#but i used to think. very VAINLY i might say. that if i could draw like him id draw beautiful pictures of myself all the time

[userjoel]

[ drabble ♡ lingering stares & unexpected blushes ] ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

[ prompt ] : “quit smiling at me like that. i can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.” /// you help tom rehearse his lines for ‘far from home’ but he looks so cute standing there in his glasses and you just can’t help but stare

[ pairing ] : tom holland x gender neutral reader

[ warnings ] : tom drops the f bomb once or twice

[ word count ] : 1.5k

[ notes ] : i know how unrealistic it is for someone else to have access to a marvel movie script like y/n in this story when even the actors get fake versions sometimes but!! for the sake of the story pls ignore this minor inconvenience </3

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“And this...is Mr. Beck.” You dramatically enunciate, trying your best to make sure your voice sounds deep like Samuel L. Jackson’s.

And maybe your voice change was just that convincing, because Tom doesn’t seem even the slightest bit distracted by your acting skills. He continues to stay in character, his eyebrows knitting together instead in response to the line.

“Mysterio?”

“What?” You change your voice again to one that (you thought) might be more appropriate for Jake Gyllenhaal. 

Tom gently shakes his head, a shy smile appearing on his lips. “Uh, doesn’t matter. It’s just what my friends have been calling you.”

You’re currently lying on your stomach across the plush expanse of your living room couch, reading off the weighty packet of papers clutched in your hand as your boyfriend, glasses perched on his nose, paces back and forth in front of the fireplace not too far away from you. You’d glance over at him in between lines, noticing the way he’d sometimes lick his lips or run his fingers through unruly hair whenever he felt his next line slipping away from his memory.

It was common for you to help Tom run through his lines every once in a while, but today was a rare occasion when he didn’t need to be on set. The opportunity had you hoping it’d mean a chance to get his mind off of something other than work. But when you spotted the massive, bookmarked script sitting unattended on the kitchen island in the morning, you realized halfway through your coffee that that option was off the table.

So, here you were — now working through your second cup of the day — helping Tom do his self-assigned homework.

“You can call me Quentin.”

You squint for a moment to read the stage directions that follow before extending your hand towards your boyfriend, who catches the gesture from his peripheral. You raise an eyebrow, a serious look in your eyes to match the graveness of the scene. Tom notices, and you swear you could see the corner of his lips twitch up ever so slightly. But it’s gone before you could say for sure.

He closes the distance, gently taking hold of your outstretched hand before shaking it with a kind of firmness. You smile at him when your eyes meet. He doesn’t return it, but there’s a tenderness and twinkle in his eyes as they rest on you that you knew you’d never trade for anything else in the world. 

It feels like he holds both the gaze and your hand for a second too long. You have half a mind to pull him into the spot on the couch next to you, but you think better of it and let go.

“Um…” Your vision scrambles back to the script, trying to find where you left off. “Oh — Saw what you did with the tower. We could use someone like you in my world.”

“Thanks. Wait, I’m sorry. 'Your world?'” Tom doesn’t return to the same spot where he was pacing just moments ago. Instead he stands a few steps away from you, arms crossed in concentration, looking down at his feet or glancing outside the window from time to time.

“There are multiple realities, Peter. This is Earth Dimension 616. I’m from Earth-833.” You find it slightly more difficult for you to refocus. The brief moment you shared earlier has made you lose the flourish you’d been previously putting into your recitations, the lines come out more monotone.

And you know. You know you should be helping him practice his lines for this very, very important multi-million dollar movie, but there were far more pressing things at hand for you.

Like how cute your boyfriend looked.

He’s dressed simply; a buttery-soft white t-shirt and a pair of dark green sweatpants. But it’s less about that and more about how he looks all together — the glasses; the curls of his hair; the way the fabric of his sleeves clings to his muscular arms; how he seems to fidget when he senses you staring at him for a little too long.

He’s doing it now: Tom doesn’t look up at you, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other instead. But with a pleasant chuckle of disbelief, he’s back to being Peter: “I’m sorry — you’re saying there’s a multi-verse?”

You smile and bite your bottom lip when you notice the sudden transition in character, head craning to the side a bit as you continue to look at him, trying to catch his gaze. It’s obvious he knows what you’re doing, and it’s beginning to get to him. He can feel your gaze heating his skin up; the rosy tips of his ears betray his otherwise external nonchalance.

How could you not love the effect you had on him? It felt that much more special because he seemed to get worked up over random little things you usually didn’t even know you were doing. He could look so put together on set and in his element, but one innocent look from you was all it took to break his character.

“I thought that was just theoretical. I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity. We’re talking about an internal —”

“Eternal.” You gently correct him, the small smile never faltering from your lips.

Tom finally glances up at you, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Fuck. I always get that bit mixed up. Uh — right. So it’s — I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity; we’re talking about an external —”

“Eternal, babe.” You giggle, sitting up slightly as your eyes take a look at the script. “It’s the eternal inflation system? Whatever that means.”

“Bloody — eternal. Eternal eternal eternal.” Tom’s eyebrows knit together in frustration as he repeats the words to drill it into his memory. You continue to watch with amusement from your front row seat. It was always fascinating (and maybe just a tiny bit attractive?) to see him switch from his English dialect to an American one so casually. One saw little use for movies when you were dating a talented actor.

“Darling?" Tom's voice snaps you out of your daze.

“Hm?”

“I love you, y’know that, yeah? I love and absolutely adore you for being a godsend and helping me run through my lines… but you’ve got to quit smiling at me like that.”

You tuck your lips between your teeth for a moment to vainly try and stifle the smile, eyes widening with feigned innocence and confusion. “Me? Smile? I have literally never smiled at you in my entire life, Thomas.”

That makes him chuckle, shaking his head as he finally gives in and sits down by your side, his body sinking into the couch. You can’t help but laugh too, turning face him.

He cocks his head slightly, softened eyes fixated on your lips. “Mm… See what I mean? That smile. Right there.” His thumb and index finger carefully grab your chin as his voice lowers. “I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

And suddenly, it’s your turn to forget what to say next. You blush under his stare.

Your boyfriend’s eyes glimmer as they look into yours. But they disappear behind closed eyelids as he draws you in to gently kiss you.

The soft petals of his lips don’t linger against yours for too long, but the physical affection remains in the way his forehead leans against yours. Against the silence of the moment, you feel him draw in a breath to say something, and you swear it's gonna be some romantic one-liner. But instead he says in a Queens accent: “We’re talking about an eternal inflation system. And how does that even work with all the quantum… It’s insane!”

“Did I get that right?” One eye peeks open for confirmation.

And just like that, it's back to business. You hum, pulling away from him to grab the script from the coffee table. Your eyes quickly scan the page. “Mhm! And then Mysterio says… Don’t ever apologize for being the smartest person in the room.”

“All in a day’s work.” Tom chuckles, and you can tell by the way his shoulders relax that he’s done — for now. His arms wrap around you as he falls back on the couch with you lying on his chest. “Eternal inflation system, initial singularity, quantum… Y’know sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I auditioned to be Groot instead.” 

“Hm,” you purse your lips in thought. “Well, you’d certainly make a very handsome tree, I can tell you that much.”

Tom feigns a delighted gasp. “You mean that?” 

“Of course, I mean look at you. It’s obvious you were born to play the part.”

“Ha." You watch the way his eyes crinkle as he entertains the idea. "Honestly, you’re gonna be the reason why I turn into a big diva one of these days,” He mumbles as he leaves a peck on your nose.

“Don’t get so ahead of yourself, champ.” The corners of your lips turn up as you reassuringly pat his chest. “You might want to start improving your line memorization skills before you start thinking that far ahead.”

Tom groans as he tosses his head back, his eyes screwed shut. “You hurt me, baby. Really. You do.”

“I love you too.” You giggle as you sit up to straddle his waist, and you pick up the script one final time. “Now, do you want to run that last line by me again?”

#tom holland imagines #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #hope writes

[lightsaberupmybutt]

A Friendly Massage (2) - Luke Skywalker x FemReader

part one is here!

This imagine is over 5000, this imagine is over 5000 words, this imagine is over 5000 words. i don't know why this is so long, i just wanted to write a quick little part two and its 5000 words of tension and smut and I'm not even sorry, you did this to yourselves.

warnings: SMUT was a tiny slice of oral (male receiving ) on the side, enjoy.

Day to day life carried on as it always had after your run in with Luke the other night, however you knew something had shifted.

 And he certainly felt it too. Your usual good mornings and friendly waves in passing were met with stuttered, awkward greetings and a gaping lack of eye contact. It was obvious that something had to be said to resolve the growing tension between the two of you, but you'd be damed if you were the one to address the elephant in the room. Besides, it was HIS rather large, excitable elephant that had causes the issue in the first place. 

So you waited, biding your time and convincing yourself that on some level this refusal to acknowledge your lust was actually just subliminal jedi training. patience is important right? that seemed to be something Yoda would approve of? abstinence? Although he probably wouldn't be proud of your solo late night escapades that were fuelled by fantasies of what the Blonde Jedi would have done to you if he had just had a smidge more confidence; how he would have looked underneath you while you rode him, unraveling with your every bounce, lips parted whispering your name repeatedly like its the only word he had ever been taught. You wondered if he even liked being ridden, or was he the more dominant of the two of you ? you doubted it, as much as he showed great strength and leadership in the training hall, Skywalker didn't give off the sexual prowess of someone who was largely well experienced, it made sense that he wouldn't be left with much time for bedding girls around you know, saving the whole entire planet from his own fathers borderline demonic regime. 

Truly, though, you had never felt like he wouldn't know what he was doing. Especially after that massage he had given you, even if it was a tad brief. Like knew how to use his hands, even if one of them was mechanical. You found yourself wondering if he used them differently, if he happened to have more dexterity in one set of fingers than the other, how that would feel if those fingers where being put to use inside of your tight - 

“Y/N? have you been listening to a word I've just said” 

Youre whipped out of your thoughts by an all too familiar voice as you vainly attempt to stop your cheeks from turning pink in front of your fellow Padwan’s. You stumble to find you words while simultaneously praying Luke hasn't decided to use his weird mind reading ability in the last 10 minutes of your brain wander or so.

“Sorry sir” is all you can offer, as you truly have not the faintest of ideas of what he was just talking about. You don't miss the way luke stiffens when you use the term of authority toward him, a trick you normally would not exploit however unluckily for him, he caught you completely of guard. He lets out an exaggerated sigh before he returns to pacing,

“You can all return to your activities” He dismisses you all, and you scurry to the door with the others before he adds, 

“not you, Y\N”

ah shit. 

He waits until everyone has exited and the door has shut behind then before he turns to you,

“Whats up with you lately?” his teaching voice is gone, he's back to exasperated friend luke, 

You chortle on a gasp of air as you shoot him an accusatory look, taking a few steps closer to him with your finger outstretched like a weapon, 

“whats up with ‘me’?” you mock, showing your finger towards yourself, before dramatically turning it back on him, moving even closer. 

“What the fuck is up with you Luke? your the one who's being weird with me, don't pull some uno reverse card on the last few days”

You can see the lost puppy dog look in his eyes, as he tries to scramble together some sort of reply, 

“and don't fucking lie to me” you add, closing the space between you so that you're now jabbing him in the chest with your pointer finger. 

“i er, .. i don't know what you're talking about Y/N” god, even the way he says your name is hot, you feel feat rising again in areas it shouldn't but you push it away, your pride not wanting him to get the best of you even if your body would quite happily will it.

“Liar” you spit at him with such venom it surprises even yourself, accompanied with another jab to the chest, this one maybe a little harder than the ones before. 

“ouch” he mumbles, trapping the accusing finger in one palm and rubbing his chest with the other, the dramatics causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Hey, don't do that!” he fires back, you can tell he's trying to sound stern but its not really all to effect when he's still rubbing out the pain from your finger jab.

“do what?” 

“roll your eyes at me! I'm your senior” he puffs his chest, but his eyes still are full of surprise at your sudden outburst.

 “really? are you now luke?” you push him, his hand still wrapped around yours, sending sparks through you arm.

“yes, i am” His voice is breathy, his breath splaying down onto your face as he speaks. You suddenly realise just how close you have managed to get to him, previously too lost in the moment. Your body is all but pressed against his, head tilted down ever so slightly so that he can be on the same eye level as you. There isn't much difference in your height, but right now he feels like he's towering over you. 

Its rare that you see this side of Luke, normally so soft and docile towards you. The tension of this argument and sheer stress that has been building inside of him since your incident is starting to bubble over the surface as he's trapped so close to you now. You can tell he's surveying you, begging you to make the next move though fear he will say something he might regret. 

But maybe that is what you want from him, after all the last happy accident between the two of you has been the image you have gotten off to for the last four nights. 

“prove it then” 

“prove what?” Luke looks confused, suddenly drawing back a little like he'd completely lost the trail of your conversation, head tilted to the side like a bewildered golden retriever, 

“prove that you're my senior” you whisper back, almost not wanting him to hear it. You can tell by the way his light sapphire eyes gaze over he does though, as he watches you pull away and leave the training room, door slamming behind you.

 You slip past two bodies as you rush back to your dorm, your confidence leaking and the implications of what you just challenged beginning to set in. Hans and Leia both follow their gaze after you, the two having witnessed the end portion of yours and Lukes confirmation through the viewing window while waiting for the princess’s twin to finish for lunch. Leia turned to Hans, eyes narrowed,

“you don't think they might actually….” she trails off,

 “bang? oh definitely” Hans answers, still looking at the shaken remnants of Luke Skywalker, who liked like he may have lost all brain function capacity. 

It had been ten hours and forty five minutes since you'd left look in your dust in the training room, not that anyone was counting. And you had concluded two facts while on your bed in that time; 

Luke clearly didn't feel the same way you felt for him; you had left him with basically an invitation to come and take you and he was a no show.

to avoid facing the death by embarrassment you would inevitably suffer you will be spending the remainder of your sorry life inside the confines of this very dorm. it seemed the adult thing to do. 

You muffled a yawn, the sun had long past retired, and from your place on your bed you could just make out the two moons and multiple consolations now decorating the dark blue night.  

Lifting your arms above you head in a stretch, you caught a whiff of sweat and instantly sighed; as much as you had been willing to enjoy never moving from you bed until either starvation or dehydration took you out of your misery, you did happen to stink like garbage. 

You scuffled off the bed and out of your cloak and training pants, that had been left on from hours ago, making a mental note that at least you'd wouldn't have to worry about washing them if you never saw look again. You shimmied out of you knickers and unhooked your bra, throwing them onto the floor to join the rest of your discarded outfit before wandering over to your bathroom and turning on the shower, untangling your hair the best you can while the water warms. 

When you finally stepped under the water you let out a hiss at the feeling of the heat against your skin, basking in the feeling of droplets on your now bare body. You let your hand roam, starting at your chest and finding a path down past your belly button and hips, your skin trembling as your hand drifted over the area between your thighs. 

You let out another hiss, your fingers finding their way between your folds, teasing yourself. You enjoyed the tension loss for all but a moment before flashes of luke pressed against you in the training room earlier flew back into your brain; how hot his skin had been against yours and how his scent had been so strong in his sweat after the hours of sparring multiple Padawan’s. You moaned, half in frustration with yourself for ruining your moment and the other half in want. 

He's even spoiling your shower time now, what a dick. 

You snatched your soap bar from the shelf and scrubbed viciously, not allowing  yourself the enjoyment of a relaxing shower due to your own self betrayal. You ran some through your locks, cursing whichever part of your brain was telling the rest that this would feel a million times better if it was the Jedis hands in place of your own.

Once you had finished mentally punishing yourself, you turned off the water and stood there for a minute contemplating the likelyhood of a bang to the head removing your memory of todays events. 

After all, it would be so simple, a little slip in the shower and poof! Sure, Luke would remember it all, but would he really have the guts to say anything to you about it? surely he wouldn't want to risk your recovery from a very accidental definitely not self inflicted head injury now would he? However, if your preexisting luck was anything to go off, you'd probably forget everything but the sexual tension you had for your master.

Cowardly, you stepped out safely, making sure not to fall, and wrap yourself in a soft towel, leaving your hair to drip down onto your shoulders. You step out of your bathroom, not noticing the shadow that had formed in the corner of your room until they cleared their throat, causing you to just back in sheer terror, going over on your ankle and nearly dropping your towel all together. 

 “Sorry i er..”

“Luke? what the Fuck are you doing” You gasp out, staring blindly into the darkness as the shape shuffles on their feet awkwardly, 

Luke moves closer, the small amount of light left from outside casting across his soft face and mop of hair.

“I didn't mean to scare you” is all he can offer, 

“And what part of you hiding in my room while i showered would not come across as scary?” You shot back, more dazed than angry. You knew what him being here meant, but him hiding in the most light depraved corner of your room while you tried not to masturbate to images in your head of him in your shower was never part of the fantasy.

“i didn't realise you'd be showering this late” He replied, as if that answered the question as to why he was hiding in your room so late at night at all. 

You strained your eyes trying to peer at him, and he seemed to notice, taking another few steps forward into the moonlight. Maker did he look good, under the stars his skin glowed and his hair caught copper and silver highlights that made your knees weak. His soft features were taunt and there was mischief in his eyes, a familiar sight but in the situation at present it made heat grow in your lower stomach. 

Something told you he could see it in your face too, whatever he was looking for, because he kept on moving in on you, like a predator after their pray, You weren't used to seeing Luke all wound up like this, the only other time being the last time he was in your room, but the situation was different this time. There was an open air of lust and anticipation flowing around the two of you, you could only compare it to what the force had felt like the few times you'd managed to master it. It was like something spiritual was drawing you two closer, your body was working on autopilot, moving without your conscious command. He had closed the gap between you by now, but he didn't make a move to touch you or even say any more than he already had, simply staring down at you. When you realised he really wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, you stepped up to the mark for him,

“Why are you here Luke” It wasn't really a question, you knew what you had said to him earlier, the words that you had been replaying over and over in your head ever since. 

“Because..” He trailed off, as if he was trying to find the right way of wording his thoughts, you took this as a chance to push him a little further, no matter how nervous you both were right now, you knew him well enough over the last year to learn how to fire him up, and right now a pent up Luke was exactly what you wanted. You knew you were playing with fire, but you doubted if he did react, it would be in a way you wouldn't enjoy. Quite frankly, the boy could pick you up and throw you out of your own bedroom window right now and you'd still probably be horny enough to find some form of sexual gratification from the experience  

You saw his brow raise and his eyes flash before you heard his word, 

“To show you what i want from you, Padawan” He smirked around the term, causing you to let out a small, nervous laugh. 

“And what is it that you want from me, Master?” You hardly finish the word before his arms have snaked around your back and you're being lifted from the ground, letting out a squeal of surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist for support. He plopped you down on the bed, still situated between your legs, pulling a hand out on either side of your shoulders so that he could stare down at you. 

“Thats not an answer luke” you quipped back, quite impressed at your ability to still functionally produce coherent words. He leaned down, his lips on your ear, 

“oh, i think it is, Y/N” he breathed, letting out a boyish laugh before he could stop himself, almost giving you the chance to shoot another sarcastic comment his way, but as his lips touch the skin below your ear and start to plant wet hungry kisses there, the words dissolve into a soft moan. 

His head shoots up and you see the look of concern in his eyes, confirming that maybe Luke isn't the most sexually experienced person on this planet. The sweetness in his reaction makes you weak, but you have lost the ability to reply with words, so you communicate through grabbing either side of his soft face and planting a hungry kiss on his lips. 

For a moment you catch him off guard, frozen under you lips, and you worry that maybe you have somehow misread this situation entirely. Maybe he was just fooling around with you, maybe he wants serious?

But all that concern is dissipated by his lips finding rhythm against yours, equally as passionately. Okay, so maybe he isn't the best at reading you tell tale lust signs, but oh maker can he kiss. The movement of his lips alone is enough to cause severer wetness to pool between your thighs, your spin raising off the bed as far as it can to push your body against his clothed one. You're amazed your towel has lasted this long, especially after the near miss before, but now you find yourself wishing it hadn’t. Conscious of Luke being as respectful as it is, you also know that if you wait for him to remove it you may have melted away before he sees you; so you move a hand from his face to the tie at the top of your chest and pull it open, the towel cascading around you and leaving your front bare.

You had a feeling that Luke was a little too caught up in the moment to realise, so you gently slid you hand around one of his, waiting until he shifted his weight onto his other arm before you lowered it to you chest, letting it cup your breast. Lukes eyes shot open as he let out a gasp, lips opening just enough for you to tease your tongue against his bottom lip. His hand moved instinctively to squeeze, his thumb brushing gently over your already erect nipple. You shivered and moaned in response, but this time Luke knew this meant he was doing something right, so he repeated his actions.

 You had to give it to him, he was a fast learner.

 Your hand moved in an attempt to untie his cloak, but the action was proving difficult while Lukes mouth was on yours and his hand roaming your body, causing you to become inpatient.

“Take it off” You managed to get out between kisses, 

You expected him to challenge your direct order, but he merely sat up and untied the cloak, slipping it from himself and removing his undershirt too. You watched as the moonlight danced upon his skin, his toned chest, years of Jedi training had certainly served his body well. This wasn't the first time you'd seen Luke topless, but it was the first time you hadn't had to hide the fact that you were really looking. Realising how long you had been staring you met his eyes again,  half expected to see him smirking down at you, but he was just as lost in your body as you were his;

“You - You're Beautiful” He stumbled under his breath, you weren't sure if you were even supposed to hear it, but it made your cheeks burn either way. Before he could say anything else, you lifted your back up from the bed and pushed your body flush against his, planting kisses on his neck, eliciting a moan from the Jedi in response. You left little purple marks peppered in the wake of you lips, something you knew he may not be too pleased about in the morning, but you figured you might as well get away with as much claiming of him you could in the heat of the moment. He quivered underneath you, from this angle you could feel his ever-growing, now comically familiar, budge, his body naturally thrusting into yours, causing a beautiful friction against your heat. Luke was lost in the pleasure, and has seemingly temporarily forgotten he had hands, so you grabbed ahold of on and pushed it down to the bottom of your stomach, lifting your core from his so he could access it. Luke met your eyes again, this time you could tell him was clueless, his cheeks glowing a deep scarlet.

“I erm” You didn't let him finish, you'd figured Luke was a little inexperienced but not to this level. The massive reverse in roles made you feel a little powerful; suddenly you were the experienced one and he was your understudy. Maybe he should be calling you master? You made a mental note to remember that fact for tomorrow when the joke might go down better than in the middle of sex, 

“Just rub around here” you told him, while guiding his hand to your bundle of nerves, making sure to show him the correct pressure you wanted, and then your lips were back on his. 

Luke was slow at first, and it took him a while to actually bring his fingertips between your folds, however once he did he seemed to find the exact spot you wanted him in. Whether it the pressure of his cool finger tips or the fact that he had been unintentionally teasing the area so long, you released a borderline animalistic high pitched moan, lurching forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt him chuckle against your neck, repeating his action and causing you to squeal again, 

“well then” He murmured into your ear, a cheeky air to his voice, causing you to groan knowingly - you'd certainly be mocked for that vicious reaction afterwards. 

You wanted to smack the smirk from his lips, but instead you lowered one of you hands between your bodies, resting it on Lukes now fully erect but concealed member. He paused momentarily, before letting out his own moan as you started to palm him through his loose trousers. There was dampness under your hand, a mix of your slick heat and his own leaking member, but it only spurred you on more. 

Lukes actions had become increasingly sloppy, his hand slipping lower and lower until one of his digits unintentionally bumped against your opening, causing you to jump in his arm and whine against his ear. Luke took this as a sign to dip the tip of the finger into you, testing to make sure this wasn't the wrong move, when you hum in response he slips the rest in up to his knuckle. The action makes you tremble, and you're panting and whispering jibberish into his ear. He removes the finger and then puts in back in slowly, still unsure. Its torture, literal torture. You start moving your lower body against his hand, riding it. You're not sure what makes him do it, maybe just a reflex, but luke bends his finger ever so slightly just at the right point of entrance and hits your inner sweet spot, causing your tummy to do a flip and move wetness to peek from your core. His other hand finds your clit again, without you having to instruct him this time, and the mix of both actions causes your eyes to roll back into your head and you to let out a quieter but still prominent squeal. Luke laughs again, 

“Calm down little one” He teases, confidence dripping from his ever word. 

Maybe its the temptation to remove his smugness again, or maybe you're just turned on so much by this cocky side of Skywalker you've previously not seen enough of, but you instantly reach your hand under his waistband and inside his boxers, finding his length and stroking it directly with your hand. 

He instantly spasms under you, almost bucking you off him, and you thank god you're near enough to your headboard to catch yourself before he does. 

“sorry” he mumbles, steadying you with one hand, his other still inside your heat. 

“Shhh, its okay” you reassure him, before gently removing his hand from your heat and pushing him back a bit, causing him to look at you with confusion. 

“I just want to see it properly” You tell him, working on his waistband again. 

“You already have” he groans, clearly getting some secondhand embarrassment  from his previous accidental boner experience, but lowering his pants and boxers none the less, his manhood springing out. 

he hisses slightly as it meets the cool air of the room, his head rolling back ever so slightly - and you don't think you've ever seen a sight so sinful and glorious in your life. 

You lower your head down towards it but he catches your forehead against his palm before you can meet your goal, 

“erm? excuse me”

“youre excused ?” you reply, looking up at him from your position almost at his manhood, 

“what are you doing?”

“Oh luke i think you know fine well” You dip your tongue out between your lips, and it just reaches the very tip of his head, catching a little of what he's leaked there. Luke lets out a throaty moan in response, and you take advantage of his distraction, moving out from under his hand and licking his full length, from the base to the very tip. The sounds Luke makes in response are enough to almost make you tip over your own edge, but you try to suppress your own want long enough to put him all in your mouth and do a slow bob. He bucks into your mouth, unintentionally hitting the back of your throat and causing you to almost gag, the process causing him to mutter profanities that you never thought you would hear from the golden boy of the rebellion. 

You only get in a few slow bobs before his hand returns to your head, but this time he doesn't push you away, so you continue to move your mouth around his length which his fingers get lost in your hair. You cant fit all of him in your mouth comfortably, and your mind starts to wonder to what is inevitably the next step, your heat reminding you of just how much you want him down there, fucking you senseless into your own bed while the rest of the ship sleeps (hopefully)  unaware of your actions. 

Suddenly Luke is tugging your hair, pulling you up from him so that he slips out of your mouth with an audible plop. You take a chance to actually look at him, surprised at just how unravelled he looks, sweat causing his locks to stick to his forehead in erratic patterns, his eyes the darkest shade of blue you've ever seen. 

“whats wrong?” You ask him, your voice a little more course than you expected, 

“ Im going to come” He tells you truthfully, embarrassment visible on his face. You want to giggle at his innocent response, but you also don't want him to feel even worse than he clearly does, so you suppress it and keep your eyes on his, 

“Well come then “ you answer obliviously, still not truly understanding the route of his embarrassment. Sure, this wasn't exactly the worlds longest performance, but you'd seen much worse from people with much more experience - and at least Luke had actually managed to get you wet. 

I want to but “ He stopped, turning away in frustration and drifting off at the very last minute, you waited for him to finish, reaching for his hand and rubbing your thumb against it, attempting to reassure him enough to let you continue. 

“I want to fuck you” The way he says the words, like he knows he shouldn’t, makes it the most sinful line you've ever heard from anyone. You feel like he's just hit you with a sledgehammer, your core pulsing in response. 

He still wont look at you, so you simply lean back into  your bed, opening your legs, all prior shyness being pushed to the back of your mind by the raging lust that his words had fuelled. 

“Fuck me then” You instruct him, and oh boy, he does. 

head whipping around, Luke crawls back over you, eyes burning holes into yours as he meets your face, you bend your knees and grab his member with your hand, making sure to run it along your slit, gathering your wetness in its wake, before placing the tip at its rightful home, against your opening. Luke looks like he might burst, but you place a gentle kiss on his lips before guiding your body up to meet him, his tip entering you and stretching you out. You gasp at the feeling, Luke taking this as his cue to slow insert the rest of himself, filling you fully and causing you to clench around him on impact. Both of you are moaning now, maybe a little louder than appropriate for such a communal ship, but neither of you could find it in yourselves to care at this moment in time.

Luke was big, for sure. You remembered back to just before and internally cursed yourself for not making sure he used more than one finger one you; you were definitely no virgin but it had been a while since you'd been with anyone, and nobody had ever come near the size you were dealing with now. As luke started moving, the sensation of slight discomfort faded, and you were being overrides with a new force. You could feel every inch of him inside you, and partnered with his breathy moans of your name and his increasingly wild expressions, you could feel the coil of lust inside you beginning to build again. Maker, this was so good - surely things this good shouldn't be allowed for sinners like you. 

Lukes movements got sloppy all to fast, you could tell he was fighting his high as long as possible

You were overpowered with the need to give him release, slipping one hand into his hair and the other to his cheek, 

“Come for me, master” Your words caused his eyes to flash open, and his whole body to convulse, he didn't take much telling; you felt warmth leak into you as Luke let out a final throaty moan and his head flopped into your chest. 

You lay there for a while, stroking the stray locks of hair from his face as both your breathing returned to a somewhat normal level, him still inside you as you started to leak out over the covers. You'd probably be bothered about that tomorrow, like the clothes unwashed on the floor and the sound complaints from the people either side of your dorm. But for now, nothing could bother you. 

As you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep, Luke felt for the first time in years that nothing outside of this ship was worth any of his mind, he had all he needed here in this bed with you.

#luke skywalker #Luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker smut #Star Wars #Star Wars imagine #Star Wars preference #Star Wars headcannon #the mandolarian

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

On Days Like This (Part 3)

Carwood Lipton x Reader

Summary: ooh girl we got a spicy filler chapter IN THIS BITCH.

Carwood had woken up before you the morning after you’d made love with him with a stupid grin on his face and an excited flutter in his heart.

If the blissful soreness in his sated body didn’t serve as confirmation enough that last night had indeed happened, the soft weight of your bare thigh over his provided more than enough evidence of the contrary.

Your nude body was a sight to behold, the beginnings of bruises from his biting kisses across her chest had just begun to blossom in the dim light coming in from the streetlight outside of the hotel room window. He hadn’t realized he’d made them at the time, too lost in the taste of your skin and  the rolls of your hips.

The sweet way you sighed his name, lips trembling so beautifully he felt he had no choice but to give you anything and everything that you were begging for….

Carefully, not wanting to wake you just yet, Lip rolled onto his side so he could prop himself up on his elbow and admire your peaceful expression.

You obviously had not grown up being told how beautiful you were- it was obvious in the way your face would turn bright pink and you’d turn away whenever he informed you of how lovely he found you, how brave and smart you were. How lucky he was to know you.

How lucky he felt to have been deemed worthy of your affection.

You’d only recently stopped smacking him in the arm whenever he tried to compliment you, and he considered it a victory the first time you simply pulled a face and thanked him without argument.

You’re entirely biased but thank you Lip, that’s very sweet of you to say. Now stop looking at me like that, we’re at work….

He liked the way you said his name- any of his names, really. Lip, Car, Carwood, Sgnt Lipton, Sir—

Thinking of your lips wrapping around the word Sir had his cock twitching instantly, and he had to consciously make an effort to put that thought aside in order to continue enjoying his rare opportunity to observe you at complete peace.

It wasn’t just sex, it hadn’t been sex at all until last night.

It had just….been, he supposed. 

From the moment the two of you had met, he’d just felt like something about you fit. One day you hadn’t been there and then one day you were and suddenly he couldn’t imagine a day going by without seeing you at least once. You were easy to like, friendly and bright and could tinker just about anything back to life with little more than some elbow grease and a few strategically placed wires.

Even if he wasn’t in love with you, he knew he’d be in awe of you.

But he was in love with you- and even though he knew that the two of you needed to talk about how you were going to make this work, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about that right now.

Not with you nestled beside him, sex mussed and at complete ease.

Yeah, that conversation could wait. 

As lightly as he could, Carwood brings his free hand up and brushes his fingertips across the pink splotches he’d left up your sternum, a sigh of wonder escaping his lips as he watches the wave of goosebumps following his touch like a wave washing up some pristine shoreline.

Following the path of your collarbone he traced the lines of your shoulders, your neck.

Each freckle, acne scar, and knick of old injury he encountered was given attention and committed to memory- learning the bare skin of your upper body like some precious map. 

He wasn’t sure if you would be as stupidly pleased as he seemed to be upon waking up, so he decided to be selfish and enjoy each moment with you that he could.

Just in case.

As his thumbnail trails the underside of your breast you suddenly take a deep breath, brow wrinkling as you begin to stir.

Guilt instantly fills him. He hadn’t meant to wake you up— the sun still hadn’t even yet begun to light up the balmy sky outside.

But when you did open your eyes you only furrowed your brow for a few moments until he watched the tell-tale ache of your lower half register on your face and you smirk.

Sliding your sleepy gaze to him, you bring a hand up to rest on the side of his neck.

“Hey,” you grumble, your voice thick and warm. Lip brings his hand up to rest over yours, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips to press kisses on your knuckles.

“Hi.”

Closing your eyes again, you arch your back up off of the bed and Lip can hear the satisfying pop of some of your tense joints. His eyes find themselves locked onto the rise of your breasts at the action, and when you catch him staring you lightly flick his nose.

“Pervert.” You chide, smiling as he scowls and turning to nuzzle your face into the warm spot between his neck and shoulder. “Not even trying to be subtle—”

“Sorry, ma’am.” he says, unable to keep the smile out of his voice when you throw your leg over his hip and push him so he’s now laying on his back. He pulls you with him so you’re lying half atop him, and like with most things between the two of you he found himself at ease once more.

“Can’t help it if you make me forget my manners—”

“Oooh, smooth.” you praise with a quiet chuckle, breath tickling his earlobe. “Well done, Sir”

There was that title again- Sir.

You must've felt the shift in him, because suddenly you’re straddling his lap and looking down on him with a wicked grin.

“Clifford Carwood Lipton,” you admonish with an expression of faux-severity, sliding your hands up his chest appreciatively. “I’m surprised at you—”

“I’m amazed by you.” he says sincerely, catching the way your brows shoot up in surprise for just a moment before you regain control.

He watches as you narrow your eyes at him playfully, letting that wicked smirk paint your face once more.

“You’ve already slept with me, Car. There’s no need to lay it on so thick.”

He shakes his head, and when he sits up his hands hold your waist to keep you in his lap. 

Your smirk is gone, a hesitant look of wanting in your eyes as you take his face gently in your hands.

“If you think I’m going to stop telling you how much I care about you because I've made love to you, you;ve got another thing coming.”

You blush at that, going even redder at the phrase ‘making love’.

“I know that you’re just being sincere, but i think it’s important you know I’m not….used to that.”

You’re looking at him with vulnerability in your eyes, and if he wasn’t so touched that you were trusting him enough to do so he would’ve kissed you until you forgot every disappointment that had brought you to question his honesty and intentions in the first place.

He nods, and when you don’t say anything else he begins to knead at the muscles at the base of your spine, the comforting motion seeming to refocus you and set you at ease once more.

“I was worried I’d dreamed it.” you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest to his as he pulled you close. “Last night, i mean—”

He can’t stop the pride from swelling in his chest when you say that, and he must’ve shown it on his face because you laugh and duck a kiss to his lips.

Your lips feel colder now.

“How are you real?” you ask when you pull back a bit. Carwood opens his mouth to ask you the same thing when his words die in his throat.

He could’ve sworn you hadn’t fallen asleep in a nightgown, that you hadn’t been wearing a nightgown at all when you’d just kissed him.

Your brow furrows, and when you whisper his name again you sound worried.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly. Lip said nothing, shaking his head as he saw that the hem of your nightgown was torn and dirty. 

In horror, Lip watched as the white shift you wore aged to a dingy grey before his eyes, your face becoming sunken and bruised as you looked at him with concern in your bloodshot eyes.

“Lip, why are you looking at me like that?”

Your hands are ice cold when they come up to hold his face, and when he flinches you frown and blink at him slowly.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice dying in his throat as the walls of the hotel room fell away and he saw that they weren’t in Georgia at all. “You’re too cold, you’re going to get sick…”

You laughed at that, a cough corrupting the happy sound and robbing you of your breath.

“Oh, darling,” you say once you’ve recovered from your coughing fit. “You’re the one who is sick.”

You’re right, he thinks as the ache in his chest slowly returns. You’re always right.

“I don;t want to lose you.” he whispers, your figure becoming less and less solid with each teary blink of his eyes. He clutches at your dirty shift and squeezes you as tightly to him as he can, vainly hoping that if he held you tightly enough, he’d wake up with you in his arms.

Your limbs wrap around him, and when you kiss his cheek he cries harder.

“That’s good to hear, Lip. Cause I don’t want to be lost.”

He knows he has to wake up now, already becoming aware of the rawness of his throat from all of the coughing he’d done. 

Just a few minutes more, just a little bit longer….

When Lip opens his eyes, he’s still in the truck driving towards town, having fallen asleep in the back next to Bull and Johnny Martin under a communal pile of blankets.

“Got a ways to go yet, Sarge.” he hears George Luz say from somewhere to his left. “Might as well try to catch some more shut eye….”

Lipton doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly burrowing deeper into his coat and squeezing his eyes shut.

If he was lucky, he could still catch you before you left his mind completely. 

And this time he wasn’t going to let you go.

(Hello Hi, I meant to just write this for me/to draw inspo from for future things but I kinda loved it more than I intended to so here you go.)x

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #carwood lipton x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography

[goodomensblog]

A Touch Like Sunlight

Crowley finds out about THE CONVERSATION Gabriel had with Aziraphale. You know exactly which one.

A Touch Like Sunlight

“Perhaps Gabriel had a point,” Aziraphale mutters, “about the gut, at least.”

Aziraphale’s standing in front of a mirror when he says it, fingers meticulously twisting gleaming buttons into fabric.

Crowley thinks he must have misheard. 

“Sorry - he what?”

Glancing up, Aziraphale catches sight of Crowley in the mirror.

“Crowley! You’re early,” the angel says, looking pleased, and does up the remaining buttons with an eager flourish. “I’m excited to try this new restaurant. It’s in a conservatory, yes? What a novel idea!”

“M’yeah - Clos Maggiore - got a nice big garden,” Crowley answers, distracted. “But what was that you were saying? About...Gabriel.” Crowley grimaces, his lips curling around the name.

“Oh it was nothing, dear.” When Aziraphale waves, it is dismissive. “It’s just - archangels. You know how they can be.”

Turning away from the mirror, Aziraphale’s hands flit about his front, and Crowley watches him give the bottom of his vest a little tug.

“A tad bit preoccupied with perfection, is all,” Aziraphale mutters, and reaches for his coat.

“Perfection?” Crowley stares after Aziraphale, feeling as though he’s somehow missed the critical point which connects the two points of conversation “And what’s that got to do with you and guts?”

Aziraphale stops, closing his eyes. 

“My gut, Crowley. It’s-” he says, touching a hand to his stomach. “Well it’s not. You know, perfect.” 

The angel’s lips twist up in a thin, sad mimicry of a smile.

“What?” Crowley’s glasses have slipped a bit down his nose, and he stares at the angel, flabbergasted.

“Oh for - Gabriel told me to lose weight, alright?”

Crowley blinks. 

The demon Crowley, if you’ll believe it, once owned a laptop. A very nice one, at that. (How else was he supposed to start hour long debates via the youtube comment section?) He’d spilled a latte on said laptop, and before he could miracle the hot liquid away, the poor computer had buzzed once before the screen flickered, flashed blue, and then went permanently dark.

As he stands in the angel’s bookshop, trying vainly to process the words which have just spilled out of the angel’s mouth, Crowley feels suddenly quite a lot like a water - er, latte-logged laptop. 

“It was before the apocalypse - or, I suppose, the not-apocalypse. So it’s in the past, of course. And I don’t really think about it - well, not really. But I do wonder if my, er, shape is - oh, it doesn’t matter-” Aziraphale frets, distractedly adjusting his coat.

By now, Crowley has finally managed to process the content of the angel’s declaration - and the knowledge of what Gabriel had said, of the words the archangel had undoubtedly cruelly wielded against his angel - 

It makes the demon burn.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says.

He doesn’t mean for it to come out like it does - quiet and dangerous; the whispered promise a dagger makes when pulled loose of its sheath.

The angel goes still. Blue eyes - glowing with the untapped holy aura which waits, untouched within his deceptively human shell - are unnaturally bright in the dim shop.

“...Crowley?” 

Distracted with the rage coiling like a serpent in his gut, Crowley does not have the presence of mind to dissect the angel’s reaction. If he did, he might have grasped the reason for the angel’s hesitation.

The reason is this: 

In six thousand years, Crowley had rarely used his voice to imply anything really and truly dangerous. And Crowley had certainly never said Aziraphale’s name in such a tone. Sure - perhaps occasionally in exasperation. But not like this. Never like this.

Much later, when Crowley is calm, he will reflect on the exchange - and with profound relief, realize that of the complicated set of emotions which crossed the angel’s face, not a single one of them was fear.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hisses, “You’re telling me that Gabriel, that-,” and he rocks back on his feet, his hand clenching at his side. “-that bastard, said that? To you.”

It’s Aziraphale’s turn to blink. “If you recall, he also planned to have me killed,” the angel says spreading his hands. “Crowley, I don’t understand why you’re fixating on-”

“No you see, that - that,” Crowley interrupts, lifting a shaking finger, “that’s precisely the fucking point.” 

And then he’s moving, leather shoes pacing smartly over the shop’s scuffed floor.

Because it is the point, Crowley thinks, dragging a hand through his hair. 

Gabriel tried to kill Aziraphale.

Gabriel tried to kill Aziraphale.

Aziraphale - who delights in simple magic tricks, in Sunday brunches, in feeding the ducks, and dancing the Gavotte; who looks forward to chatting with their new human friends when they call up every few weeks, just to catch up.

Aziraphale, who Gabriel looked at and saw frivolity, uselessness, emotion and weakness, all wrapped in an imperfect body.

Gabriel had dared look upon Aziraphale and had the gall, the audacity to miss everything that mattered.

Gabriel had never understood Aziraphale. So he’d hurt, demeaned, and belittled him. And when Aziraphale remained, still outside of his grasp - too far outside of his influence, Gabriel had resorted to destruction.

And does a being like that, ever truly stop seeking control? Crowley can’t help the thought, which slithers in, slipping around the edges of his rage.

His and Aziraphale’s body-swapping stunt bought them time, Crowley knows.

But eternity rewards the patient.

And Heaven had played the long game before. 

Will Gabriel ever truly leave Aziraphale alone?

It’s a sobering thought. One that has Crowley’s molten rage cooling into something hard, sharp, and pointed.

Crowley’s steps slow - then stop. 

“Crowley-” Aziraphale tries, but Crowley isn’t listening.

One of the bookshop’s upper windows is slightly ajar, and a stream of pale sunlight pours into the shop, lighting a narrow path to the floor. 

Awash in light, Crowley looks up, thinking.

He’s never killed before. Not like that anyway.

But for Aziraphale’s sake - for his safety...

“Will I have to kill Gabriel?” Crowley muses, blinking up at the light.

The moment the words leave his mouth, the room surges with a white, humming energy - and then Aziraphale is on him, shoving Crowley back.

Crowley doesn’t lift a hand - even as he’s thrust against the nearest shelf. 

Hard spines dig into his back as he stares into Aziraphale’s clear blue eyes. Within them, holy light churns, waiting to be called forth.

Aziraphale’s wings have manifested, and they flare out as the angel presses a staying hand against the demon. Fingers splayed across Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale half turns, angling his body to face the open shop. His free hand is raised, palm open and ready. And as the heavy silence sinks over them, Aziraphale stills, tensing.

Crowley doesn’t need to breathe, but sometimes he forgets - and so after a minute has passed, the demon draws in a slow, careful breath.

“Angel,” Crowley says, brushing a hand over the fingers so effortlessly pressing him into the shelf. 

And then those over-bright eyes are on Crowley, and he is not afraid. Not when Aziraphale blinks and the air hums. Not when Aziraphale’s wings shudder and stretch, and Aziraphale presses into him. 

The wings lift and fold, and Crowley is ensconced in a shelter of white.

Aziraphale’s breath is soft and shuddering, and the fingers digging into Crowley’s chest tremble as the angel leans into him. “We’re lucky. He wasn’t listening - or if he was, he didn’t hear. Crowley, what were you thinking? Including an archangels name in a statement like that?”

It was a dangerous mistake - Crowley knows. One he won’t make again.

“Honestly Crowley, all this over one stupid comment?” 

Crowley shakes his head, suddenly adamant that Aziraphale understand. 

“No. No. Gab- he doesn’t value you, angel. Doesn’t value your person. Your life,” he says, swallowing. “And hearing what he’s said to you, angel. Well okay, yeah, it did piss me off - but it made me realize. It’s personal for him,” Crowley says, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand. “He wasn’t concerned with maintaining order - he wanted to kill you, angel. You.”

“Yes, Crowley. I know.”

The admission is soft and certain, and it is painful - agonizing to hear his angel admit in that gentle voice that he knows the angels he’s worked with for centuries were eager to be rid of him.

Groaning, Crowley reaches for Aziraphale. His hands brush the angel’s face, caressing his cheeks, over his ears, and then Crowley’s fingers are weaving through, tangling in his hair. 

Dragging the angel closer still, he leans into him, pressing their foreheads together. 

“They’ve never deserved you, angel.”

Aziraphale shudders and there’s a hitch in his voice. “Crowley.”

Crowley shakes his head, nose brushing Aziraphale’s. “No. Fuck them. You’re perfect. From your toes to your stomach-” and here he reaches down, brushing a reverent touch over the angel’s soft belly. 

He feels Aziraphale shiver beneath him as his touch traces up, over his chest, then along the curve of the angel’s neck. 

“-to your face, your head-” and Crowley cradles Aziraphale’s face, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs, “and everything within. Your wants, your selflessness, your selfishness, and even your love of stupid fake magic. It’s perfect. Every damn bit of it,” he hisses, defiant. 

The wings around them are trembling, and Aziraphale, pressing his lips against Crowley’s cheek, whispers. “Crowley, you’re-”

“Don’t say I’m lying, angel. And yeah sure, demons lie and whatever. But I’ve never lied to you.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley closes his eyes at the touch of another soft kiss against his skin. “I know that.” Another kiss. 

And then, he starts again, “Crowley, you’re so good to me.” Another kiss, followed by a soft breath and then - “No that’s - what I mean is - Crowley, you are so good.” Aziraphale kisses him again, this time at the corner of his lips and says, “Don’t be angry.”

Crowley winces - not out of anger - but because his insides feel soft and fluttery and warm - and Aziraphale’s touch is gentle - nearly unbearably so. So much that Crowley distantly wonders if he might die from it.

“M’not,” he manages.

Aziraphale leans back to look him fully in the face.

“You’re not,” he marvels.

How can he be? If Aziraphale is a terrible angel, then Crowley is a worse demon. 

He’s chosen his side now. No use defending old titles.

The thought of sides, however, does make some of the warmth bleed from him because - “I think we need a plan, Aziraphale - to deal with Gabr - you know, him. Or any of the others who might decide to cause us trouble.”

Aziraphale is watching him, his lips pressed in a concerned line. “A plan?”

Crowley swallows and nods. “For if they come for us. We couldn’t take them in a fight. Not all at once. But if we had to - even just getting rid of Gabr - him would give us some breathing room. You know the rest of them would back off.”

Frown lines etch the skin between Aziraphale’s brows.

“If we had to, we could split up. You could play decoy and lead the others away. Distract them long enough for me to face Gabriel. Against just him, I might be able to-”

Aziraphale’s wings snap back. The cold air of the shop rushes in - and Crowley winces at the light.

Aziraphale has him by the jacket, and the angel’s gaze is cold and blue and Crowley can’t look away. 

“You will not.”

And it is more than a request. More than a demand. The air whines as the fabric of existence strains to reshape itself - to placate, to please -

“Angel,” Crowley whispers, wrapping his fingers around one of the angel’s hands. 

The air settles.

And then Aziraphale’s brows are lifting, his expression pained and breaking.

“Crowley, he would destroy you.”

“I wouldn’t let him,” Crowley says, and believes it.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale says. 

And really, that’s all it takes.

“Alright, angel,” Crowley says, pulling him close, “Consider that plan scrapped.”

Aziraphale’s wings disappear, folding into another plane of existence as Aziraphale wraps around Cowley in a relieved embrace.

“We surely have some time, right?” Aziraphale says against Crowley’s shoulder.

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” Crowley agrees, and savors the feeling of Aziraphale’s rigid figure softening, relaxing against him. “We have time,” Crowley says, and looking over Aziraphale’s shoulder, closes his eyes.

It’s not a lie, he tells himself. They might very well have time.

“And you won’t fight him? Not even to protect me.” Aziraphale’s voice is soft, pleading.

It is at ten fifteen in the morning, on a beautiful Sunday in April that Crowley, after six thousand years, tells the angel his very first real lie.

“No, angel. I won’t fight the archangel.”

“I’m serious,” Aziraphale says, stern.

“Me too, angel.”

Something in Aziraphale’s expression relaxes, and he smiles, small.

It doesn’t feel good - lying. Crowley never particularly liked lying, generally speaking. But here, now, it’s infinitely worse.

He tries to rationalize it - because he won’t, of course, fight the archangel unless he’s got a plan. And a good one, at that. Unless - and here’s the heart of the lie - Aziraphale is in danger. Crowley would fight an army of archangels if they threatened Aziraphale harm.

And his angel was a bastard for thinking he could guilt Crowley into promising otherwise - perfect in every way, mind you - but a bastard all the same.

And so Crowley leans back, cupping the angel’s face, and smiles. 

“So how about brunch? I wanted to take you to that new place, remember? With the garden.”

“Right! Brunch!” Aziraphale says, bouncing up on his toes - as if they hadn’t just been discussing the murder of archangels. “Do you think they have crepes?”

“Angel,” Crowley says, giving him a look. “I suggested it precisely because they serve crepes.”

And then Aziraphale is grinning and it looks so bright and lovely on the angel’s face that Crowley decides they won’t talk about Heaven or Hell or bloody archangels - for the day. Or for weeks. Months. Years. Decades. Whatever it takes to keep that smile there, unobstructed. 

The archangel Gabriel is a problem.

And his hatred of Aziraphale is dangerous, no doubt.

But Crowley will deal with it, in much the same way as he dealt with the other, albeit smaller dangers that cropped up throughout the past six thousand years.

He’ll just need to be more clever this time, that’s all. 

“Shall we, angel?” he says, and holds out a hand.

“Please,” Aziraphale says, and takes his hand with a small, pleased grin.

Their fingers twist together, and when Crowley squeezes, Aziraphale’s fingers squeeze back. 

For now, all is well.

Someday, it might not be.

But, well, he’ll come up with a plan - something particularly clever, to deal with that.

For now, Crowley listens to Aziraphale chat as they walk - the angel is talking about Anathema, Newt, Madame Tracy, and Adam and their latest telephone conversations. Running his thumb across the back of Aziraphale’s hand, Crowley savors the touch.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

READ PART 2 HERE

And some of you replied asking to be tagged and/or just keymashed, which I took to mean the same thing, so here’s tagging:

@eternallystarlight @orocatto @im-totally-famous-i-swear @thatonewholikesalotofthings @ladyhawknell @titaniablue62 @mattheweverwood @trendergrunge @harleyinblack @improfem @groot-omens @envelopedbyoblivion @roymblog @heychicka-bumbum @enby-crowley @garbage-bee @upperstories @notreallylapa @mia-bean @d0zack @digirhys @mistakesandmisspellings @moonyandpadfootwashere @wildheart49 @amy-the-nightingale @monochromatic-starlight @bigdutchone @vinylisthebestwaytolistentomusic @that-pan-kids-spam @darnwaffles @rainbowgeek @thegirlwhowroteinclass @mecharosecosplay @homeybee @kawaiiusagichansan @igosploosh @fernyquotes @nitrostreak @qfantasydragon @justjezza3 @murphychacho @yeah-umm-okay @weirdfandomboi @riptail-shredfang @massdragonchick @warcats-cat @rohrohji @thingsthatoncemeantnothing @actualpieceofwhitebread-2 @sleepy-dragons 

hoboy that was more than I thought it would be. Hope you all enjoyed part 1 of the fic!

#my writing #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable boyfriends #otp: ineffable #fanfic #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale

[sicut-in-caelo-et-in-terra]

Hi! I came across your blog and I’m so happy I did. I recently started to open my eyes and wanted to know Jesus and I am beyond happy I did because I already feel like a more calming presence around me. However, I was wondering if you have advice on how to stop with the ‘false idols’ thing? I spent the last few years only feeling validated when getting notices, spending money or whatever for meeting celebrities I liked and I’m so exhausted + tired of doing this. I’m just scared of falling back

Thank you so much for the ask! And I'm so happy you've been coming to know Jesus!

Yeah, false idols are tough. We all have them, and there's extensive literature on why they're bad and how to get rid of them - read the writings of almost any Saint. The first one that comes to mind is St. Thérèse of Lisieux and her little way. For more info I would recommend reading one of her actual works like Story of a Soul, or you can read something about her writings by someone else, like I Believe in Love by Fr. Jean C. J. D'Elbée. But here's my take largely based on the Little Way.

Here's the thing that might kind of seem surprising to hear in a discourse on purging idols. Money, power, fame, sex (although sex is a bit complicated of a topic, for a different post), things you buy, food, celebrities, likes on social media, politics, all these things that can become idols, aren't actually intrinsically bad. They become bad when they become your source of meaning. They become bad when they become the center of your life. They become bad when they stand in between you and God. They become bad when you stop seeing them as gifts God has given you, and start seeing them as things you deserve, or things you need, or things you can't be happy without.

Okay, great, that's why we've come here, so that we can figure out how to make those things be not like that.

Let's talk about chocolate. Chocolate is good. Chocolate is exquisite. I love it. I just had a piece of chocolate earlier today because it was my cousin's wedding and my mom was making candy baggies for the guests and there was some candy left over. I had a dark chocolate Kit Kat. I ate it and it was great, and I didn't think much about it and went on with the rest of my day.

But before time began, before the creation of the angels, before the beginning - God, who would go on to create massive spheres of plasma millions of times bigger than the sun, and black holes and quasars and dazzling crystals of amethyst and waterfalls and physics and kittens, who would go on and send his dear Jesus to die because he would rather endure that pain than be separated from me, who even now has sent an angel to watch over me who is so powerful that he could extinguish any one of those gigantic stars with a swing of his sword, God said, "On October 10, 2020, my beloved son Jared is going to eat a dark chocolate Kit Kat bar and I can't wait to make him even just a little bit happy for it."

Like can you understand that?! This modicum of joy that I received, which I barely paid any mind to before moving on with my day, was a gift that since before it all happened God has been giddy to witness me experience. Even now as I move my thumb across the screen to write these words, God watches with utter love, in total enjoyment. You know how when you see a gif of a celebrity you like doing some normal movement in their day and you fall a little more in love? God experiences* a million billion kajillion times that, towards you, specifically, every second of every day.

(*to say 'God "experiences"' is not quite right but in this context it is a sufficient explanation even if not technically accurate)

Okay, so idols.

Everything that is good, is good because of God. And any and every good that happens to you, ever, is because God specifically wanted it for you (delight that comes from sin is not counted here as a good) because He loves you.

Why is there something rather than nothing? Why is there a you rather than no you? God doesn't need you, and He doesn't lack anything without you. He made you out of love, because He wants the good for you. Everything is a gift.

And suffering? That's also a gift. But for a different post.

So, go ahead and eat a dark chocolate Kit Kat bar. You might be tempted to think, "I deserve this." You might be tempted to eat the first one and then seek after infinite dark chocolate Kit Kat bars because you love them so much. You might be tempted to treat the dark chocolate Kit Kat bar as an end unto itself. I guess you might be tempted to construct a golden dark chocolate Kit Kat bar statue and have an orgy all around it until Moses comes down from the mountain and grinds it into powder, mixes it with water, and makes you drink it. But instead, do this - recite these words: "Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we have received from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord." And really understand the words. Know that this is a gift, given to you freely by God. Let this dark chocolate Kit Kat bar be a sign, from God to you, that He loves you. That is what good things are for.

When all your candy is eaten for the candy's sake, or to vainly fill some hole that a wound has left in your heart, it will leave you, as you described, empty. But, properly ordered, no good thing will ever go to waste.

Now, some more practical tips (and anyone reading this please feel free to add)

1. Fast. This is a good practice for everyone, but especially if you've identified a particular idol in your life that you're having trouble ordering properly. If there's something that keeps making you feel empty, something that keeps getting in your way on your path to God, give it up. If it's not a sin, give it up only for a time, and break the fast sometimes. As Catholics we break our fasts on Sundays and solemnities to celebrate the Resurrection, but it's also a good practice because having something you really like but haven't had in a while, makes you appreciate it more and it's easier to see it as a gift. Also bask in the silence that has been brought to your life when this thing you often turn to is no longer available. It's uncomfortable at first but it's good.

2. Thankfuls. I do this every night, once over the phone with my girlfriend and once right before bed as part of my examen prayer. Now, psychologists are recommending it for people with depression as well so. Basically what you're going to do is review your day and notice the gifts you have been given. You can tell someone or write it down, or just pray it. Thank God for everything you've received. If your mind tends to wander like mine, I recommend with starting with a set number, like 3. Or try and think of everything you can.

3. Replace. This is another psychology tactic, also useful when conquering sin. Feeling like you want to watch porn? Draw instead (doesn't have to be a good drawing). Feeling like you're going to gossip? Excuse yourself and say a quick prayer instead. Gonna post something funny (and maybe a bit mean) for the sweet sweet dopamine from getting likes? Maybe journal instead. Have a plan for when you notice yourself being about to idol something. Fasting can enhance this practice cause it makes you more aware and more likely to catch yourself as well.

That was a very long post, but I hope it was helpful. Thank you for reading! And I'll be praying for you.

#ask #catholic #christian #jesus #christianity #god #mine #catholicism #answered #Thérèse of lisieux #gratitude #idols #thankfulness #fasting

[kiruuuuu]

Kapkan/Glaz sequel in which the Spetsnaz go swimming and some... get wetter than others. (Rating E, explicit, ~4.2k words) - The sequel to this oneshot!

.

Glaz’ pencil travels over the thick paper, leaving behind graphite traces which form a whole not yet, but soon. His mind’s eye is closed as he draws exclusively with his physical ones, captures shadows as he sees them and dips and valleys the way they appear before him. Over the soothing practice, he forgets all about the oppressing heat reigning unchecked once more – a few weeks, they were graced with respite from this British record summer, but now it’s returned full force and with a vengeance. Still, it’s easy to leave it behind when he can focus on his favourite hobby. Even if his teammates make it mighty difficult to concentrate.

“Make sure to get me from my best side”, Tachanka rumbles, self-satisfied with the attention he’s receiving.

“Bird’s eye view?”, Fuze guesses from the pool, shit-eating grin immediately extinguished by getting dunked underwater by Kapkan.

“One more unqualified comment like that and I’ll demonstrate why my nickname during training was freight train.”

Their bickering has been going on all day, fuelled by frustration over the heatwave – not even the trip to the SAS-owned pool has managed to lift their spirits significantly. They’re more prickly than usual instead of just lethargic and Glaz knows exactly why. “In German, they’d call your best side your ‘chocolate side’. Marius told me when I sketched his Magpie”, he informs the other three, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat and maybe even switch topics.

“Any side of his is his chocolate side”, states Kapkan, deadpan, and finally allows Fuze to breathe again. “If you didn’t get it – I’m talking about your lovehandles.”

“Shut up or I’ll shove that pool noodle where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Glaz sighs inwardly. He’d been looking forward to lounging by the pool in peace, dip in and out to cool off and get some exercise without ending up panting like he’d just run a marathon, and maybe catch a few glimpses. Just a few. He asked about sketching and stormy eyes locked with his for a split second which felt like forever, and Glaz’ mind already provided ample inspiration, excuses for a specific pose, daydreams and a whole lot more unbidden imagery… but then those grey irises slid away again in disinterest. Whether feigned or not, Glaz couldn’t tell.

Tachanka was the one who volunteered eventually, and instead of relaxing around the people he knows best in this passionless country, Glaz is now stretched out on a chair by the side of the pool, studying the old man’s physique and listening to the other three bicker.

“You can try. I’ve seen you in the water once, and you swim the way you fight – like a tank.”

Kapkan probably thinks his derision comes across as good-natured mockery instead of biting venom. He’s lucky they all have thick skin or one of them would’ve retaliated much more harshly than they tend to do, and a pissed-off Spetsnaz is nothing to scoff at. He has these days when he sharpens his claws on them, like an animal: honing his fangs on his kin, and though he recoils upon a pained sound, he’s planning his next attack nonetheless. Glaz has noticed this since day one – Kapkan carries himself like a predator, watching, assessing, waiting.

He takes himself much too seriously, but a personal jab with no harm intended only would serve to rile him up further instead of prompting a relieved smile.

“I was carrying all my gear. I’d like to see you try to continue your water ballet with Glaz on your shoulders.”

“Hey, you don’t get to watch the show and complain about it!”, Fuze protests. He’s been vainly attempting to gain the upper hand for half an hour now and really should’ve known better than to ask Kapkan of all people to help him improve his hand to hand in water. They all know Kapkan is merciless and not above humiliating his opponent, as showcased by the fact that Kapkan’s hair isn’t even wet and Fuze must’ve swallowed a litre of chlorinated water by now.

“No one would pay money to watch you drown for an hour, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t move so much”, Glaz mutters and instantly regrets drawing attention to himself, because even Fuze and Kapkan cease their wet struggling to regard him curiously.

Tachanka is the one who seems to say what everyone’s thinking: “You’re suspiciously quiet today, lad.”

That’s just my seething fury coupled with the frustration of being disappointed every day, no worries, Glaz thinks and unconsciously glances over at Kapkan, who returns his gaze calmly. “I’m concentrating. Besides, shouldn’t we go back? Our hide-and-seek excuse won’t buy us another hour.”

It’s become an inside joke at Rainbow at this point – an unspoken yet silently agreed upon rule states that once a month, each team is allowed the claim to wanting to improve their navigational skills and sense of perception by utilising the natural terrain of the English countryside. In short: they tell Six they’re basically playing hide and seek so they can go out and do whatever for a few hours. The GIGN have used it to bake a surprise cake for Harry (whose vegan lifestyle makes it difficult to buy cakes for him), the Americans snuck off to Skype with their families on Thanksgiving, and the Germans prepared a barbecue plus an improvised bouncy castle for the 15th of October, when Rainbow celebrates six birthdays all falling into the same week. And today, the Spetsnaz used it to splash around in the SAS-owned pool on base.

Time well spent.

“You’re right. Don’t forget to clean up or it’ll draw suspicion”, Tachanka reminds them and rises from his sunbed like a corpse from a stretcher, complete with groans of the dead and joints popping. “I’ll even help, that’s how refreshed I feel.”

“And the fighting was my idea”, Fuze chimes in between coughs, cheeks reddened and looking wholly miserable, “so I’ll do it.”

Next to him, Kapkan is unfazed by their tussle and surfaces from the pool not even out of breath, rivulets of water running down his torso and making his skin glisten in the indirect sun beams falling in from the skylights. He’s… distracting, and therefore Glaz reacts entirely too late to his teammate joining him and pointing at the sketchbook in his lap. “Can I see?”

Unfortunately, he’s dripping all over it or else Glaz might’ve considered his question, but he’s had one too many books with him out in the rain or the snow and knows how ugly the damage looks on the pages afterwards, so he nearly flings it off into the distance with how vehemently he yanks it aside, and merely hisses a curse in preparation of telling Kapkan off for being this careless.

It’s just -

The only thing that leaves Glaz’ lips is an English: “Fuck me.”

And, well. He overheard someone else use it, probably Twitch or IQ when they burnt their hands, and then he noticed others saying it and though it’s been dancing on his tongue for days, apparently now his brain decided it was time to finally birth it.

Kapkan looks like he slapped him.

“Watch the fucking language”, Tachanka admonishes him with a wide grin. “Someone might think you’re an actual adult, Glazkov.”

His cheeks are killing him, they’re hotter than the air outside and getting flustered now will certainly look suspicious. “Just be more careful. Okay?”, he mumbles into his beard, directed at a thunderstruck Kapkan whose expression is inscrutable.

“You two can go ahead, we got this”, Fuze informs them and this seems to tear the very wet and almost-naked man in front of Glaz out of his stupor.

“Oh, I – I can take over for you. I’ll clean. You go.”

And now Glaz really wishes he had slapped him. What a perfectly obvious excuse to not end up alone with him. Before he gets a chance to drop a cutting remark of his own, Tachanka voices what everyone’s thinking: “You shit in somebody’s cereal, or why don’t you want to go back to base? You need to be forced to tidy usually.”

Fishing for justifications, Kapkan lamely defends himself by claiming he still has something to make up to Fuze – which is likely, yet no reason for him to choose cleaning over lazing about some more – and Glaz has to fight the urge to strangle him. That is, until he realises two can play this game.

“I’ll stay, too”, he announces and suppresses a laugh at how quickly Kapkan’s head snaps in his direction. “I can let my pages dry out in the sun. We’ll see you in half an hour.”

“And this why you’ve always been my favourite. Show me your masterpiece in a bit, alright?” Tachanka slaps him on the back approvingly and then heads off in Fuze’s company, the two of them discussing actual strategies about fighting underwater instead of beating the Uzbek up unhelpfully.

A stony silence settles in, making Glaz’ stomach cramp. The other Russian towels himself dry while he puts the chairs away and gathers the supplies they’ll need – there’s not much to do, the pool is being used daily and as long as they mop up all the splashed water, they should be good. Everything is done wordlessly, fuelling the awkwardness causing Glaz to drop whatever he’s holding twice, and it keeps getting worse.

Why have you been avoiding me, he doesn’t say, though he really wants to. We can pretend nothing happened. We can go back.

He could. With difficulty, but he could. If only he knew what was up. But working up the courage is impossible, he’s failed for weeks already and with a friendship on the line, with possibly more -

Kapkan chuckles. The low sound manages to pierce the spiral Glaz is sending himself down and interrupts his thoughts. “They really do have fucking pool noodles here. What on earth do they do with these?”

The supply closet indeed provides a variety of colourful foam noodles, even a deflated alligator and a beach ball. It seems they aren’t the only ones to use this facility for purely recreational purposes. “All I’m picturing now is Seamus wearing floaties.”

His comment earns him an amused snort and the ice is finally broken. They share a grin and Glaz’ relief must show on his face. “I almost want to go back in and ride this crocodile.”

“Or go dive for some of these rings.” Suddenly, Glaz gets an idea when he spots a hoop, reminding him of a dolphin show he once saw. “Hey, you think I could jump through this one?”

“No way. You’re too fat.”

Hilarious. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna bet?”

“Easy. Take a running start and jump through without touching the edges, you win. Otherwise, I win. I’ll even hold it up for you.”

“What are the stakes?”

This is where he wanted to land and Kapkan gladly followed him, possibly knowing full well where this was headed. They eye each other up. “A favour”, Kapkan suggests and couldn’t have been more vague.

Even so. Glaz likes where this is going. “Sounds good. Let’s do it.” He rids himself of his shirt and places all valuable belongings safely out of reach, encouraging Kapkan to do the same, and then walks a good distance away from the pool where Kapkan is standing, holding up the hoop expectantly. And it’d be so easy to win the bet and be owed a favour – so many possibilities. He’d be hard pressed to choose and already, his imagination is providing idea after idea, one more tempting than the next…

Then a whole other prospect enters his mind. It’d be even easier to lose. And end up at Kapkan’s mercy.

He starts jogging, building up speed, gaze fixed on the hoop until Kapkan’s is as well, the other man waiting to see whether the object will wobble from impact, no matter how small, ready to pass judgement on whether he won or lost -

- and then Glaz collides with him and shoves him into the pool.

The splash is extremely satisfying, almost as good as Kapkan’s brief grimace of surprise, shock, and betrayal as he sails through the air, flailing. Glaz almost laughs, gets out a bird-like noise of entertainment before it devolves into a shriek as Kapkan shoots back out of the pool like a crocodile himself, having spotted his prey by the shore, and the next thing Glaz knows are hands around his calves – no, one hand, the other somehow manages to land on his ass but the result is the same, they yank him in together with his previous victim.

Compared to the suffocating humidity outside, the water is refreshingly cool and punches through his consciousness like a shot of caffeine injected directly into his bloodstream, yet what makes the experience all the more powerful are the strong arms enveloping him in a tight embrace. Too tight, he was half on an exhale when going under and wants to swim up but Kapkan doesn’t let him, cradles him close and makes no move to swim to the surface, so Glaz starts struggling. Panic sets in and when he reaches down to pinch Kapkan’s inner thigh as hard as he can, large air bubbles escape the other man’s mouth. At least it’s successful: they rise.

“Fuck”, he spits out when he can breathe can, coughs and coughs into Kapkan’s face because suddenly, he’s too close and did he just try to kiss Glaz while he’s still recovering from nearly drowning? “What are you -”

It was a mistake putting his hand anywhere between Kapkan’s legs. The iron grip around his wrist hurts, even underwater, and his hand is uncomfortably pressed against the other Russian’s swimming trunks. Glaz moves his fingers to not cramp up and oh, hello. At least this time Kapkan’s dick isn’t being shoved into his face. The next attempt is successful and cold lips move against his, hurried, forceful, and then Glaz’ back hits the side of the pool with Kapkan’s body caging him in.

He should’ve known it would be unceremonious like this, the byproduct of a struggle, a line crossed stumbling instead of deliberately stepping over it. “Ask me”, he gasps and gives in, obliges: his fingers wrap around the flesh swelling despite the coolness of the water and he deepens the kiss. But not for long. He won’t be the passive party in this, and he demonstrates it by biting down on a lower lip.

“Like that”, Kapkan purrs against his chest and begins moving his hips against Glaz’ hand, the motion slow and almost sensual. He’s in a world of his own, thinking he’s won a prize of, well, something, thinking he’ll finally get… what? An awkward handjob by someone he was too cowardly to ask outright?

“Ask me”, Glaz repeats with more emphasis and feels his own body react. And how could it not, with a body mirroring his own in strength and build, with Kapkan panting in his ear and forcing his fist to remain where it is so he can fuck it. His fury has evaporated, was probably fed by the underlying anxiousness of quietly getting rejected, but now that it’s quite obvious Kapkan wants the same thing he does, all that’s left is stubbornness. That, and the desire to make Kapkan admit it.

He’s a match, though. Just as pig-headed.

And so, when he still hasn’t said anything else after more aborted kisses, Glaz tightens his grip, tightens it until Kapkan goes very, very still. His eyes are gorgeous up close. Glaz wants to feel him inside so badly, he momentarily forgets what he was doing and revels in the fantasy until a tongue dragging over his mouth catapults him back into the present.

“Suck me”, Kapkan whispers amid the soft gurgling of the waves they’re producing

Jesus fucking Christ. Glaz twirls them around with an annoyed sigh and, while wrestling the other man out of his shorts, hisses: “Why’d it take so fucking long?” All that Kapkan offers is an uncertain look as if he had mild doubts about what he just demanded, but they seem to dissipate as soon as Glaz lifts him out of the water. “Lie back.”

Wordlessly, Kapkan obeys, sits down on the edge, lower legs still dangling in the water, and leans backwards, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch. His cock is proudly jutting straight up into the air, wet and dark and delicious, and in one fell swoop, Glaz captures its head between his lips.

They don’t have much time. He’ll have to make this quick.

Under the taste of chlorine, there’s skin and Kapkan, and he savours the taste on his tongue as he swirls it around the tip generously. Having draped himself over his friend’s thighs, his weight holds Kapkan down which turns out to be necessary as he’s pushy. His hips twitch and tilt, try to thrust upwards further into Glaz’ mouth and as if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s a hand on his head pushing down.

Somehow, he manages to free himself and glare at his dishevelled friend, flushed and beautiful and flustered – and if it was any other situation, one where time wasn’t of the essence, he’d let Kapkan do whatever he wants. But not now. “I’ll bite”, he warns him seriously, “stop that shit. Behave.”

A curse is his response, but Kapkan obliges and withdraws his arm, and then throws his head back with another swear as Glaz swallows him whole. The flesh is piping hot and rock hard, just like Glaz’ own, and he sucks it down like it’s made of sugar, opens his throat, lets the tip hit the back of it. It pains him that he can’t relish in finally doing this, but hearing all these surprised grunts and sharp breaths has its own merit – not even the cool water can calm the vicious pulsing between Glaz’ legs and he idly tongues the ridge of Kapkan’s glans, wondering what it’d feel like inside him.

When he gets down to business, he can feel Kapkan’s muscles twitching and drinks in every hiss whenever he sucks hard. He’s not teasing anymore, instead bobbing his head in a relatively fast rhythm, using his tongue to exploit that sensitive spot on the underside and massaging the balls with one hand, squeezing out moan after moan. Kapkan is loud, much louder than he expected, and very appreciative. He seems to melt under Glaz’ ministrations and actually relaxes into the stimulation which is, well, lovely, but not goal-oriented. They need to be back in twenty, maybe fifteen minutes. And thanks to Glaz’ stunt earlier, they’ll need to clean up a second time.

He pulls off the cock in his mouth with a wet noise and once again addresses his friend: “Come on. I want to feel you pulsing in my throat.”

It’s more forthright than he’d normally be, but circumstances necessitate it. Not like Kapkan seems to mind, if the scandalised yet intrigued expression is anything to go by – he also tenses up noticeably as Glaz takes him back in to the hilt, stomach muscles fluttering and contracting when Glaz reaches up to gently rub over an erect nipple. “Filthy mouth”, Kapkan rumbles and lets out an echoing moan when his nipple is twisted between two fingers. He’s so hot. Glaz wishes he could blow him for hours, but alas. “Never would’ve guessed you’re that perverted. Go deeper. Yes.”

Glaz nearly chokes himself on Kapkan’s dick with no regrets and increases the tempo, sucks even harder and deprives himself of oxygen, and the pay-off is worth it. With another loud groan, Kapkan shudders, his entire body going taut, and his cock throbs in Glaz’ mouth, shooting out bitter liquid in spurts, in time with soft rolls of his hips. He finally made him come, finally blew him to completion and it was everything he hoped for. Watching Kapkan’s expression slip from need to utter bliss is as satisfying as he’d hoped, and he gladly swallows around the erection clogging his throat.

When he pulls free again, his friend is lying flat on the tiles, breathing hard and contemplating existence. He looks shattered, more spent than after a training session and Glaz would really like to hug him. Instead, he instinctively reaches down and grabs his neglected cock, harder than it’s been for weeks (since the day he made an implicit bet with Kapkan and went to bed early, dreaming up scenarios similar to this one). Right in front of him, a naked Kapkan is recovering from what looks like to have been a mind-blowing orgasm, and as Glaz takes him all in, marvels at his form, the softening dick gives a last feeble twitch.

Shit.

Okay, he’ll be quick.

He discards his own swimwear, just leaves it floating away, and lifts himself out of the water. Kapkan has barely time to react before Glaz is straddling him, trying not to cream himself from the skin contact alone, and as revenge for all the shoving previously, Glaz guides one of his friend’s hands between their naked bodies. “Do it”, he prompts quietly, desperation colouring his voice and Kapkan must’ve noticed or else he might not have complied so fast. Calloused fingers close around Glaz’ shaft and dear god, this will be an embarrassingly quick affair.

Kapkan wastes no time and jerks him fast from the get-go, almost brutal (probably how he himself likes it and the thought causes Glaz’ knees to go weak), and it’s not only water droplets hitting Kapkan’s flat belly now. The sudden intense stimulation has Glaz whimpering and fighting it, wanting more or maybe less, who’s to say – certainly not his short-circuited mind. He barely has the brain capacity left to suck Kapkan’s other middle finger into his mouth but he does notice his friend’s eyes darkening upon the realisation.

When the finger enters him, he buries his face in the crook of Kapkan’s neck and moans. He imagines it’s Kapkan himself, pictures them rolling around on a mattress with all the time in the world, harsh thrusts and nails raking over his back and Kapkan stares into his soul as he pumps load after load into him, and Glaz is moving his hips now, grinding down against Kapkan’s hand and he doesn’t care how fucking needy he must seem because he wants this. The hand on his cock is merciless, the speed unwavering and it’s flirting with being too much – there’s vague pain there but isn’t that normal, where Kapkan is concerned?

The digit inside buries itself even deeper and brushes over his sweet spot which he rewards with a whine, so Kapkan does it again and again, and with several weeks’ worth of anticipation, with the memory of a hard dick poking his cheek, with Kapkan’s taste still on his tongue, Glaz is shoved over the edge. He shivers violently, isn’t even sure what kind of noise escapes his lips as his climax shakes him to the core, traps him in ecstasy for half an eternity during which he’s hardly aware of anything around him – and when he realises he’s coming all over Kapkan’s chest while his friend is milking him expertly enough to prolong his orgasm, it’s another half. Kapkan lets him ride it out and brings him down gently, doesn’t overdo it and withdraws when Glaz puts a hand on his wrist.

Glaz’ relief is overwhelming and lasts throughout his afterglow: a minute or two during which he sits up, calms his racing heartbeat and inspects the mess he made on pale skin before him. They finally did it. And Kapkan doesn’t even look like he regrets it. He… looks like nothing, really, expression empty as he doesn’t even move to wipe the semen off him, and doubts slowly begin to overtake the pleasant exhaustion in Glaz’ bones.

“Can I kiss you?”, he asks meekly and feels silly, perched on top of another man who had his finger inside him mere minutes ago, and yet he’s not confident enough to just lean down and do it.

Kapkan examines him attentively. “Don’t make this weird.”

“You made it weird a long time ago.”

Visibly uncomfortable with the topic, Kapkan drags him down with enough force to make their teeth click, and though the angle is odd and their noses are in the way, the gesture counts. Glaz feels his muscles relax during the brief kiss and smiles as he comes back for air. When Kapkan smiles back, the fact that they still have to clean everything, including themselves, and that they’ll be really late with no excuse at all loses its threat.

They shower together, joking some more about the SAS operators’ pool habits, and then quickly sweep the floor once again. Stepping out into the blinding sunshine is like running into a wall, the heat is unbearable and tiring. Glaz almost wants to fall asleep standing up.

“Just so we’re clear, you lost that bet”, Kapkan tells him, blinking into the brightness instead of looking him in the eyes. “So you owe me a favour.”

Glaz’ lips curl into a grin. “Of course. You only need to ask.”

And while Kapkan doesn’t respond, there’s a certain glint in his eye which is full of promises and reassurance.

#rainbow six siege #kapkan #glaz #kapkan/glaz #fanfic #this was so much fun to write I'm not gonna lie #both of them are so awkward it kills me

[ends-of-the-wayward-storm]

The Big Four--Through Moonlight--Book 1

Chapter 12--From the Air to Beneath the Ground

_______

Summary

Why something decided to bring so many different people together from so many different places was beyond them. But it had to be for good reason. And that reason just happens to be an elusive enemy who is searching for a powerful artifact, one with an unfathomable amount of knowledge.

There was definitely one thing in question, however—was this enemy the real deal, or something else?

(AO3 version) (First chapter)

[This chapter is also a bit longer than usual, but the next chapter’s just about my usual length.]

_______

Everything abruptly became darker, greener, and much more humid around Rapunzel. Screeching filled her ears as several people she didn’t know ran around and . . . looked to be fighting giant vultures made of tree bark.

“Rapunzel!” Eugene who was quickly followed by Cassandra hurried after her. “What in the name of—”

“Duck!” Cassandra yanked Rapunzel and Eugene down as a tree vulture failed to nab them. A much larger one locked onto them, and its hiss earned the attention of the trio.

“That is just about the biggest bird I have ever seen!”

Those voices. . . . Régine looked to where the outburst had come from and saw three very familiar people. “Rapunzel?!”

The blonde started. “Wait. Was that—?” Rapunzel quickly skimmed the area and found a black-haired princess rushing toward them. “Régine?!”

“What?!” Varian shouted just as Régine stole the big vulture’s attention. He looked to where she was and managed to spot one of his friends. “Rapunzel!”

“Varian?!” the newcomers said in disbelief.

“How did you even get here?! Wherever here is!” Eugene said.

“We’ll explain later!” Varian said. “Wait, where’s the jar?!”

Jar? Wait a minute. “I got it!” Rapunzel announced.

“Whatever you do, don’t lose it!” Hiccup said. A cry brought the Coronans’ attention to Régine slamming into a wall and falling limp onto the ground.

“Régine!” Charles and Chane shouted.

“Cass, get to Régine! Eugene and I’ll draw the vulture’s attention,” Rapunzel said.

“On it,” Cassandra said.

“Pascal, I need you keep an eye on the jar.”

The chameleon nodded, and Rapunzel set the jar down for him before untying her hair.

Anna attempted to swing at one of the tree vultures’ ankles with her new ice sword. “This is really frustrating!”

Hiccup and Toothless barrel rolled away from a rake. “Keep going! We got this!” The Viking then spotted Varian quickly working on something. “How’s it goin’ down there?”

“Almost done! I just need a few more minutes!” Varian replied from behind a partial dome of ice shielding him from most of the vultures.

Eugene rolled out of the way of a wing slap from the larger vulture. “Really wish I had a frying pan on me!”

Rapunzel pulled harder as the vulture viciously fought against her. “Come on come on!”

The vulture screeched lividly as it vainly tried to make its way toward Cassandra retreating with Régine, and Charles and Chane valiantly forced the vulture away from them. Rapunzel yanked even harder, and her hair managed to make a dent in the vulture’s chest.

Hiccup briefly skimmed over the area. Anna and Kristoff could only do so much from the ground, and Sven was doing his best in backing them up. Elsa was powerful but even she was beginning to tire. Poor Angus was cowering in a corner, and Merida would eventually run out of arrows which wouldn’t be good. Régine was out for the count and Chane and Charles were doing what they could. To top that off, the last people to be summoned (or so he assumed) had just been thrown into this mess. (And one of them apparently had just about the longest hair he’s ever seen.)

“Varian!” Hiccup urged.

“Just one more minute!” Varian said.

Merida loosed and arrow, landing a direct hit at the heart of a vulture. But when she reached for another arrow, she grabbed air. “Varian!”

He flinched as he hastily finished up his last concoction. “Got it! Ready when you are, Hiccup!”

In a heartbeat Toothless landed beside Varian, and Hiccup looked to the sizable collection of concoctions.

“Wow. That’s really impressive,” Hiccup complimented.

“Thank you,” Varian said with a smirk.

“All right. Slow burn, bud.”

Varian held two concoctions up to Toothless’s mouth, and the dragon's plasma instantly turned them from green to a sort of aqua. Slowly, the concoctions began to brighten, and Ruddiger took cover in a corner. “Heads up!” Varian chucked them at the closest vulture and ducked back behind his dome. A pained shriek filled the air, and the vulture was disintegrated instantly. “Yes! It worked!”

“Yes! Let’s keep ‘em comin’!”

Another pained screech, this time louder, erupted from the larger tree vulture. Charles yanked his sword out from its chest, and the creature dropped onto its side. Rapunzel’s hair slackened, and shock appeared on her face as rot began to cover the vulture like a disease. And within a minute, its form fell apart.

The vultures screeched and shrieked in agony, forcing everyone to cover their ears. But their cries quickly shifted to rage as they vehemently darted toward everyone.

“Quick! Toothless! Keep lighting them!” Varian urged.

The dragon did as told, and Varian threw one explosive after the other at the vultures. Elsa meanwhile kept firing at the vultures, but she could feel herself tiring out.

If only we still had Régine, she thought. Oh I hope she’s all right.

“Elsa look out!” Kristoff warned.

But it was too late. A vulture knocked Elsa back, sending her toward the dark water below. Above her Anna held an expression of horror as she watched her sister fall, but her view was abruptly blocked by Hiccup and Toothless swooping in just in the nick of time.

“Th-thank you,” Elsa stammered, trying to push her shock aside.

Cassandra managed to scrape the tail feathers of a vulture with her sword. The vultures seemed like they were multiplying, and the scales were tipping out of their favor. If they kept this up, they would be overrun. “We have to fall back!”

“Fall back where?!” Chane asked.

“The ruins!” Merida said, swinging her sword. “Hurry!”

Everyone fled for the ruins while attempting to keep the vultures at bay. Chane, Rapunzel, Cassandra, and Eugene began to push against the doors with all their might. Slowly but surely, the doors began to open. Toothless quickly pitched in, and in no time everyone was able to get through the doors. Elsa placed a wall of ice to keep the vultures at bay before hurrying after everyone else. Hastily the doors were closed, leaving the vultures to angrily protest in vain.

“Everyone accounted for?” Hiccup asked. The large group muttered replies, and they took a moment to breathe. Charles gently set Régine down, and the group glanced to them.

“Is she okay?” Varian asked.

“Nothing appears to be broken. . . .” Charles said. His eyebrows furrowed. “. . . I should’ve stayed closer to her. It’s my duty to protect her.”

“You protect her well enough,” Chane assured. If anything I feel just as responsible, maybe more than you. “. . . I’m sure she’ll be just fine.”

A couple moments went by before Régine furrowed her eyebrows with a groan. Immediately Chane dropped to his knees beside her. “What happened?”

“That vulture knocked you back,” Eugene said. “You all right?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She winced as she sat up. “I don’t know why that bird didn’t burn to a crisp when I used my magic. Those tree monsters burned easily.”

“It was probably tougher than it looked,” Kristoff guessed. “All of those things were.”

“I’m glad you’re safe, Princess,” Charles said. “. . . Forgive me for not keeping a more careful watch over you.”

“It’s fine, Charles,” Régine said. “I know you always try your best.”

“Those little explosive thingies were really great, by the way,” Anna said. “How did you make them so fast?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” Varian said. “First I used—”

“I hate to break this up but does someone mind explaining what’s going on and where we are?” Cassandra said.

“Oh. Right.” Varian explained to his friends the situation pretty well. But now that he was actually saying it out loud, it sounded insane. True, but insane.

After everything had been said, the trio of Coronans (and Pascal) was . . . at a loss for words, for one.

“Doesn’t that sound just a little far-fetched?” Eugene said after a few moments.

“A little?” Cassandra said.

“It’s the truth, I’m afraid,” Chane said.

Régine studied Rapunzel. “Your hair’s not brown anymore. Or short.”

“It’s a long story,” Rapunzel said, glancing to the side.

“Wait. You’ve met before?” Varian asked.

“They met when Princess Rapunzel came to our kingdom,” Charles explained.

“Oh.”

Our kingdom. . . . Suddenly something dawned on Rapunzel. “Ohmigosh! My dad’s going to freak when he finds out we’re gone.”

“My dad’s probably already freaking out,” Hiccup said.

“Is . . . my dad freaking out?” Varian asked.

“A little,” Rapunzel said. “He’s really worried.”

“Mine most likely thinks I’ve run off again,” Régine said. “And my mother. . . .”

“Mai dad’s probably searchin’ the entire kingdom now,” Merida said. Anna and Elsa glanced to each other.

“I guess everyone’s dads are worried,” Anna summed up with a trace of sadness.

“. . . Kai and Gerda are probably worried,” Elsa said. “Oh, and Olaf. . . .”

“Well the faster we find that book the faster we can all get home,” Chane said.

“Back you beasts!” a man’s voice snapped. Unanimously the group looked to the doors.

“Is someone still out there?” Anna asked.

“Oh no. . . .” Merida groaned, pulling her face down with her hands.

“What?”

“Mai dad.”

“Wait your dad is out there?”

“More importantly how did he even find us?” Kristoff asked.

Instead of answering, Merida pulled at the doors. Toothless pitched in as well, but Hiccup pulled him back.

“Hold on a second, bud. I think you might need to stay in here,” the Viking said. “I don’t think her dad’s going to like you all that much.” Toothless uttered a sort of sympathetic noise before backing down.

The doors were open again, and Rapunzel peeked out only to see an icy wall.

“Dad!” Merida yelled.

“Merida! Are you all right, lass?” Fergus yelled back.

“Ahm fine!”

Shortly after that a vulture was taken down by him. “Where’s that boy?!”

Hiccup flinched. “Aaaand maybe I should stay in here, too.” Nothing like the king of your enemies angrily searching for you.

“I’ll explain later!” Merida was about to charge out when Elsa spoke up.

“Wait. You need arrows.” With a quick wave of her fingers Elsa filled Merida’s quiver with icy arrows.

“Uh thanks.” I think ah better make some more later.

A large explosion suddenly went off, making Varian wince. “Well. There go my explosives.”

Pascal left the jar with Hiccup, and everyone with the exception of Hiccup, Toothless, and Angus went back out. The instant Elsa removed the ice wall Régine hurled her fire at the vultures. Another wall was placed to keep the vultures from getting into the ruins, and Elsa went to catch up to Anna, Kristoff, and Sven.

“How are they doing that?” a man asked, looking in awe at Elsa and Régine.

“Ah don’t care as long as they get rid o’ these things!” another said.

Merida notched an arrow, and she could already feel a difference in it. “This better work.” The arrow flew nearly exactly like her wooden ones, and it struck just as true. “Huh. Not bad. . . .”

Rapunzel wrapped her hair around a vulture’s ankle and flung it into a nearby vulture, stunning them. A brief but angry growl told her Régine was close by, and she stole a quick glance at Régine incinerating both vultures.

“I never thought hair could be used as a weapon,” Régine said.

“You’d be surprised how much you can do with seventy feet of it.”

Soon the vultures were overwhelmed, forcing the surviving ones to retreat into the sky. Fergus’s men cheered, and they followed their king as he reunited with his daughter.

“Merida! Ma wee darlin’!” He picked her up in a massive hug. “Oh your mother an’ I have been worried sick!”

“Ahm fine, Dad. Really,” Merida said. “But . . . ah can’t come home yet.”

“What?”

She stepped back. “. . . Ah don’t know how ta explain without makin’ it seem like ah’ve gone mad.” And so to the best of her ability, she explained.

Her father and his men listened intently with growing disbelief. But Fergus had seen nonsense prove itself to be true. After all his wife and three sons turned into bears because of a spell.

Once Merida had finished, Fergus and his men were ultimately at a loss for words.

“An’. . . all o’ you are involved in this?” he managed to ask.

“We are,” Elsa answered.

“Does that mean you all can’t go home, either?” a man asked.

“Not until we find that book,” Varian replied.

“And that ‘boy’? He’s involved in this as well,” Merida said. “. . . He's someone ah can trust.” Hiccup and Toothless exchanged glances.

“Where is he, then?” Fergus asked.

Elsa looked to Merida, who nodded. The ice wall disappeared, and everyone’s attention went to the ruins. Again Hiccup and Toothless exchanged looks.

“Stay here, bud,” Hiccup said, and he walked out into the open. “I uh, I’d like to apologize for making you worry and ultimately think the worst. Things kind of . . . happened pretty quickly.”

“So ah’ve been told,” Fergus said. It was strange how much he reminded Hiccup of his own father. They both had that stern look, and they were both pretty big. And they both cared about their kids. “Merida says she trusts you, lad.”

“I uh, I heard.”

“And . . . if she trusts you . . . then ah suppose ah shouldn’t have reason to worry.” A knowing grin grew across his face. “Besides, you wouldn’t stand a chance against her in combat.”

Fergus’s men laughed in agreement, and Hiccup refrained from frowning. However the king’s grin vanished as he set his gaze back onto Merida.

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?”

“. . . No,” Merida replied. “But I’ll try not to be long. I swear it.”

Fergus enveloped her in another hug. “Be safe, lass.”

“Ah will, Dad.”

With one final but gentle squeeze, Fergus let go. “Wait ‘til your mother hears this. She won’t believe a single word.”

“Ahm sure she will.”

The king mounted his horse. “Oh! Ah think you might be needin’ these.” He handed her the arrows he had salvaged.

Merida smiled, and she returned her arrows to her quiver.

“Back to the castle, then!” Fergus spurred his horse on, and his men and deerhounds followed. “Ah look forward ta hearin’ the tales you’ll bring o’ this!”

His daughter laughed, and the group watched Fergus and his men depart.

“Well! That couldn’t have gone better,” Hiccup said, relieved.

“At least he’s not hunting us down anymore.”

Toothless nosed Hiccup, who rubbed his dragon’s head affectionately.

“Let’s try to get a move on, then,” Chane said. While the others headed back into the ruins, Merida, Hiccup, and Toothless drifted behind the group.

“I thought your dad was going to send me off to the dungeon,” Hiccup said.

“Ah wouldn’t have let him,” Merida said. “Ah trust you, even if you are a Viking.”

“Well you’re not too bad yourself.”

Toothless hummed contently, and he gave both of them a grin.

Back with the others, Rapunzel was running her hand across the wall in thought. Another adventure had begun, and it had taken her very far from home and to a whole new world. She was excited, of course, but she was also a little nervous. Well not really nervous. Just worried about her dad worrying about her being missing and the fact that there was probably no way to let him and her mom know that she was just fine.

Something caught her eye on the wall. It was subtle even with Régine’s fire giving them light, and it looked like some sort of writing. It was only a few symbols, but one of them seemed partially hidden. Upon brushing the dirt aside, she found more symbols.

“Hey guys? I think I found something,” Rapunzel said. Régine held her hand up and made her fire brighter as everyone tried to gather around.

“Looks like some sort of writing,” Anna said. Merida nudged her way through, and she squinted at the wall.

“Can you read it?” Cassandra asked.

Merida brushed off any extra dirt. “ ‘Earth be moved. . . . Earth be changed. . . . Grant us passage . . . through walls aged.’ ”

The group flinched as the ruins rumbled. The writing glowed grass green, and part of the wall descended into the ground, revealing a dimly lit passage of stone and rock.

“Well. That was eerily convenient,” Eugene said.

“How far do you think it goes?” Rapunzel asked.

“Could be pretty deep,” Kristoff said. “Might be home to a few things.”

“Hopefully those things are regular animals and not those monsters,” Hiccup commented.

“Is it even the right way?” Régine asked.

Charles, who had picked up the jar, held it toward the passage. The moonbeam flickered more, and if he didn’t know any better he’d suspect that it seemed nervous. “This is the way.”

Angus nickered uneasily, and Toothless skeptically peered into it.

“You’ll be fine, Angus,” Merida said.

The horse shook his head, and Sven nudged Angus. The reindeer made a sort of soft noise of encouragement, and Angus whinnied briefly. Sven smiled in reassurance, leading Kristoff to clap him on the back.

“He’s got your back. Trust me,” Kristoff said, and Angus cautiously peeked inside again.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Anna said, and she stepped inside.

Cassandra managed to make two torches for Régine to light before handing one to Eugene. Everyone carefully filed into the passage, and once the last person was through, it closed behind them.

“No turning back,” Elsa said, a little uneasy.

The group continued on in silence, their footsteps echoing throughout the passage. Stalagmites big and small stretched up toward the top, while smaller stalactites hung from above. And luckily the passage was tall enough for Angus.

“So,” Anna started, making a couple people jump, “I think we should probably introduce ourselves. I’m Anna, this is my sister Elsa, that’s Kristoff, the reindeer’s Sven, oh that big horse is um . . . uh. . . .”

“Angus,” Merida finished.

“Right. There we go. Oh that was Merida that just spoke. The dragon’s Toothless, aaand the guy next to him is Hiccup. Oh! And then there’s Varian. Oh and his raccoon.” Anna paused. “Am I missing some people?”

“Those people would be Régine, Charles, and um . . . whoever that other guy is,” Eugene said. “Don’t think we’ve met before.”

“It’s Chane. And I’m sure Régine and Charles are familiar with your friends.”

“Eugene Fitzherbert. The grumpy one is Cassandra and the amazing one is Rapunzel.” At the remark Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“And Pascal’s here, too,” Rapunzel said, and the chameleon saluted.

“Wow. This is a lot of people,” Anna commented.

“Well these enemies are supposed to be dangerous,” Régine said.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to handle it,” Elsa said. Something grabbed the animals’ attention, prompting the party to stop.

“Now what?” Chane sighed.

“Wait.” Régine took a couple steps forward. “Listen.”

The party fell silent as they strained their ears, and they could just barely hear something up ahead.

“There’s water down here,” Kristoff said.

“Might be a river,” Hiccup suggested.

The group followed the sound, keeping alert for any sign of that girl’s creatures. As they went, the passage became wider and taller, and everyone was able to spread out a bit. The water grew louder and louder with every step, until they eventually reached a waterfall feeding into a small lake.

Somehow the ruins looked to be in much better condition underground. The gray stone blended smoothly with the rock of the cave, as if the ruins were built in harmony with it. Cassandra and Rapunzel shared a look. Although it was a far cry from the hidden lagoon they had once come across, the clear water seemed to glitter in the sunlight like the gems they had found.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Régine said.

“Ah wonder who built these ruins,” Merida said. The group made their way over to the lake, and Angus sniffed the water before taking a few sips, Sven joining him a few moments later.

“We should probably get some rest before we keep going,” Elsa said.

“And maybe we should figure out a plan for when we run into the maker of those creatures,” Chane added.

_______

(First chapter) (Next chapter) (Previous chapter)

#The gang's all here! #Now to track down that book. . . . #The Big Four #The Big Four—Through Moonlight—Book 1 #ROTBTD #ROTBTFD #Merida #Angus #Fergus #Rapunzel #Quirin #Varian #Ruddiger #Eugene #Cassandra #Regine Rosalie #Chane #Charles #Elsa #Anna #Kristoff #Sven #Hiccup #Toothless #Tangled OCs

[dinfeanoriel]

Missing Legend Pt. IV

Linked Universe belongs to Jojo56830 and Linked Universe!  Part IV of my Missing Legend series! Coming close to the end...maybe. 

Please enjoy! And remember, I own nothing but my writing. 

~~~~~~~

“Another fruitless day spent searching vainly and we find nothing!” Warrior threw down his pack and sword in frustration, cerulean eyes swirling with worry and disheartment. The Knight slumped down onto a log, dropping his head into his hands. His hair fell from their once pristine placement and curtained his face from view, “Nothing,” He echoed in a quiet whisper. 

Wind looked even more downtrodden and miserable as the days passed, slowly morphing into a week since Legend’s vanishing. There was a sadness and fear in his expressive and once bright eyes that didn’t belong there. The young sailor dragged his feet to where Warrior sat, lowering himself to the ground and curling up against the older Hero. 

Warrior heaved a sigh and tried to gather himself together for Wind’s sake, but it was getting harder for him to stay calm and collected. They’d been searching for six days and hadn’t found a single thing! Nothing to tell them whether or not Legend was okay or if he were alive. 

The shred of hope he’d been clinging to was slowly dwindling. He shook his head, banishing his thoughts and wrapped an arm around Wind, drawing him close. 

Four sat across from them, face devoid of any emotion other than the faint crease between his brows as they drew together. His back was bent, hands dangling from his knees as his troubled and blank stare bored into the flickering campfire. He’d been struggling to remain optimistic. With each new day, he’d tried to believe they would find Legend...only for their search to end in failure. 

Sky was beginning to look discouraged. He’d already set up his bedroll and rolled onto his side so his back now faced everyone. It was disconcerting to see the change that gradually crept over him. He was a soft-spoken, kindhearted, and pleasant soul who was never without a content smile on his lips and a warm gleam in his eyes. 

Until now. 

Hyrule had gone silent. He was ordinarily a quiet person, but never this quiet. Legend’s disappearance had affected him greatly. He’d fallen deep into himself and could be found sitting at the base of a crooked tree. One knee was bent with an arm draped across it and his head was bowed. The fire cast an ambient orange-red glow on his shadowed form, accentuating the melancholy and gloominess evident in his features, and enshrouding the rest in shadow. 

Twilight was on a log adjacent to Time, back turned on the camp and face forward. Every night, he could be found watching the forest, as if he expected Legend to come waltzing out from within. They knew he wouldn’t, but they sometimes foolishly hoped he would. The Ordonian’s expression was grim, lips pursed tightly together. He was a man of few words, but lately, he’d become a man of no words. He still spoke when necessary, but that was only when giving commands or leading expeditions. Nothing more. At night, he became still and silent. 

Time’s expression was more grave than usual. He didn’t want to say it aloud, although he knew all Heroes were thinking it, but six days and no sign of Legend? This bode ill. It implied a darker and more sinister fate for their friend. Time latched onto the sliver of hope that this wasn’t so. That Legend wasn’t dead. His heart constantly warred with his reasonable mind. The conflict within him was expressed in all other Links. The Leader had his hands folded underneath his chin, elbows digging into his knees as he stared off into the distance. 

Hylia, if Legend yet lives, please...lead us to him...

Wild was grimly cooking something over the fire. He hardly made a sound. He had an arm wrapped tightly around Skittles, taking comfort from the bunny. He stared, unseeing, into the boiling pot, mind far away and heart heavy. He’d never thought he would miss Legend’s sarcasm and wit. His quick comebacks and snarks. 

But he did. 

Everyone did. 

They would give anything to hear his voice again! 

He heaved a silent sigh, turning to fetch his pack. He needed more spice for the meal he had planned. Wild flicked open the flap and dug throughout the pack precariously balanced on the log next to him. The contents within the bag shifted and became heavier in the front, causing the pack to become overbalanced and spill all over the ground. 

The sound startled all of the Heroes from their thoughts and they looked to see Wild muttering and hurriedly grabbing the rolling bottles and runaway herbs. 

From deep within the pack, an orb tumbled forth. All eyes were drawn to it when it flared up in the firelight. 

“What is that?” Wind couldn’t help but ask when it rolled and bounced off Time’s boot. The elder Hero picked it up and pinched it between two fingers. 

Wild shrugged, “Not sure. Sky and I found it when we were looking for Legend.” 

Four blinked in shock and shot upright in disbelief, “It’s a Moon Pearl!” 

Time and the other Links turned to him, curious. No one saw the way Skittles had frozen and how his gaze was riveted to the Pearl in shock and dismay. 

“Moon Pearl?” Time repeated in question. 

“What’s a Moon Pearl?” Warrior asked. 

Four paused, lips sealing shut. This only served to intrigue the Heroes. The smaller Link considered for a moment then slowly replied, 

“They’re...They’re rare gems. Special, but incredibly rare.” 

Time’s eye narrowed. Four was keeping something from them. 

“And what do these gems do?” He pressed. 

Four shrugged, “On my adventure, they helped me find where I needed to go.” Another vague response. 

Time frowned but didn’t ask for more clarification, for which Four was grateful. 

“I’m surprised you even found one.” He remarked to Wild and Sky, “I didn’t think they existed here.” And his gaze drifted to the still Skittles in Wild’s arms. He followed the rabbit’s line of sight to the Pearl then back...

And that was when it hit him. It took sheer willpower not to react or jolt in surprise, but the unimaginable wave of relief that flooded over him freed him from the clutches of fear and worry. 

He barely heard Wild’s reply. 

Green! 

I know, Red. 

He was with us all along?! 

Vio was definitely rolling his eyes at Blue’s enraged outburst. 

Wild noted the intensity in which Time was studying the Moon Pearl. He turned it this way and that, appraising it very much the same way Wild had when he first discovered it. 

“You can keep it if you want,” He said to Time, “I don’t really have any use for it.” 

Time hummed. He didn’t know why, but he felt a great need to hold onto it, “I think I will...” 

Skittles all but deflated when Time tucked it into his pack. 

~~~~~~~

That night, the Heroes fell into another uneasy sleep. Skittles remained wide awake, however. His eyes would often wander over to where Time was and to the pack next to him, but he didn’t dare go for it. He couldn’t risk it. 

Not while there were eight Heroes surrounding him. 

Why, oh, why couldn’t anything be easy for once? 

He gave as best a sigh he could given his form. This night, Skittles had chosen to stick close to Hyrule. Due to his animal senses, Skittles could feel the conflicting and overwhelming emotions Hyrule kept bottled within. He hoped his presence might serve to lessen it. Sometime during the night, Hyrule had grabbed hold of him, and so he was now cradled against his chest, fingers digging into his fur. 

Twilight was on watch. 

Or, he had been. He’d vanished into the forest and never returned. 

Wolfie appeared and sat in the exact spot Twilight had been in, keen blue eyes watching the shadows. 

Skittles could have rolled his eyes if the atmosphere had been any lighter. It was heavy with foreboding and sorrow. Worry and fear. Multiple bungled emotions and conflicted thoughts that it threatened to suffocate the poor animal. 

He couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty. 

A couple of hours passed when a whimper broke the heavy silence. Skittles picked his head up off Hyrule’s arm and looked to see Wind shifting in his bedroll. He tossed and turned, brow creased, and face twisted in pain, grief, and agony. 

Wolfie rumbled low in his throat, lifting himself from his crouched position but Skittles stopped him, 

“Wait!” 

Wolfie started in surprise, head whipping in Skittles direction as the rabbit freed himself from Hyrule’s hold and quietly hopped across. 

This was the first time Skittles had actually spoken to him! Wolfie could not overcome his shock. 

Wind whimpered again and when the animals looked, their sensitive hearts ached to see the tears slipping down his cheeks. The sailor freed his hand from his blankets, stretching as if reaching out to someone. 

“Legend...” 

Guilt slammed into Skittles like a sledgehammer. He needed to fix this. And he needed to fix it soon. But how? If Legend came back and Skittles disappeared...they’d be devastated. But if Skittles remained and Legend never appeared...

He was conflicted. The rabbit shoved his personal feelings on the matter back and hopped to Wind’s side. He gently pawed at the youngest Hero’s cheek, urging him to wake. 

“No...Please...” Wind’s breath hitched and a strangled sob broke from him. It physically pained Skittles to hear. “Legend..!” 

Skittles planted both paws on Wind’s creased cheek, batting and pushing. Wind still did not wake, and so, Skittles decided he needed to go to the extreme. He hunched back onto his heels, prepping himself, and jumped. 

He landed right on Wind’s chest, startling the Hero awake. Wind bolted upright with a small cry of, 

“Legend!”  

His chest heaved as gasping sobs shook his shoulders. Wind’s eyes, blurred by tears, flicked down to see a pink blob in his lap. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and sniffed. 

“Skittles...” he hoarsely whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around the rabbit and crushing him to his chest. “Thanks f-for waking m-me...” He sniffled again, glancing up momentarily when Wolfie materialized at his side and sat down. “Sorry...” He apologized, earning a bop on his nose from Skittles and a nudge from Wolfie’s snout. He grinned weakly. The gesture withered immediately afterward. “I had...I had such a horrible nightmare.” He told them, rubbing at his face. 

“Legend was dying...and he was all alone...” A choked sound erupted from Wind and he buried his face into Skittles’s fur. “Th-there was n-no one with h-him...It was so dark...And I could see him. I c-could hear him...But h-he couldn’t h-hear me...” Wind muffled his cries, missing the sad look entering Wolfie’s eyes. The great beast nosed Wind’s cheek. He rumbled softly. 

Wind lifted his head and furiously wiped at his eyes. 

“I’m just...I’m just scared. What if...What if we don’t find Legend? What if...What if he is dead?” He hiccuped. “Or...what if we change worlds and Legend’s trapped here?” 

It was the unspoken fear among the Heroes, and Wind had finally voiced it aloud. 

Wolfie growled comfortingly. 

That won’t happen. 

Skittles pawed at Wind’s tear-stained face in reassurance. 

All this pain, fear, and sadness. The worry, stress, and frustration. 

He’d done this. 

He’d watched the change that overcame each Hero with every passing day. He’d sensed their emotions, their feelings, and heard some of them during the night. 

And now, Wind was having night terrors of his worst fears coming true. 

Wind managed a weak smile, exhaling shakily. 

“I hope we find him...” He looked to Skittles and Wolfie, “Do you think we will?” 

Both animals dipped their heads with a certainty. 

Wind was comforted. He started to recline back when Wolfie swiftly moved behind him so the boy was resting against him. Wind was grateful. The wolf’s presence helped to soothe him and his troubled heart and mind greatly. He nestled against the great beast, curling around Skittles. 

“Thanks, Wolfie...” He whispered with a yawn. He peered down at Skittles sleepily, “You’ll stay with me tonight, Skittles..?” 

Skittled clucked in affirmative and made himself comfortable. 

And so, with his two animal friends close by, Wind was able to drift off into a sleep undisturbed by nightmares for the rest of the night. 

Wolfie sighed and pillowed his head on his paws. 

Will we find Legend..? He expelled a deep breath. 

You will. Skittles quietly answered. The response made Wolfie glance back at him in faint surprise.

That’s twice now that you’ve spoken. He inclined his head, studying the rabbit. Skittles bristled, pointedly looking away from him. 

Don’t get used to it. 

Wolfie snorted quietly. 

Thank you. 

Skittles huffed and settled down for the night. 

You’re welcome.

~~~~~~~

The dawn came much too early for Skittles liking. He stirred when he heard a faint rustling sound and blearily looked to see who had dared to disturb his rest. The glare mingled with his weariness would have been amusing if anyone had been awake to see it. 

Wolfie was carefully trying to slip himself from underneath Wind, trying not to jostle the slumbering boy. 

What are you doing? Skittles griped, voice heavy laden with sleep. 

Wolfie paused, blinked, then faced him. 

Moving. 

And we’re sleeping, so if you don’t mind, move later. 

I can’t. 

Skittles growled, fixing the stupid wolf with a fierce glower, And why ever not? 

Wolfie rolled his eyes. 

Because, I was supposed to be on watch. And I need to make my rounds. 

Skittles released a world-weary sigh, waving a paw at the wolf. 

Fine, go. It’s your fault I’m awake now. 

Wolfie finally managed to free himself with Skittles help. The bunny had gently lowered Wind’s head to the ground, bundling up a blanket and slipping it beneath the Hero so he wasn’t resting on the cold, hard, ground. 

For all your grumpiness and griping, you truly are a kind and caring friend. 

Skittles grumbled. 

Not many would agree with you. Boy, his voice sure sounded warped when in animal-form. He was thankful for it, however. Now, off with you, mutt. He waved Wolfie away. 

Mutt?! 

Skittles expected Wolfie to leave and complete his rounds before everyone would awaken. He expected the wolf to trot away and check to ensure there were no monsters anywhere near camp. 

What he hadn’t expected, was for the great beast to suddenly transform. 

Into a Hylian. 

A very familiar Hylian. 

Poor Skittles was so taken aback by shock and disbelief from the unexpectedness of it all that he fell off his perch on a rock and crashed painfully onto the soil below. Twilight quickly leaped forward and snatched the unfortunate and stunned rabbit off the unforgiving ground. 

“Sorry, Skittles,” Twilight apologized, drawing the rabbit up so they were looking eye-to-eye, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Oh, he’d made a grave mistake. And Skittles would ensure he paid for it. 

The Hero gave a startled and pained cry when Skittles recovered himself enough to punch his eye with a strength no rabbit should have. 

The slumbering Heroes littered about camp jolted awake at the sound, some instinctively whipping out their swords or reaching for their weapons. 

“What? What is it?” Warrior demanded, leaping to his feet in a split second. He had remarkable response time. They supposed it was to be expected. 

Wild whipped his head round to look at Twilight in worry. “What’s wrong, Twi?” He demanded, scrambling to his feet. He gave pause when he saw a crumpled Skittles lying at Twilight’s feet and said Hylian rubbing at his throbbing eye with a scowl. 

“Twilight?” Came Time’s calm voice. Four brushed his hair back from his face, settling back when he realized there were no monsters to be found or any other danger to be seen. Wind was sitting upright in his bedroll, confused and still a little drowsy. 

Sky lowered his Master Sword and frowned curiously at the Ordonian who was muttering darkly under his breath. Skittles quickly gathered himself together and stood, clucking and growling fiercely at the Hylian. He even shook his paws as he practically chewed him out. 

The sight was quite comical. 

Hyrule blinked, quirking an eyebrow at the furious rabbit. His fur stood on end as the bunny bristled and continued on with his rant. 

How he wished they could understand what he was saying. 

“Your precious Skittles punched my eye, Wild,” Twilight growled, covering the right side of his pinched face. He kept his eye shut. That rabbit sure hadn’t shown him any mercy. 

Wild promptly fixed him with a look, “You must have done something to deserve it.” 

Twilight sputtered. The betrayal! 

Time chuckled to himself while the other Heroes snickered. Wild wandered over and picked up the still fuming rabbit into his arms. He smoothed the fur along his back and pat his head a couple of times. 

“There, there, Skittles,” The Hero soothed. The rabbit kept his dark glare fixed on Twilight, growling menacingly. The look rivaled that of Time’s disapproving eye! 

“Wow, Twi, whatever did you do?” Warrior curiously asked when Skittles turned his head away and hooked his chin solidly on Wild’s shoulder, glowering. 

“You’ve made him maaaad!” Wind sang with a giggle. 

Twilight made to answer, the words on the tip of his tongue but he quickly caught himself. Clearing his throat and flashing Skittles a look of his own, he groused, “I may or may not have stepped on his tail.” 

Skittles whipped around in Wild’s hold, a terrifying and deep growl tearing from him as he bit at Twilight. It was easy to tell what he was saying this time, 

I will never forgive you! 

“Note to self,” They heard Sky murmuring, “Never get on Skittles’ bad side.” 

#Linked Universe #linkeduniverse #Fanfic #Part IV #Missing Legend #Legend of Zelda

[undertale-rho]

Underearth: Book 3 - Chapter 10

Elysium was as it has always been; white, and quite bleak. All the dust caked onto Frisk's clothes and extremities didn't help improve the place, not that he cared. As Frisk walked further into Elysium, he could feel eight SOULs within. Six Humans, Asgore, and... who?

As Frisk thought on these questions, he entered the vacant home of Asgore.

"He leaves them in the kitchen and the hallway." Frisk heard an ethereal voice say.

Frisk rerouted to the hallway off to the right. As he walked, a flower erupted from the floorboards.

"Howdy, Chara!" it said. It was Flowey. "You finally made it home. It didn’t used to float like this, but do you remember when we used to play here?" Flowey then laughed a bit, not even waiting for an answer. "Boy! Today's gonna be just as fun."

Frisk continued to walk. At the end of the hall, he grabbed the key, then flipped back. As he was passing the last door, though, something within him seemed to draw him in once again. Entering, the entire room was exactly the same as it had been before. Walking over to the nightstand on the left side of the room, Frisk noticed that even the dagger was sitting there, untouched for countless years. This time, however, it wasn't the dagger or locket that drew Frisk's attention, but instead it was the picture behind them both.

Picking up the framed photograph, Frisk took the cloth of his shirt and whipped the dust from it. The photograph was of four people. Three of which Frisk recognized to be Asgore, Toriel, and Asriel. The fourth individual in the photograph, unlike the other three, was a Human. Very fair in skin-tone. They wore a green shirt with a yellow stripe across its torso. Their hair was shoulder-length, brown, and obscured most of their face.

Frisk put the photograph back where it was and left the room. Whatever drew him there was gone, and so there was no point sticking around.

Soon after returning on course, Frisk ran into Flowey again, who began telling him his own story.

"I remember when I first woke up here, in the garden." Flowey started. "I was so scared. I couldn't feel my arms or my legs... My entire body had turned into a flower! 'Mom! Dad! Somebody help me!' I called out. But nobody came. Eventually, the king found me, crying in the garden. I explained what had happened to him. Then he held me, Chara. He held me with tears in his eyes, saying... 'There, there. Everything is going to be alright.' He was so... Emotional. But... For some reason... I didn't feel anything at all. I soon realized I didn't feel anything about anyone. My compassion had disappeared! And believe me, it's not like I wasn't trying. I wasted so much time with that stupid king, vainly hoping I would feel something. But it became too much for me. I ran away from home. Eventually, I reached the Citadel. Inside I found her, Chara. I thought of all people, she could make me feel whole again... She failed. I realized those two were useless. I became despondent. I just wanted to love someone. I just wanted to care about someone. Chara, you might not believe this... But I decided... it wasn't worth living anymore. Not in a world without love. Not in a world without you. So... I decided to follow in your footsteps. I would erase myself from existence. And you know what? I succeeded. But as I left this mortal coil... I started to feel apprehensive. If you don't have a SOUL, what happens when you...? Something primal started to burn inside me. 'No,' I thought. 'I don't want to die!' ... Then I woke up. Like it was all just a bad dream. I was back at the garden. Back at the garden with a pocketwatch. Interested, I decided to experiment. Again and again, I brought myself to the edge of death. No matter what, I could go back. Amazing, isn't it, Chara? I was amazed, too. At first, I used my powers for good. I became 'friends' with everyone. I solved all their problems flawlessly. Their companionship was amusing... For a while. As time repeated, people proved themselves predictable. What would this person say if I gave them this? What would they do if I said this to them? Once you know the answer, that's it. That's all they are. It all started because I was curious. Curious what would happen if I killed them. 'I don't like this,' I told myself. 'I'm just doing this because I have to know what happens. Ha ha ha... What an excuse! You of all people must know how liberating it is to act this way. Nowadays, even that's grown tiring. You understand, Chara. I've done everything this world has to offer. Everyone has become infinitely predictable. Except you, Chara. I never could predict you. When I saw you in the Citadel, I didn't recognize you. I thought I could frighten you, then steal your SOUL. I failed. And when I tried to go back, I found the pocketwatch was gone. Chara... you are now chosen! I just have one question for you, Chara. How did you get back to the Citadel from here...?"

Frisk remained silent as he continued to walk.

"Wait, I know. She must have taken you when she left. And decided to give you a proper burial, rather than... Hanging out in that basement forever. But, why then...? What made you wake up? Did you hear me calling you...?"

Frisk continued to remain silent.

"It doesn't matter now." Flowey eventually said. "I'm so tired of this, Chara. I'm tired of all these people. I'm tired of all these places. I'm tired of being a flower. Chara. There's just one thing left I want to do. Let's finish what we started. Let's free everyone. Then... let's let them see what Humanity is really like! That despite it all... This world is still 'Kill or be Killed!!' Then...? Well. I had... Been entertaining a few ways to use that power. Hee hee hee...... But seeing you here changed my mind. Chara... I think if you're around... Just living in the surface world doesn't seem so bad. We don't even need to leave to get them this time. The king has six of them locked away. I've tried hundreds of ways to get him to show me them... But he just won't. Chara... I know he'll do it for you."

Frisk had finally reached the end of his patience with Flowey confusing him for some long-dead sibling.

"Why are you telling me all this, Flowey?" Frisk asked.

Flowey looked up at Frisk with a confused look. "Chara, I said it before. Even after all this time... You're still the only one that understands me. You won't give me any worthless pity! Creatures like us wouldn't hesitate to kill each other if we got in the other's way. So that's... So... that's... why..."

Frisk looked straight through Flowey. He could feel LOV's warmth within him. Flowey was right. He didn't need any worthless pity. By the look Flowey was now wearing, he could feel that something was deeply wrong.

"... what's this... feeling?" Flowey said. "Why am I... shaking?" Flowey then looked up at Frisk. "Hey... Chara... No hard feeling about back then, right?"

Frisk drew the dagger.

"H-Hey, what are you doing!?" Flowey panicked. "B... back off!! I... I've changed my mind about all this. This isn't a good idea anymore. Y-you should go back, Chara. This place is fine the way it is!"

Frisk started walking closer to Flowey, the knife glittering with Monster dust. A demented smile formed across his face.

"S-s-stop making that creepy face!" Flowey shouted. "This isn't funny! You've got a sick sense of humor!"

Frisk then took a swing at Flowey, who retreated into the earth.

Damn coward. Frisk thought.

After sheathing the knife, Frisk realized that he'd not been really paying attention to where he'd been walking. Looking around, he found that he was right outside the Judgement Hall, where Sans would judge him in past Worlds.

Oh good, I'm near Asgore now. he thought. It's time to finish this.

With that, Frisk walked into the Judgement Hall.

Vengeance : In This World...

Previous First posting First of this book Next

#undertale #undertale au #undertale rho #UTRStory #underearth #vengeance

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Twelve

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 12

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.” -Catherynne M. Valente

+

Laura has learned not to carry expectations when it comes to Gods.

Odin was just some old drifter, Ostara looks like she could beat Martha Stewart in a home decorating contest any day of the week and Mad Sweeney is six foot and five inches tall leprechaun. Clearly, it wasn't text book mythology rules.

Still, Isis surprises her. Laura had vaguely assumed she would look like an older Nephthys. Just as high cheeked and blessed with model perfected features. No doubt blessed with a matching leg length, to work a powerful goddess stride.

Instead Isis is cute.

Isis is nearly as short as Laura herself, curvy with a heart shaped face. Making her plush lips and large eyes look all that more beautiful. She looks young.

Everything about her seems to glow, but less like something other worldly and more like joy. She smiles brightly at sister and son, bubbling with soft laughter as they talk. Nothing about her movements is overly graceful, she is frantically eager and emotional. In this moment, she is not elegant and stately. Nor is she trying to pretend to like so many other gods and goddesses have tried.

Laura can't help but stare, trying vainly to find the line where goddess and woman meet but in Isis she realizes maybe there isn't one. 

In midst her staring, the small goddess finally calms down and cuts the distance between them. The laser focus she once had for her son, now locks on to Laura as if she physically marked a target on the dead girl. Who can do nothing but freeze and accept the woman's space budding onto her own.

“You and I are long over due for a talk.”

Laura pulls back her lips into a dry, tight smile.

“You could say, I've been waiting a life time.”

Isis’s eyes glitter with amusement even when behind them Mad Sweeney groans in mock pain at her line. With a gentle touch, Isis moves her aside to look the leprechaun up and down. Her expression a cross between unimpressed and curiosity.

“Let me guess, Mad Sweeney?”

Laura gets some sick satisfaction seeing him go pale and nervous. He even takes his hands out of his pockets and attempts to look polite.

She wants to tell him that particular endeavor is hopeless.

“Aye.”

Isis nods, “Well, you can go now.”

“What?” Laura surprises herself by asking, not even sure why her voice sounds mad. Fuck, not even the idiot himself questions the goddess. He just stands there looking at the pair of them. “Go where?”

“Away?” Isis answers bluntly. “The conversation we need to have should be a private one, don't you think? At the very least, I assumed you wouldn't want your killer to take part in.” -and before Laura can get a word in to question that, she answers, “And yes, we know that too. Odin’s ravens were not the only things watching that night.”

“She's got a point dead girl…I should go.” He adds.

Laura glares at his stupid sad face, “Shut the fuck up. I did not suffer your presence all this time for you to just leave. Let alone to be dismissed like some serving boy.” Though some private part of her knows this is illogical. That if she finds him so annoying, she should want him gone. But she is a possessive dead girl these days, and she doesn't have much but him and a coin to call her own.

(She refuses to look too deeply into that fact she claims him at all)

Instead she turns her attention back to Isis, “Look, no offense but if anyone is going to tell him to fuck off its me. And I didn't, so he stays, okay?”

Isis’s soft smile blooms into a wider, altogether more wicked one. Like she is utterly pleased by Laura's response, and its only when Nephthys starts to laugh does she remember that Isis loves a good trick.

Shit.

If she had any hot blood in her, it would be rising to her cheeks. Maybe even her ears. Right now, if she were alive. She would be flushed with embarrassment.

But she's dead and thank god for that.

Ha.

+

In the end, Mad Sweeney and Laura join Isis at a small seating area in her office. Nephthys and Horus leave them, saying cheerful goodbyes that don't seem like such, as if one day soon their paths will cross again and soon.

“Do you want anything?” Isis asks, as she pours herself a glass of red wine from a near by table of assorted drinks. Mad Sweeney approaches cautiously but once he knows this isn't a trick question of sorts, points to the southern comfort bottle. She hands the bottle to him and goes to hand him a glass too but he takes the offered bottle and runs. Choosing to put as much physical distance as he can between him and the goddess without actually leaving the room.

“Am I really that scary?” She asks the dead woman, taking the empty glass with her as she sits down to hand to Laura. Who promptly shoves it under his nose. With a gruff sound of annoyance he pops the bottle open and fills her glass.

Isis watches.

Under her stare Mad Sweeney bristles, wants to tell her “Yes, Jesus fucking Christ, yes! YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING. AND THIS IS EXAMPLE FUCKING ONE” -but instead he finds his voice and says, “I already have one small overly strong bitch who has my balls in her pocket. Not really in the market for another.”

(Never forget he has a death wish)

Isis chuckles and lets his insult slide, “She has more than just your balls.” She says it with such knowing that it freezes his blood. Like she has reached in with clever hands and stolen a secret he wasn't aware could so easily been taken. “Don't look so surprised.”

Mad Sweeney attempts to keep his shit together, gently coughs and looks at the goddess, “Not surprised, more like mystified.”

“Its common knowledge by now that she is only walking because of your coin. Your luck.”

Do not sigh in relief. He tells himself while taking a long gulp straight from the bottle. Mostly to buy himself an ounce of time and the chance to look away from her iron gaze. It’s easier to breath when he isn’t.

“Is it now? Wasn't aware that Grimnir and you were so close.”

Just like that, the warmth of the room vanishes and Isis's good mood with it. Replacing her joy with fury. She doesn't hide it, the rage is in her like a storm, radiating from her eyes. In her voice.

“I am no friend of your former employee. If I could smear his name from my memory I would. Just as I would burn him to ash. To let my sons consume him whole. If there is a punishment too cruel to name, I want him to experience it a thousand times.” Isis promises this with venom, spits it out like a rattle snake, forcing Sweeney physically leans away from her.

“Aye, alright. So you didn't hear it from him. Am I allowed to ask how you did?”

The goddess visibly cools her anger and shrugs, “Well, the coin is technically one of mine isn't it? Or rather of an Isis.”

Mad Sweeney and Laura both balk, but he more than her as he quickly forgets his place, “No, it ain't. It's mine. Always has been.”

“Always?”

“YES ALWAYS.” He shouts only to promptly remember…not always. He didn't make it after all, he was no black smith. “It was given to me as a gift when I was a king.”

The petite goddess doesn't smile, but her gaze softens. “Like any good coin, it was made to be used. Not locked up in some vault, to collect dust. I am not mad it fell into your hands, I'm sure it was meant to.” From no where, she plucks a similar gold coin into existence. So much like his own ability that for half a second he feels disjointed. Jealous. 

“Now, my coins, here and now. Those are just shades of magic I have left to spare to the occasional customer who spends it here. What you have Laura, is a piece of the original Isis's magic. Meant not just to bring luck, but justice. Strength to obtain it. Maybe it was placed on your grave without intent, but I have a funny feeling it would just as easily been rolled out of a pocket. The wind would have carried it out, a stray crow or cat would have helped it along.”

“It's meant for a king.” Sweeney tries again, refusing the idea that this is the part of the story always meant to be told. That she was always meant to have it, because if that is true, it means he was always meant to kill her.

And that is too fucked up for him to take.

Isis chuckles warmly at his indignation, “Is it such a strange thought that a king is sometimes a woman?”

Mad Sweeney bites his tongue is muted anger; he’s not good at it, he knows he looks pissed and he can’t stop tapping his foot, but there isn’t a damn thing he can say or do. Isis isn’t wrong, and nor will she allow herself to be to the likes of him. 

He has no power here, no strength and no fucking clue. 

+

“I am not a king,” Laura says in Mad Sweeney’s silence. 

Just short of outraged since this isn't answering anything. In fact, it's just drawing in more questions. “I was just a normal, if really shitty and depressed chick who made some terrible choices. So, you’ve got the wrong dead girl, sorry.”

“A king isn’t just someone with a crown, or a throne, sometimes it is earned. You need the right spirit, to be strong enough to handle that kind of power.” Isis explains, taking a sip of her wine before placing it down. 

“And who says I have that?” Laura digs, this is starting to hurt. She wanted answers, she wanted to find a way back to life. Not to peel back the pages of her dirty end, she knew that part of the story. She was there, wasn't she? 

She knew what fueled her, the sick and overwhelming emptiness that demanded anything and anyone to fill it; of what mistakes came from that sickness, how she had hurt everyone who ever knew her name. She knows all the players involved, of Odin and Sweeney, of Shadow and the ravens who watched.

Just as she knows that part of the story won't change. It's not a rotted tooth she can remove and get away with. It's bone disease, infecting the whole jaw. It's cognitive heart disease. It's apart of her, and it was always going to kill her, one way or another. There is not enough black ink and faith in the world to erase it.

“I know Shadow didn't mean to give me the coin, that I’m only getting this chance because numb nuts over there made a mistake...that even in death, I’m still massively screwing up. I don’t know what am I doing, like at all.” She gives a hysterical chuckle, “I kicked a dude's balls right through his mouth because I didn't know my own strength. I nearly gave my best friend a heart attack because I forgot for one second what I am. I kidnapped a cute little Salim-not Salim for his car, before I knew how much I was getting in the way of his love story. I killed Odin without knowing what that would even mean in the long run. I let Shadow go like it didn't even matter. Even now, I haven't learned anything from this whole mess, haven't found one damn thing that makes sense. Actually, it's been pretty much the exact opposite. I feel like I'm learning less, because now I have to worry about who will eat me because I'm dead or how fucked I am if I’m glued to Lucky Charms over here, and what that means.”

“Oi!” Sweeney hisses, but she ignores him and continues.

“It's obvious at this point, I am doing whatever the fuck I can to keep myself literally together. And yes, I know it's not going well. I know an old Mcdonald's french fry has a better chance of coming back than I do. I am not a fool, you don't have to pretend with me, okay? I don't have the strength of spirit, just like I don't have a light heart. I am not a king or a queen, I am a dead girl who wants something more than nothing.” Laura's voice trembles out of her, and she realizes slowly that Odin hadn't managed to spill all her secrets. 

She still has one left.

“And...and if that's not possible. If I can't get it from you or anyone else, fucking tell me now, because I am tired. I am so tired. Of rotting away and shoving air fresheners down my shirt just so ginger bitch over there doesn't puke all day. I am tired of being followed by every fly and insect, of spitting out maggots and embalming fluid. Of feeling my skin tear, of my nails dropping off and my teeth rattling around in my skull.” The truth pours out of her now, as if the stitching on her chest has come undone, “Of sewing myself up, alone in the dark. Like the world’s saddest Frankenstein girl.”

There's silence and then a clack and a clang, a loud ringing after her confession. Someone downstairs has won big time.

Laura wonders if there was a word for suicidal for the already dead.

She refuses to look at Sweeney when she's done speaking. He's been with her all this time; has seen more sides of herself than she would ever be comfortable with from anyone else. Fuck, he might be her last real tie to the world, might be the last thing she believes in but she never ever wanted him to hear this. 

Admitting it feels too much like confession.

He has been an unwilling witness to her so many of her failures and some small petty thing in her really wishes she could tell him to fuck off for good.

-but then she would be alone, truly alone.

He's done more for her, bitching aside, than anyone has ever done for her. Maybe she'd never forgive him for his part to play in her death, but worse things have happened to her since then and in the grand scheme of things, she knows he's low on the list of villains.

Unlike anyone else, at least he's been trying, and she has noticed. Not grateful, never fucking grateful, but she's noticed.

Sad truth is, if she can't be brought to life, if this whole journey has been for nothing and her getting the coin at all has just been some cosmic joke -she’s ready for it to be over. Laura is done, and the only reason she’s even trying now is the small hope she has that it isn’t. Not because she deserves it, but because now it’s not just her at stake. 

-he is too.

(She is tired enough to admit, that she really doesn't want him gone.)

>

#mad wife #Madwife #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x laura moon #laura moon #laura x sweeney #madwife fic

[lamptracker]

Idk if your still taking requests but could you write blurb where the reader is now dating Tom after he has split up with Z and she's being ridiculed by fans and is close to maybe breaking up with him because she thinks she's not worthy. Something angsty but end with fluff please and thank you😊

They should offer a class, you think. A class on what it’s like to date a celebrity. Lesson 1: Not Reading the Comments. Lesson 2: Not Taking Comments Personally if You’re A Moron and Read Them Anyway.

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Tom. You knew there were two very different camps, as far as his fans went: Camp Tom Deserves All the Happiness in the World and Can Date Whoever He Likes, and Camp Tom Should Have Never Broken Up with Zendaya.

Camp 2 seemed to be out in full force today, after the post Tom had put up on his Instagram. It was of you and Tessa in the park; you were laughing because Tessa had spotted a squirrel and tried to climb a tree.

Your brain skips over all the comments about how cute you and Tom are together and goes straight for the vitriol - He and Zendaya were perfect together, how dare you come in and break that up. And you’re just a maneater who’ll go on to the next victim any day now.  And you’re not even pretty enough for him, what do you think you’re doing?

“Oh, hello, love.” Tom enters the apartment, having just returned from a meeting with his agent. “I have some really exciting things to… oh, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But you are a terrible liar and he knows it.

“No, come on. Tell me.”

You sigh deeply. “You know that post you made this morning? I, uh… I read the comments.”

“Oh, no.” Tom immediately sits down next to you. “What’d they say this time?”

“That I’m just using you. That I should never have wrecked what you and Z had, that I’m not pretty enough for you. And you know what? They might be right. You deserve someone who’s smart and gorgeous and… not me.” You look down at the couch cushion, trying vainly to suppress a sob.

Tom exhales slowly. “What are you…”

“Just go, Tom. Please?” A tear rolls down your cheek.

“No.”

You look up at him. “What?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere. You can’t let some jealous people hiding behind a keyboard dictate how I feel about you. Because they’re way off. I think you are absolutely gorgeous. And you’re funny, and smart, and kind. Zendaya and I broke up over a year ago, and we did end on good terms but that doesn’t mean I want to go back to her. I just want you.” He cups your face in his hands, gently wiping the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “Okay?”

You nod. “I’m sorry, Tom. It’s just… sometimes I get really insecure, you know?”

“I know. But I still love you.”

“I love you too. And I’m sorry for-”

“No, no need to apologize, love.” He kisses your forehead, smiling as he pulls away. 

“So,” you say, drawing a shaky breath. “What was your exciting news?”

“I’ll tell you in a little while. Let’s just enjoy each other for right now, yeah?”

“I can do that.” You smile as he folds you into his arms; you rest your head on his shoulder.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb

[written-rebellion]

Perfect Distractions

A/N: Happy Thursday! Does anyone else feel like this posting sched makes the week really fly by? The ICYMI comes out on Tuesdays, then boom! It’s Thursday and only two days away from Sunday’s chapter! Maybe it’s just me idk ^_^” anywayyy, here’s the new chapter!

Jamie’s a man of his word, Claire is not a fan of Scottish weather, and as always, all the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1]

Part Seven: The Grand Tour | Chapter 2

As tempting as it sounded and as well as he’d made his case, they really couldn’t spend the rest of the day in bed.

Reluctantly, and with the great difficulty of keeping his hands from her as she bent to retrieve her clothes, they both got re-dressed.

“Everyone’s going to know what we did if you keep smiling like that,” she said, evidently not making any attempt to stop smiling herself.

“Lass, wi’ the way ye were screaming, I’d be damned if all of Scotland doesna already ken.”

Her mouth closed and Jamie laughed, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

“Dinna fash Sassenach, I take it as a compliment.”

She rolled her eyes, then wriggled her fingers until they interlaced with his and kissed the back of his hand.

“Looks like we’re one of those couples,” she said, casting him a weary look. 

“Aye, we are.” He grinned, squeezing her hand before tugging at it to follow him out the door. “Let’s go annoy all of Lallybroch wi’ it.”

Claire stumbled on wobbly legs as he pulled her along and Jamie’s ego was sufficiently swollen. She was right, after all. The bed wasn’t likely to go anywhere.

“I’ll give ye the tour first, mo graidgh.” He beamed back at her as he led her down the stairs and out the front door. “I’m a man of my word, ye ken.”

She eyed him narrowly, lips just parting to form a reply when the cold air from outside hit them both. He could have mapped the tremor as it shuddered through her body from head to toe.

“Jesus H—fuck! It’s cold.”

“Nay, not cold, Sassenach. It’s just Scotland.”

She latched onto his arm like the frozen ground might shatter underneath them, trying vainly to get close enough to him to steal some warmth. Jamie chuckled.

“And suddenly, going back to bed doesna seem all that bad, aye?” He peered down in time to see her bury her face into the side of his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she mumbled, “I’d say you lowered the temperature yourself, just to have me pressed up against you.”

A full-bellied laugh at that. He wrapped an arm tight around her shoulders, his hand rubbing her arm briskly as they walked into the courtyard.

“No’ a bad plan, Sassenach. Wish I’d thought of it.”

He was vaguely aware of the way their footsteps stepped in time with each other, making parallel tracks in the thin layer of snow as he led her around the property.

They strolled through the fields and down to the stables, Jamie recounting details and childhood stories, spurred by the glinting expectancy in Claire’s eyes. 

She’d never had a home. He’d make sure she knew this one.

“—And here, finally,” Jamie said, stepping away from her to place his hand on the tall, round namesake of the property. “This is—”

“No thanks,” she said curtly, “I don’t need to see this.”

Jamie blinked. He hadn’t been boring her, had he? Her attention had seemed so genuine.

It took the small quirk at the corner of her lips to dispel the icy shot of doubt piercing through him.

“I havena even finished my sentence yet, Sassenach.”

“I know this one,” she said, crossing her arms. “These are the stones you and Ian would piss on next to the tow—”

Jamie’s laugh cut her off.

“I told ye that months ago, mo graidgh. That’s some memory ye’ve got.”

She smiled, but only moved towards him hesitantly when he extended his other hand to her. There was no hesitation, however, in how she wove her fingers in his.

“Aye, those are the stones just there.” He jerked his head to the right, then nodded at the tower before them. “But this… This is…”

The words dissolved in his throat so he opted for Plan B. Very slowly, he turned and set his lips against hers, soft but insistent.

It took her a moment before she responded, then one hand slid behind his neck to lose itself in the shorter curls at the back of his head.

She was panting small clouds of breath between them as he pulled away.

“W-what was…?”

“This tower…” he started, before he lost his nerve. Loathe to leave her, he stepped out of her arms and turned to place a hand on the stone. “It leans to one side.”

Claire watched him intently.

“Lazy tower,” he chuckled. “That’s what Lallybroch means.”

“But what does—?”

He kept his eyes fixed on the grey stone in front of him.

“My father, he built this himself, aye? Everything I showed ye today was his work, and—” His lips quivered into something akin to a smile as he ran his fingers over the deep grooves etched into one of the bricks.

“This is where he first told my mother he loved her. Carved their initials just here, ye see?”

Claire stepped closer, thin fingers running down the long straight line of the letter B.

“Brian and Ellen,” said Jamie, his own fingers tracing the letter’s uppermost curve, a breath away from Claire’s.

Then, her hand moved from the stone to his cheek, drawing his face towards her, his lips back to hers.

“I love you, Jamie.” She pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. His own narrowed to blue slits as he cupped her cheeks.

“I love you too, Claire.”

Reaching up, she took one of his hands and guided it back to the engravings on the stone, laying her own hand atop his as she kissed him again.

“Are ye warm enough now, mo chridhe?” he said when the parted.

She nodded.

“Let’s go into town then, aye?”

“Let’s.”

One more kiss before she turned on her heel and began to walk back towards the house.

He lingered back for a moment though. For one, just to watch her walk in that surefooted way like she inherently knew he was following close behind. And two, to place his hand on the tower again.

“Ye were right, Da,” he whispered to the wind. His eyes never left Claire, even as she turned and waited for him.

“I just knew.”

---

The walk off the large property was by no means short, but Claire was far too wrapped up in both Jamie’s stories and his arms to notice.

There, where he and Jenny fell out of a tree and he broke his arm trying to break her fall. That far off hill he and Ian would use old tires to roll down. They were just tiny fragments of a childhood he shaped for her, piece by piece.

By the time they got to town, Claire was feeling sufficiently warmed and it had nothing to do with the weather. She rubbed her cheek against his forearm and pulled him closer to her.

“Still cold, Sassenach?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He made an amused sound, pulling his hand from hers to wrap around her shoulders.

“Oh, and there, that shop, ye see?”

His other hand pointed to a small one-storey building across the street, dusted so aesthetically with powdered snow that Claire felt like she’d accidentally fallen into a snow globe.

“That shop’s ruined its fair share of Fraser dinners, aye? Ye can buy every sweet thing ye can think of. We’d all go every weekend, us kids. Me, Ian, Jenny, and Willie.”

He’d said it so casually, if not just a bit softer, that it took Claire a moment to notice. Her head snapped in his direction, but his eyes were fixed across the road. His wide mouth seemed to be fighting between a smile and something else, something unnameable. She stared at him.

“He’d babysit us, aye? Being the eldest and all. He’d take us to the store and say, ‘Alright now, weans, I’m in charge’.” His voice turned sterner, how Claire assumed William must have sounded to a smaller Jamie. “’And that means I get to choose what we’re eating, aye?’ And we’d all moan about it, Jenny most of all—” He chuckled, a smile seemingly winning out against its unnamed opponent. “—But eventually, he’d have us lined up so he could collect everyone’s pocket change. He—”

It started as a laugh but somehow sounded stuck, like it hadn’t fully formed inside him. Claire found her inch in, drawing his eyes back to her with a hand on his cheek.

“You don’t have to, Jamie,” she said. “If you don’t want t—”

“But I do, mo chridhe.” He shook his head with a weak chuckle. “My father, and Willie, I’ve never spoken about them to anyone but Jenny and Ian, and they knew them, ken? And it’s—that is, ye’re a rare thing, Sassenach, that I can tell ye all my heart and—and watch Willie and Da almost… come back to life in front of ye.”

Claire stared unblinkingly, as if she’d been struck. As earnest as he always was, this was different. It was, perhaps, the same irrepressible honesty that had burst from her when she told him about Uncle Lamb’s death, the swell of waves as floodgates gently eased open.

She’d realized a beat too late that he was staring back at her, blue eyes searching hers for comprehension or apprehension, reproach or encouragement. She felt her heart break and mend itself in the time it took to ease her hand down his cheek and watch his hesitant smile gradually widen.

“So,” she said softly, simply, “what did he end up buying for you?”

There was his smile, fully formed and breathtaking.

“Patience, Sassenach, ye dinna rush a proper Scot’s story.”

She rolled her eyes as he tucked her again under his arm and crossed the street, arriving finally at the front stoop of the shop in question.

“He’d have us wait right here, in a line.” He paused to stamp his feet in the snow, wean indeed. “I used to think he’d sometimes take longer than he really needed to, just to piss us off a wee bit. He’d always come out right as Jenny was about to lose her mind and march in after him.”

That wasn’t too difficult for Claire to picture. Smaller versions of the Fraser-Murray family sprung to life as she imagined Ian leaning against the window, Jenny with arms crossed, and a tiny Jamie – the one she’d seen in row upon row of photos on the wall – moving restlessly from one foot to the other.

“When he returned, he told us all to close our eyes and hold out our hands.” She watched a wave of some powerful emotion pass through him, too quick to discern whether it was nostalgia or grief.

“So we did as we were told, could scarcely choose otherwise, aye? And he placed something different in each of our hands, our favourite usually – but not all the time, just so we wouldna lose the novelty of it.”

“That’s really nice of him.”

“Nay, that’s just a kindly older brother thing to do, Sassenach. It was afterward—he’d tell us to close our eyes again, and we’d listen o’ course. And in each of our hands—” A rueful smile, another wave of something decidedly closer to sadness, but marked with reverence. “—he gave us back our money.”

He looked through the storefront and Claire could almost make out the figure of the boy she knew Jamie was trying to revive. She felt his fingers twitch at her shoulder and reached across to squeeze his hand.

I’m here.

He squeezed back, breaking his trance to look at her, find her and find the solace she held out to him.

“I think I would’ve liked him,” she said.

Jamie scoffed at that, and drew Claire closer to him.

“Och, he would have loved you, Sassenach,” he said with the shake of his head. “And actually, in that respect, maybe I’m a little relieved he’s no’ here at the moment.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for that telltale smile of his before his voice dropped and he said something heartwarming.

“And why is that?”

There.

“He had a bad habit of taking things that were mine, ken?”

She stifled her laugh into his shoulder, not only amused at his words but at his mere notion that she’d pick another person – another Fraser no less – over him.

“Well, that’s too bad then.”

She turned to face him, draping her arms over his shoulders as his hands naturally found her waist. Slow-dancing in the snow.

“Is it?”

She shrugged.

“Unfortunately, my heart is already set on this one guy.”

“Oh, aye?” He smirked, pulling her closer to him with a suppressed growl. “Anyone I know?”

She gave him his smirk back.

“Maybe, he does go to our school.” Jamie snorted at that. Claire drew herself up and butted her nose against his.

“If you happen to see him, tell him he needs to replace my cracked window.”

“Verra well, Sassenach,” he said, a breath away from her lips. “But perhaps ye could help me find the girl my heart is set on too?”

“And what exactly should I be looking for?”

He found a way to get impossibly closer, making her go nearly cross-eyed watching the puff of his hot breath dissipate against her own lips.

“Just the most beautiful lass on campus,” he said before his mouth descended on hers.

Read Chapter 3

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #perfect distractions au #wr writing #warning: this ch may cause tooth decay #these two are *disgustingly* sweet

[tysonrunningfox]

39 for... arvelia or feret.... PLS

I don’t know if you guessed this would be anything other than a corny high school party modern au with both feret and arvelia when you asked this, but that’s what you got, and also, I missed my clueless son with a crush on his sister and slutty arvid and awkward, distant Fuse who’s heart almost bursts all the time because an individual boy is so stupid.  

Kiss Prompts

If Aurelia’s dad doesn’t want her throwing parties, he shouldn’t take Stoick on his business trips and forget to tell her when they are until the morning of.  He definitely shouldn’t leave a stack of money on the table for school supplies she doesn’t need.  In fact, if he doesn’t want her throwing parties, he should explicitly say it, with the eye contact that her punishment probably won’t even include.  If she gets punished at all, honestly, even with the mess left behind as most of the kids trickle back out of the front door the house isn’t much dirtier than it is after her dad forgets to renew the cleaning service for a couple of weeks.  

Aurelia stirs the punch she made with the oldest bottle in the liquor cabinet before refilling it with the newest bottle.  It’s not that late but most people are gone, a fact that doesn’t make her necessarily optimistic for the school year ahead.  But Arvid Hofferson is still here, glowering in the corner, and that’s decent news.  His little brother is also lurking around though, waving brightly with a deep blush when Aurelia makes eye contact.  She rolls her eyes and goes back to the punch.  

She could pretend not to know Eret Hofferson’s name, but of course she does.  Not the way that he obviously wants her to know it, because the knowledge comes exclusively from the fact that he somehow bumbles his way to beating her score in almost every test despite never turning his homework in on time.  Maybe she’ll still pretend not to know his name, at least to his face.  Especially since her dad filled his internship slots and deposited an edited and rejected resume in her room without saying anything.  

Fuse Thorston is still here too, looking at the wall full of her dad’s framed designs, and Aurelia is a little shocked to see the red cup of punch in her hand.  She didn’t realize Fuse was human enough to eat and especially not to drink alcohol.  She thought Fuse subsisted on innovation alone, or something hokey that her dad would say.  She gets that she couldn’t get the internship because of nepotism, but it still stings to look between Eret and Fuse and have them both look comfortable here.  

Arvid looks at the door and says something to Eret about leaving, shoulders slumped slightly like he’s trying and failing to look smaller, and Aurelia can’t help but be a little gratified to be on the same side of discomfort as him.  Eret placates him and Aurelia thinks she hears something like a bribe that Arvid accepts with a grunt.  And just as the uncomfortable normalcy of being a spectator in her own home starts to set in in earnest, Aurelia notices something else.   Fuse glares at Arvid, like she always does, that icy, distant glare that keeps even Aurelia’s less than charitable thoughts in check.  Then her eyes flick to Eret and soften slightly as she fidgets with her hair and takes a sip of her punch.  

Interesting.  

Aurelia looks around the room at the few remaining groups of people, mostly sitting around and talking.  Probably not more than a dozen, in all, a small enough group to have a decent chance of this being very interesting.  She picks up the empty bottle from the newer scotch she disguised–no, promoted–and gestures at Eret with it, watching his eyes widen and looking away when he starts slapping Arvid excitedly on the arm.  

“In the nature of a true cliche last day of summer party,” Aurelia addresses the room at large, “I think we have to play spin the bottle or it doesn’t even count.”  

“Good point!”  Eret’s voice cracks and maybe Aurelia should have chosen someone less enthusiastic to back her up on this.  

There’s a general grumble in the room, a nervous, pubescent sound that makes Aurelia feel very young and very mature all at the same time.  She hasn’t kissed anyone, exactly, and she tries not to see Arvid glowering at his feet like he’s so much above all of this.  

“Will Arvid play?”  A girl in a small group in the corner asks, tittering to her friend when Arvid’s face shifts instantly and he winks at them, shrugging one too cool shoulder.  

“Why wouldn’t he?  It seems like his kind of game,” Aurelia either can’t or won’t hold back that comment, but Arvid doesn’t deny it, eyes on the girls in the corner as he takes an easy seat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him.  

“That bottle won’t spin very well,” he advises her and she hates the way he ignores her entirely for the bottle in her right hand and the girls in the corner.  Mostly, she hates the way that she sees herself in him, in the way he waffles from uncomfortable and trying to disappear to holding the attention in the room like a weapon.  "So you might want to sit close.“  He winks at the girls again and the effect is instantaneous.  

Everyone sits on the floor in a loose circle, Eret sliding between two girls in an obvious bid to be closer to Arvid, like he can use that to his advantage, because presumably everyone will be aiming for his brother.  One of the girls scoots pointedly away from him and he blushes, fidgeting and looking at his hands.  That irritating familiarity is worse the more that she sees him and Aurelia struggles not to focus on it.  She knows him from somewhere, somewhere else, somewhere she didn’t like him very much.  She sits exactly opposite to Arvid, half as a point of pride and half to distract herself by looking at him.  He looks at the bottle in her hand again, leaning easily towards a pretty blonde who looks far too happy to be close to him.  

"Really, princess, blended whiskey?  You couldn’t afford anything better for us?”  

Aurelia snorts, “I used my dad’s thirty year in the punch and just refilled the bottle with this.”  

“Waste of good scotch.”  Arvid is trying to sound older and it works and Aurelia hates how easily he does it.  His size can’t hurt.  It can’t hurt at all, especially coupled with the arms that flex when he leans back on his hands.  

“I liked the punch,” Eret contributes with an exaggerated nod and there’s that prick of something familiar about it that makes Aurelia dismissively angry.  

“Wasting it was the point,” she snips at Arvid, “now I get to see if my dad can even tell the difference.”  

“Are we going to play or what?”  Arvid grins at the blonde next to him and Aurelia rolls her eyes, setting the bottle in the middle of the circle and gesturing at it.  

She looks around, waiting for someone to grab it and notices that Fuse isn’t sitting and worse, she’s back at the wall of drawings, back pointedly turned to Eret.  And that’s half the game here, it’s explosive to get Fuse to kiss Arvid, it’s revealing if Fuse kisses Eret.  It’ll tell Aurelia if that awkward shift in her posture when she looked at him meant anything or if she was just being awkward.  It could be either, but she wants to know, especially because it distracts her from the chances that she won’t get to kiss Arvid at all and instead she’ll be stuck watching him kiss a bunch of other girls with decent aim.  

“Fuse,” Aurelia waves at the girl who turns around with a shifty, obvious side glance at Eret.  "You have to play.“  

"I don’t,” Fuse shakes her head.  

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”  

“Probably not,” she answers a bit slowly, looking at the bottle like she does at the drawings she hasn’t figured out yet.  

“So there’s a small chance that it could be fun,” Aurelia points at the recently vacated spot next to Eret, “there’s room.”  

“Yeah, Fuse, you can sit by me,” Eret smiles at her and pats the rug, friendly in a less hyper way than he is with Aurelia and Fuse thinks for a second, back held straight, before taking him up on the offer.  He jostles her arm with a friendly elbow and she takes another sip of punch, eyes fixed on the bottle in the center of the circle.  

Very interesting.  

“If I get Thorston, we’re leaving,” Arvid curls his lip slightly and Eret glares at him.  

“No offense taken,” Fuse’s tone is a bit cutting and Arvid grinds his teeth, trying not to respond.  

“In that case,” the girl who asked in the first place if Arvid would play snatches the bottle possessively from the center of the circle, spinning it with a hopeful glance in his direction.  It lands on some other boy and the two reluctantly kiss.  Then he spins and gets another girl, leading to a few boring, low stakes turns.  One girl swears under her breath when she doesn’t get Arvid and the boy sitting next to her, who Aurelia thinks is her boyfriend, starts in on her about it, which makes Arvid relax under the unspoken threat.  

The kid clenches his fists and Arvid goes to stand up, but the girlfriend flushes and drags her boyfriend out through the front door and their bickering resumes as soon as it’s closed.  

“Well then,” Arvid grabs the bottle, “since my lack of turns is causing so many problems…” He spins it and Aurelia doesn’t necessarily like how right he was about the rickety way that it spins.  Or at least she doesn’t until it stops, clearly pointing at her.  

“Of course,” Eret scoffs under his breath and Arvid’s flash of genuine concern at his brother makes Aurelia’s chest throb slightly.  She noticed Arvid immediately for all the obvious reasons, but no matter how much of a dick he pretends to be, she can’t help but see the cracks in his facade.  This one makes her think so acutely of Stoick that she hopes, vainly and impossibly, that his cracks might line up with hers.  

“Come here,” he leans across the circle, moving quickly like he intends to get it over with, and before she can acclimate to the warm, undeniably strong fingers that cup her jaw, his chapped lips brush across her cheek.  It’s not a real first kiss but it feels like it and she touches her cheek reflexively as he pulls away, giving Eret a sheepish look and folding his hands on his lap.  

“That’s against the rules,” Eret tells him miserably, and that self-sacrificing pout ignites a flare of Aurelia’s irritation almost loud enough to drown out the tingling in her cheek.  

“Why don’t you take your turn then if you don’t like how he plays?”  She snaps, nudging the bottle towards him with her toe and tugging her skirt down when she sees Arvid glance at her leg.  She glares at him and he thinks harder, looking between the bottle and her face with a slow sweep that doesn’t give away any of his thoughts.  

“You don’t want your turn?” Eret hedges quietly and Aurelia shakes her head.  

“No, Eric, I’m good.”  

His face falls and looks even more familiar and Aurelia can almost place it until Arvid’s glare hits the side of her face like a focused laser and she looks at her hands in her lap to avoid it.  He shakes his head at her, disgust palpable and the tingle in her cheek goes cold all at once.  

“Ok then,” Eret rallies with an impressive straight face that Aurelia doesn’t expect to feel bad about, but does, “guess I’ll go.”  He spins it a little slowly and for a second, it looks like it’s going to land pointing back at him, which is unusually cruel even for a game like this, and he mutters under his breath, “just my luck.”  

It doesn’t stop on him though, instead just barley short and pointing directly at the cup Fuse is holding in front of her.  She goes bright red and her face falls slightly, the ‘just my luck’ hitting her as hard as Arvid’s glare hit Aurelia.  

“Oh,” Eret faces her, leaning on his hand and shaking slightly shaggy hair out of his face.  

“You don’t have to,” Fuse lets him off the hook, shifting like she’s going to stand up and Eret stops her with an awkward, hand-waving pat on the shoulder.  

“No, I didn’t mean–I thought it was going to land on me and I was going to have to do that whole thing where you make it look like you’re making out with yourself?” He demonstrates, rubbing his hands up and down his sides and making a kissing sound that makes Arvid slump forward, cradling his head in his hands when a few other girls laugh.  "And I don’t know if my ego could handle that, but then it stopped on you and saved me from embarrassment.  Or it would have, if I didn’t do that anyway.“  

The girls laugh again and Aurelia frowns at them, a little irked on Eret’s behalf.  The flailing is familiar in the way that irritates her, but he’s trying to make up for the careless thing he said to Fuse.  Maybe this was a mistake, she doesn’t think she likes Eret feeling so human after he took her internship spot.  It makes her feel bad about the name thing and she glances at Arvid, who’s still lamenting his brother’s lack of tact.  

"You really don’t have to,” Fuse repeats and Eret shrugs a casual, clueless shoulder, risking a barely there glance at Aurelia before swallowing hard.  

“I’m the one bringing up the rules, it doesn’t make much sense for me to break them now,” he grins, friendly and almost disarmingly harmless in a way that makes Arvid’s protectiveness make even more sense.  Eret rests his hand on Fuse’s shoulder at the base of her neck, leaning in slightly before stopping again.  "Unless you don’t want me to.“  

Fuse blushes obviously and a couple people laugh awkwardly as she leans in and kisses him, chaste but direct and lingering a second longer than the boring, low-stakes kisses that transpired in the first few rounds of the game.  When she pulls back, Eret is frowning at her, a little out of breath, more than a little goofy as he pats her on the shoulder and ducks his head to hide the flush on his face.  

Arvid looks at Aurelia suspiciously and maybe even a little conspiratorially, like he just saw something he doesn’t quite like and wants corroboration.  Aurelia shrugs, cheek tingling, glaring at the blonde beside Arvid who looks judgementally at Eret.  She wishes she hadn’t feigned forgetting his name and there’s a weird feeling of ownership that comes with that, like she hit a quota and she was the only one who got to make fun of him anyway.  

"My turn,” Fuse takes the bottle and spins it a little too hard, eyes suspiciously bright in a way that confirms Aurelia’s suspicions, but she finds herself lacking the feeling of victory that usually accompanies being right off of so little information.  She wants to hate Fuse for getting that internship, but it’s hard somehow, harder still when the bottle lands back tilted at Eret and the small smile on Fuse’s face is smug like she did it on purpose.  "You don’t have to,“ she reminds him and he shakes his head, a little bolder this time.  

"It’s fine.”  He leans in with purpose, hand barely touching her elbow as his lips press against hers with a cautious confidence that makes Aurelia look away.  Arvid catches her eye and shakes his head, like he knows she did this on purpose, at some level, and she wants to tell him that there’s no way she could have known that Fuse was a secret spin the bottle prodigy who could bend it to her will.  It only makes sense, given the way her dad goes on about her though.  Maybe her dad would go on about Eret a little less, though, if he saw the clumsy but surprisingly determined way that he’s continuing to kiss his fellow intern.  

“Maybe he’s had enough of a turn,” Aurelia cuts them off and it doesn’t quite make them stop, so she grabs the bottle and taps it against the floor, “I’ll take my turn now, I guess.”  

“Oh,” Eret shakes his head, eyes a little glazed, that confused frown still solidly in place on his red face.  "Yeah, go ahead.“  He glances sheepishly at Fuse, who is taking a long, slow sip from her cup, staring straight ahead.  

Aurelia spins the bottle and it wobbles slightly before pointing obviously at Arvid.  

"Come on, there are other people here,” the blonde next to him huffs and Aurelia glares at her.  

“There’s enough to go around,” Arvid says it like he’s expected to, but he’s glancing back and forth between Eret’s zoned out gaze at the floor a couple of feet in front of him and Aurelia’s carefully neutral expression.  Eret looks at him and waves a twitchy hand, shoulder bouncing and bumping Fuse’s, which makes his cheeks redden to almost match his hair.  His hair is a familiar color and Aurelia lets herself be distracted by it instead of focusing on the fact that there’s no way Arvid is actually going to kiss her.  "You sure?“

"It’s just a game, right?”  Eret looks at Fuse again, wiping his hands on his knees.  

“Of course,” Arvid leans across the circle again and Aurelia can’t believe that he’s actually licking his lips until he pauses, sitting back on his knees and taking his phone out.  The curious, almost expectant expression she can barely believe melts into his usual frustrated glower immediately and he tosses an empty cup at Eret, breaking at least some of his daze.  "We’ve got to go now, bro.“  

"What’s wrong?”  Eret scrambles to his feet along with Arvid, glancing back at Fuse again and shaking his shaggy head.  

“It’s Ingrid,” Arvid huffs, glaring at Aurelia with a sudden understanding, “your father is at our house, princess, this party was just a distraction for him to harass our mom.”  

“I didn’t know he was back,” Aurelia panics slightly, jumping to her feet and collecting empty cups for the trash.  

“Likely story,” Arvid scoffs at her and Eret grabs his arm, gesturing at the door.  

“Does it matter?  We’ve got to go.”  

Arvid looks like he wants to say or do something else but Aurelia brushes past him, opening the front door and ushering everyone towards it.  

“You’ve all go to go.”  

Arvid stomps out to his car without another word, leading most of the crowd with him, but Eret pauses in the doorway.  

“Thanks for the party,” He says to her, tone bright but flatter than his usual over-friendly chirp.  He looks over his shoulder at Fuse again and then back at Aurelia, biting his lip for a second before continuing.  "Don’t let Arvid get to you, I believe you didn’t know about your dad getting back.“  

"Good for you,” she snaps, a little impatient even though she appreciates it.  "Because it’s true.“  

"I just said that I believe you,” he looks at Fuse again and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something about her but then Arvid lays on the horn and shouts something out of the window about leaving him.  "Fuck, dude, I’m on my way!“  He jogs down the front walk and Aurelia watches him slide dramatically across the hood of the old car before sliding almost gracefully into it through the passenger window.  The door probably doesn’t open.  

"Do you need any help cleaning up?”  It’s Fuse asking, throwing away a stack of used cups and wrinkling her nose at the mess.  Her lips are a little red, from the punch or from the game, Aurelia isn’t sure, but either way, it makes her want to be alone.  She has that nagging feeling that she’s so close to putting something together, and Fuse is like a grain of sand between her thoughts.  

“No, I’ve got it.”  

“Alright.”  Fuse leaves without anymore fanfare and Aurelia sets about throwing things away and stashing the empty bottle at the bottom of the recycle bin, Eret’s parting words oddly swirling around in her head more than the fact that Arvid almost kissed her.  Or maybe it’s the way he runs, or the jerky little twitch of his shoulders.  It was easier to focus on him when he wasn’t staring at her and the irritation with him lessened enough to feel more like a habit than an actual feeling.  

She’s about to give up, or at least try to sleep on it, when she’s putting the punch bowl back in the closet at the end of the hall and notices her dad’s dusty college graduation picture on the wall next to his diploma.  Her eyes widen and she freezes, shutting the closet door slowly and leaning against it.  Oh God.  

#eret iii #festerverse #modern au #feret #arvelia #it's almost like this is original and maybe i should just idk...try or something #but the babies #they're so young and dumb and don't know what's about to happen #eret is promptly going to forget about fuse because life drama #but awkwardly joke for months about that time they kissed haha how funny right fuse #height of comedy

[or-something-better]

Zanna  Feb 20, 2022

((Bobby’s Zanna friend Simon has gone rouge and wants to teach Bobby a lesson))

Ruby

Suddenly I remember something that might help “Sam” I say touching his arm and taking him aside “Do you know anything about Moldavite? It's from a meteorite”

Sam

“What?” Can't imagine how this crystal has anything to do with what's going on “Uh, yeah. I remember seeing something about it in one for the books Rowena left me. Come on, I'll get it for you.” Tells the others “Hey, guys we'll be right back. Ruby needs a book I've got” Leads Ruby back to his room.

Ruby

I follow Sam back to his room. Hopefully I remembered correctly, and this will help

Simon

Reappearing behind Sam and Ruby, I snap my fingers. All three of us appear in an abandoned house. Ruby chained against the wall in demon shackles, Sam in normal shackles.

Ruby

I struggle, trying to free myself, until I realize I'm held by demon shackles. “Sam! Are you alright?”

Sam

Looks around at the new space I'm suddenly in. Realizing I'm bound to the wall. "Ruby?! Any idea where we are?"

Ruby

“I think Simon did this. As far as where we are, I have no idea. Any chance you can get free? I'm in demon shackles so I can't do anything”

Simon

Makes myself visible so Sam and Ruby can see me. Smirks and looks over at them both “Well good morning, Samuel, Ruby”

Ruby

“What the....so you're the famous Simon? I thought you'd be taller”

Simon

“Not a day to test me, little demon!”

Sam

Struggles with the chains. "What the hell do you want with Us Simon?"

Simon

“With you both? I want to show Robert, he can't protect you! You all are weak!”

Sam

This isn't going to end well. I can see that Ruby seems to be chained up as tightly as I am "Okay, you want to show him, fine. Send her back and you can make an example out of me."

Simon

“Not going to happen, Boy.”

Sam

Tries to keep his Simon's attention "So, is it true... are you Zanna? You know I had one who used to help me when I was small."

Simon

“I am Zanna, this is true”

Sam

"Then it's your mission to help other's. Keeping us here isn't going to help Bobby"

Simon

“It'll make him stronger! Being rid of all of you weaklings. All he needs is me”

Simon:

Picks up a blade and walks to Ruby “Tell me Sam, do you remember it?”

Sam

"Okay Simon, you're here to make Bobby stronger. I can understand that he's in your charge after all... but Simon, Bobby wouldn't need to you take anything out on a mere woman. He'd want to see you best someone more your own size, wouldn't he? You want him to think you're stronger than all of us, right? You should just leave Ruby alone."

Ruby

I tense up and grasp the chain just above the shackles, ignoring Sam's "mere woman" remark, but worried when Simon asked about remembering... he could only be talking about demon blood

Simon

“I asked if you remember!” Makes a very deep cut in Ruby’s chest.

Sam

Watches Ruby's blood run "Remember what?!"

Ruby

I scream in pain as the blade cuts deep.

Sam

"Simon! Leave her alone!! I swear I'm going to kill you myself!"

Ruby

Memories of my time in Hell flash through my mind. All I can think is Not again

Simon

“Are you thirsty, Sam?” Walks to the table and grabs a cup, walking back to Ruby I put some of her blood in the cup before I walk back to you and grab your jaw

Ruby

"Sam, don't! Don't drink it!" I yell. I never want to put him through that again!

Sam

Struggles to pull my face away from Simon. Clamping my teeth shut tight

Ruby

"Stop it! Stop it you bastard!"

Simon

Forces your mouth open and pours the blood down your throat

Ruby

"Noooooo!"

Sam

Tries to keep from swallowing, managing to spit some of the warm liquid out onto us both. In the end, had to swallow what was left. The familiar taste came instantly back to me.

Simon

Smirks and pats your cheek “good boy chuckles”

Ruby

I struggle vainly in the chains. If I get out of here I'm going to rip him to shreds!

Ruby

"Sam! Sam!" I yell, hoping to bring him around

Sam

"I'm alright" Doesn't want Ruby to hurt herself or draw any more attention to herself. How did this Zanna know about my previous weakness for this demon's blood?

Ruby

I make a plea to Hecate "O mater Hecate, audi deprecationem meam et eiice spiritum malignum. Projice eum in gehennam!" Am I too far from my teachings to reach Hecate's ears?

Simon

“So, Samuel, his did that taste? Hm?”

Ruby

"Fight it, Sam! Fight it!" I cry

Sam

I can hear Ruby trying to do what she can. Wondering if any of her old magic still remained "Is that what you want to hear? Hum? That I liked it? Well, screw you!"

Ruby

"That's it Sam! Fight it!"

Ruby

"Hecate, causam meam apud te ago. Infirmus sum et non fui tamdiu venefica bona. Adiuva me obsecro. Ne derelinquas me. Audi orationem meam!" Crowley! Perhaps I can get through to him. I concentrate on the King of Hell. Crowley, can you hear me? Please Crowley. Hear me!

Simon

Narrows my eyes and walks back to Ruby, carving the word demon into your stomach deeply.

Sam

"Simon!!" Tried to catch Ruby's eyes, I mouth I'm sorry, I'm sorry over and over again

Simon

Fills the cup up again and smirks “more… there we go”

Ruby

I feel Simon's knife cut again and again. Searing pain with each pass

Sam

Watches Simon fill up another cup with blood

Simon

Walks over, resting the cup against your lips “drink Samuel”

Ruby

"Sam" I say weakly "I'm sorry. I didn’t want this. I'm sorry."

Sam

Looks Simon directly in the eye as I drink without any struggle. As I swallow the last of it, I knock the cup out of his hand by jerking my head away "Now leave her alone"

Simon

Grins and laughs and I watch you such a good human! “Now you have a taste for it again” shrugs “my work is done”

Ruby

I try to struggle, but am so weak

Simon

Looks over “are we weak yet, demon?”

Sam

"Simon, you've apparently gotten what you wanted. Leave Ruby out of the rest of this"

Ruby

I try once more to call Crowley, hoping I'm not too weak Crowley. Crowley. Please hear me. Please My knees want to give out. It's hard to stand much longer. My cuts continue to bleed. I feel so weak. I try to lean against the wall for support

Sam

Continuing to pull against the chains that hold me. I had to get out of here. I had to get us both out of here.

Simon

“Oh both of you and your moving! It's driving me insane!”

Sam

I can see that the loss of blood is taking its toll on Ruby "Simon, please... let her go okay. I'll stay here, willingly. You can make an example out of me for Bobby."

Simon

“Because of the demon?!” Slashes at you and frowns “No! I will make an example of both of you!”

Sam

Feels the cut of the blade and tries not to make a sound.

Ruby

My ears feel like they are stuffed with cotton. The sounds are muffled

Crowley

Trying the door to the house, I see it is unlocked so I slowly push it open revealing the interior.

Bobby

He must sense Ruby

Ruby

My head falls forward and my knees give way. I hang by my wrists in the shackles

Eileen

Follows Crowley inside. Pulls out my gun making sure it's loaded

Bobby

Follows close behind

Derek

I draw my demon gun and click the safely

Henry

Pulls out my dagger and follows Crowley

Sam

"Ruby!" See’s her hanging motionless

Simon

“Oh, did I over do it again? Oh well, just a demon”

Crowley

Keeping my senses open I lead the group to a large open room at the back of the house where we see Ruby and Sam chained up.

Eileen

+Sam!+

Henry

“Sammy!!” Keeps close to Crowley as my fear sets in

Sam

My head jerks around at the sound of my name. "In here!! Watch out!!"

Bobby

Comes into the room behind everyone else

Eileen

+Sam!+ Looks to the guys +We have to get them out now!+

Derek

I look at Bobby and smile my reassurance. +it'll be okay+

Simon

Snarls and punches you “Silence!” looks at the door and snarls angrily

Henry

Hides behind Crowley

Crowley

“Not to steal one of our favorite hunters lines, but, Dude, you fugly.”

Sam

My head snaps back against the wall from the punch and my ears ring "He's Zanna! Watch out for yourselves!"

Bobby

Stares at Simon

Eileen

+we can't make him angrier... we gotta play this smart+

Derek

I look at you +hey, we're here for you. It'll be okay+

Crowley

+but he is fugly, probably stupid too+

Simon

Looks at you “I'm doing this for you Robert”

Crowley

“It’s alright Henry, Bobby can handle this in his sleep”

Bobby

I nod

Eileen

+yeah dude looks like a bad reaper, we have to find a way to get Sam off the wall+

Bobby

+it's always been for yourself not me+

Simon

“I do this to make you stronger! Get rid of the loose ends!”

Crowley

+He’s really dumb, apparently. Loose ends?+

Sam

Can see those that have come to our rescue. I hope that they aren't getting here too late for Ruby.

Eileen

Locks eyes with Sam sighing +we will get you out I swear+

Bobby

+you make me scared which makes me weak. My family helps me push past fear, making me strong+

Crowley

Looks over at Ruby +you ok?+

Simon

“No Robert! You have it backwards! I've always looked out for you!”

Sam

Nods to Eileen after her message

Henry

Watches in fear

Eileen

Gives Sam a sad smile trying to come up with a plan

Bobby

+wanting me alone, with no body around is not looking out for me. This stops now. SIMON, I don't need you+

Ruby

My head is so heavy. I try to look up at the sound of Crowley but can't

Simon

Stumbles back “no! You need me! Robert, I am here because of you!”

Bobby

+my fear kept you here, but no more. I have my courage now, you hurt my family+ steps forward +now you pay+

Simon

“Robert! Think of who looked out for you! Who killed the people who bullied you!”

Bobby

+kids get bullied every day, they grow up and move past it, or they stand up for themselves, killing wasn't right.+ takes another step forward

Simon

“Robert don’t do this”

Crowley

Growling +bobby End it+

Henry

+ bobby catch!+  Tosses my dagger to him

Derek

+hey. You can do this. We're here. Your REAL family+

Bobby SPN: Catches the dagger +Thanks Henry+ holds out hand

Eileen

gives Bobby a smile and nods my head

Sam

Unable to look away, hoping that things would work out. I don't want to see anyone else I care about hurt

Simon

“You do this you will never be free!”

Bobby

+today is your last Simon+

Simon

“Robert! Please! I beg of you!”

Bobby

Last step forward +now I am free+ rams blade into Simon's chest

Simon

Groans and my eyes widen “R...Robert…” Looks at the dagger then back at you “Goodbye....my friend…” Dies

Bobby

+goodbye Simon+

Ruby

The shackles release and I fall to the ground

Sam

At the death of Simon the chains vanish and I fell onto my knees on the floor. Looking up at the man who was more than a father to me than my real one. "Thanks Bobby"

Crowley

Rushing over to Ruby “I got ya” helping her “Can you stand?”

Eileen

Runs over to Sam helping him, looking him over I see the blood on his mouth +hey...+

Ruby

I try to stand but am too weak

Derek

+Bobby hey hey+ I move to hug you +I'm so proud of you for that! You did the right thing!+

Henry

+ that was brave of you Bobby+

Nix

Walks in and raises an eyebrow “hey guys, whatcha doin here? I caught your scent”

Bobby

Standing slightly dazed +it's finally over. thank you all+

Derek

+proud of you bobby. That was brave of you+

Sam

+Hey, Eileen+ Gets up on my feet +Thank you guys for coming after us+

Crowley

Slinging your arm over my shoulder I lift you up “Don’t worry, I have you”

Henry

+May I please have my dagger back Bobby?+

Eileen

+duh of course we did+ hold on to Sam's arm +you okay?+

Ruby

I say weakly "Thanks Crowley"

Bobby

+thank you+

Nix

Looks at Sam and Ruby “what the hell happened here guys?”

Bobby

Hands back dagger +thanks for that+

Crowley

“You’re family, no need for thanks.” To the others +We should get out of here though+

Sam

+I'm good+ I can see that Crowley has gotten Ruby to her feet.

Ruby

"Sounds like a plan"

Henry

+ any time+ takes the knife and puts it back into my boot

Bobby

+Simon's gone now+

Phoenix

“You good, Bobby?”

Eileen

Let’s go of Sam's arm, glad he’s alright.

Bobby

+in shock, but yeah I think so+

Crowley

Using a little of my powers I heal Ruby enough she can stand on her own if she wants

Phoenix

Hugs you gently and smiles +let's go home huh?+

Eileen

+yeah, let's get out of here. I'm getting the creeps+

Sam

Walks on slightly shaking legs over to Crowley and Ruby. +Ruby, you doing okay?+

Ruby

Feeling strong enough, I stand on my own two feet, but still hold onto Crowley for support. "Thanks a lot Crowley"

Bobby

Hugs you back and smiles +yeah, let's go+

Phoenix

Walks out and huffs, jokingly saying “always miss the action”

Henry

Hugs Sam seeing he’s ok

Ruby

I smile at Sam "Peachy"

Crowley

+again, not needed+

Eileen

Goes back to Sam grabbing his arm +let's get you out of here+

[Sam

Gives Henry a hug back. +Thanks for coming after us Henry. You did good again+

Eileen

Smiles at Bobby glad he’s alright

Bobby

+let's get you some ice cream to make it up you+

Henry

+ I didn't really do anything besides hiding behind Crowley and tossed my dagger to Bobby+

Phoenix

Laughs a little bit +what am I, a toddler?+ Smirks

Bobby

Laughs +how about my favorite niece?+

Sam

Walking with Eileen, I exit what is a really creepy house and thinks houses like this just need to be burned and not left standing

Crowley

+Creepy house, let’s go+

Phoenix

Blushes and looks away “uncle Bobby! Not with the team” whispers embarrassed

Eileen

Helps Sam get into the front seat of Bobby's car

Henry

Gets inside Derek’s car

Crowley

+Ruby, you need help out?+

Bobby

+sorry sweetheart+ hugs +come on, let's get home+

Ruby

"I'm feeling a little stronger, Crowley." I glance over at Sam. worried

Sam

Catching Ruby's worried look, I get out of Bobby's car. Walking across the yard I pull her into a bear hug and squeeze tight. Whispering so that only she can hear I say "I'm sorry Ruby"

Ruby

"No, Sam. I'm sorry. I never wanted that to happen. You go with the others. I'm going back to the apartment"

Sam

"Wasn't your fault." Releasing her from the hug, I give her a small smile and return to Bobby's car +Let's go home+

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for the 20th Sunday per annum (B)

Prov 9:1-6; Eph 5:15-20; John 6:51-58

My mother used to say to me that many people seem to live to eat, but we should eat to live! What is food for? Why do we drink? Essentially, we eat and drink in order to survive; we need to be fed and hydrated if we want to live. So, when Jesus says his “flesh is real food and my blood is real drink”, he means, essentially, that we need his Body and Blood if we want to survive, and indeed, live. However, Jesus means this in a much more fundamental and existential way. If we want to survive the ordeal of this life and even death itself, then we need to eat his flesh. If we want to live for ever, supernaturally drawing eternal life from God the Father, even as Christ naturally shares in the divinity of his Father, then we need to drink his blood. The Eucharist, therefore, is necessary if we want to survive and live as Christians, not just in this world, but more importantly, in the world to come, after death. Hence Jesus distinguishes the Eucharist from the manna that the Jewish people ate in the desert: “they are dead”, he says, “but anyone who eats this bread [meaning, himself] will live for ever”. 

This is why the Lord calls us to come to Mass at least once a week, every single Sunday without exception. Why? Because we need the Eucharist. But must we? Yes, absolutely, if you want to live forever; if you want to enjoy eternal life in heaven. As Jesus says: “if you do not eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you will not have life in you.” So, the Mass – no matter how boring or mundane it might seem – is clearly the most awesome and vital event we can take part in, if we understand what is happening here at the Altar. For the Mass is nothing less than our essential preparation for heaven, a certain down payment for eternal life, and God channels his graces and blessings into the world, and into our lives and our society through the Mass. St Padre Pio would say, therefore, that “it would be easier for the world to survive without the sun than to do without Holy Mass”. Hence, many of the sorrows and troubles in our families, our communities, and in our relations with others, are linked, surely, to widespread neglect of the Holy Mass and the failure of many Catholics to come to Mass every Sunday. After all, one cannot ignore the words of Jesus Christ, or violate one’s baptismal promises, and expect things to continue to go well, or imagine (vainly) that it’ll all end up well for us. 

Rather, as St Paul cautions us: “Be very careful about the sort of lives you lead… do not be thoughtless but recognise what is the will of the Lord.” So, we’re called to think carefully about what we do and how we behave. The Lord invites us to leave our ignorance behind and to receive from him knowledge of how to love God and to live in friendship with him. The Lord calls us to leave our foolishness, our childish ways, our former errors behind, and so, from now on, to learn from him and follow him. Hence the Lord says to you and me: “Come and eat my bread, drink the wine I have prepared! Leave your folly and you will live, walk in the ways of perception.’” 

That term, “the ways of perception” is very interesting. For to perceive is to come to realise or understand something more deeply; to see an inner reality that goes beyond the face value. Many come to Mass and do not perceive what is happening here. Many baptised Catholics do not perceive what the Mass is. Like the Jews in today’s Gospel, many misunderstand what the Eucharist is, and they do not perceive. 

So, pay attention! What does the Lord say? He tells us that in the Mass, through Holy Communion, we enter into a relationship with him; into a friendship so real and so intimate that we become united with him in love. This relationship with Christ that deepens with every good and worthy Holy Communion is like marriage, only deeper and more existentially changing because it lasts for ever. Thus Jesus says: “He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I live in him”. So, each invitation to Holy Communion is an invitation from the Lord to enter into deep friendship with him, to be loved by him, and to return that love. The great Franciscan martyr of Auschwitz, whose feast was last Tuesday, St Maximilian Kolbe thus said: “If angels could be jealous of men, they would be so for one reason: Holy Communion.”

You can see, then, that every time we miss Mass on Sunday, or we decide that there’s something else we would rather do; every time we do not make time for Sunday Mass, we are effectively rejecting the love and friendship that Jesus longs to give us. The angels weep to see such ingratitude! Indeed, in 1675, Jesus appeared to St Margaret Mary and said: “Behold this Heart which has so loved men that it has spared nothing, even to exhausting and consuming itself, in order to testify its love. In return, I receive from the greater part only ingratitude, by their irreverence and sacrileges, and by the coldness and contempt they have for me in this Sacrament of Love [the Eucharist]”.

So, what are we to do, you and I who are here today? St Paul says: “This may be a wicked age, but you redeem it.” We redeem the world, and we make up for the lack of love shown towards the Lord in the Eucharist by increasing our reverence, our gratitude, our love for Jesus. As St Paul says: “Be filled with the Holy Spirit… always and everywhere give thanks to God”. The word ‘Eucharist’, which we use for the Mass, means ‘thanksgiving’. So, when we come to the Mass every Sunday we gather to give thanks to God for the week; to give thanks to God for all his gifts and blessings; to give thanks to God because we are alive! In this sense, we live to eat: we are alive, so we can come to Mass and eat the flesh of Jesus, and drink his blood. But, if we do this, then we shall be eating to live – not just to survive the coming week, nor only to live well as Christians, but, more importantly, we come to Mass at least every Sunday, and we eat the Body and Blood of Jesus, so that we will live eternally, united to God in love. This is what Jesus promises us in the Gospel. Hence St Thomas Aquinas said that in this “sacred banquet [of the Mass], Christ is consumed, the memory of his Passion is recalled, our souls are filled with grace, and a promise of future glory is given to us”. 

Finally, I wish to share with you the teaching of St Cyril which he gave to the newly-baptised of Jerusalem in the 4th century: “Once, when speaking to the Jews, Christ said: Unless you eat My Flesh and drink My Blood you shall have no life in you. This horrified them and they left Him. Not understanding His words in a spiritual way, they thought the Saviour wished them to practice cannibalism… Do not, then, regard the Eucharistic elements as ordinary bread and wine: they are in fact the Body and Blood of The Lord, as He Himself has declared. Whatever your senses may tell you, be strong in faith. You have been taught and you are firmly convinced that what looks and tastes like bread and wine is not bread and wine but the Body and Blood of Christ. You know also how David referred to this long ago when he sang: Bread gives strength to man's heart and makes his face shine with the oil of gladness. Strengthen your heart, then, by receiving this bread as spiritual bread, and bring joy to the face of your soul.” Amen!

#Eucharist #holy communion #Mass #Sunday #obligation #salvation