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achaotichuman · 5 months

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Five times Lucien Vanserra proposed to Tamlin, one time Tamlin said yes.

So, I wrote this like six months ago, put it on Ao3, took it down a week later. Now we're here. If you like sappy, totally, completely, undeniably in love Tamcien, then you'll like this.

The first time Lucien proposed to Tamlin he had barely known the male two weeks and had been completely off his face on Faery wine.

Their group of friends had decided to hit a bar on the far south side of the Autumn Court. Tamlin had happened to join them and Lucien was excited to get to know the male a little better.

They had first met when their fathers demanded a meet up after a mishap with some trade between the Autumn and Spring Court, both Lucien and Tamlin had snuck off and found solace in each other's company.

The Spring gardens had been lovely to look at but not nearly as lovely at looking at the youngest Prince of Spring. Light golden hair that fell down his back and shoulders in soft waves, it was cut softly around the front nicely framing his face. He was not nearly like any other Prince he had ever seen.

Unlike the other heirs of the Courts, Tamlin had a softness to him that balanced out his warrior build. Along with an other-worldly sense of balance. Lucien had found him strolling through the dense gardens of Spring. The gardens were unlike anything, they were in a confined space, but seemingly left to their own devices, branches and flowering vines curled over each other in a way that would seem erratic and chaotic anywhere else but fit the Court so well here.

Tamlin had stood up on the tips of his toes and wrapped a hand around an unfurled rose. When he removed his hand the flower was in full bloom with specks of shimmering gold floating off of the petals.

Ground Magic they called it. The magic that allowed Spring Fae to control the growth and life of plants.

Lucien, in a moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness, stepped on a branch. Immediately the Spring Prince turned to him, and Lucien’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of those bright green eyes.

Tamlin narrowed his eyes and Lucien stood there dumbly. He wasn’t like this; he shouldn’t be like this. Normally he could easily fall into small talk, using his charm to woo people into connecting with him, but not with this male. Lucien felt like he was six years old again and standing before the whole Court, wholly on display and vulnerable.

“Who are you?” Tamlin asked quickly.

Lucien blinked, he opened and closed his mouth like a dead fish, just staring.

“What are you doing in my garden?” Tamlin asked, sounding more threatening, that snapped Lucien out of it.

“I was getting away.” Lucien said quickly, nearly smacking himself at how high-pitched and awkward his voice sounded.

Tamlin tilted his head slightly, then in two smooth leaps he was before Lucien.

Lucien, logically, didn’t have much to worry about if the lordling thought him to be a threat. Their builds were quite similar, even if the male before him was a good fifteen years older and taller than him. And Lucien knew he was quick enough to easily overpower those even twice his size. Still, he was intimidated.

After a moment Tamlin asked, "You're one of the Autumn Princes, right?”

“Um, yes, yes! Lucien.” Lucien stuck out his hand. Good Gods what the fuck was wrong with him?

Tamlin again regarded him with suspicion, then he tentatively took Lucien’s hand. His fingers were long and slender, with callous’ on his palm.

“Tamlin, nice to meet you.” He said, eyes still looking him up and down but significantly relaxed.

After Lucien got past his original awkwardness, Tamlin and he began to talk. The Princeling showed him around the gardens, apparently most of it was allowed to run on its own, but occasionally a gardener would come through and trim it up, and Tamlin would often help. He gave Lucien a detailed explanation on what certain plants were and the meaning behind them.

They ended up staying out there for four hours. Lucien said nothing but marvelled at the garden, usually he hated it when people rambled and didn’t allow a word in, but something in him told him to shut up and pay attention to what this male was saying.

Eventually Eris came to find him. It was time to return to Autumn.

Lucien and Tamlin ended up meeting every morning on the border for the next two weeks. Catching fish from the river and talking till late afternoon.

Lucien didn’t quite know what got him so invested in the Princeling, but they became good friends quickly.

Which led him to propose to the Spring lord in a drunken state.

Poor Tamlin had just been sitting at the bar, listening to the music, conversing with one of Lucien’s many friends and enjoying the atmosphere when Lucien came stumbling up to him, barely being able to stand upright.

Tamlin had laughed and gotten off his chair to help stabilise the drunk Prince. Lucien laid eyes on that pretty face and got down on one knee.

Lucien took the metal ring off his own finger and showed it to Tamlin, slurring “Marry me!”

Not even a question, more of an outright demand.

Tamlin had stared at him for a moment, his face caught between shocked and incredibly amused. He then laughed and helped pick Lucien up off the ground.

“Alright, my Fox, that's enough wine for you.” Tamlin had laughed, starting to take Lucien over to the entrance of the bar.

Lucien leaned fully onto Tamlin, “Fox? If I’m a fox what are you then, Spring Prince?”

Tamlin smiled, “Well I don’t know, I guess that's for you to decide.”

He had meant it in a joking manner, but Lucien still took it seriously. He studied Tamlin long and hard before tapping his nose and saying “Golden ray. Because you like a golden ray of sunshine!”

Tamlin had been silent for a moment, before he burst out laughing, “Alright then, my Fox.”

***

The second time Lucien proposed to Tamlin, he had been completely sober and dead serious.

But Tamlin was not aware of just how serious Lucien was.

It had been the hundred year anniversary of Jesminda’s death and naturally Lucien had been feeling pretty shitty.

Tamlin had a memorial for her. It was the centre of the gardens, surrounded by every flower Lucien had ever said she liked. A park bench had been built, it was made of Autumn wood, and in the typical lesser fae country style. On the backing there was a golden plate with the words In memory of our dearest Jesminda Roseturn, whose sarcasm and teasing will be missed but never be forgotten.

Lucien had laughed through the tears when he saw it. It was just what Jesminda would have wanted, she always hated the typical style of graveyards. Always thought them to be so morbid.

He had been sitting on that bench. Tears flowing freely down his face. He had long moved on from the deep sadness that made him never want to love another like he did her again. Still he stayed away from anything romantic during this week of the year.

Then Tamlin came out from the manor to him. Tamlin and his stupidly, obliviously, romantic whims.

He sat beside Lucien and pulled him into a hug. When she first died Lucien had avoided all touching but as the years went by, he found more and more comfort in his friends arms.

Then, in such Tamlin fashion, he made a tub of chocolate ice cream appear from the pocket between realms. It was basically just a pile of ice cream absolutely smothered in chocolate syrup, cream and strawberries.

He made two spoons appear, along with a bottle of Faery wine and set it down between them, “I figured you’d just wanna get drunk and eat sugar so I got this stuff for us.”

Lucien once thought he could only ever love Jesminda, he was very wrong, because the next words out of his mouth were, “will you marry me?”

Tamlin had laughed, taken a spoonful of ice cream and shoved it in Lucien's mouth, who fake glared at him and snatched the spoon away, sucking it clean.

Lucien didn’t remember how they even managed to finish all that ice cream. They got extravagantly drunk and didn’t remember anything after that.

***

The third time Lucien proposed to Tamlin, it wasn’t really him asking for the High lords hand, more him expressing his desire to marry him.

Both of them had been laying on the rooftop of the Manor. Looking up at the starry night, the full moon shining brightly in the sky.

The cool Spring air was biting, it didn’t bother Lucien, the fire flowing freely in his veins keeping him warm.

That wasn’t the case for the High lord beside him. Tamlin shivered and cuddled closer to Lucien. The fire lord chuckled, Tamlin was resting his head on Lucien’s shoulder, Lucien’s arm wrapped around him, keeping him pressed against the fire lord’s side.

“It’s colder than usual tonight,” Lucien quipped.

“It’s fucking freezing you walking matchstick, not that you would know considering you’re the Fae equivalent of a fireplace.” Tamlin angrily snuggled closer.

Lucien pressed his lips into Tamlin’s hair. Rubbing his hand up and down Tamlin’s back, heating his hand so it warmed his friend.

Tamlin let out a small satisfied sigh, “I love you.”

The words sunk into his skin. Lucien nearly made his skin too hot for comfort.

Lucien freely expressed his love to Tamlin with his words, but the latter rarely used his voice to express his love.

Tamlin made up for it in the endless gestures that he only extended to those he held close to his heart. But Lucien always wished he would say it back.

And right now he had. Lucien basked in the feeling like the sun had just come out.

“I love you.” He whispered back, “so much.”

Tamlin laughed quietly, “How much?”

Lucien started drawing circles on his back, “So much so, that if I had to choose one person to spend the rest of my life with, the choice is obvious…”

Tamlin gave him a bright smile, Lucien then said, “Andras, all the way.”

Tamlin slapped his arm, laughing, “you’re an asshole, we were having a moment, how dare you!”

Lucien wrapped both his arms tightly around him, pulling the squirming High lord close, “No, Golden Ray, I’m sorry. If I had to pick one person to spend the rest of my immortal lifespan with, it would be you, without hesitation.”

Tamlin rested his head on Lucien’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, “I would choose you as well, always.”

The fire lord knew that Tamlin didn’t mean that romantically, maybe would never mean that romantically. But just for a moment, just for tonight, he let himself hope.

***

The fourth time Lucien proposed, it was after their whole lives had just come crashing down.

Fifty years to find a human woman who would love Tamlin despite a hatred of Fae. A joke, pure mockery of the High lord. Amarantha’s way of proving to Tamlin that only she could love him.

And Tamlin was believing her.

He was covered in bruises and blood as was Lucien. Both of them were locked away in Lucien’s room. Sitting on the bed, tears streaming down their faces. Their masked faces.

Lucien took Tamlin’s face in his hands. Even with the mask he knew what he looked like under it, he knew just how beautiful his friend was, and would never forget it even if these masks never came off.

“How am I going to do this?” Tamlin whispered, “how am I going to find someone to love me enough to break a fucking curse?”

Lucien rested his forehead against Tamlin. The gold of their masks clicked together, “how could anyone not fall in love with you?”

Tamlin huffed, “the only person to ever pursue me is the reason we’re wearing these godforsaken masks.”

“That’s not true-“

“Yes! Yes it is Lucien! We are in this mess because of me! Now because of me I have to send a sentry to his death! How can I do that?! How can I look any of my men in the eye and tell them to cross a wall knowing they’ll never return in some desperate hope of a maiden potentially killing them?!”

“Tamlin! This is not your fault! Amarantha is fucking insane! None of this is because of you! As for the sentries, we will give whoever we choose a send off worth remembering for centuries to come. This is for not just our Court but all of Pythian now.”

Tamlin was silent, those tears dropped off his face staining his shirt. Lucien took Tamlin’s hands in his.

“How am I going to get someone to fall in love with me?”

Lucien smiled slightly, “who wouldn’t fall for you?”

Tamlin shook his head, “No, no. No one would fall for me, besides that psycho bitch Queen.”

“Tamlin-“

“Lucien, I can't charm people. I can’t woo females or even flirt properly, that’s your domain. Even if we find a human that meets the criteria, she will hate me, I am just not loveable-“

“I love you!” Lucien shouted.

“It’s not the same!” Tamlin shouted back, “You’re my friend! We love each other differently than people who are lovers!”

The words were poison, but at this point Lucien couldn’t back down. He was losing Tamlin anyway, what hurt would it do to finally say it, “No, Tam, it’s exactly the same. I love you, you are not just a friend to me and you have never been just a friend to me! I love you so much it hurts! And seeing you like this, thinking that no one could ever love you, breaks my heart more than you’ll ever imagine!”

Tamlin went completely silent at that. From the look on the High lord’s face Lucien might as well have said he was going to go over the wall himself to retrieve a maiden.

“I… Tamlin I-”

Tamlin brought Lucien’s hands to his face, kissing them relentlessly, “Why would you say that?! Why would you tell me that now?!”

Both of them were shaking, Lucien was using every fibre in his body to not start crying right then and there.

“Why would you tell me that when I can’t love you?! When I’m doomed to never be able to love you?!” His words were near incoherent from the tears choking his words. Lucien understood him all the same.

Lucien lost the battle to his tears, he started sobbing, resting his forehead against the crown of Tamlin’s hair, “Because I can’t go another day without you knowing! Tamlin, I have wanted you forever, I will always love you!”

When the two of them calmed down enough, they both laid down on Lucien’s bed. Tamlin’s face pressed into Lucien’s chest. Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other.

“If… if we could start over, and this never happened…” He wanted to ask. At the same time he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Just say it, Luce.”

“... will you marry me?”

Tamlin didn’t answer, he never answered. Not that night, not the next day, not fifty years later. He just pressed himself harder against Lucien, more sobs falling from him.

One day, forty-nine years later, a Huntress named Feyre with light brown hair, piercing blue eyes and a pretty face came into their lives.

Lucien hated her with every piece of his soul.

***

The fifth time Lucien proposed to Tamlin he was turned down flat.

They had come out from Under the Mountain barely two days earlier. The two of them were sitting on the rooftop, like they had done so many years prior.

The moon was high in the sky, the stars settled above them like drops of sunlight scattered throughout the darkness.

“She’s Fae now.” Tamlin murmured, “She’s going to live as long as us.”

His tone was not said in the happy way it should be. It should have been said joyfully, it should have been an acknowledgement that the female he loved was going to be beside him forever.

Instead he sounded resigned, like the idea of Feyre being immortal was yet another curse.

“Yeah. She’ll be with us forever,” Lucien said.

The Fox couldn’t help it, he conjoined his hand with Tamlin’s, “She loved you enough to go Under the Mountain for us.”

Tamlin nodded, “We owe her every life in Prythian. She is our saviour.”

There was a beat of silence. One heartbeat, then the next. Tamlin said, “I can’t let that happen to her again.”

“Amarantha is dead, it will never happen again.”

Tamlin shook his head, an opened envelope appeared from the pocket between realms. He handed it to Lucien.

The Fox was confused for a moment, he opened the letter and scanned over it.

Oh… shit.

Tamlin spoke, “Hybern wants to establish a meet up. They want to weasel their way back into Prythian, now that Amarantha is dead, their puppet is gone. Hybern will be looking for a way back in.”

“Why us?” Lucien asked.

Tamlin’s eyes went uncharacteristically cold at that, “It may have something to do with Feyre being the cursebreaker. They may want to establish contact with her, and if they want to get into Prythian and create another Amarantha situation, they may be looking to eliminate her before she becomes a problem again.”

“You mean they want to kill her?” Lucien asked, it made him a horrible person, but the idea she might die and leave Tamlin all to himself made a tiny part of him light up.

No, she sacrificed her life for all of them. He couldn’t be so hateful of her anymore.

“That's what I’m thinking. We need to keep her here and in sight. There's no telling if they send in a spy, with the economy down and most of the Court in destruction it would be easy to send in a spy or assassin. Feyre can’t be left unguarded.”

“So what? You want a group of sentries to follow her around all day?” Lucien asked.

“For now… that's not a bad idea. Especially whilst she’s getting used to her new body.”

It made sense. Hybern was psychotic, it was where Amarantha came from, but they were intelligent. Most people had left Spring once the Bitch Queen was brought down to go see family in neighbouring Courts, so the grounds and Court were in chaos. It would be the perfect time for a snake to get into the hen house.

More silence past them. Lucien gripped the letter a little tighter. He glanced at Tamlin who was staring up at the moon, his eyes had fallen closed. It was like he was bathing in the silvery glow.

“Tam.”

“Yeah.” Tamlin replied, his eyes still closed.

“Are you going to marry her?” He couldn’t help it, the question slipped past his defences.

Tamlin opened his eyes and looked at Lucien. The fire lord cursed himself for ruining the peaceful moment.

“If everything goes according to plan, yes. Yes I will.”

Another heartbeat, then the next, “Do you want to?”

Tamlin sucked in a breath and looked down at the gardens, now surrounded by darkness, “She saved our lives, because of her love for me… Marriage is what's expected.”

“But do you want to?” Lucien pressed.

“She saved us, Lucien. She saved us-”

“Forget that! Forget everything about that! She’s because of Amarantha! She is a direct byproduct of that hateful witch! You can’t tell me you want to chain yourself to those memories!”

Tamlin snapped. Lucien knew he’d gone too far when the word ‘chain’ left his mouth. The High lord gave a low growl and that was the only warning Lucien got before he was being pinned on his back. Tamlin’s sharp claws punctured through his fingertips, digging into his arms, just not drawing blood.

“Don’t speak about her like that! We owe her a life debt, we all do and you are no exception!”

Lucien always marvelled at how Tamlin’s eyes glowed when he was angry. From a first glance the High lord was just that, royalty. He had a softness and grace to him that even Lucien couldn’t muster, but those claws… the eyes he had and the fangs that gleamed in the light revealed an animalistic side of him that Lucien hadn’t ever truly seen his High lord embrace. Almost like he was afraid of it.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just… I’m sorry.” Lucien whispered.

Tamlin relaxed, his claws withdrew and his eyes dimmed. He sat back on his heels. Lucien just realised Tamlin was straddling his waist.

“I miss you.” Lucien revealed.

Tamlin looked back down into his eyes. There was a longing in them. Lucien’s heart selfishly leapt at the idea Tamlin still wanted him as much as Lucien did.

“I miss you too.” Tamlin murmured.

Lucien took the High lord’s hands in his, “Tam… will you marry-”

“No, no I won’t.” Tamlin said, his voice hardening.

He knew that would be the answer, his heart still shattered all the same.

“I won’t marry you, Lucien. I miss you, I do. I love you more than you’ll ever imagine, but you’re not worth the price I would have to pay. If I could do it all over I would marry you, I would spend eternity with you, I would have children with you, but I can’t. We can’t be wed, and there is no use in mourning what could have been.”

The fire lord nodded, “I know.”

Tamlin leaned down and brushed his lips against Lucien’s, he longed to lean up and kiss him properly, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew this was Tamlin’s way of saying goodbye.

“I love you, my Fox, and I always will.” With that Tamlin kissed his cheek, pulled himself off of Lucien and strided inside, never looking back.

Lucien waited until he heard the rooftop door close, before he let the tears fall.

***

One day. One rainy Spring morning, Lucien asked again.

Spring was restored. The people were back, festivities were under way. Years had passed since Tamlin and Feyre’s fall out, people had moved past it. The Court was thriving and Spring was three times the size it was before even Amarantha.

Kosechi had been eliminated. Vassa and Jurian themselves now wore wedding rings, their one year anniversary would be coming up in a few days.

With Beron now dead and Eris on the throne, Prythian was united at last. After Feyre and Tamlin settled their past with an exchange of letters the other Courts were far more receptive to deals with Spring.

Lucien no longer worked as Emissary to any Court. He stayed in Spring, helping his best friend.

Though he wanted to change that soon, he always wanted to travel outside of Prythian. But he didn’t want to go alone.

Now that Spring was all in order, with advisors and Courtiers they trusted running the place. Maybe Tamlin might want to give travelling a go.

Tamlin was currently standing out in the rain. It had been raining since early the night before. The ground was well and truly soaked, as was Tamlin but he didn’t seem to mind that.

Lucien snuck up behind him, either Lucien was getting better at sneaking around or Tamlin was losing his touch, but either way when the Fox grabbed Tamlin from behind. The High lord startled, throwing them both into the mud.

Lucien laughed, pinning Tamlin down into the wet dirt. Tamlin rolled his eyes, “great, now we’re both dirty, good job.”

The fire lord gave him a grin, “Thank you, Golden Ray. I will say you are still magnificent, even covered in mud.”

If Tamlin rolled his eyes any harder they’d get stuck, “You’re a suck up, get off of me.”

The Fox huffed, but stood up, grabbing Tamlin and pulling him to stand, Tamlin tried to brush the mud off of his green shirt, “Why would you do that? I liked this shirt.”

“You say that like it won’t wash out.” Lucien said, wrapping his arms around Tamlin’s waist and pulling him close.

Tamlin was significantly taller than Lucien when they first met, but Lucien had grown since that day, grown into his limbs and grown into his body. Now Tamlin looked up to meet his eyes. The High lord smiled up at him, wrapping his own arms around Lucien’s neck, “I guess you’re right.”

Lucien returned the smile and rested his forehead against Tamlin’s. Gently swaying them from side to side.

Neither knew how long they stood there, be it minutes or hours, either way Lucien didn’t want the moment to end.

“What are we going to get for Jurian and Vassa’s anniversary?” Tamlin asked eventually.

Lucien’s eyes had fallen closed, he hummed, “not sure yet, I know Summer does week long cruises to the islands across from it. We could get them that?”

“Maybe… you’ll need to remind Vassa as well. Jurian will run himself ragged, getting her everything romantic thing he can think of just for her to forget it's even happening.”

The fire lord laughed, “I’ve already sent her a letter, she sent me a very snappy one back.”

“She didn’t forget?”

Lucien laughed, “No she had. Didn’t thank me though.”

The High lord chuckled and pressed his face into the crook of Lucien’s neck, “Such Vassa fashion.”

“I know.” Lucien murmured, letting his chin rest on Tamlin’s head.

Everything was good again. Lucien wouldn’t fool himself into believing it was better than before. Tamlin still struggled day and night with the memories that were haunting him, though he was certainly getting better, his temper significantly calming down.

Lucien struggled as well. About a year ago he was invited to train with the newly formed Valkyrie. When he went there one of the girls, Roslin might have been her name, was accidentally shoved into him. Lucien had a horrific panic attack when she fell on top of him, all he could see were the priestess robes he tried so hard every night to forget.

He had since gone back there a few times and was finding it easier and easier, but Roslin, poor thing, was still incredibly apologetic even now a year later.

Regardless, he knew he was getting better, he knew they were both getting better.

There were some nights he wished to curl up beside his friend, to kiss him how he had once before. To feel his bare skin under his hands, to hear him speak in that loving tone he only gave to Lucien when they were alone.

For the longest time, he didn’t push. Not while Tamlin was recovering, the last thing either of them needed was to worry about a romantic relationship.

But now…

“Tam…” Lucien whispered.

There must’ve been something worried in his tone because Tamlin pulled away from Lucien just enough to see his face, “yes, my Fox?”

Both were absolutely soaked through and covered in mud. They were surrounded by the wild flowers and vines of the Spring Court gardens. They were here, they were alive, they were home.

“Remember when we first met, and I stared at you like dead fish, barely able to speak?”

Tamlin gave him a sly grin, “yes, I was so confused because all the stories I’d heard of ‘that Lucien Vanserra’ painted you like some sort of seductive tempter and there you were… looking like a stunned deer.”

Lucien laughed, “You want to know why I was staring like that?”

Tamlin looked confused at that, so Lucien continued, “It was because you were the most beautiful male I’d ever set my eyes on.”

A deep blush spread across Tamlin’s face up to the tips of his pointed ears, he opened his mouth, presumably to deny, but Lucien interjected, “You were and still are the most stunning, ravishing male I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. You are the most beautiful person to ever walk into my life, and not just on the outside. You have a heart of pure gold that you give to everyone you meet. You are the most open and honest person I have ever met and even after you have been dragged through trial after trial you have never lost that.”

“For a while I thought I did lose you, I thought I had lost the light of my life forever, but I was wrong. Your flames came back, as they always do. And I have had the honour to watch them come back.”

“Lucien, you deserve everything.” Tamlin said.

Lucien’s smile couldn't get any bigger at this point. Tamlin was giving him that look of pure love that he had missed so, so much.

“Tamlin, I am selfish, and I want to love you forever, I never want to lose you to anybody ever again. I want to keep you all for my own self.”

“You have me, Lucien.” Tamlin said, it was hard to see in the rain but there were tears flowing down his High lord’s face, “you have always had me. You deserve everything of me, I have done nothing that would even begin to make me deserve you. I will spend every waking moment of my life trying to deserve you. Trying to atone to you for what I’ve done in the past. But I am always yours.”

“Well in that case… I want everyone to know you are mine, and that I am yours. So, Tamlin Fairburn, will you make me the happiest male to ever live…” Lucien slid down onto one knee, pulling out a box from his pocket. He opened it up to reveal a golden ring, encrusted with fire opal and emeralds. It was shaped like a vine with tiny, fragile golden leaves attached to it.

“Will you marry me?” Lucien asked.

Tamlin was covering his mouth, looking like he was caught between laughing and crying, he nodded. Lucien couldn't help the giddy grin that split across his face.

“Is that a yes?” Lucien laughed.

“Yes, yes it's a yes, you stupid romantic moron, yes I will marry you!” Tamlin said.

He laughed and stood back up, taking Tamlin’s hand and sliding the ring on. Tamlin marvelled at it, running his finger lightly on the gold.

“I love you.” Tamlin said.

“I love you.” Lucien said back, cupping his face and kissing him hard.

Tamlin wrapped his arms around his neck and stood up on the tips of his toes, kissing Lucien with the same passion.

This was it. This was happily ever after.

Lucien would never forget his first love, Jesminda. He held a special place in his heart for her.

And he forgave Feyre for the heart ache she caused.

But this was the male he loved. This was the life he loved.

Lucien finally realised that through all these years, he had been collecting the pieces of his heart and putting it back together. This was the final piece; it was complete the second he slid that ring onto his soulmate's hand.

#i don't even know #consider this the spring cleaning of my writing #acotar #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamlin #pro tamlin #acotar headcanons #acotar au #tamcien #tamlin/lucien vanserra #ive got a shovel and im digging out the knee high trash that is my forgotten drafts

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dreaminghour · 10 months

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Hayden/Ewan RPF - Feeling of doing nothing

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Star Wars RPF Rating: General Audiences Prompt: 30 Feeling of doing nothing Ship: Hayden/Ewan Disclaimer: References to real people are used fictitiously. Do not share this with them! Context: Present day. Ewan is visiting Hayden on his farm. Follows the timeline of my other RPF ficlets, but you don’t necessarily need to read those to understand this. You can find them here on my blog. Words: 892

It takes Ewan several hours to spit out what he's been chewing on. Enough time for Hayden to go out with the farm-hand and set up the new fence post where he should have put one years ago and to smear the cuts on Dolly's skin to keep them from getting infected.

He is quiet through lunch prep, which doesn't much phase Hayden; he's found both the storyteller and the stoic to be good company. It gives him time to turn over his own thoughts…

He hasn't asked why Ewan is here because he more or less knows: marriage trouble or its ilk. He doesn't go for gossip but things come across his screen nonetheless, no matter how much he ignores them.

"Listen, I… " Ewan begins before trailing off almost immediately.

So Hayden listens, to the silence mostly, but at the same time he watches — the slack set of Ewan's jaw, the furrow between his brows, his distant gaze, the beard overdue for a trim.

"I'm really grateful for your hospitality," he continues.

"Of course," Hayden says immediately. "You're always welcome."

"And you haven't asked," Ewan says slowly, "but I suppose you're probably wondering…"

"I mean," Hayden shifts, turning his gaze from the porch to the distant grove of trees. "I know."

Ewan doesn't reply, doesn't turn to look at him, just furrows his brow.

"You told me some of it in Berlin. I expect this is related?" He turns it into a question at the last second.

"My partner," Ewan says, as though gearing himself up for it, and then he stops again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hayden asks.

"What's there to say?" Ewan asks in exasperation.

But then he speaks for hours.

At the end of it, they finished the chores, cleaned up after dinner, and are back on the porch, back with that malted fruit soda instead of beer. Hayden isn't a teetotaller, but he doesn't mind it.

"Our publicists did a damn sight better negotiating our separation than we did." Ewan picks at the label on his bottle. "I'm ashamed to say there was a fair bit of yelling, most of it was me."

He falls back in his chair with a sigh, seeming depleted.

"That's what they called irreconcilable differences. Two times now." He grimaces. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"You're not," Hayden says gently. "Irreconcilable… it's the right word. Sometimes you're in a good relationship, with a good person, but there's just that thing you can't get over. Or several."

Hayden smirks, laughing to himself.

"Speaking from experience?" Ewan asks kindly.

When Hayden looks up, Ewan is looking at him affectionately, but it's a deeply sympathetic look as well. Hayden thinks he sees tears shining in Ewan's eyes.

"When it happens more than once…" Hayden trails off and Ewan lets him keep the silence a moment.

Out in the grass, the evening insects are louder than they've been all day.

"I don't think there's anyone who got me the way Rachel does. And… I flatter myself thinking that I'm good enough to deserve her. I'd do almost anything for her."

He catches himself before he gets lost gathering wool.

"Anyway. Even though I'm pretty sure she's my person, I'm not sure I'm hers. When we're good, we're so good, but it's not enough." He shrugs. "Sometimes that's not enough."

"Do you ever think you should try harder?"

"We do." Hayden snorts. "We did."

"Ah, I'm sorry," Ewan says quietly. "I didn't mean to dredge up your own feelings about separation."

Hayden snorts. "No worries. I spend a lot of time thinking about her, about us…" He hesitates a moment, knowing he's alluded to it but not yet explained… "I'm even writing a book about it."

"About you and Rachel?" Ewan asks, brow furrowing as he looks at Hayden.

"Well, a guy named Mac and his ex-fiancée, Evelyn."

"Do they have a daughter?" Ewan asks, smirking, but its a playful look.

"Yeah, her name is Marie, and she spends the summers with her dad when she's not at school."

"And are they both actors?" Ewan asks.

"No, actually, bit of a Notting Hill situation, Evelyn is a stage actress who came out to do regional theater when she was young, fell in love, but Mac couldn't hack it in the city."

"The city is boring," Ewan says, his expression darkening. "I don't blame him for leaving."

"He goes back occasionally," Hayden says, shrugging. "There's balance, I guess. Ah, well… I don't know if I'll ever send it out. Or if anyone would even publish it."

"I'd like to read it," Ewan says, almost adamant.

Hayden is surprised, but as the shock settles over him, he realizes he shouldn't be. He remembers how quiet Ewan had gotten when he'd found out about Hayden's short stories — also unpublished — in a way that didn't seem like disapproval. Ewan's always been politely curious, not just about Hayden, so this should feel normal to have that interest turned upon him.

It does not feel normal. He thinks of Ewan holding him when he'd been a scared boy away from home, and holding Ewan when he'd been a wreck in Berlin. He thinks of stroking Ewan's hair back from his face when he'd fallen asleep on the couch and it feels… not normal.

"Okay," Hayden says.

#domaystic2023 #2023day30 #dreamy does fic #dreamy does domaystic #star wars rpf #hayden x ewan #ewan x hayden #haywan

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nightcall99 · 29 days

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Notes from 31.3.24

A few dreams. In the first dream, I go back to the same Viet lady in her shop to get some fish and chips. I already had it yesterday and wanted it again. Actually now that I'm typing this, I'm getting the message that the only reason it seems like I had it 'yesterday' is because my HS had to replay this dream twice so that I would remember it. Anyway, this time I ordered more food than the day before (it's more the second time round, only for emphasis). Initially the room is dark, none of the lights are on. But then the shop is open for business, only because I am there. I order potato cakes, chips and fish too. I take out my white debit card to pay.

In the second dream, four people are playing a game. Two of them are standing and facing one person who is watching and trying to figure out what the pair are doing. The two have pots of mint plants behind their backs and trimming off sprigs of it, presumably for use. But they are trying to hide the fact that they are doing this from the person who is watching. All the watching person can see, is two people standing tall and smiling broadly. The fourth person, I don't know what they're doing but I sense their presence.

The first dream seems to be about how 3D is only here because I'm still participating. And the second, I dunno, it's the four people thing again. Guess we're playing games.

The thing with food is that now I am acutely aware of how it is a code. Yesterday, I ate like normal. My body was simply hungry and so I ate. A few hours ago, I really wanted to have a meal at McDonald's. Nothing wrong with that, it's just molecules. But the enjoyment of the food would have been secondary. What I wanted foremost was to feel weighed down, for the world to impress upon me, any kind of impression. I didn't care what. Because I didn't like the alienating experiences of today. I wanted emotional satiation, when I can get none. So I didn't get any. When I got home, there was sushi on the counter and I ate that. I don't think it 'did' anything. I don't think anything detrimental happens either way. So why am I mentioning this at all? Just for awareness. Everything, I think, has been an exercise in awareness. I could have had my meal at McDonalds. But fulfillment is out of reach and perhaps, gone forever. I think that this is what lies at the heart of this 'call' to fast. Food is a code and at any given moment, it does what we assign it to do. But on the level of us playing this game, whatever it is that food used to do for us, it can no longer happen. Those options have floated away and have left us here, floating. That's just how it is now.

Today, I suppose, was another chance to fall and believe that none of this is real. I don't think I can fall anymore, just experience these moments where I think I will. In a way, it is a type of exhilaration. I seem to dangle my legs off the building, knowing full well that I am strapped into a parachute. And maybe the sensation of being hundreds of floors up is just an illusion in the first place. We play with illusions all the time. Everything I think, right now, is about seeing through these illusions.

I think I have become extremely cold. I don't cry. I think maybe, crying is a waste of time. I know that it will not do, what it used to do. There's no use trying. I would be more worried if it wasn't because I know that I am the higher self now (just a figure of speech, we have always been the HS, you know what I mean). Yes. I know this. My stoniness is less a reaction to the outside world, and more because I have become inhospitable to the game giving rise from within me. I am like agar jelly in a petri dish. I could grow colonies of bacteria, any type of microbe, if I wanted to. But there are no more variables. No sets of conditions. No hypothesis. No controls. I am not subjecting myself to any of it.

Also, I would be more worried if I wasn't still kind to people. Because I am. In a way, I have become considerably more kind while simultaneously maintaining my cruelty. I think I get it now, just a little bit more than before, exactly how we have played this game. I have ignored my mother since the events of last week, simply because it feels natural. I would be exerting more energy to make things right and maybe that's what resistance is. Things should just be how they already are and if they weren't supposed to be, then they wouldn't. I ignore people but I also pay attention to everyone. I hate the ones I love, realising the ones I love, I should hate. That sentence doesn't even make sense, but it feels right so I'll keep it. I see that I have always been honest in my lying and insincere in my attempts to be truthful. Throughout it all, for some reason I want to be a good person. I would never want to kill anyone, but I see that I could, if I had a sharp knife and was placed in the right pressure cooker of blended spices, rice and meat. I think being human has been nothing but downright terrifying. And to play this one last game and to have no other way to describe it, other than to say that I'm 'cold' and to still use words akin to 'bad' and 'good', when all I wish to do is to detach... just speaks volumes.

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erstwhilesparrow · 1 year

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this happens just about every year, around this time when the sunsets start going from sharp to buttery. it's always the same, but the funny thing is i can't bring myself to be bothered by that. i want to tell you about it. here, sit with me a minute?

the bridge is concrete most of the way through, beige-ish grey. coming up on it on the bus, it looks like a solid hill, rising up toward the palely blue sky. the moon is a thin radish slice stamped on the vault of the heavens, and if you get the hour right, the sun paints the whole inside of the bus golden-yellow. if you were driving, you would feel the pull of gravity as the incline gets properly going, would have to set your foot a little firmer on the gas pedal and insist on the climb. if it's windy, the rattle of our means of conveyance drowns it out.

underneath, unfurling from the underside of the bridge, there's train tracks, long metal lines joining this part of the city to the rest of it. sequins of light spark from the windows of the skyscrapers that make the horizon on our left. on our right, more tracks, and flat-roofed buildings, squat as toy blocks, not dusty but very settled. with words, the landscape is crowded, but it's really a rather sparse space. you can imagine this is the sort of place people from downtown escape to. look a little further, and the blues of the horizon might be water, might be mountains, might be sky.

we're at the top of the bridge now; this is the best view you're going to get. pay a little more attention to the bus with me. yes, there are people in here. yes, their lives are many and varied. the sun flares off the curve of a metal support into your eyes. don't turn to look, but there's a girl in the back, and i think i know her. her head is turned toward the windows on the left, same view we just had. her headphones are a peachy pink, her bag plain and practical and maroon. her coat is black down to the fur trim on the hood. her hijab is blue, some shade more alive than the sky.

but it's not really the girl i'm thinking of. it might be her. it might be my heart. that's the sweet agony of it: i don't know, and i won't ask. the girl i see sitting back there, one day, one day soon, it will be ten years since we were both twelve and i adored her so fiercely it calcified as physical pains in the place where my ribs point toward each other. when we last spoke as those twelve-year-old girls, she gave me a card with a whole world inside it, where we would be close as sisters forever. i think of her, and i think of the girl behind us who might be her but who won't meet my gaze even if it is her, and i am reminded again that i really, really believe this: whatever i feel for her now is the closest i will ever get to falling in love.

i didn't get to tell her, but i have to carry the memory with me now: one saturday, still a child for whom saturdays meant an impassable space between one waking hour under the covers and another seated at the dining room table, i started dreaming a garden for us. it's still in me somewhere, not the flowers i wasn't sharp enough to learn, not the exact place i built up the little wooden house we would share, but the shape of that garden, all winding paths, tall grass, and a bench we would sit on together to watch the seagulls call.

i cannot tell you this and make you understand how true it is, but i must say it anyway. there is a piece of my heart that will always be for her. i don't think of her often (this thing in my chest is neither leash nor thorn) but i have a tenderness for her that refuses to run out. she doesn't know it. i don't know her. we are not sisters anymore, and the garden lost its gate when my first phone went dark, but this girl--

if i just turned my head, do you think we could find our way into each other's lives again? if she was willing, i think i would be amenable to that.

ah, but we have seen each other from opposite sides of long hallways before, and she didn't want to see me, so i didn't see her. looking through the windshield, we can see the slope all the way down now, how the hill continues past the end of the bridge, on and on careening between buildings toward the shore. the water level around here used to be higher. the place we are going used to be underwater. pull the cord, please; the next stop is ours.

#sparrowsong

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years

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Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

#ivar #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #cherrypie’s500 #fairytale retelling #ivarello

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lazarettta · 3 years

Text

Misthios IV

Characters (Spartan!Reader x Mother Miranda)

Rating (T)

Word Count (3.4k)

Warnings (none I don't think)

You're up roaming around the castle and run into Miranda and Alcina.

It's been an exhausting but thrilling six months since you've gained the eye of this region's reigning ruler. Their Queen was ruthless as she was beautiful and you were quickly learning that she had a particular taste for blood that you haven't seen since your days in Sparta. Creative and cunning as she was, especially when it came to acts of revenge, but she took care of her kingdom and her people so long as they were loyal to her and her alone.

It was that last rule that forced you to discover just how cruel and destructive the mountains of Norway could be because you were tasked with chasing down a group of runaway slaves—as a punishment. This was different from your 'normal' punishments.

There was nothing special about these fucking slaves, they were just stupid enough to think it wise to steal from their Queen and then dare escape. It angered you so much that she'd send you on this quest when a small squadron of low ranked knights would've done fine.

It had taken you a week and two villages to finally catch up with them into the mountains. The conditions were harsher than what you were prepared for and you had to abandon half your gear and continue on foot. The cold was too much for your horse to handle, but he was old and you were sure to put him out of his misery before continuing on your hunt.

You'd caught them asleep in a cave a few miles away from a village that was tucked away into the mountain side. You purchased food and another horse, costing you all the silver you carried but it made your hunt easier and quicker. You hadn't been looking for the cave but a small fire through the thick of the trees caught your attention. Tying your new mare a distance away, you crept towards them, sticking to the tall grass and the shadows.

They'd all been sleeping so peacefully, even their so-called 'watcher'. It was almost too easy to just go and kill them quietly one by one...but Miranda had specific instructions for you to follow if you wanted her forgiveness. She wanted to hear them scream while she slept and that was exactly what you intended to deliver. You unsheathed one of your twin blades and with practiced ease, you swung right as the watcher’s eyes snapped open.

You were startled awake by a scream that you weren't sure if it was from your dream or if it was a real one. You sat up half way in the bed of the guest room you were put up in, leaning on your elbow ready to spring from beneath the sheets but nothing ever came. After another full five minutes of sitting and waiting with no result, you let yourself fall back onto the soft pillows and threw an arm over your eyes as they began to leak tears.

Nothing of sadness or the sort, you were simply exhausted—you were still in your clothing with your parka not too far away just in case you had to use the window for a quick escape. You even kept your boots on, even though it was too warm for you but you'd deal with it as you've been through more uncomfortable situations that couldn't even compare to simply being hot. Of course if you take off a few layers you'd be fine, but paranoia hasn't exactly been very kind to you in the past years...with good reason too. You hadn't died in over ten years and you planned to keep that streak going.

But even as those thoughts comforted you a bit, sleep evaded you—no longer finding you worthy of its pleasures and you just laid there sprawled out and tangled within the soft white linen sheets that were probably now dirty thanks to you. You didn't care. They probably had more somewhere.

Resigned to the fact that you'd probably never be able to go back to sleep, at least not any time soon, so pushed aside the heavy duvet and slipped out of the bed quietly. You moved towards the window but the only thing you could see was the few trees below and a land covered in blankets of undisturbed snow. A little further beyond the tree line, you saw smoke coming from the chimneys of the factory before you turned away from the view and left your room. You looked left and right of the hallway but there wasn't a sign of life to be found, not even that little maiden Alcina practically made your shadow. It was probably later than it actually felt and she was probably asleep...everyone probably was.

Checking your watch— ah, right. Miranda even took that. She took everything you could use as a weapon and it tickled you more than it annoyed you. Unsupervised, you can now take your time to feel your way around. You didn't get a chance to get a good look at everything before but now you did, and it was an opportunity to get to know the Lady of the castle. You'd long dismissed the thought that anything in this village was normal, it had more secrets and shadows than a horror book you guessed.

Walking through the halls of the second floor felt like a trip down memory lane—no particular region as most all castles were the same. Large and filled with fancy portraits and trinkets that could house and feed five families at a time. Carpet so plush and soft that you could feel it through your boots with each step. It absorbed your weight like a welcome home hug. Clearly Lady Alcina was a woman of finer things in life and that extended far outside of her wardrobe and preferred wines.

It just unnerved you how quiet everything was, a castle thing large and prosperous had to have staff minding it twenty four seven. Nonetheless, you finally came to the door that you recognized during your brief tour as the 'wine room'. Like everything else you'd come across, the door was finely made from dark red oak with gold trimmings—just like Alcina's stagecoach.

Without a second thought about it, you opened the door—simply with the intent of getting a better look at the wine collection the maiden mentioned during your tour. But that thought was cut short because the room wasn't as empty as the silence in the hallway led you to believe as you'd walked into a full conversation by two people; one you were hoping to avoid for a few days and the other you thought was asleep...or well away from your location. You were wrong on both accounts.

“Heisenberg is a blundering fool leading a pack of fleabags, Miranda. He is going to fail again!”

“And we don't have time to stress other options, especially that one! We're out of time already and—”

“Exactly we're out of time so just ask her—” you pushed the door open a little more and it creaked quietly.

They both turned to you and you stood frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to make of the scene in front of you or what you just overheard. Miranda and Alcina were sitting at the small table, well Miranda was, Alcina was sitting in one of her custom chairs a little further away and both women had two glasses filled with dark red wine. Alcina wasn't in her white dress anymore, instead she'd changed into a pair of dark slacks and deep red turtle neck and she was barefoot. A far cry from the regal dress she wore earlier but she still carried herself in the same manner.

You did your best not to think about how good Miranda looked without that damn mask on her face...even in those robes she still wore, Miranda was beautiful. Beautiful as the day you first met. You forced yourself to keep your attention on Alcina and not Miranda, who was now staring a hole into the side of your face like she was trying to will you into looking at her.

“Oh. Shit, I didn't know this room was occupied.”

Alcina glanced at Miranda briefly from behind her wine glass, her expression unreadable when she settled her eyes on you again, “Of course not, dear. Is everything alright?”

You cleared your throat, fighting the urge to look at Miranda because you could feel her trying to will your eyes in her direction, “No, actually I—”

You were interrupted by an ear piercing scream and high pitched laughter right behind her, on the verge of being hysterical. Lady Dimitrescu sighed heavily behind you and finished her wine before setting her glass down and rising to her full height.

“Please excuse me, it seems that my daughters are teasing the poor maids again.”

You started to comment that it didn't sound like it was teasing but you kept your mouth shut, knowing better than to stick your nose in the wrong place too soon—it never really turned out very well for you the first time. It would never cease to amaze you how fast and quiet Alcina moved despite her size, but it still baffled you that she hasn't ever gotten the doors to her own castle fixed to fit for her . But those thoughts were pushed to the far corners of your mind when the door clicked shut—leaving you alone in the room with Miranda, forcing you to acknowledge her now. You shoved your hands in your pockets and sighed, you weren't expecting to see her again so soon.

You still hadn't had time to get your shit together after the last time you two spoke, or more like argued back and forth. Easily falling into a pattern as if you hadn't been centuries apart. You still weren't sure how you were supposed to feel about that.

“Take a seat, (Y/n). Would you like a glass of wine?” Miranda broke the silence but she didn't break eye contact with you once she caught you eye, holding you as if she physically had her hands on your face. “We don't have to talk if you don't want to, (Y/n).”

“Oh, so now we're suddenly interested in what I want to do?”

“Yes, of course. Wine?”

You scoffed, rolling her eyes at her typical answer and you wanted to say no, you opened your mouth to do so but instead you were getting closer to the table she was sitting at. She poured you a glass of wine, and handed it to you. You raised an eyebrow, she couldn't have set it down for you? She insisted on handing it to you and the way Miranda was holding the glass left you no choice to place your hands over hers to take it from her. Those gold claw rings were ice cold against your skin and the edge of one nicked your skin but not deep enough to draw blood.

You had no idea what you wanted to say to Miranda, you weren't ready to talk about what you two needed to talk about but you weren't sure if you could sit here and do small talk with her over wine. It was so easy for you to get up and leave, maybe go back to your guest room and lock the door. So what was stopping you? Why was it difficult?

Miranda, who had been watching you intently, interrupted your rapid thoughts, “You always were a loud thinker, (Y/n).”

“Nothing interesting, trust me.”

“Oh I beg to differ,” Miranda chuckled, shifting in her chair slightly to angle herself towards you a little more. You sort of hated yourself for thinking how well she was pulling off the priestess look, “I could always tell what you were thinking even from a mile away. You were always quite the unique distraction.”

“You never complained before.”

“No,” she agreed, her voice dropping an octave or two lower, “though I doubt I ever will.”

You looked up, she didn't look away and you didn't know what to think. And for once, even if it was just for a moment, you saw a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Miranda, what do you want? Why are you keeping me here?”

“Because we need to talk, (Y/n), to...clear the air as they say, I guess.”

“Yeah, okay, I got that part earlier,” you licked your suddenly dry lips, your nerves starting to buzz a little, “But that's not a good enough reason anymore.”

Miranda scoffed, actually rolling her eyes at you, “Why not? Closure heals the past. Doesn't it?”

“But what do you expect after that?”

“What do you?” she threw the ball back in your court as she refilled her own wine glass from a different bottle than what she used for your own, the wine she was using was a little darker and thicker. It didn't surprise you that the question was thrown back at you, she always did that when she was trying to keep the upper hand or get it.

But it didn't mean that the question wasn't a good one because what did you want after this? Would it even matter after all of this time? Have you ever forgiven her, really and truly moved on? Did she even care back then, did she care for you...or what you could do for her?

Miranda was watching you the entire time become lost in your thoughts, a trait you still carried with you. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, her clear eyes taking you in while you were distracted enough to not notice her doing it so blatantly. You still looked the same as the last time she saw you, minus the murderous rage that had twisted your beautiful features that evening.

The modern world has touched many parts of you but your eyes still hold so much more than they did centuries ago. Being a warrior was now outdated and something of an historical myth but you still carried yourself as one, and Miranda could see new scars on your brown skin on the exposed skin she saw earlier on your neck and arms.

She'd been watching you for days before finally making herself known to you after going back and forth with herself during those agonizing days. Being far more irritable than she normally was and Miranda was positive that Lords Heisenberg and Moreau were quite sore with her at the moment. Well, Karl certainly would be. Seeing you made her angry...at first. Angry for the grief you left her with, the shatters you left her to pick up on her own.

Years of pent up thoughts and plans of revenge she'd enact when she got her hands on you came down to a single moment when she finally did get her hands on you and she couldn't do it. Miranda eyed your neck, where you should've still been bruised. She had you right where she needed you with one hand wrapped around your neck because you were so unsuspecting. It would've been so easy but she couldn't...so she knocked you out and threw you in a cell where she could keep a better eye on you. And perhaps no longer be so distracted from her work.

“Look who's thinking loud now.” you mumbled around the edge of your wine glass, finally taking a sip of the damn thing. Miranda wouldn't hesitate to bet that you assumed it was somehow poisoned even though you watched her open the bottle. “Good thoughts, I hope.”

Miranda hummed softly, “Do you really wish to know?”

You chuckled, and Miranda's eyes were drawn to the way your jaw clenched and unclenched when the wine hit your taste buds again, “With the way you were staring at my neck...it's not that hard to guess, Miranda.”

“You're only half right, my dear.” At your raised eyebrows, Miranda's smirk only widened, “My hands were wrapped around that strong neck again, but breaking it is far from my mind now .”

Your snort turned into a chuckle that was clearly infectious as Miranda joined you. Nothing was remotely that funny, if it was funny at all, but you were tired and the situation brought forth too many emotions for you, either of you to really process, and all you could was just...laugh.

Miranda was the first to sober up a bit though the smile never completely left her features. “Ah, and well... you know, it wouldn't do to try and kill the only other person on this wretched rock who knows me. Will it?”

You're very well the only person in this wretched world that will ever know the real me and still love me for it. Quite a miserable thought, isn't it?

You jumped when the door opened behind you and Alcina stepped into the room—you'd almost forgot where you were for a moment. Almost. Alcina took one look at the two of you, curious to find you actually still in the room much less sitting at the table sharing a glass of wine with Miranda. Especially with what she overheard earlier and how much tension you two create together.

Alcina knew that she interrupted something, probably something she had no business to but that did not stop her from sitting back down in her chair in her goddamn castle. And whatever drama that was happening within her territory was now her drama and she was going to get a front row seat. Alcina lit up another one of her cigarillos and pulled heavy before she released it in your direction.

“Running a business is quite the headache when no one else understands your vision, I swear. Don't have kids, (Y/n). They're messy and nothing but trouble.”

“Noted.” you forced a chuckle, not taking her bait but now you were trying to finish your wine as quickly as possible without seeming like you were trying to run.

“Well, how about it then, (Y/n)? Tell us a story, you couldn't have been a mercenary your entire life. Or have you?” You glanced at Miranda and saw that she was glaring at Alcina but the taller woman wasn't paying her any mind. And really, the only reason Miranda hasn't verbally intervened is because she was interested in your answer as well. Even if Alcina was asking just to poke at the situation for her own amusement.

“I've put away my shield and sword a long time ago,” you didn't bother to mention that you did keep them both in pristine condition just in case, “I've been enjoying the little things life has to offer.” lame. And a lie.

“Oh come now,” Alcina scoffed, not accepting your answer—it wasn't a very good one anyway, “That's—”

“Actually,” When it was clear that Miranda wasn't going to save you from this woman's nosiness (why would she?) You quickly drank the rest of the wine, it was really too sour for you, and rose from the chair. “I think I'll try to get some more sleep. Thanks for the wine and...yeah.” Could you be any more awkward?

Alcina was howling by the time the door slammed shut behind you and she took another pull from her cigarette stick, still paying no heed to Miranda's heated glare. “Oh, you're going to have to tie that one down if you want her to talk to you.”

“I will have your head if you stick your nose in my business again, Dimitrescu.”

“Then don't store your business in my castle.” Alcina shot back, meeting Miranda's glare head on but immediately conceded when she felt Miranda's growling through the vibrations of her glass in her hand that was still resting on the table. “Alright, alright...but you're always welcome to use my dungeons. Use chains though those biceps of hers could probably break through the ropes.”

“Alcina, that is enough!”

The Lady of the castle just laughed lightly until it tapered off into a pleasant hum around her famous Sanguis Virginis wine while watching Miranda readjust her face mask. Her eyes brighter than they have been the last few hours., Alcina pushed for one more question—deciding to risk Miranda's wrath, “How'd you ever let such a handsome creature slip between your fingers?”

Miranda sighed heavily, no pause in her strut to the door, “Egos and misunderstandings.” she was gone before the lock clicked into place.

I'm so sorry for being hella lazy, lol, I'll add the other chapters of this story today 😭😭😭😭

#resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #mother miranda #resident evil #resident evil village #lady alcina x reader #lady alcina #alcina dimitrescu #dis tew much #assassin's creed odyssey #simpin for these bishes

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caranfindel · 3 years

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Fic: You don’t know how it feels (to be me)

gen, s6 | about 3600 words | pg for language | characters: soulless sam winchester, dean winchester

synopsis: Soulless Sam tries to deal with his brother's feelings about, well, everything. Including his hair. Set in season 6, before "You Can't Handle the Truth."

An idea I had a long time ago, resuscitated by Jared's Walker haircut. The title is from "You Don't Know How It Feels" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

. . . . . .

It's a stupid case.

The manager of the county fairgrounds is a stooped, gnarled old man wearing one of those ball caps veterans wear sometimes. Gold embroidery on the dark blue hat proudly displays the name of his ship or submarine or whatever. Sam doesn't care about his ship or submarine or whatever. He doesn't care about this guy's service at all. Most days, old Blue Hat here got three meals a day and a warm, dry place to sleep in exchange for whatever he gave up. He got a pension when he was done fighting. Sam gets to scrounge for cheap food and sleep in crappy hotels when he's lucky enough to actually land someplace other than the back seat of the Impala. Sam's service to his country earned him a trip to Hell. Sam will get to stop fighting when he's dead. His only pension will be a pyre.

Sam doesn't even get to sleep any more.

(This should bother him. But the truth is, it doesn't.)

Blue Hat frowns at Sam's ID and snorts derisively. "You don't look like a Fed. You look like a goddamn hippie."

He rolls his eyes at the old man, even though he knows Dean hates it when he does that. It's something he didn't do Before, no matter how annoying or insipid the witness. Sam doesn't give a good goddamn what this guy thinks about his hair, but apparently his brother does. "He's been doing some undercover work," Dean says. "Sometimes you've got to look like a goddamn hippie to blend in."

Blue Hat sniffs his disapproval and ignores Sam for the rest of the interview, directing all of his answers to Dean. Which is fine. The old guy doesn't seem to have anything useful to add anyway. Sam leaves his brother to the pointless interview about the stupid case and wanders around the building, taking pictures of the unexplained runes that brought them here. He's bored. The sudden appearance of mysterious runes on the bland metal exterior of a county fairgrounds building feels witchy, and Sam really doesn't care about witches. Two measly deaths, quite possibly from natural causes, and now he's out here standing in cow shit. Or goat shit or pig shit. This entire day has been shit, literally and figuratively.

Dean joins him after a couple of minutes, apparently done with Blue Hat. "What do you think?" he asks.

Sam shrugs. "Too early to tell. If these runes are what Bobby thinks they are, they'll change under moonlight, but moonrise isn't until 9:05 pm."

“Jesus," Dean moans. "I can't stay awake that long. I've already gone almost two days. Let's go back to the motel and crash, and we'll hit this place again tonight."

Or not, Sam wants to say. I think you jumped on this paper-thin excuse for a job just because the alternative was sitting in a motel room with me waiting for an actual case to come up, Sam wants to say. But neither of these are things he would have said Before, and Dean is so goddamn twitchy about Sam being different than Before.

As they turn back to the Impala, Dean glances at Sam with a slight smile. "Dude's not wrong, you know."

“What?"

“You do look like a goddamn hippie." Dean's hand twitches toward Sam, like he's going to smack him on the back of the head or ruffle his hair, but he pulls back without touching him. Because they don't do that now. Casual, good-natured, brotherly contact isn't a thing now. Dean doesn't touch him unless there are injuries involved.

(This is another thing that should bother Sam. It would have, Before.)

. . .

Dean hangs his suit in the closet, sets an alarm, and collapses on top of the covers. Sam stares at his own bed. The threat of spending hours pretending to be asleep makes his skin crawl. If Dean falls asleep quickly enough, he can skip the whole charade.

“Hey, I think I'm gonna shower first," he says.

Dean doesn't open his eyes. "Just don't wake me up when you get out."

In the bathroom, Sam turns on the water but doesn't get undressed. He stands at the mirror, staring at his too-long hair. Why has he bothered to hold onto it? He remembers caring about his hair. He remembers it being a small fuck you to John, the one area in his life where he was able to cling to some autonomy. It's not that he's forgotten about that; he just doesn't give a shit any more.

And like Dean said, Blue Hat wasn't wrong. He does look like a hippie. The hair is a hazard, and it does clash with any kind of law enforcement disguise. Maybe it's time to do something about it. He has time to kill anyway, while Dean sleeps.

(Sam should care that he doesn't need to sleep any more. Dean would definitely care, if he found out. Dean cares so much about any aspect of Sam that is less normal than he thinks it ought to be. Even if it's something that makes him a better hunter. Dean didn't appreciate it when Sam could exorcise demons without killing the host, and Dean wouldn't appreciate that Sam can get so much done when he's not sleeping. He could never understand why this version of Sam is so much better than the way he was Before. It's a shame Dean hasn't discovered the option of Not Caring.)

(Sometimes Sam wonders if getting back with Dean is worth the trouble.)

(And that should bother him too.)

Sam shuts off the shower and pulls out his phone. He needs to find a barber shop in walking distance. Dean will get all pissy if he wakes up and the car is gone; less so if only Sam is missing. Luckily, there's a shop that might still be open. It's one of those ridiculous sports-themed places that presumes men are fussy toddlers who need to be distracted from the ignominy of a hair cut. At least they tend to be staffed by women, and those women tend to be prettier than average. With any luck, he can kill two birds with one stone.

When he opens the bathroom door, Dean is either asleep, or pretending to be. Sam scrawls couldn't sleep, back soon on the motel notepad and closes the door behind him as silently as possible.

(He misses his car. He didn't have an emotional attachment to it, like Dean and the Impala, but it was convenient and it suited him.)

(He doesn't actually have an emotional attachment to anything. That should bother him.)

. . .

Two stylists, both predictably prettier than average, look up when he walks in. The redhead says "sorry, sir, we're just about to close up," and continues sweeping up hair trimmings. But the brunette looks him up and down and smiles. And Sam's partial to brunettes anyway.

He gives her a once-over in return and smiles back. "Do you have time for just a quick cut? I'd be eternally grateful."

She stares at him for a minute, appraising. "Well, how could I turn down an offer of eternal gratefulness?" she says with a wink. She turns to the redhead. "Why don't you go on home. I've got this."

The redhead dumps her clippings into a trash can. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. You mind locking the door behind you? I don't want any more last-minute customers walking in."

The redhead raises her eyebrows, but gathers her purse and jacket and makes her escape as Sam settles into the brunette's chair.

“I'm Marianne," she says, as she starts to drape a cape over his shoulders.

“I'm Sam. But listen. I get too hot under those capes. Would it be okay if we skip it? And I just take my shirt off so I don't get hair all over it?"

Marianne smiles like the cat who caught the canary. "Not a problem, sweetheart."

Sam slips out of his dress shirt and drapes it over the empty chair next to him. Marianne watches him the whole time, eyes roving over the muscles exposed by his snug white undershirt. It's like shooting fish in a barrel.

He sits back in the chair and Marianne stands behind him. Her chest brushes against his shoulders. "So," she asks, "what are we doing today?"

“Shorter. Off my collar, above my ears."

She slips her fingers through his hair, measuring its length. "You sure? This length looks pretty good on you. Just needs to be cleaned up a bit."

“It's for a job. The long hair doesn't fly any more."

“Aw, that's a shame." Marianne's still running her fingers through his hair. "If you've got a lady in your life, I bet she'll miss it. A girl likes something to hold onto."

Well. The best lies are based on a kernel of truth. Sam looks into his lap and lets his smile go sad and soft. "That's kind of why I'm here. My girlfriend died and I thought I'd try to start over. New place, new job, new life. But yeah, that's always been one of my favorite things. A girl grabbing my hair in the heat of the moment. I should have tried to find someone to do that one more time before I had to cut it off."

Marianne leans forward, pressing her breasts harder against him. When he looks up, she meets his eyes in the mirror, then flicks a glance toward a door marked Employees Only. “You know," she says, "that could probably be arranged."

Seriously. Fish in a goddamn barrel.

. . .

Dean's awake when Sam gets back to the motel room, but he doesn't look up from the laptop. "Couldn't sleep?"

“I guess I napped a little in the car on the way down here," Sam lies. "And then, you know, a lot of caffeine this morning."

“Whatever. I'm not the sleep police. I hope you brought food, cause I could —" Dean looks at Sam and stops mid-sentence, mouth still open. "You cut your hair?"

“Yeah."

“Why?"

“What do you mean, why? Like old what's-his-face said, I looked like a hippie, not an FBI agent. And you've been telling me to cut it for years."

“Yeah, I have. I've been saying that for years and you've been ignoring me for years. Now some random witness calls you a hippie and you go running to Supercuts?"

Sam sighs. Dean may not be the sleep police, but he's awfully eager to step in as the hair police, enforcing his own set of laws about Sam's hair. "Why does it matter? You wanted me to cut it. Everyone wanted me to cut it. And I cut it. Can we move on now?"

It's a statement almost guaranteed to make Dean bow up in anger, but instead, he deflates. "It's just… nothing. Fine. Moving on." He closes the laptop and pulls his keys out of his coat pocket. "We've still got an hour or so before moonrise. I'm gonna go run through McDonald's. You want a chicken sandwich, or is that something else you're not interested in any more?"

Jesus Christ. This is what passes for moving on. But Sam needs that shower now, and none of this is worth arguing about.

(Few things are any more. That seems like it should matter.)

“Yeah, that sounds great, thanks."

By the time Dean gets back, the sandwich is cold and the ice in Sam's drink is mostly melted. He pretends to enjoy it anyway.

. . .

Their drive back to the fairgrounds is quiet. Dean occasionally steals an unhappy glance at Sam's hair, but doesn't say anything. Sam ignores it.

They pull into the parking lot in front of the marked building. Without even getting out of the car, they can see that the runes have changed. The broad strokes are softly luminescent, glowing a pale blue in the moonlight.

“Okay, so that answers that question," Sam says. Thank God. Now they can leave without wandering around the grounds, soaking up the barnyard smell again. Wrap this up and start working on something more important. But Dean gets out of the car and looks at Sam expectantly. Well, crap. Sam dutifully follows him closer to the building and tries to think of how he would have felt about this development Before.

“Cool," he says. Dean narrows his eyes at him. "I mean, cool that our theory was right. Not, you know, cool that someone is using this kind of spellwork to make sure their pig wins a blue ribbon at the fair. That part's… pretty awful." But Dean's still looking at him funny, so he probably overcorrected on that one. It's just hard, any more.

Dean rubs the back of his neck as he examines the glowing runes. "If that's all they're doing, more power to them. I couldn't care less. But we need to make sure that's all they're doing. I mean, people died, Sam. We need to figure out if this is why." He pulls out his phone. "Gonna take some pictures to send Bobby." There's no reason to remind him they already have pictures. If Dean thinks additional pictures are more effective and efficient than "just like this, but glowing blue," that's up to him. Sam will most likely solve the damn case later tonight anyway, while Dean sleeps.

And he almost does. Dean knocks back a couple of glasses of whiskey when they get back to the motel, and falls asleep pretty soon after that. Sam doesn't bother to feign sleep — Dean doesn't seem to care, right now, whether his brother gets any sleep or not. But when Sam realizes his own photos missed a crucial corner of the building, he opens his brother's phone and finds his last text to Bobby. There's only one picture, and it's not glowing runes. It's him. Just a dark, slightly blurry picture of Sam, obviously taken earlier that night at the fairgrounds. And a text conversation.

See, I told you, it's short. I don't know what's going on. I swear he's just different.

Yeah, I get it. It's different. He's different. But what'd you expect? Of course he's not the same as he was. Hell changed him.

It didn't change me this much.

His Hell wasn't the same as yours. I know it didn't last very long, but remember, he was in the cage with the devil. We don't know what happened to him in there. Give him some time.

Well. Fuck. Dean's talking about him behind his back. Dean doesn't trust him. Dean thinks, once again, that something is wrong with him.

(That would have hurt, Before. Now it's just an annoyance. A distraction. Something to be dealt with.)

Yes, Hell changed him. Hell burned away all the crap, all the useless feelings, the guilt and shame and fear of failure. Hell purified him. Hell carved out the weakness and left nothing but pure, strong hunter. Dean, of all people, should appreciate the result. But Dean does not, and now Sam has to cater to his tiresome attachment to everything Sam was Before.

Fine. He can make that work.

Sam quietly puts Dean's phone back on the nightstand. He strips down to boxers and his t-shirt, sets an alarm, and crawls into bed. Pretending to sleep is tedious, but a couple of hours of boredom right now might spare him weeks of Dean's moodiness about him being different.

(As if Hell could leave you untouched. As if anyone in their right mind would expect that. As if Dean himself didn't know this first hand, for fuck's sake.)

. . .

Sam spends the next day focusing on acting the way he did Before. When his alarm goes off he stretches, yawns, and pretends he had a good night's sleep. He goes for a run, brings back coffee, showers quickly, and rolls his eyes when Dean makes a crack about him being able to spend less time in the shower now. At breakfast, he smiles at the (cute, definitely worth a bang) waitress, but doesn't flirt or even check her out as she walks away. He's figured out that Dean wants Sam to want to get laid (but not too much; he's definitely not supposed to want it as much as Dean wants it) but for some reason doesn't want him to actually get lucky. And he definitely would have gotten lucky. He spends the day looking empathetic, acting like this whole thing hasn't been a colossal waste of time. Like he cares about everything. About anything.

(God, it's exhausting.)

It turns out the deaths probably don't have anything to do with the witch at all. They return to the fairgrounds one last time, where Sam plants hex bags and paints runes on the corners of the building that will block the witch's simple spells - not that he cares whether the witch achieves anything or not, just on principle. His own runes are small and subtle enough that this novice witch (they must be a novice; no one with any experience would be naive enough to make their work so noticeable) won't even know they're in place. And if the witch escalates, well, that's not exactly Sam's problem.

When he's finished, he wipes his hands on his jeans and says "We should get Chinese for dinner. When's the last time you ate a vegetable?" Because monitoring everyone's vegetable intake is something he did Before.

They're finishing Chinese takeout in their motel room (beef with broccoli for Dean, eggplant in garlic sauce for Sam, because occasional bouts of vegetarianism were also a thing he did Before) when he catches Dean looking at his hair, very clearly wanting to say something.

So. It's go time.

Sam tries to make his eyes big and sad. The puppy dog look, Dean always called it. It was never intentional Before, but now he has to work at it. "Listen," he says. "I owe you an apology. I haven't been telling you the whole truth."

“No shit," Dean says. He's trying to sound nonchalant, but his body language screams that he's bracing for something. "So, spill it. What's your big confession?"

(That I don't care about any of this. This piddly little case. My hair. You. Nothing. And you can't imagine, Dean, you cannot even begin to imagine the incredible freedom of not caring. I wish you could, but you just can't.)

No, he can't say any of that. But the best lies are built on a kernel of truth.

Sam takes a deep, anxious breath and looks at Dean. No, wait. Look away. "You know, I told you I don't remember Hell. And I really don't. Not consciously, anyway. But when we were fighting those demons a couple of weeks ago, one of them grabbed me by the hair, and I felt something… it was a sense memory, I guess. It felt like Hell, for some reason. Like it was something that happened to me in Hell, someone grabbing my hair and pulling my head back and getting ready to cut my throat or… whatever."

He doesn't have to elaborate on whatever. Dean knows the whatevers of Hell better than anyone. He's probably dealing with a little sense memory of his own right now, of clutching someone's hair and pulling their head back in preparation for whatever. And now Sam does look at his brother, who is staring at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“Ever since then," Sam continues, "I just feel like I've been on the verge of remembering something. Something I don't want to remember. And I'm tired of worrying that I'm gonna have a Hell flashback every time I wash my hair."

Dean looks like he's going to vomit. Perfect.

“I'm sorry," Sam says. "It threw me, and I just didn't want to talk about it. But I shouldn't have kept it from you."

For a second, he's sure he has gone too far. Dean is going to say what's this bullshit, Sam, you would never apologize for something like that, so tell me what's really going on. But he doesn't. He stares at Sam for a minute, then looks away and wipes a hand down his face.

“Yeah, okay. Okay. You, ah. You good now? Is it working?"

Sam shrugs. "Hard to say. It hasn't been very long. But yeah, I feel a little more… stable, I guess."

And then it’s time to go for the kill.

Sam gives him the sad smile. (He never used to think of it as a sad smile; never used to think of it as anything at all. It was just what his face did. Every expression requires so much thought now.) "Listen. I know things are weird. I know I'm weird. Different. I know it's hard for you. If this is all more than you want to deal with right now, I understand."

Dean frowns. "What are you saying?"

“Just, I can go back with Samuel and his crew if you don't want to do this any more. You and me, I mean. No hard feelings, I promise."

Dean's face crumples. "What? No, fuck, no, Sam. I don't. You and me, we're good. I'm just getting used to things. That's all."

“Okay." Sam gives his best approximation of a grateful smile.

“So. Uh." Dean looks around the room nervously, like he's waiting for the other shoe to fall, then stands. "I think I'm gonna go get a drink. You wanna come with, or…"

Even if Sam believed Dean really wanted him to come along — and he doesn't; this is obviously Dean's way of retreating from a situation he doesn't want to think about — pretending to sleep when Dean's gone is one of the easier ways of making it look like he actually does sleep sometimes. "No. I'm beat," he says. "I think I'll just go to bed."

“Okay. Yeah. That sounds like a good idea." Dean takes his keys out of his pocket and anxiously tosses them in his hand. When he finally does turn to Sam, he looks at his hair, not his eyes. "Hey, you know, it does. It does look good on you."

Sam ducks his head shyly, like someone who's not used to praise. Who doesn't think he deserves it. "Thanks." When he looks up, Dean is already halfway out the door, putting as much space between himself and his little brother's hellscape as possible.

(Seriously. Fish in a fucking barrel.)

#my fic #sam winchester #dean winchester #soulless sam is my spirit animal #spn #season 6

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the-mad-starker · 4 years

Text

Starkercest: The Stuff of Dreams

This smutty piece was inspired by @toybandaids and the use of sleeping pills in Only Me (Link here! 😏) and encouraged by my friend Keyz 😊 Tried to get this in for Father's Day but it ended up longer than expected (what else is new 😅😅) then of course, procrastinated some more by making a moodboard!

One more fic until I start on my Starker Festival bingo!

Summary: Omega Peter watches over his father's dreams and makes sure they're sweet, pleasant dreams.

Notes: Incest, A/B/O, Intersex omegas, noncon/dubcon, drug induced somnophilia, tiny bit of bulge kink, size kink, breeding, vaginal sex

WC: 3617

(AO3 Link)

💗💗💗

Peter worries about his dad constantly.

People like to brush it off by saying it's an omega thing which– ugh, he doesn't even want to get into that. It's not an omega thing, it's a Peter thing because… because his dad is Tony Stark, okay?

His dad is amazing, a perfect alpha. He's a literal genius, a trait Peter inherits from his father. But more than that, his dad has such a big heart. For others, it's difficult to see under all that sass and sharp tongue of his but when he's with Peter, it's all warmth and smiles. Peter gets the sass too, but he gets everything else that his dad is too guarded to show anyone else.

He loves that about his father.

Tony's also the perfect alpha, even without his gig as Iron man or a billionaire.

And Peter worries, okay? Because all this superhero stuff takes such a heavy toll on his alpha, especially since Peter somehow gets roped into it too. But they both know that Peter wouldn't give up being Spider-man for anything. Not when it means he can be by his dad's side. Protect him. Keep him safe.

An omega protecting an alpha? Not as uncommon as people like to think. Especially when it comes to Peter. His dad is the most important person to him, of course, he'd protect him.

It's another hard night when they return home.

His dad has Friday scan him from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Any minor bruising or injuries Peter sustains during battles are wiped clean by the time they get home though. Even with Friday confirming that, Tony still looks him over.

"You sure you didn't get hurt?"

"I'm sure, dad."

"How about your shoulder? I saw you take that hit–"

"Dad– I said I'm okay…!"

The alpha breathes out a sigh that sounds like it comes from his very core. His hands on Peter's shoulders loosen as the tension eases out of him.

"Okay. Okay," he says, shoulders slumping, "Sorry, kiddo. I know– I know you can take care of yourself. I just worry, okay?"

If Peter was like any other teen, Tony's constant concern could possibly rub him the wrong way. Instead, the young omega soaks it all up, just melting in his dad's arms. His own come up to hug his alpha father and he's just tall enough now that he can bury his nose against his father's scent gland.

He breathes in the familiar scent of home and a soft, quiet sort of purr rumbles in his chest. His father answers it with one of his own, deep and reassuring. The sound is a private little thing between them, an intimate affair for just them alone.

"I worry, too, dad," Peter admits. Then, because he knows his dad is feeling a bit vulnerable, he asks, "Is it… Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight? Please, dad?"

He can feel his dad's huff of laughter and the warm puff of breath against his ear. He has to force his body to keep from trembling.

"Was there really any point in giving you your own floor if you're just gonna sleep with your old man all the time?" Tony's words are a soft tease but he doesn't say no. Peter knows he won't, either. He never does.

"It keeps me from cluttering the penthouse?" Peter says innocently, a light quip to his dad's rhetorical question.

"Yeah," Tony steps back and shakes his head with a fond smile. "Okay, kiddo, guess we're having a sleepover, just you and me."

It's always just them. And that's how Peter wants it to remain.

They do their routines, brush their teeth side by side. Tony strips down to just his boxers and Peter wears short shorts and an undershirt.

His dad's body is littered with faded scars, marks from their work as superheroes. Sturdy strong shoulders and a trim waist, thanks to Peter's insistence that they try to be healthy. His dad has enough health problems as it is.

In contrast, Peter is all lithe muscles and slender lines thanks to omegan biology and then the bite.

Nothing unusual happens. It never does during this part…

But then they settle down and Peter curls up against his father's side, cuddling close and throwing a leg over his dad's.

"Little octopus," his daddy teases, "Thought you were bit by a spider."

Peter only clings even tighter when his father reaches for the bedside drawer. Even with his face half buried against his dad's shoulder, his ears pick up the soft rattle of pills.

"Dr. Banner still okaying those?" Peter asks curiously.

"Yeah, insomnia's a bitch and these have worked real good so–" Tony pops two pills and swallows it dry. "I just want a good night's sleep with my favorite son."

"I'm your only son," Peter points out, right on cue.

"Mhmm…" Tony settles down, pulling the sheets up and making sure they're both covered. "Favorite son…"

Peter pretends to drift off, eyes closed, but his mind is far too active to fall asleep. He feels the way Tony's breathing deepens; the pill taking effect fast.

While his dad is lulled into sleep, his heart thumping away at a steady, reassuring pace, Peter's is quickening.

He's about to do something unforgivable, but it wouldn't be the first time.

Fifteen minutes go by.

"Dad…?" Peter murmurs softly.

"Mm…?" Tony barely responds. It's more instinct, his father recognizing Peter's voice calling for him.

"Love you," he answers quietly and gets no response besides a soft hum.

Peter waits some more, though his little cocklet is starting to get hard. He doesn't dare rub against his dad–yet.

Another half an hour passes.

"Daddy…?" Peter murmurs.

This time, there's no response. He lightly taps his finger against the arc reactor and still, there's no response.

His dad is deep asleep, helped along by those innocent little pills that'll keep him under while Peter has his fun.

With his heart thumping, Peter carefully sits up. The sheet slips from his shoulder with a soft hiss, but he barely notices. He's gotten so excited, so wet, just laying there, thinking about what's to come. His tiny little shorts are soaked in no time.

He gently tugs the sheet away from his father's sleeping body and he does it so slowly, breath held, as though revealing a grand prize. He's seen his dad's body so often, naked or clothed, but each time he sees it like this, it's like the first time all over.

The thrill of excitement floods his system, and he takes a moment to drink it all in.

His alpha… Tony…

When Peter can't contain himself, he crawls between his father's legs and gently palms Tony's soft cock. He starts off with gentle, curious strokes and feels it respond by lengthening right under his hand.

He settles on his stomach, presses his face between the alpha's inner thigh and the now noticeable erection his dad is sporting. He breathes in the scent, mouthing at the fabric and hands greedy as he tugs Tony's boxers down.

"Ah…" Peter can't help but moan when Tony's cock is revealed.

His father isn't even fully erect but already, the size and girth of his cock makes Peter's mouth water. His eyes dart up to Tony's sleeping face as he nuzzles his cheek against his dad's alpha cock.

"Missed this…" the omega murmurs as he leads the tip to his mouth. "I know you missed it too, dad… Haven't been able to help you this week and you got so grumpy in the last meeting…"

He starts to lightly suck on the tip, thin, pink lips covering the fat mushroom shaped head. He licks away the precum right from the slit before it even manages to drip.

"I'll make it better, daddy…" he promises.

Above him, Tony's lips part open and a soft sigh can be heard. His cock twitches in Peter's hand, responding eagerly to the familiar touch. He's having a good dream, pleasure and warmth wrapped in one, as he's being serviced.

Peter takes in more. He loves sucking Tony's cock and loves it best like this. Loves feeling his father's soft cock grow in his mouth. It fits nicely in his mouth like this but not for long. He sucks and licks hungrily and Tony's cock thickens and swells right in his mouth.

It's an experience unlike any other… Feeling his efforts being rewarded in the form of a thick, rock hard alpha cock.

He's managed to get his father to come down his throat multiple times. He's only been able to take his knot once. It's tempting to try it again tonight but his pussy feels so empty… His back hole too…

Once his mind considers going all the way, he has a hard time deciding which hole he wants to use to get his father off.

His dad seems to like his pussy the best. He's not sure if Tony realizes just what hole he's fucking, but it's like the alpha's instincts kick in and the need to breed takes over.

Peter likes it best there, too, but he's still stuck in indecision. So he decides he'll figure it out in the moment. He just knows that tonight, he's getting a creampie, either way.

He continues sucking Tony off, licking and slurping to his heart's content. The alpha's cock stretches his lips wide, fills his mouth past the point of comfort.

Peter has learned how to breathe with such a sizable obstruction in the way. His eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head when the length tickles the back of his throat.

He pulls off with a wet gasp, saliva leaving the length all wet and gleaming. Thin strands of spit connect the tip to his mouth and he leans back down to lavish even more attention on it.

"Mm… There you go, dad," Peter moans softly, "Got you all nice and ready. Aren't I such a good son…?"

He gives the alpha cock one last stroke, squeezing just how he knows his father likes. Once that nice warm hole is gone from his cock, his dad's expression becomes troubled. Brows twitch and scrunch up, a line forming between them.

Peter gets up on his knees and presses his father's cock against his own smaller stiff length.

"Ah… daddy…" Peter sighs with a roll of his hips. His eyes fixate on Tony's face and the upset turn of his mouth.

He leans down, purposely rubbing the alpha's cock even more.

"I'll make it better," he promises with a kiss to the corner of Tony's mouth. "Make it better for both of us…"

He lifts up just enough to position his father's cock against his pussy. Just that might touch is enough to make him tremble as the tip slips through his plump lips.

He's leaking so much slick already… The wet sounds are more than enough to turn the tips of his ears red. It sounds so dirty and the act itself is even more so.

"I need it…" Peter admits, eyes slipping shut as he savors the anticipation. "Need this so bad, dad…"

This entire time he's been telling himself how much he helps his father by doing this. He says he takes all of his alpha's frustration, leaves him feeling spent and relaxed and how it's good for Tony… A little stress relief.

But the truth is… Peter is a selfish brat. His daddy is his and the only omega in Tony's life is Peter.

The tip is drenched in his slick and the alpha's own precum. And even though his pussy aches at the thought, he pulls back and drags his father's cockhead to the tight little back hole that's just as hungry to be filled.

When he presses the tip there, Peter's just so tempted to sink down… He wants to feel his daddy's cock breach him there and he wants to groan around the stretch, feeling so full that he can barely breathe.

He considers it, God, he considers it… But with an impatient hiss, his hips angle back so that Tony's cock presses against his pussy again.

He sinks down without another thought or at least he tries.

"Ah…" Peter moans as he's being stretched apart.

He can feel everything… The wide glans pushing its way inside him… the prominent veins all along the length of his daddy's cock… Warm, rock hard flesh… Bare inside him. No condom, because fuck, they're family… Father and son. This is all he ever wants… Just his daddy filling him up so good…

His thighs tremble as he tries to control just how much he takes. There's a dark thought in the back of his head to just slam down and feel the way his daddy stretches him so obscenely.

The omega whimpers and looks down at his father through the slits of his eyelids.

"Daddy…" Peter moans shamelessly as he rocks up and down, trying to inch more and more inside him "Daddy… Ah… Daddy…"

Just halfway and he can't take any more. No, he has to work himself open on his daddy's cock just to be able to take him fully. He leans forward and groans when a few inches slip out. He feels it so keenly, the way his walls cling to his father's cock.

He sinks back down with labored panting, eyes threatening to roll to the back of his head. Tony's cock takes up every space inside him, every crevice…

The angle is perfect, Peter makes sure it is. He's done this often enough that he knows just how to ride his daddy and get his cock to brush against that sweet spot inside him.

"Dad…" His voice wobbled and he swallows the lump in his throat. "It feels so good… so good, daddy…"

Peter reaches for his father's limp hands and intertwines their fingers. Their bodies are joined, connected, but holding Tony's hands, palm to palm, brings a whole other element of intimacy to the act.

His hips roll fluidly as he falls into a familiar rhythm, inching more and more of his father's cock inside his sopping wet pussy. He feels it the moment Tony's cockhead bumps against the entrance to his womb. He sucks in a sharp breath, lashes fluttering at the sensation.

He glances down the flat planes of his body and his breath hitches. He leads one hand to his belly where a subtle but noticeable bulge interrupts the natural shape of his body. He presses his father's hand against it, knowing his daddy's cock is right there.

"Daddy's cock…" Peter moans softly, "Feel you so deep inside me, daddy… and it's still– still, mm, not enough…"

It only makes him even more desperate to get it all inside. The bed starts to squeak, the headboard tapping against the wall as Peter's pleasured moans fill the air.

He drags his father's hands, so warm and broad, to his hips. Presses Tony's fingers down and imagines his father guiding him as he fucks into his own son.

Pleasure grows inside him, warmth coiling tight in his belly.

"Dad…"

Peter's moans are unrestrained and louder now that he's caught up in the pleasure.

His eyes slip shut. He doesn't notice how his father's hands tighten around his waist nor does he notice Tony's eyes struggle to open.

He only notices when his father's hips push up violently, sinking that last stubborn inch inside of him.

"Ah!" Shock colors the yelp along with delight. His eyes fly open, terrified that somehow he's woken his father up.

Heat blooms from his cheeks and spreads all the way down. It leaves his chest flushed with mortification, his pink nipples peaked with excitement.

His father is staring right at him.

"Dad!"

Peter cries out when Tony's hands turn harsh and drag him down so they're pressed chest to chest. His cock rubs against his father's belly and he's helpless– He can't help squirming and moaning even though he's been caught. Can't help rubbing his hard omega cock against his father's abs.

"Pete–!" His dad groans, arms snaking around his back. "Fuck! Fuck…!"

His daddy is… His daddy is fucking him! Instead of throwing Peter off, his father's strong arms hold him in place as he fucks in deep, hips thrusting up almost desperately.

"Dadd…!" Peter gasps. He turns his head, nuzzling against Tony's beard and searching for his lips. He feels like he'd die if he didn't kiss him right that second.

"Oh, fuck, baby…" his dad groans breathlessly. "Fuck… Don't wanna wake up… God, your pussy… My baby's pussy feels so good…"

"Oh…!" Peter desperately pushes against his dad's arms so he can look into his eyes. What he sees is both terrible and great.

His father is looking back at him, wonder and lust– Lust!– so clear in his eyes. The expression, one Peter has never imagined being directed at him, sends a thrill down his spine.

The terrible truth is that his dad thinks he's dreaming. But he thinks he's dreaming of fucking his own son…

"Don't wake up, dad," Peter breathes and Tony groans. He buys into it as Peter lets him fuck his pussy, encourages him with seductive rolls of his hips. "Want your cum… Want it so bad… Will you give it to me, daddy? Are you gonna blow inside my pussy…?"

His father moans, eyes refusing to close. He keeps looking straight at Peter with bleary, hazy eyes.

"Gonna– Mm, gonna fill my baby up…" Tony mumbles almost incoherently but Peter's so close that he catches every word. Excitement spikes inside him and he meets his father's thrusts with his own, desperate to feel him come.

"Do it, dad… Come inside," Peter says, eyes wide and pleading. "Do it, do it… Fill me up, daddy… Want… want your pups inside me…!"

A part of him thinks he's gone too far. A part of him thinks those words will shock his father into truly waking.

But perhaps he doesn't know his father as well as he thinks. Those forbidden words only spurn Tony into fucking him harder.

The alpha growls at the encouragement, hips slapping against his ass.

"Oh…! Oh!" Peter squeals when he feels it.

His daddy's knot…

It's not the first time he's gotten Tony to knot him but this will be the first that he's being knotted instead of just taking it.

It's different, vastly different with his father actually doing the deed. It adds a whole other element that was previously missing… His father's desperate groans and the way he clutches Peter tight as he ruts and ruts… Trying to get his knot to pop so that he can lock himself in.

The knot slips in and out, still too small but not for long. Peter clenches down on it, crying out with every failed attempt to keep it inside. It leaves him feeling too wide open, bereft, even though his father's cock is still stuffing him full.

Tony, too, is growling in his ear, puffs of warm breath ghosting over sensitive skin as he works desperately to tie them together. His cock touches every part of Peter deep inside… So deep…

All the while, his father's calling out his name.

"Peter… Mm, Peter, baby..."

It leaves no illusion as to who he's imagining and Peter moans in bliss, pliant and willing to be bred right then and there. With the relentless fucking, the desperate need to fill him up, it was inevitable that Peter couldn't hold on.

His entire body locks down as he finally gives him. Warmth blossoms between them, his aching cock spilling generously between their bellies. A rush of slick gushes around his father's cock, drenching his groin but that doesn't stop him.

All that slick only makes it easier to fuck into Peter's clenching pussy. Makes it easier to knot.

When the knot finally locks into place, Peter almost sobs in relief, spent as he is. The last harsh tug has tears prickle in his eyes but the sensation passes when a flood of heat surges into him.

Peter cries out, body shaking, as his father groans in completion. Load after load is released inside, his dad shamelessly filling up his little pussy… Cockhead pressed right where he wants it, soaking his insides and pushing through as much seed as possible into his womb...

The omega's nails drag down Tony's chest, leaving streaks of red lines in his wake. He feels every pulse, ever twitch… His daddy coming so deep inside him that he feels him in his stomach.

Cum drunk, Peter realizes with a soft moan. That's what he is… His daddy's filling him up so much that he's getting high off the feeling.

He kisses his dad with clumsy sloppy kisses and Tony returns them. His actions are more sluggish now that he's accomplished his goal.

"Sweet dreams…" Peter murmurs when he places another pill between Tony's lips. Another kiss and this time, Peter's tongue eases between his father's lips… His dad swallows it easily.

Tony drifts back into pleasurable dreams and Peter gingerly sits. He groans softly when his daddy's cock continues to pulse inside him. With his internal muscles squeezing down, milking the knot, he knows it'll be a long night.

Unlike all the other previous nights, Peter is now inspired. With the memory of his daddy reverently whispering his name, Peter starts to gently rock back and forth, stimulating the knot and getting ready for another round.

He'll be sure to give his daddy more sweet dreams to comfort him.

#starker #starkercest #madstarker writes #moody mads #nff #somnophilia #intersex omegas #omegaverse

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katedrakeohd · 3 years

Text

A Very Merry Birthday (6)

[Masterlist]

Rated: Mature 18+

(3 🍋s on fire, because we're talking threesome here.)

Characters involved: (TRH)Drake & Kate Walker, Preston Davis the bodyguard.

Content warning: Sexual situations (dubcon, masturbation, threesome), swearing, angst, fluff.

Word count: 6000+ (buckle up, get your popcorn and prefered beverage ready)

Prompts included: From Wacky Drabbles- ( they appear bolded in story, but not necessarily in order)

#82 - I didn't realize I needed your permission.

#84 - Just keep moving.

#85 - Do you want me to leave?

Tagging:

@darley1101 @sfb123 @mom2000aggie @fluffyfirewhiskey @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @kingliam2019 @no-one-u-know @nikkis1983 @glaimtruelovealways @texaskitten30 @bbrandy2002 @marshmallowsandfire

Drake leaves Preston alone in his room to get changed. Standing in the silence of the hallway all he could hear and feel were the sound of his blood rushing through his ears and the thud of his heart in his chest and throat.

Being alone with Kate was his favourite way to spend an evening, and now he had invited another man over to participate. He was still unsure how this night was going to go. The thought of watching his wife touching another man in a sensual way was outside of his comfort zone. He had to trust Kate to not take this too far. He also had to keep himself from wanting to murder Preston for taking pleasure out of touching and kissing his wife. And somehow he had to find pleasure of his own if he was to perform adequately to please Kate. Fuck, this feels all kinds of wrong.

He sees Preston come out of his room with his hair combed, dressed in trousers, but in bare feet. Drake gives him a wry grin and runs his fingers back through his own hair to fix it. Preston's rakish good looks were already exaggerated by the thickness of his mustache and the scruff of his stubble, making Drake feel less masculine with his shaven cheeks and neatly trimmed hair. He suddenly understood how Maxwell felt about Drake showing off his chest hair at the beach, or when he rolled up his sleeves to do a strenuous task. Drake's stomach was suddenly in knots and he wished he had some whiskey to take the edge off his nerves. He doesn't know what to say to the mountain of a man standing next to him, so he just acknowledges him with a nod and then knocks at his hotel room door.

"You don't have your key?" Preston asks, keeping his voice low.

Drake shakes his head, speaking softly, "No, I gave it to her."

From the other side of the door they can hear Kate ask with a playful sing song tone of voice, "Who is it?"

Drake leans against the doorframe and then says, "Room service."

The door opens and Kate looks them over with a smile on her face, "Hello."

Drake grins, "I believe you ordered the two for one entertainment special."

Kate steps back to allow them to come into the room. "Yes, yes I did. Come on in."

After Kate closes the door behind them there's a brief awkward moment as the two men glance at each other and then toward Kate expectantly. With a gentle smile, Kate walks over to Drake and stretches up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. He wraps his arm around her back to hug her to his side and she rests her hand on his cheek, whispering in his ear.

"You've done well, my love. Why don't you go off to the bathroom, brush your teeth, and freshen up a bit while I talk privately with Preston for a moment?"

Drake looks quickly to Preston and then lets go of Kate, keeping his voice low, "Are you sure? Maybe I should stay."

Patting him gently on the chest, she grins, "Don't worry. We'll be fine. I'm not going to start anything while you're gone."

Drake looks between Kate and Preston, trying to fight the uneasy feeling in his gut. Walking over to the bed he keeps an eye on them as he sits down to take off his shoes and socks. "No funny business, Preston. I know very well how irresistible Kate can be."

Preston smirks at him, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I promise to keep my hands to myself, sir."

"Good."

After Drake disappears into the bathroom, Preston breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing a little. "Is he always like this?"

Kate grins at the bodyguard, leading him further into the room. "Drake's complicated."

She sits down on the end of the bed and he settles down into the comfortable armchair opposite.

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Kate shrugs, crossing her legs and arranging her skirt around her knees. "You can ask."

"What's it like to be married to a guy like him?"

"It's interesting, sometimes infuriating, definitely intense, and absolutely incredible."

Preston chuckles, "That's a lot of 'I' words to describe someone."

Kate glances toward the bathroom, wondering how much Drake can overhear.

"Trust me, Drake's the whole alphabet. The only drawback is that he just won't shut up about his feelings."

Preston chuckles again, "Good one. I know I have some 'a' words to describe him too. But I'll keep those to myself."

Kate nods, "Considering that he's your boss, I think that's smart. I want to apologize again for hurting you. I was afraid if I hadn't stopped things that Drake might have hurt you worse."

Preston looks down at his lap, "You could have just slapped my face again."

"Yeah, I know. So are you still sore?"

Preston leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, "A little tender, there will probably be bruising tomorrow, but not my first time taking a hit to the groin."

Kate appraises him over again, lifting her eyebrow, "So you've gotten handsy with an unwilling date before? You don't strike me as that kind of guy, Preston."

He shakes his head, "Nah, nah. I've just been dumb enough to play backyard sports without a cup."

Drake returns from the bathroom, "Oh yeah? What kind of sports did you play?"

Kate interrupts before Preston can answer, "Don't tell me you two would rather discuss sports, than play with me. If so, I'll just send Preston back to his room and you two can chitchat on the drive home tomorrow."

Drake shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips, "No, after all the trouble I went through to get him here, I'd rather see what kind of play you have in mind."

Kate glances between her two men with a smile, "Before we play we need to set some rules."

"Ok," Preston says, sitting back in his chair.

Drake nods, "But, don't forget about my stipulation that I brought up earlier."

"Which is?" Preston wants to know.

Kate sighs giving Preston an apologetic look, "Drake insisted that no part of you was allowed inside of any part of me."

Preston frowns, "That kind of reduces any sort of fun for me in this situation doesn't it?"

Drake folds his arms across his chest, "Well yeah, sorry to burst your bubble but I'm just trying to protect my marital relationship here. I don't want this, whatever it turns out to be, jeopardizing my marriage by turning into some future affair between you two."

"You know I'm the one who is supposed to be in charge here right? One night of fun isn't going to ruin anything. Trust me, Drake." Kate insists. "We've already been over this."

Preston digs into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a foil condom packet, "And if you're that worried about what might happen in the heat of the moment, I did bring protection."

"See? There you go, Drake. He came prepared. Now let's get this party started. And as the Duchess in Charge, I am deciding our party games."

"Sexual party games, seriously?" Drake grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Kate gets up from the bed, "Oh come on, Mr. Crankypants. I know you'll enjoy them, and besides I'll be explaining how we play each game as we go."

"Mr. Crankypants. I bet you were a barrel of laughs at birthday parties when you were a kid," Preston laughs.

Drake shoots him an angry glare, and Preston smirks back at him, "Speaking of name calling, that brings up an issue. If she's directing the action, I need to know how I'm supposed to acknowledge you both. In my job I use, 'Your Grace, Sir, and Ma'am.' And I don't know if that works here, considering how intimate we're all about to be."

Drake breathes an annoyed sigh, jabbing his thumb in Preston's direction as he addresses his wife, "If I hear him saying your name in any sort of passionate or seductive way I'm seriously going to lose it. I'll kill him with my bare hands."

"Ok, fine. To safeguard Preston's life, and my husband's precious ego, I'll allow Preston to call me 'K'. Is that neutral enough?"

Drake nods and so does Preston.

"And so he'll be 'D' then?"

Kate shrugs, "Works for me, but I'm still using both your proper names."

Drake folds his arms, "Ok, so what's happening first?"

"We undress of course, and I'm hoping neither of you are shy. Because I want you and Preston to undress each other. But I want everyone to keep their underoos on for now."

Drake sticks his hand in his pocket, grabbing a handful of Kate's panties. "Um, but you aren't wearing yours."

Preston swallows, "Sh..she's not?"

Drake pulls the lacy undergarment out of his pocket, "Nope. I took these off of her earlier."

Kate holds her hand out, "I'll take them back now."

He dangles them off his finger and then drops them into her hand. "So who is the lucky guy that gets to put them back on you?"

"The first guy down to his underwear gets to slide mine back on, but here's the catch, the other guy gets to take my dress off of me," Kate says with a grin.

Preston pushes himself up out of the chair, an amused twinkle in his eye and a smile tugging at his mouth, "So one of us gets to touch you from the top down, while the other gets to touch you from the bottom up? I like how you play games K. Fun for everybody."

Drake steps forward to place his hand on Preston's arm, "Curb your enthusiasm there, cowboy."

Preston shakes his arm out of Drake's grasp. "If you're gonna get grabby then help me out of my clothes, D."

Drake turns to face Preston, staring him down as he untucked his dress shirt. The olive that Kate threw at him earlier falls out and bounces off Preston's foot. He looks down, "Is that an olive?"

"Don't ask," Drake mutters, undoing the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve, "I'm gonna help you out here, since you're dressed a lot more casually than I am."

Preston laughs, grabbing Drake by the sleeve to stop him from undressing further, "Hey, stop cheating. I'm supposed to do that for you."

Drake looks down at Preston's simple t-shirt and dress pants, and sees that he isn't wearing a belt. Damn, I want to be the one putting her panties on. Maybe if I take my time he'll get me down to my underwear first. Shit, that means he gets to touch her first. Damn you Kate. You're determined to piss me off with these party games.

Kate twirls her panties around her finger, "Come on you two, get with the baring of skin already. Don't make me take this dress off myself."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Drake mutters, as he undoes the button on Preston's dress pants and then plucks at the fabric of his shirt to untuck it.

"Watch it there, D... I'm ticklish," Preston smirks as he works on the last two buttons of Drake's shirt.

"Shut up, Preston," Drake grumbles, as he hears Kate giggle.

"I didn't know watching two guys undress could be so entertaining. Keep going."

Preston undoes Drake's belt and dress pants next, staring him in the eye as he pulls down the zipper. "Lemme guess, your underwear are black too."

With a frown, Drake brushes Preston's hands aside. "Hands up, Meathead. I'm gonna pull up your shirt."

Preston's protest is muffled by Drake's yanking of his shirt up toward his head. "Hey, the name calling isn't necessary. And ouch, you pinched me."

Drake makes sure to mess up Preston's hair as he tugs the shirt off of him and tosses it aside.

"Hah, you're just jealous of my hair," Preston laughs as he brushes his back into place with his fingers.

Drake barks back, "Hardly, and your mustache looks ridiculous."

Preston shrugs, "Whatever you say, babyface."

"Hey! I'm fully capable of growing whatever beard I want. I just chose to shave before my date, and get a haircut. I..I wanted to look good for Kate," Drake argues, catching his wife's eye briefly, and then squaring off in front of his bodyguard again.

"No arguments here, Honey, but you're still overdressed. Preston, be a dear and even the playing field by taking off my husband's shirt. Then you'll see he has no trouble in the hair department."

Preston unbuttons the cuff on Drake's other sleeve and then peels back his shirt, letting it slide down his arms to the floor. Drake places his hands on his hips. The motion, combined with

the weight of his belt and the phone in his pocket makes his dress pants fall down around his ankles. "Whoops, looks like I'm down to my underwear first."

Preston turns toward Kate, "He did that on purpose."

While Drake steps out of his pants, Kate shrugs and tosses her panties at him. "Here you go."

Drake tucks the edge of the lacy waistband into his mouth, mumbling as he relieves Preston of his pants, shoving them down over his ass. "There..ffinsh the rest of tht yrself."

Slipping Kate's panties over his wrist, Drake steps over to his wife. "Before I hand you off to him, and I'm forced to watch as he strips you naked, I want something first."

Kate licks her lips as he reaches up to cup her face in his hands, tilting her head back. "Oh, and what's that?"

As he leans in for a kiss the firm pressure of his mouth against hers almost hurts, making her whimper. He was determined to remind her that no matter how Preston touched her, he was the most important man in her life. When he finally pulls back, her lips are tingling.

He whispers a soft apology against her cheek when he sees her pained expression, "I'm sorry. Just please promise me something."

"What?" She whispers back, as he leans his forehead against hers, softly stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Make sure he asks your permission before he touches you anywhere. If he's rough with you in any way I'll never forgive myself."

Stepping back, he sees her nod. "Okay," she whispers.

Turning away he glares at Preston, "She's all yours, but I'm warning you that I'm watching your every move. If I see your hands treating her with anything but the greatest of respect, I'll break your fingers and then I'll break your face. Understood?"

Preston nods, "Yes, understood. I promise to be as gentle as possible."

"Good. Oh and Preston?"

"Yeah?" He asks, as he steps out of his pants. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest, it was pounding so hard.

"Make sure she enjoys every second of it."

…

Drake's underwear weren't black afterall, they were blue. Preston's were grey. Kate's were black silk and lace. Drake was currently running them through his hands, and occasionally wrapping them around his fist. He watched Preston approach Kate, hoping he'd chicken out, or at least trip and fall on his big mustached face. His feet were big enough, but no such bad luck. Staring at Preston's back, with its broad shoulders and defined muscles made him feel small. Glancing down at the other man's large hands, he felt an ache in his gut over the thought of them being capable of touching Kate with tenderness. The way Kate's eyes traveled over Preston as he smiled at her, made Drake feel sick. He didn't want to watch Preston undress his wife, but at the same time he couldn't look away. He knew the satiny fabric of her dress wouldn't need much encouragement to slide down off of her, and after being tempted all evening by how great she'd looked in it; he was just as eager as Preston to see her naked.

Kate sized up Preston as he stood before her. Physically he wasn't much taller than Drake, barely an inch, but his posture was straighter. He seemed to tower over Kate, and her line of sight was mostly filled by the wall of his chest covered nipple to nipple by a golden mat of curly chest hair. When she looked up, his lip curled upward in a smirk, making his mustache twitch.

"I'm going to touch you Preston, are you okay with that?"

He sucks in a nervous breath and nods, "If it means I get to touch you back, then go right ahead."

Kate tries not to focus on the significant bulge in his underwear as she looks down, but it wasn't easy. She wasn't going to touch him there, not yet. She starts by stroking her fingers slowly up his arms beginning at his wrists. His fingers twitch, and she can't help noticing his chest rising and falling as his rate of breathing increases.

"If you're affected this badly when I touch your arms, then what's going to happen if I touch you somewhere else?"

"I..I..don't know."

The amount of meat on his limbs was slightly more than Drake's but it was definitely more muscle than fat. Kate knew Drake's measurements off by heart because she helped him pick out his suits. If Preston were to put on Drake's clothes by accident, one flex of his muscles would split the seams.

When Kate's hands make there way up to rest on his shoulders, his hands are still hanging by his sides. She pouts up at him and the desire in his eyes as he gazes back is obvious.

"What's the matter Preston, don't you want me?" Kate asks, lowering her lashes and then slowly looking up to search his face.

His eyes widen momentarily in surprise at the unexpected seduction she was laying on him, "Is that a trick question?"

"No."

"You're either trying to kill me, or get me killed, asking me something like that."

"Well, answer the question."

Continues here ..>

#drake walker #choices #long post #drake x kate #henry cavill as preston davis #tw: dubcon

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mab1905 · 3 years

Text

More Fitzjames content? Yeah... here’s a playlist for ya’ll...

These are songs which I think describe him at different points in his character developement or simply different aspects of his personality. Somewhat James/Crozier (Fitzier) but all about James.

(25 songs, 1 hour 33 min)

Song List + Most Character-Relevant Lyrics:

Fancy — Orville Peck

We didn't have money for food or rent / To say the least, we was hard pressed / Then Mama spent every last penny we had / To buy me a dancin' dress / Mama washed and combed and curled my hair / And she painted my eyes and lips / Stepped into a satin dancin' dress / That had a slit in the side clean up to my hips / It was red velvet trim, and it fit me good / Starin' back from the lookin' glass / There stood a woman where a half-gown boy had stood / ... / It sounded like somebody else that was talkin' / Askin', "Mama, what do I do?" / She said, "Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy / They'll be nice to you" / "Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Lord, forgive me for what I do / But if you want out, well, it's up to you / Now don't let me down now / Your mama's gonna move you uptown"

gold rush — Taylor Swift

What must it be like / To grow up that beautiful? / With your hair falling into place like dominos / ... / At dinner parties / I call you out on your contrarian shit / And the coastal town / We wandered 'round had never / Seen a love as pure as it / And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea / 'Cause you know it could never be

The Name Of The Game — ABBA

Your smile, and the sound of your voice / And the way you see through me / Got a feeling, you give me no choice / But it means a lot to me / So I wanna know / What's the name of the game?

Spectrum — Florence + The Machine

And when we come for you / We'll be dressed up all in blue / With the ocean in our arms / Kiss your eyes and kiss your palms / And when it's time to pray / We'll be dressed up all in grey / With metal on our tongues / And silver in our lungs / ... / And when we come back we'll be dressed in black / And you'll scream my name aloud / And we won't eat and we won't sleep / We'll drag bodies from the ground / So say my name / And every colour illuminates / And we are shining / And we'll never be afraid again

Dreamy Bruises — Sylvan Esso

How can we question / What we knows feels right / Black eyes turn to marigolds / In the morning light / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Shaken all over like some dogs at the pool / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / They’re kicken all the records over acting like they hanging water / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Down in the basement where the sun don't show / Ohweeohweeoh kids movie so slow / Naked dollars wonder piles dreamy bruises rotten lovers / And they say I want you / To bend me back in two / To make me sing your tune / To make those words so smooth / Fill me like a song do

Wolf — Sylvan Esso

But no birds nor beast does he eat / He only wants the tenderest meat / And oh the sounds he makes them speak / Under all different patterns of sheets / ... / The modern wolf, the modern wolf / Drippin' in all the lives that he took / He'll go on home, try to wash them off / But when he shaves, he hears them call

Francis Forever — Mitski

On sunny days I go out walking / I end up on a tree-lined street / I look up at the gaps of sunlight / I miss you more than anything / I don't need the world to see / That I've been the best I can be, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me / And autumn comes when you're not yet done / With the summer passing by, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me

James — MGMT

James / If you need a friend / Come right over / Don't even knock / And I'll be home / The door is always open / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?" / Oh, James / My little doll / You just go outside and you call / Oh, James / Oh, you're never too far off / If your fire's out / There's no need to shout / I'm always home / And walk on in / I'll make you tea and breakfast / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?"

South London Forever — Florence + The Machine

I drive past the place that I was born / And the places that I used to drink / Young and drunk and stumbling in the street / Outside the Joiners Arm's like foals unsteady on their feet / With the art students and the boys in bands / High on E and holding hands with someone that I just met / I thought it doesn't get / Better than this / There can be nothing better than this / Better than this / And we climbed onto the roof, the museum / And someone made love in the glass / And I'd forgot my name / And the way back to my mother's house / With your black cool eyes and your bitten lips / The world is at your fingertips / It doesn't get better than this / What else could be better than this? / Oh, don't you know I have seen / I have seen the fields aflame / And everything I ever did / Was just another way to scream your name

Oh! You Pretty things — David Bowie

I think about a world to come / Where the books were found by the Golden ones / Written in pain, written in awe / By a puzzled man who questioned / What we work here for / All the strangers came today / And it looks as though they're here to stay / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Let me make it plain / You gotta make way for the Homo Superior

Venus As A Boy — Björk

His wicked sense of humor / Suggests exciting sex / His fingers they focus on her and touches / He's Venus as a boy / ... / All across your lips, oh, then until / Well be that it's a little now, until / He believes in a beauty / He's Venus as a boy / He believes in a beauty and gentle

Winds Change — Orville Peck

Had a lover but I lost my patience / Gonna get a song on a radio station / Got a fire but you just can't use it / I don't mean no lies, baby, please don't lose it / Lost my way on the other side / I know why, I don't know when / From the way that we said goodbye / I knew I'd never see you again / Left my mind in the Salt Lake City / Met a lot of men who would call me pretty / Pack of reds, watch the days get colder / Don't it make you cry, how we're getting older?

Fluorescent Adolescent — Arctic Monkeys

Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up... / Flicking through a little book of sex tips / Remember when the boys were all electric? / Now when she's told she's gonna get it / I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it / Clinging to not getting sentimental / Said she wasn't going but she went still / Likes her gentlemen not to be gentle / Was it a Mecca dauber or a betting pencil? / Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up / Falling about / You took a left off Last Laugh Lane / Just sounding it out / But you're not coming back again.

Cheerleader — St. Vincent

I've had good times / With some bad guys / I've told whole lies / With a half smile / Held your bare bones / With my clothes on / I've thrown rocks / Then hid both my arms / I've played dumb / When I knew better / Tried so hard / Just to be clever / I know honest thieves / I call family / I've seen America / With no clothes on / I don't know what I deserve / But for you I could work / Cause I don’t want to be a cheerleader no more

Queen Bitch — David Bowie

She's so swishy in her satin and tat / In her frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat / Oh God, I could do better than that / Oh, yeah / She's an old-time ambassador / Of sweet talking, night walking games / Oh and she's known in the darkest clubs / For pushing ahead of the dames / If she says she can do it / Then she can do it, she don't make false claims / But she's a queen and such a queen / Such a laughter is sucked in their brains / Now she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / Yes, she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / But it could have been me / Yes, it could have been me

Boys Keep Swinging — David Bowie

Heaven loves ya / The clouds part for ya / Nothing stands in your way / When you're a boy / Clothes always fit ya / Life is a pop of the cherry / When you're a boy / When you're a boy / You can wear a uniform / When you're a boy / Other boys check you out / You get a girl / These are your favorite things / When you're a boy / Boys / Boys / Boys keep swinging

Caterpillars (Of The Common Wealth) — Will Connolly

You know you'll always be my valentine / Now swear to god that you will never tell / They're streaming every indiscretion live / For caterpillars of the commonwealth / Gotta go / You can stay / Make yourself at home / Gotta go / This campaign / Don't run itself you know / You've got potential little parasite / I tie your hands so i can wish you well / Cuz i'm a gentleman and you are like / A caterpillar of the commonwealth / Gotta go / I said no / You need to know your role / Gotta go / I said no / It's all under control

Imposters (Little By Little) — The Fratellis

You wear your mask, I'll wear mine / They don't come cheap, but they fit just fine / You can be her and I can be him / We can both sink when the rest all swim / ... / We can pretend that our fates were entwined / A beautiful lie is the beautiful kind / Everybody knows that the sun still sets / And everybody gives and everybody gets / ... / I could be the one that you just can't shake / Till you swear that your eyes go blind / We can disappear till the sun burns a hole / In the life that we left behind

Sweet Painted Lady — Elton John

I'm back on dry land once again / Opportunity awaits me like a rat in the drain / We're all hunting honey with money to burn / Just a short time to show you the tricks that we've learned / If the boys all behave themselves here / Well, there's pretty young ladies and beer in the rear / ... / Forget us we'll have gone very soon / Just forget we ever slept in your rooms / And we'll leave the smell of the sea in your beds / Where love's just a job and nothing is said

Super Trouper — ABBA

Super trouper beams are gonna blind me / But I won't feel blue / Like I always do / 'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you / ... / So I'll be there when you arrive / The sight of you will prove to me I'm still alive / And when you take me in your arms / And hold me tight / I know it's gonna mean so much tonight

Babooshka — Kate Bush

She sent him scented letters / And he received them with a strange delight / Just like / His wife / But how she was before the tears / And how she was before the years flew by / And how she was when she was beautiful / She signed the letter / All yours...

Paris is Burning — St. Vincent

I write to give word the war is over / Send my cinders home to mother / They gave me a medal for my valor / Leaden trumpets spit the soot of power / They say, "I'm on your side / "When nobody is, 'cause nobody is / "Come sit right here and sleep / "While I slip poison in your ear" / We are waiting on a telegram / To give us news of the fall / I am sorry to report / Dear Paris is burning after all

Dream of Sheep — Kate Bush

Oh I'll wake up to any sound of engines / Every gull a seeking craft / I can't keep my eyes open / Wish I had my radio / I'd tune into some friendly voices / Talking 'bout stupid things / I can't be left to my imagination / Let me be weak, let me sleep and dream of sheep / Ooh, their breath is warm / And they smell like sleep / And they say they take me home / Like poppies, heavy with seed / They take me deeper and deeper

Hunger — Florence + The Machine

At seventeen, I started to starve myself / I thought that love was a kind of emptiness / And at least I understood then, the hunger I felt / And I didn't have to call it loneliness / ... / Tell me what you need, oh, you look so free / The way you use your body, baby, come on and work it for me / Don't let it get you down, you're the best thing I've seen / We never found the answer but we knew one thing / ... / And it's Friday night and it's kicking in / In that pink dress, they're gonna crucify me / Oh, and you in all your vibrant youth / How could anything bad ever happen to you? / You make a fool of death with your beauty, and for a moment / I forget to worry

#Spotify #fanmix #gay #fanwork #playlist #i have a crippling addiction to making playlists #james fitzjames #fitzier #francis crozier #francis rawdon moira crozier #Jim fitzjimmy #james fitzjames + gender = ? we dont know her #spotify playlist

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damejanai · 4 years

Text

Dameraji

2020.09.16

S:Probably, when this episode goes on air, it won't be the case anymore but

K: Uh huh

S: But recently, I've had quite many spiritual experiences recently

K: Oh i was scared right there

S: ?

K: I thought you were quitting or something

S: No no no no, why would i do something like that?

K: That scared me, thought you were going to say, 'when this goes on air, i won't be here anymore'

S: Hhahahaha that blew up

K: I was so shocked

S: That's funny, but you know, I often say I see feathers, right? I still see them now and then, but recently, I'm not kidding, crickets keep coming to me. When i'm watching TV at night... well I'm not watching TV but

K: What are you talking about?

S: You know like, my TV is like...that...

K: You are just watching the screen

S: Ah yesyes, that's scary! It's like I'm a psychopath or something!

K: So Soma san you were just watching screen when..

S: When I watch movies at night, there would be the tapping sound on my window, there would be nothing, and after a while i would hear it again.

K: Uh huh

S: And when i open the window, the crickets would be like, 'Let me in!'

K: That's so dramatic

S: I think there is a huge tree near my window, and so there would be tons of them there growing.

K: Ahhh, they would fall nicely at a 45 degree angle

S: And it's easy for them to come in but not go out. I realised that recently, they are not really coming anymore. I was wondering why, and it has been hot recently, so I've not been going into the veranda much. When I went out, I realised that the tree, wasnt there

K: Ehhhhh!??

S: It was totally trimmed, I guess there were tons of complaints coming from other residents about crickets coming into their houses too

K: Would they trim it because of complaints?!

S: It has a very clean haircut now.

K: I don't know if I should probe into it this much but is that tree within the estate?

S: Yes yes , it is, so it comes under their management. And actually I dont miss them at all and, i feel lucky in fact

K: And also it's nothing spiritual at all, just that the bugs are gone

S: Ahahahahaa

----

~About year end times and visiting their parents'~

S: It's hard for me to move around, like my hometown is in Yamanashi

K: Actually my parents home was in tokyo but they have moved to kanagawa actually, so they're like telling me, not to come back

S: Ahahahaa

K: And they got a cat, when I'm allergic to cats. And also since they're in Kanagawa, they might have some resistance to come to Tokyo. So, I can't go back!

S: Are you in contact with them?

K: Ahhh well yes

S: So that was when they told you that, they were getting a cat and stuff, and therefore

K: Telling me not to come back

S: I don't think that's what they think wwww

It's a tough time huh

K: Yes it's a tough family situation

S: Ahahahaaa what's that

K: Why are they going further away though...

S: I actually talked on the phone for 2 hours with my parents, after a long time, they seemed really happy i think. After that I think i heard from my sister that my parents told her about how i called them

K: Ahh

S: I'm usually the kind that doesnt contact people. So i guess this situation sort of makes us try to keep in contact. So not all's bad

K: I see, when i go back home, I'm like doing a radio show alone for 2 hours

S: Ahahahaaha

K: When i go home, I talk non stop, for like 1 hour and we laugh and laugh and then I'll be, 'Okay, I'm off'

S: Ahahahaa you're providing them one slot of entertainment

K: I'd be like, 'wasn't it fun?' , 'bye bye'

S: Does your style of talking take after any of your family members?

K: Nope

S: Ah

K: Totally no one. I'm the only one who talks this much

S: Ah, so they're rather quiet, all of them

K: My dad would talk when he's excited but is usually the listener. I don't really understand what my mum says at all

S: wwwww what does that mean?

K: Maybe we're similar?

S: Ahahahhaa

K: My younger sister doesn't ever come out of her room

S: Stop that

K: My elder brother keeps bullying others

S: wwwwww ok but

K: Maybe it's a hybrid, I'm all of those things at times

S: Well but you're nice on the inside

K: Yes I am! So is my family! Hahahaha

S: Haahahha

Q. There are not many events nowadays but it seems like there are many recordings and filmings these days?

K: No?

S: wwwww well in general for voice actors, probably all the recordings that were halted have resumed maybe

K: By recording, what kind of recording do you mean?

S: wwwww what do you mean by what kind?

K: Well there's after recording

S: Ah ah ah, Ok then count it in

K: Ah, okat then Yes, it has increased

S: Ahahahaa

K: Yes, it's great. I don't really have recording for like songs

S: I think ive gotten more reading jobs nowadays, and I've always said i liked reading, but i had one where i had to read out everything myself, it was, really difficult

K: I guess you have to create and ups and downs right, that's tough right

S: And i think, it's not too good if you create too many ups and downs

K: Ahhh, it's difficult to decide when to hold back

S: Yesyesyes. And usually i would read books for leisure and books for work differently.

K: I see

S: And recently I end up thinking a lot when reading, like how should I make it more interesting

K: Ahhh that doesn't sound fun

S: Totally

K: When I have fun doing YouTube, versus when I use some editing methods because I feel it's good for my videos

S: And it goes on for hours, well it happens for radio as well, like 3-4 hours, to be immersed in one story for rhat long, we don't have it that much

K: Uh huh

S: Like... i want to improve my concentrating ability

K: Ahhh that...

S: Well....Kaito kun are there any types of jobs that you have more now

K: Not really... anything... it has been the same

S: So it has really gotten back to normal

K: Yes. I think I've had more free talk sort of gigs now

S: wwwwww

K: So, what do they see me as?

S: Well but you know you are able to do freetalk for 2 hours at your parent's house

K: No no no but well the freetalk at do at my parent's house goes like, 'this and this happened at work, haha, my partner for radio is this sort of person, he's really irritating

S: Wait wait, stop stop, can i rewind?

K: Ok ok ok, so like what i say at my parent's house goes like, 'my partner for radio is really irritating' something like that

S: wwwwwww

K: Hahahaha, just a little

S: You simplified it huh, from just now

K: I don't even remember what i said

S: But Kaito kun is someone who can just talk about something interesting when the time needs to be dragged a little

K: Really?

S: Isn't that so?

K: Freetalk is like... if there's nothing interesting that happened in your daily life, there's nothing to talk about so

S: Yes, that's true

K: So, i only say what comes to mind at that point

S: Yeah yeah

K: So, sometimes i read comments like, 'Kaito kun said this and this some time ago but now he's saying this and this'

S: Uh huh

K: But what i say is different at different times. So, recently I felt the need to accumulate things to talk about

S: Yes, that's also what you thought of due to this increase in free talk related gigs

K: Yes yes

S: And so you're actually

K: I wanted to note down stuff so, use my secret twitter account that I use for ego searching

S: Wait wait, why, why? Just use a notebook or something

K: Well but, I feel like tweeting them

S: Ahahahhaaa I don't get it! Your ego searching account

K: It has 0 followers, is unlocked, and has no interaction with anyone

S: I see I see

K: And I would tweet photos of my animal crossing game for my own keepsake

S: Ahahahaha huh? That's kinda scary

K: So I'm using it in place of a notebook now. My recent note was 'Human nails degenerate too fast, don't they?' They break all the time and it's painful and bloody', and I don't even remember what that was about

S: Oh my god

K: Scary right?

S: Totally scary, Posting animal crossing photos and leading to this is also scary. What's that about human nails?!

K: The fact that it's scary... already becomes a topic

S: I see I see, you noting down things and don't remember anything about it

K: And the fact that the first tweet was something really scary

S: Ahahahhaahaa

K: Hahahaa

S: But it's an account you would like to keep lowkey

K: If it gets circulated due to a bug or something that would be real bad

S: Please be careful!

~ Dame raji photo studio ~

Topic: Please express your favourite 4 word idiom with your body as much as you can

[DOWNLOAD]

Please download from this link:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1Yp5Xdwi4_z03jPajH9BEbL7R02brXk8P?usp=sharing

#dame janai radio #dameraji #saito soma #ishikawa kaito

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incorrectunrulyprincesses · 3 years

Text

Underland’s Unruly Princesses: March of the Witch Hunters (aka the crossover) chapter 6

Rosalind III

Of course I was worried about my godmother, but I didn't know if I was ready to see the world above. I'd lived a sheltered life as a princess and was completely content to continue on like that, but seeing as Auntie Winnie was in real trouble, something had to be done.

"Okay, sissy, what's the plan?" I asked once the coast was clear.

Ember pursed her lips for a moment. "Considering that the Alice entered Underland though a rabbit hole, I suggest we find other means of getting above."

"That's all very well, but how are we gonna get out of the castle, especially when we're grounded?"

"Oh, it's not that I am concerned with," she said proudly. "It's what we plan to do once we reach the Above. We are much different than the people from up there."

"Well obviously. They're all weirdos from what I've heard. We'll stand out easily. I say we find the condemned building we saw in our dreams."

For a few seconds I watched as Ember paced. She was biting her bottom lip, as she often did when she was pondering. "I've got it," she chirped. "Before we travel to Aunt Winifred's home, why don't we go and pop in on Aunt Nellie? Surely she could help us with our disguises," she suggested.

"You're right. She used to live Above before she came to work for us so she must know how things work up there." I agreed. "It's settled then. Let us go and see Auntie Nellie."

We walked into the kitchen and found Auntie Nellie chopping up some meat with a huge cleaver. At first she didn't notice us. But Ember went right up to her, and wrapped her arms around her neck in an odd-fashioned hug.

"'Ello, ello, Auntie Nellie," Ember said, mocking Aunt Eleanor's thick accent.

I grinned, hugging Aunt Nellie from behind.

"Oi!" Nellie squeaked. "You girls get off!"

"Sorry Auntie Nellie." I got off. "What are you cooking? Do you need some help?" I loved helping Auntie Nellie in the kitchen. Cooking was kind of therapeutic for me. Aunt

"Auntie Eleanor," Ember said in a deep, seductive tone. "Little Rozzy and I need your help."

Sighing, we watched as Auntie Eleanor plunged the cleaver into a hunk of meat. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and leaned against the counter.

"What is it this time?" she asked, annoyed.

"We need to go topside to save Auntie Winnie from the witch hunters." I blurted out.

Aunt Eleanor's eyes widened hugely. If she had been sipping a drink, she would have spat it out. "Oi. And what's your Mum think of this?" I didn't answer and looked at my feet.

Ember cleared her throat. "Well, she doesn't really know-"

"-Blimey! Ember, are you kiddin' me?" Aunt Eleanor demanded. "You two are 'bout to just go galumphin' about in the Above, and leave your Mum without the slightest clue?" She began to look extremely confused.

"Well, technically we're grounded until this whole "witch hunter" thing blows over." I explained, using air quotes on the words, "witch hunter."

What with our past of sneaking out to visit Aunt Nellie at her old home in Fleet Street without Mum's knowledge, Aunt Eleanor shook her head in opposition.

"No," she said. "I can't. I can't let you do that to your Mum. If I let you go, and she ever found out, it'd be my head floatin' in that moat."

"You could always come with us. You and Uncle Sweeney know the Above better than anyone around here." I suggested.

Aunt Nellie shook her head. She sighed again. "Absolutely not. Mistuh Todd and I left that life behind us." We both stood quietly as her face twisted in all directions. After a bit, she swiped up her cleaver and gave the meat a good wail. "Oh, all right," she said in defeat. "What kin I do for ya?"

"We need disguises," Ember said flatly. She pulled at a crimson lace on her corset. "Very well can't rough about the Above dressed in royal garb." Ember grasped at the sparkly jewels around her neck, as if she actually cared for material items, which I knew damn well she did not. "Someone may try to steal my jewels," she pouted.

I nervously touched my favorite choker, worried someone might take it too.

"What's in it for me?" Aunt Eleanor asked, challenging Ember.

"Do you forget to whom you are speaking? I am Emberess of Crims, Red Princess of Underland. What I say goes." She slid real close to her. "And I declare that if you help us, I will request your allowance be tripled, and I will gift to you the cottage Mum gave me as a birthday present."

Aunt Nellie smiled. "The one by the sea?"

"Aye, the one by the sea," Ember stated. "Plus. I will assure you have a month's vacation in said cottage. That way you can spend quality time with your Mistuh Todd."

Eyes aglow, Auntie Nellie grabbed hold of me and Ember, and pulled us toward her chambers. "Where are we going? Do you and Uncle Sweeney have kinky toys like Mum does?"

Ember laughed so hard it boomed down the corridor.

Shaking her head, Aunt Nellie giggled.

"What did I say?" I asked. "It's just a question."

Aunt Nellie just shook her head as she grabbed hold of us both, and led us down the corridor to her chambers. Sooner than later Ember and I were perched in front of mirrors as Aunt Nellie presumed to squeeze us into oddly designed Victorian gowns, much like what she adorned, only the corsets were much tighter.

"Auntie Nellie, are you trying to suffocate us?" I asked, as she tightened my laces. I was wearing a red strapless dress with a pink corset. The skirt was trimmed with rosettes and there was an oversized bow in the back. But now Auntie Nellie was squeezing me into a gown that was a dark red, almost like blood, with a black corset over the top of it.

"You kin keep ya jewelry," Aunt Nellie chided. "There be rich folks in the Above that wear shiny things like dat."

"Keep my tiara safe for me," I said, handing over the gold ruby and diamond tiara that matched my necklace. Aunt Nellie took my tiara from me and placed it in a black velvet box, along with Ember's small crown, and slid the box underneath her bed.

I watched intently as Aunt Nellie slid a sheer black gown over Ember's head. She adorned her with a dark red corset. We were exact opposites! I pulled Auntie Nellie into a tight hug. "I'll miss you." I said. "Take care of Mum for us."

"Oi!" Aunt Nellie squeaked. She jumped back from my grasp. She never really was one for affection. "I am gonna pretend I don't know a thing 'bout where you went. I'm goin' back to my meat pies, and that's where I'll stay." I watched as she bade Ember fairfarren and then stalked from the room.

"So, sis. How are we going to get out of here? Mum probably has armed guards surrounding the castle to keep us in."

Ember was in the mirror, adjusting her gown to fit comfortbaly. "I was thinking we'd wait till nightfall," she said. "We can climb out the window, and slip the guards. I think we should go see my father. He can help us get Above."

"Your father has a problem with me, remember?" I sighed. "He thinks I'm too much like Mum. I don't think he'd be too willing to help."

Ember scoffed. "Of course he will, Ros, don't be silly. He will do anything he can to get back at Mum for holding his family captive for all those years."

"That's true." I thought aloud. "When are we going?"

She turned to me. "As soon as the dark falls over Underland, we're outta here. We'll grab our horses and ride hard to my Father's house."

"The only thing left to do now is go to dinner with Mum and pretend everything is normal."

"I suppose it won't hurt to make one final appearance before we up and disappear," Ember said.

"Let's go then." I said.

Ember looped arms with me and we began to skip from Aunt Nellie's chamber.

#fanfiction #the crossover #march of the witch hunters #the master plan #princess rosalind #princess emberess #nellie lovett #alice in wonderland #alice through the looking glass #sweeney todd

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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"And when he comes home years later, she cries again because he’s more like Asher than ever, scars littering his body and shadows behind his eyes, a soldier and a man and everything she didn’t want for him." (I'm too lazy to write it but since we're all up in our Feelings tonight...)

Paris, France

August 30, 1997

There have been sirens droning for hours outside, on and on and on, as Maria Tompkins Flynn’s hand shakes where she tries to hold her drafting pencil, to put the final touches on the mechanical engineering plans she is putting together for her guest lectures at the Sorbonne. She tries to concentrate, but she can’t, and finally she throws it down, gets to her feet, and walks out into the dim living room. Picks up the remote and switches on the TV, as if there might be some explanation for all the ruckus outside, just in time to see an aerial photograph of a crumpled black car, a sea of flashing lights, motorcycles and cameras, and a scrolling news ticker. LA PRINCESSE DIANA DANS IN UN ACCIDENT DE VOITURE, the screen reads. CONDITION INCONNUE.

At that, Maria’s breath goes out of her a little, and she has to sit down hard. She hopes the poor woman’s all right – it’s not fair what that family has done to her, driving her out of her homeland and her life like this, hounded at every waking instant, and Maria, who knows a little of being forced into exile, losing everything, unable to go back, cannot help but sympathize. She glances out through the fluttering gauze curtains, then looks down at her shaking hands – she is not that elderly, she is only fifty-two, but age seems to have nothing to do with it. She has been living here since her adopted homeland crumbled into factionalism and war six years ago, and took her son’s heart with it. I have to do this, Mama, he insisted, during the rage and desperation of their fighting, as she gave everything she had trying (and failing) to convince her fifteen-year-old son not to enlist in the army. I have to go. Dad would have wanted it.

(How dare he use his father against her like that, Maria thinks, twisting the wedding ring that has worn a groove into her pale, fragile finger, the ring she has not taken off for ten years. It is a decade so close to the day – September 14, 1987, five days after Garcia’s twelfth birthday – when she kissed her husband for the last time. Asher said that this would be a brief mission, he should be home by Sunday, and then vanished into the ether. The KOS, the Yugoslavian intelligence service – there is no more Yugoslavia, but there are all of its secrets – is still so heavily classified that Maria has never been able to find out where he was sent, what he was doing, or how he met his fate. She and Asher agreed that he would tell their son what his job really was when Garcia was sixteen. Instead, she has been left in limbo, and he still does not know the truth.)

Maria sits down, gets up, wonders if she should turn the television on yet, if Princess Diana is doing better. They must have taken her to the hospital, truly? Her poor sons. They are teenagers, they are not ready to lose their mother. William is fifteen years old, isn’t he? The thought gives Maria a jolt. That is too young, too young to lose a mother, too young to fight, too young to go to war, and it is how old her own son was, when she lost him, in some demented reverse, some funhouse mirror, down the rabbit hole, gone and gone and gone. She has not heard from him in almost six years, since he enlisted in the HV, then sent a jumbled letter about going onto Bosnia. As if one war was not enough, he must find another? He survived one, he runs headlong into the next, and –

The knock, when it comes, almost makes Maria spill her tea. She was not expecting visitors tonight, and she wonders if it is her neighbor, Helene, asking if she has seen the TV. She is not sure whether to answer it, but it seems uncharitable not to, and she makes her way into the front hall, unchaining the deadbolt. The walls and floors in old Paris apartments are very thin; she can often hear every sound from down the hall, and tries to walk quietly. She opens the door an inch. “Oui? Comment vous – ?”

And then, she stops. Because she cannot be seeing right, she is afraid to believe, some part of her thinks it must be a ghost, on this night that feels so thick with bad omens already. Because he’s standing there in the corridor, in a pullover sweater and battered blue jeans, his hair thick and dark and unruly and badly in need of a trim, a healing scrape of some kind on his face and the slightest hint of silver by his temples. He is ten days away from his twenty-second birthday. He looks at her – looks well down, he has his father’s height and bearing and nose and eyes, and for a moment Maria’s heart stopped for an altogether different reason, that faint and foolish hope forever that her lover will come home to her – and says, “Hello, Mama.”

Maria stares at him, stares at her son, her living, breathing son, and discovers that her own breath is shriveled in her throat. She makes only a wheezing sound as if her wind has been knocked out. “Garcia?”

He ducks his head, almost abashed. It’s a boy’s gesture, but nothing else about him looks like a boy, no matter how young he is in years. He carries a dirty duffel bag and his knuckles are battered. He says, “Can I come in?”

Maria steps aside by reflex to admit him into the apartment, too dazed to protest. He moves as if he’s uncomfortable in an enclosed space, glancing up sharply when lights cross the wall as if it might be a sniper’s sight. If he is aware of Princess Diana’s accident, he does not say so. He perches on the couch, Maria goes to make another cup of tea on the stunned thought that one should do that when one’s son appears out of the clear blue sky, returns and hands it to him. Garcia nods his thanks and takes it, sipping tersely. She stands there, staring at him, his bent head, his careful motionlessness. At last she says, “Sarajevo.”

He looks up at her, hearing the recrimination. The decision he made to go to Bosnia even when the war in Croatia was done, rather than come back here, to safety, or even stay in the new republic the people had carved out. He looks apologetic, but not guilty. “I needed to,” he says simply. “It was not over.”

Maria looks at him, that thousand-yard stare in his young eyes, the way his index finger on his right hand curls as if around the ghost of a trigger. To look at your son and know beyond all doubt that he has killed people, possibly more than he can count, makes her want to fall like a leaf on the wind, to curl up, to crumple. Since he was so injudicious as to use Asher against her when he enlisted, she is almost tempted to do it again now. Asher was a very proud Croat, he never forgot that. Yet he was – at least while Tito lived – fiercely loyal to the Yugoslavian experiment, the ideal of a unified Slav utopia, a better country for all the people, no matter their race or religion or ethnicity. But after Tito died in 1980, the economy began to crumble, and the country slowly splintered, Asher grew increasingly disillusioned with the Serb-dominated leadership, became more and more sympathetic to the idea of Croatian independence. Maria cannot think he would ever have agreed to send his teenage son to war, would have done everything to forestall it. But Asher himself joined the KOS at the age of nineteen. She is afraid there is too much wildness in their blood, these beautiful, haunted, passionate Flynn boys who can never stay blind to injustice for long. She is too afraid that her beloved husband would not, if Garcia had insisted upon it, have ultimately said no.

Garcia sips his tea a few moments more. Maria moves to sit next to him, as the sirens and lights continue to go by outside, and she sees a muscle move in his cheek. “Sarajevo,” he says, as if continuing their earlier conversation. “There are rumors that Kosovo is going next.”

At that, Maria feels the tiny bloom of hope that opened inside her begin to crumble into dust. She knows what that means, even as she was somehow clinging to the foolish idea that he had come back to give up the war, to stay. It means he is going back. It means that is the next battle, and he means to be there. What is this? Some brief visit to ensure she sees his face one last time before he runs back like Asher, if he disappears as well, if he –

“You could stay,” Maria says nonetheless. “Here.”

Garcia shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Three wars, then? Three? You’ve already had the one! That was for your – for our home, and you won it! Then Sarajevo, now Kosovo! Those aren’t even yours! Garcia, you don’t – ”

“Dad would have,” Garcia says stubbornly. “Dad would have understood.”

“Don’t you dare speak about your father like that to me.” Maria’s blood burns hotly in her cheeks, her heart close to smashing. Asher would never have supported the brutalities of the JNA, the Serbian atrocities, even in the name of holding together a Yugoslavia already lost, but she cannot stand to admit to Garcia that he is right. “How dare you even – ”

And with that, before they have ever even said hello to each other, before there has been any recompense for those six lost years, her grief and her frustration and her heartache burns through Maria like a poison, and she does something she instantly regrets, would give anything to take back. She raises her hand and slaps her son, her sweet boy, her child, across the face.

For a moment, Garcia looks stunned, and then as if he might rage. But what he does instead is even worse. His face slowly crumples, his head falls, and his eyes well up with tears. He must have taken all manner of worse punishment in the war, in the wars, and stood them without flinching, but at that, he breaks. He clenches his jaw, as if trying to stop the sob rising out of him, but he fails. His chin quavers, and he lets out a sound that Maria would burn down the whole world never to have heard him make, to never have been the cause of it. “My baby,” she whispers, horrified, thinking he will shove her away, but instead he falls into her arms, his face buried in her shoulder. “Sweetheart, Garcia, Garcia, my baby, no. No, no, no. Sweetheart, no.”

Garcia cries silently for almost five minutes, all the tears he has not shed before, for all the mortar shells and blasted buildings, the dead friends and the butchered civilians, the horrors that have aged him a hundred years already. It shakes and shakes out of him and Maria cries and coos and rocks him in her arms, though he is still twice the size that she is. She kisses his tumbled hair, like she did when he was very small and still prone to climb into his parents’ bed when he had a nightmare, sometimes when his father was there and more often when he was not. Maria rubs his back and cradles his head and kisses his face all over, as he clings to her arm and keeps sobbing in a way he can never do before the others, and she tries to sing him a lullaby, but her own throat is too choked up to manage. Her tears fall thick and fast into his hair. She feels as she did when the officer came to the door and told her in stilted English that he was very sorry, her husband would not be coming home. She wants to fall down and let her bones melt to dust and become one with the earth and sky.

Garcia cries until he is spent, as Maria notes a whitish scar braided on the back of his shoulder and does not ask, as her sore heart hurts even more. Then he rests there without a sound, limp and heavy, a toddler asking to be carried back to bed, and she gets him up – her hands do not shake at all this time – and guides him back to her room and puts him on her bed, and sits by him until he falls asleep, which takes only moments. She looks at the lights of Paris on the face of her sleeping child, the one thing left in the world that she loves, having lost two husbands and a son and two homelands, and wonders if you ever find the way out of it, this huge dark echoing place, this breathless grief. She smoothes a faint furrow out from between his brows. He does not wake.

(Garcia goes to Kosovo.)

(Princess Diana dies.)

#timeless #timeless ff #i apologize in advance #garcia flynn #asher x maria #i'm real hurt about everything right now sO #my babies #this fic brought to you by my welcome to sarajevo feelings spiral #extasiswings #ask

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