like that? Is Lan Xichen Zewu Jun really out in the run?

                                                        .......

The Wen are progressing steadily through the land, could it be that they will win this war? And now Xue Yang is out, supposedly he has already made his way out to Lanling. Meng Yao had made the same journey some years ago with that pearl button and he got kicked down the stairs of Carp Tower. Xue Yang will go bearing the fabled final piece of the Yin Iron. Surely his welcome will be a warm one. Perhaps warm enough to make his return as well possible.

But he won't go there yet. He must give Xue Yang some time.

Walking through the land helps keep his mind clear. He enjoys that clarity that comes from walking. If he were to stand still he would probably die. Every night when he lies down to rest his mind flies back to Nie Mingjue, as if his thoughts are a bird and Nie Minjue is its nest. It does not surprise him that he misses him. He had gone to great lengths to keep him pleased all these years. And he had been happy too. But not happy enough to regret his actions. 

How wrought Mingjue had been with the captain's death! Meng Yao had never been as important as that man and he knew it. After all the captain had parents. Parents who had expectations. Parents who would seek justice for that child. Meng Yao had no one. To Nie Mingjue he was infinitely more dispensable than the man who bullied and harassed him. Their lives did not even have equal value. 

The funny thing is he always thought it would be the captain to drive him out one day. He spoke against him so publicly and so many times. Everyday felt like it would be his last. That's the day the army revolts and asks Mingjue to send me away, he thought. Nie Mingjue really never said anything to him. Meng Yao had to smile and accept the insults and try harder to do better.

He had to look at Mingjue's face everyday and smile to him and think of something extraordinary  to say or do, just to convince him that he had a place by his side. Everyday he thought this is the day I am not enough anymore. It's not like affection like this is not fickle. But in the end, the captain managed to drive him away. At least he paid for it with his death. A small pleasure.

When he arrives at Gusu, he is somewhat surprised by the destruction. The Wen really decimated the place. And now there are rumors about another massacre at Yunmeg. Their army is everywhere, always on the move, seeking for something that by now should be safe at Lanling. No one will suspect the Jin Clan for such a fine betrayal.

The devastation, however, breaks his heart. Cloud Recesses had been the most refined place he had ever been. It really seemed these rules they followed had some real meaning. 

He asks around seeking to learn the fate of the disciples. “They must all be dead” he hears people say. “And now the same at Yunmeg too. They even kill children.” Meng Yao refuses to believe they are all dead. If they are then the next calamity will hit Qinghe. He can't bear the thought of that even if he was driven out. Surely some must live. Zewu Jun at least survives.

Now that he is here, he can start looking. And it doesn't take long. Famous people are always easy to find. A handsome man defended a small village up a mountain path, he killed quite a few soldiers and had a jade flute with him. He wants to tell these people to stop spreading rumors. If the spies of the Wen hear them they will surely send someone important to decimate the place. And then Zewu Jun who has moved on won't be there to defend them. But it's not really his business so he moves on seeking the man with the jade flute.

You would think he'd make a better effort at hiding, but no. He moves visibly, making use of his connections in the region to stay here and there and replenish his strength. And that's how he is ambushed in a beautiful mansion- after all its residents are massacred. He puts quite the fight, the low level officials of the Wen are not even his match, but when the fight is over, Zichen does not move on. In fact he just stands there among the bodies seemingly thinking if there is a point in fleeing anymore. That's when Meng Yao has to appear.

His hands are trembling from the weight of the book he carries with him. It must be so difficult trying to protect something so meaningless in a war. So he takes it from his hands. He takes the sword too. 

“Lord Mingjue sent me to find you.” he lies and Xichen suddenly seems relieved. 

As if now someone else can take over. He leads them away, back to the decimated towns and villages of Gusu. “We'll head to Lanling” he says. “If we go through the burned towns and villages no one will notice us among the refugees. There you will meet with my father. If anyone could persuade him to rise against the Wen it's you. Lanling is probably the only place with enough wealth to support an army made from the other Clans.”

Lan Xichen is too stunned from his ordeal to offer his ideas. He listens silently, nodding his head. “That is the best course of action” he says.

They spend all the night fleeing. And come morning they rest at another smoking residence. In the light of day, these pilaged places look dreadful. And that's why no one will look for them here. He cooks rice in the courtyard from the dying embers of the place, letting Xichen rest by the fire. It's different killing people, it must be much harder for him than say kill a ghost. One has to think where it all went wrong, has to remember the faces and wonder what it means when he no longer can.

Rummaging through the ruins he finds a chest, a little burned at the edges, but it has some clothes inside. The hidden gold and jewels seem to have been taken by the soldiers who looted the place. All that's left is smashed porcelain and burnt books. This is a depressing place. But he gets to work. He digs a hole by the burnt plum tree to hide Xichen's treasures, the sword and the flute.

“We need to be less conspicuous” he advises. “We'll surely come across the Wen. Their army is everywhere.”

Then he takes the book, and with some effort, he removes the hard cover. Xichen watches, his eyes betraying some pain, but not once does he object. Meng Yao then wraps the pages tightly in some silk and hides the little parcel in his bag of rice. He doesn't need to look at Xichen's face to know he thinks that's brilliant. Then he offers Xichen the clothes he has found.

As Xichen dresses, he makes bandages from his fine clothes, to cover his face and arms. He makes some effort to soil them with soot and grime. If their circumstance was not so dire, he would laugh that the Clan Leader and he are playing such a game. It's funny to disguise as something you are not.

“This way you do not have to speak, and if I tell them you are sick with some disease they will be too afraid to come near you. Let me do all the talking. It's for the best.”

It's Xichen's idea that he should also have a walking stick, and maybe a hat with a veil. Meng Yao takes the silver piece from his head, and also the Lan ribbon. 

He has become so bold, he forgot to even ask. It must be so peculiar for a man of his stature to have a servant handle him like that. But Meng Yao also served Nie Mingjue. He made sure his belt was properly buckled, and his hairpiece secured. It's not that Nie Mingjue couldn't do these things for himself, it was that he liked being handled. Maybe Xichen is the same.

He folds the ribbon carefully, tying it between its ends. “If they search us it's best if they find it on me” he says and hides it by his breast. “But we'll have to find someone to melt this” he says holding the silver piece. “We'll need a lot of silver to go to Lanling. If anyone recognizes us, we'll have to bribe them to live.”

                                                        .....

Xichen doesn't speak often. His eloquence has dried from the brief brush he had with atrocity. In fact having someone lead him around, wash his clothes and cook his food was an unexpected respite from the burden of living. Meng Yao can't help but recall how pleasant it was living at Qinghe by Mingjue's side, when he didn't have to be a servant anymore. When others washed his clothes and made his food and all he had to do was be simply brilliant.

It brings to mind that time he traveled with Huaisang. Poor Huaisang at Qinghe, who always asked for more than Meng Yao could give. There were quite a few times when he could close his eyes and imagine that he had a brother. A little, defenseless brother that relied on Meng Yao to live. He can't tell Xichen this, but when he took from him Bieling and Shuoyue, he did it so that his life would be in his hands alone. It would shock Xichen to his core to know that his mind works this way.

That day in Cloud Recesses when they had smiled at each other, seems such a foreign feeling now. He asked himself many times from Gusu to Qinghe why had he smiled? Maybe the thought of being loved still had some meaning back then. 

Then maybe this is what this journey is. A respite from meaning. Drifting along a stranger again, doing things only family does. Maybe that's how he can keep on living. By pretending day and night to be something he is not. Sometimes he really looks at the reflection of his face on the water and thinks “I do not know this person.”

Well, just as he holds Xichen's life in his hands, maybe that's how Xichen holds the memory of his personhood. Maybe at the end of the journey Meng Yao can wring it out of his hands and back into himself. These thoughts make him smile a lot. Xichen says he has a pleasant face. 

“I feel safe with you” he whispers sometimes by the fire, as if making some meaningful confession.

“I will get you to Lanling, Clan leader Lan.” is his reply.

Xichen has more words the following days. Mostly of disbelief. “Why did you beg that shopkeeper to let you wash dishes? Didn't we have enough money to spare for a meal?”

These words bring even more smiles to his face. Xichen has never lived in the real world.

“And where did a sick man and his young brother find this much money?” he asks. “Anyone would think we are disguised lords hiding from the Wen. And maybe some would show sympathy, but others would betray us. They might send bandits after us, or kill us in our sleep. It's best to keep the money for transportation.”

Xichen admires these thoughts. They seem to him as precious as the commandments of the Lan. Perhaps a venerated opposite to them. Lie, cheat, gamble and pretend. 

Such a thought excites him so much that the next day when they happen upon a camp of the Wen he begs some of the soldiers there to let him wash their clothes for some of the game they hunted. Xichen must be so shocked with his audacity. There is one in particular who laughs at them, even strays as close to Xichen.

“My brother's disease is contagious” he says. “He is so very ugly. If you touch him you will become as ugly as him.”

The other soldiers laugh, but no one takes him up on his offer. So he gets on his hands and knees and begs with his forehead on the dust of the road.

“Please” he says. “We are so weak. I'll even carry water and cook for you.”

A man kicks him then. He kicks him hard on his shoulder. But Meng Yao does not waver. “Please” he says again, until one group calls them. They are sitting around a fire, oiling their swords- the swords they must have run through several people. They bring their clothes, they hand him their bamboo canisters. They look tired, they look exhausted, as if they too are fighting a war they do not understand.

“Can my brother sit by the fire? If you do not touch him, you will not get hurt by his disease” he says.

He can see it in their eyes that they are kind-hearted. They nod silently yes. Xichen later will admit his surprise.

 “Those people were with the Wen, but they treated us well.” 

How can he tell him that common people are just like that. Sure they can be petty and cruel like all the world is, but most times they are more generous and more kind than the mightiest lords.

They spend all day together. He brings them water, and twigs for the cooking fire, and he washes their clothes by the river, while the sun sets. A couple of them even wander close to him.

“You are so very handsome” they tell him. “How old are you?”

Meng Yao smiles. It's been a while since he has paid a meal with sexual favors. It seems so funny to him now to be asked such a thing.

“You and your brother can spend the night at our tent.” one of them offers. “It's warmer inside.”

Meng Yao smiles silently imagining what new shocks the Clan Leader of the Lan is discovering right now. The soldiers loiter on, looking at him, smiling. They have handsome faces. If the river was not so very cold they would have taken off their clothes and jumped in it just to get to him. He smiles back, shifting his eyes to better regard them. Really handsome faces.

“We do not have to spend the night here” Xichen says when they are gone. He sounds like he is struggling to speak.

“Why not? They will give us breakfast in the morning.”

There is something alluring about Xichen's sudden silence. Like he is pondering the logic of it. Or maybe it's a secret thrill. After all he has never lived in the real world. No one had told him how perfectly commonplace prostitution was.

“When you smile like that-” he says. “They must think you like them.”

“I don't” Meng Yao says. “But they will give us breakfast.”

“You've more than paid for it with all the clothes you've washed.”

Meng Yao has to sit by his side. The breeze is so very cold, and he is drenched in cold water. He would like to be warm. He would really like to be warm.

“You don't have to come by and see. I will come get you when it's over.” he hears himself say.

And after that night, he thinks he has traumatized Xichen enough. Even though he can't stop himself from smiling at the thought. When they make fire by the shore of a river- a boat will pick them up in the morning- Xichen finally takes off his disguise and breathes in the night air. He seems so very bewildered. Like as if he is at the end of his endurance. Meng Yao could go on forever like this.

“You even had to do things like that.” he mumbles at some point. Possibly referring to his past. 

Meng Yao has to admit falling back into being a servant was a strange comfort. And last night when he was kissed and fondled like something precious, it had put him in a great mood. No more torture for Xichen, he had thought. Tomorrow we land on Lanling. What can he really tell him when he is so sad. That nothing hurts? At least not anymore? The fire by their feet is pleasant.

“When my mother died” he starts “she left some jewellery behind. So I could sell it and survive without her. But the jewellery was worthless. Or at least that's what the shopkeeper told me, because I was young and naive. I had nothing when I arrived at my father's palace. And I was starving so much. I looked at the splendor of Carp Tower and looked at myself, tired and penniless and immediately knew I would not be accepted. But I was so hungry. I thought maybe they would give me some money and tell me to be on my way, or treat me to some food. I thought a servant would take pity in me.”

Xichen does not reply. He gazes silently at the flame.

“When I left Carp Tower, after having seen how my father lived, after having been thrown down his stairs, I feared the Jin more than I feared others. Even if they mistreated me or were cruel to me, it didn't matter, because they were not my family. Doing a thing like that was no longer scary if it meant I would live just one more day in the world. That's what's unfair. Having to eat everyday, needing clothes everyday. But life was not difficult, you can even find agreeable people to do that sort of thing for you. So do not think on it like some great humiliation, Clan Leader Lan.”

“A-Yao” Xichen says. It has such softness inside it. Meng Yao would like to find it in himself to shed a tear or two. Instead he looks on at a lighted horizon, the splendid capital of Lanling.

“When all of this is over. If I could, I would like to help the Lan Clan rebuild Gusu.” he says. “Gusu is such a splendid place. Dignified and elegant. The world should make it its example. I don't really have any funds, but I remember the place. I remember it exactly. I could tell you the distances between two stone lanterns, and the height of a door frame. In fact when I close my eyes, I often see it in my mind.”

Xichen smiles. It seems he too can see it in his mind. The road from Caiyi town, up the mountain, throught the main gate, into the sprawl of its magnificent gardens. 

When the boatman arrives, putting an end to their ruminations, he takes most of their silver. Xichen finally understands how a simple thing like crossing the river can be a matter of life and death.

When they finally land, Meng Yao craves a bath. A long luxurious warm bath. But even before that they really need to wash if they are to find a proper inn to take them in. Stripping to his waist he washes at the bank of the river. The water is so cold, it makes something inside him stir. I am still human, he thinks.

“A-Yao” he hears Xichen say with some worry. He has noticed the scar from the wound on his chest. “Was there a battle at Qinghe? Did you get wounded there?” he asks with so much concern.

Meng Yao is so exhausted. He can't really keep up the lie.

“Actually, Lord Mingjue didn't send me to you. I killed a man at Qinghe and I was driven out and exiled. This is my atonement.” he says gesturing to the river, as if it somehow represents the journey. “I thought if I could save a life, I could somehow make up for the one I took.”

Xichen is in awe. Meng Yao can't really describe it as anything else. As if the truth has explained to him something vital about the way life goes. Meng Yao likes that expression, like thousands of veils have been shredded and it's just him and this other person alone in the world. Like two ghosts that see each other even in a thick mist.

I do not regret killing that man, he wants to say, but maybe Xichen can't handle this much truth. Maybe it's better for him to think that the humiliations he endured were somehow vital to this atonement.

“That is why, when you see Lord Mingjue, you must not tell him who it was that saved you.”

“Why not? You did a noble thing, Meng Yao.”

“He will not understand it. Anyway, this was my atonement for the man I killed, not for the trust I betrayed. I will have to find some other way to amend that.”

He wonders for a moment if he means the things he has said. The way Xichen looks at him, he wants it too. He wants to mean every word, to be the kind of person that has some internal purpose, that's not just drifting through life, with each tragedy serving as an anchor.

When they arrive at the gates of the capital, Meng Yao finally gives back to Xichen the book and his ribbon. He does not expect Xichen's hands to clasp his own- as if they too were precious treasures of the Lan.

“Don't leave. Come with me to the tower. When I tell them what you did, your family will reward you.”

Meng Yao remembers Xue Yang. Maybe now it's not the best time to return to his ancenstral home. Not because his plan could backfire, but maybe because he wants to remain the person Xichen would like him to be. He sees Xichen's hands, tenderly holding his own, his face brimming with emotion. How wonderful would it be if this impression he has now could last forever.

“I will wait for you at the gate. You go and tell them what needs to be done. If they see me with you, they will not want to help you. I am an unfortunate person and they are superstitious.”

“I will tell them what you did.” he insists and Meng Yao smiles.

“They did not want me when I was a child with no one in the world, they are not going to take back a criminal burdened with murder, ousted from Qinghe.” he whispers. “Zewu Jun, you are not being realistic. I implore you to not tell them anything. If people who don't like me know I am here, they might even try to kill me.”

It's another shock to Xichen that a show of kindness can lead to death, but it is something he can wrap his mind around. So he takes his things with meaningful glances and leaves, heading to the looming Carp Tower in the distance. Zewu Jun is a famous person, even in these simple clothes, he will not be turned away. 

And Meng Yao would really appreciate a warm bath and a sip of wine, maybe he could offer to wash dishes for it, or do other kinds of favors. He smiles at the thought of that and wanders into the city.

When the night falls and he lies with his back at the wall of the city, all he can think about is Nie Mingjue again. Like a bell resounding in the vast silence of his mind. Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue. On his throne at Qinghe. Brokenhearted and lonely. The night is not at all cold and the shadows of the trees play against his face. His wound hurts, like it has not healed inside. Meng Yao finds it so difficult to understand how at some point he could be held like something precious and then be kicked down like the vilest thing.

But he is here now, waiting still through the night as the moon climbs the sky. And Xichen is at the golden comfort of his father's palace, probably still imploring and arguing. What an honest man! He really didn't say anything to anyone about who brought him here. Meng Yao has to wonder at himself why he is still expecting someone to call him back.

But even if Xichen kept his silence, aren't they curious at Carp Tower? Was it such a small feat to bring the most famous fugitive of Gusu, all the way to Lanling, through the enemy's camps? Maybe the Wen are really going to win this war.

Author's note:

I had this whole second part about Meng Yao going to the Wen really believing they will win the war, and being the one who strategizes the taking over of Unclean Realm, and originally feeding the other clans information to lure Mingjue in a trap and leave them without a general, and only marginally switching to the other side because Xichen realizes who is behind the correspondence and thinks it's Meng Yao atoning for betraying Mingjue's trust and trying to contact him etc. But I am not going to write it because Meng Yao's mind is full of angst. So please imagine it.

[theerased]

The Ghost in the Haunted Forest

Some magic burns in this world still.

He dreamt an old dream, of three dragons of different colors, a melting throne, and the Silver Queen drowning in blood. In the dream, his sword drinks her soul after a dance of blood and vengeance. The sword smokes and bursts into flames, but the fire is actually the dragon’s breath melting the Iron Throne. He stares down the dragon’s throat as he prepares for the end, but it never comes. Cursed is the kinslayer, condemned to live. His wound throbs and smokes, the skin hot to the touch. “What if one person stood between you and a better world?” she asks through the mouthful of blood. “Sacrifice is never easy, or it is no true sacrifice.”

He felt the wound on his chest, tender after all these years. The fingers of his sword hand flexed into a fist, then loosened. Pulling furs about his shoulders, he stood at the bedside, his dark grey eyes searching the remnants of the fire.

The cabin he’d built with his hands years before, when the spring waned and he’d grown weary of sleeping beneath the cold and open sky. Where this forest had been deadly quiet, life had returned. Once they had called it haunted, but now there were only but a few haunted places left in the world.

The messenger had arrived around noon the day before, hoisting the banner that once belonged to him. He’d not bothered to read the letter until last night, after he’d sent the messenger back on his way south. Aly had stirred in his bed while he parsed the words. He recalled another letter that had beckoned him to come, and he tossed this one into the flames. Dark wings, dark words, his father had always said. Queens were always calling, and though he bore this one love, he did not feel it necessary to pay heed. Again, he touched the tender wound on his chest.

Aly was kissed by fire, just like the queen beckoning him southward, and like another woman from his past. “You know nothing,” she whispered in his memory. A wildling woman who offered to share his bed years before, Aly comforted him through dark moods and melancholy evenings, evenings when he’d try to shut out his ghosts. One had come calling.

He ranged these woods in his youth, spoke his vows at a weirwood in this very forest. When he said the words, his wolf had wandered back from the depths of the forest, a desiccated hand in its teeth. He’d buried that wolf in the shadow of a heart tree a league south. He watched age claim the great beast the way it eventually claimed everything. He once refused a king’s offer because of that wolf, though he later became a king himself. Brother to two kings and a queen. Too many crowns, he thought. Too many thrones.

He used to dream through the ruby eyes of the direwolf nearly every night. Those dreams stopped when age took Ghost from him. Burying the great white wolf was like saying goodbye to a piece of himself, and he’d said goodbye to too many pieces of himself in his time. He’d been condemned to live out his days in the grey waste, and for what? The Old Bear had once asked him to have the courage to live, but on some days that felt like a bitter joke.

Bastard and oathbreaker. Motherless, friendless, and damned, he thought. Condemned to live.

“Only death can pay for life,” he’d heard once, long ago. He couldn’t remember who told him that. Had it been the Red Woman? The Silver Queen? It matters not, he supposed. There was nothing beyond the black veil where they each now dwelt; he’d seen that for himself. The wound throbbed. Their deaths paid for his life, and now he spent that life far from crowns and thrones and kings and queens.

Aly didn’t ask why he stared into the smoldering embers. He didn’t speak much, but he kept her warm and safe. Each night he wrapped his arms about her and fell asleep trembling. She was used to him waking up sweating and shaking, calling out names of companions long gone. His skin was covered in scars—his neck, his face, and a large curved scar over his heart. But he was kinder than the wildling boys she’d known in her youth who would take what they wanted and gentler than the other crows she was unfortunate enough to encounter.

“I shall take no wife; I shall father no sons,” the vows said. He remembered the bright red leaves of the weirwood where he spoke the words. Sam took a wife, Sam fathered sons, but not me, he thought. There was a time when he thought maybe there was a chance, maybe he and his Silver Queen might bear children, but it would never come to pass. She threatened his sisters who would never bend the knee. His role was never to carry the legacy; his was to live and die at his post. The fingers of his sword hand traced the curved scar over his heart.

“Jon,” the letter read in perfect script. He vaguely remembered watching her writing lessons with Septa Mordane, in what felt like another life. “By royal decree, you are hereby pardoned of your crimes. Return to Winterfell and a seat of honor at our table, your family’s table. We have had words with the King in the South, Brandon of House Stark, who concurs with this pardon. However, he informed us that you would not accept it. Our brother knows much, but not all. Prove him wrong, Jon. Prove him wrong.” The letter was signed, Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell.

He wondered at the lord she had wed and the sons she had borne. They had taken her name since she was royalty of a great house; she was the Stark in Winterfell, and that still meant something in the North. Her third son bore his name he knew, the full name he’d wanted his whole life more than anything. Jon Stark must be eleven years old now. But that wasn’t my true name, he thought. I don’t dare speak my true name.

Why must there always be a choice? Why have the gods always sought to test my will in one impossible direction or another? Or maybe just the one god, the one that Melisandre always spoke of, the one who sparked fire into my blood to bring me back from beyond that black veil? The magic burns through my veins still. Only death can pay for life. And what was it for?

“You saved the world,” a voice whispered back from the embers. “Thanks to you, the world did not end in ice or in fire.” Now he was an old man and grey. He was what his father would never be. What his brothers Robb or Rickon would never be. And his other brother was out there creating a better, more loving world. Bran the Broken they called him, but who was truly broken in the end?

“There is no end,” the voice told him.

I sound like Edd, he thought, full of tedious complaints. His eyes stopped searching the ashes and turned back to Aly. She watched him quietly; he had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed her waking.

“You been quiet all o’ the day and night. Since that kneeler came from the south yesterday. What was ‘e on about?”

“A letter. From the Queen in Winterfell.”

“What she want? You t’come before her the way y’used to?”

“No,” he replied gruffly. “It’s not important. Nothing could bring me back.”

“Come back t’bed then. Keep your queen warm.”

Aly’s words stung, but he couldn’t turn away from her. “If I look back I am lost,” the voice called to him.

The two had coupled for years upon years, but no fruit bore from the tree. He was the last in a line that stretched back to Old Valyria, not that he thought on it much. When he first ventured north of the Wall with the wildlings, he considered his parents, his true parents, more than ever before. A prince who died at the Ruby Ford, long leagues from the woman he loved, whose name rested on his lips at the end of his life. A wild and willful maid who died in a bed of blood, begging her brother to keep a promise that the boy must live.

“Kill the boy,” Maester Aemon told him once. “And let the man be born.” Now it mattered not. The destiny had been fulfilled, the promise had been kept.

When he swept Aly into his arms, he tucked hair behind her ear and laid a kiss upon her forehead. Her hair smelled like the Silver Queen’s—like roses. “Remember who you are,” that same voice called to him. As he tried to fall asleep, he stared at the sword resting against the wall. The familiar white wolf’s head pommel, with eyes of garnet that glared in the dim light. He recalled a knight called Giantslayer who told him that a man who bears Valyrian steel should use it for more than scratching his arse. Where would that sword go once he was gone?

Before he built this cabin, he wanted to make sure the threat of the Others was truly gone. He and Tormund Giantsbane set out into the real North, past the Fist of the First Men, past the Frostfangs, to the Land of Always Winter. They were well provisioned, and spring seemed to follow them as they crept further north. Eventually life stopped following behind, and there was nothing but rocks and frozen ground. Lights danced in the sky above them, jade and opal and tourmaline and amethyst. There were no structures until they came upon an altar in the shadow of a crystalline mountain. They investigated the surroundings but found no evidence of the white walkers or their corpse children.

That was the last time he felt he truly needed the sword that was given to him by Jeor Mormont, with steel that seemed to flow through the air, that he had once used to cut down adversaries one after another. He remembered the unexpected clang as it once stopped a white walker’s blade, and then sent the Enemy to its final reward.

The sword was another piece of him, maybe another piece that he should bid goodbye.

In the morning, Aly found him packing supplies on his horse.

“Are you going back to Winterfell then?” she asked sadly.

“For a little while.”

“Why? What did the letter say?”

“It said I was pardoned of my crimes in the south. The queen my sister beckoned me to join a high seat at her table, but that’s not why I’m going.”

“Well why are you going then?”

“There’s a boy down there, a son of hers. He has the name I always wanted. I have a gift for him.”

He flexed the fingers of his sword hand before placing it upon the wolf’s head pommel at his hip.

“Come with me, Aly.”

“T’the realm of the kneelers? That’s not the place for me, Jon.”

“It’s not the place for me either, but I would bring you before the godswood in Winterfell, in the sight of gods and men. I would be your husband, if you would have me,” he said, taking her hand in his. “All I ask is all of you, forever.”

A smile crept over Aly’s face. “Done,” she whispered. He swept her into his arms and pressed his lips into hers.

There is some magic that burns in this world still, magic that lives because others have died, magic that allows us to carry on though we may be condemned to live. We make our choices, and we choose to live with them, he thought as the two of them rode together south to the Wall and the lands beyond.

[qobiin]

weekly fic rec hoard

here's what i've been enjoying reading (and re-reading) this past week for different fandoms across the board! this week features: atla, bnha, good omens, harry potter, marvel, naruto and stranger things  ♡ means: all-time fave, (m) means: 18+ themes 

avatar: the last airbender

♡ first rule of earth kingdom fight club... series by ohmygodwhy  zuko, his stubborn inability to die, and finding himself thru getting his ass kicked 

The Most Ragged Edges by twinfinite  In hindsight, Zuko really should have seen this conversation coming. He can almost hear Li and Lo chanting wickedly about the magic of Ember Island, about waves smoothing away rough edges… 

♡ ribs by ohmygodwhy  The first thing Zuko tells him during their first lesson after the whole Sun Warrior ruins ordeal, is “Fire comes from the breath.” a lesson in learning, and re-learning. 

♡ see your son rising at last by aloneintherain  When Zuko dashes into the sitting room, it is with the same wide-eyed panic that he ran from Azula’s smoking hands when he was a child. Iroh bites down on a smile. Zuko looks the same, even now, a decade later with a scar blossomed over one side of his face, green and brown robes replacing the solitary reds of his childhood. His hair is puffed up around his face. He looks like a very frightened, very windswept turtle-dove. Zuko dives behind Iroh just as Aang breezes to a stop in the doorway. Five times Zuko hid behind Iroh, plus one time Zuko stood proudly in front of him.

♡ the beginning of a new and brighter birth by aloneintherain  “I’m so proud of you, my nephew.” Uncle cups Zuko’s face in his lined hand. The gesture is so tender, his palm so warm, that Zuko has to take a fortifying breath against the sudden swell of emotion in his chest. “I want to be a good leader, Uncle,” Zuko says. “I want to look after my people.” “You will,” Uncle says. “You are, nephew.” In a new era of peace, Zuko works to be a very different Fire Lord than his forefathers.

boku no hero academia 

the stars are floating and we are flying by lunalou  Aizawa starts walking towards the exit, obviously expecting Shouto to follow him, but Shouto's feet are frozen in place. His eyes flicker from the distorted reflection of himself in the ice to where All Might is giving him a long look, eyes kinder than anything Todoroki has ever been deserving of, and he feels sick.  “Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya says gently, squeezing his arm in what Shouto presumes is meant to be a reassuring gesture. “It’s going to be okay.” He doesn’t think Midoriya is in any place to tell him what okay is, all things considered, but he chooses to keep quiet on the matter. 

♡ I’ll share this with you, so leave it behind by yabakuboi  For the sake of the story, All Might is never in need of a successor, and, when Izuku saves Katsuki from the sludge monster, encourages young Midoriya down a different path. Thus, Katsuki and Izuku part ways after junior high, as Katsuki enters U.A. and the Midoriyas move overseas. It’s later that Katsuki realizes that there’s something missing, that he drove that something away. Years after, Katsuki finds him in the last place he looks, in the cereal aisle at the local grocery store of their childhood neighborhood. 

Loose lips Sail ships by Yousayhun  Bakugou is at war with his own fucking mouth and everyone else just seems to be having the time of their lives. 

♡ flare guns go off in my head saying not to call you this late by youreanovelidea  Midoriya beams at him and Tokoyami is suddenly hit with the urge to look away. “So bright,” he mutters under his breath, low enough that Midoriya can’t hear him.  (or, Midoriya is a problem child who just really loves his friends) 

(m) The Devil Blues by iknewaman  The 78th precinct's police captain, Toshinori Yagi, has volunteerd his squad to help implement the mayor's wish of increasing the successful cooperation between the city police and active Pro-Heroes. Each detective is to be assigned a Pro-Hero who will shadow them for two weeks, and the operation has been dubbed the 'Station Cooperation Operation'. Although it is not well-received by those involved, Izuku Midoriya, current detective at the 78th precinct and loyal follower of captain Toshinori's ideals, believes that the operation will be a success. If his captain says it will succeed, there isn't a doubt in Izuku's mind that it will. That is until he meets his assigned Pro-Hero. 

♡ someone is wrong on the internet by rhenna  It’s been a long day. By all rights, Izuku should be falling into bed, half dead. But instead of sleeping, he’s hunched over his laptop at 2 in the morning writing a dissertation about why exactly Ground Zero’s pecs are the best pecs to ever pec, and how dare anyone insinuate that he should lose some of that muscle because don’t you even understand what kind of physique a quirk like that requires? Amateurs.  (Izuku has two jobs in this world: pro-hero and anonymous president of the Ground Zero fan club. What could possibly go wrong?) 

good omens

♡ Divine Intervention (aka God ships it) by TheLadyZepher  There’s a battle strategy devised by humans many millennia ago that's designed to overcome an adversary who is particularly well entrenched. Some walls are too tall and thick for a frontal assault, and must instead be bested through sheer dogged stubbornness. Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t know it, but they were about to be put under siege.  Fed up with an angel and a demon who are still avoiding any talk of Feelings, God starts to interfere. When it comes to the ineffable plan, sometimes things need a bit of a push. 

♡ Slow by write_away  It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions.  You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.  Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other. 

♡ Eziraphael’s Gifts: A History of Queer Faith and Longing, by Natasha Marie Johnson (Beacon Press, 2019). by actualbat  "If Eziraphael has come to be known--in today's language--as the 'guardian angel of sad queers,' then it makes sense for him to have shown up more regularly in the past once that became a recognizable historical category." Natasha is really glad that she's given this talk enough times to be able to do it on autopilot, because those two funny-looking men in the back just made the most absurdly astonished faces. (Or: Not all historians ignore gay subtext, and not all immortal celestial beings have their shit together. Also, voodoo.) 

harry potter 

♡ Apple Slices and Cocoa by FeathersMcStrange  Harry Potter is an abused kid with not an adult in the world on his side when Molly Weasley meets him.  She decides right then and there that if nobody else is going to try and take care of this boy, then dammit, she's going to. 

hello goodbye (’twas nice to know you) by tamerofdarkstars  Draco Malfoy thinks he might know whose thoughts are scrawling themselves on his skin, but that's crazy. Impossible, even. It has to be a mistake.  -  Self-indulgent soulmate AU where the thoughts of your soulmate inscribe themselves on your skin in a shifting magic tattoo 

♡ (m) Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by fencer_x, IDoodleForNoodles  ‘Kill Albus Dumbledore’ is less a challenging task and more a suicide mission, so when Draco Malfoy is presented with the option to either dispatch his Headmaster or suffer an excruciating and most ignominious death of his own, along with his parents, he reaches deep into his black little Slytherin heart and manages to scrape together enough courage to go with option C instead: Spend Sixth Year secretly studying Animagecraft in the hopes he’ll turn into something sufficiently imposing even the Dark Lord himself won’t be able to keep Draco under his thumb. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter. 

marvel 

♡ Hard to Love by Gruoch  If someone had told May that Iron Man himself would one day occasionally show up uninvited to her quiet little apartment and intrude into her quiet little life, she would have laughed them out of the room. But then her life seems chock-full of unpleasant surprises these days.  Or, Tony Stark wants a bigger piece of the pie. May Parker learns to accept help. Peter just wants to keep the peace. 

♡ Mr. Parker Declined to Comment by apisdn  The events leading up to the embarrassing moments during the Doomed Field trip, and how Peter Parker accidentally ended up in charge of things. All the while the political machine moves on, the Avengers do not kiss and make up, and the future draws ever closer. 

Another No-Good Field Trip by Muimor  Peter Parker is not having a good day. AKA, Where Peter's decathlon team take a field trip to the Avengers Compound, Vision's a menace, and Peter really doesn't want to go.

naruto 

(m) Resonance by flailinginlove  After being hit by a missing-nin's jutsu, Kakashi's chakra is never the same again. 

♡ (m) What Otter Nonsense by DarkAuroran  “Is that an otter?” Iruka asks as large, sable eyes blink at him and a little whiskered nose twitches curiously. “That’s an otter. Why do you have an otter?”  “I can’t tell you,” Kakashi says with a great amount of dignity for a man cradling a baby otter in armoured gloves. “Classified Jounin mission business.”

♡ Learning Curve by ishiryoku  This is the life she chose: the path of the shinobi. It's either roll with the punches or be left behind by her team—and Sakura's not about to let them go off on their own. 

♡ Roots and Wings by ideaoforder  When Naruto is kidnapped from his orphanage at age three, Kakashi is so done with this shit. He gets Naruto back, tells the Hokage where to go (politely, because he isn't suicidal), and raises the boy himself. Or, you know, tries and is proud when there aren't too many explosions. Then everybody starts to copy him and it's a whole thing. 

stranger things

In Which Starcourt Is a Pun by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)  “Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. Do you know what you want?”  Nancy and Jonathan visit the Starcourt Mall and corner Steve at his place of work with their feelings, but in an awkward, this-is-still-the-1980s-so-we-can't-be-too-direct kind of way. 

♡ my father comes and he goes by mjolnirbreaker  So, for Max, he doesn’t punch Billy Fucking Hargrove. He just sits there in sweltering heat and listens to the C’s being announced, and when parents cheer for their kids he tries not to think about how his parents are currently in Colorado. 

♡ it’s a risk, it’s a gamble by nondz (pinkjook)  “I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says. "What?" Steve answers. 

one of those new wave boys by glorious_spoon  It probably should feel more awkward than it does. (Or: Steve and Robin go on a road-trip, drink, listen to music, and look after each other. And yeah, maybe there's some cuddling involved too.)

wanna rec me something? head over to my ask or submission boxes! message me even, i don't really mind (: 

and to all my fellow authors who may feel a little down about not getting onto rec lists, this is for you:

[serahsanguine]

Vacation Series Pt. 2. Halloween Surprises Ch, 2

This is the second chapter of the second book in a two-part series

Book one. - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

Book Two. - pt. 1, 

All chapters can be found Here on Ao3

This Chapter Rating; NC-17 NSFW

Tagging; @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @peacenik0

********************************************

Notes; The book referenced is an actual book for myths and legends in Martin County and thanks to Amber and Ian giving me the reference to write from. Everything that is in the ‘book’ related is actually how it is written in the book.

***********************************************

Chapter Two; Day Two -  Spooky Stories & Marvelous Myths

The sky was dark outside and the waves could be heard crashing into the shore. The smell of their escapades was still hinted in the air and the simmering embers of the dying fire crackling and hissing in the background. 

Mulder rolled over to find Scully’s side of the bed cold he sat up and looked around the room. He found the small light under the door of the suite. There was a sound of water running and the light being turned off. He lay back down and soon felt her weight cocooned into his body. 

“Are you ok?” he whispered to the top of her head. 

“I’m fine just needed a bathroom break.”

He chuckled and they fell back to sleep. 

Several hours later. 

Both Mulder and Scully were sitting in the kitchen Mulder was making pancakes and Scully was sitting on the kitchen island. 

“What time are The Lone Gunman due?” 

“Not until early evening, they have a story to wrap up.”

She took a sip of her coffee and admired the view of him naked wearing nothing but an apron. And smiled when she thought of the little marathon escapade against the kitchen table. Both vowed they would still eat thereafter doing what they had just done. 

“Thinking about earlier?”

He sat down placing a stack of pancakes in front of both her and him and a slice of toast as well along with fresh orange juice and coffee.

“How could you tell?”

“You have a look about you, you only have it when you’re thinking about either me or sex.”

“Describe it to me.”

He leaned over to her and brought his finger to her face and slowly caressed near her eye and spoke in a low voice. 

“You have a glint in your eye and your eyes change a different shade of  blue”

He moved his finger to the corners of her lips.

“The corner of your mouth turns up a little and you get little creases right here, a hidden smile and the look of affection and adoration.”

He placed his lips on her kissing her softly. He leaned back and sat back into his spot.

“And those lips tell me your in love and the happiest you’ve been in a very long time.”

“I do love you,”

“I know and I love you too.” 

They carried on talking and finishing breakfast, Scully went off to start getting ready for the trip Mulder had planned and if she was being honest it actually sounded nice. Visiting an old book store and browsing their books. She used to do it when she was younger, it was more for comfort back then peace quiet, especially when moving around a lot. The first thing she would do is go into town and find the nearest bookstore and sit in a quiet corner and she would instantly feel safe no matter the place, no matter the time. 

Mulder was cleaning up the pots when it had occurred to him that the only thing Scully had eaten was a half slice of toast. He was dismayed at her not eating but thought nothing more of it. Maybe she was just feeling a little under the weather from there journey yesterday. 

Several hours later they had walked into town managing to dodge the heavy rainfall that unexpectedly came up. They stood outside a cleverly named bookstore called Turn the Page Mulder could not help but smile at the pun. The bookstore from the outside was beautiful with dark brown stained wood bay windows with clear glass windows flanking it. With a display with purple silk and a few spooky Halloween children's books standing upright on display. The top banner above the window in black with white letters setting off the whole place. The door was the same wood as the window with small panes of glass at the top each spelling out the book store name.   

Mulder went through the door first and like any good bookstore, there was a little bell letting the owner know they had a customer. Mulder being the man he is went straight to the Syfy and New Article's section. Scully went to novels first before working herself around to the Science/ Medical book section. 

The bookstore smelled of smoked almonds with a mixture of old and new books. Scully ran her finger over the shelves and each sequential book. Some covers feeling smooth and designed to barely touched or new, and others feeling rough, scratchy well worn and well-loved. There were first editions and third editions mixed together with the low lighting making it brilliant for reading and looking. She went through the sections one by one all the way to the back of the store where she found the quiet corner filled with soft table lamps emitting a yellow-orange glow. There was also a range of different chairs some hard and tall some soft and cushioned but each unique in their own way. 

She could spend hours at a bookstore reading through every book and when she looked over at Mulder he also looked in his element. No more than 5 minutes later he was trying to get her attention but without disturbing everyone else, she walked over to him and he looked like a kid in a candy store all excited.

“Look Scully!” he whispered.

“What is it?” she whispered back. 

“It's a book full of myths and legends.” 

“We, and I repeat WE, are not going looking for an X-File while were are on holiday,” she said a bit more loudly then she meant to and quickly looked around feeling like a schoolgirl that had been caught shouting in a library at school. 

“You wound me Scully, but I promise we are not going looking for an X-File on our vacation.”

“Good! So why are you all excited about this book?” 

“It just fits the theme of this week don’t you think?"

She looked at him sceptically before taking the book out of his hands and reading the title of the book. ‘Ghosts and Witches of Martin county’. She had to give it to him, this is actually what she had been looking for when she had mentioned it to him a mere few hours earlier. 

She thought back to when she asked. 

*****

“Mulder I want to go look for a book,” she said pulling the blue T-shirt over her head as he just turned on the shower.

“Well it’s a good thing we're going to the bookstore later than, isn't it?”

She rolled her eyes at him even though he couldn’t see it. She could hear the water splashing the tub and flowing down the drain and imagined his naked skin,  water dripping in slow motion from him. Her tongue following each trail of water down to the apex of his legs, where he was thick, hard and oh so swollen with a little clear liquid seeping from his tip. 

“For?” 

She was brought out of her thoughts as she heard the tail end of what he had been saying, 

“What was that Mulder, I didn't quite catch that?” she shouted a bit louder so he could hear her over the running water. 

“I said, what kind of book are you looking for?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Hum, try me,” he shouted back. 

“I will tell you when you're finished,” she replied.

No more than five minutes later he stepped out of the shower his hair wet and going in all different directions and a beige towel wrapped around his lower half. He walked through the suite and up behind Scully kissing her on the neck.

“What is this book you are looking for?” he said in between kisses and she melted at his touch. 

“A book of old myths and legends of different countries, Ahab and I used to do it every year near Halloween since then my mom and I  have done it unless we have been away with work.”

“That sound like something a family should do,” he said sadly. 

 She turned him around so now she could look him in the eye even with the height difference both knew this was an I'm telling the truth and mean everything I say and you'd better believe me. Look

“Mulder, if you haven't learned by now YOU ARE my family,” she kissed him on the lips and rested her head against his beating heart. 

 “I believe you, but why am I only hearing about it now?”

“It just never came up, unlike something else I know,” she said as she grabbed his standing erection and he gasped but soon disrobed her of her newly put on clothes before making their way into town.

***

He lead her by the hand over to the quiet reading corner their fingers interlocked the whole time and he began to read the first myth/legend to her. 

They sat down, Scully’s back against his stomach with the book in one hand and his other hand wrapped around her stomach. And he started to read. 

“The title reads, The Devil’s Pocosin,”

“Sound interesting do read on. ”

“The Devil’s Pocosin - a thick, dark, hazardous swampy area was the reputed heaven of ‘evil spirits’ as well as the wildcat, the panther and the bear during the colonial and ante-bellum days. Yet those wetlands produced such an abundance of huckleberries that groups of pickers would take a chance in its thickets even with the deadly cottonmouth moccasin that inhabited them. People generally believed that the pocosin provided haunts for the devil and the ‘witches’ from nearby communities.” 

Mulder read in slow whispers into her ear if people wandered past they wouldn’t have noticed. They were in their own bubble. 

“Here they were said to gather and plot wicked schemes against the good people of the area. Jack - o - lanterns or will -o- wisps were often seen around the borders of the pocosin, enticing men into the thickets where they often became lost and wandered around until daybreak. No hunter would dare to enter the pocosin alone.”

Scully turned her head so she could talk to his face.

“Will you read me another before we have to go home?”

“Of course Scully.”

“Title reads, Spell broken by old iron stake.”

Scully snuggled in deeper to him.

“The southern concept of ghosts and spirits were generally of English origin. African slaves delivered in both animate and inanimate belongs possessed of ‘spirits’ and both the slaves and the colonists believed in witches. Early settlers in the American colonies almost without exception believed in human ‘ghosts’ and the witches used their magic powers in various ways. Most of the slaves used bags of various witches' concoctions; and lacking material means, they used witchcraft as a means of revenge, sometimes even the master of the slaves turned to the witches for advice in seeking revenge on his enemies. Most people are afraid of the witches and did not relish the idea of being ‘conjured’ by them. 

They were broke out of their moment when the heard an elderly man speak to them. 

“Hello Sir, Madam, I’m closing soon.”

Scully stood up and looked at the elderly gentleman with his light brown trousers and checked red and brown shirt. 

“Oh, I'm sorry sir we will be getting out of your way. ”

“Oh no dear you’re not in the way. It's been a long while since two people came in here to read in our quiet corner and actually read if you get my meaning.” 

Scully helped Mulder stand and then blushed at what the old gentleman had said. 

“How long have you owned the shop?” Mulder asked.

“It’s been in the family for three generations now. ”

“It’s a lovely little store” Scully replied.

“Thank you, ma'am, you can have that book you’re holding for free as a thank you for talking to me and letting me enjoy your company for a little while.”

“It’s too much,” Scully said as she tried to hand the book back to the shop owner. 

“Nonsense my dear,” he said pushing the book back to Scully, “Just come visit me every once in a while.”

“We will, we promise,” Mulder said softly.

“Now you two love birds best be going before it gets too cold.”

Both Mulder and Scully put on their coats and slipped out the front door. What the shopkeeper didn't know is Mulder slipped 20 dollars just underneath a book near the till on their way out.

It was dark when they stepped outside, there were puddles of water along the cobblestone path and roads. The moon and stars creating shimmers of white in the reflections of passing windows. The sky was clear and not a cloud in sight, Scully moved into Mulder's warmth as they walked to the little house they called home while they were here. 

[vanderlindemangofarm]

Embers (Black Belle)

Well, I finally managed to finish this. I found the dialogue quite challenging, and I do hope it feels believable. I also hope that this is in-character for Belle, given how little screen time she has in the game. It’s been a bit of a journey, and I won’t lie, a lot of this hit home in a big way for me so I’m nervous about posting it. But I hope you enjoy. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

I’m dedicating this to my lovely friend @anniesburg 💕 

Summary: After over two decades on the run, Maybelle “Black Belle” Elizabeth Colter reunites with an old flame, Tess. Spending one last night together for old times sake seemed like such a good idea, but tensions need to be addressed, and the passing of time accepted. 

Category: Angst. Pretty much just pure angst.  

Warnings: None per se, but an overall theme of a relationship that couldn’t work out partially due to homophobia. If you think it may upset you, please don’t read. 

Pairing: Black Belle x OFC 

Word count: 1,995

Twenty years. Twenty goddamn years. How was she here again? How had it still come to this?

Valentine hadn’t changed all that much. She guessed it never would, no need.  

She envied her fellow punters, toppling over each other, dancing, singing, clenching their fists and grabbing at air. The saloon felt like thick treacle – stifling. This is why she avoided them these days. Too many people, and not a brain cell between them. Maybelle stifled a bitter snort of laughter by taking a gulp of whiskey. She never noticed the burn of liquor anymore, which was a crying shame. This evening had an edge that she could really do with taking off.

She had sent the letter several weeks prior and although she hadn’t expected a reply, it would still have been a welcome surprise. Never in her years would she ever have thought she’d miss having a permanent address for the sake of correspondence but here she was, wondering if an envelope containing a response – that distinctive ivory paper that smelled faintly of lavender – was drifting the Heartlands, unable to find her. More to the point, had her original letter ever reached its destination? Twenty years was a long-ass time to expect someone stay living in one place, especially around these parts.

Maybelle shifted in her seat, deciding to attribute the cramps in her stomach to the strange looking stew she had consumed a few hours ago and not to the building sensation of shame. She’d already waited an hour, how much longer was she expected to just sit here like some heartbroken girl? No, this had all been a terrible mistake, and a foolish idea to begin with. She sighed, downed the rest of her drink, adjusted her hat and stood up to leave.

And then she saw her.

Tess was still beautiful, dressed all in black with a shawl around her shoulders and her red hair, now flecked with grey, tumbling out of its bun and across her face. The two women moved towards each other in silence, the din of the drunkards and the repetitious pitter-patter of the piano now rendered irrelevant. Maybelle swallowed dryly, hating herself for how her hands were trembling. Tess was shaking her head slowly, looking Maybelle up and down as if she could scarcely believe she was real, yet alone standing here.

“May?”

Maybelle smiled weakly, and with nothing else to be done the two women embraced. It was a strange embrace – not all there, like a gentle breeze, and over just as quickly. They paused when their faces were inches apart, breath catching as they stole a few precious seconds to take in each other’s features, realising at the same time that the saloon was the last place they wanted to be.

“So, you got my letter?” Maybelle asked lightly.

“Yes.”

Silence ensued, unbearable now against the noise of the saloon. Maybelle felt hot, and small, like she was being forced into a corner and kept there like a little mouse. She felt a desperate longing that had been stuffed to the back of her mind, perhaps even to the back of her soul, hidden and forgotten like a dusty trinket in a locked box. For a fleeting moment, she tried to imagine that nothing had changed. Tess looked her in the eye, tried to read her the way she always did.

“May?…I…I’ve got us a room.” she struggled, her lace-clad hands clasped in front of her. Maybelle felt her stomach twist with conflict.

“A room?”

“Yes, over at the Saints. I…well, you must understand…”

“Last I heard you had a place not far from here.” Maybelle countered, knowing she was pushing all the right buttons but unable to stop herself. Tess sighed heavily.

“May, I can’t. You know I can’t. Not…not anymore. Too many people round there who know me, and no matter how laughable that likeness on your posters is, they sure as hell might recognise you on top of it all. Look, I ain’t expecting nothing. I just…I just thought it’d be better than…than this.”

She gestured broadly to the surroundings. Maybelle raised an eyebrow, considering the predicament. A room at the Saints seemed maliciously ironic, but she supposed that after all these years they might as well start treating their relationship for what it was. After a moment, she nodded. Tess turned on her heel and marched through the saloon doors, gesturing for Maybelle to follow her.

The Saints Hotel was everything it needed to be – quiet enough for the illusion of peace, busy enough to not be noticed. As Tess stoked the fire in her small room overlooking the street, Maybelle took off her hat and placed it on the back of the door. Tess chuckled.

“Since when did you get so house-proud?”

Maybelle scoffed, taking a slightly crushed cigarette out of her coat pocket and lighting up. The smoke hit the back of her throat with a frustrating rawness, and she retched slightly.

“May, put that out.”

“No, I think I’ll keep it lit, thank you kindly.”

“May…”

She hadn’t realised how close Tess had moved, her face once again inches from hers. She noticed the rosiness of her lips and the laugher lines that weren’t there before. The small mole just above her left eyebrow. The way she didn’t flinch when Maybelle exhaled her smoke so slowly over her face, but instead took the cigarette from her hand and stubbed it out on the mantlepiece.

Maybelle removed her coat, unbuckled her belt, feeling completely exposed even in her skirt and blouse. Tess watched her throw the rest of her clothes and undergarments on the floor, her eyes hooded and hungry, as she undid the buttons of her own dress and slid the material down her body.

The two women stood together, bare and unrecoiling in the firelight. Maybelle closed her eyes and for a moment it was as if nothing had changed. She could still feel the warmth from the fire on her skin, the distant chatter of the street below, and sensation in her stomach that simmered deliciously with anticipation. She opened her eyes again and looked down at her body. It was still hers, undoubtedly. The scar on her left knee from the first time she fell off a horse. A bruise here, a burn there, all inevitable she thought. But now she saw the way Tess took her in. The way her eyes glimmered with what could have been pity. And she suddenly felt barer than she had ever been in her life, so painfully conscious of the dimples in her flesh and the crinkled skin, her coarse hands and battered fingers. The brief surge of quiet contempt that she felt for herself in that moment was enough to leave her reeling.

“Do I really look so god-awful, Tess?” she uttered in barely more than a whisper. Tess moved in closer, her hands hovering by Maybelle’s hips and shaking her head.

“You could have come and found me, May. It needn’t have got so bad.”

Maybelle jerked her face up to glare. Tess’s eyes shone the way that they always did, like deep pools of water reflecting the autumn leaves.

“Needn’t have got so bad? Who was it that turned me away?”

“I didn’t turn you away. I begged you to stay with me years before that. And then…and then suddenly you just turned up again. And expected me to act like it all happened yesterday? Like I was wrong for…”

“For what?”

Tess took a deep breath.

“Wrong for learning to get along without you.”

“Well, sugar, it seemed you did a pretty fine job of it.”

“You know what? I did! My Abel was always sweet on me. Sweeter than you ever was. Sweeter than all of your goddamn husbands, I’d wager, however many you managed to rack up. He was good. He was kind.”

“And now he’s cold in the ground and here you are.”

The wood of the fire crackled and snapped, making both women jump. Their eyes darted over each other, realising how close their bodies were and how fast their hearts were beating. Tess sighed again, but with quiet exhaustion.

“Yes. Here I am.”

She shut her eyes and pressed her forehead to Maybelle’s. Their hands still drifted over one another, never still for long enough to be held. Maybelle cleared her throat.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to stay with you. It was just the way things were. The way things still are.”

Her breath caught as she felt Tess’s hand rest gently on the back of her neck, teasing her hair out of its usual style so it fell across her back and shoulders in thick, dark waves.

“And I thought…I thought you were better off with me gone. What with the way we left things…”

Her hands gripped onto Tess’s waist now.

“…but when I heard you was on your own again, I don’t know, I…”

Their lips met for the briefest whisper, soft and uncertain. They stood, stagnant in the moment, their eyelashes fluttering against each other. Maybelle felt frozen, rooted.

Tess took a step backwards, her body illuminated by the firelight.

“Why did you write to me, May?”

Maybelle shook her head, finding all at once how few answers she had, how poorly she had prepared for this. Colour rushed to her cheeks and she covered her face to hide the brutal sobs that were now erupting from her lips.

“Damnit,” she croaked, squeezing her eyes shut, hating the sting of tears. “Damnit!”

Tess didn’t hold her or say anything at all. She watched her cry, her own tears now falling freely down her cheeks and onto the wooden floor of the hotel room. After a few minutes she gathered herself, moving to the bed and pulling back the covers. She turned towards Maybelle again, and held out her hand.

“Nothing has to happen. Not even sure I want it to. But…do you think the world can wait until morning?”

Maybelle hesitated, but only for a moment. She went to Tess, sliding into the bed next to her. They laid on their backs, staring at the way the firelight danced across the ceiling like careless lovers enjoying their first dance. The blankets felt heavy and comforting across their skin. Tess rolled onto her side, and her delicate hand gently cupped Maybelle’s face, making her turn to look at her in return. Maybelle held her wrist, the last few tears seeping from her eyes and rolling down onto the pillow.

Twenty years. Twenty goddamn years.

“We could leave together tomorrow.”

Tess’s words pierced her heart like shards of ice.

“No, Tess, we couldn’t.”

“Let’s just pretend we could. Just for a little while. Just until morning.”

And Maybelle closed her eyes. For a little while, there were no wanted posters with her terrible likeness. The Colter Gang was unheard of. There had been no betrayals, no bloodshed outside of some friendly fisticuffs after a poker game. America still felt wild and vast and with the potential for anonymity. Her skin was smooth and untouched and unburnt, and her heart was raw and nothing like embers on a darkening fire. And in those odd, uneven hours before the dawn started breaking over Valentine, if Tess had asked one more time for Maybelle to leave with her, she might have said yes.

But here she was, dressing in the half-light, her movements gradual, stealing a glance at her sleeping love every few moments to check that she hadn’t woken her. Here she was, tucking the blankets up around Tess’s shoulders again and pausing to consider placing a kiss on her cheek, a parting gesture, a final indulgence, and then thinking better of it, putting that urge back into the locked box in the furthest reaches of her soul.

Yes, here she was. Riding out of Valentine and out of reach. Here she was again, again, again.

[usuk-hell]

Happiest Place On Earth (2p1p USUK)

simple, fluffy mint chocolate usuk one-shot requested by the lovely @mapleburger! i hope u enjoy <3 rated T.

A feeling of loneliness often struck Arthur in the busiest of places. Though he would never admit it out loud, he found himself somber at the fact he had few friends. He tried his best to be a charming lad, but no matter how hard, he always had an aura about him that made him come across as unapproachable and cold. He had a handful of close friends back in London, but ever since crossing the pond with the romantic idea of starting over in a new place, their contact had slowly fizzled out over the years. Work was boring and draining, he spent most of his day hunched over a desk editing other people’s shitty writing, and his sex life was… dry. Los Angeles was draining the life out of Arthur it felt like, and he ironically found himself missing the fog thick streets he had abandoned. 

After one particularly lonely Saturday morning where he had found himself staring at his ceiling fan for hours into the late noon, he decided he needed to do something about this predicament. It took a few google searches before he finally decided on a destination, and before Arthur knew it he found himself at the entrance to Disneyland. Alone. Because where else would a lonely middle-age Englishman find himself with nowhere else to go on a Saturday? The happiest place on earth. Arthur had hoped some of that so called happiness would be shared with him if he spent a few hours there, but so far he had spent most of his time wandering aimlessly, surrounded by young couples and families, all with bright smiling faces. And much to his dismay, the overwhelming feeling that he was alone in this world, and would always be alone, solidified itself in the pit of his stomach in a way that had him weaving through the crowds in search of a smoking zone. 

Arthur eventually found one tucked to the side of New Orleans Square, and spared no time in tearing open a new pack and greedily stuffing one of the tobacco filled rolls between his lips. His hands fumbled in search of his lighter, and after a moment of looking his heart sank with the realization he had left it on the dashboard of his car. His skin itched at the thought of not getting his nicotine fix when a voice to his right startled him from his habit filled thoughts. 

“Need a light?” 

The decal of a half naked woman was the first thing Arthur saw as the flame flicked to life in front of him. Tattooed fingers held the lighter to Arthur, and his gaze trailed up to meet a pair of dark eyes peaking through a few disheveled locks. A large grin revealed a sharp jawline that Arthur’s gaze did not overlook, and he found himself subconsciously stiffening in place.

“Thank you.” He nodded politely towards the man, leaning forward and allowing the fag still dangling from his lips to catch fire. Inhaling deeply, Arthur accepted the thick smoke into his lungs graciously and instantly felt his body grow lax at the familiar sensation. 

“You know that shit is bad for you.” Arthur was surprised the man was still there, and he merely shrugged in response. However, the other seemed unbothered and continued his one-sided conversation. “I actually used to smoke a lot of those things myself. Drove my ma crazy. I’d come home from school smelling like an ashtray, used to tell me they were gonna drill a hole in my throat when I got older.” 

“My mum used to tell me the same thing.” Arthur snorted, eyeing the embers as they fell from his hand. “Obviously, I don’t listen very well.” 

“Me neither! Took me a few years after I graduated to quit.” As he spoke, the tall man reached into his jeans and pulled out a thin, black pen. He put the piece to his lips and took a long drag, and Arthur watched incredulously as he exhaled the earthy smelling contents.  He didn’t notice the Brit’s stare immediately but when he did, he tipped his head to the side almost like a dog would and held the object to him. “Wanna hit?” And again with that shit-eating grin.

“What ever happened to that shit killing you?” Arthur asked, bemused.

Allen released a harsh, barking laugh so loud Arthur stepped back slightly from the force of it. “This? Nah! It won’t kill ya, but it might make you feel a little…. psychedelic.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Arthur stared back blankly. “You brought marijuana into Disneyland?” 

Allen’s eyes widened in mock horror as he pressed a finger to his lips and shushed the Englishman sarcastically. Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. Not aloud, but his shoulders bounced with good nature, and the reaction had the American nearly beaming.

“I’m Allen, by the way. And what can I call a handsome face like yourself?” 

Arthur jolted in place. “What? I mean, Arthur. Thanks. Bloody good to meet you.” Had he heard that right? 

“Arthur… what ‘British’ name.” 

“Not when you say it like that.”

Allen raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Huh?”

“Arr-thurr.” The Brit snorted, obnoxiously emphasizing his R’s and cocking a thick eyebrow right back at the man. He basked in his own wittiness until that stupid fucking smile returned to Allen’s features and caused Arthur to look away grumpily as he took another drag from his cigarette.

“Fag.”

Smoke caught at the back of Arthur’s throat and he instantly responded with a series of harsh coughs, puffing out of him in clouds like some sort of flustered chimney. “… pardon?” He asked, his voice broken and small after such an outburst.

“That’s British, right? ‘Fag’?” Allen asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he gestured innocently to the burning stick between Arthur’s fingers. 

Arthur blinked at him in disbelief. “Oh. Yes. Bloody good. I should actually really be-“

“So, what brings you here, Art?” Allen interrupted, once again bringing the pen to his mouth. He took a long drag before parting his lips slightly, allowing the thick, white fog to be pulled upwards into his nostrils from his mouth in tendrils, disappearing before Allen released it, dissipated, into an exhale.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Show off. “Are you asking why you’re talking to an Englishman in America or why a thirty year old man is wandering around Disneyland by himself?” He muttered sardonically, though he felt his pride dampen as he said it and wondered why he had said it at all.

“Wait, you’re here alone? I thought you must’ve come with your kid or something!” Allen laughed, but Arthur visibly deflated, his cheeks red and his eyes low. The Brit felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked over to see Allen smiling. “Hey, there’s nothin’ wrong with that! I’d come here more often if I could afford it.” 

Arthur stared at him curiously, eyes flicking down to his tattoo covered arms. “Really now?”

“Hell yeah!” Allen exclaimed. “Amusement parks are fun. They help get your mind off of things.” Allen brought the pen to his lips and for a moment, the two of them stood in silence. Arthur slyly peeked over at Allen to see the man staring off into New Orleans Square with a faraway look in his eyes, and for the first time in their conversation he wasn’t smiling. Despite his raw energy, in that moment, the man looked quite tired. His dark eyes were accentuated by a pair of dark circles, and he noticed that one of them might have been healing from a black eye. Arthur looked down at his hands and realized that he wasn’t the only one here with things they were running from. It made him feel less alone.

“I was bored, and desperately needed time outside of my flat. How about you?” 

Allen blinked, tilting his head to one side. “Hm?”

“Why are you here?” 

“Ohhh. I came with my bro and neice. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, so I  figured why the hell not? And to be honest, I’m pretty glad I did.” He grinned over at him and Arthur snorted, though he could feel his stomach tighten and his cheeks burn.

“You blush a lot. Need a water or somethin’? It’s pretty warm out today.” 

“I do not. And I am very well hydrated, thank you.”

“Really? So does your face normally get this red talkin’ to people?”

“And what exactly are you getting at here?”

“I think you like me.” The cigarette fell to the floor and Arthur blinked at Allen with wide, saucer like eyes. 

“Pardon?”

“You think I’m cute.” When Arthur didn’t respond, Allen confidently kept going. “You’ve been checking me out this entire time. I’m smarter than I look.”

Arthur’s mouth hung open, empty with a retort that wasn’t there. Allen reached over and placed two fingers under Arthur’s chin, gently closing it. “It’s ok, I think you’re pretty fine yourself, toots. You looked lonely so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself.” His brown eyes bore into Arthur’s, and as the sunlight reflected against them Arthur saw hues of amber. “I’m hittin on ya, if you couldn’t tell.”

It was time for Arthur to respond. He was silent for a few more moments, biting the inside of his lip. His brain felt fuzzy. “Yes.” He shoved his hand into his pocket and quickly fumbled with his cigarettes and pulled a second one to his lips. Allen raised his eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and confusion, but almost obediently lifted his lighter to the end of Arthur’s cigarette and lit it for him once again. 

“To…?”

“Yes, I think you’re cute.” Arthur rolled his eyes, blowing out a thick cloud and turning his head to avoid another comment about his tendency to flush easily. “It isn’t everyday a handsome lad walks up and starts laying it on me so thickly. I’m flattered.” Arthur reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a wad of sticky notes and a pen, and it was Allen’s turn to stare incredulously as he quickly jotted 10 digits onto the surface. “Here.” He mumbled, folding the note and shoving it into Allen’s large hands. “And that better be the only one you’ve gotten today.”

After another moment of stunned silence Allen threw his hands up innocently and gave Arthur the widest smile he’d seen that day. From the side of his mouth, a missing tooth peeked out slyly and Arthur wondered what exactly he’d gotten himself into. 

“How does Disneyland sound for a first date?”