#my friends make me walk in front of them in the woods so ill walk into spiderwebs and they dont have to

[lotrthobbit]

Dwarf Princess 

Haldir x Dwarf!Reader

Warning: prejudice from elves against dwarves, angst, happy ending

a/n: For the sake of this story many things were changed in the original, also this has been in my drafts for about a year lol.

Deep within the forests where the birds sang surrounding a beautiful dwarf whom sat against a tree staring at her dear uncle chatting amongst the humans and the hobbits and his new frenemy, Legolas, the prince of Mirkwood.

She would not lie that he was pleasant site, he stood tall with long beautiful hair that fell down his back and broad shoulders that carried a head with a beautiful face adorned to it.

" Y/n" called Uncle Gimli. She got up from her seat and walked towards him," Yes uncle ? " she asked.

" What's got ya sitting by all your lonesome."

" Just thinking."

Legolas smiled at her and placed his hand upon her head, ruffling her hair as she pouted.

" Do not fret, we will soon pass over and then you can sleep peacefully on a bed." She smiled at him at the last word, bed. Oh how she longed to lay on a soft and fluffy bed, Do not get her wrong, she loved the great outdoors but she missed the comfort of her very own bed and the fluffy blankets that kept her toes warm and the morning cup of tea her mother would make her.

" I just hope we get there soon, even if it is just for a night."

" Well Lass, one more night in the woods will not kill ya." replied Gimli as he chucked. She sat down near the fire, feeling the bitter cold nip at her fingertips.

" At this point I feel like the cold will kill me before the orcs do." She chuckled as she looked up to see Legolas hand her some Lembas bread.

" Eat little one we have a journey ahead of us tomorrow."

" I AM A GROWN ADULT !" she huffed before golfing down the bread and beginning to set her cot near the fire. Legolas chuckled, he had grown quite close to y/n, he saw her as a little sister, after all it was her first journey and he felt a need to always protect her, that and her fascination of elves as he recalled their first encounter.

.

.

. flashback.....

" Uncle Gimli, look it is an elf."

" aye aye lass, be careful, they lack coordination and are coy."

Legolas chuckled to himself as he stood tall in front of the dwarf.

" funny for someone who can not even see over the table."

" Why you !!" That began the bickering friendship between the two while y/n was full of questions.

" how tall are you ?! What is your diet ?! Are all elves blonde ?! Where do you reside?!"

Legolas had never been asked so many questions in his life as of right at that moment.

.

.

.

end of flashback....

Gimli looked at his niece, she was in deep sleep.

" She is quite tall for a dwarf." Said Legolas.

" Aye..I believe her father was a human, although my sister never shared anything of it."

He nodded understanding that the topic was sensitive.

" Ill take first watch." said Legolas before Gimli turned around and said," What do yah think I am not capable of-"

" My friends there is no need to argue.." Aragorn spoke trying to defuse the situation.

.

.

.

The next morning was filled with dread, everyone was tired and the cold and hard ground did not aid their back pain. They simply longed for a warm home filled with delicious foods of all kind.

Aragron had pushed them to continue walking for hours without breaks or even lunch. Their stomachs were grumbling and the mud was piling on their feet making them feel as if the world was weighing them down.

" This is where Lothlorien should be." said Legolas as they continued trekking into the woods. It was foggy and ominous, nothing like the rumors that have spoken about the beauty of it. Legolas himself shared some stories he often heard as a small child about it.

"Daro !" spoke a voice commanding from the trees above. They all stopped as Legolas whispered to them to standstill and to not move a single muscle.

"who are they ?" whispered Frodo. " They are elves." replied Sam. Despite the fear in the other hobbits and even Uncle Gimli, Y/n could not help but feel excitement bubble up in her stomach, although she was also weary, perhaps they may not take a liking that they are stepping within their domain.

An elf dropped down in front of Legolas smiling, "Welcome!" They all looked around, they were surrounded by the elves pointing their arrows in case one wrong move was taken. " How many are there of you ?" asked an elf, Y/n's eyes widened as she stared at the elf before her, sure Legolas was beautiful but he, he was simply gorgeous, he stood tall and proud. Legolas replied with," myself, four hobbits, two men, and two dwarves."

" two Dwarves ?!" yelled the dwarf. " Is the woman a dwarf ?!" he questioned taking in her appearance, she was a beauty despite the mud on her clothes and the matted braids on her head, but she still radiated despite that.

" I can not let the dwarves pass." he declared, Frodo had done his best to try to reason with him, but another elf whispered in his ear that the Lady was expecting them. The elf presented himself as Haldir, he continued to explain that he would have to blindfold them in order to be taken to the Lady, whom was expecting them and turned to look at the dwarves, " keep a close eye on them."

Despite the beauty of Haldir, Y/n was hurt at his words, how could he say such cruel things when she had not done anything to hurt his trust. She pouted, but soon widened her eyes as she saw her uncle beginning to unsheath his axe and yell at the elves.

" We are not spies !" yelled Uncle Gimli, Y/n grabbed his wrist as she noticed the elves beginning to take aim.

" Uncle Gimli, we are on their land, we must abide by their rules and customs out of respect, the same way they would in our home." Haldir glanced at y/n she seemed uncomfortable with the accusation as she stared down at her feet rubbing her arm and tried to keep herself from looking at him.

he cleared his throat and put his axe away," very well."

As they began to be blindfolded, y/n could not help but hold her breath. She felt the cool fingers of Haldir push her hair behind her ears, his breath fanning her face as his arms came around to tie the cloth around her head and cover her pretty eyes. He questioned her lineage considering she was almost the size of an average human woman, but still quite a short stature. He grabbed her hand gently and began to lead her, unbeknownst to her, the rest of the company followed by grabbing onto a rope.

After some time, y/n felt the blindfold being removed, the sight before her left her speechless. The trees were tall and beautiful, the sun casting a beautiful glow within the forest, the air felt clear and pure, the aura of Lothlorien was unmatched. It was truly a sight.

" Lady Galadriel knows of your presence, you may wander freely." said Haldir.

As y/n began to walk away Haldir grabber her wrist," my apologies, my lady, can I perhaps show you something ?" He found himself bewildered that he even let his curiosity get the best of him, he wanted to find out more about her, he was also blinded by her beauty.

She nodded and followed closely behind, what choice did she have, he was holding her wrist afterall. From a distance, Legolas held Gimli back and smiled as the two ventured off somewhere else.

" Will you let me go you imprudent fool, that idiot is running off with me nice !" yelled Gimli

" now now, Sir Gimli, let your niece live her youth, she is a young woman afterall, she can make her own decisions." Said Aragorn.

.

.

y/n and Haldir reached a large tree. He let go of her hand and climbed up then looked back down to offer his hand towards her. She smiled and took it as he helped her up the tree.

" Is there something you wanted to show me ?" asked y/n.

" Look ahead."

There she gasped as she the vast land of Lorien, the beautiful light casting on the land, the calm waters and the beauty of nature.

" It is so beautiful." she said as she smiled and felt the wind tickle her cheeks. He stared at her mesmerized by the light in her y/e/c eyes," yes, it is."

She felt herself blush as she turned around to make eye contact with him. " Sir, Haldir, um...."

" just Haldir is fine."

" Haldir, may I ask, why did you want to show me this ?"

".. I...I don't know, I felt compelled to, as if we were destined to see this together." said Haldir.

Her eyes widened as she stared into the blue eyes of Haldir both leaning in, " Lass get down here this instant !" she felt herself almost slip if it weren't for Haldir wrapping his arm against her waist. He then held her and jumped down from the tree.

He landed in front of Gimli and Legolas," Watch yer step !" yelled Gimli as he tumbled back onto his bum.

" y/n/n, you just met this elf and you're already run off and been seduced ?! " yelled Gimli, causing y/n cheeks to turn a crimson red and stomp her feet," Uncle Gimli, I am not a child anymore ! And I am not being seduced ! Hmph." She walked away as Gimli tried to go after her but Legolas held him back sighing as he whispered to Haldir to leave at once before Gimli turned his attention to him.

It did not take long for them to meet again as a small feast was being held. They offered her a change of clothing, a beautiful lavender dress which she had not worn one since she left. She felt comfortable being freshly bathed and groomed. She had long waited to wash her hair and many of the Elven ladies helped comb and braid her hair which had grown throughout the journey. She sat next to her uncle at the table excited to eat, the seat in front of her was taken by no other than Haldir.

" You look beautiful " complimented Haldir, Y/n looked down at her lap and felt her cheeks flush as she thanked him for the compliment.

"tch." Gimli was angry at the interaction his young niece was smitten someone, an elf at that.

but that all changed when he laid his eyes on Lady Galadriel, she truly was a beauty and the air around her seemed to glow as she welcome them. The company could not help but laugh at seeing his cheeks turn red when she spoke to him.

" What was that about being seduced uncle ?" chuckled y/n. Haldir smiled to himself as he stared at her smile.

The feast went on smoothly, many retreating to their sleeping arrangements. Y/n spoke to Lady Galadriel briefly and she spoke about loving someone, y/n was confused as to why she would talk. about that but Lady Galadriel smiled," my dear child, afterall you are still young and have such a long life to live, do not fret and continue forward." She thanked her for such encouraging words as she walked away to go to sleep.

Somehow Lady Galadriel had a worried gut feeling.

The next morning the company was to leave, Haldir felt saddened that he did not get so speak to y/n, but was content when he saw her in his dreams that night. He felt a connection and could tell they were destined."

" Haldir, perhaps we may see each other again." smiled y/n

He smiled as his bent forward to place a kiss upon her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke once more," I have a feeling we will my Lady. " He said and smiled sweetly.

Despite the two barely meeting, they had a feeling that they had lived before, perhaps in their previous life they were lovers.

And yes, they met again but in unforeseen circumstances, as they fought against the orcs in Helms-Deep, protecting the people of Rohan, the elves of Lothlorien came to aid the company and the army of Rohan.

When y/n laid eyes on Haldir, she could not help but smile at his presence. They all fought bravely, to the end, but once the battle ceased, y/n tried to look for Haldir. She was held back by Legolas

" Legolas, let me go, I need to find Haldir." She felt a gut wrenching feeling, " Please y/n.." Said Legolas. She finally broke free and saw the Many dead men and elves. but her eyes traveled to where Haldir laid. HE was still blinking looking up into the sky. She quickly fell to her knees and called out

" Haldir !" she felt the tear rushing down her cheeks as she stroked his cheek trying to clear him of the blood that stained his pale skin.

He reached a shaky hand and placed it against her cheek, he began to speak," I do not know why the stars led me to you, but I...I-I am glad to have met y-"

" please save your energy, you're going to be okay !!" yelled y/n as she gripped his hand tightly. She kept repeating to herself 'you're going to be okay ' , but it was far too late as he let out his last breathe. She placed her forehead against his and closed her eyes as she cried out silently to herself. The company whom had been separated from Master Frodo and Samwise stood looking at the two, Aragorn himself could not contain his sadness as they all mourned the death of many, especially the death of an ally.

Gimli felt pain for his niece, but did not know what to do other than place his hand at her back. She did not want to let go of Haldir but Gimli told her they must. She placed a kiss on his forehead and stood up fists at her sides. She decided in that moment she would avenge his death.

And she did, together with lady Eowyn she found the strength within her and the company to strike down Sauron and many Orcs. She fought bravely.

Upon returning to Rivendell where many elves had now taken their departure to Valinor. It was now time for her departure as well along Bilbo, Frodo and Gandalf. Her uncle and Legolas were going to stay behind but as she looked into her Uncle's eyes she noticed tears within them. " Do not cry Uncle Gimli, we will be reunited soon, please take good care of him Legolas."

She embraced the both of them as she cried and soon they set sail.

Just as Haldir predicted, they soon met once again....

The End

#haldir x reader #the fellowship of the ring #Legolas #lotr #lord of the rings fanfic #lotr fanfic #haldir fanfic #haldir of lothlorien #haldir of lorien #lothlorien #the hobbit fanfiction #hobbit #elves #dwarven prince #elf x dwarf

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[20.18]

― pairing : Jeongin x fem! reader ― content warnings : wolf AU, reader is a witch, soulmates, medieval settings as always, fluff ― word count : 2.354

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🐺🔮 WOLVES! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho part one | part two // Felix // Jeongin

It was a full moon tonight; Jeongin and the others were on a hunt, their souls at ease and their wolves roaming free among their territory happily howling at the moon. Jeongin was the younger in their pack; therefore, he was less used to these nights, and super excited about it. He loved being in his wolf form: feel one with nature for him – and the others, was a priceless feeling, their senses were heightened, and the moon seemed to protectively watch over them during the hunt.

Jeongin’s run was suddenly interrupted by a strong and undoubtedly delicious scent. He kept running, wondering why no one else was showing any sign of having smelled it as well, when the scent was distracting him so much it slowly became an unbearable tempting feeling and he started slowing down, taking big sniffs at the air in order to individuate where the delicious scent which started to cloud his senses came from.

Noticing his actions, the pack slowed down as well, gathering in front of him. Thanks to their bond, Jeongin did not have to turn back human in order to question his friends about it, but unfortunately, they all told him that they could not smell nothing out of the ordinary. Chris, in his majestic grey wolf form, reached out to nuzzle at him, urging him to follow his instincts. «It’s okay,» he heard the alpha’s voice in his head, «Go look for your mate, we’ll see you at home!» his words were accompanied by the others which happily agreed with him, and with that, they went separate ways. The pack and their loud howls turned left, while Jeongin turned right, carefully heading out of the woods.

Jeongin quickly hid behind a large tree as he identified the source of the scent: it came from a lonely cottage not too far from the village, where a girl – which quickly understood being a witch, was busy cooking something in the garden while quietly humming to a song he didn’t recognize.

“Who does even cook this late at night?” he ingenuously thought, carefully and curiously walking closer, hidden by the shadows of the night. “And most importantly, what is she cooking? Why does it smell so delicious?”

It was a full moon tonight, and therefore, your favourite moment to cook all the potions people requested you. You embraced the title of witch of the village few weeks after people the initial scepticism the villagers showed slowly turned into interest and somehow, awe.

People would come for you asking for any kind of things, spacing from asking you to make their crop grow faster, to various illness remedies, youth elixirs, soreness remedies… and of course, love potions. Initially, you were surprised about how many people could possibly ask for them, but you could never bring yourself to say no. After all, they all paid you and you made a living out of it and therefore, tonight you were cooking love potions since the moon appeared in the dark sky.

«I wonder what’s with them wanting to know at any cost who their soulmate is,» you mumbled, adding some sky blue flower’s petals to the small cauldron hovering above the fireplace in your garden.

«Don’t you agree?» you slightly turned your head to the left, questioning the presence that slowly had made its way to hide in the bushed next to the wooden fence next to you.

«You can show yourself, you know?» you asked few moments later with a small chuckle, still busy with your potions. With attentive eyes, you saw a ginger wolf slowly making his way out of the bushes and walking his way next to you. His eyes were a light shade of blue, almost white, and his eyes were big and curious, yet wary. His eyes kept shifting from you to the table next to the cauldron, where you neatly organized your small flasks – some already full with the faint azure potions and some still empty.

The wolf wasn’t the only one to be wary, in fact, you were ready to cast a spell as soon as he tried a move you didn’t like since, after all, there was a full moon in the sky, and you knew that wolves risked to easily lose control. However, a strange aura settled between the two of you, and you found yourself cooking with a wolf carefully studying every move you made, while still staying at a reasonable distance from you. You did not mind company, and so you kept humming to the song you heard from some villagers few days earlier, occasionally interrupted by the faint howls of what you deduced was the pack of the wolf sitting next to you.

Cooking potions never took too much time, and so you quickly find yourself to cast a spell for the fireplace to extinguish by itself.

«Well, my friend.» you said, collecting all the flask full of potion. «I wish you a good night, and a nice hunt!» you smiled at the wolf, who looked back at you with wide eyes. Turning around, you walked back into your house, closing the wooden door behind you.

What you definitely didn’t expect the next morning when you opened your front door, was to find a hare’s tail neatly cleaned up and arranged as a small keychain on the ground. Of course, as soon as you met up with a friend, you couldn’t help telling him everything about what happened.

«I’m serious, Minho.» you said, placing the small hare’s tail on the inn’s table. «Look at this.» Minho’s eyes widened in realization, before a smug knowing smile was suddenly plastered on his lips. Minho was indeed a mysterious boy. You became his friend through your brother, now working as a warlock somewhere in the capital, and you knew that he was not a simple commoner since the first moment you saw him. Minho eventually became one of your friend’s boyfriend, and you found out he was indeed a wolf.

«Whoever he is,» he said, leaning over the table, as if leaning closer to you, «He’s officially courting you.»

«Whoever he is?» You groaned, brushing a hand through your hair, «Minho, he’s from your pack, there’s no doubt!» you whined, and then spent your time together asking for clues about the boy’s identity. Minho would smile every time, shrugging, as he kept playing dumb.

«Jeongin!» Minho said, plopping on the younger’s bed with a mischievous expression. «You need some advice on courting witches, don’t you?» he asked, a wide smile appearing on his lips as he saw Jeongin’s eyes widen comically wide.

«I don’t know what you’re talking about.» he answered, his cheeks red in embarrassment.

Minho hummed, «How about flowers?» he proceeded, capturing the younger boy’s interest. «Witches use flowers and herbs for their potions, so it could be useful!» Jeongin nodded, hesitantly. «For any other thing, don’t hesitate to ask me, okay?» Minho ruffled his friend’s hair, before changing the topic.

The two following weeks had been rather interesting; you’d find any kind of herbs and flower neatly arranged in a small bouquet sealed with a red string right in front of your front door, and you couldn’t help but smile, looking around if you saw any hints of the ginger wolf  which was carefully hiding in the woods to look at your reactions.

“I bet Minho is behind this,” you thought about the change of style your gifts had, and gladly accepting them while wondering about the identity of the mysterious boy. Even if you felt dejected because he didn’t show up neither in his human or his wolf form, you still waited.

The topic of Jeongin courting his mate had become the official and most interesting talk among the pack. First of all, his friend’s mates – which strangely enough were all witches, helped him picking up and arranging the bouquets of flowers and herbs so that each of them would look beautiful, while his friends, well… They would spend their days both helping him, both affectionately making fun of him.

«Our baby is all grown up, now.» Changbin said one day, locking him in a tight hug. Jeongin furrowed his brows, secretly loving the other showing affection but also, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Of course, Jeongin officially found his mate, but would his mate accept him? There was only one person that could know your answer in advance.

«Are you going to accept the bond?» Minho asked once again, his glass hanging mid-air. You and Minho were basically having a staring contest, at this point. He kept asking you that same question, and you kept refusing to answer, choosing instead to keep eating the delicious food the local inn offered. Minho’s eyes glanced at the hare’s tail securely hanging from your leather belt, and your eyes widened.

«Well, he’s my mate.» you shrugged, answering his silent question, «And I must admit I appreciate all the presents, so yeah, I will.» What you did not realize, was that there were seven boys overhearing the conversations from few tables from yours, which eventually erupted in silent cheers at your positive response.

«You have no choice,» Hyunjin kindly told Jeongin, «you have to meet her soon.» Jeongin nodded, nervousness having the best of him. Since the first night he saw you, he was somehow too shy to meet you again.

You halted your movement with wide eyes, the spoon hanging in mid-air few millimetres from your lips. Minho gave you a questioning look, and you carefully put your spoon back into the bowl; the reason you stopped eating was that you felt a suspicious wave of nervousness wash over you, which definitely did not come from you. Therefore, this could only mean one thing.

«He must be close,» you said, not noticing Jeongin and his friends abruptly halt their movements and snap their head to look at you. «I can feel his emotions.» you said, looking around the tables, locking your eyes for a moment with a young boy with black hair and gentle eyes, which offered you a small smile before lowering his gaze.

lowly, you turned towards Minho with a pleased smirk. «I might have found him.» you said, and Minho answered with a wink. Now, you knew that you were basically surrounded by wolves, meaning that not only they overheard the conversation you and Minho just had, but they were also going to hear what you were about to say. Your eyes flashed golden as a small paper appeared out of thin air, and carefully flew in front of Minho.

“If you read this out loud I’ll kill you, but he’s cute!” the paper said, and Minho erupted into a loud laugh.

You had to wait two more weeks for Jeongin to finally show up at your door in his human form, and his cuteness was enough to make you blush as well. Relief and happiness were all you felt as you spent the afternoon sitting in your veranda, bonding and talking about random topics. Jeongin was also a funny boy, you noticed, pleased about the fact that apparently, your mate had all the right cards to be considered your ideal type. You knew that you both felt incredibly enamoured and attracted to each other due to the fact you were mates, but you both realized that, with time, the bond wouldn’t be the only reason behind the emotional and physical pull you felt towards to each other.

«I’m happy you liked my present!» Jeongin’s eyes lightened up as he spotted the hare’s tail you wore on your belt. «I catched it as you wished me good luck!» you couldn’t help but share your mate enthusiasm with a soft smile.

«It was a… singular choice, for a gift.» you smiled, and Jeongin’s shoulders fell for a moment, his lips momentarily falling into a small pout, «But I appreciated it.» as Jeongin smiled at you, you decided that you’d do anything in your power to always see his happy and blissed out expression.

Afternoon quickly turned into evening, and you said goodbye to Jeongin with a kiss on his cheek, biting the inner of your own cheek in order not to smile at the blush that covered his face.

Within the next week, Jeongin basically spent more time at your house rather than at his; you didn’t mind it, instead, you found adorable how he would sometimes doze off to sleep as you were finishing to cook poisons for the villagers. You would simply settle for waking him up just enough to lead him to the bedroom without having to carry him using magic, and you would snuggle your way on the bed next to him, so that the both of you slept while spooning, Jeongin’s arms loosely draped around your waist. Other times, he would help you, handing you the herbs you needed, or handing you empty flasks for you to fill them. Spending time with Jeongin was great, and made you feel complete.

«That night, the scent you followed… It was the love potion, wasn’t it?» you curiously asked your mate, as you were once again busy with commissions.

«At first, I thought that too.» Jeongin shook his head, handing you one of the empty flasks in order to help you, his eyes locked on the white smoke erupting from the cauldron. «But the mesmerizing scent was… yours.»

«Oh!» you smiled, carefully taking the flask from Jeongin’s hands in order to fill it with the potion, «And how would you describe my scent?» you asked, with a smile, curious about what was so special about you to interfere with his hunt.

«Home.» Jeongin simply answered, the sincerity you saw in his eyes was disarming. You slowly adverted your gaze, a faint blush on your cheeks; you glanced at Jeongin, which was exactly in your situation, cheeks covered by a slightly brighter blush while toying with another empty flask in his hands. With a wide smile, you leaned over, and kissed Jeongin’s lips in a quick kiss.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

↳ BACK TO NAVIGATION 💫 ↳ BACK TO MASTERLIST 🔮

#fanfics #stray kids au #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x y/n #kpop fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids series #stray kids wolf au #kpop fantasy au #kpop x reader #kpop series #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids fluff #jeongin x y/n #jeongin fluff #jeongin x reader

[livelaughtouya]

Catch me if you can // Dabi x Reader

Summary: After Endeavor discovers his oldest son cannot be the one to surpass All Might, he decides his future grandchildren could carry on his legacy. He finds an ice user for his son to marry once he comes of age. What he doesn't expect is for Touya to pass away in a fire. Already stuck in a contract with your parents, he moves the marriage contract to be with Touya's younger brother. You and Natsuo manage to post pone the wedding so the two of you can adjust to adulthood before settling down. When the U.A. students have a training camp in the woods you are quick to volunteer. To your surprised you greeted by a ghost of your past.

Word count: 3,605

Warnings: FAB reader agnst, hurt/comfort, hopeful ending

-

You had been a part of the Todoroki family for as long as you could remember. After Touya’s parents had found out that he was not compatible with his quirk Endeavor was quick to find a way to still make his son useful to his overall goal. If Touya was meant to have an ice quirk, then he would find an ice user for his son to marry.If Touya couldn’t have the quirk Endeavor wanted, then potentially his grandchildren could. Your parents wanted to ensure that you would live a comfortable life and when the number two hero approached them looking for an ice user for his son to marry when he became of age they were quick to agree. Soon after that you had weekly visits in the Todoroki household. 

For the first few months Touya wanted nothing to do with you. All that he would speak about was how he would rather be training with his father than staring at some “stupid girl”. Your parents would always give you a gentle rub on the shoulder to assure you that the ill tempered boy would eventually be friendly to you. It took a lot longer than you had hoped, but he did. 

“Maybe if I am nice to you my father will start training with me again,” he huffed as his snow white hair blew back against the wind as the two of you trekked up the large hill to where you knew he liked to play with his fire. You crossed your arms with a pout at the fact he had planned to only be kind to you for his father’s attention.

“Or,” you butted in, “you could be nice to me because you could actually have a friend.”

“I do not need to have friends. Especially weak friends like you.” The icy glare he shot back at you over his shoulder made you frown. Finally fed up with his behavior, you decided to show him your quirk. You put a large wall of ice up in front of him causing him to come face first into the cold surface. A smirk shot across your face as he felt flat on his butt. “I am not weak,” you spat looking down at him. He simply smirked back up at you as he held his hand to the ice wall and melted a hole into the so the two of you could walk through it to your destination.

“Ice, huh?” he asked as you trailed behind him, “I see why my dad chose you.”

After you finally stood up to him he was more willing to let you in. Day after day turned into you learning more and more about the boy your parents had told you that you had to befriend. 

You only got two more years with him after that. You recall the pained look in your parents’ eyes when they had informed you that Touya had died in a fire. That was your first heartbreak. Touya had become your person since that day in the woods. The one person that knew every detail about your life and all of your dreams and fears.  

The next heart break came only a few weeks later when your parents had informed you that Endeavor and them had decided that instead of marrying Touya you would marry his younger brother Natsuo instead. 

-

Natsuo laid across your bed as he watched you pack your bag for the U.A. training camp you had volunteered for. In the last decade of Touya’s passing, you had decided that you weren’t going to get close to Natsuo the way you did his brother. You decided you would never let your heart break the way it did that day again. 

“Where are you going again?” Natsuo asked, tossing a tennis ball up and down that he found on your bedroom floor. 

“Somewhere in the woods. I can’t remember what the name of it is. I just know Eraser Head asked if I would be willing to chaperone during the kid’s training,” you replied as you folded a pair of shorts to stuff into the large bag in front of him.

“You spend more time with those kids than you do me and we are the ones supposed to be getting married next year.”

You shot a glare in his direction in response making a smirk spread across his face. The two of you didn’t want to marry one another. You wouldn’t let feelings more than friends develop between the two of you and he wasn’t complaining about it either. Natsuo was able to fend off his father from forcing the two of you to marry immediately after he had turned eighteen. He reminded his father that he wanted a degree and you had plans of becoming a hero. Endeavor was willing to give the two of you a few years to adjust to adulthood before he had forced the two of you to become one. In those years, Natsuo got into a school he was happy with and you graduated U.A. and began working in Endeavor’s agency. You were usually permitted to volunteer with the kid’s at U.A. after Shouto had begun his studies there. You knew it was just a ploy for his father to get some idea on what the teachers there were training for him on. Shouto didn’t mind having you there though. He knew that you wouldn’t spill too much to his father.

“You look at me too much as a sister to be excited about us getting married,” you gave him a playful smirk as he began to fake a gag.

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, covering his face, “I don’t even want to think about having kids with my sister.”

You scrunch your nose up in disgust at the last sentence he spoke. The two of you would have to conspire another plan to postpone your union another few years. 

-

Being in the woods reminded you of the days of training with Touya behind his father’s back. A bittersweet smile crept its way across your face as thought back on all the times you and him would go back and forth throwing attacks of bright blue fire and shiny ice walls at one another until you were lying side by side panting for breath. You felt a gentle nudge on your shoulder as you walked through the training grounds. When you looked to its source you were greeted with blue and gray eyes. “Hi, Shouto,” you said softly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder making him make a face of disgust before shrugging you off of him. You let out a small laugh letting your arm fall back to your side. 

“You look upset so I thought I would give you my company,” he said blankly, not looking you in the eyes.

“I appreciate it, but I am fine. You should be enjoying this moment and spending time with your friends.”

He was silent for a moment. You knew this usually meant he was looking for the right way to phrase a question he wanted to ask. “Are you thinking about your wedding?”

It was your turn to think now. You knew you weren’t thinking about your wedding, but you also know you were not willing to speak to Shouto about Touya. You couldn’t tell him that you wished that Touya was still here. Maybe if he was he would be here walking beside you and Shouto, helping train the next generation of heroes. Maybe the two of you would be planning your arranged wedding right now. Maybe you would have had one or two future heroes right now. You shook those thoughts out of your head before turning back to your favorite ice and fire user.

“I am very excited and honored to marry Natsuo. I wouldn’t be sitting here looking glum if I was thinking about becoming a Todoroki,” you smiled, giving him a nudge.

“You are such a liar. Anyone that knows my family, does not want to be a part of it,” he replied in his usual bluntness. A breathy laugh left your lips as you turned your head to pay attention to the trail. 

“I do enjoy being a part of your family,” you admitted, “I love Nastuo, Fuyumi, and you.”

It was Shouto’s turn to smile at you. He didn’t need to reply for you to know he loved having you around as well. 

-

You shot a panicked look at Aizawa as you looked at as you got the telepathic message regarding the villain attack. The two of you immediately shot out of the classroom to help fight against whoever had intruded on the students’ training session. The two of you stopped outside of the building. Anxiety creeped its way through your body as you both noticed smoke pouring from the top of the tree lines where young heroes were attempting to improve their skills. A voice pulled you out of your thoughts. The two of you went to turn to see who it belonged to only to be greeted by hot flames. The only words you could pick up were “stay away” as you and Aizawa were greeted with hot flames. Aizawa shot upwards and you threw up a thick wall of ice to take the impact of the flames. You let out a breath of relief before looking up to ensure Eraser was fine. His eyes were red as he pulled the raven haired villain to the ground with a knee to the face, demanding what he and the villains wanted. Shortly after Tenya and a few kids came shooting out the woods. “Stay back,” he shouted, shooting a wall of ice in their direction to keep them from getting any closer to the man behind the attack. “I wonder if you can save them in the end,” you hear Dabi say. Your eyes shoot back to him only to see that he began to dissolve into Aizawa’s scarf. You realize quickly that the man in front of you was not the real villain and your feet take you racing into the woods. You could hear Aizawa’s heavy footsteps stomping behind you. You heard him stop as he came in contact with Midoriya. You didn’t bother to be a part of their conversation. You knew there were still other children out in those woods. One of them being Shouto. You heard Mandalay’s voice through your head granting permission to use their quirks against the villains. You sucked in a sharp breath thinking about these young kids going after villains that have killed people. 

You felt a pair of eyes on you making you stop. The glare burned into the back of your head. As you turned you were greeted to a hot hand squeezing your throat, tackling you to the ground. You were quick to shoot a cylinder of ice up, sending your assailant up and away from you. You crawled to your feet, feeling the burning scratch marks on your throat. You watched as your cylinder began to melt in front of you. Steam covered your makeshift battle ground from the cold to hot contact. You only knew one villain in the League with a fire quirk. “Dabi,” you spat, trying to find him in the mist. The only sign of him was a blue glow coming through where you believed to have thrown him. “Endeavor’s ice user,” he called back. The nickname sent a bitter taste in your mouth. The idea of being a pawn for your future father in law made you sick, even though you knew it was true. There was another ball of burning blue fire shooting your way and you were back on the offense. For a moment, it reminded you of all the hours you spent as a child battling Touya’s flames with your ice. You could never beat him as a child. Every fight ended up with your face in your hands with a pout. It wasn’t until a few months ago, when Shouto started actually using his fire where you got to practice fighting fire users again.

You shot another wall of thick ice up to block the impact of the flames. You heard a bitter laugh come from Dabi as his fire died down. “Is that all you know how to do?” It sounded almost like he believed you were too boring to be fighting him. Anger welled up inside of you. Who was he to make you out to be weak? You began shooting sharp ice spikes in his direction. You could hear pieces of his clothes ripping as he tried dodging your ice spikes. “I am not a weak opponent,” you yelled, encasing him in your ice. You began stalking towards him, forming an ice sword into your hands. You pressed it to his throat as he kept his head down. A light chuckle left his throat before he looked up at you. It was the first time that you had ever been so close to him. His eyes were familiar. You stopped in your tracks, just staring. 

“Touya,” you let out a pained whisper. You barely noticed his eyes widened before they sunk back into his bored expression.

“Are you concussed, stupid girl? The name is Dabi,” he scoffed. You watched as he began to melt your ice. You were too frozen to do what you knew you needed to do. You began studying his features. The shape of nose and jaws. The deep blue of his eyes. The way he stalked towards you. If it wasn’t for the black hair, and purple, marred flesh and the shiny stables holding his skin together, he would be exactly what you would imagine Touya to look like if he hadn’t died. You sucked in a breath as he had managed to stand merely 4 inches away from you. The smell of smoke filled your lungs as you looked up to his face. He was staring down at you, blue eyes boring into yours. Before you knew what you were doing, you had your arms squeezing into his sides in a tight hug, as tears burned your eyes. “Touya,” you cried, burying your face into his chest. You could feel him tense up. If this wasn’t Touya, Dabi probably would have assumed you had lost your mind. He doesn’t push you away like you thought. Instead, you feel his hands gently on your shoulders, you could tell he was contemplating what to do. He slowly peels you off of him. He takes a step back, almost as if he is scared of what either of you will say next. There is silence for a few more moments. 

“I am not Touya,” he says bitterly. The name Touya comes out like it burns his tongue. You know better though. You know Touya. His mannerisms, his attitude, the way he speaks, the way he tries to play it off like he doesn’t care with a hard ass attitude.

“If you’re not Touya, then kill me,” you challenge. The man in front of you grimaces before shaking his head.

“I did not come here to indulge you,” he scoffs. 

“Sounds like you have a soft spot. I know you won’t kill me. I also know you won’t tell me what happened to you,” your voice is barely above a whisper. You're still too stunned at the fact that your friend that had died is standing right in front of you, years later. 

“I need to get back to my mission,” he replies boredly, completely ignoring your words from before. He turned on his heels to walk away from you. Sudden rage filled you. You were quick to make a small ice building trapping the two of you in it. Dabi walked face first into the ice, falling flat on his butt from the sudden impact. “Deja vu,” he huffs under his breath, hoping you didn’t hear him. You did though and a sudden smile spread across your face as you ran back over to him, pulling him into another hug that made him tense up.

“You ARE Touya,” you wail, squeezing him tighter. He can feel his white shirt being soaked with your tears. He lets out the breath he was holding in as he finally caves and wraps his arms back around your waist. He knows this is a bad idea, but he couldn’t resist indulging in this. He missed you a lot more than he was willing to admit. He only ever got to see you on the television screen as you celebrated capturing villains alongside his father or when the hero gossip channels spoke on your engagement to his brother. Both of those topics would usually put him in an awful mood that made everyone in the League avoid him.

“I am Dabi now,” he reminds you, pulling you off of him for the second time in the last ten minutes. “You can not say anything about this. Plus it’s not like anyone will believe you.” There is a smirk on his face at the last sentence. He knew he was right. His father would probably burn you alive if you had attempted to even bring up the name Touya in front of him. You  both knew that.

“You left me,” you whispered, playing with the zipper of his jacket. His facial features soften as he looks back up to you.

“I didn’t mean to,” he replies with a soft voice. This is the first time he has seen anyone express any form of remorse and sadness over him disappearing all those years ago. He shouldn’t be surprised though since it is you. You have always shown him kindness, even when he was a little asshole to you. “I see my brother has been taking care of you though. I am sure you guys are looking forward to being married.” He sounds bitter. You were supposed to be his. The only gift his father has ever given him that wasn’t supposed to cause him pain. Yet here you were with a big diamond on your finger that screamed your heart belonged to Natsuo.

“Please don’t remind me,” your voice was sad. He didn’t like it. He also didn’t understand it since every time he saw glimpses of you and his younger brother the two of you always looked so happy. “We’re just doing this because of our parents. You know that. If you would have stayed, it would be you in Nastuo’s shoes. Though, I am sure you would be doing the same exact thing as him and coming up with more and more reasons to keep pushing the wedding back.”

He wouldn’t though. He knew he wouldn't. The only person who never lost hope in him and continued to cheer him on was you. Touya knew you still saw the good in him, otherwise you would have blasted him to a different planet nearly twenty minutes ago so you could go and protect those kids in the woods. He would have married you the second the two of you were the age to legally do so. He wouldn’t tell you that though. He knew better. He knew you deserved better. Being with him now would just lead you to even more heartbreak than what he had already caused.

“I have to go,” he whispered, “I have to do this job to get to my end goal.”

“You don’t have to,” you argue back softly. You didn’t want to end this reunion. You didn’t want him to leave you alone again. “You don’t have to stay with the league. You can come home.”

Touya shakes his head. He couldn’t have you pleading with him to stay. He is in too deep to his plan now. He has killed too many innocent people to get out of this scotch free. The only home he would have if he left the League would be a prison cell. He didn't want that. He knew that you didn’t want him to be in there either. Maybe even more than you didn’t want him to continue a life of crime. He is almost positive that you were rooting on Dabi’s arrest before you found out his real identity.

“I am leaving now,” he tells you tapping on your hips to get you to stop straddling him from the hug you previously forced him into. You reluctantly get off of him and he gives you a forgiving smile as he reaches his hand on a section of your ice to melt an exit. Before he can you grab a hold of his other hand. He looks back at you softly to see what you need before he departs. There is worry in your eyes and maybe even forgiveness. 

“Please tell me what you and the rest of the league are doing here?” you plead, hoping the goal isn’t to actually kill the students of U.A. That’s when you catch him shooting you a devious smirk that hints he is about to say something that will piss you off. He melts a piece of ice big enough for him to escape before he indulges your question.

“I gotta give you another reason to chase me down, princess. So I’m kidnapping Bakugou,” he winks at you before setting a wall of fire in front of you so it’d be harder to get to him.

“Touya,” you scream in rage as you hear him laugh back at you.

“See you later, pretty girl,” he shouts back, “catch me when you can!”

#dabi #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi angst #touya angst #touya todoroki angst #touya todoroki x reader #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader

[donnetellotheturtle]

Protector

Chapter 4

Hugo knocked on the door of Varian’s lab as he heard an explosion. He threw open the door.

Varian was sitting on the floor, covered in green dust, laughing.

“Goggles what the hell!?”

“Youre late and I got bored!” Varian defended, still laughing.

“I…got held up what the hell are you doing?”

Varian stood, pulling his goggles off his face. Now his face was mostly green dust with two round circles around his blue eyes.

“Well, those things are after me so I figured a chemical that explodes and creates a barrier in front of me that can stop those things would be good…this was test number 1.”

Hugo paused. “huh. I can help you if you want.”

He raised an eyebrow. “you know alchemy?”

“Yeah. My mom taught me.”

“Okay. Come over and grab some goggles.” Varian grabbed a lint roller and used the entire sticky roll to get the yellow off him.

“Alright. So this is my formula for it.” Varian handed Hugo a paper with the formula. It only took a second before Hugo realized it. One of his calculations was wrong. He quickly fixed it.

“there, it should work better now.”

Varian looked at the new formula. “oh…oh I’m so stupid!” He said that with such glee and it made Hugo confused. Varian grabbed some more chemicals and started the process again.

Luckily this time there was no explosion. Instead, the yellow liquid in the bottle hardened.

“Oh…” Hugo muttered. “That’s not supposed to happen is it?”

“No…it needs to be activated by air…we’ll keep working at it. Ill get it eventually. But in the meantime…let’s get some dinner. I’m starving.”

Hugo smiled. “Where do you want to go? I don’t know where anything is…”

Varian put a finger to his chin. “Oh I know!”

--

Hugo had to admit, he really didn’t like being out in the woods with one small torch alone with Varian. The boy wasn’t stupid though. He was clinging to Hugo like a lifeline as they walked.

“Where are we going?” Hugo asked.

“The snuggly duckling.” Varian answered. “It used to be full of thieves and crooks.”

Hugo frowned. “and now?”

“It still is. But I’m friends with all of them! and they have the best food for miles.”

Hugo sighed. “How did you manage to drag me out into the woods…you know those things are not messing around, right?”

“Of course!” Varian had an odd look in his eye. As if he was planning something.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“Well, no…its kind of hard to see.”

Hugo groaned. “Goggles!”

“Look, I’ve been this way a thousand times.”

Hugo pushed the glasses up on his face to rub his eyes, exasperated. “Okay lets go back. Itll be safer in town.”

“We cant.” Varian said.

Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Varian smiled nervously. “Okay you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“I already thought that.” Hugos frowned grew. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something in the dark. Hugo turned around. “Wait.”

Varian paused. The forest was dead silent. Hugo didn’t like it. “Get behind me.” Hugo ordered. Varian didn’t question it, holding tight to Hugos waist with one hand.

Little did Hugo know Varian was also searching through his bag with his free hand for something. These things weren’t going to take either of them easily.

Then, out of the darkness, a blast of teal light came at both of them. Hugo raised up a hand to defend his face, but it just grazed him, clearly only trying to hit Varian. Varian himself threw a pink vial and hit something in the dark, making an explosion. “Run! That stuff won't last forever!”

Varian grabbed Hugos hand and dragged him. “Varian you-”

“I thought they would come here. Come on I have a plan.”

Hugo was about to argue before he saw the look on Varian’s face. He knew exactly what he was doing. Hugo followed in his stead.

The two of them hid behind a tree. Varian shuffled around in his bag. “Where is it?”

“Varian.” Hugo snapped. “What the fuck is going on?”

The teal haired boy just grinned as he found what he was looking for. An empty vial. He uncorked it and rolled it on the ground. There was an awful squealing and then the sound of something freezing in place. Varian laughed to himself. It was almost evil in nature.

The two of them stepped out, looking at the creature. Just one…Hugo thought that was weird. He didn’t let his guard down as Varian looked it over. “This wont last long. Just long enough to get a sample.”

“A sample!?” This guy was insane. Hugo put a hand over his mouth. “You dragged us out here, put yourself in mortal danger for a sample!?”

Varian cocked his head to the side as he got some of the goop in a vial. “Yeah.” He corked it. “How else are we going to find out what these things are? Running away isn’t solving anything.”

Hugo mentally rescinded his previous statement about letting varian get hurt cause he was about to punch him.

“You’re an idiot. Come on, lets get back to town before more of those things come. And then I can kick you in the shins for tricking me.”

“Would you have come along otherwise?” Varian asked.

Hugo paused. “Probably. But just cause im paid to.”

Varian smiled. He knew that wasn’t the reason he would have come along. He then frowned. In hindsight, he would have told Hugo his plan. Then maybe they could have figured something out together. “…I’m sorry, Hugo. I should have told you.”

“Yeah…” Hugo sighed. “You are right in one aspect…ignoring the problem isn’t going to fix it…lets make our way to that tavern you mentioned before.”

—

Around an hour later, the two arrived at the snuggly duckling. The pathway was brightly lit which made both boys feel better.

Varian had said hello to every person when entering, all of which who seemed to know him quite well. The two grabbed a table towards the back.

“You’re sure that’s not going to pop out and attack us?” Hugo asked as Varian looked at the corked vial.

“Yeah…probably.” Varian frowned. “If only I had my tools with me.”

The goop itself was writhing in the vial, trying to get out and attack Varian who just stared at it. “It looks like opal but liquified.”

Hugo gently took it. “You’re right…hm.” Hugo pulled out his alchemy book, then thought for a second. “I think I know who to take this to.”

“Really? Who?”

“Her name is Donella.”

Varian choked on his drink. “The witch?”

Hugo glared. “Yes the witch.” He didn’t like the way Varian spoke about his mom.

“But shes notoriously not good! She will kill us for even coming into her camp!”

“Maybe shes not so bad.”

“Have you heard the things shes done?”

Hugo was about to retort before someone sat down. Hugo recognized her immediately. Nuru.

“I think, I could be of service.” She said with a knowing smile. Varian raised an eyebrow.

“Who are you?” Varian demanded.

“A surveyor of the magical arts. In other terms, a wizard.” She smiled and snatched the vial from Hugos hands. “A strong spell, only for one victim though…” she reached into her pocket and grabbed a tiny book. She then unfolded out and it got bigger and bigger. She then opened it.

“Woah…” Varian mumbled.

Hugo rolled his eyes. “Witches and wizards are exactly the same, you know. How do we know we can trust you?”

Nuru gave him a look. The conversation he had with her earlier didn’t sit well in his stomach. He didn’t trust this girl. Not when it came to magic and especially not when it came to varian.

“Wizards are not the same. We study for our magic. It’s a very prestigious position in Estelle you know. Meanwhile witches just have magic. They didn’t earn it.”

Hugo and Nuru stared at each other, both challenging each other to say something. Then varian cleared his throat. Both looked at him.

“Anyway.” Nuru said. “I’m more than willing to help. In fact, it’ll suit all our needs.”

“And your need is?” Hugo asked.

Nuru sat up straight. “Classified. Not that I would tell you if it wasn’t.”

“Okay so what do you know about these things?” Varian asked.

“Honestly?” Nuru started. “Not much. But my book might know more.” She opened it up, and only held a hand over it as the pages flipped by themselves. Varian raised an eyebrow. She stopped on a page. All of them looked over the table to see properly. Unfortunately, the boys couldn’t understand what any of the words meant.

“Hm…eternal library…do either of you know anything about that?”

Varian nodded. “My mom went there when I was just a baby…she never came out.”

Hugo looked at Varian. He looked… hurt? Sad? Angry? Hugo couldn’t quite tell.

“I have her journal too. Its back at my lab in the castle.”

“Okay well, these things are connected to that place. The protector of it decides who does and who doesn’t get in…and who dies in the process.”

The boys looked at each other.

“It also protects the magic of it, and those who steal it…only one problem.” Nuru said.

“What?” Varian asked.

“You didn’t steal anything did you Varian?” Nuru stared at him, the boys baby blue eyes went wide.

“I…no.”

“So here’s the question. Why, and how did your mom give you it?”

There was a stark silence between the three. Varian thought about it hard.

“To protect me. She stole the magic of the eternal library. And gave it to me.”

“And now the protector wants it back.”

Hugo frowned, thinking of his book back at Xaviers workshop. The magic in his hands sparked. He shoved them in his pockets. Now was not the time.

“So how do we do that?” Hugo asked.

“No clue. There’s no more information.” Nuru said. “One thing’s for sure, this thing’s not going to stop chasing you. You’re 18 years in debt to this thing, magic wise.”

The sparks fired up so badly in Hugo’s coat pocket that it felt like he got burned. Hugo couldn’t let Varian get hurt. He’d only known him, a little less than 48 hours but something about the other boy made him want to keep him safe.

“I’m not a witch though!” Varian said. “I don’t know how to use magic!”

“If I were the protector, that would make me angrier, I think.” Nuru said. “The magics stolen then never used. Pretty insulting.”

Hugo heard the door open. He poked his head out of the nook, and saw…Donella? What? She was supposed to be back at the camp. The magic in his hands sparked bigger. He’d have to take care of those burns later. Right now, something was wrong. He started at her and noticed something. Her normally blue eyes were teal.

“Guys. We have to go. Now.”

Nuru and Varian looked at him confused. He pointed Donella out. Both looked afraid.

“Why is she here?”

“I don’t know. But look at her eyes, theyre teal. Like your hair stripe. Like the library.”

Nuru and Varian looked at her and then looked at each other. Nuru folded up her book. “Both of you stay close to me. I’m going to get us out of here.”

“No we cant use magic.” Hugo said. Varian gave him a look. Hugo didn’t have time to back track. “Varian, you know this place the best. How do we get out without her seeing us?”

“There’s a secret exit behind the bar.” Varian said. “We just need someone to make a distraction.”

Varian looked at one of the men at the bar, a short man with a long white beard, who was seemingly drunk out of his mind, and smiled.

“Shorty!” Varian whispered. The man looked over. “Distract that woman.”

With that simple command, the bar devolved into chaos. Shorty got up on the table and started singing, making Donella, and everyone else groan. That’s when a big nosed man tried to punch him but missed and ended up hitting Donella. She immediately got angry. The bar turned into a full on brawl.

Varian crouched and tapped the shoulder of a hook footed man. He provided cover for the three of them to get to the exit and varian pulled a beer lever with a duck on the top. Instead of liquid coming out, a tunnel opened. Hugo had Nuru and Varian go first. He spared a look at Donella. She didn’t even see him. He tore his eyes away and closed the tunnel behind him.

< >

Read this on A03!

#varian #hugo vat7k #tangled varian #varigo #nuru vat7k #donella vat7k #my writing #protector #chapter 4 #varian and the seven kingdoms #vat7k au #vat7k fic #vat7k #witch AU

[kirk-says-wah]

𝐃𝐢𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟕

Pairings: Kirk/Lars, James/Dave

Tw: torture, murder, blood, gore, violence, kidnapping, drugging, cannibalism

You can also read it here

This is a stupid idea.

James knows this is a stupid idea. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to get out of this, but he guesses he just wants a way to feel less suspicious.

Because that’s what he is. Suspicious.

Of course the two men Dave went with had to look like Kirk and Lars. He tells himself it’s just a coincidence. He doesn’t know if he believes that.

Maybe that’s why he’s found himself on their doorstep.

He’s been stood there for a few minutes, unsure how to bring it up. It’s not like they’ve got anything to hide, at least he doesn’t think so. He likes to think he knows them pretty well, but then again everything he thought he knew is starting to twist into different directions.

He raps his knuckles on the door, the wood hard under his fist as he thuds a few times.

He stands there for a few moments before knocking again, impatient. Anxious. He doesn’t know if he wants to face either of them right now, but he knows out of the two he’d prefer Kirk. He’s always the more gentler one of the two. Lars is just too hard headed sometimes.

He sighs, rocking on his feet before finally the door cracks open.

Lars is stood on the other side, hair a mess, unshaven, purpling marks under his eyes.

“What?” Lars says, voice biting, face stiff.

“Nice to see you too,” James says gruffly.

Lars blinks at him for a moment before opening the door wider, and James takes that as his cue to step in.

The house is quiet, Kirk’s magazines tossed over the coffee table, the television on low, playing some family game show that’s always on this time of day.

“Where’s Kirk?” James asks, hesitantly sitting down on the sofa.

Lars all but gracefully slumps into the armchair, rubbing a hand over his face with a yawn.

“He’s at work.”

James nods, fiddling with his jacket pockets, his phone feeling heavy in his hands as he pulls it out.

“I was just wondering if you-“ he stops, pulling up a photo of Dave. He clears his throat.

“I was wondering if you’ve seen this guy recently,” he says, showing Lars the photo.

Lars leans forwards in his seat to get a good look. If he recognises him, he doesn’t show it.

“I dunno. Maybe?” Lars answers, shrugging.

James shut his phone off, pocketing it.

“So you don’t recognise him at all?”

Lars sighs, rubbing at the coarse hair on his chin.

“I think I saw him at a bar a few nights ago. Me and Kirk put him in a taxi because he was drunk.”

Huh. That makes sense. James doesn’t know why he gets the feeling that Lars is lying though.

“Do you know where he went?”

“Home, I guess,” Lars says, crossing an arm over his middle. “Anyway what is this? Twenty one questions?”

The switch in Lars’s tone becomes hostile, and James quickly feels uncomfortable.

“Sorry, man,” he says, shrugging. “I’m just worried. No one’s seen him in days.”

“What is he to you? Another best friend I don’t know about?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” James declares, not liking the way Lars’s making this a bit aggressive. “Why are you so annoyed?”

“I’m just tired,” Lars says after a moment, rubbing at his eyes. “I think I’ve got the flu.”

James nods, understanding. Lars has never been fun to be around when he’s ill.

“Well, if you see him or hear anything, call me,” James says, standing up. Lars follows, if not a little slower.

“Yeah sure,” Lars dismisses, ushering James out the door. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably avoiding you.”

“Wow thanks,” James grumbles, opening the front door. “Call me,” he says, making a phone gesture. Lars just rolls his eyes.

As soon as the door closes behind him, James can’t help but feel that something’s off. Lars has never been very good at hiding things, James can always see it in his face.

Lars knows something. James is sure of it.

— —

“We have a problem,” Lars declares as he walks down the steps into the basement.

Kirk looks up from where he was drawing lines into Dave’s bicep with his knife.

“What? Who was it?”

“James,” Lars spits, kicking at one of Dave’s shins

“James is looking for him.”

“What?” Kirk asks at the same time Dave says something, muffled by the gag.

Kirk pulls it down, tells him to speak up.

Dave takes a deep breath.

“James is looking for me?”

Kirk frowns. “How do you know James?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Dave snarls, or at least tries to. Kirk blinks.

This is definitely a problem. He never thought he’d have to get James involved in this. He pulls the gag back up into Dave’s mouth.

Lars pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting two up before handing one to Kirk.

“What did you tell him?” Kirk asks, the cigarette resting between his lips.

Lars blows out the smoke, tapping the end of his cigarette onto Dave’s thigh.

“I said we saw him. Put him in a taxi.”

“Why did you say that?” Kirk cries, the cigarette shaky in his grip.

“Because, if he keeps sniffing around he’s gonna know that we were there,” Lars shoots back. “This way he knows we were involved but not that we’ve got him locked in the basement.”

Kirk sighs, rubbing at his temple.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t push it.”

Lars nods, sucking on the end of his cigarette.

The ping from the computer captures all three of their attentions, and Kirk goes to the computer, finds another notification.

“Jeez,” he exclaims, bending forwards.

“We’ve just been paid another ten grand to keep him alive for a little bit longer.”

“Great,” Lars bites. “That’s just great.”

“It’s not all bad,” Kirk says, “we just need to be more creative so that we don’t kill him already.”

Lars rolls his eyes, pressing the butt of the cigarette into Dave’s shoulder, singeing the skin. Dave’s muffled whimper sounds, but Lars just ignores him, flicking the cigarette at his cheek.

“You tired, baby?" Kirk asks, slinging a hand around Lars’s waist, thumbing at his hip softly.

“No I'm just bored,” Lars sighs, turning in Kirk’s grip. “You hear that Dave? You're boring me."

Dave rolls his eyes, obviously feeling a bit better now that they haven’t picked on him in the last hour or so.

He’s getting his fight back. Kirk’s not sure if he likes it.

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #die dead enough #kirk hammett x lars ulrich #kirk hammett/lars ulrich #kirk hammett #lars ulrich #dave mustaine #megadeth #james hetfield x dave mustaine #james hetfield/dave mustaine #james/dave #james hetfield

[pennylanefics]

Summer Lovin' - Surfer!Jake Kiszka | Chapter 2

a/n: starting to see a bit more of jake! :) i promise things will get exciting soon, i’m just trying take my time with this project and make it something i’m super proud of 💕

The days go by and now, you are finally settled into your home for the next three months. All of your stuff was put away and the small amount of decorations that you usually bring with you to put up were out. This included photos of friends and family, a new set of fairy lights for when you want limited lighting at night, and some shells and such that you’ve found on past trips.

The day after you went to the beach, Hazel came to your room to apologize for her actions when it came to dealing with you watching Jake. You just brushed it off, knowing that she didn’t mean it with ill intent, and told her that you were still jet-lagged, so you were a bit snippy.

The smell of pancakes and bacon awakes you from your slumber, and you rise out of bed and throw on a hoodie that was balled up in the chair right next to the window. Walking out into the kitchen and dining room, you find Donovan sitting at the table, coloring in his activity book to pass time.

“Got any plans today?” Your mom asks you as you take a seat at the head of the table, a couple seats away from Donovan.

“I was just thinking of laying around and reading. I got a little burnt yesterday so I don’t want to go back out in the sun,” you explain, letting out a yawn.

“Will you take me to the maritime museum?” Donovan looks up from his book to ask you.

“What’s that?” You wonder just as your mom sets a plate down in front of both of you, walking back into the kitchen.

“It’s got stuff about like boats and how people crossed oceans and shipped stuff,” he explains vaguely, but well enough for an eight-year-old. He has always been interested in pirates and things alike, but especially things like boats and ships, from the 1500s to Titanic, to modern times with cruise ships and all.

“Sure, that sounds fun.”

Soon enough, after finishing breakfast and getting dressed, you and Donovan were taking the short walk from your house to the maritime museum that was right near the pier, a one-story museum, though it seemed pretty big from the outside.

Today, with it being Tuesday, kids under ten got in for free, so you just had to pay for your own admission, which was a quick and easy process.

“And would you like to do the guided tour for kids?” The lady working at the desk asks after handing you your card back. Looking down at Donovan, he excitedly nods, eliciting a small laugh from you. You glance back up and smile at the woman and nod.

“Yes, please.”

“Great. Just stand off to the side over here and your tour guide should be out soon.”

Donovan skips over to the group of adults and kids waiting, and you take a second to look around the open space. Small models of ships sat a few feet apart with descriptions of them on a plaque in front of it, and a few paintings hung on the walls here and there.

The biggest one was of a ship during what appeared to be a storm, the waves crashing against the wood, a huge contrast from the dark blue sea and white wisps that give the water dimension and a sense of movement.

As you are gazing around, a loud voice rings out through the hall, grabbing the attention of the group you are standing with.

“Aye kiddos! I hear that yer wantin’ to take a tour through this here museum!” The tour guide appears shouting, dressed as a pirate with an eye patch, a fake parrot on his shoulder, and a puffy black shirt with a white ruffled undershirt, typical pirate attire. And, to top everything off, a brimmed hat sat perfectly on his blond locks.

Even through the costume and obviously fake accent, you recognized him right away. The unique and cute curve of his button nose, his structured jawline, and the gold hoops that sat in his earlobes gave him away; but you weren’t going to make that known.

“My name’s Jake, and if you have any questions about anything, feel free to stop and ask. Aye?”

The kids all respond with a collective “aye” and Jake chuckles before stepping back.

“If you guys would follow me, we will get started. So here, we have a model of the very first merchant ship that was recorded.”

Jake explains the story behind the ship, what was mainly transported, and from what countries. He explained what working on the crew would have been like, who was in charge of setting the sails and everything, and who was in charge of unloading the supplies when docked. Of course, while keeping his accent up, and making it less boring so the kids didn’t lose interest.

“And we move on to this next ship, which was built not too long after the first, but had major improvements. More wood slats so that it was stronger against harsh currents, bigger sails, lots of things!”

The parents and guardians all stand behind the group of kids crowded around the model, and as they look over the ship, Jake’s eyes - or well, eye - darts over to you, as if he recognizes you as well. A small grin tugs at the corners of his lips, but he goes right back to the group.

“Okay. I’m gonna bring you into this next part, and I think you’re gonna like this one a lot,” he gestures for everyone to follow, the children giggling as he excitedly moves on.

There was a small area with a very small scale version of the docus just outside of the building, however, it was interactive and made for children to play in. Water filled the one end, simulating the ocean, that got shallower as it got closer to the docks. There were also toy ships and small sail boats floating in the water, as well as small brown blocks that were similar to packages.

“Here is where you can pretend to be a crew member of a ship, sailing the seas and docking your ship. Go ahead! Have a little fun! Parents, don’t worry, there are paper towels and a bathroom if you need to dry off clothes.”

Everyone chuckles altogether as the group of kids plays and splashes in the water. You were talking to a couple moms, explaining how he’s your little brother and he wanted to come here today, when Jake catches your eye again. However this time, his eye patch was resting on his forehead, so both of his gorgeous brown irises were visible.

With a smirk, he sends you a wink, locking his hands behind his back and swaying back and forth on his feet. Looking away, you check back in on Donovan, who is laughing and pushing the fake ships with another kid that appeared to be around his age.

After a few more minutes, everyone gathers their child and dries them off with paper towels. Donovan took it upon himself to wipe his arms, and thankfully, his shirt didn’t get too wet so he wasn’t going to be too uncomfortable for the rest of the tour.

Jake stands off on the other side of the wall where a large screen sits, with a very detailed frame of what appeared to be the beach, shells, ships, everything you associate the beach with. Jake stands in front of the screen with a piece of paper and holds his hand up to quiet the group down.

“Moving on! We have another little activity for you guys. You’re going to color your own ships! And then…you put your piece of paper under this scanner, and watch as magic happens…” His voice tapers off as he turns around, sets the paper underneath the scanner he pointed to, and within a few seconds, a digital image of the ship that was colored in appeared on the screen.

‘Oohs’, ‘ahhs’, and excited cheers ring through the group, and Jake brings them over to a section of small tables, all with photos of the same pirate ship and markers to color with. Just like before, the parents converse amongst themselves to pass time, but you take a moment to look around the room.

You come up to a painting of a rich merchant, studying the details and reading the plaque that explains his life and how he became the most successful merchant in Newport, or what is known as Newport today.

“Do you happen to be stalking me?” Whipping around, you find Jake standing behind you, his eye patch still off, a playful smirk on his lips. For the moment, his voice was back to normal, the soft, velvety sound you already grew to know so well, just based on not even ten minutes of being in his shop.

You feel heat rise up your neck and you glance over at Donovan, coloring away at his paper, looking over at his new friend’s work.

“Oh, uh, n-no. I promise I’m not. It’s-it’s just that we’re here for the summer and finding stuff to do and it’s just a very weird coincidence that-”

“Relax, love, I’m only teasing,” he cuts your blabbering off with a gentle touch to your arm. Immediately, your skin feels like it’s on fire from it, and even after his fingertips are no longer touching you.

It’s a dizzying feeling, really. And you just wanted more.

“Oh. Well, my family just got here for the summer and my brother wanted to come here today since I had no plans.”

“No plans? You should try surfing,” he winks. You chuckle awkwardly.

“I’m not sure I’d be so good,” you attempt to lie, but Jake catches it.

“It’s a good thing you met me, though. I’m a pro. I’ll help you.” Again, you try to be nice and decline his offer, but he reaches out for you again, his fingers brushing along forearm.

“Um, I p-prefer to just sit on the beach, read, look for shells, maybe walk along the shoreline. I’m not really a sporty type so I don’t think I’d do so hot.” Jake just laughs and shrugs it off.

“If you ever change your mind, you know where my shop is.” With that, he walks over to the kids, a couple of whom finished their coloring and were ready to turn their masterpieces into a moving picture.

Jake helps the kids one by one scan their photos and step back to watch as their ship pops up, moving with the ebb and flow of the waves being projected on the screen.

“That is a lovely boat, young lady! My crew should’ve had you construct the Iron Rose for us back when she was destroyed amongst the waves!” He compliments a young girl’s design, reverting back to his pirate voice and persona.

When Donovan’s turn to put his ship up, he stands there as Jake scans it, and just like he does with every kid, he gasps in awe at how cool it looks, and gives him a high five. Donovan runs right over to you, pointing to the screen.

“Do you see my ship? It looks so cool, right?” He asks. Gazing up, you find his ship immediately, as you were watching the whole ordeal play out. Well…you were watching Jake interact with the kids, it is very charming.

“I do! It looks really good!”

“I modeled it after the Oseberg Ship in Norway, the most well-preserved Viking ship.”

“Oh yeah, I remember you telling me about that one. I see it now!”

A few more kids are left to scan their pages, and with each one, you study him. How he kneels down to their height for a moment to look over their design, then standing back up to help them put it underneath the scanner. How he points to the side of the screen that their ship pops out on and how he manages to put a huge grin on every single kids’ face.

Soon enough, Jake regroups everyone to continue the rest of the tour. And at the end, he asked if anyone had any questions. Of course, with kids being kids, they have to ask questions that don’t entirely matter, but they have this sort of…morbid curiosity about.

“What happened to the sailors that were lost at sea? Were they eaten by sharks?” A kid near the front asks. The thought makes your blood run cold, and you want to so badly walk away.

“Well, there are some that we assume were either eaten by sharks, but a majority of them just drowned. The seas are a very scary place!”

With that sentence, you take a few steps back and walk to the other side, though unfortunately, Jake’s voice was carrying through the echoing room. And, as much as he tried to not look away, he couldn’t help but notice the way you walked off, trying to hide the concerned look growing on his face.

As they continue to ask questions, you try and focus hard on reading the plaques placed around with information about pieces or looking out the window at the docks and the people passing by. Jake clapping loudly brings you back down to earth, though.

“Alright, well that concludes this tour. I hope everyone enjoyed it and come back and see us sometime soon! Argh!” You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips as you walk back over to find Donovan.

“You wanna buy something from the gift shop?” You ask. He nods eagerly and takes off, allowing you to hang back for a bit.

“Hey, are you alright? You walked off near the end there,” Jake comes up to you, his hat off, the accent dropped, and the eye patch completely removed from his head.

“Yeah, yeah. I just missed some of the pieces in that area and wanted to see them.”

Before Jake can respond, you walk away, and he sighs softly, watching as you find your little brother, who excitedly holds up a replica ship model made of plastic. Jake walks over to a co-worker of his, who follows his gaze to you.

“Someting up?” The young guy asks the blond man, still somewhat dressed as a pirate.

“I keep seeing her and I want to get to know her, but she’s…”

“Refusing? Rejecting you?”

“She just seems…not interested.” Jake’s expression falls as you walk over to the counter, trying to ignore him, but it’s hard. You were still trying to come down from the slight panic you had at the topic that was brought up.

Jake sighs softly again and walks to the back room, not knowing that your eyes were following him the entire time he walked away.

-

taglist: @maud-gone @doodle417 @digitalcalamity @rocknrolls-child @fan-girl-97 @thecoldwind @writingcold @allieisacrybaby @streamingcolors-gvf @gretavanbitches @stardustchxrds @gold-mines-melting @averagemisfit03 @gretavanfran @gretavankleep37 @maybetwistedthoughts @sc2106 @saremar1 @jakekiszkasmoon @gvfungi @Mamalikes_gvf @joshkiszkatoe

#jake kiszka #surfer!jake kiszka #jake kiszka au #surfer!jake #summer lovin #jake kiszka imagines #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka imagine #greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #danny wagner #sam kiszka #greta van fleet imagines #gvf imagines #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fanfic #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[airiat]

northern sky, one. ✧˚ · .

{masterlist}

pairing: joel miller x you / f!reader (wc: 35.3k, 10 chapters)

rating: explicit, 18+

work tags: no outbreak, age difference (27/42), hurt/comfort, ptsd, fate, ldr, explicit sexual content (rough/romantic sex, light d/s & sadomasochism, dirty talk, choking/biting, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected piv, aftercare)

work warnings: themes of death (more details here, contains spoilers), depictions of mental illness/alcoholism, light discussion of theoretical relationship with minor (not condoned by either party), light blood kink

{ao3}

note: here. i've cut out my heart and laid it down beating and bloody on these pages. i needed to do this. you get to see it. this work is complete and will update every sunday bc tlou sunday. it'll be on tumblr in its entirety but also on ao3--pls just head to ao3 though i promise it's not scary there

anyway, i hope u enjoy and then comment to tell me u did thanks luv u

one. {8.5k}

Here it is. The witless beginning to the story you said you would never have. Here it is unfolding in the hallowed, wood-paneled walls of your small town’s bar. The one you always went to with your friends in high school because they’d never card, let the cheap beer flow like water. It’s the one that only plays 80s music, at home against the checkered floor tiles and the dull green vinyl of the bar stools.

There he is. The man with calloused hands built to cradle the very shape of your heart. You’d know that if you could see the grooves of his palms. You’ll know that soon enough.

He’s walking through the front door. He’s shaking snowflakes from the salt, mainly pepper, strands of his hair. He’s running a thumb over the etched-in crease between his brows, tugging the edge of his mustache, sitting down on the stool next to yours so heavily that melted snow wets your cheeks.

“Coming down hard out there,” your friend, the bartender, says as a greeting.

“Yeah, sure is,” the stranger says, coat-clad elbows against the bar top. “Don’t think I’ll be able to drive any further tonight.”

Your friend, the bartender, tilts her head in sympathy. “Well, what can I get for ya, then?”

“Beer’s fine,” the stranger answers. “Anythin’ you got on tap. I ain’t picky.”

Your friend nods and moves to fill a glass, setting it down in front of the stranger who wastes no time taking a gulp.

Here they are. The words you toss into the ether that you can never fish back out. Tongue loosened by your fourth glass of whiskey. Almost enough drink to let you trudge home through the snow, fall face-first into your mattress. Just hope you don’t drown in vomit before it’s time to wake up for the first appointment at your salon. Hope your hands stop shaking enough to give a decent haircut.

The sweaty tumbler in front of you is the wound slotted between your ribs, which coats your hands in just enough blood to make a ring slide off your finger. But just little enough to keep you dazzling, to make heads turn to you. 

Still, nothing sticks. It’ll always be your palms alone pressed against that laceration at the end of the night.

“That sure is an accent,” you say. “Must be pretty far from home.”

Here it is now. The first time this stranger looks at you, like he’s only just realizing a full-blooded woman is sitting next to him. He blinks in surprise, long eyelashes framing eyes that must be brown. There’s a corner of his lip raised, but it’s humorless. Your whiskey eyes don’t delude you.

“Damn, that obvious? Here I thought I was blending right in.”

And there they are. His first words to you. You don’t see how the invisible threads are being tied into place by them. 

It could have gone a million other ways. You could have been you in a bar five hundred miles from here, instead. Where they play 90s rock, and the seats are red instead of green. Where the night is warm and a girl, but sober, but with steady hands, will drive home alone and fall asleep in bed with an orange cat curled up with her.

Instead, here he is, sitting next to you. Here he is for you.

“Almost,” you say. “Don’t talk, and you’ll have it down.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he drawls, but then he pauses, seems to consider. “What’s your name?”

You smile, shake your head. “What’s yours?”

“Mysterious, are you? Mine’s Joel. Joel Miller.” The unneeded addition of his last name is pointed. He’ll give you more than you’ll give him. He always will.

“Where did you come from, Joel Miller?”

“The road,” he grunts, taking another swig of beer.

“The road from where?”

“Texas. Austin.”

“To?”

Joel flicks his gaze over to you. The furrowed brow does not go unnoticed. “You sure ask a lot of questions for a girl with no name.”

“I’m making conversation,” you counter. Then, you wave down your friend who would never cut you off, ask for another glass of whiskey. “You could make conversation, too, if you answered them.”

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna,” Joel Miller says, but he’s smiling at you, something small and secret, just for you. 

“So, where’s the cowboy hat, Joel Miller?” you ask.

Behind you, another Tuesday night regular walks through the door donning the very thing. It’s Colorado, somewhere. Close enough to the mountains, far enough to block them out with a pinky over the horizon. It’s more ranches and dry plains, the endless expanse of watercolor sunrises.

“You think everyone from Texas is a cowboy or something?”

You shrug, take a sip of your drink. Tastes too much like water. You’d make a scene about it–you have before–but this moment with Joel is better than booze, better than yelling. If only for the time being. “Yeah. Aren’t they?”

He squints at you like he can’t decide if you’re fucking with him. “‘Course,” he says. “Just happened to leave mine in the truck.”

You squint back, but it’s to study his sun-worn face, his coat's old canvas. Maybe. But then you duck down beneath the bar to see his shoes. Come back up, grinning victorious. “Wrong kind of boots.” Work boots. The lace-up kind. “Bet you’ve never even ridden a horse in your whole life.”

“Sure I have. Once…when I was a kid.” He snorts a laugh. “No, I’m not a cowboy. And hardly anyone from Texas is.”

“How disappointing.” You give an exaggerated sigh. “Well, what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor.”

You grin. All cheek. “So, you’re good with your hands, then?”

Joel won’t look at you, but the tips of his ears are growing red. You can’t see that it sweeps across his cheeks, too. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he answers gruffly into the bottom of his beer.

“Maybe that works out better for us, then,” you say in a low voice, leaning closer. “I’m certainly no horse, after all.”

This has to be the moment. You’ve decided you want this. Want him. Want the heat of him, the weight, his short breaths, the quick snap of his hips, your body pressed under his.

Joel finally turns to you, and his eyes pass slowly over you–your face, your chest swathed in an old flannel shirt, lace camisole peaking through the top. 

“A horse?” he says in a voice like the snow falling outside in the darkness. “No, I wouldn’t say that you are.”

You reach out and brush his hand. “There’s a hotel in town, but it’s kind of a dump,” you murmur. “You could come back to my place instead.”

“Your place?” Joel chuckles. “Kind of you to offer, darlin’, but I can smell that whiskey on your breath from here.”

You smile. Darlin’. “Could be tasting it, instead.”

Joel swipes his tongue along his top lip. “Dunno if that’s such a good idea. You seem a little…young.”

“I’m being served at a bar, aren’t I?” But then you lean even closer, lips next to his ear. “I’m twenty-seven.”

The slope of his shoulders says you’ve eased him, but he still pulls away, shakes his head. “I should really just get to sleep. Have to finish the rest of my drive tomorrow.”

You shrug. You’re not gonna cry about it. This was never really the plan. You would have just been lucky. You say farewell with a soft hand on Joel’s shoulder as you stand up, tossing a twenty on the bar. For you and him, you indicate to the bartender who is no longer your friend.

“Safe travels, then,” you tell him. Kind smile. You’re good at this.

As you leave the bar, you’re stopped by something. It’s not him. No, it’s a voice singing a familiar tune, the one that goes, All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms. You can’t go just yet. You like this one, actually like this one. Your hips are swaying as you go to the small space in the bar where people sometimes dance. You’re the only one there tonight, but this isn’t the first time. It never stops you.

But you’re not there for very long this time. Barely even through the second verse. There’s an arm sliding around your waist. When you look up, you meet brown eyes. Those long lashes.

It’s his turn to dip down to your ear. “Changed my mind,” Joel murmurs. “Seeing you move….” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. You’re already threading your fingers through his, tugging him back towards the way you came.

His truck is dusted with snow in the parking lot. It’s an older one. Utilitarian. Nothing like those flashy ones that only pretend they have purpose. You imagine his tools cluttered in the bed. Imagine him driving it, sweaty and tired after work.

But now he’s pulling the passenger side door open for you, holding your hand for balance as you climb into the seat, closes the door, and gets into the seat next to you.

You’re warm with him in the cab now. The interior is surprisingly clean, smells of leather and earth, of cigarette smoke, faintly. The stereo is on from how he must have had it before, down low, playing a CD of some artist whose name is on the tip of your tongue. Minimal, mostly guitar, only one voice like it in the whole world. It suits him. You imagine him listening to it on the lonely road, mouthing the lyrics, thumb tapping against the wheel.

Joel’s driving now. Only, his thumb is brushing against your knuckles, hand resting in your lap. He’s asking you how to get to your house, and you’re directing him as he goes, but your voice is drowned out by the feeling of his hand on yours.

You hadn’t expected this. Maybe he’d have his hand on you, sure. But it should have been on your thigh. Maybe even drifting in between your legs. He should be thoughtless. He should pretend that you are nothing more than a pocket of warmth on a cold night. You don’t know what to do with tenderness. It’ll flounder and die if it’s left up to your heart to hold it.

When it starts to feel like he’s grinding glass into your skin, you pull your hand back to yourself. He glances over, but you just grit your teeth and say nothing. You’re approaching your house now, anyway. 

You don’t even have to direct him anymore. Yours is the only house at the end of the dirt road. Joel pulls into the drive, and you think you should be embarrassed. It’s old and neglected–chipping green paint, sagging porch, bare bulb over the front door. A farmhouse with only your garden beds left of the farm. At least it’s tucked into the trees, so no one really has to see it.

“You leave your car back at the bar?” is the only thing Joel says.

It isn’t what you’re expecting. “No,” you answer. 

“And not one here, neither. So you, what, take a cab?”

You don’t like what your response ought to be. You don’t like that he’s even asking. “Why are you asking?”

“Just confused, is all. How were you plannin’ on getting home?”

“Woulda walked.”

“Alone in the dark? In the snow? And taken you something like thirty minutes?” He’s bewildered. He shouldn’t be. This is how it always goes, and you are always fine.

“I like the fresh air. The adventure,” you reply. “So, are you coming inside…or?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry.” He shuts the truck off, and you both exit. You don’t wait for him before you march up to the front door. But he catches up when your unsteady hands take too long with the keys.

“You, uh, you sure you’re alright?” Joel asks.

You won’t look at him; you only catch a glimpse of the white cloud his breath makes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just got a medical condition, okay? I’m basically sober. I barely drank anything.”

Two truths. A lie. But maybe you don’t like playing this game anymore. Maybe Joel and all his questions are more trouble than they’re worth. And so, you snap, “Look, if you don’t actually want to do this, you’re welcome to leave. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

And here it is. The choice. The first exit. The proof of…the proof of what? Desire? Integrity? Pity?

“Just want to make sure you’re…y’know, that this is what you want,” Joel says.

You finally get the key in and shove the door open. The house is as dark as it always is when you arrive.  Quiet, too. Like the inside of the pine box you should have been laid to rest in. But you didn’t get one. You were meant to go on. To live with that.

“Come with me,” you whisper to Joel, careful not to disturb the slumbering darkness.

He follows you as you lead him to your bedroom, just as quiet, honoring the stillness. As though the Earth has paused its orbit and will only begin again once you’ve told it to.

You reach the room and stop to light the single vanilla-scented candle on your dresser. Joel starts to reach for the lamp next to your bed, but you hold a halting hand out.

“No, don’t,” you tell him.

He pauses to look at you, face golden with candlelight, warm like the final rays of a sunset. “Alright, darlin’. Anything you want.”

And what you want is to step slowly towards him, press your hands to his chest, rise on your tiptoes, and kiss him. But you don’t. You pause with your lips a breath from his.

“Never got the chance to tell you how pretty you are, did I?” Joel murmurs, palms sliding against your jaw until his fingers are laced in the hair at the nape of your neck. 

You freeze a little because this isn’t what you’re supposed to hear. Hot, maybe, Sexy, maybe. But pretty? That’s meant for someone without ghosts haunting them. You were never meant to be more than warm flesh. You don’t have eyes, don’t have lungs or a heart. He isn’t meant to tell you otherwise.

But you can’t help how your eyelashes flutter, the bloody corpse of your hope reanimating. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, you are,” he says. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You think this has to be a lie. You make yourself presentable because your business is beauty. Keep up with your hair color, do a face of makeup. But right now, you’re in old jeans and a holey flannel, breath tainted with stale whiskey, eyes rimmed with smudged mascara.

“Okay,” you whisper. “If you think so.”

“Yeah, I do,” he tells you. “Now, c’mere.”

Finally, finally, Joel leans in and kisses you. You can’t help your immediate sigh, open-mouthed and slack against his lips, can’t help your hands from fisting at his chest, almost pushing him away. You can’t help it. You’re not familiar with this kind of gentleness. 

Joel pulls back, and your sigh becomes a quiet whine, hands clutching at his coat. If you let him go, he’ll become a wisp of smoke. You’ll wake up and realize that none of this has been real. That your mind is finally deranged enough to concoct such a beautiful illusion.

But those dark eyes looking down at you are too fathomless to be something you conjured. Your sickness would never let you create something so complicated, would never even realize that a life must exist inside of them. Because you see it all there in those eyes: every moment he’s lived, every teardrop, every piece of happiness witnessed.

“You have nice eyes,” you tell him. It’s all you can say.

“Thank you,” Joel says softly. “Now, here, just let me….”

He relocates your hands from his coat to the front of his shirt before he shrugs out of it, draping it over the back of your vanity chair. This is an appreciated change; now you can feel the shape of his muscles, slide your fingertips up to trace his collarbones.

This time, you kiss him, surrendering to your sadness as your lips meet his, aching. This kiss becomes your arms around his neck, rising on tiptoes to press yourself against his chest. His hands find the skin of your shoulder blades underneath your flannel, warm and rough on you. Warm and real. You break away long enough to tear at the buttons and let your flannel fall to the wooden floor. You still have your camisole on. It isn’t too scary.

But you find yourself backing into your bed, sinking onto it when the mattress presses into your calves. Joel is leaning over you, your head craned up, so the kiss never breaks. But, then, it does, and he’s kneeling in front of you, pulling your boots off, then gripping you behind your knees. Kissing you again so soon that it’s like he never stopped.

You wouldn’t have cared about the boots. You would walk through a sea of mud and still get tangled up in your sheets if it meant Joel would be there next to you. But he’s too considerate to even dream of it. He must be. He must care. He must want to make sure there is nothing about this that you’ll regret.

“You still doin’ alright, honey?” Joel pauses to ask you. 

In this new stillness, you notice the heaviness in your chest, realize your breaths are coming short and nearly frantic. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you gulp.

He releases one of your knees to soothingly rub your arm. “We can always slow down, you know. Still got all night. Or, we don’t even have to do anythin’ at all.”

You smile at him. You can’t help it; your mind, in all its sickness, never could have dreamt up a man so gentle. “Are you hungry?” you ask him. “Got some leftover pasta, I think.”

He blinks once in surprise, but a smile comes to his face. “Yeah, sure, I could eat. Actually…that sounds pretty good.”

“Perfect,” you say. “Food, then.”

Joel rises to his feet and holds a hand out to help you up. You walk together to your kitchen, then to the fridge. Opened, it emits the brightest light you’ve seen since the sun as you and Joel stand before it. “Well, I said pasta, but I also have….” You rattle off a litany of dishes you’ve made. The fridge is full of these leftovers, the drawers still bursting with ingredients. You love to cook. You would cook endlessly, make enough food for everyone and then some, but everyone is really only just you.

“You made all of this?” Joel asks, glancing at you, but can’t help but bring his eyes back to the food.

“All of it, yeah. It’s kind of a hobby, I guess.”

“God, wish I had that as a hobby.” He steps back from the fridge. “Well, I couldn’t possibly decide. You pick.”

You hem and haw for a moment before settling on a foil-wrapped dish that contains chicken pot pie. Then comes the decision to warm it up in either the microwave or the oven…the microwave, you decide. It won’t be perfect, but Joel probably won’t mind. You’re still thinking about what came before this. You imagine he is, too.

When it’s out of the microwave, you slice two squares and plate them. Joel’s sitting on a barstool at the island–you put one in front of him and yours at the other seat. “You want anything to drink?” you ask him. “Got wine…other things.”

“Just water’s fine. This looks good, darlin’. I’m sorry, you mind if I…?” He looks at you with his fork hovering over the food. “Think it really has been hours.”

“No, no, please do,” you insist, then watch for a moment as he takes the first bite. He closes his eyes and lets out a quiet groan.

“Yeah, damn good,” Joel confirms.

Satisfied, you turn to the cabinets to find two glasses. With his water glass in hand, you hesitate to reach for a wine glass. It won’t look very good…he’s having water, and you’re…you snatch it off the shelf. Your house. You’ll do what you want. And when you sit down at the island with your wine and his water, he says nothing. Doesn’t even seem to notice, really, except enough to take a drink.

“So, you never told me,” you begin, picking at your food, then relenting and taking a drink of wine. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I didn’t?” he says with a mouthful of food. “Headed to Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “What’s there?”

“My brother and his wife just had their baby. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Oh, nice. Girl? Boy?”

“Boy.” Joel smiles. “Be good to have a nephew. Have a daughter, myself.”

You glance down at his hands—no ring to be found—but you still feel funny about it. You take a long gulp of wine. “You do?” you make yourself ask.

“Yeah. Sarah. Think she’s plannin’ to be there, too.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, she and I…she and I haven’t been speaking lately.”

You don’t think you should press, but the wine has reignited your earlier haziness, so you’ll do it anyway. “Why’s that?”

Joel looks over to you, gaze lingering like he’s deciding something, but then he bows his head back to the plate of food. “First, it was that she just started college. Thought I’d give her a little space to grow. But then, she came home this past Christmas with a girl, introduced her to me as her girlfriend.”

You furrow your brow. “You don’t like that your daughter has a girlfriend?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t know what I thought about it. It wasn’t how I was raised, you know? To think something like that is alright. And my own daughter?” His voice comes quiet, and he’s picking at his food, too. “We fought about it, and then she left early. Haven’t spoken since.”

You stab your fork into the pie crust. “If I had a kid, I’d just want them to be happy.”

“Yeah, I know. I did eventually come to see it that way, too,” Joel replies, almost defensive, but then he sighs. “She doesn’t know I’m coming, but I’m hoping she’ll forgive me.”

If he were anyone else, you wouldn’t want to reassure him, but he’s Joel Miller, so you say, “I bet she will. You seem like a good dad.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Maybe,” he says. “But thanks. Sweet of you to listen.”

You shrug. “I do a lot of listening. Part of my job.”

“You some kind of therapist or something?”

“Hairdresser,” you answer. “Almost the same thing.”

“Huh, yeah,” Joel agrees. “You been doing it for long?”

“Five years.”

“You like it?”

“Well enough, I guess.”

“Surprised you can, y’know–”

“Why, because my hands shake?” You cut him off with a snap. “All that came after. I can do my job just fine. It’s muscle memory.”

“Didn’t mean it like that. Just that it’d be impressive.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter. You’re taking it out on him. You know it. But your haziness will have you let it fester. The vengeance rolls across your tongue in waves. It’s all you can do not to say it.

Joel leans in towards you, sweeps your hair away from your neck. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I shouldn’t have said it. You’ve been so sweet to me.”

The vengeance dies when you let him press a small kiss on your cheek. Your cheek. You’d forgotten you could be kissed there. It feels better than you ever thought such a simple thing could. Like a bandaid smoothed over an old wound.

“You done eating?” you murmur.

“This, yeah,” he says, nudging the plate, face still near yours. “But maybe I’m, y’know, still a little hungry for something else.”

You giggle. Actually giggle. It’s a corny line. You know it, but it’s working on you. You’re not ashamed to say so. “Yeah? Well, I have a whole fridge full of other stuff.”

Joel shakes his head, tickling your cheek with his beard. “Not quite what I had in mind. Maybe…maybe I should just show you.”

“Yes, please do,” you whisper.

“Alright,” he says with a small smile. “But first, these have gotta go.”

Your gaze follows his movement down to his boots, which he unlaces with deft fingers. It’s the kind of thing that makes your mind wander, imagine what else he could use them for. You’ll find out soon enough.

Joel leads you back to your bedroom with your hand in his. He doesn’t let go until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, and even then, it’s only to replace your hand with your hips as you stand before him. He’s looking up at you silently, waiting. You’re breathing in the vanilla of the air, marveling as it mixes with his scent: the woods in summer, a piece of the sky, something almost like blood. You could hold it all against your chest when you lay down under the trees and pull the earth over yourself. You’ll remember it.

But you’re not there yet. You blink, and the house comes crowding in around you, too fast and too much, but you feel Joel breathing beneath you, and you settle. His hands slide from your hips to cup your rear as you sink into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Drape your arms over his shoulders, press your face into his neck.

“You smell so good,” you say against his skin.

Joel exhales. “Can I kiss you again, darlin’?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “Please do.”

He lifts your head with gentle fingers underneath your chin, pauses long enough that you start to melt into those dark eyes, but they’re moving over your face, lingering on every feature. Finally, his lips, with their perpetual M-shaped slope, curve up and kiss you.

All the night’s previous slowness is abandoned as Joel’s fingers thread into your hair, tugging at the roots, as you clutch at the back of his neck, forbidding each other from ever letting go. Not as though you would. Not when he’s parting your lips, licking into your mouth, drawing out a quiet moan. Not while his hands travel the road of your shoulders and down your sides, fingertips cautiously dipping under the hem of your camisole.

“Can I…?” Joel murmurs into your mouth.

You don’t answer him yet, instead moving to the buttons on the front of his shirt. You want to undo them, but your shaking hands prevent it. He notices, gently takes your place. 

His shirt is discarded along with the last shreds of your hesitation. You resist the temptation to sink your palms into his chest to find the warmth of his heart. You let him continue. 

First is your camisole shucked off, and then you’re sitting there in your thin bra, bracing yourself as he sees you. There’s nothing wrong with you; you know there isn’t. You know about the shadow of your ribs, the constellation of your beauty marks, the crescent moons of your breasts. There’s nothing ugly about it. But you can only unravel when he smiles, kisses the dip of your collarbone.

Your breath hitches when Joel reminds you of his tongue, licking up the junction of your neck, and again when he introduces you to his teeth as he softly drags them against your skin. You tighten your hands against his back, long fingernails sinking into his spine. He hisses through those teeth, pulling you tighter against him, arms a band around your middle.

“You gonna be sweet for me, honey?” he asks, leaning back to look at you. “I don’t have to be so gentle with you if that’s not what you want.”

Your lips part at his words. Maybe you’d be drooling if you didn’t have your decorum–or if you’d had just one more drink. “I–I don’t know what I want. But I’m not…fragile.”

“No, no, I know you’re not,” he says gruffly. “Well, then, I’m gonna stop asking you about everything. But you’re still going to tell me if you don’t want something to happen, or if something hurts in a way you don’t like, or if you just plain want me to stop. Alright?”

You nod, docile and brainless.

“And you’re not gonna be shy about it, either. You’re gonna be honest with me. Right, darlin’?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” you say softly. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, this first.” Joel slips his fingers under the band of your bra, unhooks it with his thumb. “Been wantin’ to see you. Know you’ll be beautiful.”

Goosebumps shimmer on your skin as he guides the straps down your shoulders, slow, making it feel like your arms go on forever. When he’s finally revealed you to him, a shiver wracks through you, probably because of how he’s looking at you: like he’s just sifted through all your layers, reached the empty space in your chest. But it’s not empty, is it? No, the light bathes his face.

He smiles. “Just as I thought. Beautiful.”

You giggle, press your bare chest against his, just as bare, and a kiss to his lips. “And what about you, huh? Most handsome man that’s ever been in my bed.”

“Probably only could have said that about me ten, fifteen years ago,” Joel disagrees lightly.

Then, as if to distract you, he wraps his arms around you and flips you around so you’re on your back. As if to make you forget the thought entirely, he kneels over you and frames your face with his hands, feathering kisses over your mouth, your cheeks. You’re grabbing his shoulders, breathless, floating, but you haven’t forgotten.

“No,” you speak hoarsely. “I’m saying it about you right now.”

His answering chuckle rumbles against your chest as he drags his lips down, attaching themselves to a nipple. You moan when his tongue flicks against it, clutching at his hair. What were you trying to tell him? Something about–he nips at you, just a little bit, and the sensitivity has you seeing stars.

You let it all go as he moves to your other nipple, as one hand grips your waist, slides down to the curve of your hip, where your skin becomes your jeans. There, his hand is all you can pay attention to, knowing what he’s asking of you.

“Joel, please, take them off.”

“You take ‘em off. I got other matters,” he tells you.

His “other matters” are to return his lips to yours and to not let you forget about his tongue, moving against yours in a new way, one that gives you some idea of another use for it. Flooded with the feeling, you’re fumbling with the button and the zipper on your jeans, pouring frustrated sounds into his mouth until he finally reaches down and yanks them off himself. When your hands meet as you go for your underwear next, he laces your fingers with his and presses your hands next to your waist.

“Be patient, pretty girl. Leave them for me.” His voice is like thick smoke.

A small moan is your agreement, enough that Joel gives your hand back, only for you to latch onto his arm braced next to you. His muscles move under your fingertips, and you consider his strength. How your hand was going nowhere, how badly he could probably hurt you, how he never will.

And it’s true: he won’t. Never in all your life. But you deserve at least that much. More.

Joel doesn’t make you wait for very long. His will probably isn’t made with as much iron as he’d have you believe, but his fingers feel sure as he slips beneath your underwear, finds the hollow below your stomach, careful to only just brush the hair there. Maybe he’ll have you beg for it. You look up and see him watching you with a contented little smile. All you can do is blink slowly back.

“Joel…” You try, but your words don’t form.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I know, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. Just let me relish it.”

“No, now. Please.”

His smile morphs into something more wicked at your plea, when you reach down and grab at his wrist. He lets you guide his hand toward your center but won’t let his fingers go where you need them. He’s using his strength for that control. A frustrated whine falls from your lips. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he is an endless well of restraint. He doesn’t even kiss you–only lets his eyes roam your face.

But your own well is more akin to a puddle, on better days, the shallow end of a swimming pool. You show him this when you pull his head down, kiss him so hard that it hurts your lips. And finally, with a growl of surrender, his fingers travel down the length of your slit. Your moan drops into his mouth, his name strung after it.

“God, all of this for me, baby?” Joel rasps at the wetness gathered between your legs.

You can’t answer him because his fingers have made it to where you’ve needed him most, gliding over in slow, but firm circles. You’re tugging at his hair, holding his head, making sure his lips are there to catch all of your noises, to match your shallow breaths to his.

After a particularly sharp pull to his hair, he groans, and then his fingers move down to your entrance, lingering but not going in. There’s almost no sensation, almost unbearable after him having just worked your bud. Your frustration and exasperation have you yanked at his roots, wrapping your hand around his arm in a vice, trying to hold him there so you can move your hips to meet him. But you can go nowhere; his other hand is holding you still at your waist.

“Joel,” you whine, tears pricking at your eyes.

He’s looking down at you, pausing before he leans in and kisses you softly. “Bet I could keep you like this all night, have you delirious by morning. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath comes quicker with panic, but somehow the thought is still a temptation. To let him work you down until you’re nothing more than your body, until you’re mindless and bent to his every word. It would be a pricklier sort of heaven, but heaven all the same. “Yes, I would. I would,” you say between your ragged breaths.

“Thought so,” Joel says, smug. “But I won’t. Not tonight.”

With that, he sinks two thick fingers deep into your wet heat. Throat bared as you toss your head back with a moan, he closes his lips around the thin skin, nipping until you feel raw, burnt as though by the sun. Your cries are sharp and thin as his fingers work you apart, legs splayed, hands clutching at anything in reach: him, the sheets, your bare breasts.

Soon, the tides change, and Joel pushes himself up, deftly maneuvering so that he’s kneeling on the floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed, all while keeping his fingers inside you. Propped up on your elbows, you gaze down at him between your legs, chest heaving as you realize what will come next.

But your underwear is still devastatingly on, and his mouth is miles and miles away from your center. His lips are on the inside of your leg, yes, but only at your knee. Still, you cannot complain–his fingers have started moving again, and this time, his thumb rubs at your bud.

“Joel,” you breathe, tipping your head back. “I’m gonna die waiting. I’m–I’m…please, my underwear.”

There’s a little spark of surprise as he immediately rips them off you, but you let out a thin wail when he pulls his hand away, leaving you cold and empty. Your arms shoot out to reach for him, but he eases you back with a hand on your stomach, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, breath sweeping across the sensitive skin. “You’re so good for me. It’ll be worth it.”

“Please,” you whimper as he brushes soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, trailing down closer and closer until he finally presses one right onto–

His name falls like fluttering leaves from your lips as his tongue licks up through your folds. There is no easing into it this time; he eats at you like your body is something exquisite. Lips capture your bud as his tongue flicks over it, and you dissolve into a thousand flower petals as you sink into the bed.

“Joel, please, I need your–” Your moan is loud and throaty as his hand snakes between your legs, and he plunges his fingers into you, immediately curling them, all before you can even finish your sentence.

And this will do it. You know it will. The release is already coiling up in your stomach, heavy and tight, and you think maybe you’ll faint before you can get there. That’s how perfectly he works you. That’s how skilled his tongue is, how steady his fingers are in their movement. It’s like he had spent years studying your body, countless nights giving you this divine pleasure. 

But you’ve just met him. You can’t explain this, and you’re not meant to. 

You forget the thought as the warmth pools in the depths of your core, as one of his hands squeezes your thigh so tightly that it aches. There’s a sound coming from deep in his throat; if you could, you would pull it from him and cup it in your palms. His tongue is ceaseless, and his fingers are tapping against the spot inside you that sends your sense scattering.

“I’m almost there, I’m almost there, Joel,” you gasp, clenching down on him, drawing your thighs tighter around his head. He can’t go anywhere. He can’t stop. You need this. You’ll die without it. You’ll–you’ll–you’ll– “Fuck.”

The release envelopes you like an avalanche, pinning you down so that all you can do is arch your back into his mouth. You can hear his low groan amid your rapture, but you are otherwise so lost, so gone. You are meant for this. This is how you should always live. If it was forever like this, you could make it. His mouth, his fingers, him. Yes. Just like this.

It ends so soon. But your woe is interrupted by the simple sight of Joel, lips wet and glistening from you, shaped into a sloppy smile. He’s stroking the outside of your thigh as he untangles himself from your legs. Then he rises and crawls over you, kisses you soft and gentle, letting you taste the tang of yourself. The wetness of the fingers that were inside you trace against your jaw, leaving it cool in the air.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Joel murmurs into your hair, holding you closer to him. “So fucking sweet.”

You sigh contentedly into his chest, but you’re still buzzing, still yearning for more of him in different ways. It’s almost without thought when you reach between your bodies and slip your hand into his jeans. He’s already almost hard in his boxers, and as you trace his length, you bite your lip at just how much there is.

He groans, low and quiet, against your neck, pushing himself more into your hand. “Ah, fuck, baby. You don’t–” he swallows. “--you don’t have to.”

“And I’m not going to,” you say. And it’s true: that was never in the plan. It’ll be a while before you let him into your mouth. You’ve never liked doing it, only would if you loved him. “But you are still gonna fuck me, right?”

He chuckles lowly. “That even a question, darlin’?”

“Good. Then, these–” you withdraw your hand to pop the button on his jeans, yank down the zipper “--need to come off. Right now.”

He instantly sits up, tosses you a cocky grin. “Yes, ma’am. Anythin’ you want.”

You sit up to watch him as he gets on his feet to do what you ask. But, god, he still has the reins in this moment. You know this as he takes his sweet time pulling them down, letting you soak in his body for the first time. 

And fuck, how had you not noticed all this? 

All the delicious muscles in his torso were built by hard labor, not at the gym, but still with a leanness–long lines, not bulk. His arms could lift you like you’re nothing. The expanse of his shoulders could eclipse you underneath him. But his jeans are hanging low on his hips, and your eyes drop immediately to the v-lines now exposed, to the wisps of dark, coarse hair peeking over his briefs.

“You’re teasing me,” you accuse.

He raises an eyebrow. “Tellin’ me you don’t enjoy the show?”

“I do. I just–god, I need–” You’re stammering. You’re gesturing frantically with your hands. “Fuck, Joel, I need you. I can’t fucking stand how–how sexy you are.”

The rich sound of his laugh is at home in the flickering candlelight, but he finally lets the jeans drop to his ankles, standing there in only his tight briefs. Your chest is clenching with stifled pants as he returns to the bed, climbing over you until all you can do is flatten down onto the mattress, caged by his arms and legs.

“I…think…you forgot something,” you whisper as his lips dip down to your neck.

“Did I?” he murmurs between kisses. “Maybe you should fix it for me, hm?”

You exhale a trembling breath as your hands find his hips, a breath that he captures with his mouth on yours. You manage to get his briefs down somewhat but can only move so much with him over you, with his hand cradling the back of your head. At your frustrated squeak, Joel reaches around and takes them the rest of the way off.

Finally, finally.

But he curses under his breath and pulls away. Your heart feels like it’s sunken into a hole in the ground as you stare back at him. The absence of him kills you. “I don’t have anythin’ with me,” he admits, looking like he could punch himself. “I can’t believe I didn’t fuckin’ remember.”

“You mean, like, a condom?”

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Might have one in my truck, but this isn’t–this isn’t somethin’ I usually do. And everything’s probably closed now and–”

“Joel.”

He quiets, brings his eyes to yours.

“I don’t mind,” you tell him, sitting up. “I don’t really do this either, so I’m clean, and you can just pull out. I…trust you.” You say that last part so quietly. You can’t meet his gaze now.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he says softly.

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Joel. You’d be the least of them,” you say. “I think you’re a decent man.”

“You just met me. How can you be so sure? I coulda, I dunno, killed a bunch of people or somethin’. Just because I’m decent to you don’t mean–”

“Have you killed a bunch of people?”

“Well, no, but–”

You tilt your head, cock a smile. “You’re acting like a dad. Cut that shit out, and please, just please fuck me, Joel.”

He exhales, his shoulders relax, and the easy smile slides back onto his face. “Yes, ma’am. Anything.”

You don’t wait before pulling him to you by the neck, smashing your lips to his. And he’s quick to push you down to the bed, hand behind your back, you arching over it. Your lips never separate. You’ll die if they ever do. He’s roughly palming your breast, licking into your mouth, hot and hungry, desperate and keen. And then, his hand leaves your chest for a moment, finds its way to where your bodies will meet. You tense, knowing what’s coming, and when he eases himself in, your moan shatters into his mouth. The start of his slow, deep thrusts has your eyes rolling back, has you clutching him closer by his shoulders, tossing your head so his teeth scrape your chin.

“Yes, yes. God, Joel, t-thank you,” you gasp.

He lets out another of his low growls before he grabs your head back to kiss you again, quickening his motion as he does. In this way, he continues until your body and your mind belong entirely to him. Every movement you make is to bend with him, to let Joel mold you into something perfect for him, to bear his roughness and welcome his gentleness. 

It’s how he holds your jaw between his fingers to keep you still, but how achingly tender are the kisses that come after. How he hooks your leg under his elbow, folding you into yourself almost painfully, but how attuned to every twitch of your body, every time you react–tempering himself at a wince, going deeper when he earns a moan.

And your every thought belongs to him, too. Every time you catch a glimpse of his dark eyes, the tendons in his neck, the expanse of his shoulders, your world shrinks until it’s taken his shape. And then, before long, it’s just him, and him, and him. 

It’s how he’s looking at you, too, like you’re the woman who filled his lungs with the breath he’s used to make all his beautiful sounds. Every fervent moan, every sweet little nothing he’s poured into your mouth, next to your ear. All because of your shaky hands that coaxed him into being. 

“Baby, I’m gonna…I’m sorry, I have to–” Joel chokes out, bracing a hand next to your head.

His thrusts come rougher, but looser, like they’re out of his control now.

You reach up and let him lean his cheek into your palm. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you breathe.

Not a moment later, he jerks out of you and spills onto your stomach, tugging at himself, groans hanging in the air. You’re stroking his cheek, admiring him in quiet awe, still so perfectly handsome even at his most animal. The prominent veins in his hands and arms, bowed head, face contorted in an unholy mask of ecstasy. Yes, probably, even more so.

When Joel finishes, he leans over to snatch his shirt up from the ground and uses it to wipe your stomach clean. He’s holding you as he does this–arm slid under your shoulders, lips pressed unmoving to your forehead. You’re still and stiff in his embrace; this isn’t what you expected. The shirt, maybe, sure. His tenderness? Never.

“Sorry, darlin’, usually’d have a towel for this,” Joel tells you, wadding the shirt into a ball–messy part inside, it’d seem–and tossing it back to the floor.

“You got your shirt dirty for me,” you say. “You didn’t have to.”

He chuckles. “Good thing I got more of ‘em in the truck.”

You extract yourself from him, springing awkwardly to your feet, still a little unsteady. It was nice, you have to admit. But you can’t let yourself linger with him. It’s not supposed to work like that. “Let me put it in the wash for you, anyway. You thirsty or anything?”

He’s sat up as though to follow you, a bewildered expression on his face. “I’m not worried about the shirt, darlin’.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure in my life.”

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. Now, what do you do? You’re standing at the foot of your bed, wringing your hands. You can’t stay here all night, can you?

“You seem lost,” Joel says gently.

“I–” you start but can’t admit to it. “What now?”

He cracks a little smile, but it doesn’t seem at your expense. “Well, much as I’d love to stay up with you, I’m tired, and I’ve still got a long drive tomorrow.”

You nod. “Okay, you should get some sleep, then. You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I do need something, actually, yeah,” Joel says.

“Sure, what is it?”

“You in this bed with me.”

You freeze. Not what you expected. “Oh, um, okay. If you really want,” you say, but you’re still stationary.

Joel shakes his head. “Not want, need.” Then, he casts his eyes somewhere to the side and says so softly that it’s almost inaudible, “Please.”

Your exhale tumbles out, but you nod, going to your dresser to find a clean set of pajamas–little shorts, big t-shirt. You let him watch you dress from afar and then return to his side slowly, cautiously. Like you think he might pounce, claws out. Instead, he stays where he is but leans in to kiss your bare shoulder slipping from the shirt.

“Would you–?” you begin, passing him his discarded underwear.

“Sure, honey,” Joel murmurs, standing up to put them on. But before he returns to bed, he goes over and blows out the candle. The room is almost completely dark, and you’re still until you feel the mattress dip down next to you. That’s when you lean into him, pressing against him like a cat. “Sorry,” he says. “Shouldn’t leave that burning overnight.”

“Sometimes I do,” you admit.

“I’ll bet you do,” he answers, chuckling. “But don’t, alright?”

You yawn wide, the dark conjuring exhaustion into your bones. “Alright, Joel.”

He gives a sigh of defeat, then you feel him peel back the covers and slide under. When you look over, you see the length of his body in the soft shadows. He’s stretched out on his side, head propped in his hand. The space he leaves is perfect for you.

You need to fill that space. Just not with your body. “You want me to set an alarm or anything, or I could–”

“Darlin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Lie down with me.”

You quietly arrange yourself next to him: on your side facing him, a delicate river of space between your bodies. But he’s so warm. He radiates it. And it’s snowing outside like it’ll never stop, and your old farmhouse is so drafty, and the candle’s snuffed, and your pile of pillows is just not gonna cut it tonight. So, you bury your face into his chest, and he wraps his arms around to pull you closer, wraps you both in blankets.

His heartbeat thrums like the pulse of the earth, and you let yourself be lulled by it.

#well two months later and we're finally here #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #my posts #my writing #sun & sky

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Sick Elrond headcanons

Another list of hcs no one asked for, or wanted. Elrond x reader. I have no idea whether this is any good or not...

And now I have no excuse, I have to go working on the second part of A seal-skin around my shoulders.

*****

🤒 Even though he is fully immortal after choosing to be counted among the Elves, Elrond still suffers from some weaknesses common among the mortal races. He is as strong, fast and resilient as any Elf, wiser -and fairer- than most and doesn't tire easily after working or exercising for many hours, but he does get cold easily and occasionally falls sick.

🤒 Even though Middle Earth's most capable healers are Elves, the concept of illness is almost unknown among them; they also get injured less frequently than Men, since their bones and muscles are stronger.

🤒Half-Elven are a bit in the middle between the two races as far as health problems go. Elwing was the only woman with Elven blood who suffered from menstrual cramps, while Eärendil broke his leg in a riding accident when he was young and, while it healed perfectly, it kept occasionally paining him for the rest of his life. Elros was exceptionally vigorous -for a mortal- until the end of his life and never got sick, but he did find out he was allergic to certain aliments.

🤒 Elrond fell sick for the first time in his life as a child, when he spent a whole afternoon playing in the snow with his brother wearing only a light tunic. He started coughing a few hours later, told his mother he felt hot and funny, and when he woke up the next day, he was feverish. It only lasted for two days and his parents were more distressed at seeing him suffer than seriously worried for his health, but it was a very unpleasant and scary experience for the little Elf.

🤒 As we said, Elrond is sensitive to the cold, which is the reason why the fireplace in his rooms is lit until the beginning of summer, and he prefers wearing heavy capes and coats.

🤒 Even though many Elves at Gil-Galad's court look down on and even make fun of him and his origins, Elrond is not ashamed to be an Half-Elf; he likes the unique prospective on the two races his position affords him, and thinks that belonging to both makes him a more complete individual. Despite this, he is vaguely embarrassed of his -very occasional- bouts of sickness and tries his best not to show any discomfort, especially after he begins courting you.

🤒Being a full-blooded Elf, and having met very few mortals in your life, sickness is mostly an abstract concept for you; once you cut your arm deeply with a knife, which was an extremely painful and unpleasant experience, but that had been the only time in your life you had had to consult an healer.

🤒 Because of this, the first time you hear Elrond sneeze, on a cold winter day -you are having a pleasant walk in the woods, far away enough from the palace to enjoy some time alone- you remain flabbergasted for a moment. "Is everything all right, dearest?"

🤒 "I am all right, thank you; merely an... itching on my nose." he lies, already blaming himself. It must be the coldest day of the winter, and he should have proposed to stay in your rooms enjoying tea, or to listen to you playing your flute, but when you expressed a desire to walk in the woods to admire the snowy landscape, he did not have the heart to refuse. He did wear his warmest cape, and even a scarf, but apparently it was not enough "Do not worry for me, please. So, your friend has asked you to teach the flute to her daughter?"

🤒He enjoys your time together as he always does, but by the time you return home he is shivering, and he is forced to breathe through his mouth. He does his utmost to pretend he is fine because he doesn't want you to worry, but he is relieved when you are forced to leave him for your first flute lesson with your new pupil, and he is free to drink a hot tea as he warms himself in front of the fire.

🤒He had hoped that the chill was just an unpleasant sensation, but the next day he wakes up shivering, with a sore throat and the feeling he has been hit in the face with a brick: he has fallen sick, again. Fortunately, he doesn't have any pressing task to attend to, but he has only two days left to finish writing a speech of the utmost importance for the High King.

🤒 Elrond forces himself out of bed -it is so cold! Why does his room seem to have moved to the middle of the Caradhras?- lights the fire and drags himself to his desk, on whose surface many scrolls and papers are strewn. He forces himself to focus, but it is no use: he can barely sit, let alone write, and all the ideas he had to finish the speech have almost completely disappeared. What did he plan to write about again? There were a couple things he must mention, but he cannot for the life of him concentrate enough to decide how to express them...

🤒Even with the fire crackling next to his desk and a heavy cape on his shoulders, he is so cold! He has skipped breakfast, and last night at dinner he had barely touched his food, but the simple idea of eating makes him nauseous. He has truly and fully gotten sick, he recognizes with a sigh; if only his detractors at court could see him now...

🤒For the rest of the morning Elrond does his best to get at least a bit of work done, hoping that tomorrow he will feel better and be able to correct his mistakes; he alternates between the desk and his bed, resting for a while before returning to the speech, and then he uses a closed book as a base to write on, moving all his scrolls and inkwell on the bed table and sitting with the pillow behind his back. He feels terrible, his head swimming, but he is determined to carry on despite his fever, and then, he promises himself, he will sleep as long as he needs to. He must have a slight fever, that is all, nothing to worry about; he will rest, tomorrow he will feel much better, and no one needs to know what he is going through.

🤒 He is startled when he hears knocking on the door... and then your voice, from the other side. "Elrond, are you there? May I come in?"

🤒Oh, no!, he moans; he has completely forgotten you were supposed to meet for lunch today, as you have done once a week for the three months you have been courting. How could it slip his mind? He loves your lunches together, and he had also rescheduled another engagement so that you could meet today. He must have left you waiting in the banquet hall for at least an hour!

🤒If Elrond felt horrible until a minute ago, it is nothing compared to the shame and the guilt that fill his heart now; what if you decide that you don't want to see him ever again? And even worse, you keep knocking on the door asking to be let in, which means that you are going to see him in this terrible state...

🤒In the end, not wanting to offend you more than he already has, he invites you to enter... and he sees you open your eyes wide when you see him in bed, paler than you thought it was possible for an Elf to look, shaking and looking almost too weak to sit.

🤒"Oh, Eru, Elrond! What is happening to you?!" you cry, and he manages a smile, not wanting to scare you. "I am just sick; you need not worry..."

🤒 Those words fall on deaf ears, because you are immediately concerned. What does it mean, he is sick? Is he hurt? Is his life in danger? You do not care about the risk of being infected, you tell him as you close the room's door behind you and quickly approach; is there anything you can do? Why didn't he tell you he was unwell? Has this happened because you insisted on a walk in the woods yesterday? "Oh, Elrond, I am so sorry... forgive me, it is all my fault..."

🤒You look so scared and remorseful, as if you had put him in a life-threatening situation, and Elrond cannot help laughing - which is incredibly painful, given the state of his throat. "Again, there is no need for alarm, or for apologies." he gently explains as he takes your hand in both of his; he is still so sorry for forgetting you were meant to meet, but seeing you makes him feel better - or at least happy "I should be the one asking for your forgiveness, since I left you having lunch on your own. And please, do not worry; I only have a cold, it will last for a day or two."

🤒 "So... you are not going to pass away?" "Of course not! Believe me, I have already fallen ill a few times in my life; it is unpleasant, and bothersome, but not dangerous, at least for me." he reassures you, and then he sneezes again, as he has done countless times during the day "As you can see, I can work; let me be, I promise we will have our lunch soon."

🤒 He is clearly trying to get rid of you, although not because he doesn't appreciate your company, but you have no intention to leave him alone: your poor beloved is clearly suffering, and even though he will recover in a few days, and you have no experience as a nurse, you will do everything you can to support and help him.

🤒First of all, and despite his protestations, you send for the court's healer, more experienced in assisting soldiers wounded on the battlefield and women in labour, but who is nonetheless capable to prepare a concoction to lower his fever and give Elrond some relief against his sore throat and nausea. "There is no reason to worry. The thing he needs the most is rest, and avoid unnecessary exertion; will you be staying until tonight, (name)?" he asks.

🤒"There is no need, really..." Elrond protests; "Of course I will." you quickly answer, ignoring him, and the healer gives you some simple instructions: keep Elrond in bed, have him drink his medicine every two hours, and send for some light food if he feels he can eat.

🤒You prepare for the task with the same earnestness and dedication of a nurse whose patient is fighting for their life; to know that Elrond's ailment is not serious and he will indeed recover soon is a huge relief, but you are determined to remain by his side until then, even just to keep him company. For two full days you sit next to your beloved's bed, adding another two blankets to his bed and then, when he is overheated, washing his face with a wet cloth to give him some relief. You use an hourglass to calculate the time between a dose of medicine and the other, and prepare his favorite tea; your poor beloved's musical voice is reduced to a pained whisper, given how sore his throat is, his stomach cannot keep even a simple soup or some bread down, and try as he might, he is soon forced to abandon his work on the King's speech, spending most of the time curled up in bed, awake but too weak to do anything.

🤒You feel powerless, wishing you could really do something to comfort him; it is the first time you see someone suffering in a way different from a broken limb or a battle wound, and while you are happy to stay with your beloved for as long as he needs you to, sleeping on a chair next to his bed, your heart breaks for him, and for his suffering.

🤒The truth is, your presence is enough to make Elrond feel better. He has always appreciated your company, even when he was too shy to express his feelings, but now to have you next to him is even more precious. You read and play your flute for him, bring him food and medicine, and sit quietly next to the bed with a book as he rests.

🤒On the other hand, he is embarrassed to be seen under such an unflattering light, and that you have to take care of him as a nurse would do, or a mother with a child; you assure him that you don't mind, and try to offer him as much relief as you can. You also need to help him reach the pot behind the screen in a corner of the room, or to take away the basin after he feels sick. Not only you know Elrond would do the same and then some if you were the one feeling ill, but there is no more natural feeling than taking care of the people you love, and since this is exactly what you feel for him, assisting him is not a burden for you, quite the opposite.

🤒You ask him whether this is the first time he has fallen sick since you met, and he sheepishly admits it is not; he has had a fever, or a cold, and in some cases both things together like now, three or four times in the many years of your friendship. "Do you remember that time I sent you a note telling you I had had to leave on an urgent mission for the King, and only returned five days later? Well... it was a lie; I had gotten sick again, and spent those days in the infirmary; I begged the healer not to tell anyone."

🤒"Why wouldn't you tell me?" you ask, and Elrond smiles - a sad, rueful smile, that makes him look even more vulnerable. "Not everyone at court is as... understanding and sympathetic as you are; the first times the news spread at court that I was ill, instead of well-wishers, I got mocked for my perceived frailty... and I even got accused of not being a full Elf, since maladies are a... prerogative of mortal races. Which is true, obviously, but still..."

🤒"... and you think I would also mock you?" you ask in disbelief; you know there are a number of Elves at court who look down on Elrond and make fun of him for his mortal blood, and you have lost count of the number of times you have intervened to defend him, but this time, even more than outraged, you are incredulous, and hurt "That I would think less of you because you are subject to illness?"

🤒Elrond's silence and ashamed expression are answer enough; he covers his mouth with an hand as he coughs, and then accepts the cup you have just poured his medicine in, since the tiny grains of sand have just finished trickling to the lower chamber of the hourglass. He drinks, winces at the horrible taste, and then looks at you. "I didn't want you to think I was... weak, and feeble, since all it took to overwhelm me was a cold day; it is childish, I know, but we haven't courted long, and... and your previous intended was one of the court's most capable and respected warriors..."

🤒Sitting on the side of the bed with his hand in yours, you reassure Elrond that being sick is not a fault and, even if it were, you would never blame him for something he cannot help. "And if you want to know, my last courtship ended because my intended was more interested in his sword than in me; you would act that way, even though your duties as the King's herald are much more important than his. We may have courted only for a season, but I know you well enough that you could never lose my respect, as well my... my affection."

🤒It is another word you were going to use, and even though you lacked the courage to, now both you and your intended are blushing, and smiling. "I don't want you to think that you have to hide things from me; even those that make you sad, or ashamed; I will always be on your side, Elrond, and taking care of you will never be a burden." you whisper, and he nods, wordlessly, his beautiful dark eyes full of gratitude.

🤒"Is it..." you begin, and then you go on, knowing he won't make fun of you for an admittedly foolish question; on the other hand, he is the only person you can ask, since there are no mortals at court "Is it unpleasant, to be sick?" Elrond looks at you. "Well, do you not remember when you cut your arm with a knife?" Obviously you remember, and you remember how terrible it was, but it is different; you want to understand how it is to have the pain come from inside you, invisible, without loss of blood or broken bones, your body fighting against an invisible enemy trying to overwhelm it. It is scary; but at the same time, fascinating.

🤒Elrond smiles, his earlier embarrassment and shame already forgotten. "You are making it more noble than it actually is; it is... I wouldn't know how to describe it to someone who is unable to experience it. It is like not being myself anymore; as if my body is crying for help. I know not every illness is deadly and I am much more resistant than any Man, but... it is as if I am being touched by Death, without actually experiencing it."

🤒Silence fills the room as you both reflect on those words. You have always known Elrond is an Half-Elf, and far from considering it a flaw or feeling your esteem for him lessened because of it, you simply thought it was one of the many things making him special and unique; still, you never really thought about the implications. Had he made a different choice, had he decided to follow his brother's example and be counted among the Edain, his life would have been very different, and maybe he would have passed away before the two of you had the chance to meet. Why did he choose to be an Elf, instead of a Man? Did he feel there was too much to see, to experience and to learn, in the world, to limitate himself to a few hundred years? Or was he scared of what awaited him after his death...?

🤒You feel this is not the right moment to discuss such a personal and delicate matter, assuming such a moment actually exists, but it nonetheless makes look at your beloved with new eyes... a frailty which is not due to his temperament or lack of will, that runs through his veins, an heritage he still carries inside him despite his choice and the immortality that has already afforded him a much longer lifespan than any lineage of Men. In the depth of your heart, you know you love him already, and you will love him for the rest of your life, for this as well as many other reasons: his existing midway between two realities, belonging to two races and at the same time being different from anyone else, his having lost as well as gained so much because of his choice: the possibility to feel pain, and to be reminded of how fleeting life is, and how precious because of it.

🤒Elrond begins feeling better after two days of bedrest, and another one later he is back to his old self, healthy and full of energy; he insists that it is you he has to thank for it, even though all you did was serve him tea and the medicine the healer had prepared, and keep him entertained. You celebrate together with a lunch in your rooms, and from that day on you do your best to avoid him falling ill again: in winter, you favor spending time inside so that he does not catch cold, and for his anniversary you gift him an heavy cape. You know Elrond is -usually- capable to look after himself and his health and does not deserve, or need, to be treated like a child, but he secretly enjoys you taking care of him.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @elvenenby.

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elrond #Elrond Peredhel #Robert Aramayo #Bellona's stuff

[mrsaltieri-real]

His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri x OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter Sixteen: Lexi

Words: 3.2k

Warning/s: langauge, a lot of angst, past relationship trauma, mentions of sex and violence, mentions of pre-killer Mickey, relationship doubt, toxic relationships, Dahlia being lowkey gay for Mickey’s ex, etc

A/N: This was really intense to write. It’s a very important chapter though so I hope you guys enjoy! Goes into Mickey’s past a little more and makes Dahlia doubt a LOT. Thank you to @bisexual-horror-fan for beta reading and editing this for me! So much love!

Also, if anybody is interested to know the dynamic between Lexi and Mickey, I wrote a reader x mickey one shot a while back which is literally them. I’ll tag it. Raw (Mickey Altieri)

@lizey-thornberry

⬇️For reference, Lexi’s face claim is Alexa Demie⬇️

Well, this is fucking awkward.

I sat at the table, fingers drumming the stained wood anxiously. Lexi smiled at me, looking a little bashful as she sat herself in front of me.

“Do you, uh, want a drink or something?” I asked, quickly getting to my feet.

“Oh, uhm, yeah, water would be great?” She replied, smiling up at me. She didn’t seem anxious or concerned at all, rather the opposite. Not only that, but she seemed completely at ease, and it was making me a little uncomfortable.

But God, she was breathtaking.

I hummed to myself as I walked toward my sink, grabbing a glass and shakily filling it up with water.

Come on, Dahlia. Calm down.

“Thank you, Dahlia. I’ll get right to it. If that’s okay with you?” She asked as I handed her the glass of water and sat back down in front of her. All I could do was bob my head once.

My boyfriend's ex was here, across from me in my dorm room. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt too awkward to make eye contact with her. She was stunning. Intimidatingly beautiful. My insecurities were sneaking up on me rapidly and there was no holding them at bay. Every move she made, every flick of her hair and elegant movement, caused me to feel more and more self-aware.

She had a gracefulness about her, so much confidence radiated from every pore that just being in the same room as her was overwhelming. She tucked ran a hand through her long, black hair, sweeping it over her shoulder before dropping her hand to the table, her elegant and manicured fingers drumming lightly on wood.

Why the hell would Mickey break up with her? She was fucking perfect.

“How long have you been dating Mickey?” Lexi asked me after she took a sip of water.

“Eight months. Can I ask, I’m sorry, why are you here?” I asked my question tentatively, still not looking the stunning girl in the eye.

“I, uh…” She let out a sigh, placing the glass back down on the table. “I made a promise to myself that if Mickey ever got serious with somebody, I’d warn them.”

I stared at the woman like she’d grown two heads, my eyebrows raising as I asked, “I’m sorry, you’d warn them?”

What the hell was there to warn me about? Mickey was nothing short of a gentleman with me. Never pushed me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with, always made sure I was okay. What could she possibly be worried he’d do to me?

“Look, Mickey can be… Intense. I just thought I should let you know, give you a heads-up, you know? I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I went through with him and-“

“I’m sorry,” I shook my head, finally making eye contact with her. “What you went through with him? How do you even know who I am? That I’m dating him?” The questions came bubbling out before she could even attempt to answer, the stress of the situation beginning to hit me at full speed. I didn’t like this at all.

She smiled halfheartedly at me, shrugging slightly as she answered only my second question. “Everyone knows who you are, Dahlia. Everyone knows what happened to you and your friends in California last year.”

Her big brown eyes were sympathetic and didn’t have a shred of ill intent behind them. Maybe she was good at masking, maybe she was genuine.

“Okay, but how do you know I’m dating him?”

“I received a phone call a few months ago. Some woman named Debbie?” She looked at me, as if she was expecting some realization to cross over my face.

Debbie? I didn’t know anyone named Debbie.

She seemed to pick up on the fact that I had no idea who she was talking about and carried on, “Well, she told me that she was looking out for you, that you were dating Mickey, and she was worried. I don’t know how she got my cell or even knew who I was. But I felt obligated to come down here and tell you some things about him.”

The way she said that word, “him”, it had some venomous undertones that I couldn’t ignore. It actually made me flinch to hear it. Mickey is a cocky asshole, sure. He could behave like a dick. But he was a college student in his 20s, how bad could he have been when he was in high school?

This felt wrong, like I was somehow betraying him and his trust. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as Lexi continued to talk.

“Mickey has always been… Complicated. I dated him for over a year and I never met his family, he didn’t really seem to have many friends. He was eighteen and lived in an apartment all alone, which struck me as odd because we were still in high school, but he just said some crap about his family not being around. He was sweet at first, tentative and caring. But sometimes he’d act… Different.”

“Different?” I asked anxiously. My fingers twitched for my ring, but I ignored it.

“He’d be on some weird kind of edge for days on end and then completely disappear for others. He’d come back, and he’d have this weird wildness to him that I can't explain. It was like he was on some kind of high or something.” Lexi watched my face drop, and she leaned forward, shaking her head quickly.

“He was never violent with me. Well, not in that way anyway.”

“Not in that way?” I asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Sometimes when we’d have… Sex, he’d go a little overboard.”

I didn’t flinch away from the comment. I was insecure, but I wasn’t insecure enough to feel bad about Mickey sleeping with an ex-girlfriend. But I did however feel uneasy about the way she spoke. Her face screwed up slightly as she relived some memory, and she shuddered delicately.

“You don’t have to tell me, Lexi.”

“I think I do. I won’t go into the details, but Mickey is dark. Darker than he’ll let on. Don’t get me wrong, he never forced me to do anything.” She said the last part quickly when she took in my expression. “It’s just… I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but just be careful, Dahlia. There’s something off with him, trust me.”

“Why would I trust you? I don’t know you. You’re some chick who dated my boyfriend and came to my door and started telling me to, what, dump him?” I couldn’t hold back the scoff. I felt a sudden wave of protection over him, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being genuine.

I hated that. I hated that I was doubting my trust in the man who’d saved me from myself.

“Mickey hasn’t done anything to me.”

“Really? Nothing at all you can think of?” I pursed my lips like a fucking child, and she leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms across her chest. “Dahlia, I promise you this isn’t some weird ex-girlfriend shit, okay? Trust me, there is something wrong with him.”

“Trust you? I don’t know you!” I threw my hands up, letting them fall back down onto the table with a loud thud.

“Look, I get how weird this is, okay? I just… You’ve been through a lot and I promise you, he’s just going to make things worse. It’s not in him to help people, not really. Not unless there’s something in it for him.”

“Mickey wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.” My voice was stern, I couldn’t help how defensive I was feeling over him.

“Really? So he’s never done anything in an attempt to hurt or upset you?”

I hesitated, teeth sinking into my bottom lip and my gaze averting from her. He had. My mind flooded back to the party, that stupid party. We talked, we laughed, we bonded, but then he tried to kiss me and I rejected him. He immediately got angry, defensive and proceeded to trick me into walking into Sidney’s bedroom where he fucked a girl right in front of me.

With how well things were going, I’d all but forgotten about that night, as well as how much of an asshole he was. I wasn’t stupid, I know people didn’t change so rapidly in the way that he had. Was it all a trick? Was Mickey that good of an actor? Had all the movies and television shows he loves watching so much made him talented at hiding who he really was?

“That’s what I thought.” Lexi crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat. “Listen to me, Dahlia. He is not okay. It’s all a fucking act, okay? He’ll be the person you want him to be until he gets what he wants. It’s like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

“And what does he want?” My voice was small, and I still couldn’t look her in the eye.

“What do most guys want?” Her body language altered slightly before she cleared her throat and asked, “Have you…”

My eyes met hers for a moment and I shook my head. “No.”

“Then it isn’t too late.”

I scoffed, unable to stop myself from rolling my eyes at her.

“Not too late? What, is he going to fuck me to death?“I could taste the acrid bitterness of my words as I spat them out to her, my hands bunching up into fists.

“He’s just something else when it comes to it. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it’s fun, but it’s like he can’t help himself, like when he’s in the moment that mask just slips away for a while. It’s one of the many, many reasons he and I broke up. I know he never meant to, I think in a lot of ways he didn’t realize what he was doing, you know? We were young and stupid and inexperienced. But I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t warn you.”

“The only thing Mickey said is that things had ended badly between you two.”

Lexi surprised me by laughing, a genuine laugh and her head thrown back. “That’s what he said? If you consider him nearly killing me then yeah, it ended ‘badly’, sure!”

I felt a strange shudder go down my spine, goosebumps beginning to rise on my arms. “What?”

She stopped laughing, a small smile still toying on her lips as she leaned forward, as if she was worried someone would overhear her.

“There’s kinky, then there’s him. It wasn’t on purpose, he just gets…” She paused for a second as if she were trying to find the right words before settling on, “Lost in it. You just need to be careful with him. I’m not saying break up with him or anything, that’s not what this is. He’s just not right.”

“You keep saying that yet you won’t go into specifics.” I argued. As she looked at me, I could tell she’d noticed the slight waver in my body language, how on edge I was becoming. I did my best to mask it, but to no avail.

“So what, you don’t believe me?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, more sad than anything. I could see the genuine worry and concern she had for me, some girl she didn’t even know. It was disconcerting as Hell and made the doubt in my mind gradually become more and more overwhelming.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I don’t know you. But I know him. He’s not the same stupid eighteen-year-old high schooler that you loved.”

“He never loved me, Dahlia. I don’t even think he’s even capable of it.”

Lexi shook her head. I could see in her face that she’d admitted defeat, and I didn’t blame her. I was so infatuated with him, I really don’t think there’s anything she could have said at that moment.

Looking back at it now, I didn’t deal with the Lexi thing in the right way. She told me all these things about Mickey, but I’d made the decision to repress and ignore because that’s the only way I could deal with it. I couldn’t believe for a second that Mickey would’ve hurt me. Surprisingly, I was right. He didn’t set out to hurt me in the end, but that’s exactly what he did.

“Look, I can’t stick around to change your mind, I don’t want to bump into him, but-“ Lexi grabbed her purse, pulling out a small piece of paper and a pen before she scribbled down a phone number with an L above it and stood up from the seat, “- Call me if you need me, okay? I know you don’t know me, but I don’t want anyone to go through what I did with Mickey.”

I looked at her beautiful face for a second before my eyes dropped to the paper she held outstretched to me in her hand. Furthermore, I hesitated for a moment before taking it, feeling a weird sense of betrayal the moment my fingers closed around the paper.

“I should go.” She walked toward the door, pausing for a minute to turn and look at me again. “You seem like a sweet girl, I get what he sees in you. Good luck, Dahlia.”

In Lexi’s eyes, I could see that she wanted to say something else, but she decided not to.

The moment she left, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and wrapped my arms around myself.

Mickey’s ex-girlfriend making the effort to track me down after receiving a phone call from some chick named Debbie was naturally not sitting right with me, not at all. I felt the same wave of unease flutter over me, and I shivered as I stared toward the door after her, unsure of what I was going to tell Mickey.

I couldn’t tell him that his ex dropped by, that would be weird. But at the same time, didn’t he have the right to know? Wouldn’t that be a good way to know if he was hiding something?

I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket, scrolling through my contacts until I found his name. My finger hesitated over the call button before I sighed, dropping my phone onto the table with a clatter.

If I wasn’t worried, if I had complete trust in him, why was the thought of telling him about this making me feel like I wanted to throw up?

The sound of my phone vibrating made me jump, “Jesus Christ,” I muttered before picking it up, seeing Mickey’s name printed across the small screen.

Another moment of hesitation before I tentatively answered, clearing my throat before speaking.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dahli, sorry about earlier, you caught me at a bad time. I didn’t mean to be rude.” He sounded a little breathless, the strange excitement Lexi had described evident in his tone.

“No, it’s fine.” I tried keeping my voice even, not wanting him to catch on that something was wrong. I knew that conversation would be a headache, and over the phone wasn’t the right time to talk.

“Are you alright? You sound weird.” Mickey’s voice changed, a suspicious edge lingering in his words. Fuck, he knew me too well.

“No, no, I’m fine. Sorry, was just about to, uh, take a shower when you called.” I was a terrible liar but lucky for me, Mickey seemed too lost in his own distractions to notice.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm.” I rolled my eyes at myself before clearing my throat again. “Yeah, I’m sure. I just miss you, you know?”

“I miss you too.” His voice changed again, back to the somewhat giddy undertone. I couldn’t help but wonder why he seemed to be in such a good mood. “I wanted to call and tell you that I’ve done what I needed to do quicker than I expected, so I’m on my way home. I’ll be about an hour, I’ll come by your dorm?”

I glanced at the door and down to the piece of paper with Lexi’s phone number on my table. I had an hour to get myself together because I had no doubt he’d see past my feeble attempts of lying.

“Yeah, that sounds great! I’ll see you soon.” I tried to make my voice light and enthusiastic, and clearly must’ve been at least halfway convincing enough because the phone call ended happily enough.

As I stepped into the shower, it did the opposite of what I wanted it to. I didn’t feel relaxed, I felt even worse. The hot water was doing a shit job at relaxing my tense muscles, it was like the burning water turned ice-cold the moment it made contact with my skin.

No way could I tell him about Lexi. I didn’t know everything about him, but I knew Mickey well enough to know how angry he’d be that she had tracked me down.

There were too many mysteries and confusions surrounding her arrival. How did she know where my dorm was? How did she know I was in a serious relationship with Mickey? Did he hurt her? Would he really hurt me? What if I’d been ignoring the screaming red flags because I needed him so badly?

He brought me back to life. When I came to Windsor, I was an emotionless wreck, a shell of a person who was just surviving rather than living. But he… He built me back up again. In my head, I couldn’t imagine the person Lexi described him to be when he was eighteen. But maybe I’d been completely blinded because of how much I loved him.

I loved Mickey. I knew I loved Mickey, and it was truly terrifying. I couldn’t even fathom the idea that he could hurt anyone, it just wasn’t him. But maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did, maybe none of us did. He’d been an enigma, somewhat of a mystery, since I’d met him. He was very talented at only allowing people to know what he wanted them to. He was so charming and charismatic that it was too easy to see past what he could be capable of.

I was being crazy, right? I knew Mickey. How could I possibly know Lexi was even telling the truth about him? It was easy to think this way, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling that she was being nothing but truthful. The way she spoke about him, she had no ill intent behind her words. It didn’t seem like she hated Mickey or that she was jealous. She never told me that I should break up with him or that he was a bad person, just that there was “something wrong with him”. It was like she was genuinely concerned about what was in store for me.

But the one question that was toying with my mind the most, who the fuck was Debbie, and how did she know anything about me or Mickey?

#i know #two chapters in one week? #who am I? #this chapters a little more intense so tread lightly #thanks for reading! #scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri #dahlia levine #his perfect victim #mickey altieri x dahlia levine

[fatedstrands]

Legato, what is a regret you wish you could undo?

The question from the being catches him off guard, having welcomed his Strands in for the evening sermon in the city they'd paused in, seeing each out with a warmth reserved only for them. The last to leave lingered, clearly asking from a place of pain themselves. At least, that is how the witch had seen it.

He motions for them to join him at a pew of the church, slowly settling on the smooth polished wood. The words still mulled about in his mind, mingling with memories as he touched his arm, where a small human skull rest, cut to fit perfectly on his limb.

"Well..."

Where did he even begin? What of his many failures would he undo? What would he give anything to fix, even if it cost him everything to do it?

He thought of the child, as illness and injury took their life, their pleas to travel, their begging, the soft voice pleading;

You promised I'd see the world when I was older. Please, never let me cease walking.

It was the hardest final plea he'd taken on, when they'd begged to go with him, how he'd carefully cleaned their skull, carved the front plate off and strengthened it with the aid of the God. How that youth still rests with him every day on his arm, a reminder of mortality and life after death.

Lips parted, as if to speak of this memory only for teeth to sink into his flesh as another struck him with a violent ferocity he doubled over. The pain so cruel, so foul like a beast tearing his stomach open to leave his insides bare to the world to rot away.

It was his own failure, as it always was. He'd been caught in the crossfire of pantheons warring, of Gods versus a Goddess with a violent hatred of all things homo sapien.

He'd thrown the wolf from the target of fire, eyes flashing up as pure energy roared like a dragon to his body. He couldn't move fast enough, the Punisher and it's handler having taken all his momentum, he was stuck, drained from his own fight. His threads writhing in his brain matter as blood slipped from his ears, his nose and stained even his teeth as he bared them.

A moment felt like an eternity, the blackened purple energy charging through the air, he found himself welcoming it. His life was over, but his last act was saving a dear friend, giving a chance to those around to make their move. Lips had curved, a serene smile as heat bloomed ever closer, eyes slipping shut with a soft prayer;

Let my death be the linchpin in this fight.

But Fate was a cruel Mistress to the living.

Arms found his form, ready for the end of life, cradling him close as feathers wrapped around his kneeling shape, cocooning him and protecting him from the sudden burst of plasma from beyond. Eyes snapped open, head jolting up to lock teal with gold, confusion turning to horror as he watched blond rapidly bleed black.

Thank you. For showing me that no matter what happens... Humanity has hope.

Words stained his soul, marred his flesh with vibrant cursive and warm geraniums across his heart, gouging his pulse as the memory consumed him now, the world falling away from his awareness.

He remembered the way he'd cried out, begging the other to stop, that he wasn't worth the Angel's life. The vivid memory brushed his cheek, wiping the bloodied tears that had formed, falling as he watched the Divine give everything for him.

Never change, Legato.

Angel burned away and when the energy finally ceased, the wretched scream of the horrid Goddess was nothing on the agonizing silence that soft smile left as his body turned to ash right around the human. It held nothing on the emptiness in his mind that formed as the other's consciousness faded.

It was nothing on the agony in his very soul.

Nor the burn of something powerful threading through his veins, blue lights burning over his plant scars he'd carved into flesh, only to turn a vibrant purple, the shapes morphing into something different, something new.

It held nothing to the rage as he stood, despite the blood, despite the agony of overexertion, despite it all, he stood against the Goddess, with kin alike strewn around in weakened but equally enraged states, converging with a violence unseen.

He came to the present once more, lights burning under his clothes, hidden barely by their weave, hands shaking as tears plipped against the ground whilst his gaze had been cast down between his ankles.

"I lost a... Dear friend because of my own weakness... If I could undo one thing... It'd be letting Him stand in the way of my own demise."

Without you... Where will we go? Where will we turn?

His head snaps up as he feels the faintest brush along his forehead, like a tender kiss of the angel.

To the stars and forward, Legato. Always forward.

That same serene smile found his lips, eyes falling shut in the moment as he let the Strand leave on their own terms.

"I suppose I never truly lost Him... For He will always light our way."

Eyes looked upon the statue, the angel depicted before him as he does in every Strand operated Temple. Memorialized in his sacrifice for the hope of Humanity and Plant alike;

Vash the Stampede.

#bishopinblue #v//the faith and the fighter (legato bluesummers) #lore//the faith and the fighter (legato bluesummers) #So the playlist that inspired this pain #It began with Smash Into Pieces Counting On Me ACCOUSTIC specifically #BRIEFLY Citizen Soldier's Limit ft. Lo Spirit because Being held as an angel dies ouch #finally #the moment he stands #Born Again by Black Veil Brides #as he takes on his new faith #his new mission in life #the rebirth of LEgato as Vash's remnants merged with the developing Plant DNA within the devoted #from the Plant Metal he'd shoved into his brain from before he was a teen #The inhuman man vowing to carry Vash's dream of human and plant harmony #even if he struggles to hold the pacifism #this is the start of him holding back on murder and leaving it at maiming #yes there is a dragonheart reference fight me #FUCK YEAH this was fun let's do this again sometime! #The Angelic Choir

[merriclo]

@majoraspades you asked for wip #17 so here ya go!! this one’s abt two Links from my au: Lorule and Oracle. they’re having a talk abt trans stuff. it doesn’t escape me that this is the first bit of writing that y’all are getting abt these guys which is kind of crazy, but eh ahsjkds it’s whatever here y’all go <3

context y’all might need: Oracle is a trans man, but he’s closeted and only out to Lorule, who’s genderfluid. Lo and Ravio are married for “tax benefits.” Oracle lives at the castle with his Zelda and acts as her lady-in-waiting, guard, advisor, etc. Basically they’re just really good friends who are kind of attached at the hip and find every way to spend more time together.

content warnings: very brief/vague descriptions of pain and injuries, dealing with dysphoria

…

Lorule shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore how the medical gauze rumpled under his ribs, or how his sweat-slicked bangs stuck to his forehead, or how horrible he looked.

He was happy to be home, at least. Hylia had been nice enough to set the portal’s opening to right in front of his house after he got halfway mauled by a bokoblin.

Okay, so he was being a bit dramatic. The wounds weren’t horrible (he hadn’t even needed stitches,) but they were bad enough that Wild had sentenced him to the couch, and his head cold only prolonged his stay.

Sighing, Lorule glanced over at Oracle who was stationed in the green armchair, all curled up with a book in his lap. When Wild asked for someone to stay and watch over the ill, he was the first to volunteer, to the surprise of several. Lorule wasn’t sure if he was actually worried about him, or if he just walked to sit down for a while.

Lorule watch them as they fiddled with a ribbon and bit his cheek absentmindedly. The older hero grimaced.

“Stop chewing up you’re cheek,” he said, voice too hoarse to be properly demanding.

Oracle’s eyes snapped up, filling with a familiar snark as they stared at him through their eyelashes. “Not even bleeding out will stop you from fretting, huh?”

Lorule huffed and tucked some hair behind their ear. “I am not bleeding out.”

“Anymore.”

He shot him a glare, though the mix of pain and sickness made it a lot harder to be mad. “The moment Wild gets back, I’m telling them to scold you for chewing again.”

“And I’ll tell them to scold you for not relaxing!”

“I am relaxing!”

Now it was Oracle’s turn to glare at him, though his had much more edge than Lorule’s did. “Liar.”

He scoffed and suddenly became very interested in both the wood and avoiding the wizard’s harsh gaze at all costs. Oracle didn’t make eye contact often, but when they did it was sharp enough to cut, especially when they were right about something.

And, annoyingly, they were definitely right. Lorule had yet to fully lay down or let their hair loose or even change into something more comfortable. It was a miracle Oracle was able to get him to take his binder off, though Lorule’s compliance was more out of fear of Ravio than Oracle. His husband wouldn’t be too happy catching him breaking house rule #7: no binding when badly wounded.

“Just stop chewing your cheek.”

Lorule looked back up at them and, sure enough, they had stopped gnawing at their cheek. He noticed for a moment how long their hair was, even if it was pulled back in the worlds shittiest ponytail.

“Who taught you how to do your hair?” he asked before he could stop himself. Had they not been both ill and injured they would’ve tried to have a little more class, though when they saw Oracle go rigid they regretted saying anything at all.

“Uhm… I did.” their voice got quiet, replacing any spunk they had before with defensiveness. “Why?”

A pang of guilt hit Lorule’s stomach, right next to the scratches in his flesh. He shifted again, and some of hair fell loose from behind his hair. “Oh, well, it just looks a little uncomfortable,” he floundered, trying to justify his words and make them less bitter. He really had to stop prying into other people’s sense of style, even if it really did look uncomfortable.

Oracle’s shoulders loosened a bit and he tilted his head up, looking in Lo’s direction but not quite at him. “Does it?”

Oh, thank Hylia, it worked. He didn’t offend him.

Lorule cleared his throat nervously, then winced at how it accentuated the burning from the nasal drainage. “Yeah, does it pull at your hair?”

He nodded.

“I can help fix that! Here, c’mere.” Lorule patted the cushion next to him, pulling their legs off of it as much as they could without any pain. Oracle obliged, albeit a bit reluctantly. Their position must’ve been comfortable despite how unbearable it looked. That, or they were hesitant to let a sick person do their hair.

Lorule repositioned themself again and loosened the blue ribbon in Oracle’s hair. It was sweet how he wore his Zelda’s favorite color so often, they really were adorably close. Oracle’s hair slipped from its confinement, falling against his back in a long, pink curtain.

Seeing it up close, Lorule finally understood just how fucked up the kid’s hair was. Didn’t he work in castle? Surely, his Zelda wouldn’t allow her right hand man to go around with such a scraggly haircut?

He had to bite his tongue to stop from asking. Really, he had to get his nose out of other people’s business. He remembered so clearly how it felt to be torn to shreds in Hytopia. It was horrible, no matter how justified it was. He had no right to put someone else through that, didn’t want to put someone else through that.

Oracle shifted under Lorule’s hands as he combed his fingers through his hair. To Lorule’s surprise, there weren’t that many knots, and the ones that were there were relatively easy to break through. It felt healthy and had a good sheen, too. Lorule smiled to themself. Even if the kid had no clue how to style it, at least they knew how to care for it.

Oracle couldn’t help but be a bit sheepish under the attention. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the sensation. They would never admit to that, though. Never. It didn’t matter if he’d already been embarrassingly vulnerable with the other hero on numerous occasions, some secrets were best taken to the grave.

He wasn’t very good at doing that, however, and the way he melted under the touch Lorule everything. Thankfully, he let it go unmentioned in favor of a different topic.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Lorule said as they worked through the knots, “why do you keep your hair tied back if it pulls?” They couldn’t help but push into their style choices just a bit. But, he wasn’t as crude this time and it was a legitimate question!

Oracle was silent for a few moments, formulating their words as the other hero’s gentle hands continued card through their hair. He mulled over his words for so long that Lorule realized they’d stepped into a sensitive zone yet again. Godsdammit.

“You don’t have to ans—“

“No!” Oracle snapped, body tensing up as they interrupted. They took a breath and tried to relax their shoulders. “No, it’s fine. You can know. It’s just… hard to word…”

Oracle’s tone made everything click. Lorule had only ever heard that tone twice before: when he’d found them sobbing by the lake and when he’d caught them looking jealously at a shirtless Spirit.

Shit. This was a trans thing.

Fucking of course it was. A frown weighed against Lorule’s brow as he realized just how deeply the cold and injuries were screwing up his critical thinking. He really wasn’t in the right state of mind to handle a talk like this, but, like an idiot, he’d already pushed too far and now he had to commit.

His voice was tentative, but croaked on certain vowels.

“You… don’t like having long hair, do you?”

Silence sat between them, and the only response Lorule got was a slight shake of the head.

He bit his lip as he looked down at the hair gathered in his hands. There sure was a lot and it all went down to the boy’s hips.

Another pang of guilt settled into Lorule’s stomach, wrapping its way around his ribs and clawing at his organs. How had he not realized how dysphoric that must’ve been sooner? Not everyone was able to be okay with having long hair like he was.

Another beat of silence, then: “Do you want to cut it?”

“What?”

He was about to die from how small and tender Oracle’s voice was.

“Do you want to cut it?”

In the quiet between them, Lorule remembered exactly why Oracle had come out to only them. “The people of my Hyrule… they’re… not as accepting at this group. I don’t want to risk any slip ups or suspicion,” they had explained, swearing Lorule into secrecy after he’d accidentally found out.

“We can lie. Say it got cut during a battle.” Oracle didn’t respond, and the older hero resigned themself to doing something they never thought they would. “I can make it choppy and uneven so it’ll be more convincing.”

“… What about the rest of the group? They’d know it’s a lie.”

“We don’t have to do it right now. We could wait until we’re back on the road, find an excuse to leave, and come back claiming we ran into a few ‘blins.”

The wizard shifted in his seat and let out a shaky inhale. “… You’d really help me do that?” The poor kid’s voice was cracking and it was obvious he was fighting back tears.

#bc i didn’t write an ending here’s what happens: #they hug and oracle cries it all out and they go through w the plan #oracle and lo come back to camp one day and oracle’s got short fucked up hair. no one thinks it’s a lie #well ok save Traveler but it’s fine ahsjkds he’ll keep ur secret babes <3 #oracle gets their moment of euphoria and all is well #oracle prob loves that it’s all fucked up too. at heart they r a dungeon crawling gremlin who loves lookin messy #i love oracle can y’all tell #what’s that one quote that’s like #‘she’s my darling— difficult and morose but still my darling’ by. i think vladimir nabokov?? #idk but. that’s me w oracle fr. my little fuckass. my dearest baby boy. #i’ll save y’all from a rant abt how much i love lorule too annskdks #sigh i need a writing tag. oh well #Hero’s Call AU

[rockofeye]

Could you tell us a bit about Mambo Marinette? Where she stands in your lineage? Who she is? Do people serve her? Merci d'avance houngan Alex :)

Hello,

Manbo Mayinet is a spirit that I have a lot of hesitation to write about because the internet loves to make things trendy that shouldn't be trendy and people can get really hurt. On the other hand, people are responsible for their own demise and who am I to stand in the way of poor decisions?

Manbo Mayinet is a lwa who walks in the Petwo rite and other Petwo-adjacent rites. She is unpredictable, violent, and can be extremely difficult to deal with, even for experienced manbo and houngan. It's often said that she has no friends, only acquaintances, and that her loyalty is to herself only. She tolerates people, versus embracing them, and her tolerance can be really low.

She is definitely served in many lineages, including the lineage I am initiated in. A lot of times we talk about how we do not ask her to come to us, meaning we do not specifically call her down, but that we go to her which can be literal or metaphorical...either she can decide she's coming down and does so, or when we feed her we go to where she lives in the woods and leave her food for her to eat as she wants.

There are a lot of different stories about her origins and like all things it could very well be 'many stories, all true' because Mayinet keeps her own counsel. The way I learned is that she was caught during the early part of the Haitian Revolution, possibly during Bwa Kayiman, and it's unclear whether it was by other enslaved Africans (as a suspected traitor) or colonizers. She was pregnant, and her child was cut out of her stomach, murdered in front of her, and then she was burned alive. She's sometimes called Mayinet Pye Chech/Mayinet Dry Foot which refers to her skin being burned and possibly even burned off totally. Ti Jean Petwo is sometimes considered her spouse, or Zandor.

She is served and has her place in the regleman, but her service is done on her terms; we go to her versus having her come to us. We do what she likes (mostly); she usually prefers her animals burned alive and her food placed in a tree for her to take when she wants it. It's usually accepted that she'll show herself as an owl, but owls are often feared in Haiti as a sign of a lougawou...they are not considered good omens, and seeing one doesn't necessarily mean Mayinet is pleased.

Similarly, many folks do not go asking her to do things and instead pay attention if she shows up offering to do something. She provided me with an intense amount of healing at two pivotal moments when I was very, very ill. I experienced her as desolate and full of rage and this sadness that was all consuming to the point of annihilation. Like, if she was a living breathing person at that moment, I would have expected her to take her life in that moment.

When she is offended or angry (on someone's behalf or for herself), people get hurt. I spoke with someone once who had decided for some reason to approach Mayinet about their spouse being unfaithful, and the spouse's at-home art studio had a spontaneous fire while the spouse slept on a couch in the studio...they came away with some minor burning and smoke inhalation, and are luckier than luck itself that the didn't die. My husband is familiar with someone who owed Mayinet for work she did on their behalf and had not paid her. Mayinet mounted their head in ceremony and threw herself into the bonfire and refused to leave...when they finally dragged the chwal out, she had third degree burns over most of her body and died at home from her injuries.

I hope this is what you're looking for...let me know if you have more questions.

#vodou #haitian vodou #mayinet

[starship-squidlet]

In celebration of @vikingsevents ‘ Winter Solstice event, I’m finally getting around to posting for what has come to be my biggest fandom of the year!!! I’ve been obsessed with Vikings: Valhalla all year, and have been writing a ton for it—I just haven’t posted anything to Tumblr until now 😅 I’ll be posting a few chapters of the (extremely long) fic I’ve been working on this year, but you can find the full story on AO3 at any time, if you want to know who Brigid and Sveinn are, and how our characters got to this point. This chapter is for the prompt Snow—I know it kind of also meets body heat , buuut I have something else in mind for the 23rd, so stay tuned for that! As always, please let me know what you think of this chapter, and if you wind up checking it out on AO3, feel free to leave a review there and let me know what you think and how you found it!!!

Summary: After the attack on Kattegat, Leif and Harald find themselves on the run—along with their friend Brigid, and baby Sveinn—and spend some time camped out in the mountains while Harald begins to heal from his wounds. As winter snows loom on the horizons, they finally start the next leg of their journey: heading to meet Freydis in Uppsala.

Word count: 3,718

Disclaimer: I do not own Vikings Valhalla, or anything you may recognize from it, but I do own my OCs and this story itself! Also posted to Archive of our Own under the username ChocolatteKitty-Kat.

The morning after Harald woke up, Leif was once again woken by Svein stirring between himself and Harald. In an attempt to make sure Harald wouldn’t fall ill again, they had slept in the same arrangement as the previous nights—Brigid on Harald’s right, Leif on his left, with Sveinn between the two men. Leif picked Sveinn up, careful not to wake the others, and slipped out of the cave, taking the horses with them. They were running out of grass and shrubs to graze on; they’d have to start taking them further from the cave soon. He was walking back with an armful of firewood when the snow began to fall. He stopped and frowned up at the dark grey sky, then looked down at the baby. “Looks like we don’t have much time left, little one,” he sighed, adjusting Sveinn on his hip. The baby whined in response, waving tiny arms and chubby fists and grabbing for Leif’s beard. “I know. You don’t care about snow. Let’s get you breakfast.”

By the time Brigid woke up and joined Leif and Sveinn in the mouth of the cave, there was a dusting of snow on the ground. By the time Harald woke, the earth itself was no longer visible. Leif took two of the blankets to cover the horses with when he went to check his traps. When he returned to the cave, Harald and Sveinn were both asleep again, and Brigid was placing fresh wood on the fire. While he had been gone, she had made a small pile of firewood at the back of the cave. “I don’t want to run out of dry wood,” she shrugged. “We need the warmth from the fire.”

Leif nodded and sat down to skin the rabbits he had snared. He was still working when Harald woke and joined them at the front of the cave, still wrapped in an extra blanket. The prince scowled at the snow, falling heavier now than it had that morning. “We need to leave. This will block the passes, and we don’t have time to go around the mountains.”

Leif shook his head. “No. Not today. You’re still not strong enough.”

“We can at least get started,” Harald argued. “We can’t just sit here waiting around. We need to get to Uppsala, and meet Freydis.”

“I want to find her, too, but if we leave now, it will only be worse for you in the long run,” Leif insisted. “It would be far worse to leave early and have you get sick again, without somewhere safe and sheltered to hole up against bad weather and the cold.”

Harald’s scowl deepened, but he stopped arguing. As Leif skinned and gutted the rabbits he had caught, he passed pieces of meat to Brigid, who stuck them on skewers around the fire to cook. The last of the vegetables she had found were roasting in the coals at the edge of the flame, and she used a stick to keep them rolling and turning so they wouldn’t burn.

“We’ll spend another two days collecting food and preparing for the journey,” said Leif. “The hunting is good enough here, and it’s cold enough now to keep the meat from spoiling. Harald, you keep an eye on Sveinn; I’ll go hunting and fishing, and, Brigid, you can keep foraging.”

“I’ll have to go out further into the forest,” said Brigid. “Out of earshot. I’ve dug up everything edible around here.”

“I’ll stay as close as I can, in case anything happens,” said Leif. “Being so close to the stream helps; what few animals are around frequent it.”

Harald seemed decidedly unhappy about being left behind with the baby, but didn’t argue. He knew he would be no help anywhere else, and that, as Leif kept reminding him, pushing himself would only be worse in the long run. So, for the next two days, they settled into a routine. After breaking fast in the morning, Leif and Brigid would melt away into the forest, leaving Harald and Sveinn alone with the horses. By midday, they would be back with whatever they had managed to catch and gather, and after lunch they’d be gone again. Harald would skin and gut Leif’s findings, roasting meat and roots in and over the fire, and making broth with bones and vegetable skins for Sveinn. He cleaned the pelts thoroughly and laid them out to dry on the floor of the cave, stretched and pinned in place with rocks that they gathered; they didn’t have the time or materials to properly tan the hides, but the cold would help preserve them so they could make use of the pelts, even if only temporarily. Leif used the guts and inedible meat to bait his traps, hoping for larger animals like foxes, and spread the rest as far from the cave as he dared go to keep bears and wolves away.

At night, they continued to sleep in their little huddle. Leif came up with the idea to place rocks heated in the fire under the blankets by their feet and along his and Brigid’s backs for a little extra warmth, as they had to give up two of the blankets for the horses as the temperature dropped even further during the long nights. They wrapped Sveinn in the shawl to sleep in order to keep him warm enough through the night. Harald fashioned some crude needles from small bones, and the three of them used scraps from their old bloodied clothes, the bandages Brigid had managed to scrub at least mostly clean of blood in the stream, and threads unravelled from the edges of these fabrics to fashion a rough shirt for Leif to wear as an extra layer. It didn’t provide much warmth, with seams that gaped between the patchwork pieces, and made of thin cloth as it was, but at least it was something.

The third morning dawned grim and grey, but Sveinn woke them all with his crying. Harald built a final fire in the mouth of the cave to heat up the skin of broth for the baby while Leif and Brigid saddled the horses. They fastened the bags of provisions to Leif’s saddle and rolled up the dry firewood into two of the blankets to strap behind the saddles. The skins Harald had cleaned were laid over the bundles, fur-side up, to help keep them dry. Once they had eaten—a poor breakfast of cold meat and mashed vegetables, chased down with the last of the lukewarm broth so that they could wash and fill the waterskin—they mounted the horses. Brigid sat behind Harald now, letting him guide the horse, but with her arms firmly around his waist just above his wound in order to keep him from losing his balance, a blanket around each of their shoulders, while Leif took the smaller horse, Sveinn fastened to his chest with a harness made from the last scraps of stained cloth, and the final pair of blankets wrapped around them both.

They set off, leaving the cave behind, as the sun began to climb the sky above the clouds. The snow had died off slightly, now only flurrying, but had left enough of a coating to dampen the sounds of the world around them. All that was left to hear was the sound of the horses’ hooves crunching the crisp snow, and their own breath as it left their lungs in clouds of frost. They followed the river for a while, even its soft whispering as it flowed over rocks and other detritus dampened by the snow. It wound up the side of the mountain, but they soon had to abandon its path, not wanting to climb too high.They crossed at a naturally wide and shallow section of water, and then set off due east, planning to use the pass that Kelda had recommended, praying that the snow hadn’t blocked it just yet.

For the first few days, they stopped frequently—every two hours or so—to allow Harald to rest. During these stops, they would forage for more roots. At night, they sheltered at the base of cliffs or under trees, where the snow hadn’t covered the ground as deeply so that it was easier to clear. They used the dry firewood from the cave first, but that went quickly. After that, they gathered what wood they could at night and let it dry near the fire, then bundled it up in the morning for use the next night. Harald tended to fall asleep first, Sveinn nestled in his arm, while Brigid and Leif stayed up later to roast whatever roots they’d been able to gather during the day and mash them to eat later. Leif set snares overnight, often waking to find a rabbit or squirrel caught in them, but they weren’t able to replenish their provisions as quickly as they were eating them.

Harald was strong enough to ride through most of the day by the time they crossed the mountains, and no longer needed Brigid’s help to stay on the horse, so he and Leif switched mounts. Leif found himself grateful for the warmth of another body against his as the days grew nearly as cold as the nights, the snow falling more heavily now. Still, he spent most of the time shivering, and developed a cough that he couldn’t shake. Brigid made tea with the last of Kelda’s herbs, and forced him to sip it throughout the day, even when it had cooled. It helped a little, but Harald made him take the place in the center of their sleeping huddle to make sure he stayed warm at night. Now, they slept with Brigid pressed against Leif’s side, his arm around her back and hers across his stomach, and she would spread her heavy skirts over as much of him as she could. Sveinn would be nestled between Harald and Leif, tucked in the crook of Harald’s arm. The only time they unwrapped the baby from Brigid’s shawl was when he needed to be changed, and they did their best to do that next to a fire whenever possible.

It was over a week before the snow finally stopped, and the weather warmed up ever so slightly. The sun came out again, warming them during their long rides and melting at least some of the snow. This, unfortunately, came to be a problem, as it created dangerous slews of mud under the remaining snow that caused the horses to slip and slide. The only solution they could find was for Harald to ride the destrier, as it was stronger than the gelding, with Sveinn, and for Leif and Brigid to lead the horses, moving slowly to try and find the safest path through the slippery mud. They did their fair share of falling, and wound up covered in mud, soaked from the melted snow, and thoroughly bruised from the falls—not to mention horribly cranky. Overnight, the melted snow would refreeze, turning into even more deadly patches of ice, often invisible under the snow. Brigid slipped on one of these and nearly took the horse down with her when she fell, cracking her head on the frozen ground and slicing her cheek open on a rock.

That night, after Harald and Sveinn were asleep, Leif and Brigid sat by the fire, arms around each other and wrapped in a blanket. Brigid’s cheek stung where it had been cut; Leif had done his best to clean it with a scrap of wet cloth wrapped around snow, but that had mostly just hurt and left the wound raw and aching in the cold. She felt a single tear escape and swiped it away before Leif could see it. Almost as if he knew anyways, he tightened his grip on her, squeezing her even closer to him, and kissed the top of her head before resting his chin on it.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked abruptly.

Brigid snorted. “Hardly.” She remembered the last time Leif had asked that question, and a small smile played across her lips, a flash of warmth blooming in her stomach and chest at the memory. She pulled the blanket more tightly around them, even as Leif shuffled around, wrapping his legs around her hips and resting his chin on her shoulder. He kissed her jaw and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“Better?”

“A little.” Brigid could feel the heat of the fire on her face, and Leif’s body heat against her back, but she could also feel him shivering against her. She pressed herself back into him, trying to share as much of her own warmth as she could, and he seemed to still slightly.

Brigid rubbed her hands slowly over Leif’s legs, draping her skirts over them where they peeked out from under the blanket. He turned his head away and coughed, then turned back to bury his face against her back, his forehead resting in the crook of her neck. A few moments later, he began to hum. Brigid smiled to herself. It had been so long since she had heard his voice like this, and she listened for a while before finally pulling away. Leif released her reluctantly, and she stood, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to stand with her, before reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him down into a kiss. He rested his hands on her waist and stepped backwards, pulling her with him, until they had faded back in the trees, just far enough for a little privacy and tucked under a huge evergreen tree with boughs so dense that the ground beneath it was dry. Leif had to crouch to keep his hair from getting tangled in the tree’s branches and dropped to his knees, pulling Brigid with him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and leaned in to kiss him.

When they broke apart, Brigid rested her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the cold air to float away in puffs of steam. She hiked her skirts up, fumbling to unlace her trousers. Leif helped her, and helped her push them down off her hips. She pulled away, squirming around as she struggled to get her pants off under her skirts and over her boots. Leif had to stifle a chuckle as she grew frustrated, finally falling back on her rear as she lost her balance. She finally got them off and tossed the offending garment aside, then rolled back onto her knees in front of him.

Slowly and carefully, Leif laid back, guiding Brigid on top of him so that she was straddling his hips. Fingers trembling between the cold and her nerves, she hiked her skirts up around her hips, shoving the bulk of the material behind her, then set to work on the lacing at the front of her bodice. While she did so, Leif unlaced his trousers, lifting his hips up to push them down. When he was done, he pushed her hands away from her bodice and finished unlacing it himself, then grabbed onto it and pulled her down until their lips met, hard enough to bruise, as he kissed her hungrily. Brigid felt something sharp against her lower lip and tasted blood as it split.

Leif slipped a hand under Brigid’s bodice and her layers of clothing to take hold of her breast. He massaged it, rubbing his thumb gently over the nipple, and she moaned softly against his mouth. He responded by swiping his thumb over it again, earning another tiny sound.

Brigid’s hands found their way under Leif’s shirt, roaming his torso. She rocked her hips gently, feeling him growing hard between her legs. She pulled away from the kiss, resting her forehead against his to catch her breath for a moment, then kissed him on his cheek before moving lower, tracing a path down his jawline and neck. She paused to pull his shirt aside so that she could continue moving lower, nipping at his collarbone before moving to press kisses along the scars over his heart.

Leif reached down and grabbed Brigid’s legs, pulling them in to squeeze around his hips, then wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her body firmly against his. A moment later, he had rolled them both over, so that Brigid found herself suddenly on her back on the hard ground, staring up at the bright stars peeping through the tree canopy above them. Leif’s hands explored her body, working their way down from her open bodice to under her skirts, where they roamed her bare thighs. He found the heat and wetness between her open legs, and she bit back a moan as his calloused fingers probed her there. She grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists and pulled him down into another rough kiss. His teeth scraped over the fresh split in her lip, and she responded by biting his lower lip and tugging on it as they pulled apart. His eyes sparkled with some combination of laughter and something more mischievous as he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and the corner of her mouth, then down her jaw and neck. She gasped as he bit down where her neck met her shoulder, sucking on the skin hard enough to bruise. One of her hands found its way to the back of his neck, and she tugged out the tie that kept his hair back, tangling her fingers through his curls once they were freed.

She was so preoccupied with everything else going on that she almost didn’t notice Leif slide his finger into her—almost. When he added a second, it was like everything else was gone, and all she could feel was his hand between her legs, fingers curling inside her, hitting all the right places to make her moan and arch her back and grab a fistful of his hair, tugging harder than she exactly meant to.

Leif spared a glance back towards the campsite. The bundle of blankets that was Harald and Sveinn was just barely visible as a silhouette in the firelight. He saw no sign of movement, and didn’t hear anything to indicate that either Harald or Sveinn had woken up, so he turned back to Brigid and kissed her again. He wrapped an arm behind her shoulders, cradling the back of her head and pulling her up to bury her face in his shoulder. “Quiet,” he whispered, using his other hand to line himself up with her entrance. “Ready?”

Brigid nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip on Leif’s hair and shirt as he entered her. He was bigger than she had expected, and moved almost agonizingly slowly as he worked his way into her. While she knew this was to allow her to adjust to him, she almost wished that he would just hurry up and get it over with. She whimpered slightly into his shoulder, and he stroked her hair gently. “Tell me to stop.”

Brigid shook her head, biting her lip to keep further sounds from escaping. Leif pulled away and looked down at her. “If it hurts, I will stop.”

“No,” Brigid managed. “Just… slowly.”

Leif nodded, pulling her close again. Once he was fully inside of her, he stopped, holding them both in place while her body relaxed around him. His other arm settled around her hips, hand splayed across her lower back to give him more support. “Are you alright?”

Brigid nodded. “Yes,” she managed a moment later, her voice shaky. Her grip on his hair and shirt relaxed slightly as the burning stretch she had felt as he entered her faded into something far more pleasurable.

Leif began to move, slowly at first, keeping his movements small and gentle. As she grew more and more wet, he increased the speed and length of his thrusts, now sliding in and out of her easily. Brigid moaned into his shoulder, eyes watering as something built in her, below her stomach. He shifted his grip on her hips, letting them rest on the ground again, his hand settling on her thigh and gripping it firmly. Brigid released her grip on his shirt and ran her hand down his side, tugging the shirt up so she could rest her hand against his bare, warm skin.

The knot below her stomach grew taut as Leif began to lose his rhythm, panting in the frigid air. She began to whimper and gasp as the tension inside her built, before it finally burst and she cried into Leif’s shoulder, the muffled sound impossibly loud in the still night air. As she pulsed around him, Leif came, letting out a groan as he finished with a final few thrusts before he finally stilled, still clutching Brigid to him, both of them clinging to each other for dear life and warmth, bodies trembling as their breath rose in clouds of steam, both of them gasping to catch their breath.

Leif loosened his grip on Brigid and pulled out of her before rolling over, letting her lay on top of him. The heat they had created between them was beginning to abate already, and he could feel Brigid shivering on top of him, but he didn’t want to move. Eventually, the fire began to die, taking its light with it, and they reluctantly separated and climbed to their feet. Leif stopped to relace his trousers, and Brigid did the same with her bodice. Once they were collected, and with cold and exhaustion rapidly setting in, they snuck over to Harald and Sveinn, slipping under the blankets with them—and feeling oddly guilty for doing so—to settle in for the night. Leif stared up at the stars as Brigid pressed herself against him, wrapping her body around his. On his other side, Harald was snoring lightly, and Sveinn cooed in his sleep. Overhead, the stars wheeled in the dark sky. Despite the cold and discomfort he felt, he was oddly at peace. If this was their lot in life, at least for the time being, he was glad that they were together for it. Being alone would have been far worse.

#vikins valhalla #vikings: valhalla #leif eriksson #harald sigurdsson #brigid syggisdottir (vikings oc) #sveinn (vikings oc) #leif eriksson (vikings) #harald sigurdsson (vikings) #strange new worlds (vikings) #fanfic #fanfiction #vikingswinter #snow

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Chapter 31-32

XXXI.

OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT.

"London.

"Dearest People,—

"Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel, Piccadilly. It's not a fashionable place, but uncle stopped here years ago, and won't go anywhere else; however, we don't mean to stay long, so it's no great matter. Oh, I can't begin to tell you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I'll only give you bits out of my note-book, for I've done nothing but sketch and scribble since I started.

"I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Every one was very kind to me, especially the officers. Don't laugh, Jo; gentlemen really are very 379 necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait upon one; and as they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to make them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death, I'm afraid.

"Every one was very kind, especially the officers."—Page 378. "Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let alone, so when I had done what I could for them, I went and enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves! It was almost as exciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on so grandly. I wish Beth could have come, it would have done her so much good; as for Jo, she would have gone up and sat on the main-top jib, or whatever the high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and tooted on the captain's speaking-trumpet, she'd have been in such a state of rapture.

"It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's country-seats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It was early in the morning, but I didn't regret getting up to see it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it.

"At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us,—Mr. Lennox,—and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed and sung, with a look at me,—

'Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney?

She lives on the banks of Killarney;

From the glance of her eye,

Shun danger and fly,

For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney.'

Wasn't that nonsensical?

"We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It's a dirty, noisy place, and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a pair of dog-skin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella, and got shaved à la mutton-chop, the first thing. Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton; but the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little bootblack knew that an American stood in them, and said, with a grin, 'There yer har, sir. I've give 'em 380 the latest Yankee shine.' It amused uncle immensely. Oh, I must tell you what that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came on with us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I saw in my room was a lovely one, with 'Robert Lennox's compliments,' on the card. Wasn't that fun, girls? I like travelling.

"I never shall get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was like riding through a long picture-gallery, full of lovely landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight; with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous, like Yankee biddies. Such perfect color I never saw,—the grass so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark,—I was in a rapture all the way. So was Flo; and we kept bouncing from one side to the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but uncle read his guide-book, and wouldn't be astonished at anything. This is the way we went on: Amy, flying up,—'Oh, that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!' Flo, darting to my window,—'How sweet! We must go there some time, won't we, papa?' Uncle, calmly admiring his boots,—'No, my dear, not unless you want beer; that's a brewery.'

"A pause,—then Flo cried out, 'Bless me, there's a gallows and a man going up.' 'Where, where?' shrieks Amy, staring out at two tall posts with a cross-beam and some dangling chains. 'A colliery,' remarks uncle, with a twinkle of the eye. 'Here's a lovely flock of lambs all lying down,' says Amy. 'See, papa, aren't they pretty!' added Flo sentimentally. 'Geese, young ladies,' returns uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo settles down to enjoy 'The Flirtations of Capt. Cavendish,' and I have the scenery all to myself.

"Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked, and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasn't half ready. A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is perfectly splendid; 381 things seem so cheap—nice ribbons only sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in Paris. Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and rich?

"Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while aunt and uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward that it wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so droll! for when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and told me to stop him. But he was up outside behind somewhere, and I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see me flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a break-neck pace. At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said,—

"'Now then, mum?'

"I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the door, with an 'Aye, aye, mum,' the man made his horse walk, as if going to a funeral. I poked again, and said, 'A little faster;' then off he went, helter-skelter, as before, and we resigned ourselves to our fate.

"To-day was fair and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate; and the Duke of Wellington's house is not far off. Such sights as I saw, my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dowagers rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest children I ever saw; handsome girls, looking half asleep; dandies, in queer English hats and lavender kids, lounging about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps stuck on one side, looking so funny I longed to sketch them.

"Rotten Row means 'Route de Roi,' or the king's way; but now it's more like a riding-school than anything else. The horses are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well; but the women are stiff, and bounce, which isn't according to our rules. I longed to show them a tearing American gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high hats, looking like the women 382 in a toy Noah's Ark. Every one rides,—old men, stout ladies, little children,—and the young folks do a deal of flirting here; I saw a pair exchange rosebuds, for it's the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and I thought it rather a nice little idea.

"In the p.m. to Westminster Abbey; but don't expect me to describe it, that's impossible—so I'll only say it was sublime! This evening we are going to see Fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiest day of my life.

"Midnight.

"It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning without telling you what happened last evening. Who do you think came in, as we were at tea? Laurie's English friends, Fred and Frank Vaughn! I was so surprised, for I shouldn't have known them but for the cards. Both are tall fellows, with whiskers; Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their house; but uncle won't go, so we shall return the call, and see them as we can. They went to the theatre with us, and we did have such a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we had known each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his 'respectful compliments to the big hat.' Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it?

"Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks, theatres, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say 'Ah!' and twirl their blond mustaches with the true English lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsense am, as ever, your loving

Amy."

"Paris"

"Dear Girls,—

"In my last I told you about our London visit,—how kind the Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum 383 more than anything else,—for at Hampton I saw Raphael's cartoons, and, at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regular English picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I could copy; also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We 'did' London to our hearts' content, thanks to Fred and Frank, and were sorry to go away; for, though English people are slow to take you in, when they once make up their minds to do it they cannot be outdone in hospitality, I think. The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully disappointed if they don't, for Grace and I are great friends, and the boys very nice fellows,—especially Fred.

"Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland. Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she couldn't say a word; and now we get on nicely, and are very glad he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I don't know what we should do without him. Uncle doesn't know ten words, and insists on talking English very loud, as if that would make people understand him. Aunt's pronunciation is old-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good deal, find we don't, and are very grateful to have Fred do the 'parley vooing,' as uncle calls it.

"Such delightful times as we are having! sight-seeing from morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay cafés, and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy days I spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no soul for art; but I have, and I'm cultivating eye and taste as fast as I can. She would like the relics of great people better, for I've seen her Napoleon's cocked hat and gray coat, his baby's cradle and his old toothbrush; also Marie Antoinette's little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne's sword, and many other interesting things. I'll talk for hours about them when I come, but haven't time to write.

"The Palais Royale is a heavenly place,—so full of bijouterie and lovely things that I'm nearly distracted because I can't buy them. 384 Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didn't allow it. Then the Bois and the Champs Elysées are très magnifique. I've seen the imperial family several times,—the emperor an ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, I thought,—purple dress, green hat, and yellow gloves. Little Nap. is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as he passes in his four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets, and a mounted guard before and behind.

"We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, though the antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Père la Chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are like small rooms, and, looking in, one sees a table, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy.

"Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and, sitting in the balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It is so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there, when too tired with our day's work to go out. Fred is very entertaining, and is altogether 385 the most agreeable young man I ever knew,—except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I wish Fred was dark, for I don't fancy light men; however, the Vaughns are very rich, and come of an excellent family, so I won't find fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.

"Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland; and, as we shall travel fast, I shall only be able to give you hasty letters. I keep my diary, and try to 'remember correctly and describe clearly all that I see and admire,' as father advised. It is good practice for me, and, with my sketch-book, will give you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles.

"Adieu; I embrace you tenderly.

Votre Amie."

"Heidelberg.

"My dear Mamma,—

"Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I'll try to tell you what has happened, for some of it is very important, as you will see.

"The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed it with all my might. Get father's old guide-books, and read about it; I haven't words beautiful enough to describe it. At Coblentz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade. It was a moonlight night, and, about one o'clock, Flo and I were waked by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew up, and hid behind the curtains; but sly peeps showed us Fred and the students singing away down below. It was the most romantic thing I ever saw,—the river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heart of stone.

"When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go laughing away,—to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next morning Fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his vest-pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and said I didn't throw it, but Flo, which seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible again. I'm afraid I'm going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to look like it.

386 "The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden, where Fred lost some money, and I scolded him. He needs some one to look after him when Frank is not with him. Kate said once she hoped he'd marry soon, and I quite agree with her that it would be well for him. Frankfort was delightful; I saw Goethe's house, Schiller's statue, and Dannecker's famous 'Ariadne.' It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more if I had known the story better. I didn't like to ask, as every one knew it, or pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell me all about it; I ought to have read more, for I find I don't know anything, and it mortifies me.

"Now comes the serious part,—for it happened here, and Fred is just gone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite fond of him; I never thought of anything but a travelling friendship, till the serenade night. Since then I've begun to feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily adventures were something more to him than fun. I haven't flirted, mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and have done my very best. I can't help it if people like me; I don't try to make them, and it worries me if I don't care for them, though Jo says I haven't got any heart. Now I know mother will shake her head, and the girls say, 'Oh, the mercenary little wretch!' but I've made up my mind, and, if Fred asks me, I shall accept him, though I'm not madly in love. I like him, and we get on comfortably together. He is handsome, young, clever enough, and very rich,—ever so much richer than the Laurences. I don't think his family would object, and I should be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid one as it is! A city house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as comfortable, and full of solid luxury, such as English people believe in. I like it, for it's genuine. I've seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and pictures of the country place, with its park, great house, lovely grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should ask! and I'd rather have it than any title such as girls snap up so readily, and find nothing behind. I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us must marry well; 387 Meg didn't, Jo won't, Beth can't yet, so I shall, and make everything cosey all round. I wouldn't marry a man I hated or despised. You may be sure of that; and, though Fred is not my model hero, he does very well, and, in time, I should get fond enough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So I've been turning the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to help seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but little things showed it; he never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns at any one else who ventures to speak to me. Yesterday, at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us, and then said something to his friend,—a rakish-looking baron,—about 'ein wonderschönes Blöndchen,' Fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely, it nearly flew off his plate. He isn't one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he has Scotch blood in him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes.

"Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset,—at least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there, after going to the Post Restante for letters. We had a charming time poking about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made by the elector, long ago, for his English wife. I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine; so, while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lion's head on the wall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if I'd got into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar rolling through the valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band below, and waiting for my lover, like a 388 real story-book girl. I had a feeling that something was going to happen, and I was ready for it. I didn't feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool, and only a little excited.

"By and by I heard Fred's voice, and then he came hurrying through the great arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He said he'd just got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was very ill; so he was going at once, in the night train, and only had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minute, because he said, as he shook hands,—and said it in a way that I could not mistake,—'I shall soon come back; you won't forget me, Amy?'

"I didn't promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and there was no time for anything but messages and good-byes, for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know he wanted to speak, but I think, from something he once hinted, that he had promised his father not to do anything of the sort yet awhile, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law. We shall soon meet in Rome; and then, if I don't change my mind, I'll say 'Yes, thank you,' when he says 'Will you, please?'

"Of course this is all very private, but I wished you to know what was going on. Don't be anxious about me; remember I am your 'prudent Amy,' and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as much advice as you like; I'll use it if I can. I wish I could see you for a good talk, Marmee. Love and trust me.

"Ever your

Amy."

XXXII. Tender Troubles.

389

XXXII.

TENDER TROUBLES.

"Jo, I'm anxious about Beth."

"Why, mother, she has seemed unusually well since the babies came."

"It's not her health that troubles me now; it's her spirits. I'm sure there is something on her mind, and I want you to discover what it is."

"What makes you think so, mother?"

"She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father as much as she used. I found her crying over the babies the other day. When she sings, the songs are always sad ones, and now and then I see a look in her face that I don't understand. This isn't like Beth, and it worries me."

"Have you asked her about it?"

"I have tried once or twice; but she either evaded my questions, or looked so distressed that I stopped. I never force my children's confidence, and I seldom have to wait for it long."

Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemed quite unconscious of any secret disquietude but Beth's; and, after sewing thoughtfully for a minute, Jo said,—

"I think she is growing up, and so begins to dream dreams, and have hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowing why, or being able to explain them. Why, mother, Beth's eighteen, but we don't realize it, and treat her like a child, forgetting she's a woman."

"So she is. Dear heart, how fast you do grow up," returned her mother, with a sigh and a smile.

" 390 Can't be helped, Marmee, so you must resign yourself to all sorts of worries, and let your birds hop out of the nest, one by one. I promise never to hop very far, if that is any comfort to you."

"It is a great comfort, Jo; I always feel strong when you are at home, now Meg is gone. Beth is too feeble and Amy too young to depend upon; but when the tug comes, you are always ready."

"Why, you know I don't mind hard jobs much, and there must always be one scrub in a family. Amy is splendid in fine works, and I'm not; but I feel in my element when all the carpets are to be taken up, or half the family fall sick at once. Amy is distinguishing herself abroad; but if anything is amiss at home, I'm your man."

"I leave Beth to your hands, then, for she will open her tender little heart to her Jo sooner than to any one else. Be very kind, and don't let her think any one watches or talks about her. If she only would get quite strong and cheerful again, I shouldn't have a wish in the world."

"Happy woman! I've got heaps."

"My dear, what are they?"

"I'll settle Bethy's troubles, and then I'll tell you mine. They are not very wearing, so they'll keep;" and Jo stitched away, with a wise nod which set her mother's heart at rest about her, for the present at least.

While apparently absorbed in her own affairs, Jo watched Beth; and, after many conflicting conjectures, finally settled upon one which seemed to explain the change in her. A slight incident gave Jo the clue to the mystery, she thought, and lively fancy, loving heart did the rest. She was affecting to write busily one Saturday afternoon, when she and Beth were alone together; yet as she scribbled, she kept her eye on her sister, who seemed unusually quiet. Sitting at the window, Beth's work often dropped into her lap, and she leaned her head upon her hand, in a dejected attitude, while her eyes rested on the dull, autumnal landscape. Suddenly some one passed below, whistling like an operatic blackbird, and a voice called out,—

"All serene! Coming in to-night."

Beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, watched the 391 passer-by till his quick tramp died away, then said softly, as if to herself,—

"How strong and well and happy that dear boy looks."

"Hum!" said Jo, still intent upon her sister's face; for the bright color faded as quickly as it came, the smile vanished, and presently a tear lay shining on the window-ledge. Beth whisked it off, and glanced apprehensively at Jo; but she was scratching away at a tremendous rate, apparently engrossed in "Olympia's Oath." The instant Beth turned, Jo began her watch again, saw Beth's hand go quietly to her eyes more than once, and, in her half-averted face, read a tender sorrow that made her own eyes fill. Fearing to betray herself, she slipped away, murmuring something about needing more paper.

392 "Mercy on me, Beth loves Laurie!" she said, sitting down in her own room, pale with the shock of the discovery which she believed she had just made. "I never dreamt of such a thing. What will mother say? I wonder if he—" there Jo stopped, and turned scarlet with a sudden thought. "If he shouldn't love back again, how dreadful it would be. He must; I'll make him!" and she shook her head threateningly at the picture of the mischievous-looking boy laughing at her from the wall. "Oh dear, we are growing up with a vengeance. Here's Meg married and a mamma, Amy flourishing away at Paris, and Beth in love. I'm the only one that has sense enough to keep out of mischief." Jo thought intently for a minute, with her eyes fixed on the picture; then she smoothed out her wrinkled forehead, and said, with a decided nod at the face opposite, "No, thank you, sir; you're very charming, but you've no more stability than a weathercock; so you needn't write touching notes, and smile in that insinuating way, for it won't do a bit of good, and I won't have it."

Then she sighed, and fell into a reverie, from which she did not wake till the early twilight sent her down to take new observations, which only confirmed her suspicion. Though Laurie flirted with Amy and joked with Jo, his manner to Beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle, but so was everybody's; therefore, no one thought of imagining that he cared more for her than for the others. Indeed, a general impression had prevailed in the family, of late, that "our boy" was getting fonder than ever of Jo, who, however, wouldn't hear a word upon the subject, and scolded violently if any one dared to suggest it. If they had known the various tender passages of the past year, or rather attempts at tender passages which had been nipped in the bud, they would have had the immense satisfaction of saying, "I told you so." But Jo hated "philandering," and wouldn't allow it, always having a joke or a smile ready at the least sign of impending danger.

When Laurie first went to college, he fell in love about once a month; but these small flames were as brief as ardent, did no damage, and much amused Jo, who took great interest in the alternations of hope, despair, and resignation, which were confided to her in 393 their weekly conferences. But there came a time when Laurie ceased to worship at many shrines, hinted darkly at one all-absorbing passion, and indulged occasionally in Byronic fits of gloom. Then he avoided the tender subject altogether, wrote philosophical notes to Jo, turned studious, and gave out that he was going to "dig," intending to graduate in a blaze of glory. This suited the young lady better than twilight confidences, tender pressures of the hand, and eloquent glances of the eye; for with Jo, brain developed earlier than heart, and she preferred imaginary heroes to real ones, because, when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the tin-kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable.

Things were in this state when the grand discovery was made, and Jo watched Laurie that night as she had never done before. If she had not got the new idea into her head, she would have seen nothing unusual in the fact that Beth was very quiet, and Laurie very kind to her. But having given the rein to her lively fancy, it galloped away with her at a great pace; and common sense, being rather weakened by a long course of romance writing, did not come to the rescue. As usual, Beth lay on the sofa, and Laurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing her with all sorts of gossip; for she depended on her weekly "spin," and he never disappointed her. But that evening, Jo fancied that Beth's eyes rested on the lively, dark face beside her with peculiar pleasure, and that she listened with intense interest to an account of some exciting cricket-match, though the phrases, "caught off a tice," "stumped off his ground," and "the leg hit for three," were as intelligible to her as Sanscrit. She also fancied, having set her heart upon seeing it, that she saw a certain increase of gentleness in Laurie's manner, that he dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual, was a little absent-minded, and settled the afghan over Beth's feet with an assiduity that was really almost tender.

"Who knows? stranger things have happened," thought Jo, as she fussed about the room. "She will make quite an angel of him, and he will make life delightfully easy and pleasant for the dear, if they only love each other. I don't see how he can help it; and I do believe he would if the rest of us were out of the way."

As every one was out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that 394 she ought to dispose of herself with all speed. But where should she go? and burning to lay herself upon the shrine of sisterly devotion, she sat down to settle that point.

Now, the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofa,—long, broad, well-cushioned, and low; a trifle shabby, as well it might be, for the girls had slept and sprawled on it as babies, fished over the back, rode on the arms, and had menageries under it as children, and rested tired heads, dreamed dreams, and listened to tender talk on it as young women. They all loved it, for it was a family refuge, and one corner had always been Jo's favorite lounging-place. Among the many pillows that adorned the venerable couch was one, hard, round, covered with prickly horsehair, and furnished with a knobby button at each end; this repulsive pillow was her especial property, being used as a weapon of defence, a barricade, or a stern preventive of too much slumber.

Laurie knew this pillow well, and had cause to regard it with deep aversion, having been unmercifully pummelled with it in former days, when romping was allowed, and now frequently debarred by it from taking the seat he most coveted, next to Jo in the sofa corner. If "the sausage" as they called it, stood on end, it was a sign that he might approach and repose; but if it lay flat across the sofa, woe to the man, woman, or child who dared disturb it! That evening Jo forgot to barricade her corner, and had not been in her seat five minutes, before a massive form appeared beside her, and, with both arms spread over the sofa-back, both long legs stretched out before him, Laurie exclaimed, with a sigh of satisfaction,—

"Now, this is filling at the price."

"No slang," snapped Jo, slamming down the pillow. But it was too late, there was no room for it; and, coasting on to the floor, it disappeared in a most mysterious manner.

"Come, Jo, don't be thorny. After studying himself to a skeleton all the week, a fellow deserves petting, and ought to get it."

"Beth will pet you; I'm busy."

"No, she's not to be bothered with me; but you like that sort of thing, unless you've suddenly lost your taste for it. Have you? Do you hate your boy, and want to fire pillows at him?"

395 Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom heard, but Jo quenched "her boy" by turning on him with the stern query,—

"How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?"

"Not one, upon my word. She's engaged. Now then."

"I'm glad of it; that's one of your foolish extravagances,—sending flowers and things to girls for whom you don't care two pins," continued Jo reprovingly.

"Sensible girls, for whom I do care whole papers of pins, won't let me send them 'flowers and things,' so what can I do? My feelings must have a went."

"Mother doesn't approve of flirting, even in fun; and you do flirt desperately, Teddy."

"I'd give anything if I could answer, 'So do you.' As I can't, I'll merely say that I don't see any harm in that pleasant little game, if all parties understand that it's only play."

"Well, it does look pleasant, but I can't learn how it's done. I've tried, because one feels awkward in company, not to do as everybody else is doing; but I don't seem to get on," said Jo, forgetting to play Mentor.

396 "Take lessons of Amy; she has a regular talent for it."

"Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far. I suppose it's natural to some people to please without trying, and others to always say and do the wrong thing in the wrong place."

"I'm glad you can't flirt; it's really refreshing to see a sensible, straightforward girl, who can be jolly and kind without making a fool of herself. Between ourselves, Jo, some of the girls I know really do go on at such a rate I'm ashamed of them. They don't mean any harm, I'm sure; but if they knew how we fellows talked about them afterward, they'd mend their ways, I fancy."

"They do the same; and, as their tongues are the sharpest, you fellows get the worst of it, for you are as silly as they, every bit. If you behaved properly, they would; but, knowing you like their nonsense, they keep it up, and then you blame them."

"Much you know about it, ma'am," said Laurie, in a superior tone. "We don't like romps and flirts, though we may act as if we did sometimes. The pretty, modest girls are never talked about, except respectfully, among gentlemen. Bless your innocent soul! If you could be in my place for a month you'd see things that would astonish you a trifle. Upon my word, when I see one of those harum-scarum girls, I always want to say with our friend Cock Robin,—

"'Out upon you, fie upon you,

Bold-faced jig!'"

It was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict between Laurie's chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of womankind, and his very natural dislike of the unfeminine folly of which fashionable society showed him many samples. Jo knew that "young Laurence" was regarded as a most eligible parti by worldly mammas, was much smiled upon by their daughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcomb of him; so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would be spoilt, and rejoiced more than she confessed to find that he still believed in modest girls. Returning suddenly to her admonitory tone, she said, dropping her voice, "If you must have a 'went,' Teddy, go and devote yourself to one of the 'pretty, modest girls' whom you do respect, and not waste your time with the silly ones."

397 "You really advise it?" and Laurie looked at her with an odd mixture of anxiety and merriment in his face.

"Yes, I do; but you'd better wait till you are through college, on the whole, and be fitting yourself for the place meantime. You're not half good enough for—well, whoever the modest girl may be," and Jo looked a little queer likewise, for a name had almost escaped her.

"That I'm not!" acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of humility quite new to him, as he dropped his eyes, and absently wound Jo's apron-tassel round his finger.

"Mercy on us, this will never do," thought Jo; adding aloud, "Go and sing to me. I'm dying for some music, and always like yours."

"I'd rather stay here, thank you."

"Well, you can't; there isn't room. Go and make yourself useful, since you are too big to be ornamental. I thought you hated to be tied to a woman's apron-string?" retorted Jo, quoting certain rebellious words of his own.

"Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!" and Laurie gave an audacious tweak at the tassel.

"Are you going?" demanded Jo, diving for the pillow.

He fled at once, and the minute it was well "Up with the bonnets of bonnie Dundee," she slipped away, to return no more till the young gentleman had departed in high dudgeon.

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #Alcott #Little Women

[a-path-diverged-in-the-woods]

Welcome to "My Hero Academia: A Path Diverged in the Woods". This is a living choose your own adventure story featuring Uraraka Ochako. The adventure starts when Ochako meets Toga in the forest at Summer Camp. How will this meeting change this time around? Will they be enemies, rivals, friends or more? You decide.

There will be a poll below the cut at the bottom of each main post. Read the section and vote how you see best. When the poll finishes, new fiction will be posted based on the results of the poll. Each poll will be based on a decision Ochako is facing in the moment. The answers may not always be obvious. Further information is available pinned to this blog.

Now enjoy this tale of two girls, a hero and a villain, meeting again across an interrogation table. Chapter 1, Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 available here.

Chapter 4: Manhunter

Ochako was painfully aware of how little she knew about the current situation the Pro heroes and her friends were about to head into. She didn’t know when the Pros were going to make their move, but she did know her friends weren’t going to wait. Deku, Kirishima and Todoroki were the most proactive people she knew, maybe only behind Bakugo. They were going to act as they saw best. There was always a chance that Yaoyorozu refused to assist them, or another classmate leaked their plan, but Ochako doubted either would happen. Yaoyorozu was someone who was highly critical of herself and always trying to improve. She was similar to Deku in that way. She’d failed to act before, Ochako knew she wouldn’t do so again. Similarly, even those in Class A who were against their classmates going would never turn them in. They all wanted the same thing after all. To rescue Bakugo. She knew they all felt if anyone could do it, it was those four.

That left Ochako in a weird position. She didn’t want to turn in her friends, but she also knew she couldn’t go with them. There was something only she could do though. As soon as she was out of the hospital, she pulled out the business card she’d been given just a few hours ago. After two rings, the phone picked up. “Hello, Detective Tsukauchi? This is Uraraka Ochako. I would like to help and talk to Toga.”

In a pleasant surprise the detective was happy to have her come over immediately. She’d expected him to push things to another day. That spoke to the urgency of the matter. As she headed over, she called her parents to tell them that she was going to go out to eat with a friend. She felt bad about lying but telling them she was going to willingly talk to a villain who had attacked her was not an argument she felt like having at the moment. They told her to have a good time, the stress from the recent incidents apparent in their voice. Her mother was just relieved that Ochako was doing normal high school things. She appreciated that.

When Ochako arrived at the police station she was greeted by detective Tsukauchi. He was talking to a tall, gaunt man in an ill-fitting suit. For some reason he seemed familiar to her. “Welcome back, Uraraka,” said the detective. He looked back to the gaunt man. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up on my end.”

“Same,” said the gaunt man with a nod. He glanced to Uraraka. His eyes were sunk into his head, his gaze one that made her feel under intense scrutiny. “You’re proving yourself a hero young lady. But don’t push yourself too far, you’re still a kid after all.”

Ochako didn’t have a response as the man turned and walked away. Something about him was familiar. Friendly. She wondered if he talked to everyone like he knew them. She couldn’t help but be reminded of Toga.

“I agree with Yagi,” said detective Tsukauchi. “Come with me to my office.” He led her into a side office. He gestured to her to take a seat in front of a large desk, and she did. “Before we put you in the room with Toga, I’ll need to brief you a bit, okay?”

Ochako nodded. She’d love any advice he could give. Her heart was beating wildly at the thought of encountering those golden eyes and hungry smile again.

“So, here’s what we know.” The detective took out a thin file and opened it. “Toga Himiko, aged 16. She’s suspected of being the culprit of several exsanguination incidents where victims have been left weak and drained of blood. The first incident of this was in her final year of middle school when she assaulted a student and drank his blood.”

Ochako shuddered at that. What was she getting herself into?

Detective Tsukauchi gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, but unfortunately the details of this are going to be gory. If at any point this is too much, let me know.”

Ochako shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m good. Please continue.”

He flipped over another sheet. “Since that incident she’s been on the run. It is unknown when she teamed up with the League of Villains, but initial investigation says it was probably recently. It’s highly likely she’ll know little that we don’t, but…”

“But you need to try anyways,” said Ochako. The detective nodded. A question came to mind. “Why is she so obsessed with blood?”

“We suspect it has to do with her Quirk,” replied the detective. He let out a heavy sigh. “But we just don’t know.”

Ochako frowned. “Isn’t her Quirk registered?”

The detective shook his head. “Not properly it seems. It’s rare, but for less obvious Quirks or ones with attached stigma, people will lie on their registration. Her parents listed her Quirk as an increased sense of smell, which seems to be partially true. They’ve refused to talk to us about Himiko. They say she’s been disowned.”

Disowned? Sure, she was a villain, but could parents so easily disown their child? Ochako had a cold pit in her stomach. Something was wrong with this family. “So, her Quirk is related to blood? Like Vlad King?”

“Maybe,” replied the detective. “From your previous testimony the blood found on her person was yours and she was collecting it for some purpose. Whether for her Quirk or another member of the League, we don’t know. That’s one of the things we would like you to find out.” He leaned forward on his desk, fingers steepled together. “What is Toga Himiko’s Quirk? Why was she collecting blood? What are the Quirks of the other members of the League? Where is their hideout? Why did they capture Bakugo Katsuki? What are they planning? There’re too many unknowns that we need answers to.”

A heavy sigh. He continued. “It’s too much to ask a kid to do, but when I question her, she just laughs and speaks in a roundabout manner. There’s been talk of her being sent to Tartarus for imprisonment and questioning. If we don’t get something to work with soon, then I lose custody.”

Tartarus. The word sent a chill through Ochako. The max security prison in Japan famous for holding the worst criminals. A place from which no one ever escaped. Was there really talk about sending a kid there? “Will Toga get a lighter sentence if she tells us something?”

Detective Tsukauchi sighed. “Probably. No promises have been made yet. But I would be willing to vouch for her if she does.”

That meant the villain’s fate was in Ochako’s hands. She fought down her panic. This was too much. She’d just wanted to do something, and maybe tell her friends something useful before they rushed into danger. She wished she could go back to thinking about Toga just as a villain. That would make things so much easier.

“I think that covers most of the facts as we know them,” said the detective. “Any questions?” Ochako shook her head. She had too many thoughts to form a coherent question. “You’re still allowed to back out if you want.”

“I want to do this,” said Ochako. “I just need to see what she knows about the League’s whereabouts, plans or Quirks, right?”

The detective nodded. “That will be enough. Thanks again.” He stood. “Are you ready, or do you need a moment?”

Ochako stood. “I’m ready.” As she’d ever be.

She followed the detective to an interrogation room. He held the door open, and she walked in. There were two guards in the room in opposite corners. In the center of the room was a table and sitting at the side furthest from the door was Toga Himiko. Her hands and feet were bound in chains fastened to the floor. She was in an orange jumpsuit instead of her school uniform, a rather depressing look on her. But she had a wide smile on her face and her eyes twinkled with excitement.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” said Toga. “Did the police threaten you?”

Ochako shook her head. “I wanted to come,” said Ochako. For a moment she thought Toga’s expression shifted, but she blinked, and it was back to the same toothy smile.

“I’d much rather to not bring a kid into things,” said detective Tsukauchi, closing the door behind him. He gestured to the table. “Take a seat.”

“Is it appropriate for men to butt into girl talk like this?” asked Toga. Ochako sat down across from her, and Toga winked at her. “A bunch of perverts, aren’t they?”

Ochako ignored the comment. She was feeling more uncomfortable each moment she spent with the villain and wanted to get right to asking questions. But she knew she couldn’t be impatient. This was too important. So instead, she said, “How have you been since the forest?”

Toga lifted her hands and clanked the chains on the table. “They gave me some not cute accessories to wear. The food was horrible and the bed uncomfortable. Sleeping on the streets is much better.”

“Did you spend a lot of time on the streets?” asked Ochako.

“Here and there,” replied Toga, looking around the room. Her gaze refocused on Ochako. “What about you? You ever spent time without a comfortable bed or running water?”

Ochako shook her head. “I haven’t.”

A smirk. “Of course you haven’t. Someone like you who is loved and cared for.” A flicker of a new expression. “I bet you don’t know what it’s like to go hungry either.”

That comment annoyed Ochako. Toga was always talking like she knew her, but she clearly didn’t. “I have, actually,” said Ochako. Toga looked surprised. Good. “My parents work hard, but sometimes we’ve been unable to have enough work. They fed me first, but I’ve been unable to buy lunch before. Or just kept to water. Anything to help them save money.”

“But you’re still loved,” said Toga.

“I am,” replied Ochako. “I love my parents for all they do.”

“I don’t,” said Toga. “They’re not cute at all.” A laugh. “The feeling is mutual though.” Toga leaned forward on the table. “But enough with the pleasantries. You want what I know, right? Find out and you can give it to Izuku so he can risk his life to save Bakugo. You do that and you’ll prove yourself to him. Maybe he’ll look your way and reciprocate your feelings. It’s nice when someone you love turns your way, isn’t it?”

Ochako wanted to fire back, to yell that she didn’t like Deku like that. But the words were stuck in her throat. She remembered him in the hospital bed, eyes filled with determination. She was here because she wanted to be useful. But what that feeling was based on, she didn’t have the words for. “Can you please tell me where they took Bakugo?”

“Secret.”

“Why did they take him? What’s their plan?”

“Didn’t ask.”

“What about the names of members of the League of Villains and their Quirks?”

“Who knows?”

“Why did you steal my blood? What’s your Quirk?”

“That’s rude to ask a lady.”

Ochako frowned. “Why do you act like this is a joke? Someone is in danger.”

Toga shrugged. “Why should I care? I’m not in danger.”

“Yes, you are,” replied Ochako. Her temper was getting short. “You’re going to go to jail if you don’t help. Do you want that?”

A frown. “Are you seriously so naïve to think I won’t go if I do talk?” asked Toga. “I’m a problem no one wants to look at. I always have been. They’ll lock me up in a dark basement and never let me out. Someone who lives in the light like you will never understand.”

“Then help me to understand,” yelled Ochako, pounding a fist on the table. She forced herself to lock eyes with the other girl. “Please.”

Toga studied her for several moments. The room was silent while she did, the air tense. Then, Toga smiled again. “Sure.” Ochako breathed a sigh of relief. “But you’ll need to tell me something interesting first. And I’ll only answer three questions. I’m tired, after all.”

“Deal.”

#mha #uraraka ochako #toga himiko #togachako #togaraka #path diverged in the woods

[harrison-abbott]

LONELY ORANGE

  A saxophone moans on the radio. Seems about right for the time of night and it’s sad and all that but he’s never been too keen on that instrument. Kinda music that belongs with a cigarette and the celluloid in black & white.

 But it’s not 20th century film; it’s real and modern, 2022 and the world’s all burning. Newspaper’s right in front of him. Tiny violent words in black ink. It’s all literal, too, to the extent it seems like fiction. He sips coffee in between the alcohol. Tomorrow he could get a call back from the doctor telling him his liver is damaged.

 It’s a strange thing to live in fear. Blade Runner quote. Silly, absurd, relevant.

 The track on the radio changes. It’s this drum and bass type thing at first and then this woman comes over the top of it and starts screeching. As if she’s taking the piss and not really singing, but it persists and she just screams for three minutes and there are no words. Sounds like Yoko Ono, he thinks.

 Then there’s another track which replaces that and it’s totally different. And at the end the DJ announces, ‘that was ….., by ….., and ….. by the Plastic Ono Band.’

 Ha.

 Shrug.

 The light in the living room is a lonely orange. Across the street there’s the creepy man who was in hospital for months and everybody thought he’d died cos his house was empty and unlit. Now he walks about with a zimmer frame. He did some creepy things in the past; these erratic tantrums which were seen through his kitchen window; hiding empty wine bottles in the woods … hmm, a creepy neighbour, but maybe that’s just his imagination.

 They probably feel the same way about me he thought and probably know about my deranged drinking too. So why speculate?

 He switches the radio dry and turns the light off and stands in the dark for a while. It’s nearly midnight. He ponders how distorted his mind had become of late – how unattached from the body it now feels, as if the two things have forgotten each other … as if they are uncertain to reconnect. He doesn’t asleep or awake.

 Oh, what am I talking about. Jesus. And goes upstairs to the bedroom. Up the stairs he thinks about this old girlfriend who’d dumped him seven years ago, bitterly; and about his university mate, who’d died three weeks back from a diabetes hypo; and about some high school teacher who flirted with him when he was seventeen in a Japanese restaurant – an act which he found weird and disturbing: thinks about all of these things within the ten seconds it takes to get to the stop of the stairs.

 And then he’s in his bedroom.

 Moths on the walls. Midsummer now. A mixed hush in humidity outside. Bruising clouds in the darkness but no rain. Yet.

 What’s he gonna do if he gets a call from the Doc in the morning? If it brings bad news? Then he’ll have to go through three days of work fretting about his body, whether he’s fucked himself up with his addiction issues. This is possible.

 In the same paper earlier he’d read that there were a record 1000 plus alcohol related deaths in Scotland this year. A thousand doesn’t seem like a lot. He hopes he won’t be a statistic in a newspaper. But he can’t be sure.

 He looks on his phone. One of his old friends, this girl he used to live with: her mum is super ill. And she’s took time off her work/job, to go home and look after her. But, by the tone of the messages (on social media) it doesn’t look like her mother’s going to get better. And it makes him feel ashamed to fear for his own health stuff.

 Because it’s self inflicted on his part and mostly likely not for this other person. He’s being selfish and he doesn’t have it nearly as poor as other people. Poor isn’t the right word, even. As horrible, as bleak. He should just change his abusive lifestyle and be a fuckin man. Stop winging.

 His room’s stuffed with books and all their papery classic colours and he picks one o them up. This one’s by a lady America writer and it’s set seven years in the future from where he is in the present. It’s dialectic and sarcastic and pessimistic. It’s quite tricky to concentrate on (not through any fault of the writing but cos he’s anxious in general) and it takes a whiles to get to the end of the chapter.

 But there’s something about the magic of language that makes him somebody else, takes him to this other world, in a futuristic U.S.A. somewhere and his brain heads there instead and it alters his heartrate. He underlines the phrases he likes, the words that are unusual. And he feels that books are the greatest things and he hopes to inspire somebody else in a similar way, one day, even if he does die from alcoholic liver disease.

 Outside the open window there’s a brief breeze which softly lifts the tired August foliage. Sleepy leaves from the recent heatwave. He will always love his woodland. And he’s afraid, too, that the little river might not be forever; it’s so tiny these days, tinier than it’s ever been, and he wonders whether it’ll ever dry up completely.

 Stress just wears one down. Tires you … so that you end up wishing that you could shut yourself off for a while, in a box, a safe place, and not have to think. Not need to go to sleep knowing that you will wake up again prematurely. And he wishes that he didn’t make so many mistakes in his earlier years, that he hadn’t gotten himself to this point.

 And at the same time he knows the night time is when he’s alive and he still has this accolade. The audio of the trees in the dark.

 He’s not dying. Christ. Has far too many things to do before this fact comes. Who knows how he’ll go. Maybe he aint that special either … so why should he keep going on thinking he’s something to miss especially.

 He hears a gurgling crunching sound out in the street – through that window again. And goes up to the open air and he peers out. It’s that mysterious neighbour across the road. Moving his bins around at one o’clock in the morning. He has these Victorian lights in his garden which beam across the driveway.

 But the body of the neighbour is only seen in fragments. Then vanishes and leaves a silence.

 Stories persevere.

 And many never have clean endings.

#blog story #diary entry #short story