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joelmillerisapunk · 18 days

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I'm down bad, fuck it if I can't have him.

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 4,425

Summary: In the intimate confines of Joel's home, you navigate the complexities of an open relationship, discovering the liberating power of vulnerability and desire under the watchful eye of his wife.

Warnings: 18+, reader has no physical description, Joel is married and in an open/freeuse marriage and they are also pretty much just nudists, voyerisum, exhibitionism, choking, unprotected p in v, female oral receiving, fingering, age gap, light "daddy" kink, Joel's very respectful of reader. He just wants you to be open with your sensuality. This is not a threesome fic, and Joel's wife (who remains nameless) shows up once or twice. 100% consensual from every party involved. I know these kinks may not read well for everyone, so if you're feeling uneasy about any of these warnings, please scroll awaaaaay awaaaaay. The open nature of Joel's marriage begins right from the start, so proceed with horny caution. There's no adjustment period. Everything's consensual when you're part of a team!

Notes: I learned a new word today, and it made me end up doubling the wordcount. Ty @saradika-graphics for the divider. I hope you enjoy! Your comments and thots are so welcome.

You stand under the warm water, letting it wash away the stress of the day. You'd been staying with your dad's buddy Joel and his wife for a few days now. It was still taking some getting used to. Their open relationship, the free use, the amount of nudity that was on constant display, it was all so different from what you were used to. But they'd been so welcoming, so kind, and you were starting to feel more and more at home.

Suddenly your thoughts are interrupted and you hear the shower door open, and Joel stepping in behind you.

You feel a flutter in your chest, but you try to push it away. This isn't the first time one of them has walked in while you were showering, but it's the first time one of them has come in with you. You're still getting used to this, to the idea that Joel and his wife were okay with any of this. You can't help feeling like his wife is going to walk in at any minute and kill you for being in a shower, naked, with her husband.

"Hey, darlin," Joel says with a gentle voice. "You okay? You seem a little down today."

You shrug, trying to play it off. "I'm fine, Mr.Miller. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess."

"Call me Joel, please. I get it. It's a lot to take in. But we want you to feel comfortable here, to feel like you can be yourself. And if that means joining us, then we're more than happy to have you."

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks as he gently turns you to face him so his eyes can meet yours. You can see the offer in his eyes, the gentle invitation to explore with him. You feel a spark of curiosity, of desire, and you’re tempted. You're also tempted to look down, god knows you want to see everything he has to offer you but you manage to keep your gaze anywhere else.

You turn back around and just as you're about to grab the body wash to distract your mind Joel steps closer, and reaches for the soap. "Let me help ya darlin.” You feel a shiver run down your spine as Joel's hand touches yours to grab the bottle. He begins to soap up your arms and chest but pauses just before his hands graze the sides of your breasts. "This okay?"

You nod, and your breath hitches slightly as you give your silent consent. His hands continue, moving with careful precision. As you surrender to the pleasure of Joel's touch, you become acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the closeness of his bare skin against yours. You feel his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against the small of your back, it slides between your legs with an ease that speaks of familiarity, the thick shaft glides against your sensitive folds, eliciting a shiver that you hope goes unnoticed.

Despite the initial shock, there's an undeniable thrill that courses through you at the feel of him, so bold and unashamed. You can't help but arch your back ever so slightly, pressing back against him, your body betrays your curiosity and the growing ache between your legs. The moan that escapes your lips is soft, but you know he hears it, he knows the effect he's having on you.

Joel's hands still for a moment, and you tense, worried that you've crossed a line. But then he's moving again, his touch resuming its soothing rhythm, as if the brief interlude never happened. His cock remains hard, a steady presence against your skin, but he makes no move to act on the desire that's so clearly evident.

"You're so tense baby," Joel observes as his hands move to your shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there.

You can't help but let out another soft moan as his fingers dig into your skin. The stress of the day feels like it instantly melts away under his touch. "Mmm, that feels so good," you admit and let your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm glad, why don't we take this to your room? I can give you a proper massage, help you unwind completely."

“I'd like that,” you reply shyly. The idea of a massage sounds heavenly, and the thought of being alone with Joel in the privacy of your room is exciting.

After rinsing off under the warm water, you emerge from the shower enveloped in a cloud of steam, and your skin is hot and tingling. Beside you, Joel steps out with the self-assured swagger of a man who knows his body is a masterpiece. He briskly towels himself off, each movement causing his muscles to ripple and flex beneath his sun-kissed skin. The towel is quickly discarded, landing in a heap on the floor, as if it were an afterthought—a mere inconvenience.

You can't help but drink in the sight of him; he is raw masculinity personified. His chest is a broad expanse of firm muscle, dusted with just the right amount of coarse greying hair that begs for your fingertips to explore its texture. Every part of him exudes an animalistic grace. There's an undeniable allure to the way he carries himself—completely unashamed and utterly comfortable in his own skin. It's as if he's silently inviting you to admire him, to appreciate every inch of this man who moves with such potent virility.

Joel's hand quickly finds the small of your back as he guides you to your room. Once inside, he instructs you to remove your towel and lie down on the bed, face down. You comply, the soft sheets feel cool against your still-damp skin. You hear the gentle click of a bottle, and then the scent of lavender fills the air as he warms some massage oil between his hands.

His hands are firm yet gentle as they glide over your skin, starting at your shoulders and working their way down your back. Each stroke sends waves of relaxation through you, and you can feel the tension leaving your body.

"Just let go, darlin'," Joel murmurs, his voice is a soothing balm. "You're safe here with me."

You let out a soft sigh, allowing yourself to surrender even more to the feeling of being cared for.

As Joel's fingers deftly knead the muscles along your spine, you find yourself sinking deeper into a state of complete relaxation. His touch is professional yet intimate. He moves down to your lower back and his thumbs press into the flesh just above your ass, eliciting a soft gasp from you. The sensation is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. Instead, it's a pleasant mixture of relief and arousal that you haven't felt before. "You're doin great, darlin'," Joel encourages.

Eventually, his hands glide over the skin of your thighs, applying just the right amount of pressure to release the tension in your muscles. You can't help but feel a warmth pooling between your legs from his hands.

The massage seems to go on forever, and when he finally finishes, you feel boneless, completely spent in the most wonderful way.

"How are you feelin?" Joel asks.

"Amazing, thank you, Joel."

"Anytime, darlin'. You know where to find me if you need anything else." He smiles and winks as he leaves.

You nod, watching as he stands and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. You lie there for a while, basking in the afterglow of the massage, your body still tingling from his touch.

—

Later that evening, you find yourself in the living room where Joel is sitting on the couch, engrossed in the work on his laptop. You take a seat next to him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to the sight of his cock resting casually against his thigh. You can't help but stare, your curiosity piqued by the freedom with which he and his wife move about the house.

Joel notices your gaze and chuckles softly. "You can touch it." He says with a gentle and non-judgmental tone. “S’okay, baby. Don't be shy."

You feel a heat creeping up your cheeks, the offer is too tempting to pass up. Tentatively, you reach out and place your hand on his shaft, feeling it twitch in response to your touch. It's a strange sensation, both powerful and vulnerable at the same time.

"That's it, darlin, explore all you want. We're all about discovery here."

With Joel's encouragement, you begin to explore the contours of his cock and your hand begins to move with growing confidence. The skin is soft and warm, and you're fascinated by the way it responds to your touch. You've never done anything like this before, but there's something exhilarating about this newfound freedom.

Joel puts his laptop down and moans as his eyes close, and he leans his head back against the couch. "Just like that."

Your grip tightens slightly as your hand moves up and down his shaft. You watch in awe as his cock hardens, the transformation is absolutely delicious, as is the sound of his soft moans.

"Does this feel good?" you ask. You're genuinely curious, eager to learn and to please him.

“Mmm - feels a little too good baby," Joel gasps, his hand reaching out to still your own. "If you keep that up, I ain't gonna last much longer."

You pause, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Is that a bad thing?" you ask, your voice laced with genuine curiosity.

Joel chuckles. "No, it ain’t bad. But I want to make sure you're enjoying this as much as I am. This is about you and your pleasure, too.”

As the words leave his mouth you feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of Joel focusing on your pleasure, a concept that feels new and thrilling to you.

"If you're comfortable I'd like you to let go of your inhibitions and lie back for me," Joel's voice is a soft, inviting caress and his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes you feel safe and cherished. You comply, reclining against the plush cushions of the couch.

"Let me show you just how beautiful you are.” He says as he helps you remove your clothing. You feel the cool air of the room against your skin as you shed the last of your outfit. Joel's eyes roam over you and a look of appreciation lights up his features. He kneels before you, a picture of restraint and desire, his eyes never leave yours. "I want to explore the beauty of your body, to learn the language of your pleasure.” With the utmost care, he parts your legs, his touch is gentle. You can't help but squirm under it, your body instinctively seeking more.

"Relax, baby, let me take care of you, let me take you to a place where only pleasure exists, where you're free to express every gasp, every moan, and every shudder of delight." As the last word leaves his mouth his fingers find the heart of your need, his touch both a revelation and a homecoming. You're lost in a sea of sensation, each stroke, each caress, drawing you deeper into a world of ecstasy. And just as you're starting to lose yourself in the sensations, the sound of the front door opening sends a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes fly open, meeting Joel's calm gaze.

"S’okay, just relax baby," he reassures you, his voice steady despite the interruption. You hear the familiar sound of his wifes heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and then she's standing beside you, leaning on the couch, her eyes widening slightly at the sight before her. You feel a surge of embarrassment as your body tenses under Joel's touch. But Joel doesn't miss a beat. His fingers continue their gentle ministrations, his gaze never leaves yours. "S’okay," he repeats, "We're all safe here."

"Don't let me interrupt," she says, her tone light and playful. "I just wanted to let you know that the Johnsons invited us over for a little get-together tonight. But it looks like you're busy."

Joel chuckles, his fingers still working between your legs. "We can catch up with the Johnsons another time, honey. I'll be a little preoccupied tonight." Joel winks at you.

His wife laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "I can see that. Have fun, you two. I'll be around if you need me."

As she leaves you in the capable, caring hands of Joel, you find yourself sinking deeper into the couch, into the moment, into the expert ministrations of a man who has made it his mission to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

"Let yourself fall, darlin'. I'll be right here to catch you.”

His words wash over you, a gentle command that you find yourself eager to obey. You close your eyes, focusing solely on the sensations that are building within you. The world around you fades away, leaving only the feeling of Joel's touch and the sound of his voice.

"Tell me what you want, baby, wanna hear you say it."

The words feel foreign on your tongue, but there's a part of you that wants to voice your desires, to communicate your needs. "I - I want you to..." you trail off.

"It's okay, darlin'," Joel reassures you, his fingers stilling for a moment. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. Just close your eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind."

You do as he asks, your eyes fluttering closed as you let your mind wander, your fantasies taking shape in the darkness behind your eyelids. "I want to feel you inside me," you admit.

"Look at me, darlin'," Joel commands, and you open your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. "You're so brave and so beautiful. I'm gonna make you feel so good, you'll forget everything except the feeling of me inside you.” He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. "C'mon let's go to my room," he suggests.

He helps you to your feet, and you follow him down the hallway to the master bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and as you step inside, you see Joel's wife again lounging on the bed. This woman is everywhere.

"You sure like this one, huh?" she teases Joel.

Joel looks at her with a wicked grin on his face. "She's somethin special, ain't she? Wanna join, or you just gonna watch?"

His wife smirks and takes a sip of the wine she left on the nightstand. "Oh, I think I'll just watch for now," she says, making herself comfortable on a nearby chair. "I won't stay long, just finishing my glass." She holds up her wine.

Joel turns back to you, his hands gently caressing your body as he helps you onto the bed and positions himself between your legs. "You ready for me, darlin'?"

“Yes, please.” With a voice barely above a whisper, you respond, your eyes locked onto Joel's. "Need to feel you inside me, need you to make me whole."

The raw desire in your voice seems to ignite something primal in Joel. His eyes darken with lust, and he lets out a low growl of approval. "Fuck, darlin', you're going to be the death of me.”

As he positions himself at your entrance, you feel the head of his cock pressing against you and the anticipation building with each passing second. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting as your body stretches to accommodate him.

"Look at how well she takes me," Joel says to his wife. His eyes never leave yours, and you can see the effort it takes for him to maintain control, to not give in to the primal urge to thrust hard and fast.

His wife watches with rapt attention, her eyes dark with desire as she takes in the sight of her husband buried deep inside you. "She's incredible, Joel. You look so good together.” His wife watches for a few moments more, her gaze seems to be filled with a mixture of arousal and satisfaction. She seems to enjoy the dynamic unfolding before her, the way her husband is so attentive and giving, and the way you respond to his touch with such genuine enthusiasm. "You two are quite the sight," she comments. "I'll leave you to it. I can see you're in good hands." With a knowing smile, she rises from her chair and walks over to the bed. She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to Joel's lips. "Enjoy yourselves," she whispers

As she exits the room, closing the door softly behind her, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. While her presence was intriguing and added an extra layer of excitement, there's something incredibly intimate about being alone with Joel, about having his full attention focused solely on you and with his wife gone, Joel seems to let go of some invisible restraint. His movements become more urgent, his hands exploring your body with a newfound intensity. He kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmurs against your lips, his voice filled with awe and desire. "Could stay inside you forever.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. Joel reaches between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core. He circles it with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you spiralling towards an orgasm. "Come for me, darlin'," he commands, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”

The tension within you builds to an almost unbearable peak. The sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to engulf you at any moment. You try to hold back, to savor the feeling, but it's a losing battle. With a cry that surprises even you, your body convulses as the orgasm floods through you, your muscles rhythmically clench around Joel's cock and in the throes of your climax, the words slip out before you can stop them, "yes, Daddy, yes!" you gasp, the term of endearment falling from your lips in a moment of pure vulnerability.

As the waves of pleasure begin to subside, you realize what you've said. A heat creeps up your cheeks, and you bury your face in Joel's shoulder, mortified by your slip-up. But when you dare to glance up at him, you're met with a smirk of pure satisfaction.

"You like that, baby?" he asks, “want me to be your Daddy?"

You nod shyly, too caught up in the afterglow of your orgasm to form words.

"Say it again," Joel commands softly. "Tell me who I am."

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you meet his gaze and whisper, "Daddy."

A growl of approval rumbles deep in Joel's chest as he leans down to kiss you again. With the taste of your shared passion still lingering on his lips, Joel pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he speaks. "You're doin so good, takin me so deep," he praises,

"Tell me what you want, baby. What do you need from Daddy?"

The words come to you in a rush, born of a deep, unspoken desire that you've only just begun to explore. "Want you to choke me daddy," you whisper, the request barely audible even to your own ears. But Joel hears you, and the smoldering look of approval in his eyes is all the confirmation you need.

“Mmmm, such a good girl," Joel murmurs while his hand moves to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangle gently in your hair, exerting just enough pressure to tilt your head back, exposing the delicate column of your throat to his hungry gaze. "You want daddy to own this pretty little throat?"

You nod, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you anticipate the feeling of his hand around your neck. The vulnerability of the position and the trust it requires, only serves to heighten your arousal. With a gentleness Joel applies pressure to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it just tightly enough to make you acutely aware of his dominance over you. The sensation is intoxicating, a heady mix of fear and excitement that sends a fresh wave of wetness flooding between your legs.

“Doin’ so good for me baby.”

As Joel's hand tightens around your throat, your heart pounds in your chest, the rhythm echoing in your ears. The world around you blurs, narrowing down to the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the weight of his hand on your neck, and the intensity of his gaze holding yours.

"That's it, darlin', Let Daddy take care of you."

You focus on the sound of his voice, allowing it to guide you through the haze of pleasure and fear. With each breath you take under his command, a sense of calm washes over you, a trust so profound that it borders on euphoria.

Joel's thrusts become more insistent now, his hips driving into you with an urgency that speaks of his own rising pleasure. The hand around your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to draw in a deep breath before he tightens his grip once more. The cycle of restriction and release becomes a primal rhythm that resonates deep within your core.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this.” His eyes dark with lust as he watches you surrender to him completely. "Such a good girl for Daddy."

The praise washes over you like a benediction, filling you with warmth and satisfaction. You feel yourself opening up even more to him, your body yielding to his every demand without hesitation or reserve.

With his free hand, Joel reaches down between your legs once more, his fingers finding that sensitive bud with practiced ease. He begins to circle it again, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. The combination of sensations – the tightness in your throat, the fullness in your core, and the relentless stimulation at your center – is almost too much. But there's no escape from this exquisite torment; all you can do is hold on and ride out the storm that's building inside you once again .

"Come for me one more time," Joel commands, “show daddy how much you like this baby.”

The world around you fades to a distant hum as Joel's fingers continue their mission, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. The pressure in your core builds to a crescendo.

"Look at me darlin'," Joel encourages, "Look at daddy when you come."

With a strangled cry, you surrender to the waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. The sensation of Joel's cock, still hard and buried deep inside you, prolongs the pleasure, each pulse of your inner walls milking him, urging him towards his own release.

As the last ripples of your climax subside, Joel loosens his grip on your throat, allowing you to breathe deeply, the rush of oxygen to your brain heightens the aftershocks of pleasure that continue to ripple through you. He withdraws from you, the absence of his cock leaving you feeling momentarily empty, but the look in his eyes promises more to come.

"You did so good, baby," Joel praises. "Now, daddy's got a special treat for you."

He guides you to sit up on the edge of the bed, his hands on your shoulders to steady you. His cock, glistening with your shared arousal, stands proudly before you.

"You want to make daddy feel good, don'tcha?" Joel asks.

You nod, your eyes locked on his shaft, you lean forward and tentatively lick the tip of his cock. The salty-sweet taste of him on your tongue is intoxicating, and you find yourself eager for more. You part your lips and take him into your mouth, your hands reach up to stroke the base of his shaft as you begin to suck and lick him with growing confidence.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groans, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, guiding your movements but not forcing you. "Just like that. Suck on daddy's cock."

You look up at him as you bob your head up and down, taking him as deep as you can. The feeling of his girthy cock hitting the back of your throat is both a challenge and a turn-on, and you find yourself wanting to take him even deeper, to please him in every way possible.

Sensing your eagerness, Joel's grip on your hair tightens, and he begins to thrust into your mouth gently, setting a rhythm that you eagerly follow. The hand that was stroking his shaft moves to cup his balls, massaging them gently as you continue to suck him off.

"Goddamn your fucking good at this," Joel praises, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Daddy's gettin real close. Ready for your treat?"

You nod, your eyes watering slightly as he increases the pace of his thrusts. The feeling of his cock swelling in your mouth, the salty taste of his pre-come on your tongue, are all signs that he's close. With a final, guttural groan, Joel's body tenses, and he floods your mouth with his hot, sticky come. You swallow reflexively, the taste of him mingling with the taste of your own arousal still lingers on your lips.

As the last few spurts of his orgasm subside, Joel gently pulls out of your mouth, his hand still tangled in your hair. He uses his thumb to wipe a stray drop of come from the corner of your mouth, then leans down to kiss you. "You're incredible, baby," he says against your lips "Thank you for trusting me.” Joel's hand gently cups your chin, his fingers tracing the contours of your jaw as he tilts your head back to meet his gaze. "So does this mean daddy can have you whenever he needs?" Joel asks, the question hangs in the air between you, an invitation to explore the boundaries of your relationship, to embrace the free-use dynamic that defines his marriage with his wife.

You find yourself nodding before you've even fully processed the implications of your agreement. The thought of being available for Joel's pleasure at any moment is both daunting and exhilarating. It's a level of submission that you've never experienced before, but with Joel, it feels right. It feels safe. "Yes, Daddy can use me whenever he needs." You wink at him.

A slow smile spreads across Joel's face, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I want you to know that this isn't just about sex for me," Joel says earnestly. "This is about trust and respect and mutual satisfaction." He reaches out to stroke your cheek gently with the back of his hand before continuing. "You mean more to me than just another body in my bed. You're not just a desire, you're a need," he whispers into your hair, "and I intend to cherish that, every single day.”

With those words, Joel pulls you into a tender embrace. In his arms, you feel cherished, empowered, and ready to embrace the newfound freedom and pleasure that await you in this unconventional sanctuary.

Special @milla-frenchy taglist 😘

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction

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pnsteblnme · 11 months

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wrong impressions ✿ k.m.

pairing: katie mccabe x reader

summary: a misunderstanding leads to conflicts and tension between katie mccabe and arsenal’s newest signing.

warning: cursing, katie and reader being idiots, bad writing

word count: 5.1k (i don't even know how this happened)

a/n: here’s a little something in honour of ireland's second game today ;) also, this was my first time writing something like this and english isn’t my first language, so bear with me please <3 anyway, i hope you enjoy this and i’m always happy to hear your thoughts :)

“Oh, McCabe isn’t good. She’s borderline reckless and very petulant, plays way too aggressively and all she does is collect cards for her team.”

“The fuck,” muttered Katie with a quiet scoff after hearing Arsenal’s newest signing’s words as she walked into the training facility. Not wanting to hear more comments, she quickly made her way to the locker room and sat down at her designated spot, an annoyed frown still etched onto her face.

As the brunette was tying her shoes, a shoulder nudged hers, “You excited for our new additions?” Katie looked to her left to be met with the buzzing smile of her blonde friend.

“Mhm.”

The corners of Leah’s mouth dropped, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Finishing the tie on her shoe Katie leaned back up, let out a small sigh and opened her mouth. Before she could utter a word though, the door opened.

“So, as you all know, we have two incredible players joining us this season. I’m sure you’re all acquainted with Alessia,” Jonas pointed to the taller of the two women, who sent everyone a friendly grin, “and this is Y/N Y/L/N. Before coming to us she played for Barcelona but because of an injury, our paths haven’t crossed yet,” after he finished his sentence, you raised your hand for a timid wave and looked at all the girls with a nervous smile, a blush coating your cheeks, resulting in a few excited greetings being thrown your way. “I trust that you’ll make them feel at home and yeah, that’s all. I’ll see you on the pitch in 5,” were his last words before disappearing behind the door.

Turning around to face your new team, you were welcomed with open arms - literally. In front of you, you found almost all the girls waiting to greet you, each pulling you into a hug and introducing themselves.

After you were done introducing yourself, you quickly changed. The warm welcome they gave you resulted in your heartbeat finally slowing down (maybe not to a normal pace, but considerably slower than when you arrived). Later, you would also realise that your hands had stopped shaking halfway through the training, filling your body with warmth, that felt like the sun thawing the frost off of colourful flowers on a warm spring morning.

Right now though, your shoulders slumped as you noticed that the forward you were most very thrilled to play alongside of, didn’t greet you (and if you weren’t imagining things, even sent a glare in your direction).

Shaking off those thoughts, you made your way to the pitch, walking next to Leah. “How are you feeling?” she questioned, looping her arm through yours.

“I’m literally shitting my pants,” you chuckled, “but I’m also excited to play in this amazing team like, I don’t know, I feel like I can learn so much from you.”

Leah waved you off, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be just fine and I have a feeling it’s gonna be the other way around.” When you felt the blonde’s hand ruffling your hair, you jokingly pushed her away, muttering about how you were going to get back at her.

And that you did. The end of the training came with a scrimmage, in which Leah and you were on opposite teams. Getting the ball from Lotte, you quickly made your way towards their goal and consequently came face to face with the blonde defender. Before she could do much, you nutmegged her and sent the ball straight to the far post, Alessia scoring a goal with a beautiful header.

Fidgeting with your sleeves, you turned to your friend with a sheepish laugh, “Sorry, I just don’t like people messing up my hair.” Chuckles coming from the girl instantly relaxed you as she patted your shoulder, “That was a nice play.”

Heat crawled into your cheeks as you muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ and made your way back to your side.

Sadly, not everyone took the scrimmage as light-hearted as Leah. With the frustration growing after each goal your team scored, the game quickly became physical. You would feel the wrath of that a few moments later.

Running along the sideline, you were just about to send another ball into the penalty box when you felt cleats connecting with your ankle and your legs being swept from under you.

You let out a groan as you held your foot, trying to stand up. Rotating your ankle a bit, you attempted to take a few wobbly steps, the new blonde forward approaching you, “Are you all right? That looked like it hurt.”

“No, it’s fine, I just have to walk it off.”

Limping a few metres, you felt the pain slowly subside and glanced at the girl that had tackled you. Not seeing her making any moves to apologise nor a glimpse of remorse on her face, a crease formed between your eyebrows, wondering why Katie was acting this cold towards you.

When the game continued with you, in particular, being the one the Irish woman directed her fury at, the uncomfortable feeling in your chest grew. That was why, when Leah and you were collecting the balls that had been shot to god knows where, you inquired, “Does Katie not like me?”

“No, what makes you think that?”

Putting the last ball into the bag you shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know, I just feel like she has it out for me, you know?”

“Hm, it looked like she was already in a lousy mood before you came in, so she probably just had a bad day. I’m sure yous will hit it off tomorrow,” consoled the blonde with a comforting touch to your arm.

Alas, it didn’t seem to get better the next day.

Being on the receiving end of her tackles once again, this time even from the beginning of the training session, your patience was wearing thin. Your dislike for conflict made you keep quiet though, not wanting to cause drama on your second day and because no one else said anything, you just presumed that it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

After a particularly gruesome duel, where Katie had stepped onto your feet multiple times, you couldn’t push your agitation down anymore, the anger bubbling inside of you like an active volcano, fiery red lava spewing out of your mouth, “Okay, what the fuck did I do to you? Why do you hate me?”

Surprised at hearing your angry voice directed at her, the Irish woman turned around with a scoff, “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you did.”

“I don’t, I wouldn’t be asking if I did, Sherlock.”

You watched as her eyes rolled into the back of her head before she turned around and marched to her position. Feeling a presence behind you, you tried to get your whirring thoughts under control, “Everything alright?”

Pulling your shoulders to your ears and letting them drop again, you returned, “Yeah, I’m not so sure about her not hating me, though,” eliciting a frown on the blonde’s face.

Unfortunately, for you two and for everyone who had to hear your petty arguments, you were paired up with Katie on one of the gym days.

For the most part, everything was fine. Even though the Irish woman couldn’t help but follow a few drops of sweat that rolled down your abs with her grey eyes, which sparked her irritation, wondering how she could be thinking about a person like you like that, you two didn’t exchange any words.

That is until you were supposed to spot Katie. Padding over to her waiting by the bench press, you thought about how you could finally relax for a moment after all the tiring exercises you had to go through.

Boy, how wrong you were.

Standing at the head of the bench you had a perfect view of Katie doing her tasks. It felt like a magnet being pulled to the strongest metal, the way your eyes were glued to the forward’s arms. Not knowing what hit you, you couldn’t pull your gaze away from the heavenly sight.

Katie noticing your dazed expression, rolled her eyes with a smirk, before an idea formed in her head. Pretending to lose her grip on the weight, she laid it down on her chest and let out struggling breaths.

After she tried to get your attention with faux breathless words, you suddenly jumped out of your stupor and quickly lifted the weight off of her.

“Do you want to kill me?!”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you mumbled, regret filling your voice as you looked down sheepishly.

Shaking her head the brunette enjoyed teasing you further, “You can’t do anything, can you?”

“I said I was sorry, relax.”

Across the room, Leah and Alessia were watching the scene unfold with confusion written over their faces, “Where did this weird tension even come from? It looks like they want to kill and fuck each other at the same time.”

“I don’t know,” Leah responded, “but I think we need to separate them or one of those two things will happen any minute now.”

These little quarrels eventually developed into a common component of Arsenal’s training sessions, even being present outside of them, like on team bonding nights.

All the girls were gathered at Leah’s house to watch a few movies and just enjoy each other’s company. Everything was fine until Katie got up from the couch to get another drink for herself. During that time you arrived at the blonde’s flat, having had an appointment before, and unknowingly sat down at the spot that was previously occupied by none other than the fiery winger.

When she strolled back into the living room and saw exactly who had stolen her spot, the brunette let out an annoyed sigh. Making her way towards you, she stopped in front of your frame, “Did you make it your personal life goal to annoy me whenever you can, or what?”

Only being met by you looking at her with those stupid eyes and your stupid button nose and a stupid mischievous grin on your face, she scoffed, “Move out of my seat, you knob.”

About to stand up, you felt a few drops of something land in your lap, which made you look up only to see the brunette raising her eyebrow, “Oh no, I’m so sorry, I guess my glass was too full.”

“Tell me, Katie, is it hard being such a relentless asshole, or does it come naturally to you?” you sent her a fake smile, before moving to the other side of the room, not before jamming your shoulder into hers though.

Before Katie could retaliate, Beth let out a tired sigh, “Girls, can we just enjoy the movie now?”, gaining agreeing mumbles from everyone else.

It all came to a head when Katie tackled Alessia, who you had grown very close to in the last two months and now considered one of your best friends.

You were running along the sideline, waiting for Alessia to pass the ball, when you heard her outcry and immediately stopped. Hastily making your way to the blonde, you kneeled down and softly put your hand on her left leg, trying to calm her down, “Oh my god, Less, are you alright?”

“It hurts,” she groaned, still holding her foot.

“Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be fine, the medics are gonna be here in a second.”

Looking up when they arrived, you also saw the woman that had caused Alessia to fall to the ground.

Only seeing red, you stood up so fast you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash, shoving the brunette with both of your arms, “What the hell is your problem?! You don’t get to just treat people like that, jackass!”

“What did you just say to me?” barked Katie as she invaded your personal space, your faces only a breath apart, meaning you could see the vein on her forehead popping out and almost smoke coming from her ears.

“You heard me, McCabe,” taking one last step towards her, your foreheads touching, you poked your index finger into her chest, “stop playing like a fucking hazardous idiot and go apologise to her right now! I know you hate me and you can come at me all you want, be my guest, but if you ever hurt her again, I’ll break your goddamn kneecaps!” Your chest heaved up and down with the rage inside of you, “Stay. The fuck. Away. From her,” punctuating each word with a jab of your finger, you gave her one last push before turning back to Alessia still laying on the ground.

With it being the last training before the first match, it wasn’t a surprise when the atmosphere was a bit tense.

So, when you accidentally bumped into the one and only Katie McCabe, because the exercise had you all running backwards, and somehow landed on top of her, her snappy remark came almost instantly, “Watch where you’re going and get the fuck off of me.”

Putting your hands on either side of her head, you started to pull yourself up, scoffing at her overdramatic reaction, “Go take a walk and calm down, babes.”

As she quickly stood up and pushed up against your body with her glowering eyes, that reminded you of the sea after a terrible storm, the gray rolling clouds reflecting onto the almost-blue surface of the water, her intoxicating scent invading your nostrils only infuriating you further, “Why don’t you take a walk back to Barcelona?”

Having had enough of this constant back and forth, you raised both of your arms and let them fall back to your sides, “What’s your goddamn problem?!”

“You! And don’t try your stupid innocent act on me, you know exactly what you did.”

Seeing the frown on your face, Katie continued, “Unless you’re gonna admit it, you can take your shit-talking self elsewhere.”

“God, you’re so full of yourself, I’m not gonna kiss your ass and apologise for something I didn’t even do!”

“Are yo- ”

She was interrupted by Leah separating you two, “Let’s take a deep breath, ladies.” Still glaring at one another you two slowly parted ways.

The locker room was buzzing with everyone’s excitement for Arsenal’s first game of the season, excited chatter coming from every corner. As you were all about to enter the pitch for warm ups, Jonas appeared, “McCabe, Y/L/N, a minute, please.”

He waited for the other girls to leave before addressing you, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to get it together,” his tone emphasising his disappointment. “When I made you the offer, Y/N, I thought you two would come together as a fantastic offense, because I know Katie has wanted to be winger again for a long time now and your styles and techniques just compliment each other perfectly,” the words causing you to look at your shoes shamefully.

“Now I know that you can destroy Liverpool’s defense out there but in order to do that, I need you two to work together, okay?” he looked to the two women in front of him expectantly, causing both of them to nod, his last words only making them repeat the motion, “And if you pull anything like the the shit that went down yesterday, you’re instantly being subbed off, understood?”

Jonas’ words apparently made something inside the both of you switch. Throughout the whole game, Katie and you seemed to link up every chance you could and waltzed through Liverpool’s defense like a hazard. Even when you were behind the Irish woman, she could somehow feel your presence and get the ball to your feet. You had to admit that playing with Katie when you were both working together felt amazing, giving the impression of flying over the pitch.

Even though the game went as well as it did, you went back to being at each other’s throats afterwards.

The snarky comments exchanged in the locker room extinguishing any hope your teammates had that you would at least be civil now.

One day at lunch in the team cafeteria, Katie couldn’t help but let her gaze float towards her self-appointed enemy.

Watching as you laughed with Alessia, made her thoughts run wild. Why would you say that about her? And why was she so bugged by it, when she normally just let the nasty comments brush past her without giving them a second glance?

A fork dropping to the floor startled her, making her eyes flick towards the direction the sound came from. She could see Alessia leaning down to pick it up and noticed you putting your hand between the blonde’s head and the edge of the table, efficiently sparing the forward an uncomfortable collision with the table.

This wasn’t the first time, the brunette picked up on your kindness. All the other times, for example, you staying behind and helping the staff clean up or you giving the girl you’d walked onto the pitch with your jacket, making her wonder why you were treating her so differently.

The heavy feeling in her gut made a crease form between Katie’s eyebrows. Turning to her right she questioned the captain of England’s national team, “Why is she literally the nicest human being to everyone but me?”

“Hmm, let me think, maybe because you’ve been nothing but mean to her since day one?” spoke the blonde after tapping her chin with a faux thoughtful face that turned into an ‘are you kidding me’ look.

Grumbling and stabbing her food with her fork she retorted, “She started it.”

“What do you mean? There’s not a bad bone, not even a bad cell, in that girl’s body.”

“Well, when I came in on her first day, I heard her talking to someone and she was saying pretty nasty things about me,” Katie claimed with a defeated tone.

A confused look crossed Leah’s face, “Are you sure it was her? What did she say?”

Thinking back to said day, she tried to get the words together, “Yes, I’m a hundred percent sure, and she was saying something like ‘McCabe is way too aggressive, all she does is get cards and she just isn’t good’ and I don’t know, normally I don’t really care about what people say about me, but I was just so excited to play with her and-”

“Are you serious?!”, exclaimed the blonde incredulously.

“What?”

“Did you listen to her until the end?”

Grimacing, Katie replied, “No, why would I? So that I could hear more of her borderline offensive comments?”

Fishing for her phone in her pocket, Leah grunted, “I can’t believe you sometimes, you useless lesbian.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Irish woman starting to feel lost now, as her friend put her phone down in front of her, a video playing.

Scanning the screen she could see the title of said video ‘Y/N Y/L/N’s first Arsenal interview’ and the fog in her brain only thickened. Then she heard a voice behind the camera, “So, what are you most excited about?”

You smiled nervously, fiddling with the rings on your finger, “Uhm, I’m really excited to play with this team cause their style is so different and I just think, uh, I can learn a lot from these amazing girls.”

“And who are you most excited to play with?”

“Oh, that’s easy, Katie McCabe,” you told the interviewer animatedly, “many people might say like ‘Oh, McCabe isn’t good. She’s borderline reckless and very petulant, plays way too aggressively and all she does is collect cards for her team’,” you imitated while doing air quotations.

“But I’m like, have you seen this girl play? It’s amazing to watch and maybe she’s a bit more physical but it’s working, isn’t it? I don’t know, I just think it’s very admirable and just so unique cause you don’t see a lot of people playing like that, you know? Sorry, I’m rambling,” you chuckled with rosy cheeks.

The blonde taking her phone back, brought Katie back to the real world. The realisation of what she had done came crashing down on her like a ton of bricks.

She hid her face behind her hands before she muttered ashamedly, “I’ve just really been an arsehole to her this whole time for no reason, haven’t I?”

“Yup, you have,” Leah patted her on the shoulder consolingly, “but I’m sure she’ll forgive you if you apologise.”

“Well, here goes nothing.”

When you heard footsteps approaching your table, you looked up from your plate to come face to face with the most infuriating person you knew, “Hey Y/N, could we maybe talk for a minute?”

Expecting her to start another fight, you couldn’t hide your surprise. “Uhm, sure I guess,” you told her as you got up to follow her out of the crowded room, shooting Alessia a confused look and only getting a shrug in response.

You arrived outside and when she stopped, you let your gaze study the woman in front of you. With her head down and her hands fidgeting, your eyes caught a sight you never would’ve thought to see. Used to her confident and feisty persona, you were astounded when you heard her speaking in a voice softer than you’d ever heard it before.

Trying to calm herself down, Katie took one last deep breath, before rising her eyes to meet your questioning ones, “I know you hate me and that this will not make up for the horrible way I’ve treated you and the awful things I’ve said, but I still want to apologise and explain why I acted the way I did.”

Your eyes widened as you took in her words and noticed that she looked to be on the verge of crying, so you sent her an encouraging smile, which she gratefully reciprocated.

“God, this is gonna sound so dumb,” she put one hand on her forehead and the other on her hip and continued, “Uhm, you remember your first day?” You nodded your head. “Well, I came in when you had your interview and I may have overheard a bit of what you were saying, only it was just a snippet of what you actually said, so I got the impression that you hated me, which I hope I didn’t make true, because I walked away before I could hear the rest of your answer.”

“I was just so excited to be able to play with you that I felt devastated after hearing your words, and I don’t really know why I did what I did but I just want you to know that I’m very very sorry, I truly am. When Leah showed me the whole video, I felt like the biggest fool ever. I know that this doesn’t excuse my behaviour but I hope you can forgive me and if not, I totally understand! Just tell me and I won’t get in your way until the end of time,” spoke Katie with her voice wavering on a few words.

The melodious sound of your laugh is what breaks her eye contact with the floor. Perplexed, she looked at you, trying to make out what your reaction meant.

“Sorry,” you let out another chuckle, “this is just the most rom-com movie type of shit I’ve ever experienced.”

You could see the girl in front of you visibly relax at your words, her shoulders finally dropping and letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

“And I should also apologise, it was wrong of me to treat you the way I did, especially because I just joined and don’t really know what everyone’s like and I also shouldn’t’ve provoked you like that and said the things I did, so yeah, I’m sorry too. I hope we can move past this,” seeing the hopeful glint in your shimmering eyes, Katie herself felt something inside of her spark.

With a thrilled smile, the Irish woman held her hand out as she proposed, “Friends?”

A beaming grin broke out on your face, feeling a tingling sensation in your tummy, you nodded giddily and pulled the woman into a tight hug. Your arms wrapped around her back as she leaned up to snake hers around your neck, squeezing tightly.

The warmth that encompassed you couldn’t even compare to drinking a hot chocolate under your fluffy blankets with your favourite movie playing on a snowy winter night.

The following weeks were filled with Katie and you spending more and more time together. One particular day, Katie couldn’t keep her eyes nor her thoughts off of you.

It all started with her struggling to get a glass that had been placed on one of the higher shelves in the cafeteria.

She had been trying to reach the goddamn thing for at least two minutes now and was just about to give up, when she felt the heat of a body behind her. Before she could turn around, the person took one last step towards her, their front touching Katie’s back, and reached out to hand her the item she had been failing to grasp.

If the familiar smell of your vanilla scent wasn’t enough of an indication of who exactly was pressing their body (a very fit one at that, if Katie’s sinful thoughts were anything to go by) against hers, your teasing voice definitely was, “You know, I’ve always wondered, has anyone ever mistaken you for being in middle school before?”

Ripping the glass out of your hand with a glare on her face the brunette retorted, “Fuck you.”

“Don’t mind if you do.”

Seeing her dumbfounded expression only caused your smirk to spread across your whole face, enjoying the sight of the usually confident woman trying to hide the heat rising up her cheeks and squirming in her place.

You found her flushed face extremely adorable, so there was nothing else to do but squish her cheeks between your hands - and that’s exactly what you did.

With you still squishing her warm face you exclaimed, “Aww, aren’t you the cutest?”

Slapping your hands away, she grumbled something unintelligible and turned on her spot, strutting back to her table. The laughter coming from you (which still put a slight grin on her face) didn’t help her face cool down, making the teasing from Leah inevitable.

“If you two don’t get together soon, I’ll lock you in my basement until you do, I just can’t watch this anymore.”

Katie already knew the comment would irk her, so she didn’t try to resist herself, “You don’t have a basement.”

“I don’t care, I’ll find something else to lock you in!”

A few hours later, her lack of concentration led to another incident involving you. She wasn’t paying attention for a minimum of two minutes (her thoughts being on anything but the exercise) when she collided with someone.

Tumbling to the ground, she grunted at the impact of the floor and the person landing on top of her. As soon as she saw who was almost laying on top of her, every last complaint flew right out of her head.

She looked up at your eyes to find them slightly creased at the edges, “I thought we would stop meeting like this, since we’re friends now,” you laughed.

“Maybe I just like having you on top of me,” retorted the girl laying on the ground, sending you a wink, which allowed Katie to see your eyes roll into the back of your head, as you jokingly swatted her arm and walked away.

It was her last straw though, when you two were the last ones in the locker room and you pulled a box out of your bag, “Oh, I almost forgot! I made these blueberry muffins cause you said you haven’t had any in a long time and they were always your favourite.”

You handed her the box and she sent you a grateful smile, the butterflies in her stomach awakening, “That’s really nice, thank you, Y/N!”

You waved her off with a ‘No problem’ and trudged back to your bag to continue changing.

Remembering what you had wanted to add, you snapped your finger, “Also they’re glutenfree so your niece can have some if she wants! She’s coming to yours tomorrow, right?”

The butterflies reappearing with what felt like twice the power, Katie’s whole body was overflowed with a warm tingly feeling as she realised that you had remembered every little detail.

Lost for words, the Irish woman just stared at you from across the room. Unaware of the watching eyes trained on you, you took of your shirt.

On the other side, Katie stood, still in a daze from your kind gesture, and now unable to look away from your almost uncovered upper body. The way the sweat glistened on your toned abs enchanting her with a seemingly unbreakable spell. When she broke out of her stupor, she strode over to you with quick steps.

Hearing the hurried footsteps approaching, you turned around alarmed, “Wha-”

Before you could get out another word, the smaller woman had pushed you against the wall behind you, and like the oceans being pulled towards the moon, your lips found one another.

If before Katie had butterflies, she could now feel a whole zoo dancing in her tummy, a kind of warmth overtaking her that she’d never felt before. When the woman’s soft lips caressed yours, your heart stopped for a moment before picking up at double its pace.

Warm hands landed on your bare waist, pushing you further against the wall and impossibly closer together, you felt the thud of your combined heartbeats getting quicker with every second your lips were connected.

Your hands quickly found themselves tangled in her brunette hair and when you slightly pulled on it, Katie let out a raspy groan against your lips, sending tingles shooting from your fingers to your toes, the smell of her perfume dizzying you further.

Pulling away and getting a short breath of air into her lungs, you fisted her jersey in your palms and yanked her back, her lips landing on the silky pillow that was your mouth.

Just feeling the careful swipe of her tongue on your bottom lip, you breathed out a blissful sigh before being forced apart by the need for oxygen.

Your eyes were still closed as you felt Katie’s breath wavering across your face, “Why didn’t we do that earlier?”

Finally looking at her, you were enthralled by the sight before you. Katie McCabe with messy hair, rosy cheeks, a dazed look in her dazzling eyes and her swollen red lips slightly parted would be the death of you.

“I don’t know but we need to make up for lost time,” declared the brunette with a dreamy smile and pulled you back in by your waist.

#woso #woso x reader #katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #arsenal #arsenal wfc #arsenal x reader #woso fanfics

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addicted-to-dc · 2 months

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If your still taking requests can you write an platonic Bruce and Damian x Female reader.

Summary: Reader is working at a coffee shop one day,until bruce takes his son Damian out for coffee and meet the reader that was taking their order. They start acting strange when meeting her because she looks like Bruce's late wife Talia(Damian mother). They end up stalking and kidnapping her.

Ooooo I love thissss. I'm inspireedddddd. Okay, imagine this:

You switched shifts with your work bestie. It was well worth the sacrifice, especially since it's an oddly dull day. Rain was no stranger to Gotham, but this storm is something else.

The door's blown open multiple times, the entire front nearly flooding in an instant until you shoved it shut. At least you have something to do now. Your mind wanders to what the hell you're having for dinner tonight. Should you steal a muffin before leaving and catch up on the show you're watching? Maybe a movie would be better, less chance of binging multiple seasons throughout the night-

DING

Turning around, you move to close the door, but you're shocked to see a large person (?) enter the store. The father is completely soaked, black hair flat against his head despite the hat he's wearing. Then he pulls his coat open, revealing a completely dry boy.

Your heart melts instantly. That's so adorable.

"Welcome in! Glad to see you survived the storm," you joke, hoping to lighten the mood. The poor man looked like he needed it.

"Barely," he smiles, placing his coat on the rack. "London fog for me, with milk, and he'll have-"

"I will have the same, but with oat milk. Whip cream on the side... extra whip cream," his son interjects. His father raises a brow. "Please and thank you."

"You are very welcome," you smile, crinkling your eyes so they can see it behind the face mask. You lean forward, pointing to the table in the corner. "That's the warmest spot in the front. I'll bring out your drinks soon."

"I didn't-"

"On the house, now go warm up," you say, shooing them both off. "You'll get sick."

The boy goes to roll his eyes, but they catch yours. There's a flash of recognition in his green orbs, a hint of sadness dripping into it before he recovers. He nods dutifully and sits in the corner.

His father on the other hand stays put. He places a twenty in the tip jar, and you can only huff out a laugh.

"Defeats the whole purpose of 'on the house' but I won't stop you."

He chuckles, "Consider it a thank you. Our driver's stuck in traffic and you're the only one open."

"I'm surprised you can see the open sign at all out there. I haven't seen a storm like this since the defrost from that Freeze attack a few years back."

"I remember that one, pretty sure we had to renovate the sewage system."

"It's a good one. We haven't had a bad flood since."

There's a lull in the conversation. You look to your right. His son's staring at you from afar, that same haunting look in his eyes. Your heartstrings tug at that. What does he see that makes you familiar?

"Your little man over there is looking lonely. I'll get these drinks started."

"I'll leave you to it."

He steps away, his stormy blue eyes lingering on you for a bit too long. He joins his son at the table, their conversation hushed. Not like you can hear it anyway with the rain.

The London Fogs... check, but your mask got drenched when water splashed all over you. That was your last one, too. It's fine, not like you'd be interacting with a lot of people today anyways.

Now, this last part is really going to make or break this kid's day. Grabbing a small dish, you take out the whip cream and create a HUGE swirl of it. He's going to love it.

Minding the still wet floor, you place their tea cups on the table. "Here you are, and last, but not least, your extra whip cream. Hope you like it."

They remain in the shop for the rest of your shift, waiting out the storm until you have to close. Walking back to their table, you collect their dirty dishes. "I'm closing early. You still have some time, but I hope your driver arrives soon."

You smile at the boy, but as soon as your eyes meet the man's you finally recognize him... Bruce Wayne? Man, the storm did a number on him if it rendered him unrecognizable.

He shakes his head. "Multiple accidents, everyone's stuck until the rain clears. How're you planning on getting home? I hope you're not driving."

"No, no, I don't think I can be trusted to drive in this city," you joke, taking a step back. "It's only a little walk."

"More like a swim today," the little one snarks, wrenching a snort out of you.

"Good thing I'm here 'til close."

The air shifts at that. You're not sure why, but the warmth from the vents disappearing tells you everything right before the lights go out.

"Great," you sigh, blindly placing the dishes back onto the table. "Give me a moment, let me check-"

You feel a sharp pain in your neck, stumbling into the next table over as the rain becomes deafening. All it takes is a simple shove and your balance is gone, the floor raising to hit you in the face. Or was it you falling into it?

"She looks just like her."

"Yes, Damian, she really does."

BOOM and I thought I couldn't write anymore. Couldn't really fit the stalking in here, but c'monnnn use your imagination. Bruce and Damian probably saw this as a chance to finally get you.

#bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader #batman x reader #robin x reader

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ghoultrifle · 26 days

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mushy may day nine !!!!

prompt: warming them up

characters: aurora & ifrit

word count: 650

summary: aurora tries her luck with a fire ghoul when the heating goes out

below the cut or on ao3 :))

She stands in the doorway of his room, a blanket roughly wrapped around her midriff, caught in the door as it trails behind her. It’s as if she’s been frozen in both time and temperature given how she just stops once the fire ghoul wakes up, rubbing his bleary eyes.

“R-rory?” Ifrit asks, processing the sudden appearance of the new summon in his bedroom. Why his bedroom? “What’s up, pumpkin?”

Through chattering teeth she manages to mumble out an explanation. “Cold, ‘n heating b-broken in the wing,” she stutters. “Can I…?” Her sentence runs off into nothing, her brain subdued by the cold.

“Oh- uh- yeah of course, let me just put on my dressing gown and I’ll be out of your hair.” He scrambles to get out of bed, not even noticing he’s still wearing his I ♡ MILFs boxers. The ghoulette giggles when he turns around to reveal the text on them, the most coherent noise she’s made since arriving at his door.

“No, silly! I want you in the bed too, how else is it going to keep warm? The heating’s fucked everywhere, even in here.” Ifrit goes to touch the radiator and, sure enough, it’s stone cold, much like the walls throughout the Ministry.

Disrobing once more, a confused look still paints his face, “Why me? What’s that little shit Dew up to now, hmm?”

“Nothing! Just everyone else already went to him so I figured you’d be the less popular choice and you have more surface area,” she says cheekily.

“Oh?! So you’re calling me lonely and fat? How lovely!” He teases, smiling wide, striding towards Aurora to pick up bridal style.

She gasps as Ifrit picks her up, cocooning her in the blanket. “Nuh uh! Jus’ saying Dewdrop’s overrated and you’re built like a dorito.” He carries her the short distance to the bed, it’s entirely unnecessary but they both revel in the faux act of chivalry on Ifrit’s part. He knows damn well Aurora is a princess and will treat her like one even if it’s through the lens of a goofy idiot.

The mattress wobbles as Ifrit ungracefully dumps the ghoulette onto his bed. Aurora inspects the plush navy sheets before plumping the accompanying pillows and dragging her finger along the headboard to inspect for dust. “Hmm seems to be up to standard Mr Fritter,” she says sternly, though Ifrit can see the smile building up and threatening to break her character. “I can confirm I will be gracing your bed with my presence today. Thank you for your application to Rory Bed Hog Limited and welcome aboard!” With that, she flops down, pulling the duvet right up to her ears, the blanket she arrived in abandoned.

“Why thank you Ms Rora, we here at Fire Ghoul Incorporated do hope you enjoy your stay. Please let us know of any requirements you may have to make your visit as smooth as possible.”

The ghoulette attempts a reply but they both burst out laughing before she can; her hearty chuckles jostling the bed. Both ghouls take a moment to collect themselves, taking deep breaths and averting their eyes from each other’s gaze because they know the second they look up they’ll crack up again. With one final grounding breath Aurora asks, extending her hand to the fire ghoul, “Join me?”

“My pleasure,” Ifrit replies, enveloping her hand with his and jumping into the bed with her. He pulls up the duvet and blankets, near covering Aurora’s small frame in them.

The room soon warms up as Ifrit begins to purr, Aurora’s hand in his. With the two of them cosy as can be, it’s no time at all before they’re both back asleep, the worries of the day faded as they just exist with each other. Aurora makes a very sleepy note to come visit the friendly giant more often.

#trifle writes #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #nameless ghouls #aurora ghoulette #ifrit ghoul #mushy may 2024

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 9 months

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Poets and Painters (Early Morning) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,390

Early Morning

It's unclear if someone perhaps made the suggestion to the General, or if he devised this idea on his own, but Master Plo has decided that the best use of the day today is to do… nothing at all. You are drifting through space in an area of the galaxy that has been seldom touched by this war. You didn't even recognize the name of the planet when you regarded the astronav aboard the bridge of the Jedi cruiser. Small, and relatively unpopulated according to what the scanners had picked up. There was hardly any record of this planet being here, in fact. It was puzzling to mostly everyone.

"Yeah, well it was the same for Big Stormy in the Jedi archives according to the General, but Kamino was still very much there…" one trooper complains to his brother in the chair beside him with an unimpressed roll of his eyes, his arms laced tightly across his broad chest. "Who's to say other planets won't show up on the kriffing maps if not a lot of people come here?" His neighbor glowers at him in warning, hissing back under his breath to shut up or he's going to distract the General.

To this, Plo Koon encourages the two young troops to settle themselves before Sergeant Sinker tells them to cut it out. "Come now, young Tack. Orchid is right, in a sense. There are perhaps even other galaxies we do not know about, or have a way to get to. This planet… Little Archossi… seems to be safe. We'll set down on the planet, away from what appears to be one of the settlements, so as not to disturb the inhabitants." Inhabitants that are assumed to be humanoid and sentient, but they have no way of making contact with them. Everyone is cautioned to not appear threatening to them should these Archossi (Archossian?) make an approach.

They would surely notice a ship of this size over their home planet.

The Triumphant looms imposingly above, just out of reach of the planet's atmosphere and gravitational pull.

Disembarking the gunships, you step into the soft, springy grass of the large clearing on this forested planet. The atmosphere is breathable, and it's welcomed after so long in the presence of oxygen recyclers.

The air is cool, and fragrant with a diverse bouquet of blooming wildflowers. Some are familiar, others are surprising and entirely unknown. Clone researchers, though they are not asked to, task themselves with determining these botanicals out of caution. "Just being preemptive, General Plo." Tack explains when the Kel Dorian Jedi comes to remind him that the Clones and crew of the Triumphant who joined him on the surface of the planet are here and meant to relax. "Just in case these flowers turn out to have irritants or strange pollen. Don't want any surprises, sir."

Plo hums thoughtfully, the sound a deep, warm rumbling. "Very good, Tack. I hope you find what you are looking for soon so you may join your brothers." One of his steady hands makes a slow, sweeping gesture out to another part of the clearing, where several other brothers of the 104th battalion have gathered around the Commander.

He appears to be laying out a few ground rules with his men, from where you sit on a small, grassy knoll here in this break in the trees. You can catch words and small fragments of what he's saying, but you don't pay him much attention. Being just one of the crew aboard the cruiser, words like emergency flares and what must be the word holster don't pertain to anything you've brought along with you. There's no expectation of danger from the native people, but they say you can never be too prepared. Well, you're not too sure about that when you hear what was definitely the words stun setting and do not stray far.

Surely the Commander was being a little overboard about all this…

But that's not your business. You turn your attention back to the small canvas bag at your feet and root through it to find the personal belongings you've taken with you for today just as the researcher named Tack assures his General once again that he's perfectly content to spend his day like this.

"Don't worry about me, General. I never mind spending a day researching things. Besides, I'm not the only one who's brought my usual gear with me. Looks like Arcadia brought their own datapad." Hearing your name, you pause just as you're pulling out the datapad since putting the spiral-bound sketchpad and graphite pencils you've thrown in the bag in your lap, meeting Tack's eye.

"Oh this is just in case I want to read later," you explain with a laugh. "My, uh, older family members gave me some serious art supplies to take with me before I joined aboard the Triumphant and I just haven't had a chance to use 'em yet. Figured while we were on Little Archossi I'd give them a try."

"Cool, cool. Have fun with that." Tack replies, smiling as he turns back to a dazzling blue flower with thin, silky petals. You've caught the interest of the Kel Dor, and he makes a request to sit beside you for the moment. You've been told by others that this Jedi Master makes a point to try to get to know as many people who serve alongside him as possible, that he's polite and seems to just radiate calm and wisdom.

"Yes of course, go right ahead." you tell him, moving the bag to the other side to make room beside you on the knoll. "Here."

"Thank you," he starts, dipping his head in a slow gesture of gratitude, "I won't take up too much of your time Arcadia."

"I don't mind if you do, General. I don't really know what I want to do with… all this." you assure him with a mild laugh, indicating the spiral-bound and the pencils resting on the thighs of your slate-gray, form-fitting uniform. You chose not to wear any of your casual-wear today, though it would be more comfortable in the long term. You were due to wash your uniforms soon enough, spending a day on a strange planet would expedite the need to do so in case of any contaminants.

You let him take one of the pencils to examine, noting how Master Plo takes such care with your personal property. "These were a gift to you, you said?"

Your head bobs in answer. "That's right. I guess they thought I'd have a lot more opportunities to get back into artwork or something while I was stationed with the one-oh-fourth on the cruiser. But maybe I'll break in the new sketchbook today, with a little, uh… oh, what do they call it? Plein air sketching." You imagine the inquisitive blink of his eyes under the anti-ox mask and eyewear worn by the General when he does not say anything at first, and can only guess there is some sort of smile before the pencil is returned to you. "Most intriguing. Perhaps I will have to come by another time when you have made some progress."

"You're certainly welcome to."

"Thank you, Arcadia. I believe I should warn young Soapsuds to remember the Commander's warning about not straying too far…" There's a shared chuckle between you. Soapsuds is a darling, and a very courageous soldier for what are nicknamed "shinnies", but he can be a little bit forgetful. Perhaps with the Force, Plo Koon can sense what you can only assume: Commander Wolffe is having some difficulty with the primary objective for today. "Until later."

You bid him farewell for the time being, too, and tuck back the cover to the sketchbook. The pages are surprisingly thick, and if you had a more serious artistic inclination, you could guess that the pages of this book could take a variety of mediums. Graphite pencil, for certain, and perhaps a number of other dry mediums like pastels or charcoal or coloring pencils. You're not certain it would do well with wet mediums at first glance. Maybe a layer or two of gouache? Looser styles of watercoloring? But probably not oils or acrylics, they would likely warp the pages and make everything tacky.

It's admittedly been some time since making any use of traditional supplies for anything other than scribbling down a note to pass to a colleague, or taking records of serious instructions on the bridge. Before putting the pencil against the page, you mentally coach and coax yourself to take the plunge.

I'll probably be a little rusty. That's okay. Just give it a shot. Maybe I'll surprise myself.

The lead within is buttery-soft, and lays down a bold line without any skipping after it sweeps over the fine, toothy hills and valleys in the texture of the page. Oh. Oh wow. That's quality. You'll have to thank the gift giver for their generosity, and you promise yourself in a moment of wishful thinking to never use this for anything but artistic endeavors in the few fleeting chances you'll get for it.

(Would you keep this promise in a standard week from now, or a month at most? Unlikely.)

There's a groan of great annoyance from Tack to your left, still studying the beautiful blue flowers. "Not having any luck, Tack?"

"No. It's not showing up on any of my catalogs."

You frown sympathetically, lifting your head to meet his eye. "I'm sorry."

"I'll figure something out…" Tack grumbles, lightly raking his nails along the back of his neck. "I just don't want to find out that this can make anyone sick, or something, before it's too late."

"That's very sweet of you, Tack." you tell him with a kind smile as you continue to sketch loose shapes and lay down lines to break in this first page. Tack was rough around the edges, and could frustrate easily, but did not back down from a challenge just because he met a little resistance. "Say, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Does the Commander seem on edge to you this morning? I have to admit I'm having trouble telling." You feel you need to tread a little cautiously with this question. If you express that you think the leader of the 104th with a silver, cybernetic eye and a prominent stripe of scar tissue down his face is being a bit overbearing or uptight in any way when you don't know him quite so well, it would not make for a great first impression should word get back to him.

Tack shrugs after a moment of thought. "Oh, Commander Wolffe? Yeah, I suppose so. He's a rather diligent man. Nothin' wrong with that of course-"

"Of course, no." you cut in hurriedly. "I was only curious."

"Don't know him so much, I'm guessing?" Tack makes a sound of understanding as you shake your head, "Ah, well, you haven't been here that long. Not many of us have been either, truthfully." He lays down a short summary of the battalion's history to you, answering questions best he can. Things changed dramatically after the Battle of Abregado; they lost so many brothers, there were only a few survivors of that encounter, and they were not always the flint gray they are now.

"Maroon? Really."

"Mhm."

"I see… And, his scar?"

Tack suppresses a deep wince, but only just. "Sith."

Your veins turn to ice momentarily in spite of the gentle warmth of the nearest star. "Maker."

You've had your fill of the questions for the time being, wishing him luck as he tries his hand once more at identifying his mysterious flower. You're going to do your best not to stare at Commander Wolffe as he paces the perimeter of the clearing, keeping a vigilant watch for trouble. The General repeatedly invites him to have a seat and clear his mind for a moment, but he is turned down time and time again, politely but curtly. "No thank you, General Plo."

The trooper you know to be Sergeant Sinker thanks to the pale, silver hair leans in closer to whisper something to the General, which only makes Jedi shake his head almost pityingly. "I was afraid of that… Thank you, Sinker."

"Don't worry, General. He'll probably only pace for so long," Boost says in an attempt at comfort, "if the people of the planet were gonna come and investigate, they'd've done it by now. But we know to show them we mean 'em no harm."

So was the Commander pacing the perimeter because he wanted to see any approachers before it was too late? Would he be keeping this up all day when they were meant to clear their heads for a change? Yes, they were advised to be aware of their surroundings, but securing a boundary might be a little much. What was driving him to be so watchful and defensive on a sparsely inhabited planet?

Paranoia? Selflessness and love and concern for his brothers? Was this perhaps a sacrificial gesture: pacing and patrolling the circumference of the clearing to ensure that his soldiers, and some of the crew of the Triumphant, could be out here largely undisturbed without any rest for himself?

If that was the case, it did not tug at your heartstrings gently.

For someone with such a gentle name, Orchid has one of the worst swearing habits in the one-oh-fourth. "Oh karking Maker, the Commander finally sat the kriff down." Tack warns him to keep his voice down in a sharp-ish manner, and to take it easy on the language.

You were glad that the man did finally decide to rest his legs and perhaps finally enjoy the day with the rest of you, but not so much where he decided to sit.

You'd been trying to draw one of these interesting trees here on Little Archossi, where the sprawling crown of the canopy cascades down in thick, full plumes of leaves in multiple shades of red and orange. You had a few pencils for coloring in the bottom of the bag, and a decent pen that you could add a little ink to the page to outline some of the details, but now Commander Wolffe has plunked himself squarely in the middle of what you have been trying to draw for the last hour and a half.

Of all the hills in this clearing, this is where he decided to sit? In front of the one tree in this entire area largely free of them? Everyone else has stayed clear of it when they realized they would be getting in the way of your artistic subject, apologizing and instead coming to sit beside you to watch for a few minutes. But he doesn't seem to notice you just across the way, just on the other hill.

Well… it's not what you had in mind, but, maybe you could make this work, still. The armor and the anatomy won't be perfect by any means, though. You're thankful you kept your pressure light on the page, making it easier to erase a large area of the trunk you'd drawn previously and fill that space with the Commander. You just had to hope he didn't get up anytime soon.

Most of his body and the basic shapes of his armor are sketched out before the ceaseless skritch of the graphite must finally catch the Commander's attention just as you're warring with yourself on the matter of the codpiece.

How much detail do I include here? Oh Maker if he sees this he'll probably realize I've been staring at his crot-

"What are you doing over there?" The voice from across the other grassy hill jolts you from your thoughts, and you are grateful you did not have your drawing implement against the page in that moment.

Oh, Maker, please do not let your face be red. "Ah, just doing a little outdoor sketching, Commander." Please do not let him ask you what you're drawing…

"What of…?" The Commander draws out his question, pausing when he probably does not remember, or know, your name. That's not super surprising, you tell yourself. You're just a crew member, and not one of his many men he interacts with on a regular basis. He not knowing your name is by no means personal.

"Call me Arcadia. And the tree, sir."

"Am I in your way, Arcadia?" he asks, one of his eyebrows lifting just slightly with the question.

"No, sir. You're not. You're included with the tree." you answer, stretching the truth. You have to hope that it doesn't come across in an unsettling or creepish fashion to the Clone Commander. Good impressions. Good impressions were important. "I, um, hope you don't mind." You don't want him to get up when he's just sat down. You don't want to feel like you're doing something unwelcome either. Something that would disrupt his enjoyment of this rare occasion in wartime; a peaceful day, among flowers and a grassy, hilly field surrounded by trees on all sides. His brothers are enjoying themselves, laying on their backs in the grass, faces warm in the golden sunlight with the day just beginning.

The General is enjoying himself, and looks to be spending a little time with some of the other troops, showing them how to calm their minds with meditation. You heard one of the shinnies ask Master Plo about it not too long ago, and he was happy to oblige.

Commander Wolffe should get to enjoy this day, too.

"I don't mind." he answers. The tonal quality of his voice does not suggest begrudging agreement, a thinning veneer of patience, or complete indifference. "How long do I need to hold still?" He asks, the same eyebrow as before lifting again.

"Not very," you reply, quickly returning your pencil to the page to begin sketching him again now that you were assured he would not be opposed to this, "the idea is to be quick when drawing outdoors, for the most part."

"And why is that?"

The graphite continues to skritter and skritch along the surface of the page, you do not stop what you are doing to answer him this time. You will get this done quickly, and you will take your work somewhere else to add color to it. "No two days will ever be the same, sir. Plein air painters and artists only have one day to complete what they work on." One day that you did not want to force being a live subject upon him. Agreeing to let you sketch his likeness into the sketchpad is one thing. Asking him to stay there as you added layers of color and ink to the page would be taking advantage of his agreement. His "day off".

Resting his head back against the scale-patterned bark of the tree, Wolffe nods slowly in contemplation, closing his eyes. "And which are you, Arcadia?" You missed the question, so absorbed in the general shape of his face, and recalling that in order to draw eyes you need to keep them an eye's distance apart.

"S-sorry, sir?"

"I asked which one you are. A painter, or a different kind of artist."

You shake your head softly, doing your best not to stammer terribly in shame for not hearing him. "Oh. I-I'm not much of a painter."

"So a different kind of artist then," he suggests, tilting his head back just slightly for a moment while adjusting his legs in front of him, "a sketcher, perhaps."

Your eyes meet with his for a fleeting moment when you glance back up from the page to finalize a few details of the position of his legs, the width of his tights, and once again do not linger on the codpiece. "Um, I suppose? It's been a long time since I…" you trail off and shrug half-heartedly, unsure how to explain. Or if he even wants to hear it and is just making conversation to be polite. A man of his position and status in this war is busy, his mind must always be occupied with stratagem and contingencies and, recalling what Tack has said… loss.

The Republic did not win that battle, and Wolffe lost so many brothers on top of it all. And an eye to a Sith. How much more would he lose? How much more would this galaxy take from him?

You frown, brow furrowing, at the thought.

"What's the matter?" the man on the other hill asks you, expression neither puzzled or concerned.

Quickly, you look back down at the page in your lap, and you choose something to lie about. "The detail on your shoulder plating. Unfortunately I think a lot of the finer details will be lost in the sketch."

"Unfortunate."

"Mhm…"

You are thankful that you got most of the details down already. What you are not expecting is that when you look up again to make sure you have what you're looking for, you are now almost eye level with the white codpiece and the belt which his kama hangs from. Your heart is now hammering madly in your throat, and the rush of blood pounds steadily against your eardrum. Much like the silhouette of the Triumphant above Little Archossi, Commander Wolffe stands above you, and you feel small and almost frightened. (Almost.)

You hadn't meant to, but you flinched to find him looming over you. He frowns. "Did I scare you?" You admit that he had, yes. You didn't even hear him move from under the tree on the other hill and come up to the top of this small knoll for all the armor he wore. "You need to pay attention to your surroundings at all times." Wolffe replies coolly, now dropping to sit next to you on your left. He removes the shoulder pad from his right upper arm, and holds it up beside your sketchpad.

It feels a little insulting to be talked to like that, like one of his soldiers, when he told you to pay more attention. How dare he? "Sorry..." you mumble as you use the sharpest side of the pencil to try to copy down the wolf icon from a side-view on the graphite likeness of the man now next to you. "I didn't think you'd be moving so soon."

More like at all.

Maybe he can sense the subtext, and he becomes slightly apologetic. "Only thought it might help you to see it closer, Arcadia." Wolffe explains. He does not watch you, or respond in any way when you give a short sort of oh sound in reply to that; instead he visually sweeps the clearing for dangers or signs of trouble. You know he's listening to you, at least. The sound of short and terse scratches and more drawn-out, fluid, sweeping marks against the page keeps the moment from completely collapsing into uncomfortable silence.

"...thanks."

You've done the best you can to capture the face of the wolf, and the crescent moon-like shapes of the pad closest to you. You could probably stand to fine-tune Wolffe's face on the page, but that seems daunting to ask him to return under the tree on the other hill now just so you could get the proportions right. It wouldn't exactly come across well, you imagine.

Thank you for showing me your shoulder pads up close and all but could you kriff off, now?

"You're welcome. Do you need anything else, Arcadia?"

"No sir." you lie to the Commander through your teeth. You're just going to have to make do. This hill is taller than the other, and from here, you can see the whole clearing. This probably makes for an excellent vantage point with his strategic inclinations. "Thank you. I think I've gotten the right amount of detail, now, before I want to add some color." you continue, praying to all manner of galactic deities that you can now excuse yourself without any issue. But no such luck: you start to gather your datapad and other things, and he puts a stop to it with a single, simple question.

He'd like to watch for a moment, if that's alright.

Shit.

"Sure."

You put aside the graphite, and root through your bag for the coloring pencils. The bag has been largely untouched since it was given to you, but through one mishap or another the package of coloring pencils has been damaged, and the contents are now scattered in the bag. You have to hunt down all the necessary colors you need before any progress gets made. Sage will have to do for the grass, and Fawn will be your closest match to the color of the bark. For the leaves of the tree, Terra Cotta, a deep Marigold and Sunflower are your best choices. Regarding the Commander's armor…

There's no gray. There is not a single gray pencil in the entire package. There's Lamp Black. But no gray.

"Oh, kriff me sideways." you swear under your breath, forgetting the man beside you for the moment in your frustration. "Are you kidding me?"

Wolffe just believes for the moment you can't find something, and takes the canvas bag from at your side without a word of permission. "Are you missing something?"

You let it go that he's taken the bag to look, it's not that big of a deal. He's only trying to help. "Yes and no. I need gray for your armor, but the package doesn't have it." Giving him the broken carton, you let him see for himself that trying to look in your bag is a kind, but ultimately fruitless effort.

An alternative is quietly pointed out. "... it does have maroon."

Your heart hangs heavily in your rib cage knowing what you do now. You can only imagine his own heart will be heavier still. You have never seen the 104th battalion in that color of paint; only ever heard the tales of their escapades and exploits when their armor must have gleamed in that handsome and deep, warm red.

But tragedy and loss has stolen the color out of their coats, and they move in shadow.

Now when the Wolves run and hunt and fight, it is only in gray.

Note from Frost: I, uh... hoo boy. I don't know how to explain where this one came from. I feel a little out of my element, here, knowing what's coming and how under-practiced I am when it comes to writing more mature themes. Any pointers and/or feedback at all would be appreciated, honestly. Appreciate anyone who took the time to read this, too!

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[Masterlist]

[You are here] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night]

[Golden Dawn Part 1] [Golden Dawn Part 2]

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dolliedarlin · 1 year

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MOMMY! | KATSUMI’S QUIRK

SUM : Katsumi finally gets her quirk and her reaction is worrying

LENGTH : 2.3k

not proofread

The sound of the front door opening and closing alerts you of Katsumi's arrival back home after just arriving home yourself.

"Katsumi! Welcome home, cupcake!" you greet her as you kneel down and open your arms for a hug, expecting her usual bubbly self to fall into your embrace and start chattering about what happened at school that day. However, that doesn't happen. Instead, she gives you a weak hug around the neck and pulls away to run off to her room.

Confused, you stare up at Sero to ask the unspoken question of 'what happened?', only to receive a shrug and look of equal worry in return. Both you and Bakugou were too busy to collect her so Sero picked her up instead. You were sure to inform her that morning when you dropped her off at the usual time for school so you didn't understand why Katsumi only managed.

"She's been quiet the entire journey home, I thought you would have known what was wrong," Sero explains in a hushed voice, hyperaware of any potentially sensitive ears listening into the conversation.

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer myself," you sigh heavily in concern.

"Do you think Bakugou might know?" the tape hero asks and you shrug.

"Not a clue but I hope he does, I hate to see her like this," Sero nods in agreement at your statement; it breaks his heart to see his little (unofficial) niece so closed off and very unlike herself but all he can do for now is leave her in yours and Bakugou's trusty hands.

"I'm a call away if you guys need anything," Sero offers at the door, about to leave.

"Thank you so much, Sero-san,"

After waving off Sero, you head to the kitchen with a small solution in mind and hurriedly take out the baking equipment and ingredients needed for chocolate chip cookies. For now, this is all you can think of to help so with a small moment to prep yourself, you finish up and head towards Katsumi's room.

Knocking on the closed door, you call out gently to her, "Katsumi, cupcake, may I come in?"

"...okay..." the long silence filling the gaps around that one call of confirmation made your palms sweat.

"Is everything okay, Katsumi?" you ask upon entering her room. Your sweet girl was sitting on her bed, her back facing you as she plays with - what you can guess to be - a cuddly toy in her lap. Katsumi simple nods, still not bothering to look at you, "It doesn't look like that to me..." you pause just in case she might say something but alas, nothing, "did something happen at school?" you ask, maintaining your soft tone as you move forward to sit on the edge of her bed. You are right at the end corner of the bed so that you don't scare her off by being too physically confrontational.

"...I don't want to talk about it,"

"That's okay, you don't have to tell me but we need to do something about that sad tone in your voice, sweetie," she looks at you over her shoulder, cuddling her toy to her chest and asking you with her eyes what you could be suggestion. With a warm smile you slightly lean forward, and whisper, "would you like to bake cookies with me in the kitchen?"

It took a moment but Katsumi finally nods and crawls into your open arms to cuddle into your chest as you carry her to the kitchen.

Relief...

At least you could do this much for your precious daughter.

"I'm home,"

Once Bakugou finally makes it home, he's exhausted and couldn't wait to shower and wash the sweat and grim off him before joining his favourite girls for dinner. As per routine, he hears your steady footsteps approaching him from behind as he's pulling off his shoes.

"Welcome home, Katsuki," your voice is solemn greets him and the blonde immediately raises to his feet, his slippers on and his arms pulling you close by the waist.

"What's wrong?"

You shake your head and give him the usual peck on the cheek as how your greetings usually transpired, "I've run you your bath but please hurry," he tries to comfort you by pulling you into a hug but you shake your head no and begin leading him into the living room, "Katsumi isn't her usual self,"

Katsumi was watching her cartoons with a plate of untouched cookies before her, her posture is sad and slumped over as she continues to hold her cuddly toy close. Seeing this concerning behaviur, Bakugou immediately rushes to his daughter's side and brings her into his arms.

"What's wrong?" he whispers into her ear but you were still able to hear it as you turn off her cartoons and stand off to the side with worry. If anyone could find out what was wrong with Katsumi, it would be her father, "Come on...tell you old man what's got you feeling down," by this point, Bakugou was gently bouncing her up and down his arms, an instinct he carried through from when she was still a baby and needed comforting.

"I'm okay..." came her pitiful voice, in the same hushed whisper Bakugou had asked her in.

The explosive hero tuts, not believing her lies and gestures to the plate of cookies, "you haven't even eaten your favourite cookies and you say you're okay? You're not okay firecracker," it was very heartwarming to see this soft display between the two. A great juxtaposition between a muscly snd scarred up prohero, standing tall and wide with a curled up child in his arms, soft and clinging for attention, "tell me so we can do something about it. All problems have a solution..."

You both see Katsumi look over her shoulder at you before cuddling back into her father's chest and whispering, "I don't want mommy to hear..."

Your heart shattered and fell to the floor.

You don't know how long it's been because ever since Katsuki brought Katsumi to her room for a talk, time practically stopped for you.

In the ticking silence, you were left in the living room, staring into space and had become incredibly sensitised to every minor sound, movement and shift in the surrounding area. But being stuck in time left you with a stillness that was as deafening as a vacuum in space. It's been forever since you've been left on your own with nothing but silence and your drowning thoughts to accompany you.

Did you do something wrong?

Does Katsumi not think fondly of you anymore?

What could you have done?

Does this mean you can no longer be with Katsuki?

What did you do?!

"(Y/N)," Katsuki's voice breaks the silence and you almost snap your neck turn to face him from your seat at the living room sofa. He's smiling gently at the doorway, "come on, Katsumi wants to say something to you," with a stiff nod, you get you and walk over to him. So stuck in your head about what you could have possibly done wrong, you nearly miss the blonde hero whispering kind words of reassurance into your ear as he walks beside you.

Making it into Katsumi's bedroom, Bakugou pulls you to sit at the edge of her bed as she crawls up to you and moves to make herself comfy in your lap. You're frozen, stuck in place and unable to process whats happening after being in such a state of mental panic for god knows how long.

From your lap, Katsumi sees that you're not making any moves to embrace her warmly like you usually do, prompting her to stare up at you with teary eyes and a wobbly pout on her lips, "why aren't you hugging me mommy?" she chokes out in a whisper and almost breaks into tears if it weren't for you instantly holding her close.

"I'm sorry sweetie..." you take a moment to get your breathing in check, "I've just been really worried about you," you wipe away her silently fallen tears and muster up a kind smile, "have I done something wrong to make you sad?" your breath remains stuck in your throat from the anxiety awaiting her determining answer.

"...no, mommy you can't do anything wrong or make me sad, ever, never," she sniffles and you release your breath in relief. Thank goodness... however the question still remains, "but...I think I will make you sad, mommy,"

"What do you mean, cupcake? What happened?" you prod her gently, voice soft and gentle as Katsuki watches on from the sidelines. To him it's a ridiculous worry but Katsumi is taking it seriously so he needed to do the same. He's sure that only you can be the one to comfort her now.

"I got my quirk today..."

"Oh?" is that why? "You're just a late bloomer, there's nothing wrong with that, sweetie," you reassure her but she only shakes her head in keeps her face buried in your chest. Was that not the problem? You look up and see Katsuki shake his head at you before gesturing you to continue with the conversation, "Then what's wrong, honey?"

Katsumi stays quiet and opts to show you what was wrong instead. Looking to the side, she reaches out her arm and in her palm manifests a ball of light that dances erratically at the edges like lightening despite it's spherical shape, it was as if she took a lightening bolt straight from the sky and rolled it up into a ball small enough to fit into her hand. You stare in awe at it before some time passes and the ball gradually changes from an electric blue into a neon orange before disappearing with a small bang.

"Oh my-...wow! Katsumi!" you cheer, at awe from her powerful and beautiful quirk, "That was amazing!" you laugh in glee, hook your hands under her armpits and lifting her up in the air and smiling brightly up at her, "What a beautiful and powerful quirk you have! It suits you so well!" slowly, you bring her down and place a loving kiss on her cheek.

"Really?" she whimpers, her sad voice reflecting the ache in her heart.

"Yes really! Is that what you were worried about cupcake?" you ask her with a smile, "That I wouldn't like your quirk?"

"...It's my real mom's quirk," she says and curls up into your arms again, shaking like a spooked rabbit and cries choking her up from the unveiling of the truth.

"Oh?" you're still confused over what could be making her so upset, "What's wrong with that?"

"B-because you'll hate me for having my real mom's quirk!" at this outburt, Katsumi finally falls apart and sobs loudly in your arms, shouting phrases of 'you won't like me anymore!' and 'you'll think I want my real mom back but no! You're my mommy now!'

Hearing that, you finally understood. Rather than assuring her with words right away, you kept her cuddled close up in your chest as you softly pet the back of her head, swaying side to side and gently shushing her cries down.

"Sweetie, you know I love you, right?" she nods in your arms, still burying her face into your chest and silently sniffling, "Well your quirk is a part of who you are so it's not going to make me love you any less..."

Katsumi finally faces you, her eyes puffy and red but still doe-like and adorable, "Really?"

"Yes, 'really', besides I'm really happy you have a piece of your mother to carry with you through your life like her quirk since she is a very special person that I'll always be grateful for," this catches both Katsuki and Katsumi's attention.

"How come?" Katsumi asks, genuinely curious.

"Because without her, I never could have met you," from this, not only is Katsumi smiling brightly in your arms but Bakugou is too. And to think he couldn't love you anymore than he already did.

"Thank you for saying that to Katsumi," Katsuki whispers into your ear, his hands pulling your back into his torso from behind.

"Of course and it's only the truth, anyway," you shrug off, happy that the issue was solved and was now behind you. Katsumi was happier than ever and back to her usual bubbly self too, which was the most important thing.

"You're so perfect, thank you," Katsuki hums into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there and brings a heat to the surface of your skin. This is so unfair!

"Katsuki!" you scold with a slight whine, trying to push him off you. Katsumi was playing in the living room while you finally dealt with making dinner.

"Seeing how good you are with Katsumi makes me want to give her a younger sibling," you were speechless and with an unbelievable fast-paced heart pounding in your chest, "she treats Ren well so I'm sure she'll make a good older sister,"

"Stop and go take a shower! You stink!" you finally cry and push him off you, your hair dishelved and your stance flustered. Katsuki laughs at your adorable state.

"I didn't hear a no... so that's a ye-"

"GET OUT!"

"DADDY STOP GIVING MOMMY A HARD TIME!" Katsumi shouts in anger at her dad, stomping her little feet into the kitchen after hearing your cries from the living room, "ALL OF YOU STINKY MEN ARE ALL THE SAME! STOP IT RIGHT NOW AND GO AWAY!"

Thank god for Katsumi but...where did she learn those words from?

BNHA MLIST ; BAKUSQ. ENDEARMENT MLIST

TAGLIST :

@yamraihasgirlfriend ; @moonsong1027 ; @yaboiithewreck ; @hangesidekick ; @emotionalfangirl2002 ; @kookie02 ; @lordbugs ; @answer-the-sirens ; @toobsessedsstuff ; @moonbinnie0983 ; @kinba-ri ; @beaniebanby ; @themoonandlover ; @ravensfeatheruniverse ; @barbra-annbunny ; @maybeisthemoon ; @a-book-lover-things ; @lostinbooksblog ; @moonlightaangel ; @cocoa-bitter ; @mysteriousparker ; @mha-baku-todo-deku-kiri ; @dangerousluv1 ; @pansexualproblemchild ; @peacchfuz ; @skywalkerstyles ; @chwlogy ; @acuario2 ; @juliannaelee ; @levimeko ; @neutralchaosintheworld ; @saccharisa ; @no1herothatlookslikeavillain

#bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou fluff #single dad bakugou x reader #bnha single dad au #single dad bakugou

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thunder-threnodies · 4 months

Note

🌹 I was curious if you could write for Brett, even if he’s very clearly still committed to his missing Half Devil and not interested in anything romantic? Perhaps Brett simply has questions for a case he’s working on, and somehow the Captain gets him to enjoy the evening and it all stays very friendly :D

If so, Detective Brett Heroux is polite, even if he can be blunt when he’s annoyed or overfamiliar with someone. He doesn’t drink any spirits. He enjoys dancing- a lot, even if he’s been told he talks too much during it. He is perfectly content to ramble about the history of the dance *while* you are dancing it! It takes him a while to settle into fun, but when he does- he can easily join the festivities and inadvertently charm most he meets.

You bumped into the Captain almost by chance. Someone told you to "go and pet a Blemmigan" after... Too much time spent In your office studying the last case's notes.

How many days? Yes.

Anyway, you were mumbling and slightly grumbling when your hand, deeply tucked in the pocket of your coat, finds a small box of matches. It smells like zee water and glass polish and....

Something else. You can see that the borders have been nervously picked on and that several matches are missing and yet none have been lit using the box.

Peculiar.

You also notice that there's some stains on it, droplets perhaps, as if someone had been drinking while this delightfully decorated little box was sitting very close to the person drinking.

You stroke a finger on a stain and sniff it: whiskey but not a regular one. This was brewed with honey and smoked in Dark-dew Cherries barrels. There's only one place, coincidentally located down Ladybone's Road where you're currently strolling, that serves this whiskey, as it's quite pricey.

On the upside of the box, there's a logo and a handwritten inscription:

"We shared a cigarette and a glass of Meadnight at Blue Skye's Palace"

in an elegant, yet slightly nervous, calligraphy. Now in a more curious mood, rather than mopey, you slowly walk towards the indicated address.

As soon as you arrive at the Blue Skye's Palace, you realize that this is a high profile place. Society members and occasionally some Masters aligned individual go in and out regularly untill you notice someone that gives off the wrong vibe: a dark-auburn haired zailor, with a Captain, or Admiral perhaps, coat over a faded blood-red jacket.

You follow them inside and spot them sitting quietly at the bar, while a melancholic and sweet song is playing as background, drinking the very same whiskey you've found on the match box.

And look at the little things spread regularly all across the bar! Many, many of the very same freebies you've found in your pocket.

You sit down right next to the Zailor and order two more: one for you (although probably you're only taking a small sip. You want to keep your head level untill you know more about this fella) and one for them.

They slowly turn their head and shoot you a side glance that make your blood run cold: for a fleeting second you felt like some sort of Zee monster was sitting by your side and not just a Very Tired Captain, with blue rings around their eyes and heavy bags right under. Peligin eyes but they do not look like a Monster Hunter at all.

And Cosmogone Spectacles? A Silverer, then. But why Zail and meddle with Parabola at the same time? So many questions, so little time...

They smile and nod at you and suddenly they look like a completely different person. Warm and welcoming.

"Oh the privilege of having caught the attention of the Dandy Detective Brett Heroux himself, in the flesh! I'm so pleased to finally meet you!" they say as they gulp down the last of their glass and begin the one you paid for.

For a moment you're stunned. But you recover rather quickly. You clear your throat and just tip the glass to your lips letting nothing but a few drops go down your throat. Head level, Brett, keep your head space clear and steady.

"I see you know me...?"

"Captain or Silverer will suffice, Detective. Or if you prefer a less formal approach... Francis Morgan, here on, well--" they smile with a hint of irony in their voice "Terra Firma as they like to call it. Even though, for me, it's not so firma anymore. If you catch my wave." another little, slow sip. "Pun intended, Detective. I am a big fan of yours, by the way. Absolutely brilliant on solving most of the open cases around London! Have you ever thought about writing a book about your adventures?" they empty their glass. Yours is still rather full.

"A.. a book? No. I- I mean all of my attention has been on a very important case and a book would take too much time from me. But please tell me, is this yours? And why did it make home in my pocket, out of all?" You gently put the match box near their hand, the one holding the glass. You notice many fading scars on all the hand and that hand is more suited for holding a quill or a pen rather than a sword or pistol.

They sigh a little and twirl the whiskey in their glass.

"I truly hoped my little sleight of hand would catch your attention because you see, I need your help for a missing treasure."

They drop a few echoes on the bar and gestures for you to go outside, where they join you shortly after.

"Well, Detective Heroux... Brett, if I may call you by first name... Card's on the table. I've been sent a letter. They took a pocket watch from me, one of my most treasured possessions" they pause for a moment "pun not intended, this time."

They give you a piece of paper: letters cut out from various different sources form a rather weird message. The grammar and spelling are all messed up.

There are stains of sweets, soot and reddish dust on it. It doesn't look actually dangerous.

As the two of you walk around, not yet with a destination in mind, you ask them a few questions.

Yes they're a Silverer. It's a personal choice they made long, long ago for the sake of a loved one. No they won't tell you who, although you might have an idea who this beloved is. Yes, they have Peligin eyes but it's more because of an incident happened in their youth at the Gant Pole...

After a while, when you both exchange generally known facts about yourselves, you notice three shadowy figures spying on you from a corner.

"There, Captain!" you discretely point at them. "Don't look directly! Agh, they've seen us! Quick, keep up with me and run!" you say as you spring to action, beginning a chase across Ladybone's, Spite, the Docks.

The three figures are rather quick and agile and do their best to drop obstacles and hazards on your path. The two of you follow the hot trail for the whole afternoon, finding new, weird clues every now and then. A knotted sock but not a Knotted Sock so not Urchins.

A wooden charm. A broken compass. A patch of worn out fur. What the hell is going on here?

The three enter Ms. Plenty's Carnival and disappear amongst the crowd: it seemes that there's some sort of improvised dancing festival or reunion.

You come to a sudden halt and look around. Not a single clue or trace to be found.

You turn and see Morgan smiling at you.

"Well, Brett, we seem to have come to a momentary dead end. What do you say, shall we dance? Perhaps drop some questions, like bait you know, while we change partners. What do you know about this kind of dance and gatherings?"

As you happily instruct Francis Morgan on the matter, a new round of dances begins and quickly the two of you are caught in the vortex of joyous music and swinging melodies.

You're more than happy to guide the Captain through the dance, calling for each step and explaining some fun facts when the sequences they have already memorized come again.

The atmosphere is colorful and happy, your dancing partners more than capable of keeping up with you and you can always see the Captain in the corner of your eye. They've got your back.

When you're partnered with them once again, you lean in slightly closer.

"I've spotted a rather... cranky gentlman walk towards some attractions. I suspect our three rascals ar headed that way. Not Urchins but surely children. They stole a bowler hat somwhere and a trench coat. When the music stops, follow me."

And the Captains nods and does exactly as instructed.

You resume your chase of the Weirdly Tall Man (Definetly Not Three Children in a Trenchcoat) across all the Carnival untill you force them to take cover in the House of Mirrors.

But where are the culprits? THERE! No... no no no just a reflection of... A Master? Surely your eyes must have tricked you... That way! A small shadow runnning and the sound of small feet on the floor!

That Master-like figure again... You're pretty sure it's a Curator but which one...?

As you arrive at the center of the maze, three children, clearly siblings, each dressed up as a Pirate-wannabe, look at you slightly amazed and smiling. What the hell?

In the mirror behind them, the Winged Shadow reappears and two arms, strong and used to hold and constrain, come out of it, grabbing the trio.

No, not grabbing, hugging.

The Captain themselves step out of the mirror and lifts up the trio in their arms.

"YOU LITTLE...! I knew it was you! How the hell did you sneak in my quarters, huh?"

"We missed you! You said you'll come visit but it has been almost two months! Dad and Mom came but you didn't so we did what Pirates do: stole a treasure!" the oldest produces a shining pocket wathc with an inscription on its casing that you cannot clearly read from there and in the dim light.

The Captain laughs and makes a gesture towards the mirror: a big, clawed hand puts a wooden box in their hands, big enough to contain some decently sized objects. A small dagger for the big brother, who appears to be soon a young man rather than a child or boy, a map and a sextants for the middle sister and a fluffy, cute little Rubbery Feline plush for the youngest.

You follow them for a while, as the Captain chit chats with the trio. They politely ask you to tell the three siblings some of your most talked cases of missing jewelry or precious wares and you oblige with a faint smile: it takes a lot to make these stories children-friendly. But they're rather enthusiastic about them and your fame so you don't actually mind.

They insist that you and the captain challenge each other to a shooting contest.

They're good, it's pretty clear they're an excellent pirate, it's pretty clear to you that they're no mere Zailor or regular Captain by now, but they're swaying slightly as if being at Zee and miss a few shots, leading to your victory.

They take the three siblings to a House for Young Children and is welcomed by a joyous chorus of 'hello!' and 'WELCOME BACK CAPTAIN" as they leave the trio in the care of a handmaid and waves happily to the small crowd as they rejoin you, just outside the gates.

"Well, Detective Brett Heroux. Your fame and renown are well earned! I thank you so much for this evening. It's hard to be a Pirate and a good example for those little rascals. And to think they absolutely meant to go to Zee, some time ago! They're almost ready for the real deal, don't you think?"

They shake your hand firmly and bows down in a very elegant way and salutes you, strolling along the Docks and humming a happy melody, leaving you all alone and quite exhausted. Have you been a good example? You sure hope so. A detective and a pirate... What a fun and quirky duo they must have had looked like, that evening, running around London.

The day after you find a copy of "The Hound of the Baskervilles" on your table, signed by Francis Dargor Morgan.

"To the True Greatest Detective and hopefully, a newfound Friend. Yours truly, F.D.M."

As you have breakfast, the idea of a book about some of your cases comes back and playfully torments you for a while, leaving your heart lighter and your spirit happier. At least, for a while.

#fallen london #thunder threnodies #oc:captain francis dargor #oc: captain dargor #oc: brett heroux #ehehe gods help me with typos

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divine-donna · 1 year

Note

Can I please request a hotd crew headcanons of a modern zombie apocalypse au of them surving with their lover!reader

(I love your acc🥰)

( I put modern zombie apocalypse so you don't think it's like... medieval)

hi anon!! i'm so happy to provide, especially since the last of us just wrapped up. i get the modern zombie apocalypse since it's trendy. honestly though, i would not mind doing a separate post for a medieval zombie apocalypse (which you can argue is just game of thrones?).

there are shows that do have a medieval zombie apocalypse premise, like the korean drama kingdom (which is on netflix if anyone's interested).

these are relatively short headcanons. i can do separate posts to elaborate them more.

and also thanks for the love!! i'm happy you enjoy my account! <3

ser criston cole

the man is prepared for the apocalypse when it comes. he has a whole journal detailing every possible scenario. it bothers you a little just how prepared and ready he was. but also, you couldn't be more thankful to have a lover that was prepared. he's saved you both on more than one occasion. and you both are constantly moving. but it's nice for when you guys settle down for a bit. criston's insistent on the two of you being on your own. but you have sympathies for the people you come across, like alicent and her group of children.

"the more people we have (y/n), the more likely we will die. we need to survive on our own. it's the only way."

daemon targaryen

a leader in his own right, daemon targaryen leads a band of survivors int he apocalypse. he has settled down, created a commune, and it's very homey. but he mostly did it for you. moving around was a way to guarantee safety, sure. but he didn't want the both of you to spend your days wandering and looking for supplies. it took years to build a commune, but he did it. he did it with you. and now you two were free to sit in chairs, say hi to people, harvest food, and occasionally take out a zombie to protect the commune.

"today, our carrot productions were high, higher than last year's. we also have a shipment of flour coming in from another commune soon. i would hope you like carrot cake, my love."

rhaenyra targaryen

the two of you traveled for a bit, hijacking cars that were abandoned and ransacking any sort of food you guys could get. it was a nice lifestyle, to wander with rhaenyra. just the two of you surviving. the two of you were happy on your own. but as the years went by, it became harder to survive by scavenging on your own. and rhaenyra pulled the plug when she pulled the both of you up at daemon's commune. he was inviting, warm, welcoming. you both were allowed to stay for as long as you liked, as long as you both contributed.

"this is a lot safer for us (y/n). it's safer than scavenging. most resources are out anyways. here, we don't have to worry. we can sleep without a gun in our hands."

alicent hightower

it's hard to survive the zombie apocalypse with so many people to take care of. alicent wasn't willing to leave her children, so her plus her four children plus you made that six people. and then of course, you had criston join at some point, so that was seven people. and alicent knew she wasn't going to be welcome at the commune daemon set up (she only knew by word of mouth). so what choice did she have but to start her own commune? and she was thankful to have you, because you were already familiar with the innerworkings of agriculture and architecture. so your small group of people started building a commune and eventually, more people joined your little family of greens.

"i hate how long gardening takes. we'll have to rely on other communes for trade and barter. but i look forward to harvesting our first spinach together."

aegon targaryen

it's hard to do things when you're drunk. but the thing about the zombie apocalypse is that alcohol became a lot less common. and he was too impatient to make his own. so aegon just went sober for years on end. it was hard for him, going through withdrawal and dealing with existential awareness and death all the time. many times, he almost died because his mind and body were not responding the way he wanted to. but you were there to bury an axe in the heads of the zombies coming towards him. you were there to drag him away. you were there to tell him to stay awake and recall your fond memories together. thank god for setting up a commune.

"i never thought i'd have to touch dirt and learn how to garden. but if i don't, mother would kick me out. we are growing strawberries though. so you will get to taste the fruits of my labor."

aemond targaryen

your partner is a strong man, a man of great strength and great courage. by now, you thought you would be dead. if it weren't for aemond. he was behind you at all times, always. despite starting to settle down for a communal lifestyle, he still gets antsy and nervous. sometimes he wakes up from nightmares where you have died in his arms or he had to watch you decay slowly from an infection. aemond is always relieved when he sees that you are okay. and you simply pat the spot next to you so he can join you and you can embrace him.

"i never thought i was afraid. but it appears i am more afraid of settling down somewhere rather than traveling, where we were at risk of dying every day. it's a weird thought (y/n). but at least you are safe."

helaena targaryen

helaena's a smart girl, a very smart girl. your girlfriend is extremely resourceful and definitely the medic among the traveling group. if it weren't for the apocalypse, she would have gone to medical school. she told you that's what she wanted to do. but she was forced to consult textbooks without any real certification (or even sanitary places) to treat injuries. and even if the textbooks slowed her down, they still were great as a weapon due to how thick they were. safe to say, her talents were well appreciated once the commune got established. while she was the medical expert, you monitored gardening, soil ph, and oversought agriculture in general. there's nothing better than two partners in stem surviving the apocalypse.

"did you grow this?...it looks so cute!...what? i'm not making fun of your gardening skills. they start out small before becoming abundant. it's the first step towards really thriving in this shithole of a world."

jacaerys velaryon

he's known no life but the apocalypse. it came when he was still young and it's hard for him to admit that he's numb to the world already. jace has a few rules under his belt, like don't get bitten and never leave someone behind. thankfully, he's spent much of his teenagehood in daemon's commune. he's still a bit shaky. you know because sometimes, he tenses up and his hand goes to the knife at his waist when you tap him on the shoulder. you're his partner, his lover, but he's still so nervous. he's already a leader for trade and the kitchen. you hate how he has to go out in the world to oversee the trade of goods to other communes. but jace always makes sure to reassure you that he will return.

"you need not worry about me. i will be back in a day or so. it's not a long trip since the other commune is only a good drive from here. when we get back, i will make us some soup: your favorite soup."

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd headcanons #ser criston #daemon targaryen #aegon the usurper #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #zombie apocolypse au #x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader

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rippleclan · 7 months

Text

RippleClan: Moon 2

Oilpaw is apprenticed to Weedfoot to train as a historian.

[Image ID: Oilpaw and Weedfoot face each other. Underneath Oilpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! OILKIT -> OILPAW, AMBITIOUS -> CHARISMATIC]

Oilpaw. Oilpaw the First. Oilpaw the Greatest of Apprentices. The first apprentice in the history of RippleClan! She bit down a cheer as her small Clan congratulated her in the dim light of early dawn. The late summer heat had yet to devour the camp, making it the perfect time for Downstar to leap on a rock jutting from the shipwreck and announce Oilpaw’s training as a future historian. Hold on, she wasn’t just the first apprentice. She would be the first proper historian! Weedfoot didn’t count, she may have been an AshClan historian, but she joined RippleClan as the deputy. Oilpaw was the true first historian.

“Oilpaw,” Weedfoot purred, waving her tail in Oilpaw’s face. “Are you finished daydreaming?” Oilpaw shook herself back to reality. There was a lot to do and not many paws to get things done, so the Clan was already leaving to handle their duties. Rustshade, her father, had vanished. Hmph. Fine. If he didn’t want to stay for longer congratulations, he didn’t have to.

“Yes, ma’am!” Oilpaw chirped. “Do we get to tour the territory now?”

“That’s right,” Weedfoot chuckled. “I want to show off the portions of our land that used to belong to AshClan. I can explain why we took so much land from our old home but only a sliver of territory from our other neighbor, WheatClan.”

“Yes!” Oilpaw cheered, bouncing. “Lead the way, ma’am!” Oilpaw and Weedfoot couldn’t get out of camp fast enough.

(Oilpaw: 6, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)

(Weedfoot: 51, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)

While on a tour of RippleClan territory, Oilpaw and Weedfoot find something very, very strange.

[Image ID: Oilpaw and Weedfoot face a giant, bipedal frog-man holding a torch. The text under Oilpaw reads + CONDITION: SHOCK]

“There were many more supporters of RippleClan in AshClan before that battle,” Weedfoot sighed as Oilpaw followed her through the steep trees. “Our Clan was brutal. Only two of us survived. Even then, Paleshade… her wounds proved too much for her. She lasted a quarter moon with me as AshClan’s prisoner. If your father, Fennelspot, and Downstar didn’t risk their pelts to get me out, I may have ended up the same.”

“Tell me the names of the other AshClan supporters,” Oilpaw begged. “I want to know everything.”

“Please remember, I’m not teaching you our history to entertain you,” Weedfoot sighed. She paused on top of a mossy, scratched rock. “We aren’t artisans. The stories we tell are true, and we need to respect them.”

“I’m respectful!” Oilpaw groaned. She rested her front paws on the rock. “I promise!”

“Alright,” Weedfoot said. She glanced up, studying the warm-tinted clouds as dawn grew brighter and brighter. Oilpaw settled below her mentor. Fir and spruce trees cast heavy shadows over the pair, as though sensing the weight of the moment.

“It’s important to remember the phrase as I say it,” Weedfoot said. “It will help you recall information correctly.” She took a deep breath, and said “Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream... and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan.”

“How do we know they got into StarClan?” Oilpaw asked. Weedfoot chuckled and leaned closer.

“Because Fennelspot saw them,” she purred.

“Woah,” Oilpaw gasped.

Her eyes drifted past Weedfoot as a glimmer of orange light cut through the trees. Oilpaw thought it was the rising dawn, but the light danced before her. It wasn’t sunlight, but fire. For a brief moment, Oilpaw thought the forest was on fire. But the fire wasn’t on any of the trees. In fact, it moved between the trees like a bird. Weedfoot must have seen the sudden fear in her apprentice’s eyes, for she turned around just as the figure holding the fire aloft on a giant stick emerged.

It had its back to the sunrise and its face covered in shadow. If it was further away, it could have been mistaken for a short, fat human. But this was no human. The bulbous, smooth skin of a giant frog towered over Weedfoot and Oilpaw. It was as tall as three cats. Its torch shined into its huge white eyes as it held it overhead. The firelight shone onto the cats.

“Weedfoot, what is that?” Oilpaw hissed. She crouched behind the rosetted deputy with every hair on her pelt standing on end and her back arched as high as it could go.

Weedfoot took a defensive stance in front of Oilpaw and growled at the monstrous frog. The frog stared at the duo unblinkingly. Its smooth chin slowly grew and grew like a bubble on the surface of the sea. Its chin stretched and bulged farther than Oilpaw could have thought possible. Then, it croaked. The sound was as loud as thunder. Birds squawked and scattered overhead. Oilpaw yowled, her paws stuck.

Then, as carefully as it appeared, the giant frog slowly marched back into the tree line. Its slimy webbed feet were gentle and made no sound. For a while, all Oilpaw and Weedfoot could see of the massive beast was its torch glistening in the trees. Eventually, even that vanished.

“...I think I want to go home now,” Oilpaw gulped.

“Me too,” Weedfoot whispered.

(Oilpaw: 6, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)

(Weedfoot: 51, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)

(I know it’s weird to interrupt cool lore with weird frog man, blame the generator and the Halloween event - Em)

#rippleclan #rippleclan clangen #clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats clangen #warriors #weedfoot #oilpaw #rippleclan story

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visd3stele · 2 years

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i just finished episode 5 and OH MY can you please please write something for ser criston? like maybe trying to calm him down after the wedding or something i just JSHPSJSYWCSBMGWGQUGSAA

am i sensing hurt&comfort? YAAAS!

a/n: I think I'm better at pure angst than hurt&comfort, so let me know what you think of this

masterlist ; requests

Soothing stars

As children, you and Criston would climb together in the highest tree near your parents' houses. Each of you trying to be closer to the top than the other.

As teenagers, you and Ser Cole trained together. He would sneak past your parents in the dead of night and teach you all he learned during the day. Sparring, shielding, parring, defence, offence.

As young adults, you traveled to King's Landing together. Him, for a chance to join the kingsguard and bring honor to his name. You... well, you lacked a good reason if you were to be truthful. You just didn't want to marry any of the men your father brought home for you. And parting from your best friend was a thought you couldn't bare even as a suggestion of your imagination.

So here you were now, tailing a proud in the saddle Criston Cole. "Maybe I'll charm a dragon prince, or princess, while we're there." You joked.

"I thought you don't want to marry," Criston turned to shout at you. "And hurry up, we want to make it to the palace in time for the tournament."

"Well, we should have left when I told you to, then. But who decided to be a lazy cunt? That's right! The all mighty knight." You lowered your voice, imitating Criston's timber: "One more day, y/n, I have to be ready and maybe if I train more and am tired when I come home, my dear, sweet, best friend will pack my stuff too."

Criston laughed and a wide smile flourished on your face as it usually happened when he was happy. More importantly, happy because of you. "This is not what happened. I really needed to train more. The best fighters in Westeros will be there. It's not my fault you took pity in me."

"I know, I know," you sighed dramatically, "I have a too good heart for my own good."

Criston slowed his mare until his shoulders were next to yours. Reaching out of his saddle, he put his arm around your neck, bringing you closer so he could smooch a kiss on top of your head. "You, indeed, are, y/n. Please don't let the court change you. Not even when you became queen." He added, winking at you with an amuse licker in his deep, dark eyes.

You shook the heat warming your cheeks. It wasn't the first time Criston kissed you. Growing up together, he has been very affectionate of you. And you with him. But lately, you felt knots twisting in your gut each time you were in his presence. A nest of butterflies releasing inside of them every time he smiled. Or laughed. Or hugged you all sweaty, glistening in the sun after a long match with the other man in town, happy that he won. No matter how friendly, brotherly even, he looked at you, your heart twisted painfully at Criston Cole's sight.

And how could you not have caught feelings? It wasn't just the thickness of his brows framing those impossible dark eyes, the long eyelashes drawing attention to the glimmer in them too, the curl at the corner of his lips, always welcoming in a dear smile, the muscles pulsing beneath his dainty skin. No...

You saw him with other women. You even helped him gain the attention of some. He was so romantic and careful with his lovers. He gifted them small trinkets, plaid them songs under the balcony, risked the wrath of their fathers to take them out on a ride. To the lake, to the clearing in the forest where a river passes through, to the abandoned tower to gaze the stars from its roof.

His romantic antics would be the death of you. His sweet heart, full of love to offer to the right person, always putting so much into even the smallest fling. His soft, bashful smiles when he talked of a lady he fancied a bit too much for your liking. The energy pouring in his voice whenever he talked enthusiastically loud of dreams for a future he shall design.

One that became inexplicabily void of the love he sought.

"Tell me again why you want to enter the kingsguard? I would have thought you a match for the poets with that romantic soul of yours. And every poet needs a muse."

Criston's face darkened then. His father's expectations heavy on his shoulders shadowing his eyes.

"It will bring honor to the Cole's name."

"A name that will end with you."

"But it shall be singed about in tales of bravery and honor for ages to come. If I am the last in my house, then I will make it to be a worthy, meaningful one."

You bit your lips, letting your eyes drift to the side of your horse as silence fell around the two of you. Your pulse picked up, burdened by your heavy heart. You didn't want to hurt him. But you didn't want to lose him either. And lost will he be with the White Swords.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The court had been different that what you expected. Grimmer. No amount of brilliant gold, rich clothes or delicious food could make the nobles pleasant. You took a job in the kitchens, finally putting all the years your mother insisted to have you learn to cook to make a good wife to good use. One that benefitted you.

In the heart of the gossips - as the kitchens were the point where servants gathered to catch their breath - you learned many secrets of the lords and ladies of the palace.

They, the cooks, the maids, the pages, have taken you in like a member of their large, supporting family. It helped you when Ser Cole made less and less time for you.

"Gossip isn't a good attribute for a knight. Even more so a White Cloak."

He never cut you off like that. Not until now. You used to tell him everything your friends let loose when you got together to sew. The talks, and the laughs you got from them, made the wifey duties more bearable. To the point where you started to enjoy the sewing, the cooking, the field labor and the cleaning. See them as abilities for your own self rather than things you owed to a man.

And Criston has been such a pilon in your self discoveries. Always eager to hear you rant - first filling him in on the story at hand, then offering your own analyze of it. "But at the end of the day, it's their lives," it was the ending line of all of your statements. Criston would scrunch his nose and knit his brows, trying to understand why you spent so much time thinking about matter you have no care for.

But he never judged. He lowered his head in your lap, letting you stroke his hair as you spoke and enjoyed the sound of your voice, the spark in your eyes.

When he first turned you away in his new uniform as kingsguard, you thinned your lips, nodded and left with a bowed head. Maybe the the crouched position would salvage some of your stabbed heart.

It didn't end there. The first weeks nothing changed. He trained more, yes, but his nights were all yours. To share impressions of the court, to talk about your new lives, to joke and make the cold palace a home. Then he was welcomed in the guard and took shifts around the castle's grounds. Each spare time, lesser and lesser, was spent in your presence.

Almost every woman - and some men as well - swooned over your best friend. They'd trail you around, asking about Ser Criston and the nature of your relationship.

"I can't even imagine your hurt," one of the friends you made shook her head in sympathy. "To lose your lover to the realm. You are so brave and loyal."

You didn't tell her Criston has never been your lover. The pain was the same. And the thought sooth it a bit.

Now, Ser Cole barely had any time for you. You considered yourself lucky if you could catch a moment with him in the kitchen when, each morning, the knight came for a rushed meal. The lead cook always let you pack Criston's lunch. A small solace as you were losing your best friend.

Stolen looks, packed food, quick chats and waved hands compiled all the interaction you had left with your best friend. It grounded you, though. Knowing he still cared, even though his duty worked its hardest to take him from you. And being the only one he willingly, without any obligation - bound by manners or commitment - offered his time, love and attention to.

Until a new friendship bloomed on the grounds of Westeros' kings home. Princess Rhaenyra, the realm's delight, the heir to the throne, thus Criston's future patron, absorbed your best friend.

"Do you think there's anything more between the princess and her guard?" A mean voice suggested once, when the kitchens were full, readying the food for a banquet.

"Don't be ridiculous," you forced your voice void of any jealousy or longing. Just an amused tone, a bit patronizing as you knew Ser Cole the best. "They are friends."

"They seem closer than."

"Well, they're not. This is just how Criston is. Kind and close to his good friends."

The lead cook came to your rescue, noticing the bowled fist around the knife you were holding. "As you know, the princess is a friendly soul too. She has just lost Lady Alicent, a friend for so long, to her father. Ser Cole is right to offer princess Rhaenyra another chance at normalcy in her young age."

Yes, you thought bitterly, the good knight in shining armor to save the princess.

You didn't want to be mad at the princess. Rhaenyra hasn't been named the realm's delight for naught. An aura around her as bright as her Targaryen hair, unbending will as the gems her purple eyes were cut from, the heir was simply as magical as the blood of Velarys was rumored to be.

No wonder Criston has fallen for her. Because, despite your words, you knew he harbored more than platonic feelings for the princess. After all you could read him better than anyone, sense the difference between love and friendship in his demeanor better than everyone. You witnessed it and have been at the receiving end of it for all your life.

You covered for him as much as you could: dismissing the yarning gazes some pages noticed, assuring them the fierce protection Criston showed for the princess belonged solely to his knightly duties, smothering the talks around the maids and servants that surfaced anytime Rhaenyra and Criston were spotted together, laughing.

But one night, you couldn't help Ser Cole no more. The talk spreaded like a swift seaside breeze, carrying Criston's dishonor around the palace as waves bring algae to shore. The knight has been seen sneaking from the princess' chambers, late under the cloak of dreaming lords and ladies. But servants never sleep.

"Imbecile," you muttered under your breath as soon as you heard. You wouldn't let the pang in your heart take breadth. Not when it could be hidden by the furious worries of a good friend.

That same night, while Ser Cole laid still awake in his bed reminiscing the eventful moments that led to his blissed out state, you knocked loudly at his door.

You heard him groan on the other side which earned a roll of your eyes.

"Y/n?" Criston finally opened your door. You pushed him inside and locked it.

"What have you done, you fool?! The whole palace is vibrating with your vicissitudes." A hit of your palms landed on his chest punctuating each and every word.

The glare in your eyes diminished at the sight of Criston growing paler and paler under the storm of your news. If a worn out beatitude grazed his pupils seconds ago, how horror filled his orbs. The realization of what he has done seemed to settle in. He took several steps back, collapsing on the edge of the bed.

"The whole palace... my acts..." he mumbled incoherently. "What have I done?"

"That is what I would like to know as well," you hummed, not yet so touched by his distress that you wouldn't hold him accountable over his idiocy.

"My vows..." A chocked whisper, banging off the quiet walls. "No, no, no, y/n, I had one job and I screwed it all up.

"Well, that was one choice of words," you couldn't help but taunt him. As much as you loved Criston, you had to admit he had issues he needed to sort out. He has always been like this: acting without thinking then wallowing in self pity until all is forgotten and he can move on.

There would be no moving on if king finds out.

"Y/n," Criston begged of you in a small voice. Not entirely sure himself what he asked for. Mercy, to spare him of the cruel voice of reason you always have been for him? Comfort, to hug him and assure him everything will be alright? Or help, silencing the dangerous voices within the dragons' layer?

You breathed a long, resigned sigh as you sat down next to him. A silly man he may be sometimes, but he was your silly.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Time flew by in a whim of fate. Your days looked all the same: wake up, work, sleep, repeat. At least you haven't heard anything about Ser Cole's affairs. You hadn't seen much of him either, but you felt oddly content. His place as kingsguard was safe, his honor intact. He grew careful in his interactions with the princess. Criston tried to work on himself and his mistakes and you were so damn proud of him!... even if it meant less time around your best friend.

But then the illusion of progress and a better man broke. It was the celebration of Rhaenyra's wedding when you stumbled outside the hot kitchen for a needed breath of cold, fresh air. You walked a few steps to stretch your legs, cracking every stiff joint in your body. As soon as you finished a plate, another order arrived. The tables, especially the ones of desert, were wolfed out by too many guests for your peace of mind.

"Flaunty nobles," you whined, face towards the sky with closed eyes as you rolled your body as far back as you could, snapping the strain from your limbs.

You were about to make your way back when a ragged sob caught your attention. "Criston?" Your best friend, knelt on the grass under the starry night, had a sword positioned to spear through his chest at one swift push of his wrists. "What in seven kingdoms are you doing?"

There was no time to cringe at how much you sounded like your mother, nor to make assumptions of the Ser Cole's motives. Mind empty, you let your body take control. In a second of haste, you were by his side, stopped in your tracks mere centimeters away, hands sprawled forward. A gesture you hoped would temper him.

"I have broken my vows, y/n. Dishonored my name. I was supposed to bring dignity and respect to my house and instead I repeatedly fallen in forbidden sin. I deserve to die."

You ignored the ache snaking in your heart, but you couldn't let the disappointment slide. Repeatedly. He has laid with princess Rhaenyra even after you told him the word got out. Even after the crushing weight of guilt broke him that night right in front of you. Has he forgotten it all? The reason he left home, the reason he gave up his dreams of marriage and children. Could he not restrain himself?

If he wanted to, Criston would have. You knew it as you knew the sky is blue and fire burns quickly and trimly. But he wanted the princess more.

Anger like you never felt before munched on your insides. Something else too. Betrayal. How dare he feel sorry for himself when you did everything you could to help him achieve his dreams? He sabotaged it, counting on you to clean up his mess. He...

You took one long breath of air inside your heated lungs. Taming the hurt and fury, you kneeled next to Criston, doing what you always did best. Being his keeper.

Softly but surely, you prayed his fingers open, taking the sowrd's handle in your own. Criston protested weakly, scared that if he moved too largely and intently he might end up cutting you. Little did he know he has already done so.

"Listen to me, Criston. No one knows. Only the servants talk of it and even them... all they have are speculations."

"I confessed."

You blinked. Once. Twice. Taken aback.

"To whom?"

"The queen. I- I asked Rhaenyra to run with me. Build a new life in Esos. She refused..." Criston trailed off, his tighten throat unable to sustain his voice any longer.

You hide the grimace off your face at the image of him and the princess together in a small, homey house far away from the ordeal that was the court.

"You wanted to leave?"

"Tonight. I had to, y/n. I am no knight worthy of this cape. It was the only right thing to do."

Leaving. Without you. Not even telling you a single word of parting.

Your eyes hardened, void of any compassion. When you spoke your voice was hoarse. Cold. "You have to forgive yourself, Criston. The queen pardoned you, did she not? You wouldn't be here if she hasn't..."

"I asked her the mercy of choosing my death. By my hands."

"Then you shall ask her the mercy of sending you home. To take your sword instead of your life."

"But..."

"No, Criston. It's well due time you listen to me. You are an amazing fighter and the finest swordsman in all the seven kingdoms. But you are not cut for being a kingsguard. And that's alright. In fact, it's more than alright."

Now that the sharp weapon laid on the grass at your side, you crawled closer to Ser Cole, cupping his face and bringing his gaze into yours.

"You have a grand heart. One that follows love against all odds or consciousness. You feel so much and true it's a miracle you haven't bled out from your pores already with how much your heart pours in this world. You made some vows you couldn't keep, but it doesn't make you a failure. It makes you stubborn, as you knew this isn't what you wanted. And hard headed. Which would be fine, too, if you wouldn't beat yourself so harshly.

You should have been true to yourself, Criston. Because you always knew what you wanted and it's not this. Any of these. It's a warm home with a woman you love and kids running around. Growing horses in your stables and teaching them to ride." You smiled. Many times you have pictured yourself as the woman in his home, your kids giggling as they learned to sit in the saddles.

"It's a beautiful wish. An accomplished life because it makes you happy. And it's not less worthy than the noble solitude of a knight. It's precious and important just because it matters so much to you and that is what life is all about. Chasing happiness.

I know you don't want to hear it, but I'll tell you anyway. These nobles? These rich, entitled lords and ladies that have everything the need and so much more, aren't happy. They scheem and stab each others in the back, all to gain a bit more. Never enough, never fulfilled. They have to sleep one eyed open and hire knights like you to watch their backs and in the end they die wishing they could have lived because no amount of coins or political advantages will keep them company in the last sleep."

As silence surrounded you two, you regained your breath. You have spoken in earnest, letting all the pent up emotions paint Ser Cole an image he would believe, understand and never forget. The ice in your voice melted halfway through your speech, putting in front of Criston all the pain, broken winged hope, ire and love you strangled between your vocal chords for so long.

Tears glistened in your eyes under the shy light of the moon. Your cold fingers shoveled red marks in Criston's cheeks. "Sorry," you whispered hoarsely, shoving your gaze from his.

But Cole immediately gripped your wrists, keeping your hands in place. He searched your eyes until your looks locked again into each other.

Doubt still lingered in the pit of his orbs. He has been told he need to earn his worth in battles, give his name a meaning, his whole life. Now you throw it all upside down. He wanted to believe you. He didn't know how to.

You closed the gap between, touching your forehead to his. As on cue, both of you closed your eyes. "You tried. You can't be a man you're not. But you tried. That's all you owed to do. And now you owe it to yourself to be yourself."

"I don't even know who that is, y/n."

"A good man. A romantic soul. A good fighter, but not a kingsguard. A loyal friend, even though oblivious and stepping astray sometimes. And so much more you need but to let yourself discover."

Criston sighed. The brush of air over your lips sent shivers down your spine. You felt him shift, bringing you even closer, if that was human possible. One of his hands climbed to the back of your neck, The other rose to cover your palm still on his cheek. A feather light touch of his lips to your wrist. A tilt of his head promising your mouth the same gift.

You dreamt of it for so long. A kiss. Maybe some more. A love with Criston Cole.

You pulled away.

You snatched your hand from under his, pressing them both on his chest. You couldn't do it. It wasn't right. Not now.

"Sorry," Criston jumped as if a bucked of cold water emptied on his heated body disturbed a beautiful dream. "I don't know what has gotten into me. Shit! Y/n, I'm so sorry."

You shook your head. "Don't be. You're vulnerable now. I helped you. It's normal to feel this way." The sad timber in your voice didn't escape Ser Cole.

"How do you know it's only because..."

"I don't. Apparently neither do you. Its just, well, you are the one who needs to figure it out. I did for myself," you explained, kissing lightly his cheek and getting up. "Let me know when you're sure. I'll be waiting. And in the meantime I will keep being your friend. Skies knows how much you need me."

Criston laughed. For the first time in months, you taunted him and he laughed. It felt so good, a promise things might return to normal between the two of you. And maybe some more than what your relationship used to be.

"You're right. I do need you. I can't believe the notice has escaped me so far."

"You can be a bit slow yourself, Ser Cole, but I knew you'll come around... eventually."

You returned to your post in the kitchen, leaving Ser Cole to work around his own service. Hope fluttered in your chest for the first time in so long. And a girlish chuckle left your mouth as the last words you heard before entering the palace again were Criston's dreamy "I couldn't be happier that I did."

#ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole #ser criston #criston cole x reader #criston cole #my writing #my wriitng #my words #my fic ideas #my fic #my fic writing

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dameronology · 2 years

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Hi are you still taking requests? I'd like to request one with Poe with number 4 from the angst list (you don't get to decide...) Safe travels!x

poe dameron + "i can't carry on like this for much longer"

It was late evening when you finally came home from work. The traffic on the Coruscant subway had almost been enough to ruin your day, and the fact it had been raining all afternoon didn't help either. You wanted nothing more than to just to get in the warm, have a cup of tea and then pass the fuck out. There was a shit ton of reality TV loaded up on the DVR and blankets on the sofa. It sounded like the perfect evening.

It didn't really click in your head that said perfect evening didn't involve Poe in any way. It had, once upon a time, but with work being impossibly busy at the moment, your relationship had sort of hit a reef. Neither of you had meant for things to go that way, but when you were both putting all your energy into rebuilding the Galactic Republic, it left little time for domestic bliss. And because you were so consumed by work, neither of you had really taken a moment to step back and think too much about the state of your relationship.

You loved Poe. You loved him with your whole heart and of course you wanted to make things work, but it just wasn't a conversation you were ready to have.

"Hey, Beebs," you greeted your droid with a tired smile, throwing your bags by the front door.

BB-8 rolling around could only mean one thing: Poe couldn't be very far.

And there he was, in the kitchen. A mug of caff in one hand and paperwork in the other; it was the earliest he'd been home in months and he looked shattered. You couldn't count the amount of times on both hands that he would creep in well past eleven o'clock, not rising until long after you'd gone to work.

"Hey," his welcome was monotonous, brown eyes barely flickering up from his datapad. "How was your day?"

"Y'know, the usual," you replied. "Got in early, stayed late, nothing to show for it."

You moved over to the fridge, ditching your wet hoodie and jacket into the dryer as you did. Poe's eyes followed you - it hadn't gone unnoticed that you hadn't bothered to ask about his day. Why would you? He'd always known you to prefer silence over small talk. He just never assumed it would be aimed at him.

"Yeah, same here," he quietly responded. "You up to anything tonight?"

It was a secret implore for please spend time with me. I miss you.

"Nothing interesting," you said. "I was just gonna watch some TV and chill out. It's been a long day."

"Mind if I join you?"

You glanced at him, eyes finally meeting. "Yeah, if you want."

No, not if I want, he thought. I want you to want it.

Poe stayed silent for another minute. He didn't want this to be the moment that everything came to head but also, what if it wasn't something he could control? This apartment used to be both your happy place; back when you were happy together, and not just dancing around each other, going about the formalities of your relationship simply because neither of you had the energy to end it.

"I can't carry on like this for much longer."

His voice broke slightly as he spoke; you quickly looked up from the slice of cheese you'd been examining, eyes wide at how the atmosphere in the room had nose-dived quicker than the time he forgot to refuel his X-Wing. You didn't need to question what it was that he was talking about it - you knew straight away.

You left it another second, unsure if you were supposed to say something.

"We've gone to shit, haven't we?" Poe continued. "I'm not saying it's your fault. I think it was a joint effort actually, or lack thereof but - I just miss the way things used to be. I don't like how we dance around each other now."

"I know," you murmured. "I don't like it either. I miss you."

"I'm right here."

"No, you're not," you shook your head. "You're never around. You probably think the same about me from your point of view, though."

"Is it just work that's keeping us away from each other?" he asked. "I mean...I know it is for me. I just don't know if there's a deeper thing on your side. Like that you've fallen out of love with me-"

"- no!" you quickly exclaimed.

Throwing your cheese aside, you crossed the room and took Poe's hands in yours. They felt foreign and familiar at the same time, maybe like he was a lover from a past life. He might as well have been at that point. Still, though, you could run your fingers over the calloused palms and recall how he gained every single scar; how every mark came to be, like a map in your head of the man you loved. The man you still loved.

"I love you, Poe," you said firmly. "Just...think of a relationship like a plant. If you neglect it, it will die. And I think we can both safely say that we haven't exactly been nourishing ours."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean for things to get like this. I wanted to work hard to create a safe galaxy for us and I think I've gotten so caught up in it that I forgot why I was doing it in the first place.

"It's okay," you sadly smiled. "Well, maybe it's not okay, not from either of us, but I do want to try. I really want to try."

Poe leant down and brushed his lips against yours; it was the first time that had happened in months. It felt like a spark of hope. The feeling that maybe things would be okay.

He smiled. "Me too."

#asks #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron reader insert #poe dameron x you #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fluff #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fanfic #star wars reader insert #oscar isaac characters #poe dameron #star wars

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kittyball23 · 1 year

Text

Prologue v1 - BroZone Flashback (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: BroZone perform for an excited audience, debuting their little baby bro Branch for the first time

A/N: I am very excited about Trolls Band Together, and as I was writing a post about my predictions for how I think some scenes in the movie could happen, it ended up turning into a fanfiction! So anyway, enjoy if you read, I've got several ideas that I'm going to be writing oneshots for :D I have also cross-posted this Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad.

The Trolls movies have so far started with prologues before we see the main characters. I'm going to kick things off with one version of that, featuring BroZone :)

__________________________________________

“Bro-Zone! Bro-Zone! Bro-Zone!”

The sound of the crowd chanting out the name of their band made four little Trollings fill with joy. This was what they lived for – singing, dancing, and sharing their talent with everyone. And so, without further ado, the quartet made their way out onto the mushroom stage, and the crowd went wild with claps and cheers. Not too long afterwards, the music started, and the four Trollings began to sing.

Taking the lead vocals was the aquamarine Troll John Dory, who wore a vest of the same color of his hair and a pair of sunglasses above his head all the time. With him were Spruce, Clay, and Floyd – purple, yellow, and magenta haired Trolls respectively who sang and danced alongside him. Those who knew them knew that the four of them were great friends, and that was a good thing, given that they were also all brothers. Everyone in the crowd clapped and sang along with them, knowing very well the lyrics of the song.

“Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk.

I'm a dancin’ man, no time to talk

Music loud and women warm, we’ve been kicked around

Since we were born,

And now it's alright, it's okay,

And you may look the other way,

We can try to understand,

The New York Times' effect on man,

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother

You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive,

Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'

And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive,

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' aliiiIIIIIiiiiiIIIve!

Yeah we’re stayin’ alive!”

Suddenly, John Dory stepped up to the front of the stage and bent down, clapping hands with some of the nearby fans who stretched up to him. “Ladies and gentletrolls!” he announced. “We wanna introduce to you another little bro to our band!” He ran back up the stage to join his other brothers as they danced some more and continued. “You know him! Okay, well, maybe you don’t know him yet, but you’ll love him! Please, give a warm welcome to the small, the cute, Baaaaaby Braaaanch!”

In a skilled move, John Dory and Clay stepped aside to reveal a small, bopping blue baby Troll with round white glasses. He hip-hopped with his small feet and struck more than enough cute poses to make nearly all the girls faint. He was a huge star already – and he wasn’t even old enough to sing yet!

Pleased by the positive reaction of the crowd, the brothers continued to perform, making sure that each of them had enough time in the spotlight and an equal chance to sing. The crowd roared with glee by the time that the song had finished and they struck their final, signature pose with an exclamation of “Bro-Time!”

Bowing and giving their thanks, the Trollings dismounted the stage and huddled together in a quick group hug.

“We nailed it!” JD exclaimed, beaming. “What did I tell you? I knew that show was going to be our best one yet!”

“You say that about every show we do, JD,” Spruce pointed out.

“Lighten up, Spruce!” Clay piped up. “Every show is the best show if it’s done with you guys!”

“He’s right,” Floyd agreed. “It really is something great to be singing with my bros,” he said. Then, suddenly, the brothers saw him tear up, and knew where this was heading.

“Uh-oh,” John Dory mumbled.

“Here he goes again,” Spruce muttered.

“The waterworks are coming!” Clay said, right as tears spilled out of Floyd’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the magenta Trolling whimpered, “I just love you guys so much!”

“Yeah, well,” John Dory said, “while you’ll never see me get all blubbery about it, I love you guys, too,” he admitted to them. Then he put his hand in the middle. “Bros forever?” he asked.

Spruce, Clay, and Floyd immediately understood and placed their hands in the middle, too. Baby Branch, giggling and following his older brothers’ lead, also placed his hand in the middle with theirs and happily swung it up in the air. “Bros forever!” they cried.

They knew that nothing, not ever, would tear them apart.

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #branch trolls #brozone #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes

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sunshine-overload · 2 years

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[BSTS] Zakuro Summer Off Day 4* Card Story

chapter 1 -bridge pathway-

saki: (I have some free time so I guess I’ll go and do some sightseeing.)

zakuro: Oh? If it isn’t the fated little bird. Where ever could it be that you are headed?

saki: Hello Zakuro-san. I actually haven’t decided my destination yet.

zakuro: In that case I happen to have just the thing. Team C were offered these two zoo entry tickets as thanks for setting up the live show. None of the other members seemed keen to take them, so they have fortunately ended up in my possession. Running into you here must also be due to fate. It’s somewhere I would be honoured to visit with you, would you join me?

saki: Sure, I’d love to.

-time pass, zoo forest area-

zakuro: Hm, there’s the so-called sage of the forest here, this owl does have quite the sharp look in its eyes.

saki: It really does, it’s staring right at us.

zakuro: I often ponder how birds are quite a desirable being to be. Especially those that soar in the sky, just how small of an existence must we look like to them up there? I too would like to live in a way where I am not bound by the trivial things on this earth. Hm, but in saying that. I do think that seeing a being that should be living freely trapped up in a cage like this to be somewhat pitiful.

saki: (That’s a very Zakuro-san way of thinking.)

zakuro: Oh my, it appears the next area is aquatic creatures.

saki: Yes, I wonder what kinds of animals we’ll see.

-aquatic animal area-

saki: Says here that next is the penguin corner, are you fond of penguins Zakuro-san?

zakuro: Hm, that is quite the intriguing question. Despite being birds, they cannot fly in the wide blue sky. That alone makes them pitiable, though it may be unfair to decide my position based solely on that… But it is simply the truth that I do not find that part of them favourable.

saki: Have you seen penguins up close before?

zakuro: No, never.

saki: If you do you may come to like them.

(announcement sound)

announcement: The hands on penguin feeding experience will be starting now, everyone that would like to participate please gather round.

zakuro: Oh my, a hand feeding experience. We unknowingly arrived right on time.

saki: Why don’t we try it since we have the chance?

zakuro: Hm, well, if you insist… Let’s have a little look shall we.

chapter 2 -penguin corner-

keeper: Welcome to the hands on feeding experience, will the both of you be participating?

saki: Yes please.

zakuro: Oh my, little bird, I don’t remember uttering that I would be participating… I just called them pitiable creatures, how can I look them in the eye after that?

saki: The keeper already gave me two cups of fish, why not give it a go?

zakuro: I guess it can’t be helped then, I shall accept my fate.

saki: Uwah, the penguins have already gathered all around us. Fufu, it seems you’re pretty popular Zakuro-san.

-cg, zakuro feeding the penguins

zakuro: Oh my, what do we have here. Look at you opening your little beak trying to grab the fish in my hand. You look as though you’re desperately begging for it. Hm, they are quite adorable. If you pester me this much I may end up growing attached.

saki: (He seems to be having fun in a strange way, but I’m glad Zakuro-san looks like he’s warmed up to the penguins.)

zakuro: Whilst I’m honoured to have your fervent gaze directed my way Saki-sama, don’t you have a duty to feed these penguins as well? A whole group has gathered at your feet waiting for the fish you possess.

saki: Woah, you’re right, I didn’t notice.

zakuro: Go on and fulfill their expectations.

saki: Ok, so you feed them… like this? Seeing them up close, these penguins are even smaller and cuter than I’d thought.

zakuro: Indeed indeed, I feel as though I’ve fully become their papa bird.

-time pass-

zakuro: Hm, hmhmhm. Those that have returned to swimming around in the water tank… It looks just as though they’re soaring through the sky.

saki: It really does. It must feel nice to be able to swim so effortlessly like that.

zakuro: It is apparent that my opinion needs to be revised. Is this what it means to not just base things on information, but on experience as well? Towards these penguins, I don’t feel pity at all. I would say it is beautiful the way they live freely like this. Just like the other types of birds, I think they are also a desirable existence.

saki: If that’s the case, then I’m glad.

zakuro: I am deeply grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to realise this. I wonder what opportunities will arise next, my my, I will be looking forward to it.

—end

requested by anon!

#bsts zakuro #bsts translation

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alittlewhump · 2 years

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Unbidden - Epilogue 18

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: fantasy religion mention

The soft hiss of a slow, steady rain on the roof provided a pleasant background for relaxed conversation in the late afternoon. It also happened to be the reason the conversation was taking place at all. The priest's travelling cloak steamed gently as it dried out by the side of Morgan's hearth.

"No," the priest said, smiling faintly, "I doubt you'd have read about it. The locals claim it's only started growing in the past few years. Ever since an angel visited, if they're to be believed."

"An angel," Morgan echoed, sitting forward in his seat on the other side of the table.

"So they say. Fell there, injured. This whitebell, as they call it, supposedly sprung up where its blood soaked into the ground."

"Fascinating. But the specimen didn't survive transport, you said."

"No, regrettably." The priest shook his head with apparent disappointment. "It suffered supernaturally rapid deterioration. Something to do with the provenance, I'm sure. I'm planning to experiment with preservation methods for further study."

The ensuing discussion of the strengths and drawbacks of drying, pressing, and liquid preservation was wholly engrossing. So much so that Morgan didn't notice the sound of steps coming up the path before the bell on the door announced a visitor. The priest cast a cautious glance toward the sound. Morgan did the same, but this visitor made it unnecessary as she began speaking immediately on her way through the storefront.

"Did you know that Pansy's goat is afraid of thunder? Because he is, and he got tangled in her raspberry bush trying to hide from it. He's an idiot. It took me - oh, you have company," she said as she passed through the doorway and caught sight of the men at the table. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"That's quite all right," the priest said. "We're just passing the time. I won't keep your herbalist from you."

"Oh, I'm not here for business." Blaise favoured Morgan with a warm smile. "Maybe I'll join you for some tea, yeah?"

"Of course. Help yourself," he said unnecessarily, since she was already crossing behind the priest to fetch herself a cup. She faltered slightly on her way back to the table, her expression hardening as it lingered on the priest. Now, why would she – ah.

A set of clavicles decorated the upper back of his shirt, their delicate curves tracing twin paths outward and down from the column of his spine. The placement suggested someone who did not expect to see a great deal of physical combat; Morgan had guessed him to be a specialist in poisons, which their discussion had not contraindicated. But the bones marked his station unmistakably, and Blaise had complained loudly and often about the Order of Rathma since Morgan's departure from it. Perhaps she could be persuaded by observing the peaceful nature of the conversation.

"We were just discussing how to preserve samples of a new plant," Morgan started.

"Yes," the priest chimed in, "your herbalist is very knowledgeable, for such a small town." The flattery was likely just meant to set Blaise at ease, but Morgan allowed himself a brief, pleased smile regardless.

"Travel a lot, huh?" Blaise's tone was cheerful. "What is it you do for a living?"

"I'm something of an amateur botanist myself, actually," the priest said.

"Oh, really?" Blaise replied, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. "That's interesting. You don't see a lot of botanists with bones sewn on their shirts. Is that coming into fashion now?"

The priest went still. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said yes," he hazarded.

"Blaise, it's all right," Morgan reassured her.

She didn't take her eyes off the priest. "Don't suppose I would. You can try again if you want to tell me the truth, though."

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just a priest. Honest truth."

"That's better," Blaise growled. "Now get out. You aren't welcome here, necromancer."

"Blaise, stop. Please." She finally spared Morgan a glance, anger written in the furrow of her brow. "Everything is fine," Morgan explained. "There's no need for hostility. He hasn't done any harm."

Her anger shifted toward incredulity. "Hasn't done – Morgan, how can you say that? That fucking Order has done enough harm for a lifetime!"

"This man has not raised his hand against either of us," he returned. "His creed isn't relevant."

"I'll go," the priest interjected. "The rain's let up now and my things are dry enough. I want no quarrel with you."

"Very well," Morgan ceded. "You'll find no quarrel with me. Travel safely."

The priest looked briefly surprised before smoothing his expression back into indifference. Blaise glared silently at him as he gathered his cloak and beat a hasty retreat, but did not move to pursue him. Instead she turned to Morgan with narrowed eyes.

"What the hell, Morgan? Why were you just talking with that guy like nothing was wrong?"

"Nothing was wrong," Morgan replied. "He really is an amateur botanist. I don't get to discuss horticulture very often."

"Botanist nothing, he's a necromancer!"

"We weren't discussing that."

"Morgan, those people hurt you. Why would you let them in here? I thought you—" Blaise snapped her mouth shut, clenching her hands into fists and then releasing them before she continued more quietly. "I thought you swore not to interfere with them."

Morgan observed the corner of the table briefly. She had a point, but he'd already determined that he wasn't breaking his oath. "I'm not interfering," he explained. "I can't interfere if I don't know their goals. I offer the same services to everyone and I don't discriminate, and that doesn't interfere with anything. You know how they're regarded," he added.

"Yeah, I know," Blaise grumbled. "Maybe it's for a good reason. It doesn't mean you have to help them. You don't owe them anything."

"I do, actually. After a fashion."

"What," Blaise said, tone flat. She folded her arms.

"They were like a family to me," Morgan elaborated. "My exile doesn't change that. I owe them the same respect I'd show anyone else."

"Some family! They didn't even want you, Morgan, they lied to you and – whoa, whoa, hey," Blaise cut herself off as Morgan crossed the room in several quick steps, escaping to the garden.

He'd always known that he was unwanted. It was an observable fact. Recorded, even. It wasn't new information. There was no reason for it to upset him. No reason for it to feel like a mace to the chest to hear Blaise say it aloud. No reason for him to flee, as though it was possible to outrun the truth. No reason to weep about it. So he swallowed past the tightness in his throat and willed himself not to, clenching his good hand until his fingernails bit into the flesh of his palm.

"Hey. Morgan. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that." He didn't turn as Blaise's footsteps approached behind him. "I just meant they didn't treat you like family, you know?" She laid a hand on his shoulder. It did not ease the tightness in his muscles as it usually would. He was taut as a bowstring, almost shaking with it.

"They–" Morgan's voice cracked under the tension. He forced a deep breath into his lungs, then out, before trying again. "Priests of Rathma are decent people. I will not hold one man's decision against the rest of them."

"Maybe you should. Nobody stopped him from sending you out to fucking die–"

"It was not their place. You know that. We've discussed it." Morgan stepped away, toward the low stone wall bordering the garden. Although he hadn't managed to break the skin, the indentations in his palm still throbbed as he unclenched his hand to press it flat against the cool, damp stone.

"Yeah, and it's bullshit. Family stands up for each other. They don't deserve for you to call them family. They haven't earned it." Blaise came to lean on the wall next to Morgan. He wasn't ready to meet her gaze yet.

"They tolerated me for over three decades despite my gross ineptitude," he said, trying to keep his tone level. "That speaks a great deal more to the degree of their charity than one decision made by one priest for the good of–"

"Wait," Blaise interrupted. "Three – thirty years? Really? You can't possibly be that much older than me."

"No." Morgan's fingertips were beginning to ache from how hard he was pressing them into the stone. He did not relax them. "I spent most of my life with the Order. My parents surrendered me to a priest when I was an infant."

"They what? Why?" Blaise's horrified tone rubbed him precisely the wrong way. As though it had never occurred to her, as though she herself hadn't called him a ghoul, taken one look at him and–

"Think about it," Morgan said, wincing as the sharp peevishness of his voice hit his ears. "You know what I look like," he reminded her more gently, still looking down at the stone wall. "You're used to it now. But imagine if you had a union with another normal, healthy person and it produced something like this." He gestured loosely to indicate himself. "Small. Weak. Sickly in appearance. Pale as a waterlogged corpse, when both parents were dark skinned. Not at all what their baby was supposed to look like. It would have been shocking for them. They could be forgiven for thinking themselves cursed. I'm fortunate that when they summoned a priest, he was willing to take me in lieu of pay. I would have been destroyed otherwise."

The only warning Morgan got was a short, audible inhale from Blaise before she was on him, squeezing him to her chest in a fierce embrace. One hand gripped the back of his head, crushing his nose slightly against her sternum. What was she–

Oh. The realization froze Morgan's heart in his chest. The tremors in her arms around him, the irregularity of her breathing. Blaise was upset. Worse than just upset, she was crying. He'd gone too far in his fit of temper, said something – oh, yes. Of course.

"I'm sorry," he said, stroking his hand up and down her back in a pale imitation of the way she soothed him from time to time. "I'm sure any child you ever bear will be normal. Better than normal. Strong and healthy, just like you. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm–"

"Shut up," Blaise hissed, squeezing him tighter. "That's not–" Her shoulders hitched sharply as she sucked in a shuddering breath. "Just shut up for a minute." Her voice was thick. Morgan closed his eyes. A verbal apology wasn't going to be enough. Of course not. He'd asked far too much. It was one thing to know him, but quite another to imagine bringing something like him into the world. How could he have been so careless? The matter of progeny was close to many people's hearts; she hadn't mentioned it, but that didn't mean it wasn't important to her. How could he make amends? Each possibility that presented itself was too small to match the scale of insult he'd unthinkingly done her.

The longer Blaise held him, not saying anything even as her breathing evened out, the deeper Morgan's stomach sank. A light rain began to fall again as he continued to awkwardly rub her back, unsure of how to improve the situation but unwilling to stop.

"Do you want to go back inside?" he ventured. "It's cold out here. I can make you some tea, or something to eat." He could at least try to improve her immediate happiness, and work out something more substantive when she wasn't so distraught.

"I want," Blaise said, then stopped. She shifted her grip to Morgan's shoulders, pulling back to look him in the face. Her expression was dark. He braced himself for whatever she might say next.

"I want you to tell me where to find the Order of Rathma."

"What? No." That didn't make any sense. It wasn't even related to what had upset her. He couldn't give up that information, no matter how much he wanted to atone for distressing her so badly. Her grip turned bruising on his shoulders, but he bit back his complaint. If being a little rough with him helped her feel better, he could handle that.

"They don't deserve your protection," Blaise snarled, "no matter how important they were to you. I'm going to burn them to the fucking ground. Fucking – just tell me. If not for yourself, then for the other children!"

Morgan searched Blaise's face. The new direction of her anger was completely baffling. "What are you talking about? What children?"

"Nobody, and I mean nobody, is so righteous they can justify using child soldiers to do their dirty work. Sorry," she added, guilt creeping into her anger as she loosened her grip, "I just – you're so blind to the harm they're doing! How do you not see it? You're so smart about everything else!"

Understanding, or at least a possible explanation, began to dawn on Morgan. "You think the Order of Rathma makes a habit of recruiting children?" he clarified.

"Yeah, that's what you just told me," Blaise said.

"They aren't Templars," he scoffed. "No, Maltorius took me to study, not to tutor. The Order does not initiate anyone who cannot consent in sound mind. Children are of no use to their goals."

"Except you," Blaise retorted skeptically.

"I rather think not," Morgan said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "If anything, I'm proof that taking children runs counter to their aim. No, I was the only child ever present for any length of time. The priests were all adults. They didn't even allow me to attempt initiation until after my fifteenth year. There are no child soldiers. They aren't hurting anyone."

Blaise spun halfway around, raising her arms in a gesture that spoke of frustration, then turned back toward Morgan. "They hurt you!"

"That's in the past, and it's not important. Their purpose is to keep humankind from harm," he reminded her. "Hurting people is not their intention."

Blaise pressed her hands to her face and gave a long, muffled groan. "Look, it's not – ugh, give me a minute. Do you have any wood to chop or anything?"

"Yes," Morgan said bemusedly. At least this change of focus made sense; Blaise sometimes liked to deal with her emotions through physical exertion. It was kind of her to turn her ire toward a different target, even though he was its cause.

Morgan watched from the shelter of the lean-to as Blaise channeled her apparent frustration into splitting logs. The muscles of her arms shifted smoothly with each swing of the axe, tensing to transfer their enormous power into the tool, relaxing momentarily before she wrenched the blade out of the chopping block to knock the pieces aside and set up another log.

There was a new scar along the line of her tricep, interrupting the otherwise fairly smooth texture of her skin. As incredibly strong as she was, she was still fallible, still had vulnerabilities. And if she ever approached the Necropolis with malicious intent, she would be killed without hesitation or remorse. Even strength as great as hers would be no match for the dozens of highly skilled mages who made the underground city their home. The thought sat heavy in Morgan's chest, a leaden weight between his lungs. He would do everything within his power to prevent Blaise from seeking out the heart of the Order of Rathma. She was tenacious when she had a goal in sight. If he couldn't dissuade her with logic, he would have to follow her. Most likely die an oath-breaker in an attempt to protect her. What a fittingly deplorable end that would be. One final failure to crown a lifetime full of them, never able to do a single thing that really mattered.

"The sawyer's mill," Blaise said, interrupting Morgan's contemplation. She rested the axe on one shoulder, her free hand on her hip.

"The sawyer's mill?" Morgan echoed. He rubbed his arms in an ineffective attempt to ward off the damp chill. The flesh of his left arm tended to be cooler than the rest of him anyway, and its hand did not impart any warmth to his good arm.

"Yeah. It runs on a water wheel, right?"

"Yes," Morgan said. He enjoyed watching the mechanism at work, when he had the opportunity.

"And when it's running, it cuts whatever goes through the saw, right?" Blaise gestured with her free hand, making what Morgan guessed was an approximation of the saw blade.

"Yes."

"I'm splitting these logs on purpose," Blaise said, "and the mill does the same thing but not on purpose. But the logs wind up split either way. It doesn't matter if it's on purpose or not."

Ah. She was drawing a parallel, trying to illustrate her perspective. Morgan considered. "That's true. But the logs aren't living. They can't grow back together, no matter what split them," he pointed out. "There's no sense in getting angry at the sawmill for cutting timber. It's just doing what it was designed to do. You couldn't deactivate it for that. People still need it."

Blaise grunted in annoyance and returned to her chopping with a furrowed brow. She didn't pause again until there were no more logs to split, catching her breath for a moment before turning to face Morgan.

"What was it like?" Blaise asked quietly. A damp curl of hair stuck to her forehead, planted there by the exertion and the light rain. "When you were little," she clarified as Morgan did not answer immediately. "How did they treat you?"

"I never wanted for anything," Morgan said. Blaise raised her eyebrows skeptically. "I was fed and clothed, and permitted run of the city. I have no complaints about my youth."

"That's not what I meant, though. Like, what happened when you got hurt? Or – I don't know, when you had a nightmare? Were they nice to you?"

"Nice isn't relevant to a priest of Rathma. But they taught me to be self-sufficient," Morgan reassured her quickly as her expression darkened. "The first time I was able to describe that I'd had a nightmare, Maltorius began teaching me to meditate. When I was injured, he taught me to treat the injury."

Blaise did not seem reassured by this. "And if I wanted to talk to this Maltorius, where would I find him?"

"You'd find him a poor conversationalist. They wouldn't permit you an audience with his remains, anyway."

Blaise made a dissatisfied huff and turned away to stack up the wood she'd split. Morgan watched apprehensively. It was very tempting to help her, but she probably needed to expend the energy on her own. She likely still needed to work through some emotions, especially since he hadn't made up for the way he'd originally upset her. It seemed she had moved on from that, but all the same it would be better to make amends somehow.

"All right," she said, setting the last piece of wood neatly in place, "tell you what. I'm going to go into town and pick up something nice from Daveth for us to share, yeah? Then we can dry out by the fire and go to bed. I'm sleeping here tonight." She dusted off her hands and flashed Morgan a smile that lifted the weight inside him all at once, replacing it with the warm, flickering light of relief.

"All right, yes," Morgan agreed quickly. She couldn't be that upset if she still wanted to be together with him right now - to eat, to sit, to sleep. He was fortunate that she was willing to overlook the distress he had caused her. Well, he was fortunate in many ways when it came to Blaise.

She swept him into another tight hug, nearly lifting him off the ground with her easy strength. Morgan closed his eyes and squeezed closer. The cold of the rain faded into the background of his awareness, no match for the warmth of their embrace as he paired his breaths to hers. Steady. Consistent. Dependable. Yes, he was fortunate in many ways indeed.

#my writing #story: unbidden #fantasy religion mention #this man definitely had a fine and normal childhood #as far as he knows

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