#and every twist i called that shit SEASONS ago

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Two

Summary:

You really want to get Astarion back for making you feel so flustered, but as a result you find yourself in a bit of an uncomfortable position.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, under-the-desk blowjobs, semi-public sex, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, poor gale doesn't deserve this

Oh shit she's writing? I had like six other things planned but I can't keep away from this world. Once again thank you @zipzoomzaria for the beautiful screenshots and also the inspo for Professor Astarion, and @aw11tht33tha for the beta!

You don't need to have read part 1 for this part to make sense, but it does help.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Ever since you slept with Astarion - or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked you mercilessly over his desk - you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's been a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time you pass him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has you suppressing the moan that bubbles in your throat. One whiff of his fragrance and your pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the main office, reading some memo from the chair about season selection for next year. It's always a tedious process where no one can agree and you somehow all end up with shows you hate.

You smell him before you hear him, and you can feel your ears grow hot. He comes up behind you, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above you to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but you feel like he’s going out of his way to brush against you. A shiver runs down your spine as he very gently grazes the back of your neck while shuffling through the papers. 

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Grace. How can he stay so cool when you're practically in shambles? You pretend that you're still reading the short memo just to collect yourself. When he finally leaves the main office, you manage to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Grace catches your eye and frowns.

“Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. You twist your face into a smile, hoping that it reads like gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” you say, putting a little extra rasp in your voice to sell your story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I can grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to your face as you move to leave the office. You bump into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps you on the shoulder and your knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so you can't really fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” you reply, continuing to scoot your way out of the office. 

“Yeah ya are!” She points two finger guns at you and flashes a big suggestive smile. You freeze for a half second, then realize she’s making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling you out for your current condition. You awkwardly finger gun back as you finally slip through the doorway and book it to your office.

You sit down at your desk and grab your water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on you. What you wouldn't give to be able to fluster him as much as he does you. Have him struggle for words. Make him look like an idiot in front of your colleagues.

You think back to your bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. You could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. You really thought that you'd be the one in control, that you could have him coming undone for you. The image of him whimpering beneath you still sets your heart racing, though it can't be further from the truth. Your breath hitches slightly as the scenario plays out vividly in your mind, like your own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts your debaucherous thoughts and you yelp in surprise. You glare at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets and collar casually unbuttoned, looking like an absolute treat. He chuckles and saunters into your office, settling into one of the chairs across from your desk and crossing his lithe legs. Despite your newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” you scowl, keeping your voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with a laugh, and you squirm under his piercing red gaze. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Your frown deepens, unsure if he's being condescending or not.

“Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, trying to imitate his casual authority. You're not terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and your resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt raising just enough for you to see a sliver of porcelain skin. You’re positive he’s just doing this to annoy you.

“Well, when you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that pulse of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at you over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

You cross your legs, trying to ease the ache between your thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power over you.

You gather your materials for Voice and Speech, plotting ways to enact your revenge.

***

Against your better judgment, you find yourself walking toward Ancunín’s office after class. You take a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of your dress and tousling your hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to you.

“Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and you splutter involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not–”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. You blink, trying to make sense of what just happened. Are the students talking about the two of you?

Shaking your head, you knock on the door frame as you walk into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. Honestly, how does anyone not know he's a vampire? You can almost hear his excuse, something about how “direct sunlight is ruinous to one’s skin.”

“Destroying students' lives by keeping them academically honest?” you smirk as you gently close the door behind you with your foot. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I swear, that girl is too clever for her own good. I'd almost respect it if she didn't get on my last nerve,” he sighs, putting his glasses back on and glancing up at you. His expression softens for a second before quickly shifting to mischievous. You slide over to him, leaning against the edge of his desk as you face him.

Any animosity you may have held dissolves as he looks up at you, his hand absentmindedly stroking your thigh just under the hem of your skirt. You shiver as you try to keep your voice steady.

“You said you had something to show me, professor?” You emphasize the title with the gusto of a young porn star. He smirks and pulls you down until you're straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and grind your hips into him, feeling the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. He buries his face into your tits, running his nose along the neckline of your dress and slides his hands under your skirt to cup your ass. You breathe in sharply, your breasts rising to meet his lips.

Then a knock at the door.

You both freeze and stare at one another. You hear a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Astarion instinctually replies, “Just a minute!” and the two of you share a wordless exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking you slide off his lap and under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for Astarion’s permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” You can hear the Arcana History professor rush in and eagerly sit down in the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. You groan internally as you realize that you might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. You realize with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair,  resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the college of swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used college of swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. You suppress a sigh, preparing yourself for a long wait in this cramped space. It’s not particularly comfortable, especially with trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

You might not have to keep out of the way. Maybe if you just… brushed your hand along his leg…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath your touch causes. He crosses his legs and you smile knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling you know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly steady, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

You're trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? You test your luck again, dragging your fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the Arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

You scooch forward and press your tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. You slide your hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. You lean into his legs further as your hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is he telling you to stop? You pull back and glance up at him, the top of the desk obscuring most of his face. He's stiffly nodding along to Dekarios’ rambling.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” You honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

You wait for a response from him. He lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges your hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This mother fucker is playing footsie with you?

Oh he is definitely into your little game.

You push his legs open again, this time sliding your hands all the way up to his cock, and you feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. You gently stroke him and his hips give a subtle twist into you.

“I'm not sure–” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. You nuzzle his bulge,  running your lips across it as it hardens. You slip a hand under him and give his balls a gentle squeeze. You can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

You lick a fat stripe across the fabric and you hear a metallic click above your head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. You can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively even, and you know you need to up your game. You reach up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, you’re able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two shifts were related? In moving away from college of swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

You reach into his pants and free his cock, now fully hard, and tease your fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. You grip his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing the fact that you have the control for once. You flick the tip of your tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under your hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

You pop the head of his cock into your mouth, working the underside of it with your tongue. You clamp your arms down on his thighs, pulling them closer to you and pushing them into your tits. Your inner thighs grow damp as your own arousal quickens. You squirm as a miniscule moan works its way into your mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, you hope, but you're certain that Astarion can feel the vibration because his hips jerk again. His torso and face above, or at least what you can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

You take in more of him, relaxing your tongue and letting him fill your mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into you, and you use it as a way to take him in deeper. Your jaw is beginning to ache with how slow you're going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

You can hear him take a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as you bob your mouth on his cock. “Tav, the classical theatre professor. Her office is right down the hall.”

You choke and he deftly covers the sound of your gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. He continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and you wrap your hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of your mouth to lubricate it. You can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as you twist your hand and swirl your tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and then you hear the latch on the door click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs your hair, pulling you out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and you stumble forward and into his lap, your lips crashing into his. He easily tears through your leggings and underwear, exposing your dripping cunt to the open air.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He slides two fingers into you, roughly stretching you out and you groan into his ear. 

“You didn't seem to mind,” you manage to squeak out, repeating his words from earlier with significantly less dignity. You grind onto his fingers with his cock trapped between you, and your clit slides against his shaft. Another shuddering breath rockets through you as your whole body clenches around him.

He yanks his hand out of you and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but you don't need to wait long for him to grab your waist and sink you down onto his cock. You can feel the skin toward your perineum tear slightly but the stinging pain is nothing compared to the delicious stretch that comes with him bottoming out. He shoves his fingers in your mouth and you arch your back into him, the taste of your own juices flooding your tongue.

He keeps his other hand firm on your lower back as he thrusts up into you. You cling onto his neck, pulling his mouth toward your breasts as they rise and fall with your stuttering breaths. He takes his hand away from your mouth and slides the hem of your dress all the way up to your chin. His lips latch on to your nipple poking through the soft cotton of your bra.

“Gods, fuck,” you groan as you continue to roll your hips into his, and he flicks his tongue against your tit. You push down even further onto him and pull the cup down, pushing your now bare breast into his teeth. His eyes flicker upward, glasses sliding down his nose slightly. You bounce harder on his cock and grip the back of his neck tightly.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” you whine, aching to feel every part of him in you. He doesn't need to be told twice and he sinks his fangs into the sensitive flesh around your nipple. You cry out but try to stifle the noise by pressing your open mouth into his hair. You can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and your fingers claw into him.

He sucks your blood out from around your tit, and with every swallow he laps his tongue against you, over and over. You're certain his devil tongue will be your demise.

Your pace increases and it becomes harder to suppress your moans. You clamp your mouth shut and bury your face into his ear. He releases your breast and roughly kisses you to keep you quiet, the taste of iron filling your mouth.

You come with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. As you're still riding the wave of your orgasm you can feel his, his hips rutting as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

The two of you finally slow, the sticky mess between you squelching lewdly. You listen intently past the sound of your heavy breathing to try to hear any indication that someone overheard. When you deem it safe, you let out a sigh of relief that dissolves into giggles. He drops his forehead into your shoulder as the hem of your dress gets overtaken by gravity and slides down your front

You disentangle yourself from him, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of your sore pussy. You get a better look at him, your blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now-flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. You're certain you can't look much better, dress rucked up around your waist, hair mussed and sticking every which way. 

You methodically put yourselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, you straightening your dress and hair. You catch his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make you blush, his crimson eyes peering over his frames. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind your ear.

“Maybe next time we’ll have sex in your office,” he chuckles. You swat his chest playfully only to find yourself drawn into him, not wanting to pull your hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if you were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around your waist might bother you. But your head is still spinning and your cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and little could upset you right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not–” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and you lean your forehead against his chest in deflated embarrassment.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate smut #fanfiction #smut #professor astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 au #college au #bg3 modern au #office hours

[effervescentdragon]

*holds out a mic like a reporter* what’s your opinion on the current state of the mcu?

my opinion is that it should have died a long time ago and that everything they do is just abusing the corpse of a frankensteined thing that should have been left and buried a long time ago.

now, i am not that much up to date. i have stopped engaging with mcu after endgame, with the exception of watching the forst season of loki and wakanda forever and i think the eternals, which is good if its taken out of the wider context. my opinion is that the mcu is empty and soulless and a perfect indoctrination into individualist capitalism, warmongering patriarchy and the greedy capital-driven urge of mega corporations and billionaires to replace any sort of humanity with artificially, computer made caricatures of something that once moght have been called art.

i remember that article that tom hiddleston wrote as a response to i believe scorcese sometime way back in 2012, defending superhero movies. i am too lazy to find any refetences so whoever reads this can do their own research and correct me if im wrong anywhere, but i do believe he gave sir christopher reeve as an example. he wrote about the thruths that superheroes explore, how there is not one, but many. how it is the mundanity and the pure humanity that gets amplified and therefore explored and understood through the characters of superheroes, and it all brings us closer to the human experience. that article has stuck with me through all the years ive spent watching these movies and believing in the message - we are all superheroes in our own way. we all make choices, no matter on how much of a micro scale, to do the right thing. to protect, to shield, to fight against injustice. art is, after all, inherently political.

there is none of that in the mcu. ive seen it being chipped away piece by piece over the years, seen the ethical and moral dilemmas we all face in day to day life brought on the big screen to make us understand that there is always a choice, no matter how tough that choice may be, and that every single one of us is capable of both the biggest heroism and the most depraved atrocities, because we are, in essence only human; i have seen all that be replaced with american capitalist war and conquering propaganda, girlboss empty feminism and whatever the fuck those shit "christians" are now pandering and paddling as "family values".

the only god disney worships is obscene amount of money. the only value they respect is how little they can pay and how much they can exploit to get highest monetary value for their shitty cgi-ed recycled propaganda movies. they have turned every character into a twisted version of themselves, assigned value to only those characters who help them propagate their imperialistic capitalist world order, and are fine to spit out dozens of same content (because by now, it is content, devoid of any artistic ideation) and stomp on all that superheroes used to stand for and all that they used to teach us. they also do it in a most insidious way, giving token "other" characters, be it by their race or faith or sexual orientation or gender, while counting on the systematic lowering of critical thinking skills in people to ensure people are dazzled by the shallow representation and never look further away from the rainbow cgi and explosions to understand that mcu has become just another cog in the us imperialist war machine.

i lied. i looked up tom hiddleston's article because i think a shakespearean actor classically trained who quotes tolstoy for fun might have written a better punchline than i could write, in my despondent, disappointed and despairing state of seeing something i've loved with my whole heart be ruined ny human grief. i was right.

"Maybe playing superheroes isn't such an ignoble undertaking after all. "I still believe in heroes," says Samuel L Jackson's Nick Fury in Avengers Assemble. So do I, sir. So do I."

except. except i believe in real life superheroes. in the people protesting against the genocide in gaza. in the people on the ground risking their lives to tell us in the west, about sudan and palestine and uyghur muslims and armenia and congo, in a bid that we might turn our heads and watch the actual real life crises caused by the very imperialists who use these superhero movies to try and save their status quo of opression. i believe in a man who chose self-immolation over being party to the atrocity that is the us military. i believe in my friends in germany who go out every weekend and fight against the rising nazi regime. i believe in every person that has spoken out against the atrocities in the world, every person that has donated and educated and debated and wrote to the representatives and protested. and they still do it, and will continue to do it. these people are the real superheroes to me, and guess what? they are just humans. and those people comitting atrocities right now? they are just humans too.

this is what the superhero comics and movies that i used to watch taught me. that humans are those who have the capacity for the biggest heroism and most despicable atrocities both. we just have to choose. and that is not something that anyone will be able to learn from the mcu anymore.

#never forget to say: free palestine #i woke up angry and i saw this ask about mcu so here we go #this is my opinion on it #effervescentdragonrants #akira answers asks #i guess i truly am a fool. i dont lose hope. still

[direwolfrules]

Just watched the Grey's season 19 finale...

Don’t read further if you don’t want spoilers

I'm losing my goddamn mind!! The chaos! The cinematography! The ships that no one wanted together (Jo and Link)!

First, Maxine actually surviving was the biggest plot twist of the century. They foreshadowed her death so hard it’s crazy that she’s still kicking. Every episode since she first appeared I’ve thought “Oh my god they’re gonna kill her”. AND THEY LET HER LIVE!!!!

Blue and Jules are gonna be delightfully messy next season. God, I love you Mike Chang Intern and Hippie Izzie Intern. To be fair to Blue and Schmitt, the last time someone followed a DNR at Grey Sloan, Gary Clark shot up the place.

Simone ignoring all the signs from the universe not to marry Trey until she was literally walking down the aisle. I literally turned to my mom and said “well, at least Blue doesn’t have to worry about missing the wedding”.

Simone and McNephew having a classic on-call room romp. Because my joy at someone actually using the on-call rooms for their intended purpose this season could only last so long. YOU ARE MAKING THOSE COMMUNAL BED SHEETS NASTY!!

Teddy falling victim to Chekhov’s Toothache is sending me. My mom said before hour 1 was done that a toothache can be a sign of a heart attack, and that it’s really suspicious that Grey’s sent all the Cardio folks except for Teddy to Boston. And because she’s an English teacher I believed her, and I still lost my mind anyway. She doesn’t have a pulse, McPatient/McPilot is dying, and McNephew and Simone pull some impulsive shit. The cut from this to Jo and Link finally resolving their will they won’t they tension was so funny to me. ALL THE STUFF, followed by drama that we already went through less than five seasons ago.

At least Yasuda and Helm got to be cute. I love them. They’re everything to me. Yasuda kicks ass, Helm’s about to be the only Chief Resident thanks to Schmitt’s previously stated breaking of a DNR, and I’m not looking forward to the next season where we’ll probably get a plot line about how they can’t be together since Helm’s Yasuda’s boss. My mom said that since the relationship began prior to Helm’s renewed employment, maybe they’ll be an exception, but we’re not getting our hopes up. We’ve been burned too many times before.

Also Helm looked so good this season?! Like, I’m so glad they decided to develop her beyond “haha, frumpy lesbian in love with a straight chick”. She’s got confidence, style, and a hot girlfriend who drives the getaway van at weddings that never should have happened. Who’s doing it like Helm right now?

On a less happy note, *in Adele Webber* RICHAAARRRD! Next season better start with Richard not having drank that vodka tonic. Please Webber, don’t do this bud. Amelia cannot be your Charlotte King. Please.

#greys anatomy #greys anatomy spoilers #greys spoilers #greys season 19 spoilers #taryn helm #mika yasuda #lucas adams #teddy altman #benson kwan #jules millin #simone griffith #mcnephew #richard webber #Chekhov's toothache

[starkjoy]

it’s insane how disappointed i am with this season… like i don’t even know how to deal w this lmao. i just feel like i’m being gaslit into believing all the stuff i previously thought about tomshiv’s dynamic and even tomgreg’s (in terms of the nero/sporus subtext) isn’t true. it’s a weird decision on the writers’ parts.

the whiplash is so odd to me that i can’t help but wonder if they’re intentionally misleading us for some late-in-the-game twist. that’s probably delusion though—simplest explanation is that they changed their mind or it’s shitty writing. seems to be a trend with hbo final seasons. let’s see how it all ends before we make any final decisions, though.

unlike failed internet darling mlm ships of the past, tomgreg isn’t a case of fandom creating a narrative and setting themselves up for disappointment—the writers intentionally implanted homoeroticism into their plotline. the actors knowingly played around with it. jesse literally called them homoerotic a few weeks ago. it’s really sad to think succession may fall prey to every other queerbait-adjacent (adjacent for now since the season isn’t over) curse, leaning into the queer undertones until they’ve written themselves into a gay corner with the internet convinced something is gonna happen, only to backtrack and pretend the vibes were never there at all. it’s too early to say if that’s the case here, but it certainly feels that way at the moment. i mean, what else are we supposed to think when the writers go from nero and sporus gay marriage as the through line of season 3, to disgusting brothers hetero sex tour comedic relief background noise with tomshiv redemption front end center? am I supposed to be enjoying this?

all that being said, on a positive note im glad we’ve seen how much closer tom and greg have gotten as partners, and that they’re scheming together and on the same page. i’m glad they’ve had at least one interaction each episode. i’m glad greg seems much more into tom than previous seasons, quelling any unrequited friendship accusations. i’m glad we got insane homoerotic undertones in episode 1, even if they’ve dropped off since then. but where we’re sadly lacking is depth—what was once the hallmark of tomgreg’s deeper connection in contrast to tomshiv’s emotional constipation. now greg makes sexual quips while tom rolls his eyes…end scene. and again. it was funny and cute at first, but now it’s getting boring. don’t they deserve a more interesting arc in the final season after years of build up? why are we subject to tomshiv rehashing the same shit we’ve seen for 3 seasons instead?

also, one of the most compelling arcs of season 3 was tom’s vengeance, especially because we saw it play out from his perspective. outside of his plane convo with greg, tom’s pov has all but been erased. even the tomshiv moments are from the lens of shiv’s experience. and as much as we may sympathize with shiv’s heartbreak over his betrayal and her dad’s death, it feels almost wrong that the show is trying to make me feel bad for her? we saw how awful she was to tom for three seasons, we saw from tom’s perspective how much she hurt him. i don’t feel bad for shiv on the tom front at all, the fact that she kept his baby feels wildly out of character, and frankly it’s a little insulting the amount of time the final season is spending trying to convince the audience otherwise.

hey, maybe my feelings will change in a few days. maybe the final episodes will change all of our minds. i’ll always have some hope for tomgreg, but right now it’s not looking promising given the treatment they’ve received so far. anyone with any positivity to share hit me up because I could use it!!

#succession #tomgreg #succession spoilers #ask #anon

[shibaraki]

Early evening might just be your favourite time of day.

It is when the sun begins to fatigue and sink slowly under the blanket of horizon, a deep orange hue cast across the cityscape, soft and diffusing. Glaring beams of light peek between buildings in her descent, their brilliance waning behind the passing clouds. Dappled shadows danced along the pavements, ever-changing mosaics reflected through the canopies.

Most of all, you adored the new life it brought to your little shop. Each day felt like the passing of a new season; the vivid oranges and reds would crown every flowering head and swaddle the young stems with warmth, alighting upon the verdant green. You felt entirely at peace, entirely human, in those few minutes of sunset.

Though on this particular evening, your attention has been focused on the suspicious figure pacing the front of your store. His silhouette has darkened further as the sun dipped, face tucked and hidden behind an oversized hoodie, both arms folded into the front pocket.

You watch him stall again outside the door, playing idly with the petals of a recently bloomed camellia. Only days ago it had been a tight bud, now blushing a deep shade of red.

He pulled his own hand out, reluctantly pressing each finger to the glass pane. Sunlight floods through the spaces between like nectar, highlighting the severely scarred skin. A few beats pass. You wonder if he’ll turn away again and leave, as he has done three times now. After all, this was his final chance before you closed up.

Amidst that thought, a bell above chimes to signal his entry. You inhale sharply, straightening up while releasing the camellia and brushing down the front of your apron.

“Hi!” he looks towards your voice, loud in a way that emphasises your excitement a little too much. You ignore the urge to grimace and clear your throat, smiling gently. “Uh, welcome to Heavy Petal. Would you like some help looking around, or do you have an idea of what you want?”

His demeanour shifts, as does his weight between each booted foot. Awkwardly, he approaches the counter. Closer now, you can see beneath the hood that the deep scarring continues far up the column of his neck and across both cheeks. Politely averting your gaze, piercing blue eyes seize your own.

“I want to buy something to congratulate someone”.

You clap both hands together as you circle around the counter, holding them to your heart. This was definitely one of the more fun parts of the job. “Alright. Could I ask what you’re congratulating them on? Are they for a friend, or a partner?”

The customer recoils slightly at the questions, his mouth twisting irritably. Such a small change in expression, yet it visibly pulls at the stitching beneath his eyes. You swallow the surging sympathy for his discomfort, not wanting to call attention to it, and beckon him towards the shelves.

“Is all that shit actually important?” he mutters, following at your heel. “Can’t you just sell me something pretty and be done with it?”

“Flowers have a whole language of their own, so you should think about what it is you’d like to say,” you tell him, smiling back over your shoulder. No longer hunched over, the hood has slipped minutely to reveal tufts of black hair. His features are more open, softened by the honeyed light, and his head turns to peruse the array of colours on display.

You say nothing, observing as he reaches to feel the petals of a yellow rose, only to abruptly stop. The mottled purple palm curls into a tight fist, defeatedly dropping back by his hip.

“My little sister,” he rasps. “She recently got her first job as a teacher”.

Arrangement ideas begin to blossom in your mind, “That’s wonderful. You must be proud of her”.

The corner of his lips curls up as he turns his eyes to the floor, and his only response is a quiet, rumbling hum.

You let it be. It isn’t for you to pry into. “Your sister— would you say she’s into cutesy things?”

The man pauses to think, and gives a resolute shake of his head. “No, it doesn’t suit her. She’s kinda elegant, I guess. Like my…” his voice tapers off, and the thought is left unfinished.

“…Well. With that in mind, I think a floral bouquet of Orchids is perfect for her,” delicately, you pull one of the smaller decorative pots towards him, turning it to showcase the blooms. These ones in particular are pale pink; demure and gentler than their red and blue cousins.

“If I arrange it along with some scented lilies and a little decorative foliage, it would be a beautiful way to show how happy you are for her success”.

Unfortunately, your enthusiasm is anything but contagious. There’s an air of melancholy about him, and you find that it feels tight in your chest when you look at him.

He stares wistfully at the flowers. Tucked back into the front pocket of his hoodie, his hands protrude and move beneath the fabric as he fidgets. “Think y’can stick some hydrangeas in there too?”

You blink at his question. “I can do that,” comes your uncertain reply. “But— Are you sure?”

The man smiles again. Quick as it began, the sunset has settled beneath her blanket, and the warm toned hues have dulled into grey. For reasons you cannot decipher, there is a lump in your throat.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Got a lot to be sorry for”.

#bnha x reader #dabi x reader #m.touya #q’d

[callsign-artemis]

A/N: Okay okay so. Ive decided after starting my 100th rewatch of The Walking Dead that I need to write a fic. It’s OcxOc but the plot twist is that y’all won’t meet the Love interest until season 7 and I’m starting at season 1 because I’m here to COMMIT!! Everything has been proofread by @ebodebo (go follow her she’s amazing)

ANYWHO! Updates will probably be sporadic so I’m going to do my best to make all chapters after chapter 1 as long as possible🙏

Introducing: Wandering - A walking dead story

———————————————————————

Most people say they don’t remember the day the world went to shit, but I don’t think that day will ever truly unstick itself from my bones

Chapter one- the end

August 26th, 2010

The beeping of hospital monitors haunted my sleep. I’d been spending every night in uncomfortable, plastic, hospital chairs for as many nights as my mom allowed. My father Rick Grimes had been shot in the line of duty 2 weeks ago and had fallen into a coma from the blood loss. I stayed with him when my mom worked so he wasn’t alone. I’d tell him about school, keep him updated on Carl and read to him, praying he could hear me. A fresh vase of flowers at least made the room bright for when he’d wake up.

But right now I was sleeping, or trying anyway. I could feel a thin hospital blanket on me. Theo, one of the hospital's CNAs, harassed me about taking care of myself and usually I fell asleep fully clothed in their shitty chairs without a blanket.

“Peaches?” The voice behind her made Nadia practically jump out of her seat.

“Jesus Shane….you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?” Nadia asked harshly. She never liked Shane, even as a little girl they butted heads. She couldn’t for the life of her imagine why Rick would hang out with him after work.

“Nadia we need to go. Now.” He spoke quickly, making his way to her dads bed and kneeling down beside him. “Rick, if you’re gonna wake up now’s the time man, shits going down and we need to leave.”

“Shane,” Nadia laughed half heartedly “what are you talking about?” Just when she thought he was finally losing it, gunfire started to ring out from outside the door. Shane pulled Nadia down under him as she screamed. Shane covered her mouth and she would’ve bit him in different circumstances.(I mean who the hell opens gunfire in a hospital?!)

Nadia could feel the tears start to well as Shane begged her father to wake up so they could leave, telling him that if we stayed they’d all die. After a few minutes of bargaining Shane picked Nadia up and dragged her out of the room.

“No!” She tried to push against his grip but he was incredibly strong. Nadia kicked and pulled until Shane pushed her into a hallway, begging her to be quiet or else they’d be found. She peaked around the corner, Shane pulled a gurney in front of Rick’s room. There was blood everywhere, screams and gunfire echoed down the hall. Shane grabbed her arm and they ran from the hospital, Nadia broke down when they got to his pickup.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Nadia hit Shane’s arm as hard as she could over and over and over until she didn’t have it in her anymore. She knew he was hurting too but didn’t care. He left her dad there to die.

“Peaches I had to.”

“Don’t call me peaches Shane. My dad is fucking dead.”

Shane sighed again, the truck roared to life as we peeled out of the parking lot. She stared out the window, thinking of her dad. Would he die? Would they leave a comatose man’s body to sort himself out? What if he woke up and everyone was gone?

Nadia and her father had always been close. She was the stereotypical ‘daddy’s girl’, hell as soon as she was old enough to hold a rifle without falling over she and her dad had gone hunting every season. He taught her how to cook, she knew all his favorite bands and all the words to every corny song that he absolutely loved. Sometimes when Carl was a baby she and Rick would sneak out and go to the 7/11 down the block just to get candy and rent cheesy movies to watch together….and now they’d never share those moments again.

“We’re here.”

Shane’s voice broke Nadia from her daze, she looked out the window to see her mom and brother already packed up ready to hit the road. “Go’n and pack a bag, I’ll talk to your mama and Carl.”

Carl.

He was only 10…and now he’s going to find out he’ll never see his dad again and the world might be ending?? He’ll never get those moments hunting alone with his dad as the sun breaks the day. Or watch cheesy movies with her and their dad when Nadia would be home from college. Nadia could feel the bile rising once again as she made her way past her family and into her room.

She had a typical 17 year olds room. Honestly, the floor was littered with laundry she needed to do as well as some CDs she’d rummaged through that morning. Her walls were a neon teal, they’d mostly been covered with posters of movies and bands, and paintings she’d created out of boredom. She tried to soak in every inch of her room in case she’d never see it again. As she started to pack she took a Polaroid off her wall.

“Jeez Anthony….you should be at practice right around now. Please be safe.”

She tucked the Polaroid of her and her best friend into the pocket of her backpack and kept packing. Just the essentials: a couple pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, boots, hat, dads hunting jacket, socks…toothbrush? Definitely a toothbrush. A hairbrush and a few notebooks and pens (and some comic books for Carl). She also made the decision to pack her hunting rifle in case they got stuck foraging for food, as well as a heavy knife.

She threw her bag into the back of the truck so that no one would suspect how heavy it was. Her mom and brother were crying into Shane as he had just broken the news. Or however he’d spun the story…but Nadia knew the truth that Shane had abandoned his “best friend”. Shane loaded everyone up into the truck and said they’d be headed to Atlanta and that the military would help them.

“Are we going to die?”

While it was spoken barely above a whisper, the question jolted Nadia out of her daydreamed haze. She looked down at her brother Carl who was laying in her lap.

“No baby. Because I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe, and so will mom and Shane.” Nadia tried her best to reassure him, rubbing his back softly. She’d instructed him to lay in her lap so he couldn’t see the panic that the rest of the world was in.

Before they knew it, they’d left King County and were headed to Atlanta. Nadia fiddled with her cross necklace, Carl had fallen asleep leaving the truck uncomfortably quiet.

The Grimes weren’t really a religious family but Nadia did occasionally attend Wednesday night Youth Group with her best friend Anthony when she was in town. The necklace was a gift from him.

Anthony. There he was on her mind again, she’d thought about calling him but Lori demanded she save her battery incase of emergency. Anthony Smith had been her best friend since middle school. They did everything together and were practically attached at the hip when they saw each other. He was a year older than her but that never mattered in how close they were.

Anthony was actually quite soft spoken, and smart as a whip. He was a tall kid, probably standing at about 6’3. He was built like an athlete, but he had to be with Track and field. They actually became friends at a track meet in sixth grade and kept up with eachother daily through AOL and Skype. And obviously only hung around each other at said meets. Anthony’s dad was a PE teacher and Coach so he definitely fueled the athletic fire in both kids. Anthony has always been a sweet kid and even when he was an asshole Nadia could never be mad at-

“Nadia! Get your head out of the clouds I’m talking!”

Nadia jolted in her seat, there she was daydreaming again. Lori was giving her daughter quite the concerned look.

“Where are we mom?” Nadia looked out the window to see full bumper to bumper traffic.

“Outside of Atlanta but as you can see we’re stuck in traffic” Shane answered from outside, with quite an annoyed tone Nadia noticed. She ignored Shane and hopped out of the truck so she could stretch her legs.

“Where’s Carl? I think I threw some comic books in my bag, I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind sitting here.” Nadia looked around and spotted Carl a few cars down playing checkers with a girl who looked to be about his age. She had a short blonde bob and a smile as bright as the sun. Nadia smiled in amusement and made her way to the car with her mom. “Someone has a cru-ush!” She teased in a sing-song voice. She yelped when Carl turned around and smacked her arm as hard as he could.

“Mo-om!!! Carl hit me!”

“Don’t tease your brother then!” She laughed. Nadia rolled her eyes and fluffed her brother's hair before sitting behind him to watch the kids play. Right as she sat down a woman came from the front of the car with waters. She was a smaller woman with buzzed gray hair.

“Oh! You must be Nadia, I’m Carol!” She had a smile just as bright as Sofias, Nadia made a mental note that they must be related. Nadia smiled and thanked her for the water, and just as she took a sip Carl enacted his revenge.

“You say I have a crush on a girl I just met when you’ve been after Anthony since forever.” Nadia showered the back of Carls with the water she had just taken a sip of and was prepared to cuss him out when the commotion started. Bombs were dropping into Atlanta.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Nadia screamed as she pulled the kids down to the ground underneath Carol’s car. She moved her body over the both of them so they would be shielded if anything came down.

The rest of the night was a blur. Shane grabbed everyone’s bags from the truck, grunting as he lifted Nadia’s particularly heavy bag. They ran into the woods with Carol, her husband Ed, and Sophia. There were screams in the distance and somehow Nadia and the kids got separated from the rest of the group. They ran until they came up on a high spot with a small clearing.

“Stop right there.” The shotgun barrel was aimed right between Nadia’s eyes. They widened with fear as Nadia put both her hand in front of her slowly.

“Sir, we’re just trying to get off the road…I have two small kids with me, please.”

The man’s aim faltered and Nadia rushed him, taking the gun and pointing it back at him. It probably wasn’t her smartest move but she had Sophia and Carl to look out for. There was a shriek behind her and Nadia whipped around just in time to shoot a man who was trying to get Sophia. Wait…what the hell?

Nadia slowly crept up to the man. He looked pale, his eyes were white and glossy and there was fresh blood around his mouth.

“Good aim kid. I’m sorry I pointed that thing at you. I just had to make sure you weren’t like him. The names Dale, you kids can stay with me and the girls tonight and we’ll look for your crew in the morning.” Dale smiled at her warmly, he was an older man judging by his white hair. But he had kind eyes and it was late so Nadia decided he could he trusted for the night.

She nodded, grabbing the kids as they headed into Dale's RV. There were two blonde girls sitting on the couch. One older one younger, Nadia figured they were probably sisters.

“Dale, who are they?” The older blonde asked, glaring at the three kids.

“Easy Andrea, the older one can take out those things like you wouldn’t believe!” Dale smiled back at Nadia. “They’re just staying for the night and…I didn’t get your name sweetheart?”

“Nadia. Nadia Grimes.”

———————————————————————

2nd A/N: (I will also be posting this story on Ao3 & Wattpad under Artemis Bradshaw_writes/Art_Bradshaw_Writes)

#the walking dead #ao3 fanfic #wandering #oc #Nadia Grimes having beef w Shane for no reason is actually me #zombie apocolypse au #the walking dead au #fanfic #yall I cannot wait for Nadia to get Shane’s ASS #rick grimes #carl did Nadia so dirty bring up Anthony like that but she deserved it

[cromulentbookreview]

Fun with Fungi!

Huh, what's this? *cleans away dust* oh, yeah, this blog is still a thing. I probably should've written more reviews, but...

I mean, I could come up with an excuse, but I'm too lazy. Just as I am too lazy to continually update this book review blog that nobody reads. I mean, I just wrote a review *consults calendar* uh. In 2022. Dang, I have been lazy. Oh well.

I'm like a rug on valium, I'm talking lazy.

And by that, I mean: let's have a dual review of the Sworn Soldier series: What Moves the Dead and its sequel, What Feasts at Night by T. Kingfisher!

Those covers, man. They're awesome, but at the same time: poor bun bun. Poor horsie.

So technically, what I'm doing here is not one but two reviews. So I'm actually being really, really productive right now and not lazy in the slightest.

This is a legitimately true story, I swear. Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away...by which I mean, four or five years back or so, I'd never heard of T. Kingfisher / Ursula Vernon in my life until I got into a fight with her on Twitter* on whether or not the fruit of the hazel tree should be referred to as Filberts or Hazelnuts.

For the record, I am firmly team hazelnut. I mean, they're nuts from a hazel tree. Hazel+nuts = hazelnuts. Who in their right mind wants to eat something called a filbert? But, terminology varies as T. Kingfisher is firmly on team filbert. My parents also call them filberts on occasion which is weird to me as we live in an area lousy with hazelnut farms.

Mmmm, Hazelnuts...

Anyway! I had no idea who this person was but I got into a tongue-in-cheek gif fight on Twitter with them regarding hazelnut v. filbert. Feeling bad that I got into a fight with a random person online on their hazel tree fruit name preferences, I went to their profile, saw they were an author, looked up their books and bought the two books of the Clocktaur Wars series. I tore through them, and continued on, reading all of the World of the White Rat series (I just saw that we're getting a new one in January and I might have let out a bit of a fangirl screech), and the absolutely delightful A Wizard's Guide to Defensive Baking and Minor Mage. So far, every single one of T. Kingfisher's books that I've read has been awesome. Nettle & Bone? Amazing. Thornhedge? I'm a very slow reader, but I devoured it in an afternoon.

T. Kingfisher writes amazing fantasy novels and I absolutely love them. She also writes horror. Which is where I hit a brick wall because I'm a baby who doesn't handle horror well. I don't like horror movies. I don't often read horror books. Because the world is scary enough without ghosts and poltergeists and demons and jump scares. Also I watched The Ring when I was 12 and it scared the shit out of me. Anyway! Oddly enough, I've always found myself drawn to horror-type stories. I mean, horror fits so well in fantasy and sci-fi (looking at you, Doctor Who episodes that gave me nightmares). As an adult, I've found myself more and more willing to dip my toe into horror fiction. Season 1 of The Terror, one of my favorite-ever TV series is considered horror (maybe because it's not jump-scare scary, it's existentially scary. Also it's set in the past. Also it's got dudes-on-boats, my favorite genre). Part of me really, really likes horror stories set in the past - no horror like 18th/19th/Early 20th century horror, amirite?

Right?

Well, whatever, I just like horror to be ye olde timey horror, OK? Like Crimson Peak, The Witch, The Death of Jane Lawrence, Mexican Gothic, The Woman in Black, The Hacienda, Vampires of El Norte, The Hunger ... spooky-scary Gothic-y-Romantic-y-type stories that have a historical element to them. Those are awesome. I'm slowly - very slowly! - getting myself to read more contemporary horror stories. I understand that The Twisted Ones and A House With Good Bones are really, really good, but....what can I say, I'm a wuss. And contemporary stories aren't really my jam. I read to get away from the contemporary world, damn it!

(Me, too scared to read contemporary horror but not too scared to listen to 900,000 true crime podcasts).

Right, where were we?

Oh, yeah. The review(s). I'm starting to understand why no one ever read this blog and why I let myself be lazy.

-

In What Moves The Dead we meet Alex Easton, a Gallacian ex-soldier on their way to visit their old friends, the Ushers, at their delipidated estate in the rural countryside of Ruravia. Alex had word that Madeline Usher was dying, and they wanted to be there for Madeline and her brother, Roderick. Roderick had been a fellow soldier with Alex back in the day and -

Wait a minute, Roderick and Madeline Usher? Delipidated mansion? Unspecified 19th century middle of nowhere...

Yep, this story is, indeed, a retelling of Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher, and it does a much better job than certain series you might find on Netflix.

Moving on:

Alex, Roderick and Madeline were childhood friends, and Roderick and Alex even fought together back in the day. Alex is a "sworn soldier" - something unique to their home country of Gallacia, a small, backwater country located somewhere between Bulgaria, Hungaria and that other -Garia, a vaguely Central/Eastern European nation with a language somehow structurally worse than Finnish, Hungarian and Icelandic combined. The Gallacian language has seven sets of pronouns: there's one set used only when referring to God, a set used to refer to children before puberty, one set specifically for inanimate objects...and, as the Gallacians are a fierce warrior people (though they're not exactly great at it), there's a special pronoun set just for soldiers.

So, in Gallacia, anyone, regardless of gender, can waltz up to the nearest military recruitment post, declare themselves a soldier, and be given a sword and a new set of pronouns within the hour. Hence the term "sworn soldier."

Anyway!

Prior to arriving at the House of Usher, Alex encounters an Englishwoman, Miss Eugenia Potter, a mycologist studying the local mushrooms, and there are some gnarly-looking (and smelling!) mushrooms. In fact, the whole landscape around Usher House seems...off. Everything seems dead or dying. Random hares will stand up and just stare right at you.

And not in a cute way, either.

As if the landscape weren't bad enough, once Alex gets to the Usher House, Roderick himself barely resembles the soldier Alex once knew. His skin has gone bone-white and he's as thin as a skeleton. He seems terrified by something but can't quite articulate what. Madeline is still alive, but in bad shape. Not even Roderick's friend Denton, an American doctor, can say what is wrong with her and Roderick (Catalepsy? Anemia? Hysteria? Roomis Igloomis? Who knows?). Denton and Alex immediately figure it's something to do with their environment - the house is both rotting and falling apart around them - but Roderick insists that Madeline can't leave, and if she can't leave, he won't leave.

Determined to find out what's happening to their friends, Alex resolves to stay. But things in the House of Usher are starting to get weird. For one thing, Madeline sleepwalks far more than a dying woman should, speaking in a strange, child-like voice, there's a lake outside that seems to pulse and shine with odd lights, there's a legion of undead hares wandering around and, seriously, what is up with those mushrooms??? With the help of Denton, Miss Potter, and their trusty batman, Angus, Alex must figure out what the hell is going on with the House of Usher...before whatever it is starts to spread.

What Moves The Dead is short and sweet and the perfect book to read when it's cold and dreary outside - and definitely not one you want to read before eating a giant bowl of mushroom risotto. If you're looking for a fantastic, spooky-type read that reads like if Edgar Allan Poe and The Last of Us joined forces with an army of undead bunnies.

But!

Luckily for all of us, Alex Easton's adventures don't stop with the events at the House of Usher.

It's late in the autumn and poor Alex would much rather be in Paris. Unfortunately, Angus has successfully guilt-tripped them into a trip to Alex's family's old hunting lodge back in the Old Country, aka Gallacia. Nothing like good old Gallacia in the winter where everything is damp, cold, cold, and, you guessed it! Damp.

But the redoubtable British mycologist Miss Eugenia Potter wishes to study some Gallacian mushrooms, and Angus, who is absolutely sweet on her, pretty much voluntold Alex to come along to act as Miss Potter's translator and use their hunting lodge as a home base.

So instead of a beautiful late Autumn/Winter in Paris, Alex is stuck back home.

*Sigh* looks nice, doesn't it?

As much as Alex sulks at the thought of spending several weeks back home, it's not like they're going to say no to Angus and Miss Potter. Not after everything they went through with the Usher House *shudder*.

Unfortunately, when Angus and Alex arrive at the lodge to help get it ready for Miss Potter's arrival, the caretaker, Codrin, is nowhere to be found. A quick trip to the nearby village reveals that Codrin has been dead for the past two months. But the locals are being very cagey about what killed him - Codrin's daughter is very insistent that it was just a lung infection, nothing else, no further questions, goodbye.

Finding a replacement for Codrin proves difficult, as it seems none of the villagers want to go near the lodge because there's a rumor that Codrin wasn't killed by inflammation of the lungs, but by a creature called a Moroi - a woman who sits on your chest and quite literally steals your breath. And the rumor is, a Moroi has taken up residence at the Hunting Lodge.

Yikes.

After some effort, Alex manages to hire a new housekeeper: the ill-tempered Widow Botezatu, who brings her grandson Bors along with her. The Widow immediately hates Alex, thinking them a wastrel, but Bors is nice enough. Miss Potter arrives, complete with terrible Gallacian phrasebook, but it soon becomes clear things aren't quite right at the Lodge. Alex begins to experience strange dreams - dreams in which a woman is kneeling on their chest because, yep, the Moroi is very real, and it can get to you in your dreams, just like Groundskeeper Willie in Treehouse of Horror VI.

Which is to say like Freddie Kruger, but still.

When it becomes clear that the Moroi is after the residents of the lodge, it's up to Alex, Angus and Miss Potter to figure out how to defeat a creature that can infiltrate your dreams.

What Feasts at Night is just as creepy, eerie and atmospheric as What Moves the Dead - there is plenty of non-fungal body horror and, mercifully, no zombie bun buns. Kingfisher is fantastic at capturing the terror of having your ability to breathe taken from you, and of the dread of having to fight something you can't grasp while awake. How she manages to pack so much into two short novels, I have no idea.

RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone in the mood for some short, sweet spooky horror.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone who gets easily queasy, someone in the middle of eating a nice mushroom risotto, someone who really, really, really loves bunnies being alive and living their best lives, anyone who might wake up in the middle of the night with their cat on their chest staring directly into their eyes...

RELEASE DATE FOR WHAT FEASTS AT NIGHT: February 13, 2024

RATING FOR BOTH: 5/5

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SWORN SOLDIER BOOKS: Chigori

*

#book review #horror #t. kingfisher #what moves the dead #what feasts at night #edgar allan poe #mushrooms #zombie bunnies #Gallacia #sworn soldier #Alex Easton #Angus #Miss Potter #Mycology #Moroi #Dream monster

[wack-ashimself]

Liking the first season of 'Torchwood' BUT...

See, I knew of the show 10 years ago. Watched some of it. Hated it. Forgot about it. But was watching like top 10 most shocking tv deaths (or something like that) and they had season 4 (did NOT know they had that many) of 'Torchwood' on there, saying how the latter two seasons were SOLID AF compared to the first 2 seasons.

And I am getting into it. On the 1st season finale. But I gotta say this show has so many plot holes (record setting for just 1 fucking season), and characters who make the wrong call EVERY TIME, you wonder...who am I supposed to cheer for? Cuz, by the numbers, Torchwood has hurt far more than it helped so far.

The lead-she cheated on her boyfriend (with EASE. It felt weird how easy it was for her being in a committed relationship), drugged him, erased his memory, lied to him, and then (Spoilers) got him killed. Also thru negligence, released an alien that killed a BUNCH of dudes.

The butler-he literally chanced cyber men taking over the world, and got an innocent genius doctor killed, cuz he was too much of a COWARD to let his clearly dying gf go.

Tech lady-She reads everyone's deepest darkest thoughts, then got mad when Jack sent an alien who had been murdering for centuries into the sun. She's not bad, per say, more...neutral. She's harmed the least, for sure. That's such a low bar, tho...

Captain Jack-The original reason I watched the show. I LOVED his character on Dr Who. But...this is not him. Not the same guy. Not the free spirited, happy, goofy, witty, always ready, near-god. No. This is an immortal having a mid mid mid life crisis cuz he's lived so long and WANTS to die. Seriously, cuz of his shit, and the lead's, this is like a partial drama. I will say, tho, he has had to make some TOUGH calls which did not make him well liked, but I respected him cuz you knew, deep down, it had to be done, and no one else was gonna do it*.

The doctor-In the finale I am on, he was fired. And I hope his character dies. I fucking hate him. I hate his face, his voice, his actions, his brain; everything. He convinces the noobie to cheat with him, after he basically mouth rapes her. He's angry ALL the time, yells at people thinking he's a genius when he's like the 3rd smartest. He 'falls in love' with a women, tries to demand her to stay, and gets all pity party after ONE WEEK WITH HER. Can you fall madly in love in a week? Sure. But suicidal and a threat to others cuz 'you're sad'? Go fuck yourself, you bitch. Oh, and he basically openly chooses to chance ending the world NOT because he wants to save his team mates (tho he claims that) but because he's tired of being a bitch to the time tear (or whatever the fuck they call it).

So...WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CHEERING FOR? Jack is the only semi cool character, and he's still kinda an ass. They're ALL kinda...selfish, short sighted, fuckers.

But I will finish this series. Because, storywise, the themes and plots they got going, are HIGHLY original and almost always have 1-3 good twists I don't see coming. You don't understand: I have been exposed to so much media, I can predict most things I see within a short period of time (even whole movies from trailers). I'm SO good (or writing is THAT predictable) I actually can, based on context, guess, WORD FOR WORD some lines. Sometimes in real time. Not usually. But not too far off, either.

*I will say, the call the writers/show/characters are supposed to hate was Jack giving the child to the faeries. NO. GREAT call. Best call you could make. Every other call would have sucked. See-the girl was fucking evil. Sociopath. Straight up. Like the faeries. She hated everyone. Talked to no one, but the faeries. She was borderline evil. And the faeries straight up said if you don't give us the kid, we will kill en mass, starting with HER ENTIRE SCHOOL. And the girl WANTED to go. So...where's the problem giving up the kid? Her mom's sad? Who gives a shit. You just saved TONS of lives, an evil fucking kid is gone, and the fairies disappeared. Only one who really lose was the mom. Her long time boyfriend (he was an ass) and her kid: BOTH GONE, SAME DAY. That is cruel, but long run, genuinely, it's even best for her. Her boyfriend was abusing her kid behind her back, and her kid was cheering on the torture of kids. It's a win-win-win. Fuck you for trying to make me feel bad for him giving up the kid. She wanted to go, and I wanted her to go. Fuck her.

#torchwood #faeries #captain jack harkness #dr who #doctor who #spoiler #spoilers #but the show came out in early 2000s so come on!

[denimbex1986]

'"I’ve always known since I first met him […] that he is one of the great actors, not just of his generation, but of all time. I’ve been waiting for the project […] where we can collaborate with him as the lead, and I could put the most enormous weight – cinematic weight – on his shoulders, and watch him carry that burden […] It was such a thrill to be able to call Cillian, and say, ‘This is it'”.

That’s director Christopher Nolan there, something of a generational talent himself, explaining why he waited 20 years to put Cillian Murphy in a lead role. Finally, this summer, he’s done it: the Irish actor will play the titular, troubled father of the atomic bomb in Oppenheimer. For his part, Murphy – who has now appeared in six Nolan projects – has said, “Deep down I was desperate to play a lead for him.”

That it has taken so long for Nolan to elevate Murphy’s name to the top of the call sheet is baffling. Murphy’s been more than ready to take the title since one of his earliest films, 28 Days Later, which celebrates its 20th anniversary this month.

If this Danny Boyle-helmed classic has passed you by, where have you been? Widely regarded as one of the greatest zombie films of all time, the film sees the ‘rage virus’ released on London, with gruesome consequences for the nation and, it’s later hinted, the entire world. Luckily, Murphy’s motorcycle courier, Jim, was in hospital, unconscious when the shit hit the fan, waking up – you guessed it – 28 days after the fact to find a world gone to ruin.

From his first frame, naked and hollow-cheeked in a hospital bed, Murphy delivers an acting masterclass. There’s the way he kneels, sucking hungrily at scattered soda cans, the loose shuffle through the empty London streets, the desperate scramble for worthless cash. In the space of five minutes, Murphy utters little more than the word “Hello?”, using it to convey everything from concern to mild panic, bafflement and even a hint of slight amusement.

When he wanders into a church and is confronted by a zombified priest – his first counter with the undead – the struggle between his sense of self-preservation and respect for this man of the Catholic faith is evident in how he twists the word “Father?”. Later, after he is chased and rescued, we buy every second of his disbelief when he asks, “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Murphy has, of course, been a leading man (or co-lead) in many great films. Not to mention six seasons of Peaky Blinders, where he does outstanding work. But if Tommy Shelby is all wide sweeps of the arm and the word “Eh?” shouted in guttural Brummie, as Jim, Murphy is allowed to explore the full range of human emotions. There’s genuine happiness as he and the other characters raid a supermarket; a glimpse of subversiveness when he encourages a father to allow his daughter half a sleeping pill to help her nod off after escaping London. And, yes, rage.

Murphy covered in blood from shaved head to waist, pushing his thumbs into a soldier’s eyeballs is surely the most shocking image of his career. Tommy Shelby kills with a gun. Oppenheimer with science. Jim is there in the blood and gristle. Of course we’re horrified. But we don’t lose sympathy, because, through Murphy’s honesty, we understand how this good man has been driven to extremes. Perhaps, 20 years later, it was this that made Murphy Nolan’s leading man, at last.'

#Cillian Murphy #28 Days Later #Danny Boyle #Christopher Nolan #Oppenheimer #Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #Jim Murphy

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 20: Limbo: Katsu’s accident temporarily pauses the investigation, but Mitsuhide proves to be a great nurse.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

CW: Flashback to parent death/suicide

“She's not dead. Oh Gods… I thought she was dead.”

“Katsuko – you could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t, though.” I broke into my energy bar stash and offered him one.

He pushed it away. “I’m done.”

I didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Wait. Don’t. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” But he hugged me in spite of his harsh tone. “I can’t keep watching you chase death.”

Toshiie? Where are we?

Is this how she felt? Is this what my mother had lived with every day? The unrelenting greyness that muffled all sound, blinded sight, reached inside and amplified everything dark, muffled everything bright? Had it been like this before? Too long had passed since my last journey through the wormhole. It was familiar, and yet not. No. This was not what I remembered. I could see nothing but grey. The fog invaded my eyes, my lungs, my throat. It was… My fingers were getting numb… I couldn’t feel my toes. I couldn’t feel. I could sense nothing. How could I escape from a place that appeared to be part of me? I was as one with the fog. There wasn’t a step I could take, a direction I could move that would separate me from the grey. Someone looking at me would only see a fading shadow, perhaps darker in some places, and translucent in others. The darkness would fade last.

"Kaya. Open your eyes." The voice was insistent enough that I tried and-

Ow. No. Hurt.

…Me against the mountain. The bright snow and crisp wind, sailing on the board, trusting my balance, my mastery, my freedom.  At the top of the pipe, I twisted and… crap! Over rotated, misjudged the run... and I tumbled into the hard packed snow in the bowl of the half pipe.

The few other early season boarders let out an ‘ooh’ of sympathy. Yeah, that's going to leave a mark. A headache began at the base of my skull and slush slid down my back.

Time to pack it in for the day.

Happy Birthday to me. It wasn't literally my birth date. That had been, six weeks ago. Toshiie and I had had a small dinner at home, with only our mother as a guest, though I knew that Toshiie had celebrated the night before with his boyfriend. Mom lasted through three bites of the cheesecake I'd made for the three of us, then retreated to her room, leaving Toshiie and me to pretend that was had been planned after all. After a few moments of awkwardly staring at her closed bedroom door, we gave up and instead found a movie to stream.

But that was six weeks ago. I was over it. Today I had been determined to have a belated celebration just for myself, the way I liked to spend my time, testing myself against the sky ...  although my plan hadn’t included wiping out on the half pipe.

Oh well. First snow of the season. Always takes a couple of runs to get the kinks out.

While waiting for the bus to take me back to town, I remembered to turn my phone back on, only to see a stack of increasingly frantic texts from my brother. Shit. Guess they'd found out I wasn't at the library studying.

I considered ignoring the messages (new phone who dis), but it would only be postponing the inevitable. I braced myself and called him back.

"Where are you?" Weird. Toshiie never skipped the greeting. That was my gig.

"Mount Kosha. Waiting for the bus.” With about one hundred other people. Hopefully, I would get a seat. My headache had become impossible to ignore.

His sigh of disgust sent the pain ricocheting around my skull. "I'm sending a taxi to you. Take it."

"What? Why?'' My words went in to the void; he'd already hung up.He’d sounded on the edge of crying, though and my stomach began to twist in anxiety, especially when my attempts to call him back went unanswered. Still. Toshiie sometimes went from zero to full catastrophe in seconds. It could be something simple. Maybe… maybe he broke up with his boyfriend?  

I peeled away from the bus stop and migrated to the taxi lot, put on my airpods and tried to push away my worry with a bit of music. My normal k-pop playlist increased my headache, so I poked around the satellite radio networks and found a “Music for Yoga” station. Maybe a dose of New Age flute would clear away the pain.

The lilting tune did little to ease my headache, but as the cab took me back to Nagano, I found the music hypnotic. Relaxing. It was as if it was pulling me somewhere else, calling me to come…

… home?

But home was little more than a slightly shabby nondescript apartment building, parallel to an equally non-descript building. In between the two structures was a small playground with rusty slide and swing set. We’d never played on those though … when we moved here we were already too old for playgrounds. So I was surprised to see Toshiie sitting on one of the swings when I arrived. His head was down, and he kicked his feet in the dirt.

As soon as I got out of the cab, he rushed over, yanked me into a fierce hug, and buried his face on my shoulder. Behind him, the swing he’d hastily abandoned was still moving, back and forth, and side to side, as if propelled by an invisible cyclone. "She's dead."

I didn’t process what he said at first. Instead, I watched that abandoned swing rotating wildly, as his words whirled inside my head, pinging back and forth against my aching skull. What? Who?

Then, I knew. Mom. Of course mom. "Did... Um... were you the one who found her?" Had she been dead even before I'd crept out of the house at an early hour? I should have checked on her – usually I do before I leave. But usually, I’m not sneaking out to snowboard.

I should have been the one to find her. It wouldn’t have come as a surprise to me, but Tosh... Tosh always thought she was going to snap out of it when her dark days came. Me. I knew she wouldn’t.

"Yes – I tried CPR, but it was already too late." His voice was muffled in my shoulder. "I should have checked on her earlier.”

It wouldn’t have mattered. It would never have mattered. She was always going to do this. But I couldn’t say any of that, so I hung on to the hug, patting his back, trying to ignore the feeling of release. At least now, the wondering was over.

"Kaya, wake up." Two Mitsuhides were floating over my head. The pain was… no I couldn’t focus without it hurting. I closed my eyes to the pain. “Who?"

New phone who dis?

Later, I don't know how much later, I felt something cool touch my cheek. Ok yes, that’s good. I blinked open for a sec, and it was Sho, washing my face. "Kaya! Thank you for saving Hiko!" There was a smothering hug, and a stab of pain, and... Why does she keep calling me Kaya? I hate that name.

I’m just going to sleep again.

It was dark for a while. The soft strains of a flute reached out, around, a cloud bank of music. Nice. I must have found that Music for Yoga station again.

"Katsuko." The room was still dark, but I knew Mitsuhide's voice.

"Nooo. Let me sleep." I batted his hand away.

"I will. Be patient, Brat. The strange doctor Shojumaru found said I should wake you up periodically." He mumbled something else under his breath, but I was in too much pain to concentrate on that.

Ugh. My entire life savings for aspirin.

"If you are able to drink it, I have some willow bark tea for the pain." I felt a hand under my back, lifting me slightly, cradling my weight, while a slight bitterness dripped onto my lips.

My turn to have willow bark. I used to be the one forcing it on people.

“There’s no way to make this into a tea, so you’re going to have to chew on this for a little while.”

“What… does it taste like?” Even half out of breath, there was deep suspicion in his voice.

"Katsuko. Wake up." Who was that talking? I only saw a blur with white hair.

"Go away ghost." I tried to turn over to avoid the light, and a wave of pain swept through me, instantly receding on a rush of nausea. No. I couldn’t throw up in my own bed.  "Let me sleep," I begged the ghost.

There was a soft touch untangling my hair, and a cool gel of some kind on my cheek.

Wth a gentle touch, he lightly massaged the ointment onto my cheekbone. The warmth of his finger combined with the cool of the salve – the sensation was not unpleasant at all. It felt little like a butterfly was dancing on my skin, and I involuntarily shivered as his touch reverberated through me.

“Did I hurt you?” Mitsunari’s voice was in my ear; he sounded concerned.

“No.” I hurried to reassure him. “It tickled, actually.” Tickled wasn’t quite what I meant, but there didn’t seem to be an adequate word in my vocabulary for the feeling his tenderness had evoked.

He continued the treatment, smoothing another layer across, and I squashed a rogue desire to lean into his hand as if I were Kitty. “There. Done.”

I opened my eyes to see Mitsunari’s serious gaze right in front of me. His palm was still pressed to my cheek. Then he jerked his hand away, as if he’d been shocked. Quickly, he lurched backward and jumped to his feet.

"Katsuko. Time to wake up again, Brat." Mitsuhide had returned. This time there was only one of him. An improvement, I guess.

"Where did your friend go?"

"The healer?" He frowned. "Do you think you can sit up long enough to drink this?" He held a cup out to me. "It's gone cold, but Sho would happily brew up an entire vat if I asked."

"Cold is fine." Willow bark. Fume used to make me strip acres of it for her own medicinal stock. Mitsuhide helped me sit up enough to sip the cup. The room tilted, then spun when I moved and I closed my eyes. The nausea arrived with the pain, but the tea would help. Hopefully. "Where did you find willow bark?"

"Shojumaru brought it." Mitsuhide sounded slightly surprised by that. Huh. For that matter, so was I. "Do you recall what happened?"

For a moment we were all quiet. I lined up another shot, my attention fully on the sound of the air and the rustle of the leaves, and it was quiet enough to hear something else – the twang of another bow string in the distance.

I didn’t need to look to know there would be an arrow heading for us, and I was yelling a warning even before I turned to see Yoshimoto move faster than I had ever seen him move, grab Mai’s arm and dive left, covering her with his body, while I somersaulted to the right, landing hard on a rock, as –

The arrow thudded into the ground right past Mai had been standing. If Yoshimoto hadn’t pulled her out of its path, it would have buried itself in her heart.

"Arrow." No. Wait. Where were all these strange visions coming from? "Runaway cart. Is Hiko all right?" The scene blurred in my mind. I could see the ox, but the moment before that was blank.

"He is fine. Apparently Shojumaru is sufficiently attached to the boy to be grateful." I couldn’t tell whether or not Mitsuhide found that information helpful due to the procurement of medical supplies or if he planned to make use of that gratitude. In another situation, I might have asked, but at the moment, I simply wanted to go to sleep again.

So I did.

The next time I surfaced, it was daylight again. This time I had awakened without anyone prompting me. My head still ached when I tried to focus my vision on anything in particular, but I had the sense that-

!

Yes, that was Mitsuhide next to me on the bed. He was lying on his side, with his head propped up on his arm. He stared down at me wordlessly, and brushed my hair out of my face, his touch as gentle as-

“Feathers.” Since it still hurt too much to do anything else, I curled into him and went back to sleep.

How much time had passed since morning? It was impossible to tell. Sho had brought me some soup and insisted I take it, saying that I needed to eat. I likely would have refused, but her statement was backed up by Mitsuhide’s implacable stare.

Bad decision. After I sat up and swallowed a small amount, the liquid boiled in my stomach. "Oh hell. I'm going to-"

With a shriek, she rushed for a bucket, and thrust it in front of me while Mitsuhide kept my hair out of the way and gently rubbed my back. The soup left me faster than it entered. I felt helpless, prisoner to the constant ache in my skull and the convulsions in my stomach. This was worse than any flu or food poisoning I’d ever had. At least with the flu, there was the knowledge that eventually, it would run its course.

When the wave finally subsided, I felt spent and exhausted. Mitsuhide held me against him while he helped me take a couple sips of cold tea, and then I lay back down, completely out of energy, and yet not able this time to go back to sleep. If I kept myself very very still, maybe everything would stop hurting.

"Thank you." I heard Sho's soft footsteps padding away, leaving me alone with Mitsuhide. "How long has it been?" Time had been blurred, I felt like I'd been both thrown into the past and at the same time futures that didn’t exist.

"Since you picked a fight with a runaway cart? Three days. Some of your bruises all already fading." His fingers lightly skimmed across my cheek. "I imagine your head will feel better soon as well."

I hoped so. Concussion… that’s probably what I had, but of course there was no word for that in this time.

"Do you think a strong scent will make you feel sick?" Mitsuhide's voice came from further away and I heard a bit of a clanking. It sounded like a ceramic jar, maybe, but I wasn’t willing to test opening my eyes again.

"Maybe." There had been a bit of a fishy smell to the soup. But the scent of the herbal tea hadn’t been triggering.

I heard a rustle, then the side of the futon dipped slightly. Very briefly, the scent of something minty wafted past. "What about this scent?"

"So far it seems tolerable," The scent came closer, stronger.

"And now?" I felt his breath across my ear.

"Still fine. As long as I don't move or open my eyes. Why?" The question was automatic, although I suspected what he had planned.

"This oil may help with the pain, but if I put it on you, I don't want it to make you ill again." The scent was closer still, right under my nose, fresh and sharp, and I realized something was missing. He no longer had that scent of incense clinging to him. He must have bathed and laundered his clothing. "May I?"

"Yes." If it would stop the men with spears from hurling them back and forth in my skull, it would be lovely.

Very gently, almost imperceptibly, one finger traced small circles at my temple, drawing a line from there to a spot behind my ear. The mint oil left a trail of coolness, soothing the angry nerve endings. The pain didn’t go away, but it subsided enough to help me relax. "That's nice."

He lightly applied more oil to the side of my neck, the top of my shoulders, and I couldn't help but sigh in relief.

"Interesting. That response makes me curious to see what would happen if we employed this oil in other situations." That teasing note was finally back in his voice. He wouldn’t tease me if he thought I was in any serious danger, which was a relief. I mean it wasn't like I thought I was going to die either. If this head injury was going to kill me it would have done so already, right?

It was only belatedly that I realized what exactly he was teasing me about, "Great. Let me know how it turns out." Not my usual, but hey give me credit for any snark at all when I have a concussion.

"You would know long before that," At least that’s possibly what he said. I was already halfway into sleep again.

I wish I could say that recovery from that concussion was as easy as recovery from a cold. Though the constant headache and nausea receded within a week, it came back whenever I tried to do anything strenuous. Reading. Reading was strenuous. Though I had never been much of a reader, being stuck in bed was boring, and reading material would have helped distract me from my thoughts.

Even worse than the boredom was the feeling that I was always on the verge of crying or losing my temper. The third time I tried to read and the text blurred in front of me had brought me to tears. Luckily neither Sho nor Mitsuhide had been in the room at the time. Maybe it was illogical, but I couldn’t get past the conviction that all the things I used to be able to do were gone and would never return.

That fear, and a fear that I was holding up Mitsuhide’s investigation, propelled me out of bed.

As it had been practice and repetition that had given me all those skills to start with, well, then, I only needed to practice and work hard to make sure they were retained. With that in mind, I made my way back to the room that had been mine when I first moved in, before Mitsuhide banned me from window access.

I'd been able to eat the past few days, so the effort of walking down that hideous red and black corridor didn’t even have me out of breath. (Not much anyway). I only wanted to look out the window, to visualize what it would be like to climb out and make my way through the city across the rooftops. To remember what it had felt like to be powerful and free. To test myself against the sky.

But even the act of looking down inspired such a feeling of vertigo, that the room spun around me and-

"What do you think you're doing over there?" Mitsuhide's voice was sharp with disapproval.

Before the words were out of his mouth, he had crossed the room and scooped me up in his arms. "It's been barely a week since your head injury. Even someone as reckless as you would not think of climbing out the window."

"I wasn't." I slumped against his shoulder as he hauled me back to my room, all previous energy having vanished in the dizziness. "I only wanted to know if… to see if..." I couldn’t figure out how to explain it, and then to my complete horror, I burst into tears as he put me back down on the bed. "Just leave me alone."

Crying was bad enough. Crying in front of Mitsuhide? Kill. Me. Now.

@lorei-writes @selenacosmic @bestbryn @lyds323 @tele86 @akitsuneswife

#tw suicide #tw parent death #10things #10 things I hate about mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku fanfic #mitsuhide akechi #katsuverse #cw suicide #cw parental death #hurt/comfort

[werdlewrites]

Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC?)

Chapter Three: A Message

masterlist-about-patreon-ao3

Summary: “Well, sweetheart..sometimes, a presence can linger from the past, right?” She doesn’t look up to him, gaze stuck on the still swirling galaxy of her drink as it settles into something she can stomach easier. “Isn’t that something you’ve learned from your hundreds of books?” he asks with a laugh. “Or, if someone wishes to convey a message..with enough strength, it can be heard.” Warning: Pure anxiety. Word: 1,680

Autumn stands frozen, time forgotten with toes digging into the plush carpet of the hallway. It was so silent - so eerily silent that she could hear every small tear of each strand of fiber as it was pulled away, almost as if she was subconsciously creating a hole for herself to crawl into. She could hear every small breath she took, every small insignificant crack dancing up her calf or in her hands as stressed fingers toyed with one another. She was on edge, wired to say the least as she stared down the forever closed door of her fathers office. She could hear him rummaging inside doing who knows what, the gentle wisp as papers gliding over one another, the clank of pens or the occasional, “Shit,” was muttered with frustration.

He was busy - he was always busy.

But only feet away with a piece of wood separating them, Autumn was fighting to remain grounded. She could feel her heart quickening, grip tugging at her clothes or her other hand as her breathing increased when the memories of her previous nightmare seemed to creep back in, like a heavy fog washing over already unsteady waters. It was discombobulating, like she was reaching out for help without knowing where the walls were, where it would all end. In her sleep, they had found her again - though she couldn’t necessarily call them voices. Clicking, shrill noises in the distance of a dark void that left her filled with panic. In her deep slumber, she didn’t know if seeing them, or not knowing where they were was better for the spine crawling tension that was twisting its way through her bones, threatening to snap her in half. She was sick with fear, unsure of where to turn and what she would face - hearing the uncertain noises only growing closer, more cluttered together until it was deafening. She woke in a cold sweat, dazed, lost and uneasy.

That was hours ago - she had since washed away her sleep, hair still wet and barely put together as she scrambled for her things, sitting at her low table filled with various herbs, crystals and waxes. It’s almost painful for her to settle - to force herself into a state of calm before she begins work on multiple sets of protection jars, the room rapidly filling with the smell of lavender. When the wax had dried over the bottles, she set them throughout the house, in small places where her father wouldn’t question - and yet somehow she still felt unsafe. Her head whips back to glance over her shoulder as she senses the nightmare following her into her conscious state, but perhaps it was only a trick of the mind.

Her father stumbles over his work just after he hears her knock, hurrying for the door and tearing it open with a surprised look on his face, though it fades into something softer as he takes in the sight of his daughter. Eyes sunken in from exhaustion, lips chapped and swollen from being chewed at from her rising anxiety. “Good morning, honey,” he says, a gentle tone in his voice with a hand raising to fiddle with wild strands of hair out of place, before attempting to lay it in their place against her head. He could tell she wasn’t at her best, having seen her rise and fall many times before from the unknown, the creeping presence that was unshakeable from her childhood.

“H-hi,” she says, words almost failing as her own fingers trail over her throat, searching for the lump that blocked her chords. She fights through it, stumbling over the hurdle. “I-I wanted to see if you were hungry,” she offers simply, a smile stretching over her features. “I know I didn’t eat yet. And..if you didn’t, maybe we could go out for breakfast? Linner,” she ends with forced excitement, eyes beaming.

Her father doesn’t reply immediately, the smile even faltering as he ponders over the question - and she notices. His hesitancy brings a particular twist in her gut, watching as he glances back into his office at the desk he had cluttered up, files spread out and stacks of books. But he meets her gaze, happy and letting the uneasiness she felt settle. “Let me put my things away, and we’ll get going.”

The car ride was mostly silent, he didn't ask about Autumn’s night - not yet. He keeps a goal of distraction to ease her mind, playing music and drumming along wildly until she’s able to laugh at his antics, until she finds peace. In the diner, a few glances are spared their way as the bell dings upon entry. She can’t help but seek refuge behind the tall figure of her dad, shuffling behind each step until settling in at a booth just across from one another.

“How are you all doin’ today? My name’s Samantha and I’ll be takin’ care of you. Can I start you off with some drinks?” Immediately, Autumn attempts to order a coffee only to have her father shut it down. “I’ll have a coffee, she’ll have a tea. And then we can-” “What? Dad, you know how tired I am.” “Exactly,” he says, a rather unimpressed look on his face. “You need to sleep.” “But I’m seeing Jonathan later to study. Come on,” she says practically whines, her shoulders slumped in pitiful defeat in hopes he would give in. And he does, with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. Unable to withstand the torment she would give him. “She’ll have a coffee with no refills,” he grumbles behind a thick mustache, before proceeding to give her their usual order.

His hands are clasped, elbows on the table as he leans into it for comfort but also to close their distance for a more personal conversation, she can feel it looming in the distance and her heart rate is already quickening.

“So, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

The chewing at her lips starts again, nails picking at her skin or small pieces of fabric she finds hung from her sweater, flicking them onto the floor, vanishing into the shadows beneath them. This was always a difficult part, confessing - reliving it all. “I’ve just - uh,” she pauses, eyes on the waitress in the distance, gaze quickly moving to each individual in the diner, briefly catching moments of their conversations. Due to the hour, it was mostly older customers talking about small nothings, but to them it was everything. “I was hearing things,” she finishes quietly. Her father doesn't seem bothered by the information, only nodding in response and leaning back as the hot drinks were placed in front of them. “Yeah? What sorts of things?”

There’s a heaviness on her chest, growing more powerful as she thinks back to the unknown sounds that created a storm in her mind, causing nothing but distress as she lost her way. “People. Just, people. Talking.” Her words fall with haste, bluntly, not wanting to risk admitting the full truth of the chaos in her subconscious. “I-I couldn’t tell if they were..talking to each other or not. It was just a lot.” “I see,” he says with a hum, contemplating, running her words over with care through his mind as he adds just a small amount of sugar into his coffee, while she dresses it up completely. “Are you meditating?” She nods silently. “Well, sweetheart..sometimes, a presence can linger from the past, right?” She doesn’t look up to him, gaze stuck on the still swirling galaxy of her drink as it settles into something she can stomach easier.

“Isn’t that something you’ve learned from your hundreds of books?” he asks with a laugh. “Or, if someone wishes to convey a message..with enough strength, it can be heard.” “I don’t want to hear it,” she mumbles, taking a small sip with her attention now cast out the window, thoughts already spiraling as she tries to decipher what she could have been hearing, from just the night before and the many others prior. “It could be important,” he replies with a simple shrug, leaning back into the cushioned seat. “Maybe one day, when you’re ready..try to find them. See what they have to say. Then maybe you’ll get some sleep.”

His confidence was irritating, but uplifting all the same. He had this belief in her that no one else seemed to, so much so that despite the sickness in the pit of her stomach at the thought of searching for them - or it, she smiled.

“So, Jonathan today?” She nods along, watching as their food settles under the heated lamp, fresh off of the grill and ready to serve while the waitress fusses over someone at the counter. She seems overly pleased to see him, not like she was with them at the booth - and the man is equally receptive to her. “Are you two going to date, or what?”

The question is alarming, her body sinking into a state of shock - frigid and numb as she stares him down in disbelief. “Gross, dad.” “What? You two are with each other all of the time.” “We’re friends, that’s all.” “Yeah, well,” he shrugs, loving the discomfort he’s causing. “Friends before lo-” Autumn holds out her hand, eyes closed and face scrunched up in pure disgust with no ill intention towards her friend, though he would thankfully never have to know about this moment. “You need to shut the hell up.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers x oc #jonathan byers x original character #stranger things #slow burn #angst #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington angst #enemies to lovers

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cersei V (Chapter 24)

The king was pouting. "I want to sit on the Iron Throne," he told her. "You always let Joff sit up there."

"Joffrey was twelve."

"But I'm the king. The throne belongs to me."

"Who told you that?" Cersei took a deep breath, so Dorcas could lace her up more tightly. She was a big girl, much stronger than Senelle, though clumsier as well.

Are you having difficulty with your clothing, Robert? Try the breastplate stretcher.

I'm sorry, that was a low bow.

+.+.+

Tommen's face turned red. "No one told me."

"No one? Is that what you call your lady wife?" The queen could smell Margaery Tyrell all over this rebellion.

Holy shit, Tommen and Arya are endgame.

You gotta love Cersei being annoyed by this little display from Tommen.

Tommen did as he was bid. His meekness troubled her. A king had to be strong. Joffrey would have argued. He was never easy to cow. - Cersei II, AFFC

+.+.+

"If you lie to me, I will have no choice but to send for Pate and have him beaten till he bleeds." Pate was Tommen's whipping boy, as he had been Joffrey's.

This is horrifying, but the Joffrey part takes it to another level. Way to encourage him.

+.+.+

The Grand Maester had been especially querulous in council of late. At the last session he had complained bitterly about the men that Aurane Waters had chosen to captain her new dromonds. Waters meant to give the ships to younger men, whilst Pycelle argued for experience, insisting that the commands should go to those captains who had survived the fires of the Blackwater. "Seasoned men of proven loyalty," he called them. Cersei called them old, and sided with Lord Waters. 

This can't possibly backfire.

+.+.+

"The only thing these captains proved was that they know how to swim," she'd said. "No mother should outlive her children, and no captain should outlive his ship." Pycelle had taken the rebuke with ill grace.

Heh.

+.+.+

"Your Grace, glad tidings," he announced. "Wyman Manderly has done as you commanded, and beheaded Lord Stannis's onion knight."

"We know this for a certainty?"

"The man's head and hands have been mounted above the walls of White Harbor. Lord Wyman avows this, and the Freys confirm. They have seen the head there, with an onion in its mouth. And the hands, one marked by his shortened fingers."

I don't know about you guys, but I totally believe a POV character just died off screen.

+.+.+

Noho Dimittis, the Braavosi named himself. An irritating name for an irritating man. His voice was irritating too. Cersei shifted in her seat as he went on, wondering how long she must endure his hectoring. Behind her loomed the Iron Throne, its barbs and blades throwing twisted shadows across the floor. 

Was it a shadow or the Iron Throne??

+.+.+

When the Braavosi paused for breath, she saw her chance. "This is more properly a matter for our lord treasurer."

That answer did not please the noble Noho, it would seem. "I have spoken with Lord Gyles six times. He coughs at me and makes excuses, Your Grace, but the gold is not forthcoming."

"Speak to him a seventh time," Cersei suggested pleasantly. "The number seven is sacred to our gods."

[...]

"The Iron Bank will have its gold when this rebellion has been put down."

He had the insolence to scowl at her. "Your Grace—"

"This audience is at an end." Cersei had suffered quite enough for one day. 

Of all the silly things she does, this is by far the worst.

+.+.+

"I must confess, I am running short of patience with dear Osney. It is past time he broke in that little filly. I named him Tommen's sworn shield so he could spend part of every day in Margaery's company. He should have plucked the rose by now. Is the little queen blind to his charms?"

It seems as if lots of roses are ready to be plucked.

+.+.+

"She likes his face. She touched his scars two days ago, he told me. 'What woman gave you these?' she asked. Osney never said it was a woman, but she knew. Might be someone told her. She's always touching him when they talk, he says. Straightening the clasp on his cloak, brushing back his hair, and like that. One time at the archery butts she had him show her how to hold a longbow, so he had to put his arms around her. Osney tells her bawdy jests, and she laughs and comes back with ones that are even bawdier. No, she wants him, that's plain, but . . ."

I wonder who told her?

Cersei Lannister, asleep at the wheel.

+.+.+

"They are never alone. The king's with them most all the time, and when he's not, there's someone else. Two of her ladies share her bed, different ones every night. Two others bring her breakfast and help her dress. She prays with her septa, reads with her cousin Elinor, sings with her cousin Alla, sews with her cousin Megga. When she's not off hawking with Janna Fossoway and Merry Crane, she's playing come-into-my-castle with that little Bulwer girl. She never goes riding but she takes a tail, four or five companions and a dozen guards at least. And there's always men about her, even in the Maidenvault."

Wow, it's almost as if Margaery always has an alibi! What good fortune.

+.+.+

"Men." That was something. That had possibilities. "What men are these, pray tell?"

Ser Osmund shrugged. "Singers. She's a fool for singers and jugglers and such.

But that doesn't mean Cersei is about to give up, lol.

+.+.+

"I'll tell him, Your Grace. He's eager for that ride, don't think he ain't. She's a pretty little thing, that filly."

It is me he's eager for, fool, the queen thought. All he wants of Margaery is the lordship between her legs. As fond as she was of Osmund, at times he seemed as slow as Robert. I hope his sword is quicker than his wits. The day may come that Tommen has some need of it.

Duly noted.

+.+.+

"You were glorious." Margaery went to one knee, kissed the king upon his cheek, and put an arm around him. "Brother, take care," she warned Loras. "My gallant husband will be unhorsing you in a few more years, I think." [...]

"When he is a man grown," said Cersei.

Their smiles withered like roses kissed by frost.

I badly want to believe this is something.

+.+.+

"I was watching from across the yard. You did very well, Tommen. I would expect no less of you. Jousting is in your blood. One day you shall rule the lists, as your father did."

"No man will stand before him." Margaery Tyrell gave the queen a coy smile. "But I never knew that King Robert was so accomplished at the joust. Pray tell us, Your Grace, what tourneys did he win? What great knights did he unseat? I know the king should like to hear about his father's victories."

A flush crept up Cersei's neck. The girl had caught her out. Robert Baratheon had been an indifferent jouster, in truth. During tourneys he had much preferred the mêlée, where he could beat men bloody with blunted axe or hammer. It had been Jaime she had been thinking of when she spoke. It is not like me to forget myself. 

Bwahahaha. Well done, Margaery.

"Jaime told me once that he only feels truly alive in battle and in bed." She lifted her cup and took a long swallow. - Sansa VI, ACOK

+.+.+

"I helped His Grace to don his armor and showed him how to couch his lance," he answered.

"That horse was much too large for him. What if he had fallen off? What if the sandbag had smashed his head in?"

"Bruises and bloody lips are all part of being a knight."

"I begin to understand why your brother is a cripple." That wiped the smile off his pretty face, she was pleased to see. 

Oof.

+.+.+

"Yes, I thought as much." Cersei had seen how tight the bonds grew between squires and the knights they served. She did not want Tommen growing close to Loras Tyrell. The Knight of Flowers was no sort of man for any boy to emulate. "I have been remiss. With a realm to rule, a war to fight, and a father to mourn, somehow I overlooked the crucial matter of naming a new master-at-arms. I shall rectify that error at once."

Ser Loras pushed back a brown curl that had fallen across his forehead. "Your Grace will not find any man half so skilled with sword and lance as I."

Humble, aren't we? 

Good thinking Cersei, we don't want Tommen catching the gay.

I lost it at that humble line.

+.+.+

She left him on the drawbridge that spanned the dry moat with its bed of iron spikes and entered Maegor's Holdfast alone. 

I may be slow, but I eventually put it together.

She paused upon the drawbridge that spanned the dry moat, gazing down at the spikes below. - Cersei I, AFFC

x

"Should Ser Loras fall, Your Grace will need to find another worthy for the Kingsguard," Lord Qyburn said as they crossed over the spiked moat that girded Maegor's Holdfast. - Cersei VII, AFFC

Ahem.

Yet all these were as naught against the tragedy that descended on the court and king. On the twenty-second day of the ninth moon of 133 AC, Jaehaera of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the last surviving child of King Aegon II, perished at the age of ten. The little queen died just as her mother, Queen Helaena, had, throwing herself from a window in Maegor's Holdfast onto the iron spikes that lined the dry moat below. Impaled through breast and belly, she twisted in agony for half an hour before she could be lifted free, whereupon she passed from this life at once. - Fire & Blood

I take back everything I ever said about Tommen and poison.

I'm staying firm on Myrcella though.

+.+.+

Where am I to find a master-at-arms? she wondered as she climbed to her apartments. 

[...]

It was rather a pity that the Hound had gone rabid. Tommen had always been frightened of Sandor Clegane's harsh voice and burned face, and Clegane's scorn would have been the perfect antidote to Loras Tyrell's simpering chivalry.

Aron Santagar was Dornish, Cersei recalled. I could send to Dorne. Centuries of blood and war lay between Sunspear and Highgarden. Yes, a Dornishman might suit my needs admirably. There must be some good swords in Dorne.

Do you want to know how I know the Hound is a worthless piece of shit? Cersei wants to employ him.

No word yet on who the Dornish master-at-arms will be. Developing story?

+.+.+

He [Qyburn] smiled sympathetically. "As you wish. There is talk that the Archon of Tyrosh has offered terms to Lys, to end their present trade war. It had been rumored that Myr was about to enter the war on the Tyroshi side, but without the Golden Company the Myrish did not believe they . . ."

"What the Myrish believe does not concern me." The Free Cities were always fighting one another. Their endless betrayals and alliances meant little and less to Westeros. "Do you have any news of more import?"

You get the sense that this is bigger than just the Golden Company.

+.+.+

"The slave revolt in Astapor has spread to Meereen, it would seem. Sailors off a dozen ships speak of dragons . . ."

"Harpies. It is harpies in Meereen."

Go ahead and make fun of her for ignoring this, but never forget Tywin did the exact same thing.

+.+.+

"There is some news from Dorne that Your Grace may find of more interest. Prince Doran has imprisoned Ser Daemon Sand, a bastard who once squired for the Red Viper."

[...]

"Also," Lord Qyburn said, "the daughter of the Knight of Spottswood [Sylva Santagar] was betrothed quite unexpectedly to Lord Estermont, our friends in Dorne inform us. She was sent to Greenstone that very night, and it is said she and Estermont have already wed."

[...]

"Eldon Estermont has taken a wife fifty years his junior," she said to Qyburn. "Why should that concern me?"

He shrugged. "I do not say it should . . . but Daemon Sand and this Santagar girl were both close to Prince Doran's own daughter, Arianne, or so the Dornishmen would have us believe. Perhaps it means little or less, but I thought Your Grace should know."

Perhaps it means little or less, but I thought Your Grace should know aka George would like the reader to know.

Sylva Santagar, active participant in the Queenmaker plot, is sent home by Doran. She is then quickly sent to Estermont by her father, and married off to a corpse.

The Golden Company take the island of Estermont when they arrive in Westeros.

+.+.+

Robert had later insisted on returning the courtesy with a visit to Estermont, a mountainous little island off Cape Wrath. The dank and dismal fortnight Cersei spent at Greenstone, the seat of House Estermont, was the longest of her young life. Jaime dubbed the castle "Greenshit" at first sight, and soon had Cersei doing it too. Elsewise she passed her days watching her royal husband hawk, hunt, and drink with his uncles, and bludgeon various male cousins senseless in Greenshit's yard.

There had been a female cousin too, a chunky little widow with breasts as big as melons whose husband and father had both died at Storm's End during the siege. "Her father was good to me," Robert told her, "and she and I would play together when the two of us were small." It did not take him long to start playing with her again. 

Try not to laugh challenge.

+.+.+

"One more thing. A trifling matter." He gave her an apologetic smile and told her of a puppet show that had recently become popular amongst the city's smallfolk; a puppet show wherein the kingdom of the beasts was ruled by a pride of haughty lions. "The puppet lions grow greedy and arrogant as this treasonous tale proceeds, until they begin to devour their own subjects. When the noble stag makes objection, the lions devour him as well, and roar that it is their right as the mightiest of beasts."

"And is that the end of it?" Cersei asked, amused. Looked at in the right light, it could be seen as a salutary lesson.

"No, Your Grace. At the end a dragon hatches from an egg and devours all of the lions."

I would bet a lot of money Varys is responsible for this.

+.+.+

The ending took the puppet show from simple insolence to treason. "Witless fools. Only cretins would hazard their heads upon a wooden dragon." 

I agree.

+.+.+

"There are four. Perhaps Your Grace might allow me two of them for mine own purposes. A woman would be especially . . ."

"I gave you Senelle," the queen said sharply.

"Alas. The poor girl is quite . . . exhausted."

The most poetic ending for Qyburn is Frankenstein's monster eating Frankenstein.

+.+.+

"Must I send for Pate? You do not command me. I am your mother."

"Yes, but I'm the king. Margaery says that everyone has to do what the king says. I want my white courser saddled on the morrow so Ser Loras can teach me how to joust. I want a kitten too, and I don't want to eat beets." He crossed his arms.

[...]

Tommen ran along, but before he left he turned back to say, "When I'm king in my own right, I'm going to outlaw beets."

You little shit, beets are fantastic. I hope you enjoy those spi-

I apologize.

+.+.+

"—or what? Will you send me to inspect the city walls again?" He sat and crossed his legs. "Your bloody walls are fine. I've crawled over every inch of them and had a look at all seven of the gates. The hinges on the Iron Gate are rusted, and the King's Gate and Mud Gate need to be replaced after the pounding Stannis gave them with his rams. The walls are as strong as they have ever been . . . but perchance Your Grace has forgotten that our friends of Highgarden are inside the walls?"

I don't believe these gates have been repaired. Developing story?

+.+.+

Dorcas helped the queen into her new gown. It had stripes of shiny green satin alternating with stripes of plush black velvet, and intricate black Myrish lace above the bodice. Myrish lace was costly, but it was necessary for a queen to look her best at all times, and her wretched washerwomen had shrunk several of her old gowns so they no longer fit. She would have whipped them for their carelessness, but Taena had urged her to be merciful. "The smallfolk will love you more if you are kind," she had said, so Cersei had ordered the value of the gowns deducted from the women's wages, a much more elegant solution.

+.+.+

By the time she joined them in the solar, her guests had made a good start on the hippocras. Lady Falyse not only looks like a fish, she drinks like one, she reflected, when she made note of the half-empty flagon.

+.+.+

"I shall add my prayers to your own," said Cersei. "Lord Qyburn tells me that Tanda was thrown from her horse."

"Her saddle girth burst whilst she was riding," said Ser Balman Byrch. "The stableboy should have seen the strap was worn. He has been chastised."

I'm sure Bronn had nothing to do with that.

+.+.+

"How was your journey?"

"Uncomfortable," complained Falyse. "It rained most of the day. We thought to spend the night at Rosby, but that young ward of Lord Gyles refused us hospitality." She sniffed. "Mark my word, when Gyles dies that ill-born wretch will make off with his gold. He may even try and claim the lands and lordship, though by rights Rosby should come to us when Gyles passes. My lady mother was aunt to his second wife, third cousin to Gyles himself."

We don't know who this young ward is, nor do we know who will inherit Rosby. Developing story?

+.+.+

"They call themselves sparrows," said Cersei. "A plague upon the land. Our new High Septon will need to deal with them, once he is crowned. If not, I shall deal with them myself."

Believe her.

+.+.+

Cersei reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. "I . . . I would sleep more easily of a night if I were to hear that Ser Bronn had suffered a . . . a mishap . . . whilst hunting, perhaps."

Ser Balman considered a moment. "A mortal mishap?"

No, I desire you to break his little toe. She had to bite her lip. My enemies are everywhere and my friends are fools. 

Hahahaha.

This won't backfire either. I have faith.

+.+.+

The rest was hippocras and buttered beets, hot-baked bread, herb-crusted pike, and ribs of wild boar. Cersei had become very fond of boar since Robert's death. 

lmfao.

+.+.+

It was past midnight before she could rid herself of them. Ser Balman proved a great one for suggesting yet another flagon, and the queen did not think it prudent to refuse. I could have hired a Faceless Man to kill Bronn for half of what I've spent on hippocras, she reflected when they were gone at last.

No, of course you couldn't.

Faceless Men shoutout!

+.+.+

"Never speak of it, child," he [Tywin] had told her, smiling his secret smile that only Cersei ever saw. "Not until His Grace agrees to the betrothal. It must remain our secret for now." And so it had, though once she had drawn a picture of herself flying behind Rhaegar on a dragon, her arms wrapped tight about his chest. When Jaime had discovered it she told him it was Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys.

Even I know Alysanne had her own dragon. Stupid Jaime.

+.+.+

She was ten when she finally saw her prince in the flesh, at the tourney her lord father had thrown to welcome King Aerys to the west. Viewing stands had been raised beneath the walls of Lannisport, and the cheers of the smallfolk had echoed off Casterly Rock like rolling thunder. 

Including it for reasons.

+.+.+

By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes. 

Lots of fun things happening here.

+.+.+

Later, when Aerys and his son and all his gallant knights had departed for King's Landing, the girl had gone to her aunt in tears, not understanding. "Your father proposed the match," Lady Genna told her, "but Aerys refused to hear of it. 'You are my most able servant, Tywin,' the king said, 'but a man does not marry his heir to his servant's daughter.' Dry those tears, little one. Have you ever seen a lion weep? Your father will find another man for you, a better man than Rhaegar."

It turns out I'm capable of liking a Targaryen for 30 seconds.

+.+.+

Her aunt had lied, though, and her father had failed her, just as Jaime was failing her now. Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy's curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. 

You aren't kidding.

+.+.+

If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

Hehehe.

"If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl." -Daenerys IV, ASOS

+.+.+

She had never forgiven Robert for killing him.

But then, lions were not good at forgiving. As Ser Bronn of the Blackwater would shortly learn.

That's like the one good thing he ever did!

Final thoughts:

The long chapters are starting to get to me.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #cersei v

[w0rped-moss]

HE DEFINITELY ISN'T "PURE EVIL" ! I agree completely. The show has subverted expectations before and like let's b real they really shoved the "oh he's so evil and manipulative and gonna kill everyone" down our throats (like i feel like it gets repeated once every episode fr)

I'd be hella disappointed if there was nothing more to what we've heard. Thid has to be a set up for more. He's really cunning and manipulative, we've seen it, but we've only heard about him and what got him trapped out of the mouths of other characters. He is ancient, the things we were told about happened hundreds even thousands of years ago. Memories and events got twisted, forgotten and lost for sure and I've taken everything the archdragons and archmages have said with a generous pile of salt.

(also sorry if I'm overwhelming you with asks. I'm veryy excited to be talking about this with someone)

ITS BEEN CANONICALLY STATED THAT HIS PRISON CAUSED HIM A LOT OF EMOTIONAL PAIN AND TRAUMA. THEY DID A DTIYS OF HIM CRYING IN THE RAIN. I do think aaravos did all that shit. I also think the Aditi thing was literal because that’s so fuckign funny. like ok king get it ig?

also zubeia has personal beef with him so of course she’d be more biased against him. like I don’t think he’s a good person, but I do think that he’ll get a, well not redemption arc, but like. a domestication arc. simply give him exactly one (1) jelly tart (maybe some like. warhammer figures or something for enrichment) and he’ll be fine.

also you can’t solve the cycle of violence by beating the shit out of one dude. especially someone who HAS been as canonically wronged by people as aaravos has. Like he’s the ONLY reason that there were ANY survivors of sol regem’s FUCKING GENOCIDE. he clearly sees the archdragons as betraying him. It was considered a SPOILER by the creators to even answer the question if he had any friends (they eventually said that he did and that’s a big part of his motivation). and speaking of motivation, zubeia never brings up his motivations! I don’t know if she’s lying or just doesn’t know the full truth, but I don’t think her story is entirely accurate

personally my theory is that HE’S the star that rayla calls “leola’s last wish”. they both gave humans magic (she gave them primal stones, he gave them dark magic), leola’s last wish is the brightest star in the sky (even though he’s only at a fraction of his power, he’s still strong enough for like. four archdragons to not want to attack him head on), aaravos is kinda implied to be a guiding light in the elarion poem, leola’s last wish is used for navigation, there’s SOMETHING HERE.

do not apologize I’m also batshit crazy and I watched the season like two weeks ago I fear the blorbo brainrot is terminal

#tdp season 5 spoilers

[perfectlysunny02]

Chapter Four

Word Count: 3k

Read it here or on AO3

AN: Thank you again so much @0shewrites0 for all your help. I appreciate you so much Rae🫶🏼

Grief group, in Suresh’s honest opinion, was a complete fucking waste of time. Sitting around in a circle, saying your feelings didn’t seem to help anyone. It wasn’t like the feelings went away, but Suresh continued to sit through Grief Group. It was, after all, just simply better than sitting in his empty apartment, with only a bottle of liquor to keep him company.

If only this lady would shut up, though, she’d been going on and on about losing someone named Jason for the better half of the hour.

“And it’s like I feel him everywhere, I even feel him in this room.”

“Bullshit,” And as every head turned to look at him, and awkward silence filled the room, Suresh began to realize he didn’t say that quite in his head as he had hoped.

“Excuse me,” the poor woman said.

“No offense,” Suresh scoffed, waving his hand. “I’m sure you’re a nice woman or whatever, but I’m calling bullshit. You do not feel your husband, son, whoever the fuck Jason is in this room. And if you really, truly do, you need to be committed.”

The lady opened her mouth to speak again, but a snort from the left of Suresh cut her off.

“I’m sorry,” the guy said, covering it up with a cough. “I am so sorry.”

“Anyway,” The lead said, clearing her throat. “Lucas, since you seem like you’d like to add something to what Suresh just said, how about you go next?”

“Ah yes,” the guy-Lucas cleared his throat and continued matter-of-factly and almost bored. “Hi. I’m Lucas Koh, and I lost my mother a year ago.”

Lucas Koh. The name rings a couple of bells. And as Suresh studied him, he was semi-sure he had seen him before. Lucas caught his eye as he was staring and sent a half smirk his way. Now he was definitely sure he had, but where?

“And how are you coping with that Lucas?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Work I suppose. It was alcohol until a fan saw me passed out drunk on the street and my producer decided I should attend this group. It’s not like I’m sad, me and my mother were never very close,”

“A fan?” Suresh asked, his brow furrowing.

“Damn Suresh, I thought you of all people would recognize me,” Lucas said, stretching. “I was on Season 2 of Love Island. I was runner up with Blake.”

Season 2. That’s where he had seen him. Harlow had actually been routing for him and Dahila Jones, until Lucas had returned from Casa Amor with Blake Mitchell and Dahlia with Kassam Maleek. Suresh flinched, trying not to think about his own Casa Amor.

“And how is Blake doing these days?” The lead asked.

“I dunno,” Lucas let out a bitter laugh. “Apparently I work too much for her, she left me a month ago.”

“Not surprised,” Suresh said, before he could stop himself. “No offense or anything man, but Harlow never liked her. Said she was the type to leave when shit would get hard.”

“Well, she was right,” Lucas muttered. “How is Harlow by the way? You two won Season 4 right?”

“Ah, no. Season 5.” Suresh muttered, his heart twisting as he asked about Harlow. “And H-Harlow is actually the reason I’m here.”

“Oh shit, I am so sorry man, truly. From what I could tell from the telly, Harlow was pretty amazing.”

Suresh smiled a small smile, and nodded.

“Yeah, she was. She was pretty special.”

~~

Suresh was unsure of how it happened, but that day after grief group, Lucas Koh had become his best friend. You rarely saw one without the other.

“It was the Jason remark,” Lucas had told him when he asked. “You weren’t the only one wanting her to shut the fuck up. Besides we’re both former islanders, we’ve got to stick together. Especially since the season you were on had the worst people.”

“I’m ashamed,” Suresh had said, quietly. “I’m ashamed of my season of Love Island. They weren’t the only ones who treated Harlow so bad, I did too. And I look back and cringe at the person I was.”

“She forgave you, you know. She wouldn’t have picked you, if she hadn’t. If it makes you feel any better, not one other islander from your season has spoken about her death and the internet is not only dragging them for it, but for what they did in the villa. Again.”

Suresh let out a laugh.

“That does make me feel better, thank you.”

Suresh was proud, ever since Lucas walked into his life, he hadn’t had one single drink.

He was actually a semi-working human, until one day that he and Lucas didn’t have plans.

In the quiet, and loneliness of his apartment, the grief set in again. His thoughts overwhelming him, he broke out his bottle of gin and settled into the couch. It was going to be a long night. Or at least it was until the ring of his phone brought Suresh out of whatever stupor he was in.

“Hello,” He muttered, rubbing his forehead.

“Hey mate,” Lucas laughed. “Turns out I’m free tonight. Do you want to hang or something?”

“Uh, no,” Suresh mumbled, slightly slurring his words. “I’m a littleeee busy at the moment. S-sorry mate.”

There was a moment of silence, before Lucas began speaking again, more serious than Suresh had ever heard him.

“Suresh, are you drunk?”

“No,” Suresh laughed, bitterly. “At least not yet anyway.”

“Okay, well hold on, I’m on my way.”

Suresh went to tell him there was no need to come over but the end signal told him that he was far too late for that.

Lucas had to have run a red light or two by the way he arrived at Suresh’s quickly.

“Hey mate,” Suresh said leaning on the door as he opened it. “You didn’t have to come over. Although I’m glad to know how much you long to be around me.”

“Whatever Suresh,” Lucas muttered, pushing himself into the apartment. “Where the alcohol?”

Suresh, assuming that Lucas wanted a drink too, motioned towards his room.

“Have as much as you need mate, we’re all alcoholics here after all.” He laughed.

“That’s not funny, Suresh.” Lucas snapped as he walked into the room. Honestly his tone should’ve been enough to clue Suresh in on what’s going on, but it wasn’t until he heard the sink running that it clicked for him.

“What are you doing?” Suresh yelled, trying to push his way into the bathroom.

“Mate stay there, this is for your own good.”

“My own good? You don’t know shit about my own good.” The door finally gave way, only for Suresh to realize Lucas had already dumped it all out.

“No,” He whispered, close to tears, pushing at Lucas’s chest weakly. “No, what have you done? What have you done?!”

“What should’ve been done already,” Lucas stood there calmly taking the hits. “I’ve been here before Suresh, okay? I’ve been here before. She’s not at the bottom of these bottles, you’re not going to find her, okay? And I am so so sorry.”

Suresh practically collapses in Lucas’s arms, and Lucas gently lowers him to the ground, placing his head on his lap, lightly shushing him as he cries.

Suresh wasn’t sure how long he laid there, how long it took him to run out of tears, but even when it seemed to be over, he didn’t want to move. Lucas seemed in no hurry ti move either, letting Suresh take his time, and he gently rubbed his side.

“I can’t sleep without it,” Suresh mumbled breaking the silence.

“What?” Lucas asked, slightly blinking, confused.

“I can’t sleep without it, I can’t sleep sober. I-I keep waiting for her to come back. I can’t sleep until she’s safe inside our apartment. It’s too empty here without her.”

“Do you want me to stay with you a few days?” Lucas muttered. “Because I will, you don’t have to go through this alone.”

“Why-why do you care?” Suresh hiccuped. “You’ve only known me a short while. Marisol was here last month and knew I was drinking and didn’t stop it.”

Lucas’s jaw hardened and he took a deep breath.

“A real fucking friend would’ve taken it away.” He said, hints of anger in his voice. “And like I said, I’ve been here before. It’s nothing but a whole lot of pain. So if it’s because it’s simply too empty here, I will stay here. I meant it when you don’t have to stay alone.”

As Suresh glanced up at Lucas, he allowed himself to smile the tiniest of a smiles. Maybe there was a light at this dark tunnel.

#litg fanfic #litg #litg ex in the villa #litg s5 #ao3 fanfic #suresh x mc #suresh x lucas maybe idk #litg suresh x mc #suresh x harlow #lucas koh #litg season 2 #tw grief #tw grieving #tw alchoholism #tw death #sunny’s fics

[factorialsfandoms]

Another request from @unexpectedtraveler, because there was another and my brain won’t settle on anything at all atm. This time I’m even typing straight into tumblr, so we’ll see how it goes.

This... started as something else, but got well of prompt, so I changed it. Then it got off prompt again. References some shit that went down in ‘A Land Called Hope’, but all you really need to know from that is Hyrule tried to open up to Time and got shut completely down, like talking to a brick wall, because Time was afraid and so refused to entertain the idea that life in Hyrule’s Hyrule was one worth living. Oops. The miscommunication in this ficlet is, unfortunately, running rife. Time, please use your words. No, not those words, the /right/ ones.

The original idea was for him to help Legend gather up his rings after someone knocks the box into long grass. This is much less silly, being largely angst and unresolved feelings, so apologies.

Prompt:  Hyrule in his fairy form trying to help one of the other Links without revealing that he is the fairy.

---

It was Hyrule’s turn for watch. Warriors had swapped out with him an hour or so ago, and there were another two before he was due to wake Twilight for the last watch of the night. Overhead the sky is clear and the moon is full. For no reason that Hyrule could discern, Time had offered to take watch the entire night. Seeing that as proof of a problem, everyone else had immediately forced him to bed.

And so he should have been sleeping, but it was only Time that stalked the camp.

Hyrule peered down, watching him. It was a well known fact that he - like Wild - tended to watch camp from the safety of the branches. It was the height of the leafy season, where-ever they were, and so he was perfectly hidden from camp and forest alike. He could see them, but they could not see him. Just the way it was safest to be.

He should probably confront Time, offer an ear or a shoulder or a stern talking to but... The man had a tendency not to respond to any of them, and that was when they were on speaking terms. After last week...

After the visit to Hyrule’s homeland and the fairies there, Time would not even look at him. Hyrule did not like looking at Time either; every glance at his face was bitter guilt and pain and rejection surging up once again. He knew his home was a mess, he knew, he knew, but he had hoped!

Maybe Time was right. Maybe it was wrong to hope, and he should just accept the death and misery presented to him. He had certainly been wrong to hope that he would understand the joys of Hyrule’s home...

If only one of the others were awake. One of them - any of them - would be better suited to this. Nobody knew the details of what had happened between them, but if even Warriors had picked up the tension and Twilight was steering the two apart, then there was no way that Hyrule calling ‘hey Time, you good?’ down from the branches was going to get a response.

But... Time was suffering, that much was also clear. His head was in his hands, and he was sat by the fire shaking as though in tears.

He could try waking someone else up, but...

Hyrule considered and reconsidered and tied himself in knots - clearly he was not good at this, but clearly Time would hide his pain if anyone noticed, and he couldn’t get anyone’s attention without revealing himself, so what should he do?

Time, Time, Time... Time... Tended to cheer up around fairies? Well, Hyrule’s fairies made him sad - or maybe he had just already been sad because Hyrule had been hurt - but...

Nobody knew about his other form just yet. If he folded his power right, he could make himself look like one of the orbish fairies from Time’s world instead of his usual humanoid form. And the transformation would horribly warp his voice - he had learnt that from surprising the Princesses.

Time could not see Hyrule in the tree, but knew he was here. Time would also not be expecting Hyrule to see him.

Cautiously, Hyrule shifted his form. Then he twisted himself, limiting his ability to cast in favour of looking utterly unremarkable. And then just... Travel through a couple of trees, and come at Time from another angle.

Not that Time seemed to notice his approach; Hyrule made it all the way to landing on his knee, and still not so much of a twitch.

Definitely crying.

Hyrule opened his mouth to speak, and fear of rejection pooled in his throat again. He swallowed it; Time might hate him and his home, but Time liked fairies, and he was just another fairy right now. Just... Just another fairy.

He took a deep breath, fluttered his wings, and called out, “hey mister!”

Time startled, and Hyrule fell from his knee. In this form there was a long way to tumble, but barely three flaps bought his tiny orb-like self up to Time’s eye level.

“Rude!” came an instinctual reply, a little too bitter - tone it down, tone it down Link - then, seeing the tears, he twisted his tone in a way only fairies could. “Mister? Are you crying...? What’s wrong? Can I help?”

Time audibly swallowed, plastering on a smile, “Nothing’s wrong, Little One.”

Liar. Hyrule managed to stop himself spitting out. Instead he fluttered in a little loop, booping into Time’s face and licking his tears. It was hard to stay angry with someone after tasting their tears - fear, fear, fear those tears screamed within the salt, “you’re crying! Why are you scared? There’s nothing scary here!”

Did Time no longer even trust him to keep watch? Was that it? Hyrule’s innards twisted again.

“Nothing you would understand,” Time avoided the question. “Why are you out here, Little One? Are your sisters not worried?”

“Exploring!” he replied; easy enough.

Time paused a moment, “oh? And what have you found?”

“You!” Hyrule buzzed around him, and dusting his hair with a little healing dust. Just in case. Everyone hid their injuries.

Surprisingly, Time gave a bark of laughter at the reply. He still radiated fear-fear-fear, and yet now it was twisted with other things too, “only me? Nothing-”

Nothing scary? Nothing that would justify his fear? Well, there might be monsters in the forest - it was always a possibility - but Hyrule had not seen any all night, and a fairy could easily miss them too.

“Hmmmmmmmm,” Hyrule pretended to think, doing his best to act as ditzy as his sisters before their mothers had all died. “There waaaaaaaaaasssssssssssss... A spider! Three times as big as me!!! And his web was all sticky!”

Immediately Time was alert, “did you get hurt, little one?”

“Nope!” Hyrule sing-songed. “Brother is good at running away!”

“Brother?” Time froze a moment, and Hyrule suddenly wondered if he had slipped. “I’ve only met one brother before.”

Oh, how interesting. Time’s fear sharpened when he thought of little brothers.

“Well,” Hyrule ignored that knowledge. “Now you know two!”

“So I do,” Time agreed, clearly failing to relax.

Well, that wouldn’t - oh dear, fairy instincts were winning out already. Still, it wouldn’t do no matter Hyrule’s form. He huffed, “why is mister scared of little brothers? Did he bite you!”

“No, nothing like that,” Time smiled, but he sighed, and glanced at the moon. “It was many years ago; I was trying to help his friend, but his friend was used forced to hurt me, and together we had to fight the moon.”

Huh. The moon thing was... real?

Hyrule glanced at it, curiosity nearly winning, but- But no, he could not intrude on someone’s privacy like that. He fluttered a little more gently, “sounds complicated.”

“It was.”

“I don’t like complicated things.”

“Neither do I.”

A pause, and then, “... were you scared?”

Another pause. “I am still am.”

Hyrule came back to rest on Time’s knee, resisting the urge to close his wings; his own fairies rested like butterflies, but the ones he was imitating held their wings open like moths.

“Mama says only brave people get scared,” he frowned, part of the act lost. “You must be very brave.”

“Your mama is very wise,” Time whispered back, offering Hyrule a finger.

He fluttered over to rest on it, slowly fanning his wings to ease the discomfort in them. A secret for a secret, “I’m not brave; I don’t even think spiders are scary.”

“Oh?” And now Time was amused.

“They’re just hungry,” Hyrule replied, very matter of fact. “Even the big ones. But Sister says not being scared of spiders is stupid, because then I might get hurt. don’t have to be scared to know to run away!”

Time laughed at Hyrule, and something inside him died. The fairy he was pretending to be would not be hurt by it, but Hyrule himself? The fairy he was - and the Hylian he could be - both shattered at the sound.

Still he held himself together. Just an act. Just an act to cheer up Time.

“No, you don’t, but you must be very clever to know that,” Time gently brushed a wing with his free hand.

“You should tell your friends you’re scared,” Hyrule blurted out.

Time immediately turned defensive, “they’re asleep; I would not want to wake them up.”

“He isn’t,” Hyrule pointed at the tree where he was supposed to be keeping watch.

The freezing that followed was the longest yet, and a complicated series of expressions crossed Time’s face, “... We’re not friends any more.”

Hyrule’s heart broke, but- but he couldn’t just- he swallowed again, “oh... Are you sure? He still tastes worried about you, though.”

Genuine surprise crossed Time’s face. It was gone in an instant, but it was enough, “he shouldn’t be.”

“But he is.” Hyrule tried to tease out.

“I’m going back to sleep.”

Fine! Whatever! If Time didn’t care about him, then Hyrule would stop caring too! “Good! Humans are supposed to sleep!”

“Aren’t fairies?”

“I’m not a fairy I’m an adventurer!”

That lightened the mood once more, Time bursting out laughing at the words, “so you are, little one. Well, enjoy your adventures, and say hello to your Mama for me.”

Hyrule bobbed in agreement, no matter how hard his heart hurt. He lingered and watched as Time returned to his bedroll, before darting back into the forest, up to the canopy, and across to his watch point.

He waited for Time’s breathing to even out, then shifted back.

As soon as the solidity of the branch was beneath him, Hyrule shifted back. Before he had even made sure he was steady he was sobbing, the words ‘we’re not friends any more’ echoing in his mind. By the end of his watch they were barely under control - or maybe they were not at all, for when he woke Twilight the older hero’s face fell, and he was bundled into a firm hug. By Twilight, Twilight of all people, who would only let him go once a sleepy Sky was holding him instead.

Hyrule might have been embarrassed, but for the fact that his mind and soul were still screaming in rejection, and splintering under the pain.

#linked universe #fanfic #fairy hyrule #lu hyrule #lu time #i don't even know what this is I'm sorry #hurt/comfort with a bad ending #I promise they'll make up eventually #just in like #an awful lot of work's time #maybe too much work for my brain to handle's time tbh #fairy!Hyrule

[anna1306]

3/13

Have I watched all of the Teen Wolf seasons? No. Have I gone mad with all the random ships I got into my had? Probably. Will I continue shipping strange couples? Of course I will

Don't leave me

Deucalion/Stiles

This. Freaking. Nightmares.

Stiles thought the feelings of first days would wear off soon enough. Like... Yeah, he got kidnapped. Yeah, he kinda agreed to stay. He even kinda lied to his dad about being enrolled in some academy, so he won't start rescue operation. And yes, he talked with Scott by messages, not by calls, so he wouldn't sense anything strange. So he got used to the situation. But...

The more Stiles started to get to the terms with his powers, the more nightmares, or 'visions' came to him. Blood, smell of fire, something bad or rotten near him. All the time. He was thinking about buying some sleeping pills along with his monthly dosage of Adderall.

Alpha pack wasn't so bad. Mostly. They were always grumpy and acted like he was the most disgusting person to be alive, but... They were okay. They bought him stuff he wanted, they even stole the meds for him. They were family, like Derek's pack. Just a little more dysfunctional and with less responsibility. And twisted morality.

Deucalion was another theme. From the day he stole Stiles and from the night after, he was strange. Always near him and if he had to leave, he left Cali near him. He was talking with him in the evenings, shared his dinners with them. It was almost as if they were in strange kind of relationship, but... They weren't. Yeah, they slept together, they had sex, but... They never talked about feelings, however soapy that might have sounded.

So Stiles was conflicted. He got kidnapped. But he wasn't tortured or anything, and with his growing powers he could leave at any moment. They even let him study. The pack was rude. But they still brought everything he asked and cared about him in their own weird manner. Deucalion forced him to become an emissary of the pack. But he supported him sometimes and... Shit, he was good and warm. And nice kisser. And not only kisser...

The place they lived in wasn't particularly cheerful too. It was dark and gloomy, like some abandoned warehouse, somehow made into living place. It was no surprise he had nightmares, but... Stiles wouldn't tell them this. They already thought that he was weak as a human. Besides he could deal with it. It was only nightmares.

But they got real and more convincing with every night. Blood, smell, sounds of something breaking... He tried to find the answer in the books, but couldn't find anything. With time bodies with no face turned into his friends, then, in members of the alpha pack.

And then his nightmares turned into something more personal. Not only there were chaos and mess everywhere, there was Deucalion. Standing in this blood scenery and looking at him with his glassy eyes, as if he saw him.

"You need to leave."

"What? You kidnapped me, you..."

"Apparently you are one of the mistakes I made. I don't need you." He sounded cold, while turning away from Stiles. Stilinski tried to go after him, to ask why does he do this, but he always fell down, to bloody mess, drowning in red sticky liquid and couldn't reach him. Eventually he woke up in panic and fear of being left alone.

This dream repeated itself time and time again. But he remained silent not to disturb everyone or get them angry. He tried herbs, tried more meds, but it was to no avail. He still woke up from another nightmare every night, starting to ask himself if that was all worth it.

"You are pale." Cali scowled. "Don't tell me you are sick and we have to care for you." Stiles shook his head and yawned at the table, the stern gaze of the woman stopped scaring him a while ago.

"Nope. Just a bit sleepy." He answered and drank the rest of the coffee. She rolled her eyes.

"Get some rest. We don't need you moping around like a lost puppy, who will fall asleep in the middle of training."

"Got it, Mrs.Sunshine." Stiles pointed fingers at her with a snicker and a wink.

"You are in a good mood. Finally. I thought you will be sad and paranoid forever." Stiles almost got used to Deucalion's silent footsteps. Almost. He still jumped on his place, making all alphas smirk at him.

"Yeah, I just... Didn't sleep much." Stiles ate the rest of breakfast faster now, not even chewing it, so they wouldn't tell him anything about his lying. Of course they noticed, but they wouldn't be able to say anything to him if he would be fast.

"Stiles, you know that we..."

"Later, buy!" He literally ran from the so-called kitchen to his room and then to the forest to sit alone there and maybe work on some herbs and his powers. There no one would disturb him. Anything just not to talk about his... Dreams.

This evening Deucalion wasn't near him. He sat near the window. As he explained to Stiles previously, he liked to listen to the sounds of forest. It calmed him and made him sure that he was in control.

"You sure you don't want to talk about anything?" Stilinski shivered hearing his voice and woke up from his drowsiness. He shook his head and than remembered about the missing sight of a werewolf. He had to voice his thoughts.

"No. Everything's fine, just reading." He lied. He wasn't just reading, he tried not to fall asleep. Wolf didn't answer anything to this. Besides, his tries were to no avail, the nightmares once again accepted him in their embrace.

Silent forest, no wind, no rustle... He couldn't see sky, the trees closed any vision of it. The first step he made sounded like he stepped in something wet and messy. Stiles tried to see anything, but moon shone very weakly through the branches.

Stiles knew what was going to happen next. And still he went, following the trail of sounds and freaky feelings. There was a lake, still shiny under the moonlight. And reddish tone, like everything around it. And still with Deucalion near it. Stiles stopped right before going to him from the forest. He didn't want the nightmare to go further. Maybe he could just stay here? Then it would be freaky dream, but still not nightmare?... No, he tried that already, and him leaving turned into Stiles feeling immense pain. There was no escape from that.

"Deucalion?.." He called carefully. He knew what was going to happen, but still he hoped every time that he could change everything. "I know you want to leave me, please... Don't."

"Why not? You didn't do anything useful for me." His voice was cold, so unnaturally cold. Even if he was hard and emotionless alpha of all the alphas, Stiles could hear emotions from him, more or less. After a while he learned to notice the slightest changes in his face or in his voice. But now he was almost ice cold towards him.

"Give me time. You took me away and just... Showed me everything, you tied me to your pack, you can't just leave me here!" Stiles exclaimed, striding to the werewolf with big steps, grabbing him by the hand. "Let's go back."

"No." Dream-Deucalion turned to him, looking with his empty eyes and cruel smile. Stiles couldn't see anything in this face. "You are alone. Or do you really think that someone like me... Can find someone like you interesting? You are nothing to me. You are going to stay here. Forever alone."

"Dude, I know this is nightmare and..." Deucalion grabbed his neck, and Stiles coughed, struggling to breath. It was something new. Usually werewolf just left, but not now.

"I can create a nightmare just for you, if you want this so badly..."

"No, stop..." He wheezed, trying to breath or to break free from the werewolf grasp. "Let me go, please..."

"Make your mind already, you want me to stay or to let you go? Pathetic..." Deucalion threw him on the ground and Stilinski coughed, trying to breath normally. He didn't care for what was going on anymore, he just wanted for the nightmare to stop. "Weak, pathetic human who thought he could live up to my expectations. Poor Stiles that nobody want..." Stilinski shut his eyes, trying to get all of this go away. "Stiles... Stiles!"

He shot up in his bed, wide awake. His breath was hard, like he had just run a marathon, he could tell he was sweaty and overall horrible looking right now. Thankfully the only person near him was Deucalion. And he could only sense him, not see. Now Stiles understood why he heard him calling his name, apparently alpha tried to reach for him in his dream. He tried to smile, but it was almost a nervous scowl.

"Hey... Little nightmare, happens to everyone, huh?" Stiles tried to joke. Deucalion silently gave him the glass of water. Stilinski drank it all up in seconds, but still wanted to hide the truth. He would call him weakling again. He would definitely leave him, he...

"How long?" The werewolf asked. The boy looked at him, but didn't answer anything. "Don't tell me it's one night nightmare. How long have you been seeing them?"

"It's not important. So don't worry, I'll handle them..."

"If I ask, then it's important. How long?"

"Month? I don't know, I didn't count the amount of the days." Stiles breathed out. "Don't interrogate me!"

"What did you see?"

"Stop."

"I asked you what did you see?" His voice became more stern and cold. Stilinski was sure - if he was in the pack like a werewolf, Deucalion would try to force him by this freaky bond.

"You leaving me!" Stiles finally gave up. He looked at Deucalion angrily, noticing how he furrowed his brows. Not in anger, rather in sadness. But he didn't register it right away. "You are always leaving me, because I am weak and not worthy of your pack and more so not worthy of you! And when I try to change anything, everything turns bloody and I feel so much pain. There are so much screaming, I just... I..." He threw the glass away and hid his face in his hands. "Shit."

"You think you are weak?" He moved fast, even for the blind wolf. Deucalion reached for Stiles, wrapping his fingers around his wrist. "You think you are not worthy?" He moved closer, making the teenager shiver. "Or someone is telling you that and making you believe in it?" The man sat really close to him, Stiles could feel his breath.

"I don't... I don't really understand."

"Do you think all of that? You have good self-esteem. What's happened with that?" His words made Stiles shut up and think. Really, he was sure of his growing powers, he knew that if he was no one, Deucalion wouldn't touch him, he would kill him with everyone else that night. And even when he was mumbling and all around the place, he still was sure of what he was doing. Then...

"No, it's... It's strange. Why did you ask about someone telling me that? You suppose someone influencing me? Or got into my head?! Shit, it's creepy! There's no way someone can do it! And if they can, what will they get from it? I must be weak for someone to tell me that and..." He was shut up by the most pleasant way. The wolf was apparently tired of his blubbering and he just kissed him. The kiss was quick, but effective. All of Stiles's nerves got quieter.

"Now I see the normal Stiles." Deucalion said with a smirk. He moved to take the place near the druid, laying in bed in his clothes, but... Stilinski knew better than to tell him what to do. Especially now. "Always talking, making my head hurt by your impossible voice, heartbeat, feelings, scent..."

"I got it, Geez! Stop!" Stiles smacked the werewolf on the shoulder, making the latter snicker and pull the boy towards him. Stilinski fell on the shoulder of alpha and still managed to poke him on the side, but Deucalion almost didn't feel it, instead just hugging him.

"If you were weak, I would leave you to McCall. Or to this too proud to see the priceless druid under his nose Derek. Or, if I felt too generous, I would leave you to strong, but emotionally non-stable Peter. But you are not weak." Deucalion spoke quietly, but confident in his words. Stiles looked at his face, though didn't move a muscle, just listened, as if enchanted by the alpha. "I wouldn't let anyone weak or not worthy share my bed. Or be near me. Or let train beside my pack. You are my druid. The emissary of my pack. If I chose you, you are worthy of all of my time and attention." The wolf turned his head to bury his nose into boy's short hair. "And if anyone would try to steal you away from me or hurt you by putting some thoughts in your head - I will hunt them down. I want you to know that. You can't just leave me now."

"Only if you don't leave me. Hell, you kidnapped me, have some responsibility." Stiles mumbled at his words, now completely calm. He only furrowed his brows at one thing he realised at the moment. "But the visions. Blood and everything... Nasty. It could be real."

"Let me think about it. Just tell me next time you see something like that, alright?" Stiles hummed in agreement, warmed by Deucalion's heat and his words. He was ready to try and sleep again. Maybe now nightmares or whoever send him that horrors would be scared of the alpha. "Sleep, my druid. I won't ever leave you."

#teen wolf #tw #deucalion #stiles stilinski #deucalion x stiles