#i could write a whole adventure from a single picture

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 6: The House Of Salt And Scales]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, Evangelical Christians, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, (Mis)Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, blood, alligators, ANGST!!!

Word Count: 7.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“Did you hear that Willis is single again?”

Ugh. “Yes, Mama. I heard. You told me already.” You linger in the doorway with a white bakery box in your hands: your mother’s favorite, grasshopper pie, straight out of the 1960s. She allegedly ate through two a week when she was pregnant with you. Cadi has already dashed inside and made herself at home; she’s probably jamming the movie she got from Blockbuster—Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Amir recommended it—into the VHS player. “You told me, Willis told me, all his deputies told me, Cadi told me, my mailman told me, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly told me, literally every resident of Napoleonville has informed me in no uncertain terms that Willis is single again. And I could not possibly care less.”

Your mother sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, wounded and incredulous, like she’s just watched a 60 Minutes segments about a tsunami or a genocide. “I just don’t understand it. In my day, people married for life.”

You glance back longingly at your Chevy Celebrity. “Yeah. I know they did.”

“When your father, and God rest his soul, when he was young, he was a hellion,” your mother says, as if you don’t remember it, as if you weren’t there. “He’d get his paycheck every Friday and stay out all night with his buddies, sometimes he didn’t come home the whole weekend. I’d lay into him when he finally showed, I’d say, ‘Rene, how on earth am I supposed to put dinner on the table if I don’t have any fish in the icebox?!’ Once he punched a hole in the kitchen wall and I had to cover it up with a picture of President Eisenhower! And I never even thought about leaving. How could I have done that to you? Forcing you to grow up in a broken home? Mothers and fathers living apart, whoever heard of such a thing? It’s unnatural.”

You’re brainstorming recipes to distract yourself. Caramel pretzel cookies. Banana chiffon pie. Cheese Danish cupcakes with diced cherries and a hint of vanilla. “Everyone draws their own lines, Mama.”

“But it’s not just about you,” she implores, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she never had for other women. You remember what she said on the rare occasions you confided in her about your frustrations with Willis: Of course a man isn’t going to want you bothering him with your feelings when he’s had a hard day at work. Of course a man—after you’ve had his baby, after you almost died to do it—is going to be crossing off days on the calendar until you can have sex again. He keeps a roof over your head and he never hits you, what more could you ask for? “What about Cadi? What if she grows up thinking that her marriage vows don’t mean anything? It’s the foundation of society, marriage. If that goes, everything goes.”

It’s the foundation of a lot of coercion and unfairness and misery, that’s for sure. “I wouldn’t want Cadi to stay in a situation that makes her unhappy. Would you?”

Your mother throws her hands up, like you’ve told her you’re converting to communism and catching the next flight to the USSR. “Life isn’t just about happiness, sweetheart! It’s about commitment, it’s about responsibility! If everyone did what they wanted all the time, no one would stay married!”

“Maybe that speaks to the value of marriage as an institution.”

“And morality is already falling apart in this country,” your mother continues, ignoring you. That’s what she does when she can’t refute facts, logic, evidence. “Young people living together, women having babies with two or three different men, people doing drugs, people on Welfare, people shooting and stabbing each other, sex shops everywhere, naughty magazines at gas stations, men wanting to marry other men—”

“Okay, Mama. I really have to go now.”

“Alright, I’ll shut up. I will, I will, I swear.” She makes peace with a brisk kiss to your cheek like a stamp on an envelope. “Enjoy a nice quiet night to yourself. Do you have any plans?”

Well, Mama, I’m trying to resist the temptation to call my engaged dominant oil tycoon not-boyfriend and tell him to come over for kinky adulterous sex. “Not really. I’ll probably take a bubble bath and then watch something Cadi would think is boring, like 20/20.” You hand over the bakery box, and your mother’s face lights up.

“Grasshopper pie?!”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You know it’s hard for me to make it myself anymore. This rheumatoid arthritis, it’s got me all twisted up.” She nods down to where her fingers grip the box, knobby and increasingly useless.

“When’s your next appointment?”

“I’ve got one in…oh…about three weeks, I think. I’d have to check my daybook. All the way over in New Orleans with some specialist that Dr. Cormier recommended.”

“Okay. Want me to go with you?”

“Yes, that’d be fine.” It would be more than fine; she wants you to go, though she won’t say it. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t want to impose or doesn’t want to admit how reliant she’s becoming upon you, like growing up in reverse.

“Mawmaw!” Cadi shouts from inside the house. “Hurry up! I want to watch Predator!”

“You quit your hollering, I’ll be right there!” Then your mother looks to you and offers one last piece of very unsolicited advice. “Just be kind to Willis, alright? Give him a chance. I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman he likes as much as you. That’s what everyone says.”

“Mama, he has no idea who I am.” And he’s not interested either.

“Sure he does. You’re the mother of his child, and you always will be. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other.”

“I’ll think about it.” You definitely won’t. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“So long.” She shuffles into the house, and once she’s shut the door you hear her muffled voice: “Arcadia, come on over here and help me slice up this pie…”

You drive home with the windows down and blasting St. Elmo’s Fire. There’s still an hour or two of sunlight left; the world is painted in gold and blood orange, the soybeans, the sugarcane, the grass growing tall and wild, the Spanish moss swinging from the trees, the earth ripening as its revolution hurtles towards the apex of summer. Cadi is out of school until August. Amir will be announcing his looming departure to San Francisco. Aemond will be getting married.

The adolescent alligator that Aemond is so afraid of is in the far corner of the front yard, basking in the last of the daylight. You walk into your room, flop down on the bed, lie there staring longingly at the pink phone on your nightstand. You reach to pick it up, then stop yourself. Aemond hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t kissed you, has rarely touched you at all since you found out about Christabel. But he stops by your house and invites you to his; he stitches himself into your life like someone somewhere once sutured his face back together.

I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s engaged.

Aemond doesn’t know you’re home alone. It’s Friday, and usually Cadi would be here with you until tomorrow morning.

Maybe it’s not really cheating until he’s married. I mean, if Aemond and Christabel aren’t sleeping together, if they almost never see each other…is it even a real relationship?

Wistful thinking, yes, denial, yes; but with each passing minute your resolve not to pick up the phone weakens.

We don’t have much longer until the wedding. Our time is slipping away.

He’s a robber baron. He’s arrogant, he’s delusional.

And I want him. I still do, and I can’t stop.

The phone rings. You sit up, startled. It’s not Aemond, you tell yourself so you won’t be disappointed when it isn’t him. But it is.

“Hi,” Aemond says; he sounds out of breath. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No, it’s okay, Cadi is actually having a sleepover with my mom. They’re watching Predator. My mom has no idea what it’s about, she’ll be clutching that Bible she got signed by Jerry Falwell a little extra hard tonight. What’s up?”

“This is going to sound random, but…you haven’t seen Aegon, have you? He hasn’t shown up at your house, he hasn’t called? You don’t know where he is?”

Aegon? Why would I know anything about what Aegon’s doing right now? “Um, no…?”

A long exhale, a lull that’s full of dread.

“Aemond, what’s going on?”

“He and my father got into it a few hours ago. They were screaming at each other, kicking furniture over, which isn’t all that unusual, honestly. But then Aegon ran away.”

“Wait, like, he’s gone…?”

“He stormed out the back door, went down to the lake, and then headed north into the trees. And I assumed he’d be back by now, but it’s getting dark and he’s not here. He never came home. His Porsche is still sitting in the driveway.” There is a pause. “I think he’s out there.”

“Out where?”

“In the woods,” Aemond says, shellshocked, terrified. “In the bayou.”

Your eyes dart to the window; the golden daylight is dwindling. “Aemond, he can’t be alone in the bayou. It’s dangerous. He could die. There aren’t just alligators, there are wild boars, cottonmouths, copperheads, snapping turtles, brown recluses, fire ants, I don’t think there are any black bears this far south but it’s always possible, he could drown, he could get trapped in quicksand, you cannot let Aegon spend the night out there.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not used to hearing this in Aemond’s voice: the panic, the vulnerability. “No one else seems worried. They said he disappears all the time, and that’s true. They’re convinced he’s found his way to a strip club or a Waffle House or something and will drag himself home eventually. No one will listen to me. My father has forbidden me from getting anyone else involved. He doesn’t want gossip getting around town and overshadowing the new rig project or…you know. The wedding thing. My wedding. And I can go over his head, sure, I can make calls, but when investigators show up here to start searching my father is just going to tell them to leave. How is it even possible to find Aegon? At night in a fucking swamp? Is anyone going to be willing to go out there before morning? Do I need people with bloodhounds or a helicopter?”

No way, you think as soon as the idea hits you. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. “I can think of someone who knows their way around the bayou.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just after 7 p.m. when Willis arrives to pick you up: grinning smugly, mullet fluffed, Plymouth Gran Fury hauling his brand new 20-foot jon boat. He’s dressed for night fishing in boots, camo-colored waders, and a grey hoodie with SHERIFF printed across the front in black letters. You climb into the passenger seat wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a blue raincoat over your Pepsi t-shirt. You haven’t been fishing since you were married to Willis, and you’ve never missed it. It’s a grisly business: hooks through lips, hooks through eyeballs, hooks swallowed and tangled up in some doomed creature’s guts.

Aemond is waiting at the mouth of the Targaryens’ driveway, just out of sight of the mansion they call The Last Desire. He gets in the back seat and sits there testily with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring out the window as an indistinct blur of primeval vegetation passes by outside. He has on his Marlboro jacket, light-wash jeans, and Adidas sneakers. You hope he doesn’t ruin them; although you suppose he can always buy more. He could buy a hundred more, a thousand more, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You can’t fathom what it’s like to live that way. It seems to conflict with all the laws of man and nature.

Aemond speaks grudgingly to Willis, a quick flat statement that invites no conversation. He didn’t call Willis to explain the situation, you did. You’re afraid to leave them alone with each other. You aren’t sure who would be more likely to end up a corpse decomposing in the muddy silt at the bottom of Lake Verret. “Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”

Willis chuckles warmly, either oblivious to Aemond’s prickliness or unbothered by it. “Bien sur! It’s my job, son. We’ll hunt your brother down.” Then he glances over at you, smirking, prying. “So, sugar…how’d you two make each other’s acquaintance?”

“Amir and I baked the cakes for his engagement party.”

“Engagement party, huh?” Willis looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “You gettin’ married?”

Aemond is still staring out the window. “Obviously.”

“So you ain’t single?”

“Legally, I am in fact single until the day the marriage license is signed.”

Willis returns his attention to you. “So he ain’t the petit ami you’ve been so secretive about.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Willis. I really can’t be more clear than that.”

“Oh, I know you got one. I know all your looks, sugar. Some days you come ‘round my office lookin’ lovesick, like you’re just a-floatin’ on a cloud. Other days you’re real mean, like you don’t want me takin’ none of your time, like you got somebody more important to spend it on. And then sometimes you just look…” He smiles, mischievous. “Well, how can I put it? Satisfied. The cat who ate the canary. And I recall exactly what that looks like on you. It’s been a while, sure. But I remember.”

From the back seat, Aemond sighs irritably. You say to Willis: “Can we please focus on finding Aegon?”

“Sois calme, sois calme. That’s why I’m here. We’ll be in the water in ten minutes.”

There is no more discussion; the only sound is the radio, Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Willis turns onto a winding dirt road that leads to a boat launch about a mile from the Targaryens’ property. He spins his Plymouth Gran Fury around and backs it down the concrete ramp towards the rippling, slow-moving currents of Lake Verret. It’s difficult to see from the driver’s seat—most people would have someone get out to guide them—but Willis knows the way by heart. He’s been on boats since before he could walk; Willis’ daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy did too, all the way back to before the Louisiana Purchase. Your family are newer arrivals (relatively speaking), having only been in Napoleonville for about 100 years and keeping mostly to the town. You remember your 11th grade science teacher saying once that alligators have been around since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Maybe that’s what Willis is: a relic of a distant time and species, afflicted with a cunning ruggedness that won’t allow his kind to go extinct.

When the trailer is mostly underwater, Willis gets out of the car to unhook the straps that keep the boat moored to it. You go outside to help and Aemond follows, though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never handled a boat this size and it shows; perhaps a yacht would be more his speed. He stands aside and watches, frowning, hands buried in the pockets of his Marlboro jacket. His lack of expertise riles him. He’s not used to being the incapable one. He hates not having control.

Willis already has a tow rope tied to a metal handle at the bow of the jon boat; he lifts it out and gives the free end to Aemond. “Hold onto that, will ya? Don’t let her get away.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously. Willis returns to his Plymouth Gran Fury to finish backing the trailer into the lake until the boat floats. Standing on the shore together, you and Aemond stare at each other, unable to speak honestly, unable to decide what you’d say even if you could.

The jon boat bobs in the water, and you show Aemond how to pull it away from the trailer using the tow rope. Willis drives the trailer back onto dry land, parks his car in a flat area near the boat launch, and then joins you and Aemond by the water’s edge. He walks to where the boat is floating just to the right side of the concrete ramp and, with some difficulty, clambers inside as the boat rocks under his weight. Then he stands in the middle of it and gestures for you to approach. “Let’s get goin’, sugar.”

You take Willis’ hands when he reaches for you and let him help you into the jon boat. When you stumble over a bench seat, he steadies you with a hand on your waist, familiar but in no way erotic; not for you, at least. Still, from where he is standing on the lakeshore with the tow rope, Aemond glowers venomously.

“Your turn, son,” Willis calls to him, winking. “And I promise not to get too sweet with ya.”

But Aemond doesn’t need any assistance to board the vessel. He has long limbs, good balance, and an ironclad determination not to let Willis see him falter. Aemond sits at the bow of the boat. You claim a spot in the middle. Willis takes a seat at the stern, starts the outboard motor, and guides the boat into the treacherous swampland that lurks like a stalking animal at the edges of Lake Verret.

In the bayou, the water is sluggish, currentless, thick with vivid green salvinia and duckweed. Towering bald cypress trees grow out of the opaque depths and are adorned with greyish, anemic bundles of Spanish moss like spiderwebs. Mangrove trees with their myriad of semi-submerged roots are sanctuaries for catfish, turtles, baby alligators. Larger gators—as big as the female that lives in your yard, and some up to seven or eight feet—prowl with only their nostrils and ancient yellow eyes peeking out from under the water. Great blue herons tiptoe along the shallow shoreline and stab at fish that unknowingly flit between their long skeletal legs. Cicadas shriek in the trees so loudly they almost drown out the hum of the boat’s motor. When the last of the daylight vanishes, Willis tells Aemond to turn on the spotlight mounted to the bow, and the water becomes a soupy, greenish, primordial witch’s brew beneath its glow. Aemond lights a cigarette and puffs on it as he ponders this alien corner of the world that he’s found himself in.

Willis has a number of items stowed on the flat aluminum floor of the boat, you notice now: nets, paddles in case the motor fails, bottles of water, ropes, fishing poles, flashlights, hunting knives, a few sturdy wooden walking sticks. He’s wearing his sheriff’s pistol on a belt fastened over his waders. This makes you uneasy, though you can’t recall ever seeing him use it. It seems wrong to be able to end a life with so little effort.

“Aegon!” Aemond shouts from the bow, using a flashlight to look to the sides of the boat where the spotlight’s luminescence doesn’t shine so brightly. You grab your own flashlight to help him search. “Aegon! Where are you?!”

There’s something burning in your nose and throat as you lean over the side of the boat to peer into the shadowy wilderness. Salt, you realize, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lake Verret is a freshwater lake. You turn towards where Willis is steering the boat with the rumbling gas-powered motor. “Do you smell that?”

“Yup. Sure do.”

“But…how…?”

“One of the rigs mighta hit a salt dome while they were drillin’, I figure,” Willis says. “There’s been talk for years that we got salt domes under the lake. But that don’t stop these oil companies.” He stares meaningfully at Aemond. Aemond glances back, rather abashed. “And ya know what that means. If the water turns brackish, most of the fish’ll die. And who’s got to live with that for generations to come? Not the Targaryens or the Rockefellers, that’s for sure.”

Aemond resumes shouting for his wayward eldest brother. A dark snake, perhaps six feet long, slithers down the length of the boat through the murky water. “Aegon! Aegon!”

“What did he and Viserys argue about?” you ask.

Aemond is cagy. “It’s…kind of personal.”

“Personal like he got a stripper pregnant or personal like he murdered someone in a drunken hit-and-run?”

“Neither. But closer to the first option.” Then he roars into the darkness: “Aegon!”

“Maybe the bon a rien already found his way back home,” Willis says. “Maybe—”

And then there is an echo through the bayou, faint but vaguely human, a ghost, a phantom. “Aegon!” Aemond shouts back. “Where are you?!” Willis cuts the boat engine so you can hear the reply.

Faintly, very faintly, his disembodied voice drifts out of the trees. “Over here! Help me! Quickly! Seriously, really really quickly!!”

“Keep talking!” Aemond yells. Willis is listening intently, trying to pinpoint a direction. His thick, dark eyebrows are knit together in concentration that is rare for him.

Barely audible over the screams of the cicadas: “What the fuck am I supposed to say?! Just get over here and save me!”

“We’re trying to figure out where your voice is coming from, so don’t stop talking!”

“Help me! Come help me!! Right now!! My arms are getting tired!!”

“What? What are you doing with your arms?!”

“I got him,” Willis says. He restarts the motor and steers the boat down a narrow corridor of the swamp. The path is only about ten yards wide and bordered by mangrove trees with nests of exposed, labyrinthian roots. The water is probably relatively shallow: five feet, ten feet, just deep enough for secrets. The breeze is cool and wet, almost chilly. On the shore, you spy a snapping turtle the size of a golden retriever. Its long prehistoric claws are coated with mud and green blades of marsh grass. It ogles you as if to say: What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is where the dinosaurs that survived the asteroid live.

“Aegon?” Aemond calls.

“Here! Over here! I can see you, I see the lights! Oh my God, I’m not gonna die! Thank you Jesus!”

Aemond laughs in relief. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”

“Shut up and save me, you muppet!”

And then you see Aegon—the spotlight hits him, he is illuminated in a stark white glow—and your stomach plummets, your blood goes cold. In an alcove of the bayou, right where the water meets the shore, Aegon is up in a bald cypress tree. He’s about five feet off the ground and standing on top of a branch just thick enough to hold his weight. It’s too narrow to balance comfortably on; he is hugging the trunk to ensure he doesn’t fall, and a fall would be catastrophic. Sprawled on the muck surrounding the base of the tree are a plethora of alligators, all approximately ten feet in length. That’s big enough to be lethal humans. That would be big enough to kill a bear, a horse, a shark. When the spotlight shines on them, the gators begin to squirm and hiss, glaring with soulless reptilian wrath at the boat. Willis shuts off the motor, and the boat bobs placidly.

“Oh, fuck,” Aemond says.

“Yeah, exactly!” Aegon pitches back. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny turquoise blue shorts. He is barefoot. “So what’s the plan?! By the way, hey, cake lady.”

“Hi, Aegon.”

Aemond says: “How the hell did you get up there?”

“I was pissed off about the dad thing and I was walking for a long time, then I realized I was probably in the wrong neighborhood for someone with two legs and no desire to get eaten. I tried to find my way back but then these pig-looking things started chasing me and I freaked out and climbed up here to hide until they left. But as the sun went down, alligators started showing up. And the more time went by, the more alligators there were. And that’s the whole story, can you get me down now?!”

Aemond asks Willis, petrified: “How do we get him down?”

Willis surveys the scene for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Here’s what I reckon. We can toss him one end of a rope and he can tie it to the branch above him, right at the base where it’s real thick. Then we’ll hold the other end of the rope, and he can kinda shimmy on down it into the boat.”

Aegon says: “But what if right before I get to the boat, when I’m like four feet above the water, an alligator jumps out and bites me?”

“They don’t usually do that,” Willis replies.

“Usually?!”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of options,” Aemond tells his brother. “We can do the rope plan now, or we can leave you here, backtrack all the way to the boat launch, get the car, get some help, and hope they magically have a better solution for you. Or you can wait up there until morning to see if the alligators leave. You pick.”

“Isn’t that the hick sheriff guy? Can’t he shoot them?”

“Gators got brains ‘bout the size of a walnut, son,” Willis says. “And if I don’t hit ‘em where it counts, I’m just gonna make them angrier. That ain’t good for any of us.”

“Okay,” Aegon concedes. “Throw me a rope.”

Willis grabs one from the bottom of the jon boat, hands an end to Aemond, and tosses the other to Aegon. It takes the eldest Targaryen boy four attempts to catch it; the rope keeps falling and smacking the hissing alligators in the face before Willis lugs it back to the boat to try again. Once he finally obtains the rope, Aegon knots it—double, triple, quadruple—around where the branch above him, just barely within reach if he stretches as far as he can, meets the massive trunk of the bald cypress tree. Willis tells Aemond: “Now ya gotta hold the rope real tight. No slack at all, or it’ll dip and he’ll end up in a gator’s lap.”

“Yeah, Aemond!” Aegon says, his voice shaky. “No slack!”

“Got it.” Aemond loops his end of the rope around his waist, makes a knot, and then grips it with both hands and tugs it until it forms a straight diagonal line from the tree to the boat.

“Ya sure you wanna do that?” Willia says softly, nodding to Aemond’s waist. “If somethin’ goes wrong and he ends up in the water, you’ll be goin’ in with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty.” Willis grabs one of the heavy wooden walking sticks from the aluminum floor of the boat. “If a gator tries to cause a problem, I’ll whack ‘em good. Don’t let ‘em get their jaws ‘round ya, not an arm or a leg or nothin’. If they get ahold of ya, they’ll roll and rip your bones right outta the sockets.”

“Awesome,” Aegon says from the tree. “I’m so glad you told me that. Yeah. Great. Any more super helpful alligator trivia, Sasquatch?”

“Yes sir. If one chomps down on ya, poke it in the eye with your fingers. A whack to the snout or a poke to the eye is the best way outta a gator’s mouth.”

Aegon gulps and clutches the rope, steeling himself.

“What should I do?” you ask Willis. “Should I get a stick too—?”

“Nothin’. You don’t do nothin’. You just sit down right in the middle and keep the boat steady. And if your petit ami starts goin’ overboard, maybe try to snatch him. But don’t ya fall in. Ya don’t want to be in that water. If there are gators above the water, there are gators below too. I guarantee it.”

You sit in the precise middle of the boat, using your weight to reinforce the vessel’s center of gravity as Aemond and Willis stand at opposing ends. Right before Aegon begins his descent, Aemond snags your attention. He makes a motion with one hand, a slicing, a prohibition. Don’t do anything insane, he means. Don’t risk trying to drag me back into the boat if I start going over.

“Whenever ya ready, bon a rien,” Willis says. And no one else but you knows that what he’s calling Aegon is a good-for-nothing.

Aegon begins scurrying down the length of the rope, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the bobbing jon boat. He passes above the hissing gators congregating at the base of the bald cypress tree and then over the water, where there are ripples that multiply out from epicenters and flashes of movement just beneath the surface but no homicidal alligator activity. When Aegon nears the boat, Willis seizes him and helps him into it; and then Aegon ruptures into hysterical giggles.

“I almost died, can you believe that?” he asks Aemond, who is untying the rope from his waist and beaming, the first real smile you’ve seen from him tonight. “Because I ran away from Viserys?! What an idiotic way to go. I’ll never let that bastard convince me to off myself. I gotta outlive him. I gotta do Jello shots on that motherfucker’s grave someday.”

“Yeah, you do,” Aemond agrees, squeezing Aegon’s shoulder.

“Goddammit,” Willis grumbles. He’s using his walking stick to jab at the water near the rear of the boat. “We’re hooked on a mangrove root or something.”

“Do you need help?” Aemond asks, headed towards him.

“Yes sir, if you’d be so kind. I don’t…I can’t see…what the hell is it stuck to?”

“The motor…? The blades of the motor?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re right. Yup. There it is. We musta drifted into it while we were preoccupied. Okay, we gotta push the boat off the root and then we can get movin’ again. Grab a stick, let’s start pushin’.”

“Should I get a stick too?” Aegon says, joining them. “I can hit stuff with sticks. I really want to get out of here…”

There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the boat as the men try to propel it away from the mangrove tree. Willis is complaining that the water is too deep to touch the bottom with his stick. Aemond’s stick keeps slipping off the mangrove roots when he tries to get leverage. You aren’t sure what Aegon is contributing, if anything. The boat has begun to rock.

You look to the tree where Aegon had been imprisoned. The alligators are fully awake now; they are headed into the water and disappearing there, unseen, unheard, and yet all around you.

“I think we need to go now,” you say, but no one is listening to you. They’re still wrestling with the mangrove root. You rise, taking a few steps to the left to offset the boat’s listing towards the right. “Guys, we need to—”

The boat is freed from its organic jailor and lurches sharply towards the left. As the men cheer triumphantly—completely unaware of what’s happening—you are jolted off your feet and tumble backwards over the side of the boat.

The shock of hitting the water stuns you. It is cold and impossibly dark; when you open your eyes to try to find the surface, the boat, you can’t see anything. You paddle blindly. Something brushes your leg, and you scream bubbles of mute terror. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are picturing those ten-foot gators slinking into the water that you’re now thrashing wildly through. You swim towards what you think is the surface and strike unyielding metal—the underbelly of the boat—hard enough to put stars in your skull like the flashes of lightning bugs. You get turned around and don’t know where you are again. Something glides past your arm, and you gasp before remembering that there’s no air. Dark water—salt and silt and decomposition—surges into your lungs, your stomach, sinking you like an anchor from within. There is a whirlpool of motion around you and muffled shouting. Then something closes around your wrist.

The eyes! you think frantically. I have to poke out its eyes!

But the vice around your flesh has no teeth. It’s not a reptilian jaw, you realize now, but a human hand. It leads you and you obey.

When you break the surface, you cough bayou water from your throat and blink it out of your eyes. Willis is leaning over the side of the boat and stabbing at gators with his stick, shrieking at them in French. One lunges at him from the water, jaws snapping. Willis whips the pistol off his belt, aims it squarely between the creature’s eyes, and fires. The boom is deafening; the bleeding gator sinks into the water. Aegon is kneeling in the boat and offering his arms to help you climb up.

You look beside you. Aemond is barely keeping his head above water. “Go!” he orders you. “Get in the boat!”

With Aegon’s help, you heave yourself over the side and collapse to the aluminum floor, lungs aching, skull pounding, heart thudding mercilessly, soaked to the skin. Then you force yourself to your hands and knees to see where Aemond is.

“Aemond?!” Aegon is yelling. “Aemond, where are you?!”

He’s gone; you don’t see him in the water. You try to scream for him too, but the water still in your throat strangles you. Your hands close around the edge of the boat, and Willis grabs your raincoat to yank you backwards. “Other side!” says, pointing. “We’re gonna capsize, we need weight on the other side, go there!”

You scramble to the opposite end of the boat, sobbing now, still hacking up muddy water. Where’s Aemond?? Where is he??

Both Willis and Aegon are grasping for something. They’re shouting and stabbing into the water with their walking sticks. And then they’re hauling him into the boat: Aemond, blood pouring down the left side of his face, a gash by his temple, another on his forehead; something bit him or clawed him. He’s wearing only his jeans and a white tank top; he ripped off his Marlboro jacket before diving in after you. You don’t see his Adidas sneakers anywhere. They must have been kicked off in the water. His glass eye has been knocked out and lost in the muck. What’s left in its place is a void, gaping, pink; it’s difficult to look at, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. It has the visceral, gory quality of organs never meant to be seen. His fingertips go to the socket to feel for his prosthetic. When he confirms it isn’t there, he covers his face with his hands and moans.

He saved me. He jumped in after me.

You crawl to him. “Aemond—”

“No!” He pushes you away, and you see that there’s blood and ancient silt from the bayou in his empty eye socket. It will have to be cleaned out. Willis watches, astonished, bewildered. For once, he is at a loss for words.

“Aemond, please…” You’d do anything to help him. You don’t know how to help him.

He saved me.

Aegon reaches for Aemond. “Hey, hey. It’s not that bad. Hey…” He drops to his knees, presses his forehead against Aemond’s, stains himself with his brother’s blood. And when Aemond tries to pull away, Aegon doesn’t let him; he’s got his fingers tangled in Aemond’s wet hair. “Thank you for saving me. I’m always almost getting myself killed and you’re always saving me. What would I do without you, huh? None of us would be okay without you. Thank you, Aemond. You hear me? You’re not gonna get this again anytime soon, so listen up. Thank you. Thank you.”

“I’m just so—”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m like this.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’ll order a new one.”

“You know what he’s going to say.”

“Fuck him. Why do you care what he thinks? Because you think he’s the one who gets to decide what you’re worth? He isn’t. He’s not qualified.”

Aemond nods, but he doesn’t seem to be convinced. He still doesn’t look at you. He turns so the left side of his face—bloodied, eyeless—is angled towards the water and out of your view. Willis goes to the motor, starts it, and begins guiding the boat back towards the launch where he parked his Plymouth Gran Fury.

Aegon glances over at you. “You okay, cake lady?”

“Yeah.” But your voice shakes. The rest of you is shaking too; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can feel that you’re shivering in your wet clothes.

“Put it on,” Aemond says softly, and at first you don’t understand. Then you see that he’s pointing to his Marlboro jacket, left hurriedly flung on the floor of the boat. You unzip your dripping raincoat and don Aemond’s Marlboro jacket instead. It smells like him: smoke, cologne, effort, secrets.

“Thank you,” you tell him, wanting to say more. Aemond doesn’t answer. He stares into the murky water, greenish under the glare of the spotlight, and says nothing to anyone all the way back to the boat launch. Wordlessly, he helps Willis re-hitch the jon boat to the trailer. He remembers the steps. He’s a fast learner. The blood on his face is drying; his right eye won’t allow itself to look at you. The only sound on the drive to the Targaryens’ mansion is the radio of the Plymouth Gran Fury, which Willis turns up to cover the silence: In A Big Country.

At the end of the cobblestone driveway, lights are on in the vast house called The Last Desire. Everyone gets out of the car. Willis shakes a rather puzzled Aegon’s hand, then turns to Aemond, who ignores him. Willis chuckles, more curious than offended.

“So ya are the man who’s been givin’ her that satisfied look. I knew it. Yes, I knew what I saw. What’s your secret, son? Ya must really know your way around a woman if ya got her so mad about ya with a face like that. Ya look like the Rougarou got ahold of ya—”

Aemond grabs Willis by his hoodie, yanks him off his feet, jacks him up against the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. Immediately, you and Aegon are shouting and trying to break them apart.

You plead: “Aemond, don’t!”

“Aemond, he’s got a gun!” Aegon screeches.

Fortunately, Willis isn’t grappling for his pistol. He holds both palms in the air, open and empty, like he’s surrendering; but there’s still a smile on his face. Aemond doesn’t act like he’s heard anyone. He leans in close to Willis, his voice low and dark and snarling, his sole blue eye glinting. “You had so much in your filthy fucking hands and you just threw it away.” Then he slams Willis against the car one more time, tears away from him, and strides up the porch steps and into the house.

Aegon hurries after him, casting you a quick glance and a beckoning wave. It’s an invitation. You coming? Aegon mouths, and then vanishes inside.

Willis peers up at the house: stained glass windows, immense white columns. You don’t see any signs of Vhagar the Great Dane. Willis speaks calmly and without looking at you. “I think he’s in love with you, sugar.”

Improbable. Impossible. If he was, he couldn’t marry someone else. “He’s not.”

Now Willis’ eyes flick to you. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been fishin’ on that lake since as long as I can remember, day, night, sun, storms, and nothin’ on earth would have gotten me to jump into that water. Not even Heather Locklear herself.”

“Just go, Willis,” you say, exhausted, heartsick. “Thank you for what you did tonight. But please go now.”

“How ya gonna get home?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of that, I am incapable,” Willis drawls. Then he climbs into his Plymouth Gran Fury and is gone. You sprint up the porch steps in your soggy sneakers, searching for Aemond.

In the white-and-gold foyer, Viserys is just arriving. He struts across the marble floor until he is close enough to his two oldest sons to embrace them, to hit them, to extract their teeth with his knuckles. The others pour through the doorways—Alicent, Criston, Helaena, Daeron, Otto—but while they gape in horror and fascination, they don’t speak in anything more than murmurs amongst themselves. Viserys steals only a glimpse of Aegon, swift and disinterested, then examines Aemond: wet clothes, no shoes, grime and blood, dazed fury. When his cool, pale gaze reaches Aemond’s empty eye socket, Viserys flinches and looks away.

“So you lost another prosthetic,” is all he says. His face twists into a grimace. And you expect Aemond to do something, to jab back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen, he’s paralyzed. His right eye is misty. He’s biting his lips so they don’t tremble. And suddenly you hate Viserys Targaryen, you hate him more than you can imagine hating anyone. You think that you could watch his entrails unspooled from his body without feeling a thing. The Targaryen family patriarch hasn’t spoken to you; you don’t register to him at all. You might as well be an oriental vase or a house plant.

“You’re the one who did it, Viserys,” Aegon says, stepping in front of Aemond seething and sharp like a blade. “You remember that part? I do. I remember. The North Sea, 1968. I remember him trotting around after you, always so desperate to prove himself, always doing anything you asked, anything you could dream up, worshipping you like you were God. And where were you when he was getting his eye socket debrided at Moorfields Hospital? In fact, where were you when he got his hands caught in a winch when he was eleven? Where were you when he fell off a pipe deck and broke six ribs because one of your idiot employees forgot to close a safety gate and he couldn’t see it? Where were you then? Where are you now?”

Viserys scowls down at him—revolted, repelled—but he doesn’t reply. He feels no instinct to defend himself. He is unable to internalize shame; it rolls off him like raindrops.

“You’d love me so much if I was dead,” Aegon says, grinning, baring his teeth like an animal. “How sick is that? You can love bones in a box, but not someone standing right in front of you. You love Aemma, a ghost. You love Baelon, and you never even knew him. You’ve got nothing for me. That’s fine, I don’t care, I’ll be alright without you.” He points to Aemond. “But you’ve got nothing for him either, and he’s everything you always wanted. You’re disgusting, you’re broken. You belong in a box too. The part of you that was human is gone. I don’t give a fuck about what’s left.”

Aegon shoves Viserys, hard, and then storms past him. As he crosses into the kitchen, Helaena grabs for his wrist. You can hear her whisper: “What the hell happened?!”

Then Aegon remembers one last thing. He whirls around and bellows at Viserys, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceilings: “And I’m not getting my vasectomy reversed! You can’t make me! It’s bioethics! I asked the lawyer!” He stomps off and disappears, Helaena in tow.

Alicent shoots Viserys a hateful glare and then flees from the foyer, her long auburn ringlets streaming out behind her. Viserys goes in the opposite direction. Daeron and Otto share an awkward glance and then depart as well. Only you, Criston, and Aemond remain in the room, surrounded by treasures that might as well be handfuls of earth, flour, swamp water, salt.

Cautiously, Criston lays a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, on his right side where he can see it. “Aemond…”

“Don’t touch me,” Aemond says as he wrenches away. He leaves like a hurricane, like a flood, receding until there remains only wreckage and memory.

Criston sighs deeply, and then he asks you: “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t respond. You haven’t decided how to yet. You stare at the place where Aemond stood, a void like a star that died out. Do I follow him upstairs? you think.

Do I?

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond

[luci-is-a-bitch-x3x]

Random drabble: Lucifer's mother hen.

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Welcome! To this adventure! The characters may not be how you imagine! I apologize for any poor jokes, bad spelling, and terrible grammar. Idk what this is but here it is so, without further ado, please enjoy the content. ♡

CW: brothers being chaotic, Lucifer dealing with it. Sums it up pretty good, lemme know if I missed any warnings.

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Do you think for Lucifer dealing with his brothers is like dealing with a pack of wild animals?

Like Lucifer gets home after going out and buying dinner for everyone, the moment he steps into HoL he's swarmed by his brothers who proceed to rip what they want from his hands like a savage pack of hungry beasts. Mans goes from having his arms full of food to being lucky if his brothers even left what he bought for himself. And then he gets to watch them fight amongst themselves over the food, I imagine him watching with like a disgusted look on his face as his brothers fist fight over something as simple as a burger.

Before Mc, and even with Mc Lucifer is kind of like the head of the flock, the pack, whatever you want to call them all. So do you think for him, when he has to have his brothers follow him places, you think he feels like a momma duck having all the ducklings following them? Like I'm sure it's not a single file line, but his brothers especially some like Levi, Mammon or even Belphie, would be following him by the step dude. Levi, he's scared man, he's staying close to the mother hen. Mammon, he thinks Lucifer's cool as hell, he's probably trying to mimic everything about Lucifer down to each step he takes. And Belphie, Belphie's the youngest, the youngest never strays too far from the oldest. So he's got these three basically walking on him, and then he has to keep track of the other three. Beel runs away the second he smells food and gets hungry. Asmo, Asmo gets distracted and runs off to get the perfect picture for his Devilgram. And Satan? Pfft, Mans is walking away from the rest of them purely to piss Lucifer off. Lucifer is definitely the type to be like "stay with the group or I'm leaving you behind", but that's such a lie. He makes the whole group stop if even one of his brothers wanders off. He'd flip the whole Devildom upside down before he goes home without all his brothers. This man looks stressed all the time, because he is dude! He's got 6 heathens he has to look after and care for, he's not losing another sibling.

You know how some wild animals get defensive and territorial? ...you think Lucifer has to deal with that from his brothers? Like trying to go into Levi's room is like trying to enter a bear's den. Or trying to get Goldie from Mammon is like trying to fight a wolf over a bone. Trying to get food from Beel? Unimaginable you'd lose your hand. All of his brothers would have something they're like this with, Mammon it's Goldie and anything he treasures, Levi it's his room and merch, Satan it's his books and cat stuff, Asmo it's all his hygiene, make up and stuff like that, Beel it's definitely food and maybe some stuff he uses to work out, Belphie it's his pillows and stuff like that. Lucifer could simply touch one of these things and he's getting his arm chewed off by one of his brothers cause they get all psycho and savage over their stuff. Which is fair, but the war wounds Lucifer has from these moments is a little concerning.

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Thats all for now babes! Hope you enjoyed!! ♡ This is not proofread. Feel free to comment or reblog any thoughts or any add ons you have! Sorry I got really busy and couldn't write much, this is short but here this is nonetheless. More content is coming soon so Stay Tuned. Stay Safe & Stay Groovy Scooby. ♡

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⟡˙⋆Masterlist⋆˙⟡

#obey me thoughts #obey me drabble #obey me imagines #obey me fluff #obey me demon brothers #obey me brothers #om demon brothers #om brothers

[grantspectortrash]

All The Times She Tried To Tell Him

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: From being eight years old and scraping your knee, to finally saying it when your feelings just can’t be denied anymore. It takes you years to tell Steve how you really feel about him.

Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: Some angst, some fluff and a whole lot of Best Friend Steve. I’ve been so excited to write this one so I hope you enjoy! Requests are open btw <3

-

Close the door on your way out.

It was summer when Steve got his first car and, once he had passed his test, life was a dream.

He had driven to your house straight away and when you heard a car horn beeping for a minute and a half straight, you knew exactly who it was.

You had clambered into the passenger seat, a massive smile on your face, and when Steve had made a comment about only putting clean shoes into the car you had laughed.

"You're obsessed already." You joked as you strapped your seatbelt on, "Just make sure we don't crash, yeah?"

The summer sun was high in the sky and Steve’s leather seat stuck to your legs as he drove around Hawkins, showing off his car and trying to impress you by explaining all the gear changes. It had made the pair of you ecstatic, while Steve tapped against the steering wheel and drove around with a massive smile on his face, you were picturing all the adventures you could have together.

Since you were kids the pair of you had biked everywhere together. Riding to the arcade had been a weekend ritual since you were ten. A race to the outdoor pool was your summer holiday tradition and as soon as you had been old enough, biking around Hawkins late at night made you feel as though there was nothing else in the world but you and Steve, and you liked it that way.

After Steve got his car, though, life consisted of two things.

One, Steve Harrington was still your best friend, even if him getting his license made him ‘cool’ and he had begun to hang around with that Tommy and Karen and the likes of them every now and then.

And two, you were the only person who got to sit in the passenger seat. You spent that first summer doing everything you could imagine - driving to the arcade, driving to the lakes, getting lunch from a drive-thru just out of town, the sun on your face and Steve by your side.

It had been the perfect summer, and once school started again in September, Steve picked you up and dropped you home every single day without fail, rain or shine.

The passenger seat was reserved for your butt only, Steve had promised so that first day he got his car. It was an honour and you felt a swell of pride every time Steve demoted one of his other friends into the back seat.

And, to be fair to him, you did get to be passenger number one for a long time. Until, after a year and a half of having those Best Friend Privileges, Steve broke his promise.

On one particular February day, a week before Valentine’s Day, you finished your last class and headed to Steve’s car - just like you did every day. On that day though, your stride faulted as you rounded the corner, only to find a petite blonde sat on the hood of his car.

Steve stood in front of her and the pair of them were locking lips in a disgusting show of tonsil-tennis. You didn't even know someone could get their tongue down someone's throat like that. It made your stomach drop and there was a tense feeling in your throat.

You approached them cautiously, but making sure your footfall was loud enough for them to hear. The pair pulled away from each other long enough to notice you, and when the blonde tried to pull Steve back in, he stepped away. Naturally, the girl pouted and glared at you.

“Can I help you?” She asked, voice laced with annoyance.

“Hey,” Steve stepped in immediately, “This is Y/N. Shes gonna drive with us.”

You gave the girl a tight-lipped smile as she slid off of Steve’s car hood.

“Oh right.” She touched her lips, patting down the shiny skin to ensure her lip-gloss was still intact, then - with the same damn hand - she stuck her hand out for you to take it. "I'm Lindsey, Steve's girlfriend."

You took the girl's sticky, lip-glossy hand while clenching your jaw. Steve had never even mentioned Lindsey before, and you were pretty sure somebody didn't become someone's girlfriend over night.

"Right. Steve's never mentioned you." You took your hand back, not afraid to be a bit territorial. Steve shot you a look, and Lindsey made a sound of disapproval.

"I was gonna say something." There was a defensive tone in Steve's voice, his eyes flicking between you and Lindsey, "It just didn't come up in conversation."

You nodded, not looking at Steve and definitely not looking at Lindsey. There was a beat of awkward silence and you knew Steve didn't have the balls to resolve it.

"Shall we get going then?" You said, shouldering your school bag just so you have something to do with your hands.

"Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely." Lindsey spoke and you caught how she rolled her eyes before getting into the passenger seat. Seeing her there made your heart hurt, as if someone had planted a knife there and twisted, slowly and deliberately.

You got in behind her. And that ride was the worst of your life.

The entire drive Lindsey made sure you knew exactly who she was. She was Steve's girlfriend and you were just a friend, nothing more. She planted kisses on his cheek as he drove and put her hand on his thigh. She whispered sweet nothings to him at red stop lights and made him roll down her window because she was "weak" and Steve was "so much stronger". It made you want to throw up. On her, on Steve, and their shitty PDA-filled relationship.

The pair of them ignored you the entire ride, and when Steve tried to make eye contact with you in the rear view mirror, you turned away. And, to top it all off, Lindsey's perfume was beginning to make your nose itch. It was something sweet, too sweet, and it caught in the back of your throat.

You were glad when he dropped her off first, hoping it meant the pair of you could talk about what was going on, but after they snogged when she left Steve said, "I'll pick you up at seven okay? Date night."

"Date night." Lindsey grinned, then trained her eyes on you, any hint of happiness dropping from her face.

"Bye Y/N." She turned on her heel and Steve instantly drove off, without even letting you get in the front passenger seat.

"Hey, what the heck?" You lent forward so Steve could hear you.

"What?" He didn't look at you, but the annoyance was raw in his voice.

"Um, Lindsey? Me in the backseat? You broke your fucking promise, Steve."

He looked at you then, frowning, "Oh come on. You really thought I'd never get a girlfriend?"

"Its not that. It's the fact you didn't tell me. What happened to no secrets between us?" You weren't just hurting anymore, you were angry too.

"Okay so I didn't tell you. Sorry. It's not my fault you're single."

"Steve-" You couldn't think of what else to say, his words cut too deep.

After a few minutes of tense, painful silence, you tried again. You knew your house was close approaching, and your chances were getting slimmer to fix this - whatever it was.

"I don't care that you have a girlfriend. I care that you broke your promise."

Steve turned to you, "Why do you care so much? It's just a seat." His eyes moved back to the road.

"It's not just a seat. Stevie you made a promise. It's just I thought you meant it, that I'd be the only one. And I liked it. I liked that it was only for me. And I thought you did too." You didn't even hide the pain from your voice and Steve must've noticed because his voice softened, "I did. I do. It's just, you need to get over it. We're not kids anymore."

His words made the knife in your heart twist harder and you decided then and there it didn't matter how gentle his tone of voice was, his words were still sharp to you.

"You are so full of shit, Harrington. You don't get it do you? You don't see how much I care. How many years I've been by your side and all this time I have been so in-"

The car came to a screeching halt as Steve slammed on the brakes. You were outside your house.

His actions angered you more than his words, and tears made your vision swim, "You know what? Forget it. Enjoy your date with Lindsey. I don't give it a shit. Don't pick me up tomorrow."

You slammed the door as you left.

And after that you didn't see Steve for two weeks. And it hurt like hell. More than hell, actually.

You skipped school on Valentine's Day, only to hear the next day how Steve got Lindsey a pink teddy bear. As far as you can tell she didn't get him anything, other than the shit tonne of hickeys that she boasted about.

Sixteen days passed - the longest you've ever gone without seeing Steve - and it was on the Saturday morning that you heard a car horn beeping. You knew exactly who it was.

You headed out, anger fuelling your stomping feet and your heart pounding out of your chest. Steve was sat there in his car, alone. As you walked up to him he nodded towards the front passenger seat and you slung yourself into the car - a movement that was second nature to you at this point.

"Hi." Steve said tentatively, a small smile on his face. He looked good, really good, and you were annoyed that you noticed. He was wearing that jumper you liked and blue jeans, nothing out of the ordinary for Steve, but the sight of him made your heart beat faster than before.

"Hello." You replied, voice tight and keeping your emotions close to your chest. Steve eyed you, trailing his gaze from head to toe before he cleared his throat.

"So I, uh, broke up with Lindsey." Steve ruffled his hair as he waited for you to say something.

"Oh right."

"I realised how much of a dick I had been and, honestly, she was such a bitch. She said a lot of mean shit about you and I realised I couldn't let it slide, y'know? I'm really sorry Y/N."

You nodded, taking in his words. "You better be. This has been shit."

Steve sighed, “I know. I'm sorry."

Trying not to say anything that would ruin the moment, you looked over at Steve. He was already smiling at you. That sweet, gentle, familiar smile.

How could you tell him now that you loved him? You had just got him back as your best friend, and you couldn’t risk arguing with him again So, you didn’t push it. You smiled back.

"Anyway," Steve was grinning now, and he reached out to trail the line of your jaw with the pad of his thumb, "You look way better in the front seat than her. And you always will."

Don't look at me like that.

Halloween 1984. You were trick-or-treating, alone. And it's not like you wanted to go alone, it's just that Steve had unceremoniously ditched you for Nancy to go to some stupid party at Tina's place. So much for being a best friend.

You had ended up as one half of Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker, and you were beginning to feel like an idiot in your stupid costume. It was October for God's sake, and there you were - all gold and shiny and absolutely freezing your tits off. But, you know it wouldn't have mattered if Steve was with you, dressed as Luke, because Steve would've made you feel safe. He would've made you laugh and no matter what you were wearing or what time of year it was, Steve always made you feel warm.

But no. Not today. You were cold, and alone. And you didn't have the balls to actually knock on anybody's house. Wouldn't they think you're a little old for candy? Or, in that shiny gold get-up, they'd probably think you're a hooker, not a kid wanting to get treats.

You had started to think about how this Halloween was both Steve and candy free, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek. You were determined to still have a good time.

The first bit of luck you had was finding a forgotten cape left on the ground, you scooped it up and tied it around you. Now, you were a cross of a space princess and a superhero. What a look. You spent the rest of the night like that, exploring the Halloween-themed streets.

You heard Tina's party even from way down the street, music blaring and people yelling and screaming. At one point, when you had been down to the end of the cul-de-sac, you had seen Billy Hargrove shirtless, absolutely shitfaced and drinking from a keg...upside down. Jocks were weird, man.

Now, you were just taking in the scenery. Damn near every house had Halloween decorations, from fake, inflatable ghosts the size of a tree to little light-up pumpkins in people's gardens. You'd even seen a cat with little bat wings on it.

There were kids everywhere, all sporting costumes of all shapes and sizes. An E.T costume, a Scooby-Doo costume. Indiana Jones, a fairy. There were endless amounts of kids, all laughing and smiling and getting a shit tonne of candy that was no doubt going to make them sick by tomorrow morning but, you loved watching them. Halloween was one of the best holidays ever, and no matter how old you got you weren't going to change your mind, and you certainly weren't going to let Mr Steve "I'm so in love with Nancy" Harrington ruin your night.

But, after an hour or two of wandering and marvelling in the joys of Halloween, you decided to call it quits. Lucky for you that it was a quick walk home, because the darkness of the night was coming in fast.

You were about to turn down the road when you spotted two boys in Ghostbusters costumes stood by themselves and a little way off the road, and both looking utterly terrified. You recognised them both almost immediately - the perks of Hawkins being a small town.

"Hey, it's Michael right? Or Mike? You guys okay?"

The first boy's head shot up, his arm instinctively wrapping itself around the smaller boy.

"Yeah, yeah. We're fine."

His voice was shaky and the smaller boy's face was white and sweaty.

"Are you sure? I know your sister, I can go get her for you? Or Will, I could find Jonathan for you?"

"No." Mike's words cut off your own, not even allowing Will to speak, and he tried to wave you away, "Honest we're fine. Just some bad candy."

You hesitated a little, but decided to let it go. "Okay, if you're sure. But your sister's at Tina's if you need anything."

Mike hummed in agreement, and then the two boys were moving again. You decided to keep on walking - there wasn't much you could do if they insisted on not taking your help.

You were nearly five minutes from home when you saw a familiar car drive past; they were moving slow and soon enough you heard the tale-tell signs of a window being lowered.

"Hey, is this the right way to Tina's?" Jonathan Byers' head popped out from the window, his hair as messy as usual and a frown on his face. His eyes glanced over you costume, but said nothing.

"Yeah, end of the cul-de-sac. Got a bunch of drunks passed out on the grass, can't miss it." You said, then, almost as an afterthought, "Nancy's there."

You knew Steve and Nancy were official, or whatever, but it didn't take a genius to work out something was happening between the Byers boy and the Wheeler girl. Whatever it was, you had tried to warn Steve about, but he had ignored you.

"Yeah. I know. Thanks, Y/N." Jonathan nodded, then began to wind his window back up.

"Hey," You stepped closer to the car, halting him, "by the way I've just seen your brother and Mike together, they look a little shaken. I'm not sure where they went, home hopefully, but just a heads-up."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." The frown on Jonathan's face deepened, and he drove off.

Thirty minutes later you were in bed and ready to sleep.

Two hours and seven minutes later, however, you were awoken by the sound of someone banging on your bedroom window. You flung back the covers and opened the window to see Steve precariously balancing on the side of your house. He clambered in before you could say anything.

"Stevie? What the fuck?" You whispered, stumbling back as he fell into your room with a harsh thud. He stood up, and sloppily closed the window behind him. "Are you drunk?"

He turned to you then, eyes slightly red, and you could tell it wasn't just from the alcohol. He had been crying.

"She thinks it's bullshit." Steve's words were only slightly slurred, but when he wrapped his arms around you and you brought him in for a hug, you could smell the faint whiff of vodka on his breath.

"What's bullshit? Who-" You stopped mid sentence, feeling Steve's jagged breathing against your body. He was crying again. You stroked slow circles on his back.

"It's Nancy, isn't it?" You suddenly got the urge to go find that Wheeler girl and shout at her until you were blue in the face. You had known she would hurt Steve, if only he had listened. You didn't like Nancy anyway - you had been so close to building up the courage to tell Steve how you felt about him, and then BAM, Nancy Wheeler came along and changed everything.

Steve pulled away from you, "Can we get in bed?" His big, brown eyes looked at you pleadingly. They were glazed with tears that were yet to fall and he blinked hard, trying to push them away. "Please?"

He grabbed at your hands, trying to pull you to the bed. The way he was looking at you, all vulnerable and innocent, it broke your heart. He didn't deserve to be hurting. He didn't deserve to date shitty people. He deserved so much more.

"How can I say no when you're looking at me like that?" You smiled, trying to make him laugh. Instead, he just sniffled. "Come on."

You sat on the bed, pulled back the covers and got in. You scooted over, and Steve kicked off his shoes before climbing in, fully-clothed. As he turned to face you, he noticed your Leia costume discarded on the floor. He groaned.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled as he moved closer to you. You got comfy, and ended up with one hand on his face, stroking the tears away.

"It's okay," You whispered back, "It doesn't matter. There's always next year. Plus, you'd actually need to watch Star Wars to know who Luke Skywalker is."

Steve groaned back, "Maybe I am bullshit." The look on his face made you want to cry - he believed it. Everything Nancy must've said to him, he believed.

"Hey, that's Nancy Wheeler talking, not you. Stevie, what happened?"

"She said I was bullshit. That we were bullshit, me and her. That we were just pretending to be in love. That...that she didn't love me. Not really."

You didn't know what to say, so instead you wiped the tears away, brushing his cheek gently.

"Jonathan picked her up, did you know that? You were right about them I guess. I was just too stupid to see it."

You sighed, "You're not stupid. You were in love and you see what you wanna see."

Steve looked at you properly then, focusing on your face. He scanned you - taking in the way you were looking at him, bringing a hand up to where yours rested on his cheek. He took your hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

"Why can't I just find someone like you?" His voice was quiet, and he closed his eyes before pulling his hand away from yours. Those words nearly killed you.

"Well, I'm someone like me." You whispered.

Steve didn't reply, not in a full sentence anyway. He mumbled something indecipherable, then snaked an arm around you, managing to flip you over even in his drunken state. Now you were spooning, and any opportunity to talk to Steve face to face is over. So, you speak into the void.

"You deserve better Stevie. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded, and you felt the movement against your own head. You felt his breath on the back of your neck, warm and steady. His arm was thrown across your waist. And it all felt too good to be true - he wasn't here because he wanted you, he was here because he wanted someone to look after him. He was broken now, and as his best friend, you were the one who had to pick up the pieces.

"The one's out there. You'll find her soon enough. You'll find someone who loves all your silly jokes, and someone who'll want to watch you play basketball. They'll like the way you style your hair, and they'll house-sit with you when your parents are away and they won't complain once that your house is an absolute bitch to clean because it's so big."

You swallowed, getting that maple-syrup feeling in your throat.

"You'll find someone who doesn't believe you're bullshit. Someone who loves you for exactly who you are. Someone who'll sit with you when you're planning swim team exercises, and someone who knows you so well that they actually think they know you better than they know themselves. Someone like me."

The last three words came out before you could stop them, in a rushed and quiet whisper. All of those things, every single one of them, perfectly described you.

You loved Steve, you had loved him for as long as you could remember. And you were thinking all of this when it dawned on you - the way Steve was breathing, the way he wasn't saying anything. The way your heart ached because this wasn’t the first time you’d tried, and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last but -

"Damn it Steve, you're asleep aren't you?" You whispered, and you got no response.

Did you scrape your knee falling for me?

"There she is." A young girl whispered, her voice high and her pretentiousness even higher. Two other girls whispered back, and of course you had heard what they’d said.

They were mean to you. Every day.

It wasn't your fault you were the new girl, or that you hadn’t made many friends yet. It wasn’t your fault you didn't get along with the other girls, and it wasn't your fault that you were eight years old and had no ability to stand up for yourself.

You were sitting on one of the benches on the school grounds, your head in a book and your palms sweaty as you heard the girls approach.

"Hey nerd!" One of them pounced on you, grabbing you by the shoulders and squeezing them tight.

You didn't move.

"What ya reading?" Another came and sat beside you, trying to grab the book from you.

You didn't let her.

"Oh come on, don't you know sharing is caring?" The third one said, and the trio laughed.

Again, you didn't speak. And once the girl on your shoulders moved, you took your opportunity. You swung your legs out from the bench and tried to walk away, and it would have worked, if the ring leader of the bullying hadn't stuck her foot out and sent you tumbling.

You crashed to the floor and your book flew out of your hands. Tears prickled at your eyes immediately - you sat up to find your knee all bloodied, the skin broken and now peppered with asphalt and dirt.

Amongst the laugher of evil girls, you hear someone yelling. "Hey! Hey!"

You looked up, your vision watery, to see a boy from one of your classes. He was tall and seemed to have a lot of hair that stuck up in every direction. You barely knew him, but he stomped over to the girls in such an angry fashion you wondered if he was your guardian angel.

"Leave her alone!" The boy said, swiping your book from the floor and dusting it off. The girls snickered, but you didn't dare look at them. "You all have cooties, you know that? And you're all ugly. U-G-L-Y!"

The boy spoke with so much force that you just sat there in awe that somebody was actually standing up for you. This was the first time ever.

The three girls made a noise of shock and disgust and then one yelled, "Harrington, I'm telling the teacher!"

They stomped off in unison.

"Hey." A hand stuck out and you finally looked up. The boy was smiling down at you, sympathy riddled in his kind eyes. You thought about how pretty his smile was. "You okay?"

You took his hand and stood up, trying to not put pressure on the leg you'd scraped. "Yeah. Thanks."

Once you'd stood, the boy was still holding your hand. He noticed, and shook it in greeting.

"I'm sorry about those girls, they're assholes." That was the first time you'd heard another kid use a swear word, and you giggled. "I'm Steve Harrington, by the way."

He let go of your hand, and you instantly thought about how much you missed it. "I'm Y/N."

Steve handed you your book back, and after that you couldn't stop thinking about him.

You fell on Friday, and by Monday you had scraped together enough of your pocket money to buy him a chocolate bar - the first time you ever tried to show him how much you loved him.

After that, the two of you were inseparable and while the wound on your knee scabbed over and healed, your love only grew and grew like a never-ending wound that would never, ever, heal.

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

The summer of '85 changed your life.

It was the summer you got your first job, working approximately ten metres away from Steve at the Burger King while he slung ice cream at Scoops Ahoy. It was the summer you met Robin - a girl who suddenly ended up being by your side as often as Steve was. It was the summer you dreamed of, until it wasn't.

Because although it was the summer of blazing heat, pretty sunsets and driving to the mall, it was also the summer you learnt how to sew skin back together. It was the summer you learnt what evil truly was. It was the summer that changed your life.

Before that summer the scariest thing you had ever witnessed was The Wizard of Oz, a movie you had watched as a kid and somehow the creepy horror of it all had left an impression on you. And throughout the rest of your life you had never come close to anything as scary as the Tin-Man.

That was until one day, on your day off, you came to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy. And he wasn't there.

Scoops Ahoy was closed - a messy handwritten note saying "Be Back Soon!" in Robin's scribbly handwriting. You frowned, spinning three-sixty on the spot to look at the second level, trying to find any sign that indicated Steve was in the building.

And then you saw him - not Steve, but Dustin. And where Dustin went, Steve followed.

You bounded your way to the escalator, taking two at a time and soon you were hurrying off after the curly haired boy.

"Henderson!" You yelled, waving your hand out so that when he turned he'd spot you. And he did, and he looked panicked. His face was a sheet of fear, his feet shifting as he stopped as if he was ready to bolt already.

"Have you seen him?" Dustin's voice was just as panicked as his face, and a certain dread started to settle in your stomach.

"No, why?" You asked, suddenly feeling on high-alert, "What's going on?"

Dustin didn't have time to answer because Lucas Sinclair's sister was sprinting towards the pair of you, skidding to a stop. She had a My Little Pony backpack on and a bike helmet on her head with flashlights strapped to it.

"I can't find them." The young girl was out of breath, her voice equally as worried as Dustin’s.

It took her a few seconds to notice your presence and then her eyes were flicking between you and Dustin, waiting for either one of you to say something.

It made the hole in your stomach grow, the anxiety and unknowing-ness of it all was starting to make you feel more than uncomfortable. "Excuse my French but what the fuck is going on?"

Dustin ran his hand over his face, "He's not told you, has he?" His voice was a mix of pity and frustration, one you couldn’t quite work out why.

"Told me what? Look, is Steve okay?" You knew though, somewhere in the back of your mind, that he wasn't. And it made you feel sick.

"We have to find him. And Robin. Please. They're in danger." Dustin grabbed at your arm, pulling you along. "You have to believe me."

The three of you were walking at a fast pace then, beginning to look out for the Scoops Troop duo. Dustin finally let go of your arm as you turned to him, "I believe you. But if we need to find them, save them from whatever danger they're in, then let's split up. Cover more ground."

"Good thinking." Erica said beside you, and if you weren't feeling so sick you would've been impressed that her small ten-year-old legs could keep up with your impossibly fast strides.

So, the three of you split. And seeing Dustin's worried eagerness, you picked up your pace. You were practically running laps of the mall, trying to find Steve and Robin. Below you, Dustin was yelling their names but it was lost in the constant hum of noise that came from a mall being full with kids enjoying their summer.

On your third lap you heard the unmistakable sound of a girl crying in the girl's bathroom. You flung the door open to see a sight that made your heart stop.

Steve was on the floor, his face bloodied and already bruised, and Robin was over him, shaking him and calling his name.

You were by his side before you could even register it, pushing past Robin to get to him. The girl wasn't injured in any way, but there was a glassy look behind her tear filled eyes.

"Y/N, oh thank God!" Robin spoke and you locked eyes with her briefly. Your could see your own reflection in her eyes - profusely sweaty and the perfect picture of pure panic.

"What happened?" You barked out, taking Steve's head into your lap and cradling it gently. He was hardly responsive.

"Drugs. Russians. They- they tortured him. He was fine a minute ago, we were talking. Laughing. I told him-" She stopped short, wincing.

Russians? You wondered if you had misheard her, then you tried to shake Steve the way she had. Still, nothing. He was breathing, at least.

"Go find Dustin. Get ice packs, aspirin, a medic. Fucking anything. Anyone." You couldn't think straight. You never were good in a time of crisis.

Robin stumbled to her feet, her Scoops Ahoy outfit dirty and slightly bloody. "Okay. Okay."

Then she was gone.

You looked down at Steve, taking in how bad it was for the first time. His left eye was already bruised and swollen, with dried blood smeared across the skin there. He had a split lip, his chin also covered in dried blood, and a worrisome puncture hole marked his neck.

"Oh Stevie, what the fuck have you got yourself into?" You whispered, not realising you were already crying. Already absolutely sobbing your heart out because who would do this? Who could hurt him like this? Your heart was breaking at the sight of him, hoping for Robin's return.

You reached your hand up to the sink, trying to keep still enough for Steve. You wet your hand and brought it down to his face, trying to wipe away the blood.

"Can you hear me, Stevie?" You spoke as you ran your thumb over his cheekbone, trying to get rid of the worst of it. There was a mumble of a response, barely there.

"Please stay with me. I need you." There was a painful desperation in your voice, one that hurt deep inside. "Stay alive, okay? I need you to stay alive, because I can't do this without you."

Your voice was breaking and cracking as you spoke and your fingertips dug into Steve's shoulders, hopelessly shaking him. His eyes flickered open and shut again, and you thought maybe you were getting through to him. Maybe.

"Steve I love you, okay? Do you hear me? I need you because I love you so please just wake up!"

After your confession, the rest of the night was a blur. A horrible, painful blur that you would never be able to forget, no matter how hard you tried.

Robin came back with Dustin and Erica, sporting handfuls of medicine, bandages and a stolen first aid box from JC Penney's. Erica held girls at bay, one's who were desperate for a wee but not desperate enough to mess with one menacing ten-year-old.

Steve woke, eventually, after tender care. Apparently whatever serum they had given him had worse effects than the one Robin experienced. Whoever they were.

Then, sat on that bathroom floor, Dustin told you everything, and you believed every word. And hours later you experienced the very world he had explained.

Steve was at your side all night, mainly because you were petrified of losing him. You were ready to fight along side the kids, with fireworks and broken pieces of glass and anything you could get your hands on.

You met El in the worst way possible, by sewing up her knee after she expelled a piece of the Mind Flayer from her body - you didn't how how she survived the pain. You had been ready to pass out at the first instant.

When Billy died, and the Mind Flayer died, you had watched Max scream. You had held Steve's hand tight. You were bloody and bruised and you weren't even sure if it was your blood on your body. You had held Will, not sure what comfort you could give such a traumatised child.

Then it was over.

And a week later, the summer of '85 - the summer that changed your life - was over.

You were in bed, Steve at your side. You hadn't talked about it yet, but the fact he had slept in your bed every night since the battle of Starcourt Mall, you could guess how he felt. And you certainly hadn't spoken about your confession - or whether he had heard it or not.

At least his bruises had faded. But one thing that hadn't faded were the memories.

Your nightmares were bad, but Steve's were worse. You would wake in the middle of the night to him screaming, his hand tightly gripped to your arm as he woke and figured out where he was. You would soothe him, trying to figure out how to put him back together when you were falling apart yourself.

And on this particular night, Steve revealed to you how bad his nightmares really were.

"I don't want to sleep." He whispered, a tinge of pain in his voice. The both of you were tired, barely sleeping a few hours each night before realising that being awake was better than the hell that awaited you when you closed your eyes.

"Me too." You whispered back.

There was a stretch of silence, one that left so many things unspoken, yet both of you knew exactly what the other was thinking. Why torment yourselves again by speaking about it?

"I'm glad you're alive." You said without filter, turning to look at Steve in the dark. He looked at you then, and found your hand with his own under the covers. His fingers interlocked with yours and he squeezed, once.

"I'm glad you're alive too." Steve didn’t let go of your hand, and you were grateful for it. In that past week the pair of you had been inseparable in ways you hadn't before - holding hands after you switched the bedroom light off. Cuddling each other as you tried to drift off to sleep. Staying with each other as you showered, taking turns to face the other way but never leaving, just in case.

Steve moved his body to fully turn to you, moving your hands so they were pressed against his chest.

“I can't believe you're the one that found me." He took a deep breath, recalling the memory. "I remember seeing you, it's hazy but it's there. I knew you were there."

"Oh." Your voice was small. "I wasn't sure how much you remembered-"

Steve interjected, "I remember you."

You waited for him to say more. He didn't. "Do you remember anything I said? Do you have any memories of that moment?"

In the dark, Steve shook his head, "No. It's fuzzy. It's almost like I could hear you talking, but couldn't hear the words. Why? Was it important?"

You stuttered in that moment, questioning everything you'd ever known about your friendship with Steve. You weren't sure what to say, your mind was empty, but the words found your tongue before you could register them.

"No, nothing important." The lie seemed obvious, like a blinding light in the darkness. Yet, Steve didn’t question it. And you never mentioned it. Life went on.

How could I have been so stupid?

By the Christmas of '85 you had a new job, as did Robin and Steve. Family Video wasn't the best place to make a buck, but it was enough. And the three of you were together, so how could you complain?

Yet, internally, that was all you did.

You spent months and months by Steve's side, stacking tapes and selling videos, convincing yourself everyday that you didn't watch him. You didn't stare as he chatted with customers. You didn't watch how his muscles flexed or how his hair parted or how he straightened his nametag. You tried to convince yourself that you didn't love him - but you did.

And how many years had it been?

Five, maybe a few more? Maybe a fucking decade?

And so what? You hadn't told him. Or at least, you hadn't been able to tell him fully. There were times, of course, where you had been close. A few times where you had said it outright, only for it to be taken as a joke or he hadn't even been conscious to hear it. And Steve, oh wonderful Steve, had been ignorant to it all.

Which wouldn't have been an issue, apart from the fact there was one person who wasn't ignorant to it at all.

"So tell me," Robin appeared beside you out of nowhere, nearly making you drop the Christmas movies that were in your hand. "What we looking at?"

You shot her a look, straightening the stack of videos in your hands. "Nothing."

She took a few from you, slotting them into the gaps on the shelves. "Well it looked to me like you were staring at Harrington, again."

"Robin," you groaned, putting out the remaining videos, "will you please drop it?"

Steve was at the other end of the store, but that didn't stop you from dropping your voice slightly. Robin shrugged her shoulders at you.

"All I'm saying is I'm sick and tired of you watching him with your little puppy dog eyes."

You barged past her playfully to get to a cart that had more videos stacked in piles. "And all I'm saying is that he obviously doesn't feel the same, so there's no point."

"That's bull." She looked at you with raised eyebrows, a look that seemed to suggest 'just watch this'.

She shouted for Steve then, beckoning him over. You stared at her, dumbfounded.

You hissed under your breath, "What are you doing?"

Robin didn’t answer because Steve had reached you, slinging one hand on his hip as he stopped.

"What's up ladies?" His eyebrow quirked up, his eyes meeting yours to give you a small smile.

You didn't know what to say, didn't know what Robin was about to do.

"Y/N's going on a date tonight."

Steve's smile was instantly replaced by a frown. A deep one. "With who?"

He looked at you, the displeasure evident on his face. You shook your head, coming up blank.

"Matt Bradbury, remember him? Used to be on the football team." Robin spoke for you, her smile wide and her eyes alive with joy. You wondered if punching her in the face would be in bad taste.

"You've got to be kidding." Steve was pouting now, and his other hand came up to his hip in a disapproving pose. "That asshole?"

His eyes were on you, trying to scan your face. You were aware of how bright red you had turned, not sure whether you hated or enjoyed this whole thing. You wanted to end it, save yourself from the embarrassment Robin was causing. But there was one thing that was obvious: Steve was jealous.

It was riddled in his face, the way he was stood, the way his eyes flickered from yours to Robin's, the way his lips were turned. Everything about it stunk of jealousy.

And it made you question everything. When was the last time Steve went on a date? When was the last time he didn't open the car door for you? When did the two of you start going for dinner, claiming it was totally platonic?

Your palms were sweaty and your heart felt as though it was beating out of your chest. A faint flicker of a smile began to tug at your lips. Steve noticed.

"What? Why are you smiling like that?" He asked. It was only then that he clocked how Robin was smiling at him - the way she looked so defiant, like she had won a game he didn't know he was playing. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

"What's going on?" Steve was heating up now, the tops of his ears tinging slightly red. He was wiping his palms on the sides of his jeans.

Robin almost laughed, "I'll leave you to it."

She left then, with you and Steve stood there like total idiots. Idiots in love, apparently.

"I'm not really going on a date." You said, feeling like your words were breaking the ice.

"Oh, right." Steve was looking at you, all frown and pouted lip. "Then why did she-?"

"I think she wanted to prove something. To me, at least." You basically cut him off, wanting to get your words out as quickly as possible.

You looked up at him, taking in the sight of his brown eyes. The very same eyes you'd been in love with for years. You could smell him, the mixture of sandalwood and orange and, always, something minty. Something so Steve.

"How long have you loved me?" The question was bold, the words unbelievably confident even to you. And if he rejected you, if he said he never loved you, then fine - at least you'd know now.

But he didn't protest. He didn't throw up at the thought. Instead he blushed deeply, his mouth hanging open and moving as if he wanted to say something but just couldn't.

So, you stepped back in, "It's just I think I have loved you for the best part of ten years now and I need to know if you feel the same. After all this time, after all the times I've tried. Might as well rip it off like a band-aid, get it over with and-"

"Shut up." Steve cleared the distance between you to the point where the tips of his Nikes meet your Converse. He placed one hand on the side of your face, his thumb tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "Just shut up. Because there's no way I'm letting you say that you've been in love with me that long, just as long as I've been in love with you."

Steve swallowed hard. His mouth was inches from yours, "I'll admit it took me longer than most to realise it, and I'm sorry. But let me make it up to you."

He dipped his head, rosy lips coming down to meet yours. His nose pressed against your cheek as if it had always belonged there. His hands settled on your waist, holing you in place, as if you were going to go anywhere. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

You could hear Robin clapping her hands and you took your hand away from Steve long enough to flip her the bird.

When the pair of you pulled away, you were both grinning ecstatically.

"Fucking idiots," Robin laughed, "After all the times she's tried to tell you. Took you long enough."

-

taglist: @carpediem1219 @i-will-duckyou-up

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic

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*waves arms* I HAVE IDEAS for future Loki things. I briefly thought about writing some fics but lmao I've got enough stuff to write already.

(In the spirit of the MCU taking things from the comics and taming them down) We see Kid Loki from the Void wandering the new branches of Yggdrasil. He is not sure what has happened, and he doesn't know why he has this affinity for walking between the worlds (nice that Loki's Tree could be the reason every Loki is able to walk the "hidden paths"), but he does have The Wanderlust and he is also homeless. His alligator friend has found a magic pond, he Does Not want to return to the Void, his native timeline has been pruned for what, centuries? He's all alone. He has thought about finding a timeline with no Loki but the thought of trying to add himself into a Kid Thor's life makes him feel weird because Unresolved Issues. And then the magpie comes, first in his dreams, then out of them. The magpie talks, and is a trickster, and the Kid calls it Ikol. The magpie tells him they have to retrieve the flaming sword from wherever it was left (hmmm how does Ikol know where it is?)–first adventure–then rescue a lonely Loki, the one that would become Classic Loki after hiding in the asteroid after Infinity War–second adventure, or perhaps the last one, because hey if Thor really had to be stuck with a child, it could have been Kid Loki–and whoa there's so many adventures to be had. If some people ever figured out a Loki can power the whole fucking universe, a smaller one would be a smaller battery but an easier one to get. Ravonna Renslayer could pop up again. Kang, of course. Isn't the MCU gathering Young Avengers? Kid Loki's in the playing field, hooray, can't wait for the bad handling, hooray... wouldn't it be awesome if the "big bad" of the new phases was actually The Loki Who Sits In A Tree Of Time and the TVA trying to stop everyone from causing multidimensional wars, of course it's from the pov of those trying to travel through dimensions so they're not aware it's dangerous and those trying to stop them look evil until the whole picture is revealed to them.

Anyway, on-screen it would've been an easy guess because it would've been voiced by Tom Hiddleston, but Ikol the magpie is in fact the Loki that sits in the Tree, and projects outside of it (didn't Tom Hiddleston say it would be "unwise" to consider Loki's journey done?) to not be lonely and to watch out for the child he'd met. Like in the comics, only the Kid can see him.

The cameos Stan Lee used to do could be Mobius hanging around occasionally talking "to himself" if you know what I mean. I want him randomly dropping by in every single new movie, occasionally together with B15, Casey, Brad Wolfe, Ouroboros or someone else from the TVA.

(The fic title would've been The Kid, The Magpie and The Flaming Sword 👀)

#loki #mcu loki #loki series #marvel things

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Blackwood Ch. 4

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!Blackwood!Reader

Summary:  (Y/N) ‘Finch’ Blackwood had grown up her whole life without knowing the true identity of her father. She had always thought herself to be content without knowing who he was, but when her work crosses paths with his own, they both face challenges in trying to figure themselves out. Meanwhile, she doesn’t know that her childhood best friend has made his own way through the Navy, and will be joining them on their adventures.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst directed toward a parent, some cursing

A/N: Here is chapter 4! I appreciate y’alls patience with me getting this out, this semester has been busy so far but I’ve found some spare time to get some writing in. (Ghost) Riders in the Sky is on hiatus for the time being - I am trying to figure out how I want to continue with it and I may change the way I write it.

HUGE THANK YOU TO @callsignthirsty for beta'ing this and giving me suggestions on my writing, I can't express how amazing they are!

As always, please let me know what you think, and happy reading!

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Masterlist

The first thing Finch does the next day is invite her mom out to visit her. She knows her mom is acting weird for a reason, and won’t tell her anything over the phone. So Finch oh so kindly offers to fly her out and pay for her to stay for the weekend, since she would be off anyways. 

Charlie was extremely hesitant at the offer. She knows her daughter, which means she knows that she is up to something. She just isn’t exactly sure what that is. After thinking it over, Charlie gives into her daughter’s pleas. The truth will come out eventually, she knows, and it might as well come from her. God forbid Pete finds out and tells her first. No. It would be much better, Charlie knew, if she told Finch first.

Sitting at the edge of her bed, Charlie holds the framed photo in her hand, a finger gently running through the dust that lines the glass. She remembers the day relatively well, she doesn’t think she could forget even if she tried. It was the day that Maverick told her he was staying at Top Gun to be an instructor. They celebrated in the best way they knew: going to the club, returning to her place, then drunkenly stumbling through the doorway. 

He told her that night that he loved her, and she believed him in his intoxicated state. She had been a believer in the quote ‘drunk words are sober thoughts.’ He made love to her. Practically worshiped her. Made her feel like they could stay like that forever and the world would be better for it, like they could take on the world as long as they were together. It was truly unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

It would all come crashing down two months later..

Maverick quit instructing and took an assignment to somewhere out of the country weeks later. He avoided telling her until he was just three weeks out from his deployment. He said that it was for the best — calling things off in an attempt to preserve her feelings in case he didn’t come back alive. 

Flabbergast, Charlie had sent him out of her home immediately. She wasn’t exactly sure how she should feel about it all as she piled all of his stuff into a garbage bag and left it on her porch. She just felt numb. She knew that Maverick was an adrenaline chaser, but not to this extent.

And here she was, just over thirty years later, going to visit their daughter at the place where it all started. He would be there, doing who knows what. She hoped that since it was the weekend that they wouldn’t run into him, and that everything would be fine. But things never went according to plan with Maverick. At least, not on the ground.

She slides the picture back into the box that had been hidden under her bed for years, sighing deeply before returning to packing her bags. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finch is on a mission when her mother arrives at the airport Friday evening toting a single suitcase and a handbag. She’s wearing a comfortable pair of leggings and a thin sweater. She wasn’t exactly sure how her mom wasn’t overheating in the dry California heat, but she didn’t question it. 

Taking the suitcase from her, Finch guides her to the front of the airport where their Uber awaited them. While they had hugged in greeting back near Arrivals, they hadn’t shared anything more than pleasantries. Finch knows exactly what she wants to talk to her mother about, but with a quick look at their Uber driver, doesn’t want to do it in the company of a stranger. 

The ride to Charlie’s hotel takes longer than they expect, but that’s just how the traffic in the area is. No one gets anywhere on time. After checking in, Finch might as well have pushed Charlie into the room, closing the door behind her and flipping the lock.

Charlie barely has time to set her things down before Finch assaults her with questions.

“So, now that I’ve got you here in person, do you want to explain to me what the fuck went on between you and my coworker?” she demands, arms crossed over her chest, glaring daggers at her mother. 

Charlie sits precariously on the desk chair provided and sighs at her daughter’s question. She knows the weight the answer carries and figured this is what would happen.

“Honey, can I at least get settled in?” She asks in return, leaning against the back of the chair. Frankly, Charlie’s exhausted from hauling the truth across the country with her. But she can tell that Finch isn’t putting up with any of her stalling, and she will likely draw the answer out of her any way she can sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, if you want to keep dodging my questions and avoiding me for the rest of the night,” Finch sasses. “I brought you out here to spend time with me, first and foremost, but you know the other reason why I brought you out here as well. You can’t avoid me forever, and I will find out one way or another.” The ‘even if you don’t particularly like my means’ part goes unsaid.

“Maverick is a good guy. Kind of stuck in his head, yeah, but he means well and he’s a damn good pilot,” Finch explains while Charlie goes silent and begins to unpack her bag. “I find it both interesting and funny that any mention of him silences you almost completely.” When Charlie’s shoulders visibly tense, Finch knows she’s got her mom right where she wants her. “Look, I know it’s hard for you to talk about the past, and I understand, I really do, but whatever whatever this is… whatever you’re hiding from me isn’t helping my situation at work, my relationship with him, or protecting me,” Finch confesses as she takes a seat on the bed far enough away from Charlie that they both have room to breathe. 

Charlie gives her statement a thought, her eyes dredging over Finch’s facial features as she looks over her shoulder. She looked so much like him; it was a wonder she hadn’t connected the dots already. Sighing heavily again, Charlie decides it’s time to stop avoiding the subject and be direct.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Charlie knows she has to blurt it out or else she’s going to take too long to say it and begin to overthink her decisions. 

“Maverick is your father.” 

She says it simply. There’s almost no emotion in her voice. Her eyes are stuck on the floor, the ugly carpet more interesting that the topic of conversation. She doesn’t dare to look at Finch’s face in fear of her reaction.  

The air of the tension in the rooms changes.  Finch can’t believe what she’s hearing. She can’t be serious. Finch knew that her biological father was out there somewhere, but she didn’t think that he was literally right under her nose. 

This definitely isn’t how Finch expected this visit to go. She doesn’t even know what to say. She was just thinking that her mom and Maverick had some sort of short fling, but apparently, she was the result of said fling. Finch wanted nothing more than to run out of the room and scream. This could not be happening.

Charlie finally wills herself to look at her daughter. There’s a tapestry of emotions strewn across her face, but none that can easily be read. Her heart shatters at the notion that her daughter might not even want to know who her father was, but here she was, revealing the truth after thirty some-odd years. 

Finch falls back onto the mattress and heaves with exhaustion. She can hear her mom get up from the desk chair, making her way over to the bed. The mattress dips with Charlie’s weight, her hand reaching out to grasp Finch’s.

“Honey,” Charlie starts, still avoiding looking directly at her daughter. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you deserved to know. There was no other way for me to get it out.”

Sitting up, Finch looks over at her mom and takes in her features. While she’s still in shock from the news about Maverick — her father — she also wants to remember this rare moment of vulnerability from her mom. Her head finds its way onto Charlie’s shoulder, and Finch takes a deep breath, relaxing at the subtle vanilla of her mom's perfume.

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” she asks, leaning further into her.

It takes her mom what feels like forever to answer her, but Finch knows she’s trying her best to be honest with her. “What I had with Maverick…it was something special to me. It was wrong, considering I was basically one of his instructors, but he was so good to me.

“He was great — thoughtful, a little lost in life, but otherwise unstoppably motivated. I don’t think he ever knew exactly what he wanted in life other than his wings. If he could spend every second of every day flying, he would. It’s going to be the death of him one of these days.”

Finch moves to meet her mother’s gaze again, intrigued by her story, and finds her smiling fondly.

“He lost his RIO, though,” Charlie’s smile drops. “I think that really changed his perspective on everything. His job, his career, us. When Goose died, Maverick was flying the plane. He couldn’t have done anything to prevent it, but Goose hit his head on the canopy when they ejected. He was dead before he hit the water.”

Finch goes rigid. She hasn’t lost anybody at work, hopes she never does, but knows that it couldn’t have been easy on Maverick to go through that. “That must have been hard for him,” Finch mumbles, unsure of exactly what to say, “losing his RIO like that.” 

“They were more than that,” Charlie shakes her head with a sad half-smile. “They were best friends, inseparable, and Goose loved flying with him.” Finches heart breaks a little bit hearing that.  She wonders if Maverick ever got over the loss, or if a bit of him died with Goose all those years ago. “He left behind a wife and son who I stayed in contact with after everything. You may not remember them, but they came over a few times when you were younger. After he graduated Top Gun and finished the assignment he was given, he decided to be an instructor. I was so proud of him, and so happy. We hadn’t exactly been exclusive, but at the same time hadn’t been seeing anybody else.”

“Too much information,” Finch joked to try and ease some of the tension, but she felt as though she was on the edge of her seat. 

“To make this already long story short, it was blissful for two months while he instructed, but I guess he just wanted something different. He quit and left me three weeks before he deployed somewhere on the other side of the globe. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until a few weeks after that.”

Finch could infer the rest of the story from there. Her mom must have moved away from San Diego shortly after Maverick left. They had lived in Virginia for the first ten years of her life and then moved wherever Charlie’s job had taken them until they settled in the Northeast when Finch was a sophomore in high school. Charlie rubbed her daughter’s shoulder lovingly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. 

The moment was interrupted by Finch’s phone ringing loudly, startling both women. 

Finch reached into her pocket to retrieve the device. She pressed her thumb down on the answer button, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Finch? It’s Rooster.”

Her breath catches. This weekend just keeps getting better and better.

Grinding her teeth, she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Rooster, hey. How did you even get my number?” 

“Phoenix. Heard you two were pretty close.”

A moment of silence passes before Finch says anything. “Yeah, we are,” she confirms with a sigh. “Anyways, what’s up? I’m a little busy.”

She can hear shuffling from his end for a moment before he answers. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I think we need to talk about what happened the other day. If now’s not a good time, then we can schedule something. I just don’t want to talk about it in front of the others, you know.” 

“Yeah, uh, I guess that’s fine with me.” Finches eyes flick to her mom. “How about tomorrow night? I’ve got some things going on right now, but I can meet you at the Hard Deck at, like, seven-ish,” she tells him.

Rooster hesitates, unsure of his answer for a moment. “Sounds great, first rounds on me. I’ll see you then.” 

“Cool. I’ll be seeing you,” she says and hangs up. 

Charlie pulls away from Finch, glancing over at her. Finch set her phone down on the nightstand, her head falling into her outstretched hands. A soft groan leaves her lips as she rubs her face.

“Who was that, honey?” Charlie inquires.

“Do you remember when we first moved out of Virginia, out to…I can’t remember where it was. But anyway, we moved, and your friend came to help us move and brought her son?” Finch asks, trying to clarify things for both her and Charlie, but her memory is so spotty she isn’t sure her mom will be know what she’s referring to.

“Goose’s family. Carole and Bradley,” Charlie answers, memories flashing through her mind. “Poor Bradley’s had to deal with more loss than anyone his age should. I heard cancer took his mom a while back. She was a fantastic woman.” 

Finch grimaces, making a mental note to try and avoid asking Bradley too much information about his mom when she saw him the next night. “Well, I think her son is an aviator on this mission, but as you know, my memory doesn’t serve me too well. I think he’s Bradley, but we all call him Rooster. We were exchanging stories yesterday about how we got our callsigns, and his just…the story made so much sense. I can barely recall the memory he shared, but him saying it all, it came back to me, then.”

Charlie feels like she should be wrought with emotion, but holds herself up for her daughter, knowing that she’s going through far more than she could have ever imagined right now. “Well, honey, I think you need to talk with him about it when you see him tomorrow. It’ll be nice to see an old friend and catch up.”

Finch nods, licking her lips. Her head is racing with all kinds of thoughts now, and she’s not entirely sure she’s ready to face anything. But she knows she’ll have to work with Maverick on Monday, and tomorrow she’s meeting up with Rooster, which is arguably going to be much easier than facing the man who she now knows to be her biological father.

Chapter 5

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[koraesrambles]

GREAT READING ADVENTURE PART 1 (CW: pictures from the Sandman comics may be disturbing to some)

I started with the Sandman, by Neil Gaiman. A legend in comic spheres, and one that I'd been wanting to read for a while.

I found 10 volumes at my local library and have made my way through two of them so far. First off, as a horror book DAMN. DAAAAAAAAAAAAMN these books do not pull punches. They come at you like a gut punch and just keep going. I like to describe myself as someone who enjoys "horror lite" I love monsters, I love angst and crazy situations and some messed up stuff, but I'm kind of a baby about it. Things like Supernatural, Gravity Falls (It's kid friendly, but there's blood!), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, that's my jam (wow, that list makes me feel about 5 years old, but whatever! I like what I like!). The Sandman Is Not That.

The Writing

Don't get me wrong, it is beautiful in every way, but it's also a lot for a wussy like myself. I'm enthralled, captivated, unable to look away, but there have been multiple times where I've needed to close my eyes for a second and remind myself that this is a comic book, and the world isn't necessarily this dark all the time. I'm pretty triggered by children in danger/getting hurt/dying and these books don't shy away from that. But they're also just . . . so beautiful.

The writing is annoyingly amazing. I expected nothing less, it is Neil Gaiman, but sometimes as a writer you look at other people's writing and just sit back in awe. I wish I could write something like this. Or, if not exactly like this, something as beautiful and poignant as this. The story flows so beautifully. Every scene perfectly blending in with the next. Every word feels like it has a point, which makes you want to pay attention to everything to make sure you're not missing anything.

Writing is my main background, but comic writing is so different from prose. This is what I struggled with the most while drafting up OUTCAST ODYSSEY, how do I get everything across that I need to when I can't just write it all out? How do I pace it when telling a story with pictures vs words feels so different? But Neil does this so well. It felt lyrical, and I could see his influence on every single page. The art was done by someone else, but the ideas, the imagry, the way the story flows from one idea to the next, is all a result of absolutely phenomenal writing.

It reminded me to trust readers to read between the lines. It's difficult to find the line between "subtlty" and "confusing" and I am often guilty of feeling like I need to spell things out to my readers so that they won't miss anything, but more often then not that just slows down the plot and makes the whole experience clunky. You don't want to go too far in the other direction either, but Neil knew who his audience was and trusted them to at least give things a second glance. I was worried at the beginning that I'd be too dumb to figure out what he was hinting at, but he was able to patiently feed me the information without me getting frustrated or lost.

It's a skill that comes with experience and practice, but I feel like this story really really shines at it. I found myself studying the way he handled exposition and wanting to emulate it in my own work.

The Art

The art is also stunning. It's not "cute" art. It's not something that I would want to hang up in my house or look at for hours. It's amazing from a skill standpoint (which is easy for me to tell just due to my own extremely obvious shortcomings) but it's not concerned with everyone looking like hollywood movie stars.

Which . . . I mean, that's definitely a feature, not a bug. This story is not supposed to be cute, and a cutsy art style would absolutely ruin the atmosphere. It is rough and full of sharp points. it doesn't shy away from nudity or gore. The characters are not attractive, these are not anime stars, but they are compelling, and distinct enough that I was able to easily tell who everyone is, which is more often then not extremely difficult for me (i think I may be a bit face-blind).

The art adds to the horror of everything. Even when things are supposed to be calm, or sexy, or whatever, there's an edge of panic and unease to it. Part of that is the reader knowing that there's more going on behind the scenes then the character knows, but it's also the style. The heavy black shadows, the hard lines, the emphasis on some details while the obscuring of others, it all combines to perfectly compliment the writing. It's not a pleasure to look at, but that's absolutely the point. It's also extremely difficult to look away FROM. How can something simultaneously look jarring, eerie, and unpolished, while also whispering "Yes. This is beautiful art. Look at it. Bask in it."?

I'm a newbie artist. It's way beyond my skillset to even begin to figure out how they were able to accomplish this. But someday I hope I figure out the secret.

The art perfectly compliments the writing, and the two work together to tell the story. I remember feeling a little annoyed on the artists' behalf that the Sandman is always known as "Neil Gaiman's" when the art side of comics is so incredibly important. The art sets the tone and compliments the words. It helps with reading between the lines and helping us know how seriously we should be taking the words.

Characters

All of the characters are great! Except the ones I already knew. I'm not saying they were bad, just bland compared to everyone else. Constantine, the Justice League, every cameo that came up and I was excited for felt . . . not quite out of place, but not quite seamless either. I was most excited for Constantine, and he was fine, but I probably have enjoyed him more in every other comic I've ever seen him in. I know they were all included just to try and sell the first few issues of a new story, and I respect that (the amount of comics that I've read just because my favorite character showed up for a few panels is . . *cough* embarrassing), but I was kind of bummed by how little conflict they added to the story.

Constantine immediately agrees to help Morpheus (which, okay, he can see how powerful Morpheus is and doesn't want to get on his bad side, totally in character. But I like Constantine best when he's being a bit of a dickhead), when I was really expecting a bit of tension or at least antagonism between them. We briefly see Etrigan but he is so quickly outshined by Lucifer that I nearly forgot about him, Scarecrow shows up but I didn't really feel like he added much besides a familiar face, we see Scott Free (who I know very little about) and J'onn (whose reaction to Dream was probably the most interesting) but all they do is immediately tell Morpheus where he needs to go. Why were they so quick to be okay with this obviously terrifying powerful force just grabbing stuff? I guess I understand why J'onn was okay with it, since he knew who Morpheus was, but it still felt weird that there wasn't even a single moment of hesitation or resistance. They basically served as a plot GPS.

Again, there's nothing wrong with any of them, they just didn't feel as vibrant as all of the other characters we were introduced to. Even the woman who gave Dr. Destiny/Dr Dee a ride was more vivid and felt more real and purposeful than the cameos did. At least to me.

The original characters (or at least everyone I didn't recognize. Was Dr. Dee a Gaiman original or had he shown up previously? Cuz he was very much A tier villain for me,) were all amazing and vivid and lively. I cared about them way faster than I normally do, especially at the very beginning of a story. The cameos felt exactly like what they were: Cameos to sell the book.

Final Thoughts

This book is, objectively, better than anything I will ever create. And that's not even a diss on myself, it's just objective fact on the quality of this piece. I learned a lot looking through it, trying to figure out what Gaiman did that worked vs didn't. The lyricism vs crassness of the writing, the way the art complimented the dialogue, how the panels flowed and where it was easy for me to follow vs where I got a little confused. It's a beautiful book and I can absolutely see why it's a graphic novel must read. I'm planning on reading the rest of the series, but I can only read one volume a day, because the horror of it all absolutely follows me after I close the last page.

#reading analysis #reading challenge #the sandman #morpheus #the sandman graphic novel #comics #DC #learning to be a better writer and artist #studying the greats #the great reading challenge of 2024 #neil gaiman #best graphic novels #list of best graphic novels

[faegoddessog]

 Seventy Two Hours of Bliss Ch. 37/41

Chapter 37: Elysium’s End

Chapter Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, Cunnilingus, Unprotected PiV, Fellatio, cum kink, sad parting angst

Series Masterlist 

Series Summary:

You are neighbors with Austin Butler on the Gold Coast of Australia just prior to shooting Elvis. You become just friends because he is taken. However, after he is single again, you both find out just how attracted you are to one another and things get unrelentingly hot.

SERIES WARNING: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only,  here there be lemons.

Authors Notes: I started writing this while remodeling my kitchen, so that informed the slightly quirky narrative. It starts slow, but once it heats up, it is on fire. I have tried to pull facts from RL as much as I could, but obviously there are some assumptions and flat out dreamy wishes  involved here. 

Chapter 37: Elysium’s End

After your fuck-a thon, you both showered  and decided sleep was in order. His naked form curled around yours for hours. You know because sleep never came for you.  Nervous, excited, mournful, you were bringing all your therapy tools to bear to keep from losing your mind. 

You creep out from under Austin’s harboring arm and slip his robe around your shoulders, it smelled like him, clean, masculine, just a hint of cedar, lavender and myrrh with vanilla undertones, the oil blend he liked to wear sometimes. 

Arguments could be made for it being both ridiculously early and stupendously late.  Sitting at the kitchen island, chin resting on your stacked fists, flip-flopping thoughts race through your mind. The same what-if queries and worries that have been pestering the edges of your consciousness  alongside the excitement for this opportunity. 

Now, actually face to face with your choices, you make some important decisions about how you will deal with the next 7 months. Yes, you are gonna miss Austin, and yes it is scary. But if you spend the whole time moping and whining it would be a waste of your experience. Time to hoist up your Big Girl Unicorn panties and remind yourself of the girl that shipped herself and her tools off to freakin’ Hong Kong to start this crazy adventure. Ok, that girl was running away, but maybe, just maybe she was running to herself in the process. She was brave, she was ballsy as hell, and she wasn’t taking anything for granted. 

You knew you would stay true to Austin, he was just TOO good to you, too good for you.  He would still be there when you left the Ice, and if he wasn’t, then you would at least know… Know what? That this was never real? 

‘Of course it’s real, girl!’

Ah, there she is!

’Quit being a whiny, doubting, little bitch.”

‘Hey! don’t call us names!’ 

“ Well if the shoe fits! You gotta trust him, he fucking loves us. Did you see the way he looked at us last night? Have I ever steered you wrong?” 

‘Well there was that time in Buenos Aries…’ 

“Fuck, I mean about this kinda stuff… we both know I’m a slut that’ll try anything once.” 

You laugh softly. “I guess you are right, I’m too deep in at this point anyway.” you say out loud.

‘In for a penny?’

‘In for a pound.’

Feeling better, but not sleepy, your eyes land upon a stack of sticky notes. With a smile you begin to write notes to Austin. You hide them all over the apartment where he will find them. On his favorite foods in the fridge, his favorite coffee mug, in the microwave, under the spoons, in cabinets you know he’ll open. You quietly open the door to his office and go to work. Hiding some under your favorite pictures of Elvis, placing them under his chair, in his laptop, tucked into his books and in his notes. 

Lucky for you, he keeps his clothes in this closet. So you make sure every one of his clean clothes has at least one note in the pocket, if not two. You tucked them between his underwear and into his clean socks. Happy faces and quotes in and under his shoes. Notes saying I love you, notes carrying silly comments about whatever they got stuck on. Happy thoughts, ‘remember when’s’, song lyrics, and little stick figures  hidden everywhere.  You just go on and on, mostly silly things to let him know that you are thinking of him and to make him think of you when you are gone. You started to count them, but lost count after 100, so you figure around 150 purple square sticky notes are scattered throughout the apartment. 

Your eyes land on the bedside table drawer, you’ve never had cause to open it. Should you leave a note in there? You doubt that he would look there, since it was never used. On a whim you pull open the drawer. There is a tattered old workout shirt of his balled up in it. Weird, why would that be in there? You pull it out, intent on putting it in his wash, when something clatters to the floor, hitting your toe and rolling under the bed. You stifle a curse and reach under the bed, feeling around. You come up with a small, black box with a hinged lid. 

Holy. Mother. Fucker. Is this what you think it is? You look around to make sure he hasn’t woken up and come to find you.   

‘Oh no, we are not opening that!’ you tell yourself.

‘Just a peek,’ she is always up to mischief. 

‘We shouldn’t, it’s probably one of his Elvis-esque rings he likes to wear,’ you rationalize. 

‘Yes, of course, that he keeps wrapped in an old ripped up metallica shirt in the only drawer that you have never looked in before.” 

Before you can argue, it’s open.  It’s a gorgeous diamond ring in the shape of a heart with teardrop sapphires in infinity swirls with channel set diamonds on either side. They perfectly match your necklace and earrings. You are dumbfounded, staring at it for seconds on end. Then you quickly you close the box, wrap it back up the way you *think* it looked before  and shove it back in the drawer. Your heart is beating wildly.

You leave the room and go to the second bathroom and shut the door. You splash cold water on your face and  stare in the mirror. 

What. The. Fuck. Clearly that is meant for you. Clearly you don’t need to worry about him being serious about this relationship. And clearly he didn’t mean for you to find it. FUCK.

‘Told you,’ she smirks.  

“Yeah, thanks,” you say out loud. 

Is it even an engagement ring or just part of the set of jewelry? Apart from telling him you were engaged once, you have never, ever, not even once spoken about marriage to Austin. You haven’t let yourself even begin to think about it since you were burned so hard. How the fuck do you even FEEL about marriage now? 

‘Better figure that out, sweetheart.’

‘So unhelpful all of a sudden,’ you mentally huff.

Do you tell him you found it? Would it ruin everything? Do you just try to forget about it and let yourself be surprised? 

You decide the latter, you don’t want to assume anything  or force his hand in anyway. You would hate for either of you to rush into anything, especially at a time already fraught with emotions. You are kinda glad it happened. This way, whether or not it’s an engagement ring, it gives you the impetus to really look at how you feel. Not that you can figure that out right now. As you think more about it, you find that just the idea that he might, maybe, want to actually make you his, seems to quell every worry you’ve been having about going away. 

Once you calm down and shove the knowledge of the ring into a mental compartment and TRY to close the lid, it's about 5 o’clock in the morning. Austin is still asleep, and you are still on an adrenaline high from finding the uh... thing you are not thinking about and supposed to be forgetting.

You decide to channel your energy into something productive and make biscuits for breakfast.  About 40 minutes later, you have a plate heaped with hot biscuits, butter and jam as well as two insulated travel mugs of hot coffee on a tray. You intend on just setting it on the dresser and curling back into Austin’s arms as though the biscuit fairy left them for you. As you walk towards the master and just before you nudge the door open, you hear Austin sleepily calling your name. 

“Kit’en” he sleepily mumbles again, as you open the door. His hand is haphazardly feeling around for you in the bed, only half awake in the darkened room. 

“Right here, love,” you say, setting the tray down, peeling his robe off your shoulders and sliding into his arms. 

“Whered’ya go?” he curls around you again. 

“I couldn't sleep,” you say.  

“Oh, when I couldn’t find you. I thought you’d left me,” he kisses your forehead, more awake now. 

“Oh Austin, my sweet, sweet love, just because I’m going, doesn't mean I’m leaving you,” you kiss the hollow of this throat. 

“I know, baby, I know. I’m just not… I wasn’t awake enough I guess.” he snuggles you in closer taking a deep breath in,  “and why do I smell baking?” 

“Oh,” you snicker,” I made biscuits.” 

“You are… so silly and so amazing,” he sighs into your eyes in the shadowy room. “When do we have to leave?”

“We need to be driving away by 11, so get ready to leave by 10:30,” you had thought this out several times. 

“So in the shower by ten, if I have my dirty way with you,” he smiles, ”What time is it now?” 

“Almost 6,” Your hand traces a line down to the curve of his butt and along his outer thigh. 

“That might be enough time,” he smiles down at you, and kisses your nose, “I'll be right back.”

He gets up and goes to the bathroom. You snag some mints just to be on the safe side and set your alarm for 9:30 so you don’t have to think about time. 

“I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep,” he says, sliding between the sheets, smelling faintly of toothpaste, “do you want to try to get a little rest before we go?” 

“I’m gonna have 2 weeks of quarantine in a hotel room, I will catch up on sleep then,” you reach for him, ”right now I only want you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he rolls on top of you, capturing your lips with his. 

His minty kisses are sweet, loving. His lips gently nibbling yours, the tip of his tongue barely peeking out to brush against your lips.  He nibbles and kisses along your jawline to under your  ear and down your neck. His hands roam gently on your upper body, Your fingertips trail along his back and down his arms. 

No matter how many times he has lain on you; kissed you; held you in his arms; you will NEVER get tired of it. 

“What else was on your list from last night, Kitten? Oh yeah, your juices dripping down my chin,“ he waggles his eyebrows and ducks down under the covers. You feel him gently push your legs apart. 

“Oh no,” you say, flipping the covers back.

“But Kitten …,” his look is almost pouty. 

“Oh, you are gonna eat that pussy, I just need to watch you do it,” you push his pillow under yours and lace your hands behind your neck, curving up to watch him work his tongue-in-pussy spells. 

“Who’s pussy?” he smirks, lowering down to his stomach, eyes on yours. 

“Mmmm, yours baby,” your voice gravelly with thirst, completely mesmerized by his sexy blue gaze.

His velvety tongue barely brushes the arch housing your clit. Your chest expands in an inhale. Slowly, but softy, his tongue ever wider, he moves down, down, licking inch by delicious inch. Your eyes widen, but never leave his,  as sparks emanate from everywhere his tongue touches. 

“All yours, every inch of me Austin, all yours,” you hear yourself saying breathily. 

He chuckles and finally breaks eye contact. He buries his face in your cunt, licking a wide swath up your pussy. 

He tilts his head slightly to the left and sucks one of your smooth outer labia into his mouth. As he releases suction, his tongue drags sideways just under your clit, gathering the next inch of your labia into the vacuum of his mouth. He does this over and over, down the entire length of one side of your pussy. 

Your inbreath shaky with each suction, an ‘oh’ out with each taste of his tongue. Near the bottom, he pushes your legs wider and  his tongue reaches deep into your wet cleft, slowly tongue fucking you. 

Your little sounds of pleasure reach his ears and spur him on. He laps up to your clit in short wide licks, then starts down the other side. 

You take in the whole of the picture between your legs.  His eyes are closed in pure indulgence,  his own noises of aroused pleasure flowing into your pussy. His hands: one pressing your right leg wide, the other wrapped under and around the hip crease of your left. You see the inward curve appear and disappear on the sides of his ass as he slowly rutts his cock on the sheets underneath him. 

Oh my god it’s beautiful. So good and so fucking beautiful you may melt and fuse into the bedclothes. The tightness winding deep inside you starts to accelerate. Your hands abandon your neck for his unruly shock of blackest black hair. 

His tongue starts flicking your clit, sucking it in, both hands now wrapped around your hip bones. Your breathy moans quicken, get deeper, louder. He knows you are close by the way your hips are pressing against his face, by the substance of the sounds you are making, by the tugging of his hair. 

He knows you now. 

He knows that all you need now to cum are his long, artful fingers slipping inside you; curling, flicking, fucking you. As he slides them in, your back arches in pleasure and “Fuck YES!” gusts from your mouth. His lips suck your clit in and his head shakes fast between your legs as his fingers go deep. 

You curl up, yanking his head tight to you, hips vibrating against his face. You are staring down at him, forehead creased,  teeth clenched but lips slack, pupils blown with lust. Suddenly his lids raise and his eyes are staring at yours, holding you in his trance, unable to utter a sound. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers, spiraling to your core. Your body revolts from this curled position and throws you down on your back again, breaking the spell of his eyes. 

‘Oh! M- “ you try to pant out, but he is immediately on top of you. His cock ramming into you, filling your pussy with his hard dick. It is fucking amazing. 

You hadn’t stopped cumming from his mouth and you definitely are not done yet. Not with him kissing you with your own juices dripping off his chin.  Not with his hands gripping your hair. Not with the precious weight of his body pinning you to the bed.  Not with the pounding he is giving you. 

He holds your head  tight so your high pitched screams can be muzzled by his demanding mouth. Your fingernails dig into his rear delts, using that as purchase to thrash under him. You are in literal throes of pleasure. 

Suddenly his mouth comes off yours and he grits his teeth sucking in a breath. Then he stops, deep in you. Your panting breaths shaking against his chest.  

“You wanna... watch me cum?” he says between hard breaths. 

He could not have uttered a more scorching question.

“Fuck yes,”  is all you can get out. 

He pulls out of you and rolls you both over. You sit up, catching your breath, as he squirts some lube into his hand.  You back up, straddling one of his thighs, but before he can get his lubed hand to himself, you slide your mouth over his cock. Licking and sucking off your slick.  

“Oh my god, Kitten,” he moans. 

It occurs to you that both his face and cock are covered in your cum. Just the thought has you burning for more.

You pull off and he goes to work on his cock. His fist is light at first, then quickly tighter as it’s evident that it won’t take long. You watch how fucking hot he is and realize your hips are humping his leg. Wet labia grinding along his flexed quads. Now his leg is covered in you too.  

“Fuck baby, ride me. Use me. I fucking love it,” he says with heated breath through clenched teeth. 

His eyes bounce between watching you torment his leg to watching his own hand wrapped around his cock.  

Fist pumping, forearm straining, pecs flexed, brows furrowed, face and cock red. He’s close and holy fuck he is so far past merely hot.   

“Yeah baby,  cum for me. I wanna see it, Oh god you are so…” you can’t finish the thought, your mind is too far gone. 

"Here it comes baby, all for you," he manages to get out. 

Streams of milky white gush from his throbbing cock over his flexed belly and lower chest.

“GAAAAAHHHH FUUUUCK” his voice tearing from his chest, eyes closed. You wrap your hand around his, forcing him to keep stroking himself. Three long jerks of his cock. The last of his semen dripping from him.

“YES! YES! YES!”  he screams on each stroke you make him give himself. His eyes fly open, to meet yours, as if to find a hold on reality. 

Screw reality.

You have never been this ridiculously turned on. You don’t even stop to consider what you are doing, you just want to be covered in his cum too. You swing your leg over him to mount his cum-covered torso. He instinctively flexes his stomach anticipating your weight on him.  You squish down onto his messy stomach, rubbing your frenzied pussy in the milky mess, your hands pressed against his shoulders.

Watching your lips and clit  drag over his sternum in up-close Panavision, his face is a mix of surprise and ruttish arousal. He isn't sure what’s happening and honestly,  neither are you.  

But, as though being whipped by the devil himself, you just can’t stop riding his chest.

“Fucking hot” he grabs your hips to assist your motion. “You like rubbing yourself in my cum? Are you my minxy little cum wench, baby.” 

“Yes, fucking yes,” each word underlined with a forward hip thrust, “It’s MY cum, all of it “ your walls clench down hard and you feel a surge swell inside, ”fucking mine.”  You rise up off him and flick your fingertips across your clit, pushing with your internal muscles.  Sweet clear fluid surges  across his chest. 

 “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” you scream, jerking your hips as you squirt all over him. 

“Oh my fucking god,” he moans, head back, baptized in your essence. 

He pushes your hips back with one hand,  angling his still hard cock with the other. 

Still at your apex when he sinks you onto his cock, you didn’t even know it was what you were missing. He immediately thrusts hard into your saturated and wanting pussy. 

You back arches and your hands come to his bent legs. Bent so he can fuck you harder. He is spurring you on from the inside; deep, solid and fast. 

“Oh my- Oh my- oh my-” you keep repeating as he impales you, "GAAAWWWWWHHHH!” you wail high pitched and loud, head jerking on your neck from his motion. Your next peak roaring through you from center to past your extremities. You swear you are glowing. 

Shaking, you carreen forward onto his bedraggled chest, all moans and uncontrolled twitches. But his hands hold your hips in place, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.  He is still intent on fucking you, in fact he never misses a beat, driving into you over and over and over. 

You practically flounder on top of him. Your hands scrabbling at this shoulders to find a hand hold, to ground yourself as you become overwhelmed by his ardent fucking. 

Then you are on your back, Austin’s hands lace into yours, holding them above your head. His eyes are black and wild and determined as he pummels into using gravity to fuck you even harder than before. His ancient and primordial need overrides all other sensibilities. 

Under him, anchored by him, you are bellowing nonsense sounds over and over.   Together you are fucking, messy glory and the definition of magnificence in raging pursuit of this riotous, cardinal  ecstasy.

His mouth opens as his eyes shut, releasing the most primal scream you have ever heard. His muscles go taut, the cords of his neck stand out, his face red and dripping with sweat and your cum. His spine snakes above you as his cock spasms, draining whatever he has left inside you. You clench down on him in what, another orgasm? An aftershock? Hard to say since you aren’t sure you ever stopped cumming. He jolts and shakes, almost headbutting you. 

Then, finally spent, you are both just trembling, chests heaving together. Your legs wrap around him, pulling his weight to you. He lets go of your hands and you shroud him in your arms. He nuzzles into your neck, puffing out breath, arms tucked under your shoulders. This is true rapture, you are sure of it, as long as you stay in the right now. 

After some time, he rolls you both onto your sides. Legs and arms still intertwined, you doze, wet, sticky  and so fucking content to just be in the moment. 

Your 9:30 alarm wakes you. Your eyes open to his ocean blue ones. Especially oceanic now as tears fill the inner corner of his one eye and course across the temple of the other.  A sad smile tugs at the corner of his lips as your eyes take in his face. You rise to all fours on top of him. Saying nothing, you merely nod.   Kissing his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips as your own tears mingle with his. 

He crushes you to him. Neither of you want to let go. Tears run freely. 

After a quietly cathartic few minutes, crying and clinging to one another, you drag him into the shower. You wash the mix of cum, sweat, and tears from his gorgeous body, noticing the little half moons your nails left on his shoulders, you rub them and tell him you are sorry. He just shakes his head and smiles at you. He washes your hair, gives you the best shower kisses, and gently and lovingly scrubs your skin head to toe. 

He then seals, with a bevy of loving kisses, each well earned bruise and mark you have from last night’s revelry: bite marks on your neck, finger bruises your wrists, a myriad of bruises on each cheek of your ass, the faint rope marks along your upper thighs and ankles. He finishes on his knees in front of you, pressing kisses onto your mons and outer labia. Water runs down your torso. He laps at the water running down your lips as though it were the water of life. 

You feel yourself start to rise again inside. You look at the clock through the steamy shower stall,  10:01. You look back down at him, tongue probing high between your labia, his eyes asking.  You nod. 

His eyes close and he buries his face in your snatch. You push the shower head to the side, and pull your lips apart for him. His fingers flow inside you. He knows every button you have, every little erotic spot. Every pass of his tongue placed perfectly, every suction the perfect pressure, each drive of his fingers is perfection. In a matter of minutes you are cumming again on his fingers and into his mouth, moaning his name in the heat of the shower.

He stands, kissing you, tasting like you. 

“I’m sorry, I just had to give you one last one,” his voice barely above a  whisper. 

You take his head in your hands, shaking your head and smiling. You plant a deep kiss on his lips. You feel his cock bounce against you, hard yet again. Your eyebrows raise as you pull away from him.

“Do you think you can go again?” you smile at him.

He shrugs with a shy smile, “I don’t think we have time, Kitten.” 

You look at the clock, 10:10. “Wanna know a secret? I lied, we don’t have to leave until 11:15,” and you sink to your knees, his cock in your hand.

Just as he knows you, you know him. Engulfing his wet cock in your mouth,  your tongue swirling his tip. Taking him deep, deep, making him slick with spit. Your hand wraps his cock, pumping in time with your mouth. His moans echo in the tiled shower.  He holds your head and gloriously fucks your mouth. Soon you feel his balls tighten to his body. Your moans urging him on. With a loud groan, his cum spurts down your throat, thick and salty. You swallow him for the last time, at least for a while.  

He lifts you to your feet, kissing you hard. 

You finish showering quickly. He makes little butter and jelly sandwiches out of the biscuits to take with you in the car as you shove the last few essentials into your carry on.  You miraculously leave at 11:00. He had insisted on driving you to the airport in the Range Rover. 

He actually handles driving on the other side of the road with no problem.

You feed him bits of biscuit and sip coffee as you watch him drive. Not caring that Australia is slipping by outside, only that your time with him is. It feels like the end of an era. When you say this to him, his only comment is that all endings are just beginnings in disguise. 

You silently wonder about the little black box wrapped in a metallica shirt, shoved into the drawer of disuse. Was it really meant for you? When, if ever, will he give it to you? Then you shove that thought aside. You are forgetting about it, right?

You’ll be back here, even if just to get your tools and things. But who knows if Austin will still be here. So much is up in the air. But one thing is for certain, you realized in the shower when he was kissing all your little marks, you are ready and willing to spend the rest of your life with those kisses whether or not he asks you to marry him. 

Authors Note: Despite the title, no, this is not the end!

#Austin Butler smut #Austin Butler x reader #Austin Butler fic #Austin butler fanfic #@purejasmine #@slowsweetlove #@richardslady121

[imdoingaokay]

Hi! I really like your writing and had a request - Sole is constantly telling these crazy stories about their life before the war and their companions just assume it’s bs because there’s no way sole ACTUALLY did any of that. It makes for good stories on the road, though. But one day they somehow find out that Sole never made up a single one of these stories - their life was just Like That.

I have had this ask in my inbox for over 6 months. Since I got it, I have slowly been chipping away at it. Finally, I have finished it.

Finally, I can rest.

Anon, my sweet dear anon, this one is for you, my sweetie.

“But I was fine by the end of it. Just a few scrapes.” Sole said, earning a chuckle or nod from their companion, who was still skeptical of the validity of Sole’s stories

Cait

Cait didn’t and wouldn’t believe Sole. I mean, they were amazing, yes, that was a given. But saving seven children from a burning building? Setting three different world records in one day because they wanted to? Bullshit.

Cait was finished with work for the day, and it was Codsworth who greeted her once she entered one of the little houses she called home.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cait!” He said gleefully, to which Cait grunted and fell against the sofa in the “living room” or whatever Sole had called it.

“Goodness, allow me to clean up the mess around you, ma’am.” Codsworth would quickly pick up large, yellowed pieces of paper off the coffee table in front of the exhausted Cait.

“Oi, what is that?” Cait asked, seeing a few of the large, bolded letters.

“Oh, this is from when sir/mum saved those children before the war. They saved the paper of that-” Codsworth began, only to have the paper nearly ripped out of his metallic grasp.

“What the fockin’ hell?” Cait cried out, reading the headline of the paper and seeing the picture of a smiling, pre-war Sole. Okay, so maybe Sole was telling the truth?

Curie

Curie was floored, “Non!” She spoke, leaning into Sole’s words, “Zhat is impossible!” She cried.

“How could you be the creator of zhe Miss Nanny?” She asks. “Oh, no… Curie, I was just the person who came up with the general idea. Like, I was the person who made the first one. I sold my blueprints to General Atomics and they sort of ran with it. That’s how we got Codsworth in the first place, he was a gift for the blueprints.”

Curie sort of stands there in disbelief for a moment, before nodding slowly. Sole was very smart, at least to her. But still, it seemed a tiny bit far-fetched.

Only one person who knew Sole better than… anyone.

“Codsworth?” She asked politely, walking into Sole’s home, greeted by the Mr. Handy robot.

“May I ask you something?” She says before she is ushered to the dirty couch that Codsworth had been attempting to clean.

Curie stays with Codsworth for an hour or two, while Codsworth regales the tale of Sole and their spouse setting him up for the first time, and how he remembers the General Atomics Representative helping the couple. The rep had thanked Sole for the blueprints and offered Codsworth as a loyal companion and robot for free.

“How happy I was when they accepted.” Codsworth sighed happily. To which Curie smiled and nodded.

She wouldn’t know how to respond to Sole about the whole thing, does that mean that Sole is her creator in a very complicated way?

She ponders on that for hours before Sole returns to take her back out on an adventure. That is when she decides that Sole is a lot of things, but a friend they are first.

Danse

Danse has a different outlook than most others. His introduction to Sole was them coming out of nowhere, potentially still in their vault suit, shooting like a crazy person at the feral ghouls that had been attacking him and his team. So the idea of him being someone who had the ability to walk an old lady across the street, then save her life when a car nearly rammed into them? It wasn’t that far-fetched.

He can’t help but smile as Sole casually tells their stories, and often encourages them to tell more. He feels strangely comfortable when they tell him. 

Maybe he thinks that way because he trusts Sole, or he likes how Sole really is cut from a different cloth. The thought that someone could do so much good, just because they are in the right place at the right time, is something else.

He doesn’t get proof. Doesn’t even seek out proof, he just believes Sole. If someone else doesn’t believe Sole, he sort of just sighs before telling stories that he can personally vouch for, like the pair’s first meeting.

He doesn’t realize it, but that’s his favorite story to tell about Sole. About the person who changed his life.

Deacon

“Come on, Sole.” Deacon laughs, “Lying is my thing.” Deacon would grin, feigning offense. Sole would merely shrug and turn away,

“Hey, I said my piece.” They spoke, before getting called away by Drummer Boy.

Deacon sat by the coffin, sipping his Nuka-Cola quietly before eventually getting up, there had to be some proof of this. Right?

About an hour later, Deacon was in the Boston Public Library, some poor synth had been holed up in there for a few days, and Doctor Carrington had sent them a care package. The synth perked up at the sight of the two, immediately clamoring to Sole’s side, gasping and fumbling over their words.

Deacon wasn’t initially surprised, after all, Sole had done their fair share of-

“You’re the one who lifted those cars! The one who saved that pinned girl!” The synth exclaimed, “I read about it in this old newspaper!” The synth raised an old, yellowed paper. Deacon nearly choked on his spit before looking over Sole’s shoulder.

“Read ‘em and weep.” Sole laughed, shoving the papers into Deacon’s hands. On the paper, with the biggest headline of “Hero Passerby Saves Child!” was a picture of a pre-war Sole, looking… like they hadn’t been in the wasteland a day in their life.

Deacon thought to himself, ‘Lying really is my thing, huh?’

Gage

“Bullshit.” He says plainly, “You and I both know you didn’t save some snot-nosed kid from one of the rides here.”

That’s his response. He doesn’t elaborate. And if Sole tries to argue with him, he just starts saying “BULLSHIT” progressively louder and louder.

If Sole is as stubborn as Gage, the two continue for a few minutes, until either Sole gives up or Gage gets so upset he throws a few insults toward Sole before huffing and puffing away.

He ignores Sole for a while, pouting almost like a child when the pair are alone. So when Sole decides to travel without him for a bit, he attempts to find some proof, of Sole’s exploits. Of course, he does, not with the ease of course. The report of a burning attraction was not something that Nuka-World wanted to announce to the world, but it was definitely somewhere in a terminal or two.

He doesn’t bring it up, not when he finds out. A part of him wants to announce how badass their Overboss is, but then he thinks how badly the gangs will take that. How the mean old Overboss did some good samaritan shit. 

He’s still impressed. And hopefully, Sole doesn’t expect any sort of praise.

Hancock

“Wait seriously?” Hancock puts down his beer as he continues to listen.

“Yeah, swear to God. It was insane. I just remember blacking out. I mean, I remember some of the night. I think we actually went to Hotel Rexford on our little spree.” Sole had explained. The pair were settled down in The Third Rail, and Sole had told the story of their first real blackout. How they had traveled all over Boston, causing chaos in their wake.

“They may still have my picture because I remember being banned after what I did at the bar.” Sole laughed before Hancock thought for a moment.

“Finish your drink, I wanna see.” Hancock smiled, “I swear if they have it, I wanna frame  it.” Sole laughed at him.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

In the next few minutes, the pair, obviously a little tipsy, stumbled to Rexford to beg for some of the old records they had. And lo and behold, a large picture of a very drunk Sole came into the pair’s possession. Along with the picture was a very red, bolded line of text detailing how Sole would never be allowed back to Rexford for the rest of their lives. 

“Jokes on them, I was the least of their worries.” Sole giggled.

“Yeah… now let’s get this shit framed.” Hancock smiled, wrapping an arm around Sole while the pair walked back onto the street and continued their drunken antics.

MacCready

MacCready raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, whatever. And I’m the King of The Commonwealth.”

Sole shrugged, “Hey, it’s just a story… You can keep your panties in a wad if you want.” 

MacCready sat at their table while Sole returned to Charlie, getting the pair another round of drinks.

Eventually, the pair made it back to Sanctuary, and on the way, MacCready hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the bogus story of their life before the bombs. So, he went up to Codsworth. Demanding to know the whole story. And Codsworth did just that… including several newspaper clippings, a holotape recorded interview after the fact, and at least a dozen action shots of Sole doing what they said they were doing.

MacCready’s jaw kinda just hangs open, he knew that Sole was impressive… but… well, he can’t explain it. He just assumed that Sole was a normal person… not a superhero.

Maybe they kinda are, though.

Nick Valentine

“You’re shitting me.” Nick had laughed, slapping the table as Sole finished their story. Nick enjoyed moments like this, sitting with his partner, telling tall tales of their life before the war… or really… Sole’s and the real Nick’s life

Sole put their hands up, defensive, “I shit you not. I took a bullet to the head. Bastard thought he kept me down! He said some badass line right before he pulled the trigger too! Something about luck or some shit. I wish I remembered…” Sole shrugged, Nick got up from his desk at the agency. He had to admit, it was an old story, but he had read something along those lines…

“Wait… was this him?” He lifted a piece of paper, a part of an old case file, not his own, but one he had found years ago and found interesting.

Sole nearly spat out their Nuka-Cola, pointing at the mugshot, “Yes! That plaid-wearing dick!” They laughed.

Nick looked back at the picture while Sole nearly died from a lack of oxygen and looked at the newspaper clipping.

“The victim, whose name shall remain anonymous, made a miraculous recovery thanks to the help of Boston’s finest doctors. They will be completely fine, albeit, with one hell of a story to tell their kids.” Nick quietly read to himself before turning to Sole.

“You… you’re a survivor, aren’t you?” He chuckled softly, holding out the case file for Sole to flip through.

From now on, he’d have to believe Sole more often.

Old Longfellow

Old Longfellow chuckled at Sole every time they brought up the story of catching the biggest Atlantic Bluefin Tuna known to man. Every time Sole would regale him with the story of catching the fish and releasing it after, made him smile. They were a liar, but a good liar.

It wasn’t until later, during a trip to The Last Plank, Longfellow nursed a bottle of whiskey where he let his eyes wander. His eyes fell upon a large, framed photo of a smiling person next to the biggest Tuna fish Longfellow had ever seen. Longfellow stood up, walking over to the photo, why did the person look so-

It was Sole.

Smiling.

Proudly standing.

Hands on their hips.

Smug bastard.

Old Longfellow needed to believe Sole a little more often.

Piper

Piper was someone who would likely believe Sole. But… come on… getting kidnapped by some government goons to stop them from revealing some huge classified secret, only to escape by the skin of their teeth.

Piper would admit that it was a bit far-fetched. So she would just smile at Sole, comment, “maybe I should put that in the paper” and shrug.

“Oh, it’s already been in the paper.” Sole would respond, returning to their power noodles,

Oh, now it’s on.

Once Sole would leave for some settlement, Dogmeat happily barking by their side, Piper would get to work. Immediately, she’d head for the Boston Bugle, happy she and Sole had already rid the place of ghouls a while ago. The few stragglers left behind, or that had recently moved in, were nothing for her. 

After finding a relatively intact terminal, she got to work, typing a few things, looking at the occasional article until…

“Biggest Human Rights Violation Since 1969!”

‘That might be Sole’ Piper thought to herself, reading the article before her jaw dropped.

She owed Sole a few noodle cups now… didn’t she?

Preston

Preston believes Sole. He always does. It’s kinda hard to deny your boss when they saved your ass more than once all by themselves. So the thought of them going into the cockpit of a plane to fly it after the pilot and co-pilot passed out wasn’t all that crazy.

Preston adores the stories Sole tells him, and will often encourage Sole to retell the stories to anyone willing to listen. 

But, when someone has the audacity to call bullshit to Sole’s face, Preston gets upset. So Preston goes up to Codsworth and ends up finding some old photographic proof of Sole’s miraculous feats. Then when someone calls bullshit, he pulls out several pictures from his duster pocket.

X6-88

Father never really spoke about their parent, I mean, who would? Father was a busy man, and not only that, his interactions with his guardian had been brief. 

X6 would never admit it, but he had always wondered what Sole was like before the war. So he never complained when Sole had that wistful look in their eye and told him about some story involving a pre-war Sole. 

X6 was inclined to not believe Sole, it’s hard to imagine them so… compromising, saving an entire school bus from heading over the side of a bridge? Rushing into the heat of battle to save a man down? Sole was exemplary, but they were still human.

However, X6 had come across a pristine copy of a newspaper while in Father’s quarters, having been tasked to fetch something else entirely, a picture of Sole smiling while holding a large medal for their service caught his eye.

X6 never brought it up to Sole, instead of giving the picture a small, rare smile as he continued with his duties. X6 didn’t think it possible, but Sole deserved his respect even more now.

#cait fallout 4 #fallout cait #cait #curie fallout 4 #fallout 4 curie #codsworth #paladin danse #danse #deacon #deacon fallout 4 #porter gage #fo4 gage #john hancock #hancock #robert maccready #maccready #nick valentine #old longfellow #fo4 piper #fo4 preston #preston garvey #preston #x6 88 #fo4 x6 88 #fo4 #fallout 4 #fallout #fallout 4 companions

[certifieduruihater]

wish we got to learn more about april's character outside of when she hangs out with the turtles. maybe part of the reason for this is because the writers wanted to make her a "part of the team," hence the reason why we only ever see her with the turtles, but that logic doesnt hold up when the guys themselves have established personalities on their own. like we know what every single one of the turtles does for a hobby. but i still don't know what april likes to do for fun. she can draw, sure, but is that her hobby? idk. she journaled after their defeat during the invasion, but did she always do that or was that just a one time thing? she never really struck me as incredibly reflective or introspective, either. she's more of a "go out and get 'em" kind of person to me.

i wish we could have gotten to see more of what she's like at school, too. how come she doesn't have more friends? she's a nice girl, and she doesn't strike me as particularly shy. is there some other reason? she signed up for extra credit classes, but why? does she need more credit? is she studious? enjoys school? why was she failing trig? bad at math? bad at trig itself? doesn't want to study? no time to study ever since mutant insanity invaded her life/grief over her father? it's these little questions that i think would have painted a better picture of april's character.

and this is what i mean when i say i wish she had better writing. april is not a bad character. she's not "ungrateful." she's not a "brat." she's not a "b****." from what we do see of her, she's kind and friendly, but can also be incredibly stubborn and a little prideful.

when she blows up at the turtles for getting her dad mutated? completely understandable. the guys got cocky and reckless (which was another point of the episode). they did not prioritize her or her dad's safety. the only reason they were out there was because the turtles insisted, and didnt think of the potential consequences. and yeah. it WAS the turtles' fault that the city got mutated. yes, it was an accident. yes, they were kids. but like i said, they were incredibly cocky, reckless, and arrogant. accept your faves' flaws guys!! and the way mikey delivered the news that it was their fault was...oof. so blasé. not apologetic at all. bro was treating this as a comic book adventure the whole time. no wonder she got mad. i would too, and im an adult. she's 16. of course she's going to say hurtful things in anger (imo what she said in the episode wasnt even that bad. it was understandable, given the situation). of course, it's fine when raph or mikey throw a tantrum (and usually for much more minor reasons), it's fine when donnie explodes in anger, but when april does it, the world ends? april actually blamed herself first, before she found out that it was their fault. her first reaction is NOT to blame others. and part of the reason for her anger was BECAUSE she trusted the guys so much. she spent the episode filled with hope that because of her and her dad's help, they'd be one step closer to taking down the kraang. she didn't even WANT to ask her dad in the first place, considering her dad's been suffering paranoia as a result of being kidnapped from the kraang for an entire season. but she had hope and faith in the turtles as heroes.

she had faith in them, and her entire life fell apart. AGAIN.

that's why when they revealed it was their fault that her dad got mutated, it was a big loss of trust for her. for a whole season april has been going along with the guys shenanigans, agreeing to be bait, wanting to tag along, wanting to be useful. i like this for her character because it shows that she does have a limit. she's not a yes-man for the turtles. she's her own person (which many fans seem to dislike). have fans ever considered that maybe april didnt WANT a crazy life? that she never asked for any of this? that she wanted to be normal? what's wrong with that? and after she and the guys resolve their issues, april even admits that her father's mutation "was an accident, and more importantly, you're my friends. I don't ever want to hold a grudge ever again." she needed that reflection time away from the guys to reach this conclusion.

she endures a whole episode of feeling looked down on by the guys due to a mix of their insensitive comments (raph in particular), as well as her own pride/wanting to be included/not wanting to feel useless mixed in there, sort of snaps at raph ONE TIME (to which raph doesnt even care), and suddenly, she's the devil incarnate. unbelievable.

and another thing: she's not a mary sue. she has flaws. in fact, the fandom actively blows up at her whenever she does display her flaws (pride, stubbornness, willingness to throw herself headfirst into danger). so then what does the fandom want? oh, i know. someone who will bow to the turtles' every whim. someone who has just enough of a character, or can at least pretend to be one, just so long as they don't get in the guys' way. so long as this person doesnt hurt their little pookie-bear. okay tmnt fandom. i see u

so even if we did see what she was like outside of the turtles, i wonder if anyone would even care. after all, this is a show about the turtles. most viewers probably aren't here for april. maybe this is what the writers were thinking? and worse, some people might have even complained about the screentime april would have gotten, saying that it was too much :/

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt april #april o'neil #tmnt april o'neil

[karahalloway]

Uncharted: Tales from the Gypsea - Author's Note

This series grew out of an ask sent by @petiteboheme, wherein she showed me a clip of Bruno Santos (my FC for Drake) trying hydroboarding (also know as jet-blading) for the first time and demanding that I write a version featuring Harper and Drake 😆

This request launched an immediate brainwave whereby Harper surprises Drake with a hydroboarding lesson for his birthday, and this idea became Surf's Up!

However, my brain — naturally — could not leave it at a simple one-shot, so this request actually ended up becoming the first instalment of a whole new anthology chronicling Harper and Drake's adventures around the Med aboard Drake's sailing yacht — the Gypsea — while on their honeymoon.

I have had this HC of Harper and Drake's honeymoon being a sailing trip for quite some time — as we know from canon that Drake can sail, and in (Un)Common Attraction Harper actually asks Drake to take her out sailing. However, because of the social season and the engagement tour, this doesn't end up happening any time soon, so Drake — being Drake — finally makes it happen after the wedding.

All this said, I had not planned to start writing about H&D's honeymoon until after I was done with (Less Than) Noble Intentions at least (though ideally the actual wedding as well!), but the creative process works by its own rules, so here we are.

This is a non-chronological series in the sense that I'll write/publish stuff as and when I have an idea for an instalment. And while I'll order each chapter in chronological order, they can be read as standalones, independent of each other and of my other stuff.

A few bits of background info:

1. The Route As my regular readers will know, I situate Cordonia on the Mediterranean in between France and Italy, approx 45 mins away from Monaco.

Therefore, since Drake keeps his boat... sorry. Sailing yacht (more on this below) in Cordonia, they would start the trip from there, sailing around Italy to end up on the coast of Croatia.

Rough route below:

Obviously, things don't always necessarily go to plan, and they're not really on a strict schedule, so there will be some deviations from this outline at various points.

2. The Gypsea I have HC'd from very early on that Drake would have a sailing boat. Not only does he know how to sail (as mentioned, canon compliant), but I HC that he loves sailing and being out on the sea in general, and this love of the water is referenced in various chapters of (Un)Common Attraction and Sleepless in New York.

I have also made a very brief passing reference to Drake's boat in the Burnt bonus chapter of (Un)Common Attraction, but have not really had a chance in my main stories to explore this in detail.,, until now.

So, for the purposes of background, Drake has a Marlow-Hunter 37, which means that it is a 37ft sailing yacht — picture below:

The main reasons I choose this boat is because I liked the look and feel of it for Drake, but more importantly: — it can be single crewed, — it can deal with sailing around the Med (certain areas are known to be very gusty, meaning smaller boats will capsize), and — you can actually live off of it if you wanted to (important consideration for Drake given that his ideal holiday is out in the middle of nowhere with not another soul in sight).

So, with all that in mind, tally-ho! ⛵️ 🌊 🏝️

#harper gale #drake walker #the royal romance #tales from the gypsea #uncharted #h&d honeymoon

[cassemiah]

I think I'm gonna keep making these showing the process of how I write, because I think one of the best ways I learned was yes repetition and just writing itself, but I also read others and I tried to figure out how they did something I liked. And it helped. A lot. At the end of the day I think we're all just trying to learn from each other.

I come up with my ideas usually from emotions or events

In this case I saw a tumblr poll asking you what you would choose to do for a job if you could do something no matter how unreasonable.

And that made me feel something, so I wrote

Someone asked once what I would do

Who I would choose to be and give

If i could be anything,

Truly anything at all

I started with the fantastical

Riding atop beasts of wing and fire

That don't and could never exist

Sleeping on clouds rating them,

which one brought the most comfort

But what if my only job I needed to do

Was to record a singular stream

Take a picture every single day

Same spot, record erosion in action

As my boots leave their own mark

In the stones I'd brace on

Day after day after day

What if I could comfort people

Send letter after letter

Count my earnings in happy tears

And "thank you I just needed someone to hear"

Yet still be here,

sleep here

Be able to eat here

Now don't get me wrong, that's not terrible

It talks about the idea of being excited to be anything, starting with the adventurous and fun, but eventually realizing you're happier with the mundane, the simple, and the gentle. It conveys those themes, and it has some sense of flow and metaphor.

But that didn't match the feeling I got seeing that poll.

And rereading what I wrote I realized why. The reason that poll struck me, is because as children you already have safety and stability, and so yeah the dreams you have are of the fantastical and the adventurous.

But between being told to be realistic, and realizing you have to not only because others said so but because you're now the one who's in charge of keeping yourself stable, the things you want to be and dream about are different.

So I took some quick notes of what I wanted to put into prettier words

Child

Dragons, clouds, fly

Teenager

Writer, biologist

And I rewrote the whole poem in a completely different style

What if

What if I could ride dragons!

They breath fire!

Maybe

Maybe not, but

What if, what if

I could sleep atop clouds!

Clouds!

I bet they'd be comfy

What, what if I

I could build some wings and fly!

Maybe dragons don't exist

But I can create my own right?

No? Oh,

Well

I mean, you're right

I could,

I could though maybe write

I've always liked poems and-

Oh

Could I, could-

I could research?

I don't know what

But I'm sure I could find something

Or or

Or maybe

Could, can I

I'm sure they need teachers

No no but-

Oh.

I don't really like business

But it could be open all night!

And we'd have chairs

And they could just read or-

Ah,

you're right

Maybe, maybe

Can I-

Do you think there'd be time?

I know I need to

But I'm sure I'd be able to-

oh

And that hit what I had felt

It didn't convey the exact scene I had originally had. It doesn't give as many details as the poem above, but it carries more emotion and I think that's more important in the end

Hope this helped!

#writing process #writer #poet #writing tips #writing advice #how to write #poetry

[enfant-du-fleurs]

As You Wish: Part 1 (Jake Kiszka x Female Reader)// Inspired by "The Princess Bride"

NOTE: Hi! Well... I'm low-key obssesed with "The Princess Bride" book and movie, so I couldn't wait to write this fanfiction, also Jake dressed up as Westley for this Halloween and I literally fainted when I saw those pictures. I hope you enjoy it, you don't need to read or watch "The Princess Bride" to understand this fanfiction c:

WORDS: 2083

TYPE: fluff

PAIRING: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of kidnappings, strong language and uncomfortable situations.

SUMMARY: Inspired by "The Princess Bride", Y/N was a very beautiful girl who lives in a farm, she suddenly discovers that she may have feelings for her shy servant Jacob. This is only inspired by the first chapter of the book, so there's A LOT of more adventures for the future c:

🌼PLAYLIST:🌼

The Boxer - Simon & Garfunkel

Message In A Bottle - Taylor Swift

Flower Power - Greta Van Fleet

Build Me Up Buttercup - The Foundations

Annie's Song - John Denver

Today Was A Fairytale - Taylor Swift

As any other country in the Middle Ages, there was a king and a queen , and as any other other kingdom in the Middle Ages, they were misogynistic and the king needed a son, but his beautiful and wise queen never had a son, every single baby that they had… was a girl, and for some strange reason, the babies never survived more than one week alive, maybe it was because in that time everybody was dirty and they smelled like ass, or maybe… there was something darker behind the king. Even though it wasn’t a secret that the king was a misogynistic asshole, as I said… it was the Middle Ages so nobody really cared about it (maybe we could ask ourselves if we really live in the 21th century).

The king was trying to have son, but everything failed, so he took advantage of his power. He visited every single house of every single farmer with newborn babies in the whole country, and after a very extended search, he finally found a family with four children, a very cute little girl, two kids very similar to each other (in other words: twins) and the newborn SON of the family. The asshole king wanted to buy the newborn son, just like if the baby was a thing and not a human being, but as any other normal family would do, they said “No, absolutely no”. Apparently the king accepted the answer of the baby’s parents, but he could never accept a “no” for answer, so he paid a “professional kidnapper” to kidnap the baby. So a couple of nights after, the king forced the queen to announce that she was pregnant, so he could justified a baby coming out of nowhere in a couple of months. Nights after the big and fake announcement, the kidnapper finally stole the baby from his mother’s arms.

Fifteen years after, the boy grew up and now he was a teenager and obviously a prince named Samuel. He was more like his foster mother, relaxed and kind in comparison to the king, but after all, he grew up with a lot of privileges that maybe in his life as a farmer he could never had.

His real family never stopped looking for him, they never suspected something about the prince Samuel, even though his features were similar to rest of his siblings, the king really planned everything to justify his wife pregnancy, everything was on point.

Samuel’s sister at the age twenty years, she was already settled down with another farmer, meanwhile the twins Jacob and Joshua, at they age of nineteen they used to work as musicians on the street but due to the lack of money and food that they needed to survive, Josh went to Spain to learn the art of performing and smithy, meanwhile Jacob had to work as a servant for another family of farmers.

This family of farmers had a very gorgeous daughter, her name was Y/N. It was normal to see her riding her horse or playing around the fields and her dress was always covered of leaves. To be honest she was very quirky, she walked kinda funny, but I guess she knew it.

Y/N enjoyed teasing Jacob all the time, well… almost all the time, but the reality was that Y/N was deeply madly in love with him. Jacob was pretty handsome, his hair was starting to be longer, his body was athletic but not muscular, I guess that is normal for someone who works carrying stuffs, cleaning and going everywhere.

Our dear Jacob was also in love with Y/N, but they never said something to each other, he was very shy and introverted, so he only showed his love saying "As you wish" while he nodded at her.

One day, the king was looking for a wife for Prince Samuel, so he sent the Counts to look every single and virgin girl in the country. The Counts arrived to Y/N's farm and they immediately talked to their parents.

"As you may noticed, we are here because the King is getting older and the Prince Samuel is closer to the perfect age for being the king, so... according to the population records, you have a daughter, can we see her?" asked the Count.

Y/N's parents called her and when she was there the Count was seeing Y/N carefully, he noticed that indeed, Y/N was a very beautiful girl, her soft hair, her bright eyes, everything in her was perfect, except for the fact that she didn't like to take showers.

"Good Morning, young lady. I'm very sorry if we are bothering you or if we interrupt your day, but we are here because we have wonderful news for you." said the Count with calm.

"Oh! Really? News for me?" Y/N asked bowing her head to the side.

"Yes! Well, the King is looking for a new Queen."

"So... do you want me to look for a new Queen?" she said.

"No, my darling, is not like that. We want you to be the new Queen" said the Countness.

"So... that means that you want me to marry the King? Isn't he very old for me? I mean... he's like 67 years old man" said Y/N impressed by the weird proposal.

"No, no, no" the Count laught "You would be marrying the Prince Samuel. I know that you are older than him, just a little bit older than him, but that's not a problem, we can lie to the villagers just like the king does and everybody is going to be happy."

Y/N didn't like a single word that the Count was saying.

"You'll be rich, you can have an entire room only for you..."

"I already have it" Y/N interrupted the Countness.

"How I was saying" she sighed "you can have exclusive education and a very handsome prince."

"I don't need a handsome prince, I already met the prettiest and most talented man that I want to spent my life with. I know how to read, I'm not stupid, maybe I'm not rich but at least I'm happy. Why are you looking for a normal girl if there are a lot of beautiful princesses out there?" Y/N said.

Jacob was sweeping the leaves, although he was working, he was also paying attention to the conversation with the Counts, so when he heard that Y/N said something about <<she already met the prettiest and most talented man>> he stopped sweeping for a couple of seconds. His little heart ached, but then... he reminded that she doesn't have pontential fiancés, she hadn't even met any other men but him <<Who could be that man she mentioned if he only knows me?>> he asked to himself.

"Well..." the Count began to laugh nervously "We are just following the King's order. Since you're very young to understand the situation, we are going to talk about this with your parents."

"If our girl said no, it's no" her dad said.

"For God's sake! Are you sure to reject an offer like this?" the Countness asked to Y/N showing indignation.

"I don't even know how the Prince Sam looks like" Y/N said.

Jacob began to move closer to listen a little more of the conversation, but he kept sweeping. The Countness looked at the young servant a she pointed at him "The Prince looks a little bit like your servant." Jacob stopped, his face turned pale and he was just looking nervously at Y/N.

"Like Jacob?" the beautiful girl asked surprised.

"Like me?" asked the confused young servant.

"Yes, yes, both have very similar features, I would think that they could be brothers if I wasn't the Countness" she giggled "Both are very... very handsome, their noses are very... particular and their delicate and their kissable lips" she began to move closer to Jacob until she gently slid her finger on Jacob's cheek, he took two steps backwards and he ran to his little house next to the horses. He was obviously uncomfortable for the actions of this woman and because she said that Prince Samuel and him shared some features <<What if the prince is my brother?>> he thought.

After the akward moment, the Counts tried to convince Y/N and her parents, but everything ended with Y/N saying "I don't care if the prince looks like the most handsome man I ever met" sadly Jacob didn't hear that.

______________________________________________________________

The moon was shining in the sky, the wind was brushing every leave of the trees. The horses were sleeping and next to them, there was Jacob's little house where he slept. He was playing a very sweet melody on his lute, Y/N heard him and she thought it was a good idea to finally tell him that she is deeply madly in love with him.

Y/N stayed a couple of minutes standing in front of Jacob's little house, she was very nervous. She knocked the door and Jacob stopped playing. When he opened the door Y/N without hesitation started to talk.

"I know that you find me annoying and I interrumpted you, but a couple of days ago I realised that I'm deeply madly in love with you and the only way to show my love for you was pissing you off, the thing here is that I realised that it's a very awkward behaviour, so I just wanted to visit you because I had the violent urge to tell you that I love you" she said without taking a single break to breath.

Jacob was completely astonished, he was petrified as a rock, he didn't move or say a single word.

"C'mon... say something" she begged.

"Something?" he furrowed his brows.

"You know exactly what I'm talkin about, Jacob"

He just slammed the door keeping his astonished face, of course that Y/N found that very disrespectful "Don't fool yourself, I don't like you that much either" she said trying to hide the fact that Jacob had broken her heart in million pieces "Everything was just because that old ass woman called you handsome, right? She's too old for you, Jacob!" she yelled.

Jacob opened the door again "No, it wasn't" he said quietly.

"Then? Why don't you just say something about what I told you?" Y/N desperately asked.

"Y/N... I love you too, since the very first minute I saw you, I had an enormous crush on you. But I'm just a servant, what can I do for you more than obeying your orders? Every single time, trust me" he gently took her hands "Every single time I said -as you wish- it was just me saying that I love you. You're the only reason that I compose melodies when I'm supposed to be sleeping, every single melody I play is for you." he gently kissed Y/N hands "I was waiting for this moment, my dear Y/N."

Our beautiful Y/N was melting, she was so happy to hear Jacob's words, she couldn't believe that her love for him was mutual. Once inside the house, Jacob played almost all his songs that he composed. It was so touching that the musician and the muse were together enjoying the music and finally... expresing their love for each other with shy kisses, tender glances and fleeting caresses full of innocence.

Finally they fell asleep, but the sound of the birds singing in the morning woke them up.

"Oh my God!" Y/N exclaimed getting up after resting on Jacob's chest "The sun is rising! Jacob! Wake up!"

He yawned and the first thing he did was looking at Y/N "Oh...good morning" he smirked "But eveyone is still sleeping, come here."

"I have to go, my parents don't know that I'm here" she said straightening her dress "But anyways, I'm so happy that we spent the night together with your wonderful music. Since the first time I heard you, I was completely mesmerized with your talent" she kissed softly his forehead.

"And I'm very happy too because you stayed here with me and because I know that our feelings are mutual, also... you heard me, I was always thinking and imagining how it would be the day you heard all the songs that you inspired me."

After spending a couple more minutes together, before Y/N left Jacob's little house, she said with a huge smile on her face"What if we compose more music... together this night?"

"As you wish, Y/N. I'll wait you here, my love."

#jake kiszka #jake gvf #gvf fanfiction #gvf #greta van fluff #fluff #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #the princess bride #the princess bride au #au #alternative universe #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #female reader #westley #buttercup #princess buttercup #josh gvf #sam gvf #danny gvf #daniel wagner #music #rock #hard rock #rock fanfic #hard rock fanfic

[withahappyrefrain]

tumblr kept logging me out of my account when i was trying to read the newest chapter of the parking spots universe on my phone yesterday but now i finally read it on my laptop and have the time to praise your writing. Complementing you in bullet points so it’s an easier read :) 

The way the story opens with Venus being disgusted by khakis is so relatable. Every time I watch TGM, I always get scared of actually picturing myself being in the Hard Deck and having to be surrounded by that many military people. love the line “wasn't coerced by a recruiter to sell my soul to the US government" no shade at other writers but sometimes I would read a top gun fic that would praise the military way too much and it could put it off the story cause the US government does not need any more propaganda. Like I’m here to read stories about hot pilots. 

I love that Venus’s real name is Danica. That name always reminds me of Danica from season 8 of love island so I was so surprised when they started talking about Jess and Sammy from season 10. I hope Jess breaks up with Sammy soon cause I will never forget the way he kept calling her ugly in the earlier episodes

“It was strange at first-still was-how his Instagram that had once been only thirst traps workout pictures were now full of her and their adventures together.“ I know his ass is paying for more iCloud space to have more pictures of Venus standing in front of sunsets 

Every single Bradley shade is taking me out. “a Hawaiin shirt so ugly that no Dad at a BBQ would go near greeted her” & “Bradshaw finally moving his bigass head to reveal the person that made his heart soar.”  are my favourites. 

Javy and Venus being best friends!! We love a duo that can put up and enjoy Jake Seresin’s company

Jake and Venus wearing each other’s rings and him having her hair tie when he’s flying 🥹 I love their love for each other

 Jake getting hard from a wink and knocking Bradley’s drink 😭 

I love their dynamic so much. The way Jake would always reassure her and make sure Danica knows that she deserves the best and the way she made his competitive ass want to stay at home and have permanence for the first time in his life. I get excited whenever there's a new chapter of this universe cause I get to reread the whole thing from chapter 1 and see their wonderfully written character development. Truly one of the best fic I’ve ever read. Thank you for writing and sharing it with us ❤️

Thank you!!!!! 🥹🥹🥹 I'm so glad you enjoyed it and your kind words mean so much to me!!

#ask #anon

[masterjedilenawrites]

Hey 🤗

So happy to hear that you're trying to get back to your writing 😊

So, for the fluff alphabet... Since I'm very indecisive in general... 🤦‍♀️

B, D, F, J, L, M, O, P for Hound, Thorn and Gregor, maybe...🙈🤭

If it's too much (probably is), you pick randomly what you want and feel like writing. I'll be happy and grateful with anything you do 💕💗

Oh gosh, so many letters 😅 haha I'll alternate between the three guys, but so glad you're requesting them because I'm eager to continue exploring their characters! (I still owe you some spicy HCs for them too 😉) Hope you're doing well friend!

B | Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

If Thorn could answer everything without getting an eye roll, he would. He genuinely means it. Their spirit, their wisdom, their appearance, their laughter... There isn't a single flaw or fault he could ever find in his partner, regardless if that's actually a healthy mentality to have or not. Once he's fallen in love, the rose colored lenses come on and he's completely lost in their entire beautiful self.

D | Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Gregor definitely wants to settle down. Though he likes staying active and is always down for an adventure, he's also quite tired of the all travel as a soldier. He'll appreciate a more stationary life with his S/O, where he can take on long-term projects and get involved in the community. He also enjoys teaching and would love if his partner did too; they'd mentor kids and adults alike.

F | Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Hound doesn't get upset on his own, but if his partner's upset then he starts to lose it a little. He's more empathetic than he realizes, and if he can't quickly fix the problem or say the right things to calm them down, he gets frustrated. He'll huff and storm off, taking his mastiffs for a walk to strategize. He never argues and is quick to apologize if he does make a mistake.

J | Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Thorn gets jealous from time to time. But those times usually don't last long. He's never shy in straight-up asking his S/O what's going on, should he be worried, etc. He knows he can trust his partner and that they deserve to have good attention from others. If they're comfortable, he is, too. Just sometimes he'll feel a little sting of insecurity, like any other guy would with a gorgeous S/O.

L | Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Gregor wouldn't know what came over him. One minute he was casually hanging out with his best friend, and the next, he's tearfully admitting to every hidden thought and secret emotion he'd ever harbored for them. He's practically on his knees and maybe he should be embarrassed, but damn if he isn't so gosh darn full of yearning that he doesn't care anymore. Now his heart's on the line and there's no going back.

M | Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Hound would have been hesitant about getting into a relationship, so in his mind, having committed to that means they're set for life, right? His partner will likely need to do the proposing... and the planning, and the paperwork, and tying all the other bows to make things official. He'll say he wants a small, intimate ceremony, but he knows so many people it becomes a whole big thing.

O | On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When Thorn is around his S/O, it is very obvious, despite all his best efforts to pretend otherwise. He can't help but be enamored by them, engaged in everything they say, somehow always close by no matter what's going on. When they're apart, then it's a lot easier for him to play it cool and act like a good solider who is definitely not breaking any rules, no sir.

P | PDA - Ae they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Gregor isn't shy with the fluffy stuff. Hand holding, pecks on the cheek, casual snuggles or foot rubs. If he's been away from them for a while, he'll also just go in for that long-awaited smooch, regardless who else may be around. The more suggestive/spicier stuff he'll save for more private locations... unless he's maybe had a bit too much to drink, then he finds it funny to tease in public.

Send a fluff alphabet request and help me get back into the swing of writing!

#star wars #fluff alphabet #ask box open #the clone wars #tender loving clones #TLC #sergeant hound #commander thorn #captain gregor #ronie my dear friend

[janerogan]

god any recs for best supernatural fics?

Hi hello, why yes I do! Unfortunately, I don't have time or space to list every single beloved spn fic BUT I will give some highlights of one's I can remember off the top of my head. It's all Deancas cuz that's all I read really. Oh apart from As You Were which has no pairings. Obvi be aware of like tags and ratings cuz some of these deal with some heavy shit.

Four Letter Word for Intercourse was the first spn fic I ever read. I've reread it like 5x by this point. I adore it. Literally one of the most iconic spn fics I think, I knew about it before even starting spn

Canticles - no idea how to describe this it's just fucking GOOD. Beautiful writing. Also one of the first spn fics I ever read.

Cinderwings - LISTEN. THIS FIC. You want good worldbuilding? Look no further. It's a cinderella au when boiled down to it but that does in no way prepare you for the story. Dean is a prince, cas is an angel looking for the key to his peoples freedom under the guise of a masquerade ball.

And this, your living kiss - THEE poetry fic. If you love good Dean pov and characterisation and you love poetry or even if you don't like either then pls read this. Cas teaches poetry and Dean is a mechanic who published poetry under the pen name Jack Allen. It's beautiful.

Fenario - Lake House fic! An absolutely gorgeous post empty fic. My fave subgenre of Dean buying cas a house so he doesn't have to live in the bunker anymore and through renovation he's able to sort out some stuff about himself and how he feels.

Take the bones, begin anew - a post empty cas comes back fic. I love it so so tenderly. I am not immune to post empty fics. I could do a whole list just for cas comes back from the empty fics tbh.

Crossing lines and the sequel you want it darker - this series holds a special place in my heart. Also one of the only fics to make me cry (possibly the first?). It's a time travel fic where young Dean is pulled from the past and this forces Dean to assess the trauma he's been living with. It's really heavy going so, as with all these, check Tags. Just a heartbreaking exploration of deans life and trauma and relationships but in a really cathartic way. The sequel is much lighter and Dean is healing. Cannot stress the happy ending on this one.

Carnival oasis - creature cas! He's just a weird centuries old little guy who eats sin and Dean finds him in a tent at a carnival, advertising itself as a confession stand. Just,,, great cas characterisation and really interesting creature also. It's fun, it's silly, it's serious, it's good.

It's the end of the world as we know it - you will see the tag friends to enemies and think that braces you for the impact. It will not. Another one in which the worldbuilding and plot is just delicious. Like fucking hell, the way tiamatv paints a picture of the places the characters travel through... It astounds me. But yeah a real whirlwind adventure. Its set in high school and then jumps to when they're older and they reunite when the world is quite literally coming apart. It's got heartbreak. It's got other planes of existence. It's got cosmic horror. It's got incredible cas characterisation. It's got a suggested reading list embedded into the fic jskdkf. I love it so so much.

Here, bullet, here - a dean study but it's just,,, it's like poetry, it's so beautifully written. I adore it.

Let's take a drive - KID JACK FIC. It explores the implications and messy emotions of the characters if Jack DID de-age after the finale. It's messy but God is it soft and ends happy. Just a really beautiful study of relationship dynamics tbh.

Aching in the absence of you - oh it hurts but the payoff is worth it. Cas leaves the bunker and Dean let's him. As the tags say, it's a study in missing someone. Ends happy tho I prommy. Also, just generally I love sobsicles.

Dean Winchester Beat sheet - lichrally iconic college au. Another fan favourite also

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart) - really really tender possession fic where cas needs a vessel to reside in for a while and Dean offers himself up.

Under the midnight sun - so obsessed with this fic, the artwork is the best artwork I've ever seen embedded in a fic. Dean is camp manager at a research station in Alaska and he's been told that a new ornithological researcher will be camping a few miles away and not to bother him. The ornithological expert is ofc cas but things are NOT adding up so Dean keep an eye on him. The descriptions and details in this are so fucking delicious. It's a fic where it feels like the authors love for the story and the setting shines through so much you cant help but love it too.

The cheapest room in the house - starts off silly goofy, cas comes out as gay and Dean decides it's his job to guide cas throw that by downloading grindr for him. Do not be fooled by the silly goofy premise tho because it's also a heartbreaking exploration of Dean and it hurts man, amidst all the laughing Thom. This fic has it all. Dean disorders, so much second hand embarrassment, Dean and cas' weird boy best friend dynamic, incredible characterisation. The list goes on.

Muscle memory - I have never seen 50 first dates but this is an au of that and its soooooooooooooo gorgeous.

Empty spaces - really intense fic where John dies and Dean is struggling and then meets cas. It's about deans mental health and him experiencing an eating disorder. It IS hopeful tho. One of the only fics to make me cry.

As you were - de-aged Dean and Sam fic. NO pairings but it's them being taken care of by cas when they get hit with a curse and it destroys me with how loving it is. Dean and Sam being looked after in the way they deserved to be by John.

Not part of the plan series - it starts with a one night stand which in no way prepares you for the absolute beast that is this fic. Once again worldbuilding is incredible and also the politics and planning of the world is sooo? Fucking good. Its about the tension between a kingdom and its neighbouring Republic and the arranged marriage of Dean and cas. Lots of political intrigue but also the most satisfying build up to a relationship. Its a slow burn despite the one night stand start. There are so so many moments that have stayed with me from this and the amazing thing the author does is manage to write the characters with so much depth, everything is explored, the author never pushes anything to the side in order to get the characters or plot where they want it. If there are implications and repercussions, then they're getting explored.

#Well there we go #If I recced all the spn fic that changed my life then we'd be here all year #Fic rec #Ask #Anon #Spn

[littlebigmouse]

TMA MAG 61 and the 'meh' episode

Don't get me wrong. I fucking love Daisy. The entire intro dialogue between Daisy accusing Jon of murder - which, yeah, actually, good point! - then leaning back and casually proclaiming that well, guess he has an alibi, but any funny business and she'll break his bones - priceless. A long-needed show of teeth in this show for sure.

Like, I'd permanently add Daisy and Basira to the "Tim&Sasha go on spooky adventures breaking into police files" spin-off, based on these few minutes of dialogue from these characters. Season 2 in general really upped it's character introductions to whole new levels. Every single new character introduced this season has left a lasting and strong impression, despite their incredibly limited screentime.

Which is exactly why I was so disappointed in the statement itself, or rather, in its presentation.

Because it's written exactly like any other statement, and that narrative style absolutely does not work here.

Sidenote: I took a while longer to get used to Daisy's voice? I feel like some of her deliveries could have been stronger, and her voice sounds rather soft for her character. That however I think is a matter of taste, and they could make such a contrast work, if, you know, the statement had taken more care to characterise her properly.

But man. The entire introduction is spend on establishing Daisy, potentially the front she's putting up, but we're getting a rather quick picture. Her sentences are short and to the point. She does not speak to fill an awkward silence, she does not mind seeing Jon squirm a bit. She's assessing him, and she's doing so calmly. She takes her time to answer questions, but we get hints of a temper, both through her threats of violence and some of the snappier answers she gives. She's an experienced police detective who's dealt with some shit over the years.

Now, given this premise, everything we've just learning about the character -

Does Daisy strike you as someone who goes on a two-paragraphs long word-vomitty rant about shitty coffee instead of getting to the point of her story?

I completely understand that the statements all have an incredibly similar style of writing, that's just what happens when one person/ a small team of writers write 60+ short stories within very similar themes and structure. The in-universe explanation for these could very well be that all the people who gives statements have a thing in common: They're all 'normal' people who encountered something beyond their comprehension, that spooked them in some way they sought out the archives to get their story to paper. Especially with the written accounts it makes sense they'd get a bit poetic or describtive or rambly at times, given how little or how much time every statement writer took to get their story down with all the detail they felt they needed to convey that their fear is real and valid, and whatever hurt them is still out there. All the narrators come from the same place, essentially, baring some variation.

Except Daisy.

Daisy isn't someone who just got spooked desperate to get her story out. Daisy is a hardened cop who is talking to someone she up until very briefly believed to be a murderer she needed to distract. She still hasn't made her mind up about this person, but she's willing to indulge and tell a story about something that happened a long time ago and was supposedly a first in a long line of weird and or creepy events.

I think the writing did even try to show her clipping speaking style through the many short sentences in the beginning, but the hurried way of speaking from the VA didn't really make that work. And the rest of the statement does what any other statement does: it establishes Daisy as a normal rookie cop (bitching about shitty coffee with a slight temper (her comment on wishing she'd get to punch more drunks), who encounters something spooky (by slowly setting the scene with detailed and colourful descriptions of the weather that day, the rising tension at the van) and is in over her head (the incredibly rushed manner of speaking, the long sentences, all the rambly bits).

Which, you know, may have been true for Daisy back when the story happened. I don't think I would have minded had the premise of the episode been that Jon finds a statement Daisy made 14 years ago and asks her about it.

Maybe Daisy is a lot more nervous in this conversation than she initially let on, and the story was also bringing back unpleasant memories that upset her to a degree that would have her this rambly. Maybe the effect is underlined by her VA talking way faster than I'm used to with John.

But damn if that doesn't contradict the entire intro, and thus her believability as a character and seasoned detective.

Daisy showed awareness of her effect on Jon, of her own behaviour in this conversation - if talking to Jon and telling a spooky story has her immediately this rambly, essentially breaking character of the front she just put up, I wonder how her record is with interrogating suspects, or any kind of successfull police work where you need to keep up a facade a little longer than that.

They could have broken the format a bit. Have her start out the statement more clipped, short sentences delivered deliberately. Then, some coaxing from Jon, some more leading questions, questions that seem unreasonable to her because she's not used on including them in the relevant information - her mood, the weather, the overall atmosphere - make her reconsider the story a bit, make her give more details as she herself thinks them over.

The statement could have put more work into taking into account how Daisy presents herself to Jon - she doesn't trust him yet, so revealing either seemingly useless information or potentially incriminating personal and/or emotional information should have more weight than a quickly forgotten side-line. Daisy feels like a third person narrator to her own story.

All this does get better once the statement starts focusing on the van drivers, but I couldn't help but feel like a great opportunity for some characterisation was lost, which sadly hurt my investment in Daisy's tale considerably.

Her anger at the end is also a bit... hmpf. Like, girl, you chose to tell the story. I feel like that bit would have been stronger if she'd interrupted herself in the middle, considering whether or not to continue.

Again, her anger at the end seems to characterise her as more impulsive and short-tempered as we initially realized, but it seriously hurts her credibility when she seemingly told Jon something she didn't mean to say... in a sudden impulsive... 20 minutes long fit of emotion. Right.

Also man, the amount of bottomless pits feat endless twisting hallways in this show is staggering :D

Also the implications of the Met having been infiltrated so deep by supernatural forces that they have a working and frequently used anti-vampire protocol is the best world building detail in... idk, episodes. Love it.

#tma #tma season 2 #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #tma live reaction