why was i not at the opening ceremony

Sunday Morning

Summary: A young man and a young woman run into one another on a Sunday morning at a coffee shop, both of them heartbroken, and rediscover what it means to love and be loved. Bucky x Reader 

 Author’s Note: I’ve been working on this one for a bit. It’s basically the feel-good romance no one ever expected me to write (me included) 

 Words: ~2900

Originally posted by writingandcoffeehouse

Bucky used to love Sunday mornings. They were meant for sleeping in, for curling against the soft, tender body that slept next to him.

They’d had five years of Sunday mornings, of her soft sighs in his ear as she stirred from her sleep, bright green eyes blinking sleepily up at him as he kissed her plush, pink lips. Five years of Sunday mornings, of making coffee in a pair of boxers; of her arms wrapping around him from behind, a soft cheek against his bare back. Five years of Sunday mornings, of sitting at the breakfast bar in their pajamas, her thumb wiping jelly off the corners of his mouth.

Five years of Sunday mornings, wasted.

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Patater Week - Day 2

Feb. 7- Proposal/Wedding Day/Wedding Night (1.5K)

“I’m nervous,” Kent says.

“Change your mind?” Alexei teases, only feeling a tiny bit worried. He doesn’t think Kent will actually bail on him, now that they’re both in their suits and the hall is surely packed with their families and teammates. Bittle would cry if anything happened, Alexei thinks. And then skin both of them alive.

But then again, Alexei did see Runaway Bride twice with Snowy, when he was first learning English and someone had the brilliant idea that the best way to learn is to watch all the classic romcoms. Snowy, it turns out, is a big fan of Richard Gere. Kent doesn’t look like he’s ready to bolt, but he did seem skittish, and in the movie, Julia Roberts had been very skittish.

“No, never,” Kent says, taking Alexei’s hands and rubbing his thumb over Alexei’s palms. His hair is already a little mussed, the untamable cowlick threatening to pop back up. “Not about you. I know I’m an ass about a lot of things, but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Good to know,” Alexei says, letting out a breath of relief. “You tell me now, then what you say for vows?”

“Oh, God,” Kent laughs nervously. “Oh man. That’s—that’s the thing. The vows. In front of a bunch of people. I could probably do it. Maybe. You wouldn’t happen to be carrying Xanax on you?” He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck, but his jaw drops when he sees Alexei rummage in his pockets. “Wait, I’m just joking. I don’t actually—what the hell is that?”

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extension line

standalone; nc-17; msr; SMUT, seriously smut, angst, hurt/comfort; set-post Paper Clip pre-Piper Maru; prompt was “phone sex”. This is phone sex.

A/N: Last time I told people not to read something in public I got a bunch of folks reading it at work. But hey this is heavy NC-17. Don’t read it in public. Or do I guess I can’t tell you want to do. 

A/N2: I told myself I wasn’t going to post this this week because I didn’t want to detract from my very unsexy casefile fic. I’m compromising with a shameless self-promotion. Cool off by reading my casefile! 


He can’t move without knocking over paper. Open files surround him, stare him down and tell him: You are a sad, sad man. Photos of UFO’s, stark white specks on grainy backgrounds – cones, saucers, the trapezoid (spotted only once in 1947 on the coast of Indonesia by a Dutch tourist drunk off Bintang), domes and disks and winged cigars and his personal favorite, but most implausible: the mothership. Scully would tell him Mulder, you’re crazy. And maybe she’d smile a little, tucking it into her fist like there’s a chance in hell he hadn’t picked up on it and ascended. But maybe that’s more implausible. The last time she smiled at him he had to come back from the dead and hold their boss at gunpoint. Dana Scully is tough to please.

Her sister’s file sits on the coffee table – his copy of it, with the frenzied pen marks and the filled out margins and grease stains where he’d been eating and forgotten to wipe his hands. He’s… technically not supposed to have this. They won’t mark it as an X-File. Shoddy agents doing shoddier work with no clue to what goes on in smoke filled rooms are being tasked with, trusted with, the gravely important feat of bringing justice to Melissa Scully and thereby bringing some goddamn peace to one Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D.

He is tasked with being the bearer of bad news.

In the cosmic light of his fish tank he tries to think about space and nothing else. The mothership last seen in Cartegena Colombia –the city that founded Miss Colombia –did not seem to abduct anybody – was just cruising around – all the cows were okay. And don’t call her she’s at a conference wait until she gets back.

He knows, he knows she is definitely a ‘rip the bandaid off and all the skin with it’ kind of girl. Takes hits stronger than the Federal Reserve. And this isn’t the worst news, her sister can’t die again, but shit. She’s been so… off lately. So angry and unpredictable. Which he likes, just a little, because he thinks he’s probably always needed a friend who also lost a sister to an interminable maze of government conspiracy in space and hates herself for it. It is beyond obvious that she does. He gets it, he lives it every single day of his pitiful life, but he cannot bear to see it in her. He just can’t. It’s like watching your hero die of a horrible disease or a slow motion car crash or the sun dying out right before your very eyes. And yes, it’s possible he has her on some kind of pedestal.

Don’t call her, he repeats to himself, a warning and a mantra. It’s a little funny (see: tragic), because he thinks about calling her pretty often now, tragic details about murdered siblings aside. She’s hilarious and throaty and way more willing to talk to him about his favorite science fiction technologies at night, way more willing to weigh in on whether they’ll actually be possible in the near future. On the phone she is wearing sweaters with her hair pulled back drinking a glass of wine and thinking only about what’s going to happen when she sees him in the office tomorrow, where they’re going to go. Don’t call her.

She calls him.

He’s kind of knocked on his ass. Papers go flying when he scrambles to answer the phone and a glass of tea almost spills all over Melissa’s smiling face. He rights the cup before answering, whisking the file away and tossing it on his desk.

“Mulder,” he says.

“Mulder, it’s me,” she replies.

“Hey Scully. What time is it there?”

She huffs out a laugh, and it’s nice to hear. “Mulder, I’m in Bethesda. If I throw a rock I might hit the Hoover building.”

“Oh, it felt a little farther than that.” He knows she will smile at this, if only to placate him.

“Three more days, Mulder.” And now he’s smiling. “Three more days and I’ll be back and we can go check out that… what was it again…”

“You’re slacking, Agent Scully. Mass cosmic awareness. A mining town in Nevada – in it’s entirety, I am talking about the whole town – has suddenly decided to do away with coal because of its effects on the environment. These people lived and breathed coal their entire lives, and now they’re suddenly denouncing it?”

“That would certainly explain their distaste. The mining industry is one of the most heavily exploited at the expense of public health. They’re all dying of black lung.” 

“Yes, but would that distaste generally lead to multiple cases of ecoterrorism resulting in the death of four people?” The line remains silent. “Sudden urges to be more environmentally conscious or socially responsible are commonly noted symptoms by alien abductees.”

“You believe the whole town was abducted?”

“I don’t know what I believe, Scully,” he replies, leaning back and rubbing at his neck. “We have to go investigate first. I have my theories.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” It’s fond, fonder than she’d let herself be were they face to face. He is glad they are not.

“Scully,” he says. Her full attention is like a physical feeling. It’s almost like she’s breathing down his neck. “Scully, I have some news. About Melissa.”  The mood changes and that, that is like a physical feeling, too. He’s had her back for five minutes and now he’s lost her again, which seems to be a habit for him.

“News? What news? What have you heard?” In the way all of these cases go Scully has been sanctioned off to the ‘family’ side of things. She’s not an agent here. She hears what everybody else hears, when everybody else hears it. He’d go mad. He has to tell her.

“They have two suspects for her murder,” he lets out. He doesn’t need to expand. She’s too smart for that.

“It’s not him.” Her tone is flat, emotionless. “They don’t have him.”

“It doesn’t appear to be,” he says gently. “They’re lackeys. They have a combined IQ of 46. They’re not the kind of men the Syndicate would send to do the job.”

“I sense there is a but.”

“But they are the kind of men They would hire to do this job. Take the place of the real guys in order to escape a harsher fate.”

“You think they’re hired bodies, happy to rot.”

“Their alibis are shot with holes and somehow each of them have a motive,” he admits. “They’re not fighting it.”

The wrong man goes to jail and there will never be justice for Melissa or for Scully. In the hospital room Scully turned to him and told him there was no justice, not at all. He’d like to believe that isn’t the truth. But how could he fault her for feeling that way?

“It should’ve been me,” she says, as if she were saying it’s cold out. Or your mail has arrived. Or what her plans are for this weekend. He is so close to telling her he’s glad it wasn’t that it frightens him. She may never forgive him. Mulder is silent for too long, or maybe she’s just had enough, because she continues: “I didn’t call to talk about this.”

That catches him off guard, and he pulls his legs up with him on the couch in a fit of nervous intrigue. “What did you call to talk about, Scully?” he asks softly.

Silence on the other end, and then a weary sigh. “I don’t know, actually. I’m not sure why I called.”

“Maybe it was good for you to get away,” he offers. “Take some time.”

She laughs, a little bitter and resentful. Not of him, but of life, circumstance, injustice, maybe a little of him. “Mulder, have you ever hung out with a bunch of doctors? They’re not the most delightful bunch.” A beat, and she adds: “Don’t say anything. I know you want to say something. I am telling you not to say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “You’re the most delightful person I know.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“Especially when you tell me to shut up.”

There’s a sound on the other end, like fabric moving against fabric. She’s lying down in her hotel bed with her weirdly formal silk pajamas and a good book on the other pillow, he imagines. But she called you instead. She doesn’t know why she did but she did. She doesn’t want to talk about Melissa. Don’t be a brooding asshole and try and force it out of her. She doesn’t want to talk about Melissa. “How’s your trip, Scully?”

She sighs again, a large rush of air that makes him wince at the volume and the hairs on his neck stand up. “It’s okay so far. Tonight was just the opening ceremony. Wining and dining and formal wear and all of that. I have my panel tomorrow morning.” A little groan plays in his ear, the one she makes when she’s stretching forward with her hands behind her back. “I cannot believe the dress I stuffed myself into tonight. I’m going to be scrubbing glitter off my skin for days.”

“Hey, you never dress up for me.” Has he ever seen Scully in a dress? He has seen her in a bra and panties, and that one time where she had to change in the back of their rental and he told her he wouldn’t look but hey he kind of did. Scully wears thigh highs in the summer and it had been all he could think about for two straight weeks. He’s never seen her in a dress, though. A sparkly one?

“You never take me anywhere nice,” she says dryly. “I think I’ve heard this one. Now you’re supposed to tell me I nag you too much.”

“You nag me too much, Scully. What color was the dress?”

“Why do you want to know?” She sounds faintly annoyed, the way she does anytime someone mentions her femininity. She likes her pants, he likes her in pants. But a sparkly dress?

“So I have a detailed description to regale at the Bureau watercooler. Everyone will be astonished. No one will call me Spooky anymore because I will be crowned king of hot gossip.”

“People will stop calling you Spooky when you stop talking about poltergeists and alien probing,” she grumbles. But she gloriously relents for some unknown reason and tells him, “Green. The dress was green. And I loathe it with a burning passion.”

“Green, huh?” He likes her in green enough. He’d been gunning for blue. She’s got this blue shirt thing that always looks really nice, makes her cheeks look pinker than they are. Don’t talk about Melissa. “What does it look like? What’s the cut?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment; he’s not sure what she’s thinking, the question is innocent enough. But apparently she doesn’t feel that way. “Why the hell do you want to know, Mulder? Are you trying to break in to the fashion industry?”

“Well, tell me about the opening session then,” he says kind of desperately. Scully what the hell do you want me to say? I’m sorry your sister is dead? I’m not sorry it wasn’t you? Conversation doesn’t come easy when you are choked with guilt. Conversation rarely comes easy for them on a good day.

“Long-sleeved,” she answers instead, her voice hard. “Boatneck collar.” He can see it. It looks nice on her. Classic, like an old film star. But then she adds, lowly: “Tight, Mulder. The dress was very tight.”

Oh, he thinks. Oh, shit. What the hell was that.

His voice gets stuck in his throat and it’s just as well – what can he even say to that? He’s too confused to find it sexy, too caught off guard to shock her back.

She does not take mercy on him.

“I got compliments, the whole night.” She continues. Her voice gets deeper and deeper, like a bass guitar, like something important and integral but not necessarily front and center. “Others liked it, I didn’t.” She pauses. He does not respond. “But it wasn’t because I didn’t look good.”

There’s an out, right there. There’s something he can say to bring them back to where they were before. She left it open. I’m sure you did look good, honey, in a stupid southern accent, the only accent he can do. You should model it for me sometime, lascivious and lewd enough for her to roll her eyes and not file a report with HR. He says nothing.

“Because I did look good, Mulder,” she says. “I looked very good. And I’m sad you didn’t get to see it.”

The rasp in her voice is not all sex. There’s longing and pain and grief so deeply embedded it’ll probably be there forever. But there is sex. Good lord, there is sex. And he knows it because he’s never heard it before, not from her. Not in her.

“Scully?” In his voice there is longing, and pain, and grief so deeply embedded it will be there forever. And there is sex. There is sex sex sex. “What are we doing?”

Fabric on fabric again, her too-loud sigh puffing in his ear. This time he winces for an entirely different reason. “Do you want me to, Mulder? Do you want me to dress up for you?”

“I don’t think…”

“Mmm.” His stomach slides hotly, his cheeks go red. That sound felt like a caress. “You could tell me no.”

“I could,” he says skeptically. He wants to giggle. He feels crazy.

“Yeah, you could. You could tell me no.” He should. He almost does. This is Scully, he won’t demean her by convincing himself it isn’t, but it’s not his Scully, it’s not his place, it’s not the right thing for him to do. They’re not supposed to be doing this. His attraction for her thus far had been a latent thing, hidden behind layers of intense need so asexual he at times wanted her to cradle him like a child. “You’re my superior, right? The department head. You could tell me no anytime you like.” Oh, fucking hell. “Or you could tell me yes.” Oh jesus christ. “Tell me, Mulder.”

Latent is not absent. Not a bit. Not even a little bit.

And he is messed up. A lot. A lot messed up. Like the kind of messed up you have to be when you find out in the bullpen your partner slept with not one but two of her instructors and you take an early lunch to stop yourself from beating the hell out of Fred from national security who was a friend to Agent Willis and doesn’t know when to shut his mouth. So you file a complaint for sexual harassment and creating a hostile work environment instead, the only bureaucratic B.S. that ever made you feel good, only to immediately erase your good deed by disrespecting your aforementioned partner so thoroughly you almost paint the bathroom stall a whole new color. That – that might have been when it stopped being so latent. He’s not sure. There were the thigh highs, that day she chose a darker lip shade, that time he almost called her name while amidst the throes of passion with another woman, bedding certain death and his own blood-deep misery. He hadn’t even known then. He thought he was grieving.

He tells her yes. What is he supposed to tell her?

“How tight was the dress, Scully?” he grunts, letting the desire consume his voice. He’s already tugging his t-shirt off, reaching to palm himself through his jeans. This is a routine he understands well. It’s different (he’s not paying for it) but the mechanics are the same, only that his wallet is happier. But his soul, oh god his soul. He’s not surprised to find himself mostly-hard and sticking to his boxers.

“I hate the dress,” she tells him harshly. “I’m not wearing it. I’m wearing a suit.”

Okay, good. Good he can work with that. God can he work with that. He’s worked with that for months.

“Color? Pants or skirt?”

“Skirt, it’s too hot in Nevada for pants. It’s the maroon one. I like how it makes my legs look.”

“We’re in Nevada?” They’re in Nevada. He’s touched. He loves her legs, compact and lightly muscled and so smooth under her naughty little thigh highs. He traces the head of his cock bulging through the denim and lifts his hips in the air at how good it feels just from that. He wants to pull it out. He wants to wait, too. “On the coal mining case? Where?”

“At the motel. It’s not like the one I’m in now.  We’re at one of those dives you always pick. I hate the motels you pick, Mulder”

“I know. I know you do. We need the money for the travel expenses. Are we – are we arguing? Talking about the miners?”

“No,” her breath catches. What is she doing. What is she doing. Licking the tips of his fingers he reaches down to tweak his nipple, pretending it’s her doing it, pretending it’s her nipple and he’s worrying it with his teeth. “No. It’s night time. We’re back and we’re having dinner in my room.” And she breathes out again, trailing into a moan.

“Scully are you – are you touching yourself? For me?” he swallows and thinks to himself, fuck it, unbuttons and unzips and shoves his hand down the front of his boxers.

“Yes, I am,” she says, and she does not elaborate. Fine. He can imagine it just perfectly in his head, decides she’s taking the same route he is. So rarely do they think alike but when they do it’s always brings them closer. She’s pinching her nipples, wishing it was his mouth. She’s cupping her pussy through her pajamas and grinding against her hand for the tease of it. Like he would do it. He likes it slow.

“Eating dinner,” he prompts her. He could take the lead, of course, the scenario is promising and he has ten different ideas for where it might go. But this is her story and she’s trying to tell him something. Maybe one day years later he’ll pick up on it; as for now he just focuses on her voice, on how it starts low low low and rises up with the suspense of a roller coaster, on what she’s doing to herself to make her sound like that, on if she’ll ever let him do it to her.

“Eating dinner.” She repeats. “Chinese. And you’re trying to make me laugh.”

“And you don’t?”

“You’re not that funny,” she says. “Not usually.”

“But sometimes–” he moans and finally pushes his clothes off until he’s completely naked, collapsing back against the couch with guns-drawn urgency. He keeps the phone cradled between his cheek and neck, tonguing his fingers one more time and reaching down to jack himself roughly. “Sometimes you laugh. Sometimes you can’t help it.”

“Sometimes you’re funny,” she shoots back, and he is made stupid with adoration. “I’m taking off my clothes, Mulder. In the motel and right now. I’m taking them off and I want it to be you.”

“It is me, Scully,” he promises. He looks down at his cock, jutting out from a mass of tangled curls and so hard in his large hand it hurts. Would she like it? God would it fit. Yeah it would. She’d have to work at it but it’d fit. “You’re wearing a suit. Your maroon one.“ He pauses to really see it in his head, and his stomach clenches. “I kiss you first and you taste so good I get distracted. I unbutton your blazer. The buttons go to your chest, right? And you normally wear a gray sweater with it.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the one,” she whimpers. He hears – shit, he hears something wet, something slick, and it can’t be but maybe it is. Maybe she’s riding her fingers and pretending it’s his cock because she’s as impatient as him and she can’t help but fast forward a little. In his mind she’s already undressed and his mouth is between her legs. But still, her story, her pacing. “Do you like that one, Mulder? Do you like the way I look in it?”

“I like the way your cute little ass looks in it,” he replies darkly, stroking himself now in earnest. His words come out in short bursts as he tries to form them around his heavy breathing. “I like when you take the blazer off because the basement is too hot and you’ve got that tight sweater on. I want you out of the suit.”

“It’s off. It’s off. All of it. And you’re…”

Completely naked and so fucking hard for you the rest of my body is numb. Thinking about your pretty mouth and clever tongue and the feeling of your hands in my hair. Thinking of dead sisters and shared purpose and extensive therapy. Don’t talk about Melissa.

“Clothed,” she finishes instead and oh, Scully, that’s dirty. “Clothed. I’m naked and you’re fully clothed, and you have me spread out on the bed.”

“I do? Are you like that right now? Spread out?”

“Mm, no, I’ve got my h-hand between my legs and I’m sort of–” she chokes, and he can guess what she’s sort of doing. “Rubbing against it. Mulder are you. Are you?”

“Are you kid– yes, yes. I couldn’t stop with a gun to my head. I’ve been since this first started.”

“You’re always so defensive,” she says, but it’s filled with laughter, until it’s not. “I’m. I’m fingering myself, Mulder. I’ve got. Two fingers. And. Um.” Lacking eloquence, almost incoherent. He wants to see what it’d be like if he was actually touching her. If anyone needs a break from their own mind it’s Scully, and him, of course, but he’d give it to her if only one of them could have it.

“I have you spread out on the bed,” he picks up. His eyes squeeze shut, his fist tightens, his free hand slips down to fondle his balls. “I have you spread out and Scully. Scully. Let me. Let. I want to.”

“What? You want to what?”

“I want to lick your pussy, Scully,” he says in a rush, gritting his teeth. There’s the dim awareness that he’s just kicked it up about ten different levels and she might bail, which is terrifying. What’s more terrifying is how viscerally he wants it, how he’s thought of it in the past but never quite yearned for it so badly, never licked his lips and tried to guess what she’d taste like. “It’d be – so good. I’d make you come so hard.”

“Say please,” she demands huskily. He bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, willing desperately not to come. The mothership soaring over the British Isles in 1975, everyone pissed at the lack of crop circles.

“Please,” he says. The hard plastic of the phone digs into his cheek, and he presses his mouth to it like he’s worried she won’t hear him. His eyes close, his hips roll into his touch. “I want to put my mouth all over you. I want to lick you out until you’re begging me to stop. Please let me do it.” She doesn’t respond for a moment, so he takes the time to listen to what she’s doing on the other end. Shit, yeah, okay, she’s definitely fucking herself. He hears something like a headboard slamming on a wall, a muffled shout. And then finally, finally, “Yes. Yes, you can do it. Tell me how you’d do it.”

her words hold a power Mulder’s never in his life been privy to in another person; it’s the way he’s constantly reminded that it’s her saying them, and the effect this has in him scares him into acting blindly. His body goes hot all over for the fiftieth time as he fucks his fist and thinks about dragging his tongue from the small of her back to the crack of her ass and further down, tugging her labia with his lips and licking the juices off of her thighs. He tells her this.

“I’d do it so sweetly, Scully, and so, so softly. You’d come before you could ever expect it, and then I’d do it again, and again, and again. I wouldn’t let up. You’d have to pull my hair out of my head to get my attention.”

“Mulder, fuck.” He’s heard her say it once before; she’d been cursing out a local cop for calling him a creep. He still doesn’t know why she got so heated. His reaction now is not all that different to what it had been the last time he’d heard it. “Mulder, fuck me. Fuck me fuck me fuck me please.”

“Yeah, Scully, I’ll fuck you,” he hisses. His hand is her wet heat, she’s sinking down on him, he’s got her folded in half on his couch and he’s got her on her hotel bed, the nice one she’s writhing in right now, with her back to his chest and her calf in his hand so he can look down and watch himself push into her. The pressure builds, and by the way she sounds he is positive she feels it too, in the base of her spine and then everywhere else. He’s never wanted to see her face more in his life. “I’ll fuck you so good you’ll never forget it. I’ll fuck you into the mattress. Anything you nee-” he gulps and cuts himself off. “I-I want to make you come. Are you coming? Scully. Scully tell me I’m going to make you come.”

“You’re going to make me–COME–” she shrieks, and that is it for him. His seeds spills out between his fingers and over the back of his fist and he gasps brokenly into the phone, her name, her full name, the name he’s given her, tells her how much he wants her, thanks her, rocks into his fist until it physically pains him, talks her through her orgasm until she’s shaking from overstimulation and telling him okay okay okay okay.

They breathe together until they’re all caught up with their oxygen and their feelings. He keeps the phone against his cheek and his eyes shut tight. He’ll let her speak first. He tells himself, don’t mention how wrong this was. Don’t talk about Melissa. Space. The mothership descends and no one is taken that day and no one is hurt and the cows are all fine.

“Thank you,” she says finally. The worst part is she means it. Oh, Scully, he winces. If he wanted a partner just as messed up as him he’s apparently got it now. He knows, without a doubt, no matter how much he’s already beginning to wish otherwise, that they will never bring this up again. “I think – I think I needed that.”

“You have to leave me a review in the Washington Examiner,” he jokes sleepily. “It’s only fair.” It doesn’t earn him a laugh. But she doesn’t hang up.

“And thank you for telling me about Melissa.” His eyes pop open and he wraps his hand around the phone to press it closer to his ear. “I don’t know… how you know, or if you’re keeping track of it somehow. But I just - thank you.”

“Of course, Scully,” he says fiercely. “Don’t thank me for that. Of course I would. Don’t ever thank me for that.”

“I just miss her so much.” The tears in her voice are frighteningly intimate. He hates that he loves it, that he needs it. “It should’ve been me, Mulder. I can’t stop thinking that. It should’ve been me. Why wasn’t it me?”

Because I am the luckiest son of a bitch alive on this planet, he doesn’t tell her.

Title: I Do… Not

Warnings: Swears

Request: Ooooh a William Nylander pleaseeee :) Whatever is fine :) AND Could you do a Mitch Marner or William Nylander imagine?

Note: Ahhh… Why am I writing all these open ended stories recently? If anyone wants a part 2, let me know and I’ll add it to the list.

Other Parts: (Part Two)

Links: My Master List  and My Current Requests

You could hear the faint chatter of all your friends and family gathering on the lawn. 20 minutes; only 20 minutes and you would be marrying the love of your life. You were chatting with one of your bridesmaids in the bridal suite when a familiar flash of blond hair walked past the tiny window in the door. A smile pulled at your lips, jumping up and dashing to the door.

“Willy!” you called after the retreating figure, cracking open the door of your dressing room. He stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly to face you. “Where are you going? The wedding is that way.” you grinned, pointing down the hall.

“Wha… uh… I was- I was just leaving.” he stammered, nervously running a hand through his hair.

“Leaving? Why?” you asked, furrowing your brow in confusion. “The ceremony is still twenty minutes away.”

“I just, uh… I think I’m coming down with something.” he explained, quickly. His normally bright grin was nonexistent. “I don’t want to ruin your big day.” he said, offering you a weak smile.

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EXO Reaction to the AraSoo wedding

Sometimes I feel like I’m writing Arasoo for myself and for the anon who requests all the Arasoo stuff xD Anyways if you don’t know what Arasoo is you can either go here click or ignore this xD Xo, Admin A~

/I don’t own any of the gifs used, unless stated otherwise/




“Yes.. my predictions were right… I knew this day would come. That gives me the right to be the best man right?” *So confident*


“I’m so happy but poor Suho… he must be crying right now… one of his babies is leaving… let’s go remind him of that” *Never loses an opportunity xD*


“WOHOOO THIS MEANS CAKE! I MEAN YES WOHO WEDDING!” *Let’s be honest Soo would bake a delicious cake or get the best one in the world*


“Everyone’s so happy about this… talking about being the best man… but they haven’t realized I AM Soo’s BEST MAN!” *Sitting quietly watching from the corner as the world goes nuts*


*He’s actually the one who heard the news first by accident* “Oh my… oh my… is he proposing? I have a feeling I shouldn’t be here… oh but this is… oh my gawd he’s goals… I want to be like him when I grow old xD”


*Probably Kyungsoo will make him help with everything* “Someone tell me why am I like the maid of honor? Do I even get the title? Am I going to wear a dress? Pink is my color by the way… no wait… this isn’t right! oh oh I didn’t say anything Soo.. let’ continue…”


*Starts preparing his speech for the day. Doesn’t matter if he’s not the best man, he’ll still speak* “Dear Kyungsoo… I’ve known you since you were a little baby (ok maybe not that little)…”


*He has self claimed himself as the official planner of the wedding but more importantly of the bachelor party*


*Probably won’t be able to recover for a long time* “Why did I tell them… why didn’t I choose to get married in a secret ceremony… they are never going to leave me alone…” *Deep down he loves his boys*


“Kyungsoo’s finally getting married? When? That’s so soon! I haven’t written that special song…. okay gotta go… I have a ballad to write!” *Well he’s in charge of the music so xD*


*He’s sad but happy but sad but happy but sad but happy but proud* “My baby has finally opened his wings and flown”

[Masterlist] [Guideline]

Put A Ring On It

Originally posted by minspink

When two forgetful people get married.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: slight profanity, I guess

Pairing: Jungkook x Jimin

Genre: fluffier than bunkook

Author’s Note: dat gif tho, find someone who looks at you the way jungkook looks at jimin

Song: Bruno Mars’s Marry You

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Keith Moon At The London Olympics

Why does no one remember when Keith Moon had a letter wrote to him by the 2012 London Olympic committee asking to perform at the opening ceremony? The letter was wrote in complete seriousness. His manager responded by saying:

‘Unfortunately, Mr Moon is not available for the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympics as he currently resides in (name of cemetery). He has been there since 1978. If however, you really require him to play, I suggest you conduct a seance.
Kind Regards’

Bad Ideas (M)

Rowoon decides to finally confess to you after you’ve been away for a while, but things take a turn…

Originally posted by jasmine-thirlwall

Protagonists: Rowoon & you

Word Count: 3,3k

Genre: Friend to lover - Smut - Idol!verse

Lyly’s note: Don’t hate me, I wanted to write my first fluffy fic, but it gave me bad ideas… The original title was “Confession”. I know he just debuted, but he’s a 96′ liner and we’re all going to Kpop hell anyway. I’m not even sorry for this one. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) This is a repost from my previous blog! #MyWork


It’s only now that he is in front of your building that doubts start creeping in his head. What if she didn’t miss me? What if she gets angry for dropping by unannounced? He tries to shake off this spiral of negative thoughts by stretching his back and rolling his shoulders. Rowoon looks up at the series of windows where he guesses your apartment is, wondering if you had time to unpack your suitcases.

A group of high school girls pass him on the street and he promptly looks down at his feet, hiding his eyes behind his cap. Why does she have to live so close to a school? He sighs and the black mask he is wearing sticks on his face and mouth. He might as well make a move or go back to the dorm already.

An elderly man carrying bags walks by in direction of the apartment complex and he offers to assist, seizing the opportunity to enter the building. The singer holds the front door and helps the elder get on the elevator with his bags. After a low bow and a short thankful exchange, the doors close and Rowoon is left alone in the hall.

Should I call her? He has a strange feeling about this. He is usually confident, but the closer he gets to confess, the further away you seem.

It was a year ago, he was with Inseong on break between practices when they decided to stop by a coffee shop. They entered and he immediately noticed you, sitting with your long legs crossed at a high table near the counter. The spring sun was illuminating the whole place and time seemed to stay still for a few seconds. You ran your fingers through your hair before bringing them back on your coffee mug, your nails carelessly hitting the ceramic in rhythm.

You were smiling brightly at the guy in front of you and the whole time Rowoon and Inseong waited at the counter, he couldn’t stop himself from throwing glances your way. When he looked at you for the seventh time, your eyes locked and the air stopped in his chest. Inseong saw his face and followed his gaze with a cheeky smile.

“Minwoo-hyung!” He half-yelled in the empty coffee shop. Rowoon reluctantly turned his head and noticed for the first time that the guy sitting with you was working in marketing for their company. His name was Minwoo and he was an American-Korean who was only 3 years older than Inseong. Everyone at the company knew how much of a player he was, basically dating a new hopeless girl every month. A fire began to burn in Rowoon’s chest, spreading to his ears, making them turn bright red.

“Hi guys, I guess you’re on break? You should sit with us while you wait.” Minwoo smiled back at Inseong and gestured the high table next to them. Rowoon sat in dead silence, wondering why their hyung would want them to crash his date. This time he avoided to look at the foreigner girl, staring at the wood design of the table instead. Inseong happily introduced himself in English and you were instantly wowed by his ability.

“I’m y/n, nice to meet you!” He immediately proceeded to ask where you were from and your age, but you just blushed and giggled the questions away.

“You’re Rowoon right?” He lifted his head amazed at the way his name fell out of your lips and sounded so marvelously smooth. When your eyes locked again, he mumbled his greetings in English with a small voice. You stared in curiosity, making it hard for him to form coherent thoughts. “I already know about SF9, I’m sorry if that’s weird”. A nervous giggle climbed your throat and the young man continued to look at you until the barista interrupted with two coffees.

“Do you guys need to go or do you want to stay with us a little longer? Y/n still has time left, right?” Minwoo kindly switched back the conversation to Korean.

“I don’t have to get back to work right away Oppa, it’s alright.” You answered in Korean with a heavy accent.

“Oh, then we also still have time. How do you speak Korean so well?” Rowoon asked politely. He was instantly more comfortable and bold in his own language. Inseong raised an eyebrow, knowing that the younger singer was the one who wanted to go back sooner to the dance studio.

“I’ve been working here for a year, Minwoo-oppa is one of my housemates.” The girl warmly grinned at him, making his heart skipped a beat. I guess they are not on a date then. He smiled back.

I need to tell her. I need to tell her how much I missed her when she was away. Rowoon presses the button to call the elevator down again. He let his feelings build up for a year before being ready to confess, if he waits any longer you might start to seriously see someone. He doesn’t want to end up being just a friend forever.

His fingers are nervously drumming the side of his thighs as the elevators doors open and he gets in. The singer pulls the mask down on his chin and press 12, the strange feeling in his guts intensifies as the lift starts to move. When he gets out on the twelfth floor, he mechanically walks to your place even if only has been there once since you moved. Rowoon barely gets to knock 2 times before you swing open the door and he bounces back in surprise.

Holy shit. She wouldn’t have answered the door half-naked, right? He gulps. His eyes wander on your legs before he looks up, avoiding eye-contact.

Your mouth forms a silent “O” as you register who’s standing at your front door. You just thought the pre-paid delivery was there and opened it without thinking. Rowoon’s gaze caresses your legs disappearing under the oversize t-shirt you threw on. The way he looks at your body longer than necessary makes you blush and you clear your throat before trying to speak.

“I thought you were the chicken!” You laugh to hide your discomfort and stare at him behind the chaos of your wet locks of hair.

“Hu-uum, well I-” Rowoon starts. Oh god, I look like a total mess. Remembering your current state, you panic and interrupt him.

“Did you miss me that much? Is that why you’re already visiting me?” You playfully hit his shoulder, trying to sound has normal as you could, but blabbering nonsense. “I just got back and took a much-deserved very hot bath.”

WHY? Jeez, you hate yourself. The words escaped your mouth before you realized. This isn’t the kind of things you should be saying to your younger male friend. No big deal where you’re from, but Koreans are a bit more cautious with their choice of words.

“Yeah, I know that you just got back. That’s why I’m here.” He frowns. “I mean, the bath is not why I’m here. I didn’t know about the bath. It’s not something I would have known about, right? What I mean is… I’m here to see you…not see you in the bath… But it’s also logical that you would want to wash after the fligh-“ His ears are bright red and he clearly needs help to finish that speech.

“Ok, you’re being weird.” You cut him off, ending both of your sufferings “I’m sorry, I’m not on my more reserved side right now. You want to come in? I’ll behave.” Raising an eyebrow, you open the door wider. You must admit, you’re really flattered to be able to make him flustered like that.

“Wait?! Shouldn’t you put something else on?” Pure panic is perceivable in his voice and he’s staring at his feet seemingly terrified to look up. Why is he nervous like that? He has seen you in your pajama before.

The only time you saw him like that was when you covered HyunA at a karaoke and tried to get him to dance with you. You were so drunk that you kept telling him repeatedly how hot he was. The next day, Rowoon was so uncomfortable he couldn’t meet your eyes, so you lied and said you didn’t remember anything. When you asked to know what you did to embarrass him, he lied too and you both never talked about it again. Great memory there, Soju-champion. A faint blush creeps on your cheeks and when you look down at yourself, you finally get his agitation.

“Rowoon… I am wearing shorts.” You make that statement in the dullest tone and move to the side to let him in. He passes you like a ghost, more dead than alive. A million thoughts run through your head. “Why would you think I’m answering the door wearing only a t-shirt anyway?” You ask trying to ease the tension of the weird atmosphere.

“I-I thought you just threw something on when you got out of the bath, sorry.” His expression is still dark, probably because of the embarrassment.

A quick knock on the door you closed seconds ago stops you from reassuring him and you accept the chicken delivery without further ceremony. When you turn around to move to the kitchen you are surprise to see the singer is still standing in the small corridor.

“I should go now and let you eat.” He asserts hastily trying to get around you and leave. You firmly grab his arms and turn him around. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your face and goosebumps spread on your arms. Rowoon towers over you, his dark eyes looking straight into yours for the first time since you opened the door.

“Then why are you here?” Your voice falls flat in the tiny space. It sounds more like an accusation than the invitation to stay longer you intended.

“I missed you.” Even if he casually said those words to you before, you feel his whisper this time is slightly different, needy. He’s still inspecting your eyes, begging you to answer a question you’re not sure he asked. Rowoon slowly licks his lips, something you know him to do when he’s edgy. Suddenly, it proves to be too much and you pull on his arm to bring him closer. Your lips brush gently against his and you immediately back off keeping your eyes shut.

“I missed you too” …But not in a friend kind of way. There goes a year of self-control, congrats y/n.

Before you find the courage to open your eyes and face him, you are being pushed to the wall. Rowoon’s lips crash on yours again, this time, fiercely. You gasp in his mouth, surprised, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He presses his body to feel you closer and you kiss him back slightly parting your lips. His right hand is on the wall next to your head while his left hand is getting lost in the wet mess of your hair.

You drop the bag of chicken on the ground to get a hold of his shoulders and keep him close. All thoughts about preserving your friendship vanished and you abandon yourself in his embrace. Rowoon’s tongue begins exploring your mouth, so soft and warm that you let out a needy moan. The young singer pulls back astonished and you seize the opportunity to take his black mask and slide his jacket off. Once they’re next to the chicken on the floor, you grab his neck, closing the gap between your lips again. It’s not too long before you’re both panting, your bodies craving each other. Rowoon drops his head, sucking gently where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Let’s move to my room.” When you lightly push him away, he pouts before obediently following you to your room.  He sits on your bed and looks up in awe as you take your shorts off. You’re staring at him, only in your panties and oversize t-shirt, waiting for him to remove his pants.

As soon as they are free, his hands are on your thighs, caressing them up and down. “I love your legs.” He deeply groans while his fingers trail up, exploring your bare skin. “Oh, I know.” You grin and climb on his lap, thinking of all those times you caught him peeking at your thighs. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt, urging him to take it off too.

When his abs are exposed you bite your lower lip and an impressed hiss escapes your mouth. “God you’re hot.” He smirks and pulls you into a kiss. “Hotter than what I told you that day at the karaoke.” He pecks your lips again but ends up chuckling against your cheeks. “I thought it was the soju…” You grab his chin and look in his dark brown irides.

“I have eyes. Did you forget I knew you as an Idol before? I already had a crush and bad ideas about you.” You begin to grind your hips against his in rhythm, making him moan as he firmly holds your ass. Between pants, Rowoon nibbles your neck and his hands explore your body. He reaches underneath your t-shirt to cup your breasts and tease your nipples.

“Bad ideas, hum?” Your wetness soaks your panties with each grind of his clothed bulge against you. “Ro-Rowoon…” After a moment, you start to believe you’ll both come undone like this, but he uses his weight to flip you on the bed. Rowoon blinks, searching for his breath as you remove your t-shirt and stare innocently at him.

“y/n…” His murmur sends shivers down your spine. Slowly, he starts to kiss his way down on your body and his fingers gently touch the wetness through your lace panties. He leaves a last kiss on your right hip before giving you a lustful gaze and tossing them aside.  His thumb slides up and down your opening, spreading your wetness. You fist the sheets of your bed, trying to hold onto reality. He inserts a finger inside you, moving it carefully and gauging your reaction. “Aa-ah, please… Rowoon…” You whine and he adds a finger, feeling a bit more confident. He moves them back and forth, curling them occasionally to look at you curve your back, fascinated. He’s panting laboriously, letting out groans and scattering kisses on your soft skin. The sight of you getting off on his fingers is making him crazy. “Noona… Hum- Is this for real?”

You can’t help but wonder too, the situation seems surreal; the man of your dreams is gently sucking the soft skin of your inner thigh while letting out little moans. His chest is rising and falling in rhythm, his black hair is a mess and his lips are swollen and red. Rowoon is kneeling next to your bed, in-between your legs. 

“Come here.” Your voice is hoarse and you sensually gesture him with your finger. He climbs up the bed to meet your needy lips. “This is real…” The weight of his body is pinning you to the mattress. It only makes you want him more and you grind your hips against his. Rowoon grunts in the kiss and drops his head in frustration. “I don’t have protection; I really didn’t think that we’d-”

“It’s okay.” You interrupt and can’t help but giggle when he thanks God and Buddha as you reach in your bedside table. In no time, Rowoon is fully naked in front of you, rolling down a condom on his length. Leaning on your elbows, you bite your lower lip, appreciating the sight. The corner of his mouth curl up in a shy smile and you notice how red his ears still are. “I can’t believe you’re still blushing.” His black gaze meets yours.

“What can I say; you have no idea the effect you have on me.” His cheesiness makes you laugh and he tries to stop it with his lips while he’s positioning himself on top of you. He begins to suck on the tip of your tongue, prolonging the embrace until you’re both searching for air. The tip of his cock brushes against your folds and you gasp in anticipation but he stops his movements. “Are you sure?” His voice is almost inaudible and if you were a meter away you wouldn’t have heard it. You nod and his eyes scan yours for confirmation. What he finds seems to reassure him because he slowly sinks himself in you, still maintaining eye contact.

After few seconds of immobility, Rowoon starts to move again at a maddeningly gentle pace. “Faa-faster” You beg. He obliges and brings his palm behind your right knee to spread your legs and allow himself deeper. You both cry out when he begins to move faster and harder. The sounds of moans and skin against skin rapidly fill the room and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by your senses. Rowoon plants sloppy kisses on your neckline. You grip his hair and shoulder, his breath and saliva trailing patterns on your chest.

He lets go of your leg to drop his body closer to yours and brings his thumb to your sensitive bud. When it starts to rub little circles, you become even more of a mess, trembling and clenching your thighs against his legs. His name falls of your lips like a mantra and he returns it to you with low animal grunts. He speeds up his pace again, his hips hitting you firmly with each thrust. The mixture of pain and pleasure begins to make you lose all awareness and your orgasm builds up in your stomach. You completely reach your high right when Rowoon cries your name while coming undone. The peak of sensations sends you over the edge. Spasms take control of your body and you abandon yourself to the waves of pleasure. Rowoon collapses next to you, breathing loudly while you both try to regain composure.

After a moment, he looks at you and caresses your cheek with his index. “Are you okay?” You turn your head his way, a bit startled. “Why? Aren’t you?!” He just laughs in response and brings your body closer to his. For a few minutes, you just lay on his chest, feeling the drowsiness settle upon you both, until your stomach protests his starvation. The memories of the rest of the night hit you and you start to worry about what tonight means for your relation. You may have dream of this ever since you met him at the café, but you were kind of hoping for more than a hook up.

“Hum, so you didn’t really tell me why you came here tonight…” You look up to him, but his eyes are closed.

“Oh…” He pauses and then smiles. “To confess.”

“Oh… And how did it go?” Relieved, you chuckle excitedly.

“Hum… I think it went pretty amazing, to be honest!” You both giggle and he lovingly gazes at you through his eyelashes. Was this always this easy? We should have done that ages ago. Before any of you can add anything, your stomach makes a new protest noise and you stand up embarrassed.

“Well I guess the chicken is cold now and I have to wash up again. Care to join me in the shower?” You turn around, ready to sexily wave your hips and make him follow you to the bathroom, but he grabs your hand.

“Wait. We should warm the chicken and eat first.” Rowoon hesitates and bites his lower lip, suddenly shy. “We could get dirty again afterwards, I mean…”  He playfully winks at you. “Why wash up? I want to know all about those bad ideas you said you had…”


Blessings Part Four (Thomas Jefferson x Reader)


Request Queue

A/N-(So I wrote down a good portion of this in a notebook while wifiless in Colorado AND THEN I LOST THAT NOTEBOOK which is also the notebook that had my epic poly fic in it ugh, but anyway I wasn’t gonna post this until I got that work back, but fuck imma just re write it



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prezs  asked:

gency, 25 or 12? either is fine <3

25. Fake Dating/Married

Let’s do fake dating because I’ve gotten another request for Fake Dating Genji and it’s fun!

Genji stood awkwardly with an untouched glass of champagne in his hand as he handed a champagne flute over to Mercy. She took it from him and sipped it, leaning against the wall with her brow furrowed slightly. Genji picked up on some uncomfortable aura around her and then looked out at the crowd of doctors and scientists.

“So these were your peers and associates before Overwatch?” said Genji, looking around and fidgeting a bit with the collar of his shirt.

“Well… to use ‘peers’ loosely,” said Mercy, sipping her drink. 

“Oh because you were a prodigy so you were…” Genji trailed off. He shrugged. “Well.. we only have to be here as long as it takes for McCree to grab the intel. You were not fond of these people?”

Mercy shrugged and sipped her drink. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said, “A bit lonely, I suppose but–” she seemed to notice someone in the crowd and immediately turned her shoulder to the crowd. 

“What?” Genji looked at the crowd, “Talon infiltrator?” 

“Don’t look,” Mercy put a hand on his shoulder and turned him away from the crowd. 

“What?” said Genji.

“I said don’t look! Don’t make eye contact and–” Mercy glanced up and her eyes widened and her mouth drew to a thin line, “Oh no,” she looked off and attempted to sip her champagne as casually as possible. “He sees me. Just look casual and we should–”

“Angela?” A man broke out from the crowd and laughed, “Is that little Angela Ziegler! Look at you! I almost did not recognize you without the back brace!”

Mein gott he’s coming over,” Mercy whispered through a gritted smile as he made his way over, “What have we been doing these days?” she said under her breath to Genji.

“What?” said Genji.

“He’s going to ask what I’ve been doing these days and I can’t exactly say ‘Violating the Petras Act’ so—Lukas! So good to see you!” said Mercy, forcing a smile and tilting her head. 

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Severus Snape X Male!Reader - suppressant.

title: suppressant. 

Alpha!Severus Snape X Omega!Male!Reader
warnings: sexual themes, mpreg, smut ensues
he/him pronouns used for reader
when you see ’–’ it means some time has passed/pov shift
omegaverse au
**au where there is no threat of voldemort
***reader is around 26ish and this would take place during harry’s fifth year

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Lords of Cinder: Farron’s Undead Legion, the Abyss Watchers

This warrior culture of Abyss-hunting badasses is unique in that there is no singular Lord of Cinder among them. All those who aspire to join the ranks of the Legion must undergo a ceremony, as explained by Hawkwood. “The Undead Legion of Farron is a caravan of Undead. Sworn by the wolf’s blood to contain the Abyss, the Legion will bury a kingdom at the first sign of exposure. Joyous bunch, really. Gaining admission to the Legion is a matter of some ceremony. Inside their keep, snuffing out the flames of three altars opens the door to the wolf blood. Even accursed Undead want to believe they’re special, it seems. I pity the sorry souls.” (Hawkwood’s Dialogue). Before I get too far into all of it, I’ll go ahead and pose the three questions.

1. What is their story?

2. Why did they abandon their thrones?

3. Why did they link the fire?

To fully understand the story of the Legion, one must hearken back the Legend of Artorias. Certain facts in this tale shed much light upon the Legion’s origins and purpose.

Long ago, in a town shadowed by the great walls of Anor Londo, a great darkness began to spread. The Primordial Serpent Kaathe taught the town’s Four Kings the art of Lifedrain, a dark magic that allowed Humanity to be leeched from the residents. The Four King’s became corrupt. A lust for Humanity grew within them until the they were shrouded in utter and complete dark. The Abyss.

They were not alone in their quest for Humanity. A cult of fierce warriors learned the art of Lifedrain from the Four Kings an were unleashed upon the town. These warriors became known as Darkwraiths.

Recognizing the dire situation, Lord Gwyn sent an emissary to the town of New Londo. A strong-willed knight by the name of Artorias. It was here that Artorias entered a covenant with the creatures of the Abyss in order to traverse it relatively unhindered. Artorias used this ability to drive the Four Kings as well as the Darkwraiths into the depths of New Londo, earning him the title of Abysswalker.

In a desperate measure to halt the spread of the Abyss, New Londo’s floodgates were opened by the three Sealers. The town, the Abyss, the Four Kings, and the Darkwraiths were buried under the torrent of water. Along with the entire population of New Londo. Artorias’s mission had been a success. But one with great cost.

After the Fall of New Londo, Lord Gwyn acknowledged the prowess of Artorias made him one of his four most-trusted knights. After some time, Artorias gained a new companion, a great grey wolf named Sif.

Sif was only a pup when Artorias was given a new mission. In a nearby land named Oolacile, the Abyss had begun to take root. Princess Dusk had been kidnapped and taken deep into the growing dark. Once word of the ordeal reached Gwyn’s ears, he sent Artorias to rescue the princess and do what he could to stop the new expansion.

Artorias would never return. He battled the Abyss so fiercely that his greatsword had become cursed by it. In an attempt to save Sif, Artorias’s shield was shattered along with his entire left arm. Artorias eventually did defeat the twisted creature lurking in the heart of the Abyss and rescue the princess… So the legends go.

In truth, Artorias became consumed by the Abyss and tainted by its power. He mindlessly wandered the land of Oolacile until he was laid to rest at the hands of the Chosen Undead. It was this Chosen Undead that went on to defeat the shadow of primeval man and save Princess Dusk. The Chosen Undead would be forgotten to the annals of time, but the Legend of Artorias, the Abysswalker, lives on.

Ages have passed, but the world still remembers the tale of one knight that stood against the sightless chasm of the Abyss and overcame the horror within. From the ashes of this fallen icon rose the warriors of the land of Farron, warriors who would take up the mantle of Artorias and stop at nothing to battle the spreading darkness.

There is no evidence to suggest the land ever had a ruler, the Legion simply united under one banner by way of similar ideals. On that same token, there does seem to be a rank system within the Legion.

  1. At the top are the Abyss Watchers, the actual warriors that fight using their unique greatsword-and-dagger style. Their swords are replicas of the Greatsword of Artorias, though less ornate. There is one interesting note about their armor, namely the gauntlets. “Black-dyed leather tied around the arms, with only the left fitted with a gauntlet.”(Undead Legion Gauntlets). Whether or not the singular gauntlet on the left arm is a reverent symbol of Artorias’s shattered left arm or just a byproduct of their fighting style is purely speculative. I like to think it’s the prior, though. What makes the Abyss Watchers the top of the chain is their shared Blood of the Wolf. “The Watchers of the Abyss swore upon their shared wolf’s blood, which also served as their mandates as lords.” (Soul of the Blood of the Wolf). “The blood was spread among the Abyss Watchers, and their souls are one with the soul of the wolf blood master.” (Cinders of a Lord). One can thereby surmise that it is the soul of Artorias that has given the Legion their ruthless drive to purge the Abyss from the lands.
  2. Next down on the list are the acolytes. The acolytes were the Legion’s sorcerers who were trained by one of the Crystal Sage twins. As a measure of assistance, the acolytes would make the Black Bug Pellets that defend against dark damage for the Abyss Watchers. The daughter of the leader of the acolytes was named Heysel and she is an extremely perplexing character all her own. She is stated to be a Xanthous Scholar as well as a Finger of Rosaria for reasons that I have not fully explored yet. The Ghru, the horned creatures that wander Farron Keep, are the descendants of the acolytes. Why Ghrus can also be found in Smouldering Lake is a topic of speculation. Fire is, after all, effective against creations of the Abyss, so perhaps the Legion’s acolytes sought after powerful pyromancies. What better place to find them than the home of pyromancies. Lost Izalith. When the acolytes burrowed into the remnants of Izalith they found only embers of the once-great Chaos Flame. The pyromancies discovered therein, however, had lost none of their potency. It was perhaps the Chaos Flame that mutated the human acolytes into their twisted, lesser-demon form. Smouldering Lake is a large topic and while I’d like to go ahead and dig into it, its meaning to the Undead Legion is mere speculation.
  3. The Watchdogs of Farron. These guys seem to have formed after the Abyss Watchers became Lords of Cinder. While not necessarily outranked by the acolytes, they acolytes precede them on a timeline basis. The Watchdogs are a territorial covenant that ensure the Abyss Watcher are undisturbed. Their covenant master is the Old Wolf of Farron and while the Old Wolf may not be Sif, the two are clearly related as the Old Wolf sleeps in the same position Sif is found in in the Chasm of the Abyss from the Dark Souls DLC. There are two Exiles that defend the entrance to Farron Keep. The description of their armor suggests that they were Watchdogs themselves at some point. 

Another key point on the story of the Abyss Watchers is the land Farron Keep resides on. At first glance, the area is nothing more than another annoying poisonous swamp like Blighttown from Dark Souls. Upon further inspection, however, a few details fall into place. For one, there is a white birch tree here. Sure there’s one in the Undead Settlement as well as the Cathedral of the Deep, but this one is special in that the Crown of Dusk can be found here. If that isn’t enough, a nearby cave contains a chest with the Antiquated Set within which was the clothing Dusk wore. A body in the cave can be looted for the Golden Scroll which can be given to Orbeck of Vinheim to learn the xanthous sorceries of Oolacile. The last clue found in this cave is a large Mushroom Person rooted into the ground with no arms. Elizabeth, Dusk’s godmother, was a Mushroom Person found in Oolacile Sanctuary and, you guessed it, was rooted into the ground and had no arms. There’s more than enough evidence here to say that Farron Keep was built on the old lands of Oolacile and Darkroot Garden (thereby giving the name “Darkroot” a little more meaning).

One last thing to consider about the Legion is their strength as warriors. Exactly how fearsome of an enemy was the Legion? To answer this, it may be wiser to ask how fearsome of an enemy was Carthus. Farron Keep is situated on top of a sprawling dungeon known as the Catacombs of Carthus. Bones of fallen warriors are everywhere here. The dungeon is practically filled to the brim with them. Skeleton warriors, skeleton grave wardens, skeleton wheelmen, entire collections of skeletons that form annoying rolling balls, bones on the floor, bones on the walls, masses of bones stuffed into jars, even the boss of the catacombs is a skeleton himself. This place is more than just a mass grave, it is the dumping site of a pure holocaust. So what exactly is known of Carthus?

“The most obscure pyromancy developed in Carthus of the Sands. Carthus’s aggression has been likened to an uncontrollable fire, and since ancient times its beacon has been used as a signal for war.” (Carthus Beacon). “Ring worn by warriors of the sand kingdom, Carthus. They live for their High Lord Wolnir, conqueror of most kingdoms known to their people.” (Carthus Rings). It would seem that Carthus was more than a formidable foe in battle. Their ruler, Wolnir, was a conqueror on the real-world scale of Alexander the Great and Napolean Bonaparte. “Crown of Wolnir, the Carthus Conqueror. Once upon a time, such things were bequeathed judiciously to each of the rightful lords, until Wolnir brought them to their knees, and ground their crowns into dust. Then the crowns became one, and Wolnir, the one High Lord.” (Wolnir’s Crown). So it has been well-asserted that Wolnir and the armies of Carthus were pretty much the equivalent to Xerxes and the Masked Immortals, but why would that concern Farron’s Legion? “A holy sword eroded by the Abyss. When Wolnir fell to the Abyss, he was gripped by a fear of true darkness, and pleaded to the gods for the first time. This holy sword, together with three armlets stripped from the corpses of clerics, gave him some semblance of comfort.” (Wolnir’s Holy Sword). It has been made very plain that Wolnir had been touched by the Abyss, even the battle with him takes place in the Abyss. It was all the Legion needed to know before sundering an entire empire in an undoubtedly bloody and ferocious war.

To me, the details of the Catacombs of Carthus and all the item descriptions to church up the military might of the desert nation were truly included in Dark Souls III to gauge how violent and ruthless of an enemy Farron’s Undead Legion truly were once the dogs of war were unleashed on the Abyss. Wolf pun intended.

Now, with their background decently covered, the second two questions should fall right into place. Why exactly did Farron’s Undead Legion abandon their thrones? Judging how passionately the Legion battled against the Abyss, it can be assumed that their dereliction wasn’t by choice. While there are a number of possibilities, here is a personal favorite.

Farron’s Undead Legion simply forgot about their duty for the same reason they were so feared in battle. They’re undead. Being undead suggests they could hollow. As one hollows they slowly forget that which drove them. Their motivations in life. Take Siegmeyer of Catarina from Dark Souls. He journeyed from a far-off land to be an adventurer, as adventuring was what motivated him and kept him from hollowing. Siegmeyer eventually became aware of his ineptitude by being constantly rescued by the Chosen Undead. He was also reminded of his failure as a father when Sieglinde caught up with him. Feeling this loss of purpose, Siegmeyer turned into a complete mindless hollow. Much the same may be able to be said of the Legion.

After they linked the Flame and the Age of Fire was extended, perhaps their purpose had been lost as darkness had been driven from the land. With no new frontiers upon which to take on the Abyss, each sought to grow in their own power. Because the Blood of the Wolf was spread among them, its power was likely diminished. Each fragment part of a greater whole. The return to this whole would mean far greater power. A battle broke out among members of the Abyss Watchers. Highlander-style. This is a potential reason why Farron’s Legion abandoned their throne, they had hollowed and no longer cared for anything other than rejoining the Blood of the Wolf into their own singular vessel. No longer do they battle the Unkindled to test the strength of their soul, now they fight because it is all they know.

Also of note are the red-eyed Abyss Watchers during the first phase of the fight. This could be evidence that the Legion had also been tainted by the Abyss.

With all the facts woven with a little speculation, a rough timeline can be established in the same manner as my Aldrich analysis.

At some point in time after the events of Dark Souls, someone stumbled across a cave in a shaded wood. Therein they found Elizabeth. Keeping true to her promise to the Chosen Undead, she recounted the legend of Artorias the Abysswalker to this traveler. Ignited by the tale of the brave knight and the coming shadows of the Abyss, the forest was dubbed Farron Keep and played host to a growing and fearsome army of undead who rallied behind the cause.

Elite among this new Legion were the Abyss Watchers. They vowed to cleanse the lands, keeping the spread of the Abyss from growing for as long as they could, an oath made complete with the Wolf’s Blood. Wars were waged. Kingdoms fell and were buried beneath Farron Keep. The Catacombs of Carthus became merely a testament to the might of the Legion.

Eventually a day came where the growth of the Abyss proved even too rapid for the fearsome warriors. Desperate times now called for desperate measures. The one sure-fire way to fight back the coming dark was to link the First Flame, renewing the Age of Fire. The Abyss Watchers took their Blood of the Wolf to be their mandate as Lords of Cinder. One among them was surely not enough kindling for the Flame, but what if every one of them went into the Kiln? Surely it would satiate the fires for another millenium.

Once they had fulfilled their quest the corpses of the forever-feared Abyss Watchers were relocated to a great masoleum on the grounds of Farron Keep. It was an honorable burial as it was also the final resting place of the mighty Artorias.

The Legion’s acolytes took to guarding Farron Keep along with a new covenant that held the utmost reverence to the deceased warriors, the Watchdogs of Farron. For a time, the soldiers slept peacefully in their graves. Until a call was heard. That of the Bell of Awakening.

Something had changed in their numbers as they rose. It would seem that in their many battles against the Abyss, its power to corrupt had finally caught up to some of them. Their action against this threat was decisive and immediate. Though they had fought many battles side by side, their mandate could not be broken. The Abyss Watchers turned on their own bretheren who had been tainted by the dark Abyss. It would seem as history does indeed repeat itself as this was also the fate of Artorias himself.

As the Abyss Watchers fell at the feet of the Unkindled One, the Wolf’s Blood began to coalesce, revealing the unbridled strength these Lords of Cinder were capable of. Once defeated, only the burnt remnants of their broken bodies remained. Still combustible, but only just. Even in death, the Abyss Watchers could serve their mandate and fulfill their duty.

So that took a little over a week to piece together between work and some other goings-on in my life. That being said, my next post about Yhorm the Giant is going to take a bit longer. I’m in the middle of moving right now and Yhorm is easily the Lord of Cinder I know the least about. I also don’t intend on rushing it. Quality over quantity and all that. Again, if my conclusions don’t seem too sound or if I have some facts messed up please let me know.

anonymous asked:

Ross is becoming so cruel, what with comments like “not every man in Cornwall is besotted with you” and “look elsewhere for a pet”. I’m hating him as much as I did in season 2. (In season 2 he was a fool and an ass, but he wasn’t saying cruel things like that.) I don’t remember Ross being that way in the books. But I know why they’re doing it…to make everyone root for Demelza having a fling

Don’t hate Ross, anon. Just don’t. He doesn’t deserve it.

comments like “not every man in Cornwall is besotted with you”

I was irritated by this first time around, but when I watched it again, I took more note of his tone of voice. He actually doesn’t say it cruelly, he says it with a measure of fondness.

What he doesn’t do, however, is match Demelza’s teasing tone. She is clearly a) slightly flustered by Hugh’s attention, and b) trying to have a teasing conversation with him along the lines of the conversation they had in bed after Ross’s return from Roscoff (about French beauties and whether he partook of them). She’s trying to draw him into that flirty, teasing banter that they’ve shared before. When he dismisses her with ‘I didn’t notice’, she’s the one to say perhaps she imagined it - and Ross doesn’t hear the way she suddenly sounds subdued, and so doesn’t respond to it. He makes a fond comment about not every man in Cornwall being besotted with her, but the implication in that is that he is besotted with her.

What upsets Demelza is that he doesn’t register her intention of flirting, and I think, also, it’s that it comes in the wake of what happened that day: he didn’t want to dance with her and he was so eager to get away from the party (which was, after all, the wedding reception for their dearest friends). Ross dislikes the attention he’s getting as ‘hero of Quimper’, but though I think Demelza knows that, she’s also very proud of him and so can’t really understand why he dislikes it (there is a difference between knowing something and understanding it). And also, she enjoys these events. One could argue that she should accept what he wants and agree not to go to them, but one could also argue that Ross could stomach them and behave better towards her on the extremely rare occasions when he agrees to them in the first place! We are literally talking a handful of occasions across eight years of marriage, at this point. I don’t think she would be asking for the moon in wanting him to at least dance with her when appropriate - though I can also understand Ross feeling that he’s getting attention he doesn’t deserve because of one risky adventure he undertook to save a friend, in the process getting another friend killed. I can see both sides here.

The problem is that they’re just not communicating well enough about it - which is frustrating to watch, both because that’s the same problem they had all through s2, and because by this point in the books they’ve both got a heck of a lot better about actually talking to each other.

On a side note to this - Ross actually does like taking her places in the books. He doesn’t like the events, looks for all excuses not to accept invitations, but he finds pleasure in Demelza’s happiness, and likes that she’s grown more confident. We got a bit of that in the episode, with Pascoe prodding Ross to take Demelza to Tehidy because she enjoys it (hi, Pascoe, Demelza’s biggest cheerleader!) but they could have added in a brief word, say in the entrance hall at Tehidy, between Ross and Demelza to the effect that he’s pleased she’s happy. Not those words precisely, but something to that effect. But that’s by the by, and not really relevant to the point, heh.

“look elsewhere for a pet”

Okay, agreed, that was a particularly harsh comment. Ross ought to have a better understanding of Demelza than that. She doesn’t want a pet, a husband content to do her bidding and acquiesce to her opinion over everything, she wants a partner, she wants her husband to remember that she is intelligent and capable and full of common sense. She doesn’t want him to do what she wants, but she does want him to at least consult her and listen to her opinions. He knows these things about her, he has already accepted and acknowledged her great sense and capabilities - for example, making it clear to everyone that she’s in charge of Wheal Grace while he went to Quimper. So many of the problems they had in s2 came from Ross not respecting Demelza’s intelligence and not consulting her about things - again, it’s not about her wanting him to do things her way, it’s about wanting him to treat her as an equal. Think about that conversation in the barn about building a cache under the library, in s2 - she demands to know how he dares ask for her permission when he’ll go ahead and do it no matter what she says. She’s not angry because he doesn’t do what she wants, she’s angry at the pretence at consultation.

So yes, a harsh comment and completely uncalled for given how well he knows her. However! I have two things to say in his defence.

The first is that Ross, when he’s angry or upset, has a sharp, cold tongue. He does that again and again. To Demelza particularly, but to others also. When he’s hurting, he lashes out and is very capable of finding a weakness and poking at it. Sometimes it’s direct, sometimes less so, but it’s a character trait that is not new. Think about 1.03, when he comes back drunk after failing Jim Carter - ‘If you don’t take it off this minute you can pack your things and go back to your father!’.

Or 1.07: ‘Your ignorance. Your arrogance. Your utter disregard for truth and consequence?’ ‘All I’ve done is make two people happy!’ ‘Oh, Demelza, do not underestimate the scale of your achievement.’

Or even the more casual, less deliberate/more provoked 2.03: ‘Just be careful his uniform doesn’t dazzle you. It has that effect on some people.’ ‘Especially a common miner’s daughter who don’t know any better?’ ‘That’s for you to demonstrate.’ (more provoked in the sense that he doesn’t actually say the words, but he certainly uses them against her).

So yes, this is not the kind of comment that particularly surprises me coming from Ross when he’s hurting and angry and backed into some corner. Unlike most of his comments, it’s not actually particularly based in an understanding of her character, which is unusual, but even so.

And that’s the second thing I would say in his defence: he is hurting. He is angry. He has just had a letter from George Warleggan to say that his great-aunt has died. The last of the Trenwith Poldarks, one of the last connections to a different life, a woman who Ross loved and cared for and respected. And, knowing George, it was couched in the plainest, most unsympathetic terms. Ross doesn’t ever deal with loss well: we know that. Think of Jim Carter, of Julia, of Carnmore Copper Company. Think of his struggle to cope with the loss of more intangible things, such as his idealised love for Elizabeth, and the family bonds at Trenwith. This is not a good day for Ross. Then Demelza comes after him and tells him that George doesn’t mention anything about funeral arrangements. That’s another weight to carry, another bruise to a bruised man, particularly since Ross must know, as we do, that George would never ever allow Ross to actually take care of funeral arrangements himself (and, on that note, George you do NOT get to do that, how on EARTH did Elizabeth not tell him what it would look like in the county, to quietly and without ceremony bury Agatha Poldark?!?! And what about Verity?!?).

And then Demelza raises the issue of the MP nomination going to George, and she argues with him about it. I won’t go into all the whys of why she argues for it, why she wants him to be an MP, because it’s not relevant to the point - which is that this is not a good time for anyone to be prodding at Ross’s open wounds. And one of those open wounds is the news of Agatha’s death, but another is George’s continued inability to just act as if Ross and all those around Ross don’t exist - which is, after all, what he and Ross had agreed to. Ross knows how George treated Agatha. He knows that George likely hastened Agatha’s death. And setting aside his feelings about not wanting to be in a position of having to bow to another man’s judgement, hearing more bad news about George is really not going to produce any other result than it does: Ross grows more angry, more hurt, and lashes out in typical fashion.

As I said, setting aside her reasons for wanting him to be an MP and his reasons for not wanting to, it’s bad timing for Demelza to bring it up then. So don’t hate Ross for it, anon. He’s just…reacting the way he always does. Trying to inflict hurt on others because he’s hurting himself.

I don’t remember Ross being that way in the books. But I know why they’re doing it…to make everyone root for Demelza having a fling

No, in the books Ross is rarely cruel to her. He has mostly grown beyond sharpening his tongue on her, because she can’t cope with it, it destroys her, and he hates doing that to her. But also their relationship doesn’t develop this strain, at this point. The way they were in the early part of the episode? Friendly and loving and teasing, supporting each other? That’s where they are for the vast majority of The Four Swans.

And yes, unfortunately it seems likely that they’re building up to the reasons for Demelza’s infidelity. Her muttered comment of ‘perhaps I won’t have to look too far’ seems to suggest that - using his (in-character) sharp tongue as a reason for her to look elsewhere for some kindness. I don’t want to speculate too much, though. What comforts me is the fact that Hugh Armitage, so far, is absolutely book!accurate. Somehow it comes across so unmistakeably clearly on screen that he is not in love with her, he thinks he’s in love with her. He’s a Romantic, he’s idealistic, he fancies the hell out of her, but he cannot be in love with her because he does not know her. So Hugh’s flattery, his deceit (it is a kind of deceit, to be wooing the wife of a man who he calls friend, a man who saved his life), is absolutely not being watered down. I just hope that it’s not all made so horribly black and white as it seems to be. Demelza doesn’t have sex with Hugh because of Ross. Ross basically has nothing to do with it. It’s her wish to be two women, just for a day - to be Ross’s wife, loving him and happy with him, but also to be able to share her happiness with Hugh, who is young and innocent and who appeals to her physically.

Anyway. I’ve talked about all that before, and I won’t bore you with it again, because this answer has grown quite long enough :D just don’t hate Ross, anon. The only character who deserves your hate is Osborne Whitworth, who is a vile, disgusting creature.

anonymous asked:

Can you tell me the instances where tae called hoseok the most handsome/complimented his looks? I can remember only 4 but I know there are more

UPDATED LIST (18.07.2017.)

Hi, anon. ;) Sure. Here they are, in random order, moments when Tae complimented Hoseok’s looks:  

  1.  V Live: BTS congratulations on 3 million followers (2:45)
  2. Hyung, you’re the most handsome.”  (Bon Voyage Hawaii)
  3.  Hoseok hyung’s looks are 98 out of 100. (BTS Festa - Hobi’s profile written by Tae) 
  4. But, why do you look good the most?” (BTS Festa 2017)
  5. BTS Show Champion Backstage 151219 (5:41 - 6:00)
  6. Full Official BTS Conference - Presented by ‘Asian Pop Radio’ Melbourne, Australia 150712 (0:50 - 0:55)
  7.  BTS on C-Radio Idol True Colors 150307 (0:50 - 0:57)
  8. OPENING CEREMONY : Skit about 2017 FESTA! 170601 (0:31 - 0:38)
  9. BTS Funny Moment: Inside The Bus (Tae-tae Cam) (1:01 - 1:23 and 1:33 - 1:35)
  10. V Live: BTS ‘YOU NEVER WALK ALONE’ Preview SHOW (2:47)
  11. Rookie King Episode 2 (32:26)
  12. “J-Hope, you’re in your heyday.” 
  13. BTS Episode 2 COOL 4 SKOOL Debut Single Jacket Photo Shooting 130612 (3:03)
  14. Mnet Wide Open Studio 130912  (Tae chose Hobi as the most handsome one.) (3:07)
  15. Tae complimenting Hobi / Hobi shy 

Links are included, as well as exact minutes. I hope this is enough, although I’m sure there’s more. Don’t hesitate to remind me, just message me if you remember other moments that aren’t included. 

I love thinking about VHope, so thank you anon for asking this question. :)


Tae teasing Hobi (I’m sure he’s just teasing him)

Originally posted by helloangiemccartney

On Vex's Secret

Okay I know the whole fandom thinks that Vex’s secret is that her and Percy are secretly married but like

I cannot think of anyone LESS likely to secretly get married than Percy? Not only is he unashamedly open to about how freaking much he loves Vex, but he’s a noble. She’s a noble. Them getting married would affect lands and titles and social standing in a way that Percival Fredrickstein von Blue Blood would 120% respect the ceremony of. So many people would have to know about it just to get through all the paperwork. It would be almost impossible to keep secret. Besides, why would they WANT to keep it a secret, especially from the rest of Vox Machina? It’s not like any of them would be surprised. And just imagine how much Vex would enjoy a big, fancy formal wedding party. IMAGINE THE DRESS.

Anyway my whole point is that instead of a secret marriage, what if Vex has a profiDeRolo in the oven?

anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a conversation between queen regent Elia and a returning Arthur over the abduction, Aerys threatening Elia, & the Tower of Joy being in Dorne. Assume Rhaegar and Robert are dead.

She’s put this off long enough, and she’s commanded herself to be calm and detached, but it doesn’t hurt any less when he’s escorted into the throne room. Without his Kingsguard armor and his sword, he seems…less. She hadn’t wanted to put him in the black cells, but failing that she hadn’t known what to do with him either; Doran had suggested confining him to a room, and so she had.

She straightens her posture on the throne, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it is. Aegon the Conqueror had constructed it to be so–and had succeeded. Arthur only glances at her briefly before going to one knee.

“I presume you know why you are here,” she says without preamble. “I have filled six Kingsguard positions, but the seventh…”

Oberyn had pressed her to strip Arthur of his white cloak, and Elia had agreed his transgressions merited at least that, yet she hasn’t brought herself to do it. “I submit myself to your judgment.”

For some reason, his obeisance irritates her. Since they were children, he’d never shied away from voicing his opinions, and that hadn’t changed when she became Rhaegar’s wife either. For all that she’d planned on being levelheaded, she realizes that what she truly wants is to argue. Even the remaining rebels had been courteous enough, not to mention the sycophantic loyalists.

She turned to the guards at the doors and commands, “Leave us.” They hesitate, but one glare from her has them doing as she says. Once the heavy doors bang shut, Elia descends from the throne and stands in front of him. “Oh, for gods’ sakes, get up. The time for standing on ceremony is over.”

He looks up at her and slowly gets to his feet, for once unsure. “What is it you wish of me?”

“I want your head,” she snarls. “There are two rebel soldiers on my son’s Kingsguard now, and do you know why? Because they swore an oath to their leader, and they saw it through to the end. But you?” Her hands clench into fists at her sides. “My uncle gave you your knighthood, my mother opened our home to you. You swore yourself forever to House Martell, and at the first opportunity you betray us. Rhaegar may have started all this, but you were right there by his side. What do I wish of you? I wish to hear one reason why I shouldn’t let Oberyn poison your drink the way he longs to.”

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