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shibaraki · 1 year

Text

TURNING PAGE ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

tags: GN reader, quirk accident (dubcon <- just to be safe), pining, friends to lovers, a tiny bit of angst, so much fluff, requited feelings, confessions of love

wc: 1.3K

Deku got hit with a quirk mid battle. You have long since learnt that assuming the worst before receiving more information isn’t helpful. Injuries and accidents are an inevitability in your line of work— if you started panicking every time a friend got hurt you’d send yourself to an early grave.

Love drunk, they called it. A quirk that inebriated it’s victims with overwhelming feelings of affection and lowered their inhibitions to a resounding zero. It was harmless, if not a little embarrassing, and it explained why the nurse you spoke to had steam coming out of her ears.

Getting Izuku back to his apartment was the hardest part. You couldn’t make it two minutes without him stopping to express his admiration. Always some innocuous thing; how the beech tree foliage dappled the sunlight, or a flock of birds danced in synchrony, or an elderly woman with a small dog travelled in her walker.

When he caught sight of Bakugo’s victorious snarl plastered across a billboard you had to fight tooth and nail to take his devices away, lest he start wailing down the phone about how proud he is.

That particular moment spiralled into an incoherent rant about what the word ‘best friend’ means to him and why it felt redundant— lacking, in a sense. “It’s not enough,” he slurred, a myriad of tears bubbling at his waterline that he valiantly tries to blink away. “I just care about them so much”.

You had almost lost your footing as he slung an arm around your shoulder, nose squished up against your temple and oblivious to the heat prickling over your cheeks. You count your blessings. At least it hadn’t been a sex quirk. Izuku loves hard and he feels with his whole body. You’re not sure you could handle him at lust. To get a taste of that would be irreversible; no doubt hurtful. This is difficult enough.

When you make it to his apartment Izuku seems to realise that if he releases the tension keeping him upright you’ll have to hold him at the waist and take his weight. Your abdomen clenches— his lips brush over the shell of your ear, muttering quiet praises, and a shiver rolls through you. You wished he would shut up and you wished he wouldn’t; your eyes, your laugh, your intelligence, your hands, the way your hips move, how you dance when you think nobody is looking, the smile you save for him, your courage and wit— you’ve heard enough.

It hurts.

You manage to get him to his bedroom. He's drunk, fumbling like he’d forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other. You press your lips thin and try not to laugh as he struggles with the apparent loss of dexterity.

Izuku laughs as you drop him unceremoniously onto his bed and the sound is incredible. Soft, drunken, wholehearted fits of giggles. Pink splotches bloom up his neck and cheeks, his body pliant in honeyed repose. Mossy curls stark against the cotton sheets. Izuku holds out his arms and makes childish grabby motions with his fingers.

“C’mere,” he murmurs with a tone too intimate for your heart. A voice meant for lovers. Thoughts zip through your mind a mile a minute. What on earth do you do with your hands when everything you’ve ever wanted is right in front of you? You’re shaken by the gravity of it.

Your conscience whispers that this isn’t real. The quirk will wear off in a few hours. Izuku will stutter through a red faced apology and return to a normal you’ll never be wholly satisfied with.

The silence draws longer than intended. Your tongue sits heavy behind your teeth. You don’t know what to do with yourself, but Izuku is merciless. He pushes up onto his hands with a dissatisfied hum and scoots to the edge of the bed. A fragile breath is caught in your chest when you feel his palm smooth up your calf, cupping the back of your knee, his thumb stroking back and forth.

Izuku presses the flat of his throat against your midsection, his chin between your ribs. He looks up, detailing the subtleties in your face, eyes squinted and hazy; you aren’t sure what to do with the wonder in them, how unashamed he's being. You’ve seen it somewhere before. Stupid man. It’s a look saved for art museums or a full moon or the love of your life. Not— not you.

“You’re so unfair,” you tell him.

Thick in his mouth, he asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

Innate as breathing, your hands find his cheeks, seeking to reassure him before you realise what you’re doing, and he pins you in place with the most benevolent little noise.

Curse the quirk database. There had been next to no information about the quirk beyond its surface effects. You had no way to know whether the quirk conjured feelings of love, twisted them or amplified that which already existed.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” you affirmed, emphasised by the squashing of his cheeks. It forces his full lips into a pout. Izuku watches you, wide eyed and fraught. You exhale shakily and his head moves with the motion. “I promise”.

“But you look so sad,” he replies nasally. His fingers curled into your thigh, the other hand coming up to wrap around your wrist. Your eyes sting and you can’t help but to laugh at his swollen jutted mouth.

He responds well— practically glittering, sitting up straighter as though you had breathed new life into him. “I love it when you laugh,” he professed. “I love—”

“So you’ve said”.

Izuku frowns deeply. The strength behind his grip increases and it forces your knee to bend, bracing on the mattress beside his hip. It knocks you off balance, hands sliding down to his shoulders as you right yourself. “Izuku—?”

“You don’t believe me,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. The world tilts on its axis and suddenly you are laid on your back, trapped by firm muscle. A leg slots between yours, locking in place; thick arms snake around your shoulders and bring you into his embrace.

Izuku holds you in the crook of his body and you fit like a missing half.

The collar of his shirt slips forward. Your eyes skim the shadows leading to his chest— sparse dark hair between his pecs, muscle pushed together to form a soft cleavage. You’re swathed in heat and the smell of his shampoo. Blood rushes loud in your ears as his adam’s apple bobs and he dips to nuzzle your cheeks together.

“Oh”. A mumble breaks the silence whilst you try to regain your bearings. “You think it’s the quirk, right?”

“It is the quirk, Izuku”.

“Silly. That’s silly. I always feel like this when I’m with you,” he vowed tipsily. Your heart aches and you want to cry.

“Then let’s sleep,” you lift your head, ignoring his small complaint, and meet his gaze. “Sleep for a few hours and tell me again”.

Something flits across his expression; brief and quick, leaving as swiftly as it came, mellowing into contentment. Face smooshed into the pillow, Izuku smiles happily, readjusting his hips to align with yours.

You do not sleep. You stay awake listening to his shallow breathing, the snuffling noises he makes, laughing quietly to yourself whenever his muscles jolt. You count every eyelash, every freckle, memorise the pattern of his scars— the faint lines that are only ever visible in summer when his skin has a little more colour. You soak in how his chest moves against yours, how his arms tighten if you try to pull away.

When he begins to stir, you close your eyes and brace for the impact. What comes next is this:

The tentative press of his lips to your forehead. A gentle whisper of your name. You peer up at him and his sheepish smile widens, entirely unchanged from the hours before.

“I really love it when you laugh,” he blurted, flushing from head to toe.

Hope flares in your chest, spirit buoyed. “So you’ve said,” you breathe.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #deku x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader

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notwhelmedyet · 2 months

Text

A Fire Shall Be Woken, by Ealcynn. A pair of bindings using the K118 structure, one as a gift for the author and one to keep.

Chapter page illustrations are by Alphonse Mucha, all other illustrations are hand-drawn.

I hope to make a long post later explaining the process in more depth & another to document all my mistakes, but here's the basics.

New techniques learned: Paper marbling, edge marbling, uncial calligraphy, making paste papers, drawing on bookcloth, making paste-filled cloth, fold-out maps

I began work on this project in early September and am completing the finishing touches this week.

Structures:

Binding: K118 tightback

Endpapers: Simple cloth-joined endpapers

Map fold: Turkish map fold

Materials:

Sewing supports: linen tapes

Thread: 30/3 linen thread

Spine lining: Medium weight kozo tissue bonded to linen fabric

Interior paper: Hammermill Ivory, 11x17, hand-cut to 8.5x11

Endpapers: Blick sulphite paper hand-marbled, with masked stenciled silhouettes created with freezer paper

Adhesives: Jade PVA, wheat starch paste, wheat flour paste

Covers: Davey board, laminated full thickness to half thickness

Cover fabric: Studio E shot cottons in Jungle and Emerald; filled with wheat starch paste

Cover decorations: Speedball india ink and Dr. Ph. Martin's calligraphy ink in Copperplate Gold

Inks for maps and illustrations: Speedball black india ink and a selection of watercolors thickened with gum arabic

Dip pens used for calligraphy: Combination of Brause calligraphy nibs and Leonardt tape nibs

Dip pens used for illustration: Nikko G pointed pen nib

Typesetting:

Typesetting program: Scribus 1.5.5

Body font: Coelacanth in 10 pt caption weight

Headings, titles, chapter titles, drop caps: Hand lettered uncial calligraphy, scanned

Illustrations and References:

Frames on colophon, copyright, author's notes and title page: Hand drawn, with inspiration taken from the vellucent bindings of Cedric Chivers

Frames that illustrate each chapter start: Alphonse Mucha from Cloches de Noël et de Pâques

Cover illustrations: Referenced from a photograph of an European beech tree found on iNaturalist.org

Maps of Imladris: Hand drafted with inspiration from the maps of Barbara Strachey, and Daniel Reeve

Map of Eriador: Traced from a map by Karen Wynn Fonstad, with edits made to coordinate with the geography of the fic

Frames on maps: Referenced from a drawing by Alphonse Mucha that @zhalfirin found for me

Special Thank Yous:

To the tightback council of problem-solvers in the Renegade server: Zhalfirin, Eka, @spockandawe who helped figure out many issues with the structure and technique

To the marbling experts in the Renegade server: Marissa, Aether, AGlance, Jenny, Catz, Badgertide, Rhi, and everyone else who helped me figure out beginnner marbling

To Spock for finding the K118 structure and introducing it to the server!

And to Bruce Levy, who discovered the method and shared his discoveries freely with the bookbinding and conservation world.

#bookbinding #Fanbinding #mine #bookbinding adventures #thank you to everyone i consider this a group effort #it has been 10000 years and I have loved every step #except for sanding. nasty nasty sanding. ew.#fic recs

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starlingflight · 1 month

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I have only recently discovered your writing and was wondering if you've done a scene where Harry tells Ginny he smells her in his Amortentia?

I just think you capture their personalities so perfectly that I think you'd do the scene justice.

Anon, you're my new favourite person - so I dropped everything and wrote this for you 😘

AO3 or read below:

The smell hit her like a punch to the gut.

It had been lying dormant, in wait, hanging unseen in the air of the dungeon corridor, ready for Ginny to wander unwittingly into its trap.

She wasn't even taking potions this year, but Luna was, and the first day of Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts had been so lonely and unpleasant that she'd been unable to resist using the end of her free period to wander down here to meet one of the few friendly faces remaining to her in the castle when the school day officially ended.

It wasn’t the homely, comforting aroma of her mother’s apple pie that had the heart-wrenching effect on her, nor was it the damp, earthy fragrance that brought to mind the orchard after summer rainfall. The scent that had Ginny leaning heavily against the cool stone wall was more subtle, a faint hint in the air of something woodsy, evergreen and clean, and so intrinsically Harry that she suspected it would’ve taken her breath away even if she’d been expecting it.

The door to the potions classroom burst open, spilling a handful of her classmates into the dimly-lit corridor. Ginny forced herself to stand upright, before anyone could see a hint of her distress.

Despite their shaking, her legs carried her forward. Some invisible force summoned her; she pushed against the crowd exiting Slughorn's classroom, slipping through the doorway; ignoring Luna's puzzled gaze as she followed the scent to a golden cauldron sitting atop the nearest desk.

The surface of the potion within had an opalescent sheen, and the vapour rising from it was ascending towards the stone ceiling in distinctive spirals that would’ve allowed her to identify it even if the overpowering scent hadn’t already given away its identity.

“Amortentia,” Ginny read aloud, peering over the top of Ron’s borrowed copy of Advanced Potion Making from where she was sitting on the ground opposite Harry. “Sounds a lot more interesting than levitation charms.”

Harry looked up. Distracted from his attempts at revision, his head fell back slightly against the beech tree he was leaning against. “Slughorn brewed it for our first lesson this year. I could smell it before I even walked into the classroom.”

Ginny tossed the charms textbook she’d been pretending to read aside, giving him her full attention, which, really, he’d had from the moment he’d convinced her to leave the library in favour of the castle's sunlit grounds. “And what does Harry Potter smell when confronted with the world’s strongest love potion?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed and Ginny’s grin widened. Making him blush was a new, and favourite, activity of hers. “I’ll tell you next year,” he said evasively. “When you can tell me what you smell too.”

Fleetingly, she considered accepting his non-answer. It was, after all, a deeply personal question. But this was one of the few boundary-pushing questions that Ginny could ask, unlike the others that she unswervingly steered away from – what are you whispering with Ron and Hermione about? What are you doing when you’re summoned to Dumbledore’s office? Why do I feel like talking about anything further ahead than next Tuesday is tempting a fate that I’m not ready to face? – Amortentia, by contrast, seemed utterly tame.

She rolled onto her stomach, her elbows sinking into the grass, supporting her upper body and holding it upright. Her smile, she knew, was full of challenge. “I bet I can guess.”

Harry’s eyes wandered the length of her body, before returning to her face. He mirrored her smirk. “And if you can’t?”

Laughter rose, light and breathy in her throat, but Ginny swallowed it down, schooling her face into a look of total seriousness. “A forfeit of your choosing… and if I win, a reward of mine.”

Despite what half the school would probably say, Harry was absolutely terrible at hiding his smile. He shook his head. “Considering my choice of forfeit, and your choice of reward are definitely the same thing, there doesn’t seem to be much risk for you here?”

“Or you,” Ginny countered, conveniently ignoring the risk of him having to reveal a deeply personal fact.

The spark in Harry’s eyes told her he hadn’t forgotten the risk, though he didn’t say as much. “We should probably just skip to kissing then.”

There was nothing she could do to contain her laughter in the face of such a brazen statement; it rang out clear and bright across the grounds. A few weeks ago, when she’d been starting to wonder if he was going to tiptoe around this growing attraction between them forever, the idea of him saying such a thing outright to her would’ve been unimaginable.

She tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider the suggestion. It did sound tempting, but Ginny knew that neither of them would really agree to it. Lines had been drawn. A challenge laid out. Satisfaction must be granted.

She started with the obvious. “Treacle tart.”

Harry’s smile fell, clearly concerned by the speed with which Ginny had delivered a correct guess. He recovered quickly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Been watching my dessert habits closely, have you?”

Ginny ignored this, finding nothing worthy of denial in the question. “Now it’s a matter of narrowing down what you like more… flying seems an obvious choice, but there’s your fondness for Hedwig to consider–”

“Hedwig?” Harry burst out. He leaned forward, leaving the tree trunk behind as he looked at her disbelievingly. “I did not smell my owl in a love potion!”

“Well, it sounds weird when you put it like that,” Ginny said, fighting the urge to laugh once more at the outraged expression on Harry’s face. “Stop looking at me like that! She's an important presence in your life – I think she’s amortentia-worthy!”

Harry’s expression remained unchanged. “...She’s an owl.”

“Fine,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “But I think Hedwig would be deeply offended by your reaction.”

Harry released a snort of laughter, returning his back to the tree. “Well, it’s a good job she’s not as nosy as you, so she’ll never have to know.”

“Flying then,” Ginny pondered loudly, her fingers twisting in the grass as she let Harry’s comment pass without argument. When it came to her interest in him, ‘nosy’ didn’t quite cover it.

She fell silent for a moment, considering the many possible scents associated with flying. Her mind immediately went to the rich, leathery fragrance of a quaffle, but she dismissed this at once. She was a chaser, not Harry. Snitches, delicate and metallic, didn’t really smell of anything in her opinion. Being in the air had a unique smell, fresh and clear, but that wasn’t right either.

Flying, she knew, started before you got in the air. Flying was the sense of anticipation, flying was the rush of pushing off from the ground, flying was endless possibilities.

“Your broom,” Ginny said definitively after another moment of deliberation. Broomsticks were freedom.

Harry nodded, confirming her guess correct. Their eyes met, and she knew, without either of them speaking, that her reasoning was sound too.

“Two out of three…” Ginny mused, waiting for Harry to correct her if her calculations were wrong. He didn’t.

This time the silence that fell between them was charged with suspense, though Ginny suspected this might just be in her head. A flutter of butterflies had broken loose in her stomach.

She didn't need to be in the presence of a cauldron of amortentia to know that she would smell him. The way he looked at her, it didn't feel completely out of the realm of possibility that Harry would smell Ginny too, but they'd only been together for a matter of weeks, and she'd wanted him for years, and if she guessed herself, and he told her she was wrong, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take the blow.

“Not Hedwig…” she smirked with an air of confidence she definitely didn't feel, buying time, and coaxing a smile onto Harry's face that went some way to soothing Ginny's nerves.

“Definitely not,” Harry agreed.

“More food?” Ginny hedged, watching his face carefully for a reaction. “Or something like that? You do have a liking for butterbeer.”

Harry shook his head. His lips pressed together but Ginny could still see a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You're doing this on purpose.”

Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. “Doing what?”

Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you make me admit it, you don't win.”

Her butterflies were flying wildly now, swooping and diving within her. For once, Ginny found she didn't care very much about winning at all. “I want you to say it.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed. His hand found hers on the ground, fingers entwining together in the long blades of grass. Much to Ginny's delight, his blush made a return. “You… your hair, if you want me to be specific.”

“My hair?” She asked, somewhat breathlessly. Her free hand reached out and pulled a strand of her hair to her nose. “It just smells like hair.”

Harry's cheeks turned from a faint rosy pink, to flushed crimson. “It smells like flowers.”

“Flowers,” Ginny whispered, elevating the word to the height of the world's greatest compliment in her mind. She was certain her smile looked completely ridiculous, but she was incapable of caring. She pulled herself upright, careful that their hands remained clasped together. She shuffled forwards on the grass until her face was inches from Harry's. “Really? My hair?”

“Yes,” Harry laughed; there was a hint of nervousness beneath the usually carefree sound. “Can you stop looking so pleased with yourself?”

Ginny's smile remained in place as she shook her head. “No, I don't think I can.”

“This can't be news to you,” he protested, apparently gathering some confidence from how clearly delighted Ginny was about this revelation. “Have I not made my feelings clear?”

She supposed he had, in a very Harry-ish way. Kissing her in the centre of the full common room had been a fairly loud declaration, even if no words had been exchanged at that particular moment, and he'd been very attentive from that moment onwards, but this was different. Amortentia was magic; pure, and ancient, and undeniable.

“I’m ready for my forfeit now,” Ginny announced, not waiting for any further instructions before leaning forwards, her lips finding his, eager to make her own feelings clear in what time they had left before lunch ended–

“Miss Weasley!” Professor Slughorn's voice pulled Ginny abruptly back to the present.

She was standing beside the golden cauldron; her knuckles had turned a ghostly white from the strength with which she gripped the edge of the desk. She was breathing deeply, taking in great lungfuls of the heady scent emanating from the potion.

Slughorn was frowning at her, his face a mask of concern and pity. Ginny wasn't sure which sentiment she hated more.

“Sorry,” she said, using all her force of will to take a definitive step away from the desk. “I was just looking for Luna.”

“I'm here,” Luna said from the doorway. Her eyes were wide, piercing. “Did you want to go to dinner?”

Ginny nodded, now that she'd come to her senses she was desperate to remove herself from the dungeons and the heavy miasma that surrounded her.

Slughorn cleared his throat uncomfortably before she'd taken even a step towards Luna. “Are you sure you're alright, Miss Weasley? I wouldn't want you to go up to dinner if you're not feeling yourself… there's a lot of observant eyes in the great hall these days.”

“I'm fine,” she lied, ignoring her thundering heart, and schooling her face into a mask of perfect neutrality she was already fed up with wearing after only one day of term.

“Very well,” Slughorn nodded, though he still looked reluctant to let her go. His eyes travelled between Ginny and Luna. “The weather's still quite fine for this time of year,” he said, his tone observational. “I always find a walk around the grounds to be a pleasant prelude to one's dinner… There's nothing quite like fresh air to clear the mind.”

#hinny #harry x ginny #hbp missing moment #ginny weasley #harry potter

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the-wandering-wonder · 2 months

Text

By The River

I was rewatching Lord of the Rings, and oof. I now remember why I swooned over Orlando Bloom so much as a teenager...

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Rating: T (angst)

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: You've grown quite fond of Legolas, but when he disappears without so much as a word, your world is turned upside down.

You walk slowly towards the river Bruinen, occasionally glancing up at the clear night sky. A handful of trees litter the path of the river, marking where the beauty of Rivendell merges with the beauty of the forest. You take in a deep breath as you approach a particular beech tree, one that was slowly becoming your favourite.

You smile to yourself as you hear the feet landing behind you, slowing for just a moment as you see the familiar blond elf falling into step alongside you.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Legolas breaks the silence.

You merely hum in agreement, glancing at him with a soft smile, one that he returns.

You couldn’t quite remember how long you two had shared this routine, but he was always there, every night, ready to join you in your walks along the edge of the forest. Most nights you spoke, joking and laughing, but some nights, you enjoyed the simple silence, interrupted only by animals in the distance or the whistling of the wind. Truth be told (but never to Legolas himself) he was the reason you enjoyed your walk so much.

You eventually find yourself paused at the riverbank, looking down at the moonlight reflecting along the rippling waters. A breeze whips around you and you shiver, exhaling softly as you wrap your arms around yourself. You feel a warm presence behind you as Legolas moves to wrap his cloak around your shoulders, his hands resting on your upper arms. Without thought, you lean back into his touch, letting his warmth wash over you.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head to glance back at him, finding him gazing down at you, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His hand comes up slowly, resting along the hollow of your throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing up against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. He dips his head down, tentatively brushing his lips over yours before pulling back and letting his hand return to its place on your arm. Your lips part slightly, but no words come, so you give him a soft smile instead, letting your head fall back to rest against his shoulder as your gaze returns to the waters of the river Bruinen.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, you find yourself busy, running small errands for the council. But Legolas remains in the back of your mind, his soft kiss replaying over and over. Once night falls, you grab your cloak and slip out for your nightly walk. You quickly make your way to the beech tree, pausing for a moment. When all you hear is the rustling of the water and chirping of birds, you glance around.

“Legolas?” You call out, looking up at the branches.

Your heart begins to race as your elven senses pick up no sign of him.

“Legolas?” You call out again, silently hoping that he had somehow lost track of time.

No answer comes and you feel your breath run short, catching in your throat as your pulse pounds in your ears. You force down a deep breath before turning to run back into the walls of the city. You make your way to the council room, steadying yourself before approaching Elrond, who greets you with a nod of his head before returning to the map he was studying.

“Lord Elrond,” you begin, bowing your head slightly, “have you seen Legolas?”

“He is gone,” the elf responds, “A messenger came from Mirkwood this morning, and he left.”

You feel your heart sink to your stomach as tears prick the corners of your eyes. Your jaw drops slightly as you turn away from Elrond, clenching your fists by your sides.

“This troubles you?”

“I was just-” You pause, unsure of how to explain yourself to the high elf. “I did not know he was leaving.”

“Do not worry for him,” Elrond says, turning to look at you fully, “he will return in time.”

~~~~~~~~

You try to follow Elrond’s advice, busying yourself with whatever you can find and forcing yourself to focus on anything but the thoughts of Legolas. But days soon turn into weeks, then into months. And the Sindar elf does not return. You eat out of habit, on the days that you remember, and hardly ever venture out of the walls of Rivendell. Some days your heart aches as it did when Legolas first left, other days it feels cold and numb.

One day, Elrond, who had kept a distant eye on you as you grieved, approaches you.

“You should take a walk,” he says softly, “the air would do you good, as would the sun.”

“The river reminds me of him,” you admit.

“An unpleasant memory?”

“No, not at all. I just…I miss him.”

You stare at Elrond with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He lets out a small sigh as he places his hand on your shoulder.

“Then go to the river, sit with the memories.”

Elrond gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before turning to walk away. You watch him disappear around the corner before turning your attention to the waterfalls scattered around the city, listening to the sounds of rushing water. You slowly walk through the city, heading towards the waters of the river.

You eventually approach your tree, reaching out to run a hand along the bark as you look down at the flowing water. In the light of the noonday sun, the colour almost matches Legolas’ eyes. A tear slides down your cheek as you turn to lean against the beech, sliding down to the ground and bringing your knees to your chest. Your eyes close as you lean your head back against the tree, losing yourself and letting time fly by.

You hear footsteps in the soft grass and you leap to your feet, turning to face the approaching figure. The sun glints off golden hair and your jaw drops momentarily before you close your eyes, deciding that your eyes are playing a cruel trick.

“No.” You say softly.

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the figure that now stands before you. Piercing eyes stare at you as golden locks flutter in the soft breeze. Legolas…

“I thought you’d left,” you murmur, “never to return.”

“You truly think I would do that?” Legolas tilts his head slightly, striding forward to stand in front of you.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you reply slowly, “you were just…gone. You never even said goodbye.”

“I tried to find you,” the blond elf murmurs, “but I couldn’t. And it was urgent that I return to Mirkwood.”

You take a step back and swallow as you stare at the river again, fingertips digging into the bark of the tree as it presses into your back. Finally bringing your gaze up to meet his, you see pale blue filled with concern and… was that hurt?

“I would never abandon you.”

Legolas’ voice comes out as little more than a whisper as he moves in closer, bringing up a hand to caress the line of your jaw, catching a fresh tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you feel his free hand resting ever-so-lightly on your hip.

“ Melethril…”

Your eyes flutter open as you feel Legolas’ warm breath dancing across your lips, his own within inches. Your hands find purchase on his cloak as his body envelopes yours, your lips finally meeting in a soft kiss. You lean into him as his grip tightens on you, holding you close as your lips mold together. Your lungs begin to ache, but your desire for Legolas pushes all other thoughts back as you cling to him.

Legolas finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take in a breath. He tilts his head back to look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze filling you with warmth. He speaks in a low tone, slowly and assuredly.

“I will always come back to you…”

#legolas #legolas greenleaf #reader insert #legolas x reader #orlando bloom #elrond peredhel #angst with a happy ending #fluff #grief #little bit of romance

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nebraskas · 2 days

Text

4/26/24 Nebraska/IA Tornadoes

a continuously updated list of resources

last updated 4/27/24 at 8:13 AM CST; find how to help those affected at the bottom

All

Aid/Assistance/Reunification

If you are disabled and impacted by tornadoes, call Disability & Disaster Hotline 800-626-4959 or email [email protected] (per The Partnership for Inclusive Disaster Strategies on X)

Nebraska Humane Society can house animals that need emergency shelter. Contact Animal Control at 402-444-7800 ext. 1. (per NE Humane Society on X)

Footage

Images and videos from across the storm's path.

Bennington

Aid/Assistance/Reunification

Three Timbers Church - S 2nd and Warehouse Street, St. John's Lutheran Church - N Molly Street and Howard Lane, and City Hall - 156th Street and Warehouse Street are all locations to find assistance. (per KETV7)

Clean Up

13505 N. 216th St. in Bennington needs to keep several things in mind:

The landfill will be open 6 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturday.

Green debris limbs must be cut into pieces 4 feet or smaller.

Debris can be mixed.

Home appliances and hazardous materials are not accepted.

(per KETV7)

Blair

Aid/Assistance/Reunification

The Red Cross has set up a location at First Lutheran Church at 2146 Wright Street (per KETV7)

Elkhorn

Aid/Assistance/Reunification

A Facebook page where people are offering resources

Common Ground Recreation Center at 1701 Veterans Drive will serve as an overnight shelter for those affected and pets. (per KETV7)

Anyone needing relief or assistance due to the storms, St. Patrick’s at 204th and Maple Street is your go to. Do not go for unrelated reasons. (per Omaha Scanner on X)

Command Post has moved to 204th and West Maple in St Patrick’s Church parking lot. Media staging is now at the Walgreens parking lot at 202 W Maple (per OPD on X)

Currently there is a reunification center being established at Elkhorn Middle School located at 3200 N 207th street for parents. (per Douglas County 911 on X)

PETS: PetSmart Veterinary Services is at the Walgreens at 202nd and Maple in Elkhorn for pet triage and stabilizing services for animals needing care from tornado injuries. (per Brian Beech on X)

Clean Up

Pheasant Point Landfill as a debris drop-off location, closes at 3 PM today (per KETV7)

Damage

Residents who have suffered damage to their homes in today's severe weather event should call 2-1-1 or go online at http://dogis.org/211 to make a report. (per Douglas County on X)

Omaha

Aid/Assistance/Reunification

Heartland Hope Mission has two locations in west and south O that offer help. West - 15555 Industrial Road, South - 2021 U Street (per KETV7)

How to Help

NE Humane Society is taking food and litter donations at 8929 Fort Street; also accepting monetary donations. (per NE Humane Society on X)

On 4/27/24 at 7:30 AM there will be a meeting at Relevant Church 21220 Elkhorn Drive held by Rapid Response America to help with disaster relief. Bring your own PPE (gloves, long sleeved shirts, closed toed shoes) and you will have to sign a waiver. More info here.

A Facebook page where people can offer help

My City Church is partnering with other area churches to offer assistance. It's asking for volunteers to help in a variety of ways:

Meet at the Relevant center at 212th Street and West Maple Road at 7:30 a.m. Saturday. Volunteers are asked to bring chainsaws, trucks, trailers, shovels, rakes, brooms, garbage bags, etc. to help clean up

Meet at Brookside Elkhorn Campus at 9 a.m. Saturday. Volunteers need to bring necessary tools and work gloves.

(per KETV7)

#omaha #nebraska #lincoln #elkhorn #tornadoes #tornadoes24

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morrak · 1 month

Text

It’s been a while since we’ve gotten out. Too long a while. By row:

(Yellow) Trout lily (Erythronium americanum, Liliaceae)

Little brown jug (Hexastylis arifolia, Aristolochiaceae)

Bloody butcher (Trillium cuneatum, Melanthiaceae)

Rue anemone (Thalictrum thalictroides, Ranunculaceae)

Mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum, Berberidaceae)

These are all a week old, and the trout lilies are already (almost) all bloomless — they ain’t called ephemerals for nothing. I am absolutely thrilled for the return to bloom of our local Hexastylis offerings, and the trilliums are of course a favorite too. An excellent month for mottled leaves.

Many thanks to @krieper for the use of her photos in rows 1, 3, and 5. Much credit also to these deciduously wooded hillsides, which have previously given us some beeches and their drops.

#images #on botany

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fleet-of-fiction · 12 days

Text

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter Four

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

Warnings: Religious/ Parental trauma. Penetrative p/v sex. Dom/Sub dynamics. Ass play. Oral F/Receiving.

Winter 1985 (Flash forward)

Jake was gone; to begin with. The absence of him echoed all around. Like the vapours of his breath still lingered in the mist, just waiting to be breathed in.

It had been ten days since I last saw him. Standing on the edge of the street where all the Christmas lights twinkled an array of colours I couldn't feel anymore. The rot had set in.

And I'd watched him go. Without a rope to tie around his neck, or mine. Because using it to tether him to me hadn't worked. It was seamless how he disappeared into the density of the encroaching fog. Those reds, greens and blues that ran along the neighbouring windows fading alongside him.

I didn't know quite how profound the loss would be until I realised it was infinite. And suddenly I understood why poets were driven mad.

"Bonnie?"

The rain was lashing against the windscreen. I hadn't noticed. All I could see was the swirls of grey and white of that night he had walked into the road. Forever locked in that moment, never stepping out of it even as I traversed the present moment.

"Yeah?" I replied, turning my head to look at a pair of eyes so painfully similar to his that I couldn't stare for too long.

"We're here." Sam informed me, gesturing towards the blurred image of the church beyond the rainy glass.

I looked down at my hands. Balled up in my lap like I was wringing out a damp cloth.

"I can't do it." I shook my head, adamant that I was going to let roots begin to grow beneath where I sat before I ever got out of the car.

The warmth of a hand on my shoulder snaked over the curve of it from the seat behind me. And the tenderness of it made the tears begin to flow once more.

"Come on." Jolene soothed, "Be strong today, and I promise you can fall apart tomorrow."

Summer 1984

Jakes house smelled like beer and fabric softener. There were empty bottles strewn across the kitchen work tops and half eaten bags of chips sitting on the table. He immediately scrambled to try and make the place look more presentable as he opened the door for me.

I was endeared by it. But too tired to really care if the place was tidy or not.

"My Dad." He explained, sliding his arm across the counter in an attempt to gather all the empties into the trash can. "He usually has some buddies around to play poker and jam a little once a week. My Mom usually makes him clear the mess up, I guess he forgot tonight."

None of it felt real. Not the words exchanged in the hospital room or the way my little sister had clung to life with her eyes closed, none the wiser to the heated exchange. I could feel the coil around me tighten, a fear that I had done the wrong thing starting to choke me.

"It's fine, Jake. Really." I assured him, feeling the tears come.

He dropped the trash can and bounded across the kitchen, reaching me in one single heart beat. Fingers wrapping around my shirt, pulling me into his circle. The rush of comfort was overwhelming, doing nothing to stem the flood that was building. But it didn't feel quite so futile once I pressed my face into the curve of his neck.

"Hey, hey..." He soothed, "Everything will be alright, you know that?"

Whatever it meant to have walked this path, I couldn't go back. I'd had a taste of defiance and it had gone down like nectar. Sweet and alluring, with none of the bitterness I'd expected. And although I had a moment of doubt, the moment Jake held me it dissipated into nothing.

"Not yet, I don't." I sighed, letting the damp spot I'd made on his shirt seep onto his skin.

"Yes you do." He replied, noticing what I'd done and pulling the shirt completely off. "You being here means that you do."

The wall clock was ticking. The gentle buzz of the refrigerator sounded out over the silent house. It was strange to hear these familiar sounds in a place that was completely new to me. It didn't feel like home, but I didn't feel homesick for anywhere else either.

"It's been a long night. We can sleep on the pull out in the garage, I don't want you to have to deal with Josh's sleep talking in my room." He said, lining up my expectations like he always did.

"I don't care where we sleep." I shrugged, taking the shirt he'd dumped on the back of a chair and straightening it out absently as if my hands needed something to do.

He noticed.

"You're restless." He surmised, taking my hands into his and wrapping them around his waist. "Maybe we won't sleep, then."

"I couldn't." I confessed. "I keep replaying the sight of her laying in that hospital bed, helpless. And all my Dad cared about was making sure I knew he thought me a whore."

A smug little grin began to dance across Jakes lips.

"A whore?" He chuckled. "I have never given you a dime, how much do I owe you?"

His softness had me melting into it. In the face of my misery, he smiled and brought me into a light no God could ever provide. The sweetness of his love all the payment I'd ever need for the things he took such delight in from me.

"Forever." I replied, "You owe me forever."

The gentle nudge of the tip of his nose turned my cheek.

"Forever it is, then." He replied, nuzzling into a kiss that was slow and delicate.

I liked his house. The way it felt lived in. I could feel the love in the walls, the intimation of welcome and the chaos. I wondered how it could be that such love manifested under a roof so close to one that could scarcely keep the warmth in.

"I think this is what God meant when he talked about love." I whispered, letting him guide me through the house towards the door that opened up into the garage.

Jake was unapologetically shirtless. The base of his spine sitting above his belt, two little dimples that seemed to wink as he walked. Every fibre of him appealed to me, as if he'd been placed at my doorstep to adore.

"Don't worry about God." He mused, pushing open the door to reveal a cool breeze coming in from the drafty expanse ahead. "We make our own luck, our own destiny. We make our own love."

I felt as if I should have been exhausted. But being in this cavern of wonders always took me back to the night he took my virginity. I couldn't step into it without being reminded of the beauty of it, the way he'd been so gentle and calm.

I wasn't a virgin anymore. Any semblance of innocence I had given to him, willingly. I knew the softness of a man's touch and the aggressive streak that could come with heightened arousal. I knew that look in his eye when he wanted my body more than my soul. Things a girl could never understand.

"Fuck me, Jake."

I wanted it. Not to take the pain away, or numb the doubts racing through my mind. But simply because I wanted it. I wanted the rough and the smooth of his body against mine. The rush of blood to his penis, to feel the veins pulse at my touch.

I wanted the power. The femininity of it, to know he ordained himself to me. For the longest time I'd lived under a rule that was not my own. I governed myself now, my mind and my body.

"How would you like to be fucked?" He asked, pulling out the bed whilst keeping his eyes on me.

I could have been shy about it. I could have said it didn't matter, that he could fuck me however he pleased. But it wouldn't have satisfied me.

"Like the whore my Father thinks I am." I replied, without shame.

His hands were already at his belt. Loosening the buckle. Pulling it out of the loops swiftly.

"You'd better take off that dress and get on all fours, then." He instructed, matter-of-factly, as if I hadn't just said the most debauched thing to ever escape my lips.

The immediate flood was inspiring. He was so sure of himself, so certain of his ability to arouse me. Sometimes I forgot that I instilled that same heat within him. And so I did as I was told, letting my clothes fall to the ground as I crawled onto the bed.

I heard the unmistakable thud of his jeans as he kicked them off. The waistband of his boxer shorts as he slid them down high thighs. Soon his hands were at my hips, positioning me at the very edge of the bed with my toes almost peering over the precipice.

"Like a whore." He repeated, sinking to his knees. "I wouldn't fuck a whore like I loved her."

I had known his love and it was powerful. But so too was his propensity to make me feel like the most desired creature on earth. It carved out an obsession within me that had caused a ripple throughout my whole life. I simply wasn't the same girl I'd been at the start of summer.

"Then don't." I said flatly, "Just for once, don't love me..."

The way he didn't hesitate, the way he didn't even verbalise it. He understood what I needed without fixating on the how or the why. I closed my eyes as he spat on my cunt, rubbing his saliva into my submissive clit as he positioned himself.

He loved me so much he would do this for me. The sacrifice was not lost upon me. Part of me wondered if he had been waiting for me to submerge myself beneath the dark waters trying to drown me. If all along he'd wondered if the virgin would go rogue.

"The pastor's daughter has finally listened to the devil." He uttered, through gritted teeth, leaning in to my pussy like it was a water fountain, curving his mouth into the slit like it was about to satiate his thirst.

"He speaks to me every day." I reiterated, my voice trembling on the tongue that sliced into my entrance.

He trailed it upwards, licking a clean stripe from my pussy into the valley of my ass. And there he set to work, chasing all the choirs of angels that had ever sung to me. They flew skyward out of my mouth as I let out an agonized cry of pleasure.

He ate like a man starved. Like a man who had never set his tongue to speak, let alone venture into the parts of my body that never knew it could feel so good to be lashed.

"You know I love you." He breathed, his words strained on the way he swallowed.

"I know." I replied, almost in whisper.

"Good." He murmured, railing his tongue against my swollen lips. "Because for the next five minutes it's going to feel like I don't."

I was immediately drawn to the paint peeling on the brick wall. I was never really sure why my eyes zeroed in on it. Perhaps because my other senses were overwhelmed. I just needed something to tether me to this plane of existence. To feel as if any of it was real.

I stared at that white speck of flayed paint as my body convulsed. Jake, like he had lost his damned mind, sucked my pussy lips into his mouth and the devilish sound that it made turned my cheeks crimson.

And then, without any warning, I felt it. The curious finger that opened me up, a delicious new venture to take my mind away from itself. And I closed my eyes against it, not even able to tether myself to the wall.

My pussy, feeling the void of his touch, pined as he gently probed inside that other begging place. Filling it, exploring it. And I didn't have any way to fight it, least of all when he slammed his cock into that neglected hole. Fingers edging further into my ass, his hard beast giving me exactly what I had asked for in my pussy and my mind on the verge of euphoria as I forgot even the first syllable of my own name.

He was wrong. He'd never been more wrong. As he heaved and pounded, delicious strokes that hit me deep and hard I'd never felt more loved. My entire body pulsed with the magnitude of each thrust. My vulnerability laid bare, like he'd seen the heart of me since the very first time we'd caught each other's eye.

I wanted to touch him so badly, so maddeningly. But it drove me wild how easily he could take control and I would submit. Despite my shallow breaths, a gasp still managed to find it's way to my lips as he pulled out of my ass, swirling that same finger around the hole before stroking it with the pad of his thumb.

Everything I had come to know about sex was at Jake's teaching. Even this. This moment of sheer abandon, forceful indulgence in something I had clearly needed for so long but hadn't known what it was that would cure me of this melancholy.

I was nearing the point of thoughtlessness when I heard his whisper. His body leaned into the curve of my spine, his stomach nestled against me as his hand pulled back my sweat drenched hair. Cock held deep inside, his lips at the shell of my ear.

"Whore..."

There it was. Every single facet of my soul lingering in the ether between us. Getting fucked, getting my pussy so unashamedly pounded I felt nothing but pride. In Jake, in myself. There was nothing outside of it, nothing outside that one word that I had now reclaimed.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..." I recited, my voice barely audible over the stream of moans. "The Lord is with thee..."

"That's it little whore, pray..." Jake encouraged, wrapping my hair around his fist.

"Blessed art thou among....uhh...women..." I choked, feeling my head reel back as he pulled. "And blessed is the...oh, fuck...fruit of thy womb..."

He fucked harder, faster. Keeping my body aligned with him by pulling my hair.

"Tell him." He urged, "Tell your God who you belong to now."

My brain completely shut off from the inhibited parts that would scream at me to be decent, to have the kind of sex that God would approve of. There was nothing but the throbbing girth and savage onslaught of Jake fucking me left to commit myself to.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God..." I breathed, my mouth unforgivingly dry. "Pray for us sinners...now...and in the hour...fuck...in the hour of...fuck......"

"Our Death..." Jake completed for me, sending me into an orbit that was higher than any heaven could hope to be.

Had it only been five minutes? Every muscle and sinew ached, every nerve ending a blaze. My cunt was soft and wet, filled with his cum and the moisture of mine. My hair follicles stung, raw from the pull. I felt Jakes body slide against mine, sweaty and spent. The violence of his furious assault in the flush of our flesh.

I'd never felt more at peace.

"You want me to fuck you like that again, my death might be a real concern." He sighed, falling onto his back as I tried to regain my composure.

I'd never seen him look so absolutely ruined. The sweat and the rose in his cheeks making him look decidedly demonic. The dilation of his pupils made his eyes look pitch black in the almost darkness. He was my satan, my sinful reason to renounce all that I had ever known.

"But what a death." I replied, trailing a palm down my wet breasts, feeling my skin pricked with sweat. "And when you're entering the gates of hell you'll have sweet memories to keep you company."

"Hell can only exist if you believe in it." He said morosely, pulling me down into the clammy circle of his arms. "And after tonight, I've got a feeling you'll be less inclined to worry about ending up in eternal hell fire."

My cheek was sticking to his chest. But I didn't care. I let my skin absorb into his. Running my finger up his stomach, catching the little drenched hairs below his belly button.

"I don't care." I didn't know it until I said the words out loud. "All I want to do is make sure Jolene gets better, and make sure she never goes back to that life."

I had no concept of the time as I opened my eyes. I could feel the heat of the afternoon burning behind the garage door, though. A beam of yellow light framing the steel door. I sat up on the pull out bed, wrapped in blankets as if I'd been tucked in as I slept.

My dress was still draped on the arm of the chair opposite, everything left as it had been the night before. The only thing missing was Jake, his muffled voice carrying down from the house above.

I dressed in haste and found myself feeling a little nervous as I climbed the stairs towards the kitchen. Voices falling to silence as I turned the door handle.

I could feel the atmosphere thicken as I walked in. Jake was standing by the island, his palms flat on the counter and his head bowed. As if he'd been engaged in a conversation that brought him no joy. His Mother was standing at the hob, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. Her faded smile awkwardly returning as she caught sight of me.

Josh and Sam were sitting at the table devouring a plate of pancakes, their sister idly reading a book with her feet up on the chair next to her, barely noticing my entrance.

"Sit down, dear." Karen offered, "There's pancakes on the table and I'm making some porridge if you prefer."

The kitchen was still littered with the night before, empty beer cans and chip bags. But nobody seemed to care, and it made me feel more at home. Despite the lull in conversation as I took a seat around the table, I had hope that it was because nobody had expected me to be there.

Sam, still chewing his food, smiled.

"Do you think it'd be ok if I went to see Jolene in the hospital?" He asked, shoving an empty plate towards me.

"Sweetie, we talked about this." Karen said, pointing her wooden spoon at him. "I don't think Mr. Jones would appreciate that."

Perhaps I should have interjected. I could feel Jakes eyes on me, waiting for me to agree or disagree. Ronnie looked up over the lip of her book, and Josh offered me the syrup.

"You don't have to walk on eggshells." I ventured, "I don't have anything to say about my Father that will be positive."

"I already told you." Jake sniffed, "She doesn't want to go back there."

Karen shot her son a knowing look, one that I couldn't be a part of. But I understood the meaning of it. She would protect her flock from the bullshit my family posed, but she would welcome me regardless of it. Whatever it meant, she had to trust that her son had everything under control.

A part of me doubted that she held that much trust in her youngest son. I didn't know why, but I'd seen the careless nature in Sam. His propensity for letting himself run away with frivilous ideas. This and Jolene's chaos was a deadly combination.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you need." Karen offered, putting a bowl of thick and gloopy porridge in front of me.

She sprinkled it with some fruit and looked pleased with herself. The sort of Mother I'd never known. Suddenly I was ravenous and began spooning the mixture into my mouth like I hadn't eaten in days. Maybe I hadn't?

"Don't they feed you over there?" Josh asked, amused by me.

Jake railed his palm against the back of Josh's head, ruffling his curls.

"I know you're joking, but be fucking nice!" He warned, pushing Ronnie's feet off the only empty chair before taking it.

"I am being nice!" Josh replied, shrugging in surprise. "Sorry, Bonnie."

I shook my head. It didn't matter. Sam was still waiting for me to say something to his request. As if what Karen had said didn't answer the question for him.

"So, what do you think?" He continued, "About me being able to go up to the hospital?"

I was still chewing on the blueberries popping against my tongue as I sluiced the porridge around my mouth. Savouring the taste. Wondering if breakfast was always this delicious, or did everything just taste better now that I was free?

I was still formulating an answer when the doorbell went. The ring of it making everyone exchange this strange look of wonder. Perhaps their doorbell was so seldomly pressed it came as a surprise that someone was at the door. It struck me that the Kiszka house was an open door policy. Anyone that knew them well enough to have occasion to visit simply stepped inside.

"I'll get it." Jake said, after realising nobody else would.

It didn't take long for me to hear the voice my brother used when he was trying to be polite, but it was nothing more than a facade to the way he really felt. I could hear the clipped tone, the words appropriate enough but I could imagine his smug little face.

I shot up from the table. Determined to make this problem go away. Feeling as if I owed no more bullshit on their doorstep.

"What do you want, Ben?" I asked, letting Jake step aside as I approached the door.

He didn't look smug at all. There was this pained look in this eyes that I'd never seen before. Like he hadn't slept. His shirt wasn't tucked in and his hair wasn't neatly combed as usual. His chin was trembling, as if he was on the verge of tears he would never allow himself to shed.

He was forlorn. "Can't a brother check up on his sister?"

I almost laughed. "I really don't think you care."

"I do..." He replied, without hesitation, his eyes widening to prove his point. "Of course I care. I've got one sister in the hospital and the other one hiding out in the house across the street. We need you to come home, both of you."

The use of the word 'we' incited an anger in the pit of my stomach I hadn't known burned quite so brightly. It flared in the whites of my eyes and made my palms grow clammy. I looked to Jake, but he simply held the door open and waited to move on my cue.

"Close the door Jake, we're done talking."

He didn't ask questions, he just let the door swing free. When Ben stepped inside and jammed his foot against it closing, only then did he gently move me back. Standing in front. Meeting my brother at eye level.

"Take your foot out of my door, dude." He softly warned, "That's not cool."

He didn't even look at Jake, it was as if he wasn't even there. Like this wasn't his house and he was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"You disobey your Father, you disobey God." He said ominously, "Is that what you want, Bonnie?"

I couldn't entertain him. Every word that spilled out of his mouth now sounded like the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. Nonsense. The word of God? A tool used to keep me compliant. In fear. I could see his concern laced in his furrowed brow, but it was misplaced.

He wasn't concerned for me. He was concerned with the reaction he would get if he went home empty handed.

"Yes, Ben." I replied, "That is what I want. Ok???"

He'd forged his way into every traumatic moment of my life. Standing on the periphery of every abusive little thing Dad had ever said or done to me. Like a strange little voyeur, living under the same roof but having an entirely different experience.

"You heard her." Jake echoed, kicking my brothers foot aside before slamming the door in his face.

The eggshells were still being walked on as I hurried back to my breakfast. It broke my heart. And I couldn't eat another bite, everything going down in lumps as I sat there fighting back tears. Everyone was silent. I couldn't take it.

"Yes, Sam." I mumbled, trying to find my voice without it breaking on tears. "Get your jacket, we'll go up to the hospital."

His eyes lit up. His smile beamed. Like I'd handed him the holy grail and told him it would grant him unending powers. The sort of joy that was only reserved for the first flushes of love.

I looked at Jake, knowing it wasn't like that for me and him. He wouldn't find joy at being granted access to my hospital bedside. He would be injured at my side, or cutting down the last tongue that ever tried to tell him he could not see me.

I could still feel the ache between my legs that he had left as a reminder of his unwavering devotion. And I knew that whatever was to come would be a testament to that. To the coil wrapped around us both.

I couldn't fathom what was about to happen.

To be continued...

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #fanfic #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader

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