#pre-romance

[shannaraisles]

Reunion

“I remember you.”

Fallon rose from where she crouched by the softly flowing river, shaking the cool water from her hand even as her eyes sought the owner of that warm, earthen voice. Halsin stood, half cloaked in the shadow of the moon-touched oak, his gentle gaze settled on her with an unseen smile. 

“I wasn’t sure you would,” she said, her voice low in the darkness, unwilling to risk even a moment of the encompassing calm he always seemed to carry with himself. Even in the Underdark, chained to the bed of her former mistress, he had been an ocean of calm amid the maelstrom of a falling House. 

He pushed from his lean against the tree, stepping from the shadow into the full beam of the moon’s light. “How could I forget my little dark wolf?”

She shook her head, unable to hold his gaze under the weight of memories she had fought so hard to suppress for too long. Two hundred years of pretending that the first kindness ever shown to her had not stolen her heart long before she had ever deemed it of any use. 

“You never came back,” she whispered, the dip of her head sending waves of silver-white hair cascading in front of her face, obscuring the obsidian dark skin that marked her out for so much hatred here on the surface. 

“It was not for lack of will. I was prevented by those that had missed me.”

She felt, more than saw, his approach to her side; the strange comfort of his looming bulk dwarfing her more modest height with a protective mien that was as much a part of him as the broad muscular body that carried him. He stood close, so close; close enough she could feel the heat of his skin through the cloth of her shirt, shivering just a little in reaction to an intimacy that was not yet fully realised. 

“You are cold?” he asked, his arm lifting, hand hovering as though to clasp her shoulder, slide about her back. 

“I-I ...No, I’m just ... it’s been a strange day.”

Coward, she heard that long-forgotten, despised voice from her deep past whisper in the confines of her mind, the last echoes of a matriarch whose only grace in this world had been to fear Lolth more than she hated the child she had been given to raise in her ranks. 

“X’oriethlyn.”

The sound of her given name, unspoken for centuries, rolling from his tongue without a second thought drew a gasp from her throat, her head spinning with the sudden realisation that this druid, this man, did not lie. He did remember her; he remembered enough of her that the old name bestowed by the Spider Queen herself came as easily to him as the name she had given herself when she had first found freedom on the surface. Warmth coursed through her from the gentle press of his hand to her back as he reached for her swaying form; reached only to steady her, not to presume that she welcomed his touch. 

But welcome it she did, unable to prevent herself from turning into the unconditional warmth that opened his arms to her, allowing her to burrow into his embrace like the lost child she had been when they had first met all those long years ago. He smelled of oak and moss and rich, dark earth, of fur and fresh rain, and all those things she had never been able to put a name to until his capture by the matriarch of House Yril'Lysaen. Halsin’s arms closed around her, just as they had done back then, shielding her from the world as she clung to an anchor that she had thought she would never see again. 

How long they stood together on the shore, she could not have said, enveloped as she was in the safety of the druid’s embrace, her face pushed into the curve of his chest, his breath ruffling the fall of her moon-touched hair. 

“You have come so far, little wolf,” he murmured to her, tightening his embrace against the shudder of memory as it ripped through her, as though he could hold back the tide of whips and spiders and cruelty with just the force of his unassuming presence. And perhaps he could; if it had not been for him, tearing through the remaining ranks of guards in the chaos of the fall, she might never have escaped the Underdark herself. “I have longed to see you in the light.”

“I took your name for me,” she said, the words half-laughing, half-sobs, encouraged when she felt his lips curve into a smile against her hair. 

“I could see your strength even then,” he said, his cheek firm against her temple. “If circumstances had allowed, I would have come back for you. I would have delivered you safely to those who could have raised you better.”

“You gave me a chance no one else ever did,” Fallon whispered, finally raising her eyes to his. “You gave me freedom, Halsin. I can’t ever repay you for it.”

His smile seemed to gentle somehow further in the cool light of the moon, his head lowering until his brow touched hers, until all she could see was the druid she had loved in the secret of her soul for so many years, certain she would never see him again. 

“Your freedom was never something I expected payment for,” he murmured. “Your life is your own, Fallon X’oriethlyn. But I am glad to see you walk in the light. Your radiance is undimmed by time.”

She snorted with laughter, squeezing his waist gently before easing back, dashing the unwanted tears from her face. 

“You are still too charming for your own good,” she retorted, her smile a moonbeam of its own in the face of his chuckle.

“Or perhaps I am seeking to unlock a new memory.”

His palm touched her cheek, turning her face back to his, and for the longest moment, she thought she could see her dreams reflected in hazel eyes that flickered with something neither one of them could yet put a name to. But he was free, and so was she, at last walking beneath the same moon. 

And he remembered.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Ever Patient, Ever Kind

You had a rough day, but father Paul is more than ready to provide comfort. Set after That's Gonna Leave A Scar, but before Of Homilies And Crosswords. I'm working on something of a Halloween piece currently, but I did feel absolutely miserable yesterday and wrote this little thing to feel a bit better. And it actually worked. So if you're having a bad day or just could use some soft & gentle comfort, this might be the fic for you. Enjoy x

gif from @chellestrash - tumblr wouldn’t load it the normal way

Ever Patient, Ever Kind - 2.5K

tw: slight hurt

You felt like shit. A part of you wished you could just erase the entire day, to bury yourself under covers and sleep, preferably for at least two days. You spent your day on the mainland, meeting your publisher, who was once more trying to cheat you out of your earnings for sold books, on top of casually informing you he fired the editor you've worked with basically from the start of your writing career. You met the new editor the same day and, at the end of your meeting, flat out told him you'd be asking for a different one. It was some smug looking young pup, in a way too fancy suit, who instead of talking about your work seemed way too interested in the quickest path into your knickers. His conceited smirk made you want to punch him in the face. But then, you wanted to punch some people in the face just for breathing in your direction today - on top of everything, you were on the first day of your period.

 Despite taking an ibuprofen, you were in constant pain from your stomach cramps, and of course part of your irritability was present because of your stupid out-of-control hormones. You were in such a rotten mood, you didn't even use the opportunity to shop for some things not available in the general store on Crockett Island, instead waiting literally hours for Belle to arrive and take you home, staring daggers at anyone your gaze fell on. You wouldn't even chat up Sturge with whom you always exchanged at least a few words. Seeing your stormy expression, the bearded man didn't even try to engage in a conversation, minding his work on the ferry with 100% of his focus.

 Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you sat on the boat, the dark clouds overhead reflecting your mood rather masterfully and bringing you a little solace. You looked at the text message which just arrived.

 “Hey, wanna hang out once you're back? Riley's over too." 

 You sighed. As much as you loved spending time with the two of them, you really didn't feel like doing so on this particular day, the picture of your warm bed and some disgustingly gory horror film strangely seeming more tempting.

 "I'm sorry, but I guess it'll be just the two of you tonight. Hope that won't be a problem ;)" you finished with a smiley face who's smile didn't reflect your expression at all.

 "Aw, you're ditching me for the priest??" 

 You sighed quietly and typed back: "No, it's just… today's been a little fucked up. I kind of want to be alone. I'd hate to be a party pooper." And you were being honest. For some reason, not even a prospect of going to see Father Paul at the rectory seemed to lift your spirits right now. Most of all, though, you really didn't want to spread your foul mood, especially on your closest friends.

 "Alright. I hope you'll feel better soon. If you need anything or you change your mind, you know where I am <3"

 You knew you'd be alright the next day, all you needed was a hot bowl of soup (preferably some delicious, nasty instant noodles), sensible 13 hours of sleep, and some anatomically incorrect guts being pulled out of some buxom 'college student' on the telly. But of course, God works in mysterious ways.

 You literally rammed into the very person you were not ditching your best friend for on your way home. You were walking very fast, your pace nearly angry and you paid no mind to anyone you passed. Up until you turned around a corner and bumped into the unsuspecting priest so hard, the poor man lost his balance and fell bum first onto the ground. "Oh, god!" you gasped in horror, immediately feeling ashamed and guilty, and dropped to your knees next to father Paul, who looked as if his mind wasn't able to process what on earth just happened. "I'm so sorry Paul! Are you hurt?" His eyes were the size of saucers and he blinked several times before answering: "Um, no, I-I'm fine. I'm sorry, I guess I was just… standing in the wrong place." 

 You sighed and regarded the situation. He was still sitting on his backside in the dirt, long legs bent at the knees, while you kneeled next to him. The sky was becoming darker with the oncoming evening and you probably looked like a pair of idiots, just lounging in the middle of the street, looking dumbly at each other. Sighing again, you stood up and offered your hand to the priest. "I'm so sorry, I mean it," you said as you helped pull him to his feet, "I wasn't paying attention where I was going." Your voice was soft now, filled with fatigue and pity. Oh, how you wanted to disappear right now. Father Paul smiled at you softly and began dusting off his jeans with his hands. "It's alright, don't worry. How are you, how did the meeting go?" he asked and finally looked at you fully.

 A worried line appeared between his expressive eyebrows as his eyes travelled over you and he saw the state you were in. Your own eyes were a bit red, from crying a little in your frustrations earlier, your face was probably pale with the pain you felt the entire day and there was generally a miserable expression on your face. You weren't looking at him now, your gaze stubbornly glued to your own feet. "Hey," his large warm hand softly enclosed your upper arm, right below your shoulder, before moving up to lift your chin with his thumb and forefinger, "come with me to the rectory, we can talk, have some cocoa, I've even got something to eat." You shook your head weakly: "I don't want to be a burden, you've got enough of your plate without me venting out my problems to you while eating you out of your house…"

 The priest rolled his eyes and shook his head too, way more vehemently than you. "Don't be silly. You could never be a burden. I just want to help you feel better. You know I'm always here for you, right, ready to talk about everything, the good and the bad. Also, I still owe you for that lunch, anyway. Come on…" You looked into his eyes, finding nothing but fondness and warmth in them, and it was such an amazing thing to see after the hellish day, it brought fresh tears to your eyes with emotion. "Come on," he said again, even softer this time and pulled a soft handkerchief out of his trouser pocket, handing it to you. His long, strong arm wrapped around your shoulders then and he began leading you towards his little house. You no longer resisted, and instead just dabbed at your wet eyes with the cloth, sniffling a bit.

 Once in the rectory, you were promptly given a simple cold cut and cheese sandwich with fresh vegetable on the side. Father Paul kept apologising that he had nothing better at the moment, but you hadn't eaten the entire day and the sandwich honestly tasted divine. Your eyes were closed with bliss as the pain in your stomach lessened with every bite. Paul ate beside you, sitting at the table in the corner of the room, not saying a word. Once you were done eating, he took the plates away to dispose of them in the sink and began preparing the cocoa. You automatically went to sit on the couch where the priest joined you after a few minutes, handing you a steaming hot cup of cocoa. The cup, the one you always drank from, warmed your hands and you breathed in the sweet chocolatey smell, sighing in pleasure. Father Paul once more wrapped an arm around you, and you immediately leaned into him, your head dropping to rest on his shoulder. His cheek made contact with the top of your head and you could feel soft puffs of air tickling your nose slightly everytime the priest exhaled. "Do you want to talk about it then?" he asked then. You closed your eyes.

 You told him everything. About your pain (you didn't go into details), your filthy cheat of a publisher and of course the bloody fool of an editor, who, as it turned out, was the publisher's nephew, recently kicked out from university, who only got the job because of his connections. The priest stayed strangely quiet when you told him of the editor's unwelcome advances, only slightly increasing his hold on your shoulder. You told Paul about your worries of trying to find someone new to publish your work and the possible backlash of 'being very rude' to the 'promising young man' who would surely 'be the boss of the entire company one day'. Your cocoa was long gone and the mugs lay on the table. You were unconsciously toying with the priest's free hand, a habit of yours since you were little. Your fingers traced over every line, every curve, every little fold of skin on Paul's large, lean hand, drawing invisible patterns, or just softly bending and straightening each finger. You sometimes softly cried some more while you talked, but the man next to you was quick to wipe off the tears with his handkerchief, ever patient, ever kind.

 And ever right, apparently. You truly did feel better, now that your belly was full and your woes spoken out loud. "Well then," you said at last and somehow managed to lean even more into the priest's warm embrace, "what do I do, father?" Paul took a deep breath and you practically felt every second of it against your side: "Nothing. That's what I think." You pulled slightly back to look at him questioningly. "I mean, I don't really know how this entire… business works, but I'm fairly certain you're entitled to work with whoever you want to. If you don't, as you say, 'click' with the editor, if they make you uncomfortable even, the publishers can't force you to work with them and only them. You help them make money too, so you should be able to pick who you want to work with! As for the publisher itself, as I said, your books are selling well, they'd be stupid to get rid of you and you can still work with them while you look elsewhere. I'm sure many other companies would be just delighted to have you write under 'their colours'." 

 Paul's words made sense and they felt like a comforting blanket. "I hope you're right," you said only and settled back against him. You stayed that way for a long time after that, just enjoying his warmth, filled with adoration and gratitude for the man, your thumbs stroking each other's hand now.

 "It's late," you said, noticing the watch on his left hand, "I should probably go home." Paul sat still and quiet for a minute or two, his hands showing no intention of releasing you. "Or you could stay," he spoke quietly, nearly whispering, "some of your things are still here…" Which was true, you did leave some stuff behind after your little accident, your pyjamas, a clean set of clothes, the bag with extra toiletries you kept for travelling. You never really made an effort to pick them up and Paul hadn't spoken of them either. You had everything else you needed in your bag. "I-... I don't want you to be alone. But if that's what you wish, I'm not going to stop you." You did want to be alone before, wanted to just bury your frustrations deep down and not face them until you actually had to, but now… Now the very idea of leaving the priest's arms to walk through the dark cold night back to your empty home seemed positively dreadful. "(Y/N)?" asked Paul. You exhaled and closed your eyes: "I'll stay."

 Father Paul handed you a clean towel and your pyjamas, which he pulled out of the bottom of his dresser. They were clean and neatly folded, hidden from prying eyes under his own clothes. Your toiletries, including a small bottle of shower gel, a tiny hairbrush, a tube of deodorant and even your extra toothbrush were all tucked neatly into the bathroom mirror cabinet. You were also very glad you always carried a small stash of pads (including night ones) with you. You washed the last remaining stress of the day with hot water, which really helped loosen your tense muscles, and by the time you were done and ready to leave the bathroom, you felt like a new person entirely. Father Paul then took your place there and you went to crawl under his covers, lying down in the spot of his bed which now felt quite familiar.

 The pillows and the blankets, the sheets, they all smelled of the priest. You were literally enveloped by his scent, a mix of incense, traces of his cologne and something like sandalwood, which was just so incredibly him, and you inhaled deeply, feeling comfort seeping into each and every pore of your body. The only light in the room came from the lamp on Paul's bedside table and from the little gap under the door leading to the bathroom. The unchanging hum of running water in the next room was slowly lulling you to sleep.

 Finally there was a click as the light switch turned off and Paul left the now dark bathroom, wearing the form-fitting p.j.'s you were also familiar with already. He too lied down in his usual spot and turned off the lamp, bathing the rectory bedroom in darkness. You both turned to face each other at the same time. You'd already slept in this bed several times, but it was different now. Now there was no illness, no injury which would mean one of you had to make sure the other was alright and safe, now you had pretty much no logical reason to be here. The priest simply wanted you here. You simply wanted to be here with him. His hand found yours above the covers, as it did everytime you were there, but it felt much more intimate now. 

 You were glad he couldn't see you clearly as you squeezed his hand in return, for your cheeks were rapidly becoming red. It felt like a moment between lovers. And it should feel so strange and wrong, knowing his position on this island. The funny thing was, it didn't. It felt right and like the most natural thing in the world, even as you pulled his hand closer to press a single feathery kiss against his knuckles. It didn't feel wrong, it felt like love. Pure and simple. 

 Your brain was probably half asleep already, because it didn't stop you from doing something which you would never dare to do while fully conscious. You moved on the bed and closer to him, your arm extending until it was resting on his slim waist, while still keeping some distance between you bodies. "Thank you," you breathed out oh so quietly, worried that anything louder would shatter the moment completely. Paul didn't speak, his own hand slowly caressed your cheek and hair, before it too settled on your waist, his long fingers somehow warming your entire side. "Sweet dreams, (Y/N)".

I hope you enjoyed reading, you can check this story and the entire series on AO3. Comments always lift my spirits as much as writing these silly little fics does <3

[celestialseawitch-ff]

Blood Will Out

🌟 Happy Evil Author Day! 🌟

Story: Blood Will Out Rating: T Ship: Pre-Hermione Granger/Thorfinn Rowle Warnings: assault, attempted rape, torture, child abandonment, forced marriage (no required sex and no romance) Summary: When Lord Theodore Nott Sr. first feels a flash of pain during the battle in the Department of Mysteries, he thinks it must be a trick. It doesn't take him long to follow the trail of family magic back to its source where he finds a wounded Hermione Granger. Lord Nott has only a few seconds to decide what he's going to do and staring into the face of a witch he knows must be his granddaughter, he finds the decision the easiest he's ever made.

An AU of "Of Magical Descent" (also the OG version which was meant to be a slow burn Thormione).

Ao3 | Blog

("Of Magical Descent" can be found here)

[aboyisagunasterisk]

did someone already do this

[camjsad0]

y didnt my brain hyperfixate on science or smth, like girl who the hell r these ppl

[shardsofapril]

so i colorized those college gerard scans :D

they’re not perfect but!!!

[cheezy-whizz]

You know you’re in the wrong fandom when everyone is referring to a hot guy as “my husband” and not “my wife”

[cheekylittlepupp]

Corda nostra laudus est

[nails4breakfast-tacks4snacks]

we neeeeed to bring these types of magazines back

[hoomandoescosplay]

My Darling | Alastor x Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

[achiepy]

🍊"Who spent my stolen money for food and booze!?"

🍙🍖 "ahh..."

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Whisky Business

When your childhood friends come visit you, you drink slightly more than would be wise. Father Paul to the rescue!

Set sometime before the Easter vigil This is just a little idea I got few days ago and I'm pretty happy how it turned out. Your friends' names have been chosen at random. Also, the car story is true, but don't try it yourself xD

Whisky Business - 4K

tw: alcohol usage, attempts at humour

You didn’t really drink, other than a glass of wine to go with your dinner, or a hot cider on a chilly day, but when two of your childhood friends, Zoe and Libby, called you that they’re coming to visit you on Crockett Island, you knew that it wouldn’t stop at one glass of wine. Zoe, Lib and you went way back, you lived a few streets away from each other, attended the same schools and pretty much saw each other every single day until it was time for you to leave for your respective unis. Even then you stayed in contact and met up every now and again, mostly during the holidays.

And, as young women do when they finally meet for a ladies’ night, you partied. You’d usually start in a club, dance a little, flirt with a few boys (and sometimes girls), then move your soiree somewhere else, usually some hotel room, or one of your families’ houses, if the family went away for the holidays. Sometimes a few people would tag along, but you’d send them on their way once you felt it was time to wrap up for the night. As you got older (and only a little more responsible), you’d skip the club entirely, opting to stay in the comfort of one of your flats instead, inviting some more friends to talk, drink, play some games.

Well, this time the girls did want to drag you off onto the mainland and into a club, but seeing as you most definitely didn’t want to have to run to catch the morning ferry back to Crockett Island while fighting hangover, nor did you want to spend your entire day in some hotel room waiting for the Belle, you managed to convince your friends to stay in with you for the night.

Zoe and Libby arrived on the Breeze at 8 o’clock in the morning and let you show them around Crockett. “I still don’t understand why you moved here, of all places,” said Libby absent-mindedly before hurrying to add: “It’s not bad! Little fishing town, everyone knows everyone, it’s got its charm. But, you know, there are little fishing towns which are even more… charming.” You smiled wryly: “Yeah, well, I like this one."

"I think I can see why," replied Zoe cheekily, coyly nudging her head in the direction of the general store, in front of which now stood a certain police officer. You shook your head and grinned, opting to stay silent. What you said was true, you really became really fond of the island and its inhabitants, a few of them (including sheriff Hassan) in particular.

However, there indeed was a man you had your eyes on, and you’d rather let your friends think it was the brawny cop, and not the local holy man. Speaking of which, you were actually quite glad you hadn’t met the Father as you gave your friends a tour, as a single interaction between the two of you would be enough for Libby to know exactly how you felt about the man. She always had a sixth sense for these things…

You made chicken and spinach tagliatelle with cream sauce for dinner and you shared it sitting at your little dining table. Erin joined you after school (and a stroll with Riley) and to your happiness, she and your friends got on like a house on fire. The first drinks came after your meal, a very fruity sparkling wine was poured into three glasses and orange juice was put into the fourth. It was a pleasant evening, full of laughter and embarrassing stories from your youths, paired with a game of charades.

“I still can’t believe you actually got 14 people into a single car,” laughed Erin. “Nearly 15!” you replied jovially, “one of the girls was pregnant at the time!” More laughter followed. “Right, I won’t be doing any of that, you can be sure. How did the car even manage to start when there were like 10 more people there than it was made for?” “Don’t underestimate a Lada, they’re like a Nokia of cars,” said Zoe then, her voice already taking on a tipsy tone, “though, I must admit, as I was lying on the roof with (F/N), I was pretty sure the engine would just jump out of the hood and run away from us.”

Erin said her goodbyes somewhere around 9 o'clock, having managed to convince the girls her baby made her tired easily. You knew very well that Erin was in fact going home to be able to sit on her porch with Riley and talk late into the night. You haven't told your friends that, though, just as Erin didn’t tell them that the man you spent most time with on the island was not in fact the local law enforcer.

 “You’ve got to try this,” said Libby, an oval brown bottle in her hand, “it’s made out of maple syrup and canadian whisky, and it’s really, really delicious.” So you did try, and it indeed was very good. So good in fact, that the bottle was completely empty within an hour (along with the bottle of wine, and some bottles of other liquors were also emptier than before), and you were beginning to feel completely drunk. And you weren’t the only one. The girls went from giggling about absolutely everything, to declarations of love towards you and each other, to talking about men. Zoe was going on and on about this intern working in her local clinic, who ‘totally looked like Captain America’ and had ‘pecs the size of her head’. Before your turn to talk about that special someone came however, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

Your legs were rather shaky and unstable and your mind felt like you were on a boat and you cursed under your breath. It had been easier when you were sitting down, but now the alcohol rushed directly into your head and made you dizzy. you sat down on your closed toilet heavily and closed your eyes, taking deep breaths. Five minutes later, when you were sure you’re not going to be sick the moment you stood up, you walked to the sink. You splashed cold water on your face and drank some directly from the tap. Feeling still very drunk but far more steadier, you headed for your living room again.

It was rather strange though, as you didn’t hear anything once you stood in the hallway. You heard your friends chatting and giggling among themselves before you entered the bathroom, their slurred voices echoing off the walls, but now it seemed your house was dead silent. When you finally reached the living room, you saw both your friends lying on your couch, the still and quiet now disturbed by even breathing and the occasional light snore from Zoe.

You snorted quietly and swayed on your feet. Party’s over it seemed. You threw a blanket over your friends and made to go to your room and sleep it off, when a knock came from your front door. You thought it was perhaps Erin having forgotten something, but when you opened the door and leaned heavily against the frame, your unfocused eyes widened slightly at the sight of a tall black haired man in dark clothes, his soft features turned into a lovely smile.

“Hey,” you slurred quietly and gave him a drunken smile, your head tilting to the side and eyes squinting a little. “Hello,” he said back, his voice making you melt inside, “I see you’re having fun.” Did he just purr? Was this man seriously just purring at you? ‘This is bad’, you realised, drunk-you had the wheel, your inhibitions were severely lowered and the object of your affection stood before you, purring . “I took a walk because I couldn’t sleep, and thought I’d stop by for a chat when I saw you still have lights on too. But if this isn’t a good time…” “No, no no, it is a good time,” you mumbled quickly, pulling at his hand. You could get into some serious trouble - your drunk self didn’t give a damn.

“My friends came to visit me and they’re sleeping on the couch, come into my room,” oh, some serious trouble. Paul didn’t say anything, letting you lead him slowly. You entered the dark bedroom with the priest in tow and shut the door. For several seconds, you were enveloped in absolute darkness, and you suddenly realised how close you stood to the man. So close in fact, that you felt the heat coming off his body, felt his breath tickle your cheeks as your eyes searched for his own in the darkness. Then there was a click, and the moment was gone. You stepped away from Father Paul and climbed on top of the bed, moving to sit cross legged upon the made covers.

Paul smiled softly and kneeled in front of the bed, hands coming up to rest on your knees gently. “Sooo,” you said in a sing-song voice, “did you have something specific to talk about?” The priest gave you another smile and his thumbs stroked over your knees, the lycra of your leggins soft against his fingers. “A few things, yeah, but I won’t trouble you with them now… You should get some sleep.” You gave the priest a childish pout, making him chuckle.

"I'll bring you a glass of water. And some aspirin. Can you get ready for bed by yourself, or…?" A deep red blush appeared on his cheeks. "I'm not that drunk, you know," you grumbled, "but wait!" Paul stopped and looked at you. "Um, don't wake my friends. They get like-" you stumbled over your words, "Old man and the sea-ish." The priest stared at you as if you just spoke Mandarin to him: "Um, what exactly is that supposed to mean?" You fell upon the bed, lying down on your side and looked at him sleepily through your eyelashes. "You know, Old man and the sea, by Ernest Hemingway? Guy hunts down this huge fish, but before he can haul it back home, sharks come and nibble the entire thing away. So, you know, like that.”

You probably weren’t making any sense, as Paul gave you a long unreadable look. But then again, perhaps you’d be able to read it were you sober. “Oh wow,” he whispered at last, smiling mischievously, “you’re going to be so sick in the morning.” And with that he left your room in his quest to get you an aspirin and a glass of water… a pitcher, actually. Turns out, you in fact were rather too drunk to actually change into your sleeping clothes. You were luckily wearing very comfortable home clothes though, so you just peeled off your leggings and socks, and fumbled with your bra under your long baggy shirt until you were able to unclasp it and pull it off.

You were luckily sitting with your back to the door as you did so, because Paul came back the exact moment you pulled the garment from under your t-shirt and threw it somewhere in the direction of the laundry basket. Still, your dear friend managed to get an eyeful of your bare lower back, as well as your bottom, clad in a pair of undies with a kitty cat print. You weren’t aware of it, but Paul had to close his eyes and count to five in his head, willing his body to calm down and his mind to get itself out of the gutter. When his eyes opened again, you were (thankfully) covered once more by the large t-shirt.

The priest coughed and entered the room fully, getting your attention. His stomach flipped when you gave him another drunken smile, one that made him feel like he was the centre of your universe. Paul carefully put your water and pills on the bedside table and flipped the light switch on the wall once more, turning on a small lamp on your dresser instead. He helped tuck you in then, doing his best not to stare at your bare thighs, or the way your shirt hiked up a little every now and then because of your attempts to get under the covers. You however paid no attention to where he was looking, as you were rather busy staring at the man’s lips. Finally, he pulled the blanket over you, the edge of it nearly at your chin.

Suddenly, your hands travel to his cheeks on their own accord, grabbing and gently pulling him down. The poor man is too shocked to resist and lets himself get closer and closer, until…

Your lips brush his cheek tenderly, one hand going into his hair, the other moving to rest on the hot skin of his throat. “Thank you, Paul,” you whisper into his ear and he fights a tremor, “thank you for taking care of me.” Paul smiles and allows his arms to curl around your form, at least for a little while. However, he parts from you quickly, being quite aware that the longer he holds you, the more he won't want to let go.

He sits down on a chair in your room, facing you and talking softly as you begin to fall asleep. Every once in a while, he has to keep himself from chuckling, because you get this intense look in your eyes and hit him with some unexpected compliment.

“Wow, huge...” you breathe. “Yes, the temples in Israel really are that big,” he says, thinking you were reacting to his storytelling.“No, no. I was talking about your eyes, they’re huge. And beautiful.” Paul’s quiet.

You fell asleep finally, more than forty five minutes after Paul first arrived at your door, though he looked at you for many more minutes after that, taking in your calm and relaxed face. Your left arm was wrapped around one of your pillows, squeezing it unconsciously. How easy would it be to simply move the pillow a little bit and take its place… The priest sighed. It wouldn’t be right.

Instead, his hand pushed a few stray hairs out of your face and slowly stroked your smooth cheek. You leaned into his tender touch, the corners of your mouth turning upwards ever so slightly. “You really are going to be the death of me,” he sighed once more and forced himself to leave your bedside.

He silently tried to make his way out of your house, when he heard a quiet gasp. Paul turned around and his eyes landed on a girl your age, her hair a mess and clothes rather dishevelled. She was just exiting your bathroom. “Um, you’re a priest,” she slurred her words, seeming even drunker than you were, “does that mean I’m like… dead, or something?” Father Paul blinked and fought back a grin. “No,” he said calmly, “no I’m just a marlin and you’re a shark. Also, you’re dreaming. Goodnight.” The girl nodded her head quickly, as if she’d already known what he just told her: “Oh okay. Goodnight Mr Marlin” and with that she dragged herself back to your living room.

Paul chuckled to himself all the way back to the rectory.

—

You woke up hating yourself. Your head was throbbing and why on earth is there so much light in here?! Through squinted eyes, you located a few pills of aspirin on your nightstand, and you immediately popped a couple of them into your mouth. You drank half of the big glass of water which was right next to the meds in a single breath, feeling thirsty like you spent the last eight hours walking through a scorching desert. 'I am never drinking again' you thought bitterly as you settled on your side once more, staring morosely at the half empty glass. Speaking of which, how did that get here? You definitely didn't remember fetching it, as you'd have to climb a chair in order to reach the cupboard where you stored your medication. The girls couldn't have done it either, as they were already passed out yesterday, drunker than you, and were probably still asleep.

And then bits and snippets began coming back. Father Paul. You didn't really remember what you spoke about (if you spoke at all), but he was definitely in your house yesterday… in your room even! 'Oh god.' You covered your face in embarrassment, actually praying that you didn't do or say anything stupid. You scanned the room with your eyes, looking for your phone. It lay on your dresser, charging, right where you left it before Erin came to join you for dinner. You crawled out of bed, your legs feeling like lead and grabbed the phone, returning back on the mattress promptly.

There was one new message, but it wasn't from Father Paul, but rather your teacher friend.

"Text me when you wake up. Just let me know that you're alive lol"

And so you did, vaguely. It was 11 o'clock. You debated whether you should call Paul and find out whether you caused any major faux pas while he was over, so you could start apologising, but then ultimately decided against it. You groaned. You had a godawful taste in your mouth and could actually smell the alcohol vapour coming off your skin. In that moment, you decided it was for the best if you put yourself together before going to apologise to the local priest for any embarrassing things you might have said or done to him, lest you embarrass yourself even further.

You checked on Zoe and Libby and, as you expected, they were still sleeping soundly on your couch, limbs sprawled out in all directions. "Shower, anyone?" You asked entirely too quiet for them to hear you, even if they weren't still sleeping off last night's activities, "no? Guess I'm going first then."

You brushed your teeth twice, and used a copious amount of mouthwash, trying to get that 'something died here' taste out, and your skin was nearly sore by the time you finished scrubbing at it. To your surprise, blowing your hair dry still didn't wake your friends up, and you therefore had some more time to make yourself appear like a human again. Once you were satisfied, it was just after 12 o'clock, and about time the girls began to pull themselves together as well.

So you woke them up, as gently as you could, providing them with a 'hangover morning starter pack'; clean towels, new toothbrushes, glass of seltzer and more aspirin, and Zoe and Libby took turns in your bathroom, while you went to cook some quick chicken soup to eliminate your hangovers.

In the end, it was a pretty fun evening and you were glad your friends came to see you. While you truly did like your home on Crockett Island, you had to admit you sometimes missed your more lively hometown, and therefore loved every single new story the girls threw at you. When the time came, and you embraced each of them before they got onto the Belle, all of you looked almost as presentable as you looked the previous day.

You walked home, intent on cleaning up the place a little. It wasn't too bad, just some pillows out of place, a sticky ring on the coffee table from one of the glasses, a small salsa stain on the hardwood floor from a late night snack. Huh, what is this? It seemed Libby forgot her earrings, which is, of course, just like her.

Then suddenly, there was a knock.

"I would've sent you the earrings by post, you know? Now you've missed the ferry." you called as you made your way towards the door, "I've got no problem with you guys crashing in my place one more night, but I'm not drinking anything else than water! Also I'm going to church tomorrow, so I'm waking up early." You opened the door. Once more, it was not whom you expected. Instead of the two girls with sheepish smiles on their faces, there stood the local priest, his own smile anything but sheepish.

"Oh…" you said, "um, hi." You couldn't read his expression, but Paul could definitely see the red beginning to settle within your cheeks. "Hello," he said, his grin widening, "I am of course glad to hear both of those things." You chuckled nervously and then stepped aside, letting him into your house once again. You went into the kitchen and you automatically began preparing tea while he sat down at the table. "Um," you said eloquently, "there's some soup if you'd like?" Father Paul gratefully accepted and soon happily ate his hot soup.

"I, uh, I wanted to apologise," you began, spinning the spoon in your large cup of mint tea. Father Paul swallowed and gave you a confused look: "Huh? What for?" You sighed. "Okay, first off, you know I don't drink too often, right?" He hummed in a 'yes'. "But, well, I really overdid it yesterday with the girls, and the thing is that I don't… remember much. So if I did anything really embarrassing, or inappropriate, I wanted to apologise. So, yeah, I'm really sorry." The priest shook his head gently and chuckled into his plate: "Don't worry, you didn't do anything of that sort. We just talked."

"What did we talk about?" you asked then. Paul's lips did that little 'mouth shrug' you thought was absolutely cute as well as hilarious. "A number of things, pretty small, I don't remember most of it myself. You said something about The Old man and the sea. Your favourite book, I presume?" he asked in a light tone, putting another spoonful of soup into his mouth. You nodded a little and finally smiled. Once Father Paul finished his plate and wiped his lips with a napkin, he made himself comfortable in your kitchen chair and reached for his tea: "I mean it, you don't have to apologise for anything. You had fun with your friends, had a few drinks, slept it off, all of you are fine. As you said, you don't drink, and no, I don't count one glass of wine to go with supper as drinking." You grinned and swallowed your protest.

"Thank you for the aspirin and water, by the way," you said then, feeling much better, "you saved my life." Paul gave you a serene look: "Such is a priest's purpose." You giggled and lightly slapped his arm. "You were rather cute actually," he then said offhandedly, making you raise your eyebrows at him, "yeah. All sweet and smiley." "I am always sweet and smiley!" you gasped in mock offence. He shrugged and you slapped his arm again and giggled. Paul joined you soon.

"However, if you ever feel like, I don't know, you want to have a glass of wine outside of dinner, there's this really cool after-school club you can join," he carried on, his voice dripping with dry humour. "What, your AA after-school club?" "No, the Crockett Island book club, you can talk about Ernest Hemingway there all you like." Your eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Paul, there isn't a Crockett Island book club, I think I'd know if there was. And I'd definitely know if they had wine there," you said finally, looking at the priest with squinted eyes. "Oh, well, we currently only have one member, um, me, and the meetings are held in the rectory, but you can join if you want, I'd definitely like to see you there."

You observed him, his expression unreadable again, or it would've been had he not been holding his breath. You released an amused sound, one of your hands coming up on the table to support the weight of your head. You were in big trouble. You probably loved this man. Still you grinned at him, looking into his warm, sparkling eyes.

"So what are we reading?"

Hello, I hope you enjoyed reading this silly little thing. You can check this story and the entire series on AO3. I’m always so grateful for feedback <3

[breedabletwink69]

Who the hell is more twinky 🙁

[earlycuntsets]

gerard's art school sketchbook

x

[clancy-the-pretty-odd-killjoy]

Guys, my MCR paper doll era is upon us. Be scared, be VERY scared.. (btw the art 4 the boys is not mine)

Moikey gets b-day hat bc it's his borthday. :3 <3

Art credit goes to: @powdertz.

[juiceboxerr]

personally, i don’t think anyone should ship aro/ace/aroace characters with anyone unless they know how those relationships work (or are on the aro/ace spectrum themselves). sure, some of them can be similar to a relationship where neither person is aro/ace/aroace, but a lot of times they are different in some way. unless you can grasp what that means for the aro/ace/aroace character i feel like it’s going to be straight up mischaracterizing them, and not in a funny way. (this is mostly geared towards if people post a lot about whichever character/relationship or if they make art/fanfics of that type of relationship)

(this is my personal opinion, and i’m not saying you have to agree with me)

edit:

i hope people realize i was mostly talking about shipping pre-existing characters specifically. ones that already have established that they���re aro/ace and people either ignoring that, or acting like their relationship wouldn’t differ from most relationships due to them being aro/ace. that’s different from making your own aro/ace character, whether you are or not.

my whole point was just that aroace relationships are different from allo relationships. i apologize if it didn’t come across that way but i did specifically say “ship” so ??? i’m confused if the people reblogging it are addressing that or something else :')