#LOOK IF THAT WAS THE SAME COLOR YELLOW IT WOULD JUST LOOK LIKE ANOTHER LEG

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[girlkisser13]

birds of a feather

"i knew you in another life" "you had that same look in your eyes" "i love you, don’t act so surprised"

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. tooth rotting fluff. established relationship.

summary: "i love you in every universe."

the warm afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a dappled pattern of light and shadow over the grassy clearing. the air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the gentle hum of bees buzzed around the two of you as you sat cross-legged on the soft grass, your fingers deftly weaving a colorful flower crown. percy lay with his head in your lap, his eyes closed, a peaceful smile playing on his lips. his dark hair felt soft under your touch as you carefully arranged the flowers, making sure each one was placed just right.

the two of you had stolen away to this hidden spot, far from the hustle and bustle of camp half-blood. it was your secret sanctuary, a place where the both of you could escape from the chaos of your lives as demigods and simply be yourselves. as you worked on his flower crown, you found myself lost in the simple, soothing rhythm of the task.

percy’s voice broke the comfortable silence, soft and contemplative. "do you think parallel universes are real?"

you paused, your fingers stilling for a moment as you considered his question. "i don’t know," you admitted, your focus still on the flowers in your hands. "maybe. there’s a lot we don’t understand about the universe."

percy opened his eyes and looked up at you, his sea-green eyes thoughtful. "i’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. about how there could be other versions of us out there, living different lives."

you nodded absently, selecting a bright yellow daisy and adding it to the crown. "it’s a nice idea. infinite possibilities and all that."

he reached up and took your hand, his touch warm and grounding. "do you think we’d still find each other? in those other universes?"

his question caught you off guard, and you looked down at him, your heart skipping a beat. there was something earnest and vulnerable in his expression that made your chest tighten with emotion.

"i don’t know," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i’d like to think so."

percy’s smile widened, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "i think we would. no matter what."

you tilted your head, curiosity piqued. "how do you know?"

he shifted slightly, turning so that he could look up at you more easily. "because i love you," he said simply. "and my love for you is so strong, so pure, that i can’t imagine any version of me not feeling the same way. it’s like... like a universal constant."

you felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you looked away, focusing on the flower crown to hide your embarrassment. "that’s... really sweet, percy."

"i’m serious," he insisted. "i believe that in every universe, i would find you. and i would love you just as much as i do now."

you could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. you finished the last few touches on the flower crown and gently placed it on his head, the colorful blossoms a stark contrast to his dark hair.

"there," you said, smiling down at him. "perfect."

percy reached up to touch the crown, his fingers brushing against the petals. "thank you," he said softly. "for everything."

you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips. "i don't think i could love you any more than i already do," you said quietly. "i think i’d love you till the day i die."

he closed his eyes again, his expression one of utter contentment. "that’s all i need to hear."

you stayed like that for a while, the world around you fading into the background. in that moment, it didn’t matter what dangers awaited you outside your little sanctuary, or what challenges you would have to face as demigods. all that mattered was the here and now, and the love the two of you shared.

and maybe, just maybe, percy was right. maybe your love was a universal constant, something that would endure no matter what. it was a comforting thought, one that made you believe in the possibility of parallel universes and the idea that you would always find each other, no matter what.

as the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange, you knew that this moment would be etched in your memory forever. because in every universe, in every possible reality, you knew one thing for certain: you would always love percy jackson.

[sinofwriting]

So Many Reasons - Ollie Bearman

Words: 3,343 Summary: She honestly just wants to go to these two races to see her brother so he won’t complain about never seeing her anymore that is it. She has exams, an internship, and a job, she doesn’t have time for any of this. Note(s): Thank you V once again for commissioning the fic! I had a lot of fun writing it and may or may not have spent an hour researching different business degrees and universities and such. Reader is Andrea Kimi Antonelli’s older sister. Age gap of 3 years between her and Ollie. Not good family dynamics between her and Kimi and their father.

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“Andrea, no.” Her voice is firm, perhaps harsh but she doesn’t care. She was tired, hungry, and had to stay up for at least another six hours. Her last red bull in her bag sounded better every second. “C’mon, sorella. It is my first F2 race. You can miss a few classes.” Her jaw clenches and she forces herself to take a deep breath. Thank god this was just a phone call. “No, Andrea. I can’t. I have exams.” “Ask for an extension.” “Andrea,” she snaps. “Does padre know you are asking me this?” His voice is quiet, “no.” She sighs, pushing away her work. “How is your school work going?” “It’s fine.” “And the sim?” “Good.”

It’s quiet between the two siblings.

“It’s been months since we last saw each other. Do you not miss me?” “We saw each other at Christmas.” She reminds him but softens. “Of course I do. But I’m busy. I can’t take a few days away to go to a race, at least not one that’s not in Europe.” She looks at her planner, at the days blocked out with different colors. Purple for exams, blue for classes, yellow for work, green for work and classes, the dreaded orange for when she had both exams and work. It was filled for days, weeks, and months. “I could maybe make it for Imola.” She’d have to talk to her professors, put in her time now for work, but she didn’t have any exams the day after his feature race. “Maybe even Monaco if you can get me a spare pass.” She shouldn’t go to Monaco, not with her final exams to obtain her MBA starting just the day after the race, but she didn’t have any work those days and she could always bring her books with her. “Really?” She smiles at the excitement in his voice. “Really. Are you sure you want your big sister around?” “Yes. It will be nice to have family in the paddock. Someone other than dad.” She hums, eyes widening as they catch the time. “Let me know about the passes for the different races, okay? As soon as you get them I’ll talk to my professors.” “I will.” “Bye Andrea.” “Bye.”

—

“Mr. Garcia?” She knocks on the door frame. “You asked to see me?” He smiles, beckoning her in. “Yes. Please sit.” He gestures at the chairs in front of his desk before quickly typing something. She sits down, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “I wanted to talk to you about your plans after you get your MBA.” “I’d like to get a travel position or be able to work remotely half of the time. Then I think after ten years of doing that, I’d like to take a bigger account or two.” He hums, looking at her consideringly. “Why the travel position?” “I like traveling, going to different places, and when I went once before with Maria, I liked what she had to do.” “You're also good with languages.” “Yes.” “And the hybrid?” She fidgets a little. “The same reasons really as the travel position and I like the extended hours.” His lips twitch into a smile, “Maria hated remote.” She nods.

“She said you’d be suited for it.” Her leg that had started to bounce stops. He leans forward, “I’d like to keep you on. I know that your internship with Maria ends the first week of May. And that you’re only supposed to continue to work with us until August. But I’d like to offer you the remote position, starting June 20th.” She looks at him with a slight open mouth. “What,” she clears her throat. “What exactly would that look like?” He pushes forward a folder. “All of the details are in there, but there are two important things. There will only be a few days every month that require you in the office. Those days are always made known at least two weeks in advance, some as much as six months.” She nods. “The second is you will have strict deadlines. Miss two within a three month period and you will be on probation, meaning that for a time you will be spending at least eighty hours in office for the month, until your probation is up. Look over all the details and get back to me next week.” “Of course.” Taking the folder, she stares at it before standing. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia.” “Of course, Ms. Antonelli.”

—

“Andrea!” She calls, seeing him looking around. His head turns to look at her, a large grin taking over his face. “Sorella!” He calls, jogging over to her. “You made it.” She rolls her eyes, pushing him away when he tries to give her a hug. “I told you two weeks ago I’d make it to Imola. It’s not my fault, you don’t listen.” She touches her ears before giving him a quick hug. “How are you feeling?” “Good.” She hums, following him as he leads her to what she assumes is Prema’s space for this race.

The good was false that was more than clear to see, if she wasn’t his sister, she’d know just by looking at the F2 races so far. Round four with no podiums? Or pole position. Her brother was surely smarting. She wondered if it had hit him yet that he wasn’t the most talented driver in this series yet.

Entering the Prema garage she smiles when Rene immediately greets her.

“How are you?” “I’m good. Very good. How are you? How is Angelina?” “I am good, I’m sure you saw the Indycar news.” She nods, watching as Andrea starts talking to either a mechanic or an engineer. “I did. It sounds amazing.” “Very amazing. And Angelina, well,” He pauses, turning his head and calling her over.

“Oh, Y/N.” “Angelina.” She greets back, melting into the hug the older woman gives. “How are you doing?” “I’m doing good. And you are well?” “Of course, it is the season.” She smiles at her, knowing all too well how much everyone loved the motorsport season.

“Kimi!” Angelina calls and she has to stop herself from flinching at the use of his nickname. “You did not tell me that your sister was coming.” He shrugs, “She’s coming next race as well.” “You are coming to Monaco?” She shrugs, adjusting her purse. “It’s my last free time before my exams and Andrea asked when I was going to come.” Rene and Angelina share a look but before either can say anything, someone interrupts.

“Angelina, Dino and Antonio are wondering about the next shoot.” The older woman sighs, “And neither of them could get me themselves.” He shoots her a grin, and it’s the sight of his grin that makes her realize that this is Andrea’s teammate. “I volunteered.” Angelina shakes her head, muttering under her breath but leaves the small group.

“Ah, Ollie, this Y/N. Y/N, this is Ollie.” Rene introduces. She shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.” “You as well. Are you new to the team?” “No.” She laughs, pulling her hand from his. “Just a guest for this race and next.” “Oh.” He looks at Rene questioningly, but the older man is already in conversation with other people. “I could give you a tour, if you’d like.” “You don’t need to do that.” He smiles, giving a small shrug with his shoulders. “I don’t mind.” “Don’t you have race prep?” She can see just behind him, Andrea talking to another two people, their heads all gathered around a tablet. “I finished mine already.” Her lips purse. “At least let me get you a coffee from Ferrari’s hospitality.” Her nose nearly wrinkles at the word coffee, but Ferrari… She wasn’t into motorsports by choice, but she was Italian. She knew the allure of Ferrari and more so now Charles Leclerc than the team itself better than anyone. “So, coffee?” He grins. She sighs but nods. “Just one though.” She doesn’t think she could stomach another one.

“You don’t like coffee do you?” He asks nearly twenty minutes later as she sips at the coffee he got her and she chooses not to think too hard about the money she tried to hand him that he refused. “No.” She laughs. “But you like Ferrari.” “I’m Italian, Ollie. I think I get kicked out of the country, especially this part if I don’t bleed rosso corsa.” “Yet your brother is a Mercedes junior.” She pauses, “My brother?” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m sorry, it’s just Kimi, he has a picture of you. I asked about it once, because I already knew what his girlfriend looked like.” “I didn’t know that.” She wondered when the picture was from. Not from this Christmas, that was for sure. Ollie stares at her for a few seconds, something dancing in his eyes before turning the conversation back around. “It is a bit funny isn’t it? An Italian choosing Mercedes, while an Englishman chooses Ferrari.” “A second Charles Leclerc in the making.” She muses, remembering an article that said it. He flushes red. “I wouldn’t say that.” She shrugs, “Then other people will for you.”

Her phone buzzing makes her look away and she rolls her eyes at the text from Andrea. “I have to go back, Andrea is looking for me. Thank you for the coffee.” He nods, standing with her. “No problem.” He then opens his mouth again, quickly closing it. She raises an eyebrow and he flushes a bit more. “Could I get your number?” “Ah.” She glances down at her phone, another text on the screen. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Why not?” She can think of a million reasons. “It’s just not a good idea.” She settles on. “What if I want it as a friend?” She sends him a look and he grins. “I could do friends.” She shakes her head, “I need to go. Thank you again.” “Anytime.”

—

“You're at a race.” “Padre.” She greets, watching the screens as the sprint race goes into its fifth lap. “Andrea asked me to come.” “You don’t like races.” Her lips thin. “No, I don’t. But he wanted to see me, I made time.” “Have you made time for the interview I want scheduled?” “No.” He starts to say her name and she shakes her head. “No, padre. I’m here for Andrea, to see him. Just like I will be for Monaco, that is it. I have no interest in working for you.” “For the family.” “Or that.” He sighs.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she winces at the way Andrea gets overtaken, can already imagine the way he’ll beat himself up over it if he doesn’t regain the position, especially with the way Ollie is in P2, no battle in sight, as he more than comfortably keeps the place.

An arm wraps around her shoulders and she easily goes into her fathers side. “I miss my little girl.” She bites back on the words that want to crawl from her throat. “Love you too.”

—

“So,” she startles at the sound of a voice and the owner of it grins. “You don’t like coffee.” “Hello, Ollie.” “Hi.” He greets back. “You don’t like coffee.” He repeats. “I don’t like coffee.” She can’t help but smile at the way he grins at her responding to him. “What about,” he pauses looking around, before leaning closer and lowering his voice. “Red bull?” “I’m listening.”

She has to stop herself from giggling as Ollie leads her through Ferrari’s garage. She really shouldn’t be here. And not just because she shouldn’t even be at the race.

Stopping in front of a door, she watches as Ollie knocks, sending her a grin as he does.

“Hello?” The voice is a little confused. “Ollie! Come in, come in.” And Ollie grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers as he pulls her into the room with him. “Hi Charles.” Her eyes widen at the name and she quickly schools her expression though neither are looking at her. “What are you doing here?” Ollie grins at the older man. “I wanted to introduce you to someone and raid your fridge.” Charles rolls his eyes. “At least you don’t ask permission anymore.”

The tease makes her stiffen, this was a lot more than she felt she should be seeing or hearing.

“No, I learned.” Ollie laughs and then he’s tugging her closer. “Charles, this is Y/N.” A bit of tension leaves her when he doesn’t say her last name. “Y/N, this is Charles.” “Bonjour.” She greets, keeping her free hand firmly by her side as she wiggles her fingers in Ollie’s hand, but he just brushes his thumb over her knuckles. Charles’ eyes brighten at the greeting. “Bonjour. Est-ce un accent italien que j'entends?” (“Hello. Is that an Italian accent I hear?”) “Oui. Je suis italienne et je vis actuellement en France.” (“Yes. I am Italian currently living in France.) His grin widens. “Oh, très bien. Votre français est bon.” (“Oh, very nice. Your French is good.”) She ducks her head. “Merci.” (“Thank you.”)

“I didn’t know you spoke French.” Ollie says. She gives him a look. It should make his smile falter a little, but it only grows. “An Italian living in France. A bit uncommon, no?” Charles asks, handing her then Ollie a Red Bull. Before grabbing one for himself. “I study there.” “What are you studying?” Ollie asks, “Ki,” he stops himself. “Andrea never said.” Her eyes narrow at the catch, wondering why exactly he did it. “Accounting. And I’m not surprised. If it’s not something racing related, my brother has no interest.” Charles laughs. “I think Lorenzo and you would get along well. Having siblings that live and breath racing while you don’t.” “Maybe.” “Are you close to getting your degree?” “I am actually. My final exams start Monday.” “And you came to the Monaco Grand Prix?” Charles’ eyes are wide. “Yes.” “My goodness.” He looks at Ollie, winking at him. “This one is a keeper.” “Oh,” she says, feeling blood rush to her cheeks and Ollie is turning pink. “We aren’t.” He shrugs, taking a drink of his red bull. “Maybe not yet.” His eyes then fall to their still intertwined fingers and she gives another tug to Ollie’s hand, expecting him now to let go, but he doesn’t. “No, not yet.”

—

“What race are you coming to next?” Her hand tingles at the sound of Ollie’s voice. “I’m not.” “What?” She turns to face him. “Andrea wanted me at the first race of the season, but I couldn’t make it, so I said I’d come to these two.” She doesn’t mention that the want of her coming was because he apparently missed her. She had her doubts about that, especially after this weekend. “You don’t think he’ll ask you to come again?” She looks around, seeing no one nearby, she sighs. “Even if he did, I wouldn’t come. I love my brother, but not on race weekends, not during the season. I’ve seen you more than him.” Ollie’s face that had looked shocked, turns to understanding. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” She shrugs. “He’s busy.” Ollie looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

Instead he leans a bit closer, “so, could I get your number now?” She laughs, shaking her head. “No. Still not happening.” “Oh, c’mon. I won today. This is the one thing I want as the Monaco F2 feature race winner.” She shakes her head. “Maybe, if you actually wanted it as a friend. I’d say yes.” “And why can’t we be more than friends?” He’s closer now somehow and she has to swallow around the lump in her throat. “Ollie,” Her name spills from his lips in a gentle sigh as he leans ever closer. “We can’t.” She whispers, hand against his chest, holding him place. “Why? Give me one good reason why.”

He’s guiding her backwards, down the short hallway and into a room that’s thankfully empty, the door shutting behind him.

“One good reason.” “You’re Andrea’s teammate.” “For nine more weekends.” She lets out a shaky breath, watching as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m busy with school and work.” “You have final exams this week, which you’ll pass. And I’m busy with work as well.” “You're younger than me. I’m twenty-two, you just turned nineteen.” He shrugs, her eyes following the strong line of shoulders with the movement. “I’m an adult. And I like you.” “Ollie.” She breathes. He’s closer than ever before, their lips nearly brushing. “I’m still waiting.” Her eyes scan his face, his words full of confidence, his body too, but he’s flushed and his nervousness is easy to read. And she delivers the reason that has to make him see reason. Because she doesn’t know if he stays this close to her if she can stop herself from kissing him. “Your parents,” his throat bobs. “Would never approve.” He looks at her and she looks back, holding her breath, waiting for him to back away but he doesn’t, and god when does Ollie ever do things she expects. “They don’t need to.” He whispers and then he’s kissing her.

—

“What are you talking about?” “Andrea,” “No.” He stops her, shaking her head. “What do you mean, you are seeing Oliver?” He spits the name out. “Don’t, Andrea.” “NO!” His face is red and she’s reminded of the times when he wanted candy that she had and threw a fit over not getting it instead. “He is, he is,” he shakes his head. “I don’t even know what he is. He is my teammate, he works in motorsports, you hate motorsports.” She keeps quiet, watching as her brother processes the news. “He is younger than you, barely older than me. And you.” He shakes his head again. “Does padre know?” She scoffs, now shaking her head. “Does padre know? That’s all you care about isn’t it. If our father approves or not, if you knows what he thinks, because heaven forbid Kimi,” he flinches at the name. “You think for yourself.” “That is not.” “Don’t.” She cuts him off. “Yes, he knows. Don’t worry he disapproves as well. So, you don’t have to think for yourself again.”

She stares at her younger brother, knowing that this is her fault, but she can’t, she still doesn’t have it in her to deal with it, not today. “I will talk to you sometime, Andrea.”

—

“Your fans are lovely.” Ollie makes a humming sound, half asleep. She pauses her scrolling on twitter, unable to stop herself from liking the picture of Charles’ dog in his own personal little car. “Your fans. Very creative as well. They can’t call me a gold digger, but a fame seeker? Well, if the shoe fits.” “They what?” He sounds so much more awake, it makes her laugh. “It’s just hate, Ollie. I’m an old woman praying on the young. Apparently I’m like Piquet.” “Ew.” And she can picture his nose wrinkling. “You know you aren’t though right?” “An old woman?” She jokes. “A predator.” She softens, turning in his arms, so that they are chest to chest. “I know.” “I mean, really if anything I was.” “You were very insistent.” He flushes. “Only a little.” She nods, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Only a little.”

“I know we talked about it before, but are you okay with everything?” “Yes. I mean, it hurts that Andrea is still not okay with it but my father’s opinion has not mattered to me in a long time. And no matter what the media and fans were never going to give us peace, so I made my peace with that as well. Besides, your parents are okay with it.” “They love you.” “Our friends are understanding.” “They are.” “And you aren’t about to dedicate any more podiums to me.” He grins at her and dread starts to form in her stomach. “Ollie…” “About that last one.” “Ollie!”

@crashingwavesofeuphoria @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[cuubism]

I've been sitting on this little happy ficlet for absolute ages because there was a time I thought I might incorporate it into another fic. That seems increasingly unlikely though, so here it is.

--

The Dreaming was beautiful when Dream was happy.

It wasn’t always beautiful, though Hob would never say those words to Dream. It was always magnificent, always awesome in the old sense of something grand and beyond understanding. It was terrifying sometimes, too. But in Hob’s opinion, the Dreaming was really only beautiful when Dream was happy.

Like now.

Lying on his back in the wildflowers, bare arms thrown back above his head, dressed down in a black t-shirt and long flowy skirt, feet bare. Happy crinkles at the corners of his closed eyes, the barest hint of a smile that might have been bright as the sunrise for how it looked on Dream’s usually subtle face. The bumblebees and dragonflies that kept landing gently on him and brushing off again in cheerful spirals, as if delighted by their creator’s presence.

Hob had never been to this part of the Dreaming before, which, admittedly, wasn’t saying much when the Dreaming was effectively infinite. Dream had brought them to an expansive field of yellow grasses and rowdy wildflowers of green and teal and mauve and a hundred other colors one would never see in the waking world. It wasn’t Fiddler’s Green; it was wilder than that: rock bluffs dotting the fields in the distance, an endless grey-blue sky that was clear for now but threatened to tip towards rain at any moment, sweet warm wind that tugged on Hob’s hair with grabbing hands. A fierce, untamed landscape holding itself gently, for now.

That was the way Dream was beautiful, Hob thought.

He leaned on his elbow, looking down at Dream’s peaceful expression where he lay beside him. As he watched, an iridescent wasp lit upon Dream’s nose, its six sharp legs stark against his pale skin. Hob moved instinctively to scare it off, before remembering that this was the Dreaming, and stilling his hand.

The wasp didn’t try to sting Dream, of course it didn’t. This dream space lived on the border of danger, but wherever it touched Dream, it turned soft, indulgent, adoring.

Dream opened his eyes to look at the wasp. He didn’t say anything to it, at least not in any way that Hob could understand, but he stroked a very light finger along one filigree wing, and it flitted off again, away back to its hauntings.

In its absence, Hob traced a fingertip down Dream’s profile, in much the same way he had touched the wasp. Dream’s eyes fluttered shut again at the touch.

“They all love you,” Hob said.

Dream hummed. “I feel a particular accord with this landscape,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips at Hob’s words.

“Yeah, it reminds me of you. More than the Dreaming as a whole usually does.”

“Oh?”

Hob sat upright and tugged Dream up with him, brushing strands of grass from Dream’s hair. Then he kissed him softly on the lips and said, “Constantly on the verge of thundering.”

Dream grumbled under his breath, something about making it rain in Hob’s flat later. Hob just kissed him again, this time on the cheek, saying, “That wouldn’t be the most fun way to end a date, darling.”

“I suppose not.” Dream leaned back to meet Hob’s eyes, his expression now glinting with mischief. “I did have other plans. But if you insist on thundering.”

He blinked, and the sky split open with a tremendous crash, rainwater pouring down in a torrent that soaked them both immediately to the bone. Hob noted with amusement that Dream was letting himself get wet, too. His shirt was sticking to his narrow frame, skirt clinging to each bend of his legs. And his normally fluffy hair was unmentionable.

Hob grinned widely at him, water streaming over his nose and lips, dripping into his eyes. “The things you will do just to have your way.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “Must I have you struck by lightning, as well?”

“C’mere, you.” Hob dragged him into a hug, wet and sticky and clinging, as the rain kept pounding down and sinking into the grass around them. Flowers were nodding under the weight of the droplets, and the corners of the sky had gone dark and grey — but Dream was happy, was the thing. Hob could tell by the way he let Hob manhandle him into the hug, pressed the side of his face against Hob’s, the twitch of a smile on his lips that Hob could feel against his cheek. Storms in the Dreaming were so often indicative of Dream’s sadness or rage, and it was thrilling to be caught up in one that was born of playfulness instead.

The rain was even warm.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob told him.

“Everything you say is at random,” Dream complained, somewhat hollowly considering he still had his fingers clutched in Hob’s dripping shirt.

“Nah. You just don’t understand the incredibly complex workings of my mind.”

He could sense Dream’s eye roll without having to see it.

“Isn’t it simple enough to just know that I always think you’re beautiful?” he asked, quieter now and almost hushed out by the rain. “It’s like the sky. It’s really always beautiful, but sometimes you catch it at a certain angle and you think, oh.”

“I am, in fact, also the sky in the Dreaming,” Dream said — just to be ornery, Hob thought. But then he said, softer, “You have a gentle perspective of me.”

It was true, Hob thought, that most might not look at this tempestuous landscape with generosity, might not be so easygoing about its overbearing rain. But Hob saw Dream smile and all he wanted was to tip his face up into the storm.

He ran his hands through Dream’s sopping hair. “You can count on that.”

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 : part 2

꧁ eddie x female reader  :: read part 1 here

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope. 

5.6k triggers: 18+ only, smut, piv no condom, oral m&f receiving, loneliness, hard times heartache, finding yourself, humor about rocky mountain oysters 🐂 🦪 etc.

Indigo thunderheads belt a rhythm of applause across the Schell Creek Range. Strikes of lightning shred the sky into a kaleidoscope of colors, sharp acidic white and lavender swim in the night sky. The temperature had dropped enough to create the perfect recipe for a late summer storm, and Eddie’s truck was in the center of it. 

  The windows had been fogged up for a while now, the heat from your skin causing the condensation to build across the windshield. Frustration laid sourly beneath your surface, aching for his touch, high on his movements and the way he kept licking his bottom lip.  

  The tension bubbled and boiled so hot you could barely handle the extra heat emitting from your body. 

Eddie had readjusted himself more times than he probably had in any part of junior high. A single glimpse of your legs uncrossing and recrossing would start the process all over again. 

  You tried to busy yourself with counting the yellow dashes on the road, naming the fifty states in alphabetical order, but nothing- nothing, was stopping that steady roar of want.

  Rain had pelted the windshield in steady drops, but the last ten minutes had increased into a torrential downpour, just enough for the windshield wipers to have a hard time keeping up. There was simply no outrunning this storm. 

  “Shit,” Eddie hums, squinting at the disappearing road, “we’re gonna have to pull over, gettin’ hard to see.”  

  The small talk between you and Eddie had been just that today. Miniscule conversations that were cut short with one word answers, and longing glances so thick you had to physically peel your eyes from the way his throat danced when he took a sip from his water. 

  “There’s a town coming up,” you say, heart thumping your delicate finger moving along the lines of the map.

  Eddie looks at you, his throat going bone dry at the way the shadows played on your skin, and he has to swallow more than once to utter a response, “s-sounds good to me.” 

  Another night on the road. Another shady motel that smelled of stale cigarettes and regretted decisions. The weeks behind you were spent exactly like tonight. A day filled with burning rubber on the asphalt and exploring the smallest of towns on the map you had insisted on buying. 

  Sometimes, you’d both tuck in early for the night, checking into the nearest motel with a vacancy and the promise of a hot shower. Other nights you ate a questionable cheeseburger and fries at some shithole of a bar listening to live music, nursing a beer or two. 

  No matter what the day held, Eddie’s gentlemanly ways never faltered. He always let you shower first. Offering you first dibs on the paper wrapped soaps and the mini bottles of shampoo, and you made sure to leave enough conditioner for him.

  He was traditional in that way, any diner you went to he sat facing the entrance, eyes sweeping for exits. In the motels, he slept in the bed closest to the door, there was no use arguing with him over these small little acts of preservation. Your groans of protests were met with the same kind of answer each time. Take note sweetheart, I might just be the last chivalrous guy around. 

  What Eddie didn’t realize is that he probably was. 

  “… should have realized she was up to no good when she kept feeding me drinks all night and eyeing my ring.”

  You nearly choke on a slice of pizza you’d ordered while waiting for Eddie to get out of the shower. The bathroom door swings open and he emerges from the steamed room, wet hair beading against his bare shoulders. 

  The greased stained corners of a pizza box sat on your bed. Feet crossed beneath your legs, hair wrapped in a towel, you held up a finger and spoke with a mouthful, “Wait, wait wait. When was this?” 

  The same sweatpants he always wore to bed were slung low on his hips, showing off the gray elastic of his boxer briefs. He threw a white tank top from a pack of six over his head, and you watched as it clung to his chest still wet from his shower, hiding the silvery peek of a chain necklace. 

  “My first week leaving home,” he sighed, reaching for a slice, leaning his long frame onto his side laying on the edge of the bed, “just a tad bit naive.” 

  A laugh bubbles from your throat and you try to hide it behind your hand, “so, innocent little Eddie got his ring stolen after thinking he hit the jackpot with Tracie?” 

  “No no, this was Tiffany,” he said, chucking a parmesan packet at you playfully, a laugh erupting from him, “c’mon now, listen to the story.” 

  “Okay, okay!” you surrender, “what happened next?” 

  He sits up animatedly, smile stretched like taffy across his face, “well, we went back to the motel and when I woke up…truck was still there, cash never even touched. The only thing she took was the ring and the boots right off of my feet.” 

  “Nah uh… you’re lying.” 

  Eddie’s smirk grows wide, and he takes another bite of his pizza, “looked pretty dumb walking into that boot store with just socks on.” 

  You both laugh until the tears slide down your cheeks. Like old friends who had known each other for years, giggling at jokes only the two of you found funny. Eddie made you feel comfortable the second you sat in his truck, with him it wasn’t complicated. Something foreign to you, but you found it easy to adjust to his easy going ways. 

  “Alright,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you heard all of my on the road woes, time you tell me something I don’t know.” 

  You slink further down the bed, head resting on the pillows, ankles crossed by Eddie's outstretched legs. 

  “I don’t like olives, or mushrooms.” 

  Eddie raises his eyebrows, “whoa, pump the brakes… you’re gettin’ a little too deep here.” 

  You hold up a suggestive finger in front of your smirk and he laughs, “c’mon honey, tell me why you were walkin’ on that road the day we met.” 

  Flashbacks of slamming doors and yelling voices ring loud in your ears, and you sigh, “it’s a long story.” 

  “Good thing we don’t have anywhere to be, huh?” 

  Picking at your nails you think back to the childhood— or lack thereof, that you were raised in. The anger, the hurt, the emotional pain still heavy on your chest. From the sound of his life and the way he talks about the love his parents had for one another, you doubt he wouldn’t be terrified of the demons you’d faced. 

  A slow shake from your head and you look up to his eyes in the warm auburn light. Brimmed with care and full of trust, you shudder from the intensity. 

  “No judgment here,” he says softly, laying a hand on his chest, “I promise.”

  Taking a deep breath you stare at the chipped polish on your toes, working your hands into a rub as you begin the wretched story of your life. 

  The small town you’d seen on the map shouldn’t have been given a name at all. A one horse town would have been too much to describe the absolute barren grounds of what laid ahead of you. 

  A green sign proudly stated the name of it and the population count “8 , no services.” A building that should have been scheduled for demolition had a single light above the sign that said “vacant” flickering like morse code. Looking around, this was it, the entire motel looked to be the size of a small home. 

  Eddie eased the pickup in front of what seemed to be the front office after noticing a television glaring through a filthy window. The rain fell harder now, beating down against the truck so loud you could barely hear him as he told you to stay put.

  A large sigh heaves from your lips the second his door clicked shut. You needed to get a grip on yourself. But you can’t, finding yourself smoothing down your shirt, rummaging through your bag to rub deodorant beneath your arms. 

  Pulling down the visor, you can see the heated flush on the apples of your cheeks in the tiny cracked mirror. You’re a mess as your mind slips to the way his jeans squeezed on his ass and seem to tighten against the zipper, the flutter of his lashes when you caught him looking— your thighs shut together to find relief.

  The driver's door opens the same time you snap the visor back into place and there he stands, drenched from head to toe. A look of bewilderment on his face. The eyes that sparkled were suddenly set into a gloom as he slid behind the steering wheel and sat, staring ahead. 

  “Everything, okay?” 

  “Oh yeah, no worries, just uh.. little snag, but I have an idea,” his smile warms you from the inside out and your thighs press together tighter, air breached from your lungs as your stomach plummets. 

Your voice grows small as you finish the lengthy tale of your life, and you wipe your runny nose against the end of the towel. 

  The radio plays Elton John’s Your Song gently in the background and you tuck your feet under your legs. Picking at the pilling fabric of the comforter, letting out a gentle morose sigh. 

  “Sorry to be a Debbie Downer.”

  Seriousness clouds his eyes, and he looks almost sad as he leans forward and hooks a finger under your chin until your eyes meet his, “dance with me?” 

  Warmth radiates from him, the feeling of home lies in the depths of his eyes. Reaching out. 

  “Here? Now?”

  He climbs from the bed leaning a hand down to yours, “yeah,” he shrugs, “I like this song.” 

  Don’t have much money but..boy, if I did

I’d buy a big house where, we both could live.

If I was a sculptor but then again no

  He stands tall above you, looking down the slope of his nose, a smile on his lips at the timid way you approach him, hands held out in an offering of you weren’t even sure of what. 

  “Just letting you know now, that I haven’t danced since the Prom, and even then it was—”

  Eddie grabs your hands and pulls you gently into him, stepping back to leave space. Your hands slither up against his biceps and land on his shoulders, thumbs flicking gently over the firm muscle there. 

  “I’ll lead,” he says, keeping his hands above your hips, touching the bottom of your ribs with his large fingers, “this okay?”

  Screaming internally, you simply nod with your eyes closed. Going solely on his touch as Eddie begins to sway you both from side to side. 

  Where you are clumsy, Eddie is surprisingly limber on his feet. His hands move you this way and that, and he chokes on his laugh when you move your feet forward when they should have gone back and your toes crush into his. 

  But the suns been quite kind while I wrote this song

it’s for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do

  Your skin is ablaze where his palms hold you tight, heart thumping in your chest in a rhythmic staccato of its own accord. His eyes look dreamy in the low light, long lashes sweeping the highs of his cheeks when he blinks. 

  You're so caught up in his beauty that you don’t hear the low murmur of his voice the first time he speaks. 

  “Sorry?”

  Eddie chuckles and you can feel it bubble from his chest, “I said, it’s nice right?” 

  “The dance?” 

  “Well,” he says with a small smirk, “that too, but I was talking about the song.” 

  Heat rises in your cheeks and you bite your lip, but he doesn’t notice because he’s soon leaning forward, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. 

  His voice is like liquid smoke, curling around you and wrapping you into the warmest embrace, one that you’d gladly die in. 

  “You’re not half bad at this,” he says with a grin that you can hear with the squeak from his cheeks.

  Leaning back you look him in the eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in the desert browns, “maybe i’ll take up line dancing.” 

  “That,” he says with a laugh, twirling you away from him in the most un-graceful way your body could move. Ankles knocking into one another, toes burning against the short carpet. “I would pay to see.” 

  You spend the rest of the song dancing and giggling at his stupid jokes and the way he whips his long hair around.

  More than just friendship brews between you. His arms held you against him, not letting you go. Eddie’s voice curls into a whisper against your ear, his barely dry hair tickling your shoulder,  “I’m happy you’re here with me, and I’m sorry you were treated that way.” 

  Your head angles into his chest, and you lay your cheek against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m happy to be here too.”

  The cheese had gone stone cold on the forgotten pizza, song after song you swayed back and forth until Casey Kasem started taking requests on the radio.

  The rain seeps through your thin shirt as you stand at the door with your bag slung over your shoulder, patiently waiting for the key to work. 

  Eddie must have jiggled it into the sweet spot after a few minutes of working the handle, swinging the door open and ushering you inside just as a loud clap of thunder booms across the sky. 

  You jump on instinct and Eddie snuffs out a snort as you run your hand along the wall to find the light switch. 

  The lights sputtered and hummed to life, showcasing cobwebbed corners and illuminating the orb of dead flies. The wallpaper was peeling away from itself in long tawny strips, curled to a crisp on the edges. A sign written in cursive was crudely taped to the tv saying “out off of order”. 

  But out of all of the eyesores in the room, there was still something off. 

  One bed. 

A week and hundreds of miles stretched on from the night you and Eddie had danced together. He noticed you smiling more, the barriers you had up were lowered,  and no matter how much he tried— he couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

  The bar you had stopped at to get supper was packed. Peanut shells coated the floor and there was a fight breaking out in the back corner. Eddie’s hand warmed your lower back as he pointed you towards a small table. 

  A waitress dumped handwritten menus with faded ink at your table. He watched your eyebrows raise in question as you read the appetizers. 

  “Fresh Rocky Mountain Oysters fried in a cornmeal blend?” you questioned, “what even is that?”

  Eddie’s lips pressed tight to hide a laugh, “well they’re not real oysters… and the Rocky Mountain part is more or less a nod to where they came from.” 

  Your eyebrows tick up in confusion and then disgust as he explains just exactly how and what those “oysters” are made from. 

  “Yeah… think I’ll just stick with the cheese balls.” 

  He laughs as your mouth turns to a frown. “Good choice. The sign outside claimed they had the best bison burgers in the state, that’s what I’m gonna get.” 

  “Does that come with or without testicles?” 

  He doesn’t miss a beat, “hopefully without those suckers are expensive.” 

  Your laugh sounded loud in his soul, your smile sung to him anytime he saw it, and fuck, he wondered if you knew just how gorgeous you really were. 

  A singular mattress. For you and for Eddie. 

  Before you can say anything Eddie’s already apologizing, “I swear, this is all they had…” he says, letting out a large sigh, wiping the rain from his face with the sleeve of his soaked shirt. 

  He shuts the door and clicks the locks into place before he moves his things to the other side of the room, “you take the bed, I’ll make do with the floor.” 

  Your brows crease and you pout in disbelief, “don’t be ridiculous Eddie, I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fl—” 

  “I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he smiles, a tired look on his face as he hauls his duffle bag into the bathroom, wet fringe sticking to his forehead, “don’t worry bout me…gonna change quick.” 

  Rifling through your bag you dress into your pajamas quickly. Your stomach turned. It wasn’t right, you would not let him sleep on the floor of this dirty room. This entire trip he had been paying for the motel stays, and you’d be damned if he was going to have a sore back because of… this. 

  A single curse is muffled through the thin walls followed by a chuckle, “hey, you can add another thing to the list of shit going wrong tonight.” 

  The carpet was damp beneath your feet as you moved to the bathroom, “what happened?” 

  Eddie throws open the door, sporting a black pair of boxer briefs sprinkled with rain drops, and nothing else besides a splatter of pink blush on his cheeks. You almost choke at the sight of him. 

  Despite the circumstances, a smile remains on his pink lips, “all of my clothes are soaked.” 

  With the burning tension and your body screaming all day in the cab of the pickup, your mind was preoccupied. Not even registering that his bag had been in the bed of the truck, soaking up every drop of rain it could into its blue canvas shell. 

  You’ve seen him bare chested before, but the way the rain clung to his skin, he looked ethereal, and your stomach lurched when he stepped around you, his arm sliding against yours with a potent electricity. 

  “We um…” your tongue felt like velcro stuck to the roof of your mouth, peeling the first layer off of it for sure as you spoke. Grabbing a pair of his jeans from his bag to hang up over the back of a dusty chair, you suggest, “we can hang your stuff up to dry, hopefully by tomorrow they’ll be alright.”

  You work quickly, pulling pants and shirts from the bag and hanging them in various places, hoping that the heat from your cheeks would subside if you didn’t look at him. 

  He holds the last pair of pants in his large hands. Holding them out he suddenly withdraws, holding the bundle of wet fabric high above his head, laughing as you reach on your tiptoes to grab them. 

  The pout on your lips makes his quirked smile spread across his cheeks as you stretch further to reach his arm. Laughter erupts from him. 

  Your thin cotton shirt is smushed into his wet chest, your breath catches in your throat when your nipples harden from the cold touch of his skin skimming over yours. He stops entirely, bringing the pants down and tossing them on the nearest chair, those deep eyes never leaving yours. 

  His hand runs the length of your arm, starting at the knob of your shoulder, trickling with feather light touches down to your fingertips, entwining them with his. Pulling you gently closer into him.

  A sigh fell from his lips so beautiful it could make Medusa blush, and you nearly passed out from holding in your own breath. 

  His other hand rubs against your cheek, calloused and strong, and your insides melt to jelly at his touch. He  presses his forehead to yours, and you move your hands around his waist, pressing your fingertips into the meat of his lower back. 

  For years you have been afraid, never trusting anyone, especially men. But with him it was different, he was gentle, kind, and caring. It was as easy as breathing, and came on as quickly as falling asleep. Here in his arms you felt content for the first time in a long while. 

  Eddie’s heart beat is thumping loud but sure. “You’re beautiful… do you know that?” 

  The heat ignites in your core as his words seep into your skin. Shaking, you clear your throat to steady yourself, “you really think so?” 

  He nods his head, “It’s been a long damn time since I left home,” he nearly whispers, “nothing left… but now that I met you, I finally know just where I’m headin’.” 

  A tear leaks from your eyes and he kisses it away. His lips felt like satin on your skin, and you sucked in a breath at the feel of them. His eyes looked into yours and he whispers, “don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  You needed him, craved to have all of bim. And you surprised yourself as you raised on your toes, pulling him towards you. His lips pressed lightly into yours and you swore your breath was taken away even though you were expecting it. You open your mouth and welcome his tongue, eyes rolling in your head as he massages it with yours. 

  Eddie’s hands wrap against your shirt, feeling your bare skin pressing you further into him as you whimper into him. 

  The carpet squashed beneath your feet as you walk backwards towards the bed, a frenzy of locked lips and wandering hands. Fingers tugging into his curls, Eddie moans against your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips. He breaks from your lips, his wet and spit licked. 

  The brown eyes you’ve been accustomed to staring in never leave yours as he sits on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. The shine of his chain gleaming in the dull light. 

  Thunder raps loud outside, wind thrashing and howling against the window. Your fingers roll against the hem of your shirt and you don’t think twice before hauling it over your head, moving towards Eddie and the impressive length bulging from his boxer briefs. Your knees touch lightly.

  His lips suck between his teeth as he drinks you in. Lazily eyeing over every curve, every imperfection, the tight peaks of your nipples. 

  You climb over, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his narrow hips, resting on his lap. With one hand cupping his cheek, you lower your lips to his skin. 

  He groans when you kiss the hollow of his throat, kissing up his neck until you nip at his ear lobe, sucking that small silver hoop into your mouth.

  “So pretty like this,” he murmurs into your ear, “like an angel.” His hands roam over your skin with blunt nails. Up and down your back his touch electrifies you. Your own noises unravel as he grows beneath you. 

  Murmuring his name, you arch into his touch, elongating your neck until his ravenous hands skim the delicate skin of your breasts, thumbs rolling against your nipples. His mouth attaches to your skin and you whimper when he rolls you over and lays you down on the dusty comforter. 

  Your ankles cross behind his back as he grinds into you, kissing you so deeply you couldn’t get enough. He was gentle with you, waiting for your nods of approval as he slipped your panties off. He trailed kisses down your cheek to your neck as his fingers swirled up and up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their trek. 

  Thunder and lightning competed for attention outside but you were lost in Eddie. Wrapping your fingers in his hair when he circled your clit, whimpering when he slipped his finger into your wet sex. 

  You weren’t sure where your moans ended and his began, but when he added a second finger you swore lightning broke through the window and struck against your eyes. 

  He was deliberate yet slow as he coaxed you along, kissing and licking at your neck, his hair sticking to his sweaty skin and yours. The wind picked up more and rattled the door as your legs shook beneath him, coming undone by his hand. 

  You laid in a dreamy haze and when you opened your eyes you realized the lights had gone out from the storm, but a flash of lightning lit Eddie’s skin in sheets of white light as he pushed himself up, taking one last kiss from your lips. 

  He didn’t hurry you along as you reached for the waistband of his underwear, only groaned when he popped up heavy against his stomach, a beaded pearl already formed on his tip. His impressive length seemed to grow before your eyes as you placed a hand on him, and he hissed as you tugged him. 

  He was stunning, kneeling before you, shining with sweat, his lips bit between his teeth from your hands stroking him. You laid down again, opening wide with a smirk twisted on your mouth. 

  Lining himself up with your entrance, your hands skimmed down the muscles of his back, feeling the way they rippled when he pushed himself in, your combined whimpers deaf against the thunder cracking. He was large, an ache you wanted between your legs again and again if he wanted. 

  Eddie’s eyes meet yours as he collects your lips with his, and you nod for him to go deeper. He stretched you until your breath quickened, making sure you were okay, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, the spot behind your ear. It was soothing the way he took care of you, and when you told him he could move, he drug out of you slow, your walls constricting around him. 

  Cursing he squeezed his eyes shut as you clamped around him, and when he drove back into you, again and again, you swore you found Heaven. 

  You were both hard-pressed for air and sweating, your name falling from his lips in broken syllables as you both unraveled. Heaven was in his arms, in his smile, in the way his fingers laced with yours and pressed down into the mattress as his kisses deepened. 

  The storm raged war against itself outside but neither of you noticed. Tangled in eachother’s arms and once again joining together under the sheets, this time his lips pressed to your ear as he held you tight to him and took you from behind as you both laid on your sides. 

  Hours passed taking the clouds and thunder away. The only thing remaining on the mattress was a bottom sheet, one end still tucked and clinging for dear life. You didn’t know when you both ended up on the floor, and you didn’t mind the bite of the carpet on your knees as you wrapped your mouth around him. His moans spread across the room, no thunder to mask it. 

  When sunlight streamed through holes in the moth bitten curtain, his head laid on your bare chest, your hand in his curls. Dust danced in the warm rays across the room, laying heavy with the rest of the unkept space. 

  The buttery rays spread across your naked bodies, displaying the wine splotched skin marks on your chest. Your thighs had similar stains, ones that were licked better by the one who gave them. He had traces from last night on his neck and hips too, uneven stamps of purple and red painted from your mouth as you claimed him. 

  The two of you slept until the sun wavered to the west. . You had curled into him like a caterpillar in a cocoon, his breathing fanning your face as he gently snored, curls messy and frizzy. 

  Eddie’s clothes finally dried in the musty motel room, and you packed up and left when the sun was starting its radiant descent behind the mountains. 

  The small town was covered in wreckage from the storm, White Fir needles sprinkled the roads like confetti, branches laid across sections of the road that Eddie had to maneuver the truck around. But you finally made it back to the highway. 

  Back on the road. 

Weeks passed and things went back to the way they had before. You didn’t share a bed again, and you didn’t bother to ask why. Looks still lingered, but neither of you crossed that line again. 

  You knew Eddie was looking for something that was more than what you could offer, and maybe he was caught up in the heat of the moment, maybe the storm swayed his opinion on you just for that night. 

  It killed you to not feel his touch, not feel the warmth from his body heat as he slept, not feel those lips on your neck your thighs your chest. The ache between your legs lasted days, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in your chest. 

  He didn’t know you wiped tears away every night when the lights went off or during your shower. What you had together that night was something special, and you’d cherish it for the rest of your life. 

  It wasn’t until you were on the border of the western state that you noticed him starting to act differently. His stares became longer. He stayed up talking with you until the witching hour. Maybe he would miss your friendship when he got to where he was going, you’d miss him. But you knew your time together was coming to an end.

  Still, you braved a smile on your face for him. No strings attached, the only thing left between you was the shared bench of his truck and that stormy night where you both spent the storm in each other's arms until dawn. 

  He was still Eddie, still made you laugh and was the gentleman he always had been. But whatever started in that motel room lived and died there. 

  Those feelings you had for him were smoldering and you had to remind yourself that once you hit California it would be the end of your journey with Eddie. The man who saved your life in more ways than you could imagine, showing you kindness and compassion. 

  That was why he was on the road the same day you were. Fate brought him to you as a gift, an offering to soothe your soul from the wickedness you’d encountered, and for that, and Eddie, you’d be forever grateful. 

  California was on the horizon, and you had stopped at a small restaurant on the Nevada border before crossing into the final stretch of your journey. The food was good but the conversation was light, as if you both knew the end was nearing. 

  He had to look away from you more than once, shaking his head in the middle of a conversation as if to preserve himself from being hurt. 

  On the way back to the truck you felt the book start to close between your stories, and you nearly wept at the thought of never seeing him again. 

  “So,” Eddie asked, kicked a rock back to the truck after finishing up supper. “Where to now?”

  You slurped the rest of a Cherry Coke and made a confused face, “what do you mean? I thought you were going to California, lookin’ for love?” 

  He paused when you reached your door, eyes peering into the distance. “I made it this far without it.” He turns to you, looking so deep into your eyes your soul waved back at him. A smile creeps on his face, “well maybe not, cause look at what I’ve got.” 

  Your breath hitched in your chest and he closed the space between you, his hand on your cheek, the other on the door, “you might not be my love, but baby… I doubt it.” 

  Your eyes brim with tears as he presses his lips to yours. Lacing your fingers around his neck, he lifts you up into a hug, spinning you around in the desert sand. 

  He sets you down, placing his hands on your lower back, moving you gently in the same dance you had done months before. “I never told you,” he began, murmuring into your ear, “that day we met, not a single radio station would come in, I drove a hundred miles that day and nothing. But when I popped over that hill, and saw you walking with nothing but turmoil and angst on your shoulders, a song finally played, something I hadn’t heard in years.” 

  You move your head from his chest and smile looking up to him, “what song?”

  “The same one that played the last time we did this.” he said with a smile, “I knew when it played again that you were meant for me baby, that I’d found what I’d been looking for.” 

  And for the first time since you were a child, you knew that not all men were angry and hateful. Some of them were good, and handsome, and made you smile so much your cheeks ached. You felt your heart finally heal. Eddie sewing it shut, and the smile on your face mirrored his own. 

  “Told you I was lucky…now tell me love,” he said, kissing your lips and holding your face in his hands, “where are we going next?”

  You squeezed him against you and looked up at him, at the love you had also found that you weren’t expecting, “anywhere with you and all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be.” 

  …and you said “hey, do you wanna see the West with me? Cause loves out there and I can’t leave it be.”

  And I said “honey, loves never meant much to me, oh, But i’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.” 

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[florencemtrash]

Brown Eyed Beauty — Lucien x Reader

Fond, childhood memories are few and far between for Lucien. But he's reminded of every good thing when he looks at you.

Author's note: DAMNIT! Brown eyes deserve to be treated with the same tender reverence as any other color. This one is for all the brown eyed beauties (and Lucien lovers) out there.

There was a hidden stream Eris had taken him fishing once, back when he was a stringy child with two eyes and soft hands.

“You’ll need to build up your strength and the calluses on your palms, then the fish won’t be able to slip out of your grasp so easily.” Eris told him, standing up to his knees in the gentle current, pant legs rolled up with the ends dripping. His body was slim as a reed, but strong, and on the cusp of adulthood. Pale bruises were scattered across a pale, freckled chest, purple, green, and yellow.

Lucien watched with bated breath as Eris tracked a shiny, silver-pink body darting between the rocks, his eyes untricked by the bending of sunlight as it dove into the water. 

There. 

Eris leaned down and dipped his hands into the stream with lightning swiftness. “Gotcha.” 

His hands broke the water. The salmon writhed, fighting with every gasping breath and splashing water onto Eris’s already soaking trousers.

“Here.” Eris stretched his arms out to where Lucien stood in the shallows. The salmon was giving up, the rhythm of its whipping body slowing. “It’s tired. Try holding it now.” 

Lucien held on for five seconds before the tail slapped him across the face, startling him so much he dropped the fish and its scaly, sleek body began to race downstream.

“No!” Lucien dove for it, red hair slipping under clear waters. The current was stronger than he expected, or maybe it was just that he was weaker than his brother. He felt something pulling downward, keeping him submerged.

His first response was to panic, to flail his arms and legs out uselessly. But then he stopped. It was peaceful down here, the water so clear that he could catch every grain of sand splashed over brick-brown rocks like stars. Tiny fishes, silky smooth with beady eyes, darted in and out of crevices. Light behaved differently underwater, fragmenting and casting lovely golden shapes on stones the color of fresh-pressed coffee. 

Here it was calm. Here was a place where Beron’s power couldn’t touch him. Here he was safe. 

A strong hand grasped the back of his shirt, hauling him up soaking and sputtering with a brackish taste sliding down his throat. 

The bruises on Eris’s cheekbones stood out on his pale skin, the fright in his eyes turning to anger. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Eris yelled and all but tossed his sopping body onto a yellowing patch of grass. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucien mumbled. He sat, shivering in the Autumn chill until Eris caught another salmon and assembled sticks in a neat circle of sand, lighting it with a snap of his slender fingers. 

“Tomorrow we’ll come back,” Eris promised as Lucien sank his teeth into the juicy, pink flesh. The skin was perfectly crisp and grease dribbled down his chin hot and slick. Eris wiped it away with a soft swatch of moss. “I’ll teach you to swim properly.” 

He didn’t seem to mind the descending cold, and for that Lucien was grateful. It meant he would get to keep Eris’s shirt until his was finished drying on the cracked log. 

But unbeknownst to them, Beron had come home earlier than anticipated with their other brothers. Eris was whipped ten times for leaving the Forest House unattended and Lucien was locked in his room for three days. They never went back to that stream — at least not together — and Lucien learned to swim on his own in less forgiving waters. 

Lucien still clung onto the memories of that day. Good memories from his childhood were far and few between. 

“You’re staring again.” You sighed contentedly and shifted in the little cradle of earth you’d claimed for youself. Yellowing, waist-high grasses swayed above you, occasionally bowing down with slender fingers to tickle your cheeks. A hundred yards away the Sidra tumbled over stones, rolled onto gray-sand beaches. The air tasted of salt and seaweed. Crisp, tangy, clear. 

“How did you know?” Lucien asked, and you could hear the gentle caress of his smile in the words.

You cracked open your eyes against the sun’s assault high in the midafternoon sky. Sure enough, Lucien was staring at you, golden eye whirring. You ran a languid finger down the bond, light and airy as a kiss. He braced his arms by your head, sinking down until his body was pressed flush against yours. 

You smiled. “I can feel it. It’s my special talent.”

“Oh?” Lucien chuckled.

“I’ve cultivated it over the years. A product of having a brute like you chase after me like a hound goes after a fox.” Not that you’d ever gone far. 

Scarlet strands of hair slipped out of the braid you’d arranged hours ago. They hung around his elegant, scarred face like liquid fire, casting a warm glow onto his already tanned skin. You tucked them back behind his sharp ears. Traced the curve of his bones until he was leaning into your touch.

“You wound me,” he murmured, kissing your palms. 

You blushed, feeling the brush of his full lips against your sensitive skin. “I didn’t mean it.” 

He smiled — a crooked, boyish smile. “I know.” 

He looked into your coffee eyes. The light bent differently when they touched your irises, curving around the bends like honey, cutting amber crescents at the edges of their rich color. You closed and opened them slowly, letting the light pour in like cream into coffee, swirling and setting them aflame. 

Lucien was back in that stream. The world was still. There was nothing that could hurt him. Just clarity, peace, and the riverbed glittering beneath him. 

“I love you, Y/n.”

[daisys-reality]

𝙿𝙰𝙲.𝟶𝟷𝟾 : 𝙱𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊 '𝙳𝚁 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏' 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎! - 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚆𝚎𝚋𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝙿𝚃. 𝟷)

Hello my fellow shifters 🌱 This pac reading is just for entertainment purposes and for everyone who plans on shifting to a DR that is fantasy/royal/webtoon/isekai-like + for those who want to get some inspiration on how their DR self should look like. Almost all of my DR selfs look different and I thought this would be a fun idea to get some inspo for future DR plans hehe. If you like to read more pac readings from me, feel free to check out my  masterlist as well! Also, I don't own any of these beautiful pics, they're all from pinterest.

🛑 This reading works a little different, so after choosing a main picture/pile, you'll have to choose some more numbers and they will be different for each pile. Please choose a number for each category and go to your pile:

EYE COLOR: 1️⃣ 2️⃣

HAIR COLOR: 1️⃣ 2️⃣

------

𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴

Eye color: 1️⃣ strong pink / purple 2️⃣ yellow/orange (tiger eye)

Hair color: 1️⃣ dark blue / purple  2️⃣ dark blonde

Overall vibe: Skin complexion on the paler side (regardless of skin color), creamy skin, round face, strong jawline, round/soft body type with good amount of muscles, short to medium height, darker hair (so here: dark blonde or dark purple/blue hair), emotional/moody, dreamy, affectionate, passionate, dramatic, attractive, psychic, serious, melancholic, burdened/exhausted by life in general or by responsibilities and contracts?, dark colored and black clothes, long dresses, pearl jewelry, big jewels, piercing eyes, strong intuition, powerful presence, being restricted by something or holding yourself back, composed anger, embodiment of karma, fearless gaze, sensual, devoted and eager for power.  

Eye/hair color combinations: 1️⃣1️⃣, 1️⃣2️⃣, 2️⃣1️⃣, 2️⃣2️⃣

𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝚆𝙾

Eye color: 1️⃣ light green  2️⃣  black

Hair color: 1️⃣ light pink 2️⃣ icy blue

Overall vibe: Graceful, tall and slender, long legs, medium skin complexion (regardless of skin color), light colored hair, can’t stand still, arrogant/conceited, condescending, flat chested, cold, emotionless, hidden control freak, easily misunderstood, wise, tragedy as blessing in disguise, intriguing, willing to do the dirty work, you're someone who stands up for themselves, your words might sting, lowkey intimidating/scary to men, doll-like beauty, ribbons and frills, light-colored clothes, poisonous beauty, you’re like the poison that is being used as remedy to another poison, you bring balance and transformation into that world even if people can’t see it.

Eye/hair color combinations: 1️⃣1️⃣, 1️⃣2️⃣, 2️⃣1️⃣, 2️⃣2️⃣

𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴

Eye color: 1️⃣ red 2️⃣  orange/hazel

Hair color: 1️⃣ blonde 2️⃣ brown

Overall vibe: Warm colored hair, dark colored eyes, tending more to be muscular built, good posture, strong/heavy jaw, positive and warm energy, Lion-like, majestic, medium height, strong body and mind, spiritual, cultivated, mesmerizing, capable, responsible, peace-maker & peace upholder, humble, nourishing, caretaker, hardworking, abundant, generous and supportive, at times resentful or feeling trapped, you're someone who works a lot behind the scenes and who likes managing, someone with a helper syndrome but at the same time suspicious of others, resistant to change, keen-eyed, all-seeing, full and healthy hair, wearing clothes that enhance your body shape and curves.

Eye/hair color combinations: 1️⃣1️⃣, 1️⃣2️⃣, 2️⃣1️⃣, 2️⃣2️⃣

𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁

Eye color: 1️⃣ light pink 2️⃣  light purple/blue

Hair color: 1️⃣ red 2️⃣ white

Overall vibe: Curvy body shape but overall more lean, pretty waist-hip ratio, cute cheeks, a teasing beauty, perhaps a little fidgety or just nervous energy (?), a hard working person, robust or rough but more so in personality than in appearance, foreign or exotic looking, well traveled, a bit tired looking - perhaps your gaze/eyes but you have a youthful glow, you look like you went through a lot, perhaps that's also why you sometimes give off this ‘rough around the edges’ vibe, detail oriented, a little nit-picky, tendency to be a bit extreme sometimes, fearful vision of life, controlling, looking like someone who needs some time off because you're always overdoing it, organized and resourceful, very busy, someone who carries higher wisdom, perhaps religious or someone who deals with divine energy, someone who people wonder about who they really are or what they have in mind, you are someone who questions things a lot and you don't trust (opinions, informations) easily, there is also something innocent or pure about you, innocent arousal and naive sensuality, compelling and almost addictive to men and with other women there is always this unresolved tension, I see you long dresses with pretty low cut cleavage or turtle neck dresses with see through parts, very teasing dressing style, you might play around with different or even exotic styles, dresses with a tight waist cut or wearing corsets, and also something about cords, fans and scarfs (worn like a vest).

Eye/hair color combinations: 1️⃣1️⃣, 1️⃣2️⃣, 2️⃣1️⃣, 2️⃣2️⃣

𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝚅𝙴

Eye color: 1️⃣ grey 2️⃣ dark grape purple almost black

Hair color: 1️⃣ dark brown 2️⃣ blue

Overall vibe: Piercing eyes, petite and dainty looking, short, baby face, innocent look, very feminine, childlike-charm, adorable, dreamy looking or the vibe of a daydreamer, naive, hidden depth, light hearted, soft beauty, does not fear darkness, patient, prudent, seeking growth, visionary, beaming smile, mystical, easy-going, clever, soft and frilly clothes, light or pastel colored clothes, many layers on the dress (=volumios dresses), hard to grasp, very perceptive, clothes and accessories with ribbons, dots, frills and lace, cute hair accessory, perhaps flower themed dresses, delicate jewelry, adventurous spirit, intriguing, someone who is able to deal with tragedies in a light hearted way, clean beauty, someone very tidy, fresh and eager energy, perhaps sometimes lacking a sense of self, very moldable identity, loves learning and very open-minded persona.

Eye/hair color combinations: 1️⃣1️⃣, 1️⃣2️⃣, 2️⃣1️⃣, 2️⃣2️⃣

𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝚇

Eye color: 1️⃣ red 2️⃣ (apple) green

Hair color: 1️⃣ white 2️⃣ purple

Overall vibe: Round/soft body type, bold appearance, voluminous hair, intense eyes, attractive/alluring eyes, perhaps freckles, optimistic but also kinda nonchalant attitude, inspiring, shining beauty, tall, slightly arrogant looking, emotionless face/poker face, very good-looking, lush hair, no problem standing up for themselves, often clashing with other women and appearing bitchy to them, other women are often competitive around you, one of a kind type of beauty, dangerous like a panther, exotic jewelry, feathers, gold jewelry, there's something dark about you, some people could claim you’re secretly a witch, you seem powerful to others, a little rebellious as well, someone who causes chaos wherever they go, very brave, regal energy, god/goddess like or god-complex? lol, hard to get, naturally seductive, wide flowy clothes, showing skin, very luxurious clothing, intimidating, keen eye, a bit stealthy, someone who hates wasting time and energy (on useless stuff/people), easily bored, expansive presence, and wild passionate person, your the center of your own world, dangerous like still deep waters - which you shouldn’t underestimate...

Eye/hair color combinations: 1️⃣1️⃣, 1️⃣2️⃣, 2️⃣1️⃣, 2️⃣2️⃣

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch - LiTA (Rain/Payu) 2

Because I'm petty, I had the crowd pick which blacklisted shows I would watch for the month of Pride. The first is Love in The Air, and even though I was mad in the first few episodes that Sky brushed off his friend running away from Payu at the beginning, Sky has proven he is a great friend, and I am very excited to get to his portion. Sorry, Rain. This Daddy x Baby dynamic needs to speed it up!

Let's wrap this stormy weather up!

If I was the receptionist, I'd love this job for the chisme. If I was a mechanic, I'd be pissed!

So all of this was a another test. Rain is proving himself to Payu as being worthy of his time and affection by ignoring Payu being mean to him, so even though there is definitely something happening with the yellow and blue between them, I'm ignoring it because Payu is HIGH-KEY pissing me all the way off, and I'm too focused on this room situation. Does this man have his garage room and actual house room?! What is this?!

LET ME IGNORE THEM, BABY JESUS!

Black x White. Blinding Light of Love. And just like that, I'm on my fellow Slut for Christ's side because WHY IS RAIN JUST STANDING OUT IN THE RAIN LIKE A DUMMY?! Miracles happen when we least expect them.

I am not feeling this bathing scene because there is not enough water in that huge ass tub, and out of all the things Payu should apologize for, he is saying sorry that Rain stood out in the rain. Can they just have sex already, so I can quit being petty?

God damn it! There is pink = 💕love💕 but I am very familiar with this scene because it was all over my dash when it aired, and I'm a bag of mixed emotions. Payu hid that condom under a toy truck, but opened it with his teeth, yet he kissed Rain's leg, so like . . . shit, Payu looks fine with his hair down.

The beginning of episode five is just horny on main from Rain telling his MOTHER that he was working on something else that was hard all night, and now we're just watching Payu work out before he peaces out in Payu's blue shirt only to end up in this! I refuse to acknowledge the colors because how did Payu find this boy AND WHY ARE THEY SCREWING AROUND IN HIS MAMA'S HOUSE?!

😬😬😬

Payu already claimed Rain to his face, followed him to his mama's house, and has gotten ultra possessive, yet Rain is freaking out thinking Payu is trying to ditch him. Rain is too smart to be this dumb.

A WHOLE ASS GIRL IS IN THIS SHOW! And Rain is just insulting her and her brothers after pining after her - "fruits" - really, Cloud Jizz?

The way I'm mad at these colors is the same way I'm mad at Rain for being upset that other people like his boyfriend. These two were made for each other.

STOP IT!

Number one rule of illegal race club is we don't talk about illegal race club.

I'm ignoring the wife talk the same way I'm ignoring the colors and the singing. I am God's strongest solider.

This legit should be the end of their arc and the fact that it is not just so Rain can get kidnapped is irritating me (yes, I know he gets kidnapped because my dash said so when it was airing).

Oh, look, a sweet flashback telling me they were meant for each other right before RAIN GETS KIDNAPPED!

These colors are on my fucking neck!

*eyes popping out of my head because the colors won't let me be* Yeah, yeah, yeah. He's gonna rip that suit off of you later and fuck you on the stairs of death then ride you. Yeah, we've all heard about it, now can we get to the kidnapping plot?

The colors are coloring on these two kinksters with Payu's "I like the sound, but not to ride" line like we don't all know what that means. So glad they found each other, but WHERE IS THE KIDNAPPING?! Does it not happen in this episode?! I thought there were only six episodes in each arc. Am I watching seven of just Rain ask the same damn questions of if they like each other?! Sonsito!

The colors are coloring so hard with Rain in his white tank and pink boxers (that he wore the first time they had sex) drinking white milk and Payu in his black shirt with his black tea cup and blue jacket hanging out on the chair. I HATE IT!

THE KIDNAPPING! The title card was "Sky After Rain" so let's move this along and give me my boy already! But also, if Rain was a rich bitch, this would've never happened! A delivery man asking for help? Um . . . better go find a buddy because rich bitches don't do manual labor. Finally, I appreciate that Payu's wild ass behavior of demanding Rain answer his calls paid off by him knowing something was up when Rain didn't answer. Now can we murder this bastard already for taking this awful picture?!

A comedian said that people only kneel for two reasons: God and dick, so this man is a dick who is about to meet God because he just said that he would have his men sexually assault Rain?! DRACARYS!

I have never been more excited to see the Bed Friend baddie! Not only because he is about to end this man's life, but also because he interrupted these two love birds making googly eyes at each other in the middle of a crime scene! And now Rain just said Payu was the only one who could screw him. WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?!

Rain is clearly a words-over-actions guy, but at this point it is OBVIOUS that Payu loves him, so I would tell him I don't love him just to be mean.

And now Rain is telling Payu he would harm him if he cheats. WITH WHOM?! The damn mechanic who has to keep running interference between you two AT HIS JOB?! Y'all are such a mess and fully belong together.

Oh thank goodness, it's my sweet summer child Sky finally!

And his red devil because Prapai has to be the red to his bestie's blue, no?

See, Rain is triflin' because Sky did not snitch on him dating Payu, yet Rain gave up his number quick. This is why I ignored their colors because Rain knows this is wrong, but at least it FINALLY gets me more Sky on my screen. The End!

HE FUCKED UP HIS CAR ON PURPOSE?! WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK, PAYU?! YOU HAD THIS BOY INDEBTED TO YOU FOR WHAT?! BECAUSE HE WAS PRETTY AND YOU WANTED HIM?! WHAT WERE THE REASONS, PAYU?! WHAT?! WERE?! THE?! REASONS?!

*takes off my glasses* These after scenes got me all the way fucked up, and even though I was fine with how they ended in the car this episode, now I'm mad as hell that Payu just offered up this fun little tidbit that he jacked up Rain's car so he could see him again at the very end.

🤡

Pushes play on episode eight

[doublekanble]

Ghost in your home.

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 8.5k

or, ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand or to fix you only ever serves to widen the distance. (have you ever love someone who died and came back so much you try to forced them into the mold of who they used to be without considering the fact they're no longer the same person? instead of learning to love them again? well have i got good news for you.) tw: toxic relationship (what's new). 2-4 have a progression of injuries and gorish talk. semi unreliable narrator alastor

1. His house is always at a pleasant 20 degree Celsius, but it always feels like 0.

“Now, I’m sure this is a bit upsetting, yes. But I assured you it’s for the better— “

Sharp yellow teeth grinded against each other, Alastor do his best to keep his own temper in check when another pillow hit his chest. The sounds of radio dials going haywire blares out for a second before evening itself out and turn to a low frequency hum. He picked these because he knows you would’ve love them, seems your tantrum triumph your love for the colors, after all. Standing a respectable distance away from you, at the door, he simply tries to focus on the positive.

“Shut the fuck up!” you roared, whipping your head around to stare into his eyes from where you’re hunching over, he would try chiding you for your nasty mouth, but that can wait until he’s sure you won’t rip the carpet apart. “What are you even trying to do?! Was killing me before not enough for you? You just have to hunt me down and make me lose my job— “

“—An extremely unnecessary and useless job that you’ll never have to bother with ever again!” when he starts to walk towards you, arms open and still trying to put you above himself, your snarled at him and lowered yourself, as if ready to lung at any minute. It wasn’t until you bring your hands up that he realized what you were doing, your fingers clutching the duvet below you tightly. Almost like a wounded animal retreating into its hiding spot before choosing to fight, you sat on your knee with sharp fingers, and in a single tug, you tear it into two.

“I wanted that job, Alastor! That was my job!” bellowing out at him with a fury he have never seen in you while bunching however much of the useless cotton that can fit in your hand, you tried to throw it at him again. It fell just below his feet and bloom open instead. Alastor doesn’t bother kicking it off to the side, opting to step over it and the other mess you made in your room. “You go and get yourself one that can guarantee you decent rooming and livable wage in this hellhole without selling your soul you dog!”

His shadow covers your figure as he look down at you with what he hoped is a more than amicable smile. That duvet and the torn books, the lamp and the drawers, everything, was picked out just for you. Now it’s all on the floor, even before he got to your room. He laughs.

“That’s absurd, love! Are you really trying to justify working in that pigsty for nickels and dimes? And even so,” Judging from the way you cowered and the interference in his voice, Alastor made a wild guess that he failed, but there’s no need to dwell on the specific. Light escaped to the corners when statics runs through the air before cutting off completely and red stares back at him from the bottom of your irises, you grow just a tad smaller in his eyes. “There is absolutely no need throwing such fits over minor disagreements. We’re both decent folks raised right, aren’t we?” you winced visibly when he cranks his neck to a sharp ninety-degree, he almost feels bad for you.

“It’s not ‘minor’, everything I worked for is gone. You scorched them like they’re nothing…” You grumble out and break the eye contact, tone spiteful but small. There’s a tinge of cautions in it now, like a dog with tail in between it legs, still growling from it belly but caution of the fight.

“I wouldn’t have burn anything that meant something to you, love,” Cooing at you, he can feel his bones shifting back into place as Alastor reaches out a hand to smooth out your hair, finally able to frets over your messy and unkept state from the morning outburst. You keep absolutely still under his hold. “All those frivolous rubbish you kept in that tiny living quarter of yours combine won’t worth half as much as a single item in this room! And look at where they all ended up…”

“They meant something to me, Alastor.” He glances down at his hand, your sudden grip on it was tight, with the nail on your thumb pressing right at his vein as a warning. He can tell when someone’s doing something to scared him, this isn’t that at all. You seem to almost be unaware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alastor finds the notion of you needing to know how to do this —or the fact you’re even doing it out of habit— wholly annoying and unpleasant. “I like them, and I worked to buy them with my own means.”

At that, he smiles, such a messy little thing, you always are. Awfully sentimental and always get caught up on the wrong thing. Alastor gets it, he really does. He gets sentimental over stupid, silly little objects and items too. The rock he picked up somewhere when he was five, placed in the corner of the drawer that he threw out once he found it again as an adult. His first tailored suit that he worked day and night for, collecting dust in his closet by the time he looked back. That letter of acceptance kept in a box, the one he burns the day that lousy owner of the radio station was discovered at a bottom of a creek and got replaced with someone much more pleasant.

Alastor has things he treasured too, and unlike you, he knows when to let something go and when to take a hold of it. That’s why your old place stand as nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind. You always have a knack for frantically holding onto your romanticism and the nonsensical. He honestly would rather be giving you more time to adapt, but not only are you horribly fussy about it, Alastor now has his good grace thrown in his face.

“Well then, if you’re so hung up on them, then you’ll feel more than at home to work for everything you’ve wrecked today, yes? Afterwards, we can get talking about getting you something else.”

You’re a terribly lucky thing, still able to even breathe where Alastor maimed so many for much less. He thinks you know you are, that’s only why you’re so insistent on being so difficult, glaring up at him with hate in your eyes and a such a rotten attitude.

“Get out,” your voice was small, but far from scared. With fingers curling around his wrist uselessly, you all but snarled, “Get. Out.”

“They’re awfully expensive, as you already know. They’ll do good to motivate you too. One stone two bird, as they’d say~” ignoring your silly attempt to provoke him into losing his temper again, Alastor wrapped his free hand around yours, and with what he thought was a gentle tug, pulls it from his wrist. He releases it when you winced, almost caught surprise by the change in the way you sit. Slightly hunching over, you held your hand close to you. His index nicked your wrist, and a bead of red ran from it.

Although it was no more than an accident, he knows you’re more than familiar with the ensembles of screams and cries running from the radio he placed in your room. You don’t need to know he will never let you join in with the harmony, but it’s nice to keep you on your toes sometimes.

“Stay good for me. Will you, darling?”

2. He gives you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more than you could ever need. He remembers your rapidly cooling body underneath him.

“Dearest,” sweetly, he calls out for you, gripping onto your shoulder, “Why are all the books in your bathtub?” he can tell it’s hurting you, but you keep your gaze far beyond the window and into the cityscape.

It wasn’t only the books, all of your lovely stationaries and art supplies and music sheets and what-else swims in that damned bathtub like a bloated corpse. Your room, although not as clean as it was before your little fit, it’s still a substantial improvement. It also gives you little to nothing in terms of fun aside from the lonely cacti sitting silently on a table with scratch marks, you’d refuses to step foot outside unless he needs you at the dinner table. Say whatever you want, Alastor is everything but heartless when it came to you, so he starts coming up with ways to give you some fun in your life.

He thought it’ll be the right thing to do, gifting you something for you to spent your times on and make a home out of your room. Which, in turns, might be the first push he needs for his home to become yours, too. He couldn’t really give himself too much credit, though. If anyone were to pay attention, they would all come to the same conclusion about you. Terribly restless and honest little thing, always on the move, always doing something. That’s what he loves so much about you, you can’t hide a single thought from him with how you can barely keep yourself together at times. Anything you feel always came up to your face. And if you were to dislike someone, he will know.

Even by the end, where you eventually grew quieter and more muted, looking behind your shoulders and fretful over invisible shadows hiding in the dark; your heart still stays so comically beautiful and kind. So lovingly, you still use the same fountain pen he gifted you. You were still you. So when he got you those things, Alastor was somewhat hoping to see just what you can come up with to further antagonized him. He’s not delusional as to hot-blooded and petty you are. You can hate him in this moment, but he knows you well enough to know you’ll never be like him. Always the kinder of the pair; you were never one for outright belligerent.

“I don’t know,” your voice was airy and light, then, “I don’t like any of them.”

But now, without him noticing, your eyes somehow carried the same glint as he does.

Down here in Hell, the day always been just a little bit brighter than the night. Obnoxious red always painted the sky, it’s really the furthest thing from the scenery back on Earth. Even then, the evening shade reflected in your eyes almost reminded him of the lovely days of being alive. With his red thumb practically piercing your collarbone with how hard he’s pressing down on you, sitting on the only chair in the room that’s still intact, by your half clawed-up desk, face sitting all neatly in the palm of one hand; you can almost be considered graceful like this, body lax and a wistful gaze. Alastor can almost be taken by the sight. Almost.

Although Alastor was only trying to turn you towards him for yet another scolding, for a second, he’d forgotten just how easy it is for his claws to tear. One moment, you were on the only chair left in the room, staring out a window and paying no mind to his growing ire. Another, you crumbled on the floor, hand replaced his. Slightly dazed from what just happened, he stands and watches on while you clutch at the bits of tendon and bones showing through skin, trying to squeeze the opening together with shaking hands. Red streams through between your fingers without a care as the familiar smell of metallic fills the room. You now faced towards the floor, frozen stiff like a scared little fawn. Alastor couldn’t bring himself from the sight. Right, you’re made of flesh, too.

He clenched the hand that touched you once to get rid of the ache soaking itself in his bone marrow, opens it, then twice, as if testing out the way your blood settles on his blackened palm. Shaking himself awake, he can almost feel the hunger clawing through his throat and molding itself into the will to bite. You really are lucky, if you were any old Joe, you wouldn’t even have a shoulder to rest that stupidly stubborn head of yours on.

“Darling,” a knee touching the floor, he kneels at his spot and reach a bloody hand out, moving the tip-over chair out of the way with another. An apology on the tip of his tongue, he bites and swallowed it when you inched yourself back just a bit with eyes still glued to the stained carpet. You wouldn’t really deserve one anyway. Long, heavy breath seeps through your bared teeth, your hold on that obnoxious gash tightened while the floor beneath you catches the blood that fell in droves. He sighs. “Come now, I’ll help clean you up.”

He can hear the sound of your heart, still frantically beating as you refused to answer or take his hand. Through the curtains of your bangs, he spots wild eyes darting to the door, before settling on his patiently waiting red claws. The moment you looked as if ready to bolt away, Alastor decides that he have been more than patient with you – seizing you by the elbow and dragging you up, he took you to his room for the day. You made a weak attempt at fighting out of his grip before giving up entirely. When your footstep slowly catches up to him, he thanked Lucifer.

In his well-decorated and tidy bathroom, over your humiliated protest and pitiful whine, Alastor forced a proper apology from your mouth while he scrubbed away the urge to sink his teeth into something and the crusted brown clinging to your flesh with a sponge and a grip too tight. You couldn’t complaint, too focused on what must be one of the worst pain you’ve felt since the day you were reborn. There’s nothing he can do for you, he thought to himself – you can handle a little more pain, you were so insisted about being so unfairly difficult despite his multiple humbling attempts at a peace offering or at least a truce. A brat until the end of time, no matter the length he’d go through for you.

Alastor would’ve wondered over and over to himself about just what was it that makes you so incredibly indispensable to him, but he knows why already. Standing by his window after patching you up and sending you back to your room with a “gentle” warning, leaving the bathtub ordeal to be dealt with tomorrow and having nothing else to do, he let a familiar tune plays from the neglected microphone leaning on his bed.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. Everything he does since the day he buried his bastard of a father below the soil of the earth have been mark and marred with several distinct goals in mind. So that his mother can finally live the life God owed her, so that he can live the life he deserves, Alastor cheated and lied his way through life and climb up the social rank. With bloody hands and a silver tongue, he bought a house in a nice neighborhood and became well known amongst the community for his charm. And somewhere along the way, with dirt caked under his nails, he finds you in his life and you stayed until the day you died.

Life in New Orleans was always colorful, even when he was surfing through the night alone. But with you, it’s like getting to live through the good part twice. The day you died, a part of him died with you on the forest floor. Blooming under rotting leaves and buried below the rocks is the one other person that Alastor dare entrusted with his heart. It rots too, along with you, but he never really minded it all. Alastor knows you; he knows why you’re utterly indispensable to him.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. But as Alastor, he finds that thoughts and daydreams can never talk and laugh like you do. In your absence, his thoroughly decayed heart only grows fonder of the you he remembers. When he came down here, he wasn’t able to bring a single thing of you with him. When he finds his way back up there, everything of yours was burnt and destroyed. So for the longest time, Alastor lives on with the thought of you in his mind and your warmth in his heart.

It's awfully painful, he quietly admitted to himself, it’s awfully painful how, even though you’re just a walk away now, room set right next to his, divided by thick wood; Alastor has never felt so much further away from the life he envisioned. His claws, clean of your blood, dance on the windowsill as he hummed along to a tune from the older days, the better days. He’s willing to wait, however. You surely will come around, you have to, and when you do, you’ll laugh about your stubborn streaks and poke fun at his willingness to let you trampled all over his ego like this. Surely.

For now, for the rest of the night, Alastor sat and stare out the window with nothing in mind. He hopes this feeling of fulfilled emptiness can leave before it takes roots in his heart.

3. The AM radio frequency only read white noise. He can’t hear your voice.

Your miserable sobs don’t get any quieter, even when he slammed the door closed.

Leaning against it with a huff, Alastor brushes off the familiar and unwelcome fatigue settling in his mind and adjusted the collar of his vest with one hand. There’s no use in going in there again for the night. If there’s one thing he can ever be sure of, it’s that you would throw yourself out the window the moment you see him again and made an even bigger mess for him to clean up. It’s shameful to admit he ever lose control over himself like that. In a perfect world, nobody should know the exact buttons to push like you do, no word should ever get to him like yours does. But Alastor long since accepted that if you were to ask for his heart, you’ll have it on a silver platter. You’re very firm on taking the stand of martyrdom before you ever ask him for anything, but he likes to think that he’s working towards that.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastor started towards the kitchen. He hasn’t cook anything for the day yet, and he’s sure that the first-aid kit was still in there from your last tantrum. All this trouble, and he can’t even make a roast out of this. He knows you’re not too fond of meatloaf – or anything he made for you nowadays – but it’ll have to do, since you’re so keen on wrecking his schedule with your childish attempt at a spat and your nonsensical sentimental for that useless life you kept insisting you want back. Despite all of it, he does feel just a tad bit of pity for you. You, and your right arm, the one sitting silently in his left, bleeding all over his carpet floor. Hopefully this will teach you to stop moving around so much next time, you’re not unfamiliar with a broken wrist, but you just kept writhing and clawing at his hands, and his slipped.

Quite frankly, this is still a much better life than for you to be in the same room and so close to those revolting roughnecks and floors stained with Satan-knows-what. He can’t even fathom just why you’re still clinging onto it so tightly when there’s so much for you here. When he’s here.

He stills remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he makes his way to a figure quickly retreating behind the counter, under the dim lights and the rowdiness of a dingy café that barely qualifies as one. He wasn’t sure at first – Hell has a way of masking one’s appearance with a roulette game, and despite his growing contracts and connections, information might just be wrong. You could’ve been exorcised, or even worse, managed to wrangled your way into Heaven somehow and left him down here alone. But he placed his confident in a good friend, who promised him that if this isn’t you, then nobody else can be.

Bless the Christian God himself for his mercy, the moment he let that familiar name fell from his lips again after so many years of living without it, Alastor find himself staring into the same gaze that haunted his waking days and sleepless night. Holding onto you with a bruising grip, when you finally bring yourself to stare back at him like a deer in front of head light, his rotting heart comes alive with a fervor and he knew you’ll never be separated from him ever again. Back in his arms and under his wings.

Despite the time it took and your less-than-ideal reunion, he was more than thrilled to show you he finally made good of himself down here, just like he said he would. As Alastor lead you back with a smile splitting his face open, he tells you all about what he’s been doing. In his house is a room prepared just for you with everything you’ve ever love that he can get his claws on. It used to sit there and taunt him in the night where the silence stretches on and on and nothing in the underworld can distract him from the idea of your separation lasting until the end of time and the end of his life, that for all his preparations to make sure you two will never parted, he managed to miss the one chance he had with you in life. His halls echoed a voice that he barely able to recalled while he chased a shadow he desperately tries to remembers in whatever he can remember of you. The passage of time and his work might take your lovely voice and visage from him, but it will never let him forget how you feel about dark coffee or your favorite composer.

The time he lost being far away from you, the time you both lost being away from each other, Alastor was ready to make up for all of it. With good food, good wine, a good home and a good life. Finally, nobody will ever be able to turn their nose up at you both. If they do, he has more than enough means to fix it. His broadcast station no longer stays dependent on some white hotshot he needs to keep in a good mood at all time, it now plays only the things Alastor wants it to, forever. And now that you’re back, it’ll plays whatever it is you want too. All of it, just for yours and his sake alone. And then you turn your nose up at him, demanding for your old pathetic life back.

Ever since Alastor found you and took you home, you’ve been nothing but ungrateful, unpredictable, and downright hazardous to yourself and his furniture. Nothing like the darling he cared for from way back then. All bites and no barks, that’s what your silly threats and your mischief used to be in life. It’s nothing here, too, but he can only get so far restraining you to your bed until you learn how to break your own hands and slip it through the cuffs. You were always a lot of things, but this vindictive side of you still are so incredibly off-putting to him.

And yet, even with all of this, Alastor’s eroding heart breaks for you. Recently, he discovered an old book, one he took with him from the burning pile of your apartment and kept in his overcoat for a long time. It was a book that you shared with him when you both were alive, he was more than elated once reminded of the fact. Stained with black on the cover and slightly misshapen, the book must’ve gone through so much, considering your occupation at the time. Alastor remembers just how hard it is to get used to the disrespectful crowd down here, even for someone like him who can simply waved his hand and turn them into red paste on the filthy streets. You must’ve been so confused and scared, having to re-familiarized yourself to a new and much more unwelcoming world, making your way through an utterly horrific landscape without him there to help you with.

Naive, kind hearted and gentle you, even when you’ve killed before, you’re an easy prey in an awful, awful world. Mother always reminded him that wounded animal takes time to trust and they bite and clawed their way out of hands that moves too fast, so he need to make good by her words and keep on giving you just that, time. No matter the fact you barely improve, no matter how much time he gave you, or the fact it was him who clawed off your arm in the first place.

So, with a bright attitude, Alastor strides to your shut door with the sounds of your hysteria long gone. He knocks three times and calls out to you, then leave you alone with the first-aid kit. He’ll give you until midnight to do it yourself.

4. Love and hate are a hair away, he realized he hates loving you at times.

You’ve been improving, day by day. You stop biting back so much and starts to listen more, you sit when he asked you to and learned not to talk so brazenly while you’re at it, too. You don’t ever smile, yes, and his hallways still feel so cold at times. You walked as if you’re on eggshells, and you sleep with your body huddled under the blanket, as if there’s something hiding in the dark that will take you away if you dare peak out from it. You stacked books and boxes underneath your bed, too.

At times, Alastor felt like he’s having a guest staying over, maybe it’s because you’re acting more and more like one. Someone whom he knows well enough to accommodate their every need, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity, of the fact they’re not a close enough friend to stay over for so long, and their every decision needed checking. The thought itself is beyond ridiculous, he knew you for years before you died. He’s the closest friend you have, alive or death. He knows how you like your eggs; he memorized your voice; he knows when you need to sleep and when you like to wake up. But he digressed. Progress is progress, you’re getting better day by day, and he only ever have to threatened you a bit at times.

Which must’ve been why it felt so wrong, holding you like this.

He can only hope you won’t be able to discern his heavy panting over your own growing panic. Alastor could’ve sworn that he’s a better man than this, that he has more patience and more tact, already lived through a childhood with his head down and a smile stitched neatly on his lips. But he rationalized the way his pointer and thumb pinch together with the same compassion he have for a stray dog, separate only by your tongue, slowed and unmoving only by his own desire to give you another chance to explain yourself and take back your word and let him returns to his days of thinking you’re getting better, never minded the fact he’s not hearing anything out of his good ear right now. It’s not that he’s drawn to the way your pupils dilating and turned pinprick as your near incoherent pleading slowly cut itself off, realizing this might not end well. It’s not that he’s intently observing the trickle of blood running into the back of your throat, or the way your hot breath hit his hand, unable to close your jaw from the grip he has on you.

From the first dawn of this day until mere minutes ago, things were just lovely. Alastor managed to hold a ten-minute conversation with you in the morning, and by noon, able to coaxed you out of your hiding spot and onto your seat at the table with the promises of getting you whatever else you requested, as long as you keep your manner in check. You raised an eyebrow at the unusual and grand display of dishes for what you must’ve thought was a normal meal, but you stay silent. The four walls in your room had to be decorated by his own hands, and anything you refuses to keep, you throw into the toilet or buried under your growing number of plants out in the garden he’s not allowed to step foot in; thusly, there’s no longer a calendar in your room for you to keep tracks on dates.

When he pulls out a bottle of wine – full bodied, his favorite from when he was alive, it feels like blood sliding down his throats at times – you look at him, your eyes tells a world of distrust as he smile at you and pour it into two glass and hand you one. Alastor could’ve cried true tears of joy when you accepted it without making a fuss and simply placed it by your left, picking up a fork with your dominant hand. You waited for him to say something, before quietly thank him for the food and starts to eat.

For most of the meal, you work away at your own plate while he talks for the both of you. Alastor doesn’t mind, the fact you bothered to pay attention is good enough, occasionally nodding along or giving him a small huff or two. You’ve been doing a great job at staying in line ever since a year ago, especially once you learned you’re also made of flesh, just like the rest of the voices stuck in his broadcast. Alastor would’ve gladly taken this, if not for how you’re glancing off every now and then, contemplating something.

Particularly, you’ve been holding onto your glass for an awfully long time now, drifting off in the middle of him relaying an encounter he had the day before. Alastor pauses when you take it near your face and cleared your throat.

“…It’s not your birthday today.” You said, nonchalantly staring into the bottom of the glass, spinning it to and fro between the middle of your pointer and thumb.

“I’m glad you still remember my birthday, dear. But yes, it’s not! It’s surprising you can even tell what day it is!” he laughs.

You only glance up, before letting out a deep sigh, “You’re way more eager on your birthday.”

“Well then love, would you care to enlighten me on how I am today?” Alastor leans over the table with a smile, mood light and hoping you stop with the implications. You look angsty, however, gently lifting the glass up to your lips and take a small gulp. When you finally look at him again, Alastor felt his smile strains, he knows what that look means.

“What day is it?” with a clink, the glass landed on the table and stay there, “It’s not my birthday, nor is it yours. It’s not a holiday, too, far as I know. “

The corner of his lips pulls taut, his half-lidded eyes stare straight into yours. The sounds of something sharp pulls through the radio, but you refuse to back down. Alastor caved and took his own glass into his right hand.

“I was going to keep it a secret until we finished with our meal, but if you’re so insistent on spoiling the surprise—“ taking a long sip before continuing, if this goes south, he might need something stronger, “—It’s been a year since the day we reunited, right on the dot. I figured we should do something to celebrate, but you’ve always been such a stick in the mud about your past. So, I was going to have us finishing the meal first— “

The clanking of silverwares being drop onto porcelain plate was the first thing he catch, the ear-grating sound of your chair scrapping harshly against the kitchen floor’s the second. With both hand bracing against the table, you look half ready to launch yourself over it and kill him with your bare hands, but you breathe in, back straight, and simply look at him.

“Your mother would be livid if this is the you she knows.”

You looked as if you still have something else to say, but in a second, he have your face in his hand, grinning down at you while the base of his horns itch and creaks.

“Apologies, dear. I think I’ve heard something wrong,” the lights in the room flickered, in between the burning bright and the cold dark, he can only see red, “Do you want to try and repeat that for me?”

“Your fucking mother would’ve hated you.” Over the radio static bursting his own eardrums and your lovely voice spewing utter putrid, he tucked a thumb in before you can properly close your mouth, you clamped down onto it and grinded your teeth. He laughs.

“Oh~ you think you’re so incredibly brave, aren’t you?” sticking in another thumb, Alastor slowly pried your mouth open, the more he does, the quicker your attitude change, “So strong and so special. You can handle yourself just fine without me, can’t you? nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

“Al—waih—“ you choked out, desperate. But he’s not having it today.

His pointer and thumb pull on your tongue.

Alastor swore up and down, he was raised a tactful and patient man. He followed his mother‘s word very carefully and tries his best to be charitable with you.

With eyes glued onto the trail of his blood, quickly drying on your chin, then to your tongue, with increasing pressure, he can feel his smile splitting open his own face, but there’s no joy to be found in his woeful, heavy heart.

It feels so wrong, holding you like this. He feels so wrong, looking into your eyes. You almost certainly accepted your fate by now, he feels a bit bad for you. So utterly helpless in his hold, realizing just how little power you truly have without his generous love, giving into you and letting you plays out your fantasy, even after everything you did. He knows you’re still getting used to this, he knows you needed more time. Alastor would almost consider this a lesson learned, but the statics blinds him to your pain, and for a moment, all he knew was that he wanted you to feel the same pain as he does.

So, because he loves you so much, because you want to hate him so badly, he ignored your hysterical cries as he pinches down on your tongue, then in one motion, he rips it from your nasty, bitter mouth.

5. Before he realized it, you weighted 21 grams.

It’s almost like he’s haunted, at times. The thought would’ve been amusing.

Humming a tune and walking up the three steps leading to the front door, Alastor eyed the Ficus sitting on either side of him, a brown leaf fell from the lulling branch while he fetching the keys from his pocket with one hand. They’re wilting faster than he can water them. What a shame it really is, not only have you lost your will for everything, you also lost the mood to take care of tacky house plant decor. Maybe he should try for some Begonia next?

“I’m home, love!”

Alastor is greeted with an empty corridor and a faint melody dancing through the air. He can only sigh and step further into his home, heading for the kitchen. Every day he hoped something would magically change, and every day Lucifer laughed at him from the top of his luxurious throne.

You can hear him, he knows you do. You managed to crawl all the way into the studies just to put on a song the moment he steps foot outside the house, after all. It’s a blessing, how you haven’t bolt right back into your room the moment you hear the door opened, you must’ve been in a good mood. He hopes you can stay that way until tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t, as long as you’re willing to eat whatever he puts in front of you. He peaked into the spotless kitchen, and with nothing out of place, he stepped inside.

Setting the groceries down, he pulled out everything he needs for dinner. Already with a dish in mind, Alastor whisked out an iron cast pot and set it on the stove. He shooed his shadows off and away, he can prepare for this recipe himself, and he want to be alone for a while anyway. He prepares all the ingredients before getting to the rice. The music flows from upstairs as he works in silence, mindful of his own microphone and keeping it off.

He doesn’t remember this song, it must’ve been one of the newer ones Rosie gave him to give back to you, assuring him you “just need more fun things in your life, then you’ll get to talking again”. Alastor wasn’t sure if you would’ve like it enough for him to keep it, but he wasn’t going to bother fighting with Rosie.

Turning the fire down, he closed the lid and set the kitchen timer to twenty-two on the dot. It should be enough time for him to make the roux, but he can check the rice early. Pouring oil into a pot to his right, he turned the fire up to max and began whisking the flour into it, when it turned brown, he drops the onion in and lower the heat to medium.

If not for him constantly reminding you, you would’ve ignored the needle-like pain in your stomach. Granted, you ignore it even when he did remind you, so he took to just make things and leave it in your room until you’re in the mood to eat. It’s been going on for two years now, enough time for him to regret playing into your hands and losing his temper. Alastor had hope that if he were to deprived you of everything he’s willing to give you for some times, you would finally get it through your thick skull that he only ever wanted good for you. Only, the you that greeted him after three long month was silent and still, lying on your bed with close eyes. The only sign you’re still alive in the first place was your breathing, almost invisible to the common eye.

He remembers hovering over you, a finger set on your chin and pulls it down. With an odd lump in his throat and a heaviness he rarely knows of, Alastor let out a weak chuckled, watching as a reformed lump of meat pulsates and weakly twitching in place of your tongue. Turns out, without the correct nutrients, the citizen of hell could only pray that whatever injury they obtained will kill them faster than they can heal it. And just as fate would have it, you’ve been holding onto such a thing ever since he locked you in.

Maybe that’s why your eyes haven’t change since, maybe that’s why you refuse to talk, maybe it still hurts, and maybe you afraid of getting used to the comfort he provides you. Or maybe you hated him for it, he wouldn’t know, you never really made yourself clear since that day. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without anything that he gave you, and he’s trying his best now to make sure it’ll stay the longest you will ever go without anything ever again.

The roux turned a dark, shiny brown. He added almost everything else and stirs it for five minutes sharp. Quickly checking the rice once the timer calls for his attention, Alastor turned off the fire and reaches for the tomatoes and stocks. The music from upstairs come to a halt.

It’s became synonymous with you now, silent and stillness. Somewhere in the middle of an evening, Alastor came to the oddly upsetting realization that you just as well never return to the same you that he was trying so hard to recover.

Throwing in the two ingredients, he raises the heat back to high. When it began to boils, he puts it to medium and let it simmers for six minutes. A shadow came by and whispered winds and chimes into his flickering left ear, you’re back in your room with the gramophone.

When he was alive, every moment spent with you was bright and different. You were a wild spark of fire in the cold city, silently chasing after dreams with a caring and delicate heart. Your shared mirth used to fill the room as you talk over jazz and the constant chattering from loudmouth patrons. Those days became the only thing he held onto in the midst of his busy life down here.

Then one day, within his first few years of working his way up the ladder, still without your shadow haunting the empty room in his house; Alastor looked back on those days, the better days, and realized he can’t remember the exact note of your voice, he can only recall that you were happy. So he hunts down every corner of hell in a rush, afraid that the rest of you will slip away again. He laughs silently to himself; a meaningless thought crosses his mind. Is there even any of you left to fall through his fingers?

Putting the heat to low and adding in butter, he stirs until it blends and throws the shrimps and scallions in and something else hit him. He hasn’t been able to pin down the exact note and tone you tend to laugh in yet, nor have he able to watch any of your painting comes to life. He kept on stirring, after three minutes, he added seasoning. He catches a faraway song, barely making out the notes, he thinks that’s your favorite.

For weeks now, he kept going over everything he could’ve done wrong. Although he tries to ignore it, the animosity you shown since the second you saw him in Hell, maybe even before you’re dead, it might’ve stemmed from before he chased you down in the woods. But you know what he can do even in life, and you should’ve known Alastor would never hunt you down just to lock you inside the cacophonies he broadcasts on the daily. Alastor can at least understand that he struggled between giving into you and maintaining control. Perhaps that’s where your path diverts, perhaps you’re not meant to be by his side after all, ever since the day you die. Maybe you died before he even got to buried you, but Alastor can no longer pinpoint since when you died because he doesn’t know since when you started to play along with him. All he knows is that if he were to stops your breathing today, you’ll wake up tomorrow with no faith lost in him. The thought sits in his stomach and made itself home. But that’s alright.

Alastor rather stomached the idea of breaking you, the alternative was worse. If a life time of chasing your shadow only resulted in endless hate, that’s alright to him. As long as you’re still breathing and by his side, there’s surely a place for him in your heart. Surely.

His microphone sudden sparks up to life and died again. Right, the food, dinner. He gets to setting up your plate.

Having lived for this long, Alastor’s used to playing along and getting along with the oddest of crooks. He’s unsure of how to ever get along with you, though. You have been nothing but nasty and callous before, but at least you talk and react. Now, you walk at a slowed pace, no longer making any sort of distinguishable noise as you do. Less of a guest, and more of a transparent image of someone he barely able to call himself an acquaintance to.

Or more precisely, it’s as if he’s fostering a ghost in his own home, and now he’s going through all the troubles that came with one. At first, the ghost thrashed and trashed everything, confused and in pain and determined to hurt. Then, the ghost calmed and it starts making compromises to try and look for a way out. What he have now, Alastor muses as he plated your meal and ready his heart, is the melancholy of the ghost. When the grieving and the anger and the bargaining and the hurt passes on and left the shell behind, there’s only ever the emptiness lingering.

The stairs creaks under his shoes, shadows hanging around the corner and slowly melts back under Alastor as he walks by. One in particular waits on your door and chirps when he stepped towards it, seemingly in a good mood, its laughter akin to windchime as it reconnects itself to him. He ignores it and knock three times to give you time and hide away whatever it was you’re working on. The music kept on playing, a vulgar but joyous song burst through the door the instant he opens it, Alastor swallowed his disdain and step inside with a smile.

“Lovely tune, dear. Is it one of Rosie’s discs?” facing out the window, you sit at your desk, long void of the marks from your first tantrum. From here, he can see your index finger tapping gently to the beat, you must’ve memorized it. “Certainly interesting taste you both shared…but I’ll make sure to ask her for more.”

Living with the melancholy of the ghost means you know there’s something there, behind the peeling wallpaper and below the hollowed floorboards. You talk to it every day. You tell it about the dreams you abandoned on the sidewalk since you were a child in favor of carving out a path for yourself, you tell it about your day. You whispered words heavy with affection in the morning and practice your apology to it in the night. You do all of it, knowing it doesn’t have the vocal cord to formulate words, knowing even if it does, it won’t talk to you anymore. But you have hope.

Akin to whispering into an empty seashell, he supposed, there’s always the sounds of the waves hiding deep inside, but there’s no voice. He should get you some seashells, maybe that can give you some joy.

“I figured you’d like something a bit more filling, so shrimp étouffée it is! I met sir Vox on the way to the grocer, and we have a rather pleasant chat. He mentioned some talkies I think you’d quite enjoy, too.” he laugh, standing behind you. Alastor catches the charcoal line on white paper, knitting together to create a familiar figure that he just can’t quite put together yet, more taken aback by the fact you haven’t bothered to cover it up at all. He divert his eyes and place the plate down, right by your left hand. “But you wouldn’t ever be in the mood for it, and it sounds far from my taste, so I turn down the offer to go with him.”

Living with a ghost means you see shadows in the corners of your eyes and hear your familiar home echoes a thousand scream at night, but living with its melancholy means plunging deep under the ocean floor and hearing nothing but the silent of the water. Where there’s supposed to be sound, there’s only the slight echoes of one, barely reaching your ears under the blue. You learn to embrace the silence and linger in its weightlessness.

His ears flickered twice when a sigh escaped your lips, barely audible under the belting of a jazz singer. Alastor let his right hand lingered by your shoulder, you shrink a bit under his touch, he doesn’t move.

“The Ficus died. I was hoping they last longer than the roses would, but you were right,” Leaning in just a bit closer, Alastor laugh, “I never really have a talent for cultivating plants, it seems.”

And then one day, you look back, and maybe you’ll finally see that there was no ghost. And you’re all alone in a house that used to be a home, with dirt under your fingernails and blood leaking under your door. And while you drag a corpse to its final resting place, you hear dogs barking and feel rows of sharp teeth bit into your arms, there’s a familiar clicking sound. When you look up, the world embraces you in a white and burning pain for a single tick of a second. And then you came back to life, just as new. In a new house, in a new world, you do it all over again, you go and look for the ghost.

But a ghost is see-through and rigid cold and it held onto regrets it can never fulfill with cold hands and misty eyes. You’re warm and tangible and alive under his hands even after everything but he’s not sure if you still have any regrets you haven’t given up on, other than meeting him. Having a ghost haunts him would’ve bring less heartache, too.

Ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand you, to bring back the old you, the you he adores, the you he longed for, only ever serves to buried that you six more feet under the ground. He hates to admit defeat, but he thinks you won’t ever be the same anymore.

“I’ll think I’ll get some Gardenia and Begonia tomorrow for the front porch, but you should keep some in here. It must be boring only seeing the same five things a day, love.” With that, he slinks back out the hallway. Taking a final look of you, he closed the door without a goodbye, he never felt well saying such a thing to you anymore. As Alastor walks back down to the kitchen, another song plays out from your room.

Like the rest of the plants Alastor inevitably rots but refusing to stop holding onto, you also rot. His dinner table is set for two, and one of them is for a corpse. For the rest of the night, like every night, he drowned out the sound from your room with a bottle of whiskey and the thought of a you he can barely recalled. Without knowing what he’s holding onto, Alastor came to an oddly hallowing realization that he might've never know you at all.

He hoped you won't know, but maybe that's why you let him see your sketchbook.

(if he’s a ghost, will you let him hold you again)

[ddymarie]

☀︎ Bakugo x reader

OPACAROPHILE

☀(n) A Person Who Loves The Sunsets

☀You had a rare weekend with katsuki and you both decided to spend it with a beach date

☀includes: kissing, rubbing, water, body worship, use of good girl, car sex (back shots) .

☀ a/n : I haven't uploaded in a while ik but I have so many fics in my drafts ready to made! Also some song suggestions are scattered throughout the fiction from my 'random' writing playlist! Speaking of music I haven't been able to get bad by wale outta my head

The sky was filled with orange reds and yellows. The setting sun adding a glow to your brown skin. Katsuki eyes looked as if they glowed from the way the sun had affected them, as he towered overed you, even sitting down.

"Katsu~ " he mocked holding your face in his hands "katsu~, let's go to the beach" he mimicked your voice.

Rolling your eyes lying back on the towel. Black bathing suit (design of your choice) highlighting your curves. Your pretty jewelry added a glow to you. You looked like a goddess.

Your Bluetooth playing partynextdoor. The smirk on your face was quickly wiped away when your boyfriend suddenly picked you up " katsuki! " you screamed giggling "ahh! " the loud splash you caused-caused katsuki to laugh.

" you son of-" swimming back to the surface looking around for your petty ass boyfriend-only to not find him anywhere in sight. Just then you were lifted up from underneath. Katsuki arose from the water with you on his shoulders "look not so bad right, pretty?" he teased looking up at you.

The water dripping off him had you hot and bothered. Fuck he looked like he tasted better then he smelled in this moment. And your favorite thing about him was his caramel scent. It drove you crazy when he sweated.

Retreating from your position on his shoulders. Standing in the water. It came just up to your neck. Paddling your hands on the water as you splashed him. Your small smile soon grew bigger once he began to splash you back " oh, pretty it's on! " he looked into your eye's with a glare hinted with a bit playfulness.

Hours passed before you both decided to call quits on the water fun.

The sky had shined bright even during the night. Stars causing nothing but your silhouettes to appear. Together you both looked like Greeks God's. Especially with your arms around his neck and his on your waist kissing away like you would loose each other to the deep, dark depths of the water. It was majestic.

The sound of your bracelets jingling as you allowed him to lift you up by your thighs. Escorting you outta of the water. Lips just now breaking apart. You both gasped catching breaths you hadn't realized you'd lost.

" you look beautiful in that bathing suit. Might have to buy you more " he said squeezing what he could of your plump ass before smacking it,french kissing you.

Lying you you both down on the singular orange towel. Orange and black the same color of his trunks. Your glasses that once sat on top of your head now falling on the the tip of your nose.

Removing them off your face and setting the black shades a side.

Bakugo began trailing his hands down your body. Lifting a leg of yours over his waist. Licking his lips as he dove in stealing another kiss from you

"Uh-uh" you said looking at the blonded lover in the eyes waving a finger in his face 'no' was what it symbolized " wait til we get home, play boy" you said pushing the muscular man from a top of you

Getting up, taking the blue tooth with you to the car. Katsuki sat there for a moment mesmerized by your jiggling ass before abruptly getting up snatching the towel and your shades up with him trailing behind you...

Laughing as you jumped into your shared foreign car. Katsuki pulling outta the now empty parking lot.

Driving on the empty road one hand on the steering wheel the other on your thigh. It was a small simple gesture of his until it started to trail up your thigh. The car slowed down... Pulling into yet another empty parking lot...it was 10:30 pm

Unbuckling his seat belt while leaning over the the arm rest grabbing your face and kissing you causing you to drop what ever treat you had in your hand. You two had been on the breezy road for about 27 minutes. The large shirt that pulled over your bathing suit. Was now being lifted. The shirt was off within seconds along with your top... And panties.

In this foreign car let it go

You went from kissing in the front seat to receiving back shots in the back of your truck.

" mm~ " you whimpered this man was knocking the air outta your lungs. Leaving you breathless "fuck" he growled throwing his head back. Hands gripping tightly on your waist which was sure to bruise later. Your hips collided. You throwing your ass back meeting his hard forward thrust. " ah-ah ahh~" you moaned as he pulled your hair, Leg up on the seat spanking your ass leaving a visible hand print on your brown skined ass. " fuck, pretty, just like that " he said removing his hand off your ass and onto your neck.

You cried out begging.. Pleading " please~" what were you begging for? Shit you ain't even know. His thrust slowed as he tilted your head down putting you in a face down ass up position and he lurched forward " love this body, baby" he worshipped hands roaming with no destination in sight. The feel of your skin. Your curves. Had this man on his knees everytime he seen em. Whether at home or on the feild. As his thrusts slowed they got deeper. He drew his hips back further it was torture to you. But it felt "soo good~". The pleasure he was giving to you made you arch your back more. You stopped throwing your hips back letting him do his thing. And from there it was nothing but praise~

"Mm~" you whined at his words " ass so soft. " he said gripping your soft ass spreading your cheeks. Slipping a thumb in your butt "ahhh, katsu~" "yea thats right say my name, good girl~"

Take the time to find you out

You love when a young n! go down on it

"Say it baby" he groaned.

" in this foreign car, let it go" he whispered in your ear.

That was all you needed to hear before you let go. " I'M COMING,KATSUKI!" you moaned his name Cumming all over the seats. You both sat there in silence for a couple of moments.

"Guess someone couldn't wait til we got home" you said looking back with a smirk before passing out.

You woke up to the car pulling into your shared pent house parking lot.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

[dragimalsdaydreams]

[image ID: several cartoony diagrams and infographics of Melusines from the game Genshin Impact, but re-imagined as nudibranch-like creatures.

the first image is a diagram of a Melusine's basic anatomy. they're shaped like typical nudibranch sea slugs, with a mantle over top a muscular foot. the front half of the body is lifted up, with the rounded head facing forward. a couple of round, antennae-like rhinophores sprout from the head, with the text, "scent and water/air currents provide sense of spatial awareness." a mass of rounded, feathery gills sprout from the back end of the mantle, just above the foot. ocelli/eyespots sit on the head just in front of the rhinophores, with text reading, "wide range of color vision, poor depth perception." five sets of legs are situated underneath the body, with the foot partly hanging over the lower legs. these legs are much like caterpillar prolegs-- chunky and short, hydraulically powered, with cup-like suction grippers. the two front sets of legs are lifted up above the ground, with the lifted half of the body, and have slimmer grippers that look modified for grasping.

a doodle below shows the Melusine walking with all five sets of legs, with text reading, "'rippling' walking motion. they normally walk on just the lower 3 sets, but can use all 5 sets. usually reserved for running." another doodle shows the Melusine swimming flat in the water, with text reading, "legs pull up into body cavity when swimming. foot extends out farther and provides wavelike locomotion."

another doodle shows the Melusine slowly forming around a mechanical gear, with text reading, "Elynas goop clung to 'tokens' over time, leading to current forms."

the next image show a simple doodle of Melusine skin covered by a layer of Hydro particles, with oxygen molecules in the air gathering towards the Hydro. nearby text reads, "Hydro layers over the skin on land, protecting Melusines from desiccation and sun damage, and providing support to their soft bodies. Melusines can also pull oxygen and water from the air through the Hydro layer, breathing and retaining moisture as they would in water."

below that we see a human hand patting a Melusine on the head, with text reading, "the Hydro layer also provides some protection from physical damage. touching a Melusine, one would only feel the cool, smooth, somewhat rubbery surface of the moisture-wicking Hydro layer, rather than the truly moist, slimy skin of the Melusine. this layer can technically be broken, but it's difficult to break the molecular bonds outside of elemental damage."

below that is a doodle of a healthy Melusine on land in Fontaine, then that same Melusine on land anywhere else, laying on the ground dried up and dying. nearby text reads, "this semi-aquatic lifestyle is only possible in Fontaine's heavy Hydro concentration (arguably Watatsumi as well)."

the next image starts with text reading, "Melusines can change their color/patterns, and their language is based in complex color/pattern cues. each Melusine has developed unique color/pattern preference over time, so communication rules/cues vary widely between individuals. (though they've learned to telepathically communicate using common human languages, with Neuvillette's help)." a doodle below that shows two Melusine staring blankly at one another, with text reading, "having a heated argument (they've been completely silent and still for 10 minutes, but their patterns are rapidly shifting)."

a short comic sits below that, starting with text reading, "*early in Sigewinne's career*" Sigewinne-- a light blue Melusine with pink accents, wearing a white nurse's cap-- stands silent, staring into a box at her feet. Wriothesley the human stands nearby, thinking to himself, "Hm, Sigewinne hasn't moved in a while." grabbing Sigewinne's attention, Wriothesley says, "doin' alright there, Sigewinne?" Sigewinne flips through a yellow book with the title, "Human Expressions for Dummies" with a simplified Melusine mascot on the cover. then she turns back to Wriothesley to telepathically yell, "No, I'm not!!!" with angry eyebrows and a cartoonish pulsing vein on her head, created using color patterns on her face. Wriothesley simply replies, "Ah."

the next image shows many different Melusines, with text reading, "Wide variation in body, rhinophore, and gill shape." indeed, some Melusines are thin and tall, others are short and round, while others are stocky and squared-off. some have thin, upturned snouts, while others have short, stubby snouts, or blocky, drooping snouts. some of their rhinophores are thin and straight, or round and curved, or branch/antler-like, or have more pronounced nodes/ridges. some of their gills are bulbous and pointed, or thin and wavy, or feathery, or branch-like, and some Melusine even have extra gills higher up on their bodies. all of these Melusines have different colors and patterns, with text reading, "Melusines can be found in all colors across the spectrum (including colors humans can't see), but individuals usually prefer a few specific colors."

a doodle below shows off Sigewinne's present-day outfit. she's wearing a white nurse's cap tied to her head with a pink bow, on top of a grey wig with a bob cut and curling bangs. a white apron with blue hearts and pink ribbons is tied to her front, with a two-tier cut to allow her front legs to move freely. another white apron with pink and blue bows is tied across to her back, covering most of it. nearby text reads, "no concept of nudity, clothes are just fun accessories. wigs are both exotic accessories, and a way to show kinship with humans."

below that is text reading, "Melusines usually darken their tones outdoors, for extra sun protection." a nearby doodle shows a pale Melusine indoors, then that same Melusine outdoors, her colors visibly darker.

the final image is an edit of a meme, reading, "If a Melusine wore pants, would she wear them like this or like this?" above two drawings of the same Melusine. in the first, the Melusine is wearing jeans cut to fit around her three lower sets of legs and the bottom edge of the foot. in the second, she's wearing jeans cut to fit around the back end of her body and last set of legs, covering the back end of the foot and mantle, and cut around the gills.

end ID]

I swear I had no idea it was nudibranch day yesterday, this was just a happy coincidence LMAO

anyways, I hate how Melusines look in-game, so I decided to make them Actual Slugs b/c that's objectively cuter. obvious nudibranch base design, but I added in some planaria and caterpillar elements for the eyes and legs, respectively. it's a bit goofy, but I'm real happy with how it all turned out <3

also sorry if the Sigewinne comic isn't true to her early career, personality, or her relationship w/ Wrio. we haven't seen her much yet, and tbh I didn't rly care to look into her current lore all that deeply

[yandere-paramour]

Chapter 3

“I’m not hungry,” You mumble, still nervous about the implications of that discipline thing.

She gives you a serious look, “You must eat something, love. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“What time is it?”

“A half-hour past eight. Perfect time for you to eat something.”

You hate to admit it, but she’s right. If you refuse food now, there’s probably no chance of eating anything again until morning, and you don’t want to take that chance, “Okay, I’ll eat something.”

She flashes you a smile of perfect, shiny teeth, “Amazing, love. What would you like?”

“Just something small. I’m not really hungry.”

“For you, nothing is an inconvenience. But, let me make you something comforting. I know today has been very tiring for you,” She gives your head a comforting pat, “Please, allow me to help you up.”

She helps lift you to your feet and supports you while you walk out of the room on unsteady legs. Immediately, you start scanning your surroundings. It is a small, dark hallway to the stairs, but when you get there, your eyes widen dramatically.

The living space is huge, easily three times the size of your apartment. It was decorated in the same blue and grey color scheme as the bedroom, and you had to admit the colors calmed you. One wall was entirely large windows, showing the oranges and yellows of the setting sun illuminating the room and a view of the city skyline. It was very clean, almost too clean, like it was more of a house being shown rather than one occupied by a living human. The furniture had no spots or creases, there wasn’t any laundry on the chair, and from what you could see, there wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere to be found.

She notices you looking and smiles, “Do you like it? I know it is somewhat empty now, but I figured you could decorate it to your tastes. I will give you the tour tomorrow morning after breakfast. I want you to get to know your new home.”

You visibly perk up at that. A tour will show you any possible escape routes. As soon as she goes back to work, and a CEO like her will definitely have to return to work soon, you’ll be out of here. You bite back a grin.

She goes to try and lift you at the top of the stairs.

“Wait!” you say.

She freezes instantly, “What is it, my princess? Are you afraid of heights? I promise I will hold you securely.”

That statement is nauseatingly genuine, and color rushes to your face, forcing you to look away from her, “It’s not that… I just don’t want to mess up your suit.”

“No suit is worth your comfort and safety,” She says and sweeps you into her arms in a bridal carry. She descends the stairs with no trouble, acting as though your weight is no trouble for her at all. Exactly how strong is this woman?

At the bottom of the stairs, she sets you back on your feet carefully, holding your arms to steady you, “There you go, princess. Safe and sound. See? I would never drop you.”

You blush again at her gross words, and with a grin, she moves on. She helps you to the couch, gently laying you back and tucking you in with a blanket. She turns on the large tv for you to watch, and you unwittingly relax. “I’m going to the kitchen to make you something, princess. Just rest here and I’ll be back in a few minutes,” She gives you another kiss on the forehead which you try to weasel away from, and leaves.

You relax your muscles. Whatever medicine she gave you must’ve been strong. Your head is pounding with a headache and your muscles feel weak and loose, and it hurts to move around too long. The short trip from the bedroom down the stairs to the couch was enough to tire you out. Even if she’s not currently watching you, you’d never be able to make it to the elevator, let alone out of the building.

She said you’d only be on this medication for a few days. If she was telling the truth, which you have no way of verifying but this is your only source of hope at the moment, you’d be completely clean in a few days, she would go back to work, and you’d be gone. Tonight, you just had to lay back and try to keep this woman from peppering your face and hands with any more kisses.

Your brain must be slow because thinking took a lot longer than you thought. She is back, balancing a tray with two mugs and a plate of toast.

“I thought some sugar would be good for you,” she says, pushing a mug of dark liquid into your hands. It smells nice, but you don’t trust it. If she can drug you once, she can drug you again. You eye her suspiciously.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like hot chocolate?” She cocks her head like she doesn’t understand.

“You try it first,” you mumble, afraid to push her too far, holding the mug towards her.

She gives you a pitying look, “Oh sweetheart, are you afraid I put your sleepy medicine in your cocoa? I promise, I will not give you your medicine until bedtime. The nighttime dose is higher.”

You still hold the mug out to her and she sighs but takes a sip anyway to appease you.

“I wish you would trust me, Darling, but I can be patient.”

“I will never trust you,” You mutter under your breath.

Her eyes narrowed. “Darling, respectful words, please. I will not have you being rude just because you are tired.”

Whatever words you want to spit at her die in your throat. You are tired, even if you’d rather die than admit it. Starting a fight when you’re too weak to win and possibly risking discipline, whatever that means. You’re too smart to take that chance, so you turn your eyes back to your cocoa, sipping. It is honestly good, the best cup of hot chocolate you’ve ever had.

“Good girl,” she praises, and your face heats up. Even if she is your ruthless kidnapper, she can’t be saying things like that.

She holds a piece of toast to your mouth and your face burns, but you bite obediently. This is mortifying, and you’re glad no one is watching this. She feeds you toast, and by the end, you would rather have been boiled alive than fed buttered toast by your kidnapper who cooed “My Darling princess is eating so well for me” after every bite.

She leaves the dishes in the sink and carries you back upstairs. You don’t protest this time, but your face being so close to her chest makes you extremely uncomfortable. She sets you back on the bed while she readies your bedtime medication, and you eye the door, wondering if it is worth it to try to escape.

“Are you ready, Darling?” She asks, standing over you.

Your skin crawls, and you try to give her a pathetically upset look, “Do I have to? I really don’t like needles.”

She doesn’t flinch, but you can see the pain in her eyes. Huh. The thought of your pain distresses her. This information seems useful and you file it away for later.

She still has some resolve, “Sorry, love. You need to be on your medicine for a few more days, just until you feel more settled.”

You lay back and try to close your eyes to not look at it. The feeling of a needle pricks the skin over your shoulder and you shiver. How many of these does she have? Where is she keeping them? A murky blur spreads through your body, forcing you to relax. Taking great care with you, Atalanta tucks you back under the blanket. She climbs into the bed, pulling you closer to her body. You mumble at her to get away and try to squirm out of her arms, but it gets harder and harder to resist. She is warm and solid, and the medication is good stuff; it definitely is working. Atalanta strokes your hair as you close your eyes, drifting off, thinking of in a few days when you can escape and get back to your own life.

[musekicker]

Wrote some monster falls, slight Billford vibes to it, with head canons on what a sphinx Ford's weakness would be.

The hunter had introduced himself as Bill. A wisp of a man, skin having a tan from spending a lot of time in the sun it seemed. Hair that was almost gold color, a lock of it covering one eye as if it were not there. And large, yellow triangle tattoo on his left shoulder.

The sphinx that called himself Ford would had been able to avoid the sleep dart that Bill had fired at Ford's front, left leg if not for the fact that Bill had taken advantage of one of a sphinx's great weaknesses. A riddle.

Unsolved riddles and puzzles were just a sphinx's Achilles heel. Stanley had once taken a rubix cube that Ford had solved and with a couple of turns unsolved the puzzle.

Ford could fix the cube easily. It was only a couple of twists in the same direction after all. That had not been the point though. The point was a unsolved puzzle was like nails on a chalkboard to a sphinx.

So despite his situation of a thick, metal collar around his neck, connected to a thick chain that was bolted to the floor, Ford had to ask the hunter the question that was still burning in his head.

"What was the answer?" Ford asked.

"Answer to what?" Bill asked.

"The riddle."

Now Bill seemed to know what Ford was talking about. He smirked.

"Drives you crazy to not know the answer, doesn't it?" Bill asked with the ever so slight tilt of the head.

Ford open mouth snarled, tail lashing. As dangerous as Ford's fangs and claws could be, they were useless when he was chained in place. And Bill knew that. The hunter even had the nerve to stand close to Ford, just inches away. Daring Ford to try and lunge for him. 

He would had if Ford had not made the quick calculation that Bill was just a inch out of his reach. Ford was still snarling when Bill spoke again.

"Okay, okay. I'll be nice and give you the answer. That answer being is there is no answer!"

Ford stopped snarling.

"I just said something that sounded like it be a riddle." Bill said.

Ford stared at Bill for a long moment. At first Ford was hoping that this was just a joke on Bills part and that he would give Ford the real answer next. That did not happen.

"You're... you're serious aren't you?" Ford asked.

Bill cackled.

"I'm not sure what's the most funny thing. Your face right now or the fact that you were stupid enough to be fooled by random words because they were framed as a riddle." Bill said.

Ford was speechless. He had been distracted by a bunch of nonsense words that sounded mysterious. And now he was a captive of a hunter. Ford felt very stupid in the moment.

"So now I suppose you're going to kill me." Ford said finally.

Bill was still smiling. The man had not stopped smiling since Ford had first ran into him. Did he have another expression at all?

"Now that's not just true. I don't kill every monster I come across. You're great example." Bill said. "I'm thinking you'll make a nice pet."

Bill looked up, in a moment of thought.

"I'm thinking a magic collar and lead for you."

Ford was snarling again. He was already angry about the hunters plan. But Bill was about to make things so much worse.

"Not to say I won't kill anything I come across. Some monster parts are worth a lot. But the main reason I was in the area mainly was to bring another monster back alive. Did you know that  some folks would pay a lot for the gargoyle?"

The mention of Stan froze Ford.

It had never occurred to Ford that Bill was here for anyone specific. He had thought that Bill had just came across Gravity Falls and it's monster citizens and thought to himself that he had found the jack pot. Now that seemed like it was not the case.

How long had Bill known about Gravity Falls? How long did he know about Stan? And how much did this hunter know about his family?

Bill took in the shock on Ford's face like it was sunshine on his face and grinned wider.

"Oh yeah. With their natural protection of their home instincts and a lot of training, they make good guards for rich peoples homes." Bill said.

Ford had already been worried that Bill would try to go after his family. Now that Bill had confirmed that he was planning to go after Stan, the horror of the situation was truly starting to hit.

Bill then turned his back on Ford. A chance to attack.

Ford pulled at the chains again. He had forgotten for a moment that they were there and attempted to lunge at Bill. As he had calculated the chain just came up too short for Ford to reach Bill, even with his claws. The collar and chain around his neck pulled at his throat and he gagged midway through his angry roar.

Bill had turned then, seeing Ford's fully spread wingspan, those exposed fangs. The sharp claws that could slice and rend. The hunter found beauty in that danger. He let out a low whistle, his gaze fixed on Ford.

"Magnificent." Bill said.

There was something about Bill's gaze that made Ford feel like a bug being pinned. A specimen that was only alive because there was some sort of fondness for them alive.

As much as Bill could had gazed at his new pet forever, he had a hunt to get to. He turned away again, talking as he stepped over to a wall. A wall covered with various monster hunting tools. Nets, guns. Even more specific things for certain monsters. Golden reigns that could control pegasi, a lantern to attract light obsessed creatures.

"Sorry six beans. You and your family are just worth too much to ignore." Bill said.

Bill chose his tools for this hunt quickly. Like he had been thinking about it for awhile. There was what looked like a flash light as part of the tool set, chains. But what terrified Ford the most was the glint of light off sharp metal tips for the next tools Bill chose.

Bear traps.

Bill looks back to Ford, grinning viciously.

"I'm pretty sure if either a certain deer or unicorn just step in just the wrong place, their screams will get your brother to leave the shack. And come right to me." Bill said.

The horror of Bill's words brought out more then a snarl. No. This time Ford out right roared. The one more lunge attempt. It was as useless as it had been before. But Ford did not stop pulling at the chains and roaring.

Bill picked up a gun Ford recognized. The dart gun that had knocked Ford out in the first place.

"You need to relax. I can help with that."

The dart was in Ford's right shoulder before he knew it. Almost instantly he could not keep himself standing. He sank to the floor, his vision swimming. Bill approached Ford, gun still in hand and with caution. When Ford didn't try to bury his fangs into Bill's leg, the hunter took that as a sign that he could fully approach.

"I need a wing feather." Bill said, reaching for one of Ford's grand red and gold feathers. "In case I need a back up plan."

Ford only winced at the pull of the feather, so out of it. And as Bill left, everything completely went black.

[ymechi]

The Naiad au (Scrapped)

EDIT: 17/11/2023 I have decided to rework this series, so this story won't continue, instead there will be a new one with the same concept.

-slight idv and genshin crossover, the mc is an OC and has female pronouns

-english is not my first language

TW: SAGAU, Cult au, imposter au, mentions of death, drowning

part 1 , This is part 2

authors note: if i am correct this part was 1.5k words;; i was so unmotivated to edit i should try to find a beta/editor, sorry for the writing mistakes

She looked up towards the sky from the ocean floor staring at it for a while. While she managed to survive she had no idea what to do. Going to the surface was probably a very bad idea in case she ran into those villagers again, for now she should explore her surroundings.

To swim in the sea came surprisingly easy for her, she was never an excellent swimmer but the way she moved felt eerily natural. She came to realize she did not need to move her arms. Her legs and perhaps something else (a power she did not understand) did most of the work.

Oxygen was not a problem either, she idly wondered if she had gills somewhere on her body.

She swam in between some kelps and fishes. There was, yellow, green and red big huge vines which she saw in between too. The floor beneath was a vibrant green shade, everything here was so colorful and beautiful. It felt so alive and thriving. She would have thought that the ocean deep beneath was darker, murkier and scarier but she fell in awe the more she saw.

She looked up and saw the sun giving the water above a golden hue, soon the sun would set but she did not feel afraid at the thought of the dark.

The ocean was mostly empty of any dangers. There were so many colorful schools of fishes swimming around, occasionally she would see a big fish that would look like a predator but they would never come to her and harm her. Perhaps she did not look tasty to them?

At the thought of food she did feel slightly hungry but it wasn't anything too urgent, yet it was best to find something to eat now while she could. She looked around and saw some seaweed. She did remember seaweed could be edible and the water here looked clean, there was no harm right?

At most it would perhaps taste gross, she tore off some of the seaweed and hesitantly took a bite. The taste was not unpleasant, it tasted salty and the texture was not slimy like she expected but rather a bit rubbery. She happily took another bite, the best part there was a lot of seaweed so the chances of her running out of it was very low. While eating her impromptu lunch-dinner she did not notice a few fish appearing beside her. When she noticed them she looked at them curiously one of them came near her face and bumped into her mouth.

She was rather confused and she started to laugh. While laughing the fish entered her mouth which caused her to panic, which caused her to choke and then her trying to get the fish out of her mouth. She looked at the troublemaking fish she finally caught in her hand in confusion. 

What was going on?

in her peripheral she saw one of the larger fish approach her, it looked like a salmon but she was not sure. The larger fish approached one of the smaller fishes and opened its mouth, she could see the fish's sharp teeth. The smaller fish then willingly entered the pseudo salmon's mouth much to her shock.

The salmon then began to eat the smaller fish all while looking at her and she could not help but to think of the smaller fish's earlier actions. They wanted her to eat them?

This was all too confusing. Fish are not supposed to behave like this, since when did prey willingly enter a predator's mouth? The fish in her hand wiggled before approaching her face, more specifically her mouth.

Should she try to do it? Maybe just one bite. . .

She held both ends of the fish with her hands, closed her eyes, did a sharp exhale and took a bite.

crunch.

Yikes she forgot about the fish bones but the bones did not hurt at all. The fish's taste was rather tasty and flavorful, much better than the seagrass. Another fish appeared in front of her, a different species than the one she ate and she took the fish and proceeded to eat it too, this one tasted a little bit saltier. Soon different species of smaller fish came up to her and she ate one of each.

After a while she patted her stomach. She really overdid it but in her defense she never had eaten fish like this, they were raw and despite that they were tasty. Hopefully since she was presumably no longer human she would not catch any diseases from eating raw fish. . .

She slowly traced her sharp teeth with her tongue, another discovery about her body. Speaking of her body she really should move around to digest the food. With that in mind she began swimming around with no direction in mind exploring the seafloor and its vibrant ecosystem.

She followed some manta ray looking creatures (she was pretty sure manta rays were not green). She swam along with them doing twists and turns which caused her to laugh. One nudged her on the hand which caused her to start petting the manta ray like one would a dog, the texture was not unpleasant to the touch.

After some more playing around with the manta rays they approached. . . something?

 She looked towards the direction of the place. It was ominous, omitting a weird aura. It was as if she should not approach the place but that only piqued her curiosity even more. If she was sane she would not approach whatever that place was yet she has gone through multiple literal life changing events so she went ahead to the direction of the place.

It certainly did not disappoint.

She gasped as she saw the tall pillars holding down a creature which she could only describe as a blue sea dragon with multiple heads. The structure despite being so impressive looked old yet so sturdy still holding down the monster (or creature?).

She hesitantly approached a pillar that pinned down one head. 

The creature snapped its eyes open.

She made a small squeaking sound and fumbled backwards. The bound creature gave her what she could only assume was an unimpressed yet annoyed glare as they stared down at her.

She shivered yet stood frozen still in his glare unable to move or break eye contact.

"You should not be here."

She gulped and frantically tried to come up with something.

"I-i- i just followed a trail. . ."

"This place is sealed, no mortal or god should be able to come in here."

The creature ignored her previous comment and the annoyed expression he had previously turned into curiosity as he stared down at her like one would do to a dog who made an interesting trick.

"I am- i don't know," she cringed at her own words, "I uhh sort of woke up in here, the ocean, and-and just came upon this place."

The more she spoke the more she wanted to dig herself into a hole and curl in there. The creature before her did not change his expression, continuing to stare at her.

"You were just born?"

Born? That was one way to look at it. She did die but now she is alive, so a sort of rebirth.

"Yes?"

Her answer came more out as a question, she herself was unaware what really happened.

"I see and do you have a name?"

the creature looked at her expectantly as if that would give the creature an answer to a question. For her that question was a curse.

Impostor. Heretic. Stealing the name of the creator.

She sucked in a harsh breath except what filled her lungs was water reminding her of her drowning. Her mind began to go hazy, flashes of the village mob still inside of her mind. She hugged her body tightly. Her real name was a liability in this world. Yet just like her body she can change it as well.

"It's Naiad."

The creature closed their eyes, perhaps thinking or reminiscing. She doubted the creature would know of her name. The name was not of this world.

"I see you were born with a name, not many do."

Naiad looked at him questioningly, not really sure how to answer, she had so many questions other than what he just said. Yet could she ask them? Despite having a powerful aura he was pinned down, as if they were imprisoned, the pillars acting as chains to this prison. If Naiad did end up offending them perhaps she could make a run- swim for it.

"Uhm. . . What do I call you?" She asked with a meek voice.

He looked down at her and she stared back. Naiad felt like time  passed slower before the creature finally answered.

"I am Osial."

[ovtsakaramel]

Sunset of death

Finnick Odair x gn!reader

TW: death, hunger games

note: this is really short and I fell asleep writing it

"I'm so sorry" you held your knife to his throat. The silver blade shining in the sunset, you could see it's colours filling it. Pressed into his tan skin, it looked like art. Imagining the blood covering it made you wanna throw up, but you had to admit that it would look disgustingly beautiful. Finnick Odair, a skinny, but really fit 14 year old boy laying and squeezing in the grip of your body. His sea green eyes, saturated like the sky, we're flickering with fear and betreyal. Not like he expected different, but it still *hurt*. You two had a bond, spending the days searching through the forest for food and other tributes, and the nights laying next to each other, his eyes like pools in the green darkness of nature. That little flicker of fire that mirrored in those same eyes was the same color as the sun. You looked up and then at the eyes. Watery and red.

"Just look at the sky, ok? Look at the sun. It's beautiful, isn't it? It has all sorts of different colors. The sun is such a bright yellow, it's shining and glowing so brightly." He hiccuped as he looked to the sky, his eyes squeezing because of the brightness. "Yeah, yeah, it's bright. It's as bright as you. You're my shining star, yeah? A star that shines during the day, a star that shines from preferring to glow when there's no one else, when it has all the place to shine. You'll always shine for me Finnick." Asshole. You didn't even remember his last name and you were holding a knife to his throat. "You'll always shine for everyone. They'll all love your shine, dead or not. You'll leave a dark spot in everyone's vision, a dark spot that won't dissapear if you're still looking at the sun. You won't die. You'll leave a dark spot in my vision too. You'll just... Shine like all the other stars. At least that way you would be with people who understand. Everyone who you had how I'm having you right now. With a weapon to the throat. Bug don't think about it now. Just look at the sky... How the dark clouds try to stop your shine. But even with them you still brighten the whole planet..." Another hiccup. He looked into your eyes and a tear fell down from your eyes. You tried to take a breath but it was too much. You were tired of doing this. Tired of killing. Tired of trying to do it nicely because the Capitol can't. But you had to. Because he deserved a nice death. Or at least a nice killer. Or at least a killer that was trying to be nice. Your mouth was slightly open as you took messy breaths, you feel your nose fill and fight your breathing, so you used your open mouth for it. You knew your whole face was burning. God, you were taking this worse than him. Even though the look of fear I the boys eyes was unmatched. He was looking at the sky and then to you, gasping, his throat dangerously almost touching the knife. "I'm so sorry Finn." You mumbled as you closed your eyes to fix your vision. Then you felt it. The sharp pain in your abdomen. You fell on your back close to him, your knife leaving your sweaty palm. The air escaped your lungs as your back hit the ground and a tall silhouette stepped on your hand and a leg pressed over yours leaving the pain in your abdomen stinging. Finnicks sea green eyes met yours as he took the knife and gently held it to your delicate throat.

"I would say some I trusted you, why did I you betray, don't you care about me shit, but we both know I would just be playing for the cameras. One of us was destined to die the moment we were reaped. I think we're both too scared to die, even though I have a feeling what comes after this won't be life." He whispered the last one in your ear. He was hiding behind a confident expression, but you were still close enough to see that same fear and now misery in his eyes as he held the knife. "I'm sorry honey. Even though I really shouldn't be. Just look at the sunset, yeah? Remember all those words you said to me." Your eyes left his his as you accepted your fate.

The sunset was beautiful. The sun was even lower now, and as it drowned even deeper you felt the knife slice your throat. Everything from then was just pain and sunsets. Distracted by the beauty, but still feeling it.

"Please don't look me in the eyes." He barely wishered, you knew his eyes were filled with tears. But you were fucking selfish. You couldn't die without getting a look in those eyes again. You looked at them and saw the ocean. He opened his mouth, but it was already too late. And the last thing you remember is that color.

[hugsandchaos]

Since the last episode reminded me of my Earthbound AU and has reignited the fire, I’m going to talk about it some!

First, I want to talk about Uzi, or Z, in this AU! I don’t think I have yet.

For those of you who don’t know, Uzi is a murder drone in this AU, and her name is Serial Designation Z. “Uzi” was a nickname given to her by Alice during the second main part of the story. She has the same body design as J and V in canon, but she has big, diagonal yellow and black stripes on her legs that kind of look like she’s wearing big, comfy socks. She also has some black paint going halfway down her thighs, with black and yellow warning stripes at the end, like a pair of shorts.

She wears the same jacket and beanie as canon Uzi, but those things came only after she crashed on Copper 9. Before that, her jacket had the same black and yellow colors as N’s. Her main hair color is also white, but it was dyed purple after Lizzy learned purple was actually her favorite color and asked if she would dye her hair.

At first, she really didn’t trust anyone or want to be friends with them, so she flew off the first chance she got. Later on, Nori would find her and eventually convince her into giving life with them in the bunker a chance, with the promise that Z would be allowed to go outside as the harsh weather plaguing Copper 9 was surprisingly hospitable for her.

Incase you’re wondering, Nori is alive and okay, and she and Khan had been trying for a kid for a while. When Z came along in all her feral, rebellious monster-ness, Nori was like “New daughter? 👀” and Khan ended up agreeing and giving in to his wife wanting to adopt a pretty literal murder machine. Z was… not exactly excited about it.

Doll and Lizzy managed to get close to her after a while, and Thad also helped Z come out of her shell a bit more.

As for Z’s room, it’s kept pretty chilly at all times. There’s frost on her door pretty often. This is thanks to her very high temperature because of how hot her core runs almost constantly, and her jacket and beanie both have miniature fans built into them. Her bed is mostly a big, circular mattress with a few blankets and pillows, almost like a nest. She prefers sleeping upside down, but this is an “acceptable” substitute.

I want to note that there’s a moment in the story where Z’s hugging both her adopted parents and crying or close to crying because she knows she was being a bit of a jerk to them in the beginning even though they were so nice and welcoming, and now she really doesn’t want to loose them like she lost her squadron.

Also, Z used to get “squadron” and “family” mixed up because she really cared about her squadron, but had only known it by that word. She understood “squadron” as “people you work with and can depend on to beat up anyone who gives you shit”, but she loved N romantically, so the word “family” was a bit confusing at first and she needed it to be explained more.

Another thing I want to mention is that Z and N are used to seeing each other without clothing since they often get a little too warm to handle the clothing and just take it off, and they don’t really have anything to hide.

I’m saying this because after she and N reunited, there was a moment where they were both hanging out in her room without clothing on, just talking about their experiences while they were separated, and Lizzy just entered without knocking to ask Z something. She froze when she saw them both naked and on the large nest-like bed Z has in her room, then apologized and promptly left. Both murder drones had no idea why she acted like that until much later.