#under the flag of the rising Sun

[m1d-45]

i love your sagau/imposter au fics so much (esp kazuha’s),, do you think nahida would be able to sense if the creator isnt an imposter because of her having access to Irminsul and being able to see if there are records of them? anyways okok so uh hear me out, maybe the creator tries to seek safety in sumeru while they’re being hunted? sorry if this is a lengthy ask ekwjkwm anyways thanks for reading, ur amazing !

sandy refuge

word count: 3.4k

-> warnings: spoilers for the final sumeru archon quest

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

sumeru was a deadly nation.

liyue was guarded by the adepti, and inazuma’s storms tore the sea around the archipelago to shreds, but sumeru…

sumeru, the land of wisdom, headed by academics and led by scholars and sages. the nation split in two, lush forests barely a stones throw from barren deserts, believers of two (three?) separate gods walking side by side through the city. for a nation so divided, it was rare to get everybody to agree on something, every decision inevitably and invariably leaving some group of people unsatisfied.

and yet, there they were, united under one flag. eremites and the matra, the beige robes of the desert dwellers shifting in the wind besides the glittering armor of the akademiya’s soldiers, spears and swords aligned towards the same target.

it would be beautiful, if only you weren’t the one they rallied against.

you didn’t know how long you had been running when you managed to work your way past the wall, nor how long you had managed to stumble across sand dunes before finding your current oasis.

literally. trees swayed around a large pool of clear water, thick grass cushioning your knees as you barely hesitated before cupping some in your hands and drinking. it was blessedly cool, and you were tempted to swim in it and let it soothe the continuous heat from the desert sun. sadly, you didn’t have a spare set of clothes, and you weren’t keen on stripping when the matra could storm the place at any moment.

or the eremites. or the corp of thirty. or literally anybody else, since you’ve apparently been declared public enemy number one.

you splashed some water on your face and over your head, goosebumps rising where a drop raced beneath the collar of your shirt. how water was so cold when the sand was so hot, you didn’t know, but you weren’t going to complain.

after drinking a few more handfuls of the water, you finally looked around. there was a large spire of stone next to the oasis, flanked by large trees, with a thankfully abandoned hilichurl hut beside it.

you try not to think about how an archer would have had an easy shot as you were drinking.

at the base of a few of the trees is something green, and you remember the nuts that grew in the desert. you were too wary of the henna berries and the cacti they grew on to try and eat those, but you distinctly remember these being used in a few recipes.

all you could do was hope they were edible raw.

you stood—your vision blurred, the ground tilting, but you ignored it—and walked around the oasis, inspecting the green and hoping it wasn’t a fungus.

good news, it wasn’t. bad news, it was the husk of one of the nuts, hollow without any of the fruit inside. fresh, by the looks of it, the green leaves squishing instead of crumbling when you kicked at them.

great.

you sat on the curved trunk of one of the trees, holding up a hand to shade your eyes as you looked up. you could see another nut, hanging off the top of a tree, but.. the bark of the trees were smooth, and any of your athletic abilities were worn away by exhaustion and malnutrition.

you let your head drop and tried not to focus on your hunger, instead inspecting the mix of sand and grass beneath your feet. sand and grass. all of sumeru, represented right at your feet. hot, slippery sand, and cool, spiky grass. the desert and the forest, two wildly different ecosystems, and yet… both drove you out.

you tried not to cry, to push away the helplessness of the situation, but you couldn’t. what had you done, you wondered, for your very face to cause such an uproar? for two separate groups of people, divided in location, name, and faith to ally in their shared hatred of you? if somebody asked you what the millelith, matra, and eremites had in common about six months ago, you couldn’t have answered. you’d have thought about it, maybe, but drawn a blank outside of ‘defenders.’

but what were they defending? and how were you a threat?

when the first tear fell, so did something else.

you jumped at the dense thud, digging your nails—overgrown, bitten at, broken—into the bark as you searched for the source of the noise.

a large fruit had fallen, the one you were eyeing earlier by the looks of it. it sat atop the empty husk of another, magically fallen from the tree by seemingly nothing.

you weren’t going to complain.

you slid off the tree, reaching for the nut, grabbing the stem and pulling, but dropped it just as fast. a fungus was standing just behind it, large orange eyes looking up at you.

you were frozen. would it attack you? was it trying to eat? did they even need to? could you get sick from fungus spores? even if you couldn’t, getting hurt wasn’t worth the meal…

the fungus tilted to one side, then the other, bumping the large fruit towards you.

it… was giving it back?

you stared, but the fungus didn’t move. when you carefully tugged at the nut, slowly drawing it closer so you could properly pick it up, it didn’t move. it just watched you, the rim of its cap slightly falling into its eyes.

you sat back on the tree, pulling it into your lap. the outer leaves were coarse, softening as you pulled away the many layers. there was a high chance some of the inner leaves were edible, but you didn’t want to take chances. the fruit itself was a pale green, easily tearing under your fingers. it was soft, with the barest edge of sweetness that had you prying up more. it wouldn’t make for a full meal, but it was certainly far better than nothing.

you checked on the fungus every once in a while, but it just stood there. by your guess, it was the floating anemo kind, but where was its group? fungi rarely appeared alone, and part of you felt bad.

(felt bad. for a fungus. you’re in dirty, torn clothes and on the run for your life, and you still find the empathy for a fungus. at least you knew your morals were still intact.)

you offered a piece of the nut to the fungus, but it didn’t react. instead it turned, floating into the air and drifting away.

…alright.

you try to eat the fruit slowly, as to not make yourself sick, taking breaks to sip more water from the lake to dim the sweetness. you didn’t know how long the fruit would stay good now that you’d opened it, but you were trying to enjoy it. its not as if you were overflowing with excess, and you likely couldn’t linger here long. you don’t even know why you resorted to the desert anyway.. between cyno, the ruins, scorpions, the primal constructs.. to say it was dangerous was an understatement. even if you made it to the far west, the pari were there, and you didn’t think they would take too kindly to you. fontaine wouldn’t be much better, provided you somehow crossed the sea around it…

nowhere was safe. you supposed that was the point, that nobody would give you refuge, but it still hurt. you didn’t think you’d ever land in this situation when you first downloaded the game..

whatever. you’re not going to go down that path for the nth time. you hold the remains of the nut in one arm as you stand, picking off chunks as you walk toward the hilichurl hut. with any luck there would be something useful inside, or at least be a safe place to rest temporarily.

the camp looks like it’s been clear recently, which is both good and bad. good, because neither hilichurls nor patrols should come by here for a bit, but bad because it lowers your chances of finding anything useful. there’s no arrowheads or vegetables, not even embers in the fire pit, all the supply boxes long since broken.

at least it’s shelter. at least you had food today, and (hopefully) clean water. small wins, small wins…

you gather your strength and begin to drag all the rubble into the hut, using what was left of their training dummies to make a hollow pile. hopefully it would just look like trash to anyone walking by, and could maybe keep you warm. the scraps of furs littered over the camp were matted with something you didn’t want to think about, so this was your best bet.

man, you missed your bed.

you returned to the oasis for more water, scrubbing off some of the dirt from your arms and face. you wouldn’t be clean for long, what with the dirt floor you’d picked as your shelter, but it felt nice. a topical fix for a bone deep wound.

you didn’t try to clean your clothes, eyeing the sun dipping in the sky. having wet clothes wouldn’t help at night, even if it might feel good. perhaps tomorrow? yes, tomorrow. tomorrow you could scrub at your shirt—*blood doesn’t clean easily without soap*—and try to undo some of the knots in your hair, maybe even use leaves and some of the scraps of twine around the camp to bring some water with you.

tomorrow. you got this. surely.

(just ignore the fact that you don’t know where in the desert you are. or how easy it would be to get lost, or dehydrate. nope. this is a perfectly fine and normal situation that you have an okay amount of control over. you got this. you have to.)

you return to the hut, retrieving the other half of your fruit and taking it with you into your pitiful shelter. at least you didn’t have to worry about rain…

it was only slightly cramped beneath the pile of junk, but you had enough room for you and your food. you laid there for a long time, occasionally peeling off pieces to eat. you didn’t know how much was left, and you didn’t think about it, distracting yourself by thinking about tomorrow. if you were clever with some sticks you could fashion some wider soles for your shoes to get more grip on the sand, or maybe a hat to keep from burning… but there was water and food to worry about, but the area along the wall was certainly dangerous, but it might be worth it if it meant you lived a little longer…

you fell asleep at some point, the faint sweetness of your dinner lingering on your tongue.

normally, waking up to someone barely a foot from your person would be unsettling. in your situation, it was terrifying.

you immediately pushed yourself back, crawling backwards away from nahida. she was kneeling, seeming surprised at your actions. you almost wondered how she was out here, and in your survey of the area, it clicked.

you weren’t in the hut anymore. you’d missed it in your fear, but you were lying on grass, in a small meadow. you didn’t pay too much attention to it though, putting a hand to your chest to try and calm your heart.

“just a dream,” you breathed, and nahida’s expression fell. not into anger, more.. sadness?

“i’m sorry if i startled you.” her voice was soft, but flat, motions stiff as she stood up and dusted off her dress.

what a weird dream. first you’re lucid, then she’s here… maybe it was wishful thinking. maybe your brain had finally had enough.

“it’s fine,” you said, taking another look around the field. tall trees arched high above you, the bushes and ferns between them reminding you of the rainforest. in the center were three chairs, with various plates laid out on the table between them. you stood, automatically wiping for any grass caught on you, only to find that you were actually wearing clean clothes again—one of your favorite outfits, actually.

you mostly ignored nahida as you walked to the table, looking over the various dishes. you recognized a few as sumeru recipes, but not all of them, deciding to pick at a bowl of fruit instead. you’re not sure how dreams work here—you haven’t had many since coming to teyvat—but it feels safer to stick with a food you’ve actually tried before.

(you ignore the nut from the oasis. calculated risk.)

“i hope they’re to your liking?” nahida’s voice is hesitant as she comes to your side, sitting in one of the chairs. you don’t do the same.

“i’m surprised i remember so many of these,” you say instead, looking over the sheer variety of food laid out. your subconscious has done well.. almost a bit too well.

“eat. you need the energy.”

“i’ll just miss them in the morning, and it’s not like they’ll give me any actual nutrition.”

“…please, my god.”

your head whips to her in an instant, the fruit falling from your hand as if it was poison. it could be, considering everything.

even after all these months, you’d let your guard down. in front of the one god who had control over dreams, you ate of her food and showed that you were weak.

nahida raises her hands, and you have half a mind to grab a knife off the table. it wouldn’t do anything, but it would make you feel better. “it’s just me. there’s nobody else in this dream.”

you should have known better. “leave me alone.”

“i mean you no harm, i only-“

you put your hands over your ears and close your eyes, trying to make yourself wake up. you pictured the walls of the hut, of your makeshift shelter and the leaves of last night’s dinner. you pretend you can’t hear her voice, that the only sound is the whisper of the wind.

if only you’d remembered her powers quicker, or perhaps discovered yours sooner.

you don’t know how long it took you to break free from the dream, or if you managed to break it at all. you just knew that you woke up to the sounds of talking from outside your hut, the words were faint but still discernible from the wind. two voices, one soft and one rough, picking their way around the oasis.

you didn’t dare try to run, instead shifting some of the wood in your pile to cover the entrance. where could you even go if they found you? west was dangerous, east was deadly, north led you into either a sandstorm or a dead-end sea, and south was entirely uncharted, and that was assuming you even made it that far.

they came closer, and you reached for one of the smaller planks in your small shelter. it was still about the length of your forearm, and though the rest of the stack shifted, you felt a bit safer. maybe you could hide in a cave for a while until they left? no, that would mean you’d have to get enough of a lead to lose them, and you doubted you could run that fast.

“-abandoned.” there was a sound like a rock kicked against the side of the hut, covering the sound of your breath as you recognized the voice. “you sure this is the right place?”

wanderer.

“i’m certain, i saw it myself.”

and nahida. she probably tapped into your mind to see where you were trying to wake up to… it would be clever if your life wasn’t on the line.

footsteps drew ever closer, and it was getting hard to judge the distance. the hut was empty save for your little scrap pile, but how close was too close? could you even have a chance with wanderer’s skill? not to mention the dendro archon…

maybe you were doomed from the start. there was no good ending for you, just a constant delay of the fate that you dodged when you first set foot on this planet.

how long has it been? how much time have you borrowed? teyvat had ghosts, would you become one? would you return to earth? did your earth even exist anymore? this was not the time for this debate…

a shadow moved, and nahida’s voice was far closer than it was before. “divine one?”

you bit your cheek as to not laugh. ‘divine one.’ she already had a god, the one that had ordered this mess to begin with. the first person you ran into, ironically, who had on sight declared you a criminal. you didn’t want to be associated with that person at all, thank you. did she think that you thought you were the god? you wouldn’t be hiding if you did.

“buer. you’re talking to a pile of sticks.”

“i’m aware.” her voice grew quieter, like she’d turned around. “but we need to be patient.”

“there’s an easier way to do this, you know.”

“after all that’s happened? there’s no easy solution to this.”

“that’s not what i…” he sighed. “can i show you something?”

“what is it?”

the air hissed, your pile broken by a blade of wind down the middle. the anemo curved around you, acting as a shield as the wood splintered and flew. you quickly pushed yourself up, sitting against the wall and looking between the two of them. nahida looked terrified, and the shock on wanderer’s face is comical. looks like he didn’t expect you to actually be in there.

he removed his hat from his head, quickly dropping to one knee, nahida doing the same barely a moment after. “my god.. i apologize for my haste.”

pardon?

nahida lifted her head, meeting your eyes with a hand to her chest. “and i’m sorry for invading your dream earlier. i just wanted to find you, and when i noticed you were in sumeru..”

wanderer is too prideful to apologize to anybody he doesn’t absolutely need to, even for a plan.. jut what’s going on here?

you fix your attention on nahida and hope she’s not a good liar. “don’t you already have a god you follow?”

nahida flinched, looking away. “that… was a mistake. i should have trusted my instincts, and for that i’m sorry. i had no idea that my silence would lead to this…”

either she’s a really convincing actor, or she means it. given the severity of the situation, you don’t want to assume.

“if it helps…” wanderer’s hands tighten on his hat, and he bows his head further. “my anemo protected you. even if i did mean to cause harm, that is more than enough proof of your identity.”

“…so i’m supposed to believe you? just like that?”

nahida shook her head. “i understand your apprehension. it’s hard to trust someone after everyone else has betrayed you, and i don’t expect you to come with me to the sanctuary right away. aaru village is close by, though, and i was hoping you would be willing to go there..?”

some part of you still thinks it’s a trick, that there would be a swarm of matra waiting for you. but honestly… running is tiring, and nahida is kind. you want to believe her, even if it does end up going poorly. what else do you have to lose, really?

you drop your poor excuse for a weapon, briefly checking your hands for splinters before standing up. you kick aside the remains of your dinner and dust yourself off, walking forward. “alright. i’ll go with you.”

nahida beams.

[astuteology]

Some more observo🫶🏻

If a SCORPIO starts liking you, he/she will ask for your pictures. Not "those" pictures. Your bare faced one. Ik that's kinda scary. But they love anything raw and bare. 🥹🫶🏻

Speaking of scorpios, DO NOT under any circumstances, LIE TO THEM. Please🛐. They'll know it. And if you happen to like a scorpio, and you show them your best, show them what YOU think they'll like, No don't do it. BE RAW, BE REAL, TAKE YOUR STAND IF SOMEONE HUMILIATES YOU, etc. Just be real, that's all they ask. They will love your dark side as well.

Lilith in the 4th, might have been suppressed or humiliated in their home for expressing themselves. Their emotions weren't valid. Their parents made them feel guilty for even enjoying little things🥺. Which is why they usually leave their home and never come back.🙃

If you have aquarius moon, or a friend/someone close, with an aquarius moon, TAKE CARE OF THEM😡. They don't show emotions. They really don't. It's not that they're embarrassed, it's like, so many times when they tried, they were either made fun of (got comments like "omg you feel that way???🤣 thats so childish 🤣) or they were unheard. Alot of the times. 😔💔

Also- no matter the placement or sign or planet or whatever. If one is insecure and doesn't love themselves, they won't be in their form(the placements and planets in their chart) like for example- if someone is Capricorn sun, and had a very rough childhood, were neglected, treated badly. If they dont heal themselves, they won't be like how Capricorn is. They'll start playing mind games, will seek attention, validation, might make their friends to only talk to them. Same goes for Capricorn moons, though they have tendency to be a major narcissistic person if they don't heal themselves.

Having mars in scorpio/ 8°/ 20°, very heighten intuition. They usually avoid fights, because they can 🔪⚰️. Don't make them mad, you won't like it :). Don't lie to them. Be straightforward, even if you did something horrible. HOWEVER..... if you do then wrong........🌚🌚🌚🌚 good luck gaining their trust back🫶🏻

If you have a Capricorn friend (cap sun, moon, mercury, venus, Mars, rising, pluto) don't do them wrong. EVER. istg you'll regret it. They have this aura with them and the energy they carry, you won't get it again. I promise you that. 🚫😊

Whatever sign you have in your 7th house (tropical), you are more likely to love them. You will FEEL something for them. Like when people say "oh i cant fall in love, idk what love is" just wait until you meet that sign that is in your 7th. Especially with mars and venus, it grows even more. 😋💕

Someone's sun in your 8th, no no. Don't. They'll hurt you eventually. You will FEEL something inexplicable when you first meet them, but with time, you'll see all the red flags and their dark side. You'll end up hating them.

The sign you have in your 12th house- (if using tropical- you'll like them, but eventually end up getting irritated by them, only if it's very prominent energy like sun. (If using sidereal) you'll hate them. For example, you're an aries rising, you'll hate pisces suns, cause that's in your 12th (sidereal), if taurus rising (tropical), you'll be irritated with aries sun. But will still somehow endure their energy. ☺️(🤢)

Speaking of 12th house, be VERY VERY CAREFUL when someone's planets, doesn't matter inner or outer, majority of the times, they fuck you up mentally. Because of them you'll start having trust issues with everybody. BASTARDS💩

The moon on the day you were born on, you are kinda connected to it. It grounds you, calms you down. Your emotions are stable. Like for example- born on a waxing crescent moon, you'll feel very comfortable and safe under it. 🌛💕

Libra placements are not flakey😭😭😭, they just have this side to them where they can't seem to turn people down. Believe me they feel bad and awful when they say no💔. Because of this soft and innocent side, they usually become a doormat for people🥺. So if a libra placement rejects you, THEY FEEL BAD ABOUT IT. they'll start feeling awful within 5 mins.🥺

For my dear GEMINI MOONS, the moment you start feeling anxious about some person, leave them. Don't give it a 2nd thought, just leave. Let's say your love interest is making you feel confused, he/she is telling you that they only talk to you and shit and you see a story of them with someone else, or catch them with someone else , IF YOU FEEL IT IN YOU STOMACH, ITS REAL, THEY'RE FUCKING WITH YOUR EMOTIONS😀😀. Don't make anyone make you feel like shit. ( I recommend to smack the shit out of them or go ahead just stab them 🫶🏻 I'm with you)

Also if you're a gemini moon, and into crystals too, wear a labradorite/ rose quardz or Tigers eye. They stabilize your emotions. Don't forget to clean and charge them.

LEOS LEOS LEOSSSSSS, always give princess treatment to their close ones, their friends, their lovers, their family 🥹❤️. They're very energetic and chaotic😭💕 trust me you'll like them even if you prefer silence or quietness. (That's for the prominent Leo placements, or Leo stellium)

Sagittarius + libra placements- number 1 flirtersssssss😙 BUT but but... when they fall for someone, they forget their flirting skills, and are devoted to their love only. 🫶🏻 same goes for scorpio + libra placements.

There's a misconception about scorpios being toxic, manipulative, jealous, and controlling. They're not like that. They usually have abandonment issues, weird attachments styles where they either become anxious or avoidant. And usually it is both, first they avoid, then become anxious or vice versa. They NEED reassurance. They just wanna know you ain't playing with them🥺. That's when their jealousy and other things comes' at play. They control, so they don't get hurt. They feel veryyýýyyyyyyy deeply🥺❤️‍🔥 but if you make them feel loved, supported, validate their emotions and understand them. You'll notice, all this jealousy and controlling thing will disappear. They're ride or die fr🫶🏻🫶🏻

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

Thank you <3 😋🤪😍🤤💕❤️😙

[jenoroyals]

It Started With A Kiss - Park Sunghoon

(based off Japanese anime & drama Mischievous Kiss)

pairing : park sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis : A shooting star destroys your home, forcing you and your father to move in with his old friend. Little did you know, Park Sunghoon, the guy who you'be been in love with for years, also lives there. How are you going to live under one roof with the boy that rejected you just days ago?

word count : 630 words

content/warnings : angst, sunghoon is MAJOR red flag, yn is ditzy and kind of stupid (in a cute way kind of), MAJOR second hand embarrassment, more to be added

featuring : ryujin (itzy), lia (itzy), jisung (nct), wonyoung (ive - later on), isa (stayc - later on)

PROLOGUE

Scribbling down random notes in your notebook, you notice they all say one thing, Mrs. Park y/n. It was already past sunset and he was still running through your mind. A lady’s voice comes from the radio, “When you see a shooting star, make a wish and your wish will come true.” 

You quickly rush to open your curtains and walk out onto the balcony. Looking up, you see thousands of stars shining throughout the sky. Shining like diamonds, you can’t help but admire them. Never having to deal with endless feelings, all they do is just look pretty. 

As you're admiring the beautiful night, a shooting star passes by. You gasp, remembering the words from the radio, you put your hands together and make a wish.

‘I wish I can tell Sunghoon how I feel about him.’ 

You smile after thinking about the said boy for the 100th time that night. Walking back into your bedroom, you shut the balcony door and jump right into bed. 

-

As the sun starts to rise up, you get up out of bed and start to get ready. Sliding the skirt over your waist and buttoning up your shirt, you slide your hands against the clothes, smoothing them out. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you smile brightly. 

Your dad always said not to dress up so pretty for boys, but instead for yourself. But you couldn’t help it. You were going to be talking to Sunghoon for the first time in your life. Of course you wanted to look your best. 

Once you arrive at school, you’re instantly running around the high school looking for Sunghoon. Other students have already started gathering at the school, yet there was no sign of him. 

Finally, you see him walking towards the entrance, alone. You smoothed over your uniform for the thousandth time that morning and let out a deep exhale while receding your letter in your head. 

“Dear Park Sunghoon, 

Nice to meet you Sunghoon. My name is l/n y/n, I’m in Class F. You don't know me, but I know you. Since you made a speech at the entrance ceremony two years ago, I have been admiring your intelligence and handsome face. 

There is no way that I can be in the same class as you, this is why I am writing this letter to you. When I first saw you, I felt like I was hit by a shooting star. I started to have special feelings for you.”

You slowly start walking towards him with a smile on your face. “Excuse me.” You say facing him. He gives you a stern look with a blank expression and answers, “Who are you?” 

You take a breath again before continuing, “I’m l/n y/n from Class F. Could you please read this?” You hold out the letter with both of your hands and smile, waiting for him to take the letter. 

He stares down at the letter and then looks back up to you. Your smile widens but it quickly falls when you hear his answer. 

 “I don’t want it.” He states while walking away, not sparing you another glance. You’re standing there frozen with students passing by and staring at you. 

Your body felt stuck. As much as you wanted to move as not to get more embarrassed your body wouldn't let you. The wind picks up and blows the letter out of your hand, but you’re in so much shock that you can’t even comprehend to go look for it.

As the letter sweeps through the air, it finally lands right in front of Sunghoon who steps on it accidentally, but he doesn’t bother to look back. He keeps his head up and continues walking to his class.

[darlingdarkly]

New Year, New You Part 9

Johnny MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

4.2 Words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, gaslighting

Part: 1, 8

You awoke, not to the bray of your phone alarm that you’d carefully set before climbing into bed, but to the languid pass of Johnny’s tongue. Like gentle brush strokes they covered the canvas of your inner thighs, drawing ever upward towards the apex of your sex. It was a slow and gentle rise from the depths of slumber, much more pleasant than being violently torn from your deep sleep into the waking world like you’d grown begrudgingly accustomed to.

Your hands slid down from their warm beds and under the covers where they found soft purchase in the length of his Mohawk and skimmed down the shaved sides, fingers cutting through the buzz like snakes through grass. “Johnny.”

He spoke no words, communicating solely through different pitched hums against your skin that sent tingles up your spine, lighting your nerves and slowly setting them aflame. Now that he knew you were awake he tugged at the fabric of your panties on either side of your hips, pulling down one side before the other and marking each bit of freshly gained territory with a kiss like planting his flag to claim it as his.

You slowly open your eyes as he lifts your legs up and over his strong shoulders like tying a bib on before a particularly messy meal. “Johnny, I’ve got to go to work.” You say it even as you know the light letting in through the windows isn’t quite right, it’s much too dark to be eight thirty.

He doesn’t even bother acknowledging your poor excuses with a response. He’s built his breakfast, now he’ll eat and instead just leans forward and lets you feel the flat of his tongue as it slowly runs up your slit, from hole to clit and you can’t help the breathy moan that leaves you, the first of many you’ll sing to give rise to the sun.

He hums against your clit and your head falls back against the pillow, giving up and giving in. It must please him because he finally speaks, though it’s unclear if he’s addressing you or your pussy.

“Sweet little thing.” You don’t so much see as you feel him lean forward and wrap his lips around your clit, gently sucking as his fingers toy at your entrance, pushing just the pad of his finger in and feeling you clench around it, not quite succeeding at pulling it in.

Your hands push his head closer and you feel him smile against you as he takes your hint, one finger slipping in to just the knuckle as he laps up the juices that seep out around it. You moan his name, a slow soft plea that makes his cock twitch as it carries sweetly to his ears.

He works his finger in and out of you slowly, nothing about what he's doing is rushed or urgent, just content to ruin you as thoroughly as he can at his own pace. You arch a little, pushing yourself closer, chasing the sensation, but any movement in the opposite direction, like when he sucked hard on your clit and you tried to scoot back away from the intense sensation was futile. His arms held you steady, no budge, like some kind of giant living Chinese finger trap.

He pulled his finger out and pulled his tongue away from you long enough for you to catch your breath. You could hear him sucking on his finger under the sheets, followed by a moment of silence. He didn’t leave you waiting for long as you felt his tongue on your clit once again followed by an even greater stretch as he pushed two digits into you, drawing out your long high pitched moan with deep, dragging thrusts of his index and middle finger.

Your hands grasped and pulled at his Mohawk as his fingers hit your sweet spot and it only spurred him on as he worked to amplify all of your little noises until you were nearly shouting. He kept on like that, fine tuning his ministrations based on the intensity and pitch of your wails until with a final piercing cry you succumbed to the pleasure. You struggled in his grasp, shaking and pulling away from the last passes of his tongue as he cleaned you up and savored the taste.

You felt the grip of his hands on your hips cease before his head poked up out of the covers on top of you as he rose from the crook of your thighs, your first sight of him grinning and glistening in the pale morning light. He unceremoniously wiped the wetness from his chin and fell like a monolith onto the bed at your side.

He pulled you close, sweeping you into the nook by his side. Cuddled there warm and sated, the tempting embrace of sleep threatened to pull you under once more. His fingers carded through your hair gently and it was beyond you to fight it anymore. You fell willingly into the open arms of morning slumber. Fools gold in the way it draws you in, shining with promise but really only skin deep, its fragile surface easily marred at the faintest sound or shift of light.

Despite this, you awoke, seemingly much later, this time like you had initially expected to. You reached for your phone on the nightstand and rubbed your eyes as you silenced the alarm and checked the time. The room was bright but the bed beside you was cold. You suddenly realized you had no idea what his schedule looked like. His little early morning snack could have been his way of saying good morning and goodbye and you suddenly felt guilty you hadn’t spoken to him more, too lost in the haze to be considerate.

It wasn’t until you got out of bed and made your way towards the door that the smell became evident. You gently pulled the door just open enough to stick your head out and see him, his back was to you as he stood in front of the stove in his boxers and nothing else. You stood watching him as he flipped something in a pan, his shoulder blades flexing and shifting, the subtle movements in the back of his triceps ascended from spry flicks of his wrist.

You caught yourself ogling him and pulled back, gently shutting the door and grabbing your bag from its place just inside the closet. You stepped into the bathroom and began to strip, pulling off your nightclothes and turning on the stream. You stepped under and began to bathe as your mind drifted towards the day ahead, as much as you’d like to ruminate in the memories of the last twenty four hours you had a day of work ahead, the vacation was over.

But it soon became less about the work and more about seeing Nancy again. Of course she’d want to know what happened, probably had a story of her own to tell, at the very least you’d get a recount of the evening's events from her point of view. You wondered how helpful it’d be in figuring out who was behind your drugging and the theft of your ID, a long shot but maybe she saw something.

You were startled from your thoughts by Johnny’s voice beyond the shower. “Morning, lass. How’d ye sleep?” It never failed to surprise you just how quiet and sneaky he could be. “Ahh! Jesus Johnny, you scared me.”

He snickered and you saw him through the frosted glass pane of the shower door as he stepped fully into the room and up to it, the outline of him becoming clearer as he drew near til it was blurry but opaque.

“Didnae mean to scare ye, ah’m cookin’ breakfast but ye already ken, heard ye peek your head out tha’ door.”

Your eyes widen behind the glass. So he had heard you, you were almost certain you hadn’t made any noise, how attuned was he? You apologize, though you aren’t really sure why or for what.

“S’ok lass, ye were only curious. Though ah am a bit disappointed ye did nae come get me before ye jumped in fer a shower. Could’ave helped ye wash yer back.” You shiver at the implications, head suddenly filled with images of him and you naked, wet and entwined.

“Johnny-“

“Still could ye know. S’not too late tae make ye late fer work.”

Your hand drifts towards the door, you could. And you have half a mind to let him but then remember he’s cooking. “Johnny, but the food.”

When he speaks next his voice is thick and strained and it sounds like the last of his self control is the only thing standing between you and him, that and the thin, frosted pane of glass and you see his own hand drift towards it, ready to rid himself of the last physical blockade. “Donnae give ah fuck. Ah’ll let it burn, let tha’ whole place go up in flames just tae have ye again.”

Maybe it’s the candid quality of his words, complete honesty and lacking any kind of filter, he’d never been bashful before that’s for sure. But while you’d known him to say things just to rile you this felt different somehow, a genuineness that felt like he was itching for you to dare him but was completely prepared to make true on the promise. As crazy and irrational as the statement was, you believed him.

The words make an almost unbearable need puddle in your stomach and you have to actively seek the will to resist it. The only thing truly stopping you is the thought of facing a crew of burly firefighters in perhaps nothing more than a bath towel. You swallow thickly and then refuse him, promising to be out in a minute. He doesn’t say anything or move for a moment and you wonder if maybe he’s considering stepping in with you anyway. An executive decision you knew you’d find mighty hard to resist if made, you find yourself considering facing the firefighters stark naked if he’d be there beside you.

Before you can fully consider the possibilities he turns and leaves making you bite your lip and curse for cockblocking yourself. Frustrated and undeniably horny, the trancelike quality of the shower had dissipated and so you quickly washed off and stepped out. Toweling yourself dry before dressing up for work and going to meet him for breakfast.

When you entered the kitchen you were momentarily glad you’d turned down his offer as the smell of breakfast wafted to your nose but when he’d come back into the kitchen out of the tucked aside pantry and his hungry eyes met yours, you realized your little escapade this morning had been all you focused and you knew he had more on his mind than food.

You made a mental note to make it up to him later and sat down at the place he’d set for you. He sat across from you, grinning and gorgeous with his elbows propped up all improper on the counter. As you both dove into your meal he asked you about work and what you had planned for the day.

You told him while you probably weren’t swamped, you still no doubt had some catching up to do and you’d wanted to make some time, maybe have lunch again, with Nancy to talk to her about what had happened. He visibly paused at Nancy’s mention and it made you look up curiously. He looked, just for a brief second, deeply troubled. But then as soon as it’d dawned it disappeared like it never had been and he changed the subject to his work.

Going into detail about what he had planned at the gym. As you cleared your plate something he said made your ears prick up. “And I’ve got a new regimen in mind fer our next session. Ah’m gonna start havin’ ye do laps ‘round the pool at the gym, work on yer cardio in a different way an’ work some of those muscles ye jus’ cannae get tae any other way. Ye can swim, can’t ye lass?”

You set your fork down and looked across the counter at him. “Johnny, I can’t do that.”

He looked up from his plate for a moment, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. “Ye cannae swim?”

You shook your head and furrowed your brows. “What? No. Yes, I can swim. I meant I can’t go back to the gym.. I can’t afford it.” You had to drop his gaze on the last sentence, so he really must’ve been asleep last night when you fessed up. You had expected nothing but maybe awkward silence to fill the space behind the confession, but he just laughed instead, making you regain eye contact as you looked up at him, curiously.

“Let me worry about that hen, I’ve got-“ You immediately cut him off. “No, Johnny. You’ve done enough, I can’t possibly ask you to do that on top of everything else.”

“Donnae worry, lass. I’ve already got it all sorted. Jus’ let Johnny handle it.” You gave him a wary look but he traded it with one firm and set, there was to be no more argument over the subject so you dropped it.

You both finish breakfast and you get up to start on dishes even though he protests, you insist upon contributing in some way and he heads into the bedroom to get dressed while you work. When he comes out he’s wearing black athletic shorts and a tight, form fitting blue tee. He looks good, real good and you curse yourself for the second time for not taking him up on his shower offer.

“Ready to go?” A good question but one that was rhetorical, it didn’t really matter, you had to go to work so you nodded and smiled as he ushered you towards the door. The ride to your office was short and sweet and when you pulled on the handle to let yourself out you found it locked. You turned towards Johnny to ask him to unlock it only to be pulled into a slow, soft kiss. It was gentle and un-urgent but melting in its intensity, he pulled away reluctantly and you realized you didn’t really want to get out of the truck, could have been just as content to let him pull away from the curb and call in sick two days in a row.

Instead you waited for him to unlock your door before stepping out onto the sidewalk and heading into the building. He waited for you to get into the elevator before pulling away and you wondered just how your life had managed to change so drastically in the last two days, hell the whole year had gone totally tits up in regards to the woman you’d been when you stepped out of the building following what should have been an ordinary Christmas party. It was like you’d slipped into someone else’s shoes, they were more like the shoes of a married woman instead of the chronically single one you’d been.

The elevator doors slid open and you walked casually to your cubicle as you always had, there were no raised heads, no hushed murmurs from your co-workers, Nancy wasn’t even at your desk like you had assumed she would be, but why would she have been? It’s not like this was the first time you’d called in sick after a disastrous night out. So you sat down and got to work and when lunch rolled around it was you who approached her and invited her out for a bite to eat.

It wasn’t until you’d been seated and your orders taken that you spilled the shorthand version of the events of the last twenty four hours to her, her eyes widening in response as your tale grew and grew in length and absurdity. When you were finished she gave her two cents.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry.” An apology hadn’t been what you were expecting and when she put her hands to her face and looked like the waterworks might start at any moment you reached a hand out to her and began to backpedal.

“Nancy, no. It’s ok. It’s not your fault!” But she was already shaking her head. “Of course it was! If I’d have been paying more attention, if I’d have been right there with you instead of preoccupied all night this never would have happened. I’m the one who convinced you to go out in the first place. Oh god, I feel so awful!”

“Nancy, please. Really, it's ok. You never could have known, and nothing bad happened to me. I’m fine, see?” You smiled at her to make your point as she wiped her eyes with her napkin. “So he found you outside? Thank god he just happened to be there, did he see anyone? Any shady guys around you?”

You shook your head no. “And they stole your wallet? Oh my god, what are you gonna do?”

“Well for the time being I’m staying with Johnny. I guess I’ll have to move out of my place, I don’t wanna have to constantly look over my shoulder all the time. I still have a half a year before the lease is up and in the meantime I’ll start looking for somewhere else to stay. I don’t know how I’m gonna afford it, but I’ll figure something out.”

Nancy reached across the table top and squeezed your hand. “I am so sorry.” You assured her it was alright and tried to lighten the mood by regaling her with your tale of yesterday, how the two of you had spent the day together and how nice it was, how courteous and attentive Johnny had been and the more you gushed the better you began to feel about the whole ordeal.

Nancy had cheered up by the end of the tale and you found yourself looking back over it fondly, even a bit in disbelief as you both regarded how lucky you had been that he’d turned up when he had. But with it all out you still had some questions. “Nancy, I need you to try and remember what happened last night. I can’t and I need to know if you saw anything out of the ordinary. Did I talk to anybody? Dance with anybody? I can’t remember a thing.”

She thought it over a minute but ultimately shook her head. She explained that you’d arrived, had a few shots together that she’d ordered, gone out on the floor to dance and then that’s where you’d met the twins. The mention of the twins rang a bell but nothing definitive came to the surface. She’d explained they’d come up to the pair of you on the dance floor and came onto both of you, you hadn’t been interested but she was rather taken by Ian, even exchanging numbers before she’d left the club that night. Then she went on to explain that it couldn’t possibly have been either of them as they’d been with her the whole rest of the night and your twin had been glued to some redhead he’d met by the bar.

You still couldn’t remember any of it but she offered to text Ian and see if he or Andrew remembered anything that could help. You declined, you doubted they’d seen anything anyway, especially if you’d turned down your twins advances like she said you had and moved onto another girl. It was probably a hopeless situation you’d never find the answers for. Your lunch break was over and you both headed back to the office to finish the day's work.

You spent the rest of it kind of doddling around at your desk, starting reports but leaving them half finished and thinking about your situation. Your watch pinged and you looked down to see a text from Johnny saying he’d be there to pick you up in five and realized the day was over. With a sigh of relief you began to shut your computer down for the evening and cleaning up your desk. You stepped out of the elevator minutes later and saw Johnny’s truck parked on the curb. He got out and opened the passenger door for you again, stopping you before you could climb in to wrap you up in his arms in a crushing bear hug, the strength of which there was no escape until he finally relented and released his hold, catching curious glances from some of your coworkers to your embarrassment.

You shuffled into the passenger seat and waited for him to climb in and pull away from the building before breathing out a sigh of relief. “How was yer day, bonnie?” You set your purse down at your feet.

“Un-productive. Both work and situation wise. He looked interested but not surprised. “Yeah? I’m sorry, hen. Nancy didnae see anythin’ then?”

You stared out the window and missed the long curious gaze he threw your way before averting his eyes back to the road, after a minute you spoke. “I don’t know what to do, Johnny. I don’t think I’ll ever truly know what happened to me that night and I don’t think I’ll ever know who did it. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

His hand settled on your thigh and you turned away from the window to meet his gaze. “Dinnae worry, lass. I’ll keep ye safe, I swear it. Ye can stay with me as long as ye’d like, ye’ll never ever have tae go home again, I’ve already got it alllll figured out hen.”

And the way he says it, the total confidence in his voice has alarm bells ringing in the back of your brain. “Johnny, what are you talking about?”

“S’already taken care of. I’ve hired a few movers tae pack her stuff and bring it over tae my place tomorrow afternoon. Ye’ll never have tae set foot in yer apartment ever again.” Your eyes widen, he’d arranged to have all your stuff moved to his place? Without talking to you about it? At all?

“Johnny, what the fuck?!” He doesn’t even look the least bit stunned. “S’fine, lass. I ken ye couldnae jus’ leave all yer belongings behind, Ye’ll be all settled in in no time an’ there’s plenty of space fer ye tae put yer stuff where ever ye’d like. We’ll make a whole day of it, jus’ you an’ me. Donnae be fashed, hen. Johnny’s got it all taken care of. Ye wouldnae want tae let this guy see ye movin yer stuff out, he’d jus’ follow ye tae mah place and ken yer livin’ there an’ then he could follow us tae yer work an’ get ya while I’m nae there tae stop him. S’better this way.”

Before you can register any of it fully he’s pulling the truck off the road and coming to a stop. You look out the window and realize you’re not back at his place, you’re currently parked in front of the gym.

“Johnny, what are we doing?” He pulls your gym bag out of the backseat and sets it down on your lap. “I told ye I’d find a way tae get yer subscription reinstated an’ ah did. Come on.” For once he doesn’t open the door for you and you step out, gym bag in hand and follow him into the building. It looks the same, the lobby still packed with people coming and going. He has you go up to the kiosk to sign in while he walks further into the building for something.

You can hardly believe you’re back here, signing in and getting ready to work out again, you thought when you left that it’d be the last time. You type your info into the tablet but no matches come up. You double check the spelling of your name but it’s all there correctly, you figure they must have deleted your profile when your trial ran out and you’d have to make a new one. You were about to start the process when Johnny came back. “What are ye doin’ hen?”

“My names not in the system, they must’ve deleted my profile, I’m just gonna make a new one.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Lemme see tha’.” You hand him the little stylus and he checks back over your work before tapping a few buttons and typing something in. You lean over to see what he’s done.

“What’d you do?” He just flashes you a sly smile and explains. “Had tae change yer name tae get ye reinstated. Yer good tae go now, lass. Jus’ remember yer under this name when ye sign in from now on.”

You take a peek at the screen as it flashes the words you’ve seen a couple dozen times before, only this time slightly different.

“Thank you for signing in! We hope you have a very productive workout Mrs. MacTavish!”

You turn to look at Johnny but all he has for you is that same toothy grin, wolfish and sly. “Ready fer yer next session?”

[dancingtotuyo]

Overtime

Joel Miller x F!reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: You and Joel fight over the remote as adults do.

Warnings/Tags: language, established relationship, handjob (M receiving), some restraint, insinuated that Joel is larger than reader (he can move you around), implied sex, football references, Joel and reader being menaces to eachother

Words: 1165

Notes: Let’s try this again! Tumblr flagged the first one (tumblr you prude!) written for @iamasaddie’s moodboard game! I had so much fun writing this! And seeing everyone else’s creative genius with their moodboards! Huge shoutout to my love and fellow sportsball enthusiast, Angela @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, for letting me talk through stuff and beta reading! And last but not least, @saradika for the divider!

Joel is used to lazy Sunday afternoons on the couch. Typically committing Saturdays for errands and projects, he’s tried to use Sundays as a day to spend time with Sarah, but she’s out of town with her best friend until this evening. Which is how Joel finds himself spread out on the couch, the warm sun pulling through your window on the other side of town.

The tv hums with the voices of the sportscasters over the Cowboys’ game. He can hear you bustling around in your bedroom, two threads keeping him tied to consciousness.

There’s the distinct sound of your footsteps and the channel switching as the broadcaster’s voices change. They’re leading into the late game.

“I was watching that,” Joel says, gruffly.

“You’re sleeping.”

“Am not.” Joel runs a hand over his face, slowly blinking his eyes open. “Just resting my eyes.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “Okay, Dad.”

He eyes your backside as you’re engrossed in the pregame commentary. Dressed in the familiar light blue of your well worn Houston Oilers shirt, a smile spreads across his face. “Is that really what you want to call me?”

You flip him off.

Joel bites back a laugh. He reaches out, pinching your bottom firmly between two fingers. You squeal, spinning to face him. “Joel Miller,” you say, crossing your arms.

“C’mon, Sweetheart. The Oilers left Texas years ago. They ain’t even the Oilers anymore,” he prods, knowing he’ll get a rise out of you. “Turn the Cowboys game back on. It’s almost over.”

“My aligiance is not dependent on the location of my team.” You stick your tongue out. “The cowgirls should’ve put the Giants away by now. Not that you would have noticed.”

“Rude.” He scowls.

“My house, my rules, Miller.”

He lets out a sound that reminds you of a growl and before you have time to tease him about it, his arms are around you, pulling you down to the couch with him. You laugh as his lips press to your neck right where you like it.

Your laughter quickly turns into a soft moan as your head dips against his shoulder. His fingers skirt under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft flesh of your stomach. “You like that baby?”

You nod your head as soft whimpers fall from your lips. Joel chuckles again. His arm slips around your waist, tugging you flush against him.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs in your ear, fingertips trailing down your wrist.

If you thought you couldn’t melt anymore, you’re wrong. Something akin to a whine escapes your lips as you turn your head to kiss him. You’re so close to his lips when his slow chuckle turns to a laugh and the tv remote slips from your grasp.

He flips the station back just as the Cowboys are kicking off for overtime. Before you can react, he tosses it across the room, holding you against him.

“You jackass!” You strain against him, trying to break free.

“I’m just trying to finish my game.”

“You barely started it before you passed out.”

“Wasn’t sleepin.” Joel’s voice is still gruff in your ear.

You try to wiggle free, but it’s useless. He knows from more than enough experience how to keep you in one spot.

You get more anxious as the minutes tick by, shifting as you can between his legs.

“They’re about to kick off,” you fuss at him.

“Overtime will be done soon.” He pats your thigh placatingly. “We’ll turn on your Oilers’ game then, or whatever they’re calling themselves now.”

You roll your eyes.“The Titians?” You shift again.

“I know my teams, Sweetheart.” Joel nips at your earlobe, eyes trained ahead. “And quit shiftin.”

You furrow your brow, until it hits you, literally. His cock presses into your back as a slow smirk spreads across your face. “Why? Is this affecting you?”

You rub against him more intentionally this time. His breath grows ragged in your ear. His hands move to your hips, desperate to stop your motions. He’s not going to let you win the game.

Try as he might, he doesn't have the sheer strength to keep you immobile. Your hands drop to his thighs, fingers trailing the inner seam of his jeans.

You glance behind you. Joel refuses to look at you, a slight twitch in his set jaw. You’re not sure he’s actually absorbing the game anymore.

Your hand creeps up, landing between the two of you as you palm his erection.

He lets out a low groan, gripping your wrist. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

You smirk. “Who said I couldn’t?”

He groans, back hitting the couch, but keeps a hold of your non-dominant hand, tethering you to him.

You pop open the button of his jeans and his cock springs free. You raise an eyebrow at him. “This is a new development.”

“Had to make things easier for you.” He winks.

You scoff, tracing a vein with your finger tips. “Such a pretty little cock.”

“Little?” He teases. “Ain’t nothing little here, Sweetheart.”

You spit in your free hand before gripping him. You run a finger over his tip, spreading out the precum that’s begun to leak. Joel’s head hits the couch with a low groan.

Using your tongue and hands, you waste no time working him to the edge. You’re far enough into your relationship to know how to get Joel off with quick efficiency.

His hips thrust up. “Fuck, Just like that, Sweetheart. You know how I like it.”

His eyes are closed, chest heaving with desire. He’s all but forgotten about the heated overtime match playing on the TV.

You could finish him off right here. Two quick moves and you know he’d make a mess right here, but his grip on your wrist loosens just enough for you to slip free.

The moment your warmth is gone, Joel’s eyes open. He’s dazed, looking blissed out on your couch. He makes eye contact with you, and you shoot him a wink before flipping the station once again to your football game.

Joel groans, rising to his feet. Laughter settles in your bones. He’s trying to look menacing, but his features are still clouded in lust and desire.

“That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Neither was turning off my game in my house.”

He rips the remote from your hands, tossing it to the couch. He grabs your hips, spinning you toward the wall.

Your hands spread out against the dry wall with a thud, breath catching in your throat as heat floods your body. “Suppose I need to teach you a lesson now, Sweetheart.” He drags out the nickname as if there’s nothing sweet about you.

Shivers rush down your spine. You’re not sure how much of a lesson he teaches you, but it’s worth missing the first quarter.

Joel doesn’t know how his game ends until the halftime report and quite frankly, he doesn’t care.

[sapphicbookclub]

Pride Flag Book Recs #4 🌈

Another pride month is upon us and as per tradition, I bring you more books to make your shelves more rainbow-er than ever!

If you missed the previous posts, find them here: #1, #2, #3.

Unconquerable Sun by Kate Elliott, Cow Girl by Kirsty Eyre, Rise to the Sun by Leah Johnson, Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers, The Red Scholar's Wake by Aliette de Bodard

Easy Nevada and the Pyramid's Curse by Georgette Kaplan, The Black God's Drums by P. Djèlí Clark, The Unbroken by C. L. Clark, Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh, Alice Payne Arrives by Kate Heartfield

Scorpica by G. R. Macallister, Melt With You by Jennifer Dugan, Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield, Read Between the Lines by Rachel Lacey,  For Her Consideration by Amy Spalding

Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail by Ashley Herring Blake, Sisters of the Vast Black by Lina Rather, The Oleander Sword by Tasha Suri, Laurel Everywhere by Erin Moynihan, The Witch and the Vampire by Francesca Flores

Catch and Cradle by Katia Rose, Among Thieves by M. J. Kuhn, These Fleeting Shadows by Kate Alice Marshall, Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki, The Mask of Mirrors by M. A. Carrick

Delilah Green Doesn't Care by Ashley Herring Blake, One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston, Some Girls Do by Jennifer Dugan, Afterlove by Tanya Byrne, The Shattered Lands by Brenna Nation

Happy Pride Month Reading!  ❤️💛🧡💚💙💜

[moonriver080]

【Funny Story Time】

I wrote an article for my 6 pictures

I tried to machine translate a paragraph and modify it.

But it's too long. I give up.

During Links meal breaks, the chains sometimes share anecdotes from the past to improve their understanding of each other ......

Well, sometimes it's not so much the anecdotes that are shared as it is the puzzles or the creepy pasts that are shared on reflection. (And some people seem to enjoy it.

It was a spring-flowery afternoon, and the sun was just right, and mixed with the sweet aroma of the chef's well-cooked courser milk soup, it had to be said that it was a very good soothing respite for Links, who had just finished a hard-fought battle, both physically and mentally.

Everything was just right, so Warriors let his guard down and picked a conversation that had left him a bit exhausted for the next week (Oh! Don't get me wrong, it was actually quite an interesting process and development /grin/)

Huh, how could he be blamed, after all the Warriors, who was more social than the other Links, was relatively adept at grasping the melodrama of the atmosphere, knowing when to be quiet and when it was better to have a chat.

They all understood that the team was, with the exception of certain ones, clamshells that had come to life one by one. (Or maybe some of the outgoing ones are actually clamshells.) (Aha! A new way of flirting with oneself is born.)

Anyway, this is why Warriors wave his spoon smugly (like a tiny flag): "...... When we triumphed, the streets were filled with petals and ribbons, and people clustered in the streets and upstairs and on the rooftops, and though, trampled by the war, both the roads and the .. were somewhat depressed ...... Well! That part doesn't matter now!"Warriors stirs the soup and takes a small sip (any more and we won't be able to start a conversation today, Wild, the

boy's food is gaggingly good), "...brave soldiers walk the streets of Castle Town, their footsteps without the thunder of applause that rises up at the first moment, and my beloved Epona kicks and stomps (and here it's being torn apart by sunlight) down the stone streets, edged in gold, and the streets are filled with the most beautiful and beautiful things in the world.My beloved Epona was kicking and stomping along the stone streets edged in gold by the sunlight (glared at by a certain few here), flowers were thrown from all over the place to send blessings to the soldiers, and the fallen flowers covered the whole road, Aaannnnnd!Of course~ I received the most bouquets of flowers~ No matter which way I looked, the screams were like the rising of the tides that rose up and down, and went on and on and on~"

Warriors grunts and laughs as he speaks, lifting his bangs and skimming the ends of his hair.

Gee, he's always showing off his hormones that have nowhere to go.Legend smacked his lips on his spoon, the delicious food immediately soothing his prickly nerves caused by the teasing, but ......

Putting aside some of his "preconceptions", Warriors was indeed a strong general with leadership qualities, and under the circumstances, it was only natural that he would be welcomed to protect the people, lead the soldiers, gather the divided world, defeat Ganon, and bring safety to the people.With this in mind, Legend picked out the fruit in the soup and took a bite.Looks like he's popular, that's really good. Well, yummy.

(Wild has fine-tuned for everyone's tastes, the golden apple chunks added late in his bowl are soft, crunchy and sweet after micro-cooking, rich in flavor, he had asked for some seeds long ago, but Wild said that this golden apples are produced by probability,. Hummm, Legend who is the hottest apple supplier in Hylia and Loria' smiles but does not say anything.)

But ......Legend chewed another bite of apple chunks, looking at him like this is really unpleasant ah.Legend was disgusted by the image that appeared in his mind of Warriors riding horses and throwing flying kisses to stir up a cheering crowd of cold shivers, ah, can not think about it, a little stomach.[I'm not sure if this paragraph is translated correctly (because I read it myself as if something was wrong, but I don't know what went wrong).]

The Chef of Peace, who had been listening to the story since a moment ago and had somehow become a bit dazed, came back to his senses and looked at Legend, who was blushing a bit darkly, in puzzlement.

【If you want to know the full text, let me know, and maybe I'll translate it intermittently.】

Eggs①: (Three photos taken by Wind) (Price:?)

Confused by the first delivery of the bouquet

Link)

(Link, who was surrounded by civilians, gave flowers and scattered petals to celebrate shyness and cover his face)

(Link who was frightened by the enthusiasm of the people and hid in the Zelda King)

Eggs②:

A week later, another tea break.

Wars looked at Time, who was being chased and intercepted, and drank a cup of sweet and sour fruit tea contentedly.

Offensive and defensive potential is also different, sapling, soldiers are not tired of cheating, plan and then move, is also for the trick. (Completely strung together.)

Wind? Wind curled his lips as he held a small part of the empty cookie bag. Wars really held a grudge.

[fredwkong]

The Mexican card was hot but can we see Japanese (out of curiosity)

I really need to See the japanese! Like 1000 cards was so hot…

Hello, I really liked the 1000 follower stories but I am curious to see what would have happened if Eric chose the Japanese flag instead of the Mexican. 😊

The evening after picking the Japanese card, Eric’s admiring his thick muscles in the mirror when he notices something strange. His tattoos have contracted, slipping off his increasingly pale skin until he just has a small line of them on one shoulder. The banana, dog, bull, and the rising sun of Japan remain on his bulging delt, but other than that Eric’s skin is a blank canvas. Rather than any disappointment, Eric grins at himself in the mirror. Why would he mar this perfect porcelain skin with layers of tattoos?

When Eric checks his schedule on Tuesday morning, he realises that he has some extra summer classes all of a sudden. Engineering? He’s a liberal arts major! No… that’s not right… His mom always insisted that he needed to go into a STEM field, and with his brains, it just made sense to get into a good engineering program.

“I can’t believe that you’ve been doing homework all summer,” Blair complains, scrolling on his phone while Eric does practice problems. Eric doesn’t know what he’s complaining about, since Eric’s load is still dripping out of Blair’s ass. Eric can’t concentrate until he’s fucked someone, most nights.

“We can go party on Friday,” Eric rumbles. He works hard all week so he can play hard all weekend. It would be a shame not to take advantage of being a sexy mixed race stud.

In class on Thursday, Eric answers a question from the professor and hears his accent as if for the first time. It’s not noticeable unless you know what to look for, but Eric’s English is very precise, clipped, just a little monotone. It’s not surprising, since he’s spent his whole life speaking Japanese at home. Despite immigrating just after Eric was born, his parents still need him to take care of any legal paperwork for them.

“There’s my favourite war criminal!” Aaron says as Eric arrives for his Friday personal training session.

Eric rolls his eyes and punches Aaron on the shoulder. “There’s my favourite communist drone,” he answers, playing up his accent on the R’s. Neither of them has told their parents about fucking across old enemy lines.

At the end of the workout, Aaron lets Eric pose for him. With his accustomed superior look in his eyes, Eric watches his sweat-slick, hairless muscles move through his posing routine in the mirrors. He’d look even better if he’d thought to wear his fundoshi under his gym shorts, but that’s probably better kept for the bedroom. Maybe he’ll put it on for Aaron and Blair when they get home from the club tonight.

Come Saturday night, the 1000 cards are nowhere to be found.

[jasmines-library]

Unbroken Valour

WHUMPTOBER DAY 28: Prompt ‘Sacrifice’

Fandom: Batfam

Summary: Ignoring his orders, Tim leaves to face the Joker after he escapes Arkham. Fearing for his safety, you chase after him and when he is put in a life threatening position, you don't think. You just do.

Warnings: Major character Death, description of wounds, impalement. It's just angsty. Im sorry.

Word count: 1.5k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Sometimes there is no rational reason for things happening. Sometimes things just happen whether we want them to or not. And sometimes there is no way to stop the inevitable from happening. Like there is no way to stop the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, there was no way from stopping you.

You ran. Fast. Feet pounding against the concrete. Your breath quickened, heart pounding against your ribcage. Tim was mere feet away from you now, scuffling with the Joker. He was good, but the Joker was bigger and better. Tim looked measly next to him. He wasn’t supposed to be out here alone.The Joker had just escaped from Arkham and was as gloriously out of his mind as ever.  Tim was under strict orders and you had pleaded at him not to go, but your words fell on deaf ears. So, as soon as he left you were pulling on your suit and dashing through the streets of Gotham to reach him. 

Tim ducked as the Joker swung an arc that missed his head by mere millimetres, jostling his hair. Tim slid, trying to knock the Joker’s feet from under him but missed as he stepped away. And then the haunting sound of his laughter filled the alleyway, echoing down the stone walls like a song. The villain, noticing your presence, turned to face you with a shit eating grin. 

“Aw” He pouted, “Did the little birdy have to call his big sister for backup?”

Tims head snapped up as he stared you briefly in the eye. Brief, because he used the Joker’s moment of weakness to tackle him to the ground. As the pair scuffled on the ground, delivering blows and rough punches, you slid across the ground to grab Tim’s bo staff that had been discarded on the ground at some point during the struggle. When the vigilante finally managed to free himself, you tossed the staff toward him and reddied yourself, planting your feet firmly into the ground and squeezing your brass knuckles tightly to your palm by clenching your hand into a fist. They were cold against your clammy skin. You also patted the side of your suit to ensure your batarangs were secure within the folds of the fabric. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tim whispered at you through his clenched jaw as the Joker weighed up his options. 

The villain surged forwards trying to tackle Tim once again, but you raised your fist back and slammed it into the side of his cheek. 

“Saving your life.” You grunted as he recoiled, bringing a calloused hand to his reddening cheek and frowning. It was an odd contrast to the lengthy scars that gave him his permanent smile. 

“Ouch.” The joker straightened, making a beeline for you. 

Dropping, you allowed your brother to make a move this time. It caught him off guard, causing him to waver unsteadily on his feet, but he didn’t fall to the ground as you hoped. Instead he reached into his pocket and brandished a slender, silver pistol. 

You and Tim shared a look. Batman had two rules. Number one, No guns. Number two, No killing. The joker was about to break both and the pair of you were helpless to stop it. There was no hesitation in the villain's face as he pressed his finger to the trigger, arm jerking with the recoil of the gun. You flinched at the noise, anticipating a scream that never came. When you opened your eyes again. A single fraying flag hung from the tip of the barrel, printed across it in bold letters it read ‘Bang! You’re dead.’.

The Joker cackled maniacally to himself. “You should have seen your faces!”

Tim allowed his body to relax slightly, releasing the tension from his shoulders when he realised that there was no bullet lodged in either of you. You however were still on high alert. Your eyes widened as the realisation dawned on you. 

“Red… Get behind me.”

The Joker pouted. "oh, Y/N? Why so serious?"

“What?” Confusion crinkled across his face as he scrunched his nose together. 

“Red!”

You didn’t allow Tim any more time to move as the Joker pressed his finger down onto the trigger again, sending the flag harpooning towards him. You didn’t think, just jumped in front of him, knocking him to the side. 

You gasped as it pierced through your suit, and then layers of your skin and muscle until the spear scraped across bone. You stared at the offending weapon, lodged deep within your chest gawping at the flag flapped in the breeze. Hands reaching up, you pressed your hand to the spear, feeling the warm blood pool around your fingers and soak into the front of your suit. You swayed on your feet. 

As Tim recovered from your shove, reality hit him like a brick wall. 

“What the hell did you do!?” He screamed at the suited man, chasing after him when he tried to flee, but alone and distracted, Tim stood no chance. He released a batarang which soared through the air, skimming his sleeve. Though it has found its target, the tear in his arm was nowhere near enough to stop the Joker as he vanished into the streets. 

“Y/N…” Tim hushed under his breath as he raced towards you. You swayed before collapsing to your knees with a cry of excruciating pain. He caught you as he skidded to your side and lay you gently in his arms. 

“Oh God…” He choked at the sight of the river of red flowing from your body. He didn’t know what to do. His hands shook. 

You took one in yours, not caring for the fact that you would get them all covered in blood. Although you were older than Tim, your hand was considerably smaller than his and it fit snugly laced between his fingers. Somehow, amid the panic, Tim had managed to press the emergency button on his suit. 

You smiled up at him sadly. His attention was on you and only you as you forced out a word through blood stained teeth. “Tim?”

“No.” He shook his head, not even bothering to try and hide the swell of emotions that bubbled to the surface of his voice. “No. You don’t get to do this to me. To us.”

His other hand pressed down firmly against the wound around the spear. He knew to keep it in, but he sight of it made him want to hurl, so instead he focused on your face and the way your eyebrows twitched each time there was a new jolt of pain spreading across chest. 

“You can’t stop it, Tim.” You said sadly. “There is nothing that you can do…”

“No. I can- I” He pressed harder on the wound, fumbling over his words. A rouge tear slipped down his face. “You’re not dying. You’re not. Help is coming, just don't close your eyes, Okay? You keep them open, you hear?”

“Tim…” You reached out your other hand to cup his cheek and wipe away the fresh bout of tears. 

“You promised me!” he cried. “You promised me that you would always be there for me!”

That cut deeper than the spear. Hearing your little brother say those words, you felt like someone had grabbed your heart and squeezed, ripping up your heartstrings as they went. It was a promise you had made all those years ago when he was brought in by Bruce, scared of being alone. That night you had wrapped him up closely and promised that you weren’t leaving him any time soon.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” Concentrating was getting harder now as Tim swam before you. White dots began to form in your vision and you squeezed your little brother’s hand as hard as you could with what little of your depleting strength you had left, begging him to listen this time. “Take care of Damian for me and-” You took a wheezy breath “And be good for Dick and Jason.”

“Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me now y/n-”

“Tell the boys that I love them.” You whispered. Your body began to go numb but you gave him a gentle smile anyway. “And I love you, Tim Drake. Remember that.”

“Y/N?!” 

Your gaze drifted from Tim as you felt your life slipping away. 

“I’ll see you around, little brother.” 

Your hand went slack in his and your body slumped against his chest. He cried your name, letting the tears flow freely as you took your last breath. 

It was then that the wretched footsteps came rushing towards them, and Dick faltered at the sight of Tim covered in your blood as he clung to you tighter, pressing down harshly on the gaping hole. The spear still sat there, cruel and relentlessly. Dick stepped forwards, but it was no use. You were already gone. 

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 27 𖤐 DAY 29->

taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[adini-nikolaevna]

"The great day came. It was April 16, the eve of Sasha's twenty-third birthday. In the morning there was mass, at one o'clock in the afternoon the official ceremony of dressing the bride in the presence of the whole family, newly appointed court ladies and three ladies-in-waiting. Marie was coiffed so that two long curls fell on either side of her face, a small diadem of diamonds and pearl pendants was placed on her head - under it was attached a veil of lace, which hung below the shoulders. Each of us sisters gave her a pin to attach it, and then a purple ermine-trimmed robe, so heavy that five chamberlains had to hold it, was placed over her and fastened at the shoulder with a gold pin. At the end, Mama also attached a small bouquet of myrtle and orange blossom under the veil. Marie looked grand and majestic in her outfit, and the expression of solemn seriousness on her childish face was in perfect harmony with the beauty of her figure. At three o'clock there was a solemn banquet, approximately four hundred people were seated in the Nicholas Hall of the Winter Palace at three huge tables. In the middle are the Royal Family and the clergy, who opened the banquet with prayer and blessing. At the table, ladies sat on the right hand, gentlemen on the left. They drank the health of the young couple, Their Majesties, the Tsarevna's Parents, as well as all loyal subjects, and each toast was accompanied by cannon salvoes. The highest ranks of the Court brought champagne to Their Majesties; we, the other members of the Royal Family, were served by our chamberlains. A military band played, and the best singers of the Opera sang so that the walls shook. At eight there was a polonaise in the St. George's Hall: Papa danced in front of everyone with Marie; at ten o'clock we returned to our chambers, here only the family dined with the newlyweds. Adini and I did not take part in this, but had dinner with our teachers in my rooms and looked out at the Neva, at the illuminated embankment, ships decorated with flags, a festive crowd, and behind it the spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress, rising to the sky, still gilded by the setting sun… this day ended with such a wonderful note.”

- Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna, Queen of Wurttemberg, on the nuptials of her elder brother, the future Emperor Alexander II of Russia and Empress Maria Alexandrovna (nee Princess Marie of Hesse-Darmstadt.)

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Bonded Pair. - OCxGhost Backstory.

|| [Part Two ->] ||

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: Moot!OC (Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley) x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish words: 2K~ cw: injury (nothing major or too explicit)

May 2020

“How long until the American comes?” Soap asks to Ghost’s right as the lieutenant is halfway through assembling their camp/nest for the foreseeable future.

“Laswell said he’d come before sundown.” Ghost muttered. 

“What do you think he’s going to be like?” Soap asked.

“I think you should start heading to your spot and setting up camp, instead of yapping. It’s gonna get dark soon. You don’t want to spend the night lying on a pile of sticks, do you?”

“Jeez, L.T., calm down.” The Scot quipped with a chuckle. “I have plenty of time!”

“You really don’t. Sun’s setting soon.” A voice called out from behind them, causing them both to turn sharply, already pawing at their guns. The southern american accent was the only reason they didn’t draw them or shoot at the source.

Whiskey stepped out from behind the treeline, setting her hands on her hips after slinging her rifle onto her shoulder. She was on the tall side for a woman, standing at 5ft8, and had broad shoulders and strong arms.  Her dark brown hair was tied back into the usual military-standard low bun, though a few loose strands of damp hair were glued to her forehead, and the lower half of her face was concealed by an Army green neck gaiter that was pulled up to her nose. 

Ghost wasn’t particularly keen on working with her. But at least she looked more capable than some of what he’d seen come from the US.

She wore the standard combat uniform he had grown used to seeing on the Americans: camouflage cargos trousers, jacket, and Kevlar with the American flag. To keep her warm from the unforgivingly rainy and cold weather, she wore a brown fleece jacket under her camo, which was zipped up all the way, covering her neck and the bottom of her gaiter. She had on tan fingerless gloves, tan combat boots, and a camo backpack over her shoulders, from which hung her helmet. 

“You’re the Navy SEAL?” Ghost asked in greeting as he approached her.

“That’d be me.” Whiskey replied evenly as she reached forward to shake hands with Ghost. 

“I’m Ghost, this is Soap.” He explained as they shook hands, eyes locked into a strong, unyielding eye contact. 

“Whiskey.” She replied as she let go of his hand and turned to shake Soap’s. Only for her eyebrows to knit together and then set dangerously low, darkening her hazel-brown eyes. “You.” She said as she pulled her hand back before he could shake it.

“Me?” Soap asked, his own eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

“You’re screwing my best friend!” Whiskey said bluntly as she pointed at him.

“Am no! I have a girlfriend!” Soap said while shaking his head, entirely convinced of 

“Yeah, my best friend!” Whiskey replied with a nod.

“No? My girlfriend’s name is Meabh and her best friend is Victoria.”

“Right. Victoria, who’s American and part of the SEALs?” 

“Oh shit!” Soap said in surprise as he looked at her. “You’re her?”

“Yeah I am. And you’re the piece of crap that-” Whiskey stopped herself, biting her tongue and pointing a finger at him.

“Woah, you’re nothing like Meabh said you would be.” Soap said with a dropped jaw. “What’s with the aggression? I dinnae do nothing to ye-”

“You did enough.” Whiskey hissed at him through gritted teeth, her hand shaking as she wagged her finger in his face. She seemed so pissed off at Soap, Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what the sergeant did.

Ghost was watching the whole scene go down, the entire situation sending some alarm bells ringing in his head, not because of the animosity… But because Whiskey was loud and feisty. And he already had Soap to deal with, and now there was another one?

He didn’t even want to imagine what comms would look like between them, how they’d talk his ear off.

Whiskey turned away with a huff, shaking her head. “I’m gonna go set up shop. I suggest you do the same.” She told the lads.

“Wait!” Soap said as he stepped forward toward her. “What’d I do? Why do you hate me so much?”

Whiskey looked back over her shoulder, eyes locking onto Soap’s. Then, she looked up at Ghost and, for a moment, Simon swore he was seeing right into her soul and her right into his. Whatever reason she was pissed at Soap, it was bad, and he could tell.

“Just get to work and don’t piss me off. Gonna have to deal with you for three weeks…” Whiskey grumbled about Soap as she turned and walked off, heading downrange to her own overwatch coordinates.

Soap exchanged a glance with Ghost as she walked off, before softly murmuring. “What was that about?”

Ghost shook his head. “Fuck if I know. Just do as she said and get to your campsite.”

“Yeah…” Soap trailed off and waved a goodbye at Ghost before he headed out to his camp, following after Whiskey’s trail.

-

Night 1: 2000 hours

“I was thinking we take turns sleeping. 24 hours in a day, we could trade and do 4 hour straight of sleep.” Ghost suggested over the radio as he snacked on a protein bar.

“Copy that, L.T.” Soap replied, his voice chewed up, a clear sign that he was also eating.

“Sounds good to me.” Whiskey replied from her camp, her voice clipped and curt, even through the radio. “You can take first shift, Ghost.”

“I’d rather take last.” Ghost replied.

“Alright. Soap. Take first shift.” She demanded.

“Nae? I wanna stay up and speak to you about something.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Victoria, c’mon, I don’t even know what I did.”

“It’s ‘Whiskey’, Soap. I still outrank you and we’re still at work. Haven’t given you permission to call me by my name.” Her voice was so blunt and strong, Ghost found himself almost impressed.

“I’m sorry.” Soap ended up saying with a sigh. 

“Save your sorries. Go to sleep.” She demanded. 

“Aye, ma’am.”

It took a good half an hour or so, but soon, Johnny’s PTT was turned off, so, Ghost spoke up.

“Switch to 3, Whiskey.”

“Copy that.”

After switching frequencies, he finally spoke. “What’d he do?”

“Something he shouldn’t.”

“Cheated on your friend?”

“No. He’s stupidly devoted to her. At least from what she says.”

“Sounds about right. He talks about her a lot. Tires me.”

“Bet it does.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t talk about it.”

“Hm…” Ghost murmured. “Okay.”

-

Ghost was supposed to be sleeping. He really was. But with a new team member alongside them, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. 

Besides, he wouldn’t risk missing the shitshow of the other two bickering.

“So, how long have you and Meabh known each other?” 

“Longer than she’s known you.”

-

“How’d you meet?”

“On a ship.”

“Her ship?”

“No.”

-

“So how is it, being a Navy SEAL?”

“Fine.”

-

“So, how old are you?”

“Old enough.”

-

“Where are you from?”

“America.”

“Yeah, but which state? You’re obviously from the south.”

“None of your business.”

-

“You and Meabh ever work together?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Classified.”

-

At one point, Ghost couldn’t help but start to smirk at the way the conversation was going. All throughout Days 1, 2 and 3 of their watch mission, she answered Johnny’s incessant questions with nothing but nonchalant dryness.

He could almost guess what answer she’d give and what tone she’d use whenever Johnny asked another question. 

While she had been sleeping, the Scot had confessed he had wracked his brain thinking of reasons why she didn’t like him and had come up short… And that he wanted to make friends with her, for his bird’s sake.

But he wasn't succeeding. She was cold and stubborn and curt with her answers, not giving him more than a few words at a time.

Even as the questions got more probe-y and personal… She gave him nothing. In a way, Ghost saw himself in her answers.

“What do you and Meabh usually do when you’re together?”

“Hang out.”

“Yeah, but what do you do? Go out for drinks? Go on holiday?”

“We hang out.”

-

“So what does Meabh tell you about me?”

“The usual.”

“Elaborate?”

“No.”

-

“How come Meabh has never shown me a picture of you?”

“I don't do pictures.”

-

“Why the mask?”

“To hide my face.”

-

It’s as the sun sets on Day 4 that she finally gets tired of playing nice:

“You know, Meabh described you as really cheerful and funny… But I don't see it.”

“Meabh sees the best in people. Don’t take it personal. She lies about you a lot too.”

“I’m not that bad, you know? I don’t know what your problem is with me but… I’m just trying to befriend ye.” Ghost can pick up on Soap’s annoyance in his tone of voice.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Whiskey replied.

There’s a long, long moment of silence before Johnny tries again.

“How often do you and Meabh talk?”

“Often enough.”

“I miss her a lot when I’m on missions… Can’t talk to her steadily…” Soap admits, this time a lot more sincere. “Do you miss her too?

“No.” She replies. 

“No? Do you not like her the same as she does you?’

“I do.” Whiskey tells him. “But I’ve got ways of communicating with her.” She announces. 

“How’s that? Sending a letter and waiting weeks for a reply? I’m not satisfied with just that. Need to hear her voice… and she doesn’t have signal out there in the ocean…”

There’s a sound from the radio, which Ghost can swear is a snort from Whiskey laughing. Then, she speaks again.

“Can you see my camp from where you are?”

“Yeah?”

“Alright well, take a look at this.” 

Out of curiosity, Ghost decides to turn his binoculars toward Whiskey’s nest too, and adjust the focus until she comes into view.

“It’s a real shame that you can’t talk with your girlfriend.” Whiskey said while waving a black radiotelephone in the air for them to see. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Ghost smirks at the sound of her sarcasm, shaking his head, already anticipating the dramatics that Soap would engage in.

“Wait, you’ve got a phone to talk to Meabh WITH?!” Soap’s voice is so loud and high-pitched one would think he just suffered the greatest betrayal.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been speaking pretty consistently with her the past 4 days.”

“No?!”

“Oh yes.”

“That’s it! I’m going down there, I want to talk to Meabh!”

“No you’re not, don’t you desert your post!”

“I’m not deserting! I’m going to you!”

Ghost has to turn off his PTT so he can laugh without them noticing. Soap had been talking about Meabh for forever, talking the ear off anyone who’d listen, raving about the girl and how much he loves her. At this point Simon feels he himself is dating her with how much he knows about her… 

And now, here was her best friend, showing him just how much higher she ‘ranks’ in the girl’s consideration.

Turning his binoculars toward Soap’s nest, he watched the younger sergeant slip out and, under the shadows of the rapidly approaching night, rush out behind the treeline, dashing toward Whiskey’s nest about 2 kilometers out.

“He’s really going over.” Ghost murmured into the PTT.

“I know he is. Meabh is laughing over it.”

“YOU’RE TALKING WITH HER RIGHT NOW?!” Soap shrieked into his own PTT. “Tell her to hold on!!! I want to hear her voice!!!!”

Ridiculous, Ghost thought as he heard Soap’s desperation. How ridiculous it was to be so obsessed with a woman. Girlfriend or not.

By the time he reached Whiskey’s station, after a few minutes, Ghost got to watch a flurry of limbs happening.

And, after a moment, Whiskey came back onto the PTT. “Ghost contact Laswell, Soap needs to be sent on medical.”

“What happened?”

“He tried to get the radiophone off me, so I broke a couple of his fingers… And his wrist. And kicked him in the balls.”

Ghost pressed his lips together to stifle a smile. He shouldn’t be as amused as he is… But God, is the situation hilarious.

“Rog.”

[thekidsfromyestergay]

Idk who needs to hear this but. If you're drawing Frank don't draw the "red bars" (aka the rising sun flag) tattoo. If you're drawing or cosplaying fun ghoul do not add the motif to the back of the jacket. Do not lament the fact that it was covered, do not call it cool, do not use that visual under any circumstances, even outside of this specific fandom context. Articles on its meaning available here and here. Your "accuracy" is not more important than victims of imperialism.

[swordswoman97]

Three years after her departure, if you were to ask Owen if he missed the Faction Isles, he’d tell you no.

But he wouldn’t tell you about the hidden chest under the floorboards containing nothing but a well worn tackle box and an old blue and green flag (or the nights she spent with the flag wrapped around her shoulders when neither alcohol, boredom, or exhaustion was enough to quiet the nightmares.)

He wouldn’t tell you how he regularly found himself absentmindedly humming songs he learned from Watermunch when working on other things, or how a small part of him still felt wrong when no other voices joined in.

She wouldn’t tell you about the heron she had hatched to live in her small garden, well cared for and loved despite her claiming not to be an animal person.

He wouldn’t tell you how even three years later the taste of dumplings or stuffed potatoes, going fishing, or stargazing left her with an ache in her chest, or the rush of emotions he felt when she heard familiar names.

And she certainly wouldn’t tell you of the nightmares of familiar faces fading into stone or ice as their voices taunted her for her cowardice and stone heart, which always left her curled in a corner with the flag wrapped around her, staring at the floor and waiting for the sun to rise.

If you asked Owen if she missed the Faction Isles, he’d tell you no. Afterall, why should she miss people who no doubt haven’t thought of her since her leaving.

Meanwhile on an island far across the oceans, those she had left behind still found themselves avoiding the color orange for the memories and complicated feelings it brought to mind.

And if sometimes Owen stared at the horizon, a small part of her wanting to sail back, to return to the place she had fled from, he’d never tell a soul. Afterall, it’s not like they missed her, and they certainly wouldn’t be willing to take her back.

An ocean away, it was an open secret there were still those who stared at the horizon, hoping to see orange sails off in the distance, still willing to forgive if he’d only come back, despite the impossibility of the idea, confident in their belief that she hadn’t spared even a thought for them since she sailed off into the horizon three years ago.

[softeninglooks]

kagehina | silver medals

tokyo olympics, 2021.

tobio can see the end come with unmistakable clarity. it takes a second to score the final point; a raucous breath rattles the lungs to the core, weight rises up from the soles of the feet to the dazzling ceiling lights, the piercing screech of shoes sends the body flying, a sharp glance asses the position and height of the block. then all the strength of argentina's number 2 knocks the ball down, between the rigid fingers of a wall that is no longer insurmountable. a booming sound rumbles through the stadium as the ball crashes down, explosive and unstoppable, even for yaku, shoyo, and kiyoomi.

on the other side of the net, the argentinian team collapses on itself as soon as the whistle blows its verdict. 3-2. tears of joy, tight embraces, and a group hug submerges the players in a tide of light blue. only a few tear-streaked faces and smiling eyes emerge from the huddle, only to be reabsorbed again, pulled into a collective eruption of joy.

kageyama himself is dragged away from the net by foreceful hands and falls into his teammates' arms. the game is over.

tobio takes a breath in, and begins to recover. yaku pats him on the back, his smile trembling with tears, but he grins at kageyama and praises him heartily for his outstanding performance. a wet-eyed atsumu quickly hugs tobio and congratulates his fellow setter. ushijima shakes his hand hard and thanks him for the precision of his plays. sakusa gives a grateful nod. bokuto almost jumps onto him, grateful for his tosses. hajime walks over to his team, and even if their fingers grazed olympic gold only to settle for silver, his eyes shine with tears of pride.

hajime distributes hugs and words of support, congratulations, and comfort left and right. he pats the back of tobio's neck through his timid hug, and assures his former kouhai that he couldn't be prouder of him.

then, tobio watches hajime take a step back, make sure that his players are holding each other up, and walk over to the other side of the court, ducking under the net. he opens his arms wide and, on the argentinian side of the court, tooru comes running to him.

tobio's gaze wanders back to his side, where he meets shoyo's. the assistant coach pats his shoulder and congratulates him on a great game, to which shoyo replies with a thankful word, even though the corners of his eyes are red from rubbing out tears. still he grins at tobio, invites him forward.

tobio joins him, touching the hands open for him to take.

“your sets were the best today, kageyama!”

“your spikes were... weren't... that bad either,” tobio brings himself to say - a little raspingly, timidly. but shoyo reads him with such patience and persistent care, that tobio hopes he sees through him this time too. “but you still have to work on your receive. don't think we can stop at this, dumbass.”

“i was never going to,” shoyo frowns, but his face lights up with combativeness. the disappointment from second place morphs into a new goal, a new height that tobio wants to take him to. “next time, we'll get gold.”

*

after the medal ceremony, journalists and cameras flock to the victorious teams for post-game impressions and comments. these interviews are the ones tobio finds easier - no anecdotes to share, no personal questions to answer, no games to play. just volleyball.

as the japanese national team meets the interviewers who warmly congratulate them on their silver medal, tobio sees hajime pass by tooru out of the corner of his eye. the argentinian setter is already expressively chatting with a journalist, the hard-won gold medal sitting next to the sun of the argentinian flag on his chest. tooru catches hajime's shoulder in passing and he drags him into the interview, smiling brightly as he tells the world that he could count on the support of his /husband/ throughout. hajime's hand brushes the hollow of tooru's back and a playful smile sets on his lips as he says that marrying his rival was a real handful. but he couldn't be prouder of both his own team, and tooru.

tobio looks away, down at his feet. a sudden flush shoots up his cheeks, but the realization is a simple one: he has everything he's ever wished for. the silver medal gently weighing on his neck, the burnt taste in his throat, and the dried sweat on his forehead are his olympic dream. the someone better who kazuyo promised him came to found him, in the form of his high school teammate and rival, his opposite hitter on the jnt, his partner in volleyball and life. shoyo.

seeing hajime and tooru stand side by side, tobio thinks that maybe there is just one thing missing. he walks over to shoyo before a journalist can assail the japanese greatest decoy with post-game questions.

“hey, hinata.” heat rises to his neck, but tobio fights back - he knows all he has to do. “you're going back to brazil, and i'm going back to italy soon,” he begins.

shoyo nods with this look tobio knows by heart: he is determined to aim for the next challenge. “yes, but i'll keep track of my wins and defeats so i can win against you too!” he adds playfully, to reassure tobio before their ways part once again. “when you visit me in brazil again, or i come to italy, i'll be even stronger.”

“i'm counting on it. don't fall behind,” tobio counters instinctively, and the task at hand doesn't seem so overwhelming anymore, not so big. it is just the next logical step. shoyo's competitive smile, reserved for tobio only, and the optimistic, loving look in his eyes, are tobio's answer. “do you want to get married?”

“what— you mean...”

“to me,” tobio clarifies at shoyo's thunderstruck stutter. “before we leave japan.”

“tobio.” shoyo's parted lips break into a choked-up laugh. “of course i want to get married to you!”

“great.” a relieved smile softens tobio's serious expression. “i don't have a ring though,” he remembers, as if he only just became aware of the full implications of his proposal. “but... here.” tobio takes his silver medal off, putting it around shoyo's neck instead. “you can have this.”

“tobio...” shoyo pulls him into his arms, holding tobio tightly against his chest, where both medals dig into their jerseys, a silver thread that runs between them, keeps them close together.

“i win this time too,” tobio murmurs into shoyo's shoulder, with a victorious gentleness to his low voice.

“are you saying you just /beat/ me to proposing?”

“i did.”

“no way, kageyama! this doesn't count as winning and losing!” shoyo takes a step back to argue - lightly, with fresh redness around his eyes, like so many tearful furrows of happiness.

“it does.”

“absolutely not! this is not volleyball. or, only just a little bit!”

“alright. fine,” tobio grumbles at shoyo's insistence. “just promise me that you won't ever stop trying to get better than me.”

*

later on, the moving picture of the japanese setter and opposite hitter hugging each other by the court is all over the media. when shoyo and tobio take their leave off the olympic court, journalists don’t let the occasion pass.

“hinata-senshu, congratulations on a well-deserved silver medal! how did you feel during the game? did you imagine that you would go home with a medal at the start of the olympics?”

“the team and i always fought with the goal of winning an olympic medal in mind. we can’t predict the future, but the challenges of each game took us one step further. it was a difficult path, and this last game was no exception. the argentinian team played with amazing strength, they beat us fair and square, though we put up a fight too. i’m really happy for oikawa-senpai!”

“thank you for your comments, hinata-senshu. you made all of us dream here, in this olympic stadium. even though you live in brazil now, winning this silver medal in your home country must be something special, isn’t it?”

“it is. i love brazil, which i also consider my home. but being a representative in the japanese men’s national volleyball team is a great honor. thank you so much to everyone who believed in me!”

“thank you, hinata-senshu. and lastly, everyone has been wondering about that hug you and kageyama-senshu shared after the medal ceremony. what did kageyama-senshu say to you then? you’ve known each other since high school, haven’t you?”

“it’s true, kageyama is my oldest rival. i met him in middle-school, actually.” shoyo throws a quick glance over his shoulder, catching sight of the empty court, the tranquil net, the carts filled with volley balls. a brief smile hovers over his features - a feeling of gratitude for the past, and hopefulness for the future. “kageyama proposed to me,” the smile deepens into a warm grin as he turns back to the interviewer and camera. “and i promised him that next time, i’ll fight even harder to get us a gold medal.”

[hedawanheda]

secret recipe- prologue

Clarke has been given six months to find a serious and genuine relationship or else her father will hand over the company to Cage Wallace. Lexa just wants to cook.

or

Lexa is the Griffin’s personal chef.

Clarke Griffin is a leader. She’s a girl who knows what she wants and she doesn’t care how she gets it. When she talks, people listen. When she walks by, people stare. She exudes a confidence and energy that makes everyone who knows her respect her, while also fearing her a little. Her life is dedicated to her work, the Fortune 500 company her family had built from the ground up.

So when her father announces at his retirement party (that she flew all the way from California to attend and moved back home for this promotion) that his temporary successor would be Cage Wallace, she is understandably pissed.

“Don’t cause a scene,” her mother whispered harshly to her as she watched Cage walk up and shake her father’s hand. Clarke was in utter disbelief, waiting for her to wake up from her nightmare or for Ashton Kutcher to come out and say she was punk’d.

Cage caught her eye, sending her a gloating smile as he posed for the papers. Clarke felt the heat rise to her cheeks as her anger began to take over, clenching her glass so tightly that she was surprised it didn’t break. That should be her up there.

As the applause for Cage continued, Clarke downed the rest of her drink. Then the rest of her mom’s. Then she flagged down a waiter who was passing out shots to celebrate Cage’s promotion and Jake’s retirement.

And then she doesn’t remember the rest of her night.

She wakes up in her childhood bedroom which she miraculously got to somehow in her drunken state. The sun shines into her eyes way too early, rousing her from her deep slumber. Her rumbling stomach, pounding head, and dry mouth are too much to ignore, so she dragged herself out of her bed and trudged her way down to the kitchen in search of a greasy breakfast and some aspirin.

She opened the refrigerator and let the cold air hit her, taking a deep sigh and rubbing her forehead before searching for the orange juice. When she found it, she took a swig from the bottle, letting the citrusy flavor cost her parched tongue.

“Good morning, Miss Clarke,”

Clarke dropped the bottle of juice, startled by the other presence in the room. She was so hungover that she didn’t realize that she wasn’t alone.

“Holy shit- Lexa?!” she gaped. Clarke hadn’t seen Lexa since the girl went off to culinary school in Paris a decade ago.

“Welcome home,” Lexa smiled, ignoring the blonde’s disheveled appearance. Clarke was grateful for that, considering she was in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an old oversized college sweatshirt. Her hair was piled into a messy bun, and she undoubtedly had bags under her eyes from her late night. “Can I get something started for you?” Lexa asked politely.

“Huh?” Clarke was so shocked from seeing her old friend that she didn’t take in her appearance. Lexa was wearing a white chef’s coat and black pants, her hair tied back in braids. She was standing behind the kitchen counter, hands folded behind her back with an array of skillets and knives laid out in front of her.

“For breakfast,” Lexa explained patiently. “What would you like?”

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asked, answering Lexa’s question with one of her own. “The last time I heard you were at some Michelin star restaurant in the French Riviera.”

Lexa pretended that she didn’t hear that. “There’s pancakes or waffles, I could also do crepes if you wanted those. Omelets, eggs Benedict, frittata-“

“Wait, hold on-“

“Oatmeal, French toast, bagels-“

“Can you just stop for a minute-“

“Your dad has me hide his sugary cereal from your mom, I can dig that out-“

“Lexa! Stop listing breakfast food!” Clarke said, exasperated. “What are you doing in my house?”

Lexa paused, looked down and avoiding Clarke’s eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I work here,”

“But… why?” Clarke was genuinely confused. Why would someone give up a great and promising career to cook for her parents?

She didn’t get her answer, because her father entered the kitchen with a bright and cheery smile on his face. Clarke instantly scowled. She may not have remembered how most of her night had gone, but she remembered being burned by the person she called her father.

“Good morning, sweetie. Good morning, Lexa,” he said gleefully. He walked over and kissed the top of Clarke’s head, ignoring his daughter’s sour face. “Isn’t today a glorious day?”

“I see you’re enjoying your first day of retirement, sir,” Lexa grinned at him. “Shall I prepare your usual?”

“Please. But add extra bacon, I feel like celebrating,”

“Didn’t you and your bestie Cage do enough of that last night?” Clarke grumbled. Jake turned to her, smiling, and placed his hands on both sides of her face.

“Lighten up, sweetie. I’m sure once you have some food in you, you’ll be happier,”

“Food won’t make me happy,” Clarke said through squished cheeks. She removed her father’s hands from her face, angrily crossing her arms. Jake chuckled at his daughter’s death glare.

“You’ve haven’t had Lexa’s cooking in a long while. She’s like a food Midas, anything she makes turns to gold,”

“What happened to Alie?” Jake’s smile fell while Lexa looked down at her hands. “What?” Clarke asked again, looking between her father and Lexa. It was weird seeing Lexa at the house and not having her mom there, the chef the Griffins had since before Clarke was born.“What are you not telling me?”

“My mother passed away last year,” Lexa said quietly, not meeting Clarke’s eye. “Cancer,”

This morning has turned out to be quite the surprising event for the blonde.

“Excuse me?!” Clarke said angrily, turning to her father. “You didn’t think of mentioning this to me over the past year? That the woman I’ve known for as long as I’ve known you died?”

“In his defense, she wanted to keep her illness private,” Lexa explained calmly. When Clarke looked at her, her gaze softened. She wasn’t the one Clarke was rightfully angry towards. “The funeral was a small affair. Just family,”

Clarke frowned. Wasn’t she considered family? “That still doesn’t mean it was okay not to mention it to me,”

“You’re right,” Jake sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. Why don’t we sit down and have Lexa make us a nice breakfast. I’m sure there’s something on your mind,”

//

“Why did you pass over me for the promotion?” Clarke asked as Lexa slid plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her and Jake. “Why did you choose Cage of all people?”

“I know what you think of him, but he’s actually a brilliant man,” Jake started digging into his meal, talking with his mouth full. “Difficult, but brilliant,”

“But I don’t understand. You’ve been preparing me to take over for you since I started at the company. And I actually worked my way up from the bottom,”

“Cage is only a temporary solution,” Jake explained. “He will be interim CEO for the next six months before I decide if you’re fit enough to take over,”

“And what do you consider that to be?”

“How do I say this?” Jake rubbed his chin. “Clarke, you need a life,”

Clarke looked and felt offended. “What are you talking about? I have a life,”

“You’re a twenty eight year old workaholic who’s never had a serious partner before. Your mother and I are worried about you,”

“And where’s Mom now? Work.” Clarke snapped. “And the partner thing? A little misogynistic, don’t you think?”

Jake sighed. “Honey, don’t start. If I gave you the position right away, you would never find time to settle down,”

“So what are you saying? I can’t get the position I earned until I get hitched?”

“Not exactly,”

”Not exactly?”

“Well, not married per say, but a relationship, yes,”

Clarke stared at her father, eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re serious,”

“I am,” Jake nodded. “You need to get out there and actually live in the world, Clarke. There’s so much more to life than an office.”

“I do yoga,” Clarke pointed out. “Work’s not my entire life,”

“Honey, I don’t think you realize how sad that sounds,”

Clarke slumped down in her chair. “I could just hire someone, you know,”

“I know. But I’m using the honor code here. I just want you to be happy, to settle down,”

“I can be happy and not be in a relationship,”

“But you’re not,” Jake folded his hands on the table, pushing his empty plate away. “Just try. Put yourself out there. As long as I see you’re at least making an effort, the gig is yours.” This made Clarke sit up straighter in her chair.

“Really?” she asked. “So I have to just go on a few dates?”

“Emphasis on the effort, Clarke. And besides, six months is a long time, who knows? Maybe you’ll find your person,” Jake smiled warmly at his daughter, who rolled her eyes. “You’re a little too old for that now,”

“And I’m also a little too old for you to be telling me what to do,”

Jake sighed. “This isn’t a punishment. I really do want what’s best for you Clarke. Six months. That’s all I’m asking for,”

“Fine,” Clarke huffed, throwing down her fork on her partially eaten plate. She had lost her appetite, no matter how good it looked. “I’ll agree to this, no matter how dumb it is. It’s not like I’m actually going to fall in love just because you gave me a deadline.” Jake smiled, doing a little happy dance in his chair.

“I think this is going to be good for you, Clarke,” he said. Lexa came in and began clearing away the dishes as quietly as she could, trying to go unnoticed. Clarke watched her, not wanting to look at her father’s triumphant grin. She didn’t realize her eyes were trailing the girl until Lexa left and her father cleared his throat. When she turned back to him, his grin was faint, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked between Clarke and the doorway where his chef exited.

“Something amusing?” Clarke asked.

Jake chuckled. “No, nothing at all,”

read on ao3!

[waltwhitmansbeard]

percahlia with 14?? 👀👀👀 (ps. hello friend, I've missed you!)

14. "You ever lie to me again and we're done." it's good to be back!!

It's a transition, to say the least. One day they're part of a traveling, traipsing troupe of adventurers, tied more to each other than to any one place, a trauma-bonded pack of stray cats, and the next they're a couple, living in a castle that does not much move from the spot its in, with responsibility to people they do not know and who do not know them. The castle is far larger than any accommodation they've enjoyed while out being heroes of the realm, and yet somehow they feel more on each other's toes here than they did crammed into some shitty upper room of an tavern with more bedbugs than patrons. Some days, Vex wishes she's had Keyleth's druidic shapechanging abilities, if only to swoop out one of these high windows and fly away, escape it all for a while.

But she can't tell Percy that. She can't have him thinking that she regrets this, regrets him, regrets Whitestone, because she doesn't. Not really. Not the clothes, for sure, or the big comfy bed, or the food, gods, the food—and obviously not him either. Waking up next to him every morning is a dream she'd never have let herself have as a child—but does he have to breathe so hard in his sleep?

She has a secretary, some nervous, flittering young thing who seems to think that Vex shares a temper with the castle's previous lady, which she doesn't. She tells the girl to let the lord know that she won't be making it to their scheduled meeting with the stonemasons regarding the upgrades to Dawnfather Square. In response to the tremulous why, Vex says, "I've been asked to sit with the housekeeping staff, to ensure that everything is in place for next week's guests."

This, of course, is a lie. Vex knows it, and she can see by the terror in her secretary's face that she knows it, too, but she sends her off anyway, hoping her fear doesn't rat Vex out. Once she's free, Vex strips down and changes into her old adventuring gear, a little tighter than it used to be, thanks to a steady diet of actual nutrition. With steps so quiet they'd do her brother proud, she slips through the halls and out a side door from the kitchens, darting across the lawns in the early morning haze. In less than a minute, she's in the cover of the Parchwood, and finally, she can breathe again.

She's aimless, wandering more than walking, and every shot she takes at some bird or scurrying thing is embarrassingly bad. Whatever. It's just good to be back in the real world again, amongst the trees and the leaf litter and the creatures who don't shove their cold, bony feet beneath her shins at night. She feels alive out here, more than she ever could in a castle of stone and glass, no matter how much she loves the life of luxury.

Eventually, her stomach rumbles, and she hasn't shot anything worth dressing and cooking out here, so she trudges back, caked with mud and grinning. She enters the castle the same way she left, flags down a kitchen girl to have a plate sent up to her rooms, and then makes her way up, looking forward to a hot bath and a good meal.

He's waiting by the bed when she enters. The grin slides away from her face as they stare at each other, the room cold but her face hot. She feels it rising in her, the guilt, the resentment, the urge to destroy. She wants him to say something, wants to cut him off before he can.

"Seems the housekeepers did a number on you."

In an instant she feels small. He's never made her feel small before, but under his withering glare, she could be any one of his subjects, some farmgirl asking too much of her liege lord. She juts her chin out. "There was a change of plans."

"You lied to me."

"Yes."

The silence rings. She searches his face, looks for some kind of sign of weakness, of melting. He is as resolute as the Sun Tree, as the stones of his family home. Fine. Let him be mad. He can't control her.

He steps forward, slow, careful steps that echo off the floors. When he is just a few feet from her, he says quietly, "You ever lie to me again and we're done."

The floor drops out from under her, and he's gone. She is alone in this great big room, surrounding by her fancy clothes and the softest bed she's ever touched. Her throat is hot and thick, but she is not going to cry. She just stands, silently staring at the spot he just left, never having felt less like a hero in her entire life.