#AND MIRIAM WAS AT THE FRONT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[slutformelatonin]

Sex and Shimmer

Sevika x fem reader smut

Warnings ⚠️: omega reader x alpha Sevika. Sevika is kind of a stereotypical alpha in the sense of omegas duties. Arranged marriage troupe. Sevika is silcos adopted daughter. Sevika has a c0ck but also boobies.. idk how alpha genitalia works.

Upon walking into the last drop with your parents. The smell of alcohol in the air was prevalent. It was everywhere. Soaked into the floorboards. Seeped into the granite of the counter top.

Or was that shimmer?

As a zaunite. You had been accustomed to many people inhaling, drinking, and injecting shimmer into thier bodies. You'd tried it once too. Never again.

But, you were snapped out of your thoughts by your father's hand patting your shoulder. "Your okay. No one is in trouble. Silco and I just have to.. work something out." Mikahlo, your father explained. Stepping up the stairs as your mother. Miriam followed him in suite.

You were suddenly 10 years old. Skipping the halls of the last drop. Silco, your father's business partner had just come into possession of the last drop. And you had just presented as an omega. Giggles filled your ears as silcos daughter. Sevika ran alongside of you.

She was 2 years older than you and she made it known. She had just presented as an alpha that same year. Gently pressing you against walls and telling you she'd always save you. Because she was an alpha. And you, were an omega. That's all sevika ever seemed to remember about your relationship. That somehow, she was above you. In age, in grade, in school. In your second gender....

You were snapped out of your thoughts by hard and unforgiving footsteps hitting the floor of the last drop. Your head felt like it was moving without permission. You were front facing now as a musky scent hit your nostrils. Sevika stood in the doorframe. Tall and muscular.

"They're talkin' 'bout us. You know that right? About marrying us. So much for free fuckin' will-" the brunette began. Watching you as you slumped into a barstool. You weren't even old enough to drink. 19 and you felt more like 3.

On account that if that was even true. The marriage situation. That your wife would've had so many more experiences than you.

"What happened to hello?" You snapped with a growl. Your throat felt like it was closing as you heard footsteps walking down the stairs. You could feel your scent intensify as you huffed loudly. "You jus' skippin' the formalities now?" You barked at the older woman.

Sevika got quiet as she saw her father exit the staircase. Silco began looking at his daughter. "Sev, your home. I'm glad. Y/n. It's lovely to see you again. I was just telling Sevika that everytime I see you I forget that your a young woman." Silco charmed. Your father and mother nodded with sharp smiles.

"You forget? We're the ones that gotta live with her." Your father joked, earning a small and brief chuckle from sevika. Which caused you to kick the base of one of the stools sevika was one. Plummeting her to the floor as you laughed loudly.

The brunette sat up. Bracing herself as your mother scolded you with her lips pressed in a tight line. Silco waited for sevika to fully sit up before he started to describe what they'd all been talking about.

"Mikahlo ," silco cleared his throat while he went behind the bar quietly. "Why don't you explain the agreement." The older man smirked as he got out shot glasses. He knew what kind of alcohol sevika liked.

"You two are to be married. And I will not hear one word of disapproval or backtalk. I'm looking at you y/n." Your father spoke firmly.

"Fuck off." You snapped. Sevikas head shot in your direction. Had she spoken to silco like that... well- her jaw would've been broken.

"I'm nineteen. I don't need this. And I especially don't need some fucking alpha!" You roared. Standing up and snatching the bottle of whiskey that silco had been pouring from. Before stomping out of the building.

Leaving the alpha, your parents. And her father. By the time they'd left. It was still happening. This was one situation you were not getting out of.

You'd given up getting drunk. Going home after not long of walking around the streets of zaun as a female unmarked omega. Going home and seeing white dresses draped over couches in protective bags. You'd thrown the alcohol on top of the bags with a loud crash of the glass. Going up to your room.

You'd woken up to a soft rapping at the door. Sitting up and groaning. You looked at your calender. Which had been drawn on. The 27th. Which was in 2 days. Had small handwriting. Your father's.

Y/n and Sevika's wedding.

You'd kicked your wall again with a thud. A picture frame had fallen off the wall. You and sevika along with silco and your father. You left it on the floor. With your dignity as you opened the door. A small drool mark was on your chin. You wiped it off and smoothed your hair down.

Dark eyes met your own. Growling as you looked sevika up and down. She was in nicer apparel. "Were looking at places. Get dressed. Not something slutty." She snarked. Moving you and looking at your clothes. Picking out a dark purple sundress.

"Nothing I havent seen before." She snarked. You began to strip your clothes off behind a changing wall you had in your room. Sevika began to pick out your Jewelry and shoes. "There." She smirked. Sitting on your unmade bed. "So. Tomorrow we have a rehearsal dinner and ceremony." She explained.

You laughed as you walked out. Going into your bathroom and applying deodorant, and your makeup routine. Combing your hair. Styling it a bit nicer than you normally would. All the while. Sevika watched. "Get my jewelry from my bes side table." You said sharply. Meanwhile. Sevika leaned against the wall and yawned. Whistling a small tune. "Please." You urged with a huff.

"Good omega." She praised as you growled. Shoving her out of the way with your arms. Grabbing it yourself. "Your heat is soon." Sevika hummed. "How the fuck would you know that?!" You retorted while you struggled to put on a necklace. Which sevika saved the day by clipping it from behind you.

"Don't call me that." You snapped while you pulled away. Slipping your shoes off as you looked at her with deep eyes. Full of lust, hatred , resentment. "Kiss me." You whispered. "Thought you hated me." She smirked.

"I do." You whispered as you leaned up. Kissing her lips softly. Grabbing her by the back of her neck. She put her hands on uour waist. Massaging your hips. Rough hands. Her hands.

"Fuck-" You shuttered while she let her hands slid with a groan. "Your such a fuckin' brat." She moaned while you climbed onto your bed. A sharp knock upon the door. "Ladies?" Slico called. "Are you almost ready." He asked.

And silco, an omega. Knew what a alpha and omega's pheromones intertwining smelt like.

The four of you had gone down to the nicer part of zaun. Her arm around your waist as you gently flipped through your magazine with color schemes for weddings. You were leaning towards purple and grey.

The alpha kept you close until you'd walked into a store with dresses. "We have to get one of these now?" You asked with a groan. Sevika looked down at you with stern eyes. "Enough of the whining." She snapped as you pressed your palm against the door. Walking in while you pulled against her. Bumping into silco. "Sorry-" you said quietly while sevika pulled you closer.

"I'll pick some out. I have a suit at home. Dad knows which one I'm talkin' about." Sevika said. Nodding in silcos direction as the older man nodded.

-----

After dresses upon dresses. Including one suit. You'd found one that suited you nicely. It was a champagne color with big sleeves. A nice dress. It helps that when you came out sevika had to adjust her posture. The wet patch on her pants becoming visible.

The three of you were suddenly sitting down in the last drop. "Where's the rehearsal dinner?" You asked while sevika pulled you onto her lap further. "Your standing in it. And where the wedding is going to be. Dad's boyfriend is going to help clean the place up."

"Silco has a boyfr- you have a boyfriend!?" You asked with a shocked look. Watching the father and daughter interact. "His name is Vander. And we have been together for - well.. longer than you've both been alive." Silco smiled. Looking down at his feet.

"Enough now-" Vander said. A tall, muscular man smiled as he walked through the doors. "Is this the blushing bride to-be?" Vander smiled as he walked into the bar. He had a large box in his arms.

"Did you look for places?" Vander asked while pressing lips to silco's own. Pecking his lips while he walked behind the bar. Setting the box down.

"Sevika already found one." Silco smiled while hw looked at his daughter with a hum.

"She didn't mention it." You seemed to snap harshly. Looking at sevika as you kicked her foot. "What the hell- of things are supposed to work out - then how are we going to marry eachother?" You snapped.

"Shh. Let me do this. Just stop freakin' out-" sevika whispered. Looking at you as the Two of you began to walk. Standing up and going outside. "Hey. Better late than never." Sevika yawned. In regards to your apartment situation.

-----

The next day seemed to fly by faster than you could describe. Now, it was the 27th. You were supposed to be getting married. To her. Sevika. The two of you. Throughout these past few days. The two of you had recounted adventures of your childhood. Middle school. And even your high school years.

And now, as your mother helped you into your dress. Your hair was being pinned up in every which way and you were finally zipped up. You insisted on doing your own makeup. "Let's get you downstairs. The venue looks ready nice. They did a good job." Your father explained. "Everyone's ready. Sevika is ready." He teased while he peeped open the door.

"God. I guess I am." You smiled as your mother fled down the stairs to sit down. "Let's go-" You smiled as you felt your father press his palm against your arm. You were getting married. Married. After today you were hers. You belonged to her.

And then you were standing across front hern your heart was in your throat and her dark eyes shown into yours. Sevika had said "I do " already. Now it was your turn. "Do you. Y/n, blah, blagh, blah." Incoherent words fe from the officiants lips. Of course. You felt like you were high. But before you knew it. "I do." Tumbled from your lips.

And then a ring was pressed on your finger. A ring slid onto her own. A soft kiss. Not like the one before. The one that had left you flustered and a nervous wreck.

Sevika nearly carried you down the aisle. You needed to get drunk. Or high. Either or would've been good. Congratulations and praise was flowered upon the two of you. There wasn't even a cake for the two of you. People began to file out. Looking up at sevika. And then down at the floor. Something. Shimmering beneath the floorboards caught your eye.

Bending down in your dress and shoes. You tried to brace the floorboards apart. But not before being yanked up by sevika. "Don't go looking for things that'll get you in trouble 'mega." Sevika taunted.

Vander made dinner shortly after everyone had left. Including your parents. Your mother had gotten particularly drunk in her escapades to climb onto Vander after the ceremony.

Now , ask that was left to do was go home. For you and sevika anyway. You two didn't stick around and helpsevika's 4 step siblings clean up. 'Vanders strays.' Sevika lovingly called them.

After all, you two needed to consummate the marriage. And , after going into your new home for who knows how long. You'd realized all your stuff had been moved. Who did this? One of Silco's henchmen? Vanders kids?

It didn't matter anymore. You were hers. All your life that had been your worst fear. Ending up a pregnant omega. Married to a peice of shit alpha. But, sevika didn't seem like a complete peice of shit. Although she was a bit old fashioned in the sense of an omegas duties.

Sevika approached you. Her hands on his hips and stepping towards you. "That was nice." She commented while she moved her hands in your direction. Holding your hips now.

You'd begun to strip your dress in attemps to distract sevika from touching you further. When you guys had kissed the last time. You got a bit too carried away. Lingering touches , hot and heavy kisses seemed to make you all the more turned on.

You shook all thoughts out of your head. Looking up at the brunette as you moved your hands down your body. Unzipping your dress. Stepping out of your dress. "Can I help you?" You asked with a growl to your voice.

Sevika laughed bitterly. Looking at you with a smirk. "Oh, I think you can." The alpha hummed out. Grinning down at you. "On the bed. Ass up. Do as your told. I'll make it worth your while." Sevika snapped. Crashing her metal hand against your ass.

Earning a yelp from you as you nodded. Your head was moving on its own. Your just lucky she didn't use her alpha voice on you.

Making your way to the bed as you took off your underwear off. Flicking them into some unknown crevice of the apartment. Whining as you situated yourself on the bed.

Two cold hands grasped at your hips. You were ass up and couldn't see for shit. One felt metallic and the other felt like flesh as her nails gripped into your hips. Raking a moan from your lips as she led a finger through your aching folds.

Licking the slick from her finger as she hummed in approval. "Your a virgin then?" She asked with a smirk. "Fuck off. Of course in a virgin." You mumbled from above the comforter.

"Hope you adjust to 9 inches easily." Sevika teased. "Sev- I'm scared- I don't know if I can handl-" you began to speak as you arched into her touch.

"We can stop whenever you want. I'm not sure monster. I wouldn't do anything to you if your didn't want it. We can go slow. 'Kay?" Sevika purred. She seemed to be so good with words.

"Mhm.." You whispered. Looking back at her once as you felt her tip pressing into your core. Earning a sharp hiss from you. Sevika gently patted your hip. "Good girl-" sevika groaned as she slowly continued to sink her girth into you.

"Your the tightest I've ever been in.'' Seviks groaned to herself. Biting her lip as you cried our. It felt like you were being split open. But it had to feel somewhat good. Eventually? Right?

You'd known you'd taken her full length when sevikas hips met against the warm flesh of your ass. Biting your lip as you stifled tears. You could do this. For her. You could do anything for her.

Sevika led her hand down to your dripping cunt. Gently pressing tight circles to your clit. Earning moans and cries from you as she continued to ram into you from behind. Eventually, going as far as mating you.

Her teeth and canines sinking into your shoulder as you threw your head back crying. It was all too much. Her fingers on your clit. Her cock in your pussy. And now. Youu shooting cum onto her cock.

Sevika came deep inside of you. Silco was always giving her shit. About how Vander wanted grandkids. I guess they got thier wish now. Pulling out of your shaking body as you flipped over.

Straddling sevika as you took what was yours. Sinking your teeth deep in her neck. At one point. Drawing blood as she threw her head back. You pulled away and flopped on the bed.

"Sevika?" You mumbled while pressing yourself against her tall and muscular frame.

"Yes?" She asked. Her strong arms enveloping you.

"I love you." You finally whispered. Feeling your eyes flutter shut as you pressed your face into her toned chest.

------

#I really hope this does well. #i struggle to write

[i3utterflyeffect]

raaaaaaagh now officially asking you to rant about wandersong>:))))))

AAAAAAAAAAAAA i don't even remember what i was gonna rant about but just. goddamn!!! i just love the bard and miriam so fucking much and also my nonbinary ass is shaking hands with the bard so hard. wish i was a funny little bard guy with the most ambiguous gender ever

also just. god. i found a headcanon that they named themselves on the spot when miram and saphy asked and i find that so funny. i think they also should name themself bard bc holy shit that's even funnier

i also just need audrey to blow up RIGHT NEOW. bard may forgive her but i sure as hell don't

and also I LOVE THE OVERSEERS AND THEIR LIL FAIRY GUYS SO MUCH. ESP THE MOON FAIRY AND THE SUN FAIRY AND ALSO THE HEART AND DREAM FAIRIES.

and also i just. AGUHHHHHHHHH

it's just so good and the ost is so good and the LITTLE DETAILS are so good and i LOVE this FUCKING GAME!!!!!!!!!!!

[dubiousdoctors]

augh and bleagh and I should not have let my friends who are also my coworkers know my tumblr

[the-busy-ghost]

Dear God, Westminster was always bad but lately it’s like the Tories have been engaged in a secret contest to see who can come out with the most absolutely rancid takes in the Commons

[serpentandlily]

Arcane - Azriel x Reader

Azriel x DeathGod!Reader

Summary: Azriel never thought he’d find his mate, was convinced the Mother hadn’t even given him one because he was unworthy. That is, until he stumbles upon his mate while looking for the most unusual ally.

Based on this request.

Warnings: very brief illusion to past SA

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“We’ve exhausted all our options,” Rhys declared, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m afraid another war is on the horizon. Koschei cannot be dealt with alone.”

“I don’t understand. The weaver and the bone carver were able to be killed,” Cassian interjected. “Why is it impossible for us to find a way to kill Koschei?”

“It took the might of the cauldron to defeat them,” Rhys explained.

“Well, then let’s ask Miriam and Drakon if we can use the cauldron,” Cassian replied, giving the obvious answer.

“It would be no use,” Feyre sighed. “I destroyed the book. We’d have no idea how to cast the spell the King of Hybern used that day. And we risk Koschei, himself, getting his hands on the cauldron.”

“There’s got to be another way,” Mor chimed in. “Something, someone, that could be as powerful as the sorcerer himself. He wasn’t the only God that found their way to Prythian.”

“Most of them are locked up in the Prison,” Rhys said. “And the Prison would not allow us to free any of them even if we wanted to.”

“Az, how has your search for Bryaxis been going?” Feyre asked.

“Not good,” Azriel answered honestly. “It’s like that thing disappeared from Prythian entirely.”

The room was silent for a moment until Amren sat up straight. “Wait, there is someone we could go to for help. As a last resort.”

Rhys lifted his head, staring at her with a heavy resolve. “No, absolutely not. It is too dangerous.”

“You said it yourself, we’re out of options!”

“What are you two talking about?” Feyre asked, looking between them.

Rhys let out a long breath. “Bryaxis…had a sibling. If you could even call her that. Someone who also came from wherever he slipped through from.”

“And why haven’t you mentioned this before?” Mor asked with a glare, crossing her arms.

“Because,” Rhys started. “Like I said, it’s too dangerous to get into contact with her. She’s…well, to be honest, no one really knows much about her. She keeps herself in a dark cave somewhere in the middle. Likes the darkness as much as Bryaxis does.”

“If no one knows much about her, then how do you know she’s dangerous?” Feyre asked. “Everyone was scared of Bryaxis until I went down there and was helped by it.”

“I’ve been told stories of her from my father,” Rhys explained. “How in the past, long before any of us were born, she could cause the fall of entire armies. Could level any court into rubble and dust.”

“And if that’s true, then doesn’t it speak to her character that she hasn’t done any of that? Maybe she is good of heart,” Mor suggested.

“We’re out of options, Rhys,” Amren said. “She might be our last hope.”

“Fine,” Rhys sighed. “I guess we better get ready for a trip to the middle.”

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Alright, maybe this was a bad idea.”

Azriel glanced at Cassian to see him frowning as they stood in front of the dark cave. It was just him, Cass and Rhys who had come here to try and find this creature to ask for help. But it seemed Cassian was already losing his nerve.

“I tried to tell you,” Rhys muttered under his breath. “Azriel, can you scout ahead with your shadows?”

As soon as those words left Rhysand’s mouth, Azriel’s shadows darted ahead, trailing into the cave in a flurry. Azriel’s eyes widened as he was left standing completely bare, exposed. Not a single shadow had stayed with him, which was unusual. He tried to brush it off, tried to hide how uncomfortable he felt without them.

They waited expectantly but his shadows never returned. Azriel’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“I can’t call them back,” he said to his two brothers watching him. “They aren’t listening to me.”

“That’s…unusual,” Rhysand said, stroking his jaw.

Nothing more was said as the darkness in the cave seemed to grow and grow, almost extending out towards them despite the sun overhead.

“Who are you?”

The feminine voice was sensual yet sweet, playful almost. Nothing like he had been expecting. It struck something inside of Azriel, making his chest ache. Rhysand stood up straight, switching from brother to the High Lord in a mere second.

“I am Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court,” Rhys answered, plucking a piece of lint from his coat. “If my sources are right, I believe you are y/n, sister of Bryaxis.”

“That I am,” the voice answered. “Why are you here? No one ever dares come here.”

Those words might’ve seemed like a threat, but her tone was light, curious.

“We’ve come to beg a boon,” Rhysand answered honestly. “There is another Death God who threatens war. We have been unable to stop his efforts.”

“Nobody has ever asked for my help before,” the voice said back in that same curious tone. “And what of Bryaxis. Will they help as well?”

“Bryaxis…Bryaxis was freed by my High Lady. We have been unable to find them.”

A step in the darkness. Another. Light footsteps came closer and closer to the edge of the cave. Azriel’s heart rate picked up, his hand falling to truth-teller. Cassian’s face was white and he looked ready to flee.

“You are afraid.”

It was not a question. Just a statement. But Rhysand answered it like it was.

“Bryaxis is made of nightmares,” he explained. “Something so terrifying to us. Perhaps you do not see it the same way but I imagine you are much the same and that is why we are…nervous.”

A laugh. A light, lilting laugh. Something sparked in Azriel’s chest.

“Me and Bryaxis are not made of the same thing, but opposite. A balance for our world,” the voice said. “Bryaxis is made of nightmares but I am made of dreams.

“Then why do you hide in the shadows?” The question came out of Azriel’s mouth before he even realized he was speaking. He could see his own shadows now, twirling in the darkness as if they were home.

“When we were captured, Bryaxis caused them fear so they were locked below the earth.” Her voice was sadder now, more serious and Azriel found himself hating that. “But I-I caused them…something different than fear. So they kept me locked in their bed chambers for decades, centuries, until I was able to escape. But then I learned those that did not desire me, feared me instead for the same reason. I was either caged or hunted. That is why I hide here.”

A shiver ran down Azriel’s spine. His face hardened at what she was implying. The fae who had captured the two Gods had locked one beneath the library and had used the other for…He felt sick to his stomach.

“If you are to help us,” Rhysand spoke, “I can promise you that we have no intention of keeping you locked up at all.”

“I do not trust the fae. Bind your words to magic and perhaps I will help you in return.”

“What is it that you want from us?”

It was silent for a moment, as if she were pondering.

“A place to stay. A place to live. Somewhere safe from being hunted or kept as a prisoner. A chance to live in this world, outside of this cave. To get to experience all that you do. That is what I wish for.”

Azriel knew that wish. Knew it all too well. For it was one he had for years while being locked in his father’s dungeon. So maybe that is why he found himself stepping closer to the cave, found himself unafraid of the darkness that had captured his own shadows.

Maybe that was why those words slipped out of his mouth before he could think of the repercussions, before he could be held back by one of his brothers.

“I will promise you that, y/n. I will promise you the opportunity to experience life outside of this cage, outside of the darkness.”

He could feel the heavy stares from his brothers on his back but he didn’t turn around, didn’t look anywhere but that darkness, even though he felt so exposed without his shadows.

Another footstep.

And another.

Until a figure began to emerge from the darkness, finally stepping into the light.

Azriel’s breathed hitched, his eyes widening in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this.

Because before him now stood the most beautiful female he had ever seen. The type of beauty only a Goddess could possess. The type of beauty that had his head spinning, had his heart palpitating in his chest.

She smiled and he felt the whole world pause in that moment. It was a sight that would bring any male to his knees. A sight that could start wars.

She held out a small, delicate hand.

“Then I will help you, shadowsinger,” she said.

He mindlessly took her hand in his, shaking it as the sting of magic burned on both of their skin forming a bargain tattoo on the inner wrist. He looked down at it to see what the magic had created out of their promise to each other.

Swirls of shadows with a small lunar moth emerging at the end. A creature that sought light, finally leaving the darkness.

When he met her eyes again, those beautiful expressive eyes, he stumbled back a step. Stumbled as a golden thread unwound itself in his chest and pierced straight through the universe to the female standing before him.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The battle lasted thirty-seven days. Koschei was defeated, the females he had spelled were freed. Beron had been exposed for helping him and was killed by Eris finally, bringing a new leader to Autumn.

And things were finally at peace.

“What are these again?”

Your index finger poked at the spongy thing on your plate. It smelled sweet, good. And it was warm to the touch. You glanced up to see the shadowsinger watching you, amused.

“Those are pancakes,” Azriel answered with a chuckle.

“Pancakes,” you repeated, slowly, testing the word on your tongue. “I thought cakes were desserts. Not breakfast.”

“They are a bit different from cake. Made in a pan instead of baked in the oven, hence the name,” Azriel explained.

You hummed in response, taking a bite out of one of the pancakes. “Hm, just as sweet as cake.”

“I might’ve added a bit more sugar than normal to them,” Azriel said, rubbing the back of his neck. “To satisfy that raging sweet tooth of yours.”

Your cheeks heated, that ticklish feeling in your stomach came again. A feeling you had never felt before this month and still had yet to make sense of. It made something in your chest ache when you looked at Azriel.

“You made these?”

Azriel nodded. “Someone slept through breakfast with the others.”

Your cheeks turned even redder.

“You should’ve woken me up,” you muttered before stuffing more bits of pancake into your mouth.

“You deserve to rest, y/n.” Azriel was still watching you with that little glint in his eyes. “After everything, you deserve to rest.”

Since coming to Velaris to help with Koschei, Azriel had been the one to show you around, to help you learn the customs of the fae. He had so much patience for you and your endless amounts of questions.

The others had helped you as well, had welcomed you into their home with open arms, but there was just something special about Azriel. You felt some sort of pull towards him. As if the darkness inside of you called to his.

He was beautiful, more than any God or male you’d ever seen before. And beneath his icy exterior, he was sweet and kind. Thoughtful. Witty.

You enjoyed being with the others but you preferred times like this, when it was just the two of you. He was less shy, more at ease, when it was just you. And something about that made you happy.

Seeing him smile, even when it was just the faintest expression, brought you joy like you’ve never felt before.

And Gods, he brought out so many emotions you had not felt in a very long time, some you hadn’t even known you could feel. You had begun to crave his presence. Desire it. You wondered if he felt the same.

“Did you still want to come with me to the city today?”

Azriel’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. That’s right, Azriel had cryptically told you he needed to pick something up from Velaris today. When you had asked him what he was getting, he had refused to answer.

“Yes, I would like to.”

“We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

An hour later, you found yourself in Azriel’s arms, flying down to the city. Your heart was pounding in your chest at how closely he held you, like he was afraid you’d suddenly fall from his arms. You kept your own arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair.

You still remembered the few hours after the last battle. The showdown with Koschei had left you depleted, covered in wounds, but otherwise okay. Still, Azriel had burst into your tent with panicked eyes and only seemed to be calmed when you had let him tend to you like a mother hen.

You didn’t know what to make of his behavior. But you did know that being in his arms made you feel safe.

“Can we get more of those honey mooncakes on the way back?” you asked, trying to distract yourself from the ticklish feeling in your stomach again.

Azriel laughed, his chest rumbling against your body as he tightened his grip on you. “That sweet tooth of yours really is insatiable.”

“I didn’t get to finish mine from last time,” you said in defense for yourself. “Cassian got to them before me!”

“Well, next time tell Cassian to go get his own,” Azriel said. His breath ghosted against the tip of your ear, causing a trail of goosebumps on your skin. “I buy them for you, not him.”

Once again, you found yourself with red cheeks and a swelling heart. Ever since he had discovered your sweet tooth, Azriel had a habit of leaving sweet treats out for you. At first, he found it hilarious that a Death Goddess craved pastries of all things. But now he found it just downright adorable.

When the two of you returned to the House of Wind, you found Feyre and Mor waiting for you. You barely got out a small goodbye to Azriel before they were pulling you away, telling you it was time to start getting ready for the night.

Tonight was Starfall. Something you hadn’t seen in centuries. The girls helped you get ready as day turned to dusk and finally night.

“Come on, we’re going to be late,” Mor giggled, leading all of you out of the room and up to the main balcony. You could already hear the crowd and the music.

You felt nervous as you reached the top, your eyes instantly darting around to find that one person you were always looking for these days.

Azriel stood with Rhysand and Cassian, dressed in all black, finely tailored pants and a matching coat. He looked handsome, yet still beautifully lethal. The darkness and light bounced off the elegant planes of his face, causing his hazel eyes to glow golden.

When he caught sight of you, those eyes widened and you felt them roam your entire body. You’d always hated being looked at in such a way, but not with Azriel. Never with him.

In fact, you found yourself getting heated under his stare.

Rhysand and Cassian moved to their respective mates, leaving you to greet Azriel alone. He took your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You are stunning,” he whispered. “Absolutely stunning. Happy Starfall.”

You blushed. “Thank you.”

Azriel gave you a rare smile that had your heart pounding. You peered at the crowd, watching the faeries enjoying their evening. Azriel stood with you, his fingers brushing against yours in a comforting gesture. He knew you weren’t the biggest fan of crowds, not when your presence was met with so many stares of both fear and desire.

“What are they doing?” You looked at the crowd of faeries that seemed to all be paired off, moving to the music from the band.

Azriel’s lips twitched, like they always did when you asked him a question like this. “They’re dancing.”

“Dancing,” you repeated. The word sounded familiar, like something you had known in a past life. You had spent so many years in that cave, you had turned into a mere shadow of who you used to be.

“Would you like to dance?”

Azriel had turned to look down at you, running a hand through his hair. His shadows curled around his wings.

“I don’t think I know how,” you whispered.

He held out his hand to you. “That’s alright. You can follow me lead.”

You bit your lip but decided to take his hand. He had promised you a chance of experiencing the world as it should be. He hadn’t led you astray yet.

He pulled you to the dance floor and you mimicked the other pairs, keeping one hand in his and placing the other on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around your waist, yanking you closer to him.

The music started up again and Azriel began to lead you through the dance. It was easier than you thought it would be or perhaps he was just a good lead. Still, it wasn’t long before you were smiling and being twirled around in his arms.

You danced like that for a while, basking in the feeling. The soft music, the laughter, the gentle faelights above you. You had never felt so alive. And it was all thanks to the male who held you in his arms.

A slower song came on, some pairs leaving the dance floor. You looked around in question until you realized the pairs who had remained held a more intimate position. You copied them, placing your arms around Azriel’s neck.

Both of his arms wrapped around you now, resting on your lower back.

“Is this okay?” He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

You nodded, letting him drag you even closer until your bodies were pressed together. The dress you were wearing was thin and you could feel all of him through it. His hard chest, his sculpted muscles.

Azriel swallowed audibly, swaying you gently to the music. You laid your head on his chest, letting him rest his chin on top of your head. Every inch of you that touched him was on fire.

You closed your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself feel this, embrace it. You’d never felt like this before. So warm and light. It felt like it was just you and him that existed.

That is until you opened your eyes. You suddenly felt overwhelmed as you noticed lingering stares. A lot of them. You felt uncomfortable under the weight of them.

“What’s wrong?”

Azriel had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. He always seemed to know what you were feeling before you said anything.

“Everyone’s looking at me,” you muttered under your breath, staring up at him.

He raised his head, looking around with narrowed eyes. That caused most of them to look away, not wanting to risk the shadowsinger’s wrath.

“Come on,” Azriel whispered. “I know somewhere we can go that’s more private.”

He enveloped you in his shadows until you were stepping out of the darkness and into a rounded alcove somewhere else on the balcony. Vines dangled down from the roof, trailing down the pillars holding it up.

You stepped forward, placing your hands against the stone railing. You could see the crowd below, the one you had just been in. Still hear the music and still see the night sky. You turned to face Azriel.

“Thank you,” you said. “I-I just hate it when they stare. Like I’m some weird creature.”

Azriel stalked forward until he was right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head up to look him in the eyes.

“They don’t stare at you because they think you’re weird,” Azriel replied. “They stare at you because you are beautiful.”

His hand rose and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart skipped a beat. Your mouth parted to say something but a roar of cheers cut you off. You whirled around to see thousands and thousands of stars beginning to soar through the sky.

Your mouth dropped open. It was more beautiful than you remembered. The stars kept falling and falling, like cascading fireworks. So bright and breathtaking. You couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped your mouth, standing on your tippy toes to lean over the balcony as if you’d be able to reach the stars.

An arm circled your waist and Azriel’s front was pressed against your back as he held onto you.

“Careful,” he whispered in your ear, scared you were going to tip right over the edge and fall down the steep mountain.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, staring up at the stars. “Oh, it’s so much better than I remembered it from all those years ago.”

“It never stops amazing me,” Azriel said. “No matter how many times I watch it.”

You both watched in silence for a little longer, letting the music and laughter and cheers fill the space. Eventually, you turned in his arms, now pressed against the railing.

“Thank you,” you said again, “for bringing me here.”

“Anything for you,” Azriel whispered, raising a hand to rest on your cheek. His eyes were filled with a reverence that stole your breath away.

A brush of magic zipped by in the air and you gasped, raising up your wrist. The tattoo was gone. The bargain had been fulfilled. You had defeated Koschei and Azriel had given you the opportunity to live a life more than you had dreamed. That chance at life was in your hands now.

“The tattoo is gone,” you said, grasping his arm and pulling back his sleeve.

Your eyes widened to see his tattoo still there. The lunar moth emerging from the swirls of shadow.

“Wha—”

“I got it tattooed,” Azriel cut in. “Permanently.”

You glanced up at him in question. “Why?”

“Because I always want a reminder of what I promised you,” he said, his thumb stroking your cheek. “What I still promise you, y/n. A life worth living. I want to continue showing you the world, to be there when you experience new things.”

You were speechless. Completely, utterly speechless.

No one had ever shown such devotion to you, such care and love. Your heart swelled up, your chest ached.

“Azriel,” you stuttered out. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “I was trapped in the darkness once too. I know what that’s like and I never want you to fall back into it. I don’t need anything from you, just the chance to be there with you while you learn, while you feel.”

Something was building inside of you, building and building until it was ready to break out. You rubbed at your chest, at the unusual feeling.

“I feel this…I feel this thing inside,” You said, gesturing to your chest. “Do you know what this is? Do you know why I feel this way?”

Azriel grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest, in the exact same spot yours ached.

“It is the mating bond,” Azriel answered, softly. “I feel it too. Right here. I have since the day I met you.”

His shadows swirled around like they had been waiting for this. You felt your own darkness rise in response until the two had joined together, watching together from the dark crevices.

“A mating bond,” you repeated.

Something snapped the moment you said it out loud. As if a question you had been asking your whole life had finally been answered. A gold thread was woven between the two of you, a beacon of light in the darkness. A place for that moth to call home.

You gasped looking back up at Azriel. Now that you recognized the bond, it grew more taut. You stumbled closer to him, fisting his coat in your hands.

“A mate,” you whispered. “You're my mate. I..I didn’t even know Gods could have mates.”

“Say it again.” Azriel’s voice was as dark as the shadows. A shiver ran down your spine.

“Huh?”

“Say it. Say that I’m your mate again.”

“You’re my mate,” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. “My mate.”

A quiet whine came from the back of Azriel’s throat that sent heat between your legs. Your eyes widened. A muscle in his jaw clenched. The air around you was charged and you felt like you had been set on fire.

“And you are mine,” Azriel growled. “My mate.”

His possessive tone only made that heat grow. Your lips parted, a small breath leaving your lungs. His eyes glanced down to your lips, hungrily. You gave him the smallest dip of the head, the permission he was waiting for.

Azriel surged forward and crashed his lips against yours. You stumbled, your backside hitting the stone railing behind you. You met his vigor with your own.

His lips were soft and warm. And his kiss felt like heaven and hell all mixed in one.

He groaned as you deepened the kiss, tilting your head back to give him more access. You yanked him closer, wanting to feel him everywhere. You never craved someone as much as you craved him.

His tongue swiped your bottom lip and you opened for him, letting him claim your mouth. His scent was intoxicating, he tasted like pure sin. You could drown yourself in him.

Your hands trailed up from his chest to circle around his neck. His own hands were holding you by the waist, pulling your hips into his. They traveled down your thighs until he was lifting you up, seating you on the stone railing, never pulled away from your kiss.

You parted your legs, letting Azriel step even closer as he finally pulled away, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. You whimpered at the feeling of his canines grazing the sensitive skin.

His nose traced the column of your throat before he rested his forehead against yours. You were both panting, both completely lost within each other.

“Wait,” Azriel breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “I got you something. I don’t want to forget to give it to you.”

Because he would. He would forget his own name as long as the sweet scent of your arousal filled the air. Would forget the whole world existed if you kept staring at him like you were.

He pulled a small black box from his pocket, handing it over to you.

You opened it, gasping at the beautiful ring displayed inside. It was made of gold with a mesmerizing amethyst gem in the shape of a teardrop, accentuated by crescent moons on both sides and tiny stars.

“Azriel,” you breathed out. “This is beautiful.”

A small smile ghosted his lips.

“May I?”

You held out your hand and he pulled the ring out of the box before sliding it onto your ring finger. It was the perfect fit. You admired it, twisting it under the faelights to see the gem glow.

“It’s perfect,” you sighed.

“I had it made just for you,” Azriel said. “It’s what I had to pick up in the city today.”

“I-I really don’t know what to say, Azriel.”

Azriel rested his forehead against yours. “Just say it again. Tell me you feel this too. I’ve been searching for you for over five hundred years now and I just need to hear you say it. Again and again. Until I can wrap my head around it. Until I realize I’m not dreaming.”

You smiled, lifting up to press a small kiss against his lips. Your heart fluttered in your chest at his words, at the realization of why exactly the bargain had been fulfilled. You had asked for someplace to be safe, for a home, a chance to live. Azriel was giving you all of that and more.

“You are my mate. And I am yours,” you murmured against his lips. You pulled back to look him in the eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted was to find somewhere to call home. Being with you, being in your arms—that feels like home to me, Azriel. The one I’ve been looking for my whole life.”

Azriel’s eyes searched yours, as if he was trying to find the lie in your words. But there was none. Of course there was none. You were falling in love with him.

“Does this mean you want it?”

“It means I want you. I want all of you, everything.”

Azriel smiled and the sight nearly blew you away. You giggled as he held you close to him, buried his face in the crook of your neck. He kissed your throat once, twice.

“Then I think we’re due for a long vacation,” he murmured against your skin.

You knew what he was referring to. The frenzy that would come with this. Just that thought alone caused a tantalizing ache between your thighs.

“I think so too,” you whispered back as Azriel pressed kisses up your neck and jaw.

He held your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your skin as he stared into your eyes. His gaze was filled with so much promise, so much love. And then he kissed you again and everything felt right in the world. You were home.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers. 

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment. 

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse. 

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter. 

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle. 

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.” 

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.” 

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.” 

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him. 

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection. 

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense. 

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had. 

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering. 

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long. 

Knows what can hunt you. 

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.” 

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!” 

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here. 

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves. 

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt. 

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money. 

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable. 

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat. 

Turn back. 

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin. 

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs. 

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other. 

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat. 

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time. 

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place. 

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard. 

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath. 

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it. 

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head. 

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper. 

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed. 

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had. 

The Ghost. 

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal. 

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it. 

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air. 

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips. 

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat. 

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up. 

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts. 

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale. 

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh. 

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you. 

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes. 

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley. 

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop. 

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor. 

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes. 

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances. 

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog. 

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help. 

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold. 

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here. 

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward. 

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey. 

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches. 

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time. 

Eyes like a burial mound. 

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads. 

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense. 

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage. 

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages. 

But the Ghost isn’t even there. 

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.” 

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward. 

Where did it go? 

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear. 

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it. 

Those eyes. 

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state. 

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears. 

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do. 

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close. 

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh. 

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage. 

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough. 

 “H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!” 

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him. 

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering. 

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back. 

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction. 

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise. 

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity. 

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival. 

So run you did. 

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson. 

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage. 

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape. 

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar! 

But the house was different. 

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade. 

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches. 

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly. 

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.” 

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this. 

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves. 

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened. 

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering. 

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live? 

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently. 

This would be your sanctuary for the night. 

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not. 

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers. 

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink. 

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly. 

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings. 

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?” 

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt. 

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.” 

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!” 

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop. 

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive. 

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view. 

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?” 

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen. 

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?” 

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door. 

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force. 

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.” 

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back. 

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring. 

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees. 

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul. 

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches. 

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do. 

The beast patrolled the glade. 

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away. 

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront. 

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork. 

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here. 

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really. 

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action. 

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart. 

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor. 

Your neighbor the Werewolf. 

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him. 

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented. 

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined. 

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside. 

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.” 

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate. 

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling. 

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors. 

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider. 

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.” 

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug. 

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting. 

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.” 

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums. 

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others. 

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.” 

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion. 

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.” 

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.” 

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath. 

An embarrassing giggle meets air. 

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder. 

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room. 

You wake up to the sound of the door opening. 

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality. 

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches. 

All sound ceases. 

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting. 

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers. 

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently. 

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up. 

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form. 

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.” 

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes. 

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways. 

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[sleepyangelkami]

BUTTER ICING d.grayson

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.5K

DICK GRAYSON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - thinkin' about dick grayson taking care of his baker!so who sometimes forgets to take care of herself.

 ☆ WARNINGS - mentions of eating? fluff, pet names, reader is mentioned to be short, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

yet another call from his ex-bulter had dick rolling out of the bed at, according to his beautiful girlfriend, you, 'ungodly hours'. he had pressed a mere kiss against your forehead, telling you that he'd be home soon and joking for you to 'be good'. you'd merely giggled under the blankets, thankful no one was waking you at such an hour and snuggling back into the comfort of your bed.

and he couldn't help but admire you. one would think after so many phone calls for him to leave whether it was early hours of the morning or the late hours of the night, you'd be somewhat mad. but you understood dick and his line of work and his especially impatient father.

he truly didn't deserve you.

he kept his promise, somewhat. he wasn't exactly home 'soon' but he was home as soon as he could be. getting bruce off his back was like a work out he hadn't prepared for. but nevertheless, it was around seven in the evening when he was walking through the door, charming smile on his lips. "honey, i'm home!" he'd joked in a sing-song voice. he did this every time he stepped through that front door. he could only imagine you rolling your eyes with a grin on your lips.

"kitchen!" you'd yelled back as he found himself walking towards that very room, discarding his bags near the living room door, deciding to deal with that later on. all that was on his mind was you.

and there you were, in the kitchen as you'd told him. only you weren't standing up, instead you were knelt on the kitchen counter, attempting to reach past the top cupboard where your containers for your baked goods were. "darling?" he received a hum from you, your tongue darting out between your two lips. "what are you doing?"

finally, you turned with a huff. "i can't reach the containers." his eyes glanced to the kitchen table which held a multitude of cupcakes. they were all decorated with yellow butter icing, little chocolates placed delicately on top. the smell of cupcakes was rather rich in your shared kitchen.

he could only chuckle softly, his hands moving to your under arms and gently lifting you down from the counter. if you kept climbing up there, you were bound to get hurt. "you shouldn't put them where you can't reach them then." he spoke, a playful smile on his lips as he reached his long arms up, taking down one of your containers. "who are these for anyway?"

being a baker had it's perks but being the baker's boyfriend was even better. he could eat as many treats as he liked and he didn't even have to lift a finger. "miriam." you spoke, thanking him softly for getting the container before loading the cupcakes in. "she'll be here at eleven tomorrow." as you turned your back, dick eyed you before taking one of the cupcakes into his grasp. by the time you turned around, half of it had been emptied into his mouth. you just blinked at him. "you know, i make extra cupcakes just because i know you'll eat them all."

with a mouthful, he spoke. "sorry." but you could only smile at him, placing the other cupcakes into the container and leaving a couple extra scattered across the counter for the dog to eat, oh, my bad, for dick to eat. "you can't just make cupcakes and expect me not to get hungry."

your eyebrow raised. "you were at the manor all day, don't try to convince me that alfred wasn't practically shoving food down your throat."

god, he did love alfred's cooking. "a man's gotta eat." he shrugged. "what'd you have for dinner."

he watched as your eyes widened. "crap! i was supposed to make―"

"shh." he pressed a kiss against the crown of your head. "i'll make some spaghetti bolognese." he was already moving toward the fridge where he new the contents lay.

you often times forgot to go shopping, it was always him that was stocking up the fridge, making sure you didn't go hungry while he was away. don't get me wrong, you still went to the manor with him more often than not. but as a baker, as a home-working baker, you often had to spend your days cooped up in the kitchen so you couldn't join him on his trips.

"dick, you don't have to do that." you were standing behind him, all bashful as your fingers fumbled together.

dick loved taking care of you, don't get me wrong, he just wished you loved it as much as he did, perhaps then you wouldn't be forgetting to feed yourself. you were often times forgetting to do the simple things, the things that involved caring for your own mind and body but when it came to others, you were in tip top shape, ready to care for the next person who walked in the door. he loved that about you but he really wished you'd care about yourself as much as you cared about others.

but it was okay, because as long as he was alive and breathing, he'd make sure you were taken care of.

he'd turned around, his hands finding your waist as he gently soothed the skin. he watched as your cheeks heated up and your smile couldn't wipe from your cheeks. dick was well aware of the affect he had on you. "let me cook you dinner, baby." and when he talked to you like that, well who could refuse?

"okay." you mumbled gently. "thank you."

"don't mention it." but he still leant down, pressing yet another kiss to your face only this time it was to your lips, short and sweet.

by the time dick had started cooking, you were sitting up on the counter, your legs dangling as you took a giant bowl into your hands. dick glanced over, his brows furrowed. "what's that?" he questioned, watching as you lifted a finger from the bowl, covered in butter icing. he couldn't help but roll his eyes. "you know, i think eating mouth fulls of butter icing is probably worse than a couple cupcakes."

you merely shrugged, licking your lips clean. "a baker's gotta have some relief." and it was true.

you didn't just bake because you thought it was rather easy, you loved baking. baking was both a stress reliever and a way to calm down whenever you needed it and hey, it also got you money. but your all time favourite thing about baking? licking the bowls, spatchala's, really anything you could get your hands on, clean.

especially the sweet butter icing.

"here, lemme taste." and as you moved, your hand turning towards the drawer so you could get him out a spoon, you were cut off by the feeling of his lips on yours.

you practically melted into him, allowing him to kiss you sweetly yet slightly rough. you didn't care, feeling your mind go hazy at the mere feeling of his lips. dick always had such an affect on you, you should have been embarrassed yet you simply couldn't find it in yourself to be.

he was the first to pull away, watching as you blinked up at him, slightly dazed. "hmm, sweet." he commented before turning around to the frying pan and using the wooden spoon to turn the contents around.

you, whose stomach had turned to a swarm of butterflies, hopped off of the counter. "I'm gonna..." your head feeling slightly floaty. god, you thought, pull yourself together. "gonna go fill the dishwasher."

and dick, who didn't even bother looking up from the frying pan, wore a little smirk that tugged his lips upwards. "okay, pretty girl."

he really was going to be the death of you.

however, you were sure you could die a happy girl while eating the dinner he'd made for you. sure, you liked to bake but nothing did taste better than one of dick's homemade dinner's. you'd been seated across the couch, your legs had been on dick's lap before he'd gotten up a couple minutes ago, pressing a kiss to your lips and not telling you where he'd been going.

you assumed it was to go eat more of your cupcakes and this theory was proved right as you turned your head over the couch, spotting him bent down slightly to read the calendar, chewing on a cupcake while another was in his hand. "sweetheart?" he called out, not bothering to move his gaze from the calendar.

"yes?" you leaned yourself up on the couch, laying your arms flat on the back of it and placing your head down on top of them, admiring your pretty boyfriend. he truly was beautiful, even when he was stuffing his face and he had a smudge of butter icing on his nose.

"when's your next day off?" he questioned, standing up straight again as his eyes flickered back to you.

you shrugged your shoulders. "had a big cancellation for sunday, why?"

"then it's settled." he spoke, opening the buncase of the next cupcake. "i'm taking you out for dinner on sunday."

"wha― you don't have to do that." finding your heart soften at the mere offer.

"it's only fair." he spoke, shrugging his shoulders. "i ate half of your cupcakes."

the perks of being the boyfriend of a baker.

the perks of being the girlfriend of a billionare's son.

main masterlist/dick's masterlist

[lovelettersforthedamned]

I just read this and 🥹🥹

https://www.tumblr.com/lovelettersforthedamned/736383346194694144/okay-this-request-might-be-a-little-specific-and

Could you do a part two?? Where Peter finally knows from her telling him because he’s still worried something is wrong between?

The Parkers

--genre: FLUFF, slight angst

--pairing: husband!tasm!peter parker x pregnant!wife!reader

--word count: 0.9k

--warnings: language, reader is pregnant, anxiety, one mention of nausea, FLUFF, peter loves his wife and her overthinking so much.

lowkey was waiting for someone to ask for a part two because i love this fic so much...

It was half past nine when you and Peter decided to head back home. The party was winding down, and after a cleaning up, May seemed like she was ready to hit the hay as well. With one last hug for everyone left in the living room, Peter leads you out the front door. 

As soon as the two of you stepped into the night, a shiver ran up both of your spines. A quick glance at each other signaled that it was absolutely freezing. Peter immediately pulls you into his side and starts to rub his hand along your arm at a fast pace, a simple attempt at trying to warm you up. You giggle at his action, looking up at him and his now rosy cheeks, admiring your husband. 

You must have not noticed how long you were silent, Peter broke it, “You sure you’re alright, bug?” Peter still thinks that there’s something wrong between the two of you. The thought was eating him alive as you’ve been silent the entire walk home. 

Your body tenses at his question, and with you still pulled into his side, he felt it too. May’s get-together was a good distraction from the very real situation you’ve found yourself in, and Peter's question brought back all the anxiety you felt earlier today. The hairs on his arms raised at the sudden nervousness radiating off of you. Even though your anxiety is urging him to speak, he allows you the time to respond. “Oh–um…Yeah, everything’s alright. I just need to talk to you about something,” your voice wavering, didn’t help either your or Peter’s feelings right now. 

Peter clears his throat, “Yeah, what’s going on?”

All of a sudden, you feel hot. Even a thin sheen of sweat appears on your brow, but the last thing you want is for Peter to let go of you. Your pace slows as you muster up the courage to tell him about everything, the test, the nausea, the conversation with Miriam, all of it. “Peter, I-I’m,” you take a sharp and deep breath, not daring to look anywhere but the pavement, “I’m pregnant.”

And still, with the words leaving the tightness of your throat, you still don’t feel any better. As you wait for any sort of response from Peter, you feel worse. 

You finally pry your eyes away from the gray cement and to the warm brown eyes of your husband. You two look at each other for a prolonged moment. You’re so nervous, but you can’t bear to pull yourself out of the trance of Peter’s eyes. 

You sigh, as you begin to speak, more like ramble, again, “Fuck, I know I should have told you as soon as I found out this morning, but I was, still am, nervous. And I also know I have no reason to be nervous, especially around you, but everything about this scares the shit out of me, but it also makes me so excited? I just have a lot of emotions right now, and I don’t know how to–.”

You're quickly enveloped in a bone-crushing hug, Peter rocking you two back and forth. He lets go of you as he brings both of his hands up to your face, “I’m gonna be a dad?” 

His entire reaction throws you off guard as you look at his features, “Uh…yeah, Pete. You’re gonna be a dad.”

A little giggle leaves his mouth before he leans his head down to kiss you softly, but passionately. The tenseness in your shoulders dissolves as you kiss him back. You two probably look crazy to others walking or driving down the street, but neither of you cared for them. 

With one last peck, Peter pulls away from your lips with a wide smile on his face. He brushes a stray hair that fell into your face behind your ear as his eyebrows furrow, “Why were you so nervous baby?”

“I don’t know,” you start, “I know that we’ve talked about kids before, but now, it’s real and I didn’t know how you were going to react.”

“Oh, bug. I will always stand by you and with you through whatever life throws at us. This is pretty big, but I fully believe that you’re capable of amazing things like being a mother, and with me, raising a family. I love you so so much (Y/N). Forever and ever.”

Peter always can bring a tear to your eye just off the way he loves you. You never knew how much you could love someone until you met Peter, and you were silly for ever thinking that his love for you would dull due to something like this. 

“You know, Miriam caught onto me earlier today?”

He leads you into a casual stroll as he recoils in disbelief, “No way. You just found out, how could she know?”

You shrug, “Said she could ‘see it in my face’.”

Peter laughs, grabbing ahold of your hand, and giving it a soft squeeze, “Maybe she’s magic…You know, May said that she once knew if her patient’s baby was a boy or a girl. And she was right.”

“Well,” you look at your husband, “we know who we need to go to when one of us wants to buy a lottery ticket!”

--author's note: EEEKKK!!! YAY A PART TWOOOO!!!!! peter loves reader so much omg its sickening. i need to write dad!peter more bc damn, i need him. be sure to like, comment, and reblog if you love what you see. my asks/inbox is open to send requests!!! ok, bye ily<3333

[hoodharlow]

Since Last Year

AN: shout out to that picture of Jack

Requested? No but my fave wanted this instead of Drive Safe so whatever they want <3

Warnings: Jack and Miriam being unserious, smut and a surprise at the end for y'all <3

Word Count: 1.3k words

Jack watched from the DJ booth as she tossed her head back, laughing at whatever her friend was saying. She caught his attention a while ago when she was one of the few people singing along to his songs. Jack was hosting New Years and hired his friend Zack Bia to DJ. Jack greeted his friends and family when they passed him on the DJ booth. But she hadn't approached the DJ booth. All he knew of her that she was a friend of a friend.

The girl excused herself from the group and made her way to the open bar. Jack took it as his chance and went to the bar. He was closer to the bar and took a seat at the end where it wasn't as packed. The girl sat on the empty stool next to him and waved down a bartender. 

“Can I get a Dr. Pepper with a shot of vodka?” She asked the bartender. 

They nodded and turned to Jack to also get his order. 

“Can I get some apple grape sparkling cider please?” he asked. 

The bartender nodded once more and got started on their drinks.

“Feeling festive, I see,” The girl began making conversation.

“I'm always feeling festive.” He smiled at her. 

“Okay,” she agreed sarcastically. 

“I'm Jack Harlow by the way,” he extended his hand to her. 

“I'm…fuck I forgot the name.” Miriam giggled. 

Jack rolled his eyes. Their cheesy plan to pretend to not know each other and have a quickie in the hall closet at their New Year's party backfired two minutes into ‘meeting’ at the bar. 

“It was Flora after your favorite charcater from Winx Club.” He reminded her. “But I like you as Miriam.”

“You're so corny.” She giggled. 

“Isn't that why you love me?” He grinned.

“Yeah, sure…” Miriam smiled.

Jack rolled his eyes. The bartender handed them their drinks then moved on to whomever was ordering next. 

“Dance with me.” Miriam said. 

She didn't wait for him to answer. She pulled Jack to the dance floor. She brought his hands to her hips while she wrapped her arms around him. They slowly danced, swaying from side to side. For a change of pace Zack played BELLAKEO. Miriam turned around and pressed her ass to his crotch. Luckily this time around, he knew what he was doing. He gently pushed her down and kept his hand on her back as he rolled his hips into her ass. Miriam flipped her hair and looked back at him. She began bouncing her ass against him to the beat, resulting in her flashing him her brand new yellow panties. 

“I fucking hate you.” Jack whispered in her ear when the song ended. 

“Why?” She asked innocently as if she didn't feel his dick poking her ass. 

“Calling Miriam to the booth to sing her #1 hit.” Zack announced while the beginning of QLONA played. 

“I'd help you out with that but I am needed.” She said. 

She blew him a kiss and strutted to the DJ booth. She took the mic from Zack and began singing. Jack joined Zack behind the DJ booth to watch her perform. Miriam performed the song a handful of times, the most recent occasion was at Jingle Ball in New York. Her dancing had improved immensely since the beginning of the year. That was mostly thanks to the movie she directed where her character was a pop star. 

Jack's attention was brought back to Miriam as she bowed after finishing her song. She handed Zack the mic and went to where Jack was sitting. Under his chair she stored a tote with a bag of grapes, a pair of sandals, and an outfit change in case her feet got tired or she got cold. After singing, the girls of Jack's friend group called her over. She told Alina that she was going to change shoes, knowing them they would be dancing. She sat next to Jack and pulled off her nude pair of Amina Muaddi pvc heels with a starburst embellishment in the front. She tried to stuff them in her tote but they wouldn't fit. She took out the clothes to put the heels first but then her jeans wouldn't fit in the tote. 

“I'll hold them.” Jack said, holding out his hand for her heels. 

“Are you sure? I can just put them in your car or something.” Miriam said, hesitantly. 

“It's fine. Imma chill here. I'll come find you five minutes before midnight.” He said. 

“Okay. I'll see you in a bit.” she nodded. 

“Don't get drunk.” he warned her. 

“No promises.”

*

It was five minutes to midnight. Jack watched Miriam down another shot of vodka and decided to go get her. 

“Jack!” She squealed when she saw him. She ran to him and jumped in his arms. “I miss you!”

“I missed you too, but let's get you some water.” Jack said, setting her down.

She leaned in and whispered. “I'm good, I paid off the bartender to give me water instead of vodka.” 

Jack chuckled. “You fucking genius.”

“I know.” She fluffed her hair. “Can we go back, I want to get my grapes.” 

“Oh about that, I kinda ate them.” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“Bro, those were for my twelve wishes.” She pouted. 

“That explains why you had a few. I've seen you eat half a bag like nothing.” he said. “Want me to ask the bartenders if they have any by chance?” 

“It's fine.” 

“I'm sorry. I got hungry.” 

“It's okay.” She said. 

“Let me apologize properly.” Jack said.

“You just said ‘I'm sorry.’ Plus there's two minutes till midnight.” 

Jack smirked. “I only need two.”

He took her hand and pulled her to a storage room. After locking the door, he draped his jacket on a chair and lifted Miriam on the table. He held her neck and pulled her into a passionate kiss. Skillfully he unfastened the small hook on the back of her dress and unzipped it, pushing it down to her hips. Jack unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. 

Miriam pushed down his pants and boxers. She reached down to stroke his cock, but Jack pushed her hand away and lined himself to her entrance. Outside they heard everyone counting down. Just as the count down reached one, Jack slid in her. 

“I haven't been inside of you since last year.” He said, resting his forehead on her shoulder. 

Miriam let out a mix of a moan and laugh. “You're so annoying.”

“And you love me for it.” He pulled her chin up to kiss her. “Happy new year.” 

“Happy new year, now fuck me because I haven't had sex since last year.” She said.

Jack chuckled and got to work. He placed one of her legs over his shoulder and slid into her. He pulled away and thrusted into her once again, earning louder sounds from her. Miriam nails dig into Jack’s biceps as he pounded into her. He took her rough and possessively. He snapped his hips, burying himself deep into her with every thrust. It didn’t take long for Miriam to come. She chanted his name and wrapped her legs tighter around him, wanting to feel all of him. Jack's orgasm followed soon after. With three shallow thrusts, he pushed himself deep inside Miriam, spilling every last drop in her. Jack pulled out of her and grabbed a roll of paper towels from a shelf. He wet them with warm water and cleaned Miriam up with one of them. Then he cleaned himself with the other. 

“Good?” He asked after helping her zip up her dress.

“Yeah,” Miriam nodded. 

Jack help open the door for her. “Ready to see what the year has in store for us Mrs. Dominguez-Harlow?”

Miriam nodded. “Yes Mr. Harlow-Dominguez.”

Taglist: @warsawharlow @heavyhitterheaux @cherry4everrr ​ @carma-fanficaddict ​ @youngharleezy @youngharleezyxo ​ @babyharleezy ​ @that-90s-girllll ​ @alinaharlow @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @webinurcloset @gassyandsassy1 @jackharloww @awhore4moree @noescapricho-essentimiento @neon-lights-and-glitter @purecinnamonextract @whywontyoulovemecami @camificrecs @itsyagirljaz @w1ldthoughts @vanwritesfan-fiction

[jpitha]

Boredom

The ability to experience boredom is not unique in the universe. All of the known sapient species know of it.

It's strange then, that only the humans will use boredom as an excuse to do inexplicable things.

Miriam is stationed on the Sefigan cruiser Soft Touch. It doesn't mean like the human idiom that they're easily swayed, it's a more literal translation, like something that is soft and nice to touch. She's in propulsion. Humans aren't allowed to work on the FlashWarp drives alone anymore after an order came down from the Colatition High Command, but they can still be on the propulsion team. She's in the engine room with her crewmae, Desi, a Zz'tk. They're an insectoid species, but they come from a high oxygen world like Miriam, so they get along relatively well.

"Hey Desi!" Miriam leans back in her chair and looks over at Desi, who is hunched over a console, their wing covers iridescent in the dim light of the room. "How come the gravity polarizers don't have a range table in the manual?"

Desi looks up, startled. They were still not used to working with humans, and their tendency to come up to them and launch into a conversation without any warm up was... tough to get used to. "What do you mean Miriam? The Polarizers are set to run at a comfortable range for all sapient species. Also, what are you doing reading the manual for them?"

She shrugged. "I'm bored. Ever since the Coalition cracked down on us playing with the FlashWarp drives - they still won't tell us why - most humans have been shuffled around to other systems. I was trained on FlashWarp and now I can't work on it! I have to do something else to occupy my time, so I'm reading through the manuals and tech docs. The gravity polarizers are pretty neat, but the manual doesn't say how high they can go. They don't say how low they can go either, but I assume they can all go to zero."

"How high-" Desi sputters. "Miriam, we don't need to know how high they can go. So long as the gravity is comfortable for everyone onboard, that's good enough."

Miriam scoffs. "Desi, use your imagination. I bet there's a lot we could do if we knew how high we could safely set the gravity polarizers. Here-" She touches the panel "-let's do some test-"

Before she can finish speaking, her hand slips on the touch panel and slides the slider nearly as high as it can go.

"Oops!"

****

Alarms.

Yelling and shouting in half a dozen languages.

Smoke and vapor pouring from cracked fittings.

Straining against the pull of 4 or 5 times Earth's gravity, Aria opens the door to the propulsion office, her footsteps heavy on the floor paneling. "Miriam! Desi! Are you all right?"

Desi's voice is muffled. They're laying face down on the floor, and can't get up. "Miriam injured herself when she fell. She is unresponsive, but I can't turn my head to check on her." Desi's breath rasps in their large box lungs "It's hard to breathe." They try and turn their head, and as they push with all their might, they're able to turn and look out. "Aria, how are you moving around?"

"It's not easy Desi, but humans are pretty strong. Was Miriam at the gravity polarizer station?"

"Yes"

"Let me see if I can fix this."

She slowly and carefully makes her way over to the station, and looks down. "Oh shit. It's turned up nearly all the way. Why can it go this high?"

"I don't know. Miriam said there were no range tables in the tech docs. She was bored and trying to learn more about the gravity polarizers before this happened."

Aria touched the panel and the indicator jumped around erratically.

"What the..."

Moving very slowly, Aira slid the indicator down until it was back at the previous setting. Immediately, Desi stood up, the pattern of the floor imbedded into their front carapace. "You did it!"

Aria looked over at Miriam, she was bleeding. She must have hit something when the gravity increase knocked her down. "Come on Desi, help me get her to the infirmary. We need to make sure she's all right."

****

Miriam sits in the waiting room of the shipboard HR office. She looks at the floor, sitting with her legs tightly together. Her head and left shoulder are bandaged.

The door opens and Captain Kiffen walks out, his fur still puffed out in anger. Behind him comes Xan'ar, the HR manager and another Sefigan. "Miriam? Please come with me."

Miriam enters the small office and stands. Xan'ar sits at the large desk and gestures with a small furred paw. "Please, sit."

"Am I fired?"

Xan'ar's fur ripples a smile. "Goodness no, though I'd steer clear of Captain Kiffen for a few cycles. He'd like to fire you through the slug launcher right now.

"Are you sure? I did turn the gravity up really high."

Xan'ar, remembering that they're talking to a human, gestures accordingly. "Ye-es, you did, but it was an accident right? I spoke with Desi already."

"Yes! My hand slipped over the touch panel. I had no idea they were so sensitive."

"Honestly, we didn't either. Those panels aren't tuned for human use. Apparently your species makes those panels run at a much higher sensitivity than others. I have mentioned this in my report, so they can be tuned in the future." Xan'ar looks down at the report a moment. "What were you doing at the gravity polarizer station, Miriam?"

"Well you know how the Coalition says that humans can't work on the FlashWarp drive anymore? And how I'm a certified FlashWarp operator? I was bored. I didn't want to finish my tour sitting around, so I started to learn new systems. Nobody seems to know anything about the gravity polarizers, they just turn them on and leave them. I was figuring that I could learn more about them and transfer." She shook her head. "The tech docs were useless though. They don't contain anything about them, just a troubleshooting tree and a reminder to call Support if they fail. I was going to see how to change the gravity when my finger slipped and brushed against the console." She looked up at Xan'ar. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Xan'ar looks down at their report. "Amazingly, no. Other than some bruises and cracked carapaces here and there, everyone was fine. You actually got the worst of it believe it or not."

Miriam visibly relaxes. "I'm glad."

Xan'ar swipes a few pages over on their pad and reads for a moment. "Actually, you're being recalled."

Miriam's face fell. "I thought I wasn't being fired!"

Xan'ar's fur ripples. "That's right, you're not. You're being transferred. You're going to work with the Coalition on human UI and UX on Coalition ships. This isn't the first time this has happened, and Human Fleet Command recommended we start the project. Did you know we didn't have a specific department to help with the "user interface" like you do?"

Miriam nods emphatically. "After using your panels? Yes. I could tell."

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Found my way back to you

A/N: Something for our CACW broken and sad boi Tony? Written for @fandom-free-bingo Here ya go. Special mention to @nicoline1998enilocin for proofreading, love you girl 💛 Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed the story.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger! F! Reader (our reader has Falcon-like abilities and Red Wing as well)

Warnings: Angst, hurt comfort.

Word count: 4.3k ish

Square filled: “Please don’t go.”

Fandom Free Bingo Masterlist

.

“Please don’t go.”

You weren’t sure you heard it at first as the voice seemed fainter than a whisper. Collecting your forgotten phone from the conference table, you were almost out the door when you heard him speak. Tony Stark sat at the far end of the table, nursing a glass of whiskey, his eyes downcast and shoulders drooped. There was a pleading in his voice that you couldn’t turn down.

Ever since Pepper left him for good, Tony had been heading towards a steady downfall of self-destruction. He was never one to talk but the team knew it, you knew it. You silently prayed that he would seek help and not be so stubborn for once. But you knew better than to push your teammate.

“What happened today, Tony?” Grabbing the nearest chair, you slid into it and waited for Tony to speak. You frowned as he took in a deep breath, as if preparing himself to relive whatever he was about to say.

“I met a lady named Miriam Sharpe today at MIT. She had a son, Charles Spencer. Great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia. He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” he raised his eyes to meet yours finally, guilt and regret swimming in them, almost drowning his soul with it. Pressing your lips in a thin line, you remained silent. How does one process this kind of information anyway?

“He would have been working at Intel come fall. And now…She blames me, Y/N. And she’s right. I blame myself. I created Ultron. It’s my fault.” his voice was so low, you had to strain to hear. You could see his guilty conscience eating him alive, and your heart broke for the man.

“It’s not all your fault, Tony. We all share responsibility for what happened in Sokovia. Could we have done without the blood-thirsty artificial intelligence that threatened an extinction-level genocide? Sure. But you have to stop blaming yourself for Ultron. We got him, he’s gone. The world is safe again, the Avengers made sure of that. You made sure of that, remember?” you reached out to place your hand over his, he didn’t resist, instead he gave you a small nod indicating he understood your point before offering you a small but grateful smile. Your words provided him comfort, temporary though, yet he was battling a world of obsessive thoughts on the inside.

Excusing yourself, you headed out the room once more, only for Tony to grab your attention once again.

“The world is only safe until the next big threat, Y/N. And then what? Another conference where I meet another parent of yet another child that didn’t deserve to die? We need to be kept in check.” he muttered assertively, downing the rest of his glass before heading out the door himself. Leaving you to ponder over his words that somehow rang true the more you gave it a thought.

.

“So you’re really going to leave huh?” Clint Barton knocked on your door softly before he made his way to your room, followed closely by Natasha Romanov.

“Yep. I’m really leaving.”

You were packing the last of your suitcases, cramming one of the many photo frames that held a picture of you with the team. A Midgardian suit-clad Thor stood tallest brandishing his humongous glass of beer, right next to Steve, Nat and Clint; Tony had decided to go for dramatics as he laid down in front of all of you, his suit jacket discarded as he laughed pointing at Bruce who had just spilled his drink down his shirt - all thanks to Red Wing - your trusted device that you secretly used for a jump scare. It was worth it. Taken at one of Stark’s parties, everybody looked happy, less frown lines, less stress. Good old days, you thought.

“That was a good night.” Clint chuckled, pointing at the picture and making you nod in agreement.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Natasha pulled you in for a hug, making you tear up in the process. She didn’t try and convince you to stay, she was probably the only one who truly understood why you chose to step away, even if she didn’t agree with the decision.

“I’ll miss you too, Nat. More than you know. You too Legolas. Don’t die on us.” you chuckled after hugging Clint. The nickname Tony gave just sort of stuck around, and it irritated Clint the most which is why you always chose to call him that. Both of them were the closest thing to family around here for you.

“I feel like I’m probably gonna be the only one who miraculously survives, Y/L,N.”

“Seriously though, be careful you guys. I have a feeling this is not going to end well.” you added, zipping up the last of your bags. Saying their final goodbyes, they left you alone.

Your room was now empty, all packed up into boxes, the space looked smaller somehow, even though it wasn’t. It was time for you to start a new chapter of your life and close this one. It came with unfinished business but you chose to move on. Whatever moving on from a superhero life meant.

.

“Please don’t go.”

Those three words rang in your ears months after they were uttered. As much as your heart wrenched, you had to leave, it was time.

The Sokovia Accords lay on the polished oak table, bringing dreadful silence across the room. It was hard to believe what your world had come to, and yet here it was. A choice. A choice that nobody benefitted from, except maybe the government. The accords meant that the Avengers would no longer function as an independent association, instead, the government would control and track their moves and influence their decisions. Not signing them would be considered as retirement, so there was no easy way out of it.

Did you agree with them? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? Probably. What shocked you most was that Tony Stark had agreed to comply, in fact he was coaxing each and every one to sign the papers. You knew what was about to happen. And you knew where you stood.

It didn’t make sense for you to stay anymore.

So you left. Retired as the government had you call it. And Tony tried to stop you, once. He assumed you would fight by his side no matter what. And for a brief moment, so did you. You wanted to be by his side, however, what Thaddeus Ross had asked of you was simply unacceptable. You could never live with your freedom taken away from you like that. It wasn’t regulation, it was manipulation and you couldn’t believe Tony for siding with it. It broke your heart.

And so with that broken heart, you fled town. Bought yourself a country home and a small farm with animals, you made a good life for yourself. A life so distinctly different from the one you previously had. No fights, no aliens dropping from the skies, no threats, but no Avengers either. And more importantly, no Tony.

It came as a huge shock the day King T’Chaka was killed in Vienna, and the terrorist later identified as The Winter Soldier only was going to make matters worse, you knew that.

A part of you felt guilty for leaving, while another part was relieved to be away from it all. The constant tug of war gave you several sleepless nights. The main cause for those was the fact that you left without saying goodbye to Tony. You wondered if he hated you for it. He probably did. The two of you were…complicated to say the least. The nature of your relationship was never clear, it came with baggage, one you were more than willing to carry before you were presented with the Accords. There wasn’t much left to say when Tony Stark became spokesperson for regulating and controlling the Avengers under the government’s shadow. Arguments seemed futile when the man was determined on what needed to be done to keep the team in check.

.

An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever. - Helmut Zemo

Tony Stark was a man left wounded by many battles, some he drew upon himself, others he didn’t. The Sokovia Accords had caused a schism in the Avengers, a public feud with Steve Rogers and those he trusted at an airport in Germany. He had now the burden of involving a child in the fight, and the fact that he almost lost his best friend. Rhodey was built an exoskeleton to aid him in walking after he recovered, that was the least Tony could do. Although James never blamed him for anything, deep down it cut him that he was responsible for most of mayhem caused.

And then there was you.

You had left the team, left him without a goodbye. Disappeared one night without a trace. Tony felt abandoned by the one person he had hoped would never leave, and yet you had. He had had many sleepless nights thinking about you, hoping that one day maybe out of the blue you would come back and explain yourself.

And now you were gone.

.

Tony,

I’m glad you’re back at the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion all by yourself. We all need family.

The Avengers are yours, maybe even more so than mine. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And, I’m happy to say that for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn’t.

I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I’m sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand.

I wish we agreed on the accords, I really do. I know you’re doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do. That’s all any of us should do.

So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us—if you need me—I’ll be there. The team may be scattered for now but I believe if and when the time comes, we will assemble as one. And it’s probably not my place to say this but, Y/N stepping down certainly does not mean she’s no longer with the team. She is out doing what she always dreamt of, living a normal life. Something all of us wish for every now and then. I hope you guys work it out someday. Take care, Tony.

Tony stared at the letter after reading it for the fourth time, the flip phone that came with it still in his hands. His mind invariably wandered to the last bit of Steve’s message. You.

Over the past few years, Tony had come to realize how integral you were, not just to the team and your contribution but to his life too. He had on many occasions found himself seeking you out for a chat, it always made his heavy heart just a little lighter. From the moment you joined the Avengers, you had intrigued Tony Stark. He admired you for your abilities, you were more capable than you were given credit for, you were compassionate, kind and a team player. You never said much but whenever you did, you always knew the right things to say, especially to Tony.

He recalled many occasions where you had leant a listening ear when he had wanted to rant, provided a logical solution when things seemed to get out of hand. He would never forget the comfort you provided when Pepper left him. You were there, holding his hand, hugging him tight when he asked to be left alone, knowing how much he needed a human touch. He didn’t fight it, instead he had let himself be held by you, by arms that provided safety, touches that soothed him and words that rendered all the uncertainties silent.

And yet you had left the compound without a word, or maybe without a conversation with him. It angered and worried him in equal parts.

The more he thought about it, the clearer the picture became of your possible whereabouts. One particular conversation stood out indicating where he might find you, memories of that evening brought a smile to his face as he recalled.

“Farm animals, definitely. I will get myself an alpaca, call her Ms Brain.”

“Are you serious?” you giggled, looking at Tony incredulously. The man was always full of surprises. You were lying on your backs on the compound lawn, it had been a particularly eventful day. Tony found you out here all by yourself, staring up at the gray sky. Getting him to lie down with you wasn’t easy but you managed, bribing him with his favorite whiskey later.

“What about you, Y/L/N?”

“Hmm..Let’s see. I want a huge backyard where I will grow my veggie garden, make the most delicious foods, and have a cat since I’ve always wanted one. Somewhere peaceful and quiet, away from the city, of course. Some place that’ll show me actual stars instead of these twinkling airplane lights, you know?” you murmured, chuckling as a plane flew right above, its red lights mixing with the gray smoke and clouds before it disappeared, effectively making its point.

Tony remained silent, turning his head towards you so he could see your face, your eyes still focused on the sky, he gazed at you fondly. Admiring you for having the courage to dream of a different life so freely, something he used to be able to do but now it all seemed too far off.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours, Y/N?” Tony murmured, reaching his pinky finger out to entwine with yours.

“I’m just picturing you on a farm with Ms. Brain on a leash.” You smiled looking down at your hands.

“Do you think about running away from it all?”

“All the time.” Tony replied promptly, turning his body to face you as you did the same.

“What stops you from doing it then?”

As if on cue, his phone rang, disturbing the quiet of the moment. He murmured a ‘that’ under his breath before sitting up to answer it, thereby ending your little heart-to-heart.

.

It was a lovely spring morning when you awoke. Your usual wake up call was meowing his way up your bed, demanding to be fed. Once the cat had his fill, you made yourself a cup of coffee and breakfast and went about your day.

Your life out here was simple, just the way you wanted it to be. Your savings had bought you a decent sized house with a large enough backyard garden for you to grow your veggies - something you always dreamt of having. The difference was so stark, it took you a while to adjust to this new life. But eventually you did. The peace and quiet it brought you was indescribable. But that didn’t mean you didn’t miss your Avenger life. To be more specific you missed the team, mostly Tony Stark.

You felt horrible for leaving without notice, especially after finding out about the fight that took place in Germany. You often found yourself wondering how he was dealing with everything. Did he have anybody by his side? You knew the answer to that. Did he get back with Pepper Potts? You didn’t want to find out the answer to that.

As evening rolled by, you poured yourself a glass of wine and got started on dinner, hearing a sharp knocking sound on your door right after. Frowning, you wiped your hands on a napkin and went to open it. You weren’t expecting anyone.

On the other side of the door stood the man you least expected to find, and yet the same man you were hoping to find all this time.

Tony Stark.

He wasn’t the Tony Stark you recognized. No. He seemed different, and not in a good way. His face was still the same, handsome, striking and yet it lacked the usual charisma. There were several bruises decorated all over his face, some healed, others on their way but definitely promised to leave a permanent mark. Words had escaped your vocabulary as you stood there dumbfounded, until he cleared his throat.

“Tony.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re um, you’re here.”

He gave you a nod, grateful that you stepped out of the way to let him in, still trying to process. Red Wing flew in after him, having scanned him for being a potential threat. It was a habit you couldn’t shake off, even in retirement, you were prepared for the unexpected.

“You turned Red Wing into a bellboy? You should’ve left with Dum-E, he would’ve been the perfect lawn mower.”

He made you chuckle, immediately reminding you of the Tony you had missed all these months. A part of you was relieved to see him, your heart beating with excitement now that there seemed a possibility that he was here to see you.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

He shook his head in a no, explaining he had had too much coffee before, his trembling fingers spoke for themselves. Wordlessly, you made your way towards the kitchen, putting on a kettle of water to make him a cup of chamomile tea instead.

“Will you stay for dinner? I was only just getting started.” you offered, taking his noncommittal shrug as a yes.

He seemed to be busy digesting your new home, the surroundings that now glowed under the light of the setting sun. Your cat jumped out from his hiding spot, greeting Tony by walking between his legs, rubbing his scent over him, already claiming the man as his.

“He’s never that friendly with anyone.” you pointed out, smiling a little when Tony bent down to scratch him behind his ears, causing a cat to purr in appreciation. You brought him a cup of piping hot tea which he accepted wordlessly, taking a seat on your couch where you joined him. Several moments of silence passed where you watched him blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

“You left without saying goodbye to me.”

Tony’s words fell on your ears but cut right through your heart. You should’ve been prepared for this to come up.

“Would you have stopped me from going, Tony?”

“No. Probably. I–I would’ve wanted you to stay and fight back, Y/N.”

You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at the thought.

“Fight you, you mean? You know I was never going to sign those Accords. I was not going to fight by your side, Tony. You knew that.” your voice shook as you spoke, getting up from your seat and heading back to your kitchen, you put some distance between the two of you.

“Then you should’ve fought me! Anything was better than leaving unannounced, Y/N.”

His words made you turn around, his eyes shone under the candlelight, burning with embers of unanswered questions. You stood quiet, your breathing shallow now.

“Clearly I didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Is that what you think? You’re wrong, Tony. It’s because you meant the most to me, Tony. I couldn’t say goodbye to you because if I had, I wouldn’t have survived. And I couldn’t stay. So forgive me for running away, alright? I took the easiest choice at hand because the alternative was just too damn difficult.” you had a few tears strayed down your cheek by the time you finished, your heart now pounding wildly against your ears as you stood gripping the dining chair so tight your knuckles had turned white.

Tony sat still for a while, his brain comprehending your words before a hint of a smile made its way on his face, a sense of temporary relief - something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something inside of him had led him here, the longing to see your face, questions that needed answers, the loneliness he felt that only grew more and more once everything that could go wrong went wrong. And yet, as he sat here after finding you, his heart felt lighter. Like he had made the right choice in what felt like forever.

“You haven’t asked why I am here.” he murmured, turning his attention back to the cup of tea in his hands.

“Wasn’t it to donate Dum-E to be my trusted lawn mower?” you jested, taking a seat on the chair you were previously clutching.

“I found out it wasn’t a car accident that killed my parents. They were murdered. By James Buchanan Barnes.” Tony stared ahead, gripping the cup tightly in his hands as he spoke.

“Oh my God, Tony…”

“And Rogers knew. He knew, Y/N.” he whispered, the anguish and hurt in his voice evident. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The Avengers having a difference of opinion was one thing, but this piece of information was enough to cause a definitive crack, you knew that.

“It wasn’t Barnes, Tony. It was the Winter Soldier, he was being controlled.”

“They’re still dead.”

That made you understand he wasn’t looking for a logical explanation, at least not now. What he needed was comfort. Without another word, you made your way back over to the couch, placing your hand on Tony’s back to let him know you were there for him.

“I almost lost Rhodey. I saw him fall to his death from the sky, Y/N. I couldn’t make it to him in time. And now our team is scattered. Gone. All because I–”

“Because of the Accords, and a difference of opinion, Tony.” you shifted closer, placing the cup away to grab his hands in yours.

“But I signed them. I failed.” his words broke your heart, unshed tears now made their way into his eyes as he tried his best not to break down in front of you.

“Hey, it’s okay, Tony. We’ll figure it out, like we always do, right? It’s okay, come here.”

Wrapping him in a hug, you held him close to you as he broke down, finally allowing himself to be vulnerable. He held onto the light sweater you wore like you would disappear in his grasp, shoulders burdened heavy now shaking in silent tears as months, maybe years of pent up and unaddressed feelings resurfaced.

“Shh. You’re okay, Tony. Let it out, I’ve got you.” You carded your fingers through his hair softly, blinking your own tears away.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Tony. I should have been there for the team, for you. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head slightly, the movement a little difficult with his head safely tucked against your chest. After his tears subsided, you clasped his hand and led him upstairs to draw him a bath.

Tony Stark hadn’t known what it felt to have someone else care for him in a long time. He didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable the way he had now, because for the first time in forever, he knew felt safe. Safe enough to show his scars, his wounds. As you wordlessly undressed him, your eyes scanned the bruises littered across his skin, old scars and new. Your fingers traced them delicately before you nudged him to step inside the tub while you sat out. He needed this more than you at that moment.

The warm water healed his sore muscles, the ache that had settled deep within them slowly slipped out as your hands massaged the knots away. There was no way he could express how thankful he was for you in words. He chose to express it all with a kiss instead.

Right after you were done washing his hair, he held your hand to pull you closer to the edge of the tub, his gaze lowered as his face inched closer to yours.

As your lips met, you felt yourself melt against him. There was still a lot to work through but for now, you let yourself be lost in Tony Stark. All of him. You let him consume your senses. He was all that mattered.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Hmm?”

Your question seemed irrelevant, you probably guessed it had been a while since the man got a good night’s rest. Now that you were out in your backyard, lying on a soft blanket you’d brought out to watch the night sky. Tony held on to your hand, placing it right over his chest where his arc reactor once was.

Several stars twinkled in the inky black sky, a visual you had missed in the city life. You remembered the nights you laid out here alone, rethinking past choices. You were content then, but you only understood peace now. There was no one else you would rather be here with than Tony.

His heart was beating steadily against your hand, his breath calm, features relaxed. This was the Tony you knew and loved.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I found my way back to you.”

[one-armed-lass]

*Hailey came back home. It was the middle of the night and she was exhausted. Exhausted enough to fall asleep at that moment. She limped towards the door. Covered in blood, knife in hand.. she did it again to another woman. She got to the front door and tried to open it, she was disoriented enough to where she couldn't even do that*

(Hope you don't mind me starting a rp-)

(Not at all , i always get excited seeing you in my ask box)

*Miriam was currently in the middle of looking over a few things Jack had sent over, she was staying somewhere else in town so she could keep an eye on Hailey and the other Bates it was late and she was about to head to bed when she heard her front door knob jiggle like someone was trying to get in and she tense a bit before quietly going over to the door to look through the peep hole seeing a blood cover Hailey and she immediately opened the door*

Hailey?

[silvery-bluish]

Sidestep masks! Varyingly pins and patches. I made a bunch of them because I was Captured by the Cross Stitch Bug this year. They are, from top left to bottom right:

@rangerdoubt‘s Miriam’s, @autistic-sidestep‘s Sura's, @rosaindomitus’s Aisling’s, a Sidestep Classic for @honor-among-thieves , my Arsinoe's (made this one Months ago but I haven’t attached it to anything yet so it gets to be in the group photo), @thenightdayblogger’s Esme, and a Sidestep Classic for @boundtoanandroid!

Under the cut are a couple progress photos and the sidestep classic pattern!

Front and back of the six I made most recently before I cut them out and finished them! There’s two brooch-back pins, a tie tack backed pin, three iron on patches and a sew on patch.

I based the sidestep classic pattern off the cover art from Rebirth that's polterink's design, and I made different patterns for the other masks, of course, but I’m less willing to share those since they aren’t my designs or the sort-of standard. The DMC thread values I used are 3845 for the bright turquoise, S415 for the light grey, 3799 for the dark grey (except for the three that are actually 413 i think), and 310 for the black!

A caveat that I didn't actually do all the backstitch this pattern shows-- I did as Little of the backstitch as I could get away with lol

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Hi your blog has triggered a new hyperfixation in me and I just wanted to let you know that I love Miriam and would absolutely die for her. Also I’m from Malaysia and was wondering if you have a fav/interesting snakes from that area of the world? (shoutout to Hobie we’re from the same place!!)

I’m so glad I found your blog pls keep posting fun snek contents :3

So glad you like the blog!! Malaysia has tons of interesting and super cool snakes (and not just Borneo pythons like Hobie, who are just the best snakes ever).

There's also Malayan spitting cobras (Naja sumatrana), who are super majestic...

And also have the cutest babies ever!

Dragonsnakes (Xenodermus javanicus) are also native to Malaysia (and are especially common in Borneo). They're striking, incredibly beautiful snakes!

You'll also find odd-scaled snakes (genus Achalinus) across the Malay penninsula.

Wolfsnakes are some of my very favorite snakes native to Malaysia. They're named for their large front teeth, which cause their mouths to have a snout-like shape.

And we can't forget about reticulated pythons! The retics living in mainland Malaysia have some of the largest-sized populations on record.

Malaysia is located in a sort of snake sweet spot and is home to a wide and diverse variety of incredible species! There are nearly 200 snake species and representatives from 14 snake families native to Malaysia. I could talk about the snakes of Malaysia all day and not even scratch the surface.

[lauriegraham01]

i know you

pairings: will graham x gn!reader

summary: wills just been released from the baltimore state hospital for the criminally insane, he's lost parts of himself and you try to calm him through the storm that is his mind.

wc: 1,202

a/n: inspo from two songs actually: bobby by alex g, i know you by faye webster, and maybe a line of maroon by ts.

will, you have been my rare gift in this life- <3

It's been four days since Will had been released from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Not even within the hour of being released, Jack Crawford had him back on the field. You added to your list of grievances against Jack when Beverly shot you a text saying Will was working on the case of Miriam Lass. You felt defeated as one of the poisons in Will's life had managed to seep his way in again.

Jack wouldn't allow you to visit Will while he was admitted. He said your personal relationship would interfere with the case against him. As your boss, you knew he was in the right, but as someone who also knew Will, he knew the harm he was doing by placing you out of reach.

When Jack came to your office to tell you of Will's attempt on murdering Hannibal, he had expected any other reaction then the one you had given.

"He's been telling you from the start Jack but you won't listen." Looking up at him you see the unamused look on his face from where he stands towering over your desk.

"What are you implying then?" Leaning over he gets closer as he carries an edge in his voice. You know an intimidation tactic when you see one and you remain unphased underneath his gaze.

"You kill Hannibal, you kill the Chesapeake Ripper. Once you see the murders have you stopped, then you'll believe that it was Hannibal all this time."

You get up from your desk and grab your coat as you make way for the door before granting him one last look.

"Just like Will has been telling you."

Now Will's home, but he's not. After spending a few months locked away as a pawn in somebody else's game, he came back a different man. He lost a piece of himself every day. As everyone turned against him, and without having you as an anchor, he questioned his mind, his sanity, and his reality.

Right now you both sat side by side on the front porch of the farmhouse as you watched the dog's play around in the snow. You never thought that you would get this back, to be able to feel things were normal for even a second and Will wasn't battling forces of evil that were far too intricate for you to comprehend.

"I missed this," you break the silence that hung in the air. " Things feel normal for once."

"I don't think normal is something that I can go back to y/n," his voice came out hoarse, sleep still evident in his throat.

"There's still a chance though, right?" You throw a side glance of him as you bring the cup of your coffee within your hands, up to your lips.

Will stays silent for a while. You weren't sure if even you were waiting for a response, understanding if he didn't. His mind is no longer the way it was months before, operating in an entirely new way as he viewed the world through a different lens.

Yet you remained the same in his eyes. His perfect design. He knew that Jack was punishing him by preventing you from seeing him, and not seeing you for a long time caused irrevocable damage to him. The voices in his head told him that you wouldn't believe him, that you couldn't be with a man as broken as he was, that you didn't love him anymore.

He turned his head to look at your face. As you felt his eyes on you, you met his gaze and he felt his heart swell within his chest. He still felt that rush that surged through him whenever he was near you. Will has loved you through your toughest storms, but he didn't think he was worthy of your undying loyalty, love, and patience.

"Where's your mind at Will?" Voice gentle, afraid that he may shut you out at the sudden curiosity.

"I told everyone Hannibal was a killer...and nobody believed me."

There's a pain so evident in his voice that you've never heard before. An ache so profound so desolate, that it just confirms how it'll be a long time before Will would get even a fraction of his mind back.

"I did," you softly affirmed.

"I do."

"How can you love me?"

"Do you remember when we first met?" His eyebrows scrunch up, not understanding the connection or relevance to the topic at hand. Taking his silence as means to go on, you think back to all those years ago to when you and Will were still in your lunchbox days.

"I grabbed your hand and you tore my dress after I got so upset at the amount of mud that caked at the bottom of it. You've cleaned up so many of my messes over the years Will as I have for you. With you, I've felt things I can't express and I know you've lost your way and made your messes but I'll clean it for you."

You reach out for his hand and with fingers intertwined, he feels a sense of comfort-something that had almost become foreign to him. But of course you were the one to remind him of that feeling, because even after this time you were the candle burning in the bleak of the night. The one shred of hope he had left that there was good in this world, that the raging seas that his mind traveled through would one day calm down to still waters.

"Did you ever lose faith in me?"

"No," you immediately replied.

"I told you a long time ago that I had enough faith for the both of us and I meant it." Squeezing his hand, he took note of how your eyes shifted around as you tried to fight off the intense wave of emotions he knew were consuming you.

"I didn't lose it then even when you tried to have Hannibal killed. I know you had your reasons and I could understand why you did what you did. And there's no way in hell i'm gonna lose it now."

"I love you unforgivably Will, without hesitation." Your voice comes out high pitched towards the end as you felt your throat tightening.

"I'm here regardless of the pain, don't ever tell me to go away from you. I know you, Will. I love you."

He lets go of your intertwined hands before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer to him. He laid his chin on top of your head as you burrowed your face into the side of his neck. The scent of his aftershave filled your senses and you let out a heavy sigh, grateful that moments like these could happen. Grateful that Will was here and hopeful that there could be a path to healing.

"I know you too, and I love you y/n," he whispers as he pulls back to capture your lips in a soft kiss. The lips that he knew he could always call home.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 43: Katherine's Advice

Prev > Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: conditioning, discussion of abuse, panic attacks

Oliver put the finishing touches on a set of egg-salad sandwiches, neat triangles with the crust removed, and set them on a platter along with an assortment of tea cookies from a local bakery. Truthfully, he didn't know the first thing about entertaining -- with no friends or family and a tiny bookshop apartment, it wasn't anything he'd ever had to do. Alexander had some helpful suggestions for things he'd seen other thralls do, and had procured the supplies Oliver would need for a light midnight lunch (or whatever one might call it.)

In fact, Alexander had been hovering around Oliver a great deal since their fraught conversation a couple of nights before. He'd bought a bounty of foods he supposed Oliver might like, and seemed to be popping up around every corner of the library to show Oliver interesting books.  It was as though his master thought he needed to win his favor all over again -- despite the fact that Oliver was still very much enthralled, his thoughts often going hazy and filling with imagined echoes of siren song.

Oliver didn't really need the attention, but he did appreciate the advice on entertaining. Embarrassing as it was, Oliver really did want to impress his guests. So much had happened over the past few weeks, his entire life and conception of the world turned on its end. The only people who might really understand were vampires' thralls. Miriam hadn't seemed quite lucid enough for a true conversation, but Alexander had told him that Miss Ruth's thrall, Charlie, was quite intelligent and together.

It'd be nice to talk to someone else who had gone through... this. That was all.

He had just finished up in the kitchen when the doorbell rang and his master rushed to greet the guests. "Hello hello!" sang a voice that Oliver would never forget: Miss Lily. She brought both of her hands to her face in a dramatic mock gasp. "Lex? No, it can't be. You don't look like you just clawed your way out of a grave. Who are you, and what have you done with Lex?"

"Mm. Nice to see you too."

"And look at you!" Miss Lily ruffled Oliver's hair. "You look like you're adjusting quite well! Are you the one responsible for Lex's shocking good health?"

Oliver blushed, not certain how to respond to the praise. She seemed different from how she had been in the auction house, more relaxed, but something about her voice and mannerisms still made Oliver feel a bit dazed and eager to please. "I'm just glad I was able to help him, sir."

"Of course you did. I just knew a thrall like you could do him a world of good. Speaking of which..." She pulled her thrall Miriam through the front door, and she looked at Oliver with her usual clouded expression. "Miriam, you remember Oliver, don't you? Lord Alexander's new thrall?"

She looked confused for a moment before her face lit up a bit in recognition. "Oh, yes! From when we were staying at the auction house. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too." Miriam's uncertain mental state made him a bit uneasy. If Lily and Alexander were anything alike, would he end up similarly entranced? Would he even realize if it happened? Was it happening already?

"But Miriam's not the only person I've brought along. I took the liberty of inviting one of our old friends that Lex has been avoiding."

Alexander looked confused. "Ruth? I haven't been avoiding her."

"Ruth's on the way, too, but no, not her."

"Oh -- you don't mean --"

A sophisticated-looking older woman, gray hair tucked in neat curls, stepped out from the porch. She was wearing an old-fashioned, dark blue flannel dress with a high collar. Behind her was another older woman, also wearing an old-fashioned flannel dress, hers covered with a ruffled white pinafore.

"Edith! It's been ages!" said Alexander.

"And whose fault is that?" she said, in the tone of a worried mother. "You kept turning me away when I called on you, and I'd hear all about it from Lily -- how you refused to take a thrall, and were drinking bottled blood --"

Alexander looked uncharacteristically cowed by the scolding. "And I'm sure she's told you that I have a suitable thrall, now, so you needn't worry about my health."

"I'll stop being worried about your health when you start taking proper care of yourself," she said. "But I'd like to meet this thrall of yours. Is this him?"

Even with his master and Miss Lily around him, Oliver could still feel the pull of this new vampire's aura on his mind. It was soothing, almost numbing, and he had the odd thought that she must be a good master. "My name is Oliver Pines, sir, and I am indeed Lord Alexander's thrall. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, what a polite and charming thrall," Miss Edith said with a smile. She shamelessly took Oliver's chin in her hand to examine his face, and Oliver was surprised that his master didn't seem to mind. "Healthy, and his blood smells very nourishing."

"As you can see, I'm taking care of myself just fine," said Alexander defensively.

"I suppose this is a better state of affairs than your usual. But where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself properly." she said, and then turned back to Oliver. "You may address me as Dr. Edith. I'm a doctor who has served the vampire community for over a century. If you're ever sick or injured, no doubt your master will call on me to help."

"You're a vampire... doctor, sir?"

"There are very few health ailments that can afflict vampires, so I primarily take care of their precious thralls. After all, healthy thralls are necessary for a healthy vampire," she said, with a pointed look at Alexander.

He rolled his eyes with a smile on his face. "Yes, yes, your point has been made."

"And this is Katherine, my faithful nurse," said Dr. Edith, gesturing to the woman who had accompanied her.

Katherine delicately shook Oliver's hand. "Good to meet you." She looked bright-eyed compared to Miriam, but her hand was warm, and she clearly was not a vampire.

"Are you a..."

"Dr. Edith's thrall, yes, and her nurse and assistant and whatever else is required of me."

"I see," he said with relief. He was looking forward to having a chat with a thrall who seemed to still have her wits about her.

While the group was still exchanging pleasantries, hanging up coats and hats, when the doorbell rang once again. It was Miss Ruth, the vampire lawyer who had sized up Oliver's suitability for a clerk at the auction house. She was followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man.

"Do you remember me, Oliver?" she asked.

"Yes, sir, I remember you very well. You asked me to recite state capitals. I'm glad to see you well."

Miss Ruth looked at him with longing. "Oh, I do wish I could have afforded to buy you," she said. "But no matter how hard I work, I just can't compete with Lex's fortune."

The broad-shouldered man was named Charlie, and he was one of Miss Ruth's thralls and law clerks. He favorited Oliver with a stoic nod, and between him and Katherine, he couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. Now that he was fully enthralled and owned by a vampire, it was strange to be around other humans, even those in a similar boat. It made him more keenly aware of his situation, and he wondered how he seemed to other people, all too aware that he was under a hypnotic spell.

"Now that all of our guests have arrived, Oliver, why don't you get your tea and refreshments and show the thralls into the second-floor sitting room?" said Alexander. "We'll be meeting in the parlor, and I would prefer not to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, feeling more than a bit like a child being shooed off so the adults could talk. But even though he'd love to hear what the vampires were discussing -- especially since he seemed to be of particular interest to them -- he was also eager to have a chat with the other thralls.

A few moments later, and he'd enlisted Katherine and Charlie's help in carrying trays to the sitting room. The curtains were open wide, offering a pleasant view of the gaslit city streets and the waning moon. Miriam settled into a plush chair and pulled a knitting project out of a small bag as Oliver poured tea for the four of them.

"Please, help yourself to sandwiches and cookies," he said.

"You're a lovely host, Oliver," Katherine commented. "And so lucid, as well." 

"Um --"

Charlie glared. "An awkward thing to say to a new thrall, don't you think?"

"At my age, I don't see any point dancing around the bush. I've seen hundreds of thralls, after all, and I'm well aware that we're some of the more fortunate ones."

"How long have you two been thralls?" asked Oliver.

"Six years for me," said Charlie.

"I've been with the doctor for nearly thirty years now."

"Thirty years!" said Oliver. "I didn't know... well..."

"Didn't realize that a thrall could last so long in the service of a vampire?" said Katherine, amused. "It's understandable, but it's more common than you might expect. I'm particularly lucky in that my master is a doctor, and so I'm kept very healthy."

"Do you like your master?"

"I do," said Katherine. "I'm under her spell, of course, but after all these years, that's practically background noise. But after having met so many vampires, I'm glad it was the doctor who enthralled me. I meet lots of interesting people and vampires, and I get to help them. I'm never bored. And she's always treated me well."

"I'm also happy to serve my master," said Charlie in a tone that sounded a bit strange. "I mean, I do miss my old life sometimes, and it's hard work to be a clerk, but my living conditions are so much better than when I was working at the factory, that's for sure. My math and reading have improved, too."

"And how about you, Oliver? What's your first impression of serving Lord Alexander?" said Katherine.

Oliver's mind swirled with thoughts, of his master's siren song and his feeding and his need, of the library and the comfortable bed and generous food, of his tiny apartment above the bookshop that used to be modest but his, of the threat of his master's sire.

"It's been good so far. Lord Alexander will be a good master to me, I hope," said Oliver carefully. "But... did you two know his previous thralls?"

Katherine exchanged a look with Charlie. "Ah, yes, Henry. I remember him. He was more... subdued. Like Miriam." 

"Like Miriam," Oliver repeated, his fear of having his mind fade away from him renewed.

Miriam looked up from her knitting. "Hm?"

"Nothing, dear," said Katherine. "I believe that Lord Alexander has, for the most part, always treated his thralls very well. He's a gentle vampire, and he's always treated me with more respect than is due a thrall. But..."

"But?"

"Well... I have had to treat a number of mysterious injuries on Alexander's previous thralls. Miss Lily's as well. I assume you know what those two have in common."

Charlie looked impatient. "There's no need to beat around the bush. Our vampires won't mind us talking about this. They're probably talking about the same thing," he said. "Oliver, what has Lord Alexander told you about the Maestro?"

"The Maestro?" said Oliver, his eyes widening. "Is that... his sire?"

"Oh dear. Yes, he is," said Katherine. "So he's told you very little. It's the way of vampires, unfortunately. Even my master barely tells me anything."

Oliver gripped his chair. "I need to know. Please, tell me."

"I'm afraid I don't know that much myself. He's notoriously reclusive. But I have had to visit his manor to attend to thralls on a number of occasions. Even my master would prefer not to go there, but she says it's too dangerous to defy him."

"What was he like?"

Katherine leaned in close, as though the subject of their conversation might somehow overhear. "His power lets him control people's bodies utterly. His thralls are like toy soldiers, moving to a drum only they can hear. I'm used to all kinds of thralls, but his were uncanny." Katherine shuddered. "Even though he didn't lay a hand on me, he was glaring at me the entire time, and I could feel his influence pulling at my mind. A feeling as though I had to fall in line immediately, or something terrible would happen. Like I could barely think without him hearing it. I've rarely wanted to flee a manor so quickly as that one."

"That does sound... unpleasant," he said, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he sipped his tea, unable to stop his imagination from conjuring visions of himself being used as little more than a puppet. "And his thralls were injured?"

"My master complained that he hadn't called until they were practically bleeding out -- afterwards, of course, not while we were there. Malnourished, too, with a haunted look about them." She put a hand on his knee with a sympathetic look. "But these were the Maestro's own thralls, not Alexander's. You have far less to worry about here. As I've said, I've always found him to be a very gentle vampire."

"Convenient," huffed Charlie. "A vampire with a reputation for being gentle and honest, who gets to blame all his thralls' injuries on his notoriously cruel sire."

Katherine looked alarmed. "Charlie --"  

"I'm just saying that I find it hard to believe the apple falls that far from the tree."

Before Katherine could interject again, Miriam unexpectedly looked up from her knitting, fear written on her normally placid face. "But it is true," she insisted. "Lord Alexander has never hurt me. Neither has Miss Lily, except when she has to leave me there, and --" Tears began to roll down her face. "I can hear it. I can still hear it. Miss Lily told me I could forget, but I can't, I can't forget or he'll punish me --"

"Miriam, oh dear, Miriam, it's okay," said Katherine, pulling the sobbing thrall into an embrace. "It's all right, Miriam. No one's going to hurt you here. You're safe with us, dear."

"I can dance. I can do the dance perfectly, I promise, just let me try, I can do it." Miriam's anxious mumble was barely intelligible between her crying and the way she was pressed against Katherine.

"Miriam, you aren't there. You aren't anywhere frightening. You're having tea at Lord Alexander's house, remember?"

"I'm at...?"

"Lord Alexander's house. His thrall Oliver is being such a gracious host. It's perfectly safe. See?"

Miriam seemed to wake from her terror almost as quickly as she'd fallen into it. "Oh, of course, I don't know what I was thinking!" she said, glassy-eyed as she lifted her head from Katherine's shoulder. "Oh, I always enjoy when my madam visits Lord Alexander. He's very kind to me."

"Of course he is, dear," said Katherine, patting her back. "We really shouldn't bring up such awful topics around Miriam. She's a sensitive soul. Charlie, how's your baseball team doing?"

Oliver wanted to hear more, even though it terrified him, but he also felt awful that his questioning had thrown Miriam into a panic, so he eagerly went along with the topic change. "You like baseball, Charlie?"

"Love baseball, always have," he said, also looking relieved at the conversation switch. "My master gave me a great radio set, so I can listen to all the games. But my team's doing awful this year -- bottom of the league. They never shoulda traded their star pitcher..." 

As Oliver listened to Charlie rant about blown games and poor referee calls, as Katherine discussed birdwatching and a new bread recipe she'd tried, he could almost forget the fear of his situation and feel a little bit normal.

It was only later, after Charlie and his madam left and Miriam was engrossed in her knitting, that Oliver was able to pull Katherine aside. "Katherine, will you please hear me out?"

"Certainly," she said in a motherly tone. "I know how hard it is, the first few weeks of being a vampire's thrall."

"What you said before..." He glanced around as if he were afraid his master would pop out of the shadows at any moment. "Am I safe here? Will I be all right? I've been conditioned to be unable escape..."

"That's normal, yes. I assume Miss Lily was the one who handled your conditioning?"

"She was."

"Then no, I don't expect you'll be able to escape," she said. She put a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "I can't promise that you will be safe. What I said about the Maestro was all true, and while I do believe Alexander means well on the whole, you're among vampires now. We live in their world, and they do what they will with us."

Oliver felt his gut twist. "So then..."

"I've met so many thralls in my life. Hundreds, probably. Most in worse situations than you, and some in better," she said. "Would you like to hear my honest advice about surviving this?"

"Yes, by all means."

"Find happiness wherever you can. Find joy outside of your master's enthralling and feeding. Hobbies, food, art, education, anything that brings you pleasure -- indulge in it." She smiled warmly. "You'll need these pleasures to keep your mind sharp and keep your soul from despair. When you're permanently a prisoner, you need something tangible to look forward to, even if it's simply a warm drink or a beam of sunshine. You seem like the sort of man who can appreciate the mundane."

"...I like to believe so, yes."

"That's a skill that will serve you well, Oliver," she said. "Even if Alexander and his sire are cruel to you, you'll still have something to hold on to during your darkest moments."

"Something to hold on to..." 

"I think you will figure it out. With how much Lord Alexander seems to prize you, it wouldn't surprise me to meet you here twenty years from now, looking back on our lives with our vampires."

She seemed to mean it, and that gave Oliver hope.

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I really enjoy Edith as a character and hope to write at least one side story with her.

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