#its a matter of finding songs i think he’d like but that i would also be willing for him to associate with me

[rileyslibrary]

Living With Ghosts: 4. Pretty Broken

His body stands straight, but his mind betrays him. He still wears his gun around his left shoulder. It looks too heavy for him now, just like his conscience.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,150

Notes:

Warnings: Mentions of blood and war

As much as I like Ghost’s demeanor throughout the game, I cannot help but wonder what he would be like suffering the aftereffects of war.

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

———————————————————————

It’s been days since you last talked to him.

His inattentiveness, however, was not the outcome of your petty little brawl—not the direct consequence, at least. If you had to venture a guess, it’s because he was busy with other matters at the moment—far more important ones.

The Russian Mafia appears to have increased its presence in the region over the past week, raising suspicions of a potential terrorist attack. As a result, the CIA has requested high readiness from the Special Forces operators deployed in the area.

That’s where he is, you fool. It doesn’t matter how abandoned, lonely, or insecure you feel, for he had a job to do. He was right there, at the front line, risking his life for the nation’s—and probably the world’s—safety. You were the last thing on his mind right now; if you ever were anything to him but a mild inconvenience.

Let’s not forget that you also had a part to play in this operation; to actively scan land, air, and sea for irregular traffic and report to the CIA.

Well, not actively, per se—the safe house has a well-equipped wine cellar for that specific purpose.

“Surveillance Control Center,” they call it—SCC for short.

What was once used to store ruby-red Chianti Classico Riserva bottles can now be confused with the cockpit of a spaceship. The CIA engineers have outdone themselves with this one—you give them that.

The SCC is part of a computer network connecting every CIA safe house in the Mediterranean. It incorporates CCTV monitors, cameras, radars, and motion sensors designed to detect unusual movements in the region. Live-streaming feeds are processed using highly sophisticated software, which, upon catching unusual traffic, alerts the SCC’s terminal. The wine cellar also houses an arsenal of weapons and ammunition, just in case the shit hits the fan.

Your job, for now, is to oversee the SCC’s flawless operation and inform Laswell of any findings.

Boring; that’s what your job was. Boring.

“Christmas is coming,” Laswell’s voice sounded over the telephone, “You guys should do something to celebrate.”

“Do what, exactly, Kate? Go from house to house and sing carols on behalf of the CIA?” You reply, leaning forward as if you were trying to physically get your point across.

“If you’d stop being a sarcastic shit, then perhaps you could think a little better.” Her irritation rasped in her voice. “Do something together; think of it as a team-building event.”

He said he’d fix that attitude of yours; when was that team-building event going to take place?

She was right, though—as much as you’d hate to admit it. Christmas does bring people together.

You begin to reminisce about the good times back home when your family used to celebrate every year. You used to cook together, sing along to festive songs, watch Mr. Bean on television, and exchange gifts.

You remember your mother, who refrained from buying ornaments from the shops. She used to bake them instead—yes, bake them. She used to roll out the dough, give shape to it with cookie cutters and bake the ornaments so you would all decorate the Christmas tree with them. The entire house smelled divine with these four little ingredients she used in her recipe—cinnamon, salt, flour, and water.

Ingredients you already had in your pantry.

“Laswell, when’s my shift ending?” you asked in anticipation.

“It ended thirty-seven minutes ago. Tired of me?”

“I thought of something.” You announce, sitting on the edge of your seat.

“Wha-”

“I have to go. Over and out.” You report as you close the comms and head upstairs to the infamous pantry.

Cinnamon, salt, flour, and water.

You were determined to make it work, right here, in this safe house—with or without Ghost.

You hurried outside, scanning the area for the tree branches he trimmed a few weeks ago. If you tie them together, you could create something resembling a Christmas tree.

When was the last time he felt the Christmas spirit? Does he have a Christmas tree at his house? A family to sing together next to the fireplace? A warm, festive meal?

You moved frantically—part Christmas elf rolling out dough and baking ornaments, part Frankenstein trying to assemble a Christmas tree monstrosity.

Time flew by; hours passed like minutes as you worked hard, your creativity unleashed, putting forth your best effort to create something out of nothing.

To create festive decor out of raw ingredients.

To construct a tree out of stray branches.

To form a connection out of two peoples’ broken pieces.

“What’s that smell?”

You were so focused that you didn’t notice him standing behind you.

You turn around to see a wreck, the fragments of a man who has probably seen terrible things and done far worse.

“I—is everything all right?” You hesitate.

“Out of trouble, for now.” He replies.

His body stands straight, but his mind betrays him. He still wears his gun around his left shoulder. It looks too heavy for him now, just like his conscience.

“Yes, I know. I spoke with Laswell. I mean, are you all right?”

“Been better.”

His uniform is dusty, and his boots are covered in mud. There is a slight rip on his balaclava, teasing you with a subtle view of his jawline, like a Geisha exposing her nape.

“It’s over, for now.” you try to comfort him.

There’s blood on his left sleeve—a lot of blood. He just became aware of it as well.

“Not mine.” He announces and hides it behind his back. “What’s that smell?” He repeats, trying to avoid the conversation.

“Cinnamon.”

“Ya bakin’?” He seems shocked.

“Sort of; They’re ornaments for the Christmas tree,” you say, pointing in the direction of your most recent creation.

“A Christmas tree.” He stutters, glazed eyes darting left and right, assessing the new environment.

You want to tell him that there are no booby traps here, nothing dangerous to be careful of. You want to console him that there is no need to be alerted for an ambush here, for this is a safe space. No more killing, no more death, for now. Just you two, a hideous Christmas tree, and badly shaped cinnamon-baked ornaments.

“Do you like them?” You ask reluctantly, trying to divert his attention from this week’s horrors. “I couldn’t find any cookie cutters, so I shaped them with a knife instead. I tried to make them look pretty, but some came out broken.”

“Aren’t we all?” he mumbles as he walks towards the Christmas tree.

“Aren’t we all exactly what, lieutenant—pretty or broken?” you ask, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Pretty broken, kid,” he whispers as he picks up a shattered ornament. “Pretty damn broken.”

———————————————————————

Next ->

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #simon riley #cod mw2 #cod ghost

[havensins]

May I request headcanons for Dr Strange with a top cis male bf who was raised to use Dark magic. They met in battle but feel in love and now " work" together. Reader is flirty,sarcastic and touchy ( with consent) to Dr Strange

Thanks! Can I be 🐉 anon?

stephen strange x m!reader

cw . can be read as gn!reader, minor mentions of eating, is this a slight slow burn? flirty!reader, minor mention of smut (dom!reader).

note . there are no MoM spoilers so don’t worry! & yes, you can be that anon, i hope you enjoy :) also not proofread-

okay so we all know how stephen is right-

yk he’s always putting people above himself no matter what, and always tries to make the better decision

so when the both of you meet in battle, he’s taken aback for two reasons

for one, you’re probably one of the most handsome men he’s ever come across

and for two, you seemed so??? experienced??? with magic in a way that he’s never seen before and it kinda shocks him for a minute

but at the end of the battle, of course he’s victorious no matter how experienced you are

he gives you a chance yk, to work alongside him and try to get you to see the bigger picture and other ways you could use your magic

okay great

now that the backstory is over with, we can actually get into the actual headcanons-

training with stephen is fun for you and a full time job for him

he teaches you safer ways to use your magic

well, tries

you’re mostly too busy staring at him while he’s focused to actually retain any information

“… what are you even staring at?” he grumbles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes

“you.”

he literally just goes ????? and gets all red as much as he tries to keep the blush down

you make him so flustered and shy whenever you flirt with him

if you’re just sitting down and going over spells and such and notice his hands, you’ll grab them and hold them

the first time you did it he was in a state of shock almost bc it’s been so long since he’s been treated to such kindness he doesn’t know how to react

he loves your hugs but would never admit it, he’ll just say “move…” but make no effort to actually get out of your embrace

it took a minute for him to get used to your sarcasm and slight witty remarks though

you’d say something in reply to him with a shit-eating grin on your face and he’d just narrow his eyes at you

wong gets so so tired seeing you be so flirty and stephen pretend like he doesn’t like it

the blush stephen has when you say certain things is hidden so poorly, its cute

wong feels like he’s watching a romance soap opera unfold right in front of his eyes

strange doesn’t know when exactly he fell in love with you, but the moment he realized, it hit him hard

when you’re not around him, he finds himself wondering if you’ve eaten that day, or if you drank your water

he wonders if you’re rested and even finds himself missing your sarcasm and the way you’d flirt with im

and what really put the icing on the cake was the fact he missed your touch

the way you’d hold his hands or wrap yourself around him in your embrace

the thought of being in love scares him honestly. but he wasn’t one to hide his feelings

so when he saw you and felt his heart go “!” the moment you opened your mouth the greet him, he decided it would be best to tell you

and so, while you were telling him about your most recent adventure, rambling away to him while tracing along his hands, he just… blurts it out

“i think i love you,” cue the song page by got7

and you’re a little in shock, because it was just so?? random??

and you’re silent for a moment while he searches your eyes for any hint that you even feel the same way about him

“i think i love you too,” you smile, and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding

“you make me feel a way i never thought i’d be able to feel again, and it scares me but i don’t think i want it to stop,” he murmurs

and you don’t know how the both of you got so physically close to the point where his lips are brushing against yours

the gap between you two is closed and your lips meet

and stephen swears his heart sings as your lips are moving in tune with his

you pull away from him and give him a smile that makes his heart leap once more

and from then on, stephen is more happy around the sanctum, and your affection has gotten more obvious

bold flirting, longer touches, kisses when you’re both alone

wong catches you both sharing a kiss and just- gets so happy that he doesn’t have to deal with your endless pining anymore

but he does have to deal with hearing the loud creaking of the bed nearly every night and the loud moans from stephen

idk man, i don’t really have much to add now, you’re the one stephen wants to be with for the rest of his life, even if the outcome of your meeting was unexpected.

#dom!reader #dom male reader #top male reader #stephen strange x male reader #stephen strange x reader #dr strange x reader #dr strange x male reader #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x male reader #avengers x male reader #x male reader #x reader #stephen strange #dr strange

[eternally-frozen]

Private lessons

Synopsis: Dottore got kicked out of his studies due to various concerns about his psychological wellbeing. You, on the other hand, are currently majoring in biology - human anatomy and psychology. When he met you, you we’re still bright. Eager to learn and eager to follow the school system that ‘withholds’ true knowledge from it’s students. Dottore takes his opportunity to show you how things really work.

Warning: Dottore is crazy. you’re kidnapped but there’s no actual kidnapping scene, he tries to teach you about the brain by showing you a brain, he cuts the skull of a living dude, he also drugged the dude, you vomit, mentions of snot, dark themes in general, awake brain surgery, implied intimacy, hude dead dove do not eat, 

Note: This is a modern setting, but everything is still in Teyvat. The akedemiya doesn’t get mentioned - you go to a different school. No visions mentioned, no clones mentioned. Idk why I wrote this - an angry spirit probably possessed me /j

Song recommendation: In pieces - Madison York

You used to study biology. Human anatomy and psychology, to be specific.

You used to, and somewhere along the way you got acquainted with Zandik.

Perhaps if you weren’t as busy, you wouldn’t have been fooled by his charming façade. Maybe you’d have noticed the obvious insanity in his eyes, Il Dottore, the second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, before it was too late.

But despite all your attempts at resisting, he remains stubborn.

You are so in love with your major, and who’d want that passion to die down because studies are held back due to ‘morals’ and rules.

You can’t imagine his reaction should the moment come where you find the courage to tell him you never wanted to study your major in his way.

Months prior, he crashed into your life like a bullet flying out of its barrel and straight into someone’s chest.

He’d cause a sequence of terrible events, ranging from one of your friends dying in a gang fight – to being disowned by your family after you’d gotten expelled with student loans suddenly driving you into debt.

All you had, was no more. And he was to blame.

Your life was done for, even if he opted to keep you alive for whatever reason he had in his deranged mind.

But, it wasn’t all bad at first. Dottore might’ve seemed like a normal man at some point. A bit intense, but previously never dangerous in your eyes.

He’d been your saviour only a few months ago. If not for him, you’d still be stuck with your thesis. It was mostly your fault for choosing a subject you didn’t particularly like, and yet, he’d spend his free evenings tutoring you, explaining the things you failed to understand with patience and reward.

You used to like talking with him.

At one point he brought you comfort and joy. You couldn’t help but search for his crimson eyes within the crowds of Sumeru city, hoping to catch him before you’d head to your next class.

But everything comes to an end eventually, and when you finished your thesis you stopped visiting him.

You wonder, had your choices been different – had you kept visiting him – would you still be in bliss, unaware of those crimson eyes stalking you?

And despite everyone close to you either dying or getting hurt, he only lost his temper with you once.

It must’ve been a petty argument, you can’t remember what you two had been screaming about, but knowing him, it must’ve been related to your studies.

In the heat of the argument he grabbed you by your arms with enough force to make you fear him. His grip was strong, leaving you no place to escape until you’d finally admitted you were the one in the wrong.

Zandik does not feel any emotions – you know this. His eyes are always distant, thinking about something that’s probably incomprehensible to you. The only time he ever had emotion in his eye was during that argument. Almost like a light returning, if only for a split moment.

It had taken a full week for the bruises to fade away. Not that it mattered much, no one was able to see the bruises on you. Only a few hours after the argument, he made up his mind; he’d take you.

Whatever that light in his eyes was, it had been a clear sign. Somewhere along the way you had provoked him to kidnap you and take you away from everything you knew.  

You have a huge gap in your memories of that time. For you it felt like you woke up in a different nation after the argument with Dottore. When you first woke up and asked him about it, he calmly told you it was your punishment – or whatever that was supposed to mean.

He’d taken you from Sumeru all the way across different nations until he reached his destination in the frozen lands of Snezhnaya. On your first day there he told you his real identity and his affiliations with the Tsarista.

Even with that information, his motivations remained unclear. Confusion floods your mind at night when you lay next to his sleeping body. Why would he keep you by his side? Why does he insists on doing this? Is he toying with you?

You can only imagine him wanting you to lower your guard.

Not that he’d ever let you though.

As hard as it is to admit, He likes you. Your reactions make his heart beat faster and he wildly encourages you to do the craziest things.

A sick smile paints his face whenever you hurl objects at his face, probably entertained by your futile attempts to harm him. Furthermore, the way he condescendingly lures you into discussions only for him to explain why you’re in the wrong.

You hate him.

You really fucking hate him.

The door behind you is locked, you checked it moments before.

Is this another one of his lessons?

“You wanted to learn more about human anatomy, correct?”

Dottore’s voice is steady, never revealing any emotions to you. His eyes move up, watching your glare waver when you meet his crimson gaze. You continue to linger by the exit, despite it being locked.

“No.”

Your voice is weak. It breaks and the tone wavers. Dottore watches your eyes dart around the room. He had made it clear; there’s no exit, not without him granting you one.

And how he loves your wide eyes looking everywhere aside from the person he drugged and laid on an operation table. Your hands are in fists, occasionally clenching together before slightly relaxing again, undoubtedly clampy from the sweat. It’s precious. You’re anxious.

“For someone who is so passionate to study behaviour, you’re awfully weak at acknowledging your own.”

He’s mocks you.

You try to even your breaths, in- and out again. You’re uncertain what he’s trying to teach you. Yesterday he’d gotten a random set of organs for you to study. Today? The drugged man on the table, the tools laid out on a sterile table..

Fuck. You’re so fucked.

Dottore lifts up a pair of latex gloves. White, the same type he made you use yesterday.

His voice continues,

“Did you ever get the joy of participating in the lectures of the human brain? Or did I get you expelled before experiencing them?”

He keeps his relaxed smile but slightly tilts his face down, eyes taunting you to lash out at him.

Still, you reply with as much control as you can muster,

“Yes.” - the basics you know. “I experienced…the first few lectures.”

Your voice trails off as you watch him move around the operation table. He helps the person on the table upright before attaching him to a device, something to keep his head from moving around.

You try to stand your ground. Part of you wants to believe him. He always tells you, ‘You know I can’t hurt you, bunny’.  But what truths do his words hold when he failed that promise long ago?

“Did you know, in the third year or so,-“

You watch him circle around the table. His fingers move down towards the tools, he lifts up something connected to a wire. You can’t see what it is exactly, so you move your eyes back to him.

“They showed us a brain.” He laughs, “Of course not a ‘real’ one.”

He walks around the person, stopping at the end where his head lays. The male in on the operation table tries to move his head up, but the frame keeps his head restricted.

Dottore continues,

“The academia used ones that were preserved and taken from people who lived an average life. They all died at old age, but not before signing a contract to donate their bodies to science once their family had mourned them.”

He waves his hand towards the chair that is placed in the middle of the empty room. It’s facing the side of the operation table. Probably set up to get a clearer view of both the ‘patient’ and Dottore.

“Sit down.”

You gulp down hard. The room itself is big, but smaller than any others you’ve seen.

The manor he resides remains largely unused. By now you’re used to the piles of dust and the spiders that hide in the corners of each room.

When you first explored his home it looked abandoned. Untouched and deprived from anything ‘homey’. But after a week or so, familiar items started to pop up.

Books previously in your possession, ranging from children stories to the sappy romance ones you used as your little escape, they all found its way here. It created a weird sense of safety – and he probably planned it like that.

He had also obtained multiple portraits. There’s one in the grand hall that paints a way too accurate version of yourself next to Dottore, his arm encircled around your waist as you both smile forward.

You hate the paintings.

But the creepiest things he obtained is the collection of stuffed animals that you used to sleep with.

When you first work up in his manor you’d been tucked into a king sized bed with fluffy blankets, multiple pillows and the nostalgic plushies. Your new bedroom was designed like your old one. Similar and comfortable, but after a week he decided to put an end to that safety.

You can only assume he burned the stuffed animals along with the pictures of friends and family that’d long been replaced with his face.

Though, you wonder how he’d gotten them in the first place. Part of you was worried for your family. Had he been at your parents’ home? It couldn’t be, why would he go through all that effort…

The floor creaks as you move your legs forward to the chair. He keeps his gaze on your form, and you return his gaze fiercely. Any form of fear he’ll take as submission, leading to worse ‘lessons’.

Still, your thoughts are less controlled. Will he lunge forward when you sit down? What’s up with the operation setting? What will he gain from this? What’s todays lesson?

He gives you a small smile when you sit down onto the chair. It’s not close enough to the table for you to feel intimidated. You’re still three meters away from Dottore. You pull your legs together and try to pull your dress down more. You feel exposed in the empty room.

You can do this.

“Book.”

You panic for a second and he smirks before tauntingly pointing his index finger towards an item on the floor; the book.

It’s nearby, so you lean down and grab it.

You recognise it. It’s the same one you were studying before he kidnapped you.

You remember the first few chapters. It contains an introduction about the anatomy of the brain, dividing it in parts, telling the reader what each side does, and how the brain works when stimulated in certain circumstances.

You remember only diving deep into the functions of the frontal lobe. You fail to recall them now, you’re too stressed out.

Despite the stress, you’re able to figure out today’s lecture.

Dottore speaks up, “Lesson one,”

His red eyes watch you lift your chin up. Your eyes are wide and shaken. Your chest is heaving up and down as you start to hyperventilate. Dottore’s breaths in deeply and his pupils dilate.

‘Smart girl.’

He inhales sharply though his nose, “A human can undergo a conscious brain surgery. You know how it works, I assume?”

You part your lips slightly, horror in your eyes as you weakly shake your head.

The guy on the table is a male. Average in height and weight. He has no noticeable features and seems to be only a few years older than you. You can see his skull from your position. There’s a dotted line drawn across his forehead.

He’s going to exercise a conscious brain surgery.

“Dottore.” You breath out, eyebrows furrowed together. “Please.”

You only see the side of his face, but you get a clear view of the grin that breaks free.

“Don’t worry. He signed a waiver of agreement to make you feel more at ease.”

He flips on a button and the tool in his hand starts buzzing. You recognise it now, it’s a medical drill, something to cut bones with. When he moves it up to the patient’s skull and you quickly avert your gaze.

You feel bile starting to rise from your stomach and you gag in response. Your fists clench onto the book, trying to keep you grounded. You can hear Dottore’s voice, though the words don’t register in your brain.

Water pools onto your lower eyelid and you lift a hand up to your mouth keep yourself from puking. Your eyes are casted onto the ground. Each inhale though your nose physically hurts. The disgusting aftertaste of vomit remains in the back of your throat.

Is it too late to pray?

The buzzing sounds continue for longer than you like, and when it stops you remain in your position, frozen in place.

You focus on breathing. In, and out again. Your body is trembling and you jolt when you feel two hands place themselves onto your arms.

“Please,” Dottore’s face is only a few inches away from yours. Within his strong grip you’re at his mercy. He watches you struggle a few more seconds before he sternly tells you to quit it.

You let out a pathetic sob, leaning forward into his direction, letting your head fall down in defeat. Tears and snot run down your face. His hold on you is the only thing keeping you from tumbling down onto the ground.

“We will continue this until you’ve properly learnt your stupid biology. It’s up to you to decide how many people get to die. Understood?”

You shake your head weakly. “I can’t.”

He groans, “You must, and you will.”

He releases his grip on your arms. When your body falls forward he puts a hand on your sternum, pushing you back with ease.

His fingerprints burn onto your skin. The latex gloves are no longer sterile, you can feel the blood staining your dress and skin, but you doubt he cares.

Dottore watches as you slowly compose yourself. It takes a bit, but he remains silent.  

“There we go.” He removes the hand that’s been pushing you into the chair. “Wasn’t that hard was it?”

Your eyes remain fixed on the floor for a few more seconds. You listen to Dottore’s footsteps. He’s gone and you feel your body start to tremble again.

You don’t want this. You never wanted this.

Something tells you to look up.

You wish you didn’t.

The upper part of the man’s skull is removed. You have a clear view of the brain that’s been exposed to the air. The removal was done with precision, not a part of his brain is harmed.

A drop of blood floods down from the open part of his skull to his eyes. You watch the male groan weakly in response.

He’s still alive.

Dottore watches your body hit the ground before you vomit. You sob, whine and gag. Your small hands fly all over the place. One placed on the ground, trying to keep yourself from falling into the pool of vomit, while the other is busy wiping away the snot, vomit and tears that fall from your face.

A warm smile creeps up on Dottore’s face as he watches your intense reaction.

“Y/N.” He snaps his fingers once.

You stop your movements.

Are you going to die? Is he mad because you vomited? You lift a shaky hand up to your mouth.

His shoes come in view once again. His head is close to yours, he’s crouching down in front of you.

Time seems to stop as you gaze back into his crimson eyes.

“Hello?” He snaps his fingers in front of you.

You blink and you move your eyes back to the ground. The pool of vomit makes you sick again.

”S…sorry-“ You sob once more.

He rubs his fingers between his brow, a revelation hitting him.

With a somewhat sudden movement he stands up, frightening you and making you sob even harder.

You’re no sight to behold at the moment. Covered in vomit, tears and snot running down your face, and reeking of sweat.

He undoubtedly put himself in a less than favourable situation.

After today he’s going to have to deal with delays in your study and those nightmares that you get.

Whatever.

A small miscalculation on his part.

He takes off his white lab coat and throws it onto the male on the operation table, covering the exposed brain and likely injuring it in the process.

He has no intention to keep the patient.

The experiment had long lost his privilege to live.

Dottore’s experiment started to lose organ functions a few days ago. It’d eventually lead him to die without ever completing the tests Dottore put him under.

Truly unfortunate, but Dottore still gifted the dying man one last gift.

As Dottore turns his attention back to you he realises he might’ve fucked you up a bit though.

No worries.

He’ll patch you up again.

Tomorrow’s lesson can wait for now.

#❄️ winter: writes #tw: yandere #tw: dark themes #tw: graphic content #yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere dottore #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #harbinger x reader #genshin harbingers #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #fatui #dead dove do not eat

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Santa Comunione

Part II // Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Part I

Summary: Hannibal Lecter often does things just to see what happens… and seducing a holy woman is one of those things.

WC: 6.1k words

Overall Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, Corruption, Blasphemy (?), Religious Imagery, Italy arc (Rome instead of Florence), Canon divergence, Self-Harm, Some whump, Angst, Eventual smut, religious trauma (i think?), I’m not a religious expert btw tho i grew up Catholic, mentions of wounds and scars, Ofc Hannibal has a God complex, Vague Catholicism, reader is a nun lol, lmk if i missed anything!

----

“Like a lily among the thorns,

So is my darling among the maidens.”

-Song of Solomon 2:2

The note, just like all the others, had been neatly folded and tucked into a hiding spot you were sure to find. It had become like a game at that point, even if you always knew where to look.

This time, you found it right at the base of the statue of St. Teresa, near the petrified swish of her marble skirts. It seemed significant enough to make your heart skip a beat, especially given the message.

Though he never signed his name, you’d memorized his elegant penmanship, swooping and yet also contained in its preciseness. It made the words feel more powerful, somehow. You gingerly traced your fingers over them, as if hoping to find more pieces of him there.

At first, the notes were wholly platonic. Mostly verses that were meant to inspire in some way or another, but sometimes snippets of poems found their way in, too. 

Over time, they got slightly more daring, even if they were from the same source. You had always admired boldness, as he well knew. You could even imagine the sly upturn of his lips while you read them, over and over again. 

Had he suspected that a tingle would begin between your shoulder blades, quickly suppressed before becoming a full shiver? Or that heat would creep up your neck and flush your cheeks?

He wouldn’t be too far off.

Something tender had been blossoming within you, but instead of weeding it out, you found yourself… nurturing it. Succumbing to it, even.

Could something like that really be so terrible? It was certainly worth the pain of the aftermath.

You tucked the note into a hidden pocket in your shift,  biting your bottom lip to keep your excited grin under control.

On the days you received notes, he’d show up later in the evening to walk you home. You knew that as a doctor he led a busy life, but he always made time to see you at least twice a week.

You never asked what he was up to whenever he was absent, but sometimes you did wonder. Whenever you were together, though, you settled for simply enjoying every second of his company. 

You’d walk at a languorous pace, sometimes even braving to hold onto his arm, but that was the extent of your physical contact. Without counting the time he’d patched you up, of course.

Despite how things had progressed, he was still a gentleman.  He understood the importance of discretion as well as you, and that only made these rendezvous more exciting.

The last few hours of the day were torturous, especially since you kept glancing at the clock. Its slow, steady ticking seemed to mock you, so you tried distracting yourself as best as possible.

By closing time, your hands were trembling in anticipation. Still, you pretended to be busy wrapping up as you heard his patient footfalls cross the threshold. 

“Almost done,” you called over your shoulder, offering a covert smile that was reserved for only him.

You went to grab your belongings before quickly re-emerging, and he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”  he sighed, further driving his point across by drinking you in.

You averted your gaze demurely, guiding him out into the warm evening air. “Long day?”

“Longer than I care to admit, but suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter.”

This made you look up at him, and your eyes snagged on something uncharacteristic.

“It explains why you’ve not matched your tie and handkerchief today,” you pointed out teasingly. 

He let out an amused huff, offering you his arm. You threaded your hand into the crook of it without thinking, pressing just a little closer.

“There’s a reason for that, actually,” he said. “You happen to have the matching handkerchief.”

“Oh, I do, don’t I?” You mused, pretending to have forgotten about it, even if it was in your satchel at that very moment. “I apologize, it slipped my mind. I’ll get it to you next time we see each other.”

“Will you?” He tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow.

You pursed your lips for a moment, frowning.  Before you could pull away, he lightly pressed his arm against his side, effectively trapping your hand in place.

You let out an irritated huff, staring ahead.“So you think me a thief now?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. I was merely curious.”

“Seems like you feel that way about me most of the time.”

He studied your profile, still grinning. “Can I ask you an uncomfortable question?”

“Sure, why stop now?” 

“Are you clinging to this material possession because it’s a reminder of the kind gesture behind it?”

You thought about it for a moment, unsure of how to answer. The way he posed the question made you suspect he already knew it, but he wanted to hear what you would come up with. 

You opted for being honest, still feeling like you’d been caught red-handed.

“I suppose… It has brought me some comfort, the same way my rosary does. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your cheeks were ablaze under his amused scrutiny, but you still didn’t meet his eye.

“I was hoping it was something of that nature,” he said finally, arm relaxing.

You didn’t withdraw, but your pride made you remain obstinate. “Now I must insist on returning it as soon as possible.”

“If you’re so adamant… Why don’t you come to my apartment tomorrow? I’ll be around all day taking care of some things,” he offered. “Plus, I need to see how your back is progressing. Some privacy would be nice, don’t you think?”

You weighed the offer, both thrilled and terrified at how big of a step it would be. You definitely didn’t want the madre superiora to start asking questions about the checkups, so this was the only other option. 

Besides, you trusted him. He’d taken his time to earn it, despite your skittishness. With his gentle care, his steady patience, and his efforts to truly see you. The one hidden beneath layers of armor and biting remarks.

And so, the words left your mouth with little reluctance. “Yes, tomorrow works.”

——

It wasn’t until you were in front of the mahogany door, fist raised to knock, that you remembered missing a crucial part of that day’s meeting — setting up a time.

On the one hand, he did say he’d be home all day, but on the other… would he find it in poor taste that you showed up unannounced? Though to be fair, it’d be even more rude not to show up at all…

Before you let your thoughts spiral further, you decided to just suck it up and get it over with. After all, you didn’t really want to leave after making the trip all the way there.

At the first few knocks, the door creaked open slightly, but no one was behind it. You peered through the slit, only seeing the edges of a lavishly decorated living room. 

“Hannibal?” You called tentatively, pushing the door further open.

No response, just an eerie silence. 

You took a step inside, quickly glancing around. No one seemed to be around, and there were no signs of a break-in, which only confused you further.

You thought it might be best to leave his handkerchief along with a note explaining what happened, so you searched for a pen and paper in a nearby cabinet.

In an adjacent room, you could suddenly hear a light thud. It was quiet again for a moment, but then another thud followed, loud enough for you to confirm you weren’t imagining things.

Curiosity overrode your senses and you slid closer to the source of the sound. Just a little down the hallway, you were met with another half-open door — the bifold kind, made of wood and intricately etched glass.

Through a small gap, you could see just a fraction of what seemed to be Hannibal’s bedroom, with the aforementioned sitting at the edge of his bed. His back was to you as he gazed out the window, shoulders slightly hunched forward.

Without thinking, you started to reach for the door’s handle, but a new sound startled you — Labored breathing, interrupted only by a soft, needy whimper. 

You blinked, not daring to believe what you’d heard. It had to be a hallucination; A lustful dream. Perhaps your spirit had risen while you slept and wandered the darkness to find him.

But no, the chill that went through you was as real as day. Your entire body turned to stone as you registered the placement of his hand, and how it was moving at a slow, steady rhythm. 

Your first instinct should have been to turn away, make your presence known and wait in the safety of the other room. To fight against the siren’s lure of his voice in such a vulnerable, uninhibited state.

Instead, you covered your mouth with one hand, unable to tear your gaze away. A tingling sensation began in your extremities as another moan escaped him, followed by what seemed to be an obscenity in a language you did not know.

You shifted infinitesimally, trying to get a better look while remaining hidden. You gripped the doorframe with your free hand, fearing your legs would give out. 

Unbeknownst to you, Hannibal had smelled you as soon as you’d walked into the apartment — soap and incense and just a hint of rosewater. 

His grip on himself tightened as he noted the heady, unmistakable scent of your arousal. 

How he wished that he could bury his face at the source of it and get utterly lost in you;To feel his head cradled by your thighs while he showed you what real paradise was.

His breaths began coming out in short pants, his movements becoming more frantic and desperate. His hips rolled, too, bucking up to meet the movements of his hand as he chased his release.

You could only see part of his profile, his eyes closed and his mouth slack in mindless pleasure. His hips stuttered and he made a sound like a man agonized, weak to his carnal desires. A word that sounded suspiciously close to your name spilled from his lips as he climaxed, the image searing into your mind forever.

It continued to sing in your veins as you snapped back into reality. Your heart was pounding in your ears, so loud you feared it might give you away. 

Automatically, you extricated yourself away from the door and scurried back down the hall. In your haste, you failed to notice his handkerchief falling out of your pocket, right in the middle of the living room.

You shut the front door as quietly as you could, hoping no neighbors saw you making your escape. As you navigated through the streets back home, it all replayed in your mind over and over again, keeping you alight.

You kept your head down the entire way, avoiding eye contact at all costs, lest somebody see the fire in your gaze.

———

A week passed, and there was no word from him. You did not try to reach out to him, either, engulfed in an amalgamation of conflicting emotions.

Your days were spent trying to keep your mind blank, so you took on twice as many tasks. But whenever there was a lull between them, your thoughts would unerringly return to him.

Even in dreams, you were plagued by the memory of him. Most nights, you’d wake up with thighs slicked together, but you hadn’t done anything about the pulsating issue between your legs. You kept your windows open so that the nocturnal breeze might soothe your feverish skin, but it only helped marginally.

At mass, you wondered about the taste of him as you drank communion wine; The feel of his warm skin on your tongue as the wafer was placed upon it. 

You’d become a real heathen, it seemed. Or perhaps you never stopped being one, not even after years of donning the costume of innocence.

Your longing was so vivid that sometimes, the breeze felt like an echo of his touch. It caressed your skin coolly, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It was in those moments that it was easiest to close your eyes and let your mind drift. 

Your hand would wander, resting on your inner thigh — close enough, but still on the safe side. You could feel the heat emanating from your core, further enticing your fingers to inch closer.  Possibly the hardest test of your self-restraint, but you weren’t too sure it was making you any stronger. 

What made things worse, you hadn’t noticed the handkerchief’s disappearance until you’d made it back to the convent.  In a panicked frenzy, you’d retraced your steps looking for it, praying that it was somewhere on the road. 

But, just as you deserved,  your prayers hadn’t been answered.

You’d made it all the way back to his apartment, but this time, the door had been firmly shut. It made dread pool in your stomach, and his subsequent absence only exacerbated it. 

Was it really the end? You wouldn’t blame him if he never spoke to you again.

Still, you searched all the usual hiding spots for notes every day, but always came up empty. It felt like a spear through the heart each time, but you tried to bury it deep within.

Until one night, when your self-restraint was at its most fragile and you were trying to digest the idea you might not see him again, your resolve simply shattered.

Your fingers crossed into forbidden territory, and at the first tingle of pleasure, your movements became frantic and desperate. You surrendered to it, losing all other sense. It had been much too long since you had last done it, and all the times you had suppressed yourself had accumulated inside you. 

Once you’d started, it was hard to stop. At the same time, the release wasn’t delayed at all. In fact, it hit you hard and fast, but it did not seem like enough. If anything, it seemed to only whet that yawning appetite of yours even further. 

In the morning, you’d scrubbed your skin raw under a hot stream of water. You attempted to erase any sort of trace of the sins clinging to you, incensed by the fact that you didn’t even think it had been worth it – not at your own hands. 

But how could you ever confess to such a thing? You could barely even—

“May I see it? I’ll need you to take your shoes off so I can assess the damage, Sorella.”

You stopped in your tracks, petrified in the middle of the hallway. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, but it seemed surreal at that moment, especially drifting out of one of the other nun’s rooms. 

You spotted the madre superiora stepping out of said room, and you approached under the guise of benign curiosity. 

Peering into the room, you saw Hannibal kneeling next to the bed. One of his legs was propped up and the sorella carefully set her swollen ankle on his thigh. He examined it delicately, his fingers featherlight on her tender skin.

A sharp bitterness coated your throat and when you swallowed hard, you felt it spreading to your stomach. You tried to control your breathing, trying to keep your grip on your mask of concern.

“Everything okay, Francesca?” You asked her in Italian, keeping your eyes on her. “What happened?”

“Tripped and twisted my ankle,” she responded in the same language, grimacing as he moved her foot slightly to look at it from another angle.

He didn’t look up, but he was still keenly aware of your presence. He smelled the soap and the incriminating scent beneath it, which made him tense a little. 

The ghost of a smile barely made the corners of his lips twitch, but you weren’t sure if you were imagining things. You plastered on a sympathetic grin of your own.

“You’re in good hands, I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time,” you said through your teeth, and you thought you saw him glance through the corner of his eye at you.

“Grazie, Sorella.”

With a nod, you continued on your way, heading down to the kitchen. It was your turn to help with dinner prep, so you’d have some time alone while everyone else worked.

The old kitchen had stone walls and floors, which preserved coolness and provided relief from the heat outside. It was quiet and cozy, probably the best place for you to be in at that moment. 

You started a fire on the old stove and placed a large copper pot full of water atop it. You tried to let your thoughts slip away as you washed and peeled carrots and potatoes. All the years of training yourself to go into autopilot certainly helped, but that same bitter taste was still coating your insides. 

It was after a couple of minutes that you heard footsteps descending the stairs into the kitchen. You didn’t think much of it, staying focused on your task, but then you registered a tall figure stop at the threshold.

 “It seems that I missed you the other day,” you heard him say. “Regardless, thank you for the handkerchief.”

Your gaze snapped up to him, eyes wide and flickering with a primal sort of fear. For a moment you could only stare, caught like a deer in headlights. He only stared back, challenging.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, resuming your task, your grip all too strong. “Don’t you have a patient to attend to, Doctor?”

“I needed to get some ice for Sister Francesca’s foot,” he explained. “Though I am glad I can also check in with my favorite patient. I haven’t been able to see the progress of your wounds for some time now…”

You shrugged, petulant. “I’m in one piece, am I not?”

There was a momentary pause in which the tension was becoming more and more palpable.

He broke the silence. “I sense you’re upset with me about something.”

“I am not upset. Merely working, as are you.”

“I see… Well, would you mind showing me where I can get the ice, please?”

“Allow me,” you sighed. 

You set down what you were working on and stood up from the rickety wooden stool you sat on. Wordlessly, you had him hand you the small bowl he carried and slipped over to the freezer. You bent down a little to reach the ice, still silent as you filled up the bowl for him.

“Here you go, Doc—”

As you turned around, you nearly bumped right into him. You let out a startled gasp, given that you hadn’t even heard him approach behind you.  You took a small step back, nervously glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else was coming.

“Thank you kindly,” he said, taking the bowl back but not moving an inch otherwise.

His amber eyes held yours, incandescent once more with desire. You swallowed hard, a knot twisting in your stomach riotously. You clenched and unclenched your fists at your sides.

“Is that it?” You whispered.

He took a step closer and you backed up once more, your back pressing against the freezer. Your heart leaped to your throat — an appropriate response for a cornered lamb with almost nonexistent chances of escape.

“No, I don’t think I’m quite done here yet,” he responded, his voice equally low.

You shuddered. “What is this? What are these games you’re trying to play with me?”

He tilted his head in silent question.

“You know what I’m talking about. All along, you have charmed me. You have led me astray by the heartstrings and—and you have incited sinful ideas in my mind, tainting me!”

He had the gall to smile slyly, eyes narrowing slightly. “And how, pray tell, have I done that?”

You pursed your lips, having already spoken too much for your own liking. He smiled, a little too smug.

“No? You don’t wish to tell me?” He pressed. “I know why. You wouldn’t be able to deny that you hid behind my door, silent as a church mouse, and watched me during a most intimate moment?”

He leaned in closer, effectively looming over you. “You wouldn’t deny it, because you were taught lying is a sin.”

You let out a pitiful sound, something between a sharp exhale and a whimper. The two of you stood there in the charged silence, searching each other’s gazes. He reached down for your hand and slowly brought it up to his face, only closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

Then, you felt the gentle brush of his full lips against the pads of your fingers, kissing softly. You felt his tongue lightly trace your ring finger and sparks shot down your spine, threatening to make you spasm violently.

“Was this the hand you used when you thought of that moment?” He murmured.

You couldn’t react. You couldn’t move. You could barely even breathe. 

He pressed one more kiss on your hand before calmly letting it go at your side. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something and yet also unsure of what it should be. He understood all the same, seeing everything he needed to know written on your face. 

“Thank you again for the ice,” he said with a wink.

With that, he departed, leaving you still trying to pull your thoughts into order.

——

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her,

Bring her into the wilderness,

And speak kindly to her.”

-Hosea 2:14

His very first note. You’d read it over and over again. His words had always been clear,  but you’d willingly chosen to overlook their intentions and play along. 

It was easy to get away with it when it was that simple: just words on paper. The rest was merely skimming the surface, speaking around the things you actually wanted to say. Communicating subtly through gestures and lingering eye contact.

You looked up at the moon — only a sliver of light, like a winking eye. You felt like a live wire, muscles taut and a restless spirit. At that point, you didn’t think you could be subtle any longer… and you didn’t want to be, either. 

And so you ran in the cover of night, only a thick coat and a sleeping shift covering you. You felt, for the first time in a really long time, the wind tousling your hair. It felt strange being so exposed, but an almost frightening sense of freedom came along with it.  

What could this say about you? That all along you were beyond saving, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise? 

At least, you never pretended not to be easily swayed — At the first delicate word or piercing glance; The first stab of hunger, adoration, need. Easily malleable, body and soul.

You hurried up the steps of his apartment building, trying to keep the sound of your panting breaths to a minimum. Your fist connected with his door immediately, urgently, and you couldn’t even worry about what time it was or if you were being terribly impolite.

Then he opened the door, eyes wide and hair slightly disheveled. Next thing you knew, you were crashing into his arms, reaching up to bring his face to yours. You slid your lips over his in a searing, desperate kiss. Your knees buckled, but he held you up, pulling you closer.

His mouth eagerly captured your soft, dizzied whimpers, his tongue coaxing more of them.  He maneuvered the two of you past the threshold, closing the door behind you. 

You let your coat fall to the floor, one less unnecessary layer between you. You broke apart to catch your breath, his forehead leaning against yours. It took a moment for the two of you to register it wasn’t a dream, hands touching each other’s faces, necks, and shoulders; Solidifying together.

“Cara mia,”  he rasped, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “It has become unbearable, has it not? Trying to untangle the thorns of our affections?”

“Truly sacrilegious. Perhaps that torment was our punishment.”

“Only a cruel God creates pleasure but forces his creatures to abstain from it,” he said, his hands ghosting down your back.

His hot breath fanned over your lips, so close and yet so far. You planted a kiss on his enticing top lip, still holding his gaze, your eyes obsidian in the darkness of the room.

You’d let the serpent wrap tightly around you, hissing your darkest desires into your ear. Why, then, must you heed another God when you were becoming so devout to this one?

“Show me,” you breathed.

With careful, patient hands, he slid your night shift off your shoulders and down your arms. He kept his eyes on yours, anchoring you to the moment. The tips of his fingers traced little lines of fire on your skin. You wore no undergarments, so you were quickly bare for his appraisal, in complete contrast to his dressed form.

Almost unconsciously, you reached for the buttons of his pajama shirt. He stood absolutely still, letting you slowly uncover him as well. Once the last button was undone, you pushed it off, hands experimentally roaming over the expanse of his chest.

Then you were kissing him again, unable to help his gravitational pull. Your bare skin against his felt electric, and all you wanted to do was press even closer. He pulled you up into his arms and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to his bedroom, gently setting you down on the edge of the bed. 

He broke the kiss in order to turn his bedside lamp on, more than eager to get a better look. His eyes slid over the expanse of you, desirous to familiarize himself with every single inch. The intensity of it felt like he was already caressing you, but his hands were currently at his sides.

“There has never been a more beautiful sight,” he murmured reverently. “Not the rising sun or a saint’s statue. Not even Venus emerging from the sea.”

Heat crept up your neck and towards your face. You shifted, suddenly feeling a little prudish under his assessment. Old habits died hard, you supposed, but you wouldn’t let them overtake you. 

One of his hands made contact with your leg. He caressed up your calf and stopped at the knee, slowly pushing one leg apart from the other. You sighed softly, arching in a silent plea for more.

“Yeah?” He rasped, a feline sort of grin on his handsome face. 

Impatient, you reached for his hand, pulling him towards you. His lips found yours for a moment before moving to your jaw and down the slope of your throat.  

His hands roamed all over, mapping out every curve, every plane, every dip, and swell. You found yourself submitting amiably to the pleasure of his touch, beating down that guilt that had been forcibly rooted in you.

His mouth continued to trail downwards, teeth grazing the fleshiest parts. He delighted in your twitching and the hums of pleasure you tried to contain. Licking around your navel, he made your whole body shudder, hips bucking.

“H-Hannibal,” you gasped.

“You can tell me if you want me to stop at any point,” he said, looking up at you.

You nodded in understanding, urging him closer by pressing the heel of your foot against his back. He chuckled, kneeling on the floor by the bed and kissing your inner thigh with a fondness that melted you.

And when you felt his breath on your slick folds, you knew you were a lost cause. You wanted to arch again but he wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you even closer, his mouth sealing over your most sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream at the initial shock of pleasure, eyes wide as saucers. Oh, you’d forgotten what ecstasy a skilled tongue could bring, but never before had you experienced one quite like his.

He was voracious but unhurried, tongue lapping at you with gusto. You trembled underneath him, burying your hands in his hair, holding on for dear life, and yet also not wanting him to pull away.

At first, your moans were restrained, kept behind your bitten lip. He knew you were holding back, trying to keep yourself away from the edge, and he simply couldn’t allow that.

“You taste divine,” he rasped, looking up at you. “I could sup on you for days.”

Your eyes met his for a moment before you quickly looked away, blushing deeply once more. You covered your face with one hand, embarrassed at being so wanton, so obscenely disheveled in his presence.

“Why do you hide, Tesoro?” He purred. “Are you afraid of showing me just how much you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I—” 

But before you could utter another word,  his tongue dipped into your cunt, his nose slightly brushing against your sensitive clit. A loud moan escaped you at that, and he groaned along with you. 

“That’s more like it,” he pulled away for a moment to give you a sly grin before diving back in.

“Hannibal, please, I don’t think I can…” Your panting words faded into a sharp exhale as he found your sweet spot. 

He was relentless now, strategically targeting the spots he discovered made you react more.

You squirmed at the lewd sounds your body made as he ravished you, but more and more you were lost in that blissful haze. The muscles of your abdomen tightened and you felt yourself steadily climbing to the peak of your pleasure.

As you got closer, you began to chase it with wild abandon, bucking your hips and grinding against his face — a much better replacement for your own hand. Your moans and hitching breaths were music to his ears, and the sight of you coming utterly undone for him forever seared in his mind.

You rode out waves of unadulterated euphoria, feeling it all over your being like licking flames. He’d only been the kerosene to that spark that had been growing inside you, and it wouldn’t be so simple to extinguish.

As you lay there in the aftermath, still panting from the intensity of it all, he kissed his way back up your body. You tasted yourself on his lips, growing ravenous at the mere thought of the communion of your beings. 

“I need you,” you whispered. “I need all of you.”

“I’m yours for the taking,” he said earnestly, like a vow that he’d never break. “How do you want me?”

“Just like this,” you said with a rising fever, bringing your knees to his hips. “I want to forget where you end and I begin.”

The words seemed to unleash something within him, a sort of primal response that flickered in his amber gaze. He claimed your mouth once more as if intent on consuming you completely. His body was firmly pressed to yours, his weight a welcomed comfort. Then, you felt him push into you ever so slowly, the stretch both foreign and yet also familiar;  Something you recalled from eons past, but never like this. 

A lot of things felt new with him, completely reawakening you in ways you’d never thought possible. You gasped into his kiss, clawing at his back as he fully sank in. His pace was slow at first, savoring the closeness, pelvis grinding against yours. He was intoxicated with your warmth, your smell, your taste. Driven wild by it, even. 

You responded with equal fervor, the two of you intent on marking each other in any way you could. Completely surrendering to just physical sensations, a mindless sort of ecstatic violence. The wolf’s arrival to its most anticipated devouring. 

Soon you were pleading with him for more, to go faster, harder. He obeyed your every command seamlessly as if already understanding what your body needed. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive flesh of your neck, teeth and tongue on your pulsating artery. 

You fell apart under him once more, face twisted in rapturous agony, his name on your lips. But that didn’t stop either of you, too frenzied from all the longing, all the time you had to restrain yourselves. It was a marvel, really, that you had held off for as long as you did. 

He rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as you gyrated them, head thrown back in ecstasy. He let you set your own pace like that, content with watching you continue to unravel atop him.

The rest of the night was like an opium dream, stretching infinitely and intensely. No corner of the bed was left untouched, your bodies twisting and bending and colliding in all sorts of positions.

Not once did you extricate yourself from one another, not even as exhaustion overtook you, plunging you into the best sleep you’d ever had. 

———

Rolling green hills and vast plains sped past the window beside you, a few farmhouses and groups of cows scattered between. The metallic shuddering of the train dimly filled your ears, accompanied by soft conversations. Your mind was far away, beyond the idyllic visage unfurling before you.

It was the first time you’d ever been outside of Italy. It was a drastic change, one that was a  little frightening, but a welcome one, too. So far, the French countryside was an appealing mystery that you wanted to uncover, and you had all the time in the world.

Your eyes then focused on your faint reflection in the window, not recognizing yourself for a moment. You were still getting used to wearing regular clothes again, especially when you showed more than you used to, even if it was all still modest. Your eyes seemed clearer, more alive, and the dark crescents underneath them were slowly disappearing.

Guilt still reared its’ ugly head from time to time, twisting your stomach into knots. But it was losing some of its viciousness, and you had help escaping spiraling thoughts and physical punishments. You’d been healing nicely, or at least you were in the process of it, anyway.

You felt Hannibal’s finger tracing down your bare arm, and you looked away from the window to face him. He smiled as your eyes met, noticing how you almost instinctively leaned closer to him. You brought your hand to his, and he looked down at the golden band around your finger. 

“What are you thinking of, Cuore mio?” He asked, voice low and intimate. 

His tone made you think of the way he’d recited his vows to you on that late night under the stars, when the two of you decided you could never be parted; Something only for you to share, no one to prove your love to. 

“How everything seems so endless now, stretching farther than I ever could’ve fathomed,” you said, looking around you. “Nothing seems contained. I can no longer see the edges. Does that sound absurd?”

He kissed your hand, smile widening. “No, not absurd. At our crossroads, a new path made itself clear to me. There is no end in sight, but I intend to follow through.”

The truth was you could scarcely see the division between the two of you; Blurred in such a way that it was like living through each other. You felt him sitting amidst the pews of your ribcage, listening to the hymns of your heart. Your flesh was his flesh, your breath his own. 

And even stranger… it felt a little too much like freedom, which he had presented to you on a silver platter.

You leaned in and kissed him softly, almost chastely. When it came down to it, you liked to savor him slowly, letting the anticipation build over time. The look in your eyes was adoring, but there was also that feverish glint that he’d come to recognize. 

“How long until we’re there?” you murmured. 

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve become quite insatiable, haven’t you?”

“Can you blame a poor sinner like me?”

The tip of his nose grazed yours. “Not when I am so keen on indulging you.”

The announcer’s voice came on over the intercom, listing the remaining stations. You recognized the name of your destination, at the very end of the train’s line. You rested your head on his shoulder as the two of you continued to gaze out of the window, savoring the beginnings of your new life together.

The sun continued its slow trail across the sky, its rays lengthening and bathing everything in golden light. In your eyes, this was the real Paradise, the place you’d been searching for most of your life. 

And it was even more beautiful than you had ever envisioned.

---

#hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter x fem!reader #minors dni

[rosella-writes]

and here's the thing, I was looking at the prompt list and I was like but what if. what if I also sent one for Loghain & Tabris uwu

❛ you’re not getting rid of me that easily.❜

>:] thank you beloved. For @dadrunkwriting

Rating: T Words: 617

~~~

The Warden was naught but a girl, but she carried a familiar sense of indignant rage — it did not help matters that she still wore her hair in two braids, pinned at the nape of her neck, as the ladies in Denerim did. The rage — and the blonde wisps of hair coming free of her plaits — was as familiar to Loghain as the back of his own hand. 

But he blinked, and the remembrance of his own daughter was gone. 

Rosalie Tabris still paced before the fire. She had not removed the armour she’d met Riordan in, and it was stained with an echo of blood in its seams from her encounter with Loghain’s second in command. Loghain doubted that the rusty red would ever come out. 

“You heard the man,” Loghain grumbled. He turned his gaze towards the hilt of his sword, and picked at the leather wrapping it until it swung from his hip. “He plans to take the fall, but if he fails —”

“He won’t fail,” Rosalie snapped. 

“If he fails,” Loghain repeated, and he heard the same tone in his voice as he’d used in conference with Cailan, “we must be prepared. It must be one of us. Better that I make the final blow, if I am to be any further use to Ferelden.”

The fire crackled on the grate. Rosalie’s pacing resumed, and her boots clicked on the stones. “I could leave you at the gate. Guard my retreat, prevent them from following and cutting us off. That’s how your mind works, right? You’ve got it full of military strategies and —”

“No,” Loghain sighed. 

Rosalie halted in her tracks and glared at him through lividly gold elfin eyes that reflected the fire near her feet. “You’ll do as I say.”

He felt a sad smile crease his craggy face. “You will not be rid of me so easily.”

Rosalie’s jaw tightened. Her ears flicked back, one at a time, with the force of her anger.

“We will remain at one another’s backs,” he insisted. “I am surprised at you. You should know better than to give me a chance to repeat the same tactic I used at Ostagar.”

Her expression did not change, but the droop of her ears still betrayed her. “I had hoped,” she finally grumbled, “that you would, in fact, quit this particular field. It would be utter folly to kill off all Fereldan Wardens in one fell swoop.”

Loghain shook his head tiredly — his braids brushed his shoulders with the motion. He closed the distance between himself and the Warden with a few loping strides, then took up her hand with awkward hesitance. She turned that hand into a fist between his palms, but she did not jerk it away. 

“Against all odds,” he muttered, “I have grown fond of you. You are a better friend than I ever thought to find, and all despite the harm I have done to you and your family. Let me give you this.”

Rosalie’s glare was scorching, but her eyes were no longer hard mirrors of flame. They instead were oddly glossy and wet as they stared up at him from beneath furrowed brows. He gave her hand a quick shake of emphasis as he went on. 

“Think of your bard. Think of the flowers you have yet to give her. Think of the songs she has yet to sing to you. I would not deprive you of them, not when I have so little life of my own worth living.”

Rosalie finally lowered her gaze and clenched her eyes shut — two tracks of tears fell down her cheeks, cutting through the dust upon them like rivulets of melting snow.

#rosalie tabris #loghain mac tir #my writing #dadwc #dao

[rosielou94]

Hii, maybe some imagine for Dwight Manfredi?

Hi :) I hope the below is ok for you. I've imagined what it would be like to go on a first date with Dwight.

I really enjoyed writing this so thank you so much for the suggestion! Please let me know if you'd like me to write more :) I feel like this man is vastly underrated and it's a crime!

Warnings: none, just fluff and Dwight being a teddy bear, a kiss at the end, possibly some allusion to something smutty at the end...

A/N: I had way too much fun writing this. I've also based the title on the Etta James song, because it's my favourite song in the whole world and I feel like Dwight would enjoy listening to her music.

At Last - First Date: Dwight Manfredi x Fem!Reader

Dwight arrives at 7pm on the dot; the exact time he said he’d pick you up from your apartment. You answer the door, taking in his tall, muscular, broad frame. He has a new light grey suit on, the crisp fabric a beautiful contrast to his tanned skin and deep brown eyes. His grey hair is lightly gelled, and the smell of his expensive woody cologne makes your head spin. You’d always thought Dwight was good looking, but seeing him standing in your doorway, a bouquet of freshly cut flowers clutched in his thick, calloused hands, your breath is taken away.

You head out into the Tulsa summer evening, smiling as Dwight holds open the passenger side door of his car for you. Soft 60’s soul is playing on the radio, and the car smells of clean leather and pine scented air freshener (courtesy of Tyson, who'd had the car valeted especially). You can tell Dwight is nervous as he starts the engine, making small talk about traffic and the hot weather. “Its, uh, it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he smiles sheepishly, his silhouette outlined by the burnt orange of the setting sun. “You’re doing great so far.” You return his smile and lightly touch his arm.   “Oh yeah?” His hand moves to your lap to find yours, gently giving it a squeeze. A delicious bolt of excited electricity fizzes through you at his touch. He holds your hand as he drives, the gesture appearing to put him at ease.

When you arrive at the restaurant, Dwight pulls out your chair and you sit, smiling at the chivalry and tenderness of such a small, but meaningful gesture. He sits opposite, reaching for your hand across the table. You stay like this as you peruse the menu, his thumb tracing delicate circles across your skin. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he says, his eyes full of affection as they take you in. The waiter comes to take your order, and Dwight orders a bottle of wine. You clink your glasses together and take a sip, the sweet, bold flavours coating your tongue.

You chat for hours as you sip wine, and eat the most delicious meal you’ve ever had. Dwight tells you about his past in New York, regaling you with stories of his time managing bars and clubs in Brooklyn. He makes you laugh, harder than you ever think you’ve laughed before. he asks you about yourself, you family and your hobbies. In this moment, you’re his entire world. Nothing else matters to him and he could never grow tired of listening to you, of watching the way your cheeks dimple as you smile, the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about your passions. In all his life, Dwight is sure he’s never seen anything as beautiful as you.

You’re the last two diners to leave the restaurant, only doing so because you see the waiters closing up around you, eager to be heading home. You could have stayed there all night. As you step outside, the temperature has dropped and you shiver involuntarily. Dwight takes off his suit jacket, draping it carefully around your shoulders. You smile, grateful for the warmth, the smell of him enveloping you in a delicious haze of cologne, wine and soap. He opens the car door for you, and you let your hand graze against his as you slide into the seat, feeling him shiver against your touch. Your eyes meet, and you smile, in awe of how unsure this usually unwavering man appears; did he want to kiss you? You definitely wanted to kiss him, but you wanted to make sure you hadn’t read the signals wrong, in case you ended up embarrassing yourself.

The journey home seems to take no time at all. You pray that you hit every red light on the road, so you can spend just a little more time in Dwight’s company. “At Last” by Etta James in playing on the radio, and you can’t help but think how perfectly the words fit. You’ve waited your whole life for a man light Dwight, and now he’s less than 2 feet away from you. His hand finds yours in the darkness of the car, and you squeeze it, hoping the gesture will show Dwight how much you’ve enjoyed yourself tonight.

You pull up outside your apartment, and Dwight turns the car off. “I had a great time,” he said, “thank you.” “Thank you,” you smiled, “I’d love to it again sometime.” You both exit the car, and stand silently on the sidewalk, neither of you wanting to end things here, but neither of you wanting to appear too forward. “Well,” Dwight said, “I should get b-“ “Kiss me, Dwight,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence and surprising yourself at how bold you’re being. Dwight doesn’t need telling twice. His large hands softly cup your cheeks, his eyes staring into yours with such sweetness, such tenderness that you think your heart might explode. “I’ve not done this for 25 years,” he whispers, his nerves evident in his slightly shaking voice. “It’s ok, I’ll teach you.” You laugh softly as his lips meet yours. The kiss is gentle at first, as your wrap your arms around his neck, snaking your hands into his thick grey hair. Dwight sighs quietly against your lips, pulling you in to his chest. You can feel his broad, taut muscles straining against his shirt and suddenly you’re desperate to have him back in your apartment. “Come upstairs?” you breath, gasping as Dwight's hands drift down from your cheeks, across your neck, collarbone and lightly over your breasts. “If you’re sure,” he said, his voice hoarse with longing. “I wouldn’t want to impose.” “You could never,” you smile, taking Dwight by the hand and leading him up the stairs to your home.  

#tulsa king #dwight manfredi #dwight manfredi x reader #imagine #headcanon #tulsa king fanfic #sylvester stallone #first date #silver fox

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

La Moldau

From Control - Full Story in Progress on AO3!

Ghost x Reader x Soap, previous Graves x Reader from last chapters Summary: It's your first real mission with 141. While Soap seems more than willing to accept you as part of the team, Ghost appears to feel the opposite. But you wouldn't be here if you weren't persistent.

Word Count: 3k Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Bickering, Teasing, Jealousy, Slow Burn, Innocent Flirting, Bratty/Flirty Reader

Part One | Two | Three Masterlist

A/N: More Ghost x Reader x Soap. I’m building it up more, really leaning into the slow burn. I was hoping to make Ghost x Reader feel more like a sarcastic bickering coworkers to slowly growing feelings (which will be later) kind of thing, and the Soap x Reader more innocent, as I think Soap in the new MW is a little bean. I also wanted to have tiny hints of Graves x Reader from past chapters (which more will come in later as well). I just want to feed everyone. Please enjoy~

...

Chapter Four - La Moldau

The treeline disappears into the dark horizon, its foreground blending seamlessly with the star-painted sky. The sound of the helo's propellers whip violently above ground, as a sea of black trees stretch below. It speeds by like an ocean of dark wood and dirt. Endless. The moon looks larger this far into the East, even halved; uncharacteristically beautiful, given current events.

Helicopters rumble like dragons in the quiet air. Your helo tore through the night sky, roaring along with the twisting winds. You sit inside, strapped in with the other six men on this mission with you. Each sat silently, dressed completely in dark greys and blacks, clutching their rifles close to their chest.

A red bulb illuminates the interior. Reality feels far gone with its presence.

Your eyes jump back and forth between your boots and the metal ceiling above you, tapping your finger on your knee impatiently. The way the seats were arranged, you were sandwiched between two men, while three more sat adjacent to you. And as luck would have it, your new "battle buddy" sat directly in front of you, with legs so long they nearly met yours. Every time your eyes pass by, you’d see him looking straight in your direction. Whether that was because he had limited options to look somewhere else, or was merely choosing to look at you, was a question for the ages. 

At this point, you’ve just grown used to it.

"Approaching the LZ in five."

Right. You take a deep breath and straighten up in your seat. In a few short minutes you needed to flip the switch and go into survival mode, as things would soon become a matter of life or death. Your new charge for the next couple of hours. You were happy with only having to worry about not dying. It was surprisingly less stressful than having to think about everything else.

“Alright, we’re gettin’ close now,” Graves speaks to the group. He’d been notably quiet the entire flight. “Team Zulu, you’re out first. Once you offload, find a spot near the target location and sit tight ‘til you’ve got the signal from us to infiltrate the compound. You shouldn’t face any resistance on your route there, but if you do run into trouble, do what you must. Just leave no witnesses. That clear?”

“Clear,” Ghost says.

“Crystal, Commander,” you say.

“I’ll buy us all drinks once this is over,” Graves says. “Now, let’s get this done, yeah?”

You all let out an affirming cheer.

The helicopter sways left and right, pushing everyone deeper into their seats. You start to whistle a tune to yourself. A little song. You found it therapeutic to think of music before a mission; it helps you to focus your mind. You made sure not to be obnoxiously loud, using the rumble of the helo to mostly cover it. Concentrating on the rhythm of your jingle. Despite the noise, it seemed those next to you could still pick out the melody.

"What song is that?" Soap asked you suddenly. You'd almost forgot he was seated beside you, were it not for the fact you'd feel his large frame brush against you each time the helo took a sharp turn. Unintentionally bumping arms and thighs. Each time he did, you felt him awkwardly readjust himself, deliberately pretending that it hadn't happened. It was rather adorable. 

You turn to answer him, raising your voice over the loud roaring.

"It’s The Smiths."

"The what?" he asks again. 

You yell louder. "The Smiths!"

"The Smiths?"

"Yeah," you say. "Have you heard of them?"

"No."

"Really?" You sound pleasantly surprised. "I'll have to show you them after this."

Soap lifts a fist up for you to dap. "Deal."

You smile and dap him back.

You liked Soap, so far at least. He seemed to be the only man here open to conversing, besides Graves. Though even your commander didn’t talk much once the missions were underway. Not as much as Soap did. He seemed down for a good conversation regardless of the occasion, and that’s something you could see you two had in common already. You only thanked God you weren’t alone anymore.

Good thing the lights in here were red too. You didn't have an answer if any of them asked you why you'd started blushing after the Sergeant smiled at you. Though that hint of red left your cheeks when you’d caught Graves looking. 

The commander seemed less than interested in your conversation with the Task Force member, hiding it behind an empty expression. Though his eyes told on him. You give the man a reassuring smile, which only seems to make him look away, before you look down at your own lap.

Why did it feel weird all of a sudden to see him looking?

Soap suddenly looks to his lieutenant, who'd been silently listening in on your conversation from across the helo. He looks to the Sergeant with sunken eyes, already prepping for whatever it was the man had to say. 

"You ever heard of the Smiths, L.T.?"

"Who hasn't."

You can't help but gasp. "I'm surprised you listen to music, Ghost."

"I enjoy a good tune from time to time," he said plainly.

This was news. Yet, at the same time you could see it. Did he seem like someone who'd derive enjoyment from the more peaceful things life had to offer? Something told you he'd probably fancy something simple like window shopping, or day napping. Something in total contrast to his frightening nature. The mind wanders.

"Any songs in particular?"

"Quite a few."

"Like?"

"A lot."

Smartass. You could be too.

"I've never heard of them before," you say sarcastically. “Are they new?”

"A real up and comer," he says back, his sarcasm dry and deadpan.

"Fine, be that way," you say. "I'll get it out of you some day."

"Don't hold your breath."

"Don't tempt me, lieutenant."

Oh he knew how to push your buttons. He talked in circles, keeping you on the outs purposefully. Blatantly. It made it hard to get a read on him. Though you had plenty of time to work on things. You were a patient girl, and the man was like a big, beautiful jigsaw puzzle.

You suddenly hear whistling next to you. A familiar song. You look over and to your amusement, you see Soap has started to whistle himself now. You can't help but smile, feeling a girlish excitement bubble in you from the thought of him joining in.

You take a guess.

"Pink Floyd?"

Soap stops and grins. "Right you are."

You grin proudly.

"Now you see why I call her Songbird," Graves cuts in. You look at him to see a warm look in his eyes. Uncharacteristic, but welcome, all the same. A smile that you always loved to see on him. No matter the interactions, there wasn't a moment you weren’t aware of his presence. You reciprocate with a smile.

"Approaching the LZ.”

The helicopter lands in a small open patch within the middle of the woods, the grass swishing wildly against the wind of the propellers. The doors to the helo are let down, providing a ramp to the outside world. You see the trees surrounding you like soaring black walls. An unsettling feeling washes over you.

“Alright Team Zulu, you’re up!” Graves calls.

You stand, hugging your rifle to your chest as you make your way down the short aisle, Ghost following close behind. As you make your way off, you hear Graves call to the lieutenant suddenly.

“Keep her safe for me, will you?”

His words turn your attention back to him. Perhaps too obvious of a gesture, though when you look you find him already gazing your way, expression weighted with genuine solicitude. You haven’t seen that look before, yet deep down you shared it. That similar pang in each other’s stomachs. Uncertainty.

Ghost answers Graves, gruffly; you're not sure if he’s picked up on the undertones or if he’s simply just answering a question he’d been asked by his superior.

“She’s in good hands, Commander.”

Hearing Ghost say so was more comforting than you would have thought. Still, It felt strange not working alongside Graves.

“I’m a big girl, Commander,” you say to him. “There's nothing you need to worry about. Plus, you’ve got me all excited for those drinks later.”

“The offer still stands, Songbird.”

You give the commander a parting wave and step off the helo.

You two tread the tall grass, the wind from the propellers blowing loose bits from your bunned hair out in a swirl. Once Ghost steps off next to you, you switch on your night vision goggles. That green tint hits your vision, and you’re made well aware of the deep woods which stretch around you. The tall trees box you in like an empty room. You feel the helicopter pick itself up from the ground, riding away until it could no longer be heard. Its roaring noises were replaced by a heavy silence -- wind needling through the branches, owls hoo -- the natural ambience is restored.

This is where your mission truly begins.

“Let’s move.” Ghost signaled for you to follow him, as you traversed deeper into the woods. 

Without your night vision, it would be pitch black. Though even with them, the darkness of the woods still felt rather intimidating, to say the least. Neither one of you spoke a word, listening for whatever sounds you could hear on your route to the facility. So far the woods appeared empty, though that did little to comfort you. You kept your rifle tight in your hands, finger hovering over the trigger. Your breathing was tight and focused, your eyes wired on your surroundings. Even without any shooting, the adrenaline you felt right now was like nothing you could really describe or feel anywhere else.

You walked further in now. The destination didn’t seem any closer than it did three minutes ago, though right now the passage of time felt all but imaginary. You watch Ghost lead you forward, taking long steps so quiet that you’re sure you’d lose him out here if you didn’t keep him in your sights. The man really was a Ghost. He never looks back at you either, keeping his eyes forward, and gun ready to fire if needed. 

He was in his zone; there’d be no breaking him from that.

Not until he breaks it himself.

“Watch for cougars,” Ghost warned casually. The first thing he’s said to you since you’ve started walking. A wonderful new thing you needed to think about while you were out here. “They’re known to stalk," he says.

You say so sarcastically, “Thanks for the tip."

“It’s what I’m here for,” Ghost quipped.

“Oh,” you tease. "I thought they only had you out here for eye candy.”

"In this case it’s both.”

It’s the fact that he says the things with such a lack of expression that really speaks to you.

The trees begin to part way, until you two approach a tall cliffside overlooking a few more miles of woods. Centered in the middle was a large compound, completely fenced with three separate gates. The lights from the buildings below shine like a beacon in the dark. Once near the edge, you both use the scopes on your rifles to take a closer look at what you’re dealing with on the ground level.

Two guards watch the East gate into the compound. No patrols, no heavy vehicles. Scarce amounts of men walk the perimeter, though the few that do are well armed. Those closer to the buildings don’t linger, either quickly exiting or entering the buildings. Eventually your scope stops on a one story building towards the center of the compound. Composed with concrete, it has all sorts of wires and power boxes littering the walls, including a small satellite dish stuck out atop the roof.

“I’ve got eyes on Site Delta,” you say to Ghost.

Ghost keeps his eyes on the compound, reaching for his comms. “Shadow-1 this is Ghost. How copy?”

“This is Shadow-1, I read you,” Graves says over the mics.

“We’ve reached the East end of the compound, we're standing by on a nearby cliffside. Got a pretty good view of the place.”

“How’s it looking?” the commander asks.

“They’re down to a skeleton crew,” the lieutenant answers. “Any more men are inside the buildings.”

“Copy that, L.T. We’re about four clicks from our dropoff area. Stand-by for now ‘til we give word for you to move in. Expect a signal in fifteen minutes sharp.”

“The signal better be loud,” you joke into the mic. You couldn’t help it.

“You know how I like it, Songbird.”

You most certainly did.

“Rog’,” the lieutenant cuts in. “Out here.”

The comms shut off, and the silence is brought to the forefront once more. The two of you take post on the ridge of the cliffside, lying beside a long rock which made for good cover. Ghost took position next to you, though he kept a notable amount of space between you two. Both your rifles rest on the rock, continuing to keep watch on the compound below.

You observed the compound curiously, taking multiple mental notes. The longer you watch the place, the more you start to think there might not be anything down there. Too few guards. Unless they were really good at keeping a low profile, it just didn’t make sense to have so little men guarding the place if they had anything worth a damn in there. 

“What do you think we’ll find down there?” you ask.

Ghost takes a second to respond. “Intel.”

You’re not sure what you expected.

"Intel on what though."

"That's what we're here to find out," he said bluntly. "Have you forgotten the briefing already?"

At this point he was being this way on purpose. You don't reply. Only for a second. Before another question pulls out of you. It’s a dumb question, but you’ve got time to burn, and you found the lieutenant fun to poke at.

“You think we’re alone out here?” 

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Do you always not answer them?”

“Only yours.”

“So that one you answer.”

“You catch on quick.”

You pout to yourself, thankful that he was too busy looking through his scope to see you acting rather childishly. It's become instinctive. 

Sometimes it felt all you could be was playful and teasing. You've seen the power in playing the flirt. In that role, there's control. Any other and you risked being walked all over, taken advantage of, or simply ignored. You wouldn’t be here if you were meek, and no one recognized you outside of your delicately crafted façade. Playing the extravert meant others grew used to you this way. 

And when people get comfortable, they make mistakes. Pieces slip out. 

SNAP!

A twig somewhere a few yards into the surrounding woods breaks. You and Ghost both instinctively turn to the source of the sound, aiming your rifles. Neither speak, becoming one with your environment, as you both listen closely. Leaves blow in the wind, distant sounds from the compound behind you continue. The seconds creep by and not another sound is heard.

“We may have found an answer to one of your questions, lieutenant,” Ghost said suddenly.

“Let’s hope it’s not a cougar,” you say.

“Agreed.”

Some levity returned between you. You lower your rifle, turning your attention back to the compound once you’ve deducted that nothing is coming. You don’t look, but you hear Ghost do the same, listening to his rifle settle against the cold rock, as he sighs to himself.

It isn't until you take a glance up when you notice the sky once more. You’re taken away by it. From the cliffside, the stars shine at their brightest, visible without all the tall tree branches obstructing your view. The tiny white specks above you shine like spilt glitter. The air is cool this high above, clear, sifting through your lungs as smooth as a cold glass of water.

You look above yourself in awe. Who’s to say when you’ll see something like this again.

“It’s quite beautiful out tonight,” you say.

“Good for a walk.”

"Mm," you sigh. “You like going on walks, lieutenant?”

Ghost is quiet. 

Maybe you do ask a lot of questions. Embarrassment washes over you suddenly, and you let your mind run for a second, as you let the first thought that surfaces leave your mouth. “I'm sorry.”

More seconds of silence pass, and you’re prepared to brush this under the rug. But then you hear Ghost speak.

“Walks can be nice. On occasion.”

You’re not sure why he replied to you. Maybe he felt bad. But he did answer your question this time. You look over to him, seeing his profile, white mask glinting in the moonlight. He’s as still as a statue and as cold as winter, but you knew if you spoke now he was indeed listening.

That was a good sign.

“Canary, this is Shadow-1, do you copy?”

Right on cue.

“Shadow-1, this is Canary. I read you.”

“We’ve landed at the LZ. Preparing to launch the signal. Be ready.”

“Copy that.”

You two look through your scopes back down at the compound, waiting for this supposed signal. They’d only said it would be a distraction in the briefing room, though you were reluctant to see what that distraction would be.

"Time to prove your worth, Canary."

Ghost's voice came out of nowhere. You look over to him, seeing the man continuing to keep his eyes forward, acting like he hadn't just said that to you. You make sure to scoff loud enough for him to hear.

"Try and keep up, lieutenant."

"Should be easy enough."

This guy.

"You don't like me much, do you Ghost?"

"I don't dislike you."

So he was feeling your banter. You can't help but smirk to yourself, when you’re eyes are suddenly pulled away by a distant flash.

BOOM!

Right then, you see a small explosion near the front of the compound.

The signal.

...Chapter Five Here!

#call of duty modern warfare ii #call of duty #mwii #mw2 #mw2022 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #modern warfare #modern warfare ii #Spotify #control

[theold-ultraviolence]

Turbo Lover

Eddie Munson x fem!reader // 18 + MINORS DNI

Summary: Flicking through the pages of Heavy Metal magazine on a Friday after school, Eddie suggests you try something based on an illustration of one of the fantasy stories on the issue, featuring a woman in an iron bikini and a strap-on. // CW: anal fingering, rimming, oral (m) receiving, pegging, super soft femdom (?), light dub/sub dynamics, clothed female naked male // words: 3.5K

A/N: besties, you don't know how long I've had this idea dancing around in my head and I was finally able to get it out of my system. Title comes from the song 'Turbo Lover' by Judas Priest!

“You’d look so hot with one of those, babe.” Eddie murmurs nonchalantly against your shoulder, totally unfazed about the way your eyes bulge out in surprise. 

You snort and think he must be under some kind of spell because of the afternoon heat, but his smile is both impish and entirely genuine, and the way his big eyes twinkle is not just the product of the sunlight reflecting on his irises, as you’re sitting side by side, leaning against a tree trunk out on Lover’s Lake. 

“No way…” 

“Way!” He sits up, resting his head on your shoulder. It’s Friday and you’re unwinding after school under the perennial sunset, with a heap of snacks, an ice cold 6-pack and the latest edition of Heavy Metal magazine, which is one of Eddie’s favorite reads along with Fangoria. While both centered around music, the former featured fantasy and sci-fi erotica comics while the latter was all about horror movies. 

Eddie’s referring to the girl sprawled along the two-page spread – the protagonist of this issue’s story. It’s a steampunk erotica about this cyborg assassin, clad in an iron bikini and thigh-high leather boots; only some bits of her arms were revealing her robotic flesh while the rest of his body was voluptuous and tanned. 

But the focus of Eddie’s attention was the accessory nestled between her legs, secured by a strap with spikes all around it. The lighting composition of the illustration hid what protruded from it from easy view with the cast shadow, but there was no denying its phallic shape teasing the reader. 

“...Is this something you’d like to try with me?” You bite your lip as you look at him, unsure but simmering with excitement. 

“Hell yeah, I would! – only if you’re up for it, though.” 

While Eddie’s preferences in bed always leaned on the rougher side, he never pressured you to anything you weren’t comfortable with, and you’d never found someone so open to discuss whatever kink you’d been wanting to try without feeling embarrassed or ashamed. It helped that you’d been friends for so long and that a relationship had been the natural progression of your bond. That way, everything you’d tried, no matter how intense, was always approached with innate tenderness. 

“Where would we find a strap-on, though? Think Rick could get it for us?” 

You’d tried several things with different props and toys that Eddie had gotten his hands on thanks to this Reefer Rick character who was also his drug supplier, whom you only knew by reputation while his appearance remained an enigma. 

“Ohh yeah!  it won’t be a problem. When hasn’t he ever delivered?” 

Vibrators, dildos, plugs, different flavored lube – everything in your shared collection, Rick had gotten you, saving you the trouble of driving to Indianapolis to a real sex shop given Hawkins’s miserable lack of one. 

“In fact, why don’t I go call him right now!?  Let’s go, let’s go! we have a new mission on our hands, (Y/N)!” He’s up in a flash, grabbing you by the hand to pull you up to your feet to hop into his van in the search of the nearest payphone in the area.  

Once you’d reached one, and you’d stood by Eddie as he chatted with Reefer Rick, your belly began to thrumm with the buzzing of a thousand bees  inside when he’d turned to you with a manic grin on his face as he’d cheered, “it seems like we’re on for next week!” 

You shrieked and draped your arms around his shoulders to placate your anticipation with a kiss that was all a clash of teeth with how widely you were both smiling. 

And now that you have a time frame to look forward to, you figure you’d ask a friend of yours for your own favor, to really go all out in this new experience. 

– 

It’s a whole scene you’ve set.  

You’d put on a sheer, lilac handkerchief on Eddie’s bedside lamp so that the room could be draped in that dim yet whimsical hue amidst darker shadows, as you make your entrance. 

Eddie lies  naked— save for his black boxers — with his long, tattooed limbs sprawled on the bed, sporting the dopiest of grins as he watches you come in swaying your hips in that unique piece of lingerie you’d specifically gotten for this night. 

You’d begged your best friend – who was the head costume designer of the drama club – to make you this set. The look on her face when you handed her the reference from the Heavy Metal spread nearly made you spill your drink in her face, and when she asked what you wanted this for you lied about it being for a comic convention out of town. You’re not so sure if she bought it, but at least – regardless of her face going as red as a tomato – she agreed to be discreet and have it by the end of the week, under the condition that you’d get Eddie to give her a ride back home after school for the rest of the school year. 

The design of your bra and panties was made to emulate the one from the comic as much as possible. Obviously it couldn’t be an actual iron bikini, but the fabric your friend had chosen was metallic and rigid, meant to push up your tits out like the fantasy chicks from Heavy Metal, with silver spiked studs lining the hem and the straps; you complimented it with a garter belt and fishnet tights along with the leather boots you’d gotten off of a costume shop. 

“Woah, look at you, baby!” He whistles and giggles from pure glee upon seeing you. “You look like you’re right out of a Judas Priest video.”   

You chuckle, totally breaking out of the seductive mode you were trying to get into. It’s always like that with Eddie. Even in the most intense throes of passion you’d always find yourselves smirking and laughing from all that love that spilled from of your hearts. 

“Come here!” he playfully growls and makes grabby-hands at you as he sits up and scoots closer to the center of the bed, welcoming you on his spread thighs. 

His hands are all over you the minute you climb atop him and wrap your arms around his neck; his rings clink against the studs on the trim of your bikini while his fingers slide so smoothly over the metallic fabric when he squeezes and fondles your tits, before trailing his hands down along your curves, grasping at the straps and tights, teasingly letting them slap against your skin. 

All the while you’re kissing, humming into each other’s mouths.

You cradle the back of his head and the side of his neck on your palms to tilt his head back to really lick into his mouth and gain the upper hand, as it had been the deal from the beginning. This night was all about indulging Eddie, yet he always got a little carried away with his need to put your pleasure first. 

So you grab a handful of his curls to keep his head arched back as your kisses migrate downwards, to the corner of his mouth, his slack jaw, but specially, one of your favorite parts of Eddie’s body: that gorgeous column of his neck, thick and long, with an adam’s apple that looks good enough to devour whole. You feel his low groans resonate against your lips as you lap and nibble the pale skin. 

Meanwhile, he pressed you closer to him with one hand around your waist while the other cruised down to the valley of your stomach and underneath your panties, not willing to wait any unnecessary time to rub the line of your pussy lips and dip his fingertips inside your cunt, moaning happily at the wetness that’s already pooling there. 

“Eddie…” you sigh against the dip between his collarbones, clawing at his shoulder blades for purchase as those long, guitarist fingers of his could play you so well, knowing that slow, circular motions combined with a thumb pressing on your clit sent instant electric discharges through you.  “Eddie…” 

“Yeah?” he smirks, all too pleased to have you unwinding on top of him, with the proof of it rock hard against your lower belly. 

You regain your composure though, and pull harder on his head, detaching your lips from him so you could throw him off balance and take the chance to take his hand away from your pussy, push him to lie flat on the mattress and kiss him in order to prevent a complaint. 

��Tonight isn’t about me, Eds…” you lightly peck his lips, retracing the downward path you’d marked before, “this is all about you, baby…” you whisper, lavishing his chest with your tongue, taking your sweet, sweet time to lightly graze each of his pink nipples with your teeth before harshly sucking on them. 

His hoarse moans and the look of his head tilted back is an experience you’d like to bottle up and bathe in. Such a talkative boy rendered speechless by you, it made your nerves alight and every single hair on your body stand. 

Your heart races with endearment from how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you – one of them gently resting at the back of your head while the other lightly soothed your shoulders and cheek as you massaged his sides. 

You kiss your way down his stomach, tongue dipping into his belly button making him and contract with goosebumps, pulling your hair to beg for more. 

Which you give, and give, and give, drooling on his navel, nuzzling those coarse, light brown hairs that grew thicker as they signal an enticing path to his cock, kissing them ever so fondly while caressing his hip bones. 

“Baby…” his quiet moan dissolves into timid laughter because your touch is so sweet, yet your mouth so devious, spitting on his clothed cock and mouthing at that stiff weight nestled inside his boxers. 

“Lube and glove,” you gently order, as you scoot back a little bit on your knees to pull down and take off his boxers – cock bobbing free and happily standing up just for you. 

His lips are all puffy as he bites them, looking all doe eyed and blissed out as he hands them to you and follows your movements, sliding on a black latex glove on one of your hands while skirting a generous dollop of lube on it with the other. 

You reach down and drool all over his cock before licking a wide stripe all along it to then pepper it with light kisses up and down the ridges of his shaft, to then gather your saliva on your mouth and swallow his tip while you grab the base with your lubed hand. 

You stroke him up and down, tantalizingly slow as you hollow out your cheeks and suck on the head, press on the veins of his cock with your tongue, and suck your way down to meet your hand. 

“Fuck, baby, just like that…” he pleads, with his pretty eyes shut under a furrowed brow and his mouth all slack – his grave moans, the perfect motivation to pick up the speed of your motions.     

Lewd mewls pump out of you from how fucking good his cock stretches out your mouth, fills your throat, how he pulses on your flattened tongue and how his hands urge you to make you go faster, to have you gagging on him. 

You let him go with an obscene pop and a string of saliva connecting you to the head so that your lubed hand could fondle his balls before sneaking under to find his hole. “Ohhh there he is…” you coo at him, smiling at Eddie’s utterly debauched state before you squeeze more lube into your index and middle finger, rubbing them together to warm the liquid up and begin teasing his entrance. 

“Ohhh, that’s it, sweet boy, relax…” 

“Fuck, (Y/N)...”   

“Don’t you want this, Eddie?” 

“Fuck yeah, I do…” he hiccups out a moan the more that tingling sensation builds on his core, “I do, baby…” 

“Then let go, let me take care of you. I want to take care of you this time.”  

You raise the bottle of lube and liberally drizzle the liquid down on him so that you could easily slip one finger inside, hooking it on the rimm ever so lightly, before easing it deeper in, inch by inch. 

Time seems everlasting, with silence all around except for the wild beating of your heart that you swear Eddie could hear, from how he was undulating his hips to the rhythm of it with labored breath when you were able to slide two fingers into him now, gingerly spreading him, loosening him up for the main act. 

Soon it’s easier, and the texture of the latex helps; Eddie plants his feet on the bed, spreads his thighs wide open to grant you more space to continue sucking on his cock while you insert a third finger into him. 

“You’re doing so good for me, Eddie…so, so good…” you messily mumble against the velvety skin of his dick before swallowing him whole again, gargling on him when he greedily rutts against you. 

“Yeah?” He chokes out a moan, gazes down at you with those big doe eyes swallowed up by his dilated pupils. No matter how ruined he may look, with his locks dripping sweat and his skin all dewey, he’s still present enough to lovingly smile at you. 

“Of course, Eddie…you think you can handle more?” 

“Uh-huh…” 

You up the pace of your hand, going deeper, harder, while your sloppy mouth switches between drooling and sucking cock and then biting and nibbling on the soft flesh of his inner thighs. 

You strike a nerve within him that has him nearly jumping from the bed so you have to calm him with a hand on his tummy while you keep fingering him. 

He looked so ready to burst, but the night wasn’t over yet. Now that he’s all prepped up for you, you carefully remove your fingers, soothing his gaping hole by lapping up a broad stripe over it to his perineum, once and twice, and once again, moaning as you rim him so hungrily until he’s grabbing you by the hair. 

“Come here, please”  

You humm in response, slowly moving away by kissing his thighs, his hip bones, and that beautiful belly that rises and falls with his heaving breath. 

When you climb up your way back to him he has zero hesitations on devouring your mouth, sloppily making out with you, grunting against your mouth as he tastes himself and helps you to properly straddle him. 

“Ready?” you murmur against his spit-slick lips to which he nods. “Do the honors, then.” 

You’re both smiling like a couple of idiots, when Eddie removes the latex glove and tosses it away, then brings out the strap-on from where it rested on the bedside table. Reefer Rick had come through, finding the craziest looking dildo in an iridescent color to stay close to the reference, as requested, with the strap also lined up with spikes. 

You don’t dare ask how he finds these things, let alone on such a short notice. 

“Wait wait wait wait a sec! We’re not having sex based on something we saw on Heavy Metal without some heavy metal playing in the background, babe! I know just the thing for this.” 

He leaves the strap-on on the bed, gives you a quick peck on the lips before he’s rising from the bed and sprinting to his stereo. 

“Eddie!” You watch him swipe through his box of cassettes before he snaps his fingers and laughs excitedly when he finds Judas Priest’s Turbo album and pops it on the stereo, with the opening track’s combined synth and guitars rising in crescendo, engulfing the atmosphere as Rob Halford’s eerie vocals guide you into the mood – ‘you won't hear me, but you'll feel me…’

“Okay, that’s perfect, though.” You snort upon seeing him all giddy with the proper soundtrack. 

He hops back in the bed and you accommodate to straddle him once more; then he reverently fastens the strap-on around your waist, staring in awe at the thick dildo that protrudes from it. So in awe that he’s compelled to frame your face with his palms and give you a long, passionate kiss that only finishes because a big smile is pulling his lips up. 

“Ready, Eds?” 

“Fuck yes!” he grins, with one last quick kiss to the corner of your lips. 

“Lie back down for me, Eddie.” 

He does as told, and takes the initiative to squirt some more lube into his own palm to stroke at the dildo while you adjust on top of him, caging him in with your arms on each side of his head.  

“Sssshit, baby…” he groans when the tip of the dildo briefs his hole, arching his neck back and flashing you a sight of the veins popping from that long marble pillar that you find so enticing. 

“Shhh, relax for me, Eds. You’re doing so, so well for me, you can take this can’t you?”

He grunts in response, eyes wide shut and hands anchoring themselves on your hips, kneading at your skin, grabbing handfuls of your ass and grasping at the flimsy cords of the fishnet tights that adorn your thighs.  

Steadily you enter him, breach him through the tight grip of his ass on the dildo and reaching deeper and deeper until you bottom out, pausing for a moment to allow him to settle into the sensation, showering him with loving kisses to his forehead, cheeks and the shell of his ear, whispering all throughout, “I love you so much, Eddie…” 

“I love you too, baby… you can move now, sweetheart.” 

He fully envelopes his arms around you, bringing you closer as you tentatively raise your hips and start building up a pace, moaning into his mouth as you feel the friction of your thrusts impacting your clit where it’s being grazed on and on and on each time you plunge into him. 

“Ohhh god…”  you squeal, not expecting how good this would feel for you. Let alone for Eddie, who’s brow furrows more prominently and it looks as though the plush skin of his lips will break with how hard he’s digging his teeth into them to constrain those guttural groans from bubbling out of him. 

Normally when you’re on top of Eddie, his fingertips would lightly trail along your skin or massage your back before coming around again to fondle your tits but now – as your pace picks up, growing more and more brutal, he can only hold onto you, nails scraping long stripes down your vertebrae, sending sparks flying all over your nerves like the firework-like embers spurring from welded iron. 

He’s normally so giggly and talkative but now he’s been reduced to this great pile mush, with that handsome face of his looking both pained and elated — you can’t help but dive in and lick into that slack mouth while you card a finger through that halo of sweaty, messy curls. 

“Eddie, this feels so good…” you sigh, “so, so good, baby…” 

Finally he grins and wheezes against your mouth, “imagine how I feel, baby…I – ohh fuck, I don’t think I can hang on for much longer, sweetheart…” 

“Touch yourself for me, Eddie…” 

A long groan leaves him as he spits on his palm before wrapping a firm grip around his cock and stroking himself to the rhythm of your pistoning hips – “SHIT! (Y/N)!” 

“Eddie!” you mumble his name like a prayer against his dripping temple, tasting the salty musk of his skin and inhaling in the scent of Eddie’s hair – this mix of sensations being the very catapult that’s pulling you right back, stretching you back like an elastic band before releasing you out into the faraway void that’s spinning and spinning and spinning along to the chords of the guitar solo in the background. 

“Fuck! Cum for me, Eddie, cum for me baby, please, cum for me…” 

“Ohhh shit, FUCK!” he yells as thick ropes of cum paint his stomach, and you don’t slow down your pace until you’re sure you’ve milked him for everything he’s got, until there’s drops of cum landing on the zombie head he has tattooed on his right pectoral. 

Your ears are ringing from the intensity of it all so you barely register that in the background, the song was already fading to an end… 

‘...I'm your turbo lover

Tell me there's no other

I'm your turbo lover

Better run for cover…’

Your lips lazily join in a kiss that’s more shared breath than anything else, as you carefully slide the dildo out of him with a quiet hiss as you could feel the resistance of him clenching around the toy. 

You sit back for a moment to remove the strap, before you’re draping yourself on top of him without any care at all for the sticky mess covers his torso, encasing him in your arms as your thumbs soothe the soft skin of his cheeks, his chin and nose until he opens those beautiful eyes again. 

“Hey, there he is…” 

He smiles all toothy and dopey at you doting on him  – languid, flushed and quiet, chest painted with red splotches from how thoroughly you’d fucked him. 

He looks too cute for his own good. 

You’ve no choice but to kiss away the cuteness, lightly smooching his lips over and over again until you hear the melodious sound of his laughter which you greedily drink up. 

“That was so amazing…thank you, babe. You’re a turbo lover, alright.” 

“Oh my god, Eddie that’s so stupid!” you wheeze out before he growls and tickles your sides, wildly nuzzling the side of your neck to have you all helpless and lax to easily tackle you onto your back and lay his weight on top of you, grabbing your hands in his as he bows down for more kisses. 

“Maybe so, but you loooove me still.” 

“That I do.” You whisper, gazing at the dreamy sight he makes, with his skin glistening with sweat, his brunette curls all matted down against his temples, his eyelashes long as they frame those big, bright eyes of his – not to mention that hidden dimple that creeps up on his right cheek when he smiles as he does now. 

“How about this,” you mumble between kisses, “we order takeout and check out the latest HM issue. Now I really wanna see you fucking me in an outfit like this.” 

 He boops your nose with the fingertip of his pinky before kissing your forehead.  

“Sounds like one hell of a plan.” 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x yn #reader insert #female reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #fanfiction #joseph quinn #my writing #eddie munson fanfiction

[alifeasvivid]

Further On Up the Road, a drabble in the Temptation Acknowledged AU, usukus, Rated M

first | master list | previous

Further On Up the Road - Bruce Springsteen (the song doesn't have much to do with the fic, it's just a banger)

I did kinda think I was done with this AU, but I also left the last part open-ended on purpose, so here we are. I think this part kinda represents a bit of a shift in it ... although to what, I have no idea. We'll see.

Warnings: non-explicit descriptions of past prostitution, violence, and drug use; Alfred Has A Tragic Backstory Summary: After his dream, Alfred drives to a church, intending to give confession, though not intending to give it to Arthur. Word count: ~2100

-----

“Are you going to go in, perhaps?”

“Shut up.” Alfred sighs heavily. He holds his black clergy shirt with white collar in his lap, while sweat trickles down the back of his neck, getting caught in his white undershirt, which is all he wears while driving in the desert. It’s sweltering hot in the afternoon sun and his 4Runner is turned off, so he and Arthur are just baking inside the car.

Arthur performatively examines his black finger nails as his black tail twitches this way and that. The priest’s energy is frustratingly tense, it has been since he woke up from whatever delicious dream he’d had yesterday and they’ve only been driving to the closest parish since then with Alfred hardly speaking a word. “Well,” Arthur tries to say casually, though he feels quite bristly himself, “if you do go in, will you at least be a dear and crack open a window for me?”

“Shut up!” Alfred shouts. “Just shut the hell up for once, will you!?” He can’t hear Arthur’s voice without hearing it the way it sounded in his dream and it’s driving him crazy. He needs to go inside and give confession, but he can’t bring himself to do it. What could he even confess? Many priests believe demons are only real in the metaphysical sense, not that they can exist in a corporeal fashion and the Vatican would prefer to let that be the case unless otherwise necessary. Secrecy very much counts among the vows Alfred has taken.

Arthur is mildly taken aback by and then mildly pleased with and then very interested in that outburst. “My my, aren’t we tense?”

Alfred’s fists tighten in the stiff fabric of his cleric’s shirt. “The supernatural intuition of a demon is truly unparalleled,” he retorts sarcastically.

Arthur hums pensively. He has never been so affected by a human’s energy as Father Alfred’s; it surrounds him in ways that even the most potent of his human victims never have and when the good Father’s mood takes a turn for the stormy like this, it is rather oppressive. “What is it that you feel you need to confess?” he asks. Perhaps if he can settle the matter for the priest, the storm will subside.

Alfred throws a glare back at him. “Well gee, I’ve only been traveling around the desert for three months with a hungry sex demon who refuses to be exorcised in my backseat. What do you think?”

Arthur blinks bright green eyes at him. “That’s not your fault,” he says. “Well… it is your fault that I’m hungry since you could quite easily remedy that, but, I suppose if you want to look at it in the church’s moral terms, you saved a young boy from a demon and now, all on your own, you are bearing the responsibility of keeping said demon from breaking free and preying on much weaker souls.”

Alfred’s whirling mind stops in its tracks, having not thought of it that way before and Arthur’s seemingly sincere attempts to console him are confusing, but strangely touching.

“I daresay for how well you’re playing the martyr, you’ll like be canonized when you die.”

And there it is, Alfred sighs internally.

“I suppose if I were a different sort of being, I might find your sacrifice commendable. It’s not an easy thing, exorcising demons. We deliberately make it as difficult as we possibly can for any who dare to try it and I know that your church demands that it be a very solitary path. Solitude isn’t your preferred state though is it, Father? You ought to become Wiccan, at least they have covens. Sometimes they even have orgies under the moonlight.”

“Seriously, just shut up.”

Arthur slinks up into the front passenger seat reclines with his clawed feet on the dash. “There’s no shame in surrendering to me, you know. I’m far more powerful than you by design.”

“Not right now, you’re not,” Alfred reminds him, and reminds himself. He’s not more powerful than Arthur, true, but God is. That’s the point: to rely on the Father, the love of Christ and the strength of the Holy Spirit… and of course, the Virgin Mary. Alfred silently calls upon her, but the reply is only an echo. He’ll lose his way again if he doesn’t go inside and confess his sins and he knows it. “And there would be shame in it,” he says more quietly.

“Why?” Arthur asks, perturbed, “because your church says so?”

“No,” Alfred says firmly. “There’s shame in giving one’s body to another when there is no love.”

Those sound like someone else’s words in Arthur opinion, but the conviction in Alfred’s voice is palpable. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I felt that shame every fucking day. For years. Say whatever you want, but it’s not like I was born into a religious family, definitely not a Catholic one. It’s not something I was taught.”

“Then what do you owe them, really?”

Alfred clasps one hand around his rosary. “Everything. You don’t get it. I guess there’s no way you could.”

Noticing how very unguarded Alfred is, Arthur can’t help but try to pry, it would go against his nature. “Try me. Humans are all quite simple creatures, I doubt it’s as mysterious as you think.”

It’s a trap. What Alfred really needs to do is go inside and speak to the priest of this church and confess his impure thoughts and gain absolution, but he makes the mistake of glancing over at Arthur and seeing the demon’s intense curiosity. “As you have… previously not so subtle hinted at, before I joined the Church, I was a… a whore. I lived in Las Vegas. I was broke. I slept with anyone and everyone, usually for money, sometimes for other things, sometimes because it felt good, and sometimes because it didn’t. Sometimes just because… I dunno, because I was bored.

“But it ate at me. I was either giving something away or having something taken from me all the time. And I felt it. I wouldn’t have said I felt ashamed at the time, but my life contradicted that. I didn’t have real friends. I never had a steady job. There was no one in my life who wasn’t using me for one thing or another. It wasn’t even the actual, you know, sex… that bothered me… I liked—” Alfred blushes, “well anyway, it was everything around it.”

Arthur nods. “Indeed. I will never understand that part I suppose—the part where you humans insist on making sex into something so transactional. It’s quite demonic, really. Of course, it makes the job of an incubus much easier that you decide to play our games.”

“Haha. You’re hilarious.”

“I am. However, you’ve not explained why the Catholic church now deserves your body instead.”

“What?” Alfred asks. “What the hell does that mean?”

Arthur shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Well. You do not give it to anyone you desire anymore and you do Church’s bidding, go where they tell you to go, live how they tell you to live. I just don’t see how that’s any different, exactly, so I’m very curious why you think it is.”

Alfred sighs, looking out the window at the church without seeing it. “I don’t… know exactly how it happened,” he murmurs, “but I ended up in the desert, alone, pretty far from anywhere as far as I knew. Didn’t have clothes. Didn’t have water. I was beat up pretty bad. I don’t remember what happened or… or who did it. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Arthur is certain Alfred knows exactly what happened and who did it, but he stays silent. It really doesn’t matter anyway.

“So I just started walking. I figured I was probably gonna die out there, but… well, I dunno I kinda… I kinda wanted to, but I started walking anyway. After a few hours I collapsed. And then… this shadow appeared and there was a woman standing over me. She was wearing a pink dress with a white apron and a blue shawl covering her head. She knelt down and… she brushed my hair back,” Alfred unconsciously mimics the action over his own forehead, “her hand felt so cool. She gave me water and helped me up. She tied her apron around my waist and draped her shawl over my shoulders. I don’t really remember her face, but she had dark red hair, almost black. We walked for awhile and she let me lean on her a lot. We stopped at a church in a small town and she was right next to me until the priest came out and then she was gone.

“No one else saw her but me, but I still had her apron and shawl. They took me to the closest hospital, in this truck actually, and after I got better, the priest of that parish took me in and now here we are.”

Arthur nods. “Quite a tale,” he says softly. He thinks it’s rather distasteful for any of the gods or divine deities to manipulate humans like that. Sending them visions or saving their lives by assuming the forms of miraculous strangers at their lowest moments seems far more insidious to him than the straightforward deals made by demons: ‘give me your soul and I’ll give you what you desire’, but in the interest of not pushing Alfred into putting up all his walls again, he keeps this opinion to himself. “Go inside. At least you won’t broil in there.”

Alfred raises his eyebrow. “You’re telling me to go inside a church?”

“Your energy is out of balance. It’s very off-putting. If going inside and telling some other man all of the filthy, wicked things you’ve thought about doing with a demon” with me, Arthur thinks, “will put you to rights, then just get it over with, if you please,” he says with a nonchalant tone that doesn’t quite match his feelings.

Alfred sighs and nods. He hops out of the truck and puts his shirt on, checking himself in the sideview mirror as he tucks it into his jeans. “Thank you,” he says, pulling his rosary out so it lays over the shirt.

“Yes, yes. I would ask that you remember this magnanimous gesture in the future,” Arthur says, waving him away. Father Alfred looks more tempting than usual when in any of his clerics garments. The effect is bolstered by the scent of vague memories of Alfred’s past swirling inside the truck.

Alfred had revealed quite a lot, most of it unintentionally: the tragically common tale of a beautiful young fool full of desire to please and be admired ending up in the dens of monsters far worse than Arthur. Alfred has always had an intense craving for touch, for pleasure and it had put him at the mercy of those who had taken violent advantage of him, who had quieted his pain with the poisonous balms humans often favor, leaving him desperate and dependent and, yes, full of shame.

Arthur glances toward the church doors. Despite all of it, Alfred’s soul, his life force is much, much stronger than any average human and superior in dimension and he survived it all. Even Arthur cannot deny that the Church has played a large role in that, though he disagrees with the method with which they drew Alfred in.

Arthur believes that, in comparison to the brutal hands of humans and the cloying grasp of the Church, there is a kind of purity in what incubi and succubi do with humans and he wishes one of his own kind had met Alfred a long time ago. Had he met Alfred then, he would have given him everything he wanted—all the affection and sex and praise he so obviously needs—in exchange for far, far less than what anyone else has demanded of him.

Arthur’s tail flicks about and he bites his own lip. He slinks into the back seat and nuzzles into the bag Alfred uses for laundry. The clothes are suffused with lust, Alfred’s natural vice of which he can never be fully ‘cleansed;’ his soul produces it as his bones produce marrow. Arthur wants badly to feed from both; he absolutely aches to lose himself in the priest’s gorgeous body and is increasingly certain that no other human would satisfy him at this point.

Inside the church, Alfred speaks with the priest, Father Luis, shows him his identification and Father Luis agrees to take Alfred’s confession.

The confession booth has never felt like a relief to Alfred, but rather, it is a grounding weight. The scent of burning candles, incense, and the lingering of penitent partitioners—even the lumpy, worn-out cushion—are familiar and welcome for that reason.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”

#usuk #ukus #temptation acknowledge au #usuk fanfic

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Every Rose Has It’s Thorn

A/N- This was one of my favorites to write and i’m so happy to have it back 🥹(Also i know the song i used in this came out in 1988 but it’s all i could think of that would work for this 😂)

Summary- You teach Eddie how to slow dance to the most cliché song ever.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None :)

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines @hellfirewh0re @paola-carter @whiplaaaaaaaaash @ladyapplejackdnd @thatlonelypieceoftoast @efvyqrs

Words- 1.3k

“You going to prom?”

You looked up from the Fangoria magazine in your hands over to Eddie, sitting across his bed from you with his guitar in his lap. He was still focused on tuning it, almost like he was trying to make it seem like it didn’t matter wether you were actually going or not. For weeks he’d been hoping and praying that no one would ask you, but he couldn’t even get the courage to ask you himself.

The two of you were almost inseparable, you’ve been friends for years and it was hard to find one of you without the other. You figured that’s why no one bothered to ask.

“Hm?” You put the magazine down and sat up, back resting against his pillows.

“Prom.” He glanced up at you, “You gonna go?”

“I mean…” You shrugged, “probably not. No one’s asked me yet and i don’t wanna go by myself.” You’d been wishing that someone, anyone, would ask you to go. It didn’t even have to be a big thing, it could just be you and a few friends going but so far it seemed like none of them really wanted to go. “Why?”

He shrugged, going back to focus on his guitar,

“Just asking.”

You pursed your lips and nodded slowly. Why would he be interested in knowing if you were going to prom or not? Sure, the two of you would be a bit flirty with each other, but that was just how your friendship was. You did notice that sometimes he would get a bit jealous if you said something about a guy in one of your classes, and it was cute to see him get a little pissed off, but it seemed harmless.

“Are you going?” You sat up a bit more, crossing your legs.

“Probably not. Not really my thing, you know?”

“Really?” You said sarcastically with a smile, “You mean to tell me that THE Eddie Munson isn’t interested in getting all dressed up in a tux to go hang around with people he hates to see and dance to shitty pop music? That shocks me.”

His lips curled into a smile, “Yeah well i don’t have the money for a tux and i don’t know how to dance either, seems pretty pointless for me to go.”

You looked at him a bit confused.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to dance? Every year in gym we have that weird ballroom dancing unit, everyone did it.”

“I always just sat it out,” he stood and walked over to put his guitar back on its stand, “you think any girls were eager to learn how to ballroom dance with me?”

You thought back to each year during that unit, always being awkwardly paired up with some random guy who had two left feet and no sense of rhythm. If you had to endure that for four straight years, Eddie could endure it at least once.

You got up from his bed and started looking through his collection of tapes, sifting through the various heavy metal cassettes to find just one specific tape.

“What’re you looking for?” Eddie sat on his bed, watching you look through his cassettes.

KISS? No.

Anthrax? No.

Motörhead? Ugh, still no.

“Aha!” You said with a smile, quickly going over to his stereo and popping out whichever other cassette was resting in its slot and replacing it with the one in your hand.

He watched as you were focused on adjusting the volume, quickly trying to skip through until you found the beginning of the song.

Every Rose Has It’s Thorn by Poison.

He laughed to himself as he watched you fix the volume one last time, making it seem more like background music than just listening to a song,

“Why’d you put this on?”

You stood before him and put your hands on your hips, “Get up.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, “I’m gonna teach you how to dance.”

“To Poison?” He looked at you confused, “This isn’t even like a dancing song.”

“Sure it is! And even if it’s not it’s the closest thing you’ve got.” You grabbed his hands to try and pull him up, “Come on, get up. If i had to do this for four straight years you can do it at least once.”

He rolled his eyes and stood tall before you. With the song playing in the background, and the dim glow from his bedroom light, he looked almost angelic.

“Alright, so what do i do.”

You pulled him close, bodies only inches away from touching, and his eyes followed as you gently took his hands and placed his hands on your waist,

“Your hands go here,” You smiled shyly as your hands were placed softly onto his shoulders, “and mine go here. And you just kind of… sway i guess.”

It was quiet between you two, nothing but the gentle music playing as he watched his feet moving with yours.

“See, it’s not so bad right?” You said with a smile, his head moving back up to you, eyes looking into yours.

“Yeah, it’s um… it’s pretty nice actually.” He said with a gentle smile, making your cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink as your eyes slowly wandered to his lips.

“And we can move a bit closer too,” You closed the space between your bodies, your chests lightly brushing together as your hands went behind his neck, his curls tickling your fingers. One of his hands stayed planted on your waist, the other moving to the small of your back, holding you close to him, “Like this…”

You trailed off, looking into his eyes as his lips were still curled into a smile. And you couldn’t help but notice the blush on his cheeks as you felt his body move with yours.

The two of you had been close before, but never this intimately. You’d hugged each other almost every day, and every now and then you’d place a kiss on his cheek, but this was different. It was intimate. You would even call it romantic.

The gentle music in the background, your bodies almost meshed together as you swayed and moved to the song, and one of your hands moving to the back of his head as he rested his forehead on yours.

Before you even had a chance to process it, his lips were on yours. It was soft, and gentle, and sweet. You had never seen this side of him before, he was acting almost as if you were made of glass and he didn’t want to break you.

And you loved it.

The boy who everyone was afraid of in school, the boy who was always acting obnoxious and loud, the boy who was the head of a supposed ‘satanic’ club, the boy who even scared you a bit sometimes with his idiotic antics, was being so gentle with you.

As your lips parted, the song ended, breaking you both from the trance you were in.

“Sorry.” He said clearing his throat.

Though the song was over, you were still holding each other close, neither of you wanting to let go from the others embrace.

“Why are you sorry?” Your hand gently held his cheek, stroking it with your thumb.

“Don’t know,” He shrugged, laughing to himself, “i guess i just got caught up in the moment you know.”

You smiled and stood on your tip toes, placing another gentle kiss onto his lips,

“You’re sure that’s what it was?” Giggling, his hands gripping you close to him.

“Maybe… Maybe not.”

You stood there smiling with each other, enjoying the feeling of being held in his arms so closely, so intimately.

“So um…” He cleared his throat again, you could almost hear his heart beating out of his chest, “You’re still not going with anybody right?” You shook your head and giggled to yourself, seeing him so flustered even after he’d just kissed you.

“Do you um… Do you maybe want to go with me?”

Your lips pecked his cheek as your arms wrapped around his neck into a tight hug,

“I’d love to.”

_______________________________________________

If you’d like to read more of my work, make sure to check out my masterlist 🥰

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson fic

[rainydawgradioblog]

Interview with Samba Jean-Baptiste

The other day I came across an article about AI bots mass-releasing auto-generated music on Spotify under different names. A concept as democratic as “unfettered access to music by way of streaming services” was bound to be corrupted by bad actors. Artists are consigned to grueling tour schedules in order to make a living because streaming pays them in Monopoly money. Pitchfork is gone and the writing is on the wall for Bandcamp, because curation is now being handled by algorithms. It’s important to keep in mind that any artist releasing music today has to navigate a culture in which there’s more out there than ever before, it's all at the tip of one’s  fingers, and everything except for the music itself is worse than it used to be. 

The topic of how the internet has shaped music came up frequently in my discussion with Samba Jean-Baptiste, an independent artist out of Brooklyn. I discovered his work after seeing Dean Blunt’s music video to “Felony” (his best song? I’m ready to make the argument), and the Algorithm decided I might like a video titled “talk / pleasure.” Behind a camera that might be a flip phone, somone offers Jean-Baptiste directions: “Wait, look off that way, and start the song. Then just start doing your shit.” The music plays and we hear Samba’s subdued voice over acoustic guitar strumming. He crosses a wide urban boulevard. All of it is easy and unforced. 

“Talk / Pleasure” was released on Cardinal, a project that’s difficult to categorize and beautiful and disarming. Jean-Baptiste chiefly uses acoustic guitar and his voice to create stripped-back art pop, as if the Young Marble Giants grew up listening to Stereolab instead of Lou Reed. The relationship between skilled yet raw guitar playing and more attuned peripheral production toes a line between an open mic performance and sound leaking from someone else’s headphones. There’s some really incredible interplay between organic and auto tuned vocals on “Windows.” The string and warped piano accompaniments on “A Wish Slanted” perfectly compliment Jean-Baptiste’s rhythmic strumming. It seems like he’s drawing from so much, because he’s had access to (and has seeked out) so much. The internet has given us windows into every corner of musical expression imaginable. If you’re an artist, how do you reckon with that, how does it find its way into your art? I didn’t want to put words in Jean-Baptiste’s mouth, so I reached out to see if he’d be interested in an interview for the Blawg. 

He was kind enough to agree back in early December; we spoke over the phone for about 40 minutes. I think he was playing Dave Bixby in the background. In addition to the internet’s impact on the music landscape, he touched on song-writing, looping, and Veeze. Hope you all enjoy it. Please, check out Cardinal on Spotify, Apple Music, Youtube, and Bandcamp (before it’s subscription based).

Can you tell me a little about yourself? 

Yeah, I’m 22, about to be 23, I live in Bedstuy, Brooklyn, I cook at a Japanese Breakfast restaurant that’s also in Brooklyn. That’s kinda what I do four days a week. I grew up in Massachusetts playing classical music, me and my sister, I played Cello, my sister played violin and we grew up playing in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. That’s where I gained a lot of interest in music, because when I wasn’t playing cello, everyone would be showing off like, what pop song [they] could play on the piano, and from there everything trailed into, you know, writing a little song about a crush or something when I was a kid. 

My family is from Haiti. That’s important to me. In middle school I used to just make beats so I was really into dubstep and a bunch of stuff on youtube. I was always big on youtube, listening to people make beats at home, and then soundcloud blew up, which gave so much access to random nooks and crannies to the country and world for that matter. Got into songwriting a little bit. Used to make a lot of different sounding stuff to now. Picked up guitar, somehow, and I guess that landed me to where I’m at now. 

Songs like “Better Now” from Cardinal feature a lot of looping. Do you find that to be a big part of your process? 

It’s funny because looping, from making beats in middle school, looping is such a big part of it. You make something, you loop it, you progress from there. But by the time I realized I could be playing actual instruments in my recordings, I still had that mentality. I’ll record something and think: “this part is great, I’m just gonna loop it.” And it doesn’t feel unethical. Cause for me, for a long time, looping other people’s music was like, “you’re going to hell, you’re not making music” but somehow my eyes have opened up and my ears have opened up to so many new ways of sound creation, rather than seeing it like “you have to create from the sound up like you’re fucking Beethoven.” You can hear something and make something out of that and that’s ok. It’s not yours, it's everyone’s. 

Looping is really interesting too because everytime you hear something or see something you can see something new about it. There’s albums I’ve listened to kajillions of times and it’s like I’m learning something new about it every listen. The same thing can happen with a simple loop, it’ll just be new information, newly perceived information each time. So yeah loops are super important to me. 

When you’re writing a song, do you have an idea of what you want the finished product to be, or does it evolve naturally over the course of the entire process?

Definitely the latter. That’s funny I was talking to my dad *today* that when I make songs, or work on an idea, I have to like make the whole song, just so that when I go back to these drafts, I can see the full blueprint. [...] It’s definitely a process. If I write a song in one sitting, I’ll kinda just… show a friend. That’s not the stuff I like releasing. 

How did Cardinal become more acoustic than your previous album, Pandora? 

It wasn’t so much a conscious decision to be like, I have to be different from the last record, but it was a conscious decision in my process. Because Pandora was made while I was still primarily recording through my laptop, and like, there’s guitar on there, but it’s all pitched up, and my voice isn’t in my natural cadence. But in the same way I realized I could use my instruments and play them in my recordings, I was like damn. That feels natural. I can also just sing in my natural low voice, I don’t have to be reaching for something that I’m not. So it sort of just trailed in that direction naturally. 

I was wondering if playing the cello made picking up guitar easier, or otherwise informs your guitar playing? You said you “stumbled on guitar,” which sounds like a bigger undertaking than you make it out to be. 

Yeah, picking up guitar was pretty simple for me because of that knowledge, but like, there’s six strings on a guitar [compared to cello’s four], so I’ve found new ways to approach an instrument, because there’s a learning curve there. A lot of my songs, if you listen to them, it’s all the same chords, because I only know so much, and sometimes I’m fucking lazy and I know certain chords and they make me feel good enough. 

Also it's funny because some songs are written on different guitars. “I Could Have Cried” was written on a guitar with five strings (the high E is gone) because my roommate didn’t finish stringing it. The other one I got in London, that one plays “Talk/Pleasure” and “A Wish Slanted” and it has four strings because two of them snapped. Each weird situation lends itself to a new creation, which is like a huge part of my process anyway. Error is so acceptable, if not sought out. 

The stream of consciousness of it? Less premeditated? 

Right. There’s a mix too though. I love when records have noise added after cause that’s real. You can only listen to so much perfect, cookie cutter stuff.

When you were making Cardinal, were there any major songs or artists that you took inspiration from? 

Nah I had no influences, I came up with this shit. I’m playing, of course, of course, there’s so many. I feel like a lot of people are finding my music through like Dean Blunt youtube wormhole, and he’s for sure one of my big influences, like all my influences are like 30+ year old black people doing their thing. But the main influence is music that sounds like wind, water, grass, and that all relates to guitar.

I wish I had a list of my influences, cause on this record there’s a lot you know? I had a lot of people in my life showing me new things, because I’m so closed minded often. And I like to try to surround myself with people that will show me something new. A lot of inspiration is what’s new to me. 

I think wind, water, grass sums it up great. Wrapping up, would you have any recommendations for me and the good people of Rainy Dawg Radio as a whole? Movies, music, books, etc?

Hell yeah. I just finished this book called Your Love is Not Good, by Johanna Hedver… Movies? I’m still learning about movies. Two or three things I know about her. I’m into Jean Luc Godard, that slice of life stuff where nothing happens, cause it’s just like looping music to me. Music? I’ll just give you what I’ve been into recently, cause I have huge influences but they’re probably everybody’s. I’ve been listening to this song called “Tea in Bed” by Blessed and Blushing. That shit’s incredible. I’ve been listening to this song called “Everybody Knows” by Glucose. I’ve been listening to a Serge Gainsbourg record, The History of Melody Nelson. I’ve been listening to Veeze, you know, Ganger. There’s so much shit. There’s so much out there. Michael White is this great jazz violinist, I’d definitely recommend him.  Forma Norte, that guy’s incredible.

Who’s that, Forma Norte? 

Yeah, you know what’s funny is I found him on my “related artists,” online, and sometimes I find stuff I really hate through that. But sometimes I think “damn this guy’s awesome, how’s he related to me?” 

It’s so interesting to hear an artist’s perspective of their “fans also like” on Spotify. 

That first one I said, Tea in Bed by Blessed and Blushing, is just blowing my mind recently. I’m like, “who is sitting down and making this shit?,” it’s so good. And that’s what’s crazy is there’s so much music now, it’s like, is there even a point in trying to make a career out of this? No. I don’t think so. Which I think is lending itself to the best music ever, cause people are like “there’s no fucking way I’m gonna make a career out of this, I might as well just make what I want, whatever I want.” 

You used to have to deal with the label, but now everything is just, “yeah go for it.”

It’s such a blessed time in that regard, but at the same time… let me chill on that. Let’s say, Marvin Gaye, “I Want You”? We’re not getting that right now. And that’s no hate to right now.  But it’s just like that was a whole different way of living, thinking, moving, breathing you know. It’s just a whole different way of recording. 

But we’re so blessed to be able to do exactly what we want without the idea of needing to make money off it. Obviously it would be nice. But it’s unlikely so people are just making cool shit. And I’m really thankful for that. 

You can find Samba Jean-Baptiste on Instagram here and YouTube here. Once again, listen to Cardinal any way you get your music. 

#Spotify #Youtube

[superloves4]

In your eyes the mirror of mercy

Characters: Maglor & (ROP)Galadriel, Gen Chapters: 1 of (hopefully) 3 Summary: While searching for Sauron after following a lead to the Southlands, Galadriel stumbles onto the last person she expected to ever see again: her cousin, the kinslayer Maglor Fëanorion. TW: None I think? Some violence and reference to it at most. Song recommendation: Mercy Mirror - Within Temptation A/N: Not my best work but I had to share the vision!

Ch.2 Ch.3

Also on AO3

The Song beckoned him, it had done so in the past and he followed it, well acquainted with its ways, these had been small reminders, food, drink, bed, as if trying to keep him alive for as long as possible. He didn’t question the Song.

He’d always come back to the shores then, just strong enough to continue. And he’d walk  and walk  and walk

The Song he’d sing and the Song was within him carrying his words on the wind and through water. He didn’t question why.

And so, Maglor continued.

And he’d walk and walk and walk

At times he wasn’t truly... there. He didn’t feel quite the same when he Sang now. But if he dared to slip into numbness and just forget, the Light would be there again, shining onto him and reminding him who Maglor was and what he had done, that nothing he’d ever do would be enough to make up for it.

And he’d walk

Maglor followed the Song to a village in the Southlands. He’d camped a little way outside the village and observed it long enough to discover there was an elven settlement in those parts but with so many years of peace the keepers had dwindled to barely more than two, it made avoiding them much easier, the villagers didn’t like elves but it didn’t matter anyway, he always made sure to go undetected.

When the sun had risen he’d sung a little and garnered the money necessary for a meal as was his usual whenever he wanted more than a fish or nearby vegetation, that was, whenever he actually had food at all. He probably looked nothing like the prince he’d once been, maybe it was better that way.

He bit into his bread.

Whenever she closed her eyes it felt like she was back in that room, staring at Finrod’s corpse. She knew she had to move on and her body begged her to let it go, that the further she went the easiest it would be for her to crumble, Galadriel didn’t have to do this, it wasn’t her burden but she took it anyway, because no one else would otherwise.

Even if it meant watching as Gil-Galad and Elrond’s looks of concern turned to suspicion, because no talk of healing or memory of the blissfulness of Valinor and her childhood could help her now.

And so she’d walk.

Keep the path, keep the search, keep the fight.

And if it wasn’t enough for anyone else, if they truly believed that if she just sought the Valar’s forgiveness she’d be welcomed back, that she’d be healed, because leaving was all she had now, still she’d thread on.

She’d walk and she’d keep the anger.

Galadriel had left at night, as soon as she could gather her things, and left no letters, it didn’t matter if she was alone, if Gil-Galad was truly worried he’d have helped, he would’ve given her more than words trying to lead her to take the next ship, she didn’t care.

In her last search, she had received a new lead and she wasn’t about to give it up, the group of orcs spotted in the Southlands could be everything she was searching for, she’d take anything at this point.

When she arrived, several days later, with little rest in between, there were many things Galadriel had imagined to find in the Southlands.

Sauron had been the preferable choice but hardly a reasonable one, she knew as much. The orc commander leading the group she’d heard about and getting everything she needed from him had been the next best thing. And of course, getting rid of a group of orcs had always been a good idea regardless of whether it progressed her quest or not.

What she never would’ve thought was that she’d hear his voice.

Of course she’d remember his voice, Makalaurë had never been shy of hiding his voice, be it in their grandfather’s halls or in the battlefield, he’d long been defined by it, how could she ever forget.

But he was dead. Everyone said he was dead.

Jumped into the ocean, the last of the silmarils clutched in his hand so no one could have it.

Makalaurë was dead.

But when their eyes met, the reflected light they shared was impossible to hide especially with that ratty cloak he was wearing. So many emotions she saw on his face but she was too stunned to try and decipher them, she did, however, see him recoil. And she saw as he ran away.

In her stupefied state she didn’t even truly react, she noticed the small crowd that had gathered to listen was now dispersing with some curses thrown her way.

She ran.

The boiling anger resurfaced and she dedicated all of herself to the pursuit, the absolute gall he had, running away! Maglor clearly recognized her and knew what she’d do. And he thought he could just run away??

After all that he’d done...

She drove any thought away and continued, it may not be the evil she’d come to capture but it meant the mission in the Southlands had not been a waste, the last of the Fëanorions would be finally brought to justice.

She pursued her cousin to the edges of the town, Maglor didn’t seem interested in blocking her path, and all his efforts were placed on speed and avoiding objects, something she, in her armour, had more trouble doing. Yet, despite his head start Galadriel had overtaken him far easier than she thought.

And when she tackled him to the ground she realized why, she could feel her cousin’s bones stretched onto flimsy skin, gone were the muscles of a fighter, and when she turned his face around to look she saw how sunken his cheeks were. Maglor looked like was barely holding himself together!

“What happened to you?” she asked in horror, none of her previous, more important questions crossed her mind.

“Well, a she-elf, as beautiful as the last orc I fought, decided to throw her whole body weight on me right after lunch!”

Galadriel bashed his head on the ground.

“As nice as ever, Artanis!” he complained but couldn’t even do anything as his words had thrown her back to the moment and she remembered to tie his hands.

Only when she was sure he would not be able to do anything did she allow herself to get up and truly confront him.

“How are you alive?” she asked her most pressing question.

He stared at her befuddled “I’d have to have died in the first place for you to ask me that”

“Do you have any idea of the situation you are in? Or have you finally gone truly mad?” she spat out, her desire was to hit him again but she still needed to interrogate him “Answer my questions or you will regret it”

“Forgive me, Artanis” he answered with a saccharine smile and an overly flippant tone “I’m not in the habit of taking seriously the threats of toddlers!”

She paced the area, reminding herself that she needed him alive for punishment, before replying “It’s Galadriel and you know it”

“Ah, yes, right, Galadriel,” he shrugged, Galadriel made the mental note to tighten up the ropes and make it impossible, and in the same tone as before asked her “On that note, where’s good, ol’ Celeborn, I don’t see him with you, thought he might have wanted a cheap shot as well”

Galadriel’s insults died in her mouth and her body flinched, but she continued, it was better to focus on the task at hand than indulge Maglor’s stupidity.

“Is Maedhros alive as well?” she asked and he looked away, the smile finally falling from his face, Galadriel rejoiced that at least something seemed to affect this strange new version of her cousin.

“Only if you believe one of us could survive falling into a fiery chasm”

“What have you done with the silmarils?”

He gave her a scathing smile and his tone turned back to insolent “Nelyo had his when he died and I threw mine into the sea and have been wandering the shores ever since, of course!”

She violently grabbed him by the hair “TELL ME THE TRUTH!”

“Oh my, little Artanis doesn’t believe me, why might that be?” he had the audacity to laugh at that.

And watching him bend from the weight of his own laughter, fey and deranged, Galadriel decide that questioning Maglor would bring her nowhere, he deserved any horror the Valar deigned to inflict upon him. There barely was any of the cousin she had known in that body anymore.

She tied him to her horse and made sure to ignore any word he said, be it a mumbling, a string of mockery towards her, or all of his strange new songs. The port city they arrived in was nothing like the Grey Heavens and its boats could not compare to Cirdan’s ships, but for her plans that would be all they would need.

Maglor stared at her as she got the boat ready, Galadriel had never felt unsettled by him before, although she had often felt a sense of desolation she had not been able to place until the end of the first age, at that moment, however, with this Maglor that was no more than a stranger, her inability to understand him unnerved her.

“So,” he finally said, his tone neutral “you have truly decided?”

“Yes,” she answered, avoiding looking at him “I’m taking you to Valinor and to the justice of the Valar”

He hummed and nodded.

Maglor looked at the sun setting, he wasn’t singing but music followed him anyway, he seemed to take one last deep breath of Middle-Earth before sitting near the edge, his still bound hands hugging his legs. They started moving, his eyes stared at the deck unseeing and he started quietly singing again.

After about an hour of that, Galadriel snapped “Is that all you can do now?!”

He turned his head to the side, looking at her unblinking “Mostly”

That made her pause, unlike any previous remark, this one seemed to be actually genuine and it made her re-evaluate what he’d said before.

“Maglor?” she asked slowly “Where have you been, truly, all this time?”

He smiled and any semblance of truth disappeared from him “You don’t seem to trust me very much, I’m rather short on answers that would satisfy the great Galadriel, which one would she prefer,” he continued enthusiastically “that I have been secretly plotting to destroy all the remaining Eldar? Or that I have been begging forgiveness to the stars of Varda?”

“What I know is that you are still impossible to deal with.” she growled and decided to leave him to his own devices, let him deal with his broken mind, she refused to care further.

“Aww! Thanks! I’m flattered!” he told her, she pretended not to hear it.

Silence filled the space once more, the stars were twinkling reflected on the sea and Galadriel stared ahead for sight of Valinor even if she knew it wouldn’t be for a while.

“What exactly is your plan for when we get there anyway?” Maglor spoke so suddenly that Galadriel didn’t even ignore him.

“I will tie you up the emergency raft and leave you to float down the rest of the way by courtesy of Ulmo” she gave him a mocking smile this time.

“Not your best plan,” he remarked but she said nothing, she knew that what she was doing had been impulsive but it had to be done, still he stared at her “I didn’t know you were a soldier now”

“When the host of Valinor arrived I refused to stand aside any longer” It wasn’t a question but she answered anyway, remembering the moment she became a commander “Everyone was dead then, my father was there and all I could think was that I was about to lose him too. And in the end, he had to leave anyway.”

She glared at Maglor “And the family I had left was too busy destroying everything they fought for, I was alone”

Maglor pulled up the cowl of his ratty cloak “Oh? You’re telling me we are family after you disappeared into Doriath?”

“After you killed my people!”

He was staring up at her with another sardonic smile, the shadows from the cowl making his eyes appear brighter in the darkness, and when he spoke, his voice held a shade of power.

“Are you threatening me with a dagger, Artanis?”

Every move or line of dialogue he did seemed devised to anger her, leading to their current predicament of Galadriel pointing her brother’s dagger at Maglor’s throat. Even the implicit accusation was maddening.

He couldn’t possibly believe their situations were in any way similar, that she was anything like him.

“Do you truly know what you’re doing, Galadriel?”

She wanted to answer, she was going to answer; when they were distracted by the call of a bird and their first sight of the blessed realm they were born into so long ago.

And it was beautiful.

From where she was standing she could see the white shores of her memory, of her days playing at the beach with her mother, her father braiding her hair so that it wouldn’t tangle in the water, and Angrod and Aegnor teasing her for getting it dirty anyway. Finrod had been there, laughing along but still helping her remove the algae stuck on her head.

Had her brother’s all been re-embodied yet? Would Celeborn be there?

If she just let the ship reach the harbour, would she be able to see them? They would be so surprised, no notice had reached them and yet there she was.

Would her mother still welcome her even after she left despite what had been done to the Teleri?

Her head swirled with possibilities and she felt a tear fall, Valinor was so close she could touch it.

“Galadriel?”

She turned the ship around.

Maglor hit the railings hard, Galadriel was only mildly conscious of that fact, hearing his groans of pain like distant noise as she put distance between them and the undying lands. She heard as he called her name but she couldn’t answer, it felt like her throat had closed and her body rushed to escape.

Dark clouds were beginning to close the sky, keeping the light of the stars away from them, the darkness was a heavy contrast to her memories of Aman but with the wind picking up it didn’t matter.

“Galadriel!”

She rushed from one part of the ship to another as the rain began to fall, she threw her armour to the ground so she could run better, Galadriel didn’t even know if Maglor was still there, he could’ve fallen in the water and be drowning right at moment and she wouldn’t know.

It quickly became evident that they were about to be caught in a storm, the rain felt like punches on her skin and the wind brought the sea upon them. Galadriel screamed when the ship lurched to the side and only her hard acquired quick reflexes kept her from seeing Ulmo’s realm.

The tempest raged, threatening to turn the ship and its passengers into the sea’s newest relics. Galadriel was holding on for dear life to some rope when she heard it.

When she heard his voice.

Maglor stood then on the prow by the figurehead, his voice drowning out the howling of the wind and cutting through the waves, after so many years it was easy to forget how powerful Makalaurë’s voice truly was. But the important thing was that it was working.

Her voice joined her cousin for the first time since before the destruction of the two trees, she may not have the natural inclination for Song as Makalaurë and Findaràto had but she could make up for it with Power.

Singing in unison the ship evened and the unforgiving sea didn’t touch them, even the wind seemed to vanish. In that moment Galadriel truly believed they could weather out the storm, perhaps it was that vanity that changed everything.

In the middle of that tempest, light shone upon them.

Maglor paled and screeched, the Song was broken and a wave hit them, causing the mast to break.

“Maglor!”

Watching as her cousin covered his head and thrashed around the breaking ship, shaking violently, evading the light of Gil-Estel.

“Maglor! Please!” she screamed at him, forced to hold on desperately to the railing, she tried to sing but even her words froze in the cold storm “Please! I can’t do this alone!”

But Maglor didn’t respond, still convulsing and begging the stars.

“MAGLOR!”

A wave enshrouded them.

#maglor copes with regret by being a bitch #silmarillion #the silmarillion #maglor #feanorians #galadriel #lotr rings of power #rings of power #rop #lotr #he's so awful I love him #silm #my writing #I think I got Galadriel ok #could've gone harder I suppose #lord of the rings #horrible cousins #elrond will show up in the third chapter #rewatched rop just for this

[urpaperboy]

Ramble all your rambles about Charlie and Haydin if you have em I beg of you *gets on my knees and prays for you to bring your light down to me*/lh

omg u just unleashed a monster cause I HAVE A LOT!!

OKAY OKAY i have like a lot of stuff !! So imma make them like points

I made a Comic today of Little Haydin and Little Charlie and came up with an idea of a Nickname Charlie would’ve given Haydin, its Hayds!!

Sitting at the top of apartment complex just to examine the city and stars feels like something they would do together (Haydin has a thing for Stars :])

LITERALLY FOR THE DAMN FUN OF IT I THOUGHT OF THIS,,, THEY BOTH GO TO CHUCK E. CHEESE AND PLAY GAMES AND EAT OVER THERE

You know that yellow clock ride they have over at Chuck E. Cheese?? The one that goes up and then back down, Yeah I had this thought that Charlie would get on it just to prove something to Haydin, poor dude gets stuck and Haydin is just standing there laughing. But dw he helps him out after

They’d probably also just keep some of the tokens from there to themselves

The moment Chuck comes out for that mini dance party for the little kids, Haydin looks at Charlie with a smirk and say “AWHH CHARLIE.. DIDNT KNOW YOU HAD A CLONE” with Charlie telling him to shut up and just covering up his mouth quickly just out of sheer embarrassment.

Funny thing I talked to somebody about: Charlie does the whole “would you still love me if I was worm?” to Haydin and he’d just respond with leaving for a moment only to come back with some worm costume and say “Put this on and then we’ll see” (Spoiler Alert: He loves it)

If it wasn’t obvious, Haydin is taller than Charlie, So imagine the amount of times Haydin would pick on him for being short (tho I think Charlie would enjoy that–/j../hj?)

Haydin used to live with a Horrible family so, he either lied about going to some other friends house or snuck out to Charlie’s House just to hang out with him (Haydin’s Family have like a DEEP HATE for him)

Depending on what activity Haydin’s parents had him doing, if there was some sort of presentation, Charlie would go and just support his best friend and probably give a gift after the presentation in secret

STILL CHARLIE FINDING SOMETHING TO COMPARE HAYDIN’S EYES TO AND THEY COME OUT DUMB BUT CUTE, Haydin is just thinking “He’s stupid but so goddamn adorable.”

The whole writing notes to each other in a classroom they are in together AND STILL DOING IT WHEN THEIR ADULTS,, sighhhhh yeah <33

Okay also stupid of me to do but i had like some ship name for them…… Caydin/Harlie-.

If Charlie is a stinky boy, Haydin throws him into a bathtub with a bunch of bubbles and just says “You’re not coming out of there until I see a beam of light reflect off of you.”

Charlie have any ripped piece of Clothing? Haydin comes in with a sewing kit and sews it up quickly.

When Haydin had long hair, it felt like Charlie could lay his head on his and just take a tiny nap, they were nice

Okay uh lemme put an affectionate type one, they both just kiss each others scars, big or small. No matter what happened they’re both just happy to have one another. <33

Haydin has a new redesign (will post eventually) and he has shorter hair now. I like to think that in the hopes that if he ever ran into Charlie again once he went back to the city, he’d look like a super badass best friend.

Charlie’s pet name for the lis is Casper/Cas, i like to think that when Haydin heard it the first time, he sorta just stood there like “should I think this is cute and just say I wanna make out or think this is just him being him??”

Haydin’s form of flirting would be either “your looking submissive and breedable ” or literally any flirty like in Spanish since that is his second language but when he’s serious about something, he just compliments Charlie and ramble about everything he loves about him.

You and I by d4vd is a them song tbh

Uh,,, yeah if it isn’t noticeable i love them so much,,, i love haydin SO SO MUCH…. and im happy to see people like him as well <33

#mateo thots #yuurivoice charlie #listener oc

[eggmarr]

may i have xiao + the hidden feelings prompt (also can the reader be an adeptus or yaksha if i can ask that) thank you and have a great day!!

try to keep it hidden (143 event drabble)

pairing: xiao x gn!reader

warnings: modern au, distaste of valentine's day, brief mention of free drinks in a club setting, xiao and reader are roommates, slightly ooc xiao probably, food mentions (cookie mix and snacks), domestic xiao on his day off

a/n: i hope roommate xiao is still ok!!! i tried writing it as adeptus/yaksha reader but it didn’t flow as well for some reason? if you want, you can also request this kind of concept when i reopen my inbox for requests!

songs: i won’t say i’m in love - from the movie “hercules” 

Xiao has very strong feelings about romance.

(He’d rather just say he hates it outright, but that would just be lying to himself.)

You like to call him the “Ebenezer Scrooge” of Valentine’s Day, poking at the frown on his face whenever the season of pink and glitter hearts graces everything in sight.

He waves off the inevitable free drink from a particularly brave group of girls, shies away from the cards, and even starts changing his daily route just to avoid the giant heart man brandishing samples of equally obnoxious candy for a nearby cafe.

The holiday is an exhausting affair. Still, he finds himself wondering how you feel about all the pomp and circumstance.

Did you…want something?

But it’s not his place, isn’t it?

You’re just his roommate. Co-habitant. Friend. Person he knows.

(“Person he wants to know better,” something inside his chest whispers.)

The day of roses dawns with little fanfare, with him up early like usual and two warm cups brewing as the sun casts its golden shine into your shared apartment. He blinks the sleep from his eyes as he sips at his mug - a plain forest green with a black lip. You shuffle in a few minutes after, taking the matching cup from his proffered grip.

See? He knows you; “a perfectly acceptable amount,” he adds to his train of thought. There’s no need to look for other things to learn, other things to see or find or (stars forbid) ask you, out of whatever ridiculous lack of sense he is experiencing. All he needs to know is how you take your drinks, and what foods to keep stocked.

On his afternoon grocery run, he picks up those snacks you really like and some cookie mix for that thing at work you have later this week. He decides not to think about what this means, and lets the impulse to take that last bouquet of flowers from the display win.

His routine is intermittently broken throughout the day. Xiao ignores how these lapses are due to matters relating to you. He almost washes the reds with the whites.

You reenter the apartment to him busy in the kitchen, something sizzling in a pan and another pot boiling away. “Did you-“

“I already ordered food.”

“Is that-“

“I went out and got stuff to make Almond Tofu.”

While his abruptness would make most bristle, you simply shrug, and remind him to call for you if he needs any help with it.

“And the flowers?”

He freezes, his steady stir faltering ever-so slightly. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“…They were the last ones there.”

Xiao glances over his shoulder briefly, lingering on you and the (rather obviously Valentine’s Day themed) flowers.

He goes back to stirring, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to keep looking. “You can take them. It’s not like I’ll use them for anything.”

You wish he could see the smile on your face as you set the stems in a nearby vase.

(Xiao has strong feelings about romance - but his feelings for you seem to be getting stronger with every sunrise and sunset.)

#i really like the idea of domestic xiao #i also think that his internal monologue must be entertaining man #xiao x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin xiao #adeptus xiao #interwoven fates #cass.100

[littlemisslipbalm]

A billion light years from here

A Homesick Alien Josh Kiszka AU

A special thanks to @ofthecaravel without you none of this would have been possible. My brain couldn't have expanded upon Josh potentially being an alien without you lol. More installments to come, potentially. There's just so much evidence to suggest the Kiszkas are aliens...Also I'm so soft for homesick alien josh you guys !!!

gif credit to @edgeofgreta (not sure if shes still on here but I found this on pinterest and saw the bottom right and wanted to tag!)

Word Count: 3.1k | Warnings: swearing, brothers being brothers, idk alien stuff, sci-fi inaccuracies, mythology/constellation alien names, dw about it i think... no reader just bros vibing

Enjoy! and as always pls reblog and let me know what you think

-

Josh and his brothers had been on Earth for a long time now. Assimilating had been relatively easy for Sam and Jake. They loved this planet, especially compared to their home. Josh wasn’t sure he agreed with his brothers. 

He missed the high mountains with crystals that swirled around their tops. He missed the beach with its silver water lapping at his toes. He missed the stars he could see so clearly from his home planet. Ones that didn’t even appear in the Earth’s night sky. He missed his cosmos and the vibrations of the matter on his planet. He missed its rings that were perfect for skating on top of. He missed being understood. 

No terrestrial language could encompass some of his thoughts. He always attempted to be understood here but found that he ended up confusing more people. It’s why it stung when people said they couldn’t understand what he was saying in their songs. It was the closest he could get to explaining what it felt like when he was home. 

On Earth, he’d often find himself sitting on beaches and tops of mountains, attempting to replicate the locations he found comfort in on his home planet. His toes resting in sand or tall grass. His eyes cast upon the night sky, searching in his mind the image of his home, a billion light years from here. He longed for the familiarity of his home, as welcoming as Earth had been. 

He loved that his brothers had found solace on this planet. It had taken them a long time to settle on Earth. But Sam had been insistent and like the youngest sibling he was, he managed to win over his brothers. 

Frankenmuth was chosen due to its easy accessibility with their spaceship. The woods were a great place to hide it. The weather in the Midwest also was the closest to their home planet’s climate. Cold. Certainly not as cold as the home planet, but they wanted to go where people were on the Earth. English had also been the easiest language for them to learn. Josh just always had trouble perfecting his midwestern accent, always sounding a little different than the rest. Sam’s was perfect. Jake had watched a few to many western cowboy movies in preparation making his voice raspier. 

In their terrestrial youth, Jake had quickly learned about the existence of the guitar and found it endlessly entertaining. He enjoyed making music so much that he preferred to occupy his time with playing rather than interacting with humans. Sam just liked the earthly pleasures, he liked that he could do whatever he pleased when he pleased. It also helped that he found humans so fun to play with, either judging them to be worthy of his time or finding them amusing for their stupidity. 

When he had met Daniel, he had quickly brought him home and told his brothers that he had found a ‘human pet.’ The twins were quick to correct Sam and tell him that you were supposed to call them ‘best friends.’ Sam had nodded and Danny had smiled nervously before laughing hysterically when Sam explained that he had only been confused since they were all aliens and ‘best friend’ wasn’t a term in their native language. After years of trying to explain to Daniel that they were serious, the Kiszkas gave up and just laughed along with him when they mentioned alien matters. 

When Jake decided to start the band, the rest of the brothers agreed to make him happy. Family was everything to them. When the band took off, Josh was happy he got to dress up because he could make his stage outfits resemble their home planet's clothes. Growing up on Earth had been confusing for Josh for a multitude of reasons, but he never really got a handle on their fashion and had trouble with dressing himself. Eventually he grew content to have his daily wardrobe consist of five articles of clothing with multiple replicas of them. He found most comfort in the white t-shirt, khakis and yellow jacket combination. The only time he felt truly like himself was on stage in the jumpsuits. His body swaddled like the planet’s clothes. Safe and secure and sparkly with stardust. Except Earth didn’t have stardust, just sequins and rhinestones. He made do. 

With many of his clothes he also added the insignia of what essentially was their family crest from the home planet. The triangle with lines through it. It calmed him to be surrounded by the symbol, reminding him that he was a part of something greater than himself. 

Still, the ways he attempted to mute his homesickness were not quite enough. He hadn’t been home in almost 27 Earth years. Sam was lucky, he thought, he had been too young to go first, making Jake and Josh journey there first and then have Sam be sent to them. It meant he had been at home more recently than his older brothers. 

An Earth week before the anniversary of Jake and Josh’s arrival on the planet, Josh decided to ask his brothers for something he had been thinking about for a while. A way to placate his homesickness. 

“You know, our arrival anniversary is coming up and I’ve been thinking,” Josh starts, quietly, nervously. 

“Birthday, Josh,” Jake corrects, head facing the ceiling, body sprawled on the couch.

“Whatever, same thing,” He sighs. “I was thinking, you, me and Sammy could go on a road trip.”

Sam’s head turns to the conversation now that he’s heard his name. 

“Oh,” Jake’s ears perk at the idea of an adventure. He loved to travel. “Where to?”

“Home.” Josh says, voice still soft, pleading. 

“You want to road trip to Frankenmuth? That’s so boring, Josh,” Sam whines.

“Why not somewhere we’ve never been before?” Jake tries to reason. 

“Not Frankenmuth,” Josh stops them from coming up with some fantastical earthly roadtrip. “Except to get the ship. I mean our real home.” 

“Oh…” This gets Jake’s attention. “Josh. Are you sure?” 

“We haven’t gone home in almost 27 Earth years, Jacob. That’s almost a million years at home. I miss it so fucking much it hurts.” Josh puts his hand over his chest, where his heart beats, where it aches. 

Jake can feel it. They were alien identical twins after all, more connected than any Earth twins ever could be. There’s no more discussion because he understands. 

“Alright,” Jake nods, looking his brother deeply in the eye. The very same eyes as the ones in his own head. “Roadtrip home coming right up.” 

“But!” Sam begins to protest. 

“Shut it, Sam.” Jake stands and shoots his younger brother a look. “It’s our arrival anniversary, our wish. You’re coming.” 

Josh beams, feeling like he was already flying over the moon. Sam huffs and grumbles a little before stalking off, but deep down he knows he’d do anything for his brothers. 

One week later, the three of them are trekking into the woods behind their Frankenmuth adolescent home. Josh is grinning at the sky as he walks ahead of his brothers, just one little backpack on his shoulders. 

Jake is carrying a guitar case with his acoustic on his back and a duffel in his right hand. He couldn’t bring the Les Paul. The electrical currents on their home planet would blow out the strings if he even tried to strum it when it was plugged into an amp. He had also brought his harmonica in case something went wrong with the acoustic. On his head sat his favorite black hat, wide brimmed enough to cover his face from the harsh rays of the suns at home. 

Sam was still the least happy about this journey to their home planet, dragging his feet as they walked. His backpack was packed to the brim with things he hoped would get him through this. Namely, enough edibles to keep him blissfully high throughout the trip. Another reason he loved Earth, recreational cannibus use. If only they could grow it on their home planet. 

“Are we sure Daniel can’t come?” Sam asks for the hundredth time as they walk upon the clearing where the spaceship was stored. 

“He wouldn’t be able to withstand the atmosphere there, Sam,” Jake sighs. “Do you want him to die?” 

“No,” Sam grumbles and kicks a shoe at the ground, his sneaker kicking up some dirt. “I just feel bad that he thinks we didn’t invite him to go to the Caribbean with us.” 

“We’ll be back before he knows it. Two weeks there is just a day here. The only reason we’re going to be gone for an Earth week is all the travel time,” Josh reasons, finishing uncovering the entire machine that had brought them here in the first place. 

They walk up into the ship and begin to get settled. It looked the same as it did 26 years ago, completely maintained. Sometimes Josh would come out and visit it when they still lived in Michigan, sitting inside and pretending like he was flying home. He’s the one who kept it clean. 

Jake climbs into the pilot’s seat and Josh sits beside him. Sam stays in the cabin, never allowed to go near the cockpit after his fifth arrival anniversary. 

Jake fiddles with some switches after getting comfortable, making sure his hat was on just right and his braid was in place. 

One last switch is flicked by his left hand, it turns a glowing red and the ship hums to life. He grins, the sound welcoming and familiar. Josh watches his twin, clearly pleased by his behavior. 

“Captain Jacob Thomas Kiszka, reporting for duty,” Jake says into the intercom, the smile never leaving his face as he looks to his twin and hears Sam’s groan. “Let’s hope for smooth sailing.” 

Josh fiddles with some switches on his side and the radio buzzes to life. Jake requests something and Josh shuts his eyes and concentrates. Soon enough the radio hums with static and then the song Jake wants is playing. 

When the ship touches down on their home planet, Sam blinks the sleep from his bleary eyes and looks out the window. Seeing it for the first time in 24 years is a little shocking even for him. When he left, he felt no sorrow for what he was leaving behind. Certain that Earth was superior to this quiet planet, but seeing his first true home once more left him breathless. It was tranquil and vast. The landscape unlike any place on Earth, the colors more vibrant than any artificial color produced by those companies on Earth that were quickly ruining it. He found himself unexpectedly smiling, just a little bit. He still would choose Earth over here every day of his life. 

Once Jake had parked them in the ship lot on the silver sea, Josh rushed out of the ship first. His eyes are as wide as could be and they sparkle in the fading light of the first sun of their planet. He turns around himself looking at everything and anything before beginning to ramble, immediately slipping back into their native language now that they are home. 

Jake quirks a brow, almost instinctively going to stop Josh from speaking it, but realizing that it was fine. It’s actually calming to him to hear Josh speak in his native tongue, his thoughts more ordered than in English. Even if Jake usually knew what Josh meant in English, it was nice to hear his brother relaxed in his speech. 

Sam heard it too and shook his head before swearing in English, “I’m not speaking that shit, even if we’re here. It’s not necessary, everyone here probably knows Earth English by now.” 

Josh sighs, continuing in their native tongue, “You don’t know that. It’s just because you’re rusty, wee one.” Little shit wasn’t exactly a term in the language. 

Sam rolls his eyes. 

They arrive at the resort they decided to reside at during their two week long visit after going through intergalactic customs. It wasn’t very official but the ones who lived on this planet who had been to Earth before thought it was an interesting concept to have when traveling to different countries and had implemented one on their home. It was mostly just to make sure that travelers who arrived on the planet knew what they were doing and how to get around. 

Sam got in a bit of trouble with the customs agent when he tried to refuse to speak one of the accepted languages, but Josh stepped in for him. 

“He’s a part of our family. Forgive him, he’s rusty at the language. We’ve been on Seven for many moons.” 

The agent understood and nodded before asking, “Names.” 

“Jacob Thomas Kiszka.” Jake says confidently before frowning. “Oh. Forgive me. Pollux Geminorum Zaskkis.” 

“Castores Geminorum Zaskkis,” Josh says easily before elbowing Sam to speak. 

“Regulus Aries Zaskkis,” He huffs and rolls his eyes again, hip jutting out with his arms crossed as he stands beside his older brothers. 

“It’s so classic that your names here would have a pretentious meaning on a planet one billion light years apart,” Sam says as they walk away. 

“And yours doesn’t?” Jake quips. 

“Things are connected very mysteriously, indeed, Sammy.” Josh replies. 

Sam smiles at his brother still using his Earth name and for that he is grateful. 

Josh was happy to go off on his own for the majority of their trip, visiting all of his favorite places. The crystal mountains, the rings, the forests, the ice caps, all of it just as beautiful as he remembered. Mid-week on the planet, he insisted that Jake and Sam come with him to the beach. 

“You guys love the beach, come on! The water is silver,” Josh adds as if that is the biggest attraction of the beach. 

Jake and Sam agreed, albeit begrudgingly, if only to placate their brother and have a chance to be shirtless once more. On the home planet they were required to wear jumpsuits. Josh loved the safety, but Jake and Sam were rather put off by them. Constricting as fuck, they both put it. Hence why they reveled in going shirtless on Earth so often. It also helped bring down their body temperatures on Earth, their blood running hotter than humans. Danny always mentioned it when standing beside the Kiszkas. Human furnaces, he’d say and the brothers would laugh. 

At the beach, they were able to shed the uniforms which was relieving, but the pair still sat there unhappily watching as Josh hung out where the sand met the silver. He swore it was the best place to watch the star fights happening just beyond the small atmosphere of the planet. 

Jake had his big black hat low on his head, half-moon glasses pushed against his face as well. On the beach it was hot, hotter than anywhere else on the planet. It made his already hot blood uncomfortably warm. His red shorts were hiked around his thighs attempting to allow himself to potentially tan. 

At least they had margaritas to cool them off, he thought, as he watched Sam return from the beach bar. The drinks in his hands were in huge mugs with curly vibrant colored straws in them. Jake grimaced at them. 

Sam sat beside his older brother after handing him his drink. They had matching red striped beach chairs, the one to Jake’s left was vacant with Josh off on his own. Sam slumps after a sip of his margarita. 

“This doesn’t help,” He sighs after sucking down half of it. The straw hat that adorned his head sat hard on his head, pointy and prickly from disuse. He had to buy one at the tourist shop when he realized he forgot to pack a hat. Now who’s laughing at my hat, jackass, Jake had said when Sam had returned from the store. Deciding something, Sam sits back up and rummages in his tote bag he had brought before producing a soda can. 

Upon further inspection one would realize that this was a drinkable Sam had brought from Earth. As he cracks the tab, a thought flashes in his mind about pressurization, but the thought is seconds too late. The drink is exploding from the small opening and Jake is cackling with laughter as it flies directly into Sam’s face. 

Sam, ever the youngest sibling, opens his mouth and attempts to get as much of the liquid in his mouth as possible as the pressurized liquid continues to pound into his face. 

Only five minutes later, Josh is returning to his brothers from the water, skin glistening silver from his swim. Droplets falling around his body as he shakes his head like a dog. 

“What the hell happened to you?” He asks the drenched version of his little brother sitting beside a still chuckling Jake. 

Sam’s hair is wet and his straw hat is now limp, but his eyes are droopy and he has a bit of a content look on his face. Even if the pressurization was different on this planet, so was the way weed affected them. He was already unbelievably stoned. 

“Space boys make do,” He grins lazily, his right hand making a finger gun at his oldest brother. 

This time, Jake falls out of his beach chair in laughter, yelping slightly from the warm sand but still too caught up in Sam’s behavior. 

“Drinkable,” Jake finally responds after clambering back into his chair. 

Josh nods understandingly. “Just smoke joints Sammy, like an adult,” He says as he goes to sit beside his twin. 

His hair is already drying, the curls scrunching up from the long form they had been in from the water. He looks over at Jake and the sleeping Sam beside him, the cosmos laid out just behind them on the beach. Other residents mingled around the beach but for the most part, Josh felt like he was alone on the planet with his brothers. 

He breathes the fresh air deeply. “I love you both so much. Thank you for doing this with me. I am happy to have come back.” 

Then he looks up at the sky directly above him. “I will be happy to go home, though.” 

Jake smiles beneath his hat and then glances slightly at his brother, watching him contemplate the universes. 

“This will always be home too, Josh. They both will be.” 

They grin at one another for a careful moment before moving in tandem, telepathically deciding to play a prank on their little brat of a brother. The twins surround Sam’s chair and his sleeping figure, before tiptoeing with him to the shore. A big splash is heard and then in English, a roaring yell of “What the fuck?!” 

#josh kiszka fan fic #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka alien au #alien au #greta van fleet au #greta van fleet fluff #josh kiszka fluff #josh kiszka angst #josh kiszka au #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #sam kiszka fan fiction #sam kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka imagine #sam kiszka imagine #josh kiszka one shot #josh kiszka fic #my writing #greta van fleet are aliens confirmed #josh kiszka x reader #sorry not sorry

[castershellwrites]

Ghost of Tsushima CYO Fic

Please enjoy this fic, there's a poll under the cut to vote for what you want to happen next. This fic will reach no higher than a teen rating and pairings (if any) will be determined by votes.

This fic is set after the events of the main game and the Iki Island DLC, there will be spoilers. Jin is on Iki island deciding what to do now that the island is free.

Fic and poll under the cut:

Jin Sakai sat atop Kaze, his bay stallion, while the ocean breeze whistled though the plates of their armor. Their armor because Jin had on The Ghost armor made by his late friend Taka, and Kaze’s tack was covered by the armor of his late father’s horse. That armor filled out the still fattening frame of his horse. Kaze certainly wasn’t Kage… he was leaner, faster, and more stubborn… but he was proper samuai’s steed and a loyal companion.

When they’d first been stranded on Iki, Kaze had truly proven himself a capable fighter in his own right. Now, months after the Khan’s defeat and having finally freed Iki from the looming shadow of the Eagle, Jin and Kaze fought together as one. They were of the same mind. Tenzo had commented on it with awe and some jealousy. Jin had only shrugged, unable to come up with a platitude that wouldn’t be condescending or remind them both of the vast difference in their stations.

The ocean waves crashed against the sands and rocks of the coast. The tide was coming in. If he left for Fune’s Refuge now, he’d probably arrive at its zenith, meaning the rocky path would be treacherous and slick. He needed to return to Tsuhima soon, but not at the cost of his life from slipping off a rock and drowning. He’d had a near enough experience to that in Zasho Bay and was loath to trust his luck a second time. Third if he counted falling off the bridge almost  year ago as his first near drowning. Jin shuddered and pointed Kaze inland.

Without realizing it, Jin found their travels took them to Hachibee’s house. He was drawn out of his head by the constant low buzzing. The bees seemed agitated today. Was it the weather? Or perhaps this was their swarming season? Hachibee had many freshly carved logs set at intervals around the clearing and through the nearby forest, prime real-estate for any queen seeking a new home.

Jin dismounted, and chuckled.

Kaze immediately retreated away from the little insects that filled the air. His ears twitched with annoyance, but perked forwards to listen once Jin began playing his flute.

This would likely be the last time he played here, for Hachibee’s bees, or—a second flute joined in harmony as Jin knew it would—with Hachibee. Three songs later Jin stopped for breath and to embrace the feeling of warm sunlight on him. He felt warmed to the bone the same way he had when Hachibee had offered him tea sweetened with honey.

“You’re leaving soon?” the apiarist asked without preamble.

Jin raised an eyebrow and answered the question with another, “How did you know?”

“Your flute sounded melancholy, my lord—uh—Jin.”

“It’s fine. I think half the island knows I’m samurai now.” Jin didn’t voice that only a handful on the island knew his clan. Fune and Tenzo had done well in keeping their own council on the matter.

Hachibee held his flute across his lap and bowed his head. “You don’t deny you’re leaving.”

“I am leaving, soon. I wished to say farewell to you, Hachibee, and to your charges.”

“Safe travels, Jin. Before you go”—Hachibee sprang to his feet, feigning lightness and levity—“allow me to give you a parting gift.”

Jin knows those on Iki don’t have much. He also knows better than to reject generosity and kindness when it offered freely. He accepted Hachibee’s gift gratefully and with a deep bow of his own. The small jars were heavy.

“Honey,” Hachibee proclaimed, “for wounds, medicine, eating. For whatever you need, Jin. Please, travel safely.”

He didn’t ask for Jin to write. Jin never bothered to find out if he was literate. He may try to send a letter back regardless. Hachibee has been a good friend.

“Thank you. Your kindness is appreciated. I will miss playing music with you, and your bees.” Jin bowed again, and waited for Hachibee to rise from his own reciprocating bow before taking his leave. That was one farewell made. His next stop would be Fune’s refuge.

#ghost of tsushima #jin sakai #my fanfiction #ghost of tsushima fanfiction #CYOA #cyoa poll #polls #CYO fic