#it got tagged as long ring long land so many times

[raspberrydraws]

🥺

[fictionismyreality3]

Finally Home

Price x Reader

Tags: possessive!price if you squint

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: I didn’t mean for this to get so emotional but I’m pms-ing 😭

After packing up his boots, still coated in the dust of a foreign country, Price slung his well-travelled gear bag over his shoulders. Giving a quick goodbye to Laswell and the rest of those he knew on base, he clambered in his truck, the engine roaring to life as he began the drive back to his little piece of sanctuary.

To you.

The small townhouse was the most you’d allowed Price to buy. Despite his insistence on wanting to get you a massive farm house, you had to remind him that you didn’t know the first thing about horses, let alone sheep.

He remembered that day well. The giggles you gave him while you teased him endlessly, how you eventually signed the papers to the townhouse while sitting on his lap.

His baby.

None of the team knew you personally except Laswell, who you’d met a few times when you were wading through the endless paperwork of trying to marry a man who didn’t exist. The rest of the 141 knew Price had a girl, but to his content possessiveness, none of them knew you were his wife.

Soap had jeered him about you till he landed him self on cleaning duty, Gaz had tried to sweet talk him into divulging the depth of your relationship, and Ghost had even noticed the ring on the chain he wore before he had the chance to tuck it under his shirt.

There was nothing he wanted more than to make sure your life stayed as far removed as possible from his work. Price had lost many nights of sleep when you first started dating, heavy hearted as he weighed the outcomes of you getting involved with him.

So he kept you tucked away, safe from all the dangers he could possibly prevent.

It wasn’t the best situation, especially for a marriage, but somehow after everything he’d done, all the days he’d missed, you were always there, waiting with open arms to welcome him home.

His last deployment had been the toughest in a while. Nothing he couldn’t handle in terms of the mission, but it had been 3 months since he saw you, and 1 since he had to cut contact for the missions sake.

You always understood somehow. The little clues he’d leave you in his messages let you know when he had to go dark for a while.

Love you more than the stars.

A phrase you’d both decided on. Inconspicuous enough that no one with cruel intentions would think much of it, but special for you. It was just something he did to settle your mind on long deployments, let you know he was safe even when he couldn’t talk.

Even though he was back stateside, Price didn’t want to risk sending you a message to let you know he was home, not at least until he could switch out his phone.

Pulling up to your house, he cut the engine to his truck with a little grin, knowing you’d be surprised when he walked in.

The key was still under the pot on the porch, and the house smelled just like it always did, the scent of cinnamon candles you kept constantly burning, even though he told you you needed fresh air, hit his nose instantly. You must have went to those pottery classes he got you, because he could see two new vases on the entryway table. A little lopsided but full of heart.

Just like you.

Price could pick up the faint sound of the tv, knowing you were no doubt on the couch, watching one of your favourite shows. Putting down his bags, he crept his way through the house, avoiding the creaks in the floor, a route he’d memorized a long time ago.

His heart swelled in his chest as he stood in the living room archway, his eyes falling on you instantly. You had a shocked expression on your face and were saying something, probably his name, but he could only hear his blood rushing through his head, could only focus on your pretty face and your pretty everything. How you’d look as you ran towards him, flinging yourself into his arms, your body shaking with your happy cries.

“John..” Your voice broke home out of his reverie.

His arms wrapped around you, tucking you against his chest liked you’d always belonged there. “I’m here now, luvie.” He hushed you, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m home.”

[dinogoofymutated]

SFW!Nightcrawler/GN!Reader - Part 1 - part 2 - Part 3

kdhbcjshbc I know I said I was gonna work on my Wolverine fic rn but I got sidetracked. This was originally going to be one long ass fic but since the first half ended up already over 4k works I decided to split it into two! It's basically a friends to lovers fic and I know the beginning is a bit of a jumpscare but they're both adults by the end of the fic I promise!! Edit: I totally forgot to add!! Another special thanks to @blue-devil-of-the-lord for their help with german translations!

Tws: Mentions of animal cruelty in the circus. The ringleader is an asshole. I might have made Kurt's brother a bit of an asshole too sorry. Kurt's backstory is going to be kinda a combination of all the shit I've read/know so please be patient lol. I'll go back and add more tags if I think of any.

    You were sixteen when you first met Kurt Wagner, although, he went by Kurt Szardos back then. You had never been to the circus before, and you hadn’t really paid to be there anyway. The show had already started when your father had taken you into the tent, sitting you down in an absent seat near the front. You didn’t want to get in trouble, but he had assured you it was fine. He had business to attend to, and told you that his future employer had given his blessing for you to sit and watch as your father handled business. After all, the two of you were a combo deal, and if you were to be working for the circus, you might as well know just what you were getting yourself into.

    The circus tent was loud with laughter and the sounds of an awed crowd. It was a little overwhelming, to be honest. There were simply too many voices, too many lights- and yet when you finally set aside your grievances to try and enjoy the show, you still struggled.

    The monkeys were annoyed with their handler, and every shout towards the crowd was an insult. The lion was young, and still afraid he wouldn’t make the jump through that vicious ring of fire- still healing from the burns he earned by brushing against the flames during the last performance. The doves from the magician act were a bonded pair, rejoicing the time and attention they were being given in the spotlight- and yet the male was already dreading their moments after the show and the dark, dirty cage they would kept in. The female was trying her best to cheer him up. Every animal was unafraid to keep their voice down, and you had never heard animals speak so loudly before. Part of you wonders if it was simply because they were so used to being ignored, they had grown used to letting their voice free- speaking from the heart and yet always being unheard.

    You didn’t like this part of the circus much- and although the tricks these animals did were beautiful and amazing, you couldn’t manage to enjoy it like all the others around you did. You were frowning while all others were smiling and laughing so joyously- perhaps that was what drew him to you in the first place. 

    “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present-” All but one of the spotlights have started to circle around the tent, the ringmaster standing completely within the only lingering light. “Our Flying Fiend… the Daredevil Demon… The one and only, Nightcrawler!” Every moving spotlight lands on a single man standing on one of the high beams. He’s smiling so brightly that you can see it from where you stand feet below him. He’s… strange. Elf-like ears, yellow eyes, and blue skin. A pointed tail sways eagerly behind him, and he takes a deep bow in front of you. His yellow eyes peer open as he does so, and for a moment, you swear he looks straight at you. You’re not entirely sure if he was wearing a costume or not anymore. 

    The performance starts out with one hell of a beginning. Every flip and jump is an incredible act of athleticism- and you find your eyes following Nightcrawler throughout every trick. Two other acrobats join the fray, and yet he’s the only one who catches your eye. At one point, they bring out these long swings- ones that sweep right above the audience with every swoop. There’s one swing for every side of the audience- and the acrobats switch with a dramatic flare every few swings. 

    On the very last switch, Nightcrawler is the one who swings over your seats. 

    He’s much more handsome up close, you realize, blushing even where you are now. You swear with every swing, he’s looking at you. It makes your heart flutter a bit, and on the very last swing of the night, he takes out a rose, pretending to throw it to multiple groups of screaming fans, before he swings again with a dramatic flair. Unlike the other times, he’s holding onto the swing with his feet and tail. He’s so close to the audience without touching a single hair on anyone's head- and then he gets to you.

    You could have sworn that time had slowed, no matter how quickly it happened. The two of you finally lock eyes, and his hand stretches out. The rose falls into your lap, the air whooshing by your face as he’s gone just as quickly. You pick up the flower, a genuine smile finally on your face, and you find that all the other voices of excitement around you have finally drowned out.

    That was the first and last time you had watched the show at Herr Getmann's Traveling Menagerie. After that, you and your father were behind the scenes instead of in the stands. 

    It had been about a week and a half since you and your father had been walking to the circus to work. He knew every path and every road like the back of his hand, insisting the two of you walk instead of drive to save money on gas, and he just so happened to know a few shortcuts through the woods. Usually, you were able to rely on him to guide you, but today you woke up late. Your father had already left without you- which you’re not entirely sure wasn’t intentional. He did leave a note for you, giving you instructions on how to get there on your own. 

    Needless to say, that didn’t actually work out too well. A thirty to forty-five-minute walk had quickly turned into an hour, and then an hour in a half. You were trying your absolute best to follow the instructions, but this was hardly a cohesive path in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t exactly easy.

    You’re beginning to give up at this point, stumbling through the brush as you try to find the general direction you think you’re supposed to be going. Your feet have started to ache and blister, and you find yourself beginning to lose hope.

    “Hello!” If the sound of the voice hadn’t scared the shit out of you, the strange man hanging upside down from the branches of a wild Crab apple tree certainly did. You shriek in terror, your feet slipping as you fall back on your butt. You hold your hands over your heart as the strange acrobat from the circus jumps down in a panic, holding his even stranger hands out in front of him.

    “Oh- Es tut mir Leid! I am so sorry! I had not meant to startle you!” He says frantically, kneeling down to help you up in a very gentlemanly manner. You’re wide-eyed as you look at him, letting him help you up without a fuss. Up close and in broad daylight like this, it was very clear that he certainly was… Blue, to say the least.

    “I-it’s okay.” You stutter. He smiles warmly at you, tail swaying excitedly behind him, and it simply confirms to you that he wasn’t wearing a costume at all. You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find some words. He blinks at you as you do so, patiently (if not obliviously) waiting for you to speak.

    “You’re from the circus, aren’t you?” Is what you finally land on, still a little startled from before. The acrobat nods eagerly.

    “I am. I'm happy that you remember me! I’ve been told I leave a bit of an impression.” He jokes, and you find yourself smiling again. He was charming, for someone so strange. “The farrier is your father, right?” He asks, taking you by surprise. You didn’t think that anyone had taken the time to notice you, your father’s shadow in every sense of the word. It makes you feel a little funny, but surely he didn’t remember you from that first performance, right? Maybe he’s just very observant of those who come in and out of the circus stables. 

    “Well, yes.” You affirm, starting to anxiously fiddle with your fingers. “I didn’t really expect you to know who I was, to be honest.” He lets out a happy chuckle at that.

    “Of course, I know! A face like yours is hard to forget.” He chirps, sending you a wink. “But I must say, You’re a bit far from the circus, Meine Freundin.” You make a bit of a grimace at that, and he sends you a questioning smile.

    “Yes, well… To be frankly honest, I’m a bit lost.” You admit, eyes locked solely on the ground, taking the time to notice the various fruits that had fallen from the tree and gone bad. You can see the acrobat’s tail swaying in your peripheral vision, and still feel his eyes on you. It makes you blush a little from embarrassment, a little flustered that you had become so lost.

    “I’ll gladly show you the way, I was just about to go back myself.” Your head snaps up to look at him in bewilderment at that, before you realize just how lucky you are to have found him out here. He picks up a basket of crab apples that you hadn’t noticed before, and you offer to carry it for him as a thanks for guiding you back. He won’t let you no matter how hard you try, certainly the first gentleman you’ve met in quite a while. He tells you that your profuse thanks is more than enough for him.

    The two of you get to talking while you make the long walk back to the circus, and he tells you about his mother, Margali Szardos, and how she had asked him to wander over this way to pick the fruit from the crab apple tree for her. She was fairly adamant about him doing so, telling him that it was of great importance, but he didn’t quite understand why fruit could be such a pressing matter. He’s very funny, and you find yourself greatly enjoying his company. The two of you feel like close friends already, and you hadn’t even realized that you didn’t even know his real name until you’ve already arrived at the plethora of brightly colored circus tents.

    “I’m so sorry, I don’t believe I ever asked for your name.” You say, the awkwardness of the question not even registering with how happy you are to simply be in his company. He sends you another dazzling smile before he holds his hand, offering it for you to shake.

    “I’m Kurt.” He tells you. You introduce yourself as well, happy to have made a new friend today. You hear someone calling your name from not too far away, and spot your father waving his hand at you, calling you over.

    “I have to go, but thank you so much for your help!” You say, once again thanking him adamantly.

    “Walking with you was lovely. I hope to see you more often.” Kurt says, right before you go. You can’t help but blush a little, unable to keep yourself from smiling widely. You couldn’t help it! He was just so handsome in both looks and personality, the strangeness of his skin color and three-fingered hands being something you easily begin to care less and less about.

    “Likewise.” You agree, almost completely flustered. Your father calls for you again, and you quickly say your goodbyes before you rush off to him. You find yourself in a rather good mood for the rest of the day, despite your sore and blistered feet from the long journey here.

    Many months flew by very fast while you and your father worked for the circus, and you and Kurt had grown very close. He visited you when he could sneak away from practice and performances, and although you were more concerned about him staying out of trouble, you began to appreciate the company beyond the way a simple friend would, finding yourself blushing and flustered while around him.

    A fact that hadn’t changed throughout your time there was the treatment of many of the animals. All of them had a grievance or problem of some sort, and it broke your heart to have to stand by without the ability to help them. In the eyes of the circus, you were just the Ferrier’s assistant, nothing more. At first, you were, in the very least. Some of the animal trainers had noticed how good you were with the horses, and how even the most skittish of the equine animals would calm around you and let you handle them without any trouble. Things like that don’t go unnoticed, and soon enough many of the animal handlers had heard about your “gift” with the live attractions. Part of this was due to your Father’s constant bragging about your special skill with animals, although you were the only one who knew the truth about it all. After a while, the frustrated animal trainers began to ask you to assist them with the other animals as well, noting how it hadn’t taken very long before they were at ease around you. The size of cages and the attitudes of the trainers were something you couldn’t change very much, but even if you could only help out with a few things here and there, you were happy- and the animals were too.

    Today, you were doing your best to handle an absolute disaster. 

    Tonight’s animal show was a new set, with lots of loud noises and the pops of fireworks launching far, far above the tops of the tallest tent. With so many new lights and colors, they should have known something was bound to go wrong- and boy, did it. The smallest pony in the show was a stunning Blue Roan mare named Bubbles- and unlike many of the other mares in the show, she was very skittish. Her trainers mostly knew to be careful around her, but that consideration slipped under the radar when it came to all the new changes. Her show went by relatively seamless, with only a few issues here and there- but it was enough to put her on edge. When the fireworks finale went off as she was being led out of the main tent, it was just her last straw.

    I don’t like them. I don’t like the loud noises. Bubbles is pacing anxiously in the back of her tiny stable, still having trouble settling down. Every bump or noise from outside and even the neighboring stables sends her spiraling again. You’re standing at the gate, giving her a cautious amount of room to pace and worry so that she doesn’t feel trapped by you. 

    “I know, Bubbles, It’s okay.” You whisper. You’re so concerned for her, and angry with her trainers, too. It makes your blood boil to remember how one of them had gotten frustrated with her tonight, eventually giving up on settling her completely and thrusting her reins at you, telling you to “take this stupid thing somewhere else!”. The lack of patience and understanding makes you rage, but you know you can’t say a thing if you want to keep this opportunity to work with the animals.

    Please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so scared. I’ll do better, I promise. Bubbles says again. The words almost bring tears to your eyes, hurting for her. You hate seeing her so scared.

“Hey, hey. Easy, I’m not mad at you, I promise. You’re safe with me, okay?” You tell her, starting to slowly approach her as her pacing begins to slow. She whinnies once, huffing as she tries her best to calm herself down. Eventually, she begins to settle, letting you get close enough to reassuringly pet her nose and flank. She leans into the comforting touches, finally beginning to relax after being high-strung for so long. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a minute, enjoying each other's company as you hear the sounds of the circus begin to dwindle and die.

     I’m sorry for all the trouble. Bubbles apologizes quietly.

    “You haven’t been any trouble, Bubbles, I promise.” You say soothingly. “Do you want to talk for a bit before I go?” She nods her head, and that’s all the answer you need.

    The two of you talk for a long, long while as you take off her tack and brush her down, pampering her as you ready her for bed. You talk about food, trainers, the new horseshoes she’s getting next week- anything at all. Even Kurt comes up in conversation, eventually.

    I like him. She says decisively. He sneaks me leftover apples. You can’t help but giggle at that, already having a hunch that he had been giving the horses treats while no one was looking. Not that you really mind, it was nice to know that they had someone other than you and your father looking out for them.

    “I agree. He’s very nice.” You say, smiling brightly. She noses you in response.

    I think he likes you, too. You instantly blush at her words, shaking your head at her with a flustered smile. You honestly doubted he saw you as much more of a friend, even if the two of you have had somewhat sensitive moments sometimes.

    “I really don't think-”

    “Guten Abend!” You can’t help but shriek at the greeting, knowing just who it was as you whip around in the stable, spotting Kurt leaning against the gate with a cheesy smile.

    “Kurt! You have got to stop scaring me like that!” You scold, throwing the dandy brush at him. He pretends to be wounded, holding a hand over the spot it hit him dramatically as he laughs.

    “I’m sorry. Seems I couldn’t help myself.” Kurt says, and you lightly slap his arm again for good measure when you can reach him, trying and failing to keep yourself from smiling at his antics.

    “You could have startled Bubbles. It took forever for me to get her settled after the show today!” You scold him again, smile not letting up for a second. Kurt smiles a little nervously at that before he looks behind you to see the completely unbothered Bubbles.

    He wouldn’t have- I saw him come in. She says. You wave her off discreetly. That’s not the point, Bubbles! But even without being able to understand her, Kurt seems to get the hint that she wasn’t even a tad bit bothered and jumps the gate with such ease you can’t help but be a little jealous of his athleticism. 

    “Then I’ll apologize to you too, Bubbles.” Kurt cooes, lavishing her forehead and muzzle with pets and kisses that she happily receives. You watch him with a smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You knew you were absolutely gone on him, this little crush of yours having developed into true and deep feelings of affection. But how could you not? Even watching him right now it’s clear to see the kindness and support he gives to every living thing regardless of status or species. That meant more to you than you think he might ever know.

    “How was it out there?” You ask eventually, leaning against the side of the stable.

    “So-so. The crowds have started to react less to our sets. Mother says that we’ll get better reactions if we change the performance a little.” Kurt shrugs, tail tucked tightly around his own waist- something you noticed he did every time he entered the stables so that he wouldn’t startle the horses with the snake-like limb. You frown, eyebrows furrowing at the news. You knew that they had been trying some new things for the animal shows, but the acrobatics had always been so incredible and immaculate. It’s strange to you that anyone would look on at that part of the show with a straight face.

    “And how does Ringmaster Getmann feel about that?” You ask. Bubbles huffs through her nose angrily at his name, and you join Kurt by her side, petting her shoulder. You can see that Kurt is frowning, not responding to your question as his eyes stay squarely on Bubbles. 

    “...Kurt?” You’re really worried for him now, knowing that the look on his face can only mean that nothing good will come of it.

    “It’s nothing for you to worry over.” Kurt responds after a minute. “He wants us to do riskier tricks, but Mother keeps telling him it’s not the best idea. He’s rather adamant about it though.” His voice is soft while he delivers the news, and it makes you wonder how on earth he’s not angry about the blatant disregard for both his and his adoptive siblings’ safety.

     I knew I had a good reason to hate that man! Bubbles speaks angrily as she flicks her tail, Kurt being the only reason she hadn’t bucked or stopped in frustration. Your worry begins to deepen as you think everything over.

    “I- You won’t get hurt, will you?” You ask, worry clearly spilling into your tone. “The animal injuries are already bad enough, but if he starts risking human lives-”

    “I’ll be fine, Schatz.” Kurt cuts you off, stepping away from Bubbles to take your hands in his own. The nickname had a tendency to make your heart flutter, but right now all you could feel was the anxiety of an impending disaster. “Please don’t worry for me.” He tells you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. You’re breath catches at the act, and when you look at him there's a fond, reassuring look on his face. Still, it did not ease your worries in the slightest. Kurt takes a step closer to you, his hand cupping your face now instead.

    “I can’t help it. I worry because I care.” You whisper. Kurt smiles softly at you, leaning in to rest his forehead against your own. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, reveling in the fond moment. Still, your lips tingled with how close the two of you are, eyes darting down to the shape of his lips as you ran your tongue across your own. Kurt’s pretty eyes don’t let the action go unnoticed. He begins to lean in to close the gap between the two of you, and your eyes flutter closed as he does so.

    “Kurt.” The voice startles the two of you, separating immediately. It’s Stephan, Kurt’s adoptive brother. He’s not only startled you and Kurt, but Bubbles too. She spooks in the tiny stables, rearing up before you immediately turn to her, doing your best to calm her down once again. She’s breathing a little hard, but she’s not pacing again, which was much better than before, although you were certainly peeved to have backtracked already.

   “You know you’re not supposed to linger around the stables after the show,” Stephan says to Kurt, who only frowns. The two had begun to form a rather strained relationship as of late, but neither of you would have expected him to go out of his way to catch Kurt like this. You glance back at them as you finish settling Bubbles, staying silent as the two of them share a look. Kurt’s tail sways a bit, and you can see Stephan roll his eyes at Kurt before he nods his head to the door and begins to leave. Kurt sighs deeply before he turns to you with a remorseful look.

    “I’ll see you soon- promise,” Kurt says, taking your hands in his own and giving them a reassuring squeeze. You’re frowning, unable to help it at this point due to the moment being ruined. Kurt leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves, and you smile a bit. He gives you another quiet goodbye before he jumps the gate again, and follows his brother out.

    You're left standing there with Bubbles, and despite Kurt’s promises, you have an uneasy feeling in your chest. You want to blame it on the disappointment of the night, but you can't help but wonder when you'd actually get to see him again.

[bobluvbot]

drivers license

pairing: james potter x f!reader summary: 'cause he said forever, but now you drive alone past his street. notes: muggle&modern!au, angst, reader gets in a slight panic attack. james as your high school bf :') first fic in a looong while, pls be nice! 2.6k wc

The moment you set the parking brake on, the evaluator began writing furiously on the long sheet of paper. 

You should be combing through your actions and decisions for the twenty minutes that seemed to go by quickly, but you don’t. You know you did your best. You remembered what those green arrows and red signs meant. The yielding and the measured speeds. That the car follows where your eyesight lands so you have to be careful on what you set your focus on. Everything by the book.

Why is it that the things that stick would be those taught to us by the people who are simply not there anymore?

But then again, you remember that you also made hard brakes that made both you and the evaluator lurch an inch forward; and you got confused when he tried to distract you by fidgeting with the trinkets your mom left in her car and asking about it, like her work name tag. So who really knows if you get this or not? 

You probably wouldn’t. Damn, you already bought your own key ring and neck pillows for this car, and your mom called off from work for this---

“..you’ll be getting your license in a few days or so in the mail so continue checking for that.”

Your what? You stare at the man blankly as he hands you the sheet before unbuckling his seatbelt. You could tell he was confused at your blank stare, so he reiterates, “You passed. You have to go inside to get your temporary license, ‘cause the card one will take a while to arrive.”

You could have gone with a more sensible, mature choice of words. He always gushed about how he loved your wit whenever you both were writing or doing something with words. He would get this idea of a feeling he wants to put down, but it couldn’t fit in the tone he was going for, so he’d ask you for a word or a phrase that encapsulated all that. It would be a perfect fit most of the time; and if it wasn’t, he’d work around it and be stubborn about not changing it ‘till he has to (even if you assure him many times that you won’t get mad). You asked him once why, and he says so nonchalantly, as if he did not set alight fireworks and butterflies in your chest, that his works are collages of his feelings, memories, and the people he loved most. 

But despite all that, you were just able to give the evaluator an “Oh my god?!”, complete with a gaping mouth; to which he responds with an emotionless ‘congratulations’ before shutting the door and walking away.

When you got out of the car— still in disbelief and in confusion— you hyperfocus on how your parking was too askew that it took two spots in the lot.

You inwardly groan as the fact that you can legally be incarcerated now for driving above the speed limit when you’re late for class start to sink in more. 

Your mom would probably be so giddy once you meet her at the waiting area, carrying that tiny white slip that had ‘temporary license’ plastered across it, since she’s not going to pay for driving school anymore, plus the fact that she’ll be free from having to drive you to school and around the city anymore. 

To be honest, you weren’t planning for it to end like this. You– no you and James– actually had the perfect plan months prior. Test day would be on the twenty-fifth. You’d go around town by the twenty-sixth to go get party supplies, groceries for dishes he wanted to cook, and order his cake for pickup the day after. Then on his birthday, twenty-seventh of March, You’d come over to the Potter house to celebrate with everyone, and before the day ends, you’ll drive him around San Francisco. You’ll both pretend to be tourists, joining the crowd of visitors as they marvel at the city’s popular spots, as if you and James didn’t grow up having these places a short drive away. 

You love your home. Even with the everpresent traffic, lack of decent parking, and ridiculous prices of nearly everything the city sports, going home to the suburbs everyday provided balance. ‘We have the best of both worlds’, James would say. ‘We both can go out and be whoever we want in the city, but we still have the familiar quiet to go home to.’ 

He made loving this place easier— even if you can’t walk to the nearest McDonalds anymore since it’s a good drive away, far from having your old school, the library, the park, and a Walmart being in the same plaza back in your former suburb, a few minutes away from Los Angeles. Everything was more spaced out here, but you never felt the gaps in between destinations. You didn’t need to, especially when there’s always James, his beloved blue Chevy pickup he inherited from Monty for his fifteenth birthday, and his endless stories about football team practice that day or the most recent shenanigans Sirius and him had devised during Minnie’s AP English class, that kept you company. 

You grew to love this place as much you did home. So much so that you never considered leaving, while James apparently did.

“Y/N, do you still have somewhere to go? I’m heading in.” Your mom says as she taps on your window, shaking you from your reverie. You got home a while ago. She finished unloading all the groceries from the back to the kitchen inside. Those were multiple trips back and forth, yet you never noticed. A cold breeze runs past you despite the closed windows and you shiver. Not this again.

Rolling down your window, you give her the best smile you can muster up. “You can go ahead, Mom. I’ll try to drive around a bit on my own, you know, for practice.” You throw in an awkward chuckle hoping it was convincing enough for her to let you go.

“Don’t go too far now, it’s getting dark. Be back for dinner.”

You give her a nod and a smile. You wonder if she knew why, but you appreciate her for not prodding. You don’t even know why you’re acting like this.

After circling your block for the third time, you decide to park the car under a willow tree, taking time and effort to park flush against the curb for no reason at all. You just think maybe somewhere, somehow, a familiar voice will pop up behind you and gush about your near-perfect parking skills.

It was, what, two months ago?, that you saw that car sticker on James’ Etsy cart that said ‘cute girls hit curbs’. It was right after a (semi-successful) driving session after school, and James decided that it was a parallel parking day. He had knowingly directed you to a busy city street, where the only available parking was street parking, and everyone seemed to get the memo of his evil agenda and parked irregularly, leaving you with little to no choice but to squeeze your mom’s family van in between them. 

With a number of curb hitting that would’ve sent your mother’s insurance agent to consider hiking up prices just for the fact, you were close to tears. 

James was quick to drop his teasing smirk as he saw how your face fell, dejected. With a warm smile, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently reassured you, 'Hey, you did this perfectly on your own a few hours ago, you got this, doll.”

“No, James,” you choke out, trying to stifle down the sobs down your throat. Someone honks behind you, and your body took it as a cue to start hyperventilating, the shivers making its way down the nimble fingers clutching the wheel hard. “I don’t think I can, there’s so many cars—”.

James was quick to roll down his window to gesture something to the other car. Could be an expletive to tell them to fuck off or a kind wave to tell them to go ahead (James could’ve easily done both), but the car moves away nonetheless, returning you both back to the earlier predicament.

He tried to redirect your attention back to him without touching you, nicknames and encouraging words leaving his mouth out of habit. He learned from past experiences that in moments where you get overwhelmed with something, touch could either jolt you back to him or spur on a full on panic attack. His attempts were futile, however, as you were too entranced by watching the side mirror closest to you, flinching each time a car passes the van, even making it lurch forward if the oncoming traffic goes too fast and too close. 

Unbuckling his seatbelt and placing the car on park in quick succession, he reached over the console and gently cupped your face in both his hands, tilting your chin up to meet his soft hazel gaze. James had always looked intimidating; the most rambunctious one in his kindergarten class, the one who stood up against taller students that pick on the quiet ones, and once the growth spurt kicked in he quickly rose up the ranks, from little league to your magnet high school’s uber-selective football team. 

But he also had the kindest of eyes, those precious ones where you don’t even have to look hard and wonder what they’re feeling as it provides a window straight to their soul. It’s always a gift to feel his gaze on you, to have the privilege of knowing where the seven tiny specks of green in each iris merge with the honey brown. 

He gently cupped your face in both hands, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “Eyes on me, pretty.” 

James’ best trait was not patience, both of you had established that when you met in middle school. But when he got to know you and your tender-hearted nature, he tried his damndest to learn how. It’s crazy to think how much time spent in love can change a person inherently. You could’ve met James right then and there, and think he’s a natural. 

You shift your focus on his warm palms on your trembling cheeks, on his steady breathing. It slowed yours and soon became in sync with his. “There’s my girl. Let’s try again, hm? I'll guide you through it.”

Compelled by a mystical force, likely strong love and devotion to the boy who sat beside you, who looked at you like you’re capable of doing all things beautifully (one of which is parallel parking, apparently), you found yourself behind the wheel again with renewed vigor.

As you carefully edged the car towards the parking spot, James leaned over, his hand lightly resting on your thigh. “A little to the left,” he murmured.

“Turn the wheel slowly.” 

Firm hand on your shoulder, his steady presence gave you confidence to make adjustments based on your gut. “You're doing great, love.” You couldn’t see, but you felt the smile in James’ voice. 

Before you knew it, you were parked, albeit a snug fit. You heard shuffling, then you were wrapped in a tight embrace, bodies twisted in weird angles because you both forgot that unbuckling the belts were an option. “Knew you could do it, baby.”

You tried to throw some light punches to his chest despite your difficult position. “I still hate you for subjecting me to Geary street traffic.”

“Gotta throw you out on the deep end to learn how to swim!” he’d said, earning him a slap on the chest.

You laughed at that time, but maybe you should’ve taken that as a hint to what came next.

-

To kill time, you decide to take a picture of your temporary license and edit it for an instagram story. 

You get more and more lost through pictures and stories posted, trying to forget what you saw, that you forgot why you opened the app in the first place.

You wished, during the driving lessons, that you’d bothered to ask him, not only how to yield for an unprotected turn but also to live without him. So that you can make the most out of your senior year. So that you can drive around San Francisco without lugging a heavy heart. So that you could write songs again that weren’t about loss. So that you could be okay now that he’s gone. 

Mom says he’s not gone gone. He’s just off to college. You would be, too, soon enough. You could go to Yale too so you can be together. You give her a nod to satisfy her, to let her know it was something you’re considering; but in all honesty, you just wanted her to stop.

You and James weren’t perfect. There were ugly fights and soaked pillows and days spent without talk, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything better. You learned to finally befriend life because hatred was just too consuming to carry everyday. It was replaced with something bright and lovely you can carry around to keep you company. You’ve never felt anything remotely similar to it before. Somehow, someway, the warmth always came by when James was with you. 

One night while laying in his bed, after a long session of application essay revision, he tells you that Sirius broke off his long-term relationship because of college.

“What, why?”

He shrugs. “They’re heading to different ones.”

You were waiting for more details but he remained silent. “Just because of that?” You laugh. “That’s dumb.”

Now it was his turn to ask. “Why’s that?”

“It’s just college, Jamie. It’s just like when we go spend the holidays or summers with family. We don’t break up. We work around it. Because we know it’s not permanent. Nothing worth ruining a good relationship over.” You scoff, shifting your gaze from his hazel eyes to the white of your ceiling. “What a waste, I actually thought they were it for each other.”

He was silent. You turned to face him and he just gazed at you with an unreadable expression. “We’ll make it work like we always did, right, Jamie?”

He kissed your forehead in response. “Always.”

-

That was six months ago. 

Your knuckles turn white, a stark contrast to the black leather as you clutch the wheel as hard as you can. You could barely see through the tears that run uncontrollably down your cheeks. 

How can he be so okay now that I’m gone? 

You floor the brakes hard, flinging yourself forward before getting yanked back by the seatbelt. Some kid had kicked their red and gold striped ball towards the street. 

“Sorry!” You wave at the kids, signalling that it was okay. That they didn’t just give you a heart attack right then and there. 

You wipe your tears away in haste. It’s probably time to head home. Maybe these rogue feelings were just due to your sugar levels dropping, making both your mind and vision hazy.

But when you check your left if there’s something there you could hit, your eyes get caught on a familiar view. 

The Potter house. Same as before. It’s almost as if he’d go barreling out the doors to meet you outside, envelop you into a bear hug, and spin until you both feel dizzy with laughter. Now, his bedroom’s dark. A reminder that he’s not there. Your Jamie isn’t home anymore.

You head back to your house for dinner. 

[idkfitememate]

سلام! همانطور که می بینید این تصویر رئیس جدید در آینده است، می خواستم بپرسم واکنش شخصیت به خواننده سازنده که او را به عنوان یک حیوان خانگی همه جا می برد چیست؟🥺💖😂

Fontaine’s New Dragon

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : Gn! Water Dragon x Fontaine

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 895

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, Neuvillette & Reader implied to be past lovers

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Thank you to the people who helped me translate! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱���ིა

Also fun fact, I reverse searched the image and the literal place I could find it was a Twitter (or X🙄) post that was like “Neuvillette’s furry dragon form dropped?” and got an amazing idea~

Furina was an eccentric woman. That was well known fact all throughout Fontaine.

Another known fact was that you could commonly see her out and about with her Salon Solitaire. That Salon consisting of - of course- Gentilhomme Usher, Surintendante Chevalmarin, Mademoiselle Crabaletta and the Singer of Many Waters.

What was uncommon, however, was seeing her spend so much time at the waters surrounding the Court of Fontaine.

And by spending a lot of time, I mean spending hours at the water. Which sounds weird because she’s the literal Archon of water but… eh.

The people didn’t really bother with what she did unless it pertained to a court hearing.

Neuvillette did care. He was thoroughly confused as to why his Lady was spending so much time near the water with her troupe. He knew she was… well. He didn’t really have a good word to describe the bouncy girl, but she certainly was something.

It wasn’t until all members of higher position in Fontaine were called to the Hotel Debord for a “special announcement” as she claimed.

And everyone did show. Though the dragon was a bit confused when he saw the magicians and their sibling in room. And Navia.

Navia…

He shook his head and looked away from the blonde who seemed to have not noticed him yet.

Taking his seat, he and everyone else awaited the arrival of their Archon.

The lights turned down and a spotlight lit up the stage.

The first to rush out was Surintendante Chevalmarin, filling the stage with bubbles as music began to play.

Next was Gentilhomme Usher, who launched pulses of water into the air, said pulses catching the light in just a way that made rainbows fall across the stage.

And finally Mademoiselle Crabaletta rolled into view, the bubble surrounding her popping and rings flying into the air, being caught by ribbons and hooks in the air.

“Is everyone ready?~”

Heads turned to the back of the room where Furina stood. Jumping up she landed on a bubble, that of which she rode down onto the stage.

Her Salon danced around her as she spun.

“Then I would like to introduce you all to the newest member of my Salon Solitare!~”

The rings that were thrown were then lit up by their own spotlights.

“Please give a warm welcome tooooo….!~”

All four on stage stopped dancing gestured up towards the rings above them.

“Dragon des profondeurs chantant*!~”

Her words were met with a a noise from off stage, before something swooped from above, quickly swinging through the hoops attached to the ceiling.

It was long and cover in royal blue and azure fur, speckled with greens and topped off with gold.

Its body was long and serpentine in shape, long golden whiskers flowing freely from its face.

A crown like structure sat on its forehead, four ears pointedly raised in a regal manner.

Its tail was unlike its body, it ended in a large fin that didn’t match any fish any other had seen before. It looked strong and powerful, one to bend the waves under its will.

The music silenced and the light dimmed as the beast found purchase on the rings above the stage.

Large wings rose from its back, poised in the air like a painting.

And finally, it glowed.

Bright golden and azure fill the room with tints of sea foam green. Its eyes opened to reveal stark white eyes that’s glow was only slightly y dimmer than all the other lights on its body.

Silence filled the room.

Eyes were wide and no one knew what to say. What could they say? Their Archon had just found a dragon, an actual genuine DEEP SEA DRAGON, something that hadn’t been recorded for years! Last known sighting of a being even remotely similar to those was the Hydro Dragon and its description was the…

… Was the exact same as the dragon before them.

If not a bit bigger but perhaps they could change their size?

As soon as this thought went through their heads, you gracefully leapt down onto the stage, a rumbling purr emoting from your throat. You did in fact increase in size, the stage allowing you to reach a point where Furina was the size of one of your smaller ears.

“Hehe! You should’ve seen them when I found them beneath the waves!~”

Ah. Of course. Even that wasn’t your size.

The shocked silence was interrupted by someone clambering up from their seat.

Neuvillette.

He ran forwards towards the stage with an expression none of them had ever seem before. Hopping up onto the stage, he faced the dragon as it turned to him.

The two made eye contact for a moment before the Sovereign held a shaking hand out. You walked forward and pressed your head into his palm.

“…Ma brillante perle des profondeurs..?”

Your throat rumbled in response, a smile over taking your previously blank face.

“Mon très cher poisson-ange.~”

Everyone who wasn’t a dragon jumped at the sound of your rather deep voice.

Neuvillette wrapped his arms around your neck - though with your current size they barely made it one fourth of the way.

And I’m response you nuzzled against him. You’re glowing pulsating in a comforting way.

“Wait wait wait… YOU CAN TALK????” Furina’s voice shattered the silence.

“AND YOU KNOW THEM NEUVILLETTE?!?!?”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I hope it satisfies! I love my little guys hehe. Because of all the Neuvillette me thinks he may become a new favorite hehe ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა!

Hope you enjoyed!

* Dragon of the singing depths - Furina to You

* My brilliant deep sea pearl - Neuvillette to You

* My dearest angelfish - You to Neuvillette

[sluggzillaa]

Orbitron

Word Count: 2.5k

✧ Pairing: Joost Klein x Fem!Reader

✧ Summary: You and Joost have been apart of the same friend group for a while now but haven't had the chance to get to know each other. Thats till they both go on a smoke break.

✧ Warnings and tags: pet/nicknames(Sweetheart) ,some needed fluff, exs to lovers, cursing, angst, joost is kind of an asshole

✧ Authors note: my requests are open so please request something so I have an excuse to post more. ps, MINORS SHOO!

“I’ll never leave you, Schat”

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You can’t remember how long it has been since you came to terms with the fact that you’re now single. It wasn’t like you were in denial, you were just genuinely unsure. You were completely in the dark about everything. One day you’re exchanging I love yous and the next your texts are green. Now you spent your time trying to navigate single life, especially since you felt like you’ve been in a relationship for so long.

You downloaded a couple dating apps. Finding it difficult to not cringe or get nostalgic whenever you see a pale man with slightly long blonde hair. You’d be surprised how many people look like your ex.

Finally you landed on someone who was the complete opposite of your ex. He had dark skin, dark curly hair, and definitely not as tall as him. Hopefully, this would be exactly what you needed to get over the rapper. You hopped out of the shower and rushed to get ready as you were running behind schedule. It's been a while since you’ve been on an actual date so you were pretty rusty. Once your hair was done, you ran into your room and scavenged through piles of clothes to find a decent outfit. You found a decently casual black midi dress. You genuinely didn’t care much to impress your date, you just wanted to be able to say you did it. You slipped on the dress and rushed to the bathroom to put on the minimum amount of makeup you felt comfortable going out in. Once you felt ready, you called for your cab and let your date know you were on your way.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You walked up to the front of the restaurant and looked around the crowd for your date. You spotted him and walked over to your table. He stood up as soon as he noticed you, a huge smile on his face.

“Apson, right?” You greeted

“Yeaa”

He pulled you into a welcoming hug. He pulled away and pulled out your chair for you as well as taking your bag. You thanked him and pulled the chair in. He rounded the table and sat down. You two quickly scanned the menu to decide what you would eat. Once that was done, you two quickly got to small talk.

“So are you from the netherlands? Your dutch is very good” He questioned

“Technically no, I was born and raised for a bit in America but my parents moved me here in high school”

“I see.. So how was-”

He was quickly cut off by his phone ringing off the hook. He had a privacy screen on his phone so you couldn’t see who it was. He apologized and walked off to take the call. You huffed and took a moment to look around. You locked eyes with the waiter who was coming your way. He asked if you were ready to order but asked for a few extra minutes. Apson soon came back, but did not sit back down. You gave him a concerned look.

“Hey i’m sorry, an emergency came up and i really have to go”

“Oh okay, I guess we can reschedule”

“Yea maybe”

He wasted no time and quickly rushed out of the restaurant. You looked down at the table and wondered if you had done something wrong or if you were just overthinking. You grabbed your stuff and headed out of the restaurant.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

Once you got home, you quickly slipped out of your dress and into some pajamas. You washed all your makeup off your face. You were drying your face and heard a buzz from your phone. You put the towel down and picked up your phone to read the notification.

joostklein liked your story

You threw your phone into the sink and leaned back against your bathroom wall. You stared at your phone like it was a huge scary bug. You gained the courage to grab your phone and look back at the notification, ensuring it was real. Your eyes widened the more you looked at it.

“Holy shit!”

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You spent all day staring at your phone, waiting for his next move. You questioned how he even found you considering you changed all your usernames since he left. Since it was right there, you took a peek at his page. He had changed his hair. It was no longer just a dirty blonde mess of grown out hair, it was now a platinum blonde mullet. He had no longer lived in hoodies. He had switched from his need for comfort to a need for style. The biggest change to you was that he had finally grown facial hair. He still had those gorgeous kind eyes that always drew you in. You scrolled further and found his concert clips, realizing he had actually obtained his dream. You had done one final scroll and that's where you had found the picture that had changed it all.

A photo of Joost in a blue suit with spiked shoulder pads and Apson in a blue bird suit

You were absolutely fuming. He was now going out of his way to fuck with your ability to move on despite being the one who left. You were tired of constantly invading every part of your life, even when he wasn’t actually there. You needed to take matters into your own hands. You clicked the message button on his profile and got to typing like a maniac.

fa3d0ll: Who the fuck do you think you are? You ruin my fucking date meanwhile you were the one who walked out on me. You thought a record deal was more important than your girlfriend. You chose to leave and now you think you have the privilege to invade my privacy and control my life. You walked out my life so please stay the fuck out of my life completely. I’m done with you

You huffed and put your phone down on the bed next to you. You closed your eyes, not expecting to get a response anytime soon. You were wrong. Your phone buzzed immediately. You darted your head up and checked your phone.

joostklein: Do you still live in the same apartment?

fa3d0ll: What?

Read 2:13 pm

You turned your head into your pillow and let out a muffled scream. At Least you know, he didn’t change or he arguably got worse.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You dozed off after your conversation; if you could even call it a conversation, with Joost. The amount of frustration this man had filled you with made you extremely exhausted. He had taken a toll on your body and mind. You were deep into your dreams until you were woken up by the loud buzz of your doorbell. You groaned and got up from the couch and shuffled to the intercom.

“Who is it?” You questioned

“Open up” A familiar muffled husky voice came from the other side

Whatever sleepiness you still had in your system from your nap had immediately slipped away. Your stomach turned and your blood turned cold. Without a second thought, you let him in. You stood in front of your door waiting to hear his heavy footsteps draw near. You slowly opened your apartment door, revealing the tall blonde man. You couldn’t read his expression, he looked pissed yet slightly amused. Once he stood on the last step; you fully opened the door, practically welcoming him into your home. He walked past you and took a look around. 

“Looks nothing like the last time I was here”

“I needed a change of scenery”

He let out a scoff before heading into your kitchen. He looked through a few cabinets before finding where you kept your mugs. He looked around and frowned when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. He turned back around to you and gave you those sad puppy eyes that made you melt.

“Even got rid of my favorite mug”

“I did put all your stuff in boxes for you to pick up ..but obviously you didn’t care enough to come get them” You spat back

He nodded and turned back around to the cabinet. He grabbed a random mug and placed it in the cup holder of your coffee maker. He grabbed a k cup and placed it into the machine. You watched his every move as he navigated through your kitchen like he owned it. He stood there with his back to you as he watched the coffee pour into the mug. Once it was all poured out, he grabbed the mug and turnt back to you. He took a sip and eyed you over the lip of the mug. You rolled your eyes at him.

“So why are you here?”

He took his time and slowly lowered the mug from his face. He let the dark liquid dance on his tongue before swallowing it. He gently places the mug down and looks back at you.

“I heard you were dating again”

You took not even half the amount of time it took him to respond back

“Yea no shit sherlock”

“And of all people, you picked my best friend.. Ouch”

“Do you think I knew that when I started speaking to him?”

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t”

“I didn’t! If I knew I would have stayed far away from him”

He clutched his chest and pretended to be hurt

“Wow that one stung”

“Fuck off!”

“As much as I would love to.. I am more interested in catching up”

He picked up the mug once more and walked slowly towards the couch, not once taking his eyes off you. You followed after him. He plopped down into the middle cushion and you sat beside the armrest. He placed the mug onto the coffee table in front of him. His eyes scanned over your body, a smirk painting over  his lips once he met your eyes.

“You look good”

‘Thanks..”

He inched slightly closer, enough for you to almost not notice.

“So besides Apson.. Who have been the lucky guys?”

You stayed silent

“Come on! I might be your ex but I gotta know”

“There are none..” You whispered

“What was that?” He pushed

“There are none” You said louder but still hushed

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that”

“There was none! I haven’t seen anyone since you left!”

His cocky demeanor dropped, noticing just how much it hurt you to admit it. His smirk wa gonna and he somehow didn’t have a quick and snarky rebuttal. He cleared his throat and threw the persona back on.

“No wonder you chose Apson, you were desperate!”

That was your last straw. You stood from the couch and crossed your arms over your chest. You focused on a random corner in the room to try and avoid crying.

“Get out..”

“What?”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

“Wait wait!.. Shit i’m sorry I shouldn't have said that.. Sit down please”

HIs voice was hushed and not even a drop of smugness was in sight. You sighed before obliging. Once sat on the couch you looked up at him. You nodded at him to continue speaking.

“Have you missed me at all?”

“No”

“Don’t lie”

He always knew exactly how to read you, no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it. He inched closer. You refused to look at him, hating how vulnerable this felt.

“I did at the beginning.. But I had to move on” You finally looked up at him with a new found sense of (fake) confidence. He gave you a disappointed look and a small nod. He looked away from you, letting his eyes wander around once more. The silence in the room was deafening. He turned back to you and opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but you beat him to the chase.

“What have you been doing since?”

“Working on my music.. I’ve been doing a couple festivals-”

“No girls?” You cut him off

He quickly shut his mouth. He looked down in his lap with a guilty look on his face. You scoffed and hugged your knees. He looked back up at you, the guilt completely taking over his body language.

“It's funny how you’re so quick to judge me for being single when you can’t settle”

He buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily, then looked up at you with a look of desperation. He leaned closer to you and placed a hand on your knee. You slightly pulled back.

“Shit that's not what.. Look.. What I meant was-”

“I have a sad love life.. No, I get your message loud and clear!”

“No not at all.. Fuck!”

He took a moment to collect himself before finally continuing his sentence

“I'm such a hypocrite for saying that.. I haven’t even looked at another girl since everything. Fuck, you got a one up on me for going on a date”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the way he sighed heavily. His eyes darted to the ground, avoiding your gaze, clearly torn. He looked back at your; His expression was a mix of regret and guilt. She crossed your arms, your posture stiffening as she watched him. your eyes narrowed, catching every subtle shift in his demeanor. your tongue poked the inside of your cheek, in disbelief of his words.

“You’re such a fucking liar”

“You really think I'm lying?” He stood up off the couch

She stood up as well

“Yea I do, there is no way that you; The one who walked out on me and was the ultimate bachelor before we got together, didn’t mess around  with a single person”

“Well there is a way!”

“There is no reason that would be true!”

“Well there is!”

“I’d love to hear it!”

“It's because I'm still in love with you!”

She froze, the response she had ready dying on your lips. your eyes widened, searching his face for any hint of insincerity, but she couldn’t find any. your breath hitched as she tried to process his words, your heart pounding in your chest. your hands, which had been clenched into fists, slowly relaxed, hanging limply by your sides. She took a step back then back in front of him.

She held eye contact with him, your breath catching as the tension between them grew so thick it was almost hard to breathe. Slowly, she moved closer, your pulse racing as the distance between them disappeared. His eyes flicked down to your lips, and without thinking, he moved the rest of the way, brushing your lips softly against his. The initial contact was hesitant, almost testy. He finally deepened the kiss, pulling you in with his hand on the small of your back. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him as if she was afraid he’d leave again. The bickering from before and heavy feelings had left. He pulled away and placed his hands on the sides of your face. He admired every inch of your face like it’d be the last time he’d get to look at it.

“I’ve missed you, Schat”

[mystic-writings]

emergency contact | jack hodgins

pairing — jack hodgins x fem!booth!reader

summary — hodgins hasn’t heard from you in over six months, after you broke up with him and disappeared. until he gets an alarming phone call in the middle of the night

warnings — angst, canon-typical violence, mentions of death

word count — 2,528

notes — a few things: i wrote this back in january, and it was rushed and poorly done but im being self-indulgent for this one | also im not tagging anyone bc i wanna see how far this will get on its own (except for my beloved @shmaptainwrites who indulged me ily mimi)

masterlist | navigation

2:47am

Despite his many years working for the Jeffersonian, Hodgins had yet to get used to his phone ringing at odd hours. With a groan and a stretch, his palm landed where his phone lay on the nightstand table. Without checking the caller ID, he picked up the phone and slurred out a tired greeting to the caller on the other line.

“Hello, Dr. Hodgins, I’m Marie, calling from the George Washington University Hospital.” Why was a hospital calling him so late at night? “You’re listed as the emergency contact for Y/n Booth, correct?”

Your name sent a shock through Jack’s body. “I— I guess so, yeah. Why? Is she okay?”

“Your fiancée was shot on duty, sir. She’s in surgery right now. We suggest you be with her when she wakes up.”

Without a second thought, Jack hung up the phone and flung out of bed. He didn’t care how things ended between the two of you, good or bad, but he knew one thing for certain: he needed to make sure you were okay. After scrambling for a decent set of clothing and his car keys, Jack rushed out of the house and down the near-empty streets to the hospital you were taken to. 

Even though his mind was running at a mile a minute, Jack managed to recall what the nurse had told him. Shot on duty. You took a sabbatical seven months ago, were you back in town? Surely Booth must’ve known, he was your brother and co-worker, he had to have. Did he spare telling Jack to avoid the inevitable turmoil? Obviously you’d been back long enough to take a case, so it wasn’t like you had decided to come back out of the blue. 

By the time he found parking, it was half past 3 in the morning, and Jack’s heart refused to stop beating out of his chest, his palms sweating rivers as he clenched and unclenched them. Despite all of this, though, he approached the front desk with a cracking resolve, trying his best to be put together for the sake of not distressing the night staff and lingering patient family members. 

“Could you tell me where Y/n Booth is?”

The nurse behind the counter glanced up at him. “Connection to the patient?”

“I’m her-” he stumbled on the words. “Her, uh, fiancé. Emergency contact.” 

She typed a few things into the computer when a voice from behind caught Jack’s attention. 

“Hodgins.” Booth called, approaching with a weary face and a cup of likely burnt coffee.

Jack nearly sprinted over to the man, blue eyes frantically searching for answers in his features. “What’s up, man? I mean, what the hell happened?”

Booth took Hodgins by the arm and led him down a hallway, over to the elevators. “We were going after a perp. I told her not to go in first, that I’d handle the hard part. She didn’t listen, the bastard got her from behind, shot out one of her kidneys. Been in surgery for almost,” he checked his watch, “three hours now.” 

Jack deflated just as the elevator doors dinged open. The pair stepped inside, the space empty apart from themselves. “I just— I don’t get it. Yesterday, she was somewhere even I didn’t know, taking some damn sabbatical. Yesterday, I was still pissed at her. Now? She’s in surgery because she was on a case. Because some asshole shot her. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with that, Booth?”

Unable to provide any kind of emotional support or response, Booth remained quiet as his friend tried his best not to break down in the elevator. 

When the doors opened, Jack attempted to regain his composure as best as he could while Booth led him down the hall. There was a separate waiting room here, for family members who had someone in surgery. He sat opposite Booth, next to a sleeping little girl and her obviously exhausted mother. 

He had no bearing of the passage of time, and felt as though there was no energy left within him to check the watch on his wrist. All he did was sit with his hands on his knees, head tilted to the sky, one leg bouncing like an infinite rubber ball. At some point, a doctor came out to notify the mother of her husband’s successful surgery — his tumor was gone, he’d told her, and there was little chance of it coming back. 

It wasn’t until the sun started to peek in through the waiting room windows that a surgeon called out your name. Booth had been asleep in the chair across from Jack, but he was wide awake. The pair jumped up and approached the doctor, throwing questions at him rapidly. 

“Y/n is okay. Surgery went well, though we’ll have to keep her here for longer than expected.”

“Why? What happened?” Booth asked. 

The doctor sighed. “Due to the location of the entry wound, the bullet caused too much damage to her right kidney. For now, she’ll only be functioning with one until we can find a donor match. She’ll be on dialysis weekly and some medication to assist the working kidney, but otherwise, she’ll be just fine in a week or so. The bullet did puncture the liver and small intestine, but the speed of the bullet slowed enough to only cause minor damage, nothing we couldn’t fix up.” He told them, and a wave of relief crashed over the pair. “She’s being brought up to her room now, if you’d like to go wait with her.”

Jack only nodded, Booth trailing him as the doctor led them up one more floor, where you were being transferred to the ICU. It was painful, seeing you after so  long, only for you to be hooked up to so many machines, laying nearly helpless in a bed. He pulled a chair up to your right side, reaching for your limp hand to hold, hoping you could feel him. 

Hoping you knew he was there. That you knew he always would be.

Booth leaned against the door frame, watching everything with anguish. After you left for California, you kept in constant contact with your older brother. But even in those months, you never explained why you broke off the engagement so suddenly. Why you took a surprise sabbatical, why you went to California specifically. Why you became so closed off, so cold to everyone, even to Parker. 

After a while, Booth left Jack alone to go pick up Parker from his mother’s house. He promised to be back later, your nephew in tow, and pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead before he left. 

Jack, swimming in an ocean’s worth of thought, barely noticed the sun coming over the horizon in the window opposite him. All he could do was process the emotions flowing through him. Anger, that you left him so suddenly and without explanation. Despair, that you’d come back so long ago and didn’t come to see him, to work things out. Worry, that despite your life-saving surgery, you wouldn’t get a new kidney, or that you’d never be the same again. Anger again, but at the bastard who shot you. Triumph, that he was rotting in a cell right now. 

 Jack’s only comfort in the sterile, whitewashed room was the steady beeping emanating from the heart monitor, a small assurance that you were okay. His hand remained clasped over yours for hours, thumb stroking the smooth skin on the back of your hand. Partly as a comfort to himself that you were still there, but mostly, he believed, a comfort to you. He hoped you could feel it; that you could feel his presence. He hoped his presence comforted you. 

By the time you woke up, all the worry had faded from Jack’s body and exhaustion had taken its place. He was asleep, head supported by his arm on the side of the chair, when he heard the sheets rustle in the bed. 

Somehow, in all your years of work, this was the first time you ended up in the hospital due to a job-related injury. It wasn’t the first time you woke up dazed after a surgery with little memory of how you got there, though. 

The sheets, despite being thin, weighed down your legs and torso, providing warmth and comfort. You could feel the leads for the heart monitor stuck to your chest, irritating your skin in the slightest bit. There was a cannula feeding oxygen into your system, though it rubbed the skin on the back of your ears uncomfortably. The main thing, though, was that your torso hurt. 

Despite that, you managed to notice something weighing down your right hand. It was warm, warmer than the blankets. And heavier. Garnering the courage to open your eyes, you blinked to adjust to the sunlight and fluorescent lights, trying to shift yourself upward, wincing when it pulled on your wound. Instead, you glanced over at your hand, only to find another on top of it. Following the arm connected to it, your heart stuttered and cracked when you found a sleeping Hodgins sitting next to your bed. Emotion swelled within your chest and tear ducts just at the sight of him, sleeping so peacefully next to you, his hand over yours in a firm grasp, as if that was the only thing that assured him that you were really here. 

Slowly, quietly, you tried to pull your hand out from under Jack’s, only for the movement to wake him up. He stretched with a deep inhale, blinking rapidly as he took in his surroundings. It wasn’t until he noticed you were awake that he seemed to come to his senses. 

“Hey,” he nearly whispered. “How’re you feeling?”

You bit back a scoff. “Terrible. First job back and of course I had to get myself shot.” 

Jack fought a smile, scooting forward to raise the bed up for you to sit properly. “They said they got all the fragments of the bullet during surgery. You’re down a kidney for now, though.”

You only nodded, allowing yourself some time to gather your thoughts. “Why are you here, Hodgins?”

“Apparently, I’m still your emergency contact.” He told you, sitting back down and resting his elbows on his knees. “And apparently, I still care about you enough to show up.” 

“Don’t put that on me.” You whispered, chest restricting as tears fought their way back to your waterline. “You can’t say that to me. Not after what I did to you. You should hate me. I mean, really hate me. Like, praying for my downfall, kind of hate. You shouldn’t still care about me.”

“Well, apparently I do. I thought I hated you, for a long time. But I guess I don’t.” Jack sighed,  taking your hand. You wanted to protest, to pull away, but you let him. “I guess this was a wakeup call for me. Literally. They called me at 3 in the morning to tell me you were in surgery.”

You laughed, a wet sound underlined with sadness. “I’m sorry, Jack. Really, I am. I just…”

“What, don’t love me? It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it.” 

Even when he should hate you, Jack still understood, and even worse, he still loved you. He was, somehow, the world’s most understanding man. God, you love him. 

“No, no I don’t hate you. Actually, it’s the opposite. I just wish things could’ve gone differently.” 

Now Jack was just confused. “What d’you mean? You broke up with me for a reason, right? You told me you didn’t love me anymore.”

“It’s too complicated, Jack. I want to explain it all to you, really, but it’s not safe. I don’t know if or when it will be, and I won’t blame you if you want to find someone else, or if you already have. You deserve to be happy, Jack. You should move on from me.” 

“I don’t want anyone else.” Jack said, emphasizing each word and squeezing your hand. “I just want you. From the moment I met you, I knew you were it for me, Y/n. Even with your brother breathing down my neck to not even think about pursuing our relationship. It was terrifying, but I ignored it. Because you were too important to have in my life. I couldn’t risk passing you up. I just don’t understand why you ended things so suddenly.”

The tears that you had been attempting to keep at bay for this entire conversation now flowed freely down your cheeks, the emotions you’d kept close to your chest for nearly a year now breaking free. Jack, like the gentleman he was, gently tilted your head toward him, reaching up and using the pads of his thumbs to brush them from your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, daring to look him in the eye. 

“Don’t be.” He whispered. 

“I have to be. I hurt you. I ruined everything. And it wasn’t even worth it. It  didn’t change anything.”

Despite his confusion, Jack said nothing. He simply stood to his full height and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you into his chest — minding your wounds and stroking your hair. “It’s okay. You’re home now. We can fix this.”

“No we can’t.” You shook your head, looking up at him. “Jack, there’s nothing left to fix. Because if we fix it, you’ll die.” 

After what felt like an eternity of swirling, spiraling thoughts, Jack found his voice. “What?”

“That’s why I left.” You said. “I was ordered to. I was working on a case, some underground organized crime syndicate. I found out some stuff I shouldn’t have. My hands were tied, I had no choice.” Choking back a sob, you wiped the tears from your face and took a breath. “It was either break up with you, call off the wedding, and leave, or everyone I loved would die. They were gonna kill you, kill Seeley and Parker, and drain your accounts. There was nothing I could do.” 

Jack pulled you in tighter, his whole worldview shifting and turning on an axis. He couldn’t speak — hell, he could barely even think right now. Jack had spent months grieving your relationship, questioning why you broke things off, harboring a ruthless anger at what his life had become, and all of it faded to dust in an instant. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, pulling Jack back to the present. “I work with these people, Jack. They could ruin me in an instant.” 

“We’ll fix this, I promise.” Jack declared, and despite the fear that had overridden your senses for the past few months, you couldn’t help but believe him. 

You only nodded, curling further into him as best as you could with your incisions. Fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie, you listened to the beat of his heart beneath you and took a deep breath. 

Soon enough, you were drifting off to sleep with the firm belief that soon enough, with the help of your family, somehow, everything would be okay. 

if you want more jack fics, please feel free to comment and let me know!! writing for smaller characters is always a gamble but if people read this i’d be more than happy to do so!

[ass-deep-in-demons]

✦ Seeing White ✦

Fandom: Lord of the Rings Genre: slice of life, comedy, romance Characters: Faramir, Eomer, Boromir, Eowyn, Lothiriel, Legolas, Merry Rated: G Length: 3119 words, one-shot

This work is dedicated to @emilybeemartin and directly inspired by her art, and also these recent posts circulating in the Boromir fandom: [slutty white shirt] and [rain soaked Boromir].

I am tagging the folks who got tangled in the Wet Shirts Shenanigans: @sotwk, @scyllas-revenge, @thetempleofthemasaigoddess, @konartiste, @emyn-arnens, @nihilizzzm, @emmanuellececchi. If you didn't want to be tagged I'm sorry, pls ignore :)

✦✦✦

Minas Tirith, 1st of Lótessë 3019 TA

Yes, thought Faramir. This is a great idea. The Ladies will be thrilled.

The day was perfect, too. From the windows of his chambers in the Citadel, all across the White City Faramir could spot the many signs of the long awaited Spring. Together with the verdant Gondorian flora awakening to life after the months of darkness and cold, so, too, were the people of Minas Tirith rising from their knees past the indignity of War. Just as the trees were dressing themselves up in colourful bloom, so were the inhabitants of the old Minas Anor decorating the streets for the impending coronation of their new King Elessar. The merchants, like wandering birds, were returning from distant lands to their abandoned shops and stalls, striving to make up for the losses sustained recently by the Gondorian economy.

It was, for Faramir, self-evident that such a day would be best spent in the Archives of the Grand Library. Granted, if it were for Faramir to decide, all days would be library days; this day, however, was especially well-suited to that purpose. Having the confidence of the palace wait-staff, through careful intelligence he had ascertained that Lady Eowyn, the bold and beautiful sister to the King of Rohan, had today off. It would be delightful to guide her through the collection of scrolls depicting the Fall of Numenor - Faramir could not imagine more romantic circumstances. If not his humble person, then the priceless works of illuminatory art would certainly impress the White Lady.

There remained the question of propriety, naturally. Here, too, he had both luck and days of prior careful planning on his side. Out of all of the birds flocking to Minas Tirith after the thaw, perhaps the most colourful (and certainly the loudest) was his little cousin Lothiriel. The lass was come from Dol Amroth with her brothers to join the upcoming celebrations. This was her debut among the Minas Tirith nobility and so Boromir and Faramir were expected to escort her on occasion, as a courtesy to their uncle the Prince.

What a splendid opportunity to marry duty with pleasure: give his young cousin a lesson in history and spend time in the company of the White Lady. The White Lady in the White City - such an occasion called for the whitest, most pristine of his shirts, and also his best doublet. On this day he was allowed a bit of vanity and he was quite pleased with the results, when he checked himself in the mirror one last time.

Faramir left his chambers and descended to the Courtyard, where he was met with the view that had never failed to cause a pang in his heart, ever since the tender years of his boyhood. In the centre of the sun-bathed plaza, on an islet on the Fountain grew the White Tree of Gondor. In the past, its name referenced its lush white bloom, the beauty of which, if the legends could be trusted, was an echo of the mythical Trees of Valinor. For centuries now the name had only been associated with the Tree’s dry and dead white wood, from which the bark had long been peeled off by the weather. Nary a bud had been spotted since the long gone days of Steward Belecthor.

On that day, though bare as ever, the Tree did not stand there all alone. Under its branches, seemingly caught up in his thoughts, the young King of Rohan was strolling and admiring the Fountain. Faramir, who himself had never been to Rohan, had met Eomer King only recently, in non-too-happy circumstances. All the Lords of Gondor had had the honour of attending a vigil around the bier of the old Theoden King, who had fallen in the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Even though several weeks had passed already since that ceremony, the shadows of the battle past could still be spotted lurking on the noble face of the Horse Lord Eomer. Still, his good humour seemed to be gradually returning to him, if the sharpness of his gaze and the healthy colour on his cheeks were anything to judge by.

The young King of the Rohirrim was, coincidentally, just who Faramir needed at that moment, as without his blessing Faramir’s plans would all be for naught. The matter needed to be carefully broached. Luckily, Faramir was nothing if not subtle.

“Eomer King!” he hailed and politely inclined his head in greeting.

“Just Eomer would suffice,” said the Man of Rohan. “My brother Theodred bore great love for your own brother and always hosted him gladly at the Golden Hall. For all the stories I’ve heard about you growing up, I feel as if we were best friends already, Lord Faramir.”

“And who am I to spurn the friendship of a King?” said Faramir and smiled. “Eomer, then, and you must call me by my name as well.”

“Do you think it will sprout leaves again?” asked Eomer, and Faramir understood that he was talking about the Tree. “You know, after Aragorn’s Enthronement?” This did seem too good to come true. Even though from under the Tree’s roots water continued to spring and feed the Fountain, it was difficult to believe that the dry branches held even one drop of sap.

“That, I would want to know myself,” said Faramir wistfully. He felt gooseflesh erupt on his arms at the thought that he might yet witness the Tree blossom in his lifetime. “I would very much like to see the face of my brother, when that happens,” he added quietly.

“And how fares your brother?” asked Eomer. “I’ve heard he’s been through an ordeal during the War of the Ring.”

Faramir hesitated. An ordeal would be an understatement, he thought. Boromir was not himself ever since he’d returned from the War. Faramir could see right through his brother’s facade. He had been pushing himself to the limits, working day and night like a madman. But Faramir was loath to share his worries with Eomer just yet, so he opted for a diplomatic answer.

“My brother is dedicating his every effort to the betterment of Gondor, as was always his way,” he carefully admitted. “I don’t think he’ll allow himself a moment’s respite until Aragorn is seated on that throne, at last. Thank you for your concern, thought. The sentiment is much appreciated. In fact,” Faramir grimaced, “it is rather I who ought to be enquiring about the wellbeing of your Lady sister.” He looked at Eomer and saw the man’s features soften at the mention of Lady Eowyn.

“She is better than I could have hoped for,” said Eomer with a tentative smile, “in part thanks to your patient encouragement, back in the Houses of Healing… for which I am much obliged, by the by. Of late, she’s been out more. I deem it a good sign.”

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Faramir, and then he quickly checked himself. “Erm… I mean, I’m glad to hear her spirits have improved…” He gathered his courage. “In fact, I am grateful for the opportunity to talk to you on this very matter. You see, I’ve devised a plan, which needs but your approval…”

“A… plan?” Eomer echoed, visibly apprehensive.

“Indeed. I’ve been meaning to take my little cousin Lothiriel to the Archives of Minas Tirith today, to show her our priceless collection of painted scrolls. Perhaps the Lady Eowyn could be persuaded to join us. It would be good… for her moods, I mean!”

Eomer raised his brow at that.

“Now that is a peculiar coincidence. You see, I had planned to take my sister out for a horse ride today, and I was meaning to propose that your cousin Lothiriel would join us in this entertainment. The other day, during dinner, she mentioned her interest in the steeds of Rohan…”

Faramir frowned. His carefully devised plan was now falling apart for this new development. Though he had started his riding lessons as soon as he had learned to walk, aware of his strengths Faramir knew: he had a far better chance at impressing the Lady with his wits than with his equestrian prowess. This matter with Eomer King required a subtle approach. He decided to try dissuasion.

“Curious, indeed. Last time I witnessed my cousin in the saddle, she fell off and broke her ankle. She has been wary of horses ever since…” Faramir mentioned casually. Granted, Lothiriel had been seven when that happened, however Eomer did not need to know that.

This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. A vein on the Horse Lord’s temple started pulsing, Faramir noticed.

“And you, my good man, do not know mine sister, if you think a day among old parchment could ever improve her mood,” Eomer bit back.

Faramir felt a wave of hot anger roll through him. Eomer’s comment stung. Was it possible that Lady Eowyn, so eager to listen to his tales of Gondor’s history back in the Houses of Healing, could indeed reject his offer of a good time in the Archives? Reluctant though he was, he had to admit: where she was concerned, his usually clear mind became clouded. For the first time in his life, emotions made him doubt his better judgement. Eomer, however, seemed to be faring no better, judging from his face, which was getting visibly… flushed?

“Hold on, Eomer…” Faramir put two and two together. “You mean to… spend time with Lothiriel? You do!” Now this sat ill with Faramir, who was used to thinking of his cousin as a little girl, and not a woman grown, ready to be courted. “Have you any idea how young she is? Barely seventeen, I’d wager!”

Eomer levelled Faramir with a deeply unimpressed look.

“You’d loose, too, for she is twenty, and I am eight and twenty! Which is perfectly respectable, and also none of your business. The Lady’s father, the Prince of Dol Amroth, has already consented to my courting her,” siad Eomer icily.

Faramir felt momentarily mortified about his outburst. Ah, this was bad. Of course the most pressing matter for Eomer right now would be to marry well, and of course the noble, beautiful and now decidedly of age Princess Lothiriel would be his intended. And if that were so, then Faramir might have just offended his prospective brother-in-law. Still, he was convinced he could use this unfortunate situation to his advantage.

“He has? Oh, that is well then. I wish you all the luck with securing the Lady’s favour. Unfortunately, my uncle Imrahil has also already approved of my plans to take Lothiriel for a history lesson to the Archives today. You are most welcome to join us, if you will. As is the Lady your sister, with your approval,” he added hastily, hoping to repair some of the damage caused by his ill-advised words.

“Denied! I am taking my sister for a ride today, and that is that,” said Eomer, who seemed to have taken offence from Faramir’s questioning of his motives regarding Lothiriel.

“I beg, Eomer, reconsider…” Faramir began, but then something strange happened. He felt a firm shove upon his shoulder and the ground was abruptly swept from under his feet. He flailed his arms, but that did not avail him - he toppled over the edge of the Fountain and…

SPLASH!

Next he knew, he was taking in a lungful of its fresh water. When he emerged to the surface, sputtering and coughing, he was met with the sight of his brother, who took his place next to Eomer at the water’s edge. Boromir was fresh past his training, already out of his plate, only sporting an unbuttoned surcote over his shift. He was flashing his teeth in a wide grin, his arms crossed cockily over his broad chest.

“Of course it is you, brother,” said Faramir somewhat bitterly. “I see your signature subtlety has not left you over the course of the War.” He could not stay mad at Boromir for long though. Not when his moments of good-natured mischief and levity, so frequent before the Ring, were now so few and far between.

“Forgive me, little brother,” said Boromir, affecting solemnity, “but only you could have thought taking a Lady to the library would serve you well. As your elder it is my duty to tutor you in the ways of women.”

“Hold on, he wanted to woo my sister with books? Hahaha!” Eomer was in stitches about the concept. “Oh, that is rich indeed! Wait ‘till she…”

SPLASH!

Eomer landed in the Fountain right beside Faramir, giving out a most undignified squeak. This did serve to improve Faramir’s mood a great deal.

“Only I get to make fun of my brother,” said Boromir, putting his hands on his hips. “King or no king, you’d do well to mark that, young Eomer! And you will not be telling your sister about any of this. She would…”

Faramir rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed under Boromir’s bulk, as the elder brother, too, inevitably hit the water with a great -

SPLASH!

“Do not presume to speak for me, Boromir of Gondor!” warned Eowyn, towering over the three of them. “And you too, brother! I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs, thank you very much.” She had pushed Boromir into the Fountain with such effortless grace, and told both of Faramir’s tormentors off without a hint of hesitation! She was perfection, Faramir knew. Had he not been in love with her already, he would have fallen head over heels for her at that moment. “I would be glad to join you for a tour about the Archives, Lord Faramir,” said Eowyn, and honestly, it all seemed too good to be true.

“I have never seen you pick up a book in your life, sister,” said Eomer, “save to throw it at our tutor.” He pushed his wet hair back from his face and attempted to stand up, only to slip and plop down once again. 

“Slander!” cried Eowyn, and the most beautiful blush crept onto her face. “I love books! I definitely have read a lot of books in my time! And I happen to take a great interest in the history of Gondor, of late,” she fumbled visibly, which only added to her charm in Faramir’s eyes.

He stood up and shivered. His elegant brocade doublet, which he had picked especially for this occasion, was now entirely ruined. He hastily shook it off, not wanting the richly coloured fabric to stain his white shirt underneath. He wiped off the water from his face, and finally deeming himself presentable (for a given definition of the word) addressed the Lady.

“I would be delighted to personally recommend to you the best historical monographs from our Library, my fair Lady Eowyn,” said Faramir and bowed, smiling widely. “Going through them will of a certainty take some time, but I wholeheartedly offer all the assistance I could give in your studies.”

“You know not what you have signed up for, Lady,” said Boromir, who was still sitting in the water up to his chest, and not in any rush to get up.

“Oh, I think the Lady knows perfectly well what she has signed up for,” the merry voice of Prince Legolas of Mirkwood sounded from behind Eowyn, and it was only in this moment that Faramir realised the White Lady had not come here alone. Distracted by her radiant presence, he had failed to notice the Elf, who was standing a little way off with Meriadoc Brandybuck, one of the Perians, and a furiously blushing, uncharacteristically quiet cousin Lothiriel. The three of them appeared to be carrying… hammers and chisels? Although the girl seemed to have dropped hers and focused on fanning her beet-red face instead.

“We were just off to the City, to help with the renovations of the houses on the Third Level. Master Gimli means to teach us stonemasonry!” Meriadoc supplied, excitement brimming on his features.

“Though I have noticed the Ladies are acting somewhat distracted,” said Legolas. “I wonder if they are up for the task after all, or maybe they would rather stay here and admire the views that the Citadel offers on this fine day.”

Faramir suddenly felt very self-aware. He suspected he was blushing at least as strongly as Lothiriel. Luckily, Lady Eowyn did not seem to mind, or even notice. She appeared to have forgotten his face was up here and not down there. Ah, well. A gentleman must make allowances for the sake of ladies.

Boromir looked suspiciously pleased with himself. He stood up, took off his wet surcote and shook the water off like a giant dog might, splashing on both Faramir and Eomer.

“Pardon our indecent state, Ladies,” Boromir said then, jovially. “I think we should all go and help with the renovations today. Many houses have suffered during the siege and I, for one, am impatient to start rebuilding.”

“A worthy cause! One I’d be glad to join once I get the chance to change into something dry,” said Eomer, who had just managed to get up, after a few mishaps. He put his mighty arms to use and wrung out his soaked shirt. Faramir was sure he heard Lothiriel actually squeal.

“I don’t know that you should,” said the Perian, who seemed bent on making the situation as awkward as possible. “We would get more crowd engagement with you three coming as you are.”

To this, Legolas snickered with malicious glee.

“It could do wonders for the population’s morale, true,” the Elf mused. “Alas! We’d get plenty of volunteers, but very little actual work done, I expect.”

✦ BONUS: ✦

“Gondor is beautiful at this time of the year, is it not, my Queen?” said Aragorn.

He was meant to be reviewing the list of guests for his Coronation, but got distracted by Arwen’s movements about his new office. Something outside had caught her attention, apparently, for she’d spent a good while gawking through the window. And his beautiful Undomiel, ever graceful and unperturbed, could only very rarely be caught gawking, and only in private. He had to assume she was not immune to the splendour of the White City, and he was well pleased that she approved of her new domain.

“Pardon?” she startled, and a faint blush tinged her alabaster cheek. “Oh, yes. The nature is in full bloom. But, I am not your Queen. Not yet, at least,” she said, and smiled a very secretive, private smile.

Aragorn suspected a hundred years would pass before he’d learn to decipher all the subtleties of her expression. He was content to just admire them, for now.

[MY WRITING MASTERPOST]

[wroteclassicaly]

Kink hour! Imagine: female!reader catches bestfriend!steve masturbating, hearing him ask his 'mommy' if he can cum, and then reader walks into the room says yes..... my thots are sub!steve with a mommy kink 😳 imagine absolute degrading 'king steve' 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I do agree that he’s into this kink. Boy just wants to be someone’s desperate sub and be taken care of sometimes, even if he doesn’t know it.

Warnings: Language, mommy kink, male masturbation, degradation kink, little bit of a perv!reader, and King Steve.

~*~

You’ve always had a spare key to the Harrington’s on your car ring, gifted to you by Steve himself. He didn’t care what time of day, even if he wasn’t home - if you let yourself in and stole from his fridge, messed around in his room, slept in his bed. And you are yet to pick up on exactly why. Until today, that is. You went to his residence immediately after you got off work from your spare, pitiful two hour after school shift at JC Penny.

Eager to get to him, you’d shrugged yourself out of your cardigan, ditching your purse and name tag, ascending the staircase to his room.

His door is closed, but you pause on the landing, heart rate spiking and climbing into your throat, an ache pulsating between your thighs. You know that kind of noise. It’s one that you’ve indulged many of times, however, your never expected all mighty King Steve would call out for you, just like you do for him. Your best-friend, someone also from a different social hierarchy. You can feel your sporadic heartbeats a they crowd into your sternum and ping pong off your throat, heading straight back to your toes — that curl in your sneakers.

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is very - so - fucking… wrong.

You watch your fingers wrap around his door handle and twist, pushing it open enough to see. He’s sprawled out in his desk chair, completely naked, a thin sheen of sweet glistening on his freckle spattered chest. He’s so tan, toned. And his cock — fuck. You knew he had to be packing — seeing him in his speedo, his boxers, his sweats, basically everything but actually getting to see it in person. Nothing could have compared, nor are you prepared.

His thumbpad swipes across the head, his jugular swallows against a harsh gulp to let in air. He’s whimpering, one hand reaching for his full balls, your name dropping off his lips. You couldn’t leave now if you wanted to. Gravity limiting your steps to this room and this room alone.

“M-Mommy, please. Shit, gotta cum for you. Been holding it so long, can I please —“

“Holy fuck.” You don’t mean to speak, but you do. And you both freeze.

Steve’s caramel irises are gone, caved in by the midnight black walls of desire. His plump lips part to say something, maybe an apology, his hands scurrying to find a pillow. You feel a possession overtake you, the carnal urge to have him. You shake your head.

“Don’t you dare stop being pathetic, Harrington. Not on my account.” You wag your finger at him, watching his cock bob and slap against his stomach. “Sit. Down.” You command.

He starts to say your name and you shake your head.

“It’s mommy to you, King Steve.”

[v1ct0la]

kindergarten - abby tlou2 x reader oneshot [SFW]

Months after landing on Catalina island with Abby and Lev, many of those months spent recovering from your injuries (both mental and physical), you decide to volunteer at the fireflies’ kindergarten. When Abby visits you one afternoon while you’re teaching, you and the kids force her to join in your game of hopscotch…

SFW oneshot

1,719 words (I GOT CARRIED AWAY HAHA SORRY)

TLOU2 au, set on Catalina island after the events of TLOU2

Inspired by the WLF school and someone who headcannoned Abby playing hopscotch (I can’t remember whose blog it was so if you know please tell me so I can tag them!!!)

TWs: description of injuries in the beginning 2 paragraphs - other than that, just pure joy, love, and peace 😊

let me know about any mistakes!

After you, Abby, and Lev reached the island in the spluttering boat, the three of you collapsed onto the rickety Catalina boardwalk. Blood gushed from the stab wound in your side, mixing with the salty brine of the ocean, running in rivulets down to where it dripped off your fingers and splattered onto the wood. You spat the rusty taste of old blood from your mouth, struggling against the pain, and hauled yourself to your knees. Your wound pounded, and you shot your hand up to clamp it down in an attempt to stop the bleeding after your sudden movements. You looked up at Abby, who already was on her feet and staggering to pick up Lev’s limp form.

You stood, swayed with lightheadedness from loss of blood, and stumbled towards the pair. Abby heaved Lev into her arms and started shouting for help, causing the boy to stir through his unconsciousness. After her repeated calls, other voices stirred and began to ring out, but the blood pounding in your ears, muffled it. You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, could only hope they would help. Heavy footsteps made the boardwalk beneath you shudder and before you properly registered them, the ground beneath you suddenly felt much too far away. 

Your vision swam, your legs buckled, and as you collapsed onto the ground, you heard Abby shriek your name. All you could feel was hands grabbing onto you before you sank into the inky black of unconsciousness. 

* * *

Sunrays filtered through the grimy windows, throwing the cozy classroom into a glittering spectacle of glowing afternoon light. It had been almost a year since you escaped the violence of Santa Barbara, months you had spent recovering with Abby and Lev at your side. Most recently, however, you had asked to take up the position of teacher at the island’s kindergarten. It was a little classroom of about 15 young kids that you absolutely loved. Before you met Lev, you didn’t really like kids - found them sticky and loud. But they had grown on you, always little faces beaming with joy and curiosity, despite the state of the world. 

Today had been as fun as always, albeit long. You had been teaching the kids about various marine animals, and presently, were showing them old images of spotted seals. 

“Okay, now, who call tell me where to find spotted seals?” You asked the children.

A chubby little hand shot up, and you called on the little girl to answer. 

“Spacific Ocean!” She shouts, and you giggle.

“Pacific Ocean,” you say to her, “but yes, good job!”

You hear a knock on the door, and you look up to check the clock. It was nearly 2pm, which meant it was time for a break. You smile at the other teacher through the door’s glass, nodding to let him know you’d take the kids out.

“Alright goobers, it’s break time,” You call out over their little voices, “everyone, line up by the door, double file!”

Outside in the warm sunlight, you guided the children over to the playground. Once you gave them the go-ahead, they all scattered, splitting off to play their little hearts out. You stood off to the side in the shade with your hands propped on your hips, surveying. A cool breeze rustled through the foliage, and you were grateful for the relief it brought you.

A tug on your pants caught your attention, and you looked down. The girl from before, Natalie, was staring up at you with big brown eyes. “Play hopscotch with us pleeeeease?” She asked. You grin at her cuteness and agreed. She grabbed your hand and dragged you off to the chalked concrete where a few other kids were already hopping along. 

It was your turn. Little Natalie clapped and cheered loudly as you jumped forwards and into each square. As you got to the other end, you held your hands out in triumph, and the kids all laughed with you. 

“Reigning champion, are we?” You spun around at the sound of her voice, face already breaking out into a grin.

Abby stood a few feet in front of you, arms crossed. “How long have you been standing there?” You asked, stepping towards her. A sheepish smile and warmth spread across your features in slight embarrassment at yourself. 

“Only long enough to watch your turn” Abby smirked, uncrossing her arms to pull you into a tight embrace. Her chin nestled into the crook of your neck and your breathed in the comforting scent of pine that clung to her short braid.

You missed her long hair, but after Santa Barbara, she was still growing it out again. It sat just beneath her collarbone, and you thought it was perfectly endearing, even though she still opted to have it pulled away in a tight braid. 

“How was your day?” She asked softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

You pulled back to reply when you were cut off with the shouting off the kids behind you. You turned to them. 

“Miss y/n! It’s your turn again!” one of them whined, and you looked back at Abby with an eyeroll. She untangled herself from your embrace and pushed you away gently.

“Go,” she smirked, “I’ll be right here, watching you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” you reply, a grin spreading across your face. Her brows furrowed, and you grabbed her wrist before she could realise what you meant. You spun on your heel, dragging Abby with you.

“No- I’m not- y/n!” Abby protested, trying to pull herself free, but you were on a roll. 

“Oh yes!” You say in a sing-song, “it’s your turn.”

You pulled her forward and pushed her towards the starting square. The little kids had all gathered around the two of you to watch. “Look, it’s Abby’s turn! Look!” a little boy shouted out, much to Abby’s dismay. 

She looked back at you with an exasperated, making your laughter ring out across the playground. “C’mon Abs! Show us what you can do,” you giggle as you speak, egging her on.

She takes a tentative jump forwards, and you clap along with your students. She jumps again, and again, wobbling slightly each time she lands. She looks at you with a confident smile and your heart warms at the sight of her. The sunlight catches softly on her hair, haloing her in gold. 

The Catalina sun has been good to her the past year or so - her freckles are more visible than ever, her hair has lightened considerably, and you loved it. The recovery months had been long and painful - and not just physically. She sat by your and Lev’s beds for the first few weeks, only getting up when she was dragged away for meals by the nurses. Being inside for so long made her look gaunt and drawn, but now she shone with newfound radiance and peace. She was safe, and so were you. 

In a few more jumps, Abby was near the end of the hopscotch. As she leapt for the final square, she made a fatal mistake. She tilted her head to look at you right as she jumped - and lost her footing as she landed. Abby stumbled, falling right on her ass.

You burst into laughter, as did your students, and Abby’s head snapped to you. It was so ridiculous, the way she tumbled and looked absolutely mortified, and the more you replayed it in your head, the more you doubled over. You howled and fell to your knees - you had been so serious all day, and all your pent-up tiredness finally caught up to you. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your midsection started to hurt with your laughter. You watched Abby, who’s back was to you, as she slowly got to her feet.

Her head turned, and she glared at you. That shut you up. Her brows were knit together when she said “Oh, it’s over for you now!” The kids all screamed and laughed and cheered. She grinned evilly and stalked towards you. You jumped to your feet, shrieking and giggling. You spun towards the open field next to the school, and bolted.

You were never very fast, but then again, neither was Abby. Right now, however, you wished you had taken sprinting practice a little more seriously back at the WLF stadium. You could hear her heavy footfall behind you as she got closer and closer. The tall grass of the field whipped at your legs as you laughed and ran as fast as you could. “Get back here!” Abby shouted, which made you squeal loudly.

“Got you!” Abby’s hand caught your arm, and she yanked you back into her. You struggled against her, shouting and laughing, but you were fighting a losing battle. She pulled you to her chest, right as you tried to yank yourself free, and the two of you tumbled.

You both fell into the soft grass, and Abby’s hand shot out around your head to stop herself from crushing you. She had a huge grin on her face and you huffed a breath. “Not so fast anymore, huh,” she puffed. Abby trapped you in, encasing you in her warm body.

“Shut up, I almost escaped,” you smiled up at her.

You could feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, both from your running and her closeness. She never ceased to make your head spin and your heart flutter, even after the past year the two of you had been dating. 

You tucked away a strand of her honey-coloured hair that had fallen loose from her braid during your scuffle. You watched her piercing eyes as they snapped down to your lips.

You trailed your hands up to cup her face, smiling as you pulled her into a soft kiss. You could feel her smile against your mouth as the two of you connected. It was sweet and slow, full of love. You brought a hand to rest on her forearm, and she trailed a hand to your waist. 

“Ewwwwww!” You heard a little voice call out, and the two of you pulled away from each other with a giggle.

“Oh shut it,” Abby called to the little boy and leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Siúil a Rún (Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader, Modern AU)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader

Word count: 5.5K

Warnings: Allusions to past violence & trauma, talk of the IRA, mild swearing

Summary: On a day you're not feeling your best, fighting yet another hard battle with your greatest enemy, your mind, Alfie has a little surprise prepared for you. After all, all he wants is to see you smile.

And make a lasting promise to his Irish queen.

Author's Note: Gods above, it's finally here! At long last I had the energy and time to finish this piece, which is partially inspired by my recent moods. Ah dinnae ken what it is, but don't you worry about my head or how I'll fix it. Instead, enjoy this piece.

TH Masterlist

Tag list: @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @zablife @vir-tual @liliac-dreamer @dreamlandcreations @mollybegger-blog @babaohhhriley @hoodeddreams13 @rose-like-the-phoenix

Alfie's POV

I’m no fan of the Irish, who can’t even remember what they had for fucking breakfast. However, right, they can perfectly recall their great-great-however many times- grandfather’s best friend’s cousin’s name and the unjust treatment he got from Oliver Cromwell if not the Black and Tan if they have a particularly clear check in with reality.

Yet here I am.

Engaged to my Irish queen, come all the way from Belfast. Raised in a family that supports the IRA, a bunch of hooligans that’ll do well to be tossed in the lock and left to drown.

But not her.

No.

She cut ties to home the moment she set foot ashore in Liverpool and boarded the train to London. She ain’t English, doesn’t particularly like them. So fancy the shock me ticker got when it turned out she liked me.

Or I her, as she likes to remind me, bringing up the time I asked her to taste the Irish sourdough I made her. She’d just arrived in town, wandered into my bakery looking like a parched twig on a stormy day, and sat by the window with an awfully glum face. Curious about this darling little dove who flew in, I lumbered over to see what had her caught up in her phone and laptop. One look at the screens told the whole story behind the erratic fingers flying over the keyboard or tapping away.

A place to stay, to call home.

In a land that had oppressed hers for centuries, still sees her as an outsider.

In the very capital of the cyclops, king of northern giants.

Now I, yeah, saw an opportunity to earn a little extra cash on the side. Sure, Margate is about two hours outside London by train so I couldn’t charge the full price for the room I had left over.

I didn’t.

For when those dove eyes turned to me, haunted and scared to death, whether it be due to her circumstances or me as a man I still do not know nor want to, I hadn’t the guts to ask her for a single penny.

Only a sliver of trust.

Though my rings, my kingdom, are covered in blood, I fortunately pleased Yahweh enough to have her put her trust in me. It’s a fragile thing, built over various meals, starting with silent breakfasts which gradually have filled with drowsy small talk. Normally I loathe small talk because if someone wants to say something and wants me to understand, they should talk. Nonetheless, Y/N doesn’t have to. Her voice is like an angel’s song, pleasant to wake up with.

And to fall asleep to on the nights the insomnia hits hard again. You get that, living a life of violence. Yet, even gods can’t simply forget.

I can only hide my crimes, spin a pretty yarn for an excuse, and pretend.

Pretend I’m a good man.

For her. 

If only because my midnight baking episodes have reduced since we met. Because I don’t, no, can’t do without those small hands leading me out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to what is now our bedroom. Pathetic, innit, how I also can’t live without those pretty fingers running through my beard until I can breathe normally. Close my eyes without ghosts creeping from the darkest shadows of my mind. To not feel the rage simmering beneath my skin.

For the first time in years, I can sleep again.

And if neither of us can find peace in slumber, we’ll slip into the old habit of having coffee or tea in the living room until the sun rises. No matter if we have an outing planned the next day or not.

It was on an outing like that, to Oxford, after a brief visit to that shithole called Birmingham, she first held my finger.

Two weeks later, when we popped by Hastings, she held my hand.

A month passed before she hugged me, in Cecil Court, during our first book and antiques shop hopping trip. I had bought her a vintage bound copy of one of her favourite books, Gods and Fighting Men by Lady Gregory.

However, it was in Camden, right outside me own bakery, on a bloody rotten autumn day, we first kissed. Cinnamon sugar and pumpkin spice, that’s what she tasted like.

My Irish queen.

Y/N will always claim it’s me who first confessed. Regardless of whether that’s true or not, in my opinion, right, and through genuine testimony, it was her wistful smile and timid ‘thank you’ as I served her a ham sandwich made with the sourdough I learned during one of my visits from a lovely old lady in Donegal and O’Neills ham which makes her the first to confess. Little did I know the brooding sadness around her could get much worse.

Since there are days she gets like this, reluctant to interact with the world. She’ll go out with Cyril, a barely mustered smile on her gentle face. 

It does her good. Our big bugger takes me on walks that are manageable even when my leg’s bad and her on those long enough to let her mind wander and forget about the desire to stay home. Like yesterday, they are again sitting side by side on the shore.

Y/N wrapped in my coat and scarf.

Cyril at her side.

Watching the waves.

Funny, innit, how a man of many words absolutely can’t stand the silence of his own house. Tragic, too, because it means he can’t live with himself. Perhaps that’s why I always bury myself in work, the bakery.

Our bakery.

Look, Y/N was the one who insisted on helping out. I was ready to give her board and room for free, though I was also desperate for help since business had taken a hit. Too cold, manly, rough. In need of a woman’s touch.

It was only when she told me it ain’t right to accept the offer without repaying the debt she never had and called me mister Solomons I took her on.

Mostly because she’d call me Alfie right from the start, wouldn’t see me as her boss or landlord. I never was nor am a fan of formalities, polite behaviour or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. You only get to know a person and their intentions once you place them in an informal environment, lull them into a sense of safety. Or, in her case, a sense of friendship too.

After a few more moments of watching them from the balcony, I head back inside to busy myself in the kitchen. Now, normally, yeah, on my rare day off, I love to bake. Gets the mind off things since you only have to focus on what your hands are doing and you get the ingredients right. Alleviates some of the stress the bakery saddles me up with, but those involved with the business need discipline so I can’t take a break. Would leave it to the dogs. Regardless, Ollie, the bloody bastard I hired as an assistant branch manager, forbade me to come into work. It’s my fucking bakery! Yet, though I’m loath to admit it, I am thankful he did this particular day. Must’ve felt Y/N had been different these past days, always has been good at dealing with people and emotions despite his panicky disposition. Better than me.

At least leaves her with one person to understand her entirely whereas I still grasp at straws at times.

Godhood comes with its complications, but I’ll do my best for Y/N.

For Mrs Solomons.

It’s worth the tightening in my chest, the battle for air while the same concerns keep milling in my noggin like some damned ever-turning grinding stone. I ain’t afraid of anything.

Anything except this mood.

It’s like Yahweh has established the terrifying truth of what she might be like when me health finally wins the battle, granting me a vision of a future in which we’re separated. Or perhaps it is an alternate reality in which I don’t exist or we’ve even never met. This morning, as Y/N stood by the door, her vacant gaze saw right through me as I draped my scarf around her neck. I kept rambling, not nagging, no, rambling on about how she’d catch a cold if she didn’t dress warmly despite knowing she wasn’t paying attention. As I placed a kiss on her forehead she likely didn’t feel, the comforting sense of normalcy shattered, turned into dust along with the little bit of sanity I had established by acting like everything was fine. Thankfully she felt warm in my arms because we might as well have been spectres moving past each other. Then she sauntered out the door, slow and ghostly.

My beautiful Irish queen.

When this mood strikes her, it takes away her voice. She won’t talk, reluctant to participate in any sort of conversation. Although, I think she hopes her quietness proves enough of a hint to not want to be surrounded by any voices at all. Not even mine. Now, any other man, right, any other sod who’s too self-obsessed to understand his girl, would go mad. I, on the other hand, the very image of an understanding and wise man who cares about his girl, his wife, speak less if at all to accommodate her. Instead, in the fleeting moments she’s here, Y/N communicates via small gestures.

A tug on my sleeve when she wants attention.

A brush over my fingers, a silent request for guidance.

We don’t go out in London on days like this. We tried once and while everything went fine, all things considered, the thought something happens in the split second I don’t pay attention breaks my already damaged nerves. Trafalgar Square is tricky enough as is to navigate with the fucking awful traffic, but when she’s barely here and we don’t cross the street in time or our hands let go of each other…

Eyes squeezed shut, I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly to remedy the tightening in my chest. To burn the claws crushing my ribs to ashes and let them take the nauseating vision in my banged up nogging with them. Blown away on the briny wind outside, past the lonely beach.

Left to drown in the sea across the road.

Right in front of her, vanishing beneath the waves. Cyril will make sure she won’t notice, keeps an eye on her when I can’t.

Especially when I’m too caught up in my own head, engulfed by something very, very grim. 

Eyes closed, I breathe in and exhale deeply as I repeat the thought like the verses in the Torah, embedding it further and further into my entire tainted being with each repetition. Only when my breathing has evened out and me ticker beats at regular intervals do I carry on.

I quit drinking after we met. Y/N needed a safe home and with an old drunk brute you ain’t going to find that. So I poured the rum, beer, and wine down the drain the very same evening and a drop hasn’t entered my house since. The day she first put her suitcase across the threshold, I’d been sober for a week.

We’re now a year further.

For all the bloody good he does me by banning me from my own business, Ollie makes for a fine lifestyle coach. I’ll admit that if it hadn’t been for him, his incessant texts and the brave efforts to pluck a glass from my hands, I might have lost her. Fuck, she might have hated me.

Or we might never have even met.

The house now finally knows silence.

No violent words. 

No drunk ravings going nowhere and anywhere.

True, genuine, silence.

I put the kettle on and pull the sourdough from the bread box. Bought it on our last trip abroad, to Amsterdam. It’s one of the things in this house which makes it ours because I used to plonk bread in a zipper bag and toss it on the counter. Not anymore. It goes in the box.

The mixed fruit blend I used for the dough we recently bought at Borough Market. Y/N was staring at it with a tender look on her face.

“Those special, love?” I hugged her from behind, my head on her shoulder. That morning, she had washed her hair and granted me the intense honour of brushing it. A smile grew on her lips in tandem with mine as I worked the brush through her strands. Nonetheless, while I was flattered and delighted beyond imagination, for being thus allowed in her space is a rare gift every man should know how to appreciate properly, she was amused with my attitude. But it’s alright. I don’t mind her laughing at me. 

Eyes closed, I drank in her presence. The sounds of the food stalls and crowd faded into a background hum, each sense overtaken by her frame in my arms and the scent of Argan oil and Shea butter in my nose. In that single moment, I didn’t have to think, to scheme. Just be.

With her, I can just be.

And I like that, makes me love her all the more.

Y/N regularly gives me an earful, but there are times when I truly listen and not only enjoy the sound of her voice. So when she gave me a piece of her story, I immediately snapped out of my reverie. “Nan used a blend of these when making brack.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of bread with sultanas and raisins. Officially, that is. But she added currants and other dried fruits when we had it and it wasn’t Samhain.”

“Tell me about the tradition. What does bread ‘ave to do with it?”

“We’d put items in the brack. A pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and a bean. Each of these items had a special meaning, applicable to the person who got them.”

“Which were?”

Occasionally, right, I enjoy teasing her because I adore the way her frown naturally flows into a bright smile as her distrust melts away. However, the calculating coldness in her stare even gave me the chills. Terrible, it was, and I don’t say that lightly. “Alfie, where’s this coming from? I thought you hated the Irish.”

I thought you hated me.

She didn’t say it, but the words were there, precariously dancing on the tip of her tongue. The shopkeeper gave me a warning look, ready to beat me with her cane if I didn’t watch my mouth.

“It’s your culture, innit, love?’’ I said, quick to placate both women lest we had more than a simple situation on our hands. Moreover, dangerous as it normally is, curiosity genuinely got the better of me. There’s little I know of her previous life so I am overjoyed when my Irish queen, obviously unintentionally, indulges me like this. ‘‘I know the past hurts you, but this clearly means a lot to you. Your Nan’s obviously important to you too.”

“She practically raised me. Didn’t want me involved in politics, give me a normal life. Well, for as far as that’s possible when…” she froze in my embrace, paler than a ghost at midnight in Highgate. Bit by bit, I could feel her fade in the chaos she had kept firmly under lock and key. We’re rather alike in that, keeping the mess in our fucked up noggins hidden until we choose to open up.

Or come across a trigger. 

I scanned the surroundings for hers. Men conversing as they’re hauling boxes. Tourists and locals squeezing together as they navigate the narrow spaces between the stalls, leaving no room to breathe without doing so down someone’s neck. The sizzling of oil on a hot surface.

Like a lit fuse.

“When…” She flinched when one of the other shopkeepers dropped a couple of crates.

I remember how my heart dropped into my stomach as her knees gave way. Her nails dug into my skin as I gently coaxed her to the ground, though she relaxed her grip a bit as a vague inkling of recognition made her realise it was me holding her. “Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Alfie, your boyfriend. You’re in London. Safe. There ain’t no guns ‘ere. Just a couple crates. Just crates. That’s all.” 

I glared at the bastard who reduced my queen to a shivering husk of herself, breathing way too fast as the current of grim things swooped her along. Once he noticed I was looking at him, he quickly scurried to the back. After cursing him under my breath, I held her tight against my chest, cradled her lovely head and the funny mind in it as I gently rocked back and forth like me mum used to do when I was a child. “No guns. No bullets. No fighting. Just us, dove.”

For a few moments we sat like that on the cold paving stones. The shopkeeper fetched Y/N a glass of water which she managed to make her drink. Perhaps it’s only because the subconscious ego of my Irish queen saw her Nan in the woman. Do not misunderstand, right, I was grateful for her kindness. Nonetheless, what Y/N needed was space, fresh air. So I picked her up and carried her bridal-style to the central seating area. One day, I hope to carry her the same way across the threshold of our home.

Colour began to return to her face the longer we sat on a bench removed from everyone in a quieter area of the market. With each passing minute, I saw the demons causing those awful vacant eyes and suffocating her with every breath leave her body. The best I could do was wait and do my damn best to not let my own fear and impatience get the better of me. After all, I was not a god at that moment.

Only a man praying for the better. 

A man overjoyed when an angel gave her back her voice.

“My brothers were killed in shootings.” Slowly, Y/N sought my gaze. She blinked a few times like she woke up a second ago and did not really know whether she was still dreaming or awake. “Cillian was shot in March. Seàn the month after. They rather died than be tried by law.”

It was easier to phrase it as such than tell the truth.

They killed themselves.

Died for the ideal that had left her with a broken family. Although, perhaps it’s better to say she never had a family to begin with.

“And the man who I was meant to marry to get our family higher up the ranks, Patrick McHugh, a man I loathed, was ready to shoot me when the Gardaí had us cornered during a car bomb attack. We were meant to go on a date, so he told me, but… we stopped in the street. Alfie, he- he-’’ I put my arm around her shoulders, pulled her against me, and rested my head on hers. She didn’t owe me an explanation for her behaviour, but before I could tell her it was alright to stop, she continued. “He took me hostage. Was ready to burn me alive with him.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to-”

“Rory turned on him. His second in command, the only person he trusted. I pulled Patrick’s gun in the same moment I freed myself from his grip. Shot him in the head. In cold blood.” She bit her lip to fight the ugly sob which made her shoulders heave. “I have blood on my hands, don’t you see? Rory didn’t make it either. Stayed behind after he negotiated safe passage for me. Later I heard he saved me because he loved me. Had been crushing on me for years. Never said a word, Alfie. Never.” The fight with self-control lost, Y/N’s voice cracked with the tears yet unshed. “And now he’s gone. Everyone’s gone.”

‘‘No, not everyone. I’m ‘ere and I ain’t going anywhere. You and I, yeah, we’re gonna build something fucking biblical. A ‘ome, right, in Margate. You and I. And it’s gonna be safe. No violence. I’ll even get rid of me gun if that makes you feel better.”

“No, keep it. Still, thank you.”

I pulled a tissue from my pocket to clean up her mascara, which had stained her cheeks with little black rivulets. “If there’s anything I can do to make you feel safer, you tell me, yeah? If need be, I’ll build a fucking wall that’ll put Daedalus to shame. With me own ‘ands. Anything.”

“Thank you. I think I should repay that kindness with a clean shirt.’’ She sighed as she surveyed the damage done to my clothes. ‘‘Sorry for the stains. I know you got it fresh out of the closet.”

“Nah, it’s just a shirt. No worries. But, knowing you and your bloody adorable stubbornness, you won’t let this go. So, instead of beating yourself up over nothing because you got nothing to be sorry for, yeah, can you tell me more about the bar- barm- the… thing. Bread.”

“Barmbrack. Brack, for short.”

“Barmbrack,” I repeated. “Brack. Gonna try and remember. The items in it. You said they have special meaning.”

“Right. The… pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and… something else.”

“A bean.”

“Yes, a bean. A future without money. Anyway, so, now, the pea meant the person would not marry that year. The stick meant they would have an unhappy marriage or continually be in disputes. Now, the cloth or rag no one wanted to find because it meant bad luck, though it was also regarded as an omen of poverty. In contrast, and perhaps very bloody obvious, the coin meant good fortune or riches were coming for the person. If you got the ring, you’d be wed within the year.”

Say what you will of the Irish, but they are bloody creative.

We went back to the stall, got a full bag of dried fruit and went on our merry way. Y/N fortunately hasn’t noticed I’ve used some of the contents for a little surprise. For once her adorable drowsy noggin in the morning comes in handy, when she’s too sleepy to notice nor doesn’t check the bag’s contents before she puts a little in her yoghurt.

The kettle goes off. The steam creates a thin layer of condensation on the tiles and warms my face when I pour the water in a mug. There’s nothing like a cup of char regardless of the time of day.

I wager they’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Until they are, I sit on the chaise longue in the living room. It’s a gorgeous thing, a real beauty we found while antique shopping in London. I had my doubts about the red velvet, but Y/N convinced me to get it regardless because “it fits the house’s aesthetic” whatever the fuck that means. It’s a sturdy piece of furniture, definitely worth every penny.

We tested it thoroughly.

Multiple times.

Nipping the gingerbread tea we bought yesterday at M&S, when I barely managed to prevent Y/N from buying three boxes on top of the three boxes of Christmas spice tea already in our basket, I watch my family. A low chuckle tickles in my throat, proud and amused. Who’d ever thought I, Alfie Solomons, the Divine King of Camden, would stop wandering, settle down, become a family man? Tommy, the self-proclaimed head of the Shelby family though they’re all bad people, would have a bubble if he heard that. 

I ain’t like him. I’d marry my wife, the lovely and downright bloody gorgeous goddess currently down on the beach, the one and only true Mrs Solomons, out of love. A love based on loyalty, right, and not out of convenience or business. No whoring when she ain’t about, no secrets, no dirty business.

No more blood on my rings.

We’d raise our children together, perhaps spoil them rotten. Y/N would chastise me for it, I already know, but I want the best for my girls. Maybe two or three, though I’m not opposed to having a son, yeah, but he’d have to be born before my princesses so he can protect them when their good old man can’t. Hopefully, one of them would like to take over the bakery, keep the business in the family. 

I might have to be on my best behaviour, be more of a father rather than a boss if I don’t want to have her tell me over dinner one night “Papa, I’m not taking over. None of us wants to, least of all Seraphina. She’s more one for painting.”

Yes, they’d be artisans in their own right. But if one of my girls wants to paint, no way she’d learn it from Arthur Shelby, who’s head is like a broken vase what is glued together badly. Nah, I wager she’d be clever enough to teach herself. All of them would be talented like their mother.

The sound of the front door opening resonates in the hallway, followed by Cyril’s happy padding, merrily trodding past me on his way to his bed in front of the hearth. We never should’ve gotten him that pillow, has made him lazy.

But how could I tell her no?

Not that she’d have listened anyway. Y/N would’ve used her own card at the till. However, being a proper gentleman, right, and maybe because I wanted to gain extra what they call ‘brownie points’, which is a stupid phrase in and of itself, a show of being too incapable to use one’s speech properly, I paid.

Y/N follows the happy bugger, head hung low and eyes cast towards the ground. Headphones in her ears.

It’s one of those days.

I step in front of her when she makes for the living room. For a moment, she stays still, like a ghost puzzled by why it can’t move forward. Nevertheless, our eyes meet for a second when my hands touch her shoulders.

“No need to wear a coat inside, is there, darling?” I doubt she hears me, my voice drowned out with the rest of the world.

Perhaps, no, no perhaps.

I am sometimes too loud for her as well.

Although she always tries to play it off afterwards, me intestines tie themselves into a pretty tight and suffocating bow tie when it happens. When the world gets to her.

When I, the real me, The Mad Baker of Camden, get to her.

From the corner of my eye, I’ve seen her flinch when disciplining my staff or stiffen when removing rude customers. I especially hate those who bother her, how they make her freeze in their presence and how she’ll avoid my touch afterwards. Breathing is an art in and of it-bloody-self when I watch her from a distance, headphones blasting music as she sits bowed over a cup of coffee which will grow cold.

Yet, when she’s ready for contact again, those earbuds leave her ears. I don’t fucking care what my men say at this point, but I rush over as fast as I can what with my me fucking leg. I can bear that pain, incomparable to what I unwillingly inflict on her or its effect on me.

Her fingers only take my palm, mapped out from a distance, if she sees no violent lines in it. Some days it trembles, those days when her breath is shivery and I feel tears roll down the good, to her trustworthy, lines as she presses them to her cheek.

Although she doesn’t know it, then again my clever little dove likely does, I’m proud of her for trying to go without headphones nowadays. Recently, it’s only one she’ll keep in, in the ear opposite of the side I’m on. Left if I’m on her right, right if I'm on her left. On really good days, those splendid days which make you wonder whether Yahweh wants to give back to humanity, she’ll go without completely. Fortunately, most of the time this doesn’t result in situations like Borough Market.

Nevertheless, today is a day she needs them.

While Y/N moves to the living room, I head to the kitchen to finish setting up the little surprise I prepared for her. By the looks of things, she needs it. It’s hypocritical, innit, that I’m doing this despite hating when it’s done to me? Still, a good man, a proper man, yeah, a proper fucking gentleman, a bloody king, will try his damned best to surprise the woman he loves whenever and however he can.

Because she deserves it.

These acts of love.

If only because words have a tendency to fail.

As mine do.

A lot.

Tray in hand, I make for the living room. Exactly as I envisioned, Y/N has curled up on the sofa, headphones in while she’s doing that funny yarn thing her Nan taught her. She’s good at it, has made me a very nice scarf and beanie for Hanukkah last year. 

Recently, after our little getaway to the Scottish Highlands, where they speak some form of English she fortunately seemed to understand, worse than the Irish except for her, she made a blanket with a deer’s head. Got inspired by our surroundings, she said. I think it’s the show she watched on her phone every night or in the car.

I put the tray on the coffee table and sit down next to her, a little distance between us. “Hard day, dove?”

“Yeah.” She glances from the slices of sweet soda bread to the glass of whiskey and then to me, her fingers expertly holding up the yarn wrapped around them. “That for me?”

I nod, trying to contain the excitement ignited by hearing her voice. One decibel too loud and I’ll lose her again. Gotta play me cards right, so I speak as evenly as I can without showing her the precarious edge I’m balancing on. “‘Cause you look awful homesick.”

“Thank you, mhuirnin.”

For a few moments I watch her nibble on a slice, vacant gaze cast towards the cold hearth. “We can go on a trip to-’’

“No.”

“Y/N, we don’t have to go to the place your people live. We can go to, fuck, I don’t know, the Republic. It’s safe there, innit? Cork? Enjoy the sea. Waterford? Dublin for an urban-’’

“Alfie, I said no.”

“It’ll do you good.”

“I left Ireland for a reason.” Finally she meets my gaze and me ticker almost sinks through the floor once those pretty eyes shimmering with tears meet mine. “The whole fucking island. Don’t make me return.”

“Alright. We’ll go somewhere else.” I open my arms in invitation. Fortunately, it seems she’s in the mood for contact with me. Face buried in my sweater, her small fist clutching some of the fabric, I wrap her up on my arms. “Or nowhere. We can stay ‘ere.”

As an answer I’m given muffled mumbling, worse than me own.

“What was that?”

“Hotel night.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. London?”

“We already know the town well. What about the Lake District, hm? Nice and quiet. Lots of green. We can rent a cottage or a nice B&B. Cyril would like it too, right, lots of places to explore. Makes for nice walks, yeah.”

As in agreement, Cyril lets out an excited though low bark, sensitive to what she gets like when her mood’s as it is now.

“See?” I say, pulling her a bit closer. “‘E likes the idea.”

In acknowledgement of our shared sentiments, she hums.

“We’ll figure it out later. For now, ‘ave another slice, drink some whiskey, crochet. But lean on me, eh? Lean on Papa Solomons.”

She grabs another piece of bread and starts nibbling on it, occasionally nipping on her glass.

For a while we sit in silence as she crochets and I simply watch her eat, occasionally shutting my eyes to drink in the moment.

Until my plan comes to fruition.

Feigning innocence, I lift an eyebrow when Y/N pulls a difficult face and spits something into her hand.

She once told me that according to Celtic philosophy, all things come in three.

Third slice of bread.

A ring, of course not the one I mean to present to her properly.

Her head snaps up at me, so fast I’m both glad and impressed she hasn’t broken a vertebrae.

“Yeah, this ain’t a joke.” I kiss her forehead. “Within the year.”

On a better day.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Cass Cain Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Before Gotham by Hinn_Raven - Rated G

Before Cassandra Cain became Batgirl, before Jason Todd became the Red Hood, before Bruce Wayne, before No Man's Land, before everything, Jason and Cassandra have a chance meeting.

backwards and in high heels by destiny919 - Rated G

Cass sits placidly tied to an uncomfortable chair, letting fear show on her face while feeling mildly irritated. Her captors keep shouting at her and don't understand sign language. She has already decided Batgirl will be teaching all of them the sign for 'S'. Repeatedly. But it's not Batgirl who got kidnapped, it's Cassandra Wayne.

This Might As Well Happen by goatsghost - Rated T

At a gala, Cass notices someone slipping something in her drink, but she’s not able to decline without bringing unwanted attention to herself. Here we go, she thinks, and tips the drink back, downing it in one go.

Zugzwang by Hinn_Raven - Rated T

Stephanie Brown is dead at the hands of the Black Mask after War Games. Cassandra Cain knows this. So when the Court of Owls sends an assassin to kill Bruce Wayne, a Talon with long, blonde hair, Cass knows she’s just seeing ghosts… right?

Maybe with a Shift in Planets by SilverSkiesAtMidnight - Rated G

The shadow is a silhouette on the edge of the roof. She can’t see his eyes behind the blank white lenses of his cowl, but she can feel the cunning weight of his gaze as it rakes over her, a pair of predators recognizing one another. She keeps her posture relaxed. She looks back at him with steady eyes. She is not prey. She will not allow the kind boy behind her to be prey either.

diamonds are a girl's best friend by destiny919 - Rated G

Cass finds the jewelry boxes up in the west attic, one dusty afternoon not long after Bruce adopts her.

Rings by justaddwriter - Rated G

When Cass acts a little strange over a new piece of jewelry, Bruce starts to get suspicious. And worried. And confused. Turns out he really had nothing to worry about.

do I dare disturb the universe? by Hinn_Raven - Rated T

Cassandra Cain was falling, and there were stars. When she landed, she found herself stranded in a universe where there never was a Batman. Good thing that she’s a detective.

the journey & the destination (are the same) by britishparty - Rated G

The first time Cassandra speaks to Batman, it's in the language David Cain taught her. The way bodies speak is simple. Cassandra watches Bruce Wayne go, and thinks that people are not. She goes back to Barbara. "I want," she says, and stops. She doesn't know the words for what she wants. There's a story Cassandra heard once, about a boy made out of wood. He wanted something like this, too. - there are a lot of steps in between being a weapon and being a person. Cassandra Cain becomes Batgirl. Batgirl becomes Cass Wayne. Cass isn't sure what it means, to be a person, and Batman isn't very good at teaching that. luckily Bruce has a protege or five to help her figure it out.

Take a Break by Sohotthateveryonedied - Rated G

Cassandra Cain is used to working in less-than-perfect physical shape. In her unconventional childhood, she suffered her fair share of broken bones and open wounds, and she weathered them without complaint or weakness. It’s one of the many prices of being a fighter, and so Cass embraced it. She pushed herself through everything that tried to hinder her. It eventually became part of her training—learning how to fight through whatever weaknesses tried to hold her back, despite the pain, despite the slip-ups. If Cassandra’s arm was broken, David Cain simply made her fight with the other one. If she broke a rib, he made sure she took twice as many hits until the pain became an afterthought. The same went for when she was sick.

Meet Me Where You're Going by Hinn_Raven - Rated T

When things get complicated in Hong Kong, Cass requests help from Batman Inc. Unbeknownst to her, Bruce dispatches not one of her brothers, but Stephanie Brown, who Cass has not spoken to since she gave up the Batgirl mantle. Steph is eager to reunite with her best friend, but things between them are complicated. Not the least of the problems is the fact that Steph might be falling in love… but of course, Cass is straight, so Steph really shouldn’t dwell on that. Friendship and romance, conspiracy and adventure await the two of them as they try to unravel a complicated plot that seeks to stop Batman Incorporated before it can truly begin.

something other than violence by TheyReapWhatWeSow - Rated G

"In the relative quiet of the kitchen, Alfred noticed immediately when the kitchen door creaked open, and a swish of fabric slipped inside. With his usual steadiness, Alfred didn’t hesitate for a second, trying not to let on to the little intruder that he’d noticed their entry. A few silent moments passed without a peep from the visitor, and Alfred wondered how long they would hold out, hidden under the far ledge of the counter he was working on. " OR A young Cassandra Cain finds herself in the domain of a master, and Alfred finally gets to meet his newest grandchild.

carbon first, then light by cassiopeia721 - Rated G

Seeing Catwoman in action makes Cassandra realize that her life has room for beauty in it, now.

“Oh this? Just a little something that caught my eye.” Catwoman draws her bag back around to her front. Her long, pointy nails run along the black leather—smug, smug, smug—and then she unzips the bag and— —a glittering diamond the size of Cass’s fist, sparkling like the stars in the low light of the roof they’re standing on. Catwoman chuckles. The lines of her body have softened a little. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” she asks lowly, and Cass abruptly realizes she’s leaned in close to get a better look.

Heaven Knows by orphan_account - Rated M

• 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐔: You feel your soulmate's pain. Most people think that soulmates are romantic, and that whoever is your soulmate is supposed to be the one you were meant to be with. But that isn't always the case. Because, for Cass and Tim, nothing was romantic. They were siblings, best friends, through and through. But they were not lovers. They were platonic soulmates. And neither of them would have it any other way.

Are You Winning? by blaircow - Rated T

Cass didn’t often feel the need to exude confidence. She felt confident most of the time but she also knew fear kept her loose and on her toes for the unexpected. In the face of two anxious younger brothers, she needed to embody every ounce the older, reliable sibling.

[vitchimage]

—My love, we’ll be ok now

Summary: Part II of “You left a piece of you in me”, you’ve given birth to your child and it was only a matter of time before you heal and meet him again in after life.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x AFAB!Reader

Theme: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, happy ending (?)

Type: Fic / Oneshot

Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!, Blood mention, Mention of suicidal thoughts and depression, slight spoiler for the og COD MW

A/N: for anyone who wants to, these parts can be read separately.

PT I

It wasn’t easy without him. Trying to move on but your heart wasn’t able to. Starting to look for him in every glimpse of person that took an interest in you but to no avail.

So you decided to stop and accept you can’t love anybody than him. Your heart was his and it stopped when his did.

Heartless and filled with void to your chest.

Every night you would kiss your wedding ring, as a comfort. But it only broke you more.

Many times you thought about giving up, maybe you would see him in death if you see him in your dreams, causing restless nights.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t for the little one you’ve birthed.

And even when the heavy depression came after the birth, you wanted to be strong for your child.

The child that reminded so much of your other half, your beloved.

Every night, holding onto the crib in despair as they slept soundly.

“I need you Simon..” you would whisper, almost on the verge of giving up. But not yet, just not yet.

Price and Soap would ocean visit to check on you and your child.

And slowly you started to heal, even though you it hurts to wake up to an empty bed knowing he won’t come back.

You felt a tad bit better, slowly moving on in life just for your little one.

Wearing Simon’s dog tag around your neck, and still wearing the ring, you felt better.

It was like he was here with you. Easing your pain.

Days, months progressed and everything was so peaceful, until the storm came.

When the house got raided by bunch of soldiers.

You locked the door to your child’s bedroom, hiding them in the closet, so they wouldn’t find them. Or at least use time to find them which means that your child could be saved if Price and Soap was fast enough to get here.

You heard heavy footsteps and yelling coming closer, and in a second the door falls to the floor with a loud thud. Making your child cry at the sudden noise.

Luckily the sound goes deafen as they start yelling, their guns pointed at you.

You held onto the dog tag, giving it a quick kiss, as you threw a knife Simon had gifted you long prior for self-defense.

It hits the commander in the eye, making him fall a tad bit back.

Instantly shot down you felt your body go limp, bleeding out as they started to search for your child.

You felt tears in the corner of your eyes, praying they won’t find your little one, who was crying behind the closet.

And they hear it , walking towards the closet slowly, but you grab the man’s feet to hold him down with much strength you could.

And you’re able to trip him, the gun landing beside you. Taking the opportunity before anyone could react you take the gun shooting them down.

4 men down, and you hear more steps coming accompanied with gunshots.

Your breath became shallow and your vision was darkening.

You see a familiar figure calling out your name, rushing toward you.

Price.

But where was Soap?

“Shit! Stay with me!”

“John..” it came out so weakly, as the strength leaves your body and the gun drops from the grip.

“Don’t say anything more, save your energy! I’m getting-“

“John…the baby…our child..”

Our child, it slipped out. You were meant to to say ‘mine’ but Simon was on your mind. It was after all his child as well.

‘Simon…’ you wondered if you could get to see him now.

John looks around frantic, opening the closet as he hears their cry.

He takes them in their arms handing them to you, as he sets you up against the wall.

Price runs off to get some help, maybe finding a med kit, anything that could help with the wounds.

“Our baby…mama and papa loves you.” You cradle it trying to comfort it as they cry,

“We’ll always be with you..”

You tried to fight the urge to close your eyes. Trying to stay alive as much as it hurt.

For the little one in your arms that stopped crying and smiling at you.

You weakly take off the dog tag and puts it around your child, smiling as tears slips along with your consciousness.

Price came back, a box in his hand which you guess was the first aid kit.

“Stay with me, Y/N.” He takes out the bandages and the alcohol, “I’m not loosing another!”

“Soap is dead?” You asked weakly, it clicked when he said that.

Price is silent for a moment, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry..”

“Don’t be, think about staying alive.”

You let out a breath. Which you thought it was the last.

Everything was telling you to let go. Your eyes drooping.

“HEY!HEY!” Price shakes you, to keep you awake.

You grab his arm to stop him, determination in your eyes.

“Take care…of them, protect our child. Tell them the hero their dad was, tell them..tell them we loved them. And we always will.”

Price drops his dead in defeat, taking your child in his arms as silence filled the room until he lets out a shaky breath.

“Ok..ok..I will, so..” Price whispers, his form trembling.

“I’m sorry..”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Was all you said before slipping away, but you felt peaceful knowing your child would be ok and safe. And that was all it mattered.

There is a voice calling for you.

‘Let go’

‘I’ve got you,’ was what they say so gently.

The voice was so familiar, and you do, letting go and fluttering your eyes open.

Breathing was easy now, it felt so fresh.

You didn’t feel tired either, and a familiar warmth was stroking your hair.

‘What…?’ Adjusting to the bright, your eyes was met with a pair of brown ones. Looking so softly and gently at you.

The eyes you’ve always loved to look at.

Widening at the familiar face, you sat up straight noticing your head had been resting on his lap.

He wasn’t wearing his usual skulled mask or balaclava. Every scars that was once there was healed and gone.

“Simon!” You cry out, tears spilling as you held him tightly.

He holds you, “You did so well,”

“I’m so proud of you..”

Sobs escape through your lips, your teeth gritting as you took those words in.

“I’ve missed you..god it was..” you whispered.

“I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere..”

You pulled away as he wipes your tears.

He was here..

The wind blows past you both, clear sky, green grass filled with flowers. You took in his beautiful features, stroking them.

Your heart was whole again, at ease.

“They will be ok, our child will be ok.” Simon reassures you.

“I know,” you leaned your forehead against his.

Closing your eyes, taking in for a moment.

He was here, he was here with you.

And you couldn’t be any happier.

It was the first time in awhile your heart felt whole again, beating against his.

You kiss his lips that you’ve missed dearly, so passionately, before proceeding kissing his whole face.

He chuckles and god knows how much you’ve missed that, his little smile his laughs…

His voice, his presence. Just him.

“I love you, Simon Riley..”

“I love you too, Y/N. I’m glad I met you – you’ve made me the happiest man alive and even after death...”

“I could say the same to you, sir.” You smile, giggling.

Simon just smiles at that, and you could tell how he missed that. Missed being with you —

Missed you. Like you missed him.

He suddenly stands up, picking you up in a bridal style, “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah..” you spoke in a gentle tone, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You take in the beautiful scenery.

Your eyes landing upon a white door and he notices it, looking at you.

And instantly you knew.

That white lighted door was back to the reality, to life. It meant if you went through you would be alive again, survive the wounds you’ve supposedly succumbed to.

A moment and he gives a soft smile walking towards it, but you shake your head.

“Where are you going? The house is right there,” You point out to the small little cottage both you and Simon had dreamed off and talked about all the years you were alive. Even close to purchasing it before he died.

“You don’t want to go back?”

“No, I want to be with you.” You kiss his lips, “There is no place I’d rather be than to be with you, besides our little one will be ok,”

“We’ll be ok..”

“Yeah..” he whispers against your lips, looking at you so lovely.

“Let’s go home, love.” You placed your thumb in the corner of his lips, stroking it ever so gently.

M.list

[nwjws]

forget me not - teaser

series masterlist .

; pairing - heeseung x gn!reader

; synopsis - your high school years were normal, boring, even. but you’ve worked hard to get where you are now - a rising fashion designer, who gets called to work on a project that could potentially boost you into full success. the only problem is, you’re struggling to work with the model on the project, lee heeseung. for some reason, you can’t seem to befriend the man, even when it seems that heeseung knows you more about you than you do about him.

; wc (teaser) - 795

; starting date - tba.

; tags - written series, angst, maybe a little fluff, hanahaki disease au, switching between two time periods, playboy!heeseung, model!heeseung, designer!reader, highschool au ; warnings - none.

the audience claps as you bow on stage, having just finished up your most recent fashion stage with your new designs.

after answering several questions and promising to work with some others in the future, it was finally time for you to go home. much to your relief, because you were exhausted.

you didn’t get to enjoy your sleep half as much as you wanted though, awoken by the relentless ringing of your phone at 6 in the morning.

“hello?” you answer with the best imitation of a definitely-awake and lively voice.

“i know you just woke up,” your managing director cuts to the chase. “thank god you went into designing rather than acting.”

“it’s 6 in the morning, jake. of course i just woke up, i had a long day yesterday.”

“well, i have some exciting news for you, i seriously didn’t want to wait until later in the day.”

“go on,” you say, closing your eyes sleepily.

“you just got an offer to work on a big project! a peculiar one, too - you’ll have to go back to korea for this.”

your eyes snap open, and you sit up so fast your vision momentarily darkens. god, you really need more iron.

“what? i don’t really feel like going back though.”

“that’s crazy. why not? i thought you’d love to go back home.”

“well, i dunno,” you say lamely. “i feel like there are better things for me here. my guts feel rooted to melbourne; i don’t feel like going back just yet.”

the truth was, you weren't sure you were ready to go back home. you felt like you needed to accomplish more before you faced your parents for the first time since you left. and honestly, something in your soul wanted to stay as far away from your home country as possible.

“okay, but listen: the project is basically a challenge to work a new set of designs on a model, full of different concepts. you have to make them look cohesive, but different. they choose the model, so you have to work and make it suited to them specifically."

“that sounds terrible, i say no.”

you lay back down on your bed, intent on denying this project no matter what.

until, jake drops the amount you’d be getting paid.

yup, you were back up.

“no way…” you trail off, mind blown by the number. ideas of what you could do with that money went through your mind.

“are you considering it now? if you do well, you’d secure your spot as one of the most respected designers internationally.”

“that’s…" you trail off, taking in a deep breath. "okay, i think i’ll accept it.”

“wow, that was all it took. who says money doesn’t buy happiness?” he laughs.

you end the call and flip back onto the bed, but you don’t think you’ll fall asleep anymore. not when thoughts of returning back home for the first time since you left ran through your mind, and with the light from the window glaring into your eyes.

nostalgia hits you as your plane lands and you set foot on your homeland for the first time in 5 years. even the air had a particular smell you didn’t realise was only home to korea until you moved to australia at 19.

you settle in your hotel and make a mental note to visit your parents and friend from high school while you’re here.

friend - singular. you didn’t exactly befriend too many of your peers back in school. you weren’t a loser or anything, it was just that you kept to yourself in the hopes of finishing your education smoothly, without any drama.

you were friendly with others, sure. but the only person who really knew you was park jongseong. he’d stuck by you through it all.

your schedule was packed as soon as you arrived, meeting the rest of the team working on the project the very next day. after a quick debrief and outline of the details, you make your way to greet and talk to the other members.

“hello, i’m mun y/n,” you greet a man with a bow. you take note of his twinkling eyes the prominent dimple on his cheek.

“ah, hi. i’m yang jungwon, heeseung’s manager. you’re our designer, right?” he smiled at you.

“yes, it’s nice to meet you. who’s heeseung again?” you ask, a little embarrassed. remembering names was never your forte.

“over here,” jungwon says, pulling a tall man closer to you two by his shoulder.

“this is lee heeseung, the model of our project.”

a chilling sense of deja vu runs down your spine as your eyes trace over his familiar doe eyes and pointed nose. but the feeling leaves as soon as it comes.

; author's corner! hii i decided to post the teaser for this series as a belated happy birthday for heeseung <3 i'm still working on the chapters though, and might ask someone to beta read for me

; taglist (open!) - @lovelovelovebts @miyseung @jjongshrts @yenqa @httpsneptvnn send an ask or comment on the masterlist to be added!

[theboywithburninghands]

Haven’t got anything to say this time. Hope you like the latest chapter! @fernstarsblog your tag as always

T/W: Era appropriate sexism

Primum Peccatum Ch. 6: Stuttering, Cold and Damp

Primum Peccatum was only about four miles long, the majority of it empty land purchased by rich families, waiting to be cultivated for their sons’ and daughters’ estates. The trees consisted mostly of black pine, with the occasional thicket of dogwood or white birch.

Landmarks were mostly gathered around the center of the island, other than the handful of completed estates scattered about such as the Shutnyk and Rooker Estates, and the post office, which was by the pier for obvious reasons. These landmarks included the island’s branch of The Gray Church, Lakepoint Assembly Hall, for Homeowners Association meetings and holiday events, and a small freshwater pond known as Falconhurst Cove, named after one of the founders of the island. It contained little, other than 8 feet of water, some small guppies, cattails, algae and a few ducks or loons on occasion. It had been public property for years, a quiet bit of unmanufactured nature for the residents to enjoy.

Pomni sat by Falconhurst with her novel. It wasn’t her favorite spot for reading, that would be her father’s library, but she didn’t want to be in her parents’ vicinity at the moment. Her mother would doubtlessly ask for her opinions on wedding decor and what Pomni wanted her dress to look like. Pomni had told her, several times, quite clearly, that she wanted nothing gaudy, and a black and white color scheme. Her favorite colors were red and blue, yes, but they looked good on flowers and birds, not people.

Falconhurst was a reasonable substitute. Pomni liked the pond. It was a tranquil place, and even in the summertime it didn’t attract very many mosquitos, mostly craneflies and pond skimmers. But the water was stagnant and too filthy for swimming, and while her parents enjoyed feeding bread to the waterfowl, Pomni didn’t much care for them. They were loud and greedy, and they left their droppings all over the grass. Cute as they were, she’d rather be alone.

She was enjoying rereading her novel, even if she had the whole thing memorized. Houston’s prose was so clean and precise. She described settings with such ease. The town in Humidity was as clear to her mind’s eye as was the pond right in front of her. If she were a better artist, she might have attempted to draw it.

There was a tap on her open book, like someone lightly drumming a finger on it. A blotch of water about the size of a pea sat in the middle of page 43. Pomni looked up at the sky, which was a soft gray. She heard other drops land on the leaves of grass and make rings on the pond.

“Oh, blast… I was hoping it would hold off a bit longer.” Pomni sighed. She wiped the raindrop off the page of her book to avoid smearing the ink, shut it and tucked it into her handbag. She got to her feet and began to walk to The Gray Church, about a half mile away. She could wait out the rain in the Assembly Hall just a short walk away, but the HOA President Mr. Kretschmann might have locked the door, and even then, she’d rather be at the church with a friend than in a dark function room by herself. She never liked that place much anyway, with all the tedious parties her parents had made her attend.

The few droplets of rain had picked up into a drizzle as she made her way to the road. Pomni walked beneath the treeline to keep the rain off, enjoying the pleasant sound of raindrops whispering in the pine needles above her. If this weather kept up, she might have actually tried to find an especially dry place to read, but the book didn’t belong to her. So the church it was.

As she walked towards the church, the rain gradually picked up in volume. Hm, this was starting to become risky. She didn’t want to run the risk of a head cold. That would force her to stay at home and listen to her mother’s nattering. She quickened her pace, droplets of water beginning to eke through the pine needles above her with increasing frequency.

She came upon the church on the horizon. What a relief… She hoped Ragatha had the kettle on. It was a bit selfish to think such a thing, but she hadn’t had the chance to enjoy solitude with one of her only friends on this island, at least without being interrupted by that dreadful shapeman with huge teeth.

“Well, it seems our paths align once again, my dear.”

Pomni nearly slipped and dropped her book upon hearing a familiar, glib voice nearby.

Jax Krolik stood out on the road under a black umbrella, clad in his usual gray on gray waistcoat and trousers, although this time with an ultramarine ascot rather than his usual red one. He smiled.

“Mr. Krolik. Is it truly a crossing of paths, or are you following me?” Pomni countered.

“Once again, your talent for presumption truly astounds.” Jax said, his smile not faltering. “I suppose any coincidence you encounter inspires a conspiracy theory, hm? Perhaps my being here was foretold by the very constellations.”

He gave a theatrical wave of the hand. Pomni scoffed, crossing her arms. “A true wordsmith. Do you employ such doggerel with all of your marks?”

“Only with my betrothed. You should come under the umbrella, the rain is picking up.”

“I’m just fine, thank you,” Pomni answered curtly.

“Somehow I find that difficult to believe. Is that a library book? You wouldn’t want that ruined, I’m certain. You have such a fine library at home, I figured you must have some appreciation of the written word.”

“Our agreement, need I remind you, Mr. Krolik-”

Jax merely walked over to Pomni, shading her with his umbrella.

“You needn’t remind me. I’m quite aware. However, it would be ungentlemanly to allow you to stand there and become drenched. You don’t honestly believe the rumors that we beastfolk bite, do you?”

Jax seemed to show more of his teeth.

“I… Appreciate the gesture, I suppose. Even if it is basic courtesy.” Pomni said. “Must you always act so… self-assured?”

“Act? My self-assurance is entirely genuine.”

“Genuine it may be, yet no less irritating. If you wouldn’t mind, please tell me why you’re here.”

Jax pointed to the church in the distance. “I was just about to inquire if the island’s Gray Sister had seen my sister-in-law. I heard footsteps and thought it may have been Kali, but, alas, it was only you.”

Pomni rolled her eyes. “Hmm. I encountered Kali on the ferry earlier. She said she was on her way to visit you. Has she become lost?”

“Hardly,” Jax replied. “I had one last query for her, but I had forgotten all about it until after she left The Rooker Estate. I saw her leave in this direction.”

“Yes, she told me she was going to the church,” Pomni said. “She may still be inside.”

“Wonderful! Let’s investigate together, shall we?” Jax strode forward, Pomni having to quicken her pace to keep dry beneath his umbrella.

This marked the second time her fiancé had intruded on one of her sanctuaries. It was fortunate he had an umbrella, but that was coincidental, surely. It seemed this fellow had no intention of following the agreement that he himself put forth… disappointing yet ultimately unsurprising.

“How are the wedding preparations coming along in your household, Ms. Shutnyk?” asked Jax.

“Er… I wouldn’t know. I’ve been doing what I can to remain distant from the whole business. I assume that’s why you’re living here on Primum Peccatum rather than on the mainland. Apart from ‘keeping up appearances,’ that is.”

Jax grinned yet again. His frequent smiling disturbed Pomni. She only smiled if something truly made her happy, otherwise her affect was neutral at all times. Her mother had scolded her so often for that. What was so amusing to Jax?

“You could say that’s one reason. Event planning always seemed like an exercise in drudgery. But I also wanted to explore where I would be living for the rest of my days. And what a charming little island it is!”

Pomni nodded. “Even in spite of your dyspepsia?”

Jax looked puzzled for a moment, before his smile lengthened again.

“My dyspep- Ah, yes! Of course. Apologies for leaving you so suddenly yesterday. I have a delicate constitution.”

Pomni squinted. It seemed as though he had forgotten about his ailments, even if they had him rushing to the water closet only yesterday. Which meant either these digestive issues happened so frequently that Mr. Krolik genuinely forgot about having them yesterday… or he wasn’t telling the truth. Perhaps he had become crawsick. Kinger did have a rather extensive wine collection.

Jax continued speaking. “I must say, it does rain quite often in New Hirnantia. Back when I was just a lad and my family still resided in Ediacara, we were lucky to get rain more than twice in one month. Yet here-”

“Mr. Krolik, is this conversation necessary?” Pomni interrupted.

Jax stopped walking. “…I suppose not. But, if we are to be wed, we should at least tolerate one another’s company. It would be a miserable existence if we spent our days bickering, would it not? I would call that a waste of a life.”

Pomni hummed. “Very well, but may we discuss something other than the weather? That topic is rather banal.”

The pair reached the heavy oak door to the sanctuary, Jax rapping on it smartly. After a moment, the hasp could be heard being undone and the door opened with an achy iron creak.

Sister Ragatha’s oddly grim expression brightened upon seeing a familiar face.

“Well good afternoon, Pomni! And who might you be sir?”

Jax extended a hand. “Good afternoon, sister. Jax Krolik. Miss Shutnyk’s fiancé.”

Pomni blinked for a few moments too long.

Ragatha looked at his gloved hand for a moment, uncertain of what to do, before she took it in both of her hands and squeezed it.

“Allfather bless you, Mr. Krolik. I am Sister Ragatha, acting priestess for this branch of The Gray Church. Please come in, both of you.”

She motioned the pair inside, Pomni removing her shoes at the door. Jax unzipped his wide boots and stepped out barefoot onto the carpet, sighing with relief. He hung his umbrella out the door and shook the rainwater off of it before closing it and hanging it on one of the hooks.

“What brings you to this house of worship in such unpleasant weather? Ah- pardon me,” Ragatha removed the hood of her habit, letting her bright red curls cascade onto her shoulders. She shook her head and sighed. “I’ve been meaning to get my hair trimmed.”

“I was wondering, ma’am, if you’ve seen my sister-in-law today. She looks much like me, but with orange fur rather than purple.” Jax explained.

Ragatha thought for a moment. “Hm… I don’t believe I have. The only people I’ve seen today are the two of you, apart from confessors. And naturally, I don’t know their identities.”

Jax’s face fell. “Ah, I see. No matter, thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“If you’re worried for her, I could help organize a search party. This is a rather small island, I’m sure we could have the whole community combed over in just a few hours.” Ragatha suggested, but Jax was already pulling his boots back on.

“That’s unnecessary, sister. I’m sure we merely missed one another. Have a truly sanctimonious day.” Jax pulled the church door open and marched off into the rain, which had hastened considerably.

“Mr. Krolik..!” Pomni called after him. She watched him splash down the road until he disappeared over the crest of the hill leading towards her parents’ and Mr. Rooker’s estate. She made a noise of annoyance and returned to the chapel.

“Sanctimonious..?” Ragatha said to herself. “I can’t tell if he was being rude or simply used the wrong word.”

“More than likely the latter. A poet, he is not.” Pomni replied, looking at the dripping umbrella Jax left on the hook.

“Hm, well, hopefully he won’t catch his death of cold. You’re welcome to stay here until the rain subsides, of course.” Ragatha said.

“Thank you, I may take you up on that offer.” Pomni hadn’t taken her eyes off of the umbrella. She sighed. He kept her dry long enough to get to a place of refuge. She had to return it. “No, I shouldn’t. He’ll be missing that umbrella.”

Ragatha smiled proudly. “Well, that’s a very charitable thing to do, Pomni. I’m sure The Hereafter just became a bit easier for you to see.”

“Hmph,” was Pomni’s reply. She stepped out onto the stoop, opening the umbrella in a shower of droplets. She held it over herself and tucked her book under her arm, and walked cautiously to the steps.

“Oh, Pomni! One moment before you leave!” Ragatha came to the doorway, a smile alighting her face. “Your mother plans on having your wedding here, at this very church. So I’ll be the officiater!”

Pomni smiled in return. It took some

effort, but she maintained eye contact. “Well, if it must happen, I’d be delighted to have you wed me, Ragatha. Have a wonderful day.”

“You as well, little sister. Stay dry.” Ragatha beamed and shut the door to the church. Pomni itched at her arm. While she abhorred this whole situation, she did feel a small bit better that one of her best friends would be officiating and not a stranger.

As she walked down the rainswept path, questions buzzed in her mind like irritating little fruit flies. Kali told her she was going to The Gray Church, yet Ragatha said she had only spoken to anonymous confessors today. So she must have been confessing. But what about? Something to do with Jax? Had she lied about thinking Pomni could run her father’s business? That would certainly be a dagger in her back… And why had Jax gone to find her? There was mention of a question, yes, but her fiancé had already told many half-truths… none of it added up. She supposed she’d have to ponder this more carefully once she wasn’t in the driving rain.

The pink Shutnyk Estate came into view, but Pomni walked right past it towards Mr. Rooker’s manor. Hopefully the rain would let up at least a little by the time she headed back home. Her book would be wet pulp if she walked uncovered in this deluge. She turned into Kinger’s raggy garden, and stopped when she saw a figure sat against the front door, elbows on their knees.

“Mr. Krolik?”

Sure enough, it was Jax, purple fur dripping wet, leaning against the Rooker estate’s locked door in water-darkened clothes. He looked over at Pomni, smirking.

“We meet again. Maybe it was preordained.”

Jax walked through this without any kind of protection? What a foolish thing to do. Still, her chest did ache with a mote of pity for the rabbit. No one deserved to be soaked to the bone and trapped outdoors, even if they were at fault. Thank goodness it was warm out or he may be risking his life out here…

“Why aren’t you indoors?!” Pomni demanded.

“Well, it would appear Mr. Rooker left for the day, and neglected to tell me.” Jax replied.

“And he didn’t give you an extra key?!” Pomni asked, having to raise her voice over the rain.

“No, he did not.”

Pomni scoffed and walked up onto the wet stoop. She took out her ring of keys, finding the extra one Kinger lent her ages ago to feed his insect collection, and unlocked the door. Jax climbed to his feet, water drooling off of his sleeves and pooling under his boots.

“There. I apologize on Mr. Rooker’s behalf. The old duffer’s memory isn’t exactly reliable. Be careful not to get water on any of his documents, or you’ll be out in the cold. Here’s your umbrella. Good afternoon.”

“You’re certain you want to go out in that?” Jax nodded towards the now torrential rain.

“I don’t have much say in the matter, do I?” Pomni retorted.

“You could always wait out the downpour.” Jax said.

“That is not ideal.” Pomni stated firmly.

“Sometimes the ideal choice isn’t possible. Look at us.” Jax said with a grin.

“Oh for the love of The Allfather… Very well. Only because I fear for my book.”

She stepped inside Kinger’s estate, removing her sunhat and placing it onto one of the stacks of paper. Jax stepped inside, removed his soaked-through boots and jacket.

“Excuse me. Please don’t disrobe in front of me.” Pomni requested sharply.

Jax didn’t reply, opening the door and wringing his sopping wet waistcoat out. There was a clink as a small glass tincture bottle fell out onto the stoop.

“Oh, thank goodness that didn’t break…” Jax picked it up hurriedly.

“What is that?” Pomni inquired.

“That is what’s going to keep me from falling ill. An Ediacaran holistic. Good for most minor ailments such as dyspepsia and immune health.”

He removed the dropper from the bottle, sticking out his tongue and squeezing two drops of reddish brown liquid onto it.

“I see,” Pomni said. “And it works?”

“Most certainly. I always carry a bottle on my person. Would you like to try some? The flavor is quite unpleasant.”

Pomni held a hand out in opposition. “I’m quite alright, thank you. I’d rather use real medicine…”

“Suit yourself, dear. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get into something more presentable.”

“Very well… You may do so.”

Jax nodded and began removing his shirt.

“In your bedchamber.” Pomni ordered.

“Ahhh, you must be more specific next time, dear.” Jax replied with a grin. He went upstairs to the second floor. Pomni shook her head in disbelief, going into the kitchen to put on the teakettle.

From outside, a shapeman in red watched through the window. He held a red umbrella above his head, made up almost entirely of teeth. Despite the downpour, both he and his umbrella were dust-dry. He checked to see if it was still raining. Water hit his glove and beaded off. He folded his umbrella, twirling it in his hand, and walked into the woods.

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @black-dragon-posting & @socially-awkward-skeleton ❤️

A Sabrina POV time. Girl felt like breaking some rules.

"John's room is locked. He's either ignoring me when I knocked and called for him, or he's not in there.", Savannah announced with disappointment as she entered the kitchen after going upstairs to notify John about breakfast being ready. "I told you it's quite late, so he's probably left for work already, Sav. Mathias is outside again." "Why is he acting so weird?", her sister scrunched her nose, observing Sabrina closely while she set down their plates at the table, "And shouldn't you be at work, too, Rin-Rin?" "I-", she hated she had to lie yet again, that she was breaking the pact of honesty the two had made, but with the current situation she felt like she had no other choice, "I took a little break, we don't have as many cases as we did in Portland. I'd rather spend my time with you, pumpkin, than chase some cattle that got loose. As for John… he just has other things on his mind. Nothing you have to worry about, okay?" It was the only answer she could offer, especially when it came down to figuring someone like John out. She wanted to spare Savannah as much from the gruesome details as she could, knew that it would be for the better if she wasn't too aware of the actual danger everyone in the County was in or that the man she believed to be a hero was in reality the most hated and feared person in the region. Telling her the full truth would only hurt her, make her feel unsafe at the ranch. "Do you want to bring his plate out to Mathias? No reason to have the food go to waste." Savannah nodded, grabbing the dish and rushing over to the front door, Sabrina heard her cheerfully call out "Morning, Benny." before it closed behind her. It wasn't long before her sister returned with a smile on her face, her mood seemingly improved at the interaction with the Peggie, "Benny smiled at me and said thank you!" "That's amazing, pumpkin.", Sabrina beamed at her excitement, the knowledge Mathias was being nicer to her helped her breathe easier. Breakfast was another precious opportunity to escape back to the days before Joseph's arrest so Sabrina tried to tune out every concern that emerged at their uncertain future as they two chatted away as usual and set on making plans for how they'd spend the day. "Okay, Sav, I'm going to wash those and we can head out again, maybe we can see-", Sabrina got up from the table, carrying the dishes over to the sink when a vision happened.

The entry to Rae-Rae's farm. Eden's Gate trucks barrelling into its driveway, then John's men getting out and approaching the house. Rae-Rae being dragged outside and forced to kneel on the ground as they led Boomer out by his collar. A Peggie locking him in a cage, screaming, "The mutt bit me!" as he kicked the door to the enclosure with hatred. Rae-Rae's loyal companion barking restlessly, trying to break out, sensing the danger looming over his owner. "You're time for Confession has come, Sinner. There's nowhere to run now." Rae-Rae lunging at the Peggie in front of her, shouting, "Fuck you all! You're not taking my land or Boomer. OVER MY DEAD BODY." Shots ringing out. Her body collapsing down in the mud, blood quickly pooling beneath her and staining her blonde hair. Lifeless eyes staring back at nothingness.

"Rin-Rin!", Savannah called out, pulling at her hand as the grizzly scene faded away and she found herself back in the kitchen. Sabrina's eyes shifted from her sister's worried expression down to broken porcelain pieces that somehow by pure luck had missed her bare feet when the plates had shattered on the floor. "Are you okay?", her sister asked and wrapped her arms around her waist, "Was it a vision? You weren't responding for so long, I got scared. I'm sorry if I pulled you out too soon." "I'm okay, Sav, you did nothing wrong. I saw enough, I promise.", Sabrina hurried to reassure her, despite still feeling miles away and on edge as she stroked her hair gently. Rae-Rae is going to die at the hands of John's men. Her sense of justice told her she couldn't allow it to happen, that she couldn't watch from the sidelines as the Project took more innocent people's lives over Joseph's twisted beliefs. I have to warn her, tell her to grab Ryan and Boomer and run while she has the chance. Maybe there's still hope. There's always time to act before a vision occurs. Minutes, hours, days, sometimes months or years if I'm lucky. I have to try. As her gaze met Savannah's, her mind was made up, embracing the fact she was about to risk their safety and sneak out in hopes of finding a way to reach the pumpkin farm and save Rae-Rae. "Sav, I need to do something, but I'm going to need your help.", she felt her sister nod against her side.

Sabrina bent down and quickly gathered the broken pieces off the floor. Her thoughts raced at the risky plan and the dire consequences it would bring if anything was to go wrong. Chances were she could run straight into a patrol the second she'd make it off the property. A part of her whispered how John would break off their deal, that she'd end up back in the godawful cell in his bunker. "Worry about Savannah, Deputy." No. "What do I need to do, Rin-Rin?", Savannah looked at her in determination, putting an end to her inner turmoil. "Remember Rae-Rae, the nice lady I was telling you about? Boomer's owner?" "Yes, you promised we'd visit her farm sometimes…" "I saw her in the vision, Sav, she's- she's in danger and I have to warn her." "Okay.", her sister chewed on her lip nervously, "Can we … call her?" Sabrina shook her head, knowing the phone in the living room was of no use, "She wouldn't have signal, because the lines are down." Savannah blinked slowly, realization downing on her as she processed her words, "Mrs. Darcy said the same. We can go then? Go to the farm." "I will, Sav. Alone." "Why? Can't you just ask John for help?" "I wish, but I can't. He's worried about us with all the Peggies around, wants us to stay put so he knows we would be safe. He wouldn't be happy at the idea. It's why he has left Mathias outside to keep watch. If he finds out I'm gone he would tell John… and he would be upset."

"So… are you going to sneak out then?" Sabrina took a deep breath, "I have a plan… When you go out to get his plate back, you have to act like nothing's wrong, okay? We can't risk him coming in and finding the ranch empty if he decides to return it on his own. Once you're back inside I will sneak through the back." Savannah nodded along, a calculating gleam similar to their mother's appearing in her gaze. "While I'm gone, you're going to stay upstairs, in our room. Lock the door and if he for any reason decides to check on us, you tell him I'm taking a bath. If they figure out I'm gone, you only respond you don't know where I went, okay? It would buy me time.", Sabrina took hold of her shoulders, "I will be back before you know it." "Okay.", Savannah gave her a small smile in response. "I just need you to be quiet, avoid raising suspicion, and stay safe, while I return, do you think you can do that, pumpkin?" "Of course, Rin-Rin. You know I will! You go help Rae-Rae.", her sister's eyes were shining with conviction. "Okay, give me a minute to go up and grab some things." While it was risky to leave the ranch and it effectively meant breaking John's only rule, asking for permission or relaying her vision to him was absolutely out of the question. What do I tell him?"Hey, John, your men are about to kill this sweet woman in cold blood. You're going to save her for me, right? Right?" No matter how much hope her visions of him provided, she couldn't allow them to fool her into relying on him completely. Any of their talks had proven to her he truly believed everything was unfolding as intended, so chances were he would refuse to help her, maybe even laugh at her for thinking he'd care.

His dedication to his brother's cause meant he would consider it the Will of "God" for Rae-Rae, a Sinner, to die for being against the Project. It would be a similar price to what Whitehorse and the others had paid for defying Joseph. Rae-Rae's life wouldn't be significant to someone that kept so many as prisoners. To someone that believed he was helping eradicate people's sins through torture. How would a believer take the fact I'm working against fate? Trying to change the course of things? No, in a situation where their interests weren't aligned, she could only really count on herself, especially when she had placed too much trust in him already. An array of dark thoughts plagued her brain as she rushed to her bedroom and quickly changed into a pair of grey jeans, throwing on a canvas jacket over the black top she was already wearing. She tied her bangs back and hid the grey sections of her hair under a ball cap, hoping it would enough to conceal her identity. Before she headed back downstairs, she pulled out the duffel bag and took out two of her throwing knives from her bag, securing them to her belt before grabbing her boots and making sure John's knife was still where she had stashed it away. Savannah was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, "Mr. Fluffles and I are ready for the mission." A smile emerged despite how on uneasy she felt, "I'm ready, Sav. Go grab the plate."

She watched her sister head to the front door with sure strides, appearing absolutely carefree as she opened the door and called out for Mathias in a sweet tone, "Benny, did you like breakfast?" Bennett mumbled something out and whatever it was it made Savannah laugh. "Bye, friend. Stay in the shade!", the door shut with a soft click, followed by her footsteps as she returned to where Sabrina was standing. She presented the empty plate triumphantly, "He finished it all. I guess John wasn't lying when he said Benny wasn't angry." "Of course, Sav. Who could ever be angry at this cute face?", Sabrina lowered her voice, "I'm leaving now, okay? You drop that plate in the sink and head upstairs. Remember the plan." Her sister nodded, giving her a hug before whispering, "I love you, be careful." "I love you too. I will be right back.", Sabrina held her tight, guilt over leaving her alone swooping in, but she couldn't sit back and spend a carefree afternoon outside, knowing Rae-Rae was going to die. The visions came to her for a reason, they were a gift as Scott Donovan used to say and bore hope that something out there was looking out for people and had decided to give her a purpose. With the Project taking over she had to take matters into her own hands, protect anyone she could from it. It's what her father would have done, without a question, no matter how much danger it would present for him. Inaction was not an option. It was exactly why Joseph's influence had grown so much in the County: Whitehorse refused to rock the boat despite how serious of a threat the cult had become and how many laws they had broken over the years.

Sabrina put on her boots and sneaked out through the back of the ranch, breaking into a run for the treeline the second the door closed behind her. She used the pines and dense vegetation at the back of the house as cover as she trekked into a straight line, following the landing strip she had spotten from the truck when John first brought them there. Eventually, after walking for a while she reached a main road and remained out of sight while she waited for a car to drive by. The plan was to flag down anything that's not marked as belonging to Eden's Gate. Ten anguishing minutes passed and she was starting to question if she should head further along on foot, when she spotted a red pick-up truck. Without a second thought she popped out of her hiding spot, waving her hands and the car came to a halt next to her, the window rolling down and revealing a dark skinned woman that seemed around her age. Sabrina scanned her attire that was as far from a Peggie as it could get, from the camo shirt and the american flag she used as a scarf to her hat with a scope symbol that covered her black hair. "Well, you're not a Peggie. Quite a strange sight to see on this road.", the woman remarked matter-of-factly. "I need a ride to Rae-Rae's. Are you headed that way?", Sabrina shot her a smile, wondering if she would need to explain why she was so close to the ranch especially at such hostile times. "No, I was going to Fall's End, but I guess I can make a small detour. Get in, girl, before we have company crawling up our asses." "Thank you."

Sabrina climbed into the passenger's seat and the truck peeled off the road just as she was buckling her seatbelt. "Name's Grace. Grace Armstrong. What's yours?" "Blythe.", she lied, offering her middle name, worried about the potential consequences of using her first and how much the locals knew about what had occured at the arrest. Do they blame us for the whole mess? For giving Joseph an excuse to finally strike and take over? Grace nodded, "I'd ask you what you were doing so close to John's Ranch, but I doubt I'd get a real answer. If I were you, I'd stay as far away as possible from him. He ain't one to be messed with, especially not now." "Noted." "Though, have to say, many would be happy if you made his day a tad bit worse, me included. Bastard sure has been making ours hell since the goddamn Reaping." Sabrina bit her lip and nodded, not saying anything at her assumption. They rode in silence, driving through Fall's End when a sight in front of the Spread Eagle gave her a pause: a familiar black jeep was parked in one of the spots and she craned neck back to check the license plate, but it was too late. Leslie? No way, can't be. She wanted to laugh at the idea he'd be in Hope County, though she couldn't deny she missed him, that she missed Portland and the uncomplicated life she had there.

The truck followed a route Sabrina knew quite well and every few minutes they'd pass by an Eden's Gate vehicle or a Peggie holding hostages roadside, to a point it felt like the roads were crawling with more cultists than the woods with wildlife. Before everything had gone to hell, she hadn't seen so many in such frequent intervals ever. Grace finally spoke up again as she came to a stop near Rae-Rae's, "I'm dropping you off here. Gotta ask, are you gonna be okay on your own? The Peggies are running rampant, rounding up people that have been giving John Seed a hard time. Rae-Rae's most likely on that list." "I will stay out of trouble, just checking in on a friend, that's all.", Sabrina opened the door and climbed down, "Thank you, Grace. You're a life saver." "Good luck, girl. You ever need a sniper, I'm one radio call away.", Grace saluted her as she turned the truck around and sped away. "God, I hope I'm on time, Rae-Rae.", Sabrina took a deep breath, breaking into a sprint towards the cover the trees offered in attempt to avoid any Peggies spotting her from the road.

Eventually, she reached the turn leading up to the farm and the sight of a man that was unmistakeably a member of the Project standing in the middle of the path made her blood freeze. His presence was a bad omen, a bitter confirmation that she either was already out of time or her window of opportunity was closing. No. Am I too late? She gripped one of her knives in her hand as she approached him quietly, the plan was to try to subdue him, to not shed unneeded blood especially with her already breaking her promise to John, but facing the man unarmed seemed like a dangerous idea. She grabbed him swiftly, cutting his oxygen flow while whispering, "Go to sleep, I don't want to kill you, okay?" The Peggie struggled, trying to grab at her hands, but at the end failed. As he fell unconscious, Sabrina released the breath she was holding and checked his pockets. "Zip-ties? Why, thank you. You shouldn't have.", she said to his sleeping form and dragged him off the road in case anyone decided to look for him. After grabbing his pistol and tying him to a tree, she hurried further up the path to the farm, feeling ten times more tense than when she had gotten off Grace's truck. As she neared her destination, she could hear cult music playing and John's booming voice coming from somewhere close by, the recording was a harsh reminder of the side of him that had her strapped to a chair few days back and no doubt looked forward to torturing her for information. His tone in the address was full of calculation, it was the same one he had used when he had tried to convince her Whitehorse had bad intentions for making her arrest Joseph.This John was the man that smiled at her cunningly from every billboard, that spoke of sin in every wretched broadcast, that stood behind his brother and did his best to keep him out of legal trouble. It was a role he had been playing for a long time, a mask he wore with confidence but also a mask that had slipped enough times in her presence to give her hope.

"The Project of Eden's Gate would provide salvation. Do not be afraid, God has graced us with an opportunity to start anew, you just have to welcome the word of the Father into your hearts."

He began quoting Joseph like he was a prophet, and the certainty in his words made her skin craw. You're a true believer, John. Perhaps too far gone. Maybe there's no light left for me to find. No. Hope is all I have, I have to believe. Not in Joseph, but in my visions. She kept her weapon trained ahead and soon enough made it to the fence of Rae-Rae's property. Boomer's continuous barking mixed with the Eden's Gate propaganda and the visual of the house with its surrounding structures all pushed her pick up her pace. What met her eyes next was carnage. Death all around her. I'm too late, indeed. There were so many bodies on the ground, blood pooling beneath them. The light sweaters of the peggies were turning red, masking the crimson crosses on them. "Rae-Rae? Ryan?", she called out, knowing it was foolish to think she'd get a response, but she couldn't help holding onto the sliver of hope that somehow the woman had made it. That whoever had killed John's people had managed to save her just in time. Sabrina found Rae-Rae in the exact spot where she'd seen her in her vision. Her body was cold, the gentle eyes that greeted her anytime she'd come by- devoid of life. The woman that had been nothing but kind to her from her first visit to the farm and would never let her leave before having some of her homemade sweet tea was gone. She'd never get to hug her own son again or meet Savannah. The Project had taken yet another soul.

"I'm sorry, Rae-Rae. I'm so sorry.", she whispered, failing to hold back her tears when she took off her jacket and covered her still form with it. Boomer's whining pulled her out of her despair, reminded her she could at least get him to safety. The cage from her vision stood a few feet behind her, his paws desperately scratched at its door that was latched with a lock. "I'm coming, boy.", Sabrina exclaimed and rushed over, a note stuck to the bars grabbing her attention as climbed over the trailer cart's platform. She ripped it off in a haste and scanned over the writting on the page.

"This dog's a champion. Send it to our stronghold across the street and have it shipped North. We'll let my brother decide how strong it really is." - John

"I can't believe you, Seed. Can't even use the "champion"'s name. You sent them here. You put this in motion.", she whispered and tried to ignore the ache she felt at the confirmation John had something to do with Rae-Rae's death. She could picture him giving the orders in his matter-of-fact voice, not for one second considering the fact Boomer was more than just some dog, that he was the County's beloved hero, considered a part of a family. To John he was a "thing". Something to be shipped off, then used against innocent people that wanted nothing to do with the Project. "Hey, Boomer, it's me. I'm here, buddy, I'm going to get you out.", she spoke in a soothing tone, trying her best to settle him down, "This might be loud, boy.", she trained her pistol at the lock, just as she felt a barrel of another gun press into her back, then a gruff voice rang out behind her. "Drop the weapon and turn around, I won't ask ya twice." Fuck.

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