#cushionless

[rshxwhojkik]

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#betrothment #Klayman #protectionship #vizircraft #dualogue #swartback #amplexuses #Rhame #Zygnematales #frondigerous #Depauw #reinvoking #tu-chung #peccancies #hydrohematite #darkeners #eruptive #overcrowding #sandy-rufous #cushionless

[imwritesometimes]

I will wrest these cushions from this couch one day and then you'll see. You'll all see.

#baby santino #idk what his sudden fascination with the couch cushions is #I only know that if there is one cat on earth with the spite and anger and determination to pull cushions off a couch #it's him #I expect to come home one day and find the couch completely cushionless #cat #cute #a baby!!!!!!

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

Princess

Ship: Claire Debella x Reader

Summary: Claire's stressed, and she's very obviously not wearing a bra underneath her dress... Understandably you can't help but want to rail your wife.

Word Count: 3.6k

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings: smut, fluff, daddy kink, choking (technically), vibrators, strap-ons, humiliation, degradation, praise, pet-names (general, sexual)

Claire moans softly as you press your thumbs against her clothed nipples.

“My little one is such a whore.” You coo. “Wearing a dress like this without a bra? Really babe? It's like you want me to bend you over the nearest available surface and fuck you dumb.”

Claire shivers. “I thought you liked it when I wore things like this.”

You move your thumbs away slightly to admire how clearly her pebbled peaks can be seen through her off-white dress.

“You brought the vibrator, right?” You check.

Claire nods easily. “Yes.”

“Yes, who?” You nudge.

Claire flushes, and she glances around before whispering, “yes, daddy.”

“What was that?” You question, grinning wickedly. “I didn't catch it.”

Claire shifts her weight, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress, swallowing hard.

“Yes, daddy.” She repeats.

Her voice is still quiet, but it's loud enough someone could overhear.

You hope someone does. These so-called friends of hers need to be reminded that Claire is actually wanted by someone.

“Good girl.” You purr. “Let's get to our room.”

“Right now? With a murderer on the loose?” Claire is scared, you can tell by the way her voice pitches and how her fingernails dig into her arms.

“Right after- Duke?”

You instantly soften.

“Do you want us to? You can say no, lovebug.”

She pushes a hand through her hair.

“Is it bad that I do?”

You blink, before rushing to reassure her. “No, babe, no. Everyone copes differently.” You pause, judging the look on your wife's face before offering, “let me make you feel better.”

After a few moments of silence, Claire takes your hand in hers, pulling you along as she carefully checks the corners on the way to the shared room Miles assigned the pair of you.

When you get there, it’s ransacked, but when Claire starts to say something about it, you shake your head.

“Worry later.” You say. “Let's find the vibrator and worry about the rest of this later.”

Turns out, you didn't have to look very hard, the bright pink toy having been dumped out of Claire's bag onto the bed.

You shove everything else off.

“Some of that is expensive!” She protests.

“And they'll still be expensive for having been on the floor.”

Claire frowns.

You sigh.

“Do you want me to pick it up?”

She bites her lip.

“Maybe.”

Despite how annoyed you act, you really don't mind bending down and scooping everything up, depositing them on the cushionless couch.

“Alright, is this better, kitten?” You ask.

Claire nods in approval. “Thank you.”

You tilt your head in acknowledgement.

“Get on the bed.”

Claire obeys, crawling towards the headrest and giving you a view of her ass that has you groaning with lust.

“God, your body is perfect.” You can't refrain from commenting. “Daddy’s going to wreck it, she's going to you ruin you for anyone else.”

Your wife whines at your words as she settles against the pillows, legs falling as open as they can within the constraints of the dress, giving you a little peak.

She's not wearing any underwear.

“Claire.” You breathe out.

She smirks, and it sends a throb of arousal through you.

“Yes, daddy?” She asks coyly.

“You naughty kitten.” You meet her eyes briefly, before flicking yours back down. “You absolute naughty girl.”

“I thought you might have wanted to play with me at dinner.” She admits. “I just want to be your good girl. You know that.”

Your entire body shivers with want at her words.

“You're such a fucking slut.”

And suddenly you're crashing your mouth against hers in a bruising kiss, and the moan she releases into your mouth has you slipping your tongue into hers and fucking her with it as best as you can.

Her hands harshly grip at your back as they tug you closer to her, pulling you between her legs, and she whimpers as one of your knees presses against her exposed center.

You tangle a hand into her hair, and slide the other one underneath her to clutch at the back of her neck, using the leverage to press harder against her, and you reveal in the pathetic noises she makes, how desperately she tries to both kiss you and attempt to grind her core up and down against your knee.

She finally tries to pull away, but you won't let her, making her hands stop tugging at you, and instead lightly hitting you, demanding air.

You only tighten your grip on her, and wait a few more seconds before allowing yourself to be parted from her, panting breathlessly as you stare deep into Claire's eyes.

They're so blown with lust there's hardly any bit of blue to be spotted anymore, just bottomless black pits of utter want.

“You want daddy to make you feel good?” Your voice comes out husky, and Claire's eyes flutter shut at the sound of it. “Look at me when you answer me.” You chide.

She whimpers, but listens, and you reward her with a soft kiss.

“Good girl.” You whisper. “Now give me an answer, kitten.”

“Please.” She begs. “Wanna feel good.”

“Of course, princess.” You gently tug her into a sitting position, fumbling for her dress zipper.

She wouldn't be happy if you simply tore it off of her, no matter how erotic she may have found it.

Claire gently pushes you away, and stands on wobbly legs, allowing you to properly unzip her.

In one easy movement, your wife is now standing totally naked as her dress pools around her bare feet.

“Let me undress you, daddy.” She begs, her eyes heavily lidded as your own roam over the expanse of freshly revealed skin.

You smile at her, and settle onto the bed, leaning backwards on your forearms, causing your chest to be slightly pushed out.

“By all means.” You invite.

Claire can't seem to undo your dress shirt buttons fast enough, and one of them pops off, causing her to pause.

“The shirt's ruined now, might as well.” You encourage her, and her panicked look fades as something far more sinful takes its place as she tears the rest of the shirt off of you, leaving your top half exposed in the white colored lace bra you had chosen for tonight.

A startled breath of air escapes you as Claire latches her mouth onto the tiny bit of exposed area of your breasts, and you moan loudly, teasing her as she nips and sucks at you, being sure to leave behind a mark before pulling away.

“Please, daddy.” She begs breathlessly. “Fuck me.”

You smirk. “You have to get me out of these pants first, kitten.”

Claire moves to undo your belt buckle, when her hands still and her eyes widen.

Your smirk grows impossibly wider.

“You'll have to wait to take daddy's cock, princess.” You coo. “She wants to prepare you with the vibrator first.”

She audibly swallows, before continuing what she was doing, unlatching the buckle and tugging it apart, allowing your pants to become loose enough for you to gracelessly wiggle out of them with her help.

Claire's eyes don't just latch on how the large pink strap springs free, and you laugh softly at how round her eyes have gone, and her gaze shifts.

You meet Claire's eyes, still smirking.

“Seems we both had the same idea, huh, baby?”

The air is cool on your exposed center, the only piece of clothing still on you is your bra.

Your wife isn't the only one that discarded the idea of wearing any panties.

Her mouth is parted, hanging slightly open, and you can see as all thought drains from her, can tell the exact moment something more primal takes over her control.

“Fuck me.”

It's not a beg, it's a command.

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Don’t be impatient.” You reprimand. “At least remember your manners.”

You reach a hand behind you to unclasp your bra, tossing it somewhere behind you.

“Pass me the vibe, and then get onto the bed and spread your legs.”

Eyes wide, your wife obediently does as you instruct, and you can't help but fixate on the way she slowly drips onto the bed sheets.

“I haven't even touched you yet, and you're so needy.” You taunt. “Are you really such a slut, so desperate and horny?”

Claire only whines in response.

“Aww… Has my precious little one gone all fuzzy headed?” You mock, exaggerating a pout. “Has my baby lost all her words?”

Claire whines again, and it sends a throb of arousal through you.

“Do you think you can stay still for daddy so that she can touch you?” You ask. “Does my kitten think she's big enough?”

Desperately, she nods, and you laugh condescendingly at her.

“Okay, babe, but that means you have to follow through, or else daddy’ll have to spank you.”

Claire nods a second time, and nearly cries with relief as you close the distance between you and her, clicking the vibrator on.

But instead of bringing it down to where she needs it the most, you decide to focus on her nipples.

“No!” She protests, trying to jerk away from the pink toy.

You immediately pull back and arch a brow.

“No?” You question. “I thought you said you'd be able to take it, like a big girl.”

Claire bites her lip.

“Oh, did you think I was going to make you cum? Is that it? Did you think daddy was going to be nice?”

Her face turns red at your mocking tone.

“‘M sorry.” She mumbles. “I'll be good.”

You hum noncommittally. “We'll see.”

This time, Claire tenses, but stays still as you gently hovor the vibrator over a tit.

She stifles a cry as you finally allow it to make contact with the sensitive skin, and you frown at her.

“You know better than to hold yourself back, kitten.” You admonish. “Daddy always wants to hear what sort of job she's doing.”

A whimper works its way out of your wife at your words and you nod, satisfied.

And then you shift the vibrator, going from circling her areola to gently teasing her nipple, and Claire screams.

You groan. “Fuck, baby, you sound so pretty.”

Her hips buck, clearly searching for friction that you know she won't find, and you switch sides, making her scream again.

She's always so sensitive and loud, always unable to keep from giving away any pleasure she may be receiving.

Claire bucks her hips, desperate for some friction as she starts to sob at how painfully her nipples have quickly become, but you don't let up, only making a sound of disapproval before moving to straddle her so that her range of motion becomes limited.

“Daddy's not going to stop until you cum, princess.” You husk out. “She's going to make her baby all dumb and brainless.”

Claire's head thrashes about as she desperately tries to ground herself, her moans and screams echoing loudly enough you're positive someone will come running, thinking someone was hurting Claire.

You grin viciously.

Let her asshole friends see the things your tightly-wound wife allows you to do to her. Let them gawk as you bring Claire to the peak of the highest of pleasure over and over and over again.

“DADDY! FUCK!”

Claire finds the words as she cums from her nipples being stimulated alone, and her essence spills from her now weeping cunt.

“You're so beautiful, kitten.” You praise, gently pressing a soft kiss to her slightly sweaty temple. “I want you to get out one more for me, alright? Two orgasms, one for each side, and then daddy will fill you up with her strap, okay, baby?”

Your wife whines, but manages to nod her consent, and you dip your head down to gently suck at the nipple that had yet to be paid proper attention to, before switching, using the vibrator on the now wet bud, and softly sucking on the overly sensitive one.

It's not long before you can hear Claire sobbing out a second orgasm, her fingers tangling in your hair, desperately trying to get you away from her now painfully overstimulated tits.

You pull away, smirking at her as you shut the vibrator off and toss it somewhere along the bed, and she whimpers.

“P’ease.” She begs. “Wa’ you.”

“Big girl words.” You chide.

Claire often loses her ability to properly speak. The deeper in subspace, the harder it is for her to find the words and then get them out.

Your wife lets out a small sob.

“Need you.” She pathetically whines. “Need you in me.”

“Aw, princess.” You pout. “Do you need daddy's cock in you? You need to feel her filling you up and use you like a fuckdoll?”

“P’ease!” Claire cries out. “Wanna be your slut!”

“Oh, kitten.” You coo breathlessly. “Daddy is so happy to make that happen.”

You shift so Claire can now spread her legs, before you carefully line your strap up with her sopping wet pussy.

“You're all red and puffy for me, little one.” You press a kiss against her neck. “Are you ready?”

Your wife nods eagerly.

“Please.” She carefully pronounces.

You laugh lightly.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

You've hardly finished speaking before you enter Claire with one thrust, her soaking wet hole eagerly taking you in one go, and her moan is obscene.

“Fuck, kitten.” You bury your head into the crook of her neck, taking a moment to allow Claire to get used to the feeling of having your strap inside her, before lifting your head so that you can pull nearly all the way out, before slamming back in.

Claire's back arches and she somehow screams louder than she has all night.

“That's it, slut. Let daddy hear how good you're being fucked. Let her hear what a good job she's doing ruining her precious princess.” You growl, and you find yourself with one of your hands gently pressing against her neck.

The moan your wife lets out short circuits you, and you're thrusting hard enough the bed starts shaking in time with them.

“God, you're such a fucking whore. Taking daddy's cock so well like this, fuck. What would the world say if they knew what a fucking slut you are, hm? Would you like that? Would you like to know how many people would be so quick to say how badly they want to turn the big bad Claire Debella over their knees? I'll bet you'd love that, being handed out for anyone's free use, listen to how fucking pathetic you sound.”

You're merciless as the words spill from you, and Claire's eyes roll into the back of her head, the top half of her body arching so high off the bed you're a little surprised her spine doesn't snap in two.

“Fuck. Fuck.” You curse as your wife's scream cuts itself off halfway through, and you know she's cumming again.

You don't stop, brutally pounding into her as her hands viciously claw at your back, and you're sure it'll leave cuts behind, for all that your wife keeps her nails shorn, they've always been sharp, even short.

“What the hell…”

Your head snaps in the direction of the door, and you find Lionel standing in the middle of the doorway, eyes wide as he takes in the scene.

You smirk as you see Birdie pop her head around his shoulder.

“What, like I'd let anything hurt her.” You scoff, not stopping your movements for a moment.

Just because you got caught doesn't mean you feel the shame in it.

“Now if you'd please leave? I'm in the middle of something very important here.”

“Wouldn't it be more fun if we joined?”

“No.” You and Lionel somehow share an exasperated glance at Birdie's suggestion.

Claire's whisper gets your attention.

“Daddy.”

Her face is bright red, and her eyes are watering with tears.

You haven't even realized you had stopped your motions.

“It's okay, Claire bear.” You soothe. “They were just leaving.”

Your wife swallows, but nods, before looking at her two friends expectantly.

You know there's a shared history between the three of them, from before you had come along.

You expect Claire to think you're upset at her for them having taken a look because of that, rather than truly having accepted her past with the two of them.

“Leave.” You say when they don't move, their eyes still glued to Claire's naked form. “I'm not asking.”

Lionel shakes his head then, looking embarrassed, tugs Birdie away, who keeps her eyes on Claire until Lionel shuts the door behind them.

“Well.” You turn back to Claire. “That could've been worse. It could've been Blanc. Or Miles.” You lean down and press a gentle kiss to Claire's lips, to convey you're not upset. “Are you alright, lovebug? Do you want to continue?”

She nods shakily. “Wanna forget.” She whispers.

“You sure? It's okay to stop if you want to, Claire.”

She nods again, more strongly this time. “Make me forget.”

“Your wish is my command, princess.” You whisper back, and Claire gives a small smile before you crash your lips against hers while simultaneously resuming the way your hips had been driving your strap deep into her.

Her moans and gasps are swallowed by your mouth, your tongue exploring every inch she has to offer, and you can tell she's close by the way her hands harshly grip your shoulders.

You break off the kiss.

“Cum for me, kitten. Let go. Daddy's got you.” You roughly say.

Your words are like magic, and Claire sobs as her orgasm overtakes her.

“Gonna keep fucking you until you can't think.” You growl as Claire's hands push against the expanse of your upper chest, clearly becoming overstimulated and over sensitive. “That's what daddy's baby wanted, right? To forget? Then let daddy do this for you, kitten.”

“Daddy!” Claire cries out. “Fuck!”

You chuckle low in your throat. “Such a filthy fucking mouth my little one has.” You tease. “How would you feel if daddy forced it quiet, hm, kitten? You want daddy to fuck your throat the way she's fucking your fucking slutty pussy?”

Your wife screams as you thrust particularly harshly into her, and then she's gone again, convulsing around you as she comes undone yet again, and she starts sobbing as you refuse to let up, watching her face in awe.

It must be something about this particular situation you've found yourselves in that Claire is able to cum over and over again so easily like this, with hardly any build up in between each one.

Your hand finds its way back around her neck as you taunt her.

“You like the fact we got caught, didn't you?” You laugh. “You're such a fucking attention whore. You love the idea of someone walking in again and finding you too stupid to do anything more than lay here and take. Every. Bit.” You punctuate your words by brutal pounding in and out, brushing against Claire's g-spot as her eyes roll wildly as her head tosses every which way, despite the hand you have around her neck.

Words seem to have finally fully left your wife, and the only sounds coming from her are ones of primal pleasure, and you reach your free hand down in order to rub gently at her swollen clit.

Once more, Claire screams as she orgasms, her body arching as she bucks her hips against you, before she suddenly falls limp, her eyes fluttering shut.

You can't help feeling self satisfied as you carefully, carefully pull out of her, watching with deep fascination as her hole continues to gush as her body twitches.

You lay a tender kiss against her now thoroughly sweaty temple.

“I'll be right back, lovebug.” You promise softly, even though you know she won't hear you, slipping off the bed and headed into the bathroom, finding a washcloth and running it under warm water, before returning to Claire, who's breathing has evened out.

Gently, you start running the washcloth over her sticky inner thighs, before working your way over her core.

Claire whines softly, but when you glance up, she's still out cold.

“I'm just cleaning you up, princess.” You soothe. “I know you're sensitive, but daddy just wants to be sure you don't get all icky.”

You keep talking in a low, reassuring voice as you finish your task, when Claire's voice rasps out.

“Thank you.”

You meet her blissed out gaze and smile indulgently.

“Of course, lovebug. Let me finish, and then we'll cuddle, alright?”

“Mmmmkay.” Your wife hums cutely, and you can't resist pressing a loving kiss against the warm skin of her thighs.

You go over a few areas that still seemed a bit sticky, before tossing the cloth in the same direction you had tossed the vibrator earlier.

“Okay, Claire bear.” You hush out, moving upwards until you can comfortably settle against the pillows, pulling Claire close to you, against your chest.

“I love you.” She whispers into your skin.

“I love you.” You reply, kissing the crown of her head. “Now rest, little one. You deserve to relax. I've got you, I promise.”

Your wife adorably sighs against you, and you can feel your own eyes closing as the sound of Claire's gentle breathing soothing you to sleep.

You know it won't be a long nap, but a break, especially for Claire, from all the stress can only serve to help, not harm.

And for right now, for these few, precious moments, there's no one else in the world but for the two of you, intertwined.

#sky writes #claire debella #claire debella x reader #c: claire #c: sub!claire #kathryn hahn #glass onion #glass onion spoilers #spoilers for glass onion

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

No Fragile Thing

Wrote a thing from Aldreda's backstory because I guess part of my hiatus involves her grabbing me by the throat & saying "We are about me now. Figure it out." So there's no Aldricent, but hey! Peak into part of why she is the way she is! Aldreda Tag | AO3 Series

The great hall of Lonely Light was vast, it had to be since anyone who came would be staying for months to make the trip worth it. Its stone walls were painted with scenes of the sea; krakens rising up from the waves and bare-breasted seal women with their mouths open in silent songs. Long wooden columns, carved with swirling knots and longships and the dour face of the Drowned God, were spaced evenly throughout the round chamber, holding up the ceiling of intricately laid wooden beams. A large open fireplace took up most of the center of the room, with long tables surrounding it all the way to the dais where The Farwynd sat at the high seat, presiding over his court with all the authority of the High King of the Iron Islands. With how isolated the main branch of House Farwynd was, he might as well have been.

Aldreda swallowed as she peered out from the archway, half hiding herself at the landing of the stairs that led down from the bridge between the smaller, residential tower of the castle where her rooms lay and the main tower that held the court and, at the very top, the flaming beacon that served the longships that ventured so far out into the Sunset Sea. She so rarely asked The Farwynd for anything, and it was only the bone deep need of it now that saw her doing as much. When she stepped out from the archway and onto the worn, wooden floor of the great hall, it felt like her footfalls landed harder than was possible. The walk to the high seat had never felt so long. Without Orwen there to make her be “just his younger sister” so many men’s eyes on her felt wrong. Everything felt wrong without her favorite brother. Siren’s tits, it felt wrong without any of the older ones! The absence of eight men and one who nearly had been made the great hall feel haunted.

The Farwynd was all graying hair and great, braided beard that hung down to the center of his chest. He was silent as he looked down at her from the dais, a raised eyebrow the only indication he expected anything. In the plain, cushionless, seat beside their sire, Trystifer shifted uncomfortably. His feet did not quite touch the floor and the place where Euron, and then Barrian, and then Corwen had filled so comfortably swallowed the boy of ten.

“I want to raid.”

The men in the hall were who started it, laughing like Aldreda had told some great jest just to entertain them. Trystifer joined them, eager to be seen as a man grown now that he was The Farwynd’s heir. Aldreda’s cheeks grew hot, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides. She wanted to bite and claw at whichever of the men at arms had started the laughter. Drawing blood would make them take her seriously. For his part in all of it, her sire did nothing but look at her with an appraising eye.

When he finally spoke there was an air of passive judgment to her sire’s deep, almost scratchy brogue. “Is that why you parade yourself around in such a state?”

She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through the ends of her newly cropped hair. Her head felt so light now, and her back was unexpectedly cold. When Lady Melusine came into her room last night, she had burst into hysterics when she caught her daughter cutting her hair to her shoulders. After Aldreda had explained herself, she had calmed and helped her to make sure the cut was at least even; that did not mean she liked it, though. Still, it would appear Lady Melusine hadn’t said a word of it to The Farwynd. Or, if she did, he had simply forgotten.

“I wanted it this way.” She squared her shoulders even as she struggled to meet his eyes, even as the lifeless bodies of all her dead brothers balked at her from her memories and imaginings. It was like they rose up from the sea to stare at her, judging for her half-lie with the seal eyes they had all inherited from the man who sat before her.

“Will a husband, I wonder.” It was a statement more than a question, and it bit into Aldreda’s chest with the intent to take a hunk of meat.

“I don’t care what a man thinks of me,” at least not one who intended to bed her, “I want to raid.”

“A girl of three and ten will not replace twenty good men.” The Farwynd leaned forward in his chair, right arm sliding forward till his hand hung past the carved seal’s head it had been resting on previously. So she was a woman when he wanted to send her away, and a girl when she wanted to raid, then? Either way, she was not as wanted as a son.

“Did Orwen fill your head with enough glory stories that you thought you could?”

Her favorite brother's jovial laughter mixed with The Farwynd’s dismissive judgment, with the claps of thunder from the storm that took him, with the barks of the harbor seal she decided was him when she went down to their rookery after word of the longship's sinking came. It made Orwen sound otherworldly and cruel, like his ghost was agreeing with the voice of their sire in her mind when he told Aldreda that she could not replace the three sons he just lost.

Her fists curled even tighter, short nails digging into her palms. Would they pierce her skin if they were longer? Would that be better? Would her own blood prove her worth, or would it be another reason to call her useless and dismiss her like some fragile little girl and not the only living child by The Farwynd and his rock wife? Born and bred of iron and salt and stone to carve through the waves and to reave, to fill the gaps left by eight dead men and two who would have been.

“I can fight, and I can sail. Orwen made sure of it!”

The Farwynd snorted dismissively, and leaned back in the high seat. Aldreda curled her lip, and her thin brows furrowed over black eyes that were stormy as the churning Sunset Sea had been those three nights. She jerked her head back, pointing at her younger salt brother with her chin. “I’m better than him.”

Trystifer slid himself out of the heir’s seat with such force it looked like he jumped onto his feet, and his hands were fists just like hers. He stamped his foot as he glowered down at her from his spot on the dais overlooking the hall. “No you aren’t!”

The Farwynd slammed his fist on the arm of the high seat, making Trystifer and all the men in the hall straighten with attention. “Conduct yourself with some dignity, boy! You are my heir, fucking act like it.” 

“Yes, Lord Alfric.” Trystifer was stiff and his cheeks were pink. Even though he faced forward, his eyes were on his feet. The boy's deference only earned him a dismissive snort and an eye roll, however.

“Lord Alfric. You spend too much time with Mayra.”

Of course he spent time with his mother. He was a boy, and he had only been made to work on a longship three years ago.

“Who's ship are you serving on, boy?”

“Sylas Goodbrother.”

“That is who you should be spending time with. It'll put some hair on your chest and have you addressing me in the old way. The proper way.”

“And what about me?” She spoke louder now, to draw his criticism away from Trystifer. That was her little brother, regardless of how Lady Melusine talked about the salt wives.

“You’re still on that?”

“You lost good men, and I can replace them. They need to be, and I’ll fight anyone in this hall to prove I am good enough!” She could be better than them, if she wanted to be. Not just the men at arms who drowned with Corren and Orwen and Randar, but her older brothers too. All of them.

“Even if you bested some ship boy or barely blooded whelp, no one would take you.”

“I would.”

Aldreda followed her sire’s gaze to where her cousin stood. Westley had taken a step away from the long table where the men under his command paused in their sitting back down after The Farwynd’s commanding of attention. At eight and ten, he had not won much glory, but as the oldest son of The Farwynd’s rock brother he received enough favor to captain his own longship. He was also their cousin closest to Orwen, and a man he had told Aldreda to be more wary of than she wanted to be. It was a stupid warning. Her brother would not be friends with someone who prompted caution.

“Forgive me, Lord Reaver, if I spoke out of turn,” Westley took another step forward and dipped shallowly at the waist, “but it would be wrong of me to not look out for Orwen’s sister.”

“You want her?”

Westley’s eyes strayed from The Farwynd, to her. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough for Aldreda to see his charming, roguish smile was for her. “I do. I have seen how Orwen taught her, she's not beyond use. With a little work, I think Aldreda could make a fine raider.”

“Work you are willing to put in, of course.”

“Of course.”

The Farwynd looked over them both, his gaze hard and unreadable. Aldreda dug her nails further into the meat of her palms; it stung something fierce, but it was better than fidgeting or breaking eye contact with her sire. Either of those would sway him further from seeing her as worthy of the acknowledgment he gave his ten dead sons, perfect and saintly in the Drowned God’s halls where they were only memories and imaginings who could not disappoint him.

After what felt like an eternity, he relaxed back into the high seat and waved them both off. “Do what you wish. You have three years with her, and if she does not prove as fine a raider as you claim she could be I am sending her off to The Boatly. His rock wife died a year ago, he could do with a replacement, and he will not care if the new one could give him sons since he already has them.”

Aldreda inhaled sharply, and her eyes widened with indignation. Aldreda was not her mother. And even so, Lady Melusine said that it was not her fault that her husband sought the comfort of his salt wives after Ronas died, it was not her fault their second child was a daughter that saw him retreating from her without return. Westley took her by the bicep before she could even think about what it was she wanted to do. She would not do it, whatever it was; to injure The Farwynd was to injure Lonely Light itself.

“You will not be disappointed, Uncle Alfric.”

He said nothing, and just waved them off again. Aldreda heard Westley sigh through his nose, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The longer black hair at the top of his head fell into his eyes; they looked tired, and they were lighter than hers, grayer and warmer than the near pitch black of all of The Farwynd’s children. Did Westley want softer words and an acknowledgement of effort as well? Was that what was keeping him at Lonely Light instead of returning to Sealskin Point now that he was a man grown with some two years of adulthood under his belt? He looked back up, his attention solely on her now. “Come on, Aldreda. We’ve a lot to do in three years.” Westley squeezed her arm, and it was almost like Orwen. He let go of her, and then gave another shallow bow to The Farwynd before turning on his heel and strutting across the great hall towards doors to the main yard. Aldreda followed his lead, bowing before turning and running off after her cousin.

#my writing #oc: aldreda farwynd #hotd oc #(alfric & westley farwynd I am in your walls) #asoiaf oc #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs

[dollsonmain]

I should probably do a lot of nothing today because I overdid it yesterday but there's still a ton of catching up to do.

Every time I get angry about the boys not picking up the slack when I'm unable to do the chores and things I try to think about it as though I were single and living alone.

Someone living alone would also have to let everything slide downhill when they were ill or injured and then have to try to pick it all back up again [unless they had friends and family nearby to come help, which I don't*], and if they can do that AND work, then I can at least do the catching up on chores half since i don't have to go to work.

*my neighbors are nosy and gossipy and would probably be MORE than willing to come in and help me with chores so they could gossip about the decor, or the cleanliness, or go looking to find out what meds I'm on so they can gossip about that, too, but I'm not interested in any of that thank you.

-

That Guy had been trying to have people come over to play table top games relatively regularly before I got sick and I've been thinking about how unfriendly our home is to guests. We have a Very Nice Guest Room, other than the room being rather small and the furniture in it being too big which makes it a little difficult to navigate. The bed is also squeaky.

I would like to get rid of the larger dresser in there at least, get rid of all of the random crap he's shoved in that closet, and maybe move the tall dresser into the closet.

I'm not allowed to get rid of the huge dresser, though, because it came from his grandparents' house.

A few of his friends are very large, too, and I think a good host would swap out the old, uncomfortable, cushionless, broken grandparents' dining chairs for nicer, more comfortable ones. I might look at those high-weight-capacity church chairs someone mentioned a ways back on my dash if I can find them again.

His friends all have to drive at least an hour to get here, he could make an effort to make them comfortable. He doesn't even lay out snacks or enough drinks.

He is devoid of empathy and doesn't even think about that sort of thing. His guests comfort doesn't matter to him, all that matters is that they're here to play with him and he's the center of attention.

[autumntouched]

Celebrate Me Home

Jake “Hangman” Seresin/Natasha “Phoenix” Trace/Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Wrote this for @notroosterbradshaw​‘s #hello december playlist challenge. What’s a Top Gun story without Kenny Loggins? I had to use “Celebrate Me Home” and was sadly inspired by of all my friends and family who couldn’t make it home for the holidays because of illness or flight cancellations.

Warnings: Possibly unsafe driving conditions/decisions

It’s three hours away from Christmas Eve, and Natasha and Bradley are supposed to be arranging their presents under the Seresin Christmas tree. Instead, they’ve been stuck at the airport for nearly twenty two hours while winter storms cancel flight after flight. 

Rooster sits with his head in his hands, racking his brain for any last resort. The waves of his hair are limp and disheveled, his clothes creased from sleeping in them overnight. Natasha doesn’t look much better. When they couldn’t book another flight, they tried calling in favors to fly themselves but no one could come through for them before Christmas or get them close enough to where they needed to go. Even Mav hadn’t been able to help them. 

Natasha’s phone buzzes. With a heavy sense of dread, she sees it’s Jake. Hoping inspiration strikes Rooster in the next few seconds, she answers. “We’re still working on–.”

“It’s bad. We might lose power,” he says brusquely. “Don’t come.”

Bradley looks over at her, his lips parted with a question. There are dark bags under his eyes from sleeping upright in a cushionless chair. She turns up the volume on her phone and motions for him to move in closer so he can listen in. “Jake, we can still–.”

“You’re not coming all the way down here when we might not even have hot water, okay? We tried, but this is for the best.” At last she hears a catch in his voice. 

It’s supposed to be their first Christmas together, the chance for him to introduce Rooster to his parents. Jake’s graduate school break is much more flexible than their work schedules, which is why he left ahead of them. She and Bradley had to move mountains to make sure they could get away. 

She looks over at Bradley to see the lines on his face creased with concern. He knows how much this means to Jake. He was the one who talked her around when she wavered on agreeing to miss Christmas with her own family. 

An announcement of yet another cancellation drowns out what’s happening on Jake’s end. “Hang on,” she pleads. 

From the day two months ago that she agreed they could celebrate Christmas with the Seresins, Jake and his mom have been planning their visit. She and Bradley have been asked all sorts of questions from their clothing sizes to what type of toilet paper they prefer. Just before he left, she overheard Jake on the phone reminding one or both of his parents that Bradley likes oreos and Natasha doesn’t eat microwave popcorn. Jake will put on a brave face for everyone, but she knows that canceling their plans will ruin his Christmas. And even if she got to celebrate with her family, it would be without him. 

Bradley reaches under her ponytail to massage her neck. The announcement ends. 

“Doesn’t sound like you’re getting out anyway,” Jake says. “I have to help Dad with the generators, but go home and get some sleep. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay? Love you.” 

He hangs up on her before she can argue and doesn’t answer when she tries to call him back. She hates when he does this. Bradley presses his lips to her temple as Natasha closes her eyes. Her heart clenches knowing Jake was trying to go before she could hear how upset he is. “He’s right,” Rooster murmurs. “Let’s go home and get some rest, hon.”    

While she and Bradley exhausted all their other options, she’s been forming another plan. “We could still make it by Christmas if we drive.” 

His thumb moves soothingly over the nape of her neck. “If they lose power, they probably don’t want two more people to worry about.” He says it cautiously as if afraid she could break at any second. 

Natasha squeezes back tears. In her disappointment about missing Christmas with her family, she didn’t realize how much she’d been looking forward to the three of them finally getting to spend a holiday together. Roughly, she wipes her face. She’s just tired, not crying. 

“I’m going to call Beth,” she decides.

“Sash, I don’t think we should do this. Traffic is going to be a nightmare. There are ice storms.”

No, it’s probably a terrible idea but she can’t give up on Jake’s Christmas without trying every last resort. “The weather app says the storms should pass by late on the 24th,” Natasha argues. “Please,” she begs him with her words and eyes. “You’re the one who told me we should do this for him.”

Rooster’s hand goes still. He looks around their gate at the adults and children melting down over the havoc that the winter weather has wreaked on their holiday plans. They’ve spent hours in this chaotic cycle of hope, disappointment, and waiting. 

The PA system crackles, and a woman fighting to sound upbeat comes on. “Ladies and gentleman on Southwest flight 872 to Austin, Texas. Again, we thank you for your patience here. We have received confirmation that your bags will be returned to you at carousel 5. Again, for anyone on Southwest flight 872 to Austin, Texas, your bags will be available at carousel 5.”

They would be able to get the two bags of presents that they checked. In a few hours, they could be showered, packed in her SUV, and on the road. 

Rooster checks his watch and looks back at her with a frown. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Let’s see what Mrs. Seresin says, okay?” 

Natasha dials Jake’s mom before he can change his mind. 

“Sweetie!” Beth answers almost immediately. “Jake told us you’ve been stuck at the airport. Is everything okay? Let me go get him.” 

“Wait!” Natasha interrupts so urgently that a little girl running past them in a unicorn onesie stops and stares at her wide-eyed. Rooster gives her a soothing smile and slight wave. The girl smiles back shyly. “Everything’s okay. But, he told us not to come because you might lose power.” 

“Oh! Were y’all able to get a flight?” 

“Not yet. But I was thinking, it’s not too late for us to drive there. We could make it by Christmas.”

Beth gasps. “Oh, sweetheart no! With all these storms? It’s too dangerous.” 

“How’s Jake?” Natasha asks. Elizabeth Seresin goes quiet, which tells her exactly how Jake is feeling about calling off their trip. He’s making the hard call so he doesn’t have to keep hoping they’ll be able to make it. “We can at least try? If it gets too bad, we’ll stop and turn around.” 

Rooster looks at her sharply knowing that once she’s on the road, come hell or high water she’s getting to Hangman. “But we don’t want to impose, knowing you might lose electricity,” she goes on quickly. 

“That’s nothing,” Beth waves her off. “We’re big campers and have plenty to get by as long as you’re not expecting anything fancy. But I’m sure he’s worried about y’all being uncomfortable or disappointed.” 

Natasha grips Rooster’s thigh. They might pull this off! She will tell him when she hangs up that by “big campers,” Beth means that the Seresins have an RV that looks like a luxury hotel. Nothing like the rough backpacking Natasha used to do with her dad and brothers as a kid.  

She double checks she’s fully understanding Beth. “So, you wouldn’t mind if we still came down?”

“Give me a second.” Beth turns away from the phone and sends Jake out again to get his grandmother before the storm gets worse. “Sorry about that,” she says. “I didn’t want him to hear me meddling. Natasha, these roads are real dangerous. Y’all be careful and promise to stop if it’s not safe, you hear?” 

She glances at Rooster. “Maybe don’t tell him we’re coming? So he doesn’t get his hopes up.” Or curse the hell out of them for trying it. 

“I won’t,” Beth promises. “I’m praying for you to make it here safe.” 

“Thank you, Beth.”

“Drive safe, sweetheart. And slow. Don’t worry about making it here Christmas morning. We aren’t going anywhere.”

Natasha hangs up triumphantly. 

Rooster runs a hand along his jaw. “You know this is stupid, right? Everyone is saying to stay off the roads.”

“Hopefully that leaves them clear for us.”

Her one concession to Rooster is that they take a three hour nap in their bed before getting on the road. They shower off the airport grime, set the coffee brew timer, and let the exhaustion of the last day carry them to sleep. They’re up at the first alarm. While she loads everything into the trunk, Rooster makes their coffee and packs enough water and snacks for the day’s trip. 

Between her earthquake kit and the gear she keeps for driving to the mountains to snowboard, Natasha’s SUV is well-equipped for winter travel. She tosses in two low temperature sleeping bags in case they get stuck on the road. They agree that Rooster will take the first leg of the trip since she has the most experience driving in winter conditions.  

 Three hours into Christmas Eve, Natasha and Bradley sail down the dark highway to Christmas tunes. They keep their stops short, trading off who goes to the bathroom while they refuel. 

As he promised, Jake calls again in the morning to apologize for hanging up the night before. “It just really sucks, you know. Not having you and Rooster here, Birdy.” He sounds miserable. 

“I know,” she tells him gently. “We tried everything.” 

That prompts a chuckle. “I still can’t believe Rooster called SECNAV” he says. Bradley blushes at the memory of calling an acquaintance in the Secretary of the Navy’s office to try to find a plane to visit his boyfriend for Christmas. “I wish I’d been there.”

“He was sweating,” she exaggerates. Bradley takes his eyes off the road for a moment to give her an annoyed look. Jake already embellishes stories enough when he retells them without her lying. In reality, the woman was kind and had done her best to help them. “Or maybe that’s because he hooked up with her at UVA.”

“Phoenix!” Rooster squawks. 

“Should we be jealous?” Jake jokes. 

Bradley wrests the phone from her. She surrenders it before he swerves them into another lane. “No! I did not hook up with her,” he insists loudly. “We only kissed. How’s the power?”

“Out. I can’t talk too long. Just wanted to, um, say how much I miss you and wish you could be here. Even though I’m glad you’re somewhere warm. Where are you by the way? Are you in the car?”

Bradley hands the phone back to her. “We miss you too, dickhead. We’re still going to try to spend Christmas with some family.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He’s back to sounding sad. “Say hey to your mom and family for me. And Merry Christmas. I better go. Love you two.”

“Love you, Jake,” Bradley says loudly, so Hangman can hear. Natasha echoes and hangs up. She looks out the window. They have yet to hit bad weather although there’s been some traffic around the cities they’ve passed. She hopes nothing too crazy lies ahead so they can make it for Christmas.

“Sash? I’m glad we’re trying.”

“Me too,” she agrees.

Bradley insists on taking a double shift so she can nap as they get closer to Texas. She lowers the back of her seat and drifts off to Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” with his hand resting comfortingly on her thigh. 

Natasha wakes to squeaking windshield wipers, drumming sleet, and blasting heat. Beyond the windows is a swirling gray winter fog. They’re crawling along a sea of red tail lights. Bradley’s drawn profile and mustache are lit by the red glow against the diminished daylight. “Roo?”

His body is hunched with exhaustion, but he musters a smile for her. “Hey, sleepyhead. GPS says there’s an accident up ahead.” 

“What time is it?” she asks, pulling stray strands of her ponytail from her mouth. 

“Four. We were making good time, but I think we’re going to lose any gains.” She leans over to look at the dash. “I did as you said and gassed up before we hit the storm. Also filled that red gas thing you have.”

“Then hopefully we’ll be okay.” She takes a measured sip of water to soothe her dry throat but not enough to risk needing a bathroom in this weather. Still, she should take over for Bradley soon. She could easily maneuver herself over the console but with his six foot two frame, that might not go so well for him. “Let’s get off at the next gas station anyway so we can switch.”

A text from Jake pops up on their phones. Dressed in winter coats, he huddles around the family’s large fireplace with his parents and grandmother and their dogs. At least we’re cozy?

Natasha shows it to Bradley then loves the picture from her phone then his. Jake will be expecting one from them, but that will have to wait until they hopefully make it to him unless they want to give away what they’re up to. The GPS is one long red line. Even if the storm has passed up ahead, the temperature won’t get high enough to melt the ice. 

Bradley hums to himself while he drums his fingers on the steering wheel and eases the car forward. Early in their relationship, he’d turn bright red whenever she or Jake caught him absently singing to himself, but she loves the habit. He isn’t always the most open when he’s having a hard time, but she’s learned that when the humming stops he’s deep in some problem. 

“What song is that?” 

“Huh?” It’s cute the way he doesn’t always notice he’s doing it. 

“The song you were humming?”

“Oh. ‘Celebrate Me Home.’ There’s a line in it about an uneasy highway.” When she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he insists she must know it. “If you’ve ever listened to a Christmas station, I promise you’ve heard it.”

Natasha finds it on his Spotify. He’s right. She has heard it but it’s far from the first song she’d think of when missing her family for the holidays. Still, there’s a sense of hope and peace in the melancholy. 

“Mom used to play this when she was missing Dad at the holidays,” Bradley reminisces. “Aside from Jingle Bells, it was one of the first Christmas songs that I learned on the piano.” 

She turns up the song. “Hopefully it celebrates us home to Jake.”

He takes her hand in his large one and kisses her fingers. “I have a good feeling we’re going to make it.” Rooster keeps hold of her hand in his lap, running his thumb over her palm when he feels her get restless at their stalled progress. 

 It takes them another hour to reach a gas station to switch off. Rooster’s asleep before she is back on the highway. The traffic clears but it’s slow going on the dark, icy roads. She’s grateful that this stretch of the I-10 is relatively flat. 

Bradley snores softly beside her and a profound tenderness she’s still not used to swells in her chest. Although she’s glad he’s getting some rest, she misses his company. The last hours of their trip crawl by while she drives cautiously along the nearly empty slippery highway. 

With the sun on the horizon, Rooster takes over again. She wakes up to her phone buzzing in her hand. It’s Jake, likely calling to wish them a Merry Christmas. Natasha lets it go to voicemail, knowing that in an hour and a half, she’ll be able to tell him in person. He tries them each two more times, and she nearly answers knowing how crushed he’ll be that they aren’t answering. 

She gives Rooster the gate code for the Seresin’s community in case she dozes off again, but she’s too anxious and excited to go back to sleep. Almost thirty hours after they left their apartment and sixty hours since they tried to get to Jake, they finally arrive at the Seresin’s. 

Rooster’s jaw drops when he pulls into the driveway of their sprawling, two-story white stone house. Covered in a thin layer of snow with icicles draped from the roof and trees, it looks like a Christmas commercial winter wonderland. “This explains so much,” he says.  

“Doesn’t it?” she laughs, getting out of the car and stretching her back and legs. 

They’re too tired to orchestrate anything beyond ringing the doorbell. Lilah, the Seresin’s Rhodesian Ridgeback, comes running and skids against the door. Another dog starts barking. 

“Jakey, come get Lilah while I see who it is,” Beth calls inside. Jake whistles for the dog.  

Natasha can’t tell whether it’s the cold or her grin hurting her face when Beth opens the large front door. Behind his mom, Jake holds Lilah, trying to get her to calm down. 

“Merry Christmas!” Natasha and Bradley shout together. 

Jake’s hand falls from Lilah’s collar when he shoots up, mouth open. He rubs his eyes. He looks like a Christmas treat with a day’s beard growth, his blond hair flat and scattered, and his chest on display in a fitted white, waffled long underwear shirt under his coat. Beth tries to catch the copper colored dog on her scramble to them, but their arms are soon full of the dog and boyfriend. Lilah’s tail beats happily at their legs as she eagerly competes with Jake for their affection, jumping into Natasha’s open arms and panting for scratches.

“What are you doing here?” Jake wonders, voice breaking. He pushes Lilah out the way so he can properly hug and kiss them. Bradley glances uncertainly at Beth who busies herself hauling a straining Lilah away to a room off the foyer.

Jake puts a comforting hand on his chest. “They’re still getting used to it being three of us but it’s okay.” Bradley still looks unsure so Jake gives him a peck on the cheek instead of kissing his lips as he does hers. “I can’t believe you’re actually here!” He ushers them toward the living room where a giant, beautifully coordinated red and gold Christmas tree occupies a whole corner. Presents spill out across the floor and into the foyer. 

His dad, Jack, hung back while his son met them at the door but comes forward to greet them now. The older Seresin man is a former linebacker with a much wider, though slightly shorter, frame than Jake’s. Good nature keeps his round face youthful beneath his thinning gray hair. 

“So Jake finally found not one but two people to put up with him,” Jack Seresin jokes, shaking Rooster’s hand. “Great to meet you, Bradley.”

“More like it takes two of us to manage him,” Natasha suggests, making Jack laugh before giving her a crushing hug.

“You just got here,” Jake complains. “And you’re already ganging up on me.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she teases. 

Jake leads them over to introduce them to Bibbie, his grandmother. She sits in a large leather chair dragged close to the fireplace with her barking dog, Crisp, in her lap. “Oh be quiet,” Bibbie scolds the terrier and lets her hop down to sniff out the new arrivals.

Jake has her green eyes and delicate features. Age has only added elegance to her beauty, and unlike her grandson, she’s fully dressed with her short, blonde gray hair and makeup impeccably done regardless of having no electricity. She insists on standing to give them a proper welcome and only reaches Natasha’s shoulder. 

Once on her feet, she looks Bradley up and down. “Oh my! He’s so strapping and handsome, Jakey,” she purrs. “No wonder you couldn’t resist.” Both Jake and Bradley go bright red, and Natasha bites back a laugh. Bibbie waves Rooster down to her height so she can kiss and pat both his cheeks. “So handsome, and I bet that mustache is something else.” She winks in case anyone missed her meaning. 

“Bibbie,” Jake protests weakly. 

“Mama!” Beth says sharply, as mortified as her son who’s shooting her a desperate, pleading look now that she’s back. Bradley looks like he might finally reconsider his facial hair. Jack stands face in hand, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Natasha really likes Bibbie. Watching her set Hangman and Rooster on their ears alone is worth the grueling trip. If Jake learned to push people’s buttons from anyone, it must have been her. 

Bibbie is unperturbed by everyone’s embarrassment. “And you!” she exclaims, moving on to Natasha and cupping her face. “Isn’t she absolutely stunning, Beth? And so smart too.” It’s her turn to be a little embarrassed, especially because she probably looks a mess after the last two and a half days. “What a time to be young!”

Beth is last to meet Bradley, and she ignores his extended hand for a tender hug. “Make yourselves at home,” she instructs them, waving them toward the oversized sectional. “Mama, why don’t you come help me get breakfast for them,” she says pointedly and tugs Bibbie from the room. For her slight frame, she’s stronger than she looks. 

Jake, not yet over their surprise, helps her and Rooster get their presents and bags from the car. Still looking shaken after meeting Bibbie, Bradley is eager for any reason to excuse himself. 

“Being your grandma, I don’t know why I expected her to be a sweet, quiet old lady,” Rooster accuses him while they unload the trunk.

“We’ve told you what everyone thinks of your mustache,” Jake retorts. “You can’t get mad at her for saying it.” Seeing all of the winter gear alongside their bags, he exclaims, “Geez, Birdy, it was an ice storm! Not a zombie apocalypse. But those sleeping bags might come in handy if the heat isn’t back on tonight.” He tucks them under his arm. 

“I think I like Bibbie,” Natasha says, slinging her weekender over her shoulder and following them into the house. “Wonder what stories she has to tell when she’s had some eggnog.”

Jake glances back over his shoulder. “Believe me, some of them you don’t want to know.”

Now that they’re there, Jake reverts to child-like excitement, coaxing them into matching red and black plaid Christmas pajama bottoms and hurrying them through breakfast so they can open presents. Bradley grows quieter as the morning goes on, a constant look of bewilderment on his face when Jack and Beth insist he show off his presents and Bibbie moves them into different configurations for pictures. Even Natasha feels slightly overwhelmed. She expected to open gifts from Bradley and Jake, but the Seresins have a whole pile for her and an excited explanation to go with each one.

When the daylight that streams in through the large windows starts to fade, Jake adds more logs to the fire and Natasha helps Beth light candles throughout the living room. In the kitchen, they assemble a cold dinner before the sun sets. She leaves the cooking to Jake and Bradley at home, but she would rather not push the Seresins’ limits of acceptance for now. 

“Usually we have dinner much later and then watch a movie,” Beth explains while she pulls containers from the refrigerator and Natasha carves the honey baked ham. “But I guess we won’t be able to do that this year.”

“Jake mentioned you have a piano. Maybe Rooster–Bradley–could play a few Christmas songs.” 

Beth looks up from unwrapping a dish of deviled eggs. She reminds Natasha of an older Miss Honey from Matilda except with a thin layer of bangs. “Do you think he would?” 

Hoping he'll feel more in his element at the piano, she nods, “I think he’d love it.” 

When they return to the living room to call everyone to dinner, Natasha leans over the back of the sofa and drapes her arms around Rooster’s shoulders. She places a kiss behind his ear and enjoys his shivering reaction.

“I might have told Beth you’d play us some music this evening,” she murmurs. “Are you up for it?” 

“Just tell me when,” he agrees. She kisses his curls and rubs his shoulders before letting him up.

They pile their plates with food and circle around the fireplace. Natasha sits on the floor, cozily tucked between Bradley and Jake with her back against the sectional’s chaise. Lilah, now wearing a turtleneck sweater, lays across their legs with her head in Jake’s lap. Beth admonishes him for feeding the dog off his plate, but he continues to sneak her scraps when she isn’t looking.

Jack and Bibbie regale them with stories of Jake’s childhood, leaving Bradley and Natasha in stitches, especially after one about the time in first grade when he forgot the steps to the square dance during a school performance. Instead of stumbling through the moves like the other children, he walked to the front of the stage, announced he could do karate, and began a demonstration in the midst of his confused classmates while his abandoned partner burst into tears. “The kicker was,” Bibbie tells them, dabbing a tear from the corner of her eye with her napkin, “bless his little heart, Jakey had never taken a day of karate in his life.”

Bradley leans behind her to place a shy kiss on Jake’s bright cheek. “Glad to know you’ve not changed yet, Bagman.” 

Eventually Beth asks Bradley for the music he promised. They set up candles and camping lamps in the smaller formal living room with the piano. Jack adds a generous portion of spiced rum to the mulled cider, supposedly for extra warmth. 

To Bradley and Natasha’s surprise, since Jake can barely carry a tune, Jack has a rich baritone and Bibbie a soft, melodic soprano. The evening turns into a lively sing-along. Several cups of cider in, Jake loudly badgers Bradley until he plays “Jingle Bell Rock.” While Beth films them, he drags Natasha into the Mean Girls choreography, which she doesn’t know half as well as he does. Inspired, Bradley transitions to “Linus and Lucy,” the Charlie Brown Christmas song, so everyone can dance. Thinking it’s a game, Lilah and Chip excitedly dash through them. 

Natasha’s voice is getting rough when Beth subtley motions her husband and mother out of the room, leaving the three of them alone.  

Rooster’s touch on the keys turns gentler. Jake whispers something in his ear, and he stands so that Jake can move the bench farther out. When he sits, Jake pulls Natasha into his lap and wraps his arms around her waist.

Resting his head between her shoulders, he rocks her gently. “I still can’t believe you two drove all the way down here for me,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want it to be Christmas without you.”

The soft, flickering light glows around them, and Natasha floats in the tipsy contentment of their togetherness. She folds her arms over his. Rooster leans over and kisses Jake tenderly on the mouth. “I’ve been saving this one for you, Mr. Karate. Merry Christmas.”  

Home for the holidays. I believe I’ve missed each and every face. Come on and play my music. Let’s turn on every love light in the place. It’s time I found myself, totally surrounded in your circles. My friends…please, celebrate me home, give me a number. Please, celebrate me home, play me one more song that I’ll always remember, that I can recall whenever I find myself too all alone I can sing me home…

#hello december playlist #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace

[shadowthief78]

Go On & Tear Me Apart

Short ficlet, Bachira Meguru x reader, Blue Lock.

CW unhealthy relationships and bad mental health, etc

.

Bachira knows you two are bad for each other. He knows it, Isagi knows it, hell, probably half the world knows it given how thoroughly and devaststingly the press chronicles each and every little detail.

Him drinking too much the night before a game. You, storming out of his apartment building with your hands balled into fists amd hair still wet. The both of you glaring sullenly and trading snippy insults over a reservation neither of you are willing to cancel.

So when he's out at midnight and the world is spinning, it takes him a good minute to remember that the reason he's so dizzy is because you are no longer there. He texted you a rigidly composed breakup hours before and immediatly turned his phone over to Isagi and Chigiri's custody before going out.

It takes him hardly any effort to slip the phone from Isagi's bag and into his own pocket during the taxi ride home, Isagi, after all, is also barely able to stand up straight. He makes it back to his apartment and fumbles with the key, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

He blinks when he opens the door. The floor is covered in his uniform, separated into neat pieces, scattered everywhere.

His muddled mind jumps toward you. His vision blurs and he sees the wisps of his monster rise up again. It takes his breath away for a second.

How many years has it been since he sealed it away? It gives him that familar grin, reaches down, and seems to delight at the systemic and calculated revenge you left. Something moves out of the corner of his eye, the faint trace of another entity. His breath catches. It's you, or at least, a trace of you.

You have a monster too. It told you to do this and it listened. He can imagine you, sitting here, burning with cold rage as he drank himself silly, confident that he would be away long enough for you to plan and execute all this.

You pick up on the fourth ring. "Did you do this to all my clothes?" He asks, picking up half a jersey neatly pulled apart st the seams.

"I put sugar in your gas tank too," you say, sounding only slightly drunk. "Fuck you. I don't care about anything anymore."

Bachira sits down, missing the edge of the cushionless sofa (the pillows are somewhere across the room) and landing on the floor, wedged between the coffee table and an armchair, legs tangled and cramped. "I still love you."

"Fuck off," you spit through the phone. "It's not even been a day and you want me back already?"

"Yes," he says, only half awake. "Your monster is beautiful. We--" It's getting harder to keep his eyes open. "I'm not mad, really. We'll never be lonely again."

Your voice is wary when you ask, "You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Good," you say. "Next time, I really will make sure you die."

Danger kink, thy name be Bachira Meguru.

#bachira meguru #blue lock #puffin says stuff #fanfiction #x reader #word vomiting ideas aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh

[faarkas]

tagged by @nuclearstorms @arklay @liurnia @camelliagwerm @morvaris and @aartyom to post wips over the last month and i haven’t rly had any to share without spoiling nat and rena on future fwb valenzo shenanigans SO…take this mostly finished section from the last valenzo fwb fic update that’s gotta have a bunch of detail and shit added to it still : )

thank u all for tagging me in stuff even if it always takes me 120,000 years to get to it 💖💖💖

When he gets to the hospital and finds his way back up to her room it’s nearly 5am. It’s somehow quieter than he expects, the nurses starting to roll out to do their rounds, the lights still dim as they try to keep things quiet for everybody asleep.

Lorenzo’s not prepared for what he sees when the door to her room slides open and he steps inside, his big heart melting into the biggest puddle when his kiroshis adjust to the darkness and he sees her cuddling with a huge stuffed bear that’s bigger than she is, her face nestled into its soft fleece and arms wrapped around its fluffy abdomen tightly.

Desperately trying to be quiet and not wake her up, he keeps the footfalls of his faux leather work shoes light, crossing the room over to the couch underneath the window, dim light just starting to spill through the cracks in the blinds. He shrugs off that gaudy red velvet jacket and bundles it up, putting it down on one end of the cushionless couch to serve as a makeshift pillow.

Unfortunately luck isn’t on his side this morning, hasn’t been at all for the last couple days really, because she starts to shift, Lorenzo looking up to see her still snuggled with the bear, that mess of beautiful pink hair still fanned out every which way, but looking at him with one half open eye.

“Hey.” Val mumbles sleepily, a croaky quality to her voice that he finds way cuter than he probably should.

“Hey sleeping beauty, sorry I woke you. Just go back to sleep…I’m gonna get some shut eye too.” Lorenzo says awkwardly, keeping his tone hushed and quiet. He has no idea what kind of state her head is in. “Um, but I can go home if you want me to.”

“Nooo, stay.” She mumbles and he can see her lashes fluffering as she barely manages to keep the eye not squished against the bear open and on him. “L‘renzo?”

“Yeah, Val?”

“Thank you.” Val murmurs so sweetly, her voice slurring sleepily.

For some reason that makes his throat feel tight, and it occurs to him that he was so close to never hearing her talk like that to him ever again. He swallows roughly, feeling like he just swallowed a roll of that thick fluffy gauze he saw in a cabinet on the way in.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, doll. Rest up.”

Lorenzo musters as bright a smile for her as he can before he drops down onto the couch, adjusting the makeshift jacket pillow underneath his neck until it’s comfortable, nearly missing how she hums so sweetly in response.

Thank god he didn’t, but also maybe he should have. The way a soft little hum has the power to make his chest feel all light and tight and funny at the same time catches him completely off guard as she snuggles back into her bear and falls back to sleep.

#Wrote this in an ibs induced fuge state so. If it’s bad that’s why but the image … Ough #Lol context btw: val got toasted in a gig. lorenzo went to check on her as per verdes wishes and found her FUCKED up and had to call trauma #and then. THEN. HE HAD TO GO TO WORK SO BESTIE SHIRO CAME TO HANG OUT (is where the bear came from. when is it our turn to have hot rich #mostly kind men as our friends. When.) #and then he got off work at like an outrageous hour and decided to just go keep her company and maybe get some sleep there :) And that’s #sorta what u missed on glee #fwb valenzo fic is just like me shovelling trauma onto them and also bankrupting verde #So a normal day for them really . #I KEEP MAKING CHANGES AND EDITS NOW AND I GOTTA GO ADD THEM TO THE DOC SHFJFJSJD #hil.txt #hil writes #ocstuff #valenzo #oc: lorenzo #ALSO IM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. CHEERS . Dialogue feels so stilted in the beginning there so i will accept the tiniest bit of criticism #if anybody has it . cheers aloha good morning etc etc #*FUGUE STATE

[l1teraryangel]

In Another Life (Ch. 2)

“Guys, you need to calm down!” Yugi scolded from the safety of Malik’s passenger seat. Behind him sat Touzoku-Ou, firmly holding Ryou’s head to his shoulder, and Bakura, currently spewing death threats on behalf of himself and his awake lover at the third backseat rider, Atem. 

The much shorter man — in a grave miscalculation of how distressed Bakura and Touzoku-Ou truly were — made a comment about how lucky Ryou was not to witness how little they seemed to care for his health. Truthfully, he likely knew they were masking their feelings due to the current company because wouldn’t he do the same in their place? Their absolute emotionless facade rubbed him the wrong way, however, hence the unsavory remark.

Bakura bared his teeth at Yugi. “You want me to calm down?! Tell your fucking pharaoh to keep his mouth shut, then, or I’ll shove his ancient royal ass right out of the car!”

Touzoku-Ou, though he remained silent, glared daggers over Bakura’s shoulder. He and Atem, just like Bakura and Atem, maintained a strained peace. After all, their truce existed solely due to Ryou and Yugi’s friendship.

Popping up from his less-than-ideal location in the cushionless trunk of Malik’s SUV, Kek leaned over and poked at the thief king’s shoulder. Both Touzoku-Ou and Bakura turned to Malik’s darker half with cocked eyebrows.

“If you push the pharaoh out of the car, Yugi will make Malik stop to help,” He deadpanned. “We can help your Rohi faster if you just ignore him. Besides…” Crazed grin splitting his face, every ounce of Kek’s chaotic madness coated his next words. “You’re supposed to let me help you if we get the greenlight to kill the pharaoh.”

The two thieves, in spite of their rotating concern and anger, returned his grin. Some ideas never went out of style. 

Yugi groaned, slapping his face with an open palm. “You three, I swear…”

Under his breath, Malik laughed, earning a glare from his passenger seat. “Relax, Mutou, he’s joking. Probably.” Malik’s lips curled down into a frown. “Hey, royal pain? All jokes aside, you should apologize for saying that.”

Sighing, Yugi turned around in his seat so he could look Atem right in the eyes. “He’s right. I know you didn’t mean it, not really, but it was a rude thing to say. You know Bakura and Touzoku-Ou are worried for Ryou.”

Atem also sighed, gaze shifting over to the white-haired trio. The russet-brown and indigo stares he met shimmered with ice and loathing.

“Alright, alright,” He relented, running a hand through his tri-colored hair. “I take back what I said, and I apologize for having said it in the first place. As my aibou says, I know better that you two are in fact very concerned for Ryou.”

Mischief plain on his face, Kek snickered. “What do you think, tomb-robbers? Does the puny king get to live another day?”

 Bakura’s lip raised in a snarl. “So long as he keeps his stupid thoughts to himself.”

A discernible growl rumbled in Touzoku-Ou’s throat as he threw in, “Say anything else, and Kek can have your seat.”

Said man’s purple eyes lit up at that. “Really? I get a whole seat? Pharaoh, say something dumb! Now, now!”

Malik cut in quickly, “Kek, sit!” 

His other half pouted at him through the rearview mirror and sank slowly out of sight behind the back seats, only the spikes of his hair poking out. 

“Thank you. The rest of you, settle down and tear each other apart later. We’re almost there!” 

Yugi mumbled beside him, “Thank the gods.”

 ***

 ‘Think fast, think fast. Run or stay?’ Ryou yanked the mattress back into place and stuffed the piece of paper with the address into his pocket. ‘Definitely stay. I don’t think there’s a universe out there where I can outrun those two.’

Cautiously making his way into the living room, Ryou observed the door like it might explode similar to the prison wall. ‘Do I answer it? Or are they going to—’

No sooner than the thought started did the door, clearly not built for actual security, slam inwards. It dangled precariously on a singular hinge, its twin behind Ryou on the floor. He flinched, both at the sound and the metal piece flying by his face, and bore the stomach-twisting brunt of an accelerating heartbeat.

‘Stay calm, be logical, don’t act scared.’

Two mirrored smirks upon undeniably handsome, mischievous faces and attached to two athletic bodies awaited him in the doorway. The other Touzoku-Ou waltzed in like he owned the place and closed the distance between himself and Ryou in an instant.

“Little mouse~” He chortled, the sound giving Ryou’s heart further palpitations. “You didn’t run away. What a good boy.”

Other Bakura slinked in, his cold eyes shining with delight, and sized Ryou up. “What a well-behaved rabbit.” He gripped Ryou’s chin, forcing their gazes together. “Aren’t you going to ask how we’ve been, Ryou-bunny?”

‘Gods above… I’m starting to understand the paranoia my other self and Yugi have.’

Outwardly, Ryou smiled, although he felt his lip twitching with nervousness. “How have you been, Bakura? Touzoku-Ou?”

Bakura leaned in and bumped his nose to Ryou’s. His silver lashes tickled Ryou’s cheeks at the same time his grip surely bruised the boy’s jaw. “Depressed, rabbit. Do you know how sad we were when you testified against us?”

‘...Fuck. Alternate me, you did not make this easy. Say something… Anything… Placate… Kiss ass.’

“I-I didn’t have a choice… Yugi and Malik were pushing me… The lawyers, too…”

‘Gods, please let these excuses work without screwing over those two.’

Touzoku-Ou hummed and leaned his chin on Ryou’s shoulder. His lips and breath ghosted over the significantly thinner male’s sensitive ears. “You didn’t even come see us once while we were locked up, Ryou.”

Thoughts rushing around his head, Ryou pulled a specific memory from his chat with Other Yugi. “You guys said you would come find me, right? I was just waiting for you to do that.”

“Oh?” Bakura murmured, his lips now hovering over Ryou’s forehead. “You still could have visited.”

“I had faith in you…?” Ryou tried, desperate to keep them from escalating. “And… it wasn’t easy, with the other guys watching me so closely… I didn’t want them to shut me out…”

His words, miraculously, worked. The two voracious males pulled back and exchanged a sideways glance with each other.

“Poor little mouse, always needing the approval of others,” Touzoku-Ou rebuked, but his tone softened by a great degree. “Well, since you’ve been a good boy, there’s no reason to hold your poor past decisions against you.”

Brushing by Ryou, Bakura curled his arms around the other’s waist, lips pulled into a smirk as he purred directly into his ear. “You have been such an obedient pet, Ryou-bunny. And obedient boys get rewards, don’t they?”

Skin growing clammy, Ryou tried to contain his trembling. Touzoku-Ou, noticing the shivers, boxed Ryou from the front, impish grin in place.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He pressed and rose up on his toes ever so slightly to level their eyes. “You missed us, didn’t you? Don’t you want your reward?”

The switch from prey item to a genuine term of endearment did not settle Ryou’s racing heart. Not with the way they were both leering at him.

“Y-You were going to tell me about your escape, though, remember?”

They paused at his words, appearing to consider it. Bakura chuckled, hands squeezing Ryou’s hip, and said, “It is a great story. A masterpiece of a plan.”

“Indeed,” the dark-skinned male nodded. “It took almost the entire two years for us, Atem, and Kek to put it together. With the help of good ol’ Blue Eyes. But do you really want to hear it?”

Bakura dug his nose into Ryou’s hair and nipped at his earlobe. Well, more like bit. It didn’t escape Ryou’s attention that Other Bakura used an almost full force bite on the tender skin as opposed to his Bakura, who only ever used a light pressure. The surprise caused him to yelp, much to the other two’s obvious and deranged entertainment.

Sure enough, Ryou felt a dribble of blood drop from his ear to his collarbone. He winced and whimpered, instinctively trying to pull away, if only by a bit. Other Bakura tightened his grip.

His voice, deprived of previous pleasantness, growled against the assaulted flesh, “Behave, rabbit.”

‘Fuck you, that hurt! I’m friggin’ bleeding!’

But, of course, he didn’t say that aloud. For the sake of the rest of his body, he stopped his struggle. The arms wrapped about his waist remained tight.

Touzoku-Ou watched their exchange with a mix of devilish pleasure and desire. He slid his hand up Ryou’s chest and curled his fingers around the thin, fragile neck of his prey — because, without a doubt, Ryou knew exactly what this relationship was now. 

He held out hope, foolishly, that this universe’s Bakura and Touzoku-Ou were merely a bit warped; now he could see they were nothing more than predators, monsters hungry for blood. His blood, as luck would have it. His heart ached for what his alternate self must have faced, but he also feared for what would happen if he remained trapped in this world.

“You’ve never met Blue Eyes, have you, little mouse?” Touzoku-Ou spoke suddenly. He looked excited, like he was letting Ryou in on a big secret.

“N-No, I don’t think so?”

Bakura snorted with laughter. “Just as well. He’s an asshole. I would never trust him to treat our delicate little Ryou-bunny right.”

‘Considering the impression you two have made and the literal blood staining this shirt… That certainly says something, doesn’t it?’

Clearing his throat and praying he kept his voice steady, Ryou replied, “He can’t be too bad, if he helped you escape?”

‘I hate him already. Definitely a monster helping monsters.’

Touzoku-Ou grinned. “He owed us for helping him meet his — what did he call the guy? Puppy?”

“Some shit like that,” Bakura grunted, though his attention to the conversation openly dwindled . Ryou noted with displeasure his hands were exploring again, touching places he really preferred him just not. He forced back his instincts to flee the non-consensual fondling.

“Actually, I just had a brilliant idea…” Touzoku-Ou tapped his chin with a lecherous sneer. “Blue Eyes owns some buildings around here. Think he has a manor or something riiiiight outside the city, too. Bet it’s well-stocked, with lots of space to play.”

Bakura mirrored his partner’s expression. “Perfect for our little rabbit’s reward.”

‘Fuuuuuck. I thought we were past that… Don’t react, Ryou. If this happens… I might not be able to stop it… I think Bakura and Touzoku-Ou would forgive me since it’s for my own sake. And my sanity.’ His heavy, doleful thoughts performed a one-eighty with a last spark of hope. ‘Maybe I can break free, though. I have the address. I could get to Malik and Yugi if—’

His thoughts were interrupted by Bakura’s Ra-damn wandering hands diving into his pockets as his captor asked, “What’s this, Ryou-bunny? Looks like… an address?”

‘Alternate self, I’m so sorry your luck is clearly shit. I bet you never once rolled a supercritcal.’

With an anxious inhale, Ryou forced a meek smile. “It’s a… hotel. I wasn’t sure how tired you two might be from such an eventful day. But if we’re going somewhere else—”

“How thoughtful,” cooed Touzoku-Ou while cupping Ryou’s face in a manner that, combined with his sneer, felt quite mocking. “Such a good boy, right, Bakura?”

“A very good boy. It’s a bit far, but it does look to be on the way. Wouldn’t hurt to stop for a little nap. We need to grab some money, too.”

‘Well, if the grave is dug five feet, might as well make it the full six.’

“I have some cash, if you want…?”

Their eyes flicked over to him, and Ryou definitely could tell his constant “good behavior” was starting to surprise them. They were probably used to more tears, more resistance, more pleading. 

Unfortunately for them, this Ryou decided a long time ago that he was done with begging and crying out for help. He was also smart enough to know resisting would only cause himself and his other self, should they ever return to their appropriate bodies, more pain.

‘I survived my Bakura at his worst, which was literally trying to end the world. I can handle these two noobs.’

 ***

 “I don’t know what to tell you, sirs,” a gray-haired, wrinkled old man mumbled. He started strong, but under the glare of two white-haired thieves pining for their beloved Ryou, he withered into a pathetic specimen.

Malik and Kek sat together, just a bit away from where Ryou’s slumbering form was guarded by Bakura and Touzoku-Ou. The less-chaotic of the two tombkeepers caught Yugi’s eye and shrugged helplessly. The tri-colored-haired male, beside his own dark, only returned the look, a  forlorn frown twisting his mouth.

“Thank you for looking over him and making sure he’s stable.”

The doctor breathed a sigh of relief when a tall brunette decked out in a suit stepped into the room and thanked him. He felt more secure already, having the powerful Seto Kaiba around to keep the riffraff—

“We will be seeking superior professional assistance and opinions, however. See yourself out.”

Deflated, the doctor skulked out of the makeshift hospital room. Beside Seto, Katsuya Jonouchi coughed awkwardly and turned to follow the pitiful man.

“I’ll go… Make sure he leaves…” Briefly, he added to Seto, “We gotta work on your people skills, my man.”

A weight lingered after the doctor fled. The tension from one man to the next seemed impossibly thick. Bakura and Touzoku-Ou, on either side of Ryou’s bed, stared down at the IVs and cords dangling from their lover’s near-lifeless body. Their eyes, though dry, held a palpable moroseness.

Seto huffed, drawing mostly everyone’s attention. “Is someone going to tell me what happened?”

Yugi peeked around Atem’s shoulder. “No one knows. The guys,” He gestured to Bakura and Touzoku-Ou, “said he was fine this morning. Then they went back to sleep for a bit, but Ryou wouldn’t wake up after.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Seto directed the next question specifically at the two sullen thieves. “You are certain he didn’t hit his head or anything last night or earlier today?”

Listless, Touzoku-Ou simply stared at the CEO, his fingers absently tracing circles on Ryou’s forearm. Bakura offered a half-hearted glare and grumbled, “If we knew anything, don’t you think we would tell you? Ryou was fine.”

Seto shook his head. “You don’t have to be a doctor to know a healthy twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t fall into what is effectively a coma for no reason.”

Cautious, Atem snuck closer to the conversing trio. He spoke slowly, guarded and prepared for possible rebuttal from his former enemies.

“Perhaps there is a reason… One a human doctor wouldn’t be able to pick up on. Bakura,” he met his fellow yami’s eyes, “you used to send Ryou’s friends into comas.”

Lunging up from his slumped position, Bakura snarled like a cornered feral animal. “What the fuck are you accusing me of, Pharaoh?! I would never —”

The words stuck in his throat. To finish his declaration would be a blatant lie. He wouldn’t hurt Ryou now, but the scars his lighter half bore spoke volumes upon volumes of their history.

Yugi and Malik’s eyes widened, and the latter rose to his feet, tentative but clearly expecting a fight. Relief washed over him when Touzoku-Ou, tender as he was with Ryou, touched Bakura’s arm. They stared, tense and wordless, into each other’s eyes.

Walking back in from his escort job, Jonouchi barely got a foot in the door before the restive scene snatched his attention. “Er, what’s going on? I missed somethin’, didn’t I?”

“Bakura,” Atem continued, ignoring his confused friend. “Let me finish. I know you didn’t do anything to Ryou, intentional or not.” 

Bakura and Touzoku-Ou gazed coolly at the pharaoh, with neither trust nor solid contempt. Kek chimed in with remarkable sincerity, “I think the little king is trying to say this reeks of shadow magic.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Seto groaned and moved to leave. “Of course it does. It always does when any of you are involved.”

Jonouchi grabbed the brunette by the arm. “What’re you leavin’ for?”

Tugging free, Seto rolled his eyes. “The ‘M’ word, Katsuya. I’m not about to deal with this, not if it’s beyond the realm of normalcy. I’m leaving this in your magic-experienced hands so I can get back to my predictable, mundane work.”

For all his protests, the CEO paused and looked over his shoulder, catching the eyes of both Touzoku-Ou and Bakura. “You are welcome to stay here with Ryou. I can have some staff bring in another bed for when you feel up to sleeping. You look like death.”

Yugi smiled at the back of his rival briefly before the brunette disappeared down a hall. “It was a good idea to reach out to Kaiba. A regular hospital would have been a lot harder to work with.”

Jonouchi chuckled. “Don’t let Mr. Boss-Man fool you; he actually likes Ryou, thinks he’s a smart kid. Think he wanted to hire him at one point, but y’know. Museum does belong to Ryou’s father, so guess it makes since he wants to keep working there.”

Grunting, Touzoku-Ou put his attention back on the former pharaoh. “What are you thinking, Mr. King? I assure you nobody came around and stole Rohi’s soul.”

Atem thoughtfully moved closer and reached for Ryou’s exposed foot. His movement halted just before any physical contact, as if something occurred to him. He glanced between Bakura and Touzoku-Ou’s watchful eyes.

“May I?”

The duo shrugged, once again too lost in their melancholy to show their usual ferocity. Atem gingerly touched Ryou’s foot — it was like touching raw ice. A glowing Eye of Anubis appeared on his forehead.

“Hm… I see. You two should be able to sense part of the issue if you focus beyond your sorrow,” He informed them.

Curious, Kek jumped up and joined the circle around Ryou’s bed. Unlike Atem, he did not ask permission before touching Ryou, but he treated the boy with the same level of delicacy. His own forehead began to glow with an Eye of Anubis, and he nodded in understanding.

Hesitant, both the former spirit and thief king grasped Ryou’s left and right arm respectively and closed their eyes, concentrating. A black aura gathered around Bakura’s body, and similarly, a blood-red cloud of magical energy swirled around Touzoku-Ou’s. The gray-haired male’s face scrunched up as he sought out the info that Atem and Kek apparently obtained. The white-haired yami murmured so quietly it was indistinguishable.

All of the sudden, their eyes shot open. Bakura yanked his hand away from Ryou, and Touzoku-Ou cried out.

“That fucking magic…!” The thief king bellowed, shocked and wracked with grief anew. Atem and Kek eyed each other knowingly. Behind the group of darker halves, Malik and Yugi sprang to their feet. Malik impatiently thumped his lookalike’s shoulder.

“What, what? Tell us what is going on! What about magic? What about his soul?”

Yugi leaned into Atem, questioning him silently. Protective and comforting, his darkness wrapped an arm around him, but no answer was supplied.

Jonouchi, just as lost as Malik and Yugi, pushed into the cluster. “Will someone at least tell me what is going on? You guys know I ain’t as smart about this shit as you are!”

When neither of Ryou’s boyfriends spoke, too taken aback by the development, Atem released a long breath. “It… It seems like, somehow, Ryou’s soul has been pulled from his body. I couldn’t tell you who, but the magic belongs to the same entity that brought the four of us back.”

Absent-minded, Malik dug his nails into Kek’s arm, not that his other half seemed bothered by it. “That’s fucking insane. Shouldn’t — I mean, of course I’m glad it isn’t the case, but shouldn’t he be dead without a soul?”

Between the gap in his bangs, Bakura peered at Malik. “It’s possible for a body to survive without the soul as long as it isn’t destroyed. Like Mr. King said, I have some experience with this sort of thing.”

“And actually…” Touzoku-Ou muttered, causing Malik to swing and face him. “His body isn’t empty. There is a soul inside it. It’s… similar… But it isn’t Ryou.”

Yugi squeezed closer to Atem. “So, like, his and another soul got swapped? How is that… Is that possible?”

Frustration showing in his pinched eyebrows, Jonouchi ruffled his shaggy mop of hair. “Man, if there’s one thing I’ve learned since meeting you, Yugi… It’s that anything is possible.”

“It isn’t so different from how Bakura used to seal away Ryou’s soul to take control,” Atem explained, patting his other half’s head. “The difference is, rather than simply being pushed into the crevices of his mind, Ryou’s soul has been completely removed while another has taken control.”

“If,” Malik interrupted, “there is another soul inside him… Why isn’t he waking up?”

Kek tugged Malik close to nuzzle his neck, a rare public show of soft affection between the two. “The soul’s probably in shock, especially if it’s from somewhere that doesn’t have magic.” He glanced at Touzoku-Ou and Bakura, who acknowledged him with a nod. “For what it’s worth, the little one is tough. I doubt he’s in any trouble or distress.”

Not comforted by the words, appreciated as they were, Bakura rubbed his face, eyes shut tight. Touzoku-Ou, sighing, offered his hand to the former spirit. Hesitantly, his offer was accepted, and the thief king kissed the pale skin.

“Ryou will be fine,” He said against the flesh. “Kek’s right. He’s tough. He survived us, didn’t he?”

Bakura stared at his lover, eyebrows furrowed, while weighing the words and odd gesture. Ryou was always the openly affectionate one in public. To have Touzoku-Ou comfort him in front of so many people, friends or not, struck him as strange. Still, he nodded and bumped their foreheads together gingerly.

“He did… He’s one of the strongest people I — we know. I just want him to be safe.”

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

AO3 Link: In Another Life - Chapter 3 - LiteraryAngel - Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

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#bakushipping #geminishipping #gemshipping #tendershipping #ryou bakura #thief king bakura #yami bakura #my writing #fanfiction #ao3 #yugioh #ygo au #ygo #yugi mutou #yami yugi #yami marik #malik ishtar #seto kaiba #katsuya jonouchi #implied ships #puppyshipping #bronzeshipping #puzzleshipping #blindshipping #(whichever you prefer since I keep it vague)

[soniczephyr]

sleeping on a real bed instead of a cushionless couch frame feels very strange

[n1ntendos]

my chair at work is literally so overused that it’s cushionless and my ass is in so much anguish it’s like sitting on a rock

#i actually think sitting on a rock would be more pleasant #🍒

[felidfavs]

yall being able to lean back in my computer chair and meet soft stretchy weave and not almost fall on my ass or get stabbed in the soft bits by the plastic spine of my previous decapitated chair is........ so nice

#i got a new chair thanks to my mom smuggling it from the trash at her work : - ) #it was very dusty and gross but after a through wash its biggest flaw is the arms have been picked away at and are kinda gross #but w.e. #better than just a small cushionless seat with no arms or back just Sharp Bits

[himbohargreeves]

Explain to me how I could pull all the cushions off the couch looking for my phone and not find it there, and yet when my mum pulled the same cushions off the same couch, she found it.

#like.. how can that be #I pulled them all off and stared at a phoneless cushionless couch I swear she fucking planted it as a power move #just to keep me humble every so often she'll steal something of mine and let me search the whole house #then plant it and find it somewhere she knows I looked #just so I'll stay fearful of her

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Writing a little thing from Aldreda's backstory, because she grabbed me by the throat today, I guess. So enjoy a little snippet of that, or w/e 🤷🏻‍♀️

The Farwynd was all graying hair and great, braided beard and large, black eyes. He was silent as he looked down at her from the dais, a raised eyebrow the only indication he expected anything. In the plain, cushionless, seat beside their sire, Trystifer shifted uncomfortably. His feet did not quite touch the floor and the place where Euron, and then Barrian, and then Corwen had filled so comfortably swallowed the boy of ten. “I want to raid.” The men in the hall were who started it, laughing like Aldreda had told some great jest just to entertain them. Trystifer joined them, eager to be seen as a man grown now that he was The Farwynd’s heir. Aldreda’s cheeks grew hot, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides. She wanted to bite and claw at whichever of the men at arms had started the laughter. Drawing blood would make them take her seriously. For his part in all of it, her sire did nothing but look at her with an appraising eye. When he finally spoke there was an air of passive judgment to her sire’s deep, almost scratchy brogue. “Is that why you parade yourself around in such a state?” She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through the ends of her newly cropped hair. Her head felt so light now, and her back was unexpectedly cold. When Lady Melusine came into her room last night, she had burst into hysterics when she caught her daughter cutting her hair to her shoulders. After Aldreda had explained herself, she had calmed and helped her to make sure the cut was at least even; that did not mean she liked it, though. Still, it would appear Lady Melusine hadn’t said a word of it to The Farwynd. Or, if she did, he had simply forgotten.

#my writing #oc: aldreda farwynd

[bettypicklecleaing]

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[be11atrixthestrange]

I Know

Not to interrupt the flow of the @romione-trope-fest, but I wrote a short and sweet shell cottage fic last night for IWSC...

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"Good morning."

Hermione's voice jolted Ron awake, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. The cold, hard, cushionless seat of Fleur's antique rocking chair felt awfully similar to the unforgiving concrete dungeon floor at Malfoy Manor. The draft from the open window caused Ron's hair to stand on edge, and his heart rate spiked as though punishing him for a few hours of shuteye.

But her voice was just a whisper, not the ear-piercing screech he'd spent so much time replaying in his mind, nor was it the deafening silence of the previous few hours when Hermione was unresponsive and barely alive. It was that beautiful space in between. Tired, alive, and most importantly, safe. At least for now.

"You're awake," said Ron, his voice a bit too enthusiastic for the middle of the night. He cleared his throat and brought his voice down to a whisper. "How do you feel?"

Hermione winced, and Ron immediately regretted drawing attention to her injuries. "I'm okay," she said. "I probably look awful though."

Ron sat up a little straighter, and for the first time since Malfoy Manor, really looked at her. Her hair was matted and bloody, her face bruised, and her eyes were sunken and tired. He wanted to tell her she looked beautiful, but he knew it would sound like a lie. Even though it wasn't.

Instead of saying the wrong thing, Ron reached his hand to hers, and their fingers interlaced.

Hermione looked away and muttered, "You asked her to take you instead."

Everything about the previous twenty-four hours was a blur. He hadn't been thinking straight when Bellatrix pulled Hermione from his grasp and his only instinct was to offer himself in her place. But he didn't regret it, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He'd happily adopt that scar on her neck, taking on her injuries with pride. It was never a question. "Of course I did."

"Not your smartest move," Hermione said as she tightened her grip on his hand. "You wouldn't have been able to handle it."

A smile crept across Ron's face, and any doubt that Bellatrix's curses had taken part of Hermione away from him disappeared. This was his Hermione. His argumentative, competitive Hermione. "Trust me," he told her. "It was even worse from my end."

Maybe she had heard him screaming her name from the dungeon, completely and utterly helpless. Maybe she finally knew how he felt.

"Are you trying to invalidate my pain, Ronald?"

Thankfully, her accusation came with a smile.

"Yes."

In a bold move, he pulled her arm toward his lips and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, avoiding her gaze the entire time. He knew he didn't have to when she squeezed his hand in response.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"You know," she said with an air of finality, reminding him of every single time she'd shrug off one of his homework questions. According to her, he always knew more than he thought he did, and he just needed to search his mind a bit more. The answers were always there if he'd look for them.

Maybe the answer to how she felt about him was there too, He brought his gaze to meet hers and noticed the pink tint of her cheeks. Her big brown eyes seemed to drink him up. It gave him shivers, just like the draft from the window, and he knew she never looked at Harry that way.

Her thumb stroked the back of his hand, and he recalled all that time they spent avoiding talking about the gradual shift in their relationship. From dancing at Bill and Fleur's wedding and cozying up next to one another at Grimmauld Place, to sharing blankets in the tent and offering up his life for hers. He had assumed they didn't talk about it because Hermione didn't want to. But maybe that was the locket speaking, and they never talked about it because they didn't have to. They both already knew.

The locket was gone, they were both safe, and they had whole lives ahead of them.

"Yeah. I know."

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