#‘well what's this then? the curse going walkabouts?’

[bookish-whore]

Falling Part IX

Azriel x Reader

Words: 4k

Warnings: Discussions/Allusions to SA, Self-Deprecating Thoughts, Lots of Cursing.

A/N: Hello Lovelies! Thank you all for your patience with this chapter it has been a crazy two weeks for me. Considering we are on Chapter 9 now I can safely say that this fic will be a bit longer than the 10 chapters I initially anticipated (oops). Thank you all for your continued support on this story and as always, my requests are open and I am slowly making my way through them!

My Masterlist -> Here

Falling Masterlist -> Here

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I was on the mend.

Since arriving back in the Day Court, Helion put me on a strict regimen, he was taking my recovery very seriously. I had a daily routine now, granted it had only been a few days, but Helion said that a establishing a routine would be good for me to have. He told me that knowing what’s going to happen throughout my day would decrease any anxiety and keep me from panicking and having any other episodes. So far, he has been right. I haven’t had any panic attacks since waking up that initial time. He also said that fresh air and sunlight can do wonders for my physical body, and for my mental health, which is why I was currently making my way downstairs to meet Lucien for our daily walk through the gardens.

I saw Lucien pacing at the foot of the steps, as he had done since we began these walkabouts.

“Good morning Vanserra” I said, the male halted his movements when he heard my voice

“Good morning my dearest y/n” he said, extending his arm to me with a smile. I hooked my arm under his and together we made our way outside.

We walked for a while in comfortable silence, Lucien knew how much I loved the gardens here. They were full of such vibrant colors and such a vast array of flowers it was like I was in a different world; it was like a brief escape from all of it.

I led us to one of the stone benches placed throughout the space, it was my favorite spot in the garden. There was a clear view of the pond, sparkling in the sunlight and where we sat, we were under a canopy of wisteria. I enjoyed the sweet, floral, and slightly musky scent as it wafted through the gentle breeze. Lucien was the one to break the silence.

 “Are you ready for the big reunion?”

I wrung my hands in my lap “Not really” I said looking down at my hands

“Why is that?” he asked turning his head towards me to meet my gaze

“Well, if I’m being honest, I feel nervous. I know it’s just Feyre and Nesta and I am so grateful you wrote to them, but I’m worried they will see me like- like I’m damaged or broken. That they will somehow think of me differently. Think of me as- as weak after what happened.”

“They would never see you as weak, or broken, or damaged. Not after what they have been through.” He took my hand in his “and regardless of what anyone thinks you are strong, one of the strongest people I know. What happened to you wasn’t because of anything you did, or didn’t do, and I know you are trying to cope by pushing people away but we- the people who love you- aren’t going anywhere.”

I nod my head “I know” I say, just loud enough for him to hear

“Now, come on” he jerks his head over his shoulder “lets finish at the pond I know how much you love feeding the ducks”

I flash a smile at him, and we make our way toward the pond. I can’t help but feel a sense of calm about the big visit later. Lucien’s words had managed to put my mind at ease.

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I took my time getting ready for this meeting.

I had an extra-long soak in the bath, until my fingers were wrinkled, and the water had become tepid. Once getting out I put on an outfit I felt comfortable in, which happened to be an oversized cream sweater that hung to my mid-thigh, dark leggings, and thick wool socks. After getting dressed I sat at my vanity to fix my hair, I decided to put it in a simple braid to keep it out of my way but as I looked in the mirror, my eyes were drawn to the faint circle of purple, black and blue around my neck. As I stared at the markings I began to reconsider.

I brought my hand up to graze my fingers across the lingering bruises, all at different stages of healing but still visible were anyone to look at me. I suddenly felt self-conscious at the idea of my friends seeing the evidence of that night. I could feel the panic rising and remembered the breathing exercises Helion taught me and began to ground myself, mostly by reminding myself that I was here in the Day Court, that I was safe, that what happened was over. After a few minutes I regained my composure and stood. I wouldn’t let that male take anything else from me, I wasn’t going to cower from the bruises or the scars that I carried with me. With a final deep breath, I made my way downstairs to meet my friends.

I opened the double doors and entered the room I had picked for this meeting. I had chosen an intimate library with tall shelves lining two of the walls, the other wall housed a massive ornate fireplace, and the final wall was floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rose gardens. It also had a comfortable sitting area with two long couches, two large armchairs and a table in the center, which was perfect for tea and cakes which Helion insisted we have, something about sugar being calming for the nerves. I didn’t dare argue.

I took up my seat in one of the armchairs, facing the doors when a soft knock sounded. I shouted for the visitor to enter to find it was just Helaena, one of the housekeepers, bringing the tea and desserts for me and my guests. Once she was finished, she promptly left, closing the doors behind her and I was once again alone. I looked at the clock atop the mantle on the fireplace and realized my guests would be arriving any minute, the thought had me picking at my cuticles as I did when I was nervous.

I found some comfort in the knowledge that Lucien would be there, I had asked him this morning if he would stay for the reunion, to intervene if he saw it was too much for me, and like the good male he is he agreed without complaint. However, I was still nervous to see the others. I know that Lucien was right this morning when he said they would understand but so much has happened since we last spoke that it seems like another lifetime. I was pulled from my thoughts as I heard faint voices down the hall. They were here.

I stood from my seat, wiping my palms on my thighs to get rid of the sweat that had accumulated in my anticipation of their arrival. A soft knock sounded.

“Come in” I shouted, my voice cracking at my choice of volume. The double doors swung open and there they were. We all stood frozen, just staring at each other.

I locked eyes with Feyre first, she was smiling at me, a faint flicker of silver lining her blue-grey eyes. Knowing her, they were tears of relief, tears of happiness. My gaze shifted to her right to find Nesta with her usual smirk that never gave away her true emotions, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. They were both looking at me as they always had.

And finally, I shifted my gaze to the other female who had accompanied them.  

I immediately recognized the auburn hair, sparkling teal blue eyes, and warm smile. I had to fight the tears from spilling because Gwyn had come. Gwyn who had only begun leaving the House of Wind a few months ago – and had only gone so far as Rita’s – had made the long journey to a new place to be here for me. My knees threatened to buckle under me, and I immediately crossed the room pulling all three of them into a bone crushing hug. I couldn’t stop the swell of emotion as we stood there, simply holding each other.

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After what felt like hours spent in a tight embrace, We finally took our seats around the table; Lucien chose to sit across the room to give the impression of privacy. We sat silently, pouring tea, and rationing out cookies and cakes from the assortment that had been brought in. After everyone was served, I decided to initiate the conversation.

I cleared my throat “I feel like- like I owe you an explanation for why I left the way I did”

Feyre interjected “Y/n, there is no need for that”

“I know that” I say flashing Feyre a small smile “but I’m sure you were worried sick at the fact that I just vanished, that I only left that note. I know that I shouldn’t have taken my anger at Azriel out on you guys and for that I’m sorry”

“After what happened” Nesta took a sip of her tea before continuing “and after what he said, I don’t blame you y/n. In fact, I let him know exactly what I thought about his actions the other night”

“What is she talking about?” I asked looking between Feyre and Nesta for any indication of what had happened between them.

“Well, after you left, we all had dinner at the House of Wind and your whereabouts were a point of conversation” Feyre said “Tensions were running high and after a suggestion that you be brought back to the Night Court Azriel made his opinion known about our plan to visit…Nesta made her opinions on his behavior quite clear.”

“What could he possibly have to say on the matter?” I asked

“That Feyre and I shouldn’t come; he made a comment to that extent…but enough about him” Nesta said “We are here for you”

Feyre and Gwyn nodded at that as the attention shifted back to me.

“How has it been here?” Gwyn asked gently taking a bite of lemon cake.

“Lucien and Helion have been amazing. I mean they rarely leave me alone, not that I particularly want to be alone right now, but they have treated me so well.” I paused a moment before I could continue “but even though they’ve been nothing but accommodating. I still have this feeling…just this overwhelming feeling of nothing, its like an endless pool of numbness. I can plaster a smile on my face, and laugh, and act normal but it’s not really how I feel.”

The three females all nodded in understanding.

“And I am terrified that this feeling is all I am ever going to feel again. Like, that night has irrevocably changed something in me. Changed who I am, how I see the world.” I wiped a tear that cascaded down my cheek “and I don’t want it to, I don’t want to give that male any more than he’s already taken but I don’t know how to get back to who I was before.” I dropped my head into my hands as the tears began to fall.

Before I could register what was happening, the three of them were at my side. Feyre on my left, rubbing comforting circles along on my back as I cried. Nesta on my right holding my arm as she tucked stray strands of hair behind my ear and Gwyn sat in front of me, her hands cupping my face while her forehead rested against mine.

Nesta was the first to speak after my admission. “Do you remember that day all those months ago after you first saw Azriel and Elain together?”

I wiped my nose on my sleeve, nodding

“Do you remember what I told you then?” I nodded again looking directly at her. I thought back to that morning, the words repeating themselves in my head

“What did I tell you?” she gently prodded

“You said” I took a shaky inhale “I can’t tell you when…or how; but it will get better. That I will get through it, as long as I am willing to face it, and embrace it, and walk through it. That I need to push through my pain to come out on the other side.”

“That’s right” Nesta said “I would tell you the same thing now y/n. You cannot change your circumstances, nor can you fix the past. All you can do is continue to move forward.”

Gwyn spoke then “Nesta is right, healing isn’t linear, and some days will be worse than others, but you aren’t alone in this you never have been, and you never will be.”  

I nodded my head in recognition of what she said but went silent as I heard a faint commotion in the hall and the familiar scent wafted into the room and I froze.

...night-chilled mist and cedar.

Azriel was here.

As quickly as the thought crossed my mind, the double doors opened and there he was. I couldn’t help but look him over, he was wearing his fighting leathers, his siphons giving off their usual cobalt glow and his wings flared behind him. His hazel eyes burned into me as he stalked his way across the room.

Lucien stood first intercepting the male by placing a hand on his shoulder, halting him from moving any closer.

“Back off Vanserra” Azriel barked under his breath.

“Not a chance Shadowsinger” Lucien said, pushing Azriel back towards the door. Lucien jerked his head and a fae guard approached taking hold of Azriel’s other arm, helping Lucien haul him out.

“I just need to talk to her” Azriel said, his voice raised as he fought the two males restraining him “please y/n, just- just give me five minutes- please” the shadowsinger pleaded as the males hauled him away.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough” Lucien snapped “haven’t you hurt her enough?” he growled into his ear.

“Lucien” I said softly, the male stilled at my voice “it’s alright, I’ll talk to him”

I could practically feel Azriel’s sigh of relief, but I pushed it out of my mind because I wasn’t doing this for him.

No, this was for me.

I was taking my friends’ advice and confronting my pain, Azriel being only one of my problems right now but I felt that he was the one I could face, at least the one I was most ready to face.

I made my way through the palace to my bedroom, I wanted to be far away from prying fae ears. I could feel the tension rolling off Azriel as he followed silently behind me. Once arriving at the door, I paused a moment taking a deep breath before turning the knob and gesturing Azriel to enter first. He does so silently, tucking his wings in behind him as he passes me. I step in after him closing the door behind me with a soft -click-

I lean my forehead against the door before turning to face Azriel to find that he is already staring intensely at me, his hazel eyes boring into me as he waits for me to speak first. I can’t help but notice how they flick down to the faint bruising still visible on my neck. I clear my throat, which draws his attention back up to my eyes.

“You wanted to speak to me” I say, surprised at how strong my voice sounds “so speak”

He clears his throat “I- I do want to talk about other things with you, but first I just need to know, how you are or rather how you’ve been”

“How do you think I am Azriel?”

“I know that was probably a stupid question, but y/n I was worried about you. I have been worried sick about you. so much so that I haven’t been able to sleep, or eat, or-or think with you gone and after what happened I just-”

“That must have been hard on you” I snap

He goes silent. Turning around to face the large floor to ceiling windows that covered one wall of my quarters. I make my way closer to him, sitting on one of the couches in a lounge area that faces the fireplace.

“It must have been hard to continue living your life as you had been for months” I say, the rage slowly building as I think to all the conversations we had, conversations where he knew about the bond and told me about how he had fantasized since childhood about having a mate, how he thought he was unworthy and undeserving of one when he knew. When he knew that his mate was sitting across from him.

He turns around to face me “Y/n, I know that’s how it seems but-”

“I’m not finished yet” I interrupt “it must have been so difficult, to know about the mating bond and sit back and live your life while I was suffering. Do you even know what it was like? To watch you and Elain together, to know you shared a bed, to know you were in love. While I was practically torturing myself?”

I could see the tension building in him as his jaw clenched “Don’t put all of this on me y/n. You knew about the bond too, and I don’t recall you making any public declarations. I didn’t see you make an effort to tell me about the bond either.”

“I was going to” I practically shouted “on the winter solstice. At the party, I told Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, and the entire Inner Circle about my plan, that you needed to know to make an informed decision about what to do with your life, regardless of the outcome”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “And do you remember what you did that night Azriel? Do you?” I asked. He made his way across the room, sitting on a chair opposite of me, bringing his hands to ruffle through his hair. I could’ve sworn he cursed under his breath. His silence only encouraged me to continue.

“You got engaged. You proposed to Elain, and I had to watch, Lucien had to watch.” I wiped a tear that fell at the memory of that night. “I wanted to tell you, I wanted to tell you so many fucking times Azriel but how could I? You seemed so happy and all I would do is ruin that, ruin a choice that you made. A choice that Elain made, and I had made my peace with it. That you chose her, and the bond wouldn’t change anything because it didn’t. You knew the whole time. The whole fucking time and you clearly didn’t want it”

“I fucked up y/n I know that now, but you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to hurt you”

“You know a few months ago I might have believed that. I used to think that you would never hurt me Azriel, from the moment the bond snapped into place for me I had this idea in my head about who you were and- and I was wrong because I trusted you, I got to know you and I started to have feelings for you”

I couldn’t help the tears that lined my eyes as it all came pouring out of me. “But you- you betrayed me, and you have turned into someone I don’t recognize”

“I know that I fucked up y/n, I know that but if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. please just- just give me a chance”

“Fine, here’s your chance. Why did you choose that moment to tell me about the bond? In that place after I was attacked”

“Y/n…” he began “Do we really have to talk about that”

“Don’t treat me like I am this fragile, broken female. I can handle it. I have been handling it. So either answer my question, or get out”

“Fine…I- I didn’t choose that moment, it just came out. I was so panicked and worried about you. that night…I felt you get hurt and I don’t know, when I saw you and when I smelt your blood, I was just so relieved you were alive. I didn’t have a filter on my emotions, and they got the best of me”

I nodded “Did you ever think about telling me, that you knew that the bond was there?” I said softly

“y/n” he says like a warning

“Don’t y/n me Azriel. Did you consider it or not, it’s a simple question”

“Yes” he says desperately “of course I did, but I decided against it”

“Why?” I asked

“Why?” he repeated, his voice sounding confused.

“Yes Azriel, I had a good reason not to tell you. What reason did you have not to tell me?”

“I thought- I don’t know I convinced myself that you were better off. I thought that it was too dangerous for you to be bonded to me for life and that I was protecting you”  

“That’s bullshit” I quip

“That’s the truth” he shouts back at me

“It’s an excuse, it was too much for me, but Elain could handle being married to you. Why can’t you just be honest with me?”

“FINE” he yells pinching the bridge of his nose as he finally lets his guard down.

“I was in love with Elain, and I wanted to be with her. I didn’t want to hurt anyone okay…I really didn’t and I hoped deep down that you didn’t know. I convinced myself that you had no idea and that all the signs that you did were in my head. I didn’t want to have feelings for you, I didn’t want to acknowledge it.” He took a deep breath “but then you were attacked, and I felt like a complete asshole because maybe if I hadn’t pushed you away then you wouldn’t have almost died. If I was with you, maybe that male wouldn’t have dared touch you and…the more I thought about it the more I realized I was in the wrong. Everyone fucking knew already, and here I was playing fucking house with Elain.”

I wiped away the tears that had involuntarily fallen during his confession.

“And in the end Elain is the one that ended things, because I was still too much of a coward to admit that I was developing feelings for you. and before you say it’s out of pity or a feeling of duty, I was developing feelings for you long before that night.”

“Then tell me something Az” I say quietly

“Anything” he says, his eyes meeting mine. I can see the desperation within them.

“If she hadn’t ended the engagement. Would you have married her?”

His face fell, his body going rigid at my ask. That seemed like answer enough to me. I nodded in acceptance and stood going to leave the room. He reacted quickly, running in front of me and dropping to his knees, tears freely falling down his face.

“Please don’t go y/n” he begged “Not like this please just- fuck I know how it seems but I have been honest, doesn’t that count for something? I know- I know I hurt you and I hurt Elain but If you just give me a chance, I can fix this, I can fix us.”

“I can’t Az” I said, my own tears falling in tandem with his “maybe someday I can forgive you and we can move past this, but not right now” I made my way to the door, reaching for the knob to leave when his voice halted me.

“I’m not giving up y/n” he said “I promise you; I don’t care how long it takes. Even if it takes an eternity, I am not giving up on this.”

I didn’t respond. I simply opened the door and walked back to the library, leaving him kneeling on the floor.

Next Chapter-> (Coming Soon)

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{Taglist is Temporarily Closed I'm going to be updating it and changing some things around here soon}

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#azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #lucien x reader #helion x reader #feyre archeron #gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #bookish-whore #falling

[bloodfromthethorn]

Setting Boundaries

"Gods,” she hissed finally. Her expression crumpled into despair a moment before she buried her face in her hands to hide the fresh tears that came with it. “I made you say please.”

Raevan suffers a few belated realisations. Astarion is quick to set her straight.

Also on AO3.

..

After everything that had happened that day, from their miserable trudge through Moonrise Towers, to their run-in with that vile drow, to Astarion’s own personal revelations and growth, it was little wonder that he reached the evening – such as it was ever evening in the Shadowlands – bone tired and more than ready to pack it all in for the night. Halsin’s surprisingly passable attempt at a vegetable stew certainly furthered that desire, leaving him blinking and weary beside the fire. 

There was only one more thing he wanted before he surrendered himself to a well-deserved trance – blood. He wasn’t starving and he’d gone longer on less a great many times in his life, but now that he had a willing donor readily available, he’d started to become more accustomed to semi-regular feeds. He could always go hunting of course but…

It had been a really long day. 

The only problem was his dinner appeared to have gone walkabouts. Sometime between the stew getting handed around and Astarion tuning back into the conversation, Raevan had managed to disappear entirely. She wasn’t in any of her usual haunts around the camp and a few not-so-subtle inquiries with his travelling companions revealed no obvious solution either. It would seem she really had just vanished. 

Briefly, Astarion considered calling it a lost cause and just heading to his own tent. Raevan, like all of them, occasionally felt the need to take some moments to herself and it wasn’t like she hadn’t earned an evening of peace. It was entirely possible she had no interest in being disturbed. Still, it wasn’t wise to wander so far from camp alone with the Curse hanging around them as an ever present threat, besides whatever other horrors could be waiting beyond the ring of firelight.

And, perhaps he was honest enough with himself these days that he could admit he was worried for her. A desire for solitude or not, it was unlike her to take herself off without any warning to anyone.

His mind made up, he put the campfire at his back and strode out into the night. The darkness was little trouble for his eyes and the pixie’s little trick was still holding strong to keep the Curse at bay, but it was still no mean feat to pick up Raevan’s faint trail through the gloom. It was fortunate that she clearly hadn’t been trying to conceal her passage; the woman was stealthy enough she could cross the whole world without leaving a single mark if that was what she so desired. 

As it stood, she hadn’t even tried to conceal her footsteps in the rotting mulch carpeting the forest floor. Even without a torch, it was enough to lead him right to her. 

The sight he found was… not encouraging. She’d sat herself down on a patch of dark, loamy earth beside the river, apparently unbothered by the damp that must have been soaking into her clothes, and had curled her knees up to her chest to rest her chin on them. It looked terribly uncomfortable and was about as small as it was possible to make herself. 

Concern rose up thick and fast in Astarion’s gut and he was moving forwards before he could stop himself, his foot landing overly hard on a half-rotten piece of treebark that let out a muted groan in protest. Raevan spun around at the sound like a snake braced to attack, the movement revealing the dagger she'd been gripping tightly in the shadow of her body.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Only me,” he said lightly, relaxing minutely when the dagger was immediately lowered. He'd been out of striking range – which said a lot for her awareness – but he'd seen her throw knives before. Thank the gods her recognition abilities were just as quick as her reflexes. 

“Astarion,” she breathed out sharply, evidently working through her own sudden spike in adrenaline. “What are you doing sneaking around? I could have hurt you!”

The words were annoyed in that exaggerated way people used when they'd been startled badly, but that wasn't what caught his attention. No, it was the way Raevan’s eyes dropped from his almost as soon as she'd recognised he wasn't a threat, turning instead to focus intensely on the action of sheathing the dagger. She'd done that move a thousand times that week and Astarion had never once seen her need to look at what she was doing while she did it. No, this wasn’t simple distraction; this was hiding.

It was in vain, too. Even in the low light cast by the torch that she’d apparently thought to bring with her, Astarion’s eyes were sharp enough to see the redness she was hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

She'd been crying.

Astarion heart slid down through the bottom of his ribcage and kept going. She'd seemed so understanding when they'd spoken earlier, so gentle. She hadn't looked or sounded upset by his self-reflectant revelations. On the contrary, she'd encouraged him to take whatever time he needed, no matter how long it might be. She hadn't in acted in any way then that could have indicated she'd end the evening crying alone on the riverbank.

Then again, maybe this was nothing to do with him or their earlier conversation. As everyone kept telling him, not everything revolved around him. Maybe she'd simply had a falling out with one of the others and no one had thought to tell him when he’d asked after her earlier. 

'Maybes' weren't going to get him anywhere. Raevan had always approached her concerns with him directly; he owed it to them both to grant her the same courtesy. Still, two hundred years of safeguarding his own heart were not an easy thing to just shake off and the idea of simply asking her outright what was wrong inevitably led to him imagination dragging him through a series of the worst possible outcomes. 

Instead, he took a deep breath, fixed on his best lighthearted smile, and sat himself down beside her as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I rather thought I’d ask you the same question. It’s a strange night for a stroll.”

He waved a carefree hand at their grim surroundings. This wasn’t the worst place she could have picked, precisely; it was more a matter of there being no particularly nice places to choose from. This spot was neither a part of the ruined town or its troublingly expansive graveyard, which was a vote in its favour, but Astarion’s nose was keen enough to suggest there was more than simple leaves rotting nearby. It was the kind of smell that permeated every inch of the region and yet was vile enough to never quite manage to fade into the background. Astarion had realised quickly he hated it. It wasn’t exactly his idea of a pleasant accompaniment to an evening jaunt in the woods. 

Raevan didn’t rise to the comment. Instead, she settled herself back down in her tightly restrained ball and gazed out over the rumbling water. After a long moment of expectant silence, she sighed. “I just needed a little while to think. Did you need me for something?”

“Not at all,” he said cheerfully, already determined to not mention how he’d technically started seeking her out so he could feed. 

“Oh. That’s good.” Her voice was flat. It was clear her mind was already fading back into whatever elsewhere it had been occupying before Astarion had so rudely intruded on her solitude. 

Suddenly uncertain of himself, if no less worried about where her head might be at, Astarion shifted. “I– I can leave, if you’d prefer? I just thought it was unwise for any of us to linger alone out here.” Raevan glanced at him and a sudden shock of nervousness prompted him to continue when really he should just shut his mouth. “I know, I know, you think that little imp’s spell can protect us, but putting your faith in that kind of magic is frankly a level of optimism to which I refuse to consign myself. You can never trust devils with wings, no matter how small they might be.”

He flashed her a grin and nearly collapsed in relief when it drew a faint smile and an eyeroll from his companion. “It was a pixie.”

“I fear you may be missing my point.”

She snorted softly, the tense line of her shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Perhaps. You’re right. It was foolish to come out here alone. I just…”

“It can be hard to grab a moment to yourself in a camp full of people constantly vying for your attention,” he commiserated when her voice trailed off. “Present company excluded, of course,” he tacked on with a haughty huff. “My companionship is a constant source of delight, I’m sure.”

That earned him a genuine laugh albeit a quiet one. “It is,” she agreed easily. “Wherever would I be without you?”

She said it in jest, but the compliment beneath felt genuine enough. If he’d been physically capable, he’d probably have blushed. “Well, you’d be short one warlock at the very least. Wyll really needs to learn to watch his flank.”

“The man has one eye.”

Astarion pursed his lips. He hadn’t actually considered that right up until this moment. “Still,” he said pointedly. 

Raevan laughed again. “I’m sure he’d be willing to train with you if you asked him. Hells, he’d probably love the opportunity, he’s just too intimidated to ask you.”

“Intimidated? I am eminently approachable.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am.”

She shook her head, still smiling, though the expression faded rapidly when her gaze fell back to the water. The amusement that had lit up her entire face just a moment ago seemed to snuff out like a candle, leaving behind the tired and drawn expression of someone who had had to shoulder too many burdens without enough rest. The worry that had softened to a gentle prickle in the back of Astarion’s mind rushed to the fore once again. 

“Raevan,” he started slowly, faltering when her eyes jumped back to him before he steadied. “Are you alright? I know today has been… a lot.”

She was already shaking her head by the time he’d finished speaking. “It’s nothing,” she brushed off carelessly. “You’ve had a more stressful day than me, I imagine.”

“And yet, I’m not the one who vanished from camp without a word to come and sit alone in the shadows. Without wishing to jump to conclusions, I’m sure you can see why I might be… worried.” He didn’t want to specifically mention their earlier conversation for fear of making the matter about himself when it may have nothing to do with him, but he saw Raevan make the connection in the way her eyes suddenly widened in concern. 

“Oh!” She said, straightening suddenly from her slump. “No! No, it’s nothing like that. This isn’t– This is my own issue. It’s not anything to do with– anything that happened earlier. I’m not–” She bit her lip, her sudden panicked energy lighting her up like a bolt of magic. 

“Raevan,” he cut in, hands up as if calming a startled horse. “It’s okay. I wasn’t trying to accuse.”

“No, but you think–”

“I’m not thinking anything,” he said firmly, ignoring the sudden swell of relief he felt at hearing she wasn’t tying herself in knots about their sudden step back from intimacy. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had been; he’d started becoming self-aware enough to worry that he might have allowed himself to be guilted into something he didn’t actually want to do. Not that Raevan would do so intentionally, of course, but he recognised his own inability to disappoint her. “I’m just worried that something’s upset you enough to drive you away from camp on one of the few nights we didn’t have to endure Gale’s cooking.”

It was an unfair slight against a man who genuinely was quite a talented cook, but Raevan didn’t rise to it like he’d hoped. Instead, as her panic faded, abject misery flowed back into her expression before she managed to turn away to hide it. Something twisted painfully in Astarion’s gut. 

“I don’t want to pry,” he said quietly, “But I would help if I can. Even if it’s just to listen. I’m told that speaking about your problems can ease them.”

She’d told him as much multiple times in their relatively short time together. He was increasingly finding that she might just be right. 

From the sideways look she shot him, she knew exactly what he was doing. She didn’t seem entirely happy to have her own logic turned against her, but she didn’t try to refute it. On the contrary, she lapsed into a stubborn sort of silence, folded up into her tight little ball as she gazed out across the water. Well, two could play at that game. Despite what anyone else might think, Astarion was perfectly capable of keeping his mouth shut when the situation called for it. If Raevan thought she could win this little contest through a superior reserve of patience, she was to be sorely mistaken. 

In the end, the pair sat there in total silence for what had to be at least ten minutes. Through it all, neither of them even moved; Astarion the consummate hunter frozen in wait for his prey and Raevan, stubborn and firm-jawed in her refusal to speak. 

It wasn’t until Astarion’s anxiety about whether he should really be there or not was about to bubble over that Raevan sighed heavily and rubbed at her face. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, the words half lost to her palms before she looked back up at him and added, “I owe you an apology.”

He considered that and came up empty. It did nothing to soothe his anxious worryings. “For what?”

“That first night we spent together,” she said, not meeting his eyes. The low-level murmur of discomfort that Astarion had been fighting against roared into life so sharply he stopped breathing for a moment. He’d known that admitting the truth of his intentions would not be well received, but he’d hoped nothing he’d said would cause any lasting damage. Certainly not enough to drive her from the camp to sit in miserable solitude all evening. Maybe the panic showed in his face, because she continued on quickly, “I don’t mean I’m sorry it happened. Or– I mean–” 

She stopped, cursing, then buried her face in her hands again. When she looked up, her eyes were redder than before but her jaw was set. 

“You shouldn’t have had to do that if you didn’t want to. I know you had your reasons. But I’m sorry that I– If I did anything to you that made you uncomfortable. I didn’t realise– Well. That’s not important. I’m just– Sorry.” 

It took a minute for Astarion to parse what precisely she was saying. It was obvious that she wasn’t entirely clear on the point she was trying to convey herself, or perhaps more that she was trying to ensure she didn’t offend him by doing it. He likely wasn’t helping in that regard, suddenly aware that he’d gone tense as a bowstring as soon as she’d mentioned that night and hadn’t relaxed since. He wasn’t sure what expression he’d been wearing, but he doubted it was encouraging.

“You’re sorry because… You think you upset me?” He tried, uncertain. 

She flinched, and the dam broke. All the things she’d clearly been trying to hold in came pouring forth in a rapid rush. “Yes. No. I don’t know. All I know is that you said you only propositioned me to get me on your side and not because you actually wanted– And that’s fine, I understand that, I’m not upset about it, but I just keep remembering that night and everything we did, and I think about touching you and how you must have felt–” She paused just long enough to suck in a hard breath, eyes wild, before diving right back in. “I know how pushy and demanding I can be and I think about what I might have made you do against your will, and how awful that must have been and– Gods,” she hissed finally. Her expression crumpled into despair a moment before she buried her face in her hands to hide the fresh tears that came with it. “I made you say please .”

Astarion didn’t need her to elaborate to know exactly what moment she was referring to, having had it branded in his own mind ever since it happened. He’d spent almost every evening since that fateful night turning the moment over, recalling how sharply her demand had rankled on a surface level and yet marvelling over how much his capitulation hadn’t. She’d asked him to beg for something he hadn’t even really wanted, had only been doing to save his own skin, and yet he’d granted her that small power willingly, knowing as he did so that if nothing else, he could trust her with that. That she wouldn’t abuse the weapon he was freely handing her. 

It was, in hindsight, probably the moment he should have realised he was becoming far too emotionally invested in his own con but he hadn’t and it was much too late now. At least he could say with honesty that he didn’t regret it for a second. 

“You didn’t make me do anything,” he said lightly instead of trying to explain it. His own anxiety faded out in one quiet rush as he realised her sticking point and how easily he could fix it. “Raevan, I made my own decisions every step of the way. For better or ill.” He paused a moment, allowing a faint thrill of excitement to escape into his expression even when she couldn’t see it. “And it was for the better, I assure you.”

She stayed hidden for another long few seconds, only a faint sniffling emerging from her self-made cocoon, before she finally pulled her head up to look at him again. Her eyes were puffy and red. She certainly didn’t look comforted by his reassurances. 

“You couldn’t have known my history,” he continued in a low, soothing tone. “And it’s not like it would have been reasonable to expect one of your companions to be trying to bed you just so that you’d protect them should any villains come knocking. I’m the one who betrayed someone in this scenario.” It felt like a risk to remind her of it, even after she’d been so shockingly accepting of that fact earlier, but he’d take it if it meant her no longer thinking she’d done something wrong. Hells below, he was absolutely stupid for her.

“You didn’t,” she said immediately, looking almost offended by the suggestion and unknowingly confirming to Astarion that once this matter was settled, they desperately needed to start thinking about how to build up her sense of self-preservation. “You were scared and you had every reason to be. Of course you’d do anything you could to get allies on your side.”

Astarion hummed. “Perhaps. Though it’s recently been brought to my attention that sex isn’t always a necessary step in that process.”

Raeven shot him an annoyed look out the corner of her eye, unimpressed by his relatively good humour when her mood was already so sour. He softened his expression in apology. 

“Truly Raevan, you’ve done nothing wrong. Far from it. And while I might regret that my motives were… what they were, I wouldn’t change what happened. Not for anything.” He reached out as he spoke, laying a featherlight touch against her palm that was as much a question as it was an invitation. After a moment, her fingers curled warm around his. The heat of her never failed to thrill him, blazing bright right down the bone. Right then, several days out from his last half-decent feed, she burned hot as a brand. 

“No?”

“Never.”

She visibly teetered on the brink of believing him, fighting hard against her tears. “It’s just– I can’t help but feel… dirty. The thought of me touching you and knowing now that it was unwelcome, I just–”

“It was welcome,” he said firmly. He would not allow her to believe anything else for another moment more. “It was heartily welcomed. My intentions might have made any pleasure secondary, but I assure you it was pleasurable. Whatever my reasons, bedding you was hardly a chore for me.” He took the risk of pulling on an expression indicating how absurd the suggestion was. “Raevan, you’re beautiful. If you had been nothing else that would have been enough and still, you are so much more. You’re kind and funny and smart, and a thousand other things that drew me to you. Trust me, nothing that happened that night was any kind of hardship for me.”

In truth, the only real hardship had been the parts where he’d tried to remind himself why he was doing it in the first place. Even then, he’d already begun to lose himself in his attraction to her, that insatiable pull beneath his ribs that constantly demanded her and only her. He wouldn’t put a name to the sensation for weeks, and he wasn’t sure he could voice it even now, but it had been there right from that first night. Maybe longer. 

Her fingers squeezed his. “You mean that?”

“I would not lie to you. Not about this.”

She considered that a moment, weighing up his appearance with steady, red-rimmed eyes. Astarion let her look, trying to show his sincerity as clearly as he could. A terrifying few heartbeats later, she nodded faintly. “Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”

Astarion let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

His relief was shortlived; a few seconds later, Raevan’s eyes tightened back into an intense focus. “But I need you to promise me something.”

He caught himself an instant before he said an idiotic anything’. Whatever their relationship might be, he was in no position to be making offers like that. “What is it?”

“If my touch ever is unwelcome, at any time, you will tell me. Anything. Whatever it is. However much you think I want or need it. If you’re uncomfortable, you will tell me.” 

He blinked at the simplicity of the request. “I can do that.”

“Promise me,” she pressed. “You’ll tell me even if you think it’ll upset me. Even if I get mad. Whatever the situation is, you’ll ask me to back off if you need me to.”

Long-buried instinct prompted him to say an immediate yes, but if nothing else the last two centuries had blessed him with an abundance of caution and it was clear Raevan meant the request extremely seriously. He could see her point – he’d already proven himself to be someone willing to sacrifice physical comfort in the name of achieving some greater purpose. Wasn’t that the point of this whole mess? 

To anyone else, he probably would have lied. To her, after everything she’d done for him and the trust she had more than earned? He squeezed her hand tightly. “I can promise to try?”

There was something sad in her answering smile, but she didn’t let go of his hand. “I suppose I can work with that.”

The tension of the moment broke like a cool summer morning and both of them shared a faint breath of relief as it washed over them. Astarion hadn’t even realised how tense he’d become since he sat down. Now he was paying attention, he noted that not only were his muscles knotted and complaining, his clothes were uncomfortably sticky with grime from where he was sitting. 

Beside him, Raevan had started idly toying with his fingers, a faint line reappearing between her brows. Astarion considered worrying that they were about to get into another emotionally fraught conversation straight away, but she wasn’t holding the same tension as she had before and she looked more pensive than anything. 

“Maybe…” She started slowly. “Maybe we should start with clear boundaries. That way you shouldn’t have to constantly be warning me off.” 

Astarion hadn’t had the luxury of personal boundaries in over two centuries. The idea was foreign enough to him that he might have laughed had Raevan not so obviously been serious about it. “I can’t imagine there’s much you could do that I would object to,” he pointed out. It was mostly true, too. He’d already told her he didn’t want to have sex for a while and she’d agreed immediately; beyond that, he hadn’t considered laying out any restrictions. 

“Still,” she said, determined. “We should be on the same page. I– I don’t want to have to constantly be worrying I’m overstepping again.”

They’d just gone over all the ways in which she hadn’t been overstepping the first time, but Astarion wasn’t about to drag them back into that. Instead, he nodded. “Alright. I can understand that.”

He offered nothing further, unsure of himself and the situation, so Raevan chose to take the lead. “Well, you seem to be alright with this,” she said, indicating where she still had hold of his hand. He nodded. He’d rapidly discovered he actually quite liked the non-sexual intimacy of holding her hand and he was loathe to do anything that would discourage her from doing so whenever she desired. “Alright, let’s start there. How about this: I touch you, here and now, and you just tell me yes or no. You can nod and shake your head if it’s easier. Just so I know what’s off limits.”

It was… a reasonable idea, if a little childish. Then again, the thought of having to verbally explain to her all the ways in which he did and didn’t want to be touched was horrifying enough he’d rather throw himself into the river and have done with it, so perhaps this was for the best. At least this way, she wasn’t asking him to justify his decisions, merely taking note of what they were. 

On closer inspection, it was the kind of considerate offer he should have started to expect from her and yet never failed to be surprised by. 

“Okay,” he said simply. 

There, Raevan hesitated but it was only momentary. After a second to centre herself and double check that Astarion wasn’t about to run for the hills, she slowly reached out with her free hand and laid it carefully over his bicep. He nodded once. 

Her hand trailed up further, resting on his shoulder until she received another nod, then sliding featherlight down over his chest. She got as far as the corded muscle of his stomach before he found himself shaking his head. It was a surprise to him – he hadn’t even realised how vulnerable the touch made him feel until he was giving the clear option of saying no to it – but Raevan didn’t even pause. Her hand withdrew immediately and without comment, only returning several seconds later to his knee. 

She continued on in the same manner, getting a headshake on both thigh and upper back – though admittedly the latter was more hesitant. He genuinely hadn’t had any problem with her hands on his back when they’d slept together, so he wasn’t sure why or when it had become such a problem. Learning about the meaning of his scars had certainly made him more aware of them, but she already knew of their existence. It wasn’t like there was anything more to hide. 

Still, Raevan didn’t question it, merely confirmed that his lower back was apparently still totally fine alongside his hip and, strangely, his ass, before she redirected her attention to his head. It was at that point she grew more hesitant, perhaps in anticipation of a stronger response. In truth, Astarion wasn’t completely sure how he’d feel about it either so he could understand her uncertainty, but it turned out to be completely fine. Her fingertips brushing over his eyelids, down his nose, and across his lips did nothing more than light up a line of warmth that tingled pleasantly in the cool air. His ears tickled a little but the sensation was not unpleasant and his sharp inhale of surprised delight when she ran her hand through his hair startled them both into a sudden burst of laughter. 

It was only when they both quieted again that she asked her final silent question. Slowly, oh so slowly, she reached out and cupped her palm around the curve of his throat, right over the twin scars Cazador had so kindly left him all those years ago. Astarion tensed on instinct, but Raevan didn’t pull away, awaiting his answer.

For a long, frozen second, Astarion battled with a thousand different thoughts. Some base instinct was roaring at the vulnerability of the touch, while a monstrous side of him inherited from Cazador spat at the entitlement of this woman thinking she could touch the scars that had so defined him. Astarion didn’t want to listen to either. He was more than a beast and more than what Cazador had made him, and it was his damned throat. He got to decide what he did with it. 

His nod, when it came, was firm and decisive. 

The reward was a wide, bright smile from Raevan that seemed to light up the darkness around her. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “For trusting me.”

“You’ve more than earned it,” he said in a surprisingly husky voice. He cleared his throat awkwardly, embarrassed. She grinned at him, but let it go. 

Then she sobered. “Remember, you can change your mind at any time. Alright? If you decide tomorrow that something's off-limits when it wasn't tonight, that's okay. Just tell me.”

Astarion smiled, indulgent and thrilled at his own security in the moment. After the strain of the last few minutes, it was a relief to pull his confidence back on. “I promised, didn't I?”

“Just making sure.”

“Darling, I assure you, I'm more than happy for you to put your hands on me. Please don't think that me asking to take things a little slower than I usually might is any indication otherwise.”

“I don't,” she said breezily. “I just want us both to be comfortable and this way, you don't have to constantly tell me in front of the others that I'm crossing your boundaries.” She waved a careless hand and dropped his gaze for a moment, and Astarion realised she was avoiding another question.

“There's something else, isn't there?”

She looked back up at him quickly, eyes wide as a deer’s when facing down a hunter. It was as clear a confirmation as if she'd spoken. 

“You can ask, my dear. Don't hold yourself back on my account.”

She blushed, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “No, it's– Ah. Gods. You remember your promise?”

“Raevan, ask.”

She huffed. The blood rushing to her cheeks was adorable. She looked more unsure of herself than she had done all evening, though perhaps that was only because she'd been so busy hiding her face during the first half of their conversation. It actually took her several moments to build up the courage to ask her question. “Could– Uh. Could I kiss you?”

For a brief instant, Astarion considered leaning in to claim a kiss himself and letting that be his answer, but he stopped himself. She had treated him with a thoroughly undeserved gentleness all night and he wasn’t going to repay that by taking something from her without permission. Besides, he wanted to be able to see her face light up when he dropped his voice low and seductive and said, “How could I say no?”

The reward for his self-restraint was truly a sight to behold. Raevan’s breath caught, her pupils dilated. The blush still staining her cheeks continued to pulse a vivid red, a bright flag of her own vitality even as the rest of her momentarily froze in surprise. When she regained herself and slowly leaned in – giving him every opportunity to pull away even now as if there was anything he wanted to do less in that moment – her beauty was captivating. 

The kiss itself was surprisingly chaste for the weight it had been given, but to Astarion it was perfect. He knew Raevan was doing it in part to confirm to him that she wouldn’t press for more, reassuring him of her commitment to letting him set the pace and even if he would have been fine with something more it was a comfort to know she offered it. There would be time for more later. Well, probably. There was still Thorm to deal with and who knew if they could both survive that. Fortunately, for once, he was feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. 

“I do rather like that, you know,” he murmured to her.

She smiled, sharp and delighted and victorious. Gods, she was breathtaking. “Good. I’m something of a fan myself.” She brushed her thumb over the swell of his bottom lip, watching in fascination as his lips parted and his fangs peeked out. He held still as she ever so gently pricked her skin on one sharp canine.

“Careful, my dear,” he warned non-seriously. “Teasing a vampire is a dangerous game.”

Her gaze was self-assured and unrepentant. All the coy uncertainty and heartbroken regret of earlier had bled out of her at the reassurance that, yes, he wanted her too and no, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Without it she looked… strong. “I suppose it’s a good thing I know I can trust this one then,” she said smugly. 

The words took a second to sink in, but when they did, Astarion felt something warm pool in his belly. She actually meant it – she genuinely did trust him. Not just to fight at her side or to not betray her to the enemy, but trusted him with her body, her blood, knowing that he wouldn’t take advantage. He couldn’t remember ever being given that trust by anybody. Certainly not anyone who knew about all the reasons why they shouldn’t. 

It was too much to acknowledge after the weight of everything they’d already gone through that day. Instead, he tucked that gentle warmth in close to his heart and smirked at her. “I don’t know about that. You are awfully tempting. It has a disastrous effect on my self-control.”

His eyes traced the slender line of her throat, more teasing than anything, but instead of making her blush again, he was left with a pensive expression peering out at him beneath rapidly descending eyebrows. “Wait,” she said suddenly, the sultry low timbre of her voice abruptly rising back to her usual pitch. “What have you been eating?”

Astarion blinked at her, utterly thrown by the change of pace. “The same stew as you, most recently…?”

“No,” she brushed off with a flick of her wrist. “For blood, I mean.” She cast her gaze around them at their withered surroundings, directing him to acknowledge the complete lack of sound caused by animals that should have been rustling in the undergrowth. The best they’d been able to hope for since entering the Shadowlands had been the occasional caw of an unseen crow. “Are you– Have you been able to find enough food?”

She was starting to look panicked all over again, so he was quick to pull on a quelling smile. “I’m fine Raevan, I assure you. The… ah, local cuisine is not entirely agreeable to my palate, but I’m surviving well enough.”

What he didn’t say was that he’d survived far worse. He also firmly didn’t mention that the most he’d been able to catch since their arrival was a few rats and a single, somewhat skinny rabbit. Without his periodic top-ups from Raevan, he’d probably be in a pretty poor state by now. Like the humans before them, most of the local wildlife had seemingly fled the area when the curse rolled in, or had been consumed by it, leaving only a few enterprising rodents to capitalise on the sudden lack of competition. Even without it, nothing natural could grow strong here. The best any of them could manage was to eke out a half-life in the shadows – if he’d been given to that sort of poetry, Astarion might have found he related to the poor beasts. 

As it was, he detested the entire experience and had been counting down the days until they were able to get out of that gods forsaken realm. 

Something like it must have shown on his face, because Raevan’s expression had folded down into a peeved frown even as she reached for her own collar. “Gods, Astarion, you should have said something.” She managed to get her top button undone and pulled her neckline loose before Astarion caught up to what she was doing. “Drink.”

With her head tilted to allow him better access and her jaw jutted out in muted frustration with him, she looked almost comically petulant about the entire exchange. He huffed. “Raevan, it’s fine–”

“Drink. Are you honestly going to try and tell me you’re not thirsty?”

Faintly, he remembered the bloodlust that had driven him to follow her out here in the first place. Even if he’d been in a mood to lie about it, she could no doubt already read it in the pallor of his skin and the coolness of his touch. He never looked more dead than when it had been a few days since he’d last had some half-decent sustenance. After all the running around and fighting they’d had to do, on top of the general exhausting drag of merely existing in a region so wholly hostile to life, he really shouldn’t be denying the chance for a good meal when given the opportunity. 

And, well, she was offering. It would surely be rude to refuse. 

“Well,” he said brightly, “If you insist, who am I to reject such a delightful offer?”

He leaned into her slowly, mirroring the speed with which she’d claimed her kiss; giving her the time to pull away if she wanted and yet somehow knowing, with absolute certainty, that she wouldn’t. Their relationship might have had its rocky moments – mostly due to his own drama, he could admit – but this was where they’d always met in the middle. This he could trust. 

Just before he closed the final distance, he paused. There weren’t words in any language he knew that could encapsulate the feelings bottled within his chest, but it felt cowardly to say nothing at all when she had pushed herself to say so much. It was only fair he at least attempted to do the same. “Thank you,” he murmured against her skin. He didn’t just mean for the blood. 

Her hand came up to press lightly on the back of his head, threading her fingers through his curls and holding him to her as if he wasn’t a monster she should be pushing away with all her might. “You’re welcome,” she said, heavy with understanding. 

It was enough. With a final inhale of that intoxicating aroma so unique to her, Astarion leaned in and bit down. 

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #female tav #fanfiction #my fanfic #my man has ISSUES #i would die for him but baby boy you desperately need some goddamn therapy #tav's doing her best over here but GOOD LORD #Also yes this fic was written because i made him say please LIKE A CHUMP #and then felt fucking awful in act 2 #this is my therapy #see astarion #this is how it gets done

[theragamuffininitiative]

Yeehawgust Day Two

Prompt: We Ride at Dawn

(Another excerpt. Word count around 1,200k. Wanted to do something different with the prompt and I achieved it but it's a sleepy little character piece rather than anything exciting so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. A good exercise though.)

A Man Called Garrison or whatever wip

"Saddle Weary"

There was a difference, nuanced but important, between riding a horse regularly and riding a horse constantly. 

Jack fancied himself a good horseman and he had spent many hours in the saddle with the outlaws who had taken him in as a drifter, going from town to town causing one mischief or the next. He was used to the beating of the sun, the way his body moved with the horse underneath him, and how to make his saddle and equipment offer the most comfort possible. After the second day's riding with Garrison, however, he learned that small but significant distinction between a long ride, and riding from sun up to sun down and then doing it all over again the following day. 

Jack's muscles protested this new abuse that night as he slid off his palomino and struggled to stand upright on stiff limbs. His legs and back ached and the ground felt strange and foreign as he took a step across it. 

Already dismounted from his tall sorrel, Garrison glanced over. "Something wrong?"

"No, all's fine." Jack gave a quick smile and nod.

Garrison's horse was nearly the same color as Jack's now, coated with dust from the dry plain they had crossed, and Garrison quietly ignored Jack to spend a fair time brushing and rubbing the horse down. He spent so long at it to give Jack the notion Garrison meant for Jack to do the same. Feeling guilty, and cursing the Johnsville Boys gang for failing to instill habits of proper horse care in him, he gave his steed the same treatment until both the palomino and sorrel were restored to a clean, satin luster, and Garrison seemed to think the job done well enough.

With the horses properly cared for and turned loose to graze on the fresh green grass of the hollow they camped in for the night, Jack's thoughts could singularly focus on his stiffness and pain in his own body. He limped more than walked about while helping Garrison set a small cook fire and prepare a meager but warm meal for the two of them.

"Should probably not have the coffee tomorrow," Garrison commented as they sat finishing their dinner.

Jack looked at him quizzically. "Is something wrong with it?"

"No, but I find it helps."

"Helps with what?" asked Jack, more demanding than he intended. He was in a sour mood. The promise of rejuvenating coffee during the ceaseless hours of their rides was not just a pleasure to look forward to, but a means of surviving the monotonous passing of field after field after barren plain. And Garrison wasn't much for engaging conversation during the day to be of any help to the whole situation. "I'm liable to fall asleep and then where will I be?"

Garrison grinned, that quick flash of teeth behind a wide smile under his sharp eyes. "I've found a man has a choice between keeping his eyes open with coffee, or keeping his body able without it. Never felt more stiff and sore than after a day of hard riding and drinking coffee. You should stretch too." He gestured lazily at the area. "Take a walkabout, ease that stiffness."

This news about the coffee didn't make sense to Jack, and sounded more like an excuse Garrison came up with to keep the drink to himself, and he said as much. "I never heard of coffee causing a person to get sore. And what about you? You're drinking it every morning just the same as me."

"Well of course I am. It's a habit with me. But then, I'm too often riding to get sore anymore. Just a few steps out of the saddle to stretch and I'm right as the rain."

Despite his misgivings, Jack decided he ought to try Garrison's suggestion, if only to please the outlaw hunter. It crossed his mind more times a day than he cared to reckon that as friendly as Garrison was to him, and as much as Jack wanted to believe it no longer mattered, he had been an outlaw when Garrison met him, and Garrison was in the business of hunting outlaws. It boded best to keep their partnership amicable. 

So if that meant he went without coffee for a day or two to satisfy his companion, then he would do just that. For good measure, he got up and walked a few circles around the camp, reluctantly finding that the exercise eased the strain of his tired body despite how much he wanted to simply crawl into his bedroll and sleep. The walking woke him considerably too, refreshing him from the day's ride.

During his fourth circle, Garrison stepped out to meet him, and the two walked to where the horses had wandered to bring them back to camp and tie them for the night to prevent wandering.

"You aren't your usual jovial self today," Garrison remarked. He smiled as he said it, and Jack was reminded of how his pa used to smile at him like that when Jack had scraped his knee or had a good cry when he was small. The mouth smiled, the eyes showed concern.

"Sorry," Jack said, and meant it, and also found that he could smile back, though wearily. "I didn't think how new this all would be to me. Your horse must be smoother than mine, too."

"Maybe he is."

"That's got to be it! I'll trade you in the morning if you like, it would only be fair." He grinned brightly now at Garrison who only shook his head.

They sat down and Jack got out his guitar, fiddled with the tuning for a moment, and began playing a bright song he had heard about springtime and the sun and the rivers in full flood. Garrison listened, reclining against his saddle leisurely. They would take to passing many of their evenings in this way, and sometimes Garrison would hum along, or ask Jack to play a song he liked.

After a time, Jack put the guitar away and the silence of that land wrapped around the little camp like a blanket, with no breeze to stir the grass. A whippoorwill sang out and the horses shuffled quietly in the grass, making the only sounds other than insects on that lonely plain.

"Not used to folks caring much about what I do," Jack said aloud, not sure if his companion was yet awake or asleep.

"Might get used to it, then," came the even reply.

"It's just on account of how I went my own way after Ma died," Jack went on, half aware that he was rambling in his sleepy state. "Was just me looking out for myself, kind of like you. But then with the Johnsville Boys it was worse, on account of how they treated me like I was nothing and -"

"Jack."

Jack stopped.

"You should sleep. We ride again at dawn."

Groaning at this miserable news, especially with the reminder that he would not have coffee waiting for him in the morning, Jack sank down in his bedroll. He thought he heard Garrison chuckle, but it might have only been the creak of saddle leather as he turned over to sleep.

#my western novel that still doesn't have a proper name #yeehawgust 2023 #yeehawgust #my writing #story: rousing dramatic adventure of a man hunting the outlaws that killed his father #me writing the story: they're just soft cowboys having a long ride and making camp and stuff

[thatone-highlighter]

You guys remember this shot from the trailer?

Well, if you ask me, that creatures doesn't really look like either owl beast huh?

BUT

You know what it does look like?

Eda’s inner Owl Beast

Something, something, the owl beast leaves Eda, something something, non Eda owl beast goes after them, something something, physical manifestation of the curse

#i saw someone a bit ago #say something along the lines of like #‘well what's this then? the curse going walkabouts?’ #i don't have a fully formed really analytical final setence #thats the best ur getting #not sorry #the owl house #toh #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers #keeping up a-fear-ences #the owl house season 2 #the owl house season 2 ep 4 #the owl house season 2 spoilers #eda #lilith #eda clawthorne #Lilith clawthorne #edalyn clawthorne #eda the owl lady #the owl beast #owl beast eda #owl beast lilith #owl beast curse #inner owl beast

[softlass27]

Aaron Week Day 5: “You tricked me!”

AO3 link here

Aaron Dingle is not a cat person. He has never been a cat person – give him a happy, energetic dog he can play fetch with any day.

So why won’t this furry little shit leave him alone?

One evening a few weeks ago, he’d been sat in his living room, minding his own business, when he looked up from his NME magazine to see an orange face watching him from his balcony.

Letting out a startled yelp that he was glad no one heard, Aaron had stared at the ginger tabby cat in the doorway. The cat had stared back. Aaron narrowed his eyes. The cat narrowed its eyes right back at him.

Shaking his head, he’d tilted the magazine a little higher so that he blocked his view of the fur ball outside. By the time he’d finished reading it, he lowered the pages to see an empty balcony. The cat was gone. He forgot all about it.

Until the next evening. It had been warmer that night, and Aaron had left the balcony door open for a cooling breeze. He’d been pottering about in the kitchen, making himself some beans on toast, when he heard a quiet “mrow” behind him.

“What the – ”

Aaron had whirled around to see the same ginger tabby – at least he thought it was the same ginger tabby – sitting innocently on the floor behind him.

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?”

The cat licked a paw primly.

“You don’t live here, get out.”

Nothing.

Aaron sighed, dropping the tins of beans on the counter before gingerly picking the cat up, praying it didn’t have fleas, and putting it out on the balcony. As he quickly slid the door shut behind him, the cat looked at him with an outraged expression on its face.

“I see that collar round your neck, go to your own home!”

Instead the cat rolled to its side, putting on a real show of stretching out languidly and making itself comfortable. Essentially a massive fuck you right to Aaron’s face.

Aaron snorted. “Whatever.”

*

So now he’s got himself in a situation where this ginger nightmare appears on his balcony every day without fail. Always staring at Aaron, giving him grief and trying to mess with his head. It’s a little like having a tiny, fluffy stalker.

The point of no return comes on the day the damn thing learns how to open the sliding balcony door by itself (the lock broke months ago and he hasn’t gotten around to doing anything about it), and Aaron comes out of his bedroom to see it sitting in the kitchen sink. It hisses when Aaron tries to move it, and Aaron very nearly hisses back.

Despite his less-than welcoming attitude, the thing never takes the hint, returning over and over again.

“Why me, eh?” Aaron asks as he scratches the animal behind the ears one day (probably a mistake). “All the flats you could go to in this building, why’s it my doorstep you darken?”

*

Aaron trudges through the entrance to his building one Friday night, shaking rainwater out of his hair. It's been a week of long shifts at the garage where he works, topped off with the day from hell, one stupid customer after another coming through like the place had a revolving door.

Adam texted him earlier, trying to get him to come on a night out, and his mother’s also been trying to get him to come to the village for his tea, but he’s ignoring them both. All he wants to do is get into his flat, collapse on his bed and sleep for at least twelve hours.

As he walks up the stairs to his floor, he hears a familiar arrogant voice coming from above him, and mentally curses. The last thing he wants to do is run into Tall Blond Arsehole right now, but there’s no escape route.

Tall Blond Arsehole had moved into a flat on the floor above Aaron’s a few weeks ago – the penthouse. The first time Aaron had seen him, the bloke had been on his phone and been coming into the building just as Aaron was leaving. He’d been walking at top speed and had bumped Aaron had on the shoulder as they had passed each other.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” Aaron had grumbled, just loud enough for the man to hear him.

The man barely paused, throwing a quick glare over his shoulder and snapping “You watch it, mate.” before returning to his phone conversation and disappearing up the stairs.

They hadn’t spoken since that morning, and that suited Aaron just fine. Tall Blond Arsehole doesn’t seem to talk to anyone in the building, always on that bloody phone yelling at some poor sod named Jimmy, nattering on about contracts, deals and meetings. Nothing more than a boring businessman with an over-inflated sense of his own importance.

(He’s also incredibly fit, but that’s by the by.)

Now, Tall Blond Arsehole comes breezing down the flight of stairs, dressed in one of his usual sharp suits and barely sparing Aaron a glance as he passes by him. Aaron rolls his eyes, before continuing up the stairs and practically falling through the door to his flat.

He shuffles down the hallway to his bedroom, not even stopping to take his hoodie and jeans off before collapsing on top of the covers.

“Mrrrp.”

Aaron’s eyes fly open instantly and he rips the duvet back to reveal a curled up orange ball.

“Are you kidding me?” He shoots the cat an incredulous look. “My bed now?”

The demonic creature just uncurls and glares at him, as if Aaron’s the one who invaded its space, rather than the other way around.

“How did you even – you know what, fuck it. M’too knackered to give a shit. Do whatever you want.”

He slides under the duvet and lets his eyes fall shut. A few moments later, he feels slight movement next to him, and then soft warmth pressing against him. He falls asleep with the cat purring against his chest.

*

He awakes to knocking at the door. Blearily opening his eyes, Aaron realises that it’s much later now, the room pitch black. Too late to move.

Determined to ignore the noise – whatever the hell this person wants will have to wait – he rolls over until his face hits something soft and fluffy.

“Jesus Christ!” He jerks up and fumbles to switch the lamp on, the low light revealing the ginger nightmare still lying in his bed. “Oh God, you’re still here.”

The cat paws at the strings of Aaron’s hoodie, seemingly unconcerned by the fact it had nearly given him a heart attack. The knocking at the door starts up again. It’s louder this time and a quick glance at his phone tells him it’s nearly two o’clock in the bloody morning. For fuck’s sake.

Aaron staggers out into the living room and flings the door opening roughly, ready to tell whoever it is exactly where to go, only to find Tall Blond Arsehole standing in front of him.

He looks different to usual, smart clothes swapped for a soft-looking blue t-shirt and grey pair of jogging bottoms. His hair has lost its neat style, sticking up in all directions as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and instead of looking cocky, his entire being seems to be full of panic and distress.

“Uh… ” The furious words Aaron had been about to bark die on his throat, and he vaguely wonders if he’s still asleep and this is just part of some weird dream.

“Oh… it’s you,” the man says, a hint of awkwardness creeping in his expression.

“Er, yeah. What’s up?”

“Um, I’m sorry, I know it’s really late… ”

“It’s okay,” Aaron finds himself saying without meaning to. Christ, he must be going soft.

“I’m just… I’m looking for my cat. He’s a ginger tabby, has a blue collar and I can’t find him anywhere. Have you seen him by any chance?”

That little fucker.

Aaron grabs the man’s arm and pulls him into the living room.

“Wait here a sec.”

Aaron jogs back to his bedroom and picks up the cat, who rubs its head under his chin (probably thinks it’s getting a cuddle), and returns to the living room.

“Pippin!” Tall Blond Ars – okay, maybe just Tall Blond for now – gasps, taking the cat from Aaron’s arms and cuddling him to his chest. “You absolute demon.”

The cat – Pippin – yowls loudly, its head turning to Aaron with a look he can only identify as betrayal. The damn thing barely reacts when Tall Blond fusses over him happily, stroking his fur with a thumb and pressing relieved kisses to his head.

Tall Blond finally looks up at him with shining eyes, and Aaron swears he feels his heart skip a beat. Shit.

“I’m – God, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know where – I thought he might’ve – ” he rambles quickly, cradling the cat like a baby, and Aaron wonders how long his neighbour has been frantically searching for his pet demon. “I know he likes to go walkabout, but he hasn’t come home in days and… Sorry if he’s been a bother.”

Aaron frowns. “What? Days? No, he was just… oh.” His eyebrows raise in surprise. “He normally just comes and goes, lets himself out. I haven't been home much these last few days, I didn’t realise he’d been staying.”

His gaze drifts down to Pippin, who now looks impossibly smug. “You tricked me, you little stowaway!”

Pippin sneezes unapologetically.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, before Aaron asks, “Pippin? Cute name. Doesn’t fit him at all.”

Tall Blond's face twitches into a smile. It makes his eyes crinkle in a way that has Aaron’s stomach doing somersaults, and Jesus Christ, how had he not noticed those freckles before?

“Yeah, it’s er… it’s from Lord of the Rings.”

“Oh. Never seen it.”

“You’ve never – ” Tall Blond’s eyes widen, scandalised. “You’re missing out.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Well, thanks for having him over… even if you didn’t know it? And sorry again.”

“S’no bother. At least now I know who to call when he knocks my plants off the windowsill.”

The smile drops off the man’s face and he looks down at Pippin.

“Pip, mate!” He scolds Pippin like he’s a naughty child, and the cat meows back at him angrily. “What the hell, we talked about this!”

It’s ridiculous. This attractive man and his argumentative cat are both ridiculous, and Aaron can’t help laughing slightly hysterically.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. Again. How much do I owe you?”

“Mate, don’t worry about it.” Aaron waves away the man’s protest. “Honestly, I don’t care, they were just some cheap B&Q ones my mum forced me to get. Said my place needed brightening up or summat. Glad to have an excuse to be rid of them, if I’m honest, I’m hopeless at keeping plants alive.”

“Okay, if you’re sure… ” He still doesn’t look happy, though. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

The words fly out of his mouth before Aaron can stop them. “Buy me a pint if you like?”

The man blinks at him, before his mouth curls into a small (flirtatious?) smile. “A pint it is.”

“Okay. Great. Uhm, I’m Aaron, by the way,” Aaron smiles back as he opens the door so they can step into the corridor.

“Oh. Robert.” He gestures to the squirming cat. “And you know Pippin.”

“Good to finally have a name for him, I’ve just been calling him ginger nightmare most of the time.” He decides not to share what he’d been calling Robert up until now.

Robert's surprised laugh echoes loudly in the hallway and he presses a fist to his mouth to muffle it. Aaron looks at him, helplessly fond, and can’t help but wonder how the man he’s been silently hating for weeks on end and this man giggling in his pyjamas can possibly be the same person.

“I dunno, that’s pretty accurate,” Robert says eventually, still chuckling. “Well, I… should let you sleep. And thanks again, I know this was a bit… ”

“Random?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay.”

“So can I… pick you up tomorrow night for that drink? Around seven?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Great. Night, then.”

Aaron nods, watching Robert walk towards the staircase. They smile at each other one last time, and Robert disappears upstairs, Pippin’s meows still faintly audible.

Before he goes back to bed, Aaron spends twenty minutes scrolling through his phone for the best cat toy he can find. He owes Pippin a thank you present.

#a fluffy one after yesterday's angst! #robron #my writing #aaronweek2020

[earlysunsetsoverambrose]

Crash and Burn (4/4)

Bo Sinclair x f!Reader

Warnings: A little Steamy but nothing graphic! (also Cursing)

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this story! I hope you have enjoyed following it as much as I have loved writing it! I haven’t been inspired to write an actual story in years, but something about those Sinclairs make it impossible not to. I have a few one shot ideas stirring, but nothing’s written quite yet. Until then, please enjoy this final installment! I hope to continue putting out pieces every once in a while! Thanks again!!!

“You ready to tell me why the hell you went out for a midnight soiree with the mutt?”

“I told you, I couldn’t sleep.” You insisted.

“C’mon, darlin’, I know there’s somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me.” He figured after all the yelling he could at least hear about what had upset you enough to require a walkabout by yourself. You sighed, figuring he’d get the truth out of you sooner or later.

“I just had a bad dream is all. I didn’t want to wake you. No big deal.” You said quickly. You didn’t want him worrying about you any more than he already had so far.

“You shoulda woken me up.” Bo said “Or if you really had to go it alone, at least leave a note or somethin’.”

“You never get any sleep; it wasn’t worth bothering you over. And I honestly didn’t think I’d be gone long enough for a note to be necessary, but I promise to do that next time.” You said. It was a reasonable request and if it would at least lessen the amount Bo worried while you were gone, you’d happily do that for him.

“What was it about? The dream?” Bo asked. Your eyes darted away from his. That was reason enough for him to be concerned “Y/N. What was it about?”

“Nothing. It was just about that girl from the station.” You confessed, unable to look him in the eyes, knowing if you did he’d see just how much that nightmare had upset you “It really wasn’t that bad, it’s just that when I woke up I was a little shaky and I started to feel so guilty…I just never thought I could do that.” You suddenly felt your gaze being pulled back to his intense blue stare.

“Hey, none of what happened is your fault? Understand? It wasn’t you that killed her. It was me. The blood’s on my hands, not yours.” Bo said with absolute resolve. The torment you tried to hide from him was riding clear as day in your eyes. His heart twisted with guilt seeing you so torn up like this. He never intended on letting you witness the things he and his brothers did, but now he’d gone and fucked that all up and you were paying the price. He never in a million years wanted for you to witness-much less do- the things he’d grown numb to years ago “This is on me, Y/N. So, don’t you dwell on it anymore.” You were moved as he tried so hard to take away the pain and guilt you were feeling, but even though he was the one to pull out the screwdriver; you were the one who put it there. You sighed as you moved to tuck yourself into his side and dragged his arm to wrap around you once more.

“It’s not that simple and I think you know that.” You said softly as you burrowed into his chest so he couldn’t see your face. You knew if you looked at him you would be in danger of breaking down again. You inhaled, breathing in his comforting, familiar smokey scent mixed with whiskey, cedar, and motor oil. “I promise I’ll be fine. I appreciate what you’re trying to do - taking responsibility and all - but I did it. I won’t deny it. I just need a little time to come to terms with it. It’s something I’ll need to make sense of by myself. I just have to think it over on my own for a bit.”

“I don’t want you on your own right now, Y/N.” Bo whispered sternly, running a hand through you hair. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” You couldn’t hold back the chuckle at his words. He shot a glance down at you, puzzled at your response.

“Well, if this isn’t a fascinating turn of events, I don’t know what is.” You smiled into him

“The hell do you mean by that?” Bo asked, only the slightest bit of irritation peppered in his voice.

“Bo, you never talk to anyone about anything. Getting you to share your feelings is worse than pulling teeth. I’m pretty sure one day your epitaph is going to read: ‘I don’t wanna talk about it, darlin’.’” You said fondly mimicking his Louisianan accent. He was a stubborn ass, but he was your stubborn ass. Bo made a noise of dissent “Okay, feel free to disagree, Mr. I-Keep-My-Feelings-in-a-Tower-Far-Far-Away-Guarded-by-a-Fire-Breathing-Dragon-Surrounded-by-a-Moat-of-Lava-and-a-Troll-that-Asks-You-a-Riddle.”

“How long has that ‘zinger’ been in the works?” Bo asked sarcastically with a snort and a roll of his eyes

“A couple hours over midnight snacks. Lester and I are very proud.” You answered with an unrestrained laugh at the memory.  

“Sounds like you’re the one overexaggeratin’ now, darlin’.”

“Oh, really? If you’re an such an open book, you want to tell me what woke you up from such a sound sleep?” You offered. Bo huffed as he rolled to lay on his back, his arm still pinning you to his side. The look on his face was enough for you to put the joking aside for now. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look down at him “More nightmares?” His silence was answer enough. You reached out to trace the scar on his chin “I’m sorry.” Bo took your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. He glanced in your direction before staring at the ceiling.

“It’s nothin’…I just panicked…” He trailed off; the pain of your absence still fresh in his mind. It was never easy for Bo to put his feelings into words, much less his fears “I thought…” You could see this was torture for him. He shifted uncomfortably, moving to sit up against the headboard, prompting you sit up in front of him.

“Take your time, Bo. I’m not going anywhere, alright?” you comforted him gently.

He’s eyes flashed to you momentarily, grateful as he continued to stare a hole in the wall in front of him. He brought his hands in front of him and started rubbing at his scarred wrists, tracing the tissue damage from years of abuse. You were sure he didn’t know this about himself, but that was his one and only tell. You only saw it when he got incredibly nervous, which was rare, but you had figured it out. You gently stopped his hands and brought them toward your lips. He had been uncertain about letting you see his wrists for a long time, but you had become the only person he ever allowed to look, much less touch them. You placed a slow, delicate kiss to each of his wrists before clasping his hands in yours. Your thumb rubbed slow circles into them as you nodded at him to show you were listening. He felt a knot form in his throat at the treatment you gave his scars. The feeling of your soft lips against his ugly, battered skin was enough to send heat shooting through his whole body; breathing fire into the heart he was sure he didn’t have until he met you. He could barely stand to watch you treat what he considered the ugliest part of him with such tenderness and consideration. He glanced up to the ceiling willing the tears pricking at his eyes not to fall. They stung in his lids, blurring his vision for only a moment. With a course sigh he started again,

“When I woke up and you were gone…I thought you mighta left me. For good.” Bo muttered barely above a mumble but you caught every word “Thought maybe my nightmare was real this time.” Your heart nearly broke hearing him say this. The nightmare that had sent him into a near uncontrollable fit of panic was that you had left him.

“Now, why would you ever think I’d up and leave you?” you asked him in a gentle voice.

“I never wanted you to have to do what you did for me last night. Never.” He said gruffly “With everythin’ that happened, I figured maybe you finally came to your senses and saw just how bad life could get if you stayed with me.”

“Bo…” your voice cracked before you could say anymore.

“After wakin’ up without you…” He didn’t even bother fighting the tremor in his voice “Christ, If I didn’t already know I need you a hell of a lot more than you’ll ever need me, I sure do now.”

It was suddenly so clear now: the hurricane of emotions that all but wrecked him was all because he simply couldn’t stand to lose you. And the fact that this fear was a direct result of just how little he thought of himself, succeeded in breaking your heart. You never wanted to hear him say that again. You felt a lump rising in your throat as you fought your hardest not to cry. With a deliberate yank, you pulled his hands closer, drawing his attention fully onto you.

“Don’t think for one second I regret what I did.” You said with fierce compassion “Maybe it scares me, but I absolutely don’t regret it because I did it for you. I won’t ever regret it because I cannot-I could not ever regret loving you, no matter the things it makes me do.” Bo cast he eyes down at your words.

You’d told him you loved him once before, and he hadn’t taken it well at all. He’d all but walked out and left you unacknowledged. It was as though hearing that you loved him physically pained him. He had longed to hear you say those three words for him for so long, but when you finally did, he could not have felt more undeserving. He wanted so badly to be able to say it back but the words always burned up and fell to pieces in his mouth, no matter how much his wished to speak them. It was times like this that he envied Lester’s ability to say absolutely whatever came to his mind. Maybe then he’d have been able to tell you everything. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t hurt when he didn’t say it back the first time, but you soon began to realize small shifts in Bo’s behavior toward you that said all you needed to know.

The day after you told him you loved him, he demanded you move into his room. He took up a habit of kissing you every morning before leaving for town and waited for you every night to go to sleep. Later, you noticed he’d made it a point to keep fresh sunflowers around because you mentioned they were your favorite. From there the little signs and favors grew more frequent as he slowly allowed you closer than he’d ever let anyone before. Bo might not ever be able to say the words, but he showed you he loved you every single day; and you had learned to embrace that.

You couldn’t contain your teary smile as you took in the sight of the man you loved, too insecure to accept you declarations; but you couldn’t think of anyone more worthy of them. His gaze turned back to you upon hearing you let out a choked-up laugh. Concern replaced insecurity as he moved to wipe your tears away

“What’re you cryin’ for, baby girl? Don’t go gettin’ all sappy on me just ‘cuz I got issues.” He said in a gruff attempt to comfort you. He was rough around the edges but he tried his best when it came to you “C’mon darlin’ please don’t cry.” You let out a laugh despite your stubborn tears.

“Look at us, we make quite the pair of wrecks.” You said in an easy attempt to lighten the mood. Bo managed a short chuckle, but his hands didn’t leave your face, catching every teardrop as it fell “I suppose if I had to have someone else to crash into, I’m glad it turned out to be you.”

“You deserve better than me, Y/N. All I got to offer is Ambrose and a whole helluva lotta problems.”

“That’s all I want.” You said stubbornly ignoring his attempt at selling himself short.

“Y/N-”

“You make me happy, Bo. And I need you too.” You looked him dead in the eyes “I know you may not think very highly of yourself, but I think you’re so incredibly worthy.”

“I-”

“Nope! I don’t wanna hear another word unless it’s a good one.” You saw him open his mouth to contradict you, but you shot him a playful glare and softly pressed your fingers to his mouth to silence him “And, I’d like to remind you that I’m fully capable of deciding for myself what I deserve and who or what I want. So, I’d appreciate it if you stopped questioning my flawless judgment. Okay?” A rare carefree smile crossed Bo’s face at her words. You’d swear you’d never seen anyone more beautiful in the world “I’m sorry to inform you, but now that I’m an official accomplice, you’re stuck with me, Sinclair.”

“I suppose I can live with that.” He relented as he took in the sight of you “You know, it’s always gonna be messy with me. Won’t ever be easy.”

“I don’t think I asked for easy.” You countered without missing a beat “I’m pretty sure all I asked for is you. Rough nights, bad days, short tempers, I want it all.” You moved to sit yourself right on his lap facing him, taking two fistfuls of his shirt so you knew he was paying attention, his surprised icy blues fixed on you while the dark centers of his eyes grew just looking back at you, “You listen and you listen close to what I’m about to say. I’m never going to leave you and even if you don’t want to hear it, I love you, Bo Sinclair. And no one in this world or the next is going to take me from you. I swear, no matter what lifetime or universe, I’m yours.” You watched as your words registered. You saw his disbelief melt into something akin to desire. His hands came up to wrap around yours at his shirt, engulfing them entirely.

“Say it again.” He said his voice even and low, laced with yearning. His blue bore into you, demanding to hear your words once more. You smiled at him with all the fondness you possessed. You slowly leaned toward him and pulled your gaze from his as you turned your head to press a firm, open kiss to the pulse in his neck.

“I’m yours.” You whispered right into his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Before you knew it, he had a hand at the back of your head drawing you toward him. He caught your lips in a kiss that warmed you to your very core and sent butterflies through your whole soul. Bo moved his lips to capture yours over and over, parting only to allow you to catch your breath seconds at time. He trapped you to him, starved for the taste of you, with no intention of letting go until he was satisfied. Not that you were complaining as your hands slid up from his chest to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. With a delighted sigh into his lips, you arched your back, curving your body into Bo’s as he savored how truly perfect you felt against him. His hands slid down to your hips in a firm hold to shift you further into his lap, groaning as you rested your weight on him in all the right places. When he finally did pull back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and breathless with the biggest smiles.

“Gotta admit, you were really layin’ it on thick, darlin’.” Bo said with his trademark smirk

“Yet another thing I don’t regret.” You said with a smirk of your own that you had damn near perfected.

In one smooth, fluid motion Bo flipped you over so that you lay beneath him on the mattress as he hovered over you. He leaned down and trailed burning hot kisses down your neck, stopping to nip at the sensitive flesh just under your jaw the way he knew you liked as his hands ran all along the length of your body. You wove your fingers through Bo’s hair, pulling just a bit, effectively earning growl from him. After a few more playful tugs to his dark curls, Bo pulled your hands away. With one hand, he had both your wrists pinned to the mattress, right above your head.

“Made an awful lot of promises too.” He muttered against your skin as he continued sucking at your neck.

“And yet, I mean to keep every one of them.” You said panting, never more sure of anything in your life. He pulled back from your neck, finding you utterly vulnerable underneath him, helpless to his gaze and desperate for his touch. Eyes burning for him. Only him. His eyes raked over you, taking a moment to burn this instant into his memory. He never wanted to forget these words or the way you looked at him this very second.

“Well then, let’s crash and burn, darlin’.”

With that, you both made quick work of your clothes, locking one another in an embrace no one could ever tear apart.

All your promises were forged in the sun that began to rise on a brighter day in Ambrose.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #House of Wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #tw: cursing #My writing #crash and burn #female reader

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Allegiances || Chapter 23 || Chapter 24 || Chapter 25 || From the Beginning >>

Chapter 24

The fur along Mistyfoot’s spine prickled uncomfortably. Around her, the others were feeling the same – only Purdy moved confidently through the streets and alleys of the nighttime Twolegplace.

Mistyfoot had to admit that Purdy had been right, at least – moving at night was a lot less hectic. There were no Twolegs about at all, and only the occasional monster rolled slowly down the web of Thunderpaths that criss-crossed between the Twoleg nests. The bright yellow lights that shone out through the Twoleg windows, as Purdy called them, were going out one by one. Only a few stayed on.

“Some Twolegs’re nocturnal,” Purdy had warned. “Like most cats, y’know. But they don’ much like goin’ out at night.”

As far as Mistyfoot could tell, there were two kinds of Thunderpaths – the big, wide ones that she was used to, where monsters (“cars,” as Purdy called them) would barrel down with impunity, and these smaller ones, where the monsters were far less aggressive. Mistyfoot had no idea why – were the bigger paths for going into battle, and these smaller ones like hunting trails?

Either way, she knew that crossing these smaller Thunderpaths was much easier than the larger ones. Safer, too, since the monsters moved so slowly.

“What kind of path is this?” Nightpaw wondered. The small tom was limping beside Purdy, his eyes alight with adventure and excitement despite his injury.

“S’called a sidewalk,” Purdy answered chipperly. “Twolegs use ‘em to walk on when their cars won’t take ‘em.”

Mistyfoot looked down at the hard path beneath her paws. It felt like a Thunderpath, but the color was different, and it was just off to the side, with a strip of grass between it and the big gray trail. A Twoleg hunting trail? She wondered. Why put it so close to a Thunderpath, then?

A hiss behind her made Mistyfoot jump. She spun, fur bristling, claws scraping against the sidewalk, expecting to see a dog or a hostile kittypet or worse, a Twoleg – but it was only Crowpaw, his fur standing on end in shock as he glared into a bush.

“What is it?” hissed Stoneheart, eyes blazing.

“I-I don’t know!” Crowpaw insisted. “It… It was like a rat, just…”

“It was an opossum,” Shadepaw purred, her eyes twinkling in amusement. She laid her tail along Crowpaw’s bristling shoulders. “Trust me, Crowpaw; they’re more frightened of you than you are if them.”

Crowpaw grumbled, disgruntled. “I hate this place.”

“Plenty’a opossum ‘round here,” Purdy chuckled. “Not much good fer eatin’, gotta say. They eat outta those scrapcans, and it colors their meat.”

“Scrapcans?” Stormfur queried. Mistyfoot frowned. There were so many kittypet terms she was starting to wonder how they remembered them all.

“These things righ’ here,” Purdy mewed, gesturing with his nose. A tall, squarish shape was on the grass between the sidewalk and the Thunderpath. Mistyfoot’s nose curled – it had a sour, sweet smell to it, something akin to crow-food but not quite there. “Upwalkers put their old food in, and it goes’t the dump just down the way on the backs’a big ol’ cars.”

“Smells like the Carrionplace,” Stoneheart mewed with a curious sniff. “I suppose if monsters take them, the Carrionplace can’t be that far off.”

Purdy kept them moving at a leisurely pace, pointing out Twoleg objects here and there. Mistyfoot learned about how some scrapcans won’t ever have food in them, and how to tell which houses had dogs that ran loose – they marked their fences with a horrid-smelling marker that penetrated the fog of Twoleg smells.

They crossed a few more Thunderpaths. Mistyfoot was losing track of their position – looking up at the stars wasn’t helping, either. Nothing seemed to be changing, and despite Purdy’s helpful directions everything looked the same in the dark, even to her night-eyes.

“Are we there yet?” Crowpaw groaned. The WindClan tom was testy, jumping at small sounds and getting no end of teasing for it. “Everything is starting to run together.”

“Don’ you cats walkabout at night?” Purdy wondered, looking back.

“Most Clan cats hunt by daylight, actually,” Stormfur explained.

Stoneheart’s whiskers twitched. “My eyes are just fine – ShadowClan hunts by night as well as day.”

Purdy frowned. “That’s real strange, gotta say.”

“I’m sorry,” Nightpaw sighed. He flopped down on his haunches, stretching out his injured leg. “This is taking so long because of me.” Shadepaw padded forward and gave the poultice a check, licking her brother between his ears. Mistyfoot felt a pang – Nightpaw looked miserable.

Purdy shrugged. “S’no big deal, youngster,” the old loner purred. “Told’ja it’d take at least two days t’get through the town. We’re almost halfway there.”

“Lead on, then,” Nightpaw mewed, pushing himself to his paws.

Purdy nodded and obliged, leading the way across a small, quiet Thunderpath. Mistyfoot frowned, looking up at the buildings on this side. The sidewalk here was cracked and not as well kept, and the nests were tall and old looking. There weren’t any wooden fences, either – instead they were made of a hard mesh that Purdy called “chain-links”. At least it looked like a cat might be able to dash up easily.

“Care ‘round here, youngsters,” Purdy hissed suddenly, raising his tail. He pointed with his tail-tip to what lay beyond the chain-link fence – a flat space of earth, piled high with various broken Twoleg objects. There were several scrapcans on their side, their contents spilling out onto the ground.

Stoneheart pulled up his lip. “Rats,” he warned.

Mistyfoot felt Feathertail stiffen beside her as Purdy nodded in confirmation. “Nasty things,” the old loner complained. “Like hangin’ out ‘round here.”

“Let’s hurry, then,” Feathertail insisted. Her blue eyes were round. “We don’t need any rats messing with us!”

The cats picked up the pace, following Purdy along the fence, towards another Thunderpath. The other side looked more promising than this particular area, and Mistyfoot hoped that Purdy’s resting spot was there, too.

Suddenly, a chorus of squeaks rose from behind the fence.

“Run!” snapped Stoneheart. “Rats!”

Purdy, bristling, took off. The Clan cats followed. Mistyfoot cursed the cramped confines of the Twolegplace – in the forest, the cats could have scattered into the trees, but scattering here might mean getting hit by a monster, or worse, getting lost in the maze.

Nightpaw was pushed to the front, Crowpaw and Shadepaw flanking him. Feathertail streaked by, Stormfur just a pace behind. Mistyfoot heard a hiss of pain and skidded to a stop, her pads burning against the sidewalk. She spun, and her heart dropped.

“Stoneheart!” she cried.

Her brother was standing squarely before the rats, using his bulky body to block their progress. He clawed at any that tried to test him, hissing and spitting curses.

“Go!” Stoneheart snapped. “I can handle rats!”

Mistyfoot, bristling, bounded to his side. She pinned a rat beneath her paws and killed with a harsh bite to the throat, tossing its body onto the Thunderpath.

“So can I,” she declared, standing beside him.

The rats decided enough was enough. They swarmed as one, rearing up and crashing down on Mistyfoot and Stoneheart. Their deafening squeaks filled Mistyfoot’s ears as she flailed with her paws, striking down rat after rat. Stoneheart fought by her side, tail lashing and eyes burning with ferocity.

“They’re not backing down!” Mistyfoot mewed, worried. She pulled away from a rat trying to catch its teeth in her muzzle.

There was a flash of dark gray fur, and Stormfur was on her other side. He burst into the rats, using his huge, bulky body to displace the creatures. They tried to fasten their teeth in his fur, but found it too thick for their liking.

“We need ta move!” Purdy cried out from behind.

Mistyfoot knew the loner was right – but the rats might follow them if they fled. Stoneheart and Stormfur pushed into the creatures together as Mistyfoot took up ensuring none got past her. She killed one with a hard swipe that slammed it into the nearby fence, and another by landing on it with all her weight – but there were still too many.

She looked up from her kill to see Stoneheart drown in a pile of rats. “Stoneheart!” she yowled.

Stormfur, in a much better position, shook off his attackers and dove into the pile, slashing and biting and screeching, fluffing up his fur to thrice his size. He roared like a lion, and the rats flowed off of Stoneheart like a river, seemingly either scared of him or satisfied with what they accomplished.

Mistyfoot rushed up to Stoneheart. He was lying on his side, his blue eyes open in shock. Blood trickled down from a wound on his shoulder.

“I… hate rats…” the ShadowClan tom rasped.

“I hope I never see another,” rasped Mistyfoot. She pressed her muzzle into her brother’s fur, relieved he was alive.

She offered her shoulder to Stoneheart, who leaned on it as he pulled himself to his paws. He hissed in pain as he put weight on his injured leg, choosing to hold it up just a bit instead. Stormfur took up his other side, and together they hobbled Stoneheart to the others. The apprentice’s eyes were wide, and Feathertail’s fur was fluffed with anxiety.

Shadepaw sniffed his wound. “He needs treatment,” she judged immediately. “Rat bites are very prone to infection!”

Purdy nodded. “M’safe-place ain’t far,” he promised. “C’mon.”

———————————————————-

The old loner had moved with twice as much speed. The Clan cats struggled to follow, but soon enough, as the moon began to set, they reached what Purdy promised was an abandoned Twoleg nest – and to Mistyfoot’s eye, it looked like that was the truth. It was old, overgrown, with some of the window-holes lacking that pane of clear stuff that was in all the others. The grass was tall, too, hemmed in by a dilapidated wooden fence.

Purdy pushed aside a loose wooden board, ushering the cats in. Stoneheart had a hard time crouching, and as soon as she squeezed through he lay down where he stood, his eyes glassy with pain. Mistyfoot curled her tail around him, her heart beating in her ears. She didn’t care about anything else.

You can’t leave me, she thought, sorrow welling in her throat. She licked his ears fiercely. Please! StarClan, you can’t take him!

Shadepaw was immediately tending him, cleaning the wound. Crowpaw found her some cobwebs, and she teased them onto Stoneheart’s wound with a nod of thanks. The others looked on, their eyes glowing with worry in the gloom of the musty old nest.

“I’ve cleaned it,” Shadepaw reported, “but infection might still set in.”

Stoneheart’s ears flicked. “I’ve… had worse,” he promised weakly.

“This is your fault, you stinking loner!” Crowpaw snapped suddenly, dark blue eyes blazing. “You didn’t have to lead us past that rat’s nest! Now two of us are injured!”

Purdy flattened his ears, taken aback.

“Enough!” Stormfur yowled, lashing his tail. “Lashing out at Purdy won’t do any good now! We need to take care of Stoneheart!”

Crowpaw flattened his ears, lashing his tail along the dusty ground. He turned away, however, and paced to a far corner of the den to sulk in anger. Nightpaw, frowning, limped over to sit beside him.

“I’m sorry about Crowpaw,” Stormfur sighed, fur flattening. “But he’s right. Our mission is important, and Stoneheart is one of the cats that StarClan spoke to. Him being injured… it puts our mission in jeopardy.”

Purdy’s eyes flashed. “I don’ git your mission,” he admitted, “but I am real sorry about those rats. This part’a the town is rife with ‘em, and there was a nest’a mean cats not far off. I didn’ want to cross into their territory. We’ll be outta here by sunup tomorrow.”

“Could there be any burdock around?” Shadepaw asked.

“Don’ rightly know, youngster,” Purdy mused.

Shadepaw’s tail-tip flicked, and she stretched up onto her hind paws to stare out one of the window holes. “It’s so overgrown out there… there just might be something I can use.”

“You’re not going alone,” Mistyfoot declared.

“Go,” Stormfur meowed. “Feathertail and I will find something to eat. I need to get the taste of rat out of my mouth.”

“I’ll help ya,” Purdy promised, nodding at Stormfur. “There’s mice ‘round here, just you see.”

While they arranged their hunting party, Mistyfoot leaped onto the window sill and down into the garden. The grass stretched up past her nose, tickling her whiskers and making her sneeze. Shadepaw landed with a huff just behind her.

“Burdock is easy to find,” Shadepaw promised. “It’s got big, round, spiky flowers – they’re purple. It looks like burrs.”

Mistyfoot nodded, putting her eyes to work. Shadepaw walked beside her. They pushed through the grass, Mistyfoot’s ears pricked for any threats. There was no way she was going to let rats sneak up on she or Shadepaw.

Not for the first time, Mistyfoot was grateful that Shadepaw had chosen to come along on this journey. And yet… “Shadepaw, why did you come with us?” she asked.

Shadepaw jumped, clearly not expecting the question. Her whiskers twitched. “I, uh… StarClan told me to come, like I said.”

Mistyfoot frowned, noting the way that Shadepaw wasn’t meeting her eye. “You can tell me,” she promised, flanking the medicine cat apprentice. “If you want, that is.”

“There’s nothing more to it,” Shadepaw insisted, her eyes flashing with a familiar temper. “We need to find that burdock, not chatter like jackdaws.”

Mistyfoot frowned, and decided to drop it. She’s just like Tinystar, Mistyfoot sighed.

It didn’t take much longer for Shadepaw to find the burdock. She purred as she dug into the roots of the plant, pulling up the thick tubers.

“It’s not a lot,” she admitted, “but it’ll stave off infection for now.”

“Good,” Mistyfoot breathed. “Think it’ll last through this place?”

“It should,” Shadepaw said, “so long as there are no more rats.”

Mistyfoot swallowed. Shadepaw picked up the pungent roots in her jaws and the two she-cats returned to the abandoned nest. Mistyfoot couldn’t help but thank StarClan for Shadepaw being here, even if she was tight-lipped about why she’d come.

Without her, Stoneheart might have died here, Mistyfoot thought grimly. Thank you, StarClan, for sending Shadepaw. I don’t know what I’d do without my brother…

#tb au #tb midnight

[demiromanticmickey]

A Magicians/Queliot Beauty & The Beast AU

Obviously Quentin is Belle

And Eliot “he’s just so mean when he wants something” Waugh is Beast

Takes place in Fillory where Quentin is a native Fillorian

Quentin lives with his dad and they own a little magical repair shop

Eliot is from Earth, but still High King in his blood

Eliot came to Fillory, escaping his dad/Indiana

Margo came with him because her dad is also shitty

They’re pretty good rulers, but are selfish (very s1 Eliot & Margo) and don’t like to get involved in non-Fillorian issues

The Fairy Queen is the one who curses them

Irene was hunting fairies in the Fairy Realm so the Fairy Queen sought refuge from Eliot and Margo.

But they turned her away, so she curses them and takes the fairies to The Northern Orchards.

She also curses the castle to be cloaked so its difficult to find, and puts a spell on Fillory, not so people forget about Eliot and Margo and the castle, but to make them think that the castle has always been cursed, and that makes them want to stay away from it.

The Fairy Queen leaves for Eliot a magical globe that will show him any place and anyone in Fillory.

Margo gets turned into a magical spyglass

Fen, the head of their royal guard, is turned into a sword, because of course she is.

Josh, their cook, is turned into the stove

Kady, who was in charge of The Armory, is turned into a book

Penny, a traveller for hire, was hanging around the castle because of Kady, gets caught up in the curse and is turned into a stagecoach.

Tick and Rafe as Cogsworth and Lumiere types! Except, neither of them are as suave as Lumiere of course.

Ted has to go on a trip to stock up on supplies he and Quentin need

But we all know how that goes

Ted gets lost, stumbles upon Castle Whitespire, becomes a prisoner

Quentin goes looking for his dad and takes his place so Ted is freed

Ted is returned home where he recruits Quentin’s friends Julia and Alice to help him find the castle again.

But on their journey to find the castle Ted falls ill

Meanwhile, Quentin doesn’t mind going along with Eliot’s demands. Just because he does what Eliot wants him to, doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it. And he finds that frustrates Eliot more than if he just outright refused him.

Quentin tries to escape. But instead of getting chased by wolves, he falls from his bedsheet ladder five feet from the ground, and onto Eliot.

They’re both injured and grumpy, so it’s up to Margo and Fen to look after them. Which almost results in more injuries, what with Fen being a sword and all.

Margo is glad they potentially found someone to break Eliot’s part of the curse, but secretly she’s worried she won’t find someone to break her curse. Which is ridiculous, Margo, because Fen is right there.

While they recover from their injuries, Quentin takes to reading to Eliot. He reads from a book he had on him when he exchanged himself for his dad. Its a collection of some classic Fairy Tale stories from Earth - Cinderella, Rapunzel, Robin Hood, Peter Pan.

So Kady suggests Eliot show Quentin The Armory

And that’s when everything sort of clicks

Quentin is so happy. Eliot’s never seen him smile, especially like that

So they spend more time together. Quentin reading to him by the fireplace, taking walkabouts around the gardens, trying to give Josh a break and cooking their own dinner but failing miserably.

But Quentin misses his dad. And when Eliot lets Quentin see his dad through the globe and Quentin learns he’s sick, Eliot knows he has to let Quentin go.

There’s no time limit to the curse. So with Quentin gone, Eliot just has to suffer, wondering if Quentin will ever return.

And the curse does have to be broken by both Eliot and Margo. And without Quentin, things with Margo and Fen, who have figured their shit out, are left at a standstill.

But Margo’s not gonna let that little shit get away so easily and keep her from being with Fen. And well, Eliot deserves happiness too.

She discreetly hitches a ride in Quentin’s bag

Quentin reunites with Julia and Alice, and his bedridden father, but he can’t explain where he’s been right now because his focus is on his father.

He’s not a healer, but with his minor mending and Julia and Alice’s knowledge and power they’re able to cure Ted of any illness.

It’s then that Margo is finally able to get free from Quentin’s bag.

She tells him what’s up with the curse and that Eliot loves him and that he has to go back! But Quentin doesn’t believe her, so Margo, being an enchanted spyglass tells Quentin to look through the lens.

And instead of seeing far distances, Margo collects memories. It’s like Quentin is seeing a kaleidoscope of moments he shared with Eliot.

Now, Quentin believes. He has to go back.

Penny is the only one who can leave from and return to the castle without a problem. Margo sends him a bunny saying she got lost trying to find Quentin.

Penny arrives and Margo catches him up while they return to Whitespire, Quentin in tow.

They finally return to the castle, Quentin jumping out before Penny fully stops and runs up the stairs to Eliot’s room, and why are there so many goddamn steps!

When Quentin finds Eliot in his room, time kind of just stops. They stare at each other, silent, until finally Quentin gasps out, “El..”

“Q...” Eliot says, just as breathless. “What are you doing here?”

“Breaking the curse.” Eliot questions, what? and Quentin is full on rambling explanation mode. “I know, El. I know. I know you love me. And I love you.”

Eliot stumbles back like he’s just been punched in the stomach and falls to the floor. He is transformed back! He rises, cautiously, and steps closer to Quentin.

“You’re still so tall,” Quentin says, and they both laugh. Cue the grand, epic kiss!!

The castle and everyone is getting changed back. Fen was making her way down a staircase to Margo, gets transformed mid-step and falls right into Margo’s arms. They kiss!

Penny and Kady find each other. More kissing! Just - everyone is kissing!

Cut to the royal wedding - Eliot and Margo have done everything together, so it only seemed right to share a wedding date. Two weddings in one day, it’s a big event. Everyone is in attendance. Not just native Fillorians, but representatives from Loria, The Floaters, etc. It’s the start to forming treaties and alliances with other nations.

Ted, Alice, and Julia are of course present as well.

The fairies and The Fairy Queen are also there. The Fairy Queen looks at Eliot and Margo like, “See? I knew what I was doing all along.”

Everything is bliss and everyone gets their happy ending!

#the magicians #queliot #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #fargo #knifeking #magicians batb au #queliot batb au #beauty and the beast is my favorite disney movie okay #i will not be taking criticisms at this time #the magicians*

[humble-wayside-flower]

“Sometimes things that are the most beautiful are the things that can hurt you the worst.”

“Watching, Potential, Learn, Grow, Provoke, Consume, Reward, Patience”

“Adapt”

Part 1 | Spotify

Episodes 31 - 48 

Mostly- Vian Izak (Fjord puts on a lot of fronts, but at his core he’s just trying to hold on through it all.)

I'm mostly scared I am mostly unprepared I'm a mess I've lost most of myself as the waves came crashing down I'm a wreck I've bought up all my dreams and sold off most my heart I'd been lying to myself just to bury all my thoughts

Journey of the Sorcerer- Eagles (The Mighty Nein are finally at rest for a week, so Fjord takes the opportunity to do some personal exploration. A song for walkabouts and dead ends.)

Instrumental

Where’s My Bow?- The Goat Rodeo Sessions (The Mighty Nein journey to Nicodranas. It feels good to be back on the coast, and even more so to see Jester so happy with her mother.)

Instrumental

Man or a Monster- Sam Tinnesz feat. Zayde Wolf (He’s growing stronger, but his powers grow darker, and what was supposed to be a simple mission goes too far too quick. The Djinn, Algar, and Drowned Spirits.)

When you close your eyes, what do you see? Do you hold the light or is darkness underneath? In your hands, there’s a touch that can heal But in those same hands, is the power to kill Are you a man or a monster?

Is This Thing Cursed?- Alkaline Trio (The first of many Mistakes. A song for using brawn when brains would do better.)

Is this thing cursed? This goddamn thing's the worst Now one look in that direction And everything starts to hurt Is this thing cursed? It's been around for years And every time my boat's about tits up That goddamn thing is near

Waves- Dean Lewis (Difficult conversations are always easier at night. A swarm of Jellyfish light up the ocean, and Jester is illuminated in a way that Fjord hasn’t experienced before. They talk of sadness. One moment really can change everything.)

But there is a light in the dark And I feel its warmth In my hands, in my heart But why can’t I hold on? 'Cause it comes and goes in waves It always does

Eat You Alive- The Oh Hellos (Fjord is not a brave man, a daring one perhaps, a reckless one often. Flirting with danger both figuratively and literally. The Mighty Nein meet Captain Avantika.)

She'll string you along and she'll sell you a lie But there's nothing but pain on the edge of a knife There is no courage in flirting with fear To prove you're alive

Madness- Ruelle (Dream #4. How many must come to their end to meet these goals? Kill your darlings, control the ocean.)

Feel the fury closing in All resistance wearing thin Nowhere to run from all of this havoc Nowhere to hide From all of this madness, madness, madness Madness, madness, madness

The Pirate that Should Not Be- Rodrigo y Gabriela (The Yuan-Ti Temple, Uk’otoa illuminated, an orb freely given, and the subsequent escape.)

Instrumental

Way Down We Go- Kaleo (Bedding down with monsters is never a good idea. Fjord makes a lot of mistakes. Usually he learns from them. Sometimes he just keeps making them.)

Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark Yes, and they will run you down, down 'til you fall And they will run you down, down 'til you go Yeah, 'til you can't crawl no more And way down we go-o-o-o-o

Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea (Stripped)- MISSIO (Dream #5. He swims down further and further, following Avantika into a dark, deep hole. Shooting stars, initiates, orbs, and betrayer gods. They say bad things come in threes.)

The berth surrounding my body crushing every bit of bone The salt, it seeps in through the pores of my open skin I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue

Giants- Lael (Sometimes the things you love can hurt you worst. Fjord, and Vandran, and the realization that sometimes the people you think you know best are the people with the most to hide.)

You greeted me with your warm eyes And extended out your hand Somehow I knew that I could trust you To teach me how to be a man Then we grew up together I studied the world as you studied me We built an empire fit for two but I only saw what you let me see

Swimming Pool- The Front Bottoms (Do what you have to do. A distraction his friend’s lives depend on. Fjord and Avantika, and also a little Fjord and Jester, but mostly about being in over your head but not wanting to or being able to back out of the deep end.)

There's comfort in the bottom of a swimming pool I'm holding my breath for you There's no doubt in my mind that if you could then you would try To crack my ribcage open and pull my heart right through How low is your self esteem And how low could it possibly be? I know, I know you're in love with me And I've been ignoring you

Legends are Made- Sam Tinnesz (A line is drawn in fire. The battle on the docks of Darktow.)

I've got that lightnin' inside me Son of a God I'm like a titan that's risin' Oh just you watch I'm steppin' into fate There is no time to waste I've got that lightnin' inside me This is how legends are made

Waking Up the Giants- Grizfolk (Fuck you Avantika. Like David fighting Goliath, the Mighty Nein make it out of Darktow, alive and together. Onwards to the site of Fjord’s shipwreck.)

We're the rhythm of the darkest nights We're the truth that's been left unspoken We're the shadows far beyond the lights We're waking, waking, waking up the giants Sail away, the water's rising Leaving all regrets behind us Right before we fail, we'll find it Right behind the storm it was hiding

Somewhere to Belong- Rationale (Vandran gave him a family, a purpose, a place to call his own. It’s why he uses his voice, and ultimately why he’s here now. Being on his old ship again is not as overwhelming as he expected, but it feels strange, nonetheless. It was his home for so long, and then it just wasn’t, taken from him just like that.)

I'm just a dreamer Just waiting for a hand to lead the way I should be stronger Deep down I'm a child still trying to find a way I can hide away Somewhere to belong (All I really want is somewhere to belong)

Grip- Bastille, Seeb (The second orb is located, its powers absorbed, but his curiosity is still hungry. Uk’otoa commands provocation, and provoke he does. He bleeds and bleeds, and at the last moment he pulls back, thank the gods for that. A song for two people feeding each other’s worse impulses.)

We don’t know what’s good for us Cause if we did, we might not do it Who knows where our limits lie? We won’t discover ‘til we push it Cause the devil’s got my arms And it pulls me back into the dark But I should just walk away Walk away, oh it grips me

h d w g h- Stop Light Observations (The Happy Fun Ball…happens. Fjord finally learns his lesson about touching things just because he can and comes to terms with how close he came to losing his best friend.)

How did we Get here?

Canary- The Ballroom Thieves (A rift has formed between them, but all is not lost. Fjord and Jester. A song for Rebuilding.)

When did my tongue begin to slow me Let me take my time while keeping pace We break it down, the right and wrong The thorns and roots I grew before I knew you Witness all these pretty colors Learning to behave, this ain't no race Hear me through this dying day And all the words that were not meant for you

Celestial Police- Worrytrain (It is a close call, but the curiosity is finally sated. He can put this down now. The third orb and the escape from the temple.)

Instrumental

New River- The Oh Hellos (The return to Nicodranas is bittersweet. Sweet because Jester can see her mother again and they can regroup after this harrowing journey. Bitter because of the news the empire brings of war, war that has touched his friend’s homes. He feels guilt for keeping them away for so long, but also determination to get them home.)

Let it come down, let it come down Let it make in you a new river I know the winds from the south have the waves riled up like a hungry mouth And your stomach goes hollow at the thought that it could swallow you whole Well, it'll rain for forty days and nights, and nothing you do can slow the rising tides But the river takes her shape from every tempest she abides And like her, you'll be made new again

Finally- James Arthur (After all is said in done, Vandran is alive and making amends. There are other things to accomplish right now, but just knowing that he’s out there is incredible.)

If only it ain't been like this Now I can hold my heart in a fist And all the voices leave I can finally put it on my sleeve Oh, if only they'd really seen it Maybe they would finally believe me When I say I've won And my father gets to see his son That he can feel proud of

#fjord #captain avantika #critical role #Jester #the mighty nein #cr2 #critical role spoilers #my playlists #vandran

[williammarshal-blog]

Lone Witness

Summary: Lexa escapes the world with only the stars as her company. And Clarke, the star who fell for her.

Maybe Clarke was being too easy on her.

Within the third day of Lexa being conscious enough to utter a "hello, Clar-kkk-e", Clarke had reluctantly agreed to let her out of the bedroom, because apparently, even when dosed up on Nyko's pain potion, Lexa still had the capacity to talk for Polis. And she'd pled a case of being cooped up within the Polisian tower like a chained dog with no hope of sunshine (despite the sun streaming through the window) or freedom (she'd been shot) or hope (she was alive).

Then again, Lexa had made a tempting case. So at nightfall, as Polis still thrived and swelled with music and joy and wonderful chaos, like there had been no drama with their near-dying Commander at all, Clarke and Lexa trudged down the stairs.

"I hope you realise your design of this—tower," Clarke said, as Lexa grunted with every third step, "is probably the stupidest thing ever. What if you were so tired you could barely walk, and then you had to walk five thousand billion steps just to flop on your bed?"

"Then it would make the effort worth it," Lexa said blandly. She looked decidedly pale. Clarke knew she wasn't feeling well at all, but she understood Lexa when she spoke about what essentially surmounted to cabin fever. Lexa didn't know the word for it in Old English, and Clarke hadn't given it to her. Lexa seemed to like the fact that she could somewhat effortlessly go on her tangents and speeches without wincing in pain every half a minute, so Clarke allowed the occasional soliloquy. It was nice to hear Lexa's voice on a continuous beat, instead of Clarke hearing her own every single day, talking to thin air as she hoped Lexa would wake. As her voice wavered with emotion every time the possibility of her not waking slammed into her like another one of Titus' bullets.

They made it to the bottom of the tower with relatively little fuss, their arguments futile and petty. Clarke extended her arm and Lexa, discarding her pride in the night, took it. She did not make a comment about Clarke supporting her weight, or thank her, but Clarke took the amicable silence as just that.

"Are you leading the way?" Clarke asked quietly, unnecessarily, as Lexa's feet traipsed somewhere of their own accord. They headed away from the boisterous crowd outside one of the inns, and towards the gates. Lexa smiled sideways at her.

The Polisian Guards startled at the sight. "Heda," one of them said in astonishment. He was tall, burly and fair-haired—and surely the first commoner to see their Commander after the shooting. The guard shucked his helmet off, as if the dim light was deceiving him. "You—you are well?"

"Well enough," Lexa said. Her voice was steady. "You'll talk of this night as if you were off-duty, do you understand? You were over there—" she jerked her head towards the noise they'd abandoned, "letting yourself loose with gallons of mead with your friend—" she now gestured towards the guard opposite him, whose own surprise was personified in a stunned silence.

"Of course," the guard said hoarsely. "Do we--?"

"Not actually," Lexa said sharply. Clarke nearly rolled her eyes. "Use your imagination."

"Your face is buried in an ample pair of bosoms right now, Tristan," the other guard said, as an example. Clarke and Lexa swivelled to face him, amused that he'd been so silent and then so crass. "That's what we got up to tonight."

"And the wine was sweet," said Tristan, "Just like the lady's skin."

"She fed you apples!" the other guard replied cheerily, as Lexa and Clarke decided to leave the two men to swapping their fantasies, growing lewder as they cleared the distance. "Sucked the juice from your very fingers!"

That was the last they decided to hear of it.

Tonight was crisp (just like the apple the guard had been describing, Clarke thought distastefully), the air lacking bite, though. It was pleasantly muggy; not enough for her shirt to stick to her skin, but enough so she didn't shiver. The wind was bashful, flicking at Lexa's let-down hair, but a nice, calming warm.

"The plains are always forgotten." Lexa plucked the words from the sky, breaking the silence between them. Clarke let her go on. "Polis is the base of fire and beauty and hand-made grandiose, and the walls are frightening or welcoming depending on who you are. The dug-out surrounding it is a symbol of hard muscle and sweat, and the drawbridge is standoffish yet homely. But the plains are just grass, widely uncut, tangled and uncivilised, like one side of that wall is post-coalition and this side is pre-coalition."

"I think it looks wonderful," Clarke said honestly. Lexa spoke highly of Polis but she did not hide that some of the houses crumbled with age. The sparring pits turned mushy and boggy when it rained, and busy times in the Square meant you had to pretty much punch your way through the crowd to buy a slab of meat.

Here, earth pierced through the air without a single intrusion. With the exception of them, tonight.

"Indra's gonna have my guts if you don't rest, by the way," Clarke cautioned Lexa, pretending to herself that Lexa would listen. "She specifically said no strenuous activity, and then I think she cursed at me in Trigedasleng. So if you rip your stitches, I will rip you in half, and then Indra will rip me in half."

"Fine by me," Lexa said breezily, stopping their walk. "Let's rest."

Lexa seemed to enjoy catching Clarke off-guard. It was simply because Clarke was always the one catching Lexa in the brief moments of the day she didn't have her steely walls up, and she flopped down onto the grass, her back against the ground. For a moment, Clarke stared at her in disbelief, as if Lexa kom Trikru, Commander of the Coalition, had just vanished from her arm in two seconds. But then she saw the amusement and carefully restrained joy on Lexa's face as she gazed up at the stars, and decided to join her.

"I used to come here alone," Lexa said. "When I had the time, I mean. And you know, you don't realise how much you enjoy some solitude when you spend all day surrounded by masqueraded threats and terse war-room talks and tutelage and complaints and heckling. Can I ask you to do something?"

Clarke turned to face her, the long strands of grass tickling her cheek. "Sure."

"Can I ask you to imagine the noise we just escaped? Back by the inn. Back with the idiots Tristan and Hislam by the gates."

Clarke shut her eyes, thinking of ample-bosomed babes and raucous, mead-flavoured singing. She couldn't capture the essence. I'm an artist. Sort of. She tried to think of it that way. Surely I can conjure up a scenario. If I can draw from memory, then I can memorise something, right? I was just by all that noise like ten minutes ago.

"No?" Lexa's voice glittered with triumph.

"No," Clarke confirmed dully. She waited for Lexa's point.

"Where this plain is cut off from civilisation and uncared for and ignored, then that is how it will be. Believe that life is within Polis, and believe that for so many years—the minute you pass from the inside to the outside, your ears unblock from the populace and clear so you can hear pointless things like crickets chirping in the night. And you are so spaced out from the lack of civilisation and the lack of people that you may interpret it as beauty."

But it was beauty—Clarke wanted to insist. It wasn't until Lexa really used that word that she would associate it with simply lying on a large patch of grass, staring up at the night skies. The new earth seemed to lack the 'pollution' of the old earth, of the old earth she'd read in the books. 'Pollution' was a word that meant 'blocking the stars', so Clarke had been told in class. And because the new earth lacked the arsenal of machinery the old earth relied on so heavily, the smog had thrown their hands up defeat and drifted off elsewhere. Floated itself.

"How did you feel, when you walked away from your people?" Lexa murmured. Where there was lack of civilisation, there was lack of courteous filter, too, it seemed. "When you abandoned them on your walkabout with only the name Wanheda following you, did it feel like this?"

Without Lexa's heartbeat inches from hers, and her fingers hesitantly interlocking in hers? Without the realisation that she could overcome her fury and surge for vengeance by merely engulfing herself within Polisian life? Without the lack of food and unsuccessful foraging replaced by lumps of bread and juicy, freshly-hunted game? Without twinkling eyes of innocent youth like Aden's dancing in the light as the Nightbloods playfully sparred with her during the day, the rare moments she left Lexa's unconscious side?

"Not quite." Clarke's voice was hoarse. Her solitude had been forced, but it hadn't been a tragic disaster, either. "Some nights...I guess...yeah, it was nice to go to sleep without thinking tomorrow I'd be needed by Kane or Raven or Octavia or my mom for some political bullshit. Then again, I had to sort of be a bit wary of being eaten by a giant wolf or something."

"That's quite some balance you pertained."

"Right."

"How do you feel now?"

"Relieved. Free. Like I want to smile."

"I feel like I want to see you smile."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. How long was it since you last smiled?"

"Too long."

"Do you want me to make you smile now?"

Clarke laughed. "How exactly are you gonna make me smile, asshole?"

Lexa's head jerked to the side so face that she nearly poked her eye out with a shard of grass. Clarke laughed louder, and her eyes slipped shut for a moment, only just catching Lexa's smirk. "Like that."

"You're an ass."

"I made you smile."

"That's something you do," Clarke conceded, and Lexa's smirk softened into a smile of her own. Clarke supposed it was all a little cliché, two young women in love smiling at each other in the blissful peace of the night, away from everyone else's mess. Then again, she was starting to appreciate why clichés were clichés: they weren't liked so fondly by everyone else for no reason.

Nothing was for no reason.

"I only wanted the stars to be my witness," Lexa began to explain—explain something—Clarke wasn't entirely too sure. Lexa could be backwards at the best of times. "Is that alright?"

"Yes?" Clarke realised a little too late that she was consenting to something she had no idea of.

Lexa remained polite anyway. She reached out slowly with her hand to cup Clarke's face, her thumb brushing idly over her cheek. Clarke supposed it was her warning signal in some way. It felt like Lexa was going to leave it at that, or that time had frozen, except Lexa's eyes were darting from Clarke's, to Clarke's hair, her forehead, her nose, her lips...

She leaned in so gently and so carefully that Clarke wondered if it was purely to prevent herself from ripping her stitches or because she was still a courteous idiot throughout. Still, Clarke closed her eyes as Lexa kissed her, feather-light like their first time. Clarke could remember Lexa's lips when they were desperate and needy and wanton; it felt like an age ago when Lexa tasted tentative and of question.

Clarke steadied Lexa by the waist, flicking her tongue over Lexa's bottom lip, and a noise escaped the wavering prison that was Lexa's throat.

"I think we're past the maybe life should be more than just surviving part, huh?" Clarke muttered against Lexa's lips as they broke apart for air, and Lexa's face split into a grin.

"Maybe," she said.

"Well, we deserve that at least, right?"

"Hm. Maybe we do."

Clarke would've rolled her eyes if the overwhelming sensation wasn't to pull her in for a deeper kiss, throwing careful thoughts of stitches and bullet wounds into the still, surveying wind as she kissed Lexa again, open-mouthed and with intent. Lexa returned with fervour, and Clarke never ceased to enjoy the way the most powerful individual on this entire earth cast away her iron-fist reign for Clarke's persistent lips. The way Lexa's mouth parted of Clarke's thin ask of permission felt like victory squeezing her heart, and she assumed maybe that was how Lexa felt too as she passed the chains of power and supremacy over for one moment of careless freefall. They kissed innocently, and wantonly, and teasingly; I wanted the stars to be my only witness, said the dramatic doe-eyed war-hero as she dipped her tongue into Clarke's mouth. Is that alright? The courteous facade of a shy courter whispered. Clarke moaned a little as Lexa's teeth sunk into her bottom lip, the disciplined testing of each other's restraint bashing against their self-made barricade. Oh well. I guess if Indra wants to kill me tomorrow, I'm not actually to blame. Not a hundred percent.

"I don't want to rest," Lexa panted, knocking foreheads with Clarke.

The grass tickled her cheek again. That was why Clarke smiled. "I won't let you."

"That's how this story went," Lexa affirmed, tugging Clarke by the hem of her shirt, dipping her head to pepper kisses down the side of Clarke's neck, her teeth determinedly biting down on her collarbone. Clarke tipped her head back and groaned in free pleasure as she rolled over, her hips conquering Lexa's as she tipped over so her thighs were either side of Lexa.

"I'm not gonna let you rest," Clarke whispered as she bent her head down to kiss Lexa again, grinning into it. She felt like a teenager, frolicking in the grass.

She was a fucking teenager.

"The stars are my only witness," Lexa teased, and pulled her down.

The stars did not speak of what they saw that night.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke x lexa #clexa fic #there you go

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Three

Connection.  Read Chap One here. Two. Three Four.  Five. Six. Seven. Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve.  Thirteen.  Fourteen.  Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.  Eighteen.  Nineteen.  Twenty.   Twenty One.   Twenty Two.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: an American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.

Word Count: 4178

A/N: ***possible spoilers with the new episode of Sherlock.*** A few lines borrowed from The Lying Detective in BOLD at the end of this part. If you haven’t seen the most recent episode, the last part of this chapter will be a spoiler. 

Your name: submit What is this?

It was on the plane to London that you got your first solid lead. You were reading the newspaper when Vic sat down after her third walkabout of the plane. You chalked it up to habit but didn’t discourage it either.

“Whatcha reading?” Her Irish accent was completely gone once she stepped into the airport and it still sounded weird.

You threw a glance at her as you replied. “Some big shot hunter. I’ll never understand men who think it’s a sport to hunt animals with high-powered weapons.”

She looked closer at the picture and scoffed, “that sonofabitch doesn’t stick to animals. He’s got some balls going public.” She skimmed some of the article, “he published a book? Jesus, he’s got someone with power backing him to show his face like that.”

You studied her. “Why?”

“Because that grade A asshat is a sniper for hire. Animals are not his only game. We were on him for a while after he got dismissed from this semi-secret group of the British military, the first Bangalore Pioneers. He was up to some nasty shit but they didn’t have any evidence to charge. That’s kind of the whole problem with secret groups. He went underground and lost his tails, no easy feat considering the two agents that were following him. Last time we had eyes on him, I should’ve taken the shot but Mycroft was insistent.”

“Mycroft?”

Her brow furrowed then she cursed under her breath, “his power issues are fucking legendary.” She stabbed the picture of the man smiling above the dead lion. “He was the sniper watching John that day at St. Bart’s.”

You balked, “what?”

“I gave him Mycroft’s deal. I think Mycroft thought there was some back up plan if the snipers didn’t check in. And I can tell you Moran wouldn’t resurface like this unless he knew he had protection. He was deep under, we tried finding him again after all that business with his father but didn’t turn up shit. He’s good and he was trained by some of the best.”

“His father?”

“Lord Moran. The case Sherlock and John solved when he came back.”

You looked back at the article with new eyes. “Well, shit.” Who was the power player behind him now? With daddy locked up, it was possible one or some of his father’s allies would be possible. They wanted to blow up the parliament building during some vote. You closed your eyes feeling something tickling at the back of your mind until the memory bloomed.

He was always like that.

Who the hell are you?

I’m curious how you could deduce where exactly his lie was?

The IceMan had heard whispers of someone planning to blow up the parliament years before Lord Moran tried. Was someone shopping around? Had it been Moriarty even back then trying to hook up the right players or just someone who overheard something they shouldn’t? Your head throbbed and you rubbed your temples.

Vic leaned over you slightly and you glanced at her from the corner of your eye. She was checking Will on your other side then caught your gaze. “I thought you’d like to know Sherlock’s been seeing a therapist.”

You glanced down at Will making sure he was asleep. “How do you know?”

Her gaze shot around as she lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “Chatter from a friend. Mycroft’s had someone watching Sherlock like I’ve been watching you but apparently he upped the surveillance a couple months ago and then three or so weeks back there was a big fuss over him just walking around. Most just chalked it up to over-protective big brother routine but I just get this feeling like something serious is going on. Maybe it’s good we’re going back now.” She gazed into your eyes, “have you ever… what do you think of intuition? Most times I put it down to gut instincts due to training and knowing how people move and think… but this… we haven’t seen anything but I can still feel it.”

You nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve been telling myself I just miss them and I know something has to snap. The shooter’s been quiet for too long and these poisonings… even if it isn’t Moriarty, someone wants to hurt Sherlock and we can’t do shit from somewhere else.” You looked at the article in your hand, the man smiling up at you from over the dead lion. “We’re at least in the game if we’re nearby and if no one knows we are, then we’re a secret weapon. I wish I could talk to Mary and see what she’s feeling. She’s been around them, she would have seen something.” Vic glanced at you and nodded but something flashed across her face. You thought it was worry but couldn’t be sure.  “What is it?”

She looked down at the paper then shrugged. “She’s a mother, might that compromise her ability a bit?”

You shook your head, “believe me that only heightens your senses and makes you more invested in knowing everything that’s going on around you and I mean everything.”

She fiddled with her seatbelt before nodding. “Yeah, that training goes much too deep.”

~~

The safe house was prepped and ready for you within an hour of landing in London and you couldn’t help but notice how close it was to a certain part of Baker Street. One of Vic’s connections had picked you up and driven you to the house where another agent, a female undercover as a landlady ushered you inside the flat and led you to a sitting room where she quickly briefed both you and Vic.

Mycroft had been expecting you and a file was waiting there for Vic. There wasn’t much in it but it gave her an idea of who to contact. You both agreed Mycroft was being stingy with information and it was more than a power thing this time, especially with the looks the undercover landlady had given the agent that dropped you off when he couldn’t see her. Or maybe Mycroft wasn’t the only one feeling the effect of a leak in the building. That charged feeling in the air of something big coming only increased since arriving in London.

Later that night, you were settled on the couch with a book in hand, Will had fallen asleep stretched out beside you after watching his favorite program, one he used to watch with John all the time. You had tried everything to distract from the one pervading thought that had lodged itself comfortably in the center of your mind since you walked into the flat and even though you had been reading for almost an hour, you had only moved about five pages and had no idea what was happening in the story.

You caught Vic watching you with a smirk as you glanced at the door yet again. Her gaze warmed your cheeks and you stopped ignoring her attention. You dropped the book and pleaded, “I can’t be this close and not see him. Please help me.”

She rolled her eyes then hopped off the chair she was perched on, “Mycroft doesn’t want anyone knowing we’re here, but how can I say no to that face?” She walked over to you and pulled you off the couch. “Okay, listen very carefully. I know that area like the back of my hand. Oh, and take this.” She pulled a small metal object out of her pocket and handed it to you.

“What’s this?”

“Once you get up the fire escape, you’ll use that to unlock his window.”

“You just carry things like this around?”

“Of course.” She wrapped her arm around your shoulders and pulled you to the front door. “Okay, now here’s your best bet of getting there without being seen.”

Twenty minutes later, you were climbing carefully up the fire escape and pulling the window lock pick out of your pocket. You could see the figure in the bed once you made it to the window of his bedroom and just as you clicked the lock open, the figure sprung up. Sherlock stood there staring as you started to open the window before breaking from his trance and moving over to help.

“Hi.” You grinned as you threw one leg over the windowsill ducking under the window then twisted as you pulled your other leg inside. You were sitting on the sill with the intention of jumping inside but he stepped in between your legs blocking any further movement then grabbed your face.

You inhaled sharply staring at his lips waiting for them to meet yours as the warmth from his hands seeped into your cheeks. You had missed his hands, the way he could cradle your face like the most precious piece of data and everything else slipped away, but it was always his eyes that could captivate you forever and a day without regret.

When he didn’t lean in, your gaze shot up to his eyes and you gasped. His right eye showed clear signs of irritation even in the weak amount of light but his left eye was almost entirely black and yet the intensity in both hadn’t dulled. “What the hell happened to you?” You touched his left cheek gently while searching his face for any other damage. He was paler than usual with at least a week’s worth of facial hair around his mouth but you didn’t see any other serious signs of damage.

He had yet to move his hands or anything else since he grabbed you. You looked back into his eyes with a lump forming in your throat. “Sherlock? Are you okay?”

His eyes glistened in the light from the street and his eyelids fluttered as if shaking himself from some thought. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones and you waited for his lecture but instead, a smile appeared as he whispered, “you are real.”

You searched his face wondering what he was on and what had truly happened to him while you were gone then his lips brushed tentatively against yours. He leaned into you and the cautious nature disappeared taking your thoughts along with it as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled back and you came to your senses, your arms were wrapped around him and your hands gripping his shirt. “I didn’t expect that.” You flushed under his intense gaze.

He slipped his arms around your waist and held you against him as he took a few steps back from the window. Try as he might, he couldn’t hide his wince and you slid down until your feet touched the ground. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

His voice was gruff and you wondered whether it was just from sleep or if his throat had some kind of damage but you couldn’t see any bruises on his neck. “What?”

He grasped your hips then his hands smoothed up your sides before one wrapped around your back and the other caressed your cheek on its way into your hair. “You’ve spoiled me.”

“Are you high?” He still had that medically sterile smell of a hospital lingering and you hoped this was a medical high.

He smirked, “not yet. They’re keeping me off the usual but this one is so much better.” His mouth captured yours again before you could say a word and you were on the bed before you could wrap your head around the fact that you were actually home. “I didn’t think you were being literal when you said soon.” He pulled your shirt off and paused for a moment as he gazed down at you. “You have no idea how badly I needed a distraction.”

You brushed your fingers over his chin and up his jawline before pausing by his eye with a wince.  “Morphine or cocaine?” His brows furrowed, “you didn’t deny it. So which one is it?”

He shook his head with a grin, “one of my newer favorites, it’s all natural and I haven’t had it in far too long.” It was your turn to be confused and he reveled in it before leaning down and whispering against your lips, “you.”

Sherlock had a whole different way of making you feel at home and he had no mind to slow anything this time. This was not about getting reacquainted but saying a very enthusiastic hello after being apart for, like the good man said, far too long. Even though there was some fumbling as you both pulled at each other’s clothes and you found a few tender spots around his ribs you were careful with, but once you finally came together, the dance still remained the same.

You laid side by side and he watched you as you both regained your breath and normal heart rate. He was studying you and you wondered what he saw but didn’t interrupt. “Ireland was good to you.”

You examined his left eye again. “So, you did get my little hint. Seriously, what happened to you?”

“Little? You sent a picture.”

“Oh come on, it was just an ocean behind us, it could’ve been…”

“It was a lake.”

You rolled toward him onto your side and propped you head on your hand, “I did wonder if you’d be able to figure it out. You’re ignoring my question.”

He smirked, “you could see the castle faintly in the background too.”

“Will really wanted to send it.” You quirked your brow while trying to read him.

“And you knew it would be safe with me. Is he with my parents?”

“No. He’s nearby with a very good friend.”

“Who?”

“Two-way street. What happened?”

“It’s a long story, but I solved it. Didn’t get the news in Ireland?” He was being cheeky but too many things flashed across his face that you couldn’t get a read on.

“She’s an agent, an excellent one, and a great friend. Vic was the one that intervened in Germany. You would like her a lot.”

He seemed to mull it over then moved on. “What did you figure out on the phone?”

“I connected a few dots but it wasn’t until we were on our way here that I found a suspect. Ever heard of Sebastian Moran?”

“How did you know that name?”

“I have my tricks too.”

He brushed his fingers over your stomach, “not tricks.”

“Hmm. Agree to disagree.” His hand pressed against your stomach and you glanced down when you felt the tremor he was trying to stop. “Sherlock?” You laid your hand on his, “you smell like a hospital and I noticed the tenderness around your ribs… Please tell me.”

He pulled your hand to his shoulder then leaned in close, you laid back on your pillow and he followed you as his gaze flitted over your face. “Later. I’m fine and I know we don’t have a lot of time tonight so can we pretend that everything beyond this bed doesn’t exist.” He brushed his hand through your hair then trailed across your jaw before his gaze found yours again and the tears that sparkled in his eyes flooded you with a sadness you were all too familiar with recently. “The only thing that can help me right now is you. Just you.”

You ran your fingers through the curls at the back of his neck before placing your thumb and forefinger at the base of his skull on either side of his spine then slid them down his neck with some light pressure. He closed his eyes and dropped his head slightly coming closer to your face. You whispered, “okay. Just us and nothing more.”

~~

The alarm on your phone chimed waking you from a dream you couldn’t grasp onto. Swirls of papers, case walls, pictures, rough waters in the lake, and Sherlock’s anguished voice pleading something. Fingers brushed feather-light over your cheek as you untangled from the dream’s last tendrils gripping you like thick stubborn weeds.

Sherlock didn’t say a word but you could see it in his eyes, he knew it was time for you to go and though he may not agree, he wouldn’t argue. You moved to the edge of the bed, turned off the alarm and noticed the date. You rolled back towards him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips then gazed into his eyes, his left eye looking worse in the dull gray of daybreak. “Happy birthday, love.”

He watched you with the softest expression before smiling. You kissed him again and then got out of bed. You walked over to the armoire and pulled on Sherlock’s housecoat before leaving the room for the bathroom.

When you strolled back into the room, Sherlock was dressed and had clothes laid out on the bed for you. You reached for your bra but he grasped your face and kissed you. It wasn’t like last night, this was a slow, tender meeting that had a sedating effect. When he pulled back, there was something in his gaze that pulled at you so deeply you stood transfixed as he brushed his house coat off your shoulders and placed it on the bed. He picked up the clothes, piece by piece, and dressed you. You had a child with the man in front of you, his hands had touched you in far more erotic ways and yet, there was something so intimate about it goosebumps covered your skin.

After he finished the last button on your blouse, he gazed down into your eyes. “The fear of death is survival, but the fear of life is deadly.”

You touched his cheek with a need to say so much but the words that came had nothing to do with your heart or at least, not exactly. “It’s the rooftop all over again. He was trying to make you prove you were like him, put your life above those closest to you, even though he knew you never would. I don’t know how, but he’s got someone with the same game plan.” The words made something flicker in the corner of your mind like a feather fluttering, the beginning of a thought but it burrowed deeper as you tried to pull it forward. Sherlock’s brow furrowed and you pressed on. “He’s trying to force you to understand, to taste his way of life but he was never really living his life, just seeking to destroy others until death found him. You see that, right?”

He pressed his hand against yours then turned his face into it and kissed your palm. “I know, I’ve felt it.”

“You’ve always lived your life seeking knowledge and truth and using it to help others. You are more than just his opposite, you have always been so much more than him, Sherlock. And not just because you have these people that care about you, they care about you because you are a great man who fights for what is right.”

He pressed his lips to yours and you wrapped your arms around him trying to pour every ounce of some deeper meaning into that kiss. Your chest tightened as you pulled back and stared into his eyes then your phone buzzed on the nightstand, just another reminder that your time was up. “You’ve always had the will to live but maybe, just maybe, you’ll do a little bit more of that living for yourself.” His brows furrowed and you backed away toward the window. “I know you have plans but I do too. I’ll see you soon.” You turned and saw the waiting taxi down in the alley.

“I would ask you what you’re planning but I already know what you’re going to say.”

You climbed out and smiled through the window at him. “I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”

He grinned, “and then you prove me wrong.”

“It’s a gift.” Then you slipped down the fire escape and glanced back once on your way to the taxi catching the sight of him at the window.

“Have fun?” Vic was leaning against the taxi with the door open.

You smiled in spite of her Cheshire Cat grin. “Yes, I did. Thank you for asking.”

Will was laying in the back half asleep and you slipped in next to him careful not to disturb. Vic slid into the passenger seat and the man behind the wheel turned, flashing a grin. You furrowed your brow for a moment recognizing his face.

Vic turned around, “I went with an old friend for this morning’s drive. No need to get the word out too early. Mycroft has been doing a little digging and has a few lines for us to check out.”

“How did you?”

“Undercover Cabbie Taylor here is on one of those assignments. He owed me one.”

He turned and reached his hand over the seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You shook his hand, “I’ve cleared you before, haven’t I?”

“It was a while ago, but yeah.” He grinned as he turned back around. “Didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Vic flashed wide eyes at him, “he’s a big fan of Sherlock’s and I think he’s a bit star struck right now.”

He glared at her, “everyone is a fan of Sherlock.”

You tamped down your smile as she laughed. “What are these leads?”

~~

Later that day, Y/n hadn’t been far from Sherlock’s mind. He thought about telling John but decided against it. He couldn’t come to a conclusion on exactly why he didn’t want to share, if it was selfish or protecting John or maybe both. Even after John brought her up, even accused him of possibly sneaking off to meet The Woman for a passionate night together after her text message came in. He thought about telling him about last night but then his whole speech had de-evolved into a confession.

He watched his closest friend talk to empty air like it was his dead wife. At the time, he knew there wasn’t much he should say, he just needed to be there for his friend but after a few moments alone while he dressed, he knew Y/n wouldn’t have let her friend go on thinking they were terrible for simply one bad decision. Maybe it happened for a while but it wasn’t as bad as John Watson made it out to be, at least from Sherlock’s point of view. Maybe Y/n would think differently but he felt he knew her well enough that she wouldn’t judge her friend so harshly.

He stopped at the door pulling on his coat and summoned every bit of that person that Y/n brought out in him and the one that John brought out in him. “It’s not my place to say but it was just texting. People text even I text, her, I mean the woman, bad idea, I try not but sometimes…” John’s brows rose, his mouth curving down. “Not like that,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I spent a whole evening walking with a strange woman and I liked it. I liked the feeling that she seemed to like me.” John watched him quietly, his mouth becoming a tight line then faltering. “I miss Y/n. I miss the things that stirred inside me when she was around, the heat, the warmth, the craziness that I didn’t understand, and that’s probably a shit thing to say right now but you know I’ve never been good at this. I think we both know what she would say though.”

John looked away, “I try not to think about her being wherever she is.”

“It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling from time to time that we might all just be human.”

“Even you?”

He smiled, “what would Y/n say? Of course she would have all these terms and definitions and be able to explain every possible reaction to human nature and tell you it’s normal or a way of coping and we would nod knowing she was right, sometimes annoyingly…” John chuckled shaking his head. “But she would be right. We all know my faults in human behavior but you are not perfect either and there’s no reason that you should hold yourself to a higher standard especially if it’s just because of my faults. You are not a terrible person, John Watson.” Sherlock dropped his gaze then looked over to his chair. “I believe if she were here, she would tell you, from time to time, even the strongest among us break and need help. She had this saying that most of us are not single ships, that we weren’t…”

“Wired to sail alone. She was quite fond of that one.”

Sherlock looked back to John, “I think she would know all the right things to say and do to help you and I will never be as good but I’m here if you need anything. I’m here.”

John glanced over to the chair then cleared his throat. “Cake?”

“Cake.”

Next Chapter 

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[malcolmwritesinspace-blog]

A Devil by the Deep Blue Sea

Written for @blitzcastle.

Rama breathes in deep, filling his lungs with salt air.  He holds it there for a moment longer than comfortable, letting the brine and the bite of it soak into him.  He has not smelled the sea like this, fresh with the morning breeze and untainted by a city’s stench, in far too long.  He sighs it back out, and feels a measure of the weight on his broad shoulders expelled out with it to be carried away on the dancing wind.  His troubles haven't lessened any, but they always feel lighter, less implacable, when he's in sight of the sea.  Perhaps it's because the sea speaks of freedom, of possibilities.  Or maybe it's because the vast and abyssal depths of the sea remind you that you are, ultimately, insignificant.

Rama snorts with laughter. He hears that last observation not in his own voice, but one with a sharper wit and a wiser heart.  It's a voice he hasn't heard in fourteen years, except in his head.  He opens one of the three lockets he wears around his thick neck and smiles fondly at the pictures of a woman with clever eyes and a little girl with those same eyes underneath nubby horns. Melody and Imp.  He squeezes the locket, but it only feels like metal.  There are two more just like it, and enchanted to connect with one another so long as the holder is alive and on the same plane.  Melody took the other two, all those years ago, promising Imp would find hers 'when the time was right'.

He looks out at the sea again and thinks about insignificance.  He knows that when Melody talked about it, she meant it in a positive way.  He hadn't figured that out, of course, until she explained it.  If we accept our own significance, she'd told him one day, we are free to create our own significance.  He'd found his in fatherhood.

Footsteps interrupt his thoughts.  The grind of boots in thick sand, the smell of leather and oil.  Abu.  Rama turns and grins at the half-elf.  "My friend!" he says expansively. "You're finally here. I've missed you, these long days apart."

Abu'l Hawl, Father of Terror and Conqueror of the Five Castles, once captain of three crews and plunderer extraordinaire, squints at Rama and says, "It's been three hours, Rama.  I went to get breakfast." He holds up a sackcloth bag that smells of pastry and fresh fruit.  "And yet," he says with a note of resignation, "you couldn't use that time to put a shirt on."

Rama guffaws and slaps his thick, muscled belly.  "I'm the spawn of a devil, old friend, I don't need to heed petty mortal conventions."

Abu rolls his eyes and sits down on a chunk of driftwood to share out breakfast.

The two eat in silence, munching on fresh dates and buttery buns and soaking in the sunrise.  Rama watches his friend as they eat.  Abu stares out to sea, and Rama can see the longing there.  The sea was in his blood, even more than Rama's.  He'd been born in the Fertile Kingdoms, where the rich rivers ran down from the Spine of the World to the sea.  His father had been a poet in a sultan's court and his mother a sea-elf. He has his mother's eyes, large and brilliant green and almond shaped, and the high-cheek-boned handsomeness of his father, and from both brown skin tanned even darker by years of sun and salt. They had sailed together as shipmates, as captains, occasionally as rivals, for decades, and there were few Rama knew or loved as well.  Not that he entirely trusted Abu, of course, nor did Abu entirely trust him.  They were pirates, after all.  Retired, maybe, but still pirates.

The sun is now clear of the horizon and the food is gone. Abu stands, stretches, brushes crumbs off his robes.  Then he hesitates, just enough that Rama notices.  They are not alone.  

Abu comments that he needs to see a man about a dog and walks down the beach a ways before ducking into the tree line.  Rama sits on the long and works to keep the tension out of his shoulders despite the pricking down his back as he imagines an assassin's bolt.  He has caught of whiff of sulphur on the air.

There is a long silence, just the lapping of the waves and the cawing of the gulls.  Far out to sea, Rama sees a xebec in full sail and low in the water, heading to Stalia with a full cargo, and he feels the old instincts tugging at him.  Fat, rich, and unsuspecting.  He sucks in a breath and imagines instead his daughter, feels his pride for her.  If he is to die on this beach, that is what he wants his last thoughts to be of.

There is a sudden and un-assassin-like squawk of alarm from the bushes behind him and the sound of a brief and one-sided struggle.  Rama stands, turns to see Abu dragging by the collar a short, unassuming human man onto the beach.

Abu drops the man at Rama's feet and wipes his hands on his robes.  "This is probably the least threatening person who's ever tried to kill you, and I'm including that time you were bitten by a baby."

The man is kneeling on the sand, his eye already swelling up where Abu struck him, and glaring at Rama and Abu with a mix of fear and indignation. Rama takes in the man's prissy, expensive clothes and the fat rings on his fingers.  The smell of sulphur is stronger now, like he's sweating it. "You know," Rama muses, "he doesn't look like much of an assassin.  More like a merchant." Then it hits him, and his lips peel back from his teeth in an expression almost exactly like a smile.  "Or a banker.  Is that you, Wormwood?  Let's see your real face, not this sad sack.  It doesn't suit you."

The man on the sand glares at Rama the harder and bares his teeth right back.  He shimmers and twists and then he is not a man but a jackal-man, though the fine clothes stay.  "Is this how you treat guests now, Rama?" Wormwood barks.  He goes to stand, but Abu plants one hand on his shoulder and shoves him back down.

"You're not a guest, flunky," Rama says with venom, "you're an intruder.  And I can do with you what I want."

"That's against the rules," Wormwood said, a sudden note of worry in his voice. "Now that I've identified myself you must-"

"<!> the rules!" Nearby, a songbird drops from the air and thrashes on the sand for a moment before fluttering away.  Rama guiltily tries to ignore it.  Cursing in Infernal is a literal if you really mean it.  He also ignores Abu's raised eyebrow.  "What does the House want with me?" he asks after a moment. "Your master and I have no business."

Rama can see Wormwood thinking about correcting him, and he resolves to kill the yugoloth right there if he does.  Perhaps Wormwood sees this, because he subsides. "Not my master," Wormwood says as he pulls out a leather courier's tube.  "Someone else."

Rama takes the tube and snorts.  "Since when are you a courier, Wormwood?  Get demoted?  Finally got caught with sticky paws?"

Wormwood smirks, and a little blood leaks out the corner of his mouth.  "Hardly.  Just doing a favour for an auditor and his... special... friend."

A cold feeling suddenly grips Rama by the nethers.  He pops the seal on the tube and unrolls the message within.  He reads, voraciously, ignoring the stares of Abu and Wormwood. He carefully folds the letter back up, and stares out to sea for a long moment.  And then he starts to laugh and laugh, and he wipes away a small tear and turns back. Abu has one eyebrow arched, but Wormwood looks disgusted.

"You are a cambion," the yugoloth says, like the words are sour in his mouth. "You weep over a letter from some tiefling girl like you're not the son of-"

Rama punches him hard in the mouth, hard enough to crack teeth, and the jackal-faced creatured topples over in the sand like a sack.

"Feel better?" Abu asks after a moment.  He smirks, and uses his toe to push the mumbling, semi-conscious Wormwood over onto his side.

"A little." Rama shrugs.  He holds up the letter.  "It's from Imp.  She's off on her bardic walkabout with Melody's father."

"I thought you didn't trust that guy."

Rama makes a sour face. "I don't really like him, but he knows what he's about."

"Didn't you try to feed him to your crocodiles once?"

"...so?" They laugh together, and Rama sits down on the log.  "She fought a dragon.  And won."

Abu chuckles. "You must be jealous."

"Insanely."

The half-elf sobers and nudges Wormwood again.  The yugoloth whimpers, but doesn't stir.  "What's she doing hanging around an auditor, though?  That can't be a coincidence.  You think Cas-"

"Don't say his name," Rama snaps, with enough force that Abu blinks and leans back a little. Rama holds one hand up in apology. "Sorry.  Just... you never know if he'll hearn.  But no, I don't think this is about me.  My business with... with the House was finished a long time ago.  Before she left, Imp said they were joining up with some old friend of her grandfather's on an expedition.  If it's funded by the House, there'll be an auditor along.  I'd guess Wormwood here offered to act as courier so he could find me."

"And to get Imp under contract," Abu adds darkly.

"And that. I'm going to write a response, you watch Dogbreath there."

The birds sing, the sea waves, the sun rises higher.  Eventually, Rama holds up his letter, scatters sand across it to dry the ink. He scowls at his own atrocious penmanship.  He's written the letter in Vulgate Minoan, the language Imp grew up speaking on the Pirate Isle, not because he thinks it'll stop Wormwood from snooping if the yugoloth is willing to break the rules that badly but because it'll annoy him. He folds the letter, seals it, places it in the message tube.  Abu has roused Wormwood, roughly hauling the yugoloth to his feet.

"Alright, dogbreath," Rama says, relishing the face Wormwood makes, "scurry on back and deliver it." He leans right down into Wormwood's face and waves one meaty, red finger finger under his nose.  "And after that maybe you should hand this particular case over to someone else, yeah?"

Wormwood thinks it over. Fear wins, and he nods reluctantly. Rama straightens, Abu lets go of his collar.  Wormwood straightens his shirt, dusts it off, and resumes his human guise. The split lip and black eye carry over.  He glares at Rama one last time, then poofs with a cloud of soot and the smell of sulphur.

Rama puts his hands on his hips, squares his shoulders, breathes in deep, and, just to annoy Abu, does a pec pop.

The half-elf rolls his eyes. “So the actual reason I wanted to meet out here,” he says drily, “is that I found out- Titan’s blood, man, would you stop that? It’s distracting.”

Pop pop go Rama’s pecs. “Do I distract you, Captain Hawl?” he asks as sweetly as a six-and-a-half-foot tall, bright red devilspawn can.

Abu gives Rama a severe look. “You’re a married man, Rama.”

“You know what they say, old friend, once to sea everyone’s a bachelor.” Pop pop.

“Didn’t you try that with Melody once?  Didn’t she stab you?”

“Only a little,” Rama admits cheerfully. Pop.

Abu sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. “Anyways,” he tries again, “I found our friend the Commodore.”

Rama’s chest ceases its quivering for a moment.  “Hammersmith? She’s sailing again?”

“Aye.  Some Atruschoi duke or other commissioned her to blockade the Strait of Zanclea and force tariffs out of anyone not flying the Atrus flag.”

Rama’s left pec pops almost unconsciously as he thinks.  “Is the blockade backed by the capital?”

Abu shrugs. “Not officially, but you know how they are.  They’re looking to see how far they can push before the Bashah pushes back.”

“How many ships does she have?”

“At least three proper war galleys with cannon, plus a handful of smaller craft.  No idea how the crews are, but knowing The Hammer, they’ll be learning fast.”

Rama chews one lip pensively. “That’s a lot of guesses.” Abu shrugs but doesn’t respond. “How many have you got?”

“Two of my own, plus Heba and Farhat, Sakarbaal, and Xerman.”

“That’s a proper flotilla.”

“Except they have a condition.” Abu takes a breath, and says, “They’ll only do it if you agree to take command.  Sakarbaal is a miserable old bull, and there’s no way Xerman will take orders from Heba or Farhat after what happened off Khasab.”

Rama chuckles. “Yeah, they hoisted him good.  Who’s funding this?”

“A Stalian conglomerate, but I got the feeling it goes higher than that.  We get expenses, a bounty per ship sunk, and favourable terms on prizes.”

“So,” Rama muses to himself. “So we’re being hired to break up illegal activity and help out honest merchants. Doesn’t sound like piracy to me.” He grins at Abu, and pop pop.  “Sounds downright heroic. I promised Imp I wouldn’t go on the Round.”

“Of course you did.  I’ve got a boat waiting around the point, once you’re dressed.”

“I am dressed. Dressed for the sea.” Pop.

Abu just throws his hands up and stalks away.  Rama laughs, then opens the second of the three lockets around his neck.  Inside is a rough portrait of an iron-haired, iron-jawed dwarf with a neatly trimmed beard and a jagged scar across her eye. “Alright, nemesis mine. Let’s go do war again.”

[tripstations]

Why Florida is a MUST for adventure lovers this summer

With its beautiful beaches, glorious sunshine and delicious local food, it’s not surprising Florida has become one of the world’s most popular holiday destinations.

But what you might not know is that the Sunshine State has plenty of unexpected – and seriously amazing – surprises to discover too.

From jumping on the world’s tallest river rapid drop, to strapping into Orlando’s only floorless coaster, Florida offers up a dizzying array of extraordinary experiences. 

Top of any visitor’s list is a trip to the SeaWorld Parks, which are perfect for you to explore, whether you’re travelling with friends, family, or looking to make a romantic trip for two even more special.

Here’s our pick of just some of the incredible things YOU can discover…

Discover adventure at Busch Gardens 

Cheetah Hunt is a triple launch rollercoaster that carries riders high above the park, then races down along the ground through a rocky gorge. All of that at a heart-pumping speed 

Busch Gardens has more rollercoasters than any other park in Florida so should be at the top of every thrillseeker’s wish list.

The 335-acre park is home to some seriously sensational rides, all inspired by the natural world. They’re wild enough to have you screaming with delight.  

Cheetah Hunt is a triple launch rollercoaster that carries riders high above the park, then races down along the ground through a rocky gorge. All this at a speed that’s sure to get your heart pumping. Well, what else did you expect from a ride named after the fastest animal on land? And at 4,400ft it’s also Busch Gardens’ longest ride.

If that’s not enough excitement then why not set your pulse racing with Falcon’s Fury? North America’s tallest free-standing drop tower sees riders plummet face down at speeds of 60mph.

Set your pulse racing with Falcon’s Fury: a 335ft freestanding tower drop that sees riders plummet face down at speeds of 60mph. It’s going to be tough not to close your eyes! 

Tigris is Florida’s tallest launch coaster! You’ll be catapulted around loops and twists and spine-tingling drops.

It’s back to the big cats with brand new Tigris, Florida’s tallest launch coaster, where you’ll be catapulted around loops and twists and spine-tingling drops, all at over 60mph.

And experience a new ride every time on Cobra’s Curse, Florida’s first family spin coaster. As well as speeding along this snake-inspired track, you’ll travel forwards and backwards before spinning freely and at random. 

And things are really going up a level in 2020 at Busch Gardens. 

North America’s tallest hybrid coaster and the fastest and steepest coaster in the world is currently under construction, ready for a show stopping launch next year. Reaching heights of over 200 feet, coaster enthusiasts should book their place in line now to be among the first to experience this record breaking ride.

Splash into fun at SeaWorld 

Infinity Falls is the world’s tallest river rapid drop – prepare to get soaked as you have fun

For more than 45 years SeaWorld has been an Orlando institution, bringing visitors even closer to incredible marine animals with its awesome shows and one-of-a-kind attractions.

But what you might not realise is that the world-famous marine park is also home to record-breaking rides.

Don’t miss Infinity Falls: the world’s tallest river rapid drop. Climb aboard your raft and get ready to hold on tight – and get soaked! – as you splash your way through flowing fountains, surprise geysers and breathtaking waterfalls on class IV rapids before plunging down the tallest drop of its kind.

Get ready to swoop like a ray on the thrilling Manta – the only flying coaster of its type in Florida

For something a little different, swoop like a ray on Manta – the only flying coaster of its type in Florida.

And if you think yourself a serious thrillseeker then dare to ride Mako; Orlando’s tallest, fastest and longest hypercoaster, named after the equally powerful and agile Mako shark. 

If you think yourself a serious thrillseeker then dare to ride Mako; Orlando’s tallest, fastest and longest hypercoaster.

You’ll have to try hard not to close your eyes as you climb up to 200ft high before diving, twisting and turning your way around track corners at up to 73mph.

Take the plunge at Aquatica 

Thrilling KareKare Curl is a zero-gravity water wall with an (almost) sheer drop at the end 

Voted the number one waterpark in the US, Aquatica is all about having fun in the water and this year there is even more to choose from… so get ready to take the plunge.

The park is packed with more than 40 slides, lagoons, rivers and head-spinning rides to keep you and your little ones busy, no matter what your idea of a perfect day out. 

Put on your swimming costume and kick off the day with a turn on the not-to-be-missed and newly opened KareKare Curl – a zero-gravity water wall with a heart-stopping drop at the end.

Or seasoned daredevils will love the opportunity to face Orlando’s steepest multi-drop tower at Ihu’s Breakaway Falls. You’ll free-fall for 40 hair raising feet before hitting the water from a spiralling water slide.    

For fun as a group, grab a mat and see who can slip down the steep Taumata Racer fastest

And if you fancy a bit of friendly competition then grab a mat and see who can slide fastest down Taumata Racer.

Younger visitors will not be able to resist Walkabout Waters, an eye-popping 60ft-tall rain fortress made from towers, bridges and tunnels that are bursting with colour and excitement. And with a full 15,000sq ft to explore, even the most energetic little ones will leave feeling tired out.

After a morning of thrills, why not kick back on a lounger and soak up the fun at the world’s only side-by-side wave pools: Cutback Cove and Big Surf Shores.

Experience Florida’s hottest rides this summer at SeaWorld Parks

Visit seaworldparks.co.uk to read more about the record-breaking rides and book your tickets today from just £115pp, including FREE parking. 

The SeaWorld Parks Florida

  VisitTheUSA.co.uk

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