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crepesuzette2023 · 6 months

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Hi! Because someone just asked me, I'd love you hear your Top 5 favourite McLennon fics!

You made my day! Nothing could have made me happier than this ask.

I'm not going to evade your question. I will post my top-five, even though it hurts to choose. But you inspired me to finally write a longer (okay: very long) post about some (not nearly all!) of my favorites, which will be under the cut.

(Sorry for not knowing every writer's tumblr, by the way. Please feel free to let me know, so I can tag authors where appropriate. Thank you!)

My Top 5:

MIRACLE WORKER by @scurator. What can I say. Every time I need my heart broken and to feel an inkling of what grace truly means, I go to this masterpiece about Paul and Robert Fraser finding each other again at Cavendish in 1981.

COAST STARLIGHT by bookofapril is "Miracle Worker's" cosmic twin. The sun to its night. Paul and Robert Fraser on Fire Island in 1974. Nothing I can say will do it justice, so I won't try. This is the "other world" conjured in "Tug of War," so powerfully and joyfully imagined, it's real. (I'm always thinking of this story, but I did so extra hard when I came across a prompt recently: 'They aren't each other's first love, but they're each other's true love'.)

SAME AS IT EVER WAS by RedheadAmongWolves. My favorite Outsider's POV. An ageing newsstand owner from Liverpool remembers John and Paul as boys and young men. There's something magical about the relationship coming alive in these glimpses. A story filled with tenderness that reminds me to always look closely.

AN ORGASM OF SOUND by @pauls1967moustache. The insanity of John and Paul in 1967 got the tribute it deserves. I sleep easier since I read this story. It feels cosmically right that it exists.

PLANT A SEED by @eveepe. Paul in his slutty sailor outfit in Miami. He and John are into each other, and happy, and fuck slowly. Afterwards, Paul has an idea for a new song. That's it. Tender, glorious, hot perfection. Apply at least once a week for best results.

For more thoughts about some of my favorite stories, sorted into very much defined-ad-hoc categories, read under the cut.

Young Love:

I love the myth of their first meeting, and stories that speculate about the sexually loaded creative fireworks/gritty jealousies/tentative hand-holding/topping and tailing during the first years. Here are some faves:

Paul finds music, and John, and his life is changing. In STREETS OF OUR TOWN (@with-eyes-closed) you can taste the upheaval and promise of first love and growing up. Deeply sensual, even without on-page sex. The shaky, sweet, and all-consuming fire of John and Paul’s first kiss is immortalized in ALL I KNOW SINCE YESTERDAY (RedheadAmongWolves). In NON NOBIS SOLUM (@downtothe-lastdrop), art student John simply has to know how far grammar school boy Paul will go to please him. But Paul matches him play-by-play. In THE CAST IRON SHORE (@m1ssunderstanding) Paul earns extra money through music and sex. John finds out. They fall in love, and hide their mutual pining behind transactions—but in the end, they man up to pair up, and get their band back on track. (The first part is finished; I can’t wait for part 2.) John and Paul’s ’61 trip to Paris has been honored in fiction many times; WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG THEY ASSUME YOU KNOW NOTHING (@lilypadd23) is a slow-burning, blessedly long story that blossoms sweetly. DON’T THINK ABOUT IT is the concept by which Paul measures both his pining for John and their deeply satisfying (but surely not really queer?!) sex life. Perfectly realized Paul POV by @merseydreams. Finally: I NEED YOU DARLIN’ (verse) (by @beatlessideblog) would have fit many categories, but I put it here, because in the end, it’s about young John and Paul becoming friends, making music, having sex, and falling in love. No more, no less. Embedded in a late 50’s/early 60's Liverpool omegaverse in which there's a place for their bond. But, surprise (?!): It’s still complicated. I can’t overstate how charming and satisfying and funny and hot this work is.

Old John and Paul:

Is there anything as lovely as imagining John and Paul growing old together?

In HERE TODAY (@herspecialagent), John and Paul found happiness with each other in Scotland. On 8th December 1980, they invite friends for a party, and fight an inexplicable sense of doom. A reminder that our other lives can be closer than we think, and to keep our loved ones even closer.

GROW OLD WITH ME (@inherownwr1te): Old farmers and husbands John and Paul enjoy domestic bliss, deal with a broken arm, and make sweet love.

HAVING COFFEE (@feathersandblue): John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “one of the most iconic gay couples in history,” look back on their early love, the Beatles, and being outed in the 80’s, in this oh-so-glamourous, well-written 2020 portrait…

Magical re-tellings of J/P and/or the Beatles Story:

No matter where you come down on the blessed vs. cursed continuum—they were living through something magical.

In KISSING THE BLARNEY (@zilabee) the Beatles draw love and music from kissing Paul, and each other, until the stupid world interferes. But fear not, all ends well. How to tell the truth through whimsy: this story demonstrates it.

In WE ARE ALL TOGETHER (also by @zilabee), John and Paul switch bodies. It helps.

I WAS A YOUNGER MAN NOW (THEN) (POST HOC) BY @fingersfallingupwards: Paul is a time traveler and braids his life together with John’s, out of order, through the years. And yes, they do grow old together—but not without losing each other first. I’m in awe of this story.

A darker time-traveling story is A MATTER OF TIME (D12Fan), in which John and Paul love each other, over and over, and never manage to make it work—but Paul won’t give up.

FOR THOUGH THEY MAY BE PARTED (@downtothe-lastdrop): The misery of the 'Get Back' sessions and memory-stunting technology imported from “Severance” are not enough to kill off John and Paul’s attraction and longing for each other. Again, this is basically what happened, so.

John and Paul without the Beatles?

Yes, please! Sometimes, the best way to dissect and celebrate (and fix?) this mesmerizing and exasperating partnership is to lift it from its context and drop it elsewhere. Anything goes.

WHATEVER FATE DECREES by @dailyhowl: A gorgeous, finely spun, securely handled, self-contained vision of how John and Paul could have worked as artists in love, without a band to 'legitimize' and constrain their bond. I love this homage to their deep and complicated love that needed trust and breathing room.

1967 by @walkuntilthedaylight: What if John and Paul had gone to Spain together and not come back? This story not only explores their relationship layer by layer, it also dives into the the feelings of those who knew them 'before' and who now meet them again, as a couple. A fascinating alternate history. Not a fluffy one.

TOMORROW I'LL MISS YOU (@pauls1967moustache): Paul abandons John in Hamburg—or John stays behind without bothering to write, depending on who you ask. This "Before Sunset"—AU reunites them, years later. They ride a bus and write a song, and the love and tension are sweet and painful.

DOUBLE FANTASY (by @javelinbk): Modern AU in which John and Paul meet at John's flower shop and manage to ignore and creatively re-interpret their feelings for one another for a surprising amount of time, before fate has mercy. I love how their sweet, well-matched eccentricity makes the world a warmer place for both of them.

WE ARE STARDUST (Unchained_Daisychain): AU. John and Paul meet at Woodstock, fall hard and fast for each other, and have to decide what to do with it: Paul's life is back home in England...except...

Angst, darkness, and courage:

Pain, fear, grief, and other dark emotions are part of the real J/P story, so it makes sense to honor and harvest them in fiction. One of my favorite brands of McLennon angst is the one triggered by their feelings for each other, and the thing they become once they're together™. When they're scared of how much they need each other, and of what will happen next.

ONE AND ONE AND ONE IS THREE and MANAGING EXPECTATIONS (both by @pauls1967moustache), for instance. The first is a terrifying threesome with Yoko (at John's instigation, of course), in which trust is never rewarded and sex resolves nothing. The second is Paul wondering, in thoughts both messy and crystal clear, whether he exists independently of John. He turns to Brian for answers. They fuck. It feels like a human thing compared to what is going on in Paul's mind. Just astounding.

SUNDAY DRIVER (@boshemians) dives into the theme of Paul and John being afraid of themselves in the aftermath of Paul's accident (moped, sexual) with Tara Browne. This one, like "Managing Expectations," ends on a lovely grace note.

MACABRE (@dovetailjoints). Lennon and McCartney go too far.

OPEN HEART (@paisanas). Paul drinks John's blood. John lets him. But Paul starts to hate himself for how much he needs John, which John feels as rejection. I love how this story ends on Paul embracing his need. You can see the painful, bare bones of their malnourished love under the lush sensuality of the vampire sex. Raw and rich.

SILENCE (@ohjohnnysblog). Short and piercing. If there is someone you love—tell them. Don't wait.

THE LATE, GREAT JOHNNY ACE (@midchelle). Reeling with grief, Paul is recording an album in 1981. George and Ringo are there. John is not. But in the end—he is. And they touch. I've always admired Paul's resilience in the face of having to perform or "prove" his love of John in public, and this story showed me, without sugar-coating, where this resilience comes from.

Light, hope, and fixing things:

There is also much lightness and brightness in McLennon, because John and Paul were ridiculous, and horny, and weird. And also: they deserve a laugh. They deserve the fluffiest of happy endings. They deserve high-quality, life-affirming smut. They deserve silly, because silly is what they were. You know their names, look up their number.

1980. John is in BERMUDA (@scurator), Paul visits. Paul comes prepared, John just comes. Sometimes, it can be this simple. This story always leaves me in such a good mood. Paul is the (more) experienced one, and it...really works for me.

GOT TO GET DOWN (@eveepe): In praise of John's obsession with Paul's...precious. His small and perfect prick.

ADVENTURES IN TOTAL HONESTY (@merseydreams). Pithy and sexy, and, I quote from the tags: #Excessive Margarita Mixing.

ANINUT (@pauls1967moustache): The Beatles heal, together and separately, after Brian's death. Once more, I quote the writer: "The Beatles did not follow any of the Jewish mourning traditions, and frankly, they should have."

The unhinged weirdness of the Mad Day Out, with John and Paul escaping and Francie, Yoko and Mal not missing them...much, is rightfully celebrated in one of the insaner stories I read: JOHN, I'M ONLY DANCING (@skylikeaflame)

FAIR'S FAIR (@javelinbk): John and Paul are being silly during a press conference, resulting in acute arousal requiring John's skilled intervention. I love the unexpected care and tenderness in this one!

WHERE THE POETS WENT (RedheadAmongWolves): Tender and enchanted story in which Paul and John go to a bookstore, where they're not as famous as everywhere else. As delicate as the chiming doorbells and the pages murmuring around them.

TAKEN AWAY (@crumblingcookies) Extraterrestrial Intelligence intervenes to reunite John and Paul.

CAN I TAKE MY FRIEND TO BED? (manhattanvalleys). Paul fucks the band in sequence and gets off in the end, as is his due. This is a story like Prince's KISS. No filler, all effect.

THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY (@ohjohnnysblog). Warm and nostalgic phone sex in the 70's.

KEEP THE LIGHT WE'RE GIVEN (@backbenttulips). Amidst the rise of Beatlemania, Paul and John expect their first child. This is Paul's 1962 diary.

More Outsider POV's:

STILL MATES (@pauls1967moustache): in 1968, Peter Asher takes the leap to act on his feelings for his sister's spiraling ex fiancé. This isn't about Paul as much as about Peter, and who he wants to be. Gutting character study. It made me love Peter.

ANOTHER GIRL (@boshemians): Astrid reunites with the Beatles during the making of AHDN and registers their words and deeds with the same stark objectivity as her camera. I love how she seeks the shelter of obscurity while they are being dragged into the limelight. But she sees them, wherever they are. J/P in this story feels incredibly real to me.

WHY BUY THE COW (RedheadAmongWolves). The milkman sees everything on his early morning rounds: the arrival of a nice new family, the McCartneys, the mother's illness, the sadness after her death...and the arrival of a new love in the older son's life. He shouldn't approve—should say something, in fact. But a small inner voice holds him back.

SLEEPLESS IN WALES (thinkpink20). Mike overhears Paul and John whisper in bed. He doesn't understand everything they say. I do. Adorable.

Not each other's first love, but each other's true love

THIS YEAR'S FOR ME AND YOU (@skylikeaflame): After a long life, after deep and loving partnerships with other people, John and Paul, encouraged by their grown-up children, finally meet their mutual love head on. A festive story about waiting the perfect amount of time.

THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas): The Beatles are in the past; John and Paul's love is in ashes. Paul, who is fragile and bereft, lives with George, who is content. The four ex-Beatles unite for the second wedding of Mike McCartney. At times, the aching grief in this story is almost unbearable. But the love between George and Paul is unusual and real. This is unfinished. I'll keep waiting for the final chapter.

Beyond J/P

WANT ME WHEN I'M NOT THERE (@backbenttulips): Linda catches Paul cheating on her with John. She divorces him. Finally: a story that puts her most likely reaction front and center, with no mercy for the messed-up geniuses.

In the Rebecca-AU LOVE LIKE GHOSTS (@backbenttulips), Yoko becomes Mrs. Lennon. Soon, she discovers that her husband is haunted by the ghost of his first love. It's pleasing how well this re-telling matches the events as they (alas) (almost) happened. The ending is chilling. Genuinely horrifying. I love seeing Yoko as the sensible one and as the focus of empathy.

THE BASS LESSON (@aquarianshift). Paul and Stu fool around without letting go of their mutual resentment for even a moment. And it works. "Let's never do this again." I don't think so.

TELL ME ALL MY LOVE'S IN VAIN (@midchelle). Forget about quote unquote platonically obsessed male rock stars: This about about Maureen and Patti through the years. The web weaving continues.

SPOTLIGHT ON JOHN AND STU (@dailyhowl) A love story in letters—too brief, like Stu's life, but sounding as if the writer transcribed their dictation. Some of the best descriptions of what it must have been like to play on stage with the Beatles during the mania are in NO I IN THREESOME (@with-eyes-closed). George finds himself in the beam of attention between John and Paul, and nearly loses his mind. But he's determined to stay and become part of them. Paul is daddy and "fucks like music" as seen through George's eyes. The whole story is vicious and hot and uncomfortable—until there's the love and quiet at the eye of the storm.

Not for the faint of heart! WHAT THE CIGGIE CARTON SAW (@waveofhand): Paul McCartney having his way with cigarettes.

This is getting out of hand...but I'll stop here. There are so many more stories I love. And I can think of many other categories that would deserve their own post.

So, who knows: To be continued?

#fic rec #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #mclennon fic #asks #fic recs #overall favorites fic recs

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thecruellestmonth · 4 months

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quick and dirty guide to Jason Todd in the masterpiece Batman: Battle for the Cowl—canon and fanon

CANON

Jason canonically is a cop-killing asshole garbage manbaby hypocrite who shoots a ten-year-old in the chest.

is a bad person explicitly because his dirty criminal childhood on the streets made him crazy and immoral. He canonically was ruined before Batman ever scraped him out of Crime Alley. (Canon—only a fake fan would argue against it!)

The Lazarus Pit also worsened his mind.

Described as "deranged" and "delusional" and "broken" and "rabid".

Crucifies Tim's Batsuit on a literal wooden cross, but Tim rises from the dead because he's Jesus.

Shoots ten-year-old Damian in the chest, then ridicules Dick for trying to save a "meaningless life".

After being shot, Damian lies on his sickbed just long enough for Dick to brood over his unconscious body.

As soon as Dick leaves, Damian jumps up, tries to swing a wrench at Alfred's head, makes a sexist comment to Squire, and then goes out running around as Robin like nothing happened.

Dick tries to use some unspecified shameful childhood trauma to trigger Jason into accepting Help, but for some mysterious reason Jason refuses—and obviously deranged, delusional, broken people Refuse Help because they're bad people who don't want to change.

-- (Somewhere, John Calvin is moaning in pleasure.) --

Uh thanks for the brief help in the B-plot, Cass—now go away, your thoughts and feelings about all this don't matter.

Apparently Jason can't transform into a man-eating tentacle monster anymore. :(

Overall, the art is pretty swanky.👌

AFTERMATH: Jason commits some dozens more murders.

Dick rightly finds him to be an insufferable asshole, and gains the ability to say so without resorting to ableism.

Damian doesn't care about being shot in the chest and suffers no lasting damage, he is too busy being in fun stories that actually further his character.

Going forward, none of the next writers really try to push long-term "Lazarus Pit madness" for Jason again--except Winick did try to slip it into the prequel, to salvage his baby.

Jason is never shown apologizing for his actions, yet less than a year later apparently decides he wants "redemption".

Bruce happily hands him a full position in Batman Incorporated, with seemingly no special supervision.

While Jason agrees to be subordinate to Batman, he still enjoys being a cocky bastard, and shows no remorse for his past crimes—which are only vaguely alluded to having happened.

CANON(?)

Battle for the Cowl was canon from 2009 to 2011.

It was wiped from existence when the universe reset in the 2011 Flashpoint reboot.

Presently as of the Infinite Frontier "timeline", BftC probably isn't canon until a writer actively writes it back into history, like No Man's Land fairly recently was.

AFTERMATH: It never happened.

FANON

Some scenario loosely inspired by Battle for the Cowl happens because Jason has glowy eyes Lazarus Pit Madness.

What is a female character...?

The conflict is wrapped up in like 200 words.

AFTERMATH: Dick gives Jason a big hug and apologizes for being the worstest brother ever back when Jason was a lonely little angel child.

Jason finds out that he is the most favoritest Robin for tiny 10-year-old Timmy, and he cries tears of remorse for his Lazarus Pit-induced violent frenzy against a nine eight seven-year-old little spleenless baby Tiny Timmy.

More hugging, cuddling, fingers affectionately carding through hair.

Damian doesn't exist for some reason.

If Damian does exist, he's treated like an unwanted booger instead of a human child. He talks like a robot and has no sense of humor.

Jason maybe scolds insensitive meanie Dick for picking evil Damian over Tiny Timmy. Timmy has been suffering fainting spells and consumption, all alone until Jason rescues him.

FANON

Massive overcompensation for other fanon.

CALLOUT post for Jason Todd!

Jason was a good kid. He isn't a bad person at all because of his childhood on the streets. (Fanon.)

The Lazarus Pit had no effect on his mind.

He is 100% sane and willing.

He is a bad person because he's sanely choosing to be an asshole garbage manbaby hypocrite who shoots a ten-year-old in the chest.

Damian isn't sexist to Squire, because she doesn't exist.

Dick destroys Jason with facts and logic and perfectly ethical therapy-speak, and never gets his hands dirty trying to trigger mental illness.

Jason destroys Damian's spine.

Tim and Damian suffer lasting physical and psychological trauma from Jason's torture—being a soldier is now harmful for a delicate developing child, but only on this singular occasion because Jason.

Alfred is the one who stole the Robin mantle from Tim to give it to Damian. 🥺 Dick was forced into a tough situation—he had no choice in how he handled things! It's Alfred, I tell you!

Dick suddenly has a close bond with Cass.

AFTERMATH: The loving idyllic Batfamily hard-blocks radicalized incel full-grown 18-year-old manbaby Jason.

They live happily ever after.

Paradise Lost Satan Jason must suffer his totally self-inflicted isolation, knowing he can never go back to the warm embrace of the very healthy and functional Batfamily, because of his petty, stubborn, definitely made-up unreasonable delusions of being a soldier in an endless warzone.

Hopefully some more cruelty and isolation can make Jason realize he's receiving karmic punishment for being a bad person—somehow this is clearly different from all the cruelty and isolation that happened to him for no reason at all.

--(John Calvin has recovered from his refractory period—he is now moaning more loudly and passionately.)--

"Yes, this is totally what happened! Read a comic, fake fans!" *makes up a fake version of BftC that never happened*

#Jason Todd #Batboys #post Crisis #canon vs fanon #fanon vs canon #Batfam #Batfamily #Battle for the Cowl #Batfam meta #Batman Battle for the Cowl #meta

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oddinary4bts · 1 year

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The Forgotten Spaces | teaser (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there will be mature content in later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: I will be posting individual warnings for each chapter so look out for that! In this teaser: swearing, alcohol, frat party

☆word count: a big fat 145.6K (slow slow burn I said)

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: THE BIG BOY IS READY!!! After two months and a half of work, I can proudly say that I have finished writing the longest fic/book/story I've ever written in my life. The fic will upate every Friday starting from this Friday, April 7 2023, unless I specify that it doesn't (I do have other upcoming projects lol). Once again, I have @moonleeai to thank for beta-ing like the queen she is! You are the best <3

☆Read What Was Hidden by @daechwitatamic, the fic that inspired this big boy! It follows the story of Taehyung and Jo (who's the reader in that fic). Jo, words can't describe how thankful I feel for you writing What Was Hidden. It was a masterpiece from start to finish, and look where it brought us? The Forgotten Spaces wouldn't exist without you, and I thank you with every beat of my heart for giving me this opportunity. Thank you for reading every chapter, for screaming and crying and laughing with me during this whole process. You are amazing and I love you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

You turn around to make your way through the crowd. Jungkook’s lips stretch into a smirk as you move closer, and he cocks an eyebrow once you stop in front of him.

“Missing me?”

You roll your eyes. “Why are you fucking staring at me, Jeon?”

For a second, darkness overcomes Jungkook’s gaze, but he blinks and it’s gone. “I’m just chilling here, I wasn’t looking at you.”

You say nothing, raising your eyebrows as you fold your arms on your chest. He scoffs, glancing away from you.

There’s a moment where you both don’t speak, and you realize you have nothing else to tell him. You’ve never been friends, and you’ve never wanted to be friends with him. You’re about to turn on your heels to head back to the dancefloor when a question pops into your mind.

“Did you leave because of me?” you ask.

His eyes widen and his mouth falls open. You rarely see him expressing something other than contempt when it comes to you, and it makes you want to disappear.

“Is that what you all think?”

You scoff. “What else do you think they believe?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He just shrugs his shoulders, looking anywhere but at your face. You even notice his eyes dipping to your cleavage, but he’s quick to recover and look at a spot on your shoulder instead.

“Seriously, Jeon, why did you fucking leave?”

“I told you earlier, it’s none of your business.” He runs a hand through his hair, which makes it fall in front of his eyes a little. You only then notice his hair is longer, fluffier than what it was last year. “And no, it’s not because of you. Though I’m pretty sure you like me being gone, huh? Hoba told me you took my place.”

"Someone had to," you mutter.

In fact, yes, you like being second in command. You and Jungkook had fought for the spot a few years ago, when the last leader had to leave the group because his girlfriend was pregnant. Hobi, who had been second then, became the leader, and it had taken him forever to choose who would replace him.

The only reason why he had chosen Jungkook was because Jungkook was his friend. Yet, Jungkook had never let you live it down, had always felt the need to remind you of it. Even today, when he’s been gone for over a year.

“Are your choreographies any good?” Jungkook asks. It’s a little condescending because he knows damn well you’ve never been good with coming up with a choreography. One of your many shortcomings when it comes to dance. “Wait, have you even created one?”

You see red again. "Fuck you", you say through gritted teeth.

“That’s what I thought.” You want to punch him, to curse him for giving up on the group and then making you feel like you shouldn’t be second. But Jungkook’s not done yet. “The crew’s not going to last long, is it?”

“Maybe if you didn’t fucking abandon everyone out of the blue we wouldn’t be in this position.” You shake your head. “But no, you’ve always been so important uh, you think the world revolves around you and you don’t care that your actions have consequences.”

Jungkook wasn’t really angry before. He was mostly trying to get on your nerves because it’s always been his favourite activity. But now, his face flushes red, and a vein pops on his neck as he stares you down. “You have no fucking idea why I left. I had no fucking choice.”

“You could have told us.”

You’re almost screaming now. But you’re alone where you stand, and you wonder if the crowd has moved to give you space on purpose, sensing the storm that is coming.

"I had nothing to tell you guys," Jungkook says.

You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at him again. “You know what, I don’t even fucking care anymore. We don’t need you on the crew.”

He chuckles, bitterly. “Oh you don’t? I recall you fucking up on live TV last year.”

Because Scottie had to take his place in the choreography. A choreography you had been working on for years, gone to waste because Jungkook had disappeared.

“You watched us?” It’s your turn to let out a bitter chuckle. “You missed us too much? Couldn’t stay gone?”

“You’re a fucking bitch when you want to, uh?”

It takes you by surprise, not expecting him to straight up insult you. “Excuse me?”

“No, but you really are.” He looks around, before settling his big eyes back on you. “I had my reasons. You getting angry at me about it won’t change anything.”

Chapter one

☆☆☆☆☆

SO ARE WE EXCITED?? Bc I sure am! Let me know what you think!!!

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chvnnie · 1 year

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Vows

lee minho x reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, and heavy angst — MINORS DNI

warnings: non modern au (1800s author!minho), established relationship, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH - NO DETAILS GIVEN BUT PLEASE USE DISCRETION, fingering, unprotected sex, only minho orgasms, dirty talk. there’s not a happy ending. i think that’s it, but if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW

summary: Minho doesn’t know why he can’t seem to beat this writer’s block

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD BECAUSE I AM TOO SAD TO TRY AND EDIT SO DO NOT DRAG ME IF YOU FIND ANY TYPOS. i’m never writing angst again, i cried the entire time i wrote this. and i’m at work. it’s a mess and it hurt but i loved it so. have fun!!!

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @humayraaaa, @americanokisses, @djeniryuu, @epiphanynaffit - comment/send ask to be added

His hands feel cold as he rubs his face, fingers creeping up to run through his dark locks. In the process, he licks his chapped lips. The winters are already dry enough; really, he should stop before they crack.

But he just can’t help himself. Minho thinks all broken things are beautiful.

With a sigh, he drops his hands. His elbow dings the small ink pot in the process, spilling the black liquid off his writing table. It swirls under the candlelight, landing in heavy puddles on discarded parchment. Typically, the author would hurry to pick up the pot. His money was limited and his practice was expensive; wasting even a little was fatal.

Tonight he sits. Counting the drops as the plop, plop, plop, ruining all of his terrible work. No one will ever know the worlds he’s created and destroyed, the ink making sure to remove them from existence.

Minho is almost jealous of the parchment. What he wouldn’t give to be washed away and made anew, for the burden that being an artist in this life has brought to be returned to the higher powers.

Before he thought it was a blessing. Weaving words to create fantastical lands, to write of unfathomable love. Now, as the candle wax is hitting his wooden table and the ink is running dry, he knows this is a curse.

A walk. A walk might do him well. It could help Minho move the boulder that’s blocking his mind, tapping him dry. Though the hour is well past midnight, it couldn’t hurt to try.

The ankle length coat is heavy on his shoulders, yet he’s grateful. The wind is nippy and is doing nothing to help the dryness of his lips. His tongue rolls over it once again, thankful for the protection it provides. Even if it’s fleeting.

Why can he not get this right? No matter what he scribbles, nothing is making sense. The story he’s made is falling flat, losing its traction as it continues on. It’s a brilliant idea, one that his editor even called a masterpiece. But that’s all it is — an idea. No matter how many times he’s tried to bring it to life, it’s damn near impossible.

What could have happened to it?

Minho walks without really paying attention. He knows the way by now; a left here, down the curved road before you take a right, past the bakery. Every time the golden window comes into view, he stops. Time stops as he looks into the dark store, blinking slowly as snow flutters down and clings to his lashes.

He blinks—

“Minho!” You cry excitedly, your giggle immediately warming his body.

When his eyes open again, the first thing he sees is your bright smile. Smirking, he takes the loaf out of your hand, tearing a bite off the end.

“I’m just saying.” He talks as he chews, turning on his heels in the direction of your shared home. “It would be silly of you to do that.”

“What?” You hike up your lilac colored dress, jogging to catch up to him. He rolls his eyes as you jump in front of him, walking backwards. Many strangers pass, eyes wide and looking at you in disgust, wondering what fool would do this on a busy sidewalk. But the smile on your face doesn’t waver, unaffected by the hurtful whispers of insignificant people. “You don’t think I could bake my own bread?”

“Darling, you can hardly cut an apple.”

“Bread and apples are not the same.” You exclaim, throwing your head back to sigh dramatically. “When you married me, you vowed to always be supportive of me—“

“And I always have been.”

“So, encourage me!” You suddenly stop, putting your hands out to catch Minho before he runs into you. Hands on his jacket, you bunch it up. Pull him close. “Oh, my darling, if that’s what you wish to do. You’ll be wonderful at it!”

Your fingers are so close to his heart, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could feel how quickly it was pounding. There’s something about the way your eyes sparkle when you look at him; wide, full of a life he’s always been envious of. Minho finds it impossible to remember a time before this look of yours.

It started when you were five. Caught up in a tree, crying because you had climbed too high and were too frightened to jump. He remembers the braids you wore, how your hair was falling from them. The tears on your little brown dress from where the branches grabbed the fabric.

Even at a young age, he knew he needed to help. His mother always taught him to help someone in danger. In retrospect, the tree wasn’t that tall. If you fell, the possibility of breaking a bone wouldn’t have been high. Yet it seemed scary, even to the young boy, following your path up it.

“Don’t be scared.” He said to you, reaching his hand out. Shakily, you grab onto it. You squeezed him so tight, his hand began to throb.

Minho knows what it’s like to be scared, and he never would want to leave you alone.

As he returns you to land, you turn to the boy you recognize as your neighbor. Arms flying around his shoulders, tugging him into the tightest hug your little body can give.

And then you pull back, and look at him. The sparkle of life in the depths of your eyes.

He swore you would never be scared and alone again.

It’s hard not to smile, lips pressed together and curling up as he cups your face. “I also vowed to never lie to you.”

With a huff, you pull away from the hug, turning in the appropriate direction this time. “You are the bane of my existence, Lee Minho.”

Now it’s his turn to jog. Catching up to you and gripping your hand to pull you into his side. Despite your wiggles, your faux pout and empty complaints of being exhausted by him, you make no effort to really move. Tucked into his side is the best place, both in reality and fiction, you once told him. The scent of his cologne, the smell of fresh bread and the mint tea he drank earlier. A comfort you always will seek, and one he’s more than joyful to give.

It’s a short walk home; a left and then you’re up the curvy path, walking until you take a right at the bookshop near your home. It’s a quaint little shop, but cozy nonetheless. The door was propped open, smells of cinnamon and leather spilled onto the cobbled road in front of it. Come in, take a seat. Enjoy the writings of authors old and new.

Right in the middle, on a golden stand, sits Minho’s recent work. The yellow cover was your idea — “It piques interest! Come on, do you really want it to be red or blue like all the rest?” The book didn’t need to be published for him to know you were right, but it’s satisfying to see the stacks behind it dwindling. The community enjoying another one of his gorgeous worlds.

“It’s running low.” You hum. “It might be time to mail production, get more copies out.”

“Hm, with what funds? If I recall, you spent it all on poppy muffins not even an hour ago.”

Rightfully, a fist gently collides with his abs. Minho laughs from the impact, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “I’m so proud of you, Min.” You don’t take your eyes off the book. Instead of your trademark beaming smile, you look almost stunned. In total awe. “It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.”

He loops his arm around yours, tugging you away from the window. “It’s not but a hobby. I have greater dreams than that.”

The familiar brick comes into view. A flowerbed in front is home to the brightest plants on the block; daisies, pink flowers that Minho can’t remember the name of, daffodils. There’s even mint for tea, freshly plucked by you (if you can remember). It’s a comfort, a reminder of your love. Of the home you’ve built together.

“Like what?” You fall back in step, letting your husband take the lead so he can get to the door before you. The door swings open, Minho bowing dramatically and you following suit as you pass.

Once the door shut, he began on the buttons of his coat. “Where’s the fun if I tell you?” He teases. When he looks up to see your exasperated expression, it’s only held for a beat before you start to laugh. “I dream of more of this life. Of easy morning walks—“

His eyes open, the cold winter air making his fingers start to numb. It’s time to move again. To continue down this path. This time, he’ll walk straight. Listen for the meows of street cats that always greet him at the block.

Rummaging his deep pocket, Minho finds the little treats he pocketed on his way out. Crouching down, he lets the cats eat from his hand.

“Careful.” He whispers to the biggest one. “Let your friends eat.”

Once he’s sure that they return to the warmth of the home he built for them, Minho starts again. Licks his lips. Takes a right.

And crashes into you, grabbing your hips to help ground himself.

“My love.” You gasp, a hand flying to your chest. Your fingers toy at your necklace, the collision spooking you more than you care to admit. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

His chest hurts from where your head hit him, flinching slightly as he heartbeat starts to pick up. It’s the first time he’s seen you all day, nose too fair in his journals to pay attention to the outside world.

And wow, is he kicking himself for waiting so long. The yellow dress you’re wearing is perfect for the weather, clutching the roses you picked from the garden to your chest. Seems you kept yourself busy while he worked.

“I’m sorry, darling.” He draws, bending down to catch your lips with his own. “This hallway is just too small for us, isn’t it?”

You smile against him, standing on your toes to steal another kiss. “Maybe, but I’ll never complain about running into you.”

“It’s because you’re not the one with a sore chest.” Finally, he pulls back. “What have you done today?”

“I was busy in the garden.” You adjust the bouquet in your arms, making sure none of the flowers lost their petals. “I wanted to cut the roses before autumn comes.”

Like Minho loses himself in words, you lose yourself in the garden. It’s like you don’t even notice the sun setting some days; fingers too deep in the soil to care about anything surrounding you. The two of you take turns pulling each other out of your little worlds, bringing one another back into existence together.

This crash was a good grounding moment. You both were too far gone.

“They’re lovely.” He says with a smile, delicately stroking the bud of one.

“They were, until you so rudely ran into me and fussed with my bouquet.” You can’t even say it without a bright smile, always delighted to tease your husband. “Watch where you’re walking, Min!”

His eyes roll so far back, he thinks they’ll get lost in his mind. Hands move from your hips to tangle in your hair, pulling you in for a deep kiss. The flowers fall to the floor, and this time the petals come falling off. Scattering the hallway carpet you stand upon.

It’s been too long. Too long since your lips met his, since your body was merged with his own. And it’s only been since this morning.

Maybe too long is an exaggeration, but Minho’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

“Are you planning to go back out?” He mumbles, tongue sweeping against your lips until they part, letting him in.

You whimper as you shake your head, hands on his biceps as you cling for dear life. “Not anymore.”

Oh, how it overjoys the author to hear. Minho walks with you, guiding your bodies to the nearest door before he kicks it open. Though the hallway has seen, and heard, so many parts of you, you deserve more than a stuffy hallway quickie.

It’s a stumble into his office that doesn’t stop until your hips hit his work table. He lets go of you just briefly, sliding the papers, notebooks, quills — all clatter to the ground. The desk sits in front of a window, cracked open just enough to let the summer breeze dance in. It lands on your shoulders, on his face. Ruffles your hair and warms his skin. The fireflies have just started to come out, a few twinkling near the stained glass and lighting it up in beautiful pieces.

Minho cups the back of your head, lowering your body slowly onto the wooden surface. It feels like a dreamlike state as he breaks the kiss, moving himself away from your lips slowly. Your head lays at the edge of the desk, crossing over just a bit onto the windowsill. The breeze makes your hair flutter in strands, the pale light of the fireflies painting your face.

Blue and red. Yellow and green. Pink and orange. Stained glass eyes, bright and full of life, blink up at him. Always happy to see him.

“My darling.” Goosebumps decorate your skin, rising up your neck at the sound of his low tones. His fingers are delicate as he strokes your cheek. “Your beauty always leaves me in such awe.”

Rolling your head, your lips brush against the tips of his fingers, overflowing with gratitude. “You are too kind to me, my love.”

The corners of his lips twitch into a soft smile. “No. No, I believe I am not kind enough.” His other arm hooks around your right thigh, heaving it up in his arms. The dress slides down your body in rippling waves, pooling like golden ink at your hips. “But I will never stop trying to make it up to you.”

Before you can reply, the hand on your cheek slips the nape of your neck. He pulls you up as he comes down, making your body arch into his touch when his lips collide. This kiss is more than the one that let you here — be it the weather or the feral instincts clawing at his throat, Minho’s body is like the brightest flame. Hot enough to bring the entire planet to the brink of extinction.

And it’s all because of you. The smell of roses, the taste of strawberries you had for lunch. His life force, his drive. His muse, who is tugging on his worn out dress shirt and pulling until the buttons pop. Across the room they scatter, lost and never to be found again.

Your hands run across the smooth skin of his chest, carefully feeling every ridge of him. Sweet moans fill his mouth as you enjoy the touch, covering the same spots over and over as if you can’t get enough. It’s easy to get lost in the touch of a lover, feeling their bodies in ways that only you can enjoy. Maybe that’s why you don’t notice his hand moving up your thigh, stopping right at the lower hem of your panties.

But you do notice when two fingers slip inside and quickly brush against your folds, making your body jolt in shock and delight.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Minho says as he pulls back, smiling at the cute expression on your face. “Just relax, darling. Let me care for you.”

“You did.” Your words are breathy, teetering on broken moans. “All morning.”

The chuckle he gives makes you flutter around nothing, new slick starting to coat his digits. “Well, let me do it again. Didn’t I vow to always?”

In the space between his rapid heartbeats, his fingers find your entrance and push inside. With vigor, Minho starts to pump them in and out. The palm of his hand hits your cunt, heel pressing into your clit with each thrust.

It’s an intense feeling, especially with how much torture your husband put you through this morning. You’re more sensitive than usual, hips buck and legs kicking out at the intensity. Only a few thrusts and you’re near screaming, the ache overpowering.

He vowed to always help you, even when you aren’t aware that you need it. Free hand flying to your hip, he pins you down by your hip with enough strength to bruise you.

“Still.” His voice is dark and low, the warning tone causing your bright eyes to widen. Nothing more needs to be said, fear like cold rain washing over you. Following his commands without a fight.

“That’s my good girl.”

Minho has always been good at keeping control. It’s easy for him to calm his mind enough to make sure he doesn’t break. Yet it’s always impossible when he watches your eyes flutter shut, body like the perfect toy in the palm of his hand. His cock aches and twitches in his trousers, demanding for some sort of release.

Even when it seems unlikely, he contains it. Not letting himself get too caught up in the moment, focus narrowed on bringing you the most pleasure he can—

Your left hand cups your breast over the dress. In the light of the fireflies, the simple band of diamonds shine.

When he bought you that ring, his pockets were empty. It was the best that he could find with the little money he had, and even then he had to barter for it. He swore to himself that one day, when he didn’t have to struggle anymore, he would get you the wedding ring that you deserve.

That day came after he published his first book. When the first check came in the mail, he ran to the kitchen, dropping to his knees and proposing. Again.

“Get up, this floor hasn’t been swept yet—“

“Marry me, my darling.” Both of his hands cup yours, the check wrinkling in his fist. “Let me give you all you deserve, starting with this ring.”

His thumb rubs over the jewelry to emphasize his point. He was going to make it better, to make you happier.

“No.” You say simply. “You’re not taking my ring from me.”

“But, darling—“

“I don’t want just any ring, I want the first one you ever picked for me. This one. Now, please, love, get up before I use the broom to sweep you away too.”

It shines as brightly as your eyes under the fireflies. Maybe that’s why Minho can’t think straight. The love coursing through his body bringing him to the edge.

With a loud groan, he stops his movements. Fingers buried knuckles deep inside of you, your husband hangs his head. Your eyes shoot open, concern heavy in them. “Min, are you-“

You fall silent as you notice. The wet spot on his bottoms, growing in size right where the tip of his cock is. Neither of you move, neither of you speak. Watching as cums his pants.

Slowly, he looks up at you. Your hand hasn’t moved from your breast, lips parted in shock — or is that terror? After all, his eyes have never been so dark before.

“See what you do to me?” His voice is more of a growl, pulling his fingers from your cunt aggressively. “See how you make me feel?”

There isn’t time to think. To speak. He doesn’t even take the time to undress you properly; trousers fall to his mid thighs to let his still hard cock spring out. Your head hits the stained glass as he inserts himself into you. Slow, yet rough. Savoring the soft feeling of your walls.

Minho steadies himself by gripping onto your other hip, loudly groaning your name over, and over, and over like a prayer until he’s deep inside you. If you thought his fingers were intense, you’ve shattered from this stretch, clawing at your exposed skin in ecstasy.

All is right when your bodies create one. Limbs tangled, lips swollen. He leans down as he starts to thrust into you, not pulling out more than half an inch. Each one is deep, hitting places neither of you knew existed until this moment.

Nothing else exists. In this moment, you are both all that was. All that is. All that is to come. The universe pauses for you, time stopping as you love each other to an extent that no one thinks is possible. The earth cracks under you, breaking from the strength of this connection.

Better than any story written across time.

His head lays on your chest, the position thoroughly uncomfortable though Minho is convinced it’s perfect. He listens to the beating of your heart, kisses your warm skin, fucks you in unimaginable ways.

“I love you.” He mumbles against the swells of your breasts, nuzzling deeper into them. Craving a life only you can bring. “I love you so much, my darling. I-I don’t even know how to say it.”

This time, you shush him. Threading your fingers through his dark hair, you turn his head so he can look at you. Meeting your bright eyes, full of life.

The metal is cold against his palm. Hard to move regardless of how hard he pushes.

“I love you.” You smile at him. “In ways I’ll never be able to tell you.”

The snow and gravel crunch under his boot. Only a few more steps.

“You’re my everything, Lee Minho.”

Though he’s sniffling, he still smiles up at you. Fully consumed by your presence, wishing to freeze this moment so it never ends. “I thought I was the bane of your existence.”

The laugh you give is full. “Why can’t you be both?”

Though his pants are thick, the cold still seeps through. He sits with his legs crossed, letting the snow melt under him and numb his thighs. It’s a nice distraction — one he really, really needed.

“I don’t know what to write.” He says out in the dark of night, staring at the jewelry in his hands. A small, golden heart pendant and the simple ring cling to the chain, warm from his body heat. They were tucked away the entire walk, pressed close to his slow beating heart. “I’ve gone through sheets of parchment and at least five journals and…nothing.”

With a sigh, he starts to spin the ring. It’s too small for his fingers, though he had tried. Once it got stuck on his pinky. Minho left it there for days, not doing anything until his finger started to turn purple. It hurt too much to take it off.

“You would be appalled by the state of my office.” The laugh he gives is dry and shaky. “I let a pot of ink spill today, and I don’t know when I’ll clean it up. It was almost refreshing to watch it wash away my work.”

The tears have started. He’s not ready. Not now, he just got here—

“I don’t know why this is so hard for me.” He licks his lips, over and over and over until they finally crack. “You’re all I could ever think about, all I could ever talk about. So writing about you should be the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But I try, and I try, and I lose sleep wracking my brain to try and encapsulate what you were. How you held existence in your eyes and loved with such a fierce heart that it could have been the comet that killed the dinosaurs. How can I love you so fucking much, and not know how to talk about you?”

Minho was determined not to look up. If he doesn’t look, he won’t get hurt. Reality can be nothing but a hoax as he talks to you, lost in a world the two of you created.

The dream he wants to never escape from.

But there’s only so much he can take. Finally, his head lifts and fuck how he desperately hopes to see your bright eyes. Instead, the stone sparkles. Your name engraved above the dates, a small reminder that you were real.

Slowly, the author sits up on his knees and begins to crawl. At the headstone he stops, slowly lowering himself to the ground. Letting his body sink into the snow as he lays with you and clutches your jewelry to his shattered heart.

It isn’t long until his eyes start to shut despite his efforts to stay away. One blink, then a slower one, and another until there’s no more. On the last one, right as sleep pulls him in, he swears he hears your laugh.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee minho smut #minho smut #skz angst #stray kids angst #lee know angst #lee minho angst #minho angst #skz x reader #stray kids imagines

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ekingston · 8 months

Note

Your reply on ao3 about your wife’s screenshot and being a cheerleader stuck with me, because I’ve realized I don’t actually articulate enough how amazing some writers (read: you) are. I finished the most recent chapter of soup (after eleven-thousand unacceptable distractions), and I was going to plunk together a quick comment that would absolutely not do enough justice to express the genius I find your writing to be. So instead I opened a google doc and started smashing my keyboard which resulted in a pretty long-winded... something, but allow me to fan-girl for like, a second:

The quality and style of your writing floors me every time. There is an effortlessness about it that makes it totally and completely bingeable but also something that gives a little more each time I read it. For me, it’s the most replayable form of literature: I can go back for the plot, for the character rapport, for the punchy dialogue, or for the voice of the narrator. It fits all the moods. It charms me. It amuses me. I want to hug it.

Your work excites me, and when I think of authors and works that excite me, I’m lumping you in with like, Heartburn which is an all-time favorite for that exact reason: I can binge it in a day or go back and sip on it and discover something clever and witty and just impossibly gorgeous in execution.

And speaking as someone who CANNOT for the life of me write something that doesn’t eventually tumble into a vat of angst, I also just adore the way you manage tension without losing the light-hearted reading experience. Holiday wine is a masterpiece, AND I think Soup is almost better because you juggle so much more: the chorus of characters are taking on their own plot lines, the stakes are higher, you add danger and adventure, you weave a more complex, interconnected storyline, and you massage it all beautifully to act as a supporting cast to the core of the story.

Which brings me to the trope (and a complete tangent): miscommunication. Like, ok look… I usually can’t stand it. But that’s mostly because of the execution: the obvious interruptions, the clear misdirection and disregard for natural intuition, the not asking the right questions, the very blatant ham-fisted forcefulness of it just… I can’t.

AND THEN YOU WENT AND MADE A MASTERCLASS OF IT.

You took every complaint you didn’t know I had and put in the work to make it believable. Kara is charmingly oblivious but not for lack of trying. She perfectly talks past Nia and Alex and Lena not just once but every. time. and every time is just so well-conceived and articulated and *gesticulates hands in the air wildly trying to find the right word* gah. The world of her confusion and misguidedness is so believable and commendable and *gesticulates again* gah. This is the absolute genius of the work. I will give kudos till I’m blue in the face about the story as a whole, but I will die on the ‘Easter crushed the miscommunication trope’ hill.

And this is just ONE EXAMPLE of how you knock it out of the park every single time. I could go on about how solidly you write the characters, how charming your prose is, how epic your one-shots are, or how I don’t even care that I can’t trust your chapter count anymore but this is already a run-on and I'm running out of air.

I don’t know how you write, if there is one draft or a million, if you just stream–of-conscious this into existence, or if you summon the words through a ouija board, but it’s brilliant and commendable and THANK YOU for doing what you’re doing.

so. this message is. a miracle? and you are a GIFT. and i’m not going to be able to elaborate much beyond that, because unlike you, i am terrible; at writing attentive notes, at handling compliments, and—hilariously, maybe, since i’ve finally started thinking of myself as a writer again after a decade of self-loathing false starts—at writing down my thoughts in an easily digestible way.

can i say it’s the nicest thing i’ve ever gotten from someone who isn’t (yet?) a close personal friend? that the timing of it was almost implausibly perfect because it arrived in the middle of the deep breathing exercises i was doing after being made aware of some deeply stupid twitter discourse around Soup that was going on right as i was getting ready to post its final chapter?

i think i’ll stick to the important stuff: like THANK YOU. like how your (AMAZING) note completely obliterated the bad stuff and made me excited not just to wrap up this fic, or even to jump into the next, but about doing it all in the first place. that it was a very needed reminder of what an immensely privileged position i’m in to be able to put something out online that brings people (you) enough joy that you want to come tell me about it. and, obviously, that the specific things you chose to highlight are extraordinarily flattering, and i am absolutely not immune to that kind of thing.

i went back and forth on publishing this ask because it feels almost embarrassing, and boastful. but whatever, you know? you made me feel good about my writing again and provided important perspective and ultimately you put thought and effort and overall awesomeness into it and i’m not going to hide that away when you intended it to be shared.

thank you. SO MUCH.

#also i’m totally going to cheat and add:#MISCOMMUNICATION MY BELOVED #if you’d told me a few years back that i was going to write a slapstick-adjacent romantic comedy of errors #i would have died a little inside #i LOATHED drama that only existed because people refused to open their mouths and speak to each other #you don’t know how thrilling it is to hear that you do too & that you think i got it RIGHT 🥳#anyway you. are a hero.#i’m going to be thinking about this one for a while!#ps it’s the ouija board. 100%#ask me things!#eqt-95 #TSOS #YMHW

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sacredstarcatcher · 1 year

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 8

Jake x Reader x Sam

Warnings: Shower sex, alcohol, language, angst, fluff. Not in that order.

A/N: Thanks for being here if you've made it this far. Mondays are the best day of the week because of all of you. <3 Special shoutout to my reader/editor/biggest fan, I love you dearly.

Your return from LA left you with three weeks of summer before school started again. You spent most days with Sam, enjoying as much as you could together without parading around Nashville and being noticed, either by a fan or one of his own numerous family members. The guilt was still hanging heavy in the air over the two of you, the stress of sneaking around ever-present. Still, you didn’t speak about it.

The guilt aside, days with Sam were peaceful and easy. Once the pickles you made together were ready, you watched him as he pulled the first jar of pickles from the fridge and popped open the jar with impressive strength, the veins in his hands showing the strain as he twisted the lid. That paired with the loud pop echoing through the kitchen meant there was a good seal, and they had come out just right. He held out the first bite to you, letting you taste test. It turns out he was absolutely right; you would miss him and his secret pickle recipe you didn’t listen to if he just so happened to end up getting struck by lightning or whatever he said.

Sometimes, you would spend the day at home. There was the afternoon you decided to paint in the backyard. You watched as Sam stood around in the #1 Dad shirt you thrifted, dripping paint on it while mixing colors, spilling paint-water in the grass as he held the cup out of Rosie’s reach when she tried to drink it. He pulled his hair back in a low bun as he knelt down and worked on something a little abstract, his brow occasionally knitting in concentration. He held the tiny brush between his fingers and delicately added brushstrokes, and sometimes he took a bigger brush in his entire fist, letting his creative genius take over. His painting got weirder as he went on, but it all made sense when you realized how drunk he had gotten drinking seltzer in the sun. He abandoned the masterpiece halfway through and the two of you took an afternoon nap.

Then there were days you would adventure together. Your favorite was the day you rode bikes- taking a trip out about an hour from home and renting a pair of them to drive around the trails. Eventually you got to the waterfall, where you cooled off and shared more than a few sweet kisses in the little cave behind the rushing water, his ears sticking out through his wet hair, giggles echoing in the space that was all your own; as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Watching Sam’s skin get tanner as you spent the summer days with him made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Between evenings in the hammock looking at the sky, mornings tangled in the sheets as the sunlight made his eyes shine the sweetest honey brown, and afternoons eating sandwiches with a pickle on the side, you were the happiest you had ever been.

It wasn’t lost on you, however, that Josh, Jake, and Danny had completely fallen off your radar. You were so wrapped up in each other that you didn’t spare a thought for them over those two weeks. They were all but radio silent until Jake texted Sam, asking him to water his plants when he went out of town for the weekend.

That’s how you ended up in Jake’s house with Sam on a Sunday afternoon.

-oOo-

“We can’t drink his wine while he’s away. He’s definitely going to notice,” you say, admonishing Sam. “That’s the good stuff. He likes his reds. Put it back.”

Sam laughs and ignores you, twisting the opener. The cork pops from the bottle and there’s no turning back. He smirks as he pours each of you a glass.

“It’s not like he keeps a catalog. He won’t notice.” He slides the glass towards you. “I’ll even take the bottle with me when we leave.” Sam holds his up by the stem, gently clinking it against yours. You roll your eyes and take a sip, realizing that there were some sibling dilemmas you could and should stay out of. Though the dilemma you were actually in dwarfed the wine issue infinitely.

“You know, I really think this house is haunted,” Sam muses, taking another drink as he waits for the watering can to fill with water. “I mean, don’t you feel that?” He scrunches up his shoulders as if he’s got the creeps. “Something just feels off.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.” You shake your head with a smile, affectionately looking at Sam and his goofy display. He makes his way around the first floor of Jake’s house, watering the plants. You meander around too, trying to avoid remembering the things that happened on the kitchen table, or against the front door, or right up the steps. Your mind is in another place when you turn a corner at the same time as Sam, knocking into each other. The wine in your glass ends up in your hair and all over your white t-shirt.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Oh my god.” He runs into the kitchen to grab a towel as you stand where you are, burgundy wine dripping from your hair and shirt. He zooms back in and cleans up the excess, mumbling to himself. Once he pats your hair dry, he throws the towel over his shoulder and cups your cheeks in his hands.

“Sorry.” He kisses you gently, once. “I’m sorry I ruined your shirt.” He gives you another, his lips soft and lingering just a little longer. “I’ll buy you a hundred more.” He comes in for another tender kiss.

You can’t help but smile against his lips as he expresses his dramatic remorse. It’s not the end of the world, but you let him kiss you anyway. You pull him closer, slipping your hand just under the light fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, pressing your fingertips to his tan, warm skin.

“I don’t need a hundred more.” You mumble against his lips. He deepens the kiss and you can’t silence the moan from the back of your throat. His tongue, so gentle as it meets yours, tastes of Jake’s favorite red wine. It makes your stomach flip.

“Fine. Just one then. Maybe two.” Sam moves to press gentle kisses to your throat, his voice low and meant just for you. You cling to him in the front room of Jake’s home, the blinds open to the street outside. It’s wrong. But you can’t resist when he holds you firmly by your waist, bringing you snug to him. “Do you forgive me?”

“Sammy..” you chide, because you were never mad at him in the first place. As if calling him by the sweetest name spurs him on, he immediately kisses you again, this time with more urgency. He groans softly against your lips, and if you had any reservations about doing this in Jake’s house, they were all erased the moment you heard it. Your body curves up to his as his tongue slips gently against yours and he pulls you in tighter by the small of your back.

He sighs against your lips between kisses, his hand coming up to push your hair behind your ear and cup your jaw. He reacts a bit when he realizes it’s wet and sticky with wine.

“Why don’t you come upstairs with me… and let me wash your hair, huh? I made a mess of you, didn’t I?” He gently kisses the shell of your ear after whispering to you. You shake your head gently against his, letting out a little laugh. “He doesn’t come back until tomorrow.”

“You’re pushing your luck,” you say, knowing what he’s up to. “Not here.”

Sam, the ever persistent and quietly brilliant man he is, knows exactly how to magnificently weaponize himself against you. He pulls you in for one more kiss, tugging your body towards his. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, and when he releases it, he lets out a breathy, slutty whine. The way it changes your mind immediately is something that scientists should really look into- it’s the most powerful drug that’s ever hit your system.

“Okay,” you say breathlessly into his mouth. “Okay, yeah. Upstairs.”

It’s a minute before you’re all hands and mouths inside the guest bathroom of Jake’s house. Sam holds you and leans over to turn on the shower as you keep yourself busy, kissing and nipping at his neck. You can’t get enough of the taste of him, and you latch on to the skin below his collarbone, sucking and biting. He didn’t have a show for weeks. Nobody would see.

He hisses at the pain, chuckling and standing up straight again once the water’s on. He makes quick work of tossing your stained t-shirt across the room. You watch him as he undresses you- his eyes taking in every inch of skin they can find, his lips curved into a soft smirk.

His shirt, already unbuttoned, slides off with ease and hits the floor to lay with the rest of your clothing. He steps out of his shorts and is soon navigating the two of you into the shower. The warm water runs over both of you and you pull him in for another messy kiss.

You break for a moment as he pulls your hair over your shoulder, and then you take a look at your surroundings. You had only ever seen the shower in Jake’s room. This one’s different. It’s tiled with white on the walls and blue on the floor. The corner has a bench built into it, the shimmering navy terrazo of the seat glistening as water runs over it. The moment you lay eyes on it, your eyes dart back up to Sam’s with a devilish glint in them.

“Oh, he never showed you this?” he says smartly, and you pinch at his hip bone as if to silently tell him to shut the hell up.

“Sit,” is all you say instead, and he obeys immediately. You crawl into his lap and he holds you close, the warm water running down your back and over your hair, your body shielding him from the spray. The angle allows you to look down at him and you see his warm, pleading eyes. You lower your hips, feeling the length of him slide easily against you, pulling a moan from both of you.

“Mm, yeah,” he lets out, his hands on your hips. “Do that again.”

Just like that, he’s back in control, even from below. You oblige, rolling your hips again, a slick, lewd feeling that makes your cheeks flush. His head falls back and you can’t help but be pleased with yourself.

“Feel good?” you ask, snatching back control. He lifts his head, looking down at what you’re doing. He nods, sparing a glance up at you through his dark lashes.

“Want it inside, hmm?” he asks, a little breathless, the tug of war between you two waging on.

“Yeah,” you let out, letting him have this one. Your voice is whiny as you hold steady on his tan shoulders.

“Yeah you do,” he croons, a smug look on his face now that he’s won. “Go on.”

Without hesitating, you listen, lining him up and sinking down easily.

“Oh,” he lets out, and you smirk, butterflies in your stomach over the way you can make him do that. He breathes heavily as you begin to move your hips, bouncing slowly. His eyes are raking over your chest, your neck, your face. His expression is a mix between amazement and hunger.

Wanting, needing to see his reactions as you work to please him, you sink down a little quicker, moans coming from both of you at the feeling.

“Like that. Keep going.” He remains in control as he adjusts the way he’s sitting, his hips lifting a little higher as he slouches just a bit for you. You keep your balance on the towel bar and his shoulder, starting to move faster and harder. You could get drunk off the way his eyes roll back slightly in his head every now and then as you carry on. It makes a fire burn in your belly, your heart racing as you ride him.

As if he can read your mind, his hand moves down to swirl lightly over your clit, immediately sending your eyes rolling back, your face and chest flushing scarlet with the heat of your oncoming orgasm. It’s almost criminal how good he looks when you lay eyes on him, his mouth in a soft, almost starstruck smile as he watches you.

“Give it to me,” he whispers, and there’s no way you could have stopped yourself. You fall over the edge, crying out his name, your hand gripping to his shoulder so tightly you’re sure there will be scratches later. He chuckles in amazement, murmuring praises as you come down.

“There you go…,” he praises, his hand moving from your hips now that you’re not at quite as big a risk of falling. His thumb grazes your nipple, adoring you, admiring you as you catch your breath. “Slow down for me,” he says, still holding the reins.

Your eyes come back into focus, moving slowly and a little shakily. Something about the sight of him- the way his ears stuck out in front of the wet hair pushed behind his ear, the few strands stuck to his forehead, the droplets running down his bicep and chest… it unleashes something in you.

Completely disregarding his request, you speed up, enjoying the feeling of him slick and fast inside of you. His eyes go wide as he scrambles to grab your hips, trying to steady you, but it’s no use. You carry on, watching the way his brow furrows in concentration.

“Slow down, pretty girl,” he warns, his voice cracking, an overwhelmed laugh leaving his chest. Smirking with heavy eyes, you tilt your chin up, watching him down the bridge of your nose. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sight of him almost desperate beneath you, his hands trying to hold you still. The sight of him flustered, his sweet eyes begging you to slow down only fuels you.

“I’m- Oh, fuck…” he groans, his eyes squeezing shut. He takes a big deep breath, trying to keep a grip on his slipping composure. You slow down for just a moment, giving him a break to breathe, and he gives you a look that says, ‘wait, what are you doing?!’ with his thick brows. Your eyes roll at his bratty attitude and he makes up your mind for you. You were going to let him win, but not anymore.

He gasps as you pick up the pace again, fucking him with quick, short, punctuated movements of your hips. It’s only seconds before he’s gripping your hips and ass so hard you’re sure there will be bruises. His voice is thin and hoarse as you listen to him groan, starting curses and not finishing them, squeezing his eyes shut.

You watch with determined eyes as his abdomen flexes, the muscles in his sides rippling as he comes undone, fucking him through it until he’s completely spent inside you.

Pushing the strands of wet hair stuck to his forehead aside, you offer him a sweet smile and eyes full of adoration. All he can do is shake his head and chuckle, pulling you down to him for a loving kiss.

“What are the chances I can convince you to remodel your bathroom?” you ask, standing up to actually take your shower.

“No convincing necessary. I’ll start making calls.” Sam laughs a bit as he helps you wet your hair, finally washing the wine out.

-oOo-

After successfully using all of Jake’s hot water, the two of you step out and get dried off. Sam wraps a towel around his hips and takes a smaller one for his hair.

“What time is it?” you ask, seeing the sky getting darker. You towel off, standing in the shower.

“Dunno. I left my phone downstairs.” He opens the bathroom door and you hear him pad down the steps. Grabbing the blow dryer under the sink, you wrap a towel around you before giving it a quick dry. You don’t hear another sound over the whirring around your head.

Meanwhile, Sam makes his way downstairs in his towel, running a hand through his wet hair as he goes. He steps into the kitchen and grabs his phone, checking the time. Waiting for him are three missed calls from Jake.

Before he hits Jake’s name to return the call, he hears the beeping of the code being entered into the front door. Sam’s head snaps up to see Jake, back early. His heart drops, the blood draining from his face.

“Hey,” Jake says, pulling his duffle bag through the door. “I wrapped up early. Tried to call you and tell you not to bother with the plants.” He steps past Sam into the kitchen, putting the mail down on the counter. “Seems you made yourself comfortable anyway,” he remarks with a chuckle, seeing Sam’s shirtless in a towel.

Sam’s face is unreadable. He’s not sure what option he has here. He chooses to laugh awkwardly, frozen in place, staring at the door, brain working overtime to come up with some kind of plan.

The clicking of Jake’s boots stops, the room utterly silent. Sam turns around to face Jake and sees his brow furrowed as if he’s listening. He hears the hairdryer. Jake’s eyes move to Sam’s guilty face, then to the counter behind him where the two wine glasses sit.

Jake’s face has dropped, a scowl now clearly spread across his lips and brows. It feels like an eternity passes as they stare at each other.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Jake asks, dead serious.

Sam just blinks for a moment, swallowing. His mouth has gone dry.

“Who?”

Jake leans on the counter and his fingers go to the bridge of his nose. He lets out a huff.

“You think I’m stupid?” Jake’s voice is quiet, controlled. “I saw you leave the fucking show together. I tried to write it off as her treading lightly around me but… now… NOW I get it.” His voice raises the slightest bit and Sam frowns.

There’s a pause, the room dead silent aside from the sound of you upstairs drying your hair, absentmindedly humming.

“So… what? Are you mad?” Sam braces his hands behind him on the counter and crosses his legs. The tone of his voice is a little too nonchalant, and it sets Jake off.

“Am I mad?” Jake’s voice is loud and he pounds a fist on the countertop, his stare incredulous as he shouts. “What the fuck do you think, Sam? You didn’t think for one goddamn second that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t fuck her? For any reason?”

Sam doesn’t flinch at the way Jake raises his voice- as if he’s used to the temper that hides beneath the surface. The blow dryer upstairs turns off. You think you hear voices over the white noise so you wait and listen curiously.

Instead of reacting to Jake , he steps towards the fridge to grab a drink. The crack of the can is the only sound you hear, so you turn the dryer back on and continue what you’re doing.

Sam takes a deep breath before he responds to Jake.

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t give her what she wanted.” He sips the top of the can, his big eyes giving Jake a look that says, “too bad.”

“I was fucking trying, Sam. You know-...” He trails off, his anger getting the best of him as he pushes away from the counter, a loud, “FUCK” echoing through the house. He turns back to Sam after a moment, his eyes tired and dark. “You know that shit is hard for me.”

You heard the voices for sure that time. You turn off the dryer in a panic and listen again. This time, you can make out some murmuring as you creep towards the top of the stairs.

“You didn’t tell her that. You told her the exact opposite, actually.” Sam lets out a humorless chuckle, taking another sip. “You told her if she wanted to find someone who wanted to be exclusive… Give her… I believe the terms were ‘a house and a dog’... she could go find them. So? She did.” His shoulders shrug, his wet hair dangling over them.

“I didn’t expect it to be my fucking BROTHER, Sam!” Jake throws up his arms, the frustration in his voice coming through clear as a bell. “Are you not getting that!?”

You hear it all upstairs, frozen where you stand on the top step. You’re completely numb, heart beating out of your chest, every one of your nerves frayed and on fire.

Sam doesn’t respond to Jake. It’s quiet for another moment before Jake pipes up, his voice quieter now.

“You want to give that to her?” He scoffs, a condescending laugh coming from deep in his chest. “Be honest, Sammy boy. You’ll be cheating again in a year.”

Sam puts his drink down, his face screwed up in offense. He’s defensive, but his voice remains calm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah?” A cruel smirk makes its way onto Jake’s face. He raises his eyebrows at Sam in disbelief.

“I love her.”

You take a step back in shock at Sam’s admission to Jake. It’s then that the worn floorboards of Jake’s old home creak underneath your feet and give you away. Both of their heads turn to look at the stairs as you step down a few and step into view. You see the way they’re looking at you and can’t help but start to cry.

Jake stares at you standing in one of his baggy t-shirts, since yours is laid over the chair in front of him, covered in wine. Your hair is still slightly damp and messy, your makeup long gone, your eyes red. He walks off from where he’s standing, snatching his keys from the table.

“You better not be here when I get back,” he says to Sam. You’re frozen, unable to say anything, too scared to stop him. He flies out the door, slamming it behind him.

-oOo-

The drive home from Jake’s house to Sam’s is silent. You assume Sam can’t be too mad at you, seeing as he picked you up today. He could have very well dumped you off at your apartment and gone home alone, but he didn’t. Once he parks, the two of you get out and are standing in front of each other in the garden, the sun finally setting on the worst day of your life.

“I meant what I said,” he says, his hands in his pockets. “Back there.”

“Even if I just Yoko-Ono’d your band of brothers?” You can’t help but crack a small smile and laugh under your breath.

“You’re not the first girl to come between a pair of Kiszka brothers.” Sam laughs, reaching for your hand to pull you close. “It’s just usually the twins. I had a clean record until you came along.” He mumbles into your hair, holding your head close to him. You can feel the anxiety and tension melt away from you as the rumble of his voice rolls through his chest.

“Sorry.” The apology comes out quietly, muffled.

“It’ll be okay.” He pulls back, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands, bending just a bit to look into your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, Sammy. I’m so sorry.” All of the emotions circling in your head seem to pile up and the tears finally come. “I… I have to talk to him.” You look up at his face, your eyes sad. “I have to.”

Sam’s expression is pained, but he nods. “Promise me you’ll come back.” He places a gentle kiss on your lips. “Tonight. And every night.”

“I promise. I just… I have to make things right.”

With that, you gently take his Tesla’s key card from his wallet and kiss Sam one more time before hopping in and driving yourself back to Jake’s.

@reesetrippingthelight@samstopochico@jordie-gvf-admin@jakesgrapejuice@spark-my-nature@gvfcinema@joshysgirl@hellowgoodbye@ageofwagner@katelynn-gvf@ohgodthefeeling-gvf@fwzco

Part 9

#danny gvf #greta van fic #forbidden twins #greta van fleet #jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van smut #josh gvf #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka fanfic #sam kiszka #sammy kiszka #sam gvf #sam kiszka fanfiction #samfkiszka

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lewmagoo · 1 year

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⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ringing in the new year ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

here’s to 2022

what a year it’s been. among everything that has taken place, one of the best decisions i made was creating this blog. in my 13+ years in fandom and different writing communities, none of them have ever been as warm or welcoming as this one. the response my writing has gotten has been overwhelming in the best way. many of you are so quick to leave comments and words of encouragement and it means more than you could ever know.

as a thank you for all the love and support, i wanted to highlight some of my favorite fics of the year. this is by no means an extensive list, and i'm sure i will miss some, because there's no way i could highlight every single great story i've read. there are too many fantastic writers in this community for me to do so.

without further adieu:

leah's 2022 library

robert floyd fics

my love, forever collection by @robertcallsignbobfloyd - this series is heart wrenching and beautiful. i find myself thinking about it again from time to time and wishing i could read it from the beginning all over again and experience all the emotions it made me feel for the first time. truly a masterpiece.

navy boy, country girl by @clints-lucky-arrow - this fic turned my world upside down, let me tell you. i love the idea of bob as a cowboy. and the line "But I hear that you’ve become quite the cowgirl. So, do what you do best, darlin’. Ride." quite literally sent me into another plane of existence. such a sexy story. delicious, really.

weather the storm by @wildbornsiren - this is such a sweet story. heartbreaking in the best way. this line: He nods, and you can feel the wet spot on your shirt from his tears. “You’re a safe place.” truly touched me deep within my soul. just a wonderful piece of writing, truly.

morning after by @mothdruid - this one is just too good. little bit of humor sprinkled throughout. also, great proponent of the #bobfucks agenda. i had such a good time reading this, and often find myself rereading it.

no shame by @beachbabey - i really have no words. just, bob with a mommy kink. what more could you ask for? gosh it's just such a fun read, and the way he's just so subby and sweet the whole time? i could die

the phone call by @sebsxphia - the anguish in this story is just so heart wrenching. it's short and to the point but manages to make you feel so many emotions at once while reading it. such a good, angsty read

rhett abbott fics

the trouble with books by @hederasgarden - god this is just so HOT. got me all flustered and warm under the collar. it never gets old, even after i've read it multiple times. i can't even describe how much i loved every minute of it (as well as part 2), you just have to read it for yourself and see.

stand by your man by @a-reader-and-a-writer - so, so good. such a great depiction of hurt/comfort. also does a great job of showcasing rhett's stubbornness. i reread this from time to time and always enjoy myself.

horsemanship by @bradshawsbitch - one of my all time favorite rhett fics! i love, love, love the idea of rhett owning a stubborn mare who only likes him and no one else. god it just makes my heart sing. i will forever adore the idea that he is soft with animals. anyway, this entire story was just such a wonderful read.

please by @h0neyfire - this is just delicious. i enjoyed every minute. just the thought of breaking rhett down and getting him all needy and desperate and pliant for you? fuck, i need to lie down.

bradley bradshaw fics

running series by @lcahwriter - this series will forever be one of my favorites. the way trauma is portrayed in this story is so gripping. sometimes, stories like this can sometimes be over dramatic or sensationalized, but this story is none of those things. very tastefully done. the moment i read the first part i was hooked.

skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight by @gretagerwigsmuse - if i were to truly say how this fic made me feel, it would just be a bunch of unintelligible keyboard smashing, because holy shit. it's so damn sexy. one of those stories you can't stop thinking about long after you've read it.

the better man by @bradshawsbaby - i really loved the way the tables were turned in this story. usually it's bradley defending the reader from some asshole's unwanted attention, but this showcased what might take place if it were the other way around and bradley's girl was defending him. such an enjoyable piece, i had such a good time reading it.

idle time by @hangmanbrainrot - the angst in this story just touches something deep within my soul. such a great depiction of bradley's struggles while he has time off. it was something so relatable and personal to me.

jake seresin fics

i and love and you by @halfway-happyyy - this one hurt so good. the way hurt and betrayal is portrayed in this is so emotionally stirring. this story fully made me cry as i was reading it. so worth the read.

who did this to you? by @justfandomwritings - this is probably one of my favorite stories born out of the who did this to you? trope. the situation is portrayed so well. it's not over the top either. very well done.

fair game by @sunlightmurdock - when i tell you this one knocked me the fuck out!!! my jaw dropped. SO good. if you love drama you will LOVE this. jake is such a bitch and it's wonderful.

if devotion is a river (then i'm floating away) by @seasonsbloom - i'm at a bit of a loss for words with this one. it is truly breathtaking. every time i read it, it's like i'm reading it for the first time all over again. it's like reading poetry. absolutely wonderful.

there are so many more i could mention, but this post would never end if i did so, so i'll keep it brief. thank you all for your contributions. such talented, talented people.

extra shoutout to my lovely mutuals 🥰

@withahappyrefrain @wildbornsiren @rhettabbotts @roosterforme @roostache @robertcallsignbobfloyd @rooster-bradshaw @thesluttyarchivist @theharddeck @topguncortez @top-gun-rooster @imjess-themess @sebsxphia @sunlightmurdock @shouldershimmycity @floyd-luvr @gretagerwigsmuse @glodessa @halfway-happyyy @hangmanapologist @hausofobsession @hangmanbrainrot @lcahwriter @victoriapedrcttis @bobfloydsbabe @bussyslayer333 @bebetriste @notyoursbutlewis @notroosterbradshaw @mothdruid @mayhem24-7forever @milesmillergf ✨

#fic recs #top gun fanfiction #happy new year #leah's 2022 library

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mrsfitzgerald · 1 year

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okay, okay, I just finished reading THIS -Coming Back To You Universe- and I don't understand why no one told me earlier that this masterpiece exists on the internet? 🥹😭💖💖💖 last week I wrote here that I was dreaming of a huge fic about paul and richard, and here it is! 🥹 152k words, holy shit!!

so beautiful! this is what a perfect fic about their love story looks like (feels so real) 💖💖 i just finished the last chapter and i don't know how to live without this story anymore! i literally have no idea why i haven't seen this before. i'm always checking ao3 for new ones, but i've never seen this one??

and no one here on tumblr has ever written about it either?

If you're an idiot like me and haven't read it either, i beg you to do so! 💖

perfectly written! i'm truly speechless. I wished this story would never end 😭 the best fic I've ever read about them 🥹

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 100/10

I don't know if the author of this masterpiece is here on tumblr, but if you're suddenly reading this - THANK YOU (I left a comment on ao3 too, but I want to say it again!!! 💗)

#paulchard #I'LL BE REREADING THIS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE #💗💗💗💗💗💗💗#SOOOOO GOOOOOD #fic #this story kept me sane while all this drama was going on

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stopthatfool · 7 months

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You KNOW I gotta hit you with some of these...

7, but give me Iceman or give me death; 21 and 24; and 38 for the Top Gun asks!! >:)

WOODSY! thank u thank u for the ask! (so excited i'm vibrating out of my body!)

7. Do you have any headcanons about [character or ship]?

Oh boy! Do I! alrighty, here we go!

ice drinks tea! he is a tea drinker! When he gets the chance, he'll have a cup before bed every night! (Black tea, some milk, some honey/sugar!)

Icemav looovveee old country music; like Patsy Cline, some Dolly Parton here and there, Glen Campbell (!!!!!), TAMMY WYNETTE (!!!!) etc. etc.

Mav used to take the mufflers off his motorcycle to make it sound really loud and to annoy the hell out of everyone driving and existing around him! (i hate him.)

Ice can draw! He doesn't practice often (rarely) but he can draw. he knows his way around a pencil.

1990's Bradley/Rooster would have loved Jeff Buckley! I just feel it in my bones.

Ok... i'll stop.. for now..

21. Favourite helmet design?

watch out. gonna be so pretentious art student about this one. i can't help myself i might have to give an opinion on everyone's helmet one day...

FAV HELMET-- phoenix's !! we don't talk about her helmet (and her tbh) enough!! i've seen different versions of it, some without something on the back, others with. But regardless, her helmet is still the best.

The typeface????? the cards on the side?? the spades?? the red leading line going across the whole helmet?? hello people?? this is a visual masterpiece!!! it's recognizable! It's simple, but detailed where it matters! the usage of space and negative space!! phoenix u should've been a graphic designer...

and when phoenix's helmet is compared to THIS!!!???!!

phoenix's looks like the fucking Sistine Chapel or something. yale, is that TIMES NEW ROMAN ON YOUR HELMET????? insane.

24. A line you quote all the time?

Oh oh oh! One I've been quoting the last couple weeks is:

Goose! Ah no!

It doesn't sound like how Mav talks throughout the rest of the movie and I find it so funny. Mav almost sounds like he's from... New York? Or Boston? (i don't actually know. as you know I'm not American so i don't know) but it's so fun to say.

And another one I used say is this line Slider says to Goose:

Goose, you're such a dickhead.

Idk, I say them to my cat mostly. but they replay in my head more often than I actually say them.

38. Which character do you project on the most?

As I've been writing for The Jeep Universe (also thank u for coming up with that! it's so much easier then typing out the whole title!), I've been projecting the most on Maverick!

Me and Maverick are very similar in some ways (sigh, diagnosed with ADHD way too late) and i think that allows me to be more critical with him. And as I continued to explore his personality I realized that we're alike, not in the impulsive, balls to the wall way, but on an emotional regulation and "mental" level (does that even make sense) me and mav are similar. and that's probably part of the reason I can't stand him sometimes.

I'm sorry this got so long! but I was having fun so whatevs. Thank you again for the asks!! this was wonderful!

#im sorry yale but come on now. new times new roman??? ur crazy im sorry #don't ever get me started on ice's helmet i will be mean #top gun ask game #top gun 1986 #top gun #stopthatfool goes crazy and explodes

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succulentcucumber · 1 year

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I'm just really happy that the season ended on a happy tone. I was expecting a heart-wrenching episode and it kinda is but in a good way. It made me cry in relief, in comfort, in wonder of the Earth, of inevitable thing happening but that's okay, that sometimes, we don't have to be scared of what's in store of the future. Although it's okay to worry about the future, we also need to appreciate the present, the people who are in here with us before our memories become history, and even of they do, we should not forget about them. Also, it encapsulates the regret of having done something bad to your friend or someone you care about. The regret and the absolute relief of being forgiven, and being able to be forgiven in the first place.

This episode really gets to me in a way, as if it was made to fit inside my mess of a heart and make me cry. It had my fears of the future and being stuck in the past, the thought of hurting someone I care about, and just Earth stuff in general. The joy of existence, of being loved and comforted. Also, dinosaurs and prehistoric times is a topic I am always excited to learn new things about. (except the fate of the dinosaurs, that was really sad)

Ryan and the professor also needed rest, to be able to see each other again. The dread of not being able to say sorry to your friend is fucking excruciating, and I am really glad they made it. Fucking ecstatic that the dino parents are alive. They get to meet Ryan and vice versa. The most important things in the professor's life just meeting each other. I hope we see more of them and I really hope things stay happy for them for a while.

I am so thankful for this show. Makes learning so much fun and it covers topics that aren't really much known to everyone, and it makes me curious every time. I am thankful for everyone involved, directly or not, because without them, we would not be able to see this masterpiece of a show. I am thankful for watcher, for doing everything they do. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this matters to me. Thank you Shane Madej, for willing this whole show to life.

Also puppet history saw me slipping out of the fandom and said "that's bullshit" before tossing me back again like Ryan defenestrated the subsitute

The editing is fucking awesome by the way. Good job.

#can't believe i felt all of that in a puppet show #not complaining tho #i could make this longer but words have ceased to exist in my brain #this whole thing is a manifestation of mental illness for me #dropped everything i did to write this because words will run out soon hurry up bitch #really needed to let some of it out #it really is fucked up that there are feelings we cannot express and cannot explain yet it is there #and those feelings are lost in translation #i hope someone could crawl in my brain and feel what i am feeling so they could just #understand #what the fuck have i written here #i am so mentally ill #puppet history #shane madej #ryan bergara #watcher entertainment #and boy oh boy they sure do entertain #still have many things to say but maybe I'll save it for later

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mercurygray · 10 months

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Hi, could you show me to the support group for Edith Eadig addicted readers?

I've been scouring every platform for Godwin fics until I found yours on here. Masterpieces, every single snippet, and I adore their story (as you might have noticed from my spam liking and reblogging).

I noticed that in the Godwin-centric fic, he and Edith really met in secret and engaged in a real sexual relationship, but that was never (I think) in the other ficlets. I'd be super interested to read their first real sexual encounter and how their relationship transitioned from fake courtship to "booty calls" (if I got that right).

I'd also love to read more about you headcanons for both of them -- pre-show and S1&S2.

I'm not sure whether you're even currently writing for them (ignore this if you don't), but if you do, could you write for Edith during Season 2? Perhaps the moment she realises Godwin is only using Aelfwynne for his own advancement? I'm not sure whether you'll have him marry Gytha or whether Edith can spoil his plans. If she can, perhaps you could write their meeting afterwards when Godwin has realised that he was crossed and cannot help but admire Edith's skill while at the same time also being in a terrible mood for not having achieved his goal?

I'm sorry, these are three and a half requests in a trenchcoat; let me know if you want me to send them individually!

HI HELLO WELCOME. You can join @muse-oleum (and maybe @therealvikingstrash?) on this adventure. This is a very small support group.

I'll start at the end - the reason I stopped writing isn't anything bad, just that my Netflix subscription expired shortly after the show aired and (while I did see all of S2) the slightly more plotty nature of that season meant it was really hard to go back and try to write fic without having the show to reference. :(

BUT that doesn't mean I can't try to answer your questions!

So this is interesting - because in my head, and I think in what exists on paper, they've never gotten to that level of physical intimacy. They've both thought about it, but never committed to it. (I know exactly which piece gave you that idea, though.)

I had thought that after the need to deceive Aelfgifu has passed, it would be natural for them to look at the lie they just spent a few weeks selling and realize they both weren't lying and then have sex. Knowing that Godwin does eventually marry Gytha, even before S2 aired, I also had thought that Edith might be his mistress for a little while.

Season 2 presents a problem in that regard, though. For starters - Aelfwynn was new. She kind of fills in the space Edith occupied in my fanon timeline. Godwin's love life was going to be a little crowded with the both of them there. If Godwin has this plan to make himself indispensable to Canute and undermine Emma by creating suspicion around Aelfwynn, a plan that it seems like he has been sitting on for a long time, if I'm interpreting the show correctly, it seems to me that he wouldn't stop to have or start that relationship with Edith. Too many loose ends.

It felt cleaner for them to have never gotten physical, for him to say 'okay, that's one thing finished, on to the next' and leave Edith sad, frustrated, and now highly suspicious. (Emma, of course, was out of town for all of this and has no idea it happened, so she skips immediately to 'oh so Aelfwynn is a thing now' and Edith never tells her about it. If Edith had said something, it seems to me that would be one more reason for Emma to be suspicious of Godwin quicker than she is.)

I did write one or two small things for season 2, which I think you've already ready - but I think I'd have to watch the show again to figure out where Edith is during Godwin and Gytha's wedding.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY - thank you for the compliment of saying you need a support group. That means so much to me.

#asked and answered #misskatiewrites #edith eadig

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ginnsbaker · 9 months

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Omg

Too many feelings that I can’t bring myself to word properly.

This Wanda is *chef kiss*. She has grown so much, and I loved how she was supportive of us, despite her not wanting to separate from us. I’m surprised of how much people can change and mature over time.

Dr. Calliope (bless her soul, she helps me so much even tho she doesn’t exist lmao) is right by saying that growth cannot occur without an active engagement. R has to take this year and truly grind for her self discovery. It’s hard to figure out how to do it: personally, I would experiment. I would force myself to face my fears by doing something that scares me, in order to rebuild the trust in myself and the once lost self confidence.

I understand that they have to be apart from each other, however I’m scared of what the future will bring. I truly hope their love will win, despite the changes that might undoubtedly occur during this time of trial.

I love Wanda so much and they deserve their happy ending :)

Your work is a masterpiece and I will always remember this story. I may sound silly, but I think this art you created will always resonate within my too much sensitive heart.

Goldie out ;P

My favorite golden retriever!!!

I missed you and your thoughts :) First of all, thank you for reading all the updates up to now... it's been a loooong journey and it's almost ending.

Wanda's growth is something I'm really proud of building here.. but she's not always understanding all the time. In the last chapter there's going to be hints of Wanda being vulnerable and questioning R, but we have all those moments where we 're just... "WHY??? i know why, but WHY?" lol im bad at previews, but you'll get it :P

The gap year came to me last June, because there's just no way for Wanda and R to be together after everything that happened. In the end, R really needed to be alone, like what most of you have been saying for weeks lol.

Again, I can't thank you enough for sticking with the story. And I'm glad that this story resonated with you because I'm proud of it as well.

Take care always, love!

#ilgoss asks #leoymir #:*

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fangsofdestruction · 1 year

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“I am not quite sure if this counts as a Valentine’s Day gift but this is for you nonetheless. Consider it just one half of the gift I intend to give to my beloved.” Smiling softly, Kikyou handed him a wrapped square, flat object. It was a painting of himself, Rin, Jaken, Kohaku and A-Un in the feudal era. Kikyou had done her hardest to capture Rin’s mischievous nature, Jaken’s exasperation, Kohaku’s amusement.

When he did open it, her cheeks darkened in color. “I did my best to paint from memory. It isn’t a masterpiece by any means but I thought you would like something like this. To have a glance backwards to your first pack. I hope you like it, my love. If you do not, I will try my hand at another painting.” While she had invested a large amount of time and effort into this present, she didn’t mind doing another portrait if he was displeased.

At the very least, if time had made the visages of his pack blurry, she hoped this helped in providing clarity of those long gone.

@blossomingbellfloweringbellflower has sent Sesshomaru a gift for Vday ( ☾ ). Thanks for sending and hope you enjoy. ] ||No longer accepting gifts||

Sesshomaru unwraps the gift with care, a clawed fingertip topping right above the painting of a picturesque image of a passed memory. Aside from himself, all others have since passed onto the river styx, possibly having moved into a next life cycle, even.

The image of them was quite close to how he remembered them, though seemingly more roseate from the filter of nostalgia. Quite fitting for a piece brought about from memories, as the piece gave the feel of wishing to remember the involved parties in their best light.

With the soft part of his finger, he gingerly traces over the lines that interwove with one another, coming together to form the image he’d wished to see again. Alas, photography had not existed yet in that time period, so capturing such moments was impossible. Though not perfect in the sense that this scene was conjured from the mind of another, parts forged through imagination, the imperfections made the painting perfect.

For a Demon who thought to the past with longing, the atmospheric feeling of the piece was more resonant with him than a photograph would be. Eyelids drop almost imperceptivity as golden eyes slowly scan the piece from corner to corner, scouring each brush stroke to feel the journey the pigments went through to coalesce to this picturesque memory.

His ‘pack’ has moved on and he’d now formed another pack, but they were nonetheless an important part of who he’d become. Had death not claimed them, they would have had a place to claim within the Gumi of modern times. Yes, he’d sorely missed their presence, but he reminisced about them fondly, rather than with sorrow. Rin especially would prefer to be thought upon with happiness above all else.

Surely, she’d be pleased to know that he’d reunited with Kikyo in this life time and had found himself a life partner in her. Jaken, he’d passed on insolently worrying whether his Lord would forever lead a lonesome life, dying without an heir to bestow his resplendent legacy to. At the least, when the current generation of Jaken dies, he may be able to relay the news to his elder.

“Unfortunately, this gift cannot be eaten, so it does not seem to fit the theme of this human holiday.” A chuckle escapes him as he tells a tiny joke.

Eyes soften as a perceivable smile graces his features as if it were trailing behind belatedly after his chuckle. “I appreciate the painting, dearest. It is comforting to have a piece of them seen through the eyes of another.” He would find a place to display the painting where he could gaze upon it when he felt like revisiting their memory.

He does not forget her words, “You said this was just one half of the gift you intended to give. What of the other half?”

#Blossomingbellflower #(The Daiyoukai Enlightens. Ask)#(Kikyo)#(kept safe. saved)#An 2023 Vday #(Time is but a construct for the weak. Queue)

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words-are-fireproof · 2 years

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*gif by @a7estrellas (shh, I know it's not Marcus but it fits. Don't @ me.)

Three: Disquietude - Sneak Peak

I'm a day early but I'm a glutton for punishment and @jazzelsaur and @radiowallet have been so kind today. So, I'm feeling extra punchy and confident. Will this chapter get posted Thursday? Here's to hoping. So far it's looking good, though.

-----

Marcus woke to artificial sunbeams slanting through digital blinds, the light streaming across his closed eyes as he struggled against the last vestiges of sleep. In the back of his mind, he wondered who programmed his wall to do that. Then he wondered who turned it on in the first place. Those questions were lost to the exhaustion seeping through his body. His limbs felt like lead weights as he tried to turn over onto his back on the pull out bed. Everything felt like it moved in slow motion, including himself. He rubbed his eyes underneath two pinched fingers, sighing heavily.

The silence in the office made his ears ring, but the noise in his head was more than enough to drown that sound out. The realization of today hit like a ton of bricks. Anxiety snaked across his chest; his heart pounded dangerously, each powerful thump landing harshly against his sternum. If he stayed there any longer, dwelling on things he couldn’t change, he feared his heart might try to make a run for it. He might let it. Without it, he wouldn’t have to face the day and all the uncertainties in it. He wouldn’t have to face another day without her.

But he couldn’t be that lucky. The day–in all its current artificial splendor–still came. It still tugged at him with the flimsy promises of productivity. Though, in his current state, he wasn’t sure how productive he’d be. The new head of HQ knew the significance of the day, but that didn’t mean he’d have an easy day. That didn’t mean he could get away with not doing a damn thing, no matter how much he just wanted to hole up in this office and pretend he didn’t exist. He sighed again and finally pried his eyes open.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to wake up this morning.”

Propping himself up quickly on his forearms, Marcus looked around for the undeniable source of that familiar voice. He still jumped a bit when their gazes locked.

-----

Thank you everyone for being awesome and producing such high quality content. You guys are making me a better fic writer every day with your masterpieces. 🫂

#ribbons part iii #ribbons teaser #like ribbons on wrists #marcus moreno #marcus moreno fanfiction #fanfiction #sam writes #we can be heroes

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casspurrjoybell-23 · 5 months

Text

Berserkr - Chapter 11 - Part 3

*Warning Adult Content*

Heart of the Storm

The tinkling sound of dripping water caught his attention and Vali shifted his gaze to witness the nearly-empty wash bucket at Tofa's side, one of the Omega's hands now free from their embrace as he squeezed out a wash rag.

"Let's start with 'yer arms, yeah?" Tofa gave a small smile and all that Valie could do was nod again.

Finally releasing his friend's other hand, Valie stuck both arms out through the open front flap of Einar's bearskin, offering up the skin without protest.

The coolness of the water felt wonderfully refreshing as Tofa began dragging the damp cloth across the inside of Vali's forearm, leaving behind a streak of wetness in his wake.

Next to him, Valie watched on in quiet contemplation, the only sound being the tiny rhythm of water droplets as Tofa dipped the cloth back into the bucket.

Thankfully, the silence didn't last long though, as Tofa's quiet voice soon filled the void as he moved onto the other arm.

"Only the heavens know how much finding you means to me, Val. When I first arrived here..." Tofa's voice trailed off.

He re-dipped the cloth, moving up to wash Valie's neck and upper chest now.

Valie's cheeks tingled with mortification, knowing that the evidence of his and Einar's... intimacy still lingered there.

Yet, Tofa's touch remained steady and gentle, unwavering in its care.

"Of course, I felt the bond with Kerr but..." he paused.

"Truly, I was terrified, all alone in that cellar by myself from dawn to dusk, unsure of whether I was to live or die."

Tofa's eyes twinkled, filling with tears that glistened but did not overflow.

"The whole time, all that I could think about was ya'. My only friend, my only family. When you didn't come back for me back at the village, I thought..."

"I know," Valie whispered back once Tofa's pause lasted long enough to show that his emotions were getting the best of him.

"I felt the same. It was some of the worst moments of my life, thinking that I would never see you again," Valie whispered his agreement, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Thank you. For being here now, for looking after me. I know this isn't easy for you, either."

"'Yer right, it's not easy. Far from it, in fact," Tofa sighed, his gaze turning far off as he trailed the rag down along the inward curve of Valie's stomach.

"But what I've come to realize is that easy paths rarely lead to worthwhile destinations. And no matter how horrible or terrifying, struggle gives depth to our stories and meaning to our existence," the smaller Omega paused in his ministrations to meet his friend's eye.

"And through it all, our task is to seek out the treasures hidden amidst all that mess and to hold onto 'em so tightly that it makes every step of this beautiful, terrible journey worth it."

Tofa's fingers began to move again as he continued cleaning Valie's skin, each stroke of the cloth a genuine gesture of care and compassion.

After a few more moments of simply enjoying one another's presence, Tofa finally dropped the cloth into the bucket for good, shuffling back a little to take a glance at his masterpiece.

"That's the last of the water, so that'll have to do for now," he said, glancing around the loft curiously.

"Do ya' have 'yer garments lying somewhere around here?"

"Yes. Well, technically it is Einar's but..."

"Wearing one another's tunics now, are we? If I didn't know better, I'd think ya' two are serious about one another."

Tofa wiggled his brows playfully and Valie giggled softly at his sarcasm.

He tugged the bearskin close around his shoulders before standing up to pad over to the place where they'd discarded their clothing in the heat of passion the night prior.

Shuffling around in the pile, Valie quickly found the discarded tunic and Tofa assisted as he slipped the thin fabric back over his head, using a spare bit of rope to tie it up so that he wouldn't look completely absurd with his entire body swamped within the ridiculously oversized garment.

They'd just sank down onto the much more comfortable furs when the first piercing scream sliced like a blade throughout the valley, an agonizing sound that pierced not only their ears but their very souls.

Every single muscle within Valie's body seized at once at the tortured sound, his eyes blowing wide as he leaned over to grab onto his friend.

Tofa was evidently just as equally caught off guard as he mirrored the reaction, clinging onto Valie with a strength that spoke of shared unease.

"Could that be them?" Tofa whispered, as if speaking any louder might summon more horrors.

"I..." Valie started, blinking rapidly as his heart thudded painfully.

"I am not certain. But... I did not feel any disturbances through our bond, so Einar must be..."

"Oh, thank Odin for that bond of yer's," Tofa breathed out a breath of relief,

"I nearly forgot that it'll let ya' know when Einar is hurt. Hopefully, Kerr is with him and they're both safe."

"Surely they are. Surely," Valie murmured back.

Both Omegas had no inkling of an idea of how much time passed as they sat there, wrapped up tightly within one another's arms as the thunderous crescendo of war raged not only around them but through them.

Valie's inner Omega jolted.

"No," Valie's voice was barely more than a breath, a fragile thread woven with both urgency and a distinct kind of distress.

Tofa's brows knitted together as he looked up at his friend with curious regard.

Valie's eyes appeared distant, as if chasing ghosts only he could see and with a nearly automatic sort of grace, the sensation of him slipping away was almost like a whisper.

Valie shifted, finding his feet in a stumbling rush and Tofa mimicked the action as a knot of worry tightened in his chest.

His voice was laced with unease as he trailed after Valie.

"What is happening? Are you alright?"

Despite his urging, Valie continued to move with a purpose that Tofa could not quite grasp, a cascade of panicked syllables still falling from his mouth in an unstoppable avalanche.

"No, no, no," his urgency propelled him to the corner of the room, muscles straining against the weight of a heavy trunk that he scraped across the wooden floor.

And when he finally stopped, Valie climbed onto it, fingers dancing with unease as they sought out a familiar, loose wallboard.

After a few moments, his frantic touch found the rough edge he was looking for.

And when he pushed it aside, glancing out onto that same village square he'd seen when he'd first discovered the hidden viewpoint, he stopped breathing entirely.

Valie could not count but he knew enough to know that there were dozens of bodies scattered around the square, strewn about in a mosaic of suffering.

Their forms ranged from contorted shapes... some still screaming in horror as they attempted to drag themselves to safety... to some who lay staring directly up at the sky, eyes devoid of the light that a soul provided, their guts spilling out onto the dirt.

And still, many large men... Kerr among them... still pushed on along the outskirts of the village center, the smell of blood permeating the air as their weapons severed flesh and hands shattered bone.

Hand flying to his mouth, Valie stifled a whimper-like scream behind his palm, the reality of their situation finally settling into the deepest recesses of his very marrow as a chilling realization sent icy shivers down the length of his spine.

Was this truly the life Einar had lived?

If so, how was it possible that one single human being could bear such an immense burden of suffering?

Instantly, Valie's admiration for his Alpha skyrocketed to levels previously unknown.

It was then that he saw him.

Valie himself could easily overlook the sheer scale of Einar's presence and form, given his tender and careful demeanor whenever he was around him.

Yet, observing his Alpha now... monumental, furious and fierce, splattered with blood that clearly wasn't his own as he dragged a man who fought and wailed from the imposing home adorned with a prominent 'G' rune... Valie was abruptly confronted with the unvarnished reality of his fated's identity.

His Alpha was a warrior.

And not only that, one of the most imposing and formidable warriors he'd ever come to witness or imagine.

As if Odin himself were tuning into the inner workings of his mind, Valie's introspections were immediately confirmed as... before his very eyes – an arrow shot out of seemingly nowhere, striking Einar directly in his bare bicep.

Yet another one of those helpless sounds escaped Vali without his permission and indescribable dread filled him as... within his mind's eye... he practically saw that single arrow taking down his fated for good.

But to his complete and utter astonishment, Einar simply glanced down at the arrow embedded in his arm with an uncaring scowl, as if it were no more bothersome than a roses' thorn.

And then, with an almost casual air, he simply reached over to the bleeding wound, plucked the arrow from his flesh and turning to glare up at a previously unforeseen foe perched atop a nearby roof... launched the offending item right back from whence it came.

Less than a second later, a large body plummeted from said roof, a bloodied arrow pierced directly through their throat.

All of it was a remarkably gruesome sight to behold.

But somehow, Valie found himself unable to look away from the sight of his Alpha's ruthless fury and raw, unbridled power, all released in the name of keeping him safe.

Oddly, it stirred some sort of twisted pride within him.

"Do what you must, Alpha," Vali found himself whispering, wishing that maybe, Einar would feel him despite the fact that he was so far away.

"I believe in you."

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