#i’d rather just watch bear necessities

[httpiastri]

is the joy i’ll be getting from watching ollie enough to cover the pain of watching paul, dino & fred?

[loonybun]

hi guys here’s the cannibalism drabble as promised. i want you all to keep in mind i started this around 1 AM and finished around 3 AM and that is abundantly clear because it may seem less coherent the further it goes. which might add to it idk. also this entire thing is unedited so i’m slapping it at you like a wet fish

this isn’t canon, its for a specific au of mine called stainedrose :)

CONTAINS: cannibalism (a LOT of cannibalism), consumption of raw meat, disease mention, consumption of the brain, splitting someone’s skull open, past beheading mention, extreme gore all around, vivid descriptions of gore and violence, also the head is what’s eaten, very vague references to past trauma, implied conditioning, experimentation, dehumanization, sort of cult-like setting but also not really, unaware whumpee, parental figure whumper (not that obvious in this specific drabble but yeah. whumpee is an adult though), scientist whumper, carewhumper, test subject whumpee, inhuman whumpee, starvation, loss of autonomy, captivity, sleep deprivation, medical inaccuracies (i did research but never enough)

yeah it’s a doozy. enjoy!

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt hungry. Being starved for years had that effect. After a while, the feeling just faded away. It was as if he realized that he didn’t need such things. He was better than that, he wasn’t like these people. That’s what his superior always said, anyways. The boy had yet to internalize it, but at least the smaller sensations had faded entirely. Pain, fatigue, hunger, they seemed more like suggestions than experiences. The more he told himself that, the less they seemed to affect him.

When his superior entered the room one morning, carrying the newly severed head of an ordinary-looking brunette man, he was initially confused. His superior tossed it over to him, and it landed on the concrete floor with a hollow thud. The viscous liquid still flowed from where it had been lopped off, leaking onto the textured gray floor. He couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the smell. It reminded him of worse times— It reminded him to be grateful. He was being treated exceptionally well, considering his previous situation. He could bear the smell, and he could bear the way the cloudy brown eyes settled loosely on him.

He looked back to his superior, who nodded towards the head with a subtle smile. Hesitantly, the boy approached it, observing the finer details he hadn’t noticed before. It had been a clean cut, as the queen’s often were, and he could only assume that the man had died directly on contact. It was a merciful death. Quick and nearly painless. His superior stood in the doorway, removing his bloodied gloves and inverting them, before sticking them into his coat pocket. This wasn’t an ordinary gift. He’d been given knickknacks every so often, little bottles of fluid or clothes or trinkets. This was a test. Another test.

“…What is this?” He spoke at last, hoping for some sort of direction. He felt relieved when he watched the man’s face soften ever-so-slightly. He’d been right to ask. He waited for his superior’s instructions, or at the very least an explanation.

“Supper. You haven’t been eating much, and while I’m pleased with your results so far, I’d like to see how well you readjust. It’s also a test of your immune system. It’s an incredible testament to our work so far, and I’d love to see it in action.” He explained casually, a neutral smile upon his face. “All you need to do is enjoy your meal. I won’t mind the mess.”

The boy pushed any questions to the back of his mind. He’d gotten an answer, and he should focus on the task at hand rather than ruminate on specifics. If he performed well, everything would make sense sooner or later. His superior was a logical and kind man, and there was no reason for him to act off of a whim instead of necessity. Perhaps this was some sort of poison resistance test? He vaguely recalled something from his past life— the one he’d left far, far behind— something about prions infecting the brain. But of course, he wouldn’t be affected. His brain would obviously cancel the production of unnecessary proteins to prevent them from forming in the first place. That’s how that worked. That’s how it always worked. He just had to keep that in mind.

Without further hesitation, he sunk his teeth into the cheek of the head, holding it as you would a lover. The skin was warmer than he expected. Still fresh. He relished the sound that came as he tore off the chunk of flesh, and the flavor that bloomed in his mouth as the blood seeped from the wound. No meal he’d ever had before could begin to compare to the taste. Something more primal than hunger overtook him— the need to indulge. Engorge. Consume. He plucked the softer pieces of skin from the face and neck, gently tracing his lips against the skin as he sucked the blood and gore from the open wounds. The way the muscles actively began to tense with the more time he spent with it made it seem almost alive. Two interconnected beings becoming one. This soul had died alone and without struggle. The fight was over and lost. Neither of them had to be alone now. Whoever the person had been before death hardly mattered to him. That’s the beautiful thing about death. There’s no judgment in death.

Rigor mortis made the muscle and fat easier to bite into, though harder to chew. The texture was different now, more waxy. He’d worked away at most of the meat now, save for the scalp and area around the orifices of the face and the eyes. The exposed bone and viscera on the rest of the face was a sight to behold, saved from the possibility of rot. This body, or at least the head, would never know imperfection. It would be made useful, as all things should be.

He bit through the lower lip, easily pulling it away from the bone with his fingers and placing it into his mouth. Next came the upper— and then the nose, which was admittedly a lot more awkward to remove with how stiffly it clung to the bone beneath it. By the time he’d gotten to the eyes, he had already planned how to go about excavating them. The boy peeled the eyelids and swallowed them down, before placing his fingers between the space where the eye nestled into the skull. He didn’t need to apply much pressure before they came free with a squelching pop. He ate them one at a time, pressing them between his teeth until they burst. They tasted meaty, but not in the same way that the rest of the body had. The taste was a bit odd, even for him, though he downed them without complaint.

The gorey sockets stared back at him, the face now devoid of anything that resembled life. Hair still clung to the top like a matted mop, now tangled in blood and messy scraps where he had been less neat. The tendons that kept the bones together remained untouched. He’d been gentle with the process. As gentle as he could have been. He could have easily ripped the jaw from its hinge in order to get to the last bits of gore he’d missed, but he wasn’t a barbarian. He didn’t feel like his superior would approve of him disassembling the entire thing. It would make it so much harder to clean.

He turned back to his superior, who was observing his bloodied face with his typical soft smile. He wasn’t allowed to stop yet. The man motioned for him to continue, and the only thing he could do was comply.

The boy tore off the epidermis and hair, dropping it to the floor. The cranium was wet with blood and fluid, and he silently questioned how he could even go about breaking the thing. After a bit of contemplation, he bashed it against the concrete floor, watching the bone splinter and crack. The noise rippled throughout the room, and while he didn’t see it, he could feel his instructor flinch for the first time. He threw it down again, this time with more force. The back of the skull split, and he was able to pry his fingernails through a fracture. He chipped away at the skull until half of the brain was exposed. The squishy wet folds gave way as his hand slipped through them, before gripping onto a slippery blob. It came apart in his fingers, so he grabbed at more until he had a sensible handful. The brain was so soft he hardly even needed to chew. It was almost buttery in texture, and tasted nothing like the rest of the body. It didn’t have as strong of a taste as the rest of the body, being almost pure fat, but he persisted regardless. It’s what his superior wanted from him, and he’d be a fool to decline generosity when it was handed to him so kindly. The blood that mingled on his fingers at least added a bit more of a flavor, though it was diluted from whatever fluids the brain was already saturated in. He eventually decided to try a different approach, moving his hands to cup the skull like a bowl. The partially eaten brain sloshed around in its confinement. He put his mouth to the jagged edge and attempted to eat it like a soup. The mounds of pink brain matter that still remained were quickly devoured, leaving nothing but a hollow shell stripped of everything it could possibly be stripped of.

He stared over at his superior with a sheepish smile. The man nodded and stared at the fragments of skull and viscera on the floor. “Well, that was a spectacle. You did well. We’ll continue as usual, though you may have the rest of the day to yourself assuming you’ve finished your affirmations. Don’t worry about cleaning up, I’ll send someone in.” He walked over to the disfigured skull and plucked it from the boy’s hands, before patting him on the back. “You’ve done so well today. I hope you keep up the good work.”

[svnflowervol666]

Ma Petite Chérie: Babymoon (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Summary: Harry and Y/N go on their babymoon.

Warnings: pregnancy, smut, fluff

Word Count: 6.4k

Author’s Note: Hello! I wrote this in order to cross off a few requests. I promised Harry and Y/N would have a baby of their own, plus I get asks all of the time to write pregnancy sex - specifically awkward, giggly pregnancy sex. I also got one about Harry getting a love boner, so here is my attempt at shoving all of that down your throat at once. Try not to choke :-)  I also just reallllllly love Harry, Y/N, and Tallulah, so I wanted to give them some more love. Also made this one pornstache!Harry, so, there’s that. And one last thing...I know the verb tense is way off in this but I could not be arsed to edit it so plz don’t drag me. I hope everyone enjoys! Take care and TPWK.

“Oh my god,” Y/N huffed as she collapsed on the plush sofa in the living room of the cottage.

“It feels so fucking good out here by the water.”

“Breeze is nice, innit?” Harry replied as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets to check out how well the place he’d rented for the week was stocked.

“Beats going t’ France at the end of June. Think I’m kinda gettin’ tired of Paris t’ be honest.”

“That is quite possibly the snobbiest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Mr. Styles,” she said with a laugh as she began to flip through the tourist brochures that were left on the coffee table.

Not that they’d be partaking in any of it, no. Their plan was to hole up in the quaint, Scottish cottage that sat right on the coast of the North Sea for the whole week, not even planning on changing out of their pajamas.

It was their babymoon after all - a time of peace and tranquility before the arrival of their first child together.

Harry hummed and he made his way from the kitchen to where Y/N was seated on the couch. He stood behind her, knees knocking against the back of the sofa as he crouched down and wrapped his arms around her very large, very swollen belly.

“If I recall correctly, Mrs. Styles, I sat my injured arse in a stiff train seat to Edinburgh for five hours because someone was too scared to fly even though they were cleared to do so by three separate doctors.”

“’M not Mrs. Styles for another year and a half,” Y/N muttered under her breath, albeit not trying to keep Harry from hearing it in the slightest.

Harry snickered into her neck, then playfully nipped her earlobe with his teeth as he whispered.

“Not my fault yeh got knocked up and we had t’ push the wedding.”

“It is very much your fault, Harry,” Y/N swatted at his face, fingers first brushing his jawline that was covered in a rough stubble and then just barely tracing the full-blown mustache that sat like a caterpillar above his bright pink top lip.

Harry smirked down at her, nostrils flaring wide and lips disappearing inside of his mouth.

“How’s your rib?” Y/N asked suddenly.

“Good. Why?” Harry’s brows quickly furrowed together in confusion as to why she was asking about his injury.

“Might have to ride that later if you’ve got the lungs for it,” she tapped her index and middle fingers along her philtrum, right where Harry’s mustache sat on his own face.

Her blunt lewdness had Harry’s cock immediately growing stiff in his pants. It had been a while. His injury coupled with her being in the last trimester of her pregnancy had left them both feeling unsatisfied for the past several weeks. Maybe this babymoon would prove to be relaxing not only because Harry and Y/N get to spend a week without a rambunctious almost six-year-old screaming at all hours of the day, but for other reasons too.

“Think I’d actually drop dead from happiness if yeh sat on m’ face right now, lovie. But, before yeh get too comfortable with that idea, we need t’ head into town. Kitchen’s only got the necessities, and I doubt yeh want t’ eat homemade bread for a week.”

“I’m sure you’d love to eat homemade bread for a week,” Y/N jested, poking fun at Harry’s latest obsession with the carb-filled food.

“Remind me again why I put up with you?” Harry toyed as he extended his arms out towards Y/N to use as leverage to help her hoist herself up from the couch.

When she regains her balance, she lifts herself up just slightly to press a quick kiss to Harry’s lips that he happily accepts. Y/N hums and jokingly checks the imaginary watch that sits on her wrist.

“How much time do you have? That list is pretty long.”

//

The trip to one of the only supermarkets in the small part of Edinburgh that they were staying in had proved to be rather tiring, because Harry opted to use store-bought pasta instead of making his own - something he never does. Maybe it was his healing rib causing him to be short-winded, but he simply could not bring himself to hand-make the pasta they chose to have for dinner that night. He bitched about it all night, about how it wasn’t as chewy as it should be and how it would have tasted much better if he would have just made it himself, but it still didn’t deter him from helping himself to a second serving.

He claimed it was because while he did use pre-cooked pasta, he didn’t use sauce from a jar and made his own from fresh tomatoes and that was the appeal. Y/N just thinks Harry likes to complain and listen to himself talk.

After dinner, just as the sun was setting and Harry and Y/N were waiting for their pasta to digest before they dove into the box of fresh pastries from a bakery they found along the way, they decided to take a walk around the property. The renovated, stone cottage that was overgrown with vines and leaves sat along a short cliffside that overlooked the North Sea. It was a short walk down the cliff that brought them to the beach, where mist from the ocean whisped around their legs and ankles like a thin veil of smoke. While it was the middle of summer, Scotland’s persistent rain showers and their proximity to the water never made it too hot to bear.

“Lulah would love it out here. We’ll have to bring her when the baby’s older.”

“She realIy would,” Harry agreed as he wrapped his sweater further around his chest.

“Know yeh didn’t give birth t’ her, but I swear you two are just alike sometimes. Absolutely hates bein’ hot and gettin’ sweaty just like you.”

Y/N smiled softly and knowingly at Harry before reaching into the pocket of the patchwork sweater of Harry’s that she’d stolen for their stroll on the beach for her phone.

“I’m gonna call her.”

She picked up on the third ring, Y/N’s phone screen then illuminated with a live image of a gap-toothed Tallulah. Well, it’s Mitch’s phone, but she’d been waiting for this promised FaceTime call all day so of course she’s quick to answer.

“Mummy!”

Both Y/N’s and Harry’s heart swelled in their chest when they heard Tallulah speak. It had been several months since she’d decided to start referring to Y/N as her mother, but neither of them had grown used to it just yet. Y/N felt a sense of achievement in “earning” the title of being Tallulah’s mum after all of the years she’d spent with her, and Harry felt a sense of resolution. His family was a real family now, and not just a patchwork of awkward relationships and trust issues. Y/N was Tallulah’s mum and she was now seven months pregnant with their own child and they’d be married by the end of next year. He was actually there to see his child grow this time, they weren’t a secret kept from him out of spite. He’d be there for all of it, even the gross and bloody and goopy bits. And he’d never felt more complete.

“Hi, baby,” Y/N beamed from ear to ear.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re walking on the beach,” Y/N answered.

“Want to see it?”

The five-year-old (five and three-quarters if you asked Tallulah herself) nodded quickly, and Y/N then flipped the camera around to show her the view of the water. Y/N pointed out their cottage from where they stood in the sand, turning the camera to Harry briefly as he held up a peace sign so Tallulah could see that her dad was also on the beach with her. She told her all about the train ride there and how Harry almost slipped and broke his face when was carrying his and Y/N’s luggage into the cottage.

Harry listened to his two little loves talk back and forth with the biggest smile on his face as he absent-mindedly scoured the beach for rocks he could skip along the water. He noticed whenever Tallulah said something that Y/N thought was funny, she had to cup her bump with her hand and forearm to keep it from shaking her entire body. She told him she hated laughing now, because it made her look like Santa Claus, but Harry thought she couldn’t look more beautiful.

“That’s so pretty! Can we all go when the baby is here?” Tallulah asked, puckering into a pout as she begged.

“I think that’s a great idea, Lulah. We were just talking about that, weren’t we, Harry?”

Harry perked up from where he had been washing a sandy shell off in the ocean and suddenly appeared in view of the camera and took the phone from Y/N. 

“Hmm?” he asked as he studied Tallulah’s appearance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mitch to watch his baby girl while he went away for a week with his other baby girl, it was that him and Sarah voluntarily asked to babysit Tallulah and that’s what made him so apprehensive to accept their offer. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about a sleepover at Uncle Mitch and Aunt Sarah’s every now and then, but to want to watch his daughter for an entire week certainly was. Harry felt like Mitch was plotting against him and that he’d come back to Tallulah with bright blue hair and bangs or she’d be sporting the world’s worst potty mouth when she came home, but so far that didn’t seem to be the case. 

She was wearing Harry’s “Dream Boat” shirt that she’d claimed as her own a few years back when Y/N had taught her to wear her father’s clothes when she missed him because the smell would remind her of him (he had to steal it back and sleep in it a few times every now and then to keep his scent on it), and her long, brown hair was damp and neatly braided into two plaits and hanging off her shoulders. That had to have been Sarah’s doing, because Harry knew Mitch could barely put his own hair into a ponytail without creating several lumps and redoing it eighteen times before it looked presentable - meaning he certainly wouldn’t have been able to make a five-year-old sit still long enough to braid her hair perfectly. 

She looked fine, though. Happy, healthy, certainly didn’t have blue hair or bangs and hadn’t said a single naughty thing since she’d been on the phone with Y/N.

“Lulah wants us to come back here after the baby’s born and take her with us,” Y/N beamed.

“I think we can work that out. Sounds quite lovely, actually,” Harry concurred.

“Yeh bein’ good for Mitch and Sarah?”

“Mhmm,” Tallulah nodded.

“We had pizza for dinner.”

“That sounds yummy,” Harry enthused, trying to let his daughter know he had his full attention.

“It was bery good,” she sighed.

There was a long pause before Tallulah blurted out suddenly in the most serious tone, “When are you gonna shave the rest of your mustache? Mitchy was making fun of you today.”

Harry was caught between a gasp and a laugh, which resulted in him choking on his own spit. Y/N turned on her heels in the sand to look at him with wide eyes. 

“You okay?” Y/N mouthed quietly to Harry, completely oblivious to everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds.

Harry nodded, wiping the involuntary tears from his eyes as he coughed himself back to life and regained his composure.

“What exactly did Uncle Mitch say about my mustache?” he prodded.

Tallulah shrugged, subconsciously wiggling her loose bottom tooth with her tongue.

“Don’t ‘member. Just that you look weird with it.”

“Well that’s not a very nice thing t’ say, is it?”

“Mummy said you look weird, too,” Tallulah spouted without hesitation.

Her comment left Y/N’s mouth agape, covering her smile with her palm as Harry’s raised eyebrows feigned offense in her direction.

“She did?” Harry asked sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yeah,” Tallulah sighed as if it was exhausting having to tell your own father that his facial hair looks off-putting.

“I think you should shave it, too. It’s scratchy when you kiss me goodnight.”

All Harry could offer in return was stunned laughter while Y/N hid her face in Harry’s peck. Her bump pressed lightly into his and even though he was pretending to be mad at her, he wouldn’t dare think about pushing her off of him - not while she was this warm and cozy against his chest. 

“Well, if mummy really hates it I suppose I’ll get rid of it. But,” Harry pauses and pulls Y/N out from where she had burrowed her face into his sweater.

“I think I might know a trick that’ll convince her t’ let me keep i-”

“Enough!” Y/N exclaimed, clamping both of her hands around Harry’s mouth.

Harry chuckled against her palm and poked his tongue through his lips to lick her fingers, which sent her hands flying back down to her leggings so she could wipe them dry.

“I swear to god, Harry. You’re five years old,” she joked with a disgusted expression on her face, to which Tallulah had something to say to that. 

“No, I’m five years old!”

The two adults laughed in unison.

“Alright, Lulah. We’re gonna go inside now. ‘S gettin’ kinda cold out,” Harry said.

“We’ll call you tomorrow before bed. Alright, lovebug?” Y/N added.

“Okay,” Tallulah huffed.

“We love you, Lulah,” Harry spoke softly into the microphone.

“Love you, too...Daddy wait!”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Give the baby kisses for me. And no bikes!”

Harry wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to cry, so he settled on a closed-mouthed smile that was enough to convince Tallulah that he was unbothered by what she said.

“Kisses for the baby and no bikes. Got it,” he nodded.

“Okay, I’m gonna go eat some sweets with Sarah!” the child yelled, suddenly energetic like she had temporarily forgotten that her and Sarah had baked cookies twenty minutes before Y/N called.

“Alright, but it’s almost bed time so not too m-!” was all Harry could answer to before his daughter ended the call and presumably raced to where ever Sarah was in their house. 

“‘S like she doesn’t even miss us,” Harry mumbled as he placed Y/N’s phone in his back pocket and began walking back up to the cottage with his arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulder. 

Y/N hummed, basking in the warmth that radiated from Harry’s chest as he held her.

“They’re just buttering her up. She’ll be crying to leave by the time we get back.”

“Just don’t really know why they were so keen on keepin’ her t’ be honest.”

Harry positioned himself one step behind her as they walked up the stone steps together, keeping one hand on the small of her back. Y/N peered over her shoulder at him, her tight lips curling up into a smirk as if to say she knew something he didn’t.

“What?” Harry asked.

Y/N shrugged, “Promised I wouldn’t tell.”

Harry clearly didn’t like that answer, because he moved his hand that was supporting her waist and quickly pinched her bum.

“Tell me,” he demanded, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pursed together in what could be considered a childish pout that mimicked Tallulah’s.

Y/N sucked her lips into her mouth, contemplating whether or not she should spill the beans on the news Sarah had shared with her a few weeks prior.

“They’re gonna start trying for a baby soon,” she whispered as if were a long-kept secret told in a room full of nosey people despite the two of them being alone on the otherwise desolate beach.

Harry’s ears perked up, a wide smile adorning his face from ear to ear.

“No fucking way,” he mumbled, and suddenly all of Mitch’s incessant hammering of baby questions he’d sent Harry’s way in the past few months suddenly making a lot of sense.

Harry thought he was trying to be a good friend and stay engaged in Y/N’s pregnancy, but now he understands the real reason behind his behavior.

Y/N nodded deviously as they make their way into the living room of the cottage.

“They’ve been asking everyone they know with kids to let them come over just to see if they can handle it. I mean, if you ask me, I think they’ll do great. Nothing wrong with trying it before buying it, I guess,” she said with a shrug.

“God, he’s gonna be such a good dad,” Harry was practically beaming for his closest friend.

“I know,” Y/N agreed, walking over to Harry to hold both sides of his head in her hands as if he was a disobedient puppy being disciplined.

Her bump prevented her from getting too close to Harry’s chest, the roundest part of her belly nudging Harry’s tummy.

“They’re both very excited. Which is why, when he finally decides to tell you, you have to act surprised. Act like he told you you just won the lottery or something. Alright?”

Harry sarcastically changed his facial expression to mock bewilderment. His eyebrows rose well off into his forehead and his jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he gasped.

“How’s that? Think he’ll buy it?”

Y/N jokingly jabbed him in the shoulder.

“Smartass. I’m going to take a shower. I’m sticky and I smell like the ocean.”

“Guess I gotta keep workin’ on it, then.”

When he’s done cleaning up what was left of their dinner, he heads to the master bedroom with the intention of washing up in the shower after Y/N. He’s messing around with the A/C unit on the window to make sure it’s not set to a temperature that will smother them in their sleep and unpacking their luggage into the wooden dresser, where an antique turntable rests.

Stacked long the side of the record player, there was a handful of old vinyl, most of which Harry either recognized or new very well. He was actually shocked to find a Shuggie Otis album in the collection, to which he quickly slipped the record out of the worn sleeve and set the needle to the edge and waited for the soft sound to fill the room while he worked. 

“That thing works?” Y/N’s voice broke up the old 70s tune as she exited the bathroom with her hair tied up with one of Harry’s scrunchies that she stole out of his toiletry bag, wrapped in only a towel that barely fit around her form.

“I know,” Harry agreed, “Needs a new needle but other than that ‘s in pretty good shape.”

“Leave it to you to find a rental with 70s records in the bedroom,” there was a lighthearted tone in her voice as Y/N poked fun at him.

She padded over to her luggage in the corner of the room for a change of clothes, only to realize Harry had unpacked it all for them. As she’s rummaging through the drawers trying to figure out where Harry had put what, she lets her towel drop to the floor freely.

Harry doesn’t know how must time has passed, but he knows he’s staring. He’s staring at the water droplets that drip from the stray hairs on the nape of her neck and run down her bare back. He’s staring at the swell of her stomach where their baby lies, at the faded, almost-shiny stretch marks on the sides and the newer, darker ones on the underside that had only recently broken through. He’s staring at the bracelet on her wrist, the one that’s braided pink and blue with three beads on it - one ‘H’, one ‘T’ and one heart. Tallulah made it for her at school one day and told her the heart was for the baby and also because she loved her. It was hanging on by its last few threads, threatening to snap as each day passed, but she refused to take it off.

All he does know is that he loves her so much that he thinks none of this is real and that he’ll wake up one day and be in his early twenties again with no direction in life and the insidious feeling that he’ll die alone without ever finding his “person.” It’s when Y/N called out to him and snapped him out of his thoughts that he’s realized his underwear are suddenly feeling incredibly tight.

“Har,” Y/N beckoned him away from whatever had been occupying his brain.

“Hmm?” 

He resituated himself on the bed and crossed his legs in an attempt to hide himself from her.

“I said the hot water in there’s kinda shit, so you’ll probably want to wait a little bit before you get in.”

“‘S alright,” Harry dismisses, “Come ‘ere.”

He draws her towards him with an outstretched hand, navigating her around the bedpost and over to the side where he had been sitting. With the gentlest of touches, he runs his fingers over her bare legs. The coolness of his rings don’t make well with her skin that was still extremely warm from her shower, causing hundreds of tiny goosebumps to erupt around her thighs. Harry raises her shirt, one of his that she stole when her own clothes became too uncomfortable, but even now she’s nearly stretching this one to its limit, and rests it on top of her bump.

She doesn’t question him, doesn’t chastise him. She lets him love on her, lets him press kisses to her skin just above her belly button (making sure to give an extra one from Tallulah per her request) and rest his cheek against her stomach while his other hand feels around on the other side in hopes to feel the baby move or kick or do something to let him know that they’re there. Lucky for Harry, baby knows when their dad is around and is quick to make themselves known, so he takes a second to savor these last few moment he’ll have with his newest bub before they’re earth-side in a little less than two months.

Y/N lets him be because she knows how important this is to Harry. She knows that he never got these moments with Tallulah and that it’s one of the things that plagued him during those nights where he feels lonely despite her being asleep right next to him. He never got to feel her kick in her mum’s tummy and he didn’t get to see her grow from the size of a pea to the size of a melon before she was welcomed by her parents and the rest of her family that had been waiting anxiously for her arrival. 

No, Tallulah was dropped on his doorstep like a wet kitten in the middle of the night. Shivering and crying and just needing someone to hold her and tell her that it was going to be alright because her mother had decided she’d be better off elsewhere. Of course, she was too small to remember, but Harry could never forget it.

So, it’s the least she can do. To let Harry love on her. Love on them.

Her eyes catch his once or twice and she can see the gears in his head turning. There’s something on his mind and he’s hesitant to tell her what it is. Y/N lifts his head by tilting his chin up, her index finger brushing over the healed scar on the underside of his jaw from a few months prior.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” she whispered.

Harry shakes his head, a grin on his lips.

“‘M just really, really happy right now. Happy tha’ I’m here w’ you.”

Y/N smiles back at him genuinely before pulling away from his grasp and gesturing to his lap.

“And I’m happy that I’m here with you. Seems like your little friend is really happy, too.”

A soft groan emits from Harry chest, having realized he’d uncrossed his legs at some point and his very prominent bulge had come into Y/N’s view.

“Sorry, lovie. Didn’t mean t’ make it like tha-”

“I’m just messing with you. You know,” she ponders, “I was half-way kidding when I asked about your lungs earlier. But... This will be the last time we’re kid-free for a while,” she taunted.

“Are yeh asking?” Harry jests and points his thumb towards the bathroom door, “‘Cos I was actually plannin’ on just having a wank in the shower.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N shrugs and moves his hands off of her waist as she pretends to walk towards the living room.

Before she can take two steps, Harry’s standing up and pulling her back into him for a kiss. It’s full of heat and passion and almost knocks Y/N off of her feet. He cradles her head in his large hands and moves to whisper in her ear.

“Really gonna let me fuck yeh?”

A quiet chuckle escapes her lips, to which she replies, “What else did you think we were gonna do all week?”

He’s unable to bite back his own laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound to ever grace Y/N’s ears.

“Then get on the bed and take yeh clothes off.”

They work quickly, as they’ve conditioned themselves to do over the years of squeezing in any time they can together before they’re interrupted. Y/N lies back on her elbows as she waits for Harry to undo his pants and her breath catches in her throat when his boxers hit the floor. 

His cock is hard, not fully, but the sight of the first few beads of glistening precum causes a shiver to run down her spine. She’s blown him a handful of times since he’s been in recovery, but she’s been far too pregnant and he’s been far too injured lately to engage in any kind of actual fun. It’s safe to say that they’re both more than ready. 

Harry scratches at his scalp, unsure of how to word his questions as he looks her body up and down.

“How do you...erm...how do you wanna-?”

“My stomach, please,” Y/N says with a laugh.

She quickly reaches for one of the pillows behind her and gets on all fours, wedging the object underneath her bump to keep some of the weight off of her back. Slowly, she arches her spine down towards the mattress, and the glimpse Harry catches of her pussy through the light of the setting sun is enough to send another jolt straight to his cock.

Harry wastes no time joining her on the bed, caressing her hips and moving back to massage the plump skin of her ass. He leans down on top of her, flips her hair over to one side, and begins sucking on the sensitive skin between her neck and jaw.

“Gonna let me taste yeh first, right?” he mumbles into her skin.

Y/N hums in response, attempting to rock backwards in order to feel Harry’s cock rub against her backside. She hears Harry laugh, presumably because he’s caught on to her neediness, so it only pushes him further to be the tease he’s notorious for being.

He sponges wet kisses down her back, getting a rise out of every audible breath that leaves Y/N’s throat.

“Relax, baby,” Harry says when he feels her growing tenser as his kisses travel closer to where she needs him the most.

“Gonna get yeh there. Just gotta be patient.”

Harry presses one last kiss on the final notch of her spine before using one of his hands to spread her legs open just a little bit further. When he parts the globes of her ass, his mouth waters. Her pussy is shimmering with her arousal, perfect and on display just for him. 

He tests the waters by running the tip of his tongue from her clit up to her center and he hears a sigh of relief leave Y/N’s lungs at the contact. Next, he’s massaging her folds, exploring her and refamiliarizing himself with the way she tasted. Harry feels her relax into the mattress with each lap of his tongue against her, silently begging him for more. His tentativeness allows him to read her body language and he draws back momentarily to spread her lips apart with his middle and index finger.

The cool air against her core stuns Y/N, but is quickly drowned out with a moan when she feels Harry’s warm saliva drip from her ass down to her clit. His mouth is back on her before she can recover from the sensation, lapping her up and flicking at her clit with his tongue and driving her mad. He’s got his nose buried inside of her as he devours her in the way that he’s really been yearning to for months (he doesn’t count the late night or early morning quickies because he claims he never gets to spend as much time taking care of her as he really wants to). The scruff from his mustache is staunch against her soft folds, but Harry’s tongue is quick to soothe the burn and she loves it.

He smirks against her as she lets out a particularly loud moan when his facial hair brushes against her clit. What was that about shaving my mustache? he thinks to himself but does not dare say aloud.

When he senses that she needs even more, his fingers move from spreading her apart to pressing against her opening. Gathering her wetness on his digits, he slowly pumps them in and out of her. Y/N’s mewls and whimpers are like music to his ears and only spurs him on further. He ruts his hips against the comforter, anything to relieve the throbbing between his legs that is a result of how pliable she’s become for him. She’s soaking the rings on his fingers in the most picture-perfect way and Harry truly genuinely can’t get enough of it; and neither can she. Which is why he’s confused when one of her hands swings around her backside to stop Harry from working her open.

“Har-” she pants.

He withdrawals all contact immediately and peaks his head around to look at her face.

“Yeh good?” he asks as she’s stands up on her knees and turns around to face him.

“‘M great. Wanna be on top now,” she says, her lips plump and swollen from biting down on them so harshly that she nearly drew blood.

“You sure? Yeh don’t want me t’ finish yeh first?”

His eyes dart from her lust-blown eyes to her round belly.

“Mhm. Now lay your pretty ass down before I change my mind.”

She doesn’t have to tell him twice and he’s rolling over on his back, working his way to prop himself up against the headboard. His cock is red and leaking against his stomach, excruciatingly waiting to be buried inside of his girl. He wonders why she’s staring at him with an annoyed expression on her face, but then she speaks up.

“Do you see how pregnant I am? Gonna have to lay all the way down, shit head.”

He does as he’s told and he’s honestly scared that he’ll cum in five seconds if she doesn’t get on with it. 

“I swear to god, if you laugh at me,” she grunts as she straddles his waist, “I’ll cut it off.”

“‘M not gonna lau-”

It’s his turn to moan aloud when she grips onto his cock, running it across her folds to collect as much wetness as she can before she allows him to stretch her out. He’s focusing so much on not losing it right then and there that he doesn’t realize she’s stopped and is waiting for the go-ahead. Through his dark, thick lashes, he nods; as if she would have to ask.

Harry reaches for her hands as she lowers herself onto him, the two of them squeezing a bit too harshly when she reaches the last few inches. The burn consumes Y/N from the inside and out, but it’s never felt so right to either of them. 

She’s not moving just yet, but her cunt is pulsing around him and it feels almost as good as the real thing. They’re staring at each other, both with looks that relay more than words.

“Love you,” Harry’s face softens as he looks up at her.

“Love you, too,” Y/N smiles as she leans down as far as she can in search of a kiss.

He meets her in the middle and their lips find one another and mash together in harmony. The rocking of their hips reminds both of them what they’re actually doing, and causes both of them to gasp at the way Y/N pumped Harry half-way in and out of her. 

When she’s settled back down on the base of his cock, she begins slowly rutting herself back and forth. It takes her just a little bit longer than usual to work up a steady rhythm, but when she’s got it, boy does she got it and it feels so fucking good. The tip of Harry’s cock is pressing against the deepest parts of her and before she knows it, there’s a warm coil winding up in her tummy that bounds itself tighter and tighter inside of her.

She needs to go faster and she needs to go faster now, so she braces her hands on Harry’s chest as she continues to fuck herself on Harry’s cock. Harry lets out a sound that she can’t tell apart between a groan of pleasure and one of pain. His hands dart quickly from where they’d been gripping at her thighs to grip at her wrists.

“Can’t do tha’, lovie. Not the ribs.”

“Shit,” she laughs, subconsciously clenching down on his shaft in the process.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Harry reassures her as he repositions her hands on his shoulders so she can still have something to grab on to.

“Keep going.” 

Her bump is now cradled against Harry’s stomach and it allows her to find relief in the way that her clit is brushing against the trimmed nest of hair that lies around the base of his thick, throbbing cock. He’s twitching inside of her so much that she can feel it alongside her thrusts as they continue. They both won’t last much longer and they know it. 

“‘M getting close.”

“I know,” Harry pants beneath her.

She switches positions, now with her fingers digging so hard into the meat of Harry’s thighs that her knuckles are changing color. She’s able to lift her hips up and down a bit more from this angle, and it allows Harry’s cock to nudge against her sweet spot.

“Feels so good, H,” she whimpers so quietly that almost Harry couldn’t even hear it.

“‘S that it? Right there?” he mocks as he works at meeting her thrusts with his own.

The best he gets from Y/N is a nod as she focuses the best she can on getting herself there. She’s coating him with her juices with each pump and with one glance down at where they’re joined together nearly shoots Harry over the edge.

“Yeh gonna cum f’ me?” Harry asks as his thumb reaches under her to begin rubbing circles on her clit.

“Gonna give me a good one?”

His movements coupled with his words catalyze the tightness within her, threatening to snap at any moment. She’s definitely sweaty and tired of being on top, but she’s so close now that she wills away the pain in her lower back and thighs.

“Come on, bunny. Give it to me.”

He works with that he can and makes sure he’s slamming into her as deep as he can, speeding up the pace he’s making with her clit in the process. 

She cums with a strangled, “Fuck,” and a shrill cry of his name, and that’s all he needs to meet his end as well. The world is black and quiet for the two of them for just a brief moment, and then they’re both seeing all of the stars in the galaxy.

Her walls are coated with the warm ropes of his seed and spills out of her as she milks him, coaxing all she can out of both hers and Harry’s orgasms. Y/N can feel the last few twitches of Harry’s cock inside of her and her movements slow to a stop. 

His cum is splashed along her inner thighs and around Harry’s shaft, and they’re both struggling to catch their breath. Y/N feels sorry for him for a brief second when she sees him clutching onto the left side of his ribs, but then she remembers the situation that put him there in the first place and great incredible fuck she just gave him and so she decides not to dwell on it too much. 

Serves him right.

She collapses on the bed beside him, the two of them staring idly at the ceiling. It’s nearly dark now, the sun having set long ago and only their silhouettes are visible in the moonlight. Harry reaches over to pet her cheek and press a kiss into her hair as their breathing slowly but surely evens out and they come to.

They’re both too tired and fucked out to have a lucid conversation, so they’ll save that for tomorrow. No. Right now was for cuddles and falling asleep to the sounds of each other’s soft breaths and the peace of mind knowing that they can do this every single night for the rest of their lives if they wanted to because they’re getting married and they have a family together and they’re so in love with each other that nothing else matters.

When Y/N finally manages to muster up the energy to lift herself from the mattress and waddle to the bathroom, Harry breaks the silence.

“Hey,” his voice is calm and collected and there’s a smirk on his face.

“Hmm?” she answers as she cranes her neck and braces herself on the door frame of the master bathroom.

Her other hand is caressing her bump, a tick that she’d picked up over the months whenever she wasn’t doing anything important.

“Sit on m’ face in the morning?”

There’s that laugh again. The one that Harry loves and swears came straight from the angels above.

“With pleasure,” she winks as the door closes behind her.

[shroomcult]

@soulxmakaweek

Soma week 2021 Day 2: Healing

All too young was Maka Albarn exposed to the bitter resentment of a crumbling marriage.

She never had to bear witness to domestic violence or explosive arguments between her parents. No glasses were thrown against walls, no doors were slammed, no vitriolic exchanges that ended in another charging out the door and speeding out of the driveway.

It had been slow, and cold - like watching frost spread on a windowpane until nothing could be made out from the other side. The days when her parents loved each other, smiled while in the other’s presence were nothing more than distant and dream-like memories.

“I love you” was only something a desperate and conniving man said to get the outcome he desired. Not that it was any use. Papa could throw that phrase around all day, and yet Mama walked out of their lives all the same. 

It also meant nothing when it came from her mother’s own mouth moments before she stepped out of the threshold of their front door for the final time. If her mother loved her, she would have taken her only daughter with her instead of leaving her with a blubbering fool.

Maka shook this thought out of her head. 

No. Mama does love me - of course she does. She just has important work to do, she’ll come back for me when she’s ready. When she’s healed.

A feminine giggle could be heard from down the hall - from her father’s room. It effectively tore her from her thoughts.

So she hadn’t been hearing things. He really had the audacity to sneak a woman into their house for a little sleep-over not more than a week after the separation. As if she wouldn’t notice.

Well, she hadn’t heard the woman come in late last night, but surely Spirit was aware that his daughter was always an early-riser. 

She stepped out of her room, passed the sinners' den that was her father’s bedroom and into the kitchen to sit at the table with her book - and wait.

She wanted to make this as difficult for him as possible. She wanted to see the intruder for herself, to look them both in the eyes.

It hadn’t taken long before the snakes slithered out. She heard the master bedroom door creak open as hushed voices filled the hall leading out to the living area. She could distinctly make out the sound of her father hushing his secret guest.

As soon as they appeared in the living room and in full view of the kitchen, Maka set her book down and cleared her throat purposefully.

Spirit’s face drained of all the light that had been present only moments before. He looked as though someone had aimed a gun at his skull and demanded his wallet, his hand quickly removed from the mystery woman’s hip like it had been burned.

“M-Maka! Oh, hello sweetheart … what are you doing up so early?” he forced a smile, but his eyes conveyed nothing but guilt.

“I was having trouble sleeping. With all the noise.”

If he hadn’t already looked ready to crawl into a ditch, he certainly did after that comment.

His bedtime companion let out an airy laugh of discomfort before quickly excusing herself from the house she hadn’t belonged in to begin with.

The sound of the front door closing behind her had been deafening in the remaining silence between father and daughter.

“Maka-” Spirit tried to begin, but he clamped his jaw shut when she shot up from her seat, the chair scraping severely on the tile behind her.

She leveled him with a stare that he was familiar with as she tried to emulate the sternness of her mother to the best of her ability. He withered under it.

“I hate you.”

He stammered uselessly, his eyes glassy as she turned on her heel and made her way out the house, slamming the door with all the force she could muster.

Her vision warped and blurred as she stomped through her neighborhood and made her way out to a main street. 

She soon broke into a sprint, lungs burning along with her eyes as her feet carried her away with little thought as to where she was going. Her throat squeezed tight, making breathing all the more difficult but her pace did not falter until she came to a full stop in front of her subconscious choice of destination. 

She stood before a familiar grouping of apartments with faded but colorful walls. She’d been here only a handful of times, just to kick Soul’s ass into gear when he wasn’t studying like he should be. For the most part, she had no need to visit his apartment because he met her at the academy. 

Why him of all people? Why is he the first person I wanted to see when I feel like this?

She liked Soul just fine. Trusted him in battle at the very least. 

But she wasn’t sure how much he really fit the description of friend. They stuck close together out of necessity. They didn’t exactly play nice with each other all the time - he was a difficult person to get close to, stubborn and distrustful. Perhaps she was too.

Even while her mind continued to question her reason for coming to him, her body moved of its own volition, feet taking her up the worn concrete steps to his door towards the end of the hall.

It wasn’t fair for her to show up here on a weekend and drag him out of bed to dump her problems on him, yet she pounded on his door like she had every right to anyway.

It took him quite a bit of time, but she heard someone growl “what the fuck” from behind the door before it swung open revealing her very irate weapon partner in pajamas with his already ridiculous hair in a nest of pure bedhead.

The hostility softened from his baggy eyes the moment he recognized the wetness on her cheeks.“What’s wrong?” he tried to ask only to get crushed into a hug seconds later.

She sobbed into his shoulder and clutched the back of his Nirvana shirt like her life depended on it. She was immediately embarrassed by her behavior, but she had trouble closing the floodgates at such a point of mental volatility and decided she’d much rather bury her face against him than meet his concerned gaze. 

It took a few moments, but his body finally relaxed and he rested his hands timidly on her shoulder blades, letting one of his thumbs rub circles in an awkward attempt to soothe her.

She was almost caught by surprise when his uncertain contact tightened into almost a protective grip, and he allowed his entire palms to smooth over her back.

“Here, get inside,” he murmured against her ear, slowly releasing her and guiding her by the arm into the safety of his living room.

He only motioned for her to sit down on the couch before trudging to the kitchen to rustle around in his cupboards.

She felt a twinge of gratefulness for the opportunity to clear her face and steady her breathing as she listened to the sound of him starting up the microwave. She wasn’t some baby to be coddled after all. 

She didn’t get much time to compose herself before he was making his way back to her, a small saucer with a cup of hot tea rattling in his hand.

He set it down on the coffee table in front of her and took a seat on the couch beside her. He sat quite a few inches away, but reached out to pat her arm for a moment. Ah, back to awkward. 

“Uh - Tea’s for you. Chamomile, is that fine?” 

She nodded, carefully taking the mug from its place and bringing it to her lips, allowing the steam to settle into her face and relax her for a moment. 

He didn’t say anything else, just nodded and hunched his shoulders forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he stared in front of him at nothing in particular.

Either he wasn’t in the mood to play therapist and prod her for information or he was trying to respect her boundaries. Maybe it was a combination of both.

She found her voice after a few more sips of tea, offering him a vague complaint.

“I can’t stand to be around him anymore.”

She could feel that he was staring straight at her side profile, but she couldn’t meet the boy’s unnerving red eyes for the moment.

She fiddled with the cup in front of her instead, gathering her thoughts as his eyes patiently drilled through her peripheral.

“He just repeats the same dumb mistakes. Over and over again. How can someone be so stupid?” she spat, thinking of a hundred crueler words that could describe her father even better than stupid could.

Soul looked away for a moment, scratching the back of his head.

“He is pretty stupid, I’m not gonna argue that. I think I’d rather say that he’s selfish and optimistic though. He knows what he does is fucked. He knows, and he still does it because he hangs on to the hope that maybe he won’t face the consequences.”

“Well, he’s faced plenty of consequences! My mother is gone, he’s going to have a divorce, and I hate him! How is that not a consequence to him?!” she cried out, placing her mug down with enough force to send droplets of tea around the table.

Soul seemed unfazed by her rough treatment of his personal belongings, shrugging half-heartedly. “Again, not saying he isn’t a complete idiot. Just saying there’s more layers to it. Call him what he is - a bastard. Shouldn’t blame it all on stupidity, that’s lettin’ him off easy.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said with a heavy sigh, already feeling most of the fight leave her. “I understand why Mama left. Yet, her decision still hurts so much, Soul. Did she not think about me at all?”

His lips set into a tight line and he was wringing his hands out in a clear sign of discomfort. Had she broached a weird subject with him? Did he have issues with his own parents like this?

It occurred to her that she honestly didn’t have a single clue about her partner’s personal life prior to joining the DWMA. Did that make her a bad partner?

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly towards the floor, “It’s normal to hurt from something like that. I’d like to tell you that she won’t stay away for long, but I don’t really know that, Maka. I’m sorry.”

“I know -  I’m not expecting you to have answers. It just helps that you’re listening, I guess. So, thanks for that,” she tried to force a smile, but Soul was entirely unconvinced of it, only offering a sympathetic quirk of his lips in return. Still, she continued, “There’s some messed up part of me that wishes they could have just stayed together. That somehow things could go back to the way they were when I was younger, like none of this ever happened.”

He was staring at the floor again, but quickly met her eyes with a dull, haunting sadness that seemed beyond his years.

“It’s better that they split. Nothing good comes from forcing it just to keep up an image, trust me.”

The way his voice trembled like his throat was closing up encouraged Maka to change the subject.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whispered, drawing her knees up to her chest as she felt that familiar, unwelcome heat gather behind her eyes again.

“Then don’t. You know I’ve got the extra bedroom. It’s pretty normal for partners to live together, ya know.”

Her eyebrows jumped to her hairline at this suggestion. “Like, I can just move in here? with you?”

“I mean, yeah. Why not?”

She couldn’t really come up with many downsides when she truly thought about it. It’d be helpful to have her weapon partner close by. There was the possibility that they could drive each other crazy enough to completely ruin their already hard-earned resonance.

And yet - that wasn’t a very good excuse. What kind of flimsy excuse of partners would they be if they couldn’t maintain decent resonance rates just from spending more time together?

They were stronger than that. This could work.

Another thought tugged at her heart. “I would be leaving behind my family.”

“We could be our own family,” he asserted with confidence, but it wavered when he saw the way she looked at him - like he had suggested something romantic between them. His cheeks and the tips of his ears lit up pink and he immediately backpedaled, “Uh- like, partners? Right? We have each others’ backs … like a family,” he trailed off, scratching his cheek and looking anywhere but at her face.

For all his snark and stoicism she realized he was rather shy. It was kind of cute. What the hell did I just think?! She attempted to compensate for her own internal embarrassment by bumping his shoulder roughly with her own.

“Okay. sounds good, partner. So what’s the plan for the rest of the day? And don’t tell me you’re just going to sit around and watch TV.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that. It’s Saturday, for fuck’s sake.”

“No, that isn’t engaging enough,” she said, flicking his cheek and earning herself a scowl in response.

“Fine. I have an idea for a therapeutic activity,” he said as he got up and crouched down beside the cabinet under the TV, pulling out two game remotes.

Maka was already shaking her head in disapproval.

“C’mon bookworm. Play me in Mortal Kombat. You can pull my spine out - it’s fun and the violence will make you feel better, promise.”

“I’m not playing some brain-rotting, man fantasy, thank you very much.”

He ignored her entirely and began working on hooking up his console.

“Just pretend you’re fighting your old man,” he suggested over his shoulder.

She smiled despite herself and placed a light kick against his back from her spot on the couch. “Fine, but you have to come with me to Papa’s place later today to help me get my stuff.”

“Yeah, sure thing. How much you wanna bet I could make him cry?”

In that moment, she came to the conclusion that she had chosen a good family. 

She was going to be okay.

[5lazarus]

Labyrinth

"Anders made no attempt at escape during the years they were together." This story is meant to explore everything absolutely horrible about that statement. If the core part of Anders' identity is his refusal to submit to imprisonment, then perhaps listening to Karl was a violation of his sense of self. Things get better, and then things get worse. Read on Archive Of Our Own here. Read Ch. 2/3 here. Chapter 1/3: The Circle

Love does not make the Circle more bearable. It does not banish Kinloch Hold’s ghosts. Anders brushes by Karl while stacking books under Uldred’s watching eye; Karl taps his shoulder but keeps moving, and they both smile. Let them think they are only good friends. The threat of separation hangs heavy over them both. Everyone remembers what happened to Lorcan and Bartie. Anders does not want to see that happen to them. They get excused from the First Enchanter’s lecture of Fade mutability to pray in the Chantry. Everyone knows Anders is devout, as fervently as a libertari must be; everyone knows Karl is, too, though perhaps less fervent. They fuck quickly and quietly behind a statue, Anders gripping him hard, and when they finish, Anders says, “I kind-of get off on it. Fucking under Andraste’s eye.”

Karl sighs, adjusting his robes. He murmurs into his neck, “I’d rather a bed. One day, my leg will cramp, or you’ll get overeager with that lightning, and--” “And you’ll drop me or I’ll electrocute you, yes.” Anders kisses his forehead, holding him close. If a templar ambles by, Karl will pretend to cry over his dead mother. Every mage has a dead mother, it’s an easy way to get the templars off your back. He giggles. “Imagine getting to surrender .” Karl says, “I can.” The robes are handy for a quick fuck, but Anders wants more than that. He wonders if the Knight-Commander has tacitly set aside the chapel for fucking, because a tower of mages keyed up on sexual aggression is worse than a tower of mages seeking quick and fast release. It’s such a waste of Karl’s body, which deserves to be teased and tasted and explored. Back in the library, interminably shelving books, Anders says aloud, “Imagine getting to see your lover naked.” Leorah says, “There are always the storerooms. If you don’t mind the spiders.” “Ugh,” Anders says. “I don’t even like being watched.” And that is another invitation for a quick exploration. Fucking is an act of rebellion. Love is something worse. These quick fucks in the Chantry, fingering and fellating in the library--it gets tiring, after awhile. They all deserve more. One midday break in the storeroom, finally nude, Karl says, “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare leave me here.” “You can leave with me.” Anders is still straddling him. The stone walls are chilly, and he’s beginning to get cold. Uncomfortable, he shifts, and starts reaching for his clothes. Karl leans his head back and sighs. “Where would you even go?” Anders laughs, slipping back into his robes. “Does that matter? Away from here. Anywhere. Maybe even Tevinter. Everyone likes a healer.” Aghast, Karl says, “By Andraste, Tevinter? Don’t even say it. Don’t even think it. They won’t even take you to Aeonar, they’ll just kill you. Or make you Tranquil.” “Probably make me Tranquil,” Anders jokes. It’s a little silly to be scolded by a naked man, prostate on a cold cobble floor, with his cock shrinking. “I’m cute, they’ll still make use of me.” “Don’t joke about that!” Karl snaps, and the torches about them flare in his anger. Quickly he pulls on his robes, refusing to look at him. “I don’t want to talk about this. Don’t even think it in my direction. You know what they did to Bartie. I can’t bear for that to happen to you.” Anders sours, mouth twisting. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t be able to bear what staying here--being locked up here --does. Don’t you remember being outside? I know you weren’t born in the Circle.” “That was a long time ago,” Karl says. “And the Anderfels were no kinder to me than they were to you.” “The steppes,” Anders pushes. “The stars on a clear night, shining on the gray earth. Tilling the soil back to get at the red clay. The clatter of a wooden shuttle.” Karl says, “Your father screaming when you set the thatch roof on fire. Your mother sobbing in relief when the templars took you away. And the first time you could sit at a table and gorge yourself. Eating until you were full, and then a plate of strawberries and cream after that.” Anders says, “The templars locked me in a closet for biting. I never got that meal.” He walked out of the storeroom, leaving Karl behind. In the dormitory that night Anders quietly masturbates, thinking about fucking outside, the rough feel of grass under his skin, digging his nails into the dirt, crickets chirping and only the stars there to witness them. In the bed opposite over Karl rolls over on his side, back to him, and Anders exhales, suddenly unwilling to continue. He wants to call him over, he wants to slip next to him and press against him, tease a hot breath against his neck, kiss the tenseness away. But he cannot. A templar pauses in the doorway, and Anders takes his hands out from under the covers and raises them pointedly. The templar rolls their eyes and continues on. Karl whispers, “Must you provoke them?” Ander says, “Wouldn’t you

like to spend a whole night with me? Wouldn’t that be nice?” The templar backs up into the doorway and crosses their arms. Anders amends his statement: “Platonically, of course. I’m very warm. Wonderful to cuddle with.” The templar says, “Is he bothering you, Thekla?” Karl quickly says, “No, not at all. Ser.” Uldred tells him the next day that the First Enchanter has decided to crack down on the libertari faction in Kinloch Hold. He has a gleam in his eye as he talks about Irving’s plans for yet another witch hunt for blood mages, and Anders is irritated as Uldred yet again tries to talk him into using blood magic to get the templars to look away. He figures he has a few choices. He can volunteer for the war effort and join the King as a healer, and eventually get his pick of Circles to return to. He can talk loudly in the mess hall about the necessity of doing one’s best to serve the Maker, because magic was made to serve man, not to rule over him, and keep his head down for a couple years before developing a personality again. Or he can accept that they are transferring him to a harsher Circle. They have all heard stories about Kirkwall, and how the White Spire farms mages out to the petty nobility. Anders chooses none of them. He follows the mages to King Cailan’s camp and slips away. In the chaos of the Blight, he manages to disappear. Karl does not come with him. He does not even bother to ask.

[justjessame]

Starting Over: Chapter 53

Laying together in our bed, the sunlight creating an almost magical glow around us, Bucky traced patterns on my flat bare abdomen while I massaged his scalp with my fingernails.  I knew my smile was a reflection of his - soft and sweet, rested even though we’d hardly napped - being together was relaxing.  

“When do you think you’ll start showing?” He didn’t raise his voice above a tone one would use in a library, yet I could hear the excitement laced through each word - it was tangible and I loved that he was so happy.  

I considered what he was asking, but honestly I had no clue.  Parenthood wasn’t really something I’d yearned for before, and while Mom had been a nurse, I was more interested in taking photos and putting one foot in front of the other than paying attention to the women around me who were glowing with the new lives they were bringing into the world.  “I think it depends -”

Propping his chin up so he could see me, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “on what?”  

My eyes went to the top of my head, searching for the best way to explain what little I did know.  “The size of the mother, for one.”  I was fairly certain that the tinier the vessel, the faster the passenger would be noticeable.  “The father’s genetics might have a say in how big the baby is, so our little bean might end up making me HUGE pretty quick.”  He chuckled and dropped a kiss below my belly button.  

“Are you saying I’m thick, Brooke?”  Bucky’s hands were framing my abdomen and I grinned down at him.  “Is that a GOOD thing?”  One eyebrow arched and I laughed.  

“I’m carrying your mini soldier, Buck,” my fingers slid through his hair and I bit my lip when his eyes closed in contentment from the contact.  “I’d say everything about you is a GOOD THING.”  

Humming, his lips quirked into a soft smile and he crawled lightly up the bed so he could kiss me.  Rolling onto his side so we could lay face to face, he traced my face with the ghostlike touch of his fingertips.  “I never thought I’d hear anyone say that everything about me was good - ever.”  He was squinting, as if thinking pretty damn far back and I wanted to smack something.  “Steve wasn’t the only Brooklyn boy who could get into trouble, Brooke.”  His smile was meant to relax me, but it only half worked.  Bucky had been shunted to the sideline for a very long time, then his time as the Winter Soldier was held over his head - it was bullshit.  “You are bearing a very strong resemblance to -”

“If Steve Rogers could carry your baby, then holy shit, Buck, Captain America was truly a scientific wonder.”  That did it, it broke the tense bubble I’d created - not without some reason, but we had happier things to focus on.  “You wish you could tell him,” I could see it as clearly as Connie had when I’d been wrestling with Bryn’s damn car seat in the Mustang.  Cupping his cheek, I sighed.  “I wish you could too.”  

“I just can’t get this image out of my head,” his smile was growing and it was contagious.  “Him meeting you and knowing without a doubt that the two of you were on the same damn page - to keep my ass on my toes.  And to remind me,” his smile was still there, but it was just a little dimmer.  “To remind me that I deserve it.  You, the baby, this life.”  He shook his head, breaking the vision and coming back to me.  “Steve and you would be a pretty scary duo, Brooke, but I really do wish I could have it.”  

“Me too,” and I did.  I wanted Bucky to have everything.  Every single thing that he wanted, because he more than earned it.  

After a warm bath, shared of course, we sat down and planned a dinner for Connie and Joey.  Bryn would be happy with just hanging out with her favorite live-action Disney prince, so I knew that on that particular part we were fine.  

“You don’t want to make that baked pasta -” my eyes went wide and I shook my head.  “What?”  

“You’re from Brooklyn, Buck.  You’ve met Joey AMORUSO.”  It seemed to hit him like a brick.  “Yeah, I’m NOT fixing an Italian meal for an Italian.  Sorry, I’d rather not live through the live critique of my sauce and why I should have made the mozzarella from scratch, but thank you for that offer.”  He grinned and I rolled my eyes.  “We could order in -”

“Doll,” he gave me a look that I swear made me wonder if he was channelling my mother.  “You can’t invite people over for something like this and give them -”

“Food from somewhere not homemade,” I sighed.  “Yeah, I know, Mom.” He grinned.  “Let me guess, that’s a Brooklyn mother thing?”  He nodded.  “Good to know that some shit is just naturally ingrained in the locale.” 

We settled on a roast and the Sunday type sides that both of us knew from our vastly different, yet strangely the same youths.  While he made the call to Connie to set the date, making our excuses for the evening - thank you little bean for being a great excuse for being “indisposed” for immediate visits - we did order in for our evening.  And I ended up having a cup of Wong’s tea before it arrived, just in case.

The bag had a helpful set of instructions, just in case a novice might not know how to brew real tea.  Luckily my mom had gone through a weird bagless tea stage in life, so I had some things on hand.  I was sniffing the contents when Bucky came into the kitchen after hanging up from Connie.  

“Well?”  He was staring at me with my nose in the bag and I shrugged.  “That’s not very helpful, Brooke.”

“It’s kind of an earthy smell.”  I sniffed again.  “Not unpleasant, but -” I sighed.  “How’d Connie take the news that dinner would be in a couple days instead of this evening?”  

The tea kettle was on the stove and I was waiting for it to start screaming to let me know it was hot enough, but we had some time.  While Bucky assured me that my best friend was more than willing to wait for dinner to be sure I was able to actually eat it, I got down the rest of my tea necessities.  He’d also ordered dinner while he was at it, because Bucky Barnes is a man of action, thank you very much.  

The kettle howled and I took a deep breath.  “Here goes nothing.”  Hot water, tea leaves in the tea infuser, and into the cup to seep until the water turned a murky brownish grey.  No sugar, that was part of the instructions, no milk either.  Just water and tea leaves.  Once the coloring was right, I pulled the infuser free and steadied myself.  Bucky stood beside me and gave me a grin.  “I really hope this doesn’t taste like shit.”  A tentative sip, and I tried to place the flavor.  Nothing.  Another sip, still nothing familiar came to mind.  So I took another sip, and another, and another.  The cup was empty and I was still trying to decide what it tasted like.

“How do you feel?”  Bucky asked, taking the cup from me, and dumping the infuser so he could rinse both out.  

I considered his question, focusing on my stomach and the urge to vomit that had me rushing to the toilet before.  “I feel alright, I think.”  I was still trying to figure out what the flavor of the tea was - it didn’t linger, which meant I couldn’t really remember what it tasted like.  Damn it.  “I guess we’ll find out once I eat, right?”  

Bucky picked a local diner that had less spicy food.  We sat in the kitchen and I felt like he was watching me like he might watch a bomb waiting to see if they cut the right wires to diffuse it.  Fair, since I felt like a bomb that had wires cut, but didn’t know if they were the right ones to keep from exploding.  

Dinner finished, we put away the leftovers and suddenly we were left with loose ends.  It struck me that Bucky and I had never - not once since we’d been together - actually just had down time.  And if we did - it was filled with UP time.  

“Come here,” he’d taken the chair that I had immediately begun thinking of as his from the first time he sat in it and he was holding his arms open. When I got close enough for him to reach, he pulled me onto his lap and held me, pressing his face into my neck and just breathing the very scent of me in.  “Want to watch a movie?”  

“Sure,” I murmured, wondering what film Bucky would pick and then laughing when he hit the remote that he’d grabbed before I was perched on his lap.  “Beauty and the Beast?”  

“Connie might have mentioned you like it,” he was smiling at me and I bit my lip.  “Our ‘mini soldier’ as you called them, could just as easily be a ‘tiny doll’, sweetheart.”  Nodding, I let my head settle into the crook of his shoulder.  “Not that there’s a damn thing wrong with either watching fairy tales come to life,” I giggled, thinking I’d hate to be anyone who tried to debate the issue with my baby’s daddy.  

Bucky held me while we watched our first movie together - my favorite Disney movie.  Which we followed up with something I thought he might like - the first in the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  Isn’t that what relationships were, after all?  Sharing?  Plus, while the tea was helping with one problem, I wasn’t in a rush to take on the homework that Strange had given me.  So if I could put it off for as long as possible -

[doveriathegoddess]

The following fic is from @chiquitabanana5 NSR Beauty and the Beast AU, which has her oc Valentina involved in this fic interacting with my ocs if they were part of the AU. This is not canon in her au, but rather something I made for fun since I like her au so much :3

This was also inspired by @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora and their current writing of the NSR Beauty and the Beast AU fanfiction, so be sure to go check out their blog :D

Anyway with that being said, it's time for some:

Magic of Nature

This takes place shortly after the Enchantress bestowed her curse upon the half of Vinyl City and NSR, so now we see the start of the aftermath, where some animals of the forest consider the curse to be a bit much...

The Enchantress made her way out of the area she just cursed to the forest, looking a bit pleased at what she had done. At least the corrupt individuals that ran NSR would be taught a valuable lesson that was for sure. A group of animals looked on in awe, before going over to the Enchantress in excitement as they yipped and chirped.

"That was so cool Valentina!" A maroon colored porcupine known as Singel by her animal friends happily spoke as she looked up at the Enchantress, "You gotta show us how you did that!"

"I'd say, these NSR Artists or whatever you call them get what they deserve. Hoarding survival necessities so that lesser beings end up fending for themselves, at least we animals have decency." Percy, a wolf with light grey fur with sharp blue eyes spoke as he was sitting, using his hind leg to scratch at his ear.

Axle, a dark purple owl fluttered and landed on the Enchantress' shoulder, before she gave the bird soft pets on her head. "Now I can finally fly around properly at night. Those lights from that city were bright enough to almost make me sleep at night, and I'm nocturnal!" The owl spoke as the Enchantress giggled, before she bent down to pet Gypsy, a magenta colored raccoon with black stripes that didn't speak much but liked being with her friends nonetheless.

"Yippee!" A large, fluffy, pink nine tailed fox tackled Valentina to the ground as Alxe quickly flew away to Percy, before gently licking her face as she giggled. "Olive- you're always energetic are you?" The Enchantress asked as she petted the creature's head, while Olive nuzzled her hand before getting away so she could get up. "My work here is done for now, so I'll see you all around." Valentina said as the group of animals watched starting to leave, before a voice spoke up.

"Aren't you being a bit harsh on the city and it's people Valentina?"

The Enchantress paused in her tracks before she and the other animals quickly turned around to see Artemis, a large white grizzly bear that was also soft of fur, and at heart too when it came to creatures from outside the forest. "What are you on about Artemis? You know they deserved it for their corruption." Percy spoke up as he looked at the bear, while she only gazed back at the Enchantress even though her fur covered her eyes, "Even if they did deserve it for their corruption, it leaves another half of the city without any main source of power, and that half will only weaken until everyone and everything there fades away."

"I don't want the humans to die!" Olive cried with a whimper as her 9 pink fox tails all flapped around in distress, her violet eyes close to crying. "Calm down Olive, no human is going to die." Valentina said while patting the 9 tailed fox on the head to reassure her, before looking over at the great white bear as she made her way over to her.

"My curse is nothing to powerful, but it does require a strong force to break it, which is love of course. If it makes you feel any better, then perhaps you could help me guard the forest and this half of Vinyl City from outside forces that might attempt to bring harm to it, which may or may not happen, but it could give you all something to do in the meantime until the spell is broken." Valentina spoke, as the bear took it into consideration before agreeing to the suggestion. "I'm sure it will ease my nerves a bit about the whole thing." Artemis replied a moment later, much to the unease of her other animal friends as they all looked at each other, wondering what Valentina had in store for them guarding the forest.

"Very well then. I'll even use my magic to make it easier for you to further interact with the forest and the other half of the city." Valentina said before her eyes glowed, as she casted her special spell on her animal friends.

"I give you the power to go even further, and perhaps further with feeling

As you shall be indeed your animal self during the say, but at night you shall become somewhat human

With your beastly traits lingering about to aid your nightly self,

While this spell with break once the curse does, a word of warning I do advise:

For if you ever fall in love with a human creature and your love is received back, then your wild self will cease to exist as you become human too,

But only love will determine your true form by the time the sun rises in the dawn the next day,

Now my animal friends come hither and help me,

Protect this very land which I have cursed until the ones with love for those who have none break this solemn spell."

The spell of the animals the Enchantress casted upon became true as they remained their wild forms in the day, but at night became human with their animal traits lingering as part of their bodies. From there they watched as the roamed freely, waiting until an indie rock duo came by in the hopes of saving their home from possibly no power...

And that's it for this small fic :3

I hope you guys enjoy! I may consider writing more of these in the future, but for now we have a group of (technically cursed) animals from the forest now under the Enchantress' spell to become human at night, with the exception of them having animal ears, feathers, and fur too-

Like I stated before, this is not canon in the NSR Beauty and the Beast AU, this is mainly something I did for fun so if anything about this is inaccurate with the AU, don't flood my asks and DMs thanks-

Anyway that's all I gotta say, happy reading everyone!

-Doveria

[punk-of-the-opera]

I’m going to show you my absolute favorite passage from Susan Kay’s Phantom. It might not be the most amazing writing, but it really resonated with me the first time I read it.  I’m just going to throw a trigger warning on here because the passage is kind of dark.

The last thing I expected to hear, in this windswept oasis high above the streets, was the sound of her voice in harmony with his.

Is this how You answer the prayers of the penitent, God?

Is this how You reward repentance and welcome home the prodigal son?

I came to hear Your voice and instead You choose to mock me with theirs, to show me that there is to be no divine intercessions on my behalf, no mercy, no last little miracle. My infamous crimes have set vengeance and have set me quite beyond the pale of Your forgiveness... all You wanted was vengeance upon me for those years of iniquitous blasphemy!

Well, now that You've had Your vengeance in full measure, are You satisfied? Are You satisfied, God?

Oh, yes, I believe in You... I've always believed in You! You're so infinitely cold and cruel, You simply have to exist. I've seen enough of Your handiwork in my time, and it knocks my malice into palest insignificance by comparison. Floods and earthquakes, sickness and famine, crippled adults, mutilated children... and still we come like ingenuous fools to pray to you for Your help in time of need! It's laughable, really... quite pathetic! God is love! Hysterically funny! Say rather that God is an idle itinerant, too feckless to care what happens on an earth created for the sole purpose of providing amusement on a rainy day!

What were You doing, for instance, all those months that I lay festering in my mother's womb? Were You perhaps in divine hibernation... taking a holiday... experimenting?

Well, whatever it was, You had a nasty shock when I appeared, didn't You? You didn't have the grace to admit You'd lost grip of things, nodded off for a moment and made a damned botch of it in consequence! We're not permitted to say that God makes mistakes, are we?-merely that He works in mysterious ways! Oh, God, what a charlatan You are! You're an amateur... You never had any training, did You, never submitted You master's piece for inspection... never had any competition!

You couldn't bestir Yourself to help Your own Son when He cried out to You on the cross! So why should You care now about the crucifixion of a monster? 

(page 407 to 408)

[Section break, less than a page of something that has nothing to do with the story]

An intolerable burden...

You've brought me full circle haven't You, God? Right back to that moment all those years ago when I knew I had to run away.

Only, this time it's she who will run- run away from me as though I were some loathsome, slavering beast, an animal who can't be trusted to behave like a gentleman and do the decent thing. Oh, it wasn't the kiss that hurt beyond bearing... strangely there was a painful beauty in watching her in his embrace. If I really were her father, it would surely be a joy to see a worthy young man so passionately in love with my dearest child.

No, it wasn't that kiss which betrayed me, but the cruel and careless trick with which she intends to win her freedom. She promised to come back. She promised! And she lied! That is the final anguish... the knowledge that she doesn't care enough to put me out of my misery, that she's not even going to tell me. She's just going to run away with him and never give me another thought. She must hate me very much to do that. Strange- I never guessed that she really hated me; I must have made a damned good actress of her in the course of her tuition.

I'd like to die now. Right now, this very minute! I'd welcome the last convulsion of this tired and sluggish muscle in my chest, but by some incredible irony my heart is beating with curious serenity, as though it's never known a single moment's transgression.

So what are You up to, God? What cruel perverse little jest have You left to play? Surely You're not going to inflict a miracle cure and deny me the right to be struck down after this!

You denied me life- will You deny me death too? Is that to be the punishment for my unspeakable crimes against humanity- another twenty years of penal solitude upon this earth?

Beneath my towering pinnacle Paris spreads out in all its splendor, a multitude of lights flickering along Haussmann's neatly regimented boulevards. Nothing could survive that dizzying drop. All they'd find would be a smashed red pulp in dress clothes, unrecognizable... unidentifiable. 

I have only to let go...

Suicide... the ultimate sin, the one crime we are never given the opportunity to confess. Thieves and murderers may enter heaven, but the suicide, never receiving absolution, is unable to die in a state of grace and must burn forever.

So that's why You brought me up here, God! You thought I'd be stupid enough to fall into Your trap! One rash act of folly on my part and You would have been spared the loathsome necessity of gazing upon Your ugly miscreation throughout eternity!

Well... I don't need You. I never needed You! There is a greater Master yet, one who remains loyal, even to a backsliding apprentice... a Master who reminds me even now that my indentures to him were never broken... merely postponed.

I am not forsaken! I'm no longer alone in the darkness! Before my eyes I see a thousand little devils lighting black candles along the path which leads me toward the edge... the blindingly beautiful edge.

Love is a scorpion's paralyzing poison, but now a thousand little mouths are sucking it steadily from my veins, emptying my mind and preparing a black void to receive the Master's presence. I feel the grief receding, dispersing beneath the rage which is mushrooming out inside me like some monstrous fungus. All the evil in the world has been let loose tonight, whipped up into a mighty cyclone and irresistibly directed toward the high peak of Apollo's lyre... drawn to my brain like lightning to a conductor.

A cold breeze stirs my cloak, sends it billowing out around me like the wings of the Angel of Death, as I lift my head slowly to look upon my Master's awesome power and hear his solemn promise.

Beyond the edge there is no pain.

Beyond the edge you will be reborn in the glory of darkness.

Rise up and follow me...

Feeding on the putrefied remains of love, I have completed the final process of metamorphosis, swollen and blossomed uncontrollably into a mighty, all-powered shade of hell.

All that remains to be done is for me to tear through the chrysalis of morality and reveal the ravening black-winged creature that lusts to live.

A dark and towering shadow, rising like the phoenix from the ashes... malevolent... omnipotent...

The Phantom of the Opera! 

(page 408 to 410)

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 17

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 17 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 16 / Part 18

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing, sentiments of sadness

Historical Inaccuracies:

SO. This is more of a disclaimer than an inaccuracy. But it’s very important...

I have written Mary’s character on basis of Lucy Boynton’s portrayal of her in Bohemian Rhapsody. I make no assumptions concerning the relationship between Freddie and Mary, and nor do I condone the things Mary has done in the wake of Freddie’s passing. 

Please remember that this is but a fictionalisation. But anyway. I’m not here to talk about that; I’m here to write fanfic. Let’s go! 

Word Count: 2.6k (can i get three cheers for the shortest chapter ever)

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You found her soon enough. She hadn’t even made it fully up the stairs.

A pitiful sight, she was, sitting with her knees pulled up as she wept quietly into the velvet of her trousers.

“Mary,” you began gently, and she lifted her head.

Her eyes were puffy, and tears had drawn angry red lines down her round cheeks. Her hair, which had previously been up, fell about her face in blonde wisps as her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled anew with tears.

You made your way over to the corner where she sat and she watched you raptly, like a frightened animal. You knelt beside her.

“Hey, what was that all about?”

Mary only shook her head, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stem her tears.

You offered her a hand up, and after a few moments of contemplation, she took it and stood.

She stared at you a moment before rivulets came running down her face again.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s get some air.”

You led her up the final stairs and pulled open the door at the landing, guiding her outside onto the rooftop terrace.

The night air was cool, and from the heated rush of emotions that still seemed to cloud your mind to the giddiness that still occupied your stomach, the breeze on the roof was one you welcomed.

Mary seemed to relish the sudden cold as well, going as far as to lean out over the railing and close her eyes in the onslaught of the wind.

Thinking that you should probably not allow her to do any leaning given the mental state she was presently in, you came to stand by her side.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Anger flashed across her face, and she wiped her eyes with a frustrated air, only more infuriated by the fact that she was crying.

You were about to assure her that she needn’t say anything at all when she blurted,

“I found Freddie with another man.”

“Oh,” you said. You pressed your lips together, trying to gauge how it was you were to handle this.

“I just can’t believe that he’d lie to me.”

You were reminded of Deacy’s comment about Freddie being ‘nearly pathological’ with respect to lying, but that was hardly helpful right now, and you could only imagine the crushing betrayal Mary must have felt.

“I can believe that he would lie,” she elaborated, fingers curling around the railing, “but not to me. I just— oh, I suppose I thought I was different.” She gave a shudder. “I’d had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, and I tried to talk to him, tried to tell him that he could tell me anything, and that even if I was mad about whatever it was when he told me, I wouldn’t stay that way.”

Mary turned to you, and the wind tossed her hair wildly, and with the way her eyes still ran with saltwater, she seemed a maiden from some sort of Greek tragedy.

“I love him,” she went on. “But I’ve always felt that I loved him more than he loved me. Now I understand why.”

She slumped to the ground again, her expression dark. “I’m not even angry that he didn’t come out to me. I understand that, because how the hell do you begin to tell your fiance that you want to break of the wedding because you’re gay?

“Freddie’s got this kindness, and sometimes, it’s like he’d lie to a court if it meant that he spared the feelings of those he loves. So I guess, in a way, he does love me. I only wish he’d have tried to break it off with me, instead of waiting until I walked in on him.”

She sighed, and you sat down across from her, folding your legs beneath you.

“So, what now?” you asked, because it seemed that Mary had thought a lot about this already.

But she dropped her head to her hands. “That’s the one thing I can’t work out. Where do I go from here?”

“Have you talked to Freddie, properly?”

She shook her head. “It’s going to take me a long time to forgive him. I just hope he knows why I’m angry, and that it’s not because he’s gay.”

There. That was it. That was where she had to go. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

Mary looked at you, her face wrought in scars of mascara and eyeliner. She lifted her chin and nodded. “You’re right.” She chewed her lip a moment. “But not tonight. I don’t think I can do that.”

You nodded in understanding, because with the way sobs had wracked her body, there would be no energy left for her to have a conversation with Freddie without it dissolving into a bitter argument, even with good intentions at heart.

“Y/N, would it be okay if I stayed in your room for the night?”

“So long as you promise me you’ll talk to Freddie tomorrow,” you said. “Don’t leave him wondering.”

“Yeah.”

You stood. “Let’s just go, then. It’s past midnight anyway.”

Later, when Mary was sound asleep on one of the beds, bundled in the various extra blankets you’d scavenged from cupboards, you lay with your eyes wide open. You’d been kept awake by the sounds of the dwindling party upstairs, which had carried on for long after the scene had been abandoned by its host.

You wondered where Freddie had got to.

And where Brian had.

You’d considered going to find him many times, and had even gone so far as to stick your feet out of bed and set them on the cold hardwood floor, but in the end, you’d made up your mind to do what you always did: nothing.

He’d left you standing in the dance hall, without so much as recognition in his eyes for evidence of having kissed you. And now he was going to tell you that he’d meant nothing of it, a rush of emotions in an exhilarated situation, and you couldn’t bear to hear that.

You’d rather be left wondering than have such a finality imposed upon your mind.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

It had been days, now. They’d been tiptoeing around each other for days.

It was ridiculous to the point where I began to feel the need to take matters into my own hands.

The situation was now ultimately worse than it had been before, because very obviously, something had changed. And I’d wager that something had happened on the first night of tour. They were different now, almost shyer, more fragile in their vulnerability to each other’s charms.

He had pined for her since the late sixties, she had been oblivious since day one, and I doubted that, despite their respectively vast vocabularies, either of them knew the meaning of the verb ‘to converse’. It was all longing looks and unuttered promises, a brush of a hand and staring pensively when the other was unawares.

I was almost offended that they couldn’t pull themselves together, when they were fortunate enough to have each other.

Veronica and Robert would get farther and farther from me as each day of tour escorted us more remotely from London. It hadn’t been an option to bring my wife and our tiny child with us on tour, so I could do nothing now but miss them.

But our two resident idiots, Y/N and Brian, did have each other. And they took it completely for granted.

The open road was quiet and dark, and seemed half-asleep, the trees that blurred past the window swaying to some secret song. A flock of birds streamlined the puffy clouds overhead as the moon greeted the sun in its eternal celestial shift, light yielding light to comfort the earthly beings who feared the darkness. Though I did not fear the dark as such, it was easy to imagine lurking figures between the lone houses by the roads, creeping souls amongst the woods by the road; there was something consuming about this early-morning quiet.

On a stop between Bristol and Cardiff, I left the loos to find Freddie smoking by a payphone, notably absent from the rest of our entourage.

The morning air was chilly, and I wound the scarf around my neck in its second loop, buttoning up my jacket with a shiver. No one was out here other than out of necessity, so I made my way over to Freddie and leaned against the wall beside him.

I turned to face him. “How are you?”

Freddie pursed his lips, tapping ash from his cigarette. “Not at my most fabulous, dear.”

I nodded understandingly, burying my face further into the scarf. “It’s okay, you know. You can’t always be.”

“But that’s why I became Freddie Mercury,” he said quietly, his words nearly carried away by the wind. “I became a legend so I wouldn’t feel like this.”

“Freddie,” I began, “I’m pretty sure being legendary means you have a lot more to feel than you would otherwise.”

He smiled a thin-lipped smile, tossing his spent cigarette into the ashtray mounted atop the rubbish bin. “You are of course right, darling, but right now I’d give anything to feel nothing at all.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Freddie sighed. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was despair in his voice; I recognised it. And I understood it. Because where do you start if you don’t know what you’re working toward?

I placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned his sad brown eyes on me.

“You’re a legend, Freddie,” I reminded him. “You’ve got forever to figure it out, okay?”

He nodded.

“And you can talk to me if you need to.”

“Thank you, Deacy,” he patted my hand. “I think I’ll keep a bit to myself for a while, though, at least until we reach the city.”

“Okay.”

“Now, let’s get out of this cold. I’m freezing my tits off!”

I laughed. “Okay, Freddie.”

And though the open road was quiet and dark and I missed my wife and son, I had my friends. The second half of my family.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You ached to kiss Brian again. To wind your fingers through his hair. To hold him close, because with the worry that wove itself through his brow on behalf of Freddie, he looked so lost, so far away, as though he needed someone to bring his floating self to the ground where his thoughts could wander amongst the living, and not dwell up in the sky with that which he had lost.

Perhaps that was why he looked to the stars so often; he’d lost so much, and they were a constant.

He deserved to have something brought back to him. And if you could return to him some of the light in his eyes instead of stealing it away, then nothing in the world would make you happier.

The mornings on the bus were tense, to say the least.

Without discussion, it seemed that you and Brian had established an agreement to keep Mary and Freddie apart until they had the time and privacy in which to talk. But it was a difficult arrangement, given that the tour bus was not exactly spacious. And given that it meant you had to keep your distance from Brian.

Presently, though, you came second to the efforts of protecting Freddie and Mary from themselves, which meant that Brian did as well. So for now, all you could give to him were silent glances and small smiles.

But Brian seemed to have other ideas.

On the leg from Cardiff to Taunton, just as you were getting back on the bus, someone grabbed your hand and pulled you around the corner.

You tensed, whirling around with your other fist raised, your heart hammering.

But your defenses were instantly disarmed, because there was Brian with his mass of curls in disarray from the wind, his lips parted as though he had been about to say something.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” you cried, your heartbeat still in your throat.

“No,” Brian said, “I’m trying to kiss you.”

“You’re—”

He pulled you to him, melding himself against you, and kissed you soundly on the mouth, his arms winding around you. Your response was immediate, and you leaned so far into him that he stumbled. His laughter tickled your lips, a rush of breath over your skin as he clutched you to stop you from falling with him.

But you pushed him against the wall instead, and his hands rose to your cheeks to kiss you more deeply, devouring— senseless. Precisely as you had once wished for him to kiss you.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but it seemed the most of them were covered in how you moved with him, vulnerable and uninhibited, purely driven by the desire to hold him close, to make him understand with your proximity how much it was you cared for him. How much you would never be able to explain the gravity of your affections for him.

Brian reversed your positions and only the existence of the wall and his arms kept you on your feet; you were dizzy with the surge of excitement that withered you where he touched you.

And his touch was everywhere.

His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, from your jaw to your cheek, to the shell of your ear, and then in a tender trail down your neck. His fingertips fluttered at your sides, warm on your skin, but you shivered, because no one had ever touched you with such a gentleness as this, such desire, such love.

Then abruptly, he pulled back, short of breath and flushed from head to toe, with swollen lips and loose curls sticking up where your fingers had interfered with their natural fall.

The world spun as his eyes flickered between yours.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he hummed.

“You did a bit,” you replied. “We’re on the open road. It is sort of scary out here.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just missed you. I miss you. I feel like we’re apart, you know?”

You nodded mutely.

He asked softly, “We’re not keeping this a secret, are we?”

You couldn’t believe that he was asking, after everything. But you supposed that was how he was, considerate to the point where he doubted himself if the circumstances favoured you.

“Brian,” you said, “I don’t think I could hide the way I look at you if I wanted to.”

A smile flickered across his face.

Then the rain began to pour.

“Come on, back inside,” you said, taking him by the hand.

“Hang on,” he pulled you back. He lingered a moment, gazing at you aimlessly, and he looked at you the way he looked at the stars.

“What?”

Brian cradled your face in his hands. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to your nose, brushed the pad of his thumb over your skin. “I just wanted to look at you.”

You couldn’t help but smile.

“My evening star,” he murmured.

You shook your head, finding it very hard to believe that this man, who spoke so beautifully, was yours. “You’re a poet, Brian.”

His response would have been enough to flood the coldest land with a wealth of warmth, as absolutely as that which blossomed in your chest.

“And you’re my muse.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: two more parts and an epilogue m’dears :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks @retropetalss @hgmercury39​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz @perriwiinkle @brianmays-hair @im-an-adult-ish @ilikebigstucks @doing-albri @killer-queen-87 @n0-self-c0ntro1 @archaicmusings @cloudyyspace @annina-96 @themarchoftherainbowqueen @annajolras​

Masterpost / Part 16 / Part 18

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Before Dawn ~Pt4~

I was so so so so so insecure to post this chapter so I only hope you enjoy first smooches with Levs. My requests are always open so if you're in the mood you can always drop by and request anything.

Find the other chapters here

Warnings: mentions of blood and a tad if nudity

As always @hidehaskak

Snow veil

"I'm so cold."

The raging blizzard blows mercilessly onto you and Levi. As tremendously large snowflakes fly to every direction as the wind makes an unbearable howling sound you clutch your one hand closer to Levi's winter cloak. Your lower jaw is radically colliding with your top one as you wrap your other arm around you in hopes of warming up. You can feel Levi tensing up every time a new wave of ice cold snowflakes land on him at the freezing weather and even though he's shaking, much like you, he speaks no words back to you.

He probably feels guilty for being the one to accidentally force your duo into this. After last year's fiasco involving Levi's, Farlan's and Isabel's inclusion to the military without having received proper training Mike had taken upon himself to investigate on any lack of training between both new recrewts as well as older veteran corps members. As a new squad leader and section commander he didn't want to take any chances against the survival of his soldier and you admired that deeply. His compassion and determination were always things that made you trust him blindly whenever Erwin assigned him in command of your old squad.

Therefore the plan was simple; you'd take the route assigned to you in small groups of four and you would head to a training corps base according to map. It should only take three hours to get there by horse and then you were free to relax, always following strict curfews.

But as beneficial as Mike had thought winter training would be he would have never guessed the raging blizzard or the avalanche that separated you and Levi from your groups.

It's had taken an hour for him to try and locate anyone of his team, his flares weren't working due to the hawling wind scattering the smoke around, when he finds you. He watches in horror as you try to cover your face with your arms to protect yourself from the cold, ignoring the necessity of looking at your surroundings and most particularly, ignoring the vast cliff that lays only a few teeny centimeters away from your horse's feet.

Speeding up to catch up to you, Levi hit the sides of his mare in a tender manner with his feet. The horse speeds smoothly for only a few meters, as if there isn't any snow around to be bother by. Levi takes it upon himself to treat his horse to some fresh apples and carrots he has in his bag once this was all over. His mare deserves a little rest and some extra treats for all the excellence and delicacy she carried.

"Hunny no!"

He had only avert his eyes for a fragment of a second when your horse tripped over the edge of the cliff urging you to let out an eardrum piercing screech that made the ravenette run to your direction. With a harsh dry halt his mare stopped on her tracks just at the tip of the cliff in a rather convenient coincidence of time. Had he been a second later how wouldn't have been able to grap your forearm as you shot up in the air. No matter his strength and his quick tactics you had managed to startle him with your despairate scream for your horse as it detached from the stirrup that was stuck to your leg, causing him to let you slip for only just a bit. Nonetheless it turns out to be enough to send the rest of your body clashing with sharp rocks. The levels of adrenaline inside you prevent you from realising the damage you have received; an enormous wound that stretches from your back ribs to the under side of your breast, gashing enough blood to slowly drench your clothes crimson.

Levi much in a stressful haze as you, ignores the wound as well, his orbs glued to your petrified expression as your body gives in to a potential tragically painful death. Without wasting anymore time he forces your body up, none of you hearing the sounds of bones cracking and in seconds you find yourself sinking in a puddle of delicate white. This time Levi doesn't fail to notice the hot crimson liquid that contrasts with the snow.

You find yourself unable to speak. Your voice is cracked, stuck in the back of your throat as your sides and more importantly your leg, finally start pulsing with agonizing pain. Even if you try to fixate your hearing to Levi's words you fail miserably, battling hot tears that gather at the bottom of your eyes. Levi helps you on his mare, wrapping you securely with your winter cloak to keep you warm and you sigh in return to his comforting actions.

You only force yourself to speak to inform him of your location in the mountains.

There should be a small barrack like resort of hot springs and saunas around that nobles have abandoned in the last few years and if you took the right path you could reach one of them in time, before the sun set.

That was your initial plan nonetheless, from the moment you got separated with your team. Search parties could definitely find you there faster as well, they would be aware of the locations and by thinking of a right way to pinpoint your location you would save them from a lot of extra trouble. Nobody really wanted to spend so much time in the cold snow searching in vain. You knew that one so far.

"T-theres a hot springs resort, not very far-" you speak, voice trembling with each exhale, making Levi drop his shoulders just a tad in blissful relief.

"Tch, don't push yourself"

"I was searching for one, it shouldn't be far, judging by that cliff we have to head a few miles southwest."

Levi simply nods in response and urges you to hold tight onto him as he sets off. You reach your hand to apply pressure to your wound, you know there's a chance that if you don't even try you're going to die by immense bleeding and Mike will not hesitate to haunt you in the afterlife for not dying like a proper soldier.

Words barely slip your mouth whenever Levi asks for directions or of your condition, the pain you're feeling is excruciating to say at least and you begin to wonder if you're ever going to manage to one of those springs. Levi will have another burden on him, a full dead body to take care of and even though somewhere deep inside you a little ring of panic lingers and you hate yourself for thinking like that you try to stay calm and collected.

As if the God of Walls has been invading your very thoughts you quickly stumble into a breathtaking scenery. A small, snowy paradise lays before your eyes; a wooden cabin with a roof so white that it resembles a bride's vail and a teeny puddle of water that emits sheer smoke. The oasis is well hidden from the tiny trainee headquarters, but you can still make them out, maybe a flare once the storm is over will help you get found out sooner.

"Levi is that really a hot spring, or am I hallucinating?" You check with him, merely to confirm that you're still not in a close to death state.

"I'd be damned if it isn't"

___

"I'm not getting naked in the freezing cold" You bark at him with a tone so high pitched he feels that his eardrums will burst.

"Unbelievable! You're not even calling the shots, your leg is shattered and your side is torn open." Levi's voice is harsh and stern and swelling from the boiling anger in his chest for that he can't bring himself to understand how you even manage to deny the essential medical care you have to receive.

"No!"

"You have wounds to attend to, and I can't do it if you are soaked in dried blood, that being said you'll be infected and full of maggots tomorrow if we don't take action."

Your lips have formed a distinguishable pout in your face, he knows that expression as the one you get when you're being stubborn, difficult even so he takes it upon him not to buck down. No one else is going to die on his watch, especially if it not even by titans.

"Well" you nervously avert your gaze "Maybe I don't want you to see me naked!"

"Do you ever think about what you're saying or do you blurb shit out of your mouth like it's explosive diarrhea?" Levi snairls at you. "This is no time to be a prude."

You're suddenly at loss of words. Prude? He really had just called you prude out of all things, then and there and even he was probably just a little right, you really couldn't bear the thought of you being so suggestive around him. And he seriously doesn't see that, when he is supposed to be an expert at reading people.

Perhaps believing that he looked at you under any other light apart from being your superior was a misjudgment of yours.

Nevertheless when you decide to take off your clothes your efforts fall in vain. The pain in your leg won't even let you have control of the limb and you can barely even shuffle around due to your side. Levi takes a notice, he has to since his eyes are fixated on you and you watch as he comes closer. His hands are most delicate to the touch, helping you wordlessly with the binds of your chest that have stuck to your wound. You let out eventual flinches, huffs of misery from the extravagant pain, making Levi sigh in turn. When his arms wrap around your form your hands go to cover anything you can salvage from his eyes even if he seems to not pay any form special attention to your bare chest.

The situation is rather hard to grasp. One, because you haven't had such soft, warm bath in years and two because Levi, out of all people is in the very same hot spring as you. The water is soothing, flowing peacefully around your body as Levi works his handkerchief around your wound with one hand. The other, he uses to keep you steady in the water making up for the fact that you can't stand on your own feet.

It's a prominent position, if you had to admit. Your forehead rests on the top of his head while your chests barely graze and you have to remind yourself that he's only doing this to take care of you, because he's Levi and he's extraordinary compassionate with his comrades and not because he has any affectionate intention towards you. As unfair as it sounds to you, even if it makes your head and heart grieve the loss of a lover that's not even yours, you can't help but want to look into his eyes. You only manage to do so when he slightly pulls away to grap the bar of soap that rests close to his hand.

You bite your trembling lip in hopes of halting it. He looks like a God under the moonlight, bathed in hot water. Soft unevenly full lips are tinted with sheer purple and his skin is so much more paler than possible that you can see blue and purple blood vessels underneath his eyes. His short ebony locks are sticking to his forehead while droplets travel from their ends to the expansion of his face only to finally gather underneath his chin. Why did he have to look like that, and why did your heart flutter every time his steel eyes blinked into yours.

"Can I kiss you?" It falls out of your mouth mechanically, serving as a bold reminder that your words have once again taken over you.

Levi doesn't exactly react, not just yet, he only examines you with his eyes. Up and down you watch them run until they stop at your lips, your chin, anywhere in that area of your face.

His thumb flickers on his lips but never dares to jump the few centimeters that stand in the way to yours. He's undoubtedly awestruck by your inquiry and you can see it, but your vision is quickly blurred by an unfamiliar piercing feeling. Of course that's rejection. Why would he ever say yes. And most importantly what were you thinking?

"That morphine shot is messing with your head, which means it's probably time to patch you up."

But he doesn't make a single move to ruin the moment. You take notes as his hand leaves his own lips and dives into the water, standing just inches away from your waist. The ungrant permission to touch you in such suggestive way prevents him, even if you're the one who's waiting for a reply to drop from his lips.

He contemplates on the dynamics, is it you that tops him or are you downgrading your position to the title of his chair, he hopes it's the first, it makes him feel free, as if he's not needed to lead for once, deep down all he wants to do is follow.

That boiling spitfire inside of you insists of getting a solid answer, even if you try to push it in the darkest crevice if your mind. It wins, almost without any fight, mostly because you want to hear to believe it.

I don't want you to kiss me. That's all he has to say.

"If you don't do it, now, I'll shit my pants from the anticipation." What?

Without a second thought you shift your head forward, closing the gap between you. His lips are strong, cold and they taste like green olive soap, the one he's always using, but they don't feel foreign on yours. If anything the two pairs lock perfectly as if they're a match made by heavens, meant to find each other in this dark December night under a million snowflakes.

It doesn't last for long, a fact that engrosses you out and it's not lust filled either. It's soft and extremely fragile and you're taking the lead while you slowly move your lips up and down. Levi doesn't know your stomach is about to burst and that you're sure it will slip from the wound on your side if it continues swelling up with all this pride. In turn you don't know that his heart is clenching his chest in agony.

You're extremely against pulling away but you do, to inspect his expression for a brief second. The adorning curling of his lips is in perfect balance with his soft brows. Before you know it his hands are at the small of your back and underneath your clothed bum searching for ways to support you without hurting you. The only hand you can move goes to graze the coarse shaved hair at the nape of his neck.

The second kiss you share is much more passionate and greedy. It takes all you've got to limit your breathing through your nose; you want this to last. Your longing to taste him for as long as you can doesn't allow your lips to slips away from his.

His hands still grip on you so respectfully, as if you're going to regret this and push him away. But it never happens, you just continue to scratch at the back of his head, urging him to get impossibly closer. Even though panic ensues through his whole being, making his hands shake and his cheeks glow red, he manages to pull through this loving task with ease.

He doesn't want to pressure you just yet, so his thoughts never reach the tip of his tongue, but is this for real? Or was it his wild imagination?

With a pinch on his nose he pulls away, sparing a last glance at your swollen lips. "We should... Get out. I'll patch you and then-" As you interrupt him he doesn't miss the way your eyes avert from his.

"Of course sir. I'm sorry I got so carried away."

Levi snorts. So that's how it is then.

[vampiregirl1797]

Bad Days End With Cuddles

GIF Not Mine.

 Summary: You have an argument with your father, but what else is new? You’re left feeling sad, anxious and wishing your profiler boyfriend was home. Don’t worry, he gets there eventually and when he does, cuddles are in store.

 Warnings: Some family inspired angst but it ends in fluff, I promise.

 Click Here For Masterlist.

 Word Count: 2,230.

 Spencer Reid x Reader

 Today was a bad day. There were perhaps more eloquent ways of describing it, but that’s what I was going with. It was bad. It hadn’t started out that way; the morning and most of the afternoon had actually been pretty normal. I woke around noon, had some toast for breakfast and spent most of the day watching the Big Bang Theory on Netflix. All was well, until I received that phone call from my father. He spent fifteen minutes yelling at me for a post I’d shared on Facebook with some of my thoughts added onto it. Apparently he disagreed and spent a quarter of an hour yelling his opinions, not listening to what I had to say, and telling me I had no right to be angry because it was his opinion. The phone call ended with tears forming in my eyes and a lump of despair in my gut. That was how most conversations with him ended, and I don’t know why I hoped for something different every time I picked up the phone.

Since I’d moved out four years ago, things had been better, but that just meant my interactions with him were now minimised, it didn’t have any affect on how the conversations ended, which was usually with me in tears.

 I always felt bad for even thinking it, but my life with my father in it had meant unhappiness for me. When I lived at home, I was constantly walking on eggshells, taking care with my words when it actually came to speaking to him. I was never completely relaxed whenever he was home, because I knew how quickly his temper could change. He wasn’t physically abusive, but knowing he could go from joking to furious in a three second interval prevented me from feeling comfortable in my own house. Which was why it was such a relief when I could finally afford to move out and buy an apartment of my own. It hadn’t been anything fancy, but it was big enough for me, fairly close to work, and most importantly it was mine. Somewhere I could be me; somewhere I could be completely relaxed. It was a place where I could leave the place a complete mess and decide when I wanted to clean it up, rather than living under one roof with three other people and being anxious as to whether my dad would target his anger in my direction when the messy house was suddenly unacceptable.

 It was my safe haven, and it stayed that way until I met my boyfriend a year and a half after I’d moved in. Spencer Reid, special agent for the FBI, behavioural analyst, doctor and love of my life. We’d met when he’d passed through my hometown with his team to catch a serial killer who was engraving pentagrams into his victims’ foreheads. I’d been interviewed as I’d treated one of the victim’s a few hours before his death at the ER, where I’d worked as a nurse. Something had sparked between us, and I thought I’d imagined it until he returned the following day after the unsub had been caught, to ask me for my number.

 We kept in touch as best as we could, both of us worked long hours, but him especially. But we made a point to make time for one another, whether it be a random text at any hour of the day, or a phone call that stretched from five minutes to five hours depending if we both had the time or not. And despite the distance, I had been happy to have him in my life, I looked forward to hearing his voice, or checking my phone on my break at work to be greeted by a text from him. Weekend trips were managed once a month, I went to him a few times, but usually he came to me, eager to create some distance between him and Virginia for a few days. He loved his job, but he confided that a little space to be with me and to only have to focus on me was somewhat of a reprieve for him, something he didn’t realise just how much he needed until he met me.

 This continued for six months, until I realised that my sanctuary lost its calm, its tranquillity when he left me after our weekends together. He had become my happy place, my home. So, I’d tentatively proposed the idea of me moving to Quantico so that we could be closer. He’d beamed at the idea and just as bashfully asked me to live with him instead. I’d accepted, and now here I was, at our apartment on one of my rare days off, crying, anxious, frustrated and hurt. Spence was on a case here in Virginia, which meant he was working from their home base. I briefly considered calling him, but I banished that thought before it could fully form. He needed to be fully present at work and I’d never forgive myself if my problems clouded his mind and prevented him from doing his job. He’d never blame me of course and if he knew I was thinking this way he would be quick to assure me that I can always come to him, no matter what case he’s working on. But I couldn’t be that selfish.

 So with a sigh I tossed the grey comforter I’d pulled around myself aside and headed for the bathroom. A bath with one of my bath bombs would help, at least I hoped—I planned on closing my eyes and pretending Spencer was there; assuring me everything was going to be all right. But when I reached into the wicker basket that held my bath necessities, all of my bath bombs were gone. A fresh wave of tears fell down my cheeks, perhaps an overreaction, but I already felt so low—couldn’t I just have something to make me feel better? I decided to forget the bath idea and headed into our bedroom instead, climbing into the centre of the queen-sized bed, curling up into a ball under the covers while hugging Spence’s pillow to my chest. His cologne was faint in the cotton, but it was enough to ease the ball of sadness in my gut. A small sigh fell from my lips as my eyes slipped closed, unconsciousness eager to claim me and I wasn’t about to fight the reprieve from the melancholy.

 //

 I wasn’t sure what bought me to the land of consciousness, but it bought me so gently that it took me a moment to realise that I’d actually woken up. I blinked a few times, urging the sleep out of my eyes, as a yawn worked its way up my throat. I looked around the dark room, able to see the basic outlines of furniture thanks to the slither of light shining in from the hallway. That made me pause—I’d come for a nap in the early afternoon so I hadn’t left any lights on. That meant Spencer was home. A burst of energy shot up my spine as I shimmied out of the thick duvet to look for my boyfriend. I found him in his armchair, his brow wrinkled in thought as he read over the case file in his lap. The sight warmed my heart—I loved seeing his expression of concentration, how his lips pursed and his brow furrowed—and made me hesitate. I didn’t want to disturb him if he was still working. He must have sensed that I’d joined him in the room as he looked up, his eyes beaming with happiness as he took in my sleepy, dishevelled appearance. No matter how I looked, he always stared at me with such love, adoration and bewilderment, as if he couldn’t believe I was stood here in front of him. I felt my cheeks darken, as they always did, and my smile mirrored his own as it grew on his lips.

 ‘Hey honey, are you still working?’ I asked, my voice thick with sleep. I crossed my arms over my chest as I attempted not to fidget and show just how much I needed him to hold me right now.

 ‘Not at all. Just filling in some paperwork, but that can wait, come here darling.’ He tossed the case file onto the coffee table in front of him and held his arms open by way of invitation.

 I didn’t hesitate, closing the five-steps that separated us with ease and climbing into his lap. The softness of his cardigan, his warmth and the cologne that was a lot stronger than what lingered on his pillow, made me melt into him. A long sigh left my lips as all of the tense emotions left my body, leaving behind the relaxation I only felt in his arms. I tried to hide it in his chest, but of course he wasn’t fooled, he was one of the most observant people I’d ever met, which was typical of a profiler. His hand moved up and down my spine, the touch gentle and coaxing.

 ‘Everything okay?’ his voice was soft and I appreciated it, my eyes fluttering closed as my face nuzzled into the spot in between his neck and shoulder I always sought out.

 ‘My dad called earlier, pissed about the comment I added to the post I shared on Facebook.’ I said, my tone matching his but I knew he felt the few tears that fell onto his shoulder when he held me tighter and kissed my hair.

 I didn’t need to say anything else, he knew about the relationship between my dad and I, and he never commented on it. He never advised me on what to do, and I knew he wouldn’t unless I specifically asked him, but I’d been avoiding that for a while. I had a feeling I knew what he would suggest, and I didn’t know if I was ready to terminate my relationship with my father, because that could mean I’d lose my mother too. As estranged as my relationship was with him, I was close with my mom, and I didn’t know if I could bear losing her. But I’d reached the point where I had to consider it, because I shouldn’t have to go through this when I spoke to my dad. Not every conversation ended this way, but it happened often enough that every interaction had me walking on eggshells for what had the potential to happen.

 ‘Spence… what do you think I should do? With my dad?’ I murmured into the skin of his neck, where my face was safely tucked away.

 ‘His behaviour is consistently repeated and the way he interacts with you isn’t something I see changing without conscious effort from the both of you, and I don’t think you’ll get that from him.’ He paused, kissing my hair, ‘I think you should do whatever is best for you, Y/N. Whatever makes you happy, and whatever that is, you’ll have my support.’

 It was easy to realise when he put it like that. My dad was toxic to my happiness and if I continued to allow him into my life, it would always be that way. Spence was right, it was never going to change, and I was just wasting time and putting myself through this despair in hoping that it would. And if my mother loved me like I loved her, she could continue to be in my life and hopefully respect my decision.

 I pulled back to rest my forehead against his, my eyes fluttered shut at the touch but I forced them open so he could read the emotions in my eyes: love, gratitude and adoration.

 ‘Thank you, Spence.’ I kissed his lips once, ‘you are the most wonderful, kind, considerate person I’ve ever met and I’m so grateful for you every single day. I love you.’

 His eyes softened to cinnamon, his hand caressed the side of my face and he returned the sentiment, whispering the words into the kiss as his lips once again moved with mine. We pulled apart after a few moments and I made us both a mug of camomile tea to take to bed, knowing he’d need the calming herbs to help him sleep. Once we were all snuggled in bed, the hot beverages drained and the lamps turned off, I found myself thinking about how lucky I was. It was something that often crossed my mind, and how could it not when I had someone as amazing as Spencer Reid in my life? The truth was, as tempted as I’d been to cut my father from my life over the years, it hadn’t been something I’d really considered until I had him in my life. Because he was the person who showed me what it was like to have someone you could depend on, always. To have someone whom I knew would love me, and be there for me no matter what I decided to do. To have someone who would support my decisions without judgement or question. The truth was you could face anything alone, but having someone you loved by your side, someone you knew would be by your side, holding your hand no matter what, made the battle that much more bearable.

 A/N: Don’t know where this one came from! I’ve been binge watching Criminal Minds the past few days and binge reading Spencer Reid x Reader fanfiction, so I suppose this was bound to happen. Of course it had to end in fluff, especially with this wonderful man—I have a soft spot for him—though it was mostly angsty I hope you enjoyed!

[thecassadilla]

Anything For You

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,688/AO3

Summary: Anna agrees to go camping despite her uncertainties, but Kristoff has a few tricks up his sleeve to make their experience more comfortable.

Author’s Note: Hi all! Here I am, once again writing about a topic that I know nothing about. I’m sure I got something wrong haha. I’m also the most indecisive person on the face of the earth, so I couldn’t decide how to end this. I don't even know if any of this makes sense tbh XD I hope you enjoy it regardless! 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kristoff sighed.

“I wish I could stay, but we both have work in the morning and I have to drive home.” Anna wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” he said sheepishly, before pulling away and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “You didn’t actually plan to do anything except hang out this weekend, right?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Well, I was hoping to go camping. I haven’t been in a long time - since before we got together - and I’d love for you to come with me,” he explained, before hastily adding, “But only if you want to, of course.”

“I’ve never been camping before,” she responded, feeling a bit uneasy about the idea. Any vacations that her family had taken had always been to some kind of fancy resort; the thought of camping had never crossed her mind as a thing people really did until she was a teenager.

“I know, and I know it’s probably not something you’re thrilled about, but it’s only for two nights. I really want to go hiking and fishing before it gets too cold out.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“Really?” he asked, his face lighting up. 

“Of course! Don’t be silly.”

“This is going to be so great,” he smiled. “I wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but I’m really glad that you’re willing to come along.”

“I’d do anything for you, Kristoff,” she promised, giving him another hug for good measure. “I’ll let you know when I get home, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay, drive safely.”

“I will.”

She spent the entire twenty minute drive agonizing over what the weekend would be like; she knew nothing about camping. In her head, all she could picture were tents and sleeping bags in the middle of the cold, dark woods. She was so focused on her thoughts that she had no recollection of the actual drive; with a sigh, she made her way inside, taking notice of the fact that the lights were still on, which could only mean that her sister was awake. She kicked her shoes off in the entryway and texted Kristoff before venturing in. 

“Hey,” she called out as she approached the living room.

“Hi,” Elsa responded, not taking her eyes away from the book she was reading. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Anna responded, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “I’m going camping this weekend.”

Elsa looked up at her younger sister and blinked a few times in disbelief. “You’re going camping?”

“I know,” Anna cringed. “But it’s something that Kristoff really likes to do, and it’s not like I’ve ever done it before, so I don’t really know that I’m going to hate it.”

“I don’t know, sleeping on the floor in the middle of the woods sounds very unappealing to me.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be in a tent.”

“What about bugs? Or bears? Or the countless other wild animals that lurk in the woods?”

Anna shrugged, a bit of anxiety rising in her. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“And what will you eat? Where will you go to the bathroom?”

“I don’t know, Elsa,” she answered exasperatedly. “Look, I’m going to go and if it’s really awful then I’ll just request that next time we get a camper or something. But I don’t want to disappoint Kristoff and say ‘no’ off the bat because he does everything that I want to do.”

Elsa nodded thoughtfully. “That’s really nice of you. I don’t know if I would be willing to do the same.”

“I have a feeling that you’ll feel differently if you ever love someone,” she muttered under her breath, sliding off of the couch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go figure out what on earth I’m supposed to pack.”

She headed upstairs to her room, and sat down on her bed before grabbing her laptop and logging on. After a few minutes of research, it became clear that she didn’t have most of the things that were required to go camping in the fall, and amidst her anxiety returning, she decided that a quick call to her lifeline wouldn’t hurt.

Kristoff answered on the first ring. “Hey, Anna.”

“Hi, honey. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m trying to figure out what I have to bring with me this weekend, and I’m having a bit of a hard time because I don’t really have any of the things this website says I should have.”

“Like what?”

She squinted at the screen whilst reading off some of the items to him. “Waterproof boots, a rain jacket, a sleeping bag...sleeping pads? I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s like a cushion that you put down so you aren’t sleeping on directly on the hard ground,” he explained. “It’s also an extra layer of insulation.”

“Gotcha,” she remarked. “Will we have time to stop somewhere so I can get these things?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”

“I have total faith in you, I do - but unless you have a pair of boots in my size laying around somewhere, we will have to stop and get them.”

“It’ll all be taken care of,” he assured her.

“You know what? I’ll go to the mall and buy the stuff I need before we leave on Friday.”

“I don’t have any issues with stopping,” he promised. “You don’t have to rush out and go buy a bunch of stuff.”

“Alright,” she said, cautiously. “Can you text me a list of clothes I should pack? And what type of bag I should pack them in.”

“Absolutely, but you really won’t need as much as you think you do.”

“That’s easy for you to say; you’re a human furnace. It’s probably going to be very cold at night and everything I’ve read says to wear lots of layers.”

“Just...trust me,” he breathed, in a rather content tone. 

It was both comforting and alarming to her. “I trust you.”

“Please try not to worry about it, it’s going to be great.”

She smiled to herself. “I’ll try.”

“Good, now try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“And don’t forget to send me that list!” she called at the last second, and she heard him laugh before the line went dead.

Her phone buzzed a minute later; she glanced down at the text that read, Warm clothes, toiletries, backpack. Don’t overthink it. Love you.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes; it was the opposite of helpful. Regardless, she sent back a message thanking him, setting her mind to doing more research and getting the necessities at the mall.

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

A trip to the mall after work on Friday was not enough to quell Anna’s anxiety about the camping trip; she still felt wholly unprepared, even as she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, folding her clothes and allowing her mind to race. A soft knock on the door brought her back to reality. She looked over, and Kristoff was leaning against her doorframe.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were here already!”

“I texted you, but it’s not a big deal. Elsa let me in.”

“Sorry, my phone is charging over there,” she said, pointing to her desk.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and watched as she hurried to throw her clothes into her backpack. “Is that my hoodie?”

“Maybe.” She shoved the sweatshirt into the bag and changed the subject. “I went to the mall today.”

He cocked his head. “I promised that we would stop to get the stuff that you needed.”

“I know. We still have to stop at the camping supplies store for my boots. The sporting goods store at the mall was all sold out and I need them.”

“We’ll get them. What’d you get at the mall?”

“I bought wool socks. And a puffer vest and a fleece jacket. I already had a hat and a scarf and mittens, of course.”

“That sounds good, you won’t feel cold wearing all of that.”

“I had to go on a wild goose chase for leggings, though, because all of the Victoria’s Secret leggings I have are made of cotton and that’s not a good material to wear while camping, apparently.”

“You did a lot of research about camping, huh?”

“I had to, my boyfriend was being intentionally vague,” she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I wasn’t being intentionally vague,” he corrected. “You’re not an avid hiker and camper, you don’t really need special camping-only clothes.”

She zipped up her bag. “But you like camping, so this is probably not a one time thing - unless you plan on going without me after this.”

“You’re always invited,” he assured her. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I feel a little unprepared, though. Are you sure that I have everything I’ll need?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “It’s going to be fine.”

Anna stood up and unplugged her phone and it’s charger, stuffing them both into the side pocket of her backpack. She slid one of the straps over her shoulder. “Ready.”

He followed her down the stairs and to the front door, where Elsa was waiting. 

“Be safe,” she said, pulling Anna in for a hug.

“We will,” Anna assured her. “See you on Sunday.”

“Have fun!” Elsa called from the doorway as they walked out.

They climbed into the car, which was parked at the end of the driveway, and Anna set her backpack on the floorboard near her feet. Kristoff started the engine, then leaned over the center console to reach something in the backseat. Upon turning back around, set a box on her lap. “Here, these are for you.”

It was a shoe box. She flipped open the lid and inside were grey hiking boots with purple accents and laces. Her breath caught in her throat. “You bought me boots?”

“Yeah, you said you needed them.”

“You remembered my shoe size?”

“...Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Was I not supposed to know?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I only dragged you shoe shopping, like, once so I didn’t think that you knew what size I wore.”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” he corrected. “It’s just something that I paid attention to. I know for a fact that you know my shoe size even though I’ve never bought shoes in front of you.”

“I do,” she nodded, looking down at the box again. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Anything for my girl,” he grinned, shifting gears from park to drive. 

The drive up to the campsite went by fast; the roads were empty and they were able to enjoy each other’s company and talk as they made their way through the mountains, as well as stop at a diner for a quick meal. After an hour on the road, Kristoff pulled into a parking lot surrounded by lush green pine trees.

“This is the place?” she asked, a wave of anxiety rushing over her. The sky was overcast and it was a little foggy, and on top of that she couldn’t see any visible trails or signage from where she was sitting. She figured that there had to be one around here somewhere.

He nodded, parking on the far end. “This is it.”

He climbed out of the car and went around the back to open the trunk. In the meantime, she opened her own door and twisted so her legs could hang out and she could put her boots on. She toed off her sneakers, and slid her foot into the first boot, realizing for the first time how heavy they were.

Kristoff appeared in front of her. “You need some help?” 

“No, I’ve got it,” she answered, tugging the laces through the hook eyelets. When they felt tight enough, she tied the ends onto a knot and started with the other boot. When she finished, he held out his hand and she took it before hopping out of the car. 

“Put your sneakers in your backpack,” he recommended. “You’ll be dying to take those off when we get to the site.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She did as he said, squeezing the shoes into the bag and then slid her arms into each of the straps. She closed the door and walked back to the trunk, growing concerned when she realized he hadn’t brought that much stuff along with him. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“It’s right here,” he said, patting the duffle bag. 

“There’s no way that that’s everything we need for two nights.”

“Everything’s in here,” he assured her.

“You’re joking, right? Where’s the tent? The sleeping bags? Food and water? They can’t all possibly fit in that tiny bag.”

He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “Anna, relax, you’re working yourself up over nothing. I’ve got it all covered, okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, exhaling shakily. She wasn’t quite sure if she believed him, but he was the camping expert. 

He removed his hands in order to close the trunk, and then took her by the hand. “Come on, we’re going this way.”

He led her toward a densely packed area of trees, no path in sight. She gulped. “We aren’t going to be following a trail? We’re just going to...walk in the woods?”

“Yup,” he answered.

“That doesn’t seem very safe,” she remarked. 

“I know these woods, we’ll be fine.”

Although he was trying to be reassuring, it was not helpful in the slightest. Her mind was wandering - what would they do if they encountered a wild animal? Or if they got lost - how would help find them? Would they starve to death or freeze to death? Meanwhile, Kristoff was as cool as a cucumber, forging ahead and seemingly doing so without a care in the world.

They walked for a long time, much longer than she had imagined they would. The woods were damp and cold, with lots of ups and downs in the terrain. A slight separation formed between them, and she trailed behind him, struggling to keep up. They kept the talking to a minimum, until she recognized the area that they were in.

“Hey, haven’t we passed these trees before?”

“No.”

She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. “Are you sure? Because I swear that I’ve seen this fallen tree.”

“It’s your mind playing tricks on you,” he assured her. “Just keep walking, don’t pay too much attention to the trees because they all look alike.”

She threw her head back in a moment of frustration and groaned, but did as he said and kept walking. She kept reminding herself that he knew a lot more than she did, but it was incredibly difficult to not worry about their safety. Her feet were starting to ache from wearing the unbroken-in boots, and carrying the weight of her backpack was getting harder and harder on her back and shoulders with each step. When it had started to become noticeably darker, and they were still walking, she spoke up again.

“Kristoff?” she called, a little breathless from the thin mountain air. 

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“Shouldn’t we stop somewhere soon? I know that you’re the camping expert, but it’s getting dark out and we still need to set everything up.”

He stopped for a moment, allowing her enough time to catch up to him before they continued. “The site is just a little bit further ahead, we’ll make it.”

“I trust you, but you’re making me a little nervous.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” he assured her, in a sincere tone.

She stopped dead in her tracks regardless. “No offense, but that’s something a serial killer would say.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just accuse me of bringing you out here so I could murder you?”

He reached out to take her hand and she took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s just a little too convenient. I may be a lot smaller than you, but I could kick your ass if I have to.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he chuckled, motioning for her to continue following him.

She did, though she tried to keep a safe distance in case she had to run. “You’re just acting so...strange.”

“You’ll see why as soon as we get past this cluster of trees.”

Suddenly, the land in front of them cleared into a wide open space. He pointed to a rather large campground that was not populated by tents, but rather by a few wood cabins. “There. That’s where we’re staying.”

Her heart was racing, now. “But those are cabins.”

“I know.”

“Wait, are we not sleeping in a tent?”

“We’re not,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Surprise.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m so confused.”

“Look, I know that you’ve never been camping before, and I really wanted you to come along, but I knew that you were a little uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping outside.”

“You did this for me?”

“Of course,” he said in a low voice, before pressing a kiss to her temple. “You agreed to come because you knew it would make me happy. The least I could do was make sure that you would be comfortable.”

“But I just…accused you of being a serial killer. And I threatened to beat you up.”

“Because I spent an hour and a half leading you in circles around the woods and deflecting your questions to throw you off.”

She blinked a few times, unable to slow her pounding heart or her racing mind. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about we go check it out?”

“Okay,” she nodded.

The walk across the field was much easier than their trudge through the woods. 

“My truck is actually parked right over there.” He pointed to the right, and though it was hard to see, there was a parking lot just past the furthest cabin on that side. He then pointed to the furthest cabin on the left. “We’re staying in that last one on the left.”

“How did I not see any of these?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Because I parked on the far end and took you through the woods, behind the cabins. If I had wanted you to see them, you would’ve.”

“This isn’t technically camping, you know,” she pointed out. 

“It’s glamping,” he smirked. “Besides, we can’t have you freezing to death out there.”

She frowned. “I just feel bad that you got jipped out of a real camping trip.”

“I didn’t get jipped out of anything,” he promised. “We can go hiking and fishing, we can build a campfire right outside of the cabin and look up at the stars, and best of all, you’re here with me - that’s the most important thing.”

In no time, they were walking up the stairs to the small deck of the cabin, where two chairs and a small table sat. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door before leading her inside. It was much nicer than she anything she could’ve expected; a large, comfortable-looking bed in the far corner, and a couch near the front door. It was cozy and quaint, and the absolute opposite of sleeping in a tent in the middle of the woods. 

“It’s not fancy, but there’s a bed, and a bathroom, and a kitchenette,” he said, pointing out each of those areas as he said its name. “I already stocked up the fridge, and look! We have electricity and heat, but there’s also a fireplace and we can keep a fire going.”

She was at a loss for words, and frankly, a little disoriented. The boots, the cabin, it was all so unexpected and so...thoughtful. So romantic.

He glanced down at her face and squeezed her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just a little shocked, that’s all,” she answered, her voice soft and shaky.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I totally wasn’t expecting this and I’m a little overwhelmed, but in a good way.”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“No, no,” she said, frantically waving her hands around as she spoke. “It’s just that I agreed to come camping to make you happy, and even if I absolutely hated it, I’d still do it again because I know you love it and I love you so I want you to be happy all the time, of course, but then you turn around and do this amazing thing to make me happy, and even though I’ve known for a long time that you’re the person I want to be with for the rest of my life -”

“You want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“More than anything,” she breathed. “I’ve never been so certain about something.”

“I feel the same way,” he cooed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I want a lifetime with you.”

“I didn’t even know that loving someone this much was possible,” she mumbled, reaching up to his face and gently brushing her thumb against his lips before settling it on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I really can’t believe that you did this.”

“You make me so unbelievably happy,” he confessed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him; she closed her eyes, taking in his smell. He smelled vaguely of pine and body wash and sweat, and she was sure that she smelled the same. His leaned down, his breath was warm on her face when he whispered, “I’d do anything for you.”

She softly pressed her lips to his before leaning back to meet his gaze. “How about we make good on that promise, then?”

[fangmaw]

misc vampire bf scene #2

"That's it. We're going to the farm."

Hex lifted his head from the arm of the couch to frown at Caleb, currently standing two feet in front of him, arms crossed.

"You heard me. Get your vampire ass off the couch and grab your coat." He jangled his keys and watched Hex bury his face in a throw pillow with a groan.

"Don't wanna."

Caleb softened, but stood his ground. "You've barely moved the past three days. Last time you fed off me, I practically had to drag you away."

Hex tilted his head enough to make eye contact and regarded him for several seconds before he spoke. "I'm sorry, Caleb. I didn't mean to hurt you." His voice wavered slightly as he turned away again.

"No, I didn't mean-" Caleb fumbled as he stepped up to the couch and knelt alongside his boyfriend. He slid an arm over his chest and pressed his own torso to the man's back, enveloping him. "I'm fine. I know you'd never hurt me." He felt Hex murmur in agreement. "I brought it up because it illustrates my point— you're getting hungrier."

Hex sighed and held Caleb's outstretched arm to his chest before leaning down to place a kiss on the back of his hand. "Still don't wanna."

"Well, I can't bring a sheep into the apartment without someone noticing, so it looks like we have a dilemma." At that, Hex made an effort to roll over, and Caleb quickly hopped back to his feet. 

"How do you know your aunt won't care?"

Satisfied that he'd won, at least for now, Caleb turned to hunt down a warmer jacket as he replied, "It's a massive farm. Ranch? Not important. What matters is that I know where it is, I have keys to most of the gates and outbuildings, and there's enough livestock that a couple heads can be chalked up to animal attacks without ruining anyone's livelihood."

He disappeared into the bedroom and soon returned, bearing his own fleece-lined windbreaker and a sweater for Hex. As he shrugged into the teal behemoth, he watched Hex rise and stretch his back. His face looked drawn, and the skin above his collar more taut. Before Caleb had a chance to pity him, the ghoul saw that he had returned and grinned, exposing dual rows of jagged teeth. Hex thanked him and tugged the garment on over his head.

The turtleneck hid his collar from view; unfortunate, but Caleb still had the satisfaction of knowing it was there. Since Hex didn't leave the house much, Caleb had chosen something a bit more obvious than he would have otherwise - a lovely strip of black leather, fashioned into a choker as clasped with a petite silver lock. Hex was delighted to receive it —though not surprised, as after Caleb mentioned the idea, he had to measure Hex's neck to get it fitted, and at that point the gig was well and truly up. He wore it with pride nearly every day, and frequently Caleb caught him admiring how it looked in the mirror, or absently reaching up to touch it.

Looking at the collar always stirred that needless protective instinct in his head. Hex was more than capable of destroying any possible bodily threat that came his or Caleb's way, but seeing the clear mark around his neck, bold and unabashed, he felt that responsibility anew. He wanted to care for what was his.

Idly, he wondered if Hex felt something of the same for him. They'd never explicitly talked about it before, but Hex was always so tender with him after a bite, even just a nibble. Caleb was hesitant to broach the subject. He knew Hex struggled with reconciling biological necessity with kink, but it probably wouldn't hurt to ask. Eventually. Right now, they had other priorities, and they'd all be happier and more relaxed if Hex was fed properly first.

Hex was still a bit tense in the car. The Minnesota back roads were treacherous this time of year, and it was pitch dark beyond the headlights, so Caleb was focused mostly on the asphalt ahead of them. Even so, the restlessness of his passenger was hard to miss.

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb caught him chewing at one of his claws and swatted in roughly the right direction.

"Quit that."

"You're not my mom," mumbled Hex. He did stop gnawing at the nail, though.

"No, I'm your chauffeur."

"Should've found a different driver. I always forget how small your car is." Though he couldn't see Hex's expression, Caleb could hear the smile on his voice.

Caleb chuckled a bit, and the pair fell into a silence. Caleb took it upon himself to slay the elephant in the room.

"Are you nervous because it's live animals?"

Hex didn't reply for a moment, so Caleb chanced a glance at his face. He was looking down at his hands, toying with a loose stitch at the hem of his sweater.

"I guess."

Caleb kept watching the road. They were less than twenty minutes out at this point, plus some time to find a good parking spot. He heard Hex sigh.

"It's been a really long time since I was feeding off animals regularly. I'm not sure- what if- it was different before. I was different." Hex breathed heavily. "Does that make any sense?"

With a nod, Caleb replied, "I think so. What if you think of it this way: you're always on my ass about eating something and drinking plenty of water after you have a treat; this can just be me getting payback. You don't even have a choice. I want you strong and healthy, so you'd better do as I say, or else." With a smirk, he flicked his eyes back to his partner, who was considerably more relaxed and currently mid-eyeroll.

"I hate how much that works on me."

"My psychic powers are unparalleled. And we're getting close. You had better start planning out your menu."

Turns out, cows have a lot of blood. Like, well over a gallon. Not that Hex seemed to mind.

The ghoul had whined about the cold the entire time they spent sneaking around the pasture, but now he was on his knees in the muddy snow, hunched over a limp heifer that quit kicking a good five minutes ago.

Caleb was nervously checking his phone, both for time and in case he got some last minute text from his aunt that she was coming back tonight. They were beyond the reach of the sparse lightposts framing the pasture, so even if there was someone nearby, they were as good as invisible. By the light of his phone's lock screen, Caleb could get a better view of Hex.

It was fascinating to watch. His face was magnetically pressed to the soft skin under the animal's jaw, while his hands roamed aimlessly about the body. Occasionally he would take a deep pull, struggling against the dying heart, and dig his claws into the nearby flesh, reflexively. Caleb bent lower, close enough he could see Hex's jaw work as he adjusted his grip, nosing along the stretch of muscle and making a fresh wound.

Though Caleb was tempted to place a hand on his back, he thought better of it and maintained his distance. He knew enough about animal behavior not to disrupt a predator while it was feeding. Even domestic dogs bite when they're approached incorrectly.

Caleb settled for taking a squat on the opposite side of the cow, a good few feet away, but close enough that his pathetic light permitted him vision. For a handful of further minutes, the only sounds were muffled breaths against wet fur and the crunch of Caleb's boots as he shifted his weight.

It took him a second to realize Hex had gone still.

"Hey." He would never use the word "feral" to describe Hex to his face. It was good that he was able to relax so much, especially with Caleb around, but it was always wise to test the waters after something intense like this.

"Mmph." Hex's face still hung limp off his shoulders, pressed to the animal's neck.

Caleb smirked. "You good?" Dork.

"Mm. Good cow."

With a short laugh Caleb got up. "I'm coming over, okay?" He could just discern the outline of Hex nodding against his expired dinner. Caleb surprised himself by throwing caution to the wind and kneeling in the slush. He lit up his screen and balanced the device on the massive shoulder to his left. The greenish glow let him locate Hex's hand and cover it with his mittened own. "Well, I'm glad you liked it. I'm impressed by your capacity."

Hex finally sat up, just enough to brace his forearms on the beast's back and allow Caleb a full view of the gorey mess. The animal's neck looked as though it had been run through with a garden rake, the flesh thoroughly tilled by Hex's greedy mouth. The ghoul in question tugged his hand out from under Caleb's to swipe his fingers across the dark blood cooling on his face. He laved his tongue over the digits before he looked to Caleb, grinning.

"I live to please." His suave demeanor buckled when his gut audibly complained about the rapid influx of fluid it was dealing with.

"I suppose I've never seen you really pack it away before." Caleb’s eyes widened as he watched Hex delicately push himself the rest of the way up off the animal and sit—or rather, try. The waistband of his jeans was giving him some trouble. Caleb watched him swiftly unbutton and unzip the garment with his slobbery fingers and bite back a sigh.

"Holy shit," Caleb gawked.

Hex narrowed his eyes, but he looked far too satisfied to actually emote irritation. "I'd like to see you drink a fucking cow and not bloat up a little bit." He tugged self-consciously at his sweater, now clinging tight to his midsection. He muffled a hic behind his sleeve. "Ugh."

"Swallow some air?"

"I will bite you."

"You can't possibly still be hungry."

As though it had gained sentience, Hex's stomach growled angrily.

"No way."

Hex stuck out his bloody tongue. He was always far more playful after he fed, even if he had glutted himself beyond all human decency.

"It's a freak biology thing. Eating makes me hungry. It's like snakes and stuff." Hex leaned back on his hands, far too proud of himself.

Caleb frowned slightly as he thought. "Do we need to get you another cow? Because I'm not sure I can swing that, and definitely not again next week."

"It wouldn't be much of an animal attack if they just found this lady dead and bloodless.” Hex gave the cow’s head an affectionate pat. “A good carnivore would take advantage of all that precious organ meat before abandoning its catch."

"I'd argue I caught this one," Caleb huffed.

"We can both take credit. You can barely see out here." Hex fell out of the banter to eye the soon-to-be carcass.

"You're drooling, dumbass."

"Sorry," Hex mumbled.

"Don't be. I'm happy for you. But, uh, I'm not sure I want to watch, if that's okay." Hex tried to hide his dejected expression under a guise of wiping saliva and cow off his face. Caleb's heart sank. "If I go now, I can have the car all warmed up by the time you're finished, so it'll be nice and cozy when you immediately fall asleep."

This seemed to reassure Hex, as the dopey grin was back. He stifled another soft burp. "Uh, will you be okay to get back by yourself?"

Caleb picked up his phone from its bovine perch and waggled it. "Flashlight." Hex nodded, but looked dubious. "I'll be fine. Promise." Caleb got up and did his best to brush the unmelted snow off his now slush-soaked pants.

Hex nodded and waited until Caleb was within the range of the lamps before tearing open the heifer's belly and burying his head in its chest cavity.

[writingesgaypism]

guess who’s back on their bullshit, writing COG fanfic instead of working on their finals? i come bearing soft, mildly awkward sangarinus content for @diasporatheblog‘s lovely game, which has been my hyperfixation for the past *checks watch* three months or so. enjoy, and do go check out diaspora if you haven’t already!

---

It hasn’t happened every night, but Fionn finds Sangarinus awake long after the others have bedded down more often than not. They aren’t sleeping too well these days either, although their reasons likely aren’t the same. He usually finds someplace where he doesn’t think he’ll disturb anyone to keep his vigil. Perhaps if they were less stubborn or less practiced in hunting him down it would make it difficult for them to join him on the nights that they find themself inexplicably awake. Certainly it would make their efforts pointless if the man himself was hostile to their plans. But he isn’t.

He acknowledges their arrival with a slight incline of his head so they don’t bother to further announce themself, and instead directly take a seat on the sand next to him. The storm rages, ever-present before them, but unlike the first time they found him out here, Sangarinus doesn’t seem to be focusing on it. He’s got his knife out and is in the process of stripping a branch of its bark.

It makes them think of the small wooden fox back at camp, which in turn makes them smile.

“I think mine needs a name,” they say after a moment.

Sangarinus glances at them, brow furrowed, and they nod at the wood in his hands. His confusion doesn’t entirely abate, but they can tell that it’s shifted focus from their meaning to their reasoning by the way he huffs through his nose, short and somewhat disbelieving.

“It’s got such a cute little face,” they continue, “I can’t help but think it deserves a name. It’s got personality.”

“Are you sure you aren’t seeing things?”

The question is delivered with the barest of inflections, dry but not meant to actually insult. Still, it makes them think of the valravn. He hadn’t been there for that particular nightmare, but something about their expression must tip him off because his hands still and he sits up straighter.

“I apologize, I didn’t -”

Fionn waves a hand, one corner of their mouth tugging up inexorably. “When it comes down to it, I’d rather be mistakenly assigning people traits to a carved fox than fighting a figure out of my people’s folklore to the death.”

He keeps searching their face, perhaps trying to discern whether they’re really okay or if they’re deflecting. They are deflecting, just a little, but they’re certain it won’t show in their expression. If anything, Sangarinus’s attention only makes their smile grow, blooming like a flower under the sun. He glances back to his busywork eventually and they don’t think they’re imagining the red tint to his ears, even in the moonlight.

He clears his throat. “Do you have any in mind? Names, that is.”

They draw in a deep breath and hold it for a moment before expelling it in a rush of air. “Ruadhán, maybe.”

He nods once, thoughtfully.

“And for the record, I really do think it has personality. It looks like it’s plotting how to steal my breakfast right from under my nose. I’d love to see your process sometime, if you don’t mind.” They glance at him sideways, smirking. “I don’t think I’ll be able to believe it’s humanly possible to whittle such fine details until I see it with my own eyes.”

As they expected, a flush is starting to spread across his face. It was difficult to be sure earlier, but it’s deep enough now that there’s no mistaking it. “I - It is not… an interesting process to watch. But I… would not mind.”

Fionn tilts their head to watch him more directly as they let their smirk ease into something fond. Having all of Sangarinus’s attention on them always seems to have the effect of energizing them, like as long as he’s watching they’re unbeatable. It’s hard to say exactly what the reverse does to him. If they have to guess, they’d wager it… gives him pause somehow. Whether to take it in or just to figure out what exactly they’re doing is beyond their ability to discern. At the very least it doesn’t seem to bother him most of the time. Whatever the answer, he seems to soften after a moment. Which is, of course, their cue to stir things up.

“You’d be surprised what I might be willing to watch you do,” they say casually.

Truthfully, their meaning is fairly innocent. They like watching him move: the economy of his motions, the thought put into everything he does. Fionn is just as content watching him spar with their mother as they are watching him read a book or learn a new sailor’s knot. But they also know the statement could be interpreted another way, and the way they’re looking at him with half-lidded eyes can only push his assumptions toward the second connotation.

He turns his attention to the knife and stick in his hands suddenly and with great intensity, shaving away strips of wood even though there isn’t any bark left. Somehow, his flush manages to deepen.

Fionn laughs, not unkindly. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“You are -” He stops and sighs. It doesn’t seem to be directed at them. “I will tell you if it’s ever too much.”

“I appreciate that, but I’d also like to do my part to avoid crossing that line to begin with.”

“It’s appreciated,” he says softly, echoing their sentiment. “In some ways, you are - It’s easier to talk to you than others, most of the time. The rest of the time… The fault is mine.”

For a moment it seems as though he’ll say more, but instead he falls silent and leaves it at that. His motions with the knife are more deliberate now, though the redness lingers to some extent.

They pull one leg up and prop their chin on their knee. “You know, you do have delightfully broad shoulders, Sangarinus, but you don’t need to carry every burden on your own. It takes at least two people to have a conversation. And maybe one of those people takes a particular joy in teasing the other person, and maybe that other person doesn’t always know how to react. I’m not so sure it’s the fault of the latter that the former has no self-control.”

“I think we may be at an impasse regarding what one can reasonably expect from a conversation partner,” he says dryly.

“I wonder what you think I expect from you,” they reply, but nevertheless they smile and relent with a flick of their fingers. If their luck holds up there will be plenty of other days to have this debate. “…I was being serious about watching you carve, though.”

His smile is barely there, but it’s warm. “I know.”

Fionn lets the silence fall and stretch this time. As a rule, they don’t often slow down enough to really relax. It’s a habit born partially out of necessity and partially due to their own nature. They can never quite seem to put their finger on what it is about Sangarinus that settles them like this, but there’s something about his presence that feels… safe. Steady. Like putting your boots on solid land after a month at sea; it’s odd at first, missing all the rolling disturbances, but there’s an unmistakable relief, too, that you’ve made it home again in one piece. Whatever the root cause, they can’t stop the feeling of tranquility that creeps up on them as they sit with him, or the drowsiness that follows.

It returns with them to camp when they decide to try sleeping again and stays with them until they finally drift off.

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - ‘The Wrong Game’

Part 15 (15!?!?!) of my Mala Suledin Nadas series, which follows my playthrough of Ellana Lavellan.  All the stories can pretty much be read on their own, but there is continuity through them.  You can check out the whole series here or read this chapter in isolation on AO3 here.

So, I'd just finished Hushed Whispers and done the rounds back at Haven, which meant that Eli and Vivienne's relationship by this point basically involved two flaming rows about the status of mages. However, the next thing I did was complete Viv's first war table quest, which rewards you with her approval. This didn't make sense to me, so I wrote a thing that made it make sense i.e. Eli is crap at politics and asks Viv's advice despite disagreeing with her. This speaks of a practicality and humility Vivienne approves of (plus we get a sneak peak of how Eli may or may not SLAY the Winter Palace).

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

After their second strong disagreement about the status of mages, Vivienne is dismayed to see Herald coming in her direction again.

The Wrong Game

It had been quite some time since Vivienne had needed to calm herself down this way.  Intellectually, she knew why this was different, but that neither made the anger less potent nor curbed the irritation at being made to feel it.  Perhaps she had been at court for too long - she was getting lazy.

It wasn’t just that she disagreed with this new Herald of Andraste - she had disagreed with many people before.  Nor was it that the Herald existed outside of the Game - Vivienne had taken great pleasure in instructing many scholars from all over Thedas of their academic failings.  No, this particular woman was infuriating because her logic had no bearing to the Game at all.  Nor to the Chantry.  Vivienne was more than adept at wielding her learning to point out the flaws in most foolish arguments like Lavellan’s, but her reasoning meant nothing to this girl.  On the contrary, they had barely made it to the more mainstream discussions around mage rights, so busy had they been questioning the fundamental definition of mages that made those discussions relevant.

Lack of preparation, that was what was making her so angry, Vivienne realised.  When Lavellan had rebutted any question of the necessity of mage towers using the Dalish as an example of a society that needed no such thing, Vivienne did not have the tools available to argue the point.  As such she was reduced to simply dismissing the point outright, which felt beneath her.  She was no novice, of course. As soon as she had found out that the Herald was both a mage and a Dalish elf she had combed the library of the Winter Palace for every useful tome on the culture she hadn’t yet read.  That, she quickly learned, was precious few.  Not because she had read them all, but because every account of elven culture that was available was either monstrously out of date or so steeped in mind-numbingly simplified Chantry rhetoric she felt momentarily ashamed for the entirety of the Orlesian academic elite.

Thus, she had come to an argument she was not expecting, that had turned in a direction she should have foreseen, woefully unprepared.  This was not a situation she cared to repeat, although she was slightly at a loss for how not to.  The Herald clearly distrusted her greatly now - there was a defensiveness in her last few sentences that precluded a rather dull mental attitude suggesting any further actual intellectual debate was going to turn predictably cumbersome and personally affronted.  How exceedingly dull.  She was aware she could not blame the Herald for such an attitude.  It seemed to be true that the Dalish did not have the space to carry books with them, so Lavellan couldn’t be accustomed to truly rigorous intellectual discourse, but Vivienne would have appreciated a little more time to gather the information about Dalish culture she needed before they got to the bullish stage.

She had developed just enough of a headache that the sight of the Herald darting out of the war room at the back of the Chantry had her sigh and turn to her books, away from the main body of the building.  She did not wish to get into this discussion again, so did rather hope that the girl would pass her on her way out.

“Madame Vivienne?”

No such luck, it would seem.

“I am rather busy, darling.  Perhaps we can pick this up another time.”

“Oh.  It will only take a moment, I’m sure.  I was wondering if I could ask your advice.”

Well that was unexpected.  Vivienne turned, shrewd eyes skirting over the Herald’s crude (if rather fetching) attire to her face, where she noticed a slight rise of colour to her cheeks, a distinct widening of the eyes.  Something had shaken her, clearly.  

“My advice?” she asked, knowing that for all the frost in her voice she might as well be standing back with her arms crossed.  Lavellan did not look reassured.  Good. “I believe we just established that my advice is not particularly welcome.”

“Not on magic.  I think we’ve discussed that enough for today.” Lavellan said quietly, adding a rather surprisingly self-deprecating chuckle before looking directly up into Vivienne’s eyes.  She had courage, Vivienne had to give her that much.  

Those big green eyes still slightly panicky, the Herald took a step towards her and her words all came out in a rush.  “I was in the war room and they’re asking me to make some decisions because they can’t agree, which is fine.  But there’s a problem just south of Val Royeux to do with the letter your friend sent and it’s to do with some nobles?  Of different families?  That I can’t remember the names of?  And they’re having some disagreements about…about…um…something and the advisors want me to help them decide what to do.  Me.  Me, Madame Vivienne.  Ellana Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan.  Being, as that name suggests, Dalish.  And I thought to myself ‘why on earth invite an expert on the Orlesian court to join the Inquisition if you’re not going to use her’?  Because, for some reason, they seem to think I’m qualified.”

There was something unavoidably charming about the genuine panic in her face that Vivienne was fighting a losing battle not to be swayed by.  Apparently, however, the Herald wasn’t finished.  “I know we don’t see eye to eye on some things.  And I’m not stupid, so your advice wouldn’t be wasted.  It’s just not my area of expertise and I know it’s yours.  Will you advise me?”

Vivienne considered her and Lavellan, rather surprisingly, let her do it.  She had to admit, she was rather taken aback by this approach.  She had assumed that Lavellan would have taken such offence to their earlier disagreement that Vivienne would now be spurned to the Herald’s detriment.  Still.

“You are aware we come from very different backgrounds, my dear?”

“That’s sort of the point, Madame Vivienne, yes. No one knows woods better than those who have had to survive in them except those who have learned to thrive in them.  My woods are made up of actual trees.  Yours are noble families with bewilderingly similar names.”

Vivienne resolved not to let the Herald see her smile at that particular comment, though from the sparkle of mischief in those same eyes that were so wide a moment ago, she perceived she had possibly failed.

“And you trust me to help you navigate these woods?”

Lavellan cocked her head, something like a smile on her face.  Vivienne realised, not pleasantly, that it seemed she herself was being considered now.  Whatever Lavellan had decided made her nod to herself, the grin widening.  Goodness but she would never survive the Game.

“No.”

Vivienne’s eyebrows raised, pausing her own assumption in its tracks.  Never say that Madame de Fer did not learn from the scant few mistakes she made.

“No?”

“No.  However, I do trust that you have your own ideas about what is best in this situation and how best to resolve it so I think I can learn a lot from listening and watching you hunt in these woods.  I also trust that you will see this as an opportunity to further any agenda you have yourself, which will be just as educational for me.  You can learn just as much about hunting by being hunted as you can by hunting something yourself.”

Well.  It had been a long time since anyone had stood in front of Vivienne and accused her to her face of planning to manipulate them.  Oh, plenty of inferences and innuendo, but never flat out.  She found it rather invigorating.

“What made you be honest with me?”

Lavellan was surprised enough by her choice of question that she laughed.  A little too loudly, so the sound echoed in the Chantry proper and she flinched a little, coming closer with a conspiratorial smile like they’d both just been nearly caught filching chocolates from a Senior Enchanter’s desk.

“I don’t have much experience with the Game,” she admitted in an almost whisper.  “But I do get the impression that plain talking isn’t part of it.  Which made me wonder whether it wasn’t then actually quite a good weapon if used right.  The huntmaster never let me go on hunts because he thought I’d be no use,” she explained at Vivienne’s questioning look.  “Then I helped my brother win a contest by freezing a deer solid so it wouldn’t run from his bow and the look on his face was like he’d just swallowed a wasps’ nest!”

“Wasn’t that cheating, my dear?”

“Not at all,” Lavellan replied, affecting an extremely convincing innocent look.  It was the touch of affronted, Vivienne thought, that sold it.  “My brother was allowed to pick a second to help him.  He picked me.  The fact that the huntmaster had already decided I was useless was his mistake, not ours.”

Vivienne had underestimated this apostate.  She had underestimated her greatly.  A small approving smile graced her lips and she watched Lavellan notice, hope and challenge in her smirk.  Vivienne could not find it in herself to care, impressed very much by Lavellan’s clear attitude to her assets and resources.  That her pride after an argument was not going to get in the way of her practicality was an aspect to her personality Vivienne very much appreciated.  Perhaps, despite their differences, she could still get her to listen, to make sure that no more damage was done to Vivienne’s people.  This war was taking its toll and the stakes had never been so high.  She couldn’t begin to forgive herself if she didn’t use every talent and skill the Maker had entrusted her to develop to protect and elevate those people who now so desperately needed someone on their side.  Whether they could see it or not.

Which meant keeping the Herald sweet.  The Herald who had just proved that she might be a lot more useful as an ally and dangerous as an enemy than Vivienne had initially predicted.  It was rather delicious being wrong.  Not that the Herald needed to know anything of the sort.

“I assume,” She began, moving away towards the open doors and expecting Lavellan to follow (which she did), “That you refer to the rumours that the Divine is not, in fact, dead?”

“Yes!” Lavellan replied, relief evident in her voice as it appeared that Vivienne was indeed going to help.  “Only apparently just refuting it doesn’t work and we need to choose carefully what we say to who and when?”

Vivienne looked down at her, seeing nothing but an earnest desire to learn in Lavellan’s upturned eyes.  She didn’t trust that look for a second.  This assignment she’d given herself had just got significantly more interesting.

How marvellous.  

[hudsontfreeman]

Noticing (or a Case for Seinfeld Living)

It’s really impossible to know definitively, but I’d say I’m about halfway through the fourth or fifth season of the second reboot of my life’s tv show.

This is more of an estimate - I’m not really sure how I’ve been dividing up the seasons. Obviously, the first season was the 3-4 years at the beginning where nobody really knew what was going on and the protagonist was kind of just there. He was arguably, more of a blank canvas for the audience to see themselves through, as the real protagonists (his mom and dad) did all the expository heavy lifting. To be fair, this was just an introduction to the series and audiences were at least impressed enough for it to be renewed.

The formula found its bearings in the second season, as most successful shows tend to do, and stayed more or less on track for ten seasons till adolescence prompted a hard reboot. I can’t stress enough how much the show changed: episodes varied widely week to week, multiple characters were booted, the previously so-called co-protagonists of the show (those rascally parents) occasionally became outright antagonists, etc… It was quite frankly, not that great of a show, and in many ways traded the lack of conflict of its predecessor, with an abundance of conflict rarely resolved. It was not a show anyone was enjoying and the second college reboot was a welcome return to form.

This latest season is not half bad. We’ve got a lot of good series-wide story arcs going. There is a fair amount of midseason conflict, reoccurring characters that are staying relatively fresh (with the exception of Trevor), a decent theme song (it’s currently some experimental jazz from hell), and I’m really feeling like the protagonist is “starting to figure out what his deal is”, so to speak.

It is important to note that the protagonist has “started to figure out what his deal is” many times before this season, so I wouldn’t necessarily trust his judgement, but the confidence is remarkable.

He, at the very least, seems to finally be able to admit that he is not a cool person, which is certainly progress. Naively, though; he is convinced that this admission might very well be the first step to eventually becoming cool.

Most engaged viewers know this is a misstep.

~

“Life’s not like a movie” might be as useless of a phrase as it is pervasive. The assumption of the phrase implies that everyone is going around living their lives like the main character in a blockbuster comedy - cartoonishly pursuing their dreams, accidentally falling in love, and somehow, repeatedly being surprised when things don’t work out the way they think things should.

This is clearly false. No one thinks like this.

No one thinks everything will work out. No one thinks they’ll get everything they want. No one thinks their life is simple. No one thinks they’ll find the complete answer to the question they’ve been asking all along.

No one is nearly as naive about their existence as we seem to think they are. And I don’t think people watch movies and TV shows because they want these things either.

Sure, maybe there is someone out there who says they want life to be this uncomplicated, straightforward thing, but no one actually believes them. Nearly every person I’ve ever met genuinely believes that they are the true pragmatist. Has anyone ever actually met a consciously sincere idealist? Who wants to be the sucker?

Perhaps I’m generalizing, but I don’t think people watch television or movies, read books, and tell stories because they are innocently convinced of the simplicity of their narrative structure or because they want to vicariously live through that simplicity either. People are not starry-eyed, gullible children, nor do they wish they could be. People reflect their lives through story, not because they make life seem simple, but because these stories make life seem meaningful. I would go as far as to say - they don’t just make life seem meaningful, they remind them that it already is.

~

My friend Trevor and I believe genuinely, that we are this latest generation’s reincarnation of the 90’s sitcom, Seinfeld. He is George and I am Jerry, respectively. We’ve drawn out many of the parallels over the course of our friendship and I will list them here now:

- Trevor is short and stocky (George), while I am tall(er) and lanky (Jerry).

- My friend, Sam (Kramer) often walks into my house unannounced, hair lopsided, looking to “borrow” things from my kitchen.

- We routinely complain about our lives at various diners/coffee shops loudly and with little sympathy for the people around us. (The plot of the show)

- We improvise neurotic standup routines about the absurdity of mundane life and our own selfishness. (Much like George and Jerry, these routines are more sad than they are funny)

The only thing we’ve failed to find a direct parallel for is Elaine, as perhaps the most unrealistic aspect of the show, was the fantasy of anyone staying good friends with their ex.

All of these specific comparisons aside, I think what Trevor and I really like about this joke, is the idea that the only difference between our lives “in the real world” and our lives as tv characters, is the perspective that comes with observing rather than experiencing. What I mean by that is to say, there is something inherently and beautifully constructive about observing years as seasons, days as episodes, and people as characters. They become features of the life we are actively noticing, not just necessities of the existence we are passively being forced to endure.

As many sad, 90s-sitcom-obsessives like myself know, the significance of the creation of the Seinfeld rested in the catchphrase Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld sold the show on - it’s “a show about nothing.” The idea of it was, if you take a comedian like Seinfeld and put him in a variety of mundane settings, the jokes will come, not from heightening his experiences, but by letting him endlessly interpose his observations on the absurdity of the mundane itself. But I don’t think that’s significant in the way people may think it is.

Yes, George/Jerry/Elaine/Kramer are funny, goofy people with above average neurotic tendencies. Yes, it is a situational comedy written by professional comedy writers, building narratives out of the ways standups get their material. Yes, it broke many mainstream television conventions and historically broke the formula of the sitcom. But I think the most brilliant thing Seinfeld did, is definitively inspire the tacit belief that everything is worth paying attention to. Maybe, it’s worth noticing because its infuriating, or ridiculous, or hilarious, or disturbing, etc… But absolutely everything demands to be noticed.

In the fourth season of Seinfeld (arguably the best and most influential season), George and Jerry begin developing a TV show in much the same way Seinfeld and Larry David did four years prior. Throughout episode after episode, they go back and forth trying to come up with some fresh idea to wow NBC executives. This goes on with some degree of expected laziness and hijinks till George finally has it. Ever the meta-self-referential goldmine, George decides it should be “a show about nothing.” NBC executives are neither wowed nor thrilled, but the pilot get’s made, and all the characters in Seinfeld get remade in the show-within-the-show - “Jerry”. This was genius for two reasons.

It justified itself as a show by explaining its own concept directly to the audience through the show itself. (Perhaps the reason why this season skyrocketed the shows viewership)

It explained how television works, and more importantly, it explained how stories work.

The characters of Seinfeld, much like the characters of any story where the writer takes the time to describe them, are just bizarre people living in our bizarre world. Brought to their logical conclusions, television characters are human beings incapable of not observing the particularities of their existence. They go to the same coffee shops, they hang out with the exact same people, and they can’t stop scrutinizing the smallest detail of, or change, to that reality. Television shows remind us that the details of our existence are interesting.

The characters we surround ourselves with can be the funniest people in the world when we notice why they do what they do. The job we spend thirty to seventy hours a week at can be the weirdest thing in the world when we notice how ridiculous it is. This year can be a not-so great season. Tomorrow can be a particularly great episode. The television show we’re participating in can be surprising and disappointing and funny and sad and predictable and strange, but its a show we choose whether or not to watch - just watch it!

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Sometimes, when I have a bad day, I go home, I go to bed, and I narrate out loud, “Hudson was not having a good day.” It almost always helps. Not because it reminds me that I am an insane person and that’s funny, but because it reminds me that I am a character in a movie I am watching, not just playing a role in. I am the protagonist of my own movie, playing a character in other people’s movies, learning how to notice why we’re in a movie at all. Any moment that we don’t realize that, that the story is meaningful, whatever it is, is a moment lost to ourselves.

"Life’s not like a movie” is a pointless phrase that doesn’t mean anything about anyone. We know life is not simple, but we want life to be consequential. Stories tell us it is. So we remind ourselves by telling the stories and listening to the stories and vice versa and on and on till we're dead and death is always a pretty good story too. (Almost always a great tv show or movie)

Life may not be painless or easy, but it is certainly interesting. Movies, television, novels, myths, comics, plays, etc… Those things are at their best when they remind us that the only difference between letting living pass us by and actively choosing to experience existence, is the amount of attention we pay to it. The latest season of the tv show that is my being is sometimes pretty rough, especially when I’m arguing with Trevor about who the main character is, but it is not boring. I can’t ask for much else.